It's snowing, gorgeous fluffy snow, plenty of it, and unlike past years when I've been sad that the wintery weather held off until after Christmas, this time we got both: actually perfect Christmas Day snow, and this lovely melancholy January storm.
Clover wears her boots proudly, after an initial comedy routine of about 30 seconds, in which her feet and legs look like they're being controlled by an inept puppeteer. It's like an extra treat we get every time we put them on her, a moment of hilarity. (Without the boots, she limps sadly over salted sidewalks and stops every five minutes to clean snowballs from her fancy feet.)
Okay, I should be writing some things so there will be actual money in my next paycheck, but I had to quickly link to this Tilda Swinton profile because:
"My ambition was always about having a house by the sea and some dogs."
She’s smiling, and says she’s got a surprise. We head off towards her car, Swinton marching ahead imperiously. In the car there are four springer spaniels in the back and a fifth, the eldest, Rosy, is in the front passenger seat.
We went to a January 6 vigil for democracy last night which was a little bit lackluster. Or maybe that was just me. There were a few guys with a flag that said FUCK BIDEN and fuck you for voting for him. One guy had a megaphone, but the crowd was large enough that it could drown him out pretty easily. The speaker said, "Don't engage!" and although the group was mostly middle-aged and older, I imagined a shared feeling among us all, the holding back of an impulse to surround those jerks and tear them limb from limb like in a Shirley Jackson story.
|Elmo and a regular-ass rock|
|This is why I need to write stuff first thing in the morning. This is my brain in the afternoon.|
|It's on sale BUT WHAT IS IT|