Two hours ago, my backyard looked like this.
Also, this. I assure you it’s under several more inches of fluffy cold stuff by now.
And, yes, that is snow falling so quickly in front of the lens that it appears to be nothing more than streaky flashes. That is, streaking flashes of snowflakes which is not to be confused with streaking flashers of humanity.
You know, because one is soft and clean and pure and the other gets arrested at professional football games.
The fall 2013 television season seemed to start with all kinds of promise for me. A Dracula! An Ichabod Crane! The Marvel Mo-Fo Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. How could I not set my DVR to RECORD ALL, and then sit back and wile away the late evening hours glued to those bright, beautiful 42 inches of LCD-love with a bowl of spicy cheddar pork cracklin’s and a tall glass of beverage?
For a few weeks, that’s exactly how it rolled. Well, minus the questionable pork snacks and poorly-defined beverage. As it turns out, if I’m going to snack on anything these days, the gentleman prefers sea salt kettle-style potato chips (made with a list of ingredients I can both pronounce and possibly procure at the local grocery). And I think we all know what I most commonly select as the beverage of choice within a 5 foot radius. No, it’s not Ovaltine.
Imagine my complete and utter disbelief when I realized yesterday that it’s been an entire week since I posted anything here. Quite frankly, I should be ashamed of myself. I mean, going a full week without so much as a stick figure drawing or a haiku is a level of laziness tantamount to hiding in bed with the covers drawn up over me as if the Boogeyman—no, wait, make that the Evil Lunch Lady—is waiting beneath my bed, ready to steal away my soul or, worse, force-feed me soggy school spinach until the End of Days.
But, honest, I wasn’t that lazy
This is the smallish fish tank that lives at la casa de Puddin. The Puddinette and I tell ourselves it’s for the kids, but to my knowledge, they don’t even know how many fish are in there anymore. You can take a few guesses as to who feeds the tanks inhabitants on a regular basis, as well as who tends to manage things like cleaning the thing when the level of algae growth sends the whole environment to the brink of a biohazard.
I’ve made no attempt to hide that fact that I’m quite the fan of Cincinnati’s (in)famous style of chili. In fact, for a few months back in 2011, I was even compiling research to find the “best” take-out 3-way chili in Puddintopia’s award-winning 3-Way Thursday series. I swear, it was at least as scientific as asking a room full of preschoolers to name their favorite color.
Of course, I understand that not everyone is an enormous fan of Cincinnati chili. As I’ve said before, though, I’m of the opinion that many, many more people would be open-minded about it if we were to call it something besides chili, because t runs amuck of most people’s concept of what chili is supposed to be. The concoction takes a lot of heat (heh heh, heat, get it?) on a comparative basis when really it’s more a spiced (not necessarily spicy) meat sauce than a true chili.
But I digress. The point is not to debate chili today.
Today we’re talking about crackers.
Remember back in the “Good Ol’ Days”, the halcyon, glory-tinged days of yestermonth, when I actually managed to post more than just a short poem and a dredging up of old short fiction? Like, when I wrote posts about topics. Yeah, last month truly was the Golden Age for blogging.
Take comfort, though! Thing are looking up, at least from a blogging perspective. As was kind of expected, I’m going to have to hit the big blue “Pause” button on this year’s NaNoWriMo manuscript, Project Tennyson. Those revisions I figured I’d end up need for Project Macaroni have hit him square in the inbox, so it’s time to roll up my sleeves and start snipping and cutting it into the most beautiful bonsai-shaped novel in the garden.
Or something. Mayhap the bonsai tree metaphor was a bit of a stretch? I’ll let you decide.
A form I’ve not tried,
I sat to pen a sonnet.
Woe! Stick with haiku!
Long ago, way back in the Before Times, in the day when I had yet to finish writing even a single novel (that is, 2011), I used to throw together short pieces of fiction and post them here. It was practice mainly, just something to have a little fun with. So I’d write whatever came to mind and then a week or 10 days later, when the post in question was shoved off the edge of the recent posts page, I’d forget about it.
I’ve never gone back and reread any of them.
But someone mentioned something yesterday that reminded me of this short, which I then reread. Much to surprise, I was very happy with it. It kind of didn’t suck. So, I then reread another one. And that one didn’t suck either. And you know, that was a pretty good pick-me-up for a busy Thursday that took me by complete surprise.
Remember that whole pumpkin thing, where I had to audacity and/or clarity to wonder where we’re getting all the pumpkins that are theoretically becoming our favoritest fall-time pumpkiny treats? Well, as it turns out, it seems someone at the New York Times wondered the same thing. And since they generally have more resources than I do (which is about the same as saying those crazy Real Housewives people have more drama and/or botox than I do) they assigned someone to look into the matter.
Remember last week when I wrote about having a fledgling head cold and what I planned to do about it? Well, you’ll all be happy to know that I did, in fact, implement my three-point plan to defend my soft, squishy, sensitive sinuses from the onslaught of that coming plague. By the Sunday, all traces of it had been eradicated. My head is as clear as my dance card was the last time, I, um, was someplace they actually have dance cards.
Okay, so I’ve never seen an actual dance card, I admit it. The things might as well be leprechauns for all I know. Maybe they have both at mid-day mixers in Florida retirement communities? Who knows.
The point is, my head is clear; the cold never had a chance to take hold and make this entire week miserable.
And that’s pretty cool, if you ask me.