Before I get into the subject matter of the title, let me just say I’ve decided to go with the flow.
In general, I am NOT a ‘go with the flow’ person. I am a ‘battle upstream and crush the will of anyone trying to oppose my agenda’ person…not that I’m proud of that.
At the same time, I am a true believer in nature/nurture, and – as near as I can tell – it’s all nature, baby.
My mother tells a story that I was 18 months old and playpen-bound, when my father and she started some minor remodeling. Apparently they were repainting the living room, and put me (in said playpen) in the room while they worked. (And Dad, feel free to chime in if this is nonsense, as this is not a story where I come out looking like Ms. Awesome Toddler 1974.)
And by day two I was throwing every toy in the pen at them and screaming at the top of my lungs.
This may or may not be true.
However, when I imagine having to sit in a small, enclosed space and watch two people paint and ignore me, the thought of having stuff to throw at them is strangely calming. So I don’t rule it out.
What I’m saying is that I am wired to be HIGHLY STRESSED by the current f-ed up state of the blog (appearance -wise. I am, in fact, cogently aware and grateful that it’s up and visible and more or less intact despite it all, and I’m willfully focusing on that fact. Actually, the last time the blog went nuts I suggested moving to a ‘generic’ format: Black on white, non-de-script font, and UPC codes here and there . Zen and non-committed blog, if you will).
Anyway, nature aside, I’ve decided to embrace the chaos and go with it and trust that it will work out (via the excellent feedback of my genius readers or some other measure) one way or another.
Make it so.
MEANWHILE…the oysters of the world are onto me.
Word has spread.
So if you have an oyster serial killer streak, I suggest that you do not start a blog and commence bragging about it. Never mention the words ‘oyster’ and ‘it puts the cocktail sauce in the basket’ in the same sentence.
‘So, what’s happened?,’ you ask.
Well, I discovered that the even more local grocery store will sell you SIX monster great-great-grandfather oysters for $.20 each (six for $1.25…whatever that works out to) and those oysters are trying to kill me.
Seriously, I am skilled and I am determine, but those bastards will not budge.
So I was working on a dandy that was at least 2″ by 7″ (a monster! The oysters inside border on unmanageable and – this coming from me – unappetizing. Ron Jeremy is fascinating in theory, but not on the half-shell), and I had my typical towel/oyster knife/hand protection stance going, and I got in under the joint and wedged the knife deep and twisted…and felt the cold spray of mud and the hard impact of calcium as the shell shattered and hit me like a bullet.
It split my lip.
And covered my face in mud, but that was secondary.
In short, egg on your face is nothing next to oyster in your lip.
And watch your back, fellow oyster killers.
They’re reading the blogs, and they’re pissed.