My Little Sister Is an Old Married Lady Now!
They're in London on honeymoon and aren't here to see it, but here's some obnoxious marquee spam done in their honor!
Sharon is probably regreting the day that she ever agreed to teach me basic HTML and therefore opened a can of worms for me to discover the marquee tag!
In other news, I'm trying to resist the urge to plunge into my next story--an o-fic for Sharon's birthday at the end of June, incidentally--until I get some stuff done. Namely, the Silmarillion readings for the next two weeks so that Jenni can post them while I'm gone. I've got "Of the Fifth Battle" to do, which shouldn't be bad, as the chapter is not that long...and "Of Turin." "Of Turin" is humongous! It's going to take forever, just like the damned "Beren and Luthien" chapter this past week. Someone should have asked the good professor to at least try for consistent chapter length. Some of the early chapters are, what, two pages? Then the ending chapters are novellas unto themselves.
In baby-bird news, we have another egg! Indis laid another egg sometime over the weekend, and she and Finwe have been busy rebuilding the nest. I'll be checking in often to see if she lays anymore, but it looks like we'll have at least one new baby. We'd planned on taking our plants to my in-laws while we're in Puerto Rico, but it looks like we're going to be trusting ol' Mother Nature to assure that the snapdragon gets watered. Mother Nature and Potter, who might stop by the apartment a couple of times while we're gone. He's free, therefore, to use the Xbox 360...as long as he waters my snapdragon.
Coming to work this morning, a saw a tanker truck slam into the side of a passenger car. The guy in the car was fine...or so I presume, since he immediately jumped out of the car and started screaming at the trucker, running back and forth across the highway, waving his hands and shouting. The trucker never climbed down while I was there, and I do not blame him. I think the guy would have kicked his ass. Really, I don't know what the trucker was thinking. Maybe he wasn't thinking, and that was the problem. He made a left turn right into the side of this guy crossing the intersection.
I told Bobby the other day that--despite the things we enjoy doing that seem like they'd be higher risk than driving a car--I am far more afraid of driving lately than nearly anything else. I still flinch when cars come out of driveways to my right. I have to try very hard not to be a back-seat driver when I'm not behind the wheel and second-guess everything that Bobby or Potter is doing. Three times in the past three weeks, Bobby says, he has nearly been hit by people who act as though our car is invisble. (Our Aerio is bright apple-red; I guarantee you, it is not invisible!) Twice, I have been with him. Once, I was driving. A woman pulled in front of me from stopped traffic while I was driving down the interstate on Friday; if I'd been going 5 mph faster or if Bobby hadn't said, "Watch this idiot," right before she pulled out or if I had stopped five inches closer, I would have hit her.
Those of you who don't drive, you have the right idea. I wish that I could join you.
Is it sad when I ponder the feasibility of riding a bike fourteen miles to work each day? Of course, this still requires me to be on the road with insane drivers.
Our higher-up boss Vernon was nearly killed over Memorial Weekend when he took his brand-new Harley Davidson motorcycle out for the first time, and a guy made a left turn right in front of him. He said that the guy stopped, looked at him, and turned anyway. He broke three ribs and punctured a lung; he only got out of the hospital at the end of last week.
I'm really depressing myself now. But it's hard not to think of these things lately.
On a brighter note, Bobby and I are seeing Spamalot at the National Theatre in Washington tonight. He surprised me with tickets; they'd sold out, but they recently opened more seats, and he grabbed them up as soon as he could. One of his coworkers who went with us to the hockey game on Saturday saw it and loved it. Since Bobby, Potter, and I watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail every six months or so, I think we'll love it too.