in my ears
song: rough around the edges
I'm in an interesting musical mood. I'm listening to the ever-somber Teitur, and I have been listening to some James Taylor. There is something about James Taylor that automatically puts me in this alternate universe where I could cry for no reason at all. But it's not a bad mood, really. It does induce pensiveness, which I find quite gratifying.
Before I start spouting any philosophical revelations that might have come to me, I'll brief you on this weekend. Holly came down, and we had a good time. The original plan was to incessantly veg out on I Love the 90s, but to our dismay, we were already burned out on the series before we made it to the marathon. We decided that it didn't measure up to our obviously high expectations. The 90s were just too recent to be pored over in a ten-hour program that is supposed to immortalize a decade into a legendary status. Too soon.
[Yeah, okay. Sidenote, right here. I totally just about burned down Brentwood. Here's the story. I thought it would be good to buy the mini-sized bags of popcorn. Well, I'm a little hungry, so I threw one in the microwave. It's been a long time since I've popped popcorn, so I couldn't remember the standard popping time. Plus, this is a little bag, so the time had to be different. I was surprised when it said to set the time to five minutes, but I said "whatever," set the time, and came back to do work on this post. Within a couple minutes, the buttery smell of deliciously fresh popcorn changed into a burning stench. I looked over to the microwave to discover smoke pouring out of the door. I slung my computer to the side, probably finishing off its last leg, and tried to stop the conflagration (large destructive fire, according to dictionary.com). Everything is, um, cool now, but I had to drench my blackened bag of clearly unedible corn in water, waft the smoke away from the detectors to keep someone from calling the fire department, open both my doors, and prop Phal, the ultimate tower fan, in my front door to suck out the rolling clouds of smoke. Helpful hint: Read all of the directions on your popcorn before you pop. Step Two says that popping time varies, but it should take a minute or two to do the trick. Guess five minutes is just an overestimation to reduce the risk of underpopping. Whoops.]
Anyway, to continue. We just did a little hanging out, dessert-making, and seeing of Justin and Ryan, those boys we haven't seen in, like, years. We also spent too much money, ate too much, and watched Pulp Fiction.
Well, all those deep thoughts I was planning on sharing have been disintegrated with the brain cells they depended on. Smoke inhalation does that. So I guess I'll go. Leaving my door open has let some blood-sucking creatures like incognito mosquitoes in. I need to do something about that.