Sometimes stores are more than just a place where you might get a bookcase, a shelf, or a shiny new pair of shoes. Sometimes retail is a place where you go exchange your sins for a chance at a polyester renaissance; or where you can reinvent yourself for a low, low price.
But specifically, I love our new bookshelves.
Upon seeing the huge piles of books covering the floor of what we’re grandiosely calling “the study,” a friend quipped, “You poor things; you’ve never heard of books, have you?”
Books are a wonderful thing too. And not just the Shopaholic series or the Cat Who… series. Any books are invitations to new concepts or ideas (unless the book title is something like “Principles of Physical Chemistry,” which is an invitation to either sleep or gouge your eyes out). I see the baby mouthing and looking at his books, mimicking the poses and the intensity we pour into them when we’re reading, and I know he’s headed in the same direction.
You know what I don’t necessarily love? No-talent ass clowns.
When we went through the Carolinas, I was reminded of possibly the worst poet I’ve ever read. Where did I run into this colossus of the poorly-rhymed word? On MySpace, of course, where all manner of vermin dwell. Hey, if you have a MySpace profile, drop him a line.
I don’t hate Bryon: there must be something wrong with him that renders him unable to see that his poetry sucks.
Funny enough, most people seem to agree with that statement and in the past, poor Bryon has been repeatedly told over and over that his poetry is bad. It is so bad, in fact, that it sucks big fat hairy balls– the kind he doesn’t seem to want to suck.
Most everyone agrees: Bryon as a poet makes one hope that he doesn’t wire houses in the same manner he puts images together. If you, dear reader, actually like his stuff FOR REALS, YO, then you need to get off my blog. I mean that. HOW CAN YOU?!
When things gets fuzzy, tricky, and potentially devastating is when you’re faced with someone’s mediocre to really bad poetry or writing and you’re supposed to say, “OMG that is sooooo good! You’re, like, so totally talented!”
But you don’t because you’d like to believe you have some manner of standards.
But others do.
OMG others SO do! And this is how, I am now firmly convinced, we have Kevin Federline: the original Snake on a Plane.
Oh. One more thing: we have a Eats, Shoots and Leaves daily calendar. For the past couple of weeks it’s been yammering on about the semicolon and the colon.
There are few things that upset me more than seeing two perfectly good sentences rendered siamese twins by the lack of a semicolon. It is a rape of punctuation and I simply will not stand for it.
Sorry this was short: am trying to get into grocery shopping frame of mind and trying to battle writer’s block. But I will be back; oh yes. I will be back.
Can you tell I need groceries? I’m soooo starving. OMG I so totally am!