From the Department of Science Fiction Seeping Into My Real Life:
At one time, I had a great many Star Trek novels. I lined them up like a paperback baseboard, winding them around my room. One in particular had a great deal to do with Romulans. No, I don't remember the title. What I do remember is a quirk of their fictional culture: Romulans fastidiously separate the types of food on their plate. Mixing it together because "it's all going to the same place anyway" is a dead giveaway that you are a despicable human/klingon/vulcan spy in disguise! My point, and I don't really have one, is that I also prefer my food to be separated (much to the puzzlement of my mac-&-cheese-stirred-in-with-spinach husband), and I think of this as "eating like a Romulan".
Incidentally, I haven't called a zit anything but "gorch" for years. After all, even the tiniest blemish feels huge and Klingon.
From the Department of Shut Your Piehole, You Defeatist Whiner:
Do you ever hear the Republicans say they're going to lose? Of course not--rallying the faithful is something they're good at. It's stupid--yes, I mean it--to demoralize your own side.
Imagine you're playing soccer, and things are just about even with both teams doing their best. Now imagine you've got this one teammate who whines: "OH NO! WE'RE GONNA LOOOOOSE!" every time the slightest thing goes wrong. Wouldn't you just want to kick the crap out of him?
The polls are running even, and many of them only consider likely voters--those who have voted before. The drives to register new voters (especially Dems) have been great this year. John Kerry is a decent, intelligent man, and he'll make a damned good president.
From the Department of Site Changes:
You'll notice a lot more links over on the right. Spousal Unit and I were talking about links, and how you can be judged by what you read. I admit, the first thing I do when I see a new site is check out the links. If I see a bunch of hard-core geekery, the site probably isn't my thing. If I see a list of the usual, popular sites, I shrug and move on. So why not open myself to the same scrutiny? So now my entire Bloglines collection is there, all one-hundred-and-mumble of them.
From the Department of HOLY SHIT I'M GONNA BE FORTY!
The first time I remember giving serious thought to realistic goals was at about age 22. Most of those goals have changed and matured, or been accomplished, or gone the way of shifting interests, but there's one I've kept. When I was 22, the most admirable creature in my estimation was a woman of 40. I knew several women of that age and older, and they had an unimaginable-to-pipsqueak-me sense of themselves. They knew what they wanted, and had a lot of it. There was this glow of peace about them. So I decided I wanted to be 40.
So now that I'm 15 days from the brass ring, do I have all that I so admired? Yeah, and, wow.
While I'm horrible at remembering my friends' birthdays (I think I missed them all last year) and hardly expect anything, I nonetheless thought I would be a crass little pup and link my Amazon wishlist. To those who have gone the wishlist route before, only to find I'd bought the damned thing myself (happened too many times, oh me): I swear I cleaned it up. Just now.