but I’m not where my bed is. I pulled out the guit and the mando tonight and HOLY CRAP is my bedroom LIVE when it doesn’t have any furniture in it. It’s a little tiled cell in which the sound of my breathing echoes like there’s a Balrog stuck in the corner. All I practiced was Spinal Clinic and one of the new ones (These Things Happen). This after watching Robert Downey Jr (can he do a bad acting job? the man is incredible) in this movie.
I am a woman of noisy enthusiasms. Jeff keeps scowling at me; if I laugh at something with my usual vigour (read volume) whichever of the cats is cuddling with him messes off the couch with a disgusted air. And hey, two new-to-me Robot Chicken episodes and the season finale of Atlantis (it being the first Stargate Atlantis I’ve ever seen). I’ve heard his fame well sung, that Rodney guy from Stargate Atlantis…. Now’s the time to queue up some Lady Miss B.
Patricia let me cry on her today. Thank you Patricia. I’m not very aesthetic at the best of times; snivelling over onion rings is an incorrect form. It was a summer storm, I’m not upset anymore. She wants to meet the Luddite. Like Ambrose Bierce, I have my doubts that all my friends should be introduced to each other even if they all rock.
Lady Miss B’s instrument was plucked from its case whilst being inspected by TSA goons, who played it laughing and broke a string. May they receive the blessings of heaven and it not enough to spare them the lashings of hell.