I can’t decide which is the more spiteful (and therefore enjoyable path) in my relationship. Should I die of this cold or flu to spite M. (who equated my drama and pessimism about my diseased state with my cultural upbringing)? Or, would it be better to live (in spite of my misery) and use my time here on earth to hector him?

What to do, what to do, what to do?

By the way, that last sentence (well, “last” before the wasteland of rhetorical questioning) deserves a confession of something for which I am not proud, and, if he knew the history, might not go unnoticed in a linguistic corner of Boston comedy.

There is a man, who I have been known to deride (mostly directly to his face (or his email account)) for his love of puns and “clever” wordplay on stage. (Yeah, I know Willy Shakespeare did it all the fucking time, but still and all, I find it distracting as all get out when listening to a performance.)

I used the word “hector” above mostly because of it being the thing that popped out of the old folds in the gray matter. However, and here’s where, if perchance the punning guy stumbles here, instead of doing the Daily Jumble (or whatever those kind of folks do for shits, giggles and crank yanking), I confess.

Hector is a big player in the story of the Trojan War, which Homer
put on the old ancient map.

Someone I know but will not name, who is a big player himself in the story of my weblog, is fond (some might say “overly fond”) of a certain Hollywood spectacular I almost dare not name. (It pains me to reflect on what I know I am about to write, the truth, even as I write this post.) Let’s just say, if I were in California right now, I may be enduring Brad Pitt’s buff body (OK, I could deal) and Orlando Bloom’s fey retardation again through the magic that is a newly released DVD.

And, because I care, I would have to try very, very hard (and likely fail) to not complain and/or comment and taint someone else’s movie watching joy. (To be totally fair, I thought Hector was OK in the movie. I kind of liked him as a character and as an actor portraying a character. (Although I kept waiting for him to turn gigantic and green and mention his anger management issues.)

By the way, I am the chick who digs the metrosexual, I suppose. I’m thinking I might have a thing for girlie men. There’s the above-mentioned softcore gaiety (along with the hunky, Greek-baiting version of Alexander.) And, an ex-beau actually OWNED (so, like, he could watch it over and over again) the fucking Titanic. (And, I ain’t even linking to that flick.)

I feel so shitty and achy and nasally (and whiny, did I mention I was sick?), I almost can’t sleep, but I will end on two unrelated notes.

I call a plague of something quite unpleasant involving words like pustules and boils and recta and pus upon the first guy who tainted Tylenol or Pixie Sticks. In my weakened state, I lack the strength and agility for goddamn, fucking, blister packs of blessed, symptomatic relief. Fuck you medicine and food tainters wherever you lurk.

I call forth all powers in the universe to smile with fortune and grace to the developers behind Firefox and all its nifty doodads. There’s that security thing all the kids are talking about, sure. But, I’m all up in the right-clicking mess with corners of tool bars chockful of useful info and development geegaws. You gotta dig the easy to take, easy to reach search engine list (Dictionary.com is my friend ) and the blog-bullshit ease of JustBlogIt.

Man, if I knew someone who was going to help put some warm-puppy, open source goodness into the tiny, little fists of struggling desktop users (good folk, just like you and me), if I knew someone like that, I’d have to help him out, or at least give him a hug. All clean and family friendly like, nothing too, you know, adult, unless, you know how it sometimes goes with hugs and all.