Yes, it's brain lint time again. That time when rug burns sing, knitting goes feral and pigs get tongue-baths from winsome tots.†
Have you ever seen one of those French slice-of-life movies? Personally, I find them boring and awful, but I've seen one so I have some basis for comparison here. This first bit is basically my own little slice-of-life. It has no purpose beyond the "Huh."
When I was cosied up in my comfy chair Monday afternoon, I heard sirens from the north. They came closer and closer and a big, white fire truck pulled up right in front of my house.‡
The driver (wearing an official-looking navy blue uniform with a badge) and a fireman (wearing the giant fire coat and fire boots and placing his fire hat on his head as he hit the ground) hopped out. The fireman grabbed an axe and they both turned toward my house.
They looked up the long flight of stairs to the front door.§ They took two steps left and looked up my neighbour's stairs. They circled around opposite sides of the truck and disappeared, presumably to look at the across-the-street neighbour's door.
They came back around to my side. The fireman put the axe back in the hold of the truck and they both hopped back in.
Then they hopped out, grabbed the axe, milled¶ for a few minutes, jumped in the truck and drove off.
The movie people were back across the street from the office yesterday. Now they're gone again. I imagine it would be a royal pain in the ass to put up tents, take down tents, up with port-a-potties, down with port-a-potties every single day.
George Karl, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson will be filming next week.
I think George Karl is going to be surprisingly good with his seven words onscreen. I seen him on the news last night and I think he's got that certain something.
[SUMMARY: Uh... really?]
Um... Brother? You won't appreciate this. I'm going to give you this 37 seconds of your life as a gift. Just skip to the next one.
I leave for New York a week from today. I think it's about time I think about my shopping list for Rhinebeck# and travel knitting.
Yorick will be done. Sparkle Socks will be done, or nearly. I'll certainly take the Massive Debt Father's day Arrrgyles for Brother and I may start a pair of Rainbow Socks out of a nice ball of Austermann Step with Aloe and Jojoba I've been hoarding.
It would probably help if I had a better Christmas plan. Both with what I should be knitting in the tens of FAA-supported hours I'll be experiencing next week and with what I should (and shouldn't) buy at Rhinebeck.
[SUMMARY: Are we going to do this every week, AntiM?]
Oh, wait! Not this one either. Try the next exit.
Speaking of Rhinebeck... I'm going to be a bingo square in Stitchy McYarnpants's Rhinebeck Bingo.
It's not some big, unforeseen honour or anything. I volunteered.†† But, y'know... didn't get rejected.
I just thought y'all should know, just in case it makes you happy.
[SUMMARY: Attention whore.]
OK. You can tune back in now. It's football.
Just in case y'all were sitting there wondering, "Man, I haven't heard anything about Marin's fantasy football world lately. I wonder how she's doing."
I am at the top of both of my Pick 'Em leagues (one boys, one girls). Even after picking the Broncos in both leagues last week and even picking them against the Colts in one league two weeks ago.
I am firmly planted in the middle of my fantasy league, a stunningly mediocre 3-2 record and a supa-hot one-game winning streak to my name. Or the name of BOB, as it goes. Brother -- because I know you're dying to know -- has crept out of the sub-basement and is in second-to-last place with a far inferior 2-3 record.
And, while our feisty Canadian friend remains a few points ahead of me in the overall standings in the Onion Shattered Fantasies League, I whipped her sassy Canadian ass this week and am roaring toward a comeback.
[SUMMARY: I don't suck at sucking as much as you thought.]
DayQuil isn't supposed to make you dopey, is it?
You don't suppose it's just me, do you?
[SUMMARY: Getting warmer.]
I miss my Fling. I think I even miss the Male Lady just a little. Mostly I miss being able to breathe. I'm pretty sure a lack of snot-free oxygen to the brain is causing these blogblahs.
Please have a lovely Wednesday. For all our sakes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My father, for the record, says the kid in the pig-licking photo reminds him oh, so much of me. I was afraid to ask if it's just the blond curls or if it's the insouciant tongue action.
Hey! Stop that! My father is NOT thinking that kind of tongue action!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suddenly became very aware of my insurance.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For a moment, I honestly wondered if my house was on fire and they were seriously contemplating letting it burn so they wouldn't have to climb the stairs.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two people can mill. I've seen it with my own two eyes. Which... don't mill. Even though there's two. Like the story about the people. Please make me stop.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because pretty yarn out of context is a dangerous thing for the pocketbook and the stash. There are so many (whisper) useless hunks of fibre in my stash because I bought a ball or a skein in magpie mode and don't have enough to do anything compelling with it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With my hand waving madly in the air, shrieking, "Oo! Oo! Pick me! Pick me!"