Questions I’ve been pondering lately:
Why are all the voices in my head speaking to me in first person when I like third person books?
How does one change his or her luck? (And don’t tell me, “be prepared,” because that’s already taken care of)
Why does bread have to taste so good? (And on the same note, why are vegetables so yucky?)
Why do we tell children to act their age, then as adults tell ourselves never to grow up?
Why do people want flying cars? Do you really want the idiots on the road to be flying above your head?
Whether or not you “believe” in global warming is irrelevant. Can’t we agree that coming up with an alternative to spewing poisons in the air, protecting the earth, and removing the influence of huge corporations from government is a good thing? (I’m not saying “no oil”, I’m saying research is good.)
Why am I so freaked out by insects when I’m a gagillion times bigger than they are?
When did I develop my fear of heights that nearly crippled me climbing the towers of Europe last summer? (I have sworn never to climb a tower again–although I can come up with at least a dozen scenarios in my writer’s brain which would compel me to break that vow–so I can honestly say that the Leaning Tower of Pisa is the last tower I shall ever climb.)
How can I love liverwurst, but hate liver; love almonds (and these great Hungarian almond cookies), but hate Amaretto (same goes for hazelnuts and Frangelico); love pickles, but not relish; cook with olive oil, but hate olives; hate coffee (black), but love coffee ice cream?
When is it officially okay to become a curmudgeon?
Books I”m reading now:
The Guns of August by Barbara Tuchman
The Queen of Babble Gets Hitched by Meg Cabot