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January 17th, 2011

On the Golden Globes

Originally published at Big Ugly Man Doll. Please leave any comments there.

I was about to mention that even my cat is going to bed tonight dreaming of Natalie Portman, and then I remembered that he’s from Texas and he’s probably dreaming of Eva Longoria, and then I remembered that we call him Albus the Gay, and he’s probably dreaming of Johnny Depp.  And who can blame him?

The other cat, Professor Flitwick, is dreaming of Halle Berry, and I’m sure it’s Number One Son dreaming of Queen Padme Amidala of Naboo – although he was irritated to find out that her new movie (A) has nothing to do with Star Wars and (B) isn’t going to show up on his personal Netflix list for a LONG time. 

I’d like to thank the Academy.  I’d better finish that screenplay, so they can vote for me and I can kiss whoever presents the award.  Halle, Eva, Johnny Depp – I’m not picky.



Yep, looks like another post from the Big, Ugly Man Doll!

a short history of this room

Originally published at Big Ugly Man Doll. Please leave any comments there.

The chair wasn’t always in that corner; in fact, it wasn’t always in the room at all.  But now, there it sits.

It was a bedroom for a while, for us, but there were mirrors on the closet doors, and we didn’t like that, for obvious reasons, and things changed.

It was an office for a while, for us, but the family grew, for obvious reasons, and things changed. 

It was a bedroom for a while, for the oldest, and it was just as purple as the day is long.  But there were windows at ground level, and that’s not what we wanted for a pre-pubescent girl, for obvious reasons, and things changed. 

And so it became an office again, and the pale purple became a dark purple, and the chair moved back in, with its memories of other houses, and other rooms.  The purple is an afterthought now on walls mostly covered, for obvious reasons, with books and with art, and CD cases and the computer of great industry, and the hat racks that have yet to be hung there but you can see where they WILL go, in time, and the sword collection, and the books, and the chaise, and the books on that side. 

But for now, the chair sits in the corner, brooding, dreaming of a time when it will be loved again, in a room with a view, with more room, with more chances for a good sit, or a nap, or more than just relaxing with a book and a nice tequila – and how many glasses of tequila, how much Scotch, how many late night ice creams and popcorn kernels has it seen?  How many people, large and small, on its one good arm, the other turned forever to that damnable wall?  How many cats?  How many kids?  How long will it stare at the chaise opposite, red, permanently reclined and waiting for another cat, another person, another room?

The rest of the room is reasonable, covered, from floor to the ceiling in places, with the books that gravitate to this room like birds to a feeder, knowing that the warmth of the nest, this library, will provide a haven, safe harbor from the fires.

And the chair waits.  And things change. 

For obvious reasons.



Yep, looks like another post from the Big, Ugly Man Doll!