LIKE I NEED ANOTHER WAY TO WASTE TIME

Nurse Giggleswitch called tonight and we talked about her bike ride for MS and then she had me talk to Lord Bumhampton, who is too shy to ask for donations--for when he is doing a bike ride for MS. And since he is so shy he couldn't bring himself to ask me to donate so he changed the subject and had me go to Google Maps and gave me a tutorial.


I looked at Paris and am now looking at Hong Kong Island. I have no idea if Hong Kong Island is the same as plain old Hong Kong but did you know there is a Happy Valley on Hong Kong Island? Amazing. We have a Happy Valley right here in Utah. Of course, our Happy Valley isn't official, it is sort of a tongue in cheek title.

Lord Bumhampton and I both looked at New York City and we honed in on a parking garage and he got all steamed because cars were blocking other cars. Then we decided it must valet parking and he calmed down. I zoomed out and then back in on a random street and could read the names of businesses and even look at the garbage, waiting at the curb for collection. Of course i couldn't stop and go through the garbage, looking for treasures, but it's an interesting concept, how much will we be able to see in twenty years? Will we be able to see inside the garbage sacks? Will we be able to see the heat that humans and animals and sewers produce?

So, tonight, I have found another way to totally waste a bunch of time, of which I don't have any to waste because I am so busy doing important things, like planting more and more and yet more basil because my first batch died and everyone knows basil is the herb of the gods--and of us peasants too.



I also have to blog. Phil says I don't have to blog every night. He says I could blog once a week. Which just goes to show you that sometimes a man and woman, who have been married since forever, and know each other pretty well--have had kids together and shared things--like the flu and antihistamines--sometimes they just don't know the other person well enough to know that she does have to blog, even if she has a concussion or her leg has a bone sticking out of the skin and blood vessels are in danger of spilling over--well, not that any of those things are true, you understand, but, well, I have to blog. I don't know why.

And I love run-on sentences.

Lord Bumhampton says I should post pictures on my blog--well, ONE picture and no words, or at the most, very few words, so here is a picture for Lord Bumhampton and very few words. Well, here are some pictures for Lord Bumhampton with some words.

You can see New York City on Google Maps.

And Paris France, but you can not see Paris France from a window. Only from a satellite or a car. I think that would be a fun job, driving around all day with ten cameras on the roof of your car, especially if you could drive around Paris, France. Catherine can drive around Paris all she wants. Lucky Catherine. She doesn't even have to have ten cameras on top of her car because she LIVES THERE! I am not jealous. Not much. Okay, I am jealous but I'm in therapy for it.

This gives you a clue about my romance with Italy, thinking I would like to own an olive grove and make lovely olive oil to go with my basil, of which I have much. This does not have anything to do with the theme of this blog, which is nebulous anyway, but I just love this picture and wanted you to see it.

And just because I can, I am including a photo from "Lost," which has a double meaning. All the people on the Island are lost and every stinkin' viewer is lost each and every week, as we try to figure out why they introduce new players and then in two weeks kill them off. They flash back and flash forward and so help me, the new players, who are almost dead, probably have flash backs, too, who knows? Not me. Because I'm LOST half the time.

I'm going to bed now. Have a lovely day.

PS If you haven't done it yet, you really should plant some basil. Then you can make my Summer Pasta which is divine. I've told you this before but you weren't listening.

LOST

"Hello," I wave my hand frantically in the air and Phil pushes the pause button. Listen, listen, talk, talk, listen. "Good-bye." Un-pause.

"Hello," and we do the whole pause-listen-talk-good-bye routine two more times.

So, because of the pausing during LOST I did not have to watch any commercials. And because Phil had the remote, I did not get to watch the commercials that looked interesting. Zip, right through them all. All the upcoming movie trailers--didn't see those. The brand new commercials that looked halfway decent--didn't see those.

But...because we had also pushed the magic button. The little red magic "record" button I can go back and watch it all. And look for hidden meanings and clues and try to figure out what is going to happen in seven weeks, when the writer's strike is still on and we are left hanging...again.

I wonder how many babies have played the part of Claire's baby? And how many will? And are expectant parents in the LA area hoping for bald headed twins with blue eyes?

I wonder if it's in Hurley's contract that he can't diet until the series is over?

I wonder if this addiction is better or worse than a being addicted to chocolate.

And hey! What the heck ever happened to that plane-shaking, pilot-snatching, smoky monster? How many plot lines are possible in one series? This one looks like an eighteen-legged octopus. And if we remember all the people who have died--that had an interesting semi-plot going--it looks like a whole aquarium full of octopi, and a handful of worms thrown in, just for good measure.