My grandmother is down for her second nap of the day. It’s not even 1:30 in the afternoon.
She’s been sleeping more of late. She’s also been keeping odd hours, and her perception of light and dark seems to be non-existent.
The new television remotes confuse her. There’s one for the television, and one for the digital converter box. (And if anyone knows codes for the Insignia converter to control it using an RCA universal remote, please let me know. A single remote would make things so much easier.) And sometimes she’ll unplug everything and leave a mass of wires, antennas, and boxes.
Work last week involved much keyboard pounding.
The Thanksgiving holiday on Thursday threw a spanner in the works, deadlines were pushed up, and there was much angst at the office. I was a bit Zen; someone in another department fell afoul of the deadline pressures, and I was able to work around that without difficulty. By the end of Friday, the only thing left on my plate for the week unfinished was an article on Stephen King, but the people I needed to run it past for approvals weren’t even in the office, so I left it for Monday.
I watched some Monty Python during the week; I needed the laugh. On Saturday, I watched instead Do Not Adjust Your Set, the pre-Monty Python show that starred Eric Idle, Terry Jones, Michael Palin, and a few others. It’s also notable for featuring The Bonzo Dog Band in each episode. Do Not Adjust is pretty enjoyable, if you like Python, though I thought the Captain Fantastic segments dragged, and in one episode where the Bonzos performed in blackface I was seriously weirded out.
Someone surfed into my blog earlier in the week with the following search phrase — “My Favorite Things” is not a Christmas song. And no, indeed, “My Favorite Things is not a Christmas song. I don’t understand why I hear it this time of year. There’s nothing Christmassy about “My Favorite Things.” Maybe it’s that I don’t really like The Sound of Music that much. Maybe I’m just a hater. But it’s not a Christmas song, dagnabbit! 😆
Posters for Transporter 3 were given out at work. I noticed one hanging in one of the graphic designer’s cubicles. “You know,” I said, “if they ever made a biopic of my life, they should get Jason Statham to play me.”
The designer gave me an incredulous look.
“No, really! I think a shit-kicking Cockney could do me justice!”
Ten minutes later, another graphic designer brought me a copy of the Transporter 3 poster. But instead of saying it was for Transporter 3, it had become The Allyn Gibson Story. 😆