Cars and computers fall into the category of “Things I find necessary but don’t enjoy”. I have no desire to understand the nuances of their functioning, I just want them to work when I turn them on. Today however I decided to figure out how to get my blogroll and tagline to show up…I cheated a little on the tagline and for some reason my links only show up if I catagorize them as “life” but I’m counting this as a technological victory all the same.
I’ve been keeping odd hours and living on party food for the last two weeks and it’s a greyrainyday and I got chilled walking home from Amy’s this afternoon so staying home from church and curling up with a book seems prudent. Responsible even.
Last night Kara and I went to the Magic Stick to hear Budos Band and Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. For the second time this month I walked into a show with no idea of what to expect and I walked away wondering why these amazing musicians aren’t famous. If you’re going to take a listen (don’t miss “How long do I have to wait” SJATDK) be prepared to dance…you won’t be able to resist…nor should you.
Finished Thank You, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse this morning. His stories poke fun at the moneyed British enjoying their last golden days before the Second World War. Hilarious, and even better read aloud. Jeeves is the indispensible valet (yes, I want to name my future dog this…though Rebecca thinks it ridiculous, and yes, the Ask Jeeves website takes their name from him as well) who manages Bertie Wooster and all his mishaps. And now an exerpt:
“The knocking, which had cased off for a moment, started again with more follow through than ever.
“Well, I suppose you had better go down,”said the girl in a subdued sort of voice. “Or,” – she seemed to brighten- “shall we pour water on him from the staircase window?”
I started violently. She had made the suggestion as if she considered it one of her best and brightest, and I suddenly realized what it meant to play the host to a girl of her temperament and personality. All that I had ever read about the reckless younger generation seemed to come back to me.
“Don’t dream of it!” I whispered urgently. “Dismiss the project utterly and absolutely from your mind.”
I mean to say, a dry J. Washburn Stoker seeking an errant daughter was bad enough. A J. Washburn Stoker stimulated to additional acerbity by a jugful of H2O on his head, I declined to contemplate.”