Today was a good day. And there was me getting stressed about not having much planned for this weekend.
After nice, quiet drinks with Sheila, Dave, Afo and Chris at the pub last night was up at a sensible hour this morning, and finished reading the new Kevin Anderson novel. It is awesome – now have to wait frustratedly for the next one.
Then I caught up on phone calls to family and friends, which is always good.
Then I caught up on last week’s opening episodes of season 3 of Lost. Which was less obviously good, but I’ll reserve judgement.
Had a night of bad dreams last night – vivid to the point of annoyance, because you wake up and you feel like you’ve been doing stuff all night. We’d had a sibling supper in which pizza was eaten, so I wondered whether there was any truth in the story that cheese is the cause of such things. A quick google revealed no clear answer: the British Cheese Board, perhaps unsurprisingly, say there’s no truth in the story. Yahoo! Answers is clearly undecided, and disappointingly the non-neutral dreams article on Wikipedia has no reference to cheese whatsoever.
The Ninja finally made an outing last night at Kate’s Halloween party. Photos here for the curious.
It was a very fun evening, and was very honoured to be given third prize for my costume (some stickers). Have never won a costume prize before! It may have been something to do with the fact that I promised to mop the floor with everyone’s souls if I didn’t win something, but hey… Ninjas do as Ninjas are.
Dressed as a Ninja, stalking across London last night, I realised some of the more practical issues Ninjas must have to face. First of all, whilst a Ninja may not have keys or a mobile phone (they would never enter a building via a door and communicate via advanced telepathy), the costumes have no obvious place for storing Shuriken. Ninjas have NO POCKETS.
So do they use Manbags? Another question for Ask a Ninja, methinks…
As I faced my reflection in the early morning autumnal haze brought upon by the natural passage of the season and the unnatural passage of myself through about three weeks so long that space time itself has been distorted, I noticed something, and not for the first time.
I have big hair. And that hair presents endless possibilities.
Given some styling wax, and a lot of patience, I could sculpt a variety of different ‘head-hats’ for myself, to suit my mood. I could be Elvis, Superman, even, as things stand, Lord Vader. Who should I be? I will leave whimsy to be my guide.
I’m really sorry for having disappeared of late. Recovering from man-flu, saying bye to folks, etc took a great deal of time. And then yesterday I started reading Pratchett’s new book, Wintersmith (which I got myself as a birthday present). Needless to say, I also finished it yesterday. Those Wee Free Men are wiley little rascals, aren’t they? That’s a philosophy on life I envy (they believe that this life is so good that it must be heaven, and therefore that they’re already dead. And therefore don’t fear death).
Tonight I will catch up on my life, and, like egocentric diarists before me, I will tell you all about it. When you walk the path of the ninja, sometimes you walk, sometimes you run, occasionally you perform a stealth kill, and very, very occasionally… you dance. But only when no-one’s watching.
I was having a bad face day the other day, so I decided I needed the best a man can get. I bought the new Gilette Fusion Power Razor (or is that the Power Fusion Razor?). In any case, the Mighty Morphin’ Power Razor, announced here two years ago, has recently made it to our bonnie shores and seems set to kick some ass.
It has 65,548 blades, one for each hair, and when you press the power button, a crack team of Thai gogo girls turn up and vibrate the blade gently against your face. Until they are dismissed by the Thai military forces coordinating their activities, that is.
That’s one smooth shave.
Armand David's personal weblog: dadhood, technology, running, media, food, stuff and nonsense.
