People who make out on airplanes should have a special place in hell.
Similarly, people who push their seat back and forth while making out on an airplane — so that the person seated behind them has to juggle her laptop in one hand and her bag of pretzels in the other and pray that the drink on her wobbly plastic tray doesn’t spill all over her lap or keyboard — deserve an extra special place in hell.
Michigan is a lot like New Jersey, but smarter. Left-hand turns are a mere blinker away in Detroit, whereas in Jersey you have to hop two Dunkin’ Donuts, a Walgreens and six lanes of traffic before hanging a louie.
Ice cream scoops should really be researched before purchase. I got the mistaken impression that Aimee’s brother had three scoops in his massive cone (one of which I couldn’t see, get the logic?), instead of two. I ordered two and was faced with Mt. Everest.
I can eat an ice cream cone the size of Mt. Everest.
It’s a pirate’s life for me. Yo ho!
In respect to the above, Johnny Depp is a mad, mad genius. (Why is the rum gone?)
Orlando Bloom. Yes, I learned Orlando Bloom.
The piano is a lot less painful than the guitar.
I play the best G chord in the history of rock ‘n’ roll. Take that, Hendrix.
I not only want to read but eat all the books on Aimee’s and David's bookshelves. (No, not literally. Only the scratch ‘n’ sniff kind.) Bookshelves make me positively hungry. We walked into a Border's and two hours later I left having read a short children’s book (which was so unremarkable it will remain unremarked here) and buying two other novels — Dorothy Allison’s Bastard out of Carolina, the language of which thus far has created an infinitesmally detailed landscape in my mind, and the first book in Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” set. I also borrowed two books from Aimee, one of which is an out of print biography of J.K. Rowling, which is fascinating. The other is The Thief Lord, which I was going to read anyway but then Aimee mentioned it was set in Venice and I had to have it now.
Sitting in a bookstore (especially in the travel aisle, on the floor, dreaming about Maui) is the most fun you can have among the stacks.
Well, okay, maybe not the most. But I wouldn't know about that.
I want to read every book ever written.
Except the A.S. Byatt ones.
I’m only half kidding.
If I do all the work I have to do before we go to the Maui Writer’s Conference in August, I will not sleep from now until then.
That said, I should not be writing this. Do not have the time. Yo ho, me
mateys.
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