Scary Clown makes a fish for me

This is kinda what happens when Scary Clown falls asleep and dreams of Nemo. Either that or in honour of International Women’s Day he’s telling me I smell like a fish. You never know with that guy.

photo credit Dalai Jarmo, and don’t blame him for the image quality, it’s from a cell phone cam…

Rainy day, sunny heart

It’s entirely crappy outside, but for some reason I feel way better about the world today.  Keith seems almost entirely healed up from his wisdom removal (he isn’t, but the swelling is way down) and he is hardly using any painkillers.  He is steadfastly opposed to the unnececessary use of any drugs, prescription or not.  Katie is cheerful about the world too.  She’s decided not to get too upset about anything.  Of course I could go on at great length about THAT.

One of my regular readers complained recently that I’m not WRITING ENOUGH.

 

Honestly, I didn’t know how to respond.  With some effort, I said, “Well, I was kinda trying to take Thumper’s Mom’s advice, If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin at all. But how ‘me’ is that?  Perhaps I should be locking and loading, rocking and rolling, twitching and foaming, as per usual.  But is this wise?  Should I not be aspiring to Buddha like calm and a world view which encompasses monts et merveilles without losing any cool?

Speaking of cool, I’m off to see Cory Doctorow at SFU on Friday.  I got the afternoon off.  I’m going to go and get a beer, and then go to the washroom, and then line up, and then call Rob of Nine (typed Nice, which is hilarious, because Rob of Nine is many things but ‘nice’ is not in the top ten soubriquets which I would apply to him) to come up the hill and join me.

Air Canada is full of devastated employees today.  The North Hangar is going to get entirely cleaned out.

Well, it’s time to suck back coffee and head for the salt mines.  More later.