Random

I swear, I just got off the phone with Diane Rehm. You know, NPR's ultra-liberal talk show host, who sounds like a chain smoker who's just been punched in the throat. Ok, I shouldn't be too harsh on her, I believe that she has/had some sort of throat ailment, and for that she has my sympathies. Either way, the woman with whom I was just on the phone sounds exactly like her. She of course claimed to be someone else, and I played along, but I was tempted to interrupt her and say "Is this you, Diane? How'd you get this number? That's the Diane Rehm I know, always a joker." Darn me and my politeness. Now she probably thinks that I had no idea, and she'll be laughing her already strained vocal chords to the point of combustion (can they combust? I'm no doctor). I just hope she doesn't mention in on her show on Friday, then everyone will think I'm a gullible idiot. Maybe they already do.

It starts...

Yep, it's happening. I've probably only been lucky to have escaped it this long, but it's happening. I was walking through the grocery store tonight, and I thought I'd been a good shopper. I didn't even become irate and ask the stock clerk why the bath soap is halfway accross the store from the shampoo, and goodness knows I wanted to. Nothing against the guy, he's working the late shift at Meijer, so it's probably best that I didn't comment on this ridiculous situation for which he was obviously not responsible. I did think about it, though. Maybe the Meijer security people picked that up on their security cameras somehow. Whatever the reason, Meijer decided to subject me and my fellow shoppers (of which there was a surprising number, considering the late hour) to a little aural torture. I was already accross the store and in the correct isle to find the aforementioned soap when it hit. It started out as something sort of like techno, but then over the top of the slow electronic beat came a somewhat deep and gravelly female voice with a slight twang, which sounded roughly like what I imagine llamas sound like when they become constipated and are about to die the most painful bowel-related death imagineable: "Aaah'll have a bluuuuuuuuueeeeee Christmaaaaaaas without yooooooooooouuuu..." Ye gods. It's November. I won't be able to enter another store until perhaps New Years without being subjected to seven different Easy-Listening versions of Bobby Helms' awful "Jingle Bell Rock," perhaps followed by Kenny G laying down an instrumental version of "It's the Most Wonderful Time Of the Year," which will make you believe that you have died and gone to hell, and that the devil plays alto saxophone. It makes me wish I'd bought all the food I'll need for the next month and a half while I was there, curse my lack of foresight! Of course I'll have to buy Christmas gifts or something like that (I'm told that this is done this time of year, usually by advertisements telling me to "give the gift of _____ ," where you fill in the blanks with a product name such as "Cars," "Diamonds," or "Llama Skin Coat"). Maybe I can buy gifts online, I'm in the 21st Century, after all. Either that, or perhaps I'll get disowned by all of my family and friends by the time December 23rd (the day I usually get around to doing my shopping), that's never too remote a possibility. Ok, I'm babbling and I need sleep. In fact, I need to have slept. Whatever. I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, and that this is all I could think of to say for now. I'll try to be better, if only because more time writing on my blog might mean less time spent in stores where they play Christma--er, Holiday carols. Stay warm out there, kids.