This is TERRIBLE. Yes, even for Mojo. I hang my head in abject shame. And now feel the need to confess, if only to serve as an example to others who might likewise stray from the path. Bear witness to my shame. More Mojo!>>
...the new Harry Potter movie, that is. Before I sound TOO snarky (What? Mojo SNARKY? Say it ain't so!) I should point out that I always thought of Book Five as The Book Mojo Could Never Remember Reading. Meaning, when I read Book Six, and it made references to Book Five, I was, like, huh? Did that happen? More Mojo!>>
I was talking to a citified acquaintance the other day, and they let it slip that the rural nature-filled life that Mojo leads is Not The Life For Them. Mojo is fine with that. Different strokes, dontcha know, and besides, if everyone liked living in the woods with bear and moose it would eventually become a city and all the bear and moose would move out. Which would defeat the purpose.
And THEN this person slipped and divulged their true feelings, which are basically as follows: "And besides, I can't live like you. I need Culture. I need Art." More Mojo!>>
...than when I was a kid. At least for the most part.
Of course, there are the ticks, horrible creatures, which I never saw speck one when I was little. My first experience with ticks was when I went to college out in Missouri. Trauma. They then followed me back, apparently, to the East Coast. I have long since gotten used to them, but I can't say I particularly like them. They give arachnids a bad name. More Mojo!>>
As regular Craptacular readers know, Mojo often hangs out with five-year-olds, probably because older sorts are too smart to put up with her. Consequently Mojo has gained insight into the human five-year-old mind.
And yet there are times when the little ones defy even Mojo's staggering intellect. For example, one five-year-old friend created his very own book, entitled "How the T-Rex Broke His Tooth". He's really into dinosaurs, this one. It is a fascinating book. I laughed, I cried, I made an appointment to see the dentist. More Mojo!>>
Sorry to make this a Mojo health complainathon, but since The Burn I seem to have the worst luck lately staying healthy. I'm guessing it doesn't help that I haven't had any substantial exercise for two full months, and when I started up again the first thing I did was throw out my back. That's back to about 90%, meaning I can almost touch my toes again, but for a while I had all these spasming muscles in my back yanking on my insides and making me feel like I was sick the whole time.
And then to make things even funner, lately a family member has been in the hospital and Mojo, being the saintly person that she is, has been visiting various hospitals as they are moved around. And the day after my last visit to the hospital, wouldn't you know it, I started to feel weird and ended up throwing up for the first time in years. At least I think it's years. Not that I obsessively keep track or anything. But one thing I think everyone can agree--throwing up is singularly unpleasant. More Mojo!>>
As I've said before, Mojo is a fan of Miss Snark, the literary agent. And now thanks to Miss Snark's recommendation, Mojo is fast becoming a fan of The Rejecter, who is apparently a first reader for another lit agent. ('Though I desperately want to call her the Rejector, for some grammatically incorrect reason.)
You see, Mojo writes for a living and takes pride in her work. But for some reason, unlike other professions which likewise require years of practice and study before you're any good at it, the average person thinks writing is "easy" and ANYONE can do it. Consequently, while few people think ownership of a car instantly makes them a master mechanic, somehow ownership of a pencil (or now a computer) instantly makes them a Professional Writer. And they are shocked--literally SHOCKED!--to learn that others disagree with their inherent unrecognized genius. More Mojo!>>
Mojo's Favorite Mother's Owl Collection, Volume 6:
Animal Horn Owl!
Mojo does not know or remember or particularly care if her Favorite Mother's Owl Collection was something her mother actually wanted to collect, or if it was intially or subsequently foisted upon her by a large family desperate for ideas for holiday gifts to give her. All she knows is, now her Favorite Mother no longer wants or needs or desires her Owl Collection. So Mojo's Favorite Mother cunningly foisted these things on her Forgotten Middle Daughter, in a pretense of supporting the Craptacular, but we all know the reality is, it saved her a trip to the dump. And now these things are cluttering Mojo's house instead of her own, heh heh heh. Now you see where Mojo gets her cunning, cleverly wrapped as it is in a verbose folly of ineptitude and greed. And you can also see, perhaps, that Mojo is no match for her senior when it comes to wheedling manipulation and distraction techniques while foisting crap upon a gullible subject. More Mojo!>>
I have long considered this baby to be a paeon to Mojo's general incompetence. Sure, Craptacular readers are always reminded of just what an idiot Mojo can be when she truly sets her mind to it, but on occasion she can ALSO be an idiot without actually trying. She is not sure if this is something she wishes to brag about in public, but her vow to tell the truth on the Craptacular leaves her no other choice.
For you see, in addition to the many suspicious endeavors Mojo gets involved with, she tries to make up for it with a spot of community service by directing her town's library. Doesn't that sound noble? Mojo likes to say it's her form of community service, but to be honest she so enjoys the fact that she is paid to read and buy books and tease small children who can't fight back that calling it "community service" sounds suspiciously self-serving. But regardless of how it is perceived the simple fact is Mojo has the run of the place and the ability to boss around a small staff of dedicated and infinitely tolerant librarians who put up with her so they can likewise get paid to play with books. More Mojo!>>
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.... More Mojo!>>