Must remember to make some.

…and thus continues my hate/hate relationship with NaBloPoMo.

Saw the Mel Brown trio tonight, and, as always, enjoyed it…especially Mel Brown. What a fine jazz drummer.

For me, here’s how the cliché played out today:

• Lost track of where I was on the whole knit a row, purl a row thing. This adds the effect of yet another “stripe” on my knitting project. Thank goodness it’s not really anything, just stitches.
• Discovered that the housekeeper had left a broom outside my bedroom when she was here this afternoon. For some reason, the stray broom in my way bothered me even more than the fact that we pay someone more than I earn an hour to come and kinda-but-not-really clean the house.
• Reviewed some online dating profiles with Dr. A over dinner. The pickings were so truly awful that we actually started closing our accounts.
• Had nothing to eat all day until I went to dinner, thanks to a project with something of a deadline today.
• And the rest of the day, that part where I get up, putter, head out to work, and arrive at my cube? It’s all a blur, gone.

So, what I suppose I should say is that I had a meaningless and pointless day in which the only things that prodded me into “being” were failures or annoyances. At this very moment, for me, that’s what “one of those days” means.

There. Another NaBloPoMo entry. I should rent the site to a spam bot for the rest of November so it can post for me. I can only imagine the frank discussions of c1alis and enlargements that would happen…

Instead, I am knitting! Knitting worthless and yet interesting crap! That and drinking wine and figuring out that any man that seems too good to be true is exactly that.

It would be nice, though, to have a day that had no internet. Thanksgiving will be awesome. Food, friends, family, and no internet except for whatever it takes to post somethingfor NaBloPoMo.

It was a wonderful first date; if he is who he seems to be, I imagine there will be more, which means, hurray–more titillating material for NaBloPoMo!

However, that was not the case. Instead, the article explores the lack of access to groceries that is a problem not just in Portland’s lowest-income areas but pretty much anywhere there are large concentrations of people living in poverty.  Paige Parker of the Oregonian is the author; I don’t know that I’ve ever said this before to anyone at the O, but great job! Very nicely done.

I hadn’t realized that there were no four star women in the US military. Fan of the military or not, it’s cool to see a woman break through that particular glass ceiling.

At this moment, I am watching CSI in another window, rehashing a conversation with Ali, one of those online dating contacts who seems hot over chat, as I imagine I did to him, and drinking water. Thrilling, I know.

I had dinner with one of my best friends, and the majority of the time was devoted to a univeral theory of bacon.

That, in my book, is a good day.

It’s not that clear cut anymore. I just had a brief talk in with my fellow brainiac housemate in which we agreed that “gross humor” was a thing to be desired in any TV series we would consider following. Beyond the Freudian goodness there is to explore when you mention “gross humor,” I think it’s maybe less stigmatized now.

Or it could be that there’s an assumption that it’s education that should sensitize us to additional layers of potential humor. If that’s true, then education would be the new class when it came to comedy.

But I don’t really think it is. And here’s why. There was this guy whom I dated. He was wealthy, in an annoying never-had-a-job-or-done-anything-worthwhile sort of way. He was a Reedie. And his only mode of humor was the pun. The pun! The only laughs he ever got from me were the incredulous type. He failed to get the witty, the bawdy, the ironic, the sarcastic, the satirical, the parodic, the ludicrous, the silly, the anything but the pun.

I’m nearing the end of my erronious and unsubstantiated claims, have no fear.

Since this white boy had all the benefits of wealth and education, and a lifetime of leisure in which to enjoy them, I can only conclude that humor is related to mental aptitude, not to financial fortitude or expensive educations that daddy paid for. Anyone who would devote an iota of energy to the propagation of puns clearly isn’t all that apt.

So, I propose a hierarchy of humor, one in which the pun exists on the bottom, in the comedic ghetto, and all other forms of comedy flit around the top, with wry sarcasm reigning ever supreme. Those who flay us with puns shall be the eternal and essential Other.

And word to your mother, punsters…you will never have a Bakhtin-esque champion.

Quite simply, I kept a book that their website no longer listed as overdue after I attempted to renew it.

Like a traffic ticket, it’s kind of an involuntary donation. Not that I’ve ever had any of the former, knock on blog.

But who’s to say that keep Borges for longer than the waiting list allowed was not my own way of supporting the library? And if it was, a write-off would be lovely.