(no subject)

I have officially had my Moment Of Truly Pathetic Fandom for the month (shut up, I'm such a good non-desperate fan most of the time) and am not attending a free dress rehearsal at a local playhouse because there's a new CSI on tonight.

Normally I wouldn't be so excited but I missed the only other new one since November, so I've been without new CSI fodder for two months. And the play is Death of a Salesman which...I'm sorry, it's a decent play but I've seen it half a dozen times and studied it in three separate classes (high school lit, university lit, acting, scenic design -- fine, four) and I never get to study CSI in class. And I always come away from it wanting to sock Willy Lohman in the face, and I almost never want to sock William Petersen. Put him on a low-carb diet, yes, sock him, no.

AND I have a new Three Things icon to use when I post Sam's Three Things tonight!

I am full of yay and french fries and now I'm going to go catch the bus to the healthfood store where I will buy many tasty ingredients to make Tofu Ala [info]jcomer2001.

(no subject)

To bed, to bed, said Sleepyhead;
Tarry a while, said Slow;
Put on the pot, said Greedy Glot,
And we shall sup before we go.

I don't know where my parents found that short poem but my dad used to say it to me when I was quite small and it was bedtime. I never realised how incredibly creepy it was until tonight, especially considering that I have always and unconsciously assumed that Greedy Glot was planning on eating small children (I didn't realise this was disturbing at all until tonight, either).

I wasn't scared in the slightest because clearly they were fictional people and nobody was planning on eating me, but it was an inherently accepted belief that someone was getting stewed alive. I'm positive my father didn't know what I was thinking, or I would have ended up in therapy about ten years sooner.

Pterry is right -- it's not a proper children's story unless someone meets a horrifying bloody end...