People, who knew I would have another opportunity to use my Scandinavia tag (and to practice spelling Scandinavia correctly)?
And yet, here I am, to report that Norway has not one, but at least, it would appear, two “firewood celebrities.” I mean, you can’t be the biggest Norwegian firewood celebrity unless there’s someone falling a little short of that, right?
And Norway is so small! But the U.S. does not even have one firewood celebrity. Yes, we have Smokey Bear, but he’s more a fire celebrity.
I am making it my personal goal to be the U.S.’s biggest firewood celebrity, even though I have no idea what such a title might require. I will make my Scandinavian ancestors proud, though.
Or not. Ha ha ha.
–I may, just by default and by virtue of the kinds of manuscripts I used to acquire, be the nation’s foremost expert on the sexy feelings of dead Spaniards. There’s not much to report. They had erotic feelings. They liked to make art based on them. For a while, a woman riding a bicycle was incredibly sexy. And then it wasn’t. And then Queen kind of made it so again.
–I somehow have gotten on the mailing lists of agents for illustrators. Mostly they just send me emails, but sometimes they send me colorful postcards, which I hang up and look at when I’m bored.
–Seeing how good that afghan looks in the office and how lively it makes things, I now wonder if I shouldn’t work to drape the whole office in colorful afghans.
–So, obviously, the afghan survived the wash. It is very soft.
–If it doesn’t warm up in here soon, I may wrap myself in the afghan for my one o’clock.
Until yesterday, when people said “Tennessee” I’m sure you thought “jackass yokels who want to oppress gay people.”
And then, yesterday, we learned that Congressman Steve Cohen–already famous for smoking pot with local media back in the day–has a secret daughter with the ex-wife of Frank Sinatra Jr. Our cool factor just went up exponentially.
We’re all less than six degrees of separation from Motherfucking Dean Martin!