The Cool Feature & The Great Bookscape, Official Uncensored Second Edition.

Dearest Loverlings of My Heart,

Yes! Victory! I have discovered the Blogger feature which enables me to add up to ten of you to a mailing list of this humble blog. Do not adjust your sets: you have read right. Whenever I publish, ten of you lucky happies will receive an e-mail. I am not sure yet whether you will receive the full contents of the post, or if you get a cool teaser, or if you get an automatically generated message such as:

Dear Blah,
Mademoiselle has just published a new post on Elucubrations (whoop-deee-doo, really), and so, you know, whatever, check it out if you want. If you're not in the mood, we think reruns of either Frasier or The Golden Girls are on. Or you can try bouncing a ball on your nose, although don't make the ball too big, it may hurt a bit. Let us know how it turns out. No, no...not really.
Cheerio and best regards and sincerely and all that,
- The Guys at Blogger.

So, I have no idea. I've put three of you on the list so far (lucky bastards!), let me know how it turns out.

Also, I forgot to tell you this: I am doing something which I've already done, but which I really, really want to do again. Are you reading a book these days? ANY book counts. (Yes, even a do-it-yourself fix-your-car book.) Oh - sorry, the Little Person Living Inside My Head had returned from a very, very long vacation, and is attempting to squeeze herself in here. Gimme a minute. Sorry. Look the other way, if you want. This happens in written form.


ME: Hello, Little Person Living Inside My Head. What's up? Oh - nice loincloth, once again.
Little Person Living Inside My Head: Hi. Thanks. So my fix-your-car book works? I'm trying to blend in and participate. You know, with your Throng of Readers and all.

[Editorial Note: Since writing "Little Person Living Inside My Head" very often is a bit tedious, I will shuffle the letters and give it a name. Hang on. *shuffle, shuffle, shuffle*. Ah - very nice. Little Person Inside My Head will henceforth be known as Limpy. Simple. Efficient. Editorial Note over.]

ME: Nice. You disappear all this time and hop back in here like - I don't know, like you are welcome.
Limpy: I am welcome. I am an extension of you. Plus I'm funny. So, suck it, right?
ME: Right. *sigh* What do you want?
Limpy: I want to be a part of your thing. So my fix-the-car book is okay? You sure?
ME: Yes.


Okay - we're back. Where were we? Yes. Being Readers. I suspect most of you are Readers, even if it's for business. Get your book: I'll wait...seriously. Go. It's on the nightstand/living room table/dryer/backseat/the roof.


Got it? Good. Those of you who have been following since 2006, good for you. Do it again.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences as a comment to this blog.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest. Even if it's up on the roof. Weirdo.

Now - do your Loverly Duty and let me know what it says on page 123. I'll let you know what mine says if you respond. Cheerio, and all that, sincerely.

Close the door, please.

In my simple yet complicated uneventful life, some things happen which I would like to redo. Things I say to people (foot in mouth situations), judgments I have passed on opinions and the opinionated, and generally, things I regret. That's normal, right? So far, so good. Life, however, my Assiduous Compadres, is not built as such. You know that. I knew that. Everybody remotely sane (hereby excluding many, many people, unfortunately) knows that.

This even applies to my crafterly pursuits, believe it or not. I'll start knitting something, carefully choosing my yarn, and I'll spend three or four weeks working on it, loving it, fondling it, and being proud of how awesome it's going to look. Generally, just so you know, I knit things which are shaped like rectangles. One morning, I will wake up, sit on the sofa, open the knitting drawer, pull out my project and start pulling on the yarn to destroy it. I am no longer satisfied, and no longer have any interest in finishing it. I feel no pain. I wind the yarn back onto its ball, and begin a new project. This may seem harsh and pointless. I understand why you may think that. At this point, the rectangle thing is probably ten or twelve inches long. But to me, this is a form of control: I decide and assume the decision. I control the outcome, and I have to power to undo something I have done. It feels good, even if sometimes it is slightly guilt-tinged and can make me wish I had spent my time on something I would actually finish. Okay - now those of you who want to hypothesize and try to apply this theorem to other things in life just to see if it works, be my guest. It works. *wink*

Today, I have things on my list. I have been putting them off for a very long time. But first, for your enjoyment, and as a sort of 'case in point' thing, here are the things which have been started and not finished.

All in all, fifteen projects which, in the last 5 years, have not been completed. Maybe I should stick to one thing at a time. I think I'm going to go start something new.