It's Saturday night, and I am sitting in a Starbucks, with a bunch of what appear to be college students (it's the SB closest to Stanford on El Camino, for those keeping score). The Rocket Scientist had another obligation this evening, and I decided to leave the house before I committed actual violence on my sons. (I am trying to refer to them as something other than children: at nearly 21, 17 and 15, they are emphatically not children any more, no matter how they might act sometimes.)
This blogging every day business might be harder than it looks. After a couple of actual substantive posts, I feel I have nothing really to say. I have you guys for company, but that is a little like talking to my imaginary friends. I know you're there, I just can't see you. (Not to say that you guys are imaginary... oh, hell. You are intelligent people, you can understand the simile.) Not to mention that some of you won't read this until tomorrow, or the day after, or next week.
It is not that there are not a lot of things out in the world to comment on: Occupy Wall Street keeps on keeping on. Today, cops arrested people who were trying to close their accounts at Citibank. That's one way to keep customers. Arrest them. So much for the "free market" and "voting with your feet."
The fact that both Citibank and Bank of America have been so desperate to prevent people from taking their money elsewhere -- say to a local bank or credit union -- supports what the protesters have been yelling about. People are not citizens, or even customers. They're cattle to be milked.
I am trying to figure out why every SB I have been in is so freaking cold. Maybe it is to create an incentive for people to buy more hot drinks.
I have gotten some good feedback for my "Silence = Death" post, for which I am grateful. It was one of the hardest posts I've ever written, but it felt important.
I am not following the baseball playoffs any more. After the Rays were eliminated, I kept paying attention only to see if the Yankees advanced. Thank you, Detroit!
This morning I worked at a walk-a-thon for a nonprofit I volunteer at, which specializes in grief and bereavement counseling. I wasn't able to walk (see previous post, "Venting," about my FMS, which has abated a little but which still makes walking more than about 100 feet difficult and painful) but I did oversee the volunteers running registration. It is important work, and I am glad I can support it.
Be careful what you wish for: I expressed a longing a couple of weeks back for a corset. I am now the owner of a blue and black brocade corset with a Victorian sweetheart neckline. (It was a gift.) I have been told that I look great in it, but am not sure if a) it is clothing or lingerie and b) if the former, exactly where I would wear it. I have pictures, but in keeping with other people's sensibilities, not to mention my own sheepishness, I am not going to post them here.
Oddly enough, now that I am writing, I am finding it a little hard to stop. Rambling on seems much more interesting that checking FaceBook or LiveJournal.
Maybe I'll go check out SCOTUSblog and see what's coming up. I'm sure you'll hear from me later. If not, I hope you have a more exciting evening than I am having.