Backscatter

1973-Triumph-TR6-Roadster-4

I am of two or three minds today (PoptArt, Shiloh and Lexi to be specific).  This will be whatever pops significantly to mind for the next two or three hours, that I bother to write down.

  • I. Am. Your singing telegram!
  • I have a good friend who, after many years of financial hardship, was finally able to get Medicare set up (with all the assorted hoops to jump through) and was able to go to the doctor for a checkup for the first time in who knows how long, only to be told that she has cancer.  WHAT THE FUCK, WORLD?
  • There have been times when a fizzy peach soda has served as the dividing line between, “Kill everybody, then yourself,” and “okay, let’s take another crack at this problem, I can solve it.”
  • Lyrics from “Sockable Face Club” by the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies make a terrible password, because they don’t type easily.  Also, the song’s amusing at first but then turns out to be about beating up a guy in a club bathroom because he was looking at the singer’s junk, which to the hypersensitive part of my brain comes off as a wee bit homophobic and makes it easy to take the song way too seriously and wreck the cartoonish tone of the thing.  Random fictional fistfight in a dirty bathroom = funny.  Random fictional hate crime = not so much. *sigh*
  • Progress on Holly’s story last night was minimal, limited to thoughts and trying to sew up a minor plot hole. The stitches were bigger than I wanted, so the matter has been tabled for now.