Speaking of classy, in addition to Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, I've been reading from Joyce's Dubliners, which because of its short stories is my designated bathroom book. Do you find that revolting, reading in the bathroom? Well, if you do, the fact that I'm reading literature with a capital L in there should make things decidedly less gross. Or so I assume. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that, despite my uncouth bearing, I'm what you would call wicked cultured. I wouldn't call me that, however -- I'd be sure to use the word renaissance at least once in the description. It wouldn't be a stretch to throw the word regal into the equation, but I may pushing it with that one.
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Baby Boy Z became Baby Boy Flea this week. Yes, the poor boy found himself the victim of the little devils and the other night, after a little cuddling with him, my legs became itchy. Upon close inspection, I saw that there was at least one flea picking on me. I abhor bullies, especially the near-microscopic ones.
Janelle took quick action and sprayed the fuck out of the house the following day. She even washed (someday I want only to say worshed, like the hillbillies do) each of our pillows and blankets. And she vacuumed each of our bedroom floors. It smells like a Snuggle theme park upstairs, I tell you. So, kudos to Janelle for taking swift action, and zero kudos to Baby Boy Z for taking no action. Seriously, though, he's still my BFF and, though I hate to admit it, I think I may have been the one who gave him the fleas in the first place. Don't tell Janelle.
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My TV viewing is so limited these days that I missed the Kanye West incident at the MTV Video Awards. Not when it happened, anyway. I did watch a clip of it a day or two later. First of all, it was my understanding that MTV doesn't show videos anymore, so why the awards show? And, allowing that they do, if Beyonce, according to Kanye, had the best video of all time, then I'm glad I'm not watching that station anymore. And who is this Taylor Swift? Ah, I'm losing touch with the youth. Thank God. Ok, why am I writing about this ridiculous incident? And why has it been so newsworthy? I have my ideas, but I don't care to get into them; I'm getting a headache from this.
Was not prepared for the harrowing ordeal I witnessed last night on Six Feet Under. David getting beaten, forced to smoke crack, almost murdered several times....what a nightmare. I felt greasy in the way I would if I had just watched a beheading video. It was heavy, I tell you. I put in a DVD of The Office: Season Five and watched some deleted scenes to restore my equilibrium.
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If you pieced together my interactions with Rich over the last five weeks, you'd get about two minutes of conversation. Maybe. He's gone underground, that one. He should be a squirrel or some other skittish forest creature in his next life. He's there in every way except physically. It would be an easy transition. Though I haven't interacted much with him, I know he's been miserable. I've heard him mumbling and grumbling about who-knows-what and he's been slamming doors and banging on walls occasionally. Other than that, though, it's as if it's just Janelle and me and Baby Boy Z (good name for a TV show, that).
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Got to watch the fourth, and best, quarter of the Pats game the other night. My interest level is at about 30 % when it comes to football, but I'm glad I tuned in. It was a fantastic comeback. Who knows, maybe I'll watch a game or two this season.
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Ok, I'm off to record some music, practice some vocals, do some reading, the usual. Ciao!
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