Stalling Again

...a thousand pages, give or take a few /I'll be writing more in a week or two/ I could make it longer if you like the style...

I'd say sorry for not posting more often, but I wonder, really, is anyone reading? Like, does anyone have the patience for it? It's all doomscrolling, echo chambers, clickbait and headlines.

TikTok has taken over where X, formerly known as Twitter, used to rule, and Twitter, though older, was higher profile than Instagram, all of which have supplanted Facebook, leaving it mostly to grandparently-aged folk, which is okay with me, since that age bracket describes most of my friends and much of my family. I'm guessing the longform of essay writing as a community activity is officially dead, which DanTobin DanTobin proclaimed years and years ago. Vines are also dead, but I'm not sure why they needed to die.

But at any rate, relevancy. Blogging as I understand it seems as if it might be returning, on a mysterious platform known as Substack, which may be different from Wordpress and Live Journal, but I'm not sure in what ways.  Among folk returning to the long form are  childhood pal Tim Kreider, my Blogger pal Dan Tobin, another Blogger pal formerly known as Totsie, and I get email notifications about Substacks I've... followed? I think followed, or maybe subscribed to? ...but not with a paid subscription like NYT or Patreon. I suppose I could ask a Substacker to explain to me what the benefits/ differences are of Substack to Blogger, but I hesitate to waste anyone's time with idle curiosity, because that's all it is. I certainly won't abandon my blog to start a new one; jeeze, this blog is almost as old as my grownass adult offsprings. 

I'm working on a "proper" blog entry, complete with links n stuff, as one does, and obviously I'm also working on (read: dodging completing) another review. The show has closed, but in my defense, I watched it on its final performance and immediately came down with Covid. 

I'm vaccinated, so it's uncomfortable and inconvenient and incapacitating, but not dangerous or likely to result in a hospital stay. I have, however, been knocked on my ass. I've slept on the couch since Monday, October 30th, and yesterday afternoon, had my 2nd shower since October 29th.

Today is the first day since the 30th that I've felt anything close to my normal self, and even so, maybe not, because I'm hoarding my methylphenidate. Our insurance, along with Gomez's job, ended in the middle of October, and I haven't sorted how to get new health coverage because, well, I've been sick. 

And I'm job hunting. Still. 

In other news, I'm worried about Mother, whom I've not seen in a month, as the care home in which she resides is about to be sold to an outfit which doesn't have a stellar reputation and has already notified residents of rate increases. Which won't affect us, because Mother was out of money ages ago, and has been a beneficiary of the Benevolent fund, which, along with Medicare/ Medicaid, pays for her residency. If that fund goes away, I don't know what we'll do. I'm sick at the stomach about it, but talking about it doesn't help. What are we to do with folk who outlive their money? 

But here we are. And here I am, not doing any of the things I'm usually doing, housework, yard work, showing up for any of my joblets... well, except for this one thing, stalling. 

Avoiding writing the thing I'm supposed to be writing, by writing something else entirely.

Seems like I'm ALWAYS doing THAT. 

The Beatles; "Paperback Writer;" Single, released May 1966

Quicksilver Changes

...root yourself to the ground/ capitalize on this good fortune/ one word can bring you round....

I'm back, watching the Olympics.... no, sorry; ya'll who get that reference, thanks for being forever friends with me. In fact, I'm listening to the World Series, Diamondbacks at Rangers for Game 1, specifically. 

I don't know if people without ADD open a tab, think of a thing, open another tab, and then, seven more tabs and $87.54 later, struggle desperately to recall what it is they had INTENDED to do when signing onto the computer three and a half hours ago.

No? Just me?

Okay, so at any rate.....

I'm supposed to be writing a review- which I will finish, eventually- I feel like I have a Yogi Berra-ism in me to the effect that of writing is 70% stalling, 20% facts, and the other half is perspiration-  of something wonderful I watched last night. In fact, I've finished writing it and will shortly be listening to Game 2 of the World Series. The review's now in my editor's hands.

As is my habit, I have several windows open JUST for the thing I'm writing, plus additional ones open because I'm hunting for work (anyone reading this, ya hiring?) so instead of being responsible, limiting myself to just the pertinent ones, or heavens forfend, CLOSING any of them....

...I begin breadcrumb-trailing a song I heard once on The Muppet Show (Episode 310, with Marisa Berenson, original air date December 1978) that I thought thematically fit the show I'd just seen, Cabaret Macabre, which I saw for the first time in 2014 because, primarily, of this song by Tom Waits in the show, which, by the way, is LOADS better when sung by the glorious Sarah Olmsted Thomas of Happenstance Theater.

Now, even though I'd seen the sketch in '78, the song stuck with me. In fact, once, more than a decade later, in the car with my (then) boyfriend and Mother, someone said "our house" and three of us sang a riff from three different songs. Mother sang Crosby, Stills and Nash, Gomez sang the one by Madness, and, well, I've told you mine. 

I find video of the sketch I remember, then, after investigating Marisa Berensen, who was a model and I theoretically saw her in Barry Lyndon, (a movie which I remember as being lyrically beautiful and also scarring) and her sister who died when her plane collided with a famous NYC building, I fall down a rabbit hole regarding Shel Silverstein being the writer of that song (yes, The Giving Tree dude, I KNOW)...

...but then chance upon a summation / interpretation of the song and, well. 

Ya know, when someone on the internet is wrong, Something Must Be Done. 

When I came upon it, the article discussed how the song was about inclusion and acceptance. It included "lyrics" from the song which are not there. It talked about the supportive nature of the sweet song. 

It talked about the song "The Giving Tree" that Silverstein had written- which he hadn't; it's by Plain White Tees, released in 2013, four years after Silverstein's death. The song references the children's book of the same name, but isn't remotely BY Silverstein. Good song, though. 

The erroneous article mentioned that Shel Silverstein wrote "A Boy Named Sue," a singular part of the article which was accurate. Now, I went internet hunting, as I was certain that was a Johnny Cash song, and I wasn't entirely wrong about that.  Johnny Cash performed it for the first time at San Quentin in 1969. But no, it was true that Shel Silverstein wrote "A Boy Named Sue," partly due to a conversation he had with Jean Shephard (yes, of A Christmas Story fame, based on In God We Trust- All Others Pay Cash, that looks like a collection of short stories- which he always claimed it wasn't, it was a novel, but it was never his idea to repackage his radio memories anyhow; they were recorded and transcribed by guess who, yep, Shel Silverstein)

 Johnny Cash, on that fateful day in San Quentin, performed the song somewhat differently from how Silverstein imagined and recorded it.  If you're new to "A Boy Named Sue," you're not alone. The Twins hadn't heard it, either.

At any rate, I debated in a comment the author's conclusions. I used the phrase "egregiously, verifiably, factually wrong." I questioned whether the writer was AI. I said that howsomever the author had reached his conclusion, it was obviously not through careful research of the original source material. 

Fewer than 24 hours later, it's as if the original had never existed. Wish I'd screen-shotted that nonsense. My comment, naturally, is also missing. 

YES; "Changes" 1983

Now, Baseball.....

...The crack of the bat, the stadiums roar/We were up on our feet for the tie breaking score....

On Mon, Oct 2, 2023 at 7:50 PM {Redacted}wrote:

 

Hi Cybele,

Are you available for a possible {Historical Character}gig on 11/30/23 

in Washington, DC from 6:15-8:15pm?

Do you own the costume and what is your rate?

Thank you,  

[Signature]

 

On Tue, Oct 3, 2023 at 3:10 PM Cybele Pomeroy <cybele> wrote:

 

Hi, [Agent's Name]

I do own the {Historical Character} costume you may have seen in my photographs. My rate is {Redacted}

Are you for real asking me about the 30th of November? Or did you mean the 30th of October?

You sent me a text message about October 28th.

If you for real meant the 30th of November, I'm available. Same for the 28th of November. 

If you meant October 30th, now we need to talk about baseball. 

I will be available on the evening of the 30th if the American League Pennant winner is ANY team other than the Orioles.

If the Orioles win the American League Pennant, and if the National League Pennant winner is ANY team other than the Atlanta Braves, I will be available on October 30th. 

But if the World Series is Atlanta vs Baltimore, I will NOT be available on October 30th. 

If the World Series is Atlanta vs Baltimore, I WILL be available October 28th.

If it's the Orioles and  ANY OTHER National League TEAM, I will NOT be available October 28th. 

There's a lot of baseball games between now and then. Either team could be eliminated as soon as October 12th.

Whether or not you root for the Atlanta Braves will depend largely on which date is the one you meant. Rooting for the Orioles is required. 

xox

Cybele

On Tue, Oct 3, 2023 at 4:15 PM {Redacted} wrote:

 

I am laughing so hard reading your email. OMG if the Orioles make the World Series!!!

The event for {Historical Character} is 11/30/28. Please hold the date.

Thank you,  

[Signature]

 

On Tue, Oct 3, 2023 at 5:03 PM Cybele Pomeroy <cybele> wrote:

 

[Agent's Name], my love,

I can hold 11/30/23, and will happily put {Historical Character, Agency Name} on that date, IN INK.

But if you really for realsies meant 2028, I must tell you, I don't yet have a calendar for 2028.

I calculated baseball schedules, and you're asking me about a date five years from now? 

Girl, please. 

xox

C

Still Lol, omg I/m working way too fast plus in college application and pre screen video he** right now.

You make me laugh and I appreciate that. 

It's nice to be appreciated for fun things instead of as a cautionary example. 

Corey Smith, The Baseball Song, 2015

Filtering Artificiality

...I have no privacy (oh, oh)/ I always feel like somebody's watching me....

In an effort to foil Artificial Intelligence taking over the world IMMEDIATELY, the survey/ focus group/ product research company that I've become loosely affiliated with has begun to include an 'essay question' on their qualification surveys. This particular survey was about Narcolepsy, and whether I'm actually chosen or not is entirely immaterial to this post. 

One of the questions has a list of colors as responses, and the "question" is 'Select Orange as a response.' Maybe that's to see if you're a human who is paying attention, because I'm not sure how that would be a difficult one for AI to manage accurately. 

It is true, however, that I know little about AI. I've been deliberately avoiding fiddling with it on my computer, because I have no interest in helping it become smarter. I also refuse to talk to the spy device I carry in my purse or pocket. Google keeps asking me to speak aloud to its "Assistant" but I know if I do that even ONCE, the 'listening' function will wake and never go to sleep again, in order to be alert when I say "Hey, Google...." 

I also don't provide voice responses to the Automated Systems on the telephone. One particularly annoying one says "Oh, you don't have to press buttons. Just tell me how I can help you, by saying 'Customer Service' or 'Make A Payment.' I ignore that and keep touching my 'keypad' numbers. When I get a human being, (eventually), I tell them, "It's my policy to not speak to robots." They almost always say, "That's completely understandable." 

In any case, the "essay" I created has nothing to do with Narcolepsy, nothing to do with AI, and nothing to do with smart device who listen in order to target market to their users, and everything to do with me and my feelings of loss and regret. 

The prompt: If you could have dinner with any three people, past or present, who would you choose and why?

The response:

If I could have dinner with any 3 people, past or present, I'd choose my Mother before she had Alzheimer's disease, and also my Grandmother, before SHE had Alzheimer's disease, and my sister, whom I don't get to see very often. I'd have dinner with my Mom and Grand as they were in 1985, but my sister and I could be ourselves as we are now. I didn't know how much I needed to appreciate their wit and humor. I miss that about them. I miss it even more when I'm with Mother, who hasn't died, but she isn't who I think of as "My Mother" anymore. 

None of that is particularly surprising, I suppose, but the question poked me kind of sideways, and my response surprised me. Like, I was THERE with my sister and mother and Grandmother in 1985, but I wasn't yet who I AM, the person I think of as the "real" me. And "real" me didn't get a chance to enjoy Mother, or Grandmother, as much as I might have wished, because I didn't know. The last time she visited Maryland in 1998, to meet my newest baby, Grandmother was slipping into dementia.

We can create AI and Viagra, but we can't fix Alzheimer's Disease. Sigh.

Rockwell; Somebody's Watching Me (1984)

Automotive Grievances

...here in my car/ I feel safest of all/ I can lock all my doors/ it's the only way to live....

It's my fault. I'll get that out of the way right now. 

Look, he needed a better car, HAS been needing one for several years, but the stupid old Mitsubishi Lancer just refused to flat out die. 

It leaks oil from almost literally everywhere, the engine mounts are cracked, it can't pass emissions inspection... but it still runs. It gets up to speed pretty quickly. The heat and the air conditioner both work GREAT. The radio gets the sports station. 

My mechanic said it would be $5K to fix it "...and that's just what we can see. Once we get into it, it could be more than that. MUCH more than that." It was marked on the paperwork as Unsafe To Drive, and they didn't even deem it worth an oil change. Still, I drove it twice that week to DC and back for gigs, and have been driving it around town carefully since then, with "You're about twelve good potholes away from that engine being on the highway" ringing in my mind as I do so. 

It's a 2006 that his mother bought used, beat to hell because she's a terrible driver, and then gave to him when she moved to Arizona. It continues to get better than 25 miles to the gallon and has 291,000 (and change) miles on it right now, so it doesn't owe us a dime.

So I started shopping. I shopped for the thing he said he wanted. I shopped for things I hoped he would accept as acceptable, or even pleasant. For some reason, he has a bias against Toyotas. He's similarly biased against Hondas, though slightly less so. Never mind, they're running very high right now anyway. Car scarcity, resale value, perceived worth and so on. 

What I want for him is something safe, with low miles on it, high fuel efficiency, good sightlines, that he won't resent driving, that he feels is NICE. "I'm tired of driving crap cars," he said. Dude, you bought cars without consulting me several times. You bought a Jeep from some shady folk just because the AC ran real cold. And were surprised when it suddenly died. Come ON. 

I researched the HELL out of Honda CRV before choosing one that had a moderate price tag, was seven years old, with only 26K on it. That is a great car. I could find another- but he says he hates the sightlines. So we won't be a 2 CRV family. He doesn't really want an SUV. He wants a sedan. And he wants leather interior. Mine's leather, so I get that. 

He agreed to drive the Mazda CX5 in addition to Mazda 6 that he had decided was the best match. The Mazda CX5 he agreed was solid and not terrible, and also not really so much an SUV as a pregnant hatchback. It was a decent car. We drove a Mazda 6, low miles, leather interior, stickshift. Very nice. But, stickshift. He CAN. But his knees.... he'd rather not.

I surprised him by showing him a Lexus ES 350. I did this because Consumer Reports LOVES the Lexus. Almost every model, almost every year, from 2005 through 2020, almost without exception. They're pricey. Possibly too pricey. But a test drive isn't a commitment, right? RIGHT? 

Well. He flat out LOVES the Lexus ES. The moonroof. The leather seats. The little joystick near the gear shifter that moves the cursor on the interactive screen. He drove also a Lexus RX (another a pregnant hatchback) and likes it fine, only not as much as the sedan. He tried an IS, but it was too small. He bumped his head getting into it, and once he was in, his head touched the ceiling. He's not particularly large, but he's too big for an IS.

We've found a Mazda 6 that checks ALL the boxes, in the price range we were targeting. WITH leather interior, AND a moonroof. He hesitates. He really wants the Lexus ES. Our insurance company was NO help, coming in with similar numbers to insure each of the models he likes best. He's only just barely considering that the Mazda 6 gets nearly 10 miles per gallon more than the ES, because he likes the poshness of the Lexus. He feels he deserves a car with a certain amount of poshness, at his age. I'm not arguing that, not at all.  But ...ten miles. Per gallon. 

Several months ago, he and I jointly managed to talk Pugsley out of a Dodge Charger (not widely available, poor mileage, overpriced and THE most stolen car in the United States right now) and into a Mazda 3. Which Pugsley agreed, after awhile and several test drives of different makes/ models, was a better fit for him, and he kind of fell in love with it. He's very happy with mileage around 28/36, and it has a pretty good sound system.

I felt like we were making headway towards replacing the Mitsu, then early Saturday morning, when I had another gig in DC, the CRV started up with a horrible, no-muffler blast. I went to the gig, did 3 hours on stilts, drove home in DC traffic, and investigated after I parked. 

Someone had cut out my catalytic converter overnight. The police came, made a report. The insurance company said it would be covered, minus my deductible. It's even considered "no fault" since it was vandalism. I hope that means my rates won't go up because of it. 

 In any case, our search is more fraught than it was last week, because not only do we have the deductible to pay, no insurance adjuster is even available to inspect the car and approve the repairs. They'll get back to me with an update within 5 business days. NOT get to the inspection in 5 days, no. Just... an UPDATE. Which, since Honda is running 3 months lead time on parts anyway is a drop in the bucket, right? So Gomez was going to put a temporary pipe on for me, to quiet the noise. 

The thief not only cut but also damaged the pipe, so it's not round anymore. The fix Gomez planned to do won't work. I'll be driving that thing with noise and fumes assaulting me for... well, who even knows how long? 

Our car search now has an edge of desperation- at least for me- while he merrily drives the quiet Mitzu with the wobbly engine, blithely confident that it will hold up for him until the perfect car magically appears and makes everyone happy. It'll be a Lexus that has about 72,000 miles on it, and, by some dark magic, gets 25 miles per gallon. It'll be in his price range, he'll be approved for a loan and can afford the payments. 

Please, I beg you, for the love of everything you and I both hold dear...

...do NOT tell him it's a Toyota.

Gary Numan; Cars

Vintage Sandwich

...I have a pen, I have pineapple/ Uh! Pineapple-pen....[ Now where he at, where he at/ where he at, where he at/ Now there he go, there he go/ there he go, there he go...]

Because I had occasion to be with my Dad recently (he turned 80 and looks GREAT), I also had occasion to nudge him into eating one of 'his' sandwiches with me. This is something I remember from my childhood, like Mother's special instant Tea Mixture, which I recently reintroduced into the life of my friend MonKe. She'd forgotten about the existence of this ambrosia, but was instantly transported at one whiff of the stuff.

Aaaanyway, this story is about my Dad's special sandwich. No one I know has heard of it. 

It's an open-faced grilled peanut butter pineapple and cheddar cheese sandwich, cooked on the Broiler setting in a Toaster Oven.

Flash back to nineteen seventy something, and my Dad, and a Toaster Oven. We have wheat bread in the house, because we are crunchy granola hippies. We have Colby cheese in the house because cheese is a good snack for small children. We have pineapple rings- well, I'm guessing Dad would've needed to purchase these especially for the sandwich. Maybe a dented can at the grocery, I dunno. 

So here's my Dad, spreading all natural peanut butter on whole wheat bread, probably that he or Mother had baked themselves, (they had a bakery for a bit, which is itself a story), topping that with a pineapple ring and slicing cheese on top of it before putting it into the Toaster Oven to bake or grill or whatever. I think I watched him prepare these on several occasions spanning a couple of years, thinking the ingredient combination slightly revolting, before eventually asking whether it was good. "I like them. Do you want me to make one for you?" I think I demurred, worried about wasting food. He probably said something along the lines of finishing it if I didn't like it. 

As I remember, I DID like it. 

Not enough to ask for it, but I'd thereafter have one whenever he was making one.

I liked it enough that I REMEMBER it, remember liking it. Remember sharing them with my Dad.

I've never attempted make it for my own kids. I've described it, and they made faces, so I didn't. It was a Dad thing. 

But jeeze, I don't get to hang with my Dad and have food often. So I hadn't had that sandwich in... well, as long as my offspring have been alive, and probably longer than that. 

And it offended me to think of making one WITHOUT Daddy, so while I was with him in Minneapolis, (recovering from Covid, poor thing, so really not up to a Great Big Birthday Deal for his 80th), I said I wanted to have those sandwiches. I procured pineapple rings when Nance and I went round to shops picking up his cake and scallops and so on for his birthday dinner. The next day, we made sandwiches. Well, HE made sandwiches, as always, and I helped eat them. 

I learned something new about the recipe that I hadn't known before. 

He likes it made with AMERICAN cheese. 

In our house when I was growing up, we had Colby cheese almost exclusively, until us kids were sophisticated enough to prefer cheddar. So I only ever had this sandwich topped with Colby cheese. 

I did not hate it with American cheese, though I expected to. 

Whole grain bread. All natural peanut butter. A pineapple ring. One slice of American cheese. He has a pop up type toaster now, and that obviously won't work for this sort of sandwich. Instead, he put them on a cookie sheet into the preheated oven for no more than five minutes, and probably less. 

Man, it was good. I didn't think to take a picture. 

I don't know if he buttered the bread before spreading peanut butter on, because I was arguing with the can opener while he was spreading stuff. I hope he eats more of them- there were several slices of pineapple in a plastic container when I left last Monday.

But here's the other thing I learned about this sandwich. He didn't invent it.

Dad recalls Grammy making these sandwiches when he was in high school. My guess is that it was possibly a '50s recipe created by a food manufacturer. Could I find this sandwich on the internet, though? It took several tries, over the course of several days.  

According to Vintage Food Disaster  from November of 2010, this sandwich was supposed to have been made with Velveeta cheese product. Described by the intrepid blogger, Adrienne in Wisconsin, as

"...a Hawaiian open faced sandwich that was born in the depths of hell,"

 it was peanut butter on halves of hamburger bun, spread with peanut butter, crowned with pineapple rings, covered with a slice of Velveeta Cheese Food, and topped with half a maraschino cherry each.

AHA. This sounds like something my Grammy would have made to use up the rest of the hamburger buns before they got too stale. I don't know if she'd've kept maraschino cherries in her house on the regular. I remember them on her hams, but for Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving was a Happening. Daddy never mentioned cherries, and I think would balk at them.  

 The Vintage Food Disasters blogger Adrienne says nothing of the time it took to bake or broil this sandwich, but here was her reaction:

"...although they certainly had the look of something indigestible, they turned out to be a complete let down.  I was shocked to watch more than one guest willingly take multiple bites." 

There's no date given, (though after the invention of Velveeta in 1930something) that particular ersatz Hawaiian Velveeta sandwich earned a mention in this history of Velveeta. 

Grammy may have found the recipe in McCall's. The timeline puzzles me, though, since that McCall's page seems to be dated May 1962, and Daddy would've been 20, or nearly 20, in '62. At any rate, probably not in high school. Maybe college?

Timeline aside, should you doubt the edibility of such a creation, I refer you again to Adrienne's blog:

"My friend Laura described it in the most glowing terms, praising it for "juiciness" and making an argument for it as a passable snack."

 It absolutely is a passable snack, or light lunch. 

Hmm, I think I have pineapple rings in the kitchen right now.

Piko-Taro; Pen-Pineapple-Apple-Pen [ Buckwheat Boyz; It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time]

Cool Cats

...Indians send signals from the rocks above the pass...

I haven't stopped writing. I've just been writing elsewhere, sometimes even for money.

It became less fun when my friends stopped blogging sometime between 2010 and 2012, some of them sooner than that. I was screaming, whispering, sobbing into a void, mostly capturing my mother's descent into madness, or amusing myself with how clever I think I sometimes am. 

So here I am, and already complaining. What is it now, you may ask. (Let's pretend you did.)

Blogger refuses to tell me how to add new links to my sidebar, and it's been so long I can't remember how to do it from memory. Popular wisdom is to play around and figure it out, which I guess I will do, eventually. I thought, though, that I would do that with my new laptop (in July; it's still NEW, seriously) which came with no Owner's Manual or User Guide, and I went online, looking for a video or PDF or something, ANYthing, which would tell me how to use this nice new Pavilion 360, but all I got was unboxing videos and and advertising trailer. And I so far haven't. Played around and figured it out, that is. Only, just the other day, I noticed, right beneath my left wrist, a sticker with one of those QVR thingies and in tiny letters beneath that it says "Scan for reviews, videos, features, specs, support**" which clearly I haven't done yet, (I refuse to count that as a failing on my part, as my phone doesn't have the QVR scanny function; I need to download A Dreaded App), because I'm complaining about this shiny new gadget that I'm underusing, I suspect, fairly significantly. 

And that's not particularly cute anymore. Even though I still think of myself as Primarily Decorative, the mirror tells me that really, I'm NOT. Which forces me to become, I suppose, a Woman Of Substance. Which, you know, I've always been, but that wasn't what people saw first. Remind me to write a post about people confusing beauty with talent, which happens to me pretty regularly, but it's a whole separate thing than this here. 

The point being that at least some of my cool blog friends (Dan Tobin, Totcetera) from the peak of blogginess have returned to blogging- though not on Blogger, on another platform, substack, which someone will need to explain to me why I should be there instead of here- and I'd love to link to their new sites and stop getting the 404 Not Found on my screen.  

All this to say, now I have a bit more impetus to write regularly, which is good for me, and also now I've just uncovered the secret of why it takes me a coon's age (what is that, exactly?) to write my reviews. I've been approaching them like a blog post, with research and links, except no links, so I need to explain everything. 

Anyway, if you've made it this far, and I don't blame you if you haven't, thank you for reading. It's more fun for me to do if I think it amuses someone else as well. 

You can pretend to be amused. Humor me.

Squeeze; Cool For Cats