Tag Archives: plogic

This morning I was was reading yet another story about end of the world people who are stockpiling canned food and batteries and air filters for their underground bunker so they can be ready when the world ends.

So here’s my question.

They’re going to be sitting in a bunker rationing their survival cave food buckets and playing card games in candlelight, and then what?

Is that really a life, smugly enjoying being so smart to still be alive, all by themselves and waiting for the day when … what?

When they can all roam on the gray surface trying to avoid being eaten by the other survivors?

If everything does go to hell, I want to be a ghost (I plan on expiring in the first 15 minutes of the catastrophe, whatever it is) watching those people sitting across from each other reconstituting their beef stroganoff survival meals. I think that would be funny.

Last night I was sitting in my room doing my computer thing and I hear my husband laughing hysterically in the kitchen. The laughter goes on long enough and with enough force that I know this is about me. Something I did is funny.

I wander in there with my “now what did I do?” face on and he’s holding this bag of chips and wiping tears from his eyes and telling me how funny I am.

The chips are almost gone and I clipped the top half of the bag off so I wouldn’t have to get half my arm greasy reaching into the bottom of the bag to get my chips. I can’t see the hilarity in this. Seems perfectly plogical to me.

Yesterday I did something I haven’t done in a long time which is go to the library. I’ve been avoiding getting library books because I already have so many books around here that I haven’t read. Gifts and books I’ve asked for and books I bought and they all have bookmarks on page 3 or 5 because at one point I started it and then probably put it in a pile by the bed and then when the pile beside the bed got too high I would “clean it out” and put the books away to read later. But for the past 2 years I’ve read fewer books than ever and I’ve vowed to keep working on the pile of books that already live here which isn’t getting any smaller.

For some reason, I don’t like to have a whole bunch of books going at once — which sounds like a lie since I have about 5 going right now. But only 2 are fiction. I’ve even cut back on the magazine reading but writing shitty screenplays and farting around online eats up a lot of what used to be my reading time. Oh, and probably my Angel addiction which is now my Buffy addiction. (Probably more on that in the future as this was my first Buffy disc this week — season 1 – yay) I got The Real McCoy by Darin Strauss because someone at the writers conference said it was super fantastic and I got Jennifer Government by Max Barry because I heard about it somewhere and it looks like the kind of book I used to enjoy but never seem to read anymore. Only 2 things. I showed great restraint. Meanwhile, I’m still reading The Kelly Gang book by Peter Carry and the short stories by George Saunders. I won’t list the stuff in the pile except to say that I’m thinking of bringing Richard Russo to Orleans.

Back to not starting a bunch of books at once. I’m a complete project oriented person. I like things to have a beginning, middle and end and I don’t like to start unless I know I’m going to do all the parts and I don’t like things to be unfinished. This applies to everything. I don’t like video taping a show if I missed the first couple minutes. Why wash only a few dishes in the sink if you’re not going to wash all of them, then wipe down the counters and put the butter away? Why do only half the laundry if you can fit the whole basket in the machine as one load? Ideally if I had the time, money and energy, I’d like to raze the entire backyard and start all over — installing sprinklers for the first step. I’m not suggesting this is a good or bad way to be, only that this is way I am and my husband is not.