Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.
It’s the fourth day of my new job and I’ve already managed—in front of witnesses—to snap a piece off the bill hopper of a change machine that costs more than both of my kidneys, kick the one power strip that can turn off an entire bank of workstation, and also develop three new blisters, because my work shoes were primarily selected for color and how comfortable they are while I’m sitting down.
I’m holding my own at Camp Nanowrimo, time-wise, mostly because chapter seven needed a thorough overhaul. Or two. And a half.
Jane is currently experiencing her first sinus-related migraine aura and spent most of yesterday afternoon batting at the sparkly things tingling across her vision isntead of paying attention in class.
Time for a strategic mental retreat.
This image inspired a lunch discussion at the library about archetypes
and also a working theory
that the popularity and longevity of any story,
irrespective of conveyance,
might be directly porportionate
to the strength of the Archetypes of its characters
(Sherlock Holmes and Watson, anyone?)
as they carry out the stages of the monomyth
as reflected in Campbell’s seven basic plots.
And then I mentioned that the only fault I could find with this image
is that Hawkeye’s label blocks some of his arm muscles.
“Wow,” a colleague said. “That’s pretty shallow for someone who just said “monomyth” and “prototypical” with a straight face.”
“Hey,” I said, nailing him with a grape, “don’t disrespect my Archetype.”
Warning: Not a cure for carpal tunnel.
Parenthood Encapsulated in Fifty Seconds
Good—by which I mean excruciatingly familiar—with or without sound.
And She’s All Out Of Bubblegum
In Jacinta Bunnell and Julie Novak’s coloring book,
all the princesses are self-rescuing
and no one is trapped in anyone else’s pumpkin
(literally or euphemistically)
without fighting back.
Maybe it’s time for a couple of new Archetypes?
Oh, no! An IRS Agent! My Sports Star charisma has no effect!
Sheldon, you’re a Level Four Accountant—roll the twenty!
Madness . . . ?
This. Is. INTARSIA!
Okay. It isn’t. But still.