I was putting together a file for a new client this afternoon, and when I pulled the folder out of the supply cabinet, it was a more reddish-brown than the plain brown files I’m used to.

Me: L, this is a different color than the ones we usually get, right?
L: Ya. It’s a slightly more reddish color.
Me: Ok. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone crazy. Plus, this is the most interesting type of event that can occur in office life.
L: Sad. But true.

Me: D, do you need to put this client into the billing system or do you already have him entered? ::holds file up for D to scrutinize label::
D: I think I already have it.
…
That’s a STRANGE color. I must have ordered the wrong brand.

Me: M, here’s the new file – you’re good to go.
M: Oh my god what color is that file?!
Me: ::shakes head sadly::

My cell phone photography could not even begin to do it justice, but last night the sky looked like waves of fire.

I’m riding the bus home from work today, and sitting in front is a middle-aged and portly woman, sporting a large, brightly-colored, unmissable, reusable PVC shopping bag.

On the front is a drawing of a cat walking away. You know that joke? What does a cat look like walking away? And then you pucker your lips and hold an arm above your head like you’re about to do the snorkeling dance move from the 60’s (70’s? I don’t know. Give me a break. I wasn’t alive yet.) but instead you wave it back and forth like a cat tail. Get it? Ya. THAT joke.

Anyway, this bag has a picture of a cat walking away. And book-ending the picture of the cat’s asshole are the words, in chubby, playful typeface, “Cat [insert asshole] Butt”.

It’s the height of sophistication really. The newest thing. Get one or be left behind with last month’s fashion.

So there’s this unnecessarily large picture of a cat walking away, the words Cat Butt, and then the side of the bag has a bunch of other, smaller drawings of other cats walking away. Quite diverse actually.

And all I can think, is that I am so relieved to know that I will not be around when some anthropologist or alien invader comes across these impossibly un-decomposable bags a bazillion years from now and writes a dissertation beginning, “Though finding Object Carriers from the era of the 21st century Human is nary newsworthy (these artifacts being plentiful and theories abounding on why these creatures found the collection of objects to be such a strong indicator of social standing), I would oblige you to please review the slides of this most recent find. As you can see, the multitude of artist’s careful renderings indicates that this culture had a clear affinity for, and perhaps worship of, feline anuses. Hopefully further research and subsequent finds will clarify of what benefit these anuses were to the species.”

In this predominantly rainy city, legend has it that once the Fourth of July has come and gone, we’re in the clear until the seasons morph to cold again.

I don’t have a problem with rain interspersed amongst warm, sunny days. In fact, I enjoy them. They are a welcome respite to the GO GO GO attitude of nice weather. Like a day off. An excuse to cozy up.

But nonetheless. Pfffft.

There are two kinds of blogs one might read: one read because of the content, or one read because of the author. Sometimes, in the latter scenario, you are interested in the author because you know them personally. It’s like those old irritating annual family update letters. But Way. More. Frequent.

I read several friends’ blogs. At first, this seems like the most brilliant idea. It seems a way to stay close when you are far – a means of connectedness and communication. You read what they write and you hear it as if spoken with their voice, and it automatically installs itself onto the canvas your mind invokes at their mention. But the problem, as these canvases are not perfect replications of every interaction but instead merely a “sense” of that person, is that your forget what you learned where. You forget whether you spoke to them last week about that interview two Mondays back, or whether you read about them speaking about their interview two Mondays back.

So some days you realize that you haven’t spoken with someone in ages, which you completely failed to realize all this time because you feel like you spoke last night online when you read their latest saga. Or you call someone and start to tell them the best story you’ve saved up and then they cut in, “ya…I read about that.” It’s insanely confusing. And more concerning still is that it allows one-sided relationships to develop, wherein one person blogs and another doesn’t, and effectively the writer’s life injects itself into reader’s life, but not the other way around. How lopsided, unfair, and sad. Moreover, the dual blogging friendship creates two feeds that shoot off in each other’s general direction but never (or rarely) mingle or converse. It’s such an odd product of the blogging age.

Um. Ya. And that’s it. My thoughts. Nutshell. End thesis. How’s that for a conclusion?