It has been pointed out to me that my 200th entry, my second century entry, is fast approaching.
Look at that! It's here! (cue tootling horns! send in the dancers with really long feathers attached to their hands! pump up that hardcore bass beat! woooooo!) Time for an entry that touches on several previously-discussed themes.
By the way, I find myself very pleased with my stick-to-it-iveness. It comes at a lovely time, too -- just when I needed some confidence that I will, in fact, be able to write a novel next month.
In other news, I just made a reservation to head home. My mom is moving at the end of the month, which triggers my inherent duty to set her clocks and plug in her computer. I am serious -- that is all she wants me to do. There are professional movers doing just about everything else. Ah well. It gives me a great opportunity to monopolize my silly niece's time, give her presents, and take her out somewhere fun to play. I must keep up my reputation as the extravagant and really fun eccentric uncle, right?
As much as I love airports, though -- they have a distinct tendency to make me a) bitchy and mad or b) maudlin and depressed. I shall try to rein both of them in this time. Well, maybe just the maudlin one. I can be funny when I am bitchy. Sometimes.
As far as recent activities go, last night I saw Janeane Garofalo doing stand-up. Of course, it was tremendous and I laughed until I cried, but the important part was that I touched her! I love touching famous people. Of course, she was unaware that she had been touched by me -- as I edged past her on my way out the door after the show, I surreptitiously stretched out a hand and brushed a knuckle against the back of her right shoulder. I felt completely vindicated when I discovered my friend Kate had done the exact same thing.
I also have plans in the works to see "Spirited Away" this weekend, by the same lovely people who brought us the Catbus.
I just ordered ten boxes of Thin Mints. (Yes, ten fucking boxes. You have a problem with that?) And in the process, discovered that my beloved Samoas are called "Caramel DeLites" in NYC. Just as my Do-Si-Dos are known by the dull moniker, "Peanut Butter Sandwich."
And I smelled someone at work today.
Apparently nothing new is happening to me right now. I am just repeating past events over and over in some bizarre time loop the likes of which the Enterprise has never seen.