It’s been snowing on and off all day. Everybody, including myself, is complaining about the cold despite the fact that it’s not even below zero. It’s 1°C (34°F).
We’ve been through much worse (’96, it was -15 to -25 for a long time). We’ve either turned into wimps or our age is beginning to matter. Or maybe events this winter (watching all the tsunami footage did wreck my head, I’m telling ya) have worn us out and we’re just gasping for the sun. I know I am. There’s some darkness there that could do with the light.
There’s a big gap somewhere at the back of my house, where my neighbour wrought a new balcony and windows, so there’s a bitch of a cold draught going through the house, creating permafrost all over the place. Just over my keyboard feels like the North pole.
I’m hoping for an Irish heatwave this weekend.
I’m going to strangle the next person who posts a bare URL to one of my sites stating ‘I don’t know how to do links’.
You. Are. Online. Fucking. Look. It. Up.
For the next 24 hours, I am science’s bitch. I am a guinea pig in a friend’s friend’s stress profile research.
I have 6 electrodes stuck to my body and wires that lead to a device I carry on my hip. A second device sits on my table, it has a switch and a mouth piece that I get to blow in whenever a piece of Palm pilot software tells me to.
When I go to sleep tonight, I will do so with plastic tubes up my nose, attached to a third device which will measure the gasses I emit while breathing.
Every hour and a half, the Palm pilot guides me through a routine and asks me questions. (“Who are you with?”, “How do you feel”, “Where are you?”) From time to time, I will have to chew on tampon sized piece of cotton wool.
Tomorrow, I get to carry all the gear into work with me.
In an effort to fully enjoy what may well be the last few hours of the Buffyverse, I’m going spoiler free for Angel. (Sorry, Simon, you’re on your own at the Wh’esque.) I only vaguely knew the plot of last night’s funny and creepy ‘Smile Time’ (S5x14, hey wanna see some pretty pics?), which made it just so much more… well, funny. And creepy. The teaser alone had me gasping.
In other TV commentary, a big big ‘heeeee’ for the poster at TWOP who coined ‘Ambercrombie and Bitch’ for this season’s May/December ‘ship between The O.C.’s Luke and Auntie Julie. And does anyone really care about what happens to Ryan and Melissa? I think not. It’s all about the Cohens.
And also: bye bye Oliver. Good riddance.