The Blogjacking Continues

Mat’s out battling the wilds of government contracting so while he’s on safari, I’m manning the helm. It’s official now. I am your tour guide.

I used to have a blog of my own. It was originally created as part of an elaborate stalking strategy for snaring myself a Mat. However, once the mission was complete and I no longer had critical information to casually pass along encoded in my daily entries, I ran out of inspiration. Occasionally, I would indulge in a hearty political rant. But that sort of thing is everywhere these days and I realize it can get rather tiresome (which is why I took my rants to the airwaves, thereby inflicting them on a more captive and unsuspecting audience). So I ultimately dropped the blog.

But I have found new inspiration. My muse, her name is Caffeine. And she’s fickle. Sometimes she makes me so I can’t put two thoughts together and sometimes she lubricates my mind. Yesterday, she did me well. But today, it’s a whole nother shooting match. To my left is a freshly emptied bottle of Starbuck’s yummy extra frothy Mocha-licious Frappuccino. Let’s drop in and see how it’s going.

Brain Cell One: ‘Ere she blows! Ye better move fast or we’re gonna lose ‘er!
Brain Cell Two: Aye aye, cap’n. I’m reelin’ ‘er in as fast as I can, but the men are havin’ a hard time of it! They cain’t see through the fog, she’s so thick!
Brain Cell One: Why, ye better pull it together, matey, or we’re gonna lose the whole kit ‘n’ kaboodle.

It doesn’t look good.

Does anyone remember “kaboodles” of the 1980’s? Pastel plastic cases for carrying all the earthly delights a teenage girl could muster. Since I was deprived of most earthly delights, I’m not sure what mine contained. An assortment of thread for friendship bracelets? Fake little girl make-up? Sweet Valley High and Bobsey Twins paperbacks? I don’t recall. Maybe I didn’t even own one and I’ve just substituted the permanent impression of all that pinpoint accurate demographically-targeted marketing as my own memory.

I’ve had that happen before. I thought I remembered something as having occurred in my own life, only to realize after searching deep in my brain for the source, that it was something I saw on TV. How disappointing. (Or maybe it’s a good thing if it was a scary memory.) It’s like discovering that something you thought your parents made up and was unique to your life was actually something they mined from the pop culture of some earlier age and you had to share it with the greasy needy palms of the rest of the world. It’s like everyone else already knows the punchline.

My dad and I used to play a game when I was a kid. We’d pull the blankets over our heads on the bed and I’d tap-tap-tap on his belly like it was a typewriter. He would make “briiiing… briiiing… briiiing” telephone noises to which I would answer “Good morning! This is the Reisterstown Library! How may I help you?” (Other variations included the Reisterstown Post Office and the Reisterstown Hardware Store. My pick.) Then he would respond in the voice of either Flibberty Jones, Smackwood Sam or Throck Morton. (His pick.) He would inquire about some item that we didn’t carry and I’d have to politely tell him to take a hike. Invariably, he would fall asleep while on hold waiting for my supervisor, and I would have to wake him up, begging for another customer.

Really, it was an ingenious indoctrination into a service-based capitalist economy and it probably speaks volumes to my personality that I was so enraptured with the idea of playing a librarian with too much to do and too little time. I think I was always a little starstruck by the idea of playing a mile-a-minute Wendy Wasserstein-style feminist yuppie. (Hence the excitement over my newly discovered caffeine-induced extrovert.) But in my childhood dreams, my yuppies always worked retail.

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