Saturday Night....almost

On the whole I believe lines are simultaneously overrated and underrated. It is precisely this type of thinking that drives me crazy. Of course, it's that sort of metacogniton that could drive even the most sane person batty. And I think we can all agree that we'd prefer the term batty be used infrequently at best, and the term, batshi- crazy replace it whenever possible.

Today, as I was reading s a story called corduroy, a word I struggle to spell, though now that I'm seeing correctly I'm not entirely sure why, she began to cry. Why? Because the aforementioned and easily spelled corduroy is all about a bear who comes to life in the middle of the night at a toy store in order to try and track down his missing button. And, irregardless, because it's slightly longer than regardless, of whether he gets a button or not, he doesn't, I think lil s was pretty upset about the clear copyright infringement on the part of the Toy Story franchise and if the writer of corduroy, so easy to spell now, is alive, we, as a family, hope he is rolling in dough. Like real thick pancake batter type stuff. I jest, though usually minus the hat. I believe that S suggested that s may have been crying in a fit of boredom or hunger or just general baby fussiness, but I won't have it. My child is genius. She was concerned about copyright infringement.

On the whole I find basketball entertaining. However, at some point in time I'm probably going to have to run a statistical analysis, including many graphs, f11 for the savvy user, two v's there mind you, in order to determine my enjoyment quotient versus waste of good time that could be spend doing other stuff like discussing copyright infringement with my daughter. Unfortunately, I, like 75 percent of the population, am left brain dominant and fail at things like spatial perception, musical talent, and low grade theoretical math. Thus, my graph will probably just be a prose poem. I'm not sure if it'll be as conclusive.

Writing by people who are not me:

"An arrow of starlings fired from the windbreak’s thatch. The glitter of dew that stays where it is and steams all day. A Sunflower, four more one bowed, and horses in the distance standing rigid as toys. All nodding. Electric sounds of insects at their business. Ale-colored sunshine and pale sky and whorls of cirrus so high they cast no shadow. Insects all business all the time. Quartz and chert and schist and chondrite iron scabs in granite. Very old land. Look around you. The horizon trembling, shapeless. We are all of us brothers." DFW