Of E.T. And Deadly Satellites

As I write this, I'm listening to the sounds of men working on the row of flats across the courtyard. That's not sexist, there just aren't any women. If one shows up, I'll be sure to update to gender neutral noun usage. It's curious that the kitchen in my old flat has a plastic curtain up, decorated with warnings of asbestos exposure. There's also a large apparatus engaged in the business of sucking particles out of the air and then depositing them into the air by the back stoop. I lived in that place for 17 years, so I'm naturally curious about what exactly has everyone dressed like they're harboring E.T. in my place. It's rather disconcerting.

I know all this because, under cover of darkness, I snoop around.

In other news, by now I'm sure that everyone is familiar with the Pentagon's plan to fire a missile at a falling satellite. Ostensibly, this is to protect some poor sucker from getting creamed when it hits the Earth, although that is statistically about as likely as getting struck by lightning and attacked by a shark at the same time. Everyone agrees that they're really doing this to play with their missile defense shield. I've seen enough science fiction movies to know that they're playing a dangerous game. There is something on that satellite, and it wants to suck spinal fluid out of your ear. And don't count on Kurt Russell to protect you this time. Besides, if we just let the satellite fall out of the sky it will most likely hit either nothing or one of our enemies. We have a lot of enemies.

I'd like to raise my glass to Jane Fonda for saying, "cunt" on The Today Show. It's about time we broke the "C" barrier here in the States.

Finally, I want to mention Chica's blog. She truly understands the unpleasant ebb and flow of bipolar disorder, and manages to channel her manic creativity wonderfully.

Fun times indeed!