The thing about daily posting is the excitement it brings to one's hum-drum existence. Normally, I will have absolutely no idea what I'm going to write about, which leaves me fumbling at the laptop at decades past bedtime and results in posts written whilst asleep (please take this literally, for it's the truth). The next day can then be spent anxiously wondering what sort of self-revelatory stuff I may have published. There are anti-climaxes, though, as when one finds that the most outrageous thing one has managed is numerous typos in a post a handful of lines long - and one in the title field, as well, oh woe. Note to self: t-o-o means also; t-w-o is the number. The utter shame of it all - and while I've sometimes let dreadful shameful typos stand to increase my shame tolerance, there's shame tolerance and shame tolerance and I couldn't let the too-two thing go uncorrected. Stupid foreign bollocks.
Anyhow, excitement. Went to the theatre today and saw The Scottish Play - quite a jolly little number, that, and I would recommend the production (SPOILER ALERT: Macduff kills him, in the end), if anybody happens to be in the Helsinki area and fancies a bit of Shakespeare in Finnish. I have always found the theatrical superstition-tradition of not saying "Macb*th" out loud somehow sweet and endearing, and tend to follow it, for fun (not a real magical disaster-avoidance thing, for me, this - although I do think theatres shouldn't really be whistled in), but I know some "real theatricals" who sneer at the custom. Actually, some years ago I got it into my head that I should get one of those wee Scottie terriers and call it Macbeath - which would have me nearly saying it a hundred times a day. Haven't, so far, but who's to say. It would have to be a rescue dog, mind, for I don't think I'd ever take another kind, now. So if you're about to abandon a Scottie, do drop me a line. (Ms Dogot says don't you dare bring another dog to this home and this bed, but we can ignore her a little bit because she neither writes nor reads my blog - unlike the pets of some other notable bloggers.)
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Here, again, blogging, sleeping
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6 comments:
what-what- ? Next you are going to be telling me that Dogot doesn't help you with your correspondence. C of S always does this. Excuse me Ms Dogot (and I know you are listening even if not reading), but I think you should be writing the occasional post for sees here, someone of your beauty, intelligence and sensibility, I mean to say. And we need to know, you see, the other way of seeing, probably more than even you realise.
This daily posting is great. And you are funny and made me laugh, for which gold star. So I will forgive the terrible spoiler (Macduff kills him you say?) and carry on whispering Macbeath under my breath.
wingshi - are we?
Oh sees. I don't know whether I am wingshi or not - and I rather suspect that it's a sad no-no - but I could most certainly do with being it. Could you organise it for me, please? For you have already found me me funny - something I feel I very rarely am - so maybe you could do this, as well.
(Yes, he kills him quite dead. Chops his head clean off, too - although they didn't show that onstage last night. It is also a timely place for me to remind, well, everyone, really, that yours truly is also not of woman born. Just, you know, saying. And Ms Dogot says something that's very hard to decipher, for it is in her muffled sleep-speak.)
I just have to second what signs said. Just because she's right, and so is her cat.
And the word ver = catersi, which...well it could be so many things, and probably is.
Catersi is a catharsis brought on by (a) cat/s. It's all going totally uncanny here. I must take the dog for a pee and write a fucking blog post. Deary me.
This Mr. T, He knows things, Anna - marry him, like I said.
(you don't know you're funny? where you been all your life? on planet plepron, I think)
Naughty Signs, behave, like I said.
No, I don't know that I'm funny, but Planet Plepron is my secret spiritual home, you're right. I have been exposed, and now they all know my susceptibility to plepronite...
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