Perhaps you’ll all be absurdly pleased to know that everything is working again. It seems I had a poorly written permalink code in my WP admin.
Yep. That’s why I asked for help from the people who know about those things, because finding that code and fixing it myself would have been the equivalent of extracting bone marrow from a newborn calf and giving it to my cat for increased vigor.
On a similar note, have you ever been in a public place and felt somebody looking at you? They are inevitably somebody you want to look back at, either because they’re hot, they’re weird looking, or because you want to catch them looking and thus get in some mildly uncomfortable staring match.
On a similar note, I was conducting some activities last weekend with the stepdad, and after he’d given a hand, he wandered off to perform whatever little Amish chintzing he could do about the property. As he wandered back over the crest of the glade, I detected a female voice.
Now, I’m not necessarily a genius, but I can usually detect from the lilt in someone’s voice whether they’ve been able to hold on to all of their ice cubes. If they haven’t, and that tall, sweating glass of delicious tea or lemonade is a few cubes short of delightfully chilled, I wait with an anticipatory chill for what the conversation might offer.
The lady following my stepdad across the glade was the proud owner of a locally famous surname. Not only was she not in charge of all her ice cubes, but she had long ago given up on refrigerators. She was one of those “natural” people who stop at every blade of grass, every fabulous pebble, and inform you in a wispy, faux-important voice that here lies the spirit of nature: how could you simply let it reside in such a forlorn and forgotten position.
She picked up a shell. It was a cool shell, given, but she turned its very existence into the second coming of Gaia herself. The lady with the locally famous surname spent a few minutes wandering about the property, looking for a proper resting place for the heavens to shine upon this newfound breast of the gods.
Then she returned, we said our hellos, and she proceeded to stare at me.
Just … stare at me. Maybe she was hoping my face would suddenly explode like an attacking octopus, and my multi tentacled skull would unload unto her the answers to the universe to which she’d been seeking.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got a famous name. Congratulations.”
Stare.
Jesus, lady, eat some protein. Your synapses obviously need a reboot.
Vitriol