Greetings from the Omnigraphic Blogopticon. On view are vile sticky things dragged from the attic, snarky commentary on the world at large, and all-encompassing ennui. All that and a weird rubbery smell. A horrible time will be had by all.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Bored With Hurricane Irene Already.

Nine a.m. and not much tropical storm action yet, though the entire city descended upon the local supermarkets like lemmings and bought up all the bread and milk on Thursday. And creamer. I went in Friday morning on the way to work to get coffee for the weekend and saw that they'd wiped the bread section out completely and bought up all the good creamer. You know, the creamer they're discontinuing so I couldn't get the last couple jars and hoard them like a crazy person. Curses.

Don't know why people insist on buying milk when there's a storm coming because the power inevitably goes out. Might as well pour half that gallon jug down the drain first thing. What do I care? I just wanted my fake-ass vanilla caramel creamer, dagnabbit.

On the other hand, I still have cable so I get to watch weathermen getting blown around for a few hours. Instead of putting those little gale-force flags up they should just check the conditions by seeing how many weather guys get blown away. "It's a Two Al Roker storm out there!"

I'm feeling sure that I must've stolen that line from some comedian a few years ago.

This is the extent of my earthquake damage. One old plastered-over 3 ft crack that re-cracked. With every aftershock it gets a couple inches longer. Not my problem because I don't own the building.

Oh, and don't make eye contact with the evil smirking Edwardian child in the painting. Whoops, too late!

Apparently I can sleep through an earthquake. I've claimed that for years but never had the chance to put it to use. Early Thursday morning there was a 4.5 aftershock that I completely ignored. I'm sure if I had woken up I would've blamed it on the cat and yelled at him because having something to blame stuff on is the main thing cats are good for. Broken bric-a-brac, weird smells, that inexplicable sound in the middle of the night, blame the cat. Unless there's a guy around.

Grady says, "What, me? I'm spotted and I'm cute!" Ha! He bites like crazy and hurls his 17-lb. bulk around like a drunken fratboy. Earthquake? Feh. Sometimes I think I have a wild animal loose in the house.

2 comments:

Madri Devi Dasi said...

Heheh poor Grady... taking the heat for the quake. :(

Severina said...

Grady does a lot more damage than any earthquake, I'm sorry to say. I've got a nice little stack of framed pictures he's pulled off the wall that I haven't had a chance to repair (yay, broken glass!) and don't get me started on all the vinyl albums he's managed to haul off into the floor. He has entirely too much fun laying waste to my belongings.

Somebody told me he'd outgrow this kind of crap, but that was at least two years and ten pounds ago.