surly and disinterested

A few things.

I have a wicked crush on Jason Jones ( a product, strangely, of Hamilton, Ontario, producer of my favorite Canadian, one Jennifer Sgro. [Whom, my thoughts are with, and I miss terribly]).

(Parenthetical within a parenthetical [I could footnote it, but I found Jasper Fforde’s use of footnoting in Lost in a Good Book disconcerting. Hilarious, but disconcerting. ])

Where were we? Ah! Yes! Mr. Jones.

Point one: prior to cutting it up on The Daily Show, he had recurring roles on As the World Turns and Queer as Folk. Which makes him more hilarious.

Point two: he is a classically trained cellist.

Damn you Samantha Bee.

Unrelated: I finally have my own apartment again. And, for whatever reason, I cannot seem to leave it this week. One could write it off as an “I work from home” thing. One might also call it a “lazy” thing. Maybe I’m moping. Or hibernating. Or celebrating.

We’re not sure yet.

I did have to venture out of the building this afternoon; I ran out of Red Bull.

Related: my parents just happen to rent the apartment directly above me. Which is, you know, um, something. I heard a loud thud at 7am the other morning. So instead of silently cursing the upstairs neighbor, I can silently curse my father. Which I do a lot.

Tragically, a potted orchid was knocked off a table. My mother’s potted orchid, to be exact. Snicker.

Answers. It's the difference.

More interesting things have happened this week. (but why would I write about them here?)