Random Observations For Friday April 27, 2007

I'm going to try to make myself useful by entertaining you all. Because God only knows I'm not doing a whole hell of a lot else right now.

Work with me here, people.

So, without further ado some bits and bobs for your amusement and edification...

• Longtime devoted Cake Eater readers will know that we take the Financial Times as our daily dead tree paper. This past Monday they redid the layout of the paper and it's been somewhat interesting this week to read it. I keep thinking my reading speed must have increased tremendously because I'm getting to the opinion section sooner, only to be reminded that, duh, they just moved it up a few pages. Apparently, I'm not the only one who's having issues with the new layout. One Mr. R.A. Parsons, Tempsford, Beds sent a most eloquent letter regarding the new, er, positioning of columnist Lucy Kellaway's regular Monday missive about work life.

  And I quote:

  "Sir, I preferred Lucy Kellaway horizontal."

• Just for the record, I still haven't puked. Yet.
• How sweet would it be to own this ride?
• I've decided that chemotherapy is this guy. He's doing his damndest to break me down, so that, ultimately, he can build me back up again, but damn, I really wish he'd lighten up a bit. Right about now, I'm feeling a wee bit like Mario Van Peebles after Gunny ripped out his earring. I do know, however, that it would be a mistake to call in Swede to try and stop him. Gunny would simply kick Swede in the nuts and that would be that. Waste of time, really.

  Now, I simply have to decide whether or not I like the mental image of millions of little Clint Eastwood heads running around my body, killing cells left and right, whilst muttering the words, "Boo Ya" in that gravelly voice of his.

  What say you, my devoted Cake Eater readers? Do you think Gunnery Sgt. Tom 'Gunny' Highway should be the official image of my chemotherapy?

  If not, who should be? We could have a contest or something.

• Though it slays me to give the tubby bastard anything, I fail to see where Alec Baldwin should have to apologize for chastising his daughter. Furthermore, this maxima mea culpa business is getting old. Kids can be cruel. No, parents shouldn't take out their frustrations on their children, particularly not when the source of said frustration is their other parent, but one can and should call a kid on it when they've stepped out of line. It does no one any favors to let them get away with it. I almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.
• They warn you that chemo will cause your skin to be uber-sensitive to the sun, and they tell you to rush right out and buy a bottle of 45 sunblock to protect yourself. I realized they weren't kidding when I got sunburned last Friday, right after the chemo, in about fifteen minutes. No matter how pale I get (and believe me, I can get pretty darn pale) that doesn't happen. So, I've been slathering the sunscreen on all week long and whaddya know, just from doing my usual errands, I'm getting a pretty bitchin' tan.

  You see, it's about making the side effects work for you.

  Not like I'd really know, though. This is the only one that's worked in my favor.

• Luna Bars have the official Cake Eater Seal of Approval.

  Particularly the Dulce de Leche bars. Mmmmmmcaramelmmmmm.

• Spelling pet peeve that I'm seeing everywhere nowadays: it's capitol when you're referring to where the seat of government is located and it's capital when you're referring to start-up money, accumulated wealth, letters, an important principle or a crime that's punishable by death.

  Seriously, people. How hard is it to get this one right? All you need is to remember the opening credits of the now-defunct soap Capitol to spell this word correctly.

  And don't give me that disdainful look. You know you watched it.

  Honestly, if soap opera writers can spell it correctly, you can too!

• Right at this bleedin' moment, there is a pair of ducks in my yard, looking for a space to do their dirty deeds dirt cheap. I will repeat this for the third year running: The Cake Eater Pad's yard is not a duckie brothel! Move it along, already! Go to my neighbor's yard: she's a former hippie and no doubt she'd be cool with it. Take your duckie licentiousness elsewhere.

Ok, that should do it for now, my devoted Cake Eater readers. I'll check back in when I have the need to feel productive again.

Posted by Kathy at April 27, 2007 02:53 PM | TrackBack