Last-minute request for evening metro pick-up from Dino Spouse + grocery deficit in larder = I went into my local Safeway this evening in my high-water pajama pants. With white socks and black sports slides. And a pair of glasses with rhinestones in the frames. And a Dutch Boy-looking pageboy.* Yes, there was much shame in my game tonight. I am glad that I did not see any coworkers or acquaintances during my excursion.
* The haircut looked great when it left TC International Salon on Monday. I have faith in the haircut. My daughter even said I looked like a secret agent! That was before my new coif underwent my usual hair-care regimen, however. Tomorrow I will try more mousse.
It goes without saying that the schools and offices are closed and we’re all in a state of nature here chez Dinosaurov. Speaking of which, the best non-holiday winter pop song ever is “Snow Day” by Trip Shakespeare. Listen to this and be grateful for the experience.
Also speaking of which, since I am blessed with duties and technology that allow me to perform unscheduled telework when Ur Takses are closed: WHEN MOMMY HAS THE HEADPHONES ON AND SHE’S USING THE GOOD LAPTOP ON A SNOW DAY, IT MEANS SHE’S WORKING. She does not wish to discuss the location of the nearest Starbucks or the weather prognosis or the show that’s on the TV or when she’ll be done on the laptop.
There’s a magazine in the lobby of podiatrist’s office called "BASSMASTER."
On the bright side, I got the taxes done, and Mouse is enjoying the beautiful weather at Ben Brenman Park.
On the less bright side, I’ve succeeded in doing exactly none of the things I planned on doing today. It serves me right for actually announcing my intentions for the day to Dino Spouse this morning. All I wanted to do was sit in the corner and do some writing for work. (You know, work? My job? The one I pay the bills with?) Alas, Dino Spouse was seized with a fit of domestic energy, and Mouse had cabin fever and no one to play with, and – voila!
But when we got to the park, there was a sheepdog. A great big ole sheepdog. It’s hard to stay peevish when you see a big ole shaggy sheepdog out of nowhere. (Though I am out of sorts, harrumph harrumph.)
My first issue of “The Baffler” arrived in the mail a couple of days ago. I’m enjoying it immensely. As with “Mother Jones” and (online) “Jacobin,” however, the enjoyment is tinged with an element of fear that I’m sealing myself a little deeper into a self-affirming echo chamber with every word I read.
This past weekend, Mouse and I took a friend of hers to see “Frozen.” Did this movie depress the crap out of anyone else? The sad little girls made me feel guilty. This is similar to the reaction I had to “Tangled.” (Come to think of it, the only Disney princess who has a mom who’s not dead or a dysfunctional mother surrogate is Tiana from “The Princess and The Frog.” Maybe this is one of the factors in why Rapunzel, Elsa, and Anna make me feel like a soul murderer.)
Speaking of cinema, Dino Spouse has recently discovered Korean films courtesy of Netflix. As a mark of his admiration, he has declared himself Korean. So if you see a bald Russian dude muttering to himself in your local H-Mart, don’t be alarmed. He comes in peace.
On a completely different note, I’ve been thinking that it would be a good idea for the federal government to relocate headquarters every ten years or so. There is too much wealth concentrated in the DC area, and periodic relocation would help clean out the build-up of deadwood in the federal workforce. Move us around like the nuclear missiles of yore, that’s what they ought to do.
On Monday I followed the advice of one of those coping with regrets sites and burned a sheet of paper that had all my regrets written down on it. It was surprisingly cathartic. I’ve enjoyed a respite from the angry voices within, plus I got to set something on fire. Heh heh. Fire!
My copy of Getting Out of Your Own Way showed up yesterday. I’ve read it twice already.