Okay, I know you’re wondering if (a) Jay went snowboarding, and (b) Dot didn’t go snowboarding, and (c) both Jay and Dot have been copiously stuffing themselves with too much food in a city not Seattle; why there is no photographic evidence of the aforementioned activities.
Er, I’m embarrassed to say that between a Mac Warrior and a whiny Mac user, we could not figure out how to download the images from my camera onto Luke’s computer and/or connect Jay’s laptop to the DSL.
So you, dear Readers, have to suffer the Placeholder Picture.
Please imagine Jay carving a path down virgin powder.
Please imagine Dotâ€â€who snowboards as well as, say, a SMURFâ€â€spending hours in Borders reading about String Theory while waiting for Jay. [Jay's folks and us spent dinner trying to unravel the String Theory and all I could think of was Googling it.]
I recommend all scientists who write “laymen” books to hire a ghost writer (preferably a good one and not dead). I also recommend the String Theory programs on Nova, although, for the record, they put me to sleep.
I’d like to think I’m highly susceptible to subliminal messaging.
Oh wait, I am.
What I would do for a bowl of fishball noodles.
[Probably endure a 20-hour flight in less-than-chicken-coop conditions in the middle seat with my luck, but oh well, nobody's asking, are they?]
It is 4 degrees Fahrenheit in Frisco, Colorado. That’s -15 degrees Celsius for all you metric system-ers.
Tonight, it’ll hit -12 F, or -24 C.
I do believe I have lost all feeling in my extremities.
If I’m seeing fish ball noodles, does it mean my brain is freezing over?
Jay made a good point yesterday when he watched me wolf down a bowl of Kokoro Super Beef Bowl, not a regular beef bowl like he had, but a SUPER beef bowl. (It was deeper and had way more rice. And it was the first bowl of rice I’d had since Friday.)
“You’re powered by rice and noodles, Dot.”
“Make that into a T-shirt for me, Jay.”
I get offered alcohol quite a bit these days. [Hey, come on, it's the holidays!]
If you can’t already tell, I enjoy a bit of the birra, rather than the vino.
As a well brought up, courteous, and civilized human beingâ€â€I drink it from the bottle.
As in Swig It.
From the Top.
Without disinfecting the Rim.
Often, the Swigging starts a split second before the Glass is offered by the Host. This may lead to an uncomfortable Gurgle as I struggle to extract the bottle from my Lips and say, “No thanks.”
At this point, am I beyond accepting the Glass? Or do I take it and salvage whatever Dignity was lost in that Etiquette Disaster? I mean, I don’t want no Dollars deducted from my Presents-to-Be for that Accidental Boo-Boo.
The holidays call for a Tactical Plan To Save The Value Of Dot’s Presents.
You heard it here, you heard it first: Where there is Froth, Let there be Glass. Amen.
When you’ve got to get on a plane at 6 am.
When your traveling companion is Jay.
When you know he will be in an excellent mood.
You need to order one of these. You need to find an intravenous way to administer it (while staying 10 feet away). You need to step back and wait for it to kick in.
Then, and only then, do you say, “Good morning, Jay.”
Yes, this is (was) a turkey.
We did eat the crap out of it.
It was Thanksgiving.
At Thanksgiving, you eat too much, talk about politics, and ask everyone “How are you doing?” at least five times.
We went round the table to say what we were thankful for. Everyone pretty much says the same thing. I think that’s called Being Polite. You know, family, friends, good meal, family, etc.
I said I was thankful I could spell, and that I could write for a living.
I hope I get invited back next year.
This here is Jim Kramer.
He is the US National Scrabble Open Champion.
In a best of three games, he played and beat Real Networks’ online Scrabble game in Seattle Friday. This was the last board in the game and please note: He beat the computer by ONE point. (But that’s beside the point.)
He beat the machine.
At best, Man always draws the Machine.
This time, Jim Kramer scores one for Mankind.
It was awesome to watch. He’d take his time to think of a word, while the computer spit out a word in milliseconds. It barely used its 25 minutes.
I am a closet Scrabble freak. I love it, but suck at it, so I don’t tell people I love it.
But I guess that’s beside the point now.
Love is a new snowboard.
Love is saying, “Dot, if we were on a Pantone chart, we’d be beside each other.”
I am that obssessive compulsive, anal retentive person who will delete spam from the Bulk/Spam folder ONCE IT ARRIVES. One, 10, 20? Doesn’t matter. I delete with a vengeance. I relish in an empty folder.
Which is why the past three weeks have been an interesting experiment.
First, I decided not to delete the emails. Second, I would watch them accumulate in my gmail and yahoo accounts. Third, well, at this point, I just try my darndest not to let the numbers gnaw at me.
The result has been a fascinating, horrifying, drawn-to-it-like-a-bad-accident couple of weeks.
I am at once transfixed and terrified by the sheer quantities arriving in the spam folder each day. Who are these spammers? And why aren’t armies of squirrels falling from the sky into their homes and chewing up their wires?
That makes as much sense to me as bl**dy spam mails invading my email space.
And because I’ve been such a dedicated deleter, I have no idea if these numbers are even bad. Somewhere out there, someone’s got to be hitting the high six figures.
Yes, that is a man wrapped in cellophane, suspended in the air.
Yes, he is alive.
Yes, I am assuming there are breathing holes in the cellophane.
According to the gallery owner, the artist was attempting to create this one-of-a-kind, never-to-be-repeated, art installation for seven hours. This was Hour Two.
He was turning a little red.
I was turning a little alarmed.
Make that a lot.
I’ve been out of sorts lately.
I can’t pin point the exact nature of my out-of-sortness, but I know I am afflicted.
An incredible wave of tiredness hit me on Friday as I was walking home, which led me to fall asleep (counting 0 sheep) at 9 o’clock on both Friday and Saturday nights for a total of 26 hours of sleep in 48 hours, which subsequently led me to believe I was having a strange week topped by a complete physical collapse over the weekend.
So when I woke up at 10 am today (after yet another odd 13-hour sleepfest), I did the next, most natural thing: I bought knives.
Yup, knives. Thus adding to my already obssessive-compulsive collection of Global knives. I can’t believe it was 2 years ago that I first lusted after these weapons of meat and vegetable destruction.
What is happening? Why couldn’t I just go out and splurge on jewelry like a normal person? And why is this blog entry filled with random, useless figures?
I need to sleep on this.
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