Gotcher Tee Shirts?

This Saturday! I know. The air fairly crackles with excitement.

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In my dream wanderings last night the moon exploded. It was pretty, filling the sky with sparks and explosions like the most gigantic firework ever. When it was all over, chunks of the moon could be seen by day, like pieces of a puzzle not yet put together, waiting for some great celestial hand to come along and start piecing the border.

It filled me with dread.

Why must all my dreams be so DARK?

Last week I dreamt a dream so vivid, so fully pieced together, that I had to write it down. It will turn into a story. HAS to, if you know what I mean. See, a while back I'd started writing a story, not knowing where it would go. It's already far longer than anything else I've ever done on purpose (except for my thesis), but I didn't know what to do with that chunk of tale. I had a good start on an endless journey, and so shelved the idea until the time was right to start working on it again.

And then the dream came along and DING! The alarm went off in my head. The pieces fit perfectly, or at least as perfectly as anything the dark recesses of my mind can make up, and so, for the first time, I'm going to write something purposefully, with care, and for my own pleasure.

Oh yes, it's dark, but nobody dies. Not even if they WANT to.

Heh.

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Anyone else on pins and needles waiting for Obama's announcement of his Veep pick?

I didn't think I was, but I am. I'm also eager to find out who McCain is going to pick. In a regular election cycle, I can't recall the selection of the Vice Presidential nominee fomenting so much interest, but this is all different. This time I really think those people will matter.

How divine.

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Went to Ye Olde Golden Corral last night for dinner, because we're klassy like that.

The Things believe that the GC is one of the best places ever invented, and on Tuesday nights I'm not about to argue, because they eat for 99 cents once I pay for MY meal. At one point I'd said that every Tuesday could be GC night, but that's not really come to pass, because sometimes I'm so lazy I can't be bothered to go OUT to eat.

I challenge you to be lazier than that.

I also challenge you to define the clientele at the Golden Corral with anything resembling a stereotype. Last night there was an older single man, a older couple, a Dad with a hand bandaged up to the size of a boxing glove (?) and his two kids, a mom with her two, and that was just in our immediate area. There were people all OVER, and folks coming in at 9 p.m. with their toddler-kin chilluns, which surprised me, because aren't little kids supposed to be in bed by about 7:30?

The only people I don't routinely see at the Golden Corral (all twice I've been there) are Asian people. What do they know that we don't?

And do you tip at the Golden Corral? I do. Those people carting off half-eaten food (my God, the waste), refilling the soda glasses of the slobbering hordes, and sweeping the floor with those electric brooms deserve a little something for their efforts. I wouldn't want their job, yet they all seem pleasant and do their work with efficiency and a smile.

Perhaps they're all on drugs. That would be a nice benny.

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Hey y'all, that's my time here. Have a great day, and if you can't make it great, at least make it to cocktail hour. That's my plan, anyhow.

Tiff out.