What's Funny Is That You're Reading This

You'd think for someone who can barely keep a diary (and keeps telling herself it's not diary), the "Let's start a blog" train would not leave the station. 

Hmm. There goes that. Well, I'm going to apologize up front, because the only reason I can keep a journal going (It's not a diary. Diaries are for lame people, like Dr. Seward. And sociopaths.) is that I write down every interesting thought I happen to have.  So I suppose that's out. You're stuck with what's left. 

The title? Are you wondering about that?  Yeah, I play the cello (My God, she's an orch dork, everyone run) and the conductor was conducting, right? (Shocker)  Someone asked him about a particular measure, and he squinted at his score, and said, "Hold on. This is a glasses moment."  

Voila. 

So here's how this is going to go down. I'm probably going to ramble incessantly about things that are on my mind, and you're not going to read it...yup. 

I'm loving it already. I know you are. 

Let's start by complaining. People love that, right? Listening to other people whine? America's second-favorite pastime? 

Okay. This one's from all the tall people in the world. And by "tall people," I mean anyone with legs longer than the average baseball bat. 

DEAR EVERYONE: 

STOP RECLINING YOUR GODDAMN AIRPLANE SEATS. YOU CANNOT BE THAT MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE, AND THE PERSON BEHIND YOU (me) WANTS TO RIP OUT YOUR INTESTINES WITH A FORKLIFT EVERY TIME YOU DO. 

Love, Tall People

Alright, well, I think that will suffice as a good first impression, eh?  Yeah. Yeah, that'll do.