If you carefully read this page (and if you do, I might suggest a more uplifting hobby. I hear birdwatching is quite relaxing), you may have noted the return to the Bay State of M., who has been sojourning in the Bay area. Clearly, the man digs bays.
If you noticed such a thing, you may have assumed I have not been writing because of my single devotion to his visit and, in fact, his mere presence. While I would like to say that is true, because I’m sure he deserves, and might enjoy, the attention, I cannot. Seriously though, I have no gauge for these things, but wouldn’t it be incredibly stalker-rific to truly drop everything. I mean men are cool and all, and they come in real handy for certain jobs a “lady” can’t do by herself (well, she can, but it’s not the same), but I would guess that I’m possibly a bit attractive by virtue of not being so cock-whipped that I live without a life.
In addition to spending time with the boy-o, I seriously fucked my desktop OS through impatience. (Turns out if you have automatic upgrading turned on and Apple is releasing a software upgrade for the OS, you probably should let it finish loading. D’oh!)
By the way, two geeks sharing a single laptop is less than ideal. (At least M. is a pleasant man with whom to share, but our respective email joneses are tough to kept fed without 24/7 access.)
In other news, my fascination with weatherman Warren Madden, is becoming sillier and more sinister seeming. I mentioned my conversation with Kevin about how we both failed in our childhood relationships with Warren to a group of people at dinner the other night (mostly so I could announce my favorite new self-deprecating thought — that of all the best and brightest I hung with back in the day, so far my mark on the world is unemployment). I had completely forgotten that two of my dinner companions also knew Warren (when he left the bullshit public school system of which I am a product, he went to their private, Catholic high school.)
They, too, were interested in the whereabouts of the erstwhile science and math geek boy. Now, thanks to my insanity (and I mean that glibly not literally for my stalkers out there who can’t tell the difference), they may also be “googling” good old Warren.
I don’t know whether it is the particular mellifluousness of his name or maybe just the two-beat rhythm of first and last, but I cannot say Warren without Madden.
And, if my mother were alive today, I’m sure she would be interested in the links I have found. To her, Warren was the pinnacle of hope of what an eager, bright child might be and later become as an adult. Even into adulthood, she might ask me, “Whatever happened to Warren Madden?”
Alas, it was not to be that I would be the pinnacle of hope of what an eager, bright child might be to my dear mater. Perhaps if I studied more and was a tad less sarcastic. (Yeah, right, like that was gonna happen.)