Blog break-- temporarily OFF
I did some light lurking, and continued to attend Blogiversity (taught by those nice people listed in the sidebar as Not So Secret Agents). I averaged about 1000 new words per day. Don't really wanna talk about it. Taught half a riding lesson. Things are ticking along.
But, it's Friday, and we all know why we're here, don't we? Let's just stop playing these little games. Look what I found when surfing around to get my mind off of aimless plots, stilted dialogue and boring characters....
Yes. Yes, that is a CARHARTT COAT he is wearing. Yes. Oh happiness. Corduroy collar! Blanket lining! Metal zipper! Bedhead! Johnny Depp wearing an olive green Carhartt coat! Yes!
When he's done that cig-rette he can come out to the barn!!!!
I love this- you can see the whole "I'm really concentrating on listening in order to give you a witty answer, and thanks for giving me an ashtray, yes thank you, and when I'm done with this interview I'll be heading home for a nap."
I don't like cig-rettes. I think the roll your owns are actually better for you. Those filtered ones are like, made out of tobacco and formaldehyde and jet fuel or some crap like that. At least tobacco is a plant. But still. Don't like the smoking. That doesn't change my affection for the person the smoke comes out of though. One of my grandpas smoked hand rolled cigs for most of my childhood. Grandma planted geraniums in the empty Daily Mail cans, lined up on the windowsill behind the couch to catch the sunlight. Grandpa sat in his corner, his plastic legs on the floor in front of him, and from the beautiful chrome ashtray stand, the curls of smoke rose into the air. I watched the shapes the smoke made, those fascinating pinstripe swirls, while my Grandpa watched Wonder Woman. He left the Amish Mennonite church because he wanted to have a radio. He was a quiet dry-humoured Mennonite in suspenders and a brown fedora, who rode his "motoscooter" down to the post office everyday. We kids used to do stunts with his wheelchair. He quit smoking, after 50 years, in his late sixties, right around the time he had to learn to walk again on those new legs. Stubborn, perfectionist stubborn man. He cleaned and oiled all of his garden implements before he hung them up in the little barn in the backyard of their house in town.
Huh. Where did that come from. Roll your owns. Daily Mail.
Thank you, Johnny... That was nice. Thanks.
Blog break--back ON.