The Good: Upper School report cards are done. Thank [insert appropriate deity].

The Bad: Excessive mousing during report card creation and damp weather have caused a relapse in the shoulder department. Extreme pain is extreme.

The Silly: Me, on muscle relaxers at work. Bound to get sillier. Oh, and this:



I ♥ Stephen Fry. And birds. Dancing birds. *stoned giggles*

Oh, look, it's a whole article's worth of Godwin's.

When I hear the term Kindle I think not of imaginations fired but of crematoria lit. And when I hear the term "hi-tech" I think not of helpful androids efficiently performing household chores or light-speed rockets gliding seamlessly through space but of the fact that between 1933-45, modern technology was used to perform in ever more efficient ways the mass murder of six million of my people.

That's right. Kindle=The Holocaust.

Seriously. I love books. I think it would be a horrible loss if they were pushed to extinction by technology. But this argument not only doesn't work, it's downright creepy.

And to think, just a couple weeks ago I was blithely assuring a friend that my cats NEVER do their business anywhere but their litter box. This. This will teach me.

So I went to the store tonight to return a couple pairs of pants I had ordered that turned out to be too large for me. I didn't examine them before I put them in the car. They had been sitting in their open box (and their individual plastic bags) on the living room floor for a few days.

You already see where this is going, don't you?

Before I go any further, let me acquaint you with the prime suspect:



Sasha, aka Alexander the Great, aka The Parachutist, aka The Bunny Terrorist, aka Mr. Fluffypants, aka The Tail That Roared.

So. I put my box on the counter at the store, and open it. Surprise! There is a strange, unidentified yellow substance on the inside of the box. On the bags. IN the bags.

Lanning (confused): What the hell is that?

Clerk: Do you have a cat?

Lanning (in denial): He's never done this before!

Clerk: I'm pretty sure that's cat pee.

Lanning (mortified, closing box): Yeah. Uh, never mind.

Exit Lanning with her box of pee and pee-enhanced pants.

I know it was Fluffypants. I know it. This isn't Cricket's style; it has Sasha written all over it. He has developed bizarre rituals around his use of the litter box. He has to announce his magnificent contributions to the ecosystem with ritual pawing of multiple surfaces. He looks at me as if expecting praise every time he steps out of the kittyloo. Evidently my "what, you want a medal?" was deemed unsatisfactory in the extreme. He has taken his $70 revenge.

Cats. Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em for parts.

[aka MAH PEE IZ POWAH]

Thank you all so much for the snowflake cookies! You are all awesome. *group hugs* In return, I offer Boy!Kissing Triumphs Over Evil. \0/

see more Epic Fails

Goodbye.

[I, II, III, IV, V...XI? *sigh*]

The mayor of Arlington, Tennessee claims that President Obama deliberately scheduled his Afghanistan speech on Tuesday night in order to preempt a showing of A Charlie Brown Christmas. Mr. Russell Wiseman (really? dayum.) further maintains that this is proof that Mr. Obama is a SEKRIT MUSLIN.

O-kay.

You know, Mr. Wiseman, any plot that can be foiled with a Netflix membership? Is a pretty sorry excuse for a plot. Just saying.

Would someone please tell me what the hell a regarded thespian turned actor is? Has thespian acquired some meaning of which this cranky, aging English speaker is unaware?

I'm drowning in this stuff lately.

Example: concerning. As in oh, yes, self-enucleation rates among LJ-readers have tripled! This trend is very concerning. No. This trend is very understandable alarming, or distressing, or upsetting, or frightening, or shocking, or startling, or any of a dozen other adjectival synonyms. Concerning is a preposition meaning about or with regard to. That it has been encouraged to trespass into the realm of the adjective is alarming, distressing, upsetting, frightening, shocking, startling, etc. Tell it to go home.

Next week in our series of pointless rants: Apostrophes Are Not Always Your Friend, or Won't Someone Please Think of the Contractions?

Harlan Ellison offers to write the sequel to Star Trek.

*appalled silence*

*semi-hysterical laughter*

*shriek of dismay*

Christ Jesus!

Point One: Abrams doesn't need that kind of grief. Ellison is a lunatic. He made Roddenberry's life miserable for decades.

Point Two: Trust Uhura to the man who called one female colleague a n****r and publicly groped another? I don't think so.

Point Three: "City on the Edge of Forever"? Overrated. I'm just saying. ;)

Save us, Great Bird. Save us from Wee!Harlan. *retires muttering*

Complete Farscape re-released? And on sale for $57.99? The last time I checked they were selling used copies of the old release for $400. *puts on list*

eta: Bought it. Before it could disappear for another decade. :)

This made me grin this morning. Via fiction_theory, Corduroy Skirts Are a Sin. Mr. Pesto, you rock. :)