Combustible Fleshy Things

I think I hit the peak of my pessimism about the U.S. government about five years ago. Since then, the outrage I once felt has dimmed to a sort of background given so that now when I read an article about how the Democrats want to phase out armed contractors, I actually found myself weirdly excited by remembering that one of the signs of decline for the Byzantine Empire was a gradually increasing reliance on mercenaries. I should be saddened by the fall of civilisation, but for the moment I'm just weirdly comforted that human societies haven't changed all that much.

I forgot to poke holes in a potato I microwaved last night, but it didn't explode. Which was a little disappointing, but I probably ought to be grateful there was no time consuming clean up operation.

I've been eating a potato every night with dinner lately--I just half an hour ago spent some quality time going through potatoes at the grocery store to find five without tiny green sprouts in evidence. Most of them had the weird little dots in their eyes, which suggests to me the ones I did get are probably just hours away from getting them, too. But I couldn't help it--I need to eat a potato to-night.

Potatoes are creepy. Not as creepy as mandrake or ginger, I guess, but any of those curvy tubers that look like distended bits of flesh that you know have parts that are always quietly growing are a little eerie. But I'm compelled to swallow them.

I'm completely done with the first five pages of the next chapter, and the sixth page only wants colouring. Looks like I might be able to avoid another sixteen hour marathon on Thursday. I may even watch television while I eat dinner--last time I did that, I watched "Durka Returns", an episode of Farscape, and next I may just watch the episode after it. It has been a couple years since I watched Farscape all the way through, after all. It's hard for new series to stand up to something like Farscape--it's nice seeing something new, but nothing seems to match Farscape just for character interaction. Though the Goodfellas commentary made me kind of want to give The Sopranos a try.

Last night's tweets;

Police don't know what fake tomatoes mean.
Only blurry background pansies make sense.
Khan trembles at the cry of Howard Dean.
Buy bags of big captain feed for tuppence.