Festive Lunch

This is turning out to be the twelve blogs of Christmas. Ha, I'm so funny. But seriously, Gary's a bastard. All he wants to do is play video games, talk or watch movies.

Shoooot.

The best news of the year reached my eyes and tickled my ears with joyful glee this afternoon. The gorgeous Norah Jones has finally announced the release of her next CD. On shelves in late January. I'm tempted to camp out. Glory.

I had lunch with big brother Bri this afternoon. Absolutely fantastic. There's just something about family that makes you giddy. Needless to say I was giggling while I ordered the Festive meal and tricked the server into thinking I wanted a Coke, when they quite obviously only had Pepsi. I like the word festive. It reminds me of jolly obese children talking about Pokemon. Mmm, festive.

So I wanted to write a little thing about language, the written and audible parts, but I just deleted the two hefty paragraphs I had written because I wasn't feeling it. Too jumbled and tangled; not enough straight lines - the ones that I love. Possibly it will have to be a series in where I cover what I think about language. I will say one thing, however. I think it's neat how we have a voice box in our throat that can make controlled sounds when air is passed through it. It's also neat how everyone (usually) has their own unique voice that is recognizable, and that each person has their own way of speaking, their own overused words, their own Picasso and Monet's of audible literature waiting to spew out of them, whether people think that it's literary gold or tabloid crap. Yes, I know those are artist and not novelists. The fact is, the authors that people refer to as genius kind of bug me. I mean, what's the deal with fricken George Elliot and her run on sentences. Geez Louise. Sucks to your asthmar, and sucks to your run on sentences.