The Irony of Fire

Once you've chopped enough wood to build a fire, you're no longer cold enough to want one.

I tried for 20 minutes to add something more on this theme and came up empty. I'm going to lose my one reader if this keeps up.

Hair 'em, Scare 'em

If you ever decide to cut your hair off, you should think about donating it to Locks of Love. Locks of Love is a charitable organization that provides wigs made of real human hair to children who've lost theirs through some long-term medical condition, like radiation and chemotherapy treatments or alopecia.

However, if you do decide to cut your hair and donate it, be sure to send it away immediately. If you instead leave it in a bag on the kitchen table for months and months, someone will walk by and look in the bag thinking it contains candy, only to be assaulted by an angry bag of hair. This will happen on a bi-weekly basis. I am speaking from personal experience.

These Glasses Are Neither Half-Full Nor Half-Empty

After (too) much agonizing over new frames, I've finally come down to two choices which I now present to you all for your insightful comments and outrageous mockery. I did ask the kind folks at Eyes to order in a nice set of round frames for me, but, alas, they weren't quite round enough, and the other round frames they had in stock made me look like a Third Reich geneticist. That might help me with the neo-Nazis, but it's definitely not going to endear me to any of the dirty tree-hugging hippies that hang out at O'Hanlon's.

Actually, I was positive that the round frames I'm wearing here were the same ones they were ordering in for me. I liked them because of their similarity to my current glasses. But somehow in the transition from the catalogue to my face they lost their sterling resemblance to God's marvelous symmetry and became some kind of weighted ovoid more fit for the appendix of an upper-year textbook on theoretical geometry than the bridge of my nose. They sagged heavily at the bottom like a full diaper, and there was an audible whirring noise when I put them on, which I can only assume was Euclid spinning in his grave. I immediately tore them from my face and threw them to the ground, jumping heavily upon them and screaming Lovecraftian curses as the thin metal buckled and snapped beneath my boots. I condemned the wretched things with gasping breaths to the deepest pit of hell, then returned to my seat to reconsider my two remaining options.

I exaggerate. Somewhat. But the point is I am no longer able to keep my delightfully round frames and must venture forth into the previously unknown territory of... the rectangle. So please, drink deeply at the trough of my Flickr account. See what my choices are and help me decide which frames will suit me best for the next decade or so. There's also a possibility of contact lenses, but I can't imagine too many people want an unobstructed view of my googly bug eyes.