Last night while I was searching the house trying to find Lily’s mysterious hiding place, I happened to find an old point and shoot digital camera in Bellana’s room. I think she got it as a gift when she was maybe seven or eight years old. It was just sitting there abandoned so I decided to see if it works. It does. I may be back on the digicam bandwagon. We’ll see.
It’s a GE A950. It works, but it is a really cheap little sucker.
Is there a single thing that leads to uniqueness? Yes, I think, but it’s not something we can see or interact with. It’s not a trait or a characteristic either behavioral or physical. I am not the only tall, red haired, green eyed guy with a weight problem that required surgery to alleviate (or at least temporarily delay), who is a step father to two adults, who is married to the love of his life. There probably aren’t a lot of us who meet all of those things, but there are definitely more than one. None of those things, together or singularly, make me unique.
So what does make us unique? Easy. DNA. Genetics. To misquote Breaking Bad, as most of us do, Science, Bitch! Forgive me for feeling all sciency on this the most holy of christian holidays, but only one of the two topics is actual truth and it ain’t the one about the guy who is his own father who died and came back to life to save humanity from himself. Nope. Not even close.
Right then, let’s all take our unique selves and work our way through our unique days. Happy unique Sunday, everyone.
I found Miss Lilly. A few hours went by but she eventually came out of hiding. She was laying down on the ottoman in the living room, just relaxing like nothing happened. She let me pet her for a few minutes.
Shes fine, everything’s perfectly all right now, we’re fine, we’re all fine here now, thank you, how are you?
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. We have one plan for the day but I have a few additional things I want to get to.
I think I can manage that.
Until then, I am worried about one of the cats. Lilly. About half an hour ago she made a ton of noise. She was running around like crazy, crashing into things and skidding all over the tiled floor. She somehow got wrapped up in a plastic bag and was absolutely freaking out trying to get untangled. She ran into the bed room where I was sitting up in bed and watching something on my laptop. She then dashed out again and went into hiding. I can’t find her anywhere. I’m worried that she might have hurt herself in her struggles. I’m worried that she might have wrapped the plastic bag around her neck. She hid herself so well though that I can’t seem to find her anywhere. I’m sure she’s okay, but I would like to find her to know for sure.
Poor kitty.
You know you’re old when your wife asks you if you have any interest in going to bed and just sitting up reading for a little while before nodding off for the night…
And it’s not even 8:00pm yet…
And you are absolutely interested. Absolutely.
If you are lucky, like my wife, you get to have lunch at Chef Robbie’s, where the frozen hamburger patties are gourmet and the air fried frozen french fries (not pictured) are superb.
Obligatory morning errands, bakery and grocery shopping post with Hipstamatic App pics.
Why the hell would anyone in their right mind name something after a dope like me?
Given that I was named after my father you might think I had wanted to name a son, if I ever had one, after me. Hi, I am Robert, Jr and here is my devilishly handsome, hyper intelligent son (who clearly takes after his mother) Robert, III. Nope. No way. I would never subject any son I might have had to anything like that. Let’s just say that I would have lived through it so he would not have had to. I don’t have a biological son though (I have a step son who I love as much as anyone could ever love a biological son) so it’s a moo point. You know, it’s like a cow’s opinion. It’s moo.
I’ve seen a few people say they would like to have a street named after them. That’s a really good take. Unfortunately, I have a very common first name and a slightly less common but still very common last name. That means there are already streets in most New England towns with those names. Too late, Robbie. Too late.
As a guitar player one fun option would be to have a guitar named after me. I’d have to be super famous for that, but why not consider it? My favorite guitar is arguably the most famous signature guitar there is, named after it’s co-designer and jazz legend who is even more legendary as an inventor of audio recording devices and techniques, Les Paul. Most of the major guitar manufacturers make signature models of their common guitars or make signature models of new designs. I wouldn’t mind a Robbie signature Les Paul, or ES-335, or whatever. That would be pretty epic.
The best thing would be to have some technique or workflow named after me. Like when Captain Picard was on the Stargazer and he used his warp engines to travel a short distance and therefore appear to be in two places at once and fool his enemy’s sensors. That technique became known as The Picard Maneuver. Or when Commander Riker of the Enterprise started flinging his leg over the back of his chair before sitting down, thus creating The Riker Maneuver. Something like that. Maybe jogging in place (pronounced “yogging in place”) followed by a protein bar breakfast could be called The Robert Maneuver. That would be pretty sweet, don’t you think?
Me and Robin the cat, just checking in.
