I woke up this morning at the usual time. As, I often do, I checked the weather on my iPhone before getting up, saw that it was 12ºF below zero, smiled and went back to sleep, because I'm on vacation. Later, my phone woke me up to tell me that it was Christmas Eve. I couldn't believe I'd slept straight through the weekend, and I hadn't, of course. Apple, my favorite company ever, has really started to toy with my affections. I stumped the Apple Geniuses last weekend with a Time Machine problem and I didn't even get a t-shirt.
Still, I'm on vacation, Shaun of the Dead is trending on twitter, Let's Pretend This Never Happened by +Jenny Lawson was recommended on the Today Show, and I'm still on vacation.
And speaking of books, and awkward segues, I've been listening to Moby Dick. Listening to it is easier than reading it; some of the long tedious passages are actually mildly amusing in a tedious way, and sometimes it's possible to zone out briefly while the book rolls on, which never happens in a paper book if you don't remember to turn the page. I find that I can sort of identify with Captain Ahab. Not with his monomaniacal passion because I take Zoloft and even before the Zoloft, I was too lazy and easily distracted (look, a bird) to sail halfway around the world, or around the block, even, for revenge. But because we're the same age, and he's apt to launch into long rambling self-absorbed speeches about how special he is.
I really, really, identify with the whale, covered as he is in all that blubber, and having an implacable universe hurling harpoons at him every time he tries to catch his breath. I mean, of course, no one has ever hurled a harpoon at me, it's a metaphor. Jeez.