Saturday, January 14, 2006

My Life As An Opera?

Let's see... William is watching Phantom of the Opera. Max is alternating between the movie and magnetic darts. Alex is writing code for a game editor. Maria is looking for more to explore. Geoff is working at restoring an old laptop. I am avoiding any number of chores and responsibilities; I am doing a very good job, thank you. We all seem to have found new colds, but I am determined that these will be minor illnesses that will amount to nothing but waste baskets full of Kleenex. And I am updating Chickenblog.

While I was brushing Maria's hair, separating strands from banana, I imagined that I had many new thoughts to share, insights, wit and poetry. Alas. I've already bored everyone with my lavish descriptions of our Katamari fun; there was only one taker, and I think it may have been more out of concern than interest. I've already discussed chapter 42 of "We're Moving, We Know Not Where," a true story of drama in the suburbs; also boring. That leaves the weather and plans for Geoff's birthday: It's raining, rather pitifully. Geoff won't accept the utter bliss of having a surprise 40th birthday party thrown in his honor, so...

The Phantom of the Opera. I think that with counseling, some cosmetic surgery and maybe some antidepressants, the Phantom could have saved himself and the object of his obsession a lot of heartache and strain. Of course we then would have missed all those catchy, romantic tunes. Andrew Lloyd Weber can write music.

I can't post pictures from this computer. I can't think of anything to write about, and so: Good night.

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