I fixed the bicycle pump. That’s what I did Easter morning. I also read, and I’m going to read some more. What? Oh, that. I made buckwheat, steamed veggies, and baked chicken with country gravy. No rice, bread, potatoes, or pasta and it was breakfast, not dinner. And then watched one of the worst Nicholas Cage movies, “Dark Rider”. (I just like to win the contests, I never said the prizes were worthwhile.) I enjoy a good fantasy, like the world being full of sexy women with gifted children. Here is a photo of Nicholas Cage. He’s the one on the left.
The on-line profiling people aren’t doing such a great job. Where I never give out any personal information, it is curious to watch the type of spam and pop-ups I acquire from spy cookies concerning my casual usage. I appear to the outside world to be a smoking, overweight, 48 year-old, truck-driving, Catholic male who rides the train or bus to work. Apparently, I live in Colorado, date women over 50 who are looking for sex near my city and I could save big money renegotiating my non-existent mortgage. I’m informed I have three credit scores, one of which I’m told should concern me. (I’ve never owned a credit card or borrowed money, though I was once 7 cents overdrawn.)OMG, that makes me what Nicholas Cage would be if he hadn’t made a name for himself. Actually, he had to because “Francis Ford Coppola” was already taken. By his uncle. For the record, yes, I own Phillip-Morris stock, have a diet, am financially 46 years old, did recently look at ads for pickup trucks, often check the Sunday Mass schedule at St. Jude’s, have a bus pass, looked at a “Christian” dating site, watch real estate prices in Aurora, and regularly calculate how much money I could borrow if I ever so desired. Just don’t call me Nick.
Next, I watched some videos of Iceland, where I intend to travel as soon as possible. I noticed no cars on the roads, everybody seems to own an SUV. Congrats to hoosiertim, who recently found the zoom button on his camcorder and managed a 12-minute documentary in Akureyri without showing even one blonde Icelandic babe. That is the sure sign of an individual with a wee too much confusion over in the grocery department.
What’s more, here is an ad from one of the hotels in Iceland. Are they pulling my leg or has this global warming thing gone too far? Then, there’s the video I’ll let you find yourself where these two Iceland guys describe how the Vikings raided England and took all the pretty women. That’s why, they explain, all the babes are in Iceland and all the ugly women are in England. I tend to agree, except for Amanda Holden ten or fifteen years ago, that is.Last, blog rules say I must report anything unusual, and I’ve got heavy shoulder twitches. I’m reacting to my anti-triglycerides being chopped in half since my medical last month. This side-effect isn’t on the package but it is the reverse of when I began years ago. Too bad I can’t see far enough over my own shoulder or grab the camera quickly enough. It wakes me up so ladies, I’m no company right now. All stressful activity is on hold till this passes. That includes answering my e-mails.
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