I dragged my carcass out bed at the crack of 8:30. I say crack of 8:30 because this post-puppy week has been a constant struggle to sleep. I am the master of sleep routine. If you had my history of insomnia, you’d keep to that routine religiously too. Those two nights of puppy-caused sleep disruptions wrecked me and now my sleep patterns are in all kinds of disarray. I guess the sleep nonsense comes at a fortuitous time because I need to do some rearranging anyway. Tibble Summer starts in a week or so and that involves getting up at the ungodly, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me hour of 6:30 a.m.
Anyway, I got out of bed in the hopes of catching some “Meet the Press” since I missed it last week. Alas! There was no “Meet the Press” to watch instead NBC was showing the Monte Carlo Grand Prix. I don’t think there’s any combination of words and/or keys I can press on this keyboard to adequately express my combination of incredulousness and disappointment.
All’s good though, I guess I’ll use this time to watch a few of the new episodes of “Arrested Development.”
I made it through two episodes of “Arrested Development” before my mind wandered. The first one was very Michael-Cera heavy so that made me happy.
I spent the next four hours working. This makes me sound all crazy work-a-holic, but it’s just that I’m super busy right now. I’m okay with that, because I like paying my mortgage and buying food. Plus, the project I worked on today is the combination of super-fun + super-tight deadline. Also, I figure if I worked today when it’s all cold and rainy and shitty out, that’s one day I won’t have to work if the sun ever shines again.
I spent part of the time while working listening to Stephen King’s 11/22/63 which is very nearly killing me. King’s foreshadowing has the subtlety of a tornado siren. Also, his characters aren’t believable as actual human beings. And worst of all his main female character is “curvy” at 6-feet, 150 pounds, a size that made the main male character make a crack about how heavy she was.
I’m not even going to get into the redundancy of the writing, the boring crap, and the ridiculous meet cute between male & female protagonists. Barf.
After work, I had to make some monster cookies for family dinner. They are, of course, delicious. I’ve eaten four of them so far. I’m hoping to resist the urge for more cookies until tomorrow. Cookies is the traditional breakfast of Memorial Day, right?
Then it was time for Family Dinner (pork chops & roasted potatoes). It was a lean crew tonight, just Sister #2, Benjamima, Maxwell, and I. Everyone else was out doing stuff, I guess. We discussed the wonder of “Friday Night Lights” (Sister #2 has embarked on another run-through of it), we planned Ben’s graduation party (he got his master’s degree on Saturday), and desserts.
We kept posing questions like this: “If someone offered you a dessert and didn’t tell you what kind it was, which would you choose: cookie, cupcake, or ice cream.”
There was a lot of time spent debating the merits of each choice, and also the pitfalls — “what if you get one of those Play-Doh-tasting chocolate chip cookies” or “what if you get some kind of lemon cupcake with lemon frosting filled with lemon spooj?”
I chose ice cream, because ice cream is the best of all possible desserts. I mean, even if you get some sort of fruit-spooj-y ice cream, it’s still edible.
Now I am home and contemplating an early bed time so that I can start that 6:30 in the a.m. bullshit tomorrow.
How boring were you today?
The “It’s (Insert Day of Week) and I’m Boring” is a series that Christa and I do to pay homage to the beauty of old-school blogging. (I totally copied this nice explanation from Christa).
I worked yesterday and today. After picking the proverbial low cotton Sunday, I replaced the front brakes on the car.
11/22/63 is not King’s best effort. Still it held my attention. I enjoyed DUMA KEY as his recent most favorite. THE DEAD ZONE still stands as number one. Ever since he sobered up and put away the nose candy, King’s material doesn’t have the edge it once held.
Do you think writers, musicians or any other artist, for that matter, has diminished impact he/she puts down the pipe, bottle or whatever?
This is only my third(ish) King book. I read Pet Cemetary when I was like 15 and I read On Writing in my late twenties. I also know that I read the story/novella “The Mist.” Other than that I can’t really compare this to his other work. My main problem is that this one is so redundant. I get what he’s doing with the harmonizing of past and all that, but it doesn’t make it interesting or fun to read.
I don’t know if the diminishing of impact has to do with the lack of chemical influencers or that by the time some people clean up they’re just out of interesting stories to tell/sing about, what have you. I know authors, who as far as I know don’t suffer from addiction, whose later work can’t hold a candle to their early work. (Think John Irving, Toni Morrison)