duck-shaped pain


Where I Have Nothing To Say

News from the People Are Idjits department: The CD department at my local Target, which has always been alphabetized and will always be alphabetized, now features prominently displayed signs explaining how alphabetization works. I don't remember the wording exactly, but they said something like "CDs are sorted alphabetically by the name of the artist or group. Names starting with A come first, followed by B, and then continuing on, through the end of the alphabet." Just imagine the kind of complaints that prompted the making of these signs.

If you can go swimming year round, how come you can't find any swimsuits in stores in August? I might go swimming tomorrow, and I own nothing to go swimming it, at least nothing that would be approved of by any reputable swimming pool. I love swimming, even though I'm really bad at it. When I lived in Oregon, I went river swimming a few times, in both the Columbia and Sandy Rivers. [1] It was the best swimming I've ever done, and the special bonus was that you could wear anything you wanted to swim in, even a prom dress. I usually went for the classic cutoffs and sports bra combo, but somehow I don't think that's going to fly tomorrow.

The story that I got interviewed for a long, long time ago (as seen in this entry) is finally going to run in the local paper tomorrow. I am more nervous about this than the situation really calls for. My nervousness is threefold: that a) the URL for the above entry will be printed in the paper [2], which means that the entire Western Slope of Colorado will know about this journal, b) that I'm going to look like an idiot and c) that my name's going to be completely mangled in it, because it always is. Lesser fears include people I didn't want to talk to ever again getting in touch with me, now that they know I'm back in town and people at yard sales recognizing me as the person who thinks everyone's stuff sucks. What a pariah I will be.

[1] Also, I always got a tremendous mental rush from thinking about the fact that I was swimming in one of the world's greatest rivers (the Columbia, not the Sandy, which is a teeny river in comparison). Me and the salmon, swimming out there together.

[2] I told the reporter about that entry, said she could quote from it, but to let me know if she wanted to put the URL in the paper, so that I could post the entry at a different site, one that doesn't link to the rest of this journal. I know I sound paranoid, but nothing will lessen my fear about this until I see the actual story tomorrow.

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