Since I actually wrote this blog post in an e-mail to myself this afternoon with the intent to post it tonight and backdate it to this time I actually wrote it (which I am currently doing), I would just like to say that I really, really, really look forward to getting home from work and finding a heaping pile of cat vomit on my carpet. Really.
It’s the first hot day of the year (a grappling 83 degrees out there, people), and — you won’t believe it – the air conditioning at work is broken. Since it’s still technically early spring, I am wearing jeans and a light, short-sleeve sweater. Don’t worry, though. I’m actually pretty comfortable temperature-wise. Fans have miraculously appeared throughout the office as if they were the new result of rabbits reproducing, and I’m pretty sure this whole place could take flight at any moment what with all of the air being propelled about. I’m staying cool (in more ways than one) by drinking some bright pink iced Bella Coola, which is potentially going to cause me to develop one of those second-grader drink-stain mustaches around my mouth. So it goes.
Speaking of Kurt Vonnegut (you either caught that or you didn’t) and my quest to read all of his novels in order, I finally finished God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater after skipping Cat’s Cradle because I already read it. It took me several months to read this one; I must admit it was a difficult one to get into, and I read the entire Sookie Stackhouse series while I was taking extended breaks from it. I think I had to start all over from the beginning about three times, which was surprising, especially considering that the main character mentioned in the first sentence of the first page was a large sum of money in the amount of $87,472,033.61 that was producing more than $10,000 daily in interest. I read the first two sentences and thought, "Hell yeah! Count me in!" But, in the end it wasn’t so much about the money as it was about Eliot Rosewater and his philanthropic insanity that was, to tell the truth, entertaining, but not as much so as Vonnegut’s four previous novels. The ending was pretty witty, but too little too late for me. On to the next one – a re-read of Slaughterhouse Five.