First Swaptree endeavor is a success — I’ve managed to get rid of an unnamed DVD (it was a gift. Not from anybody who reads this, if anybody reads this, but a gift all the same, so I’m not going to saw what it was) and acquire Marathon Man. I’ve realized lately that William Goldman is kind of old, and he’s not going to live forever, and when he’s gone, I might not be okay. That’s how big an impact this man has had on my life, despite our only almost-interaction being a piece of scratch paper reading “Sorry, I do not own a bookplate, this will have to do. William Goldman.” Someday I will frame that and hang it in my library, an awkward ode to my literary hero.
I can’t believe I’m on the computer after work. I’m usually buggy-eyed by the time 4:30 rolls around — despite all beliefs to the contrary, I do work in an office and not in the middle of the woods (most days) — and yet, here I am, typing away to the sounds of Mandy Moore. I’m proud to say my new Mandy CD has survived what I’m now thinking of as the Ultimate Test: Genosse doesn’t hate it. She expresses this non-hatred by making no noise, which, when you live with a squawky parrot, is bliss. Whenever the radio lands on rap music, however, she goes bonkers, ringing bells, throwing seeds, running her beak back and forth against the bars of her cage like a prisoner (crazy unnerving), and squawking. This is also her reaction to at least two songs from “High School Musical 2,” and me singing anything (she especially hates when I do my mental themesong for her, which for no reason is “Gah! No! Sah! Gah! No! Sah! She take all my money and RUN! Venezuela!”). She’s got an ear for bad music, my feathered landlord.
Earlier today I actually said to my mother, “So, how about all this weather we’ve been having, then?” Say that five times fast without slipping into a Minnesotan accent. It’s just that when you don’t have much going on in your life but editing newsletters, e-bartering, and pretending to be a bird’s nest, you run out of things to say when your mom says, “What’s new?” There are only so many bird anecdotes I can tell before I actually morph into that crazy old pigeon lady in Home Alone 2, covered with bird scat and scaring Kevin McAllisters everywhere (is this a bad time to mention that today the bird stood on my boobs and tried to bite my nose?). So after a few moments of cricket-chirping silence, I have to turn to the weather. I live in a flat place, where things aren’t flooding, so all the rain really means for me is a reprieve from one of my other non-interesting activities, Slowly Killing All The Plants. I just figure if it rains, I don’t have to water anything outside (which turned out to be a fatal error for the geranium on the covered porch). Now I’m thinking I probably should have moved things inside rather than let them flood in their pots outside, but the indoor plants (and there are, at last count, seven thousand) aren’t really doing so hot either. At least this way I can blame the rain, or maybe pay some neighborhood kids to steal them. The indoor plants are a different story all–
oh hell, I’m boring myself.