Ramdom joy

I’m slowly becoming my father. Not in the big things, and not even in all the small things. But in the really small things.

My dad used to hate it when I was a little too rough in closing the door in his car. He would get that strangled, frustrated dad look on his face every time and say something that would make me sullen in that special way that only a teenager can get just right. And I would think to myself, “I’m just closing the freakin’ door. Lighten up.”

Well.

I’ve noticed a pronounced tendency to hate (and I don’t use the word lightly) anyone who rides in my car and slams the door when they get out. I’m not sure precisely why--although, damnit, you don’t have to slam the door to close the thing--but the feeling is unmistakable.

Of course, people sitting in the back seat and leaning over into the front seat or pounding on the back of the driver’s seat rouse the same emotions as do the people who sit on my iPod, phone, and a pen without even noticing.

I am feeling mighty cranky.

Excuses and Stuff

Reasons writing is light today:

The dog ate my server.

Potential, impending career doom does dampen the spirit somewhat.

Hurricanes seem far more important than mocking Kos or Oliver Willis today.

Jeff Goldstein still does it better than I do.

I’m trying to kick the caffeine habit and the crankiness is running neck-and-neck with the urge to snooze.

Continued disappointment in the lack of groupies.

Sudden realization that no matter how brilliant I am, people still don’t do what I tell them to do.

All the good post titles have been taken.

Michael Moore has been strangely silent lately, leading to an increased sense of pop culture paranoia in Zombyville.

Sudden plummet in Ecosystem standing has left my blogging will broken and bruised.

Anyway, thanks for all the well wishes, thoughts, and humorous comments.

I’ll be back later.