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I could claim that today’s rambling miscellany is inspired by Mamacate’s Random Wednesdays and that’d be partly true. On the other hand, it’s also true that although my brain’s percolating on some more thoughtful things, nothing has simmered long enough yet that it’s worthy of you (in case you missed it, that’s blatant sucking up). And then there was the writing something for people who pay me that, I’m sorry to say, got done first. (can I just take a moment to marvel/hyperventilate over the people who pay me to write bit? It still freaks me out…) So with no further ado, I’ll commence blathering.

I’m a late convert to Grey’s Anatomy, but a fanatic one. That’s some excellent entertainment! Season 1 is out on DVD and I’ve spent the past week immersed in Seattle Grace Hospital. McDreamy is… well, dreamy – how does he do that thing with his eyes? I love Bailey to death, think Izzie is wonderful (how great is it to see a woman who’s sex on legs and not anorexic?), Sandra Cho deserves her award and… Well, I just love that show. Check out the writers’ blog.

TV programs used to be 50 minutes. A few years back, I taped Survivor for a friend without commercials and was shocked to discover that it was only 40 minutes. The abovementioned TV extravaganza revealed that these days, an episode is – get this – 42 minutes. FORTY-TWO MINUTES! No wonder I’ve been feeling like there’re more ads these days. I tape everything, to watch later when I can zoom through commercials. Nothing more annoying than watching an emotionally involving scene, only to be interrupted by some idiot chirpily selling something I don’t need. How do you stay immersed in the storyline when that happens?

I’ve finally found a food that Mojo’s irritable bowel appears to be tolerating (at least for now – I hope it lasts beyond the first can). Organic chicken and lobster. That cat eats better than I do. But she’s running around like a kitten again, so I’m happy.

I have somehow become the kind of person who attends art show openings and book launches. Who’d have thunk? However, it’s without dressing quite as fabulously as the women on Sex and the City. I live in Toronto. We’re way more casual here.

Dancing with the Stars. Lisa Rinna was robbed. Bastards.

Sometime last week, I googled grave wax. Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m a forensics nut (and no, ‘nut’ is not the operative word here). I found this site, on which you should click only if you think CSI should show more procedures instead of wasting time on all that silly ‘plot’ and ‘character development’. I found out that the technical word for grave wax is adipocere. Which is an incredible poetic and beautiful-sounding word. Say it out loud. Amazing, isn’t it?

Minutes after I typed that, I saw a pigeon that’d been run over right outside my building. It lay on the street, slightly ruffled, dead alright. Then it got run over again. Afterwards, it was more ruffled and bright red spattered the asphalt. Based on my reaction, it’s a good thing I’m not a CSI tech. I’d spend my entire workday crying. Fiction only for me, I think.

I’ve found out that, as John said the other day, if I feel in need of external validation (i.e., masses of comments), all I have to do is post a picture of the Tinks. Good to know.

Imagine you (theoretically) stick your hand in a kitchen drawer without quite paying attention. Imagine slicing your finger on a (very) sharp knife. Imagine going to the bathroom to get a Kleenex to wrap up the wound while holding your hand out over the armrest of your (theoretical) wheelchair to prevent getting blood on your clothes. Imagine, once the bleeding has abated, looking back and seeing red drops marking your path, like Hansel and Gretel for the vampire set. Now imagine that you’re in the middle of a supremely creepy book about Dracula. Did I mention that you (theoretically) have a vivid imagination? And are out of garlic?

Ok, dead pigeon, adipocere and vampires… Before you become convinced that I’m hopelessly morbid (which I may be), I should tell you that this past Friday, around 2pm, exactly one week after the flame was lit, I joined the Knitting Olympics and I’m catching up: