Is It Friday Already?

Just for the record:

1
Never once in the eighteen-some months I’ve been here have I felt comfortable posting in the same week as any of these people. It’s very much like being the weird cousin at the family reunion. You know who I mean: the girl who wears green knee socks and a blue skort and has to remove her retainer (publicly) before giving an oboe rendition (badly) of “Come, Come Ye Saints” for (excruciatingly painful) talent night. You know what? Let’s not talk about it. I need to not even think about it in order to get through the rest of the day!

2
I’ve never run for anything in my whole life. True fact. Well, I guess I “ran” for PTA president once, but mine was the only name on the ballot. (Does that count?) I can’t remember ever competing for anything, either. In fact, I’m not even fun to play games with. I lack whatever gene it is that makes an otherwise sane person fight to the death for Marvin Gardens. Don’t vote for me. (Not that you would have anyway.)

3
I’d worry about myself (more than I do already, I mean) except that in comparison with some people I come across on the Internet I’m doing just fine, thank you very much. Just this morning I read about:

Mark Malkoff, a film maker and sometime comedian on The Colbert Report who moved into an IKEA while his apartment was being fumigated. He chose a living room, office, and bedroom that worked for him and made himself at home. He didn’t mind the commute from floor to floor, but was dismayed to discover that they turn off all the lights at midnight and that the televisions and laptops are all fake. I’m considering moving myself. There are no downsides for me. I’m always asleep before midnight, I don’t watch much TV, and having a cardboard computer would go a long way toward helping out with my aforementioned blogging problem.

Chidi Ogbuta, a new bride in Texas, felt bad that she was leaving her childhood behind with a dream left unfulfilled: she’d always wanted a life-sized doll that looked just like her. Her doting father’s solution was to get her a life-sized wedding cake. There’s a picture here of the groom plunging a knife into her thigh. Better than her heart, I guess. The headline reads: You may now eat the bride. Excuse me but . . . yuck.

I did read about one thing creeper than that bride cake: a growing industry of fake babies called “Re-Borns.” I have no idea why they chose that name but it gives me pause. Maybe I’ve been overly influenced by the New Year Twilight Zone marathon, but aren’t re-born people almost always a bad thing? (Not speaking evangelically, of course.) Anyway, according to the site I perused, these dolls “cry, squirm and are the objects of intense affection by their ‘mothers.’ Loved like real babies, they’re taken for walks, bathed, and even have their diapers changed.” Not surprisingly, they cost almost as much as real babies too. Now I want a grandchild as much as the next woman, but if one of my kids ever shows up with one of those things I’m locking the door and calling the local “guidance center.”

There’s more – much more, to my dismay – but I have two edits, a pronunciation guide for audio, eight Cub Scouts, a daughter going away to college tomorrow, and a waist-high stack of Whitney nominees awaiting my attention today.

I know! Let’s have another contest! (You people are bored, right?) Tell you what, you all find something stranger than what I came up with this morning and post it in the comments section. If I think it is as good or better than mine, I’ll mail you an authentic Frog pen/bookmark/ruler thingie. (Only The Frog could come up with a gadget this cool!) Don’t worry, I’m relatively easy to impress.

It’s impressing I’m not good at. (See above.)