Random Thursday: Yes, We Have No Bananas

So, why didn’t any of you lovely people tell me I misspelled the day of the week in my post title yesterday?

Just for that, no more erotic 13th Century poetry for you.

Ha!  Made you look!

‘Course, it’s actually there, which kind of spoils the—Ha!  Made you look!

oooOOOooo

And while I’m complaining, no one mentioned that Monday was Labyrinth Day, either!

‘Twas the twenty-fifth anniversary of a girl (with my name!  Squee!) making the wrong wish at the wrong time and falling headfirst into Jim Henson’s looking glass, ruled over by Ziggy Stardust in the most fabulous tights ever.

I think my best friend and I wore out her copy of the video over two years—we watched it every single weekend.

If you haven’t seen it, please do—I’d loan you my DVD, but it’s slightly melted from overuse . . .

oooOOOooo

Overheard in a restaurant last week:

“He’s the kind of person who, when you ask him for the time,  will teach you how to make a watch.

I couldn’t tell whether this was an admirable trait or not. 

Suppose it depends on whether you have the time or  . . . wait a minu—

I mean, wait a sec–

Dang.

oooOOOooo

My brother-in-law and his wife are coming up from Ohio tomorrow night to visit for the weekend.

Should be fun, as long as my MIL doesn’t work herself sick getting ready—we keep telling her he won’t care, but she does and is busy scrubbing the ceiling on her hands and knees.*

The kids are excited—their uncle, who was constructed to a larger-than-life scale, is better than a jungle gym.

But if there are fewer posts over the weekend, their visit may be why.

And if there are a few extra, their visit may be why . . .

oooOOOooo

It’s hard to beat last Thursday’s last cool thing, but Joshua Allen Harris comes close with his singular take on recycled urban art:

There are Air Bears, too, but I think they look more like dogs—really life-like dogs, though!

He also makes monsters:

________

*My job is to clear away the writer’s nest on the dining room table.  It has been stated it no uncertain terms that if I don’t, it will be done for me.  I’m almost done.  Sort of.  They’ll be coming in late, anyway . . .