I'm certain I am not the only person in the world who despises these people today. If I were a good Christian girl I would not covet the obscene amount of cash bestowed upon them because they had the forethought to buy a 5 dollar lottery ticket. Thankfully, I'm not a good Christian girl so I can think horrible thoughts about the 2 immigrants from Vietnam and the 1 from central Africa who yesterday had one of the most vile and disgusting jobs in the world (oh yeah, I read Fast Food Nation ), who probably lived check to check thanks to the paltry wages they earned from the evil known as ConAgra and had little hope of ever getting out of the finanical nightmare known as middle-class living.
Somedays, I hate my liberal soul.
To make myself feel better, I've spent some time at CutesyMcCuteville because, as everyone knows, I love baby aminals. I'm particularly fond of the the aptly titled section Cats and Racks and the Rules of Cuteness. Just when I think I've stumbled across the cutest picture ever...oh! There's another one and....awwwwww! That's so cute! Oh hell. I can't decide.
To Do List:
1. Go home
2. Look at chaos that I'm currently living in
3. Panic
4. Pick out the items most easily moved in the city truck
5. Panic
6. Load up truck and drive to The Barn
7. Get to The Barn and realize that my ceiling is a complete disaster
8. Panic
9. Get back in city truck and drive to The Office
10. Order adult beverage and talk about how panicked I am
11. Remember that these things always work themselves out
12. Order adult beverage and talk about something other than moving
13. Remember there are interesting things in the world that don't involve your move
14. Order adult beverage and throw some darts
15. Go home full of hope and optimism and adult beverages
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I saw a really good episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation this afternoon. See, The USS Enterprise encountered a mysterious probe in deep space and it emits a beam that hits Captain Picard and he passes out. Next thing you know Picard is waking up on a strange planet into a life he knows nothing about and nobody has ever heard of the enterprise or starfleet or anything. Anyway he's pretty freaked out and confused but he lives out the rest of his life there as far as he can tell, he has a wife and kids and friends and becomes involved in the community in which he lives. Finally, when he's an old man the government on this planet is shooting into space a probe. Guess what probe it is? Yep, its a probe sent out so that after this civilization dies someone will remember these people and how they existed. So Picard wakes back up on the bridge of he enterprise, only twenty five minutes have gone by although he has lived a lifetime on a longdead world. It was pretty neat.
Remember that really good song we listened to last night? I thought you might like to check out the lyrics:
With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
This is a Star Trek-free zone, pal.
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