It seems like my 100th blog post should contain some profound message, or at least some truly stellar writing. Alas, I don't think I have either up my sleeve tonight, but I'm tired of waiting. So, without much ado, here it is...my 100th post.
Um, can we pause for a moment and take note of the fact that I have chosen to write about myself and my life 100 times in the past few years? That's pretty amazing for a girl who never kept a journal for more than a few weeks. What's even more amazing is that some people actually read some of the entries! In fact, if you do, I have a special message for you at the end of this entry.
So what does one write about in her 100th blog post? I guess for me, it's more of the same: odd things that have happened over the last few days.
Like, for example, the person dressed as a cardboard sandwich outside a sub shop today. I'm sorry, but YUCK. I have never been less inclined to buy a sandwich. I wonder if all those poor people stuck outside brandishing handwritten signs or, worse yet, dressed like asparagus, are a sign that traditional media really is dying. My years as Video Bear taught me that hanging out inside a smelly, germ-filled costume is not worth whatever minimum wage you earn. (Full disclosure - it was my family's business, I was not paid, and at the time I probably thought it was fun) Oooh...here's an idea! How about a rebellion! What if all the mascots, Disney Characters and Human Marketing Figures went on strike? Would the gears of the merchandising and desperation marketing fields break down? Hmmm...I'll have to ponder that.
Have I mentioned that one of my least favorite job duties is reading the opinion pages? I can literally feel my blood pressure going up as I read them. Today I had an epiphany (not a terribly original one). Though it didn't precisely make me feel better, it did put it all in context - letters to the editor and op-eds are just social media "comments" posted in newsprint. Nothing more. The only difference is it takes days, not seconds, for someone to comment on a comment.
Lately I've become obsessed with the fact that NPR never says the words "almost", "nearly" or "about" if they can instead use the more pretentious/public radioy "some". As in "some 10,000 people turned out for this event" or "some 1 million poor suckers bought the next big electronic gadget". According to the first online dictionary to pop up in Google...oh, for god's sake. Excuse me while, for the first time in years, I get up from my computer and go find a real dictionary.
Ok. I'm back. According to my 1985 Second College Edition American Heritage Dictionary ("The single source for people who need to be right" - I'm not kidding, that's what it says on the cover!), "some" may be used as an adverb to mean "approximately" or "about". Perhaps they should just say approximately or about. They both sound more...well...normal.
Speaking of normal, yesterday I achieved "honorary domestic goddess" status as I raked my patio yard, purchased (and used) a new vacuum cleaner, installed a shelf in the garage and even...wait for it...baked cookies while doing laundry! I also bought yarn and a crochet needle; it's time to pick that hobby up again. Lest you think I've completely lost my mind, I redeemed my bachelorette status by eating a dinner that was made up of toast, soup and wine and watching the Pats/Steelers game all by myself. And while Brady's hair is ridiculous, I still like watching him win.
And of course, no blog entry would be complete without some update to the Chronicles of Sadie, also known as the "yes, of course you want to know about my dog's every quirk" writing tactic. So, let's begin!
One of the odder things about my pooch is that she won't jump up into the car. At first, I thought maybe she just didn't like the car. Then I tried to get her to jump on my bed. She'd look at me, and then bolt for her dog bed, safely on ground level. Tonight, I was determined to get her on the bed, if only because I'm stubborn. I tried treats, I tried cajoling, I tried getting her a running start. Nothing. Then - aha - genius struck. I grabbed the trunk I put my shoes in and pushed in up against the bed. Viola! Instant stepping stool for plyometrically challenged pups. Guess what? She's afraid of the trunk. Treats lured her front paws on the trunk; I helped with the back legs. She floundered in disarray for a moment, then smelled the treats on the bed and lo and behold, there she was on my purple bedspread. I have to say she looked pretty smug. I have no idea how she got down.
And that's it. My 100th post is complete. So from my first entry, Steamed Duck, about a duck named TAD, to musings on dogs and NPR, I guess much hasn't changed since November 2008. Thanks for reading, and if you're up for it, I'd love for you to post a comment below about who you are and if you have a blog I should be exploring and linking to. If you're not up for it, that's ok too.
Bonne nuit! And I really do mean it; if you're reading this, I appreciate you.