And that review is: "eh."
It's Wildlife Week here on the Craptacular, mostly because there has been such a rash of sightings and encounters Mojo can scarcely leave her house without shooing away a variety of beasties and whatnot. Which she finds to be one of the may pleasures of life in the sticks. Others are not so happy with, say, her resident garter snakes or the simple fact that her mowing the lawn each week calls up whole herds of frogs and toads hopping ahead of the mower like a plague.
Why, you ask? Because while you have been slaving away at your pathetic drivel of a job, Mojo has been researching materials to include in next week's tribute to Bob and Ray.
That means I have to go over my many tapes and CDs to relive some of my favorite bits. It also means doing lots of web research, i.e. "goofing off".
And since I am mostly looking up Bob and Ray routines, I am laughing my butt off.
Not because of the pouring, pouring rain, although that doesn't help. At least it started out yesterday as probably five or six inches of snow before it switched over.
No, Mojo is sad because at some point this weekend Mojo bumped into someone she encounters on occasion, and Mojo is once again reminded of one of her Rules of Living which she would instantly impose should she some day rule the world. And that rule is this:
Any adult who consistently and constantly screams at and humiliates their young children in public should just be taken out back and shot. End of story.
Yeah, ordinarily Mojo is too thoughtful and reserved to really go "oooh oooh oooh!" over anyone or anything. And I really don't get the general fascination with what we shall call Celebrity. Not that it's not sadly amusing when public people get into public trouble. But for the most part, if it doesn't make the headline news, celebrity gossip is something I can always live without.
A little late, due to the Columbus Day holiday. But it's my one month anniversary!
Things are steadily improving, as evidenced by my tendency to blog about things again other than my poor pathetic self. I am almost totally off painkillers except for a single tiny naproxen sodium I take at night to cut down the very slight skin-deep stinging that might keep me awake. The weekend my arm was a bit stingy, but it's a surface sting.
Despite her constant complaints about televison advertising, Mojo really doesn't watch TV that much. The only show she watches regularly now is The Simpsons, and even that is mostly out of habit. And--again, out of habit--she turns on the Today Show every morning to try to catch the odd snippet of interesting and relevant news among the makeovers and wedding plans and other useless garbage the show has promoted.
Mojo has NEVER ONCE seen any reality show in its entirety, let alone follow one. And she blames the FOX network, with the "success" of its morally wretched "Who wants to marry a millionaire?" show for the sudden rise in "reality" programming. Mojo was horrified at the very idea of such a program, and every time she convinced herself FOX couldn't sink any lower they managed. At least judging by the commercials, which is what Mojo sees while she is watching her Sunday night cartoons. One time the Simpsons even made fun of FOX by having some television show called something like "Promiscuous Idiot Island".
I finally finished the Capote biography. I can see why the movie version concentrated on the publication of In Cold Blood since after that and the Black and White Ball it became one violently swift downward spiral of dysfunction. Like I said, I only remember TC from talk shows when I was a kid, and most of who or what he would talk about was well over my head (we had an extremely sheltered childhood, especially compared to today's standards, and no one in my family was all that interested in the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous) and mostly he kinda creeped me out. I never bothered to read any of his stuff until the movie came out. I really liked ICB and I am planning on buying more of Capote's earlier works for the library so I can read them. But man! The end of the biography just gave me nightmares. Not Happy At All. I can see why he gave me the creeps when I was a kid because by then he had become a pathetic parody of himself. All the more reason why parents should hug their kids once in a while....
(Item note: I put down the item's condition as "New"--frankly I don't think there's too many people out there who might want to buy used food....)
This is the sort of awful, awful gift that certain members of my family live for. Yes, I know, some families get together and volunteer at a soup kitchen. Some families get together and dictate the mores of fashion and good taste so the rest of us know what to wear and how pathetic and inadequate we are. And then there are those families, such as mine, who scour the globe looking for gifts to bestow upon their relatives. Gifts like this.
So I'm sitting here in my bathrobe early this morning working on the computer (and I use the term "working" in its loosest sense; really "goofing off" would be just as descriptive) when I become aware of this regular sound in the distance. It is like a regular, occasional, far-off hiss. It sounds to my ears exactly like the noise spinning tires make on gravel when you hear them from a distance. And the fact that it keeps repeating leads me to believe that someone has gotten their car stuck on the side of the road.
Now, since we live in a very rural area, we are not too keen on strangers pulling over on the side of the road and getting stuck, since many times these strangers are up to no good. Locals know better--the very deep ditches on the side of the road look okay, but the bottoms are actually quite soft mud and if your wheel gets in it chances are it will stay in it. So the only ones who get stuck tend to be strangers who just pull over for whatever reason they pull over.