BEDA Installment One: How about some bound stacks of paper covered in words?

My goodness, I am so excited right now that I could dance, and I would dance, too, were it not for the sleeping younger brothers not twenty feet away and the possibility of my dancing prompting a fresh bout of singing as well.

Today was April Fool’s Day, meaning it began with an exploration of various popular websites in a search for April Fool’s Day-themed shenanigans.  This included Google, Gmail, YouTube, and… that’s pretty much it.

Nothing else of April Fool’s Day matters is of much significance, other than my obviously-not-legit Gameboy game, newly christened The Crucible with Gene Wilder.  If there were such a game, I would buy it straightaway, regardless of what game platform it employed.

Today I got, lemmesee, a grand total of two rows done altogether on my cardigan.  Not so swell, eh?

Now, now, now, how about the real stuff I planned to speak of?  Books!

Unfortunately, until recently I had somewhat stopped reading quite so often as I had wished.  The last two books I’ve read are Kiss Me Like a Stranger, the auto-biography of Gene Wilder, and Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, a memoir/auto-biography of David Sedaris.  Both were excellent, as boy do I love reading about other, more interesting, people’s lives!

Likewise, today I began (and got rather far in) yet another memoir, one of the brilliant Augusten Burroughs’ masterpieces titled A Wolf at the Table.  I noticed that Daniel was going to check it out at the library today and thought it looked both interesting and vaguely familiar.  After a quick surrounding shelf inspection of Burroughs’ other work, I realized the reason for the familiarity: last year I read another of his memoirs, Magical Thinking, and loved it just as much as I am loving A Wolf at the Table

When I went to check it out, it turned out somebody had put it on hold.  However, since I picked it up off the shelf the librarian let me bring it home anyway.  Their loss, my gain, she said.

In other, non-Augusten news, I also checked out Death Not be Proud, which I am pretty sure is a classic of some sort, or at least a meaningful-enough book that I’ve heard it referenced to multiple times in my life.  I’ve been meaning to read more classics, or contemporary non-fiction/fiction and whatnot, so I’m greatly looking forward to reading that as well.

Once I finish and return these two books, I plan to check out more memoirs and biographies, by Burroughs and others.  It’s so interesting for me to read about people I don’t know yet somehow feel connected to, especially when the narrator has such a winning voice.

Well, well, well, if I’m not already getting into a blogging about books groove.  Better think of something else to chatter about.

How about guinea pigs, since I was just reading a horribly sad story about a poor little guinea pig named Ernie in Augusten’s memoir (I feel dopey calling him by his first name but I kinda feel like I seriously know him and if I were him I’d rather be called Augusten than Burroughs– also, I love the name Augusten)? 

I love guinea pigs so very much.  That’s too bad for me, I guess, because I’m allergic to them.  It’s a pretty weird thing to be allergic to, but alas, that’s what showed up when I took an allergy test as a younger child than I currently am.  Also, I am allergic to a mysterious type of tree unknown to anyone.  No, seriously, that’s what the allergy people told me.  Am I silly to believe them?

Enough ridiculousness– back to the pure amazingness of guinea pigs.  I love them.  I had a little cream-colored guinea pig when I was seven or eight or nine or so, naturally with the name of Butterscotch.  When Butterscotch died from old age, or so I was told, we went through a series of other guinea pigs, large and small, long-haired and short-haired, each of them dying soon after because a pet store guy told us the wrong type of bedding to buy, bedding that is poisonous to guinea pigs if digested, which each of ours apparently did. 

Despite inadvertently murdering so many of them, I still have a mighty fondness in my heart for guinea pigs.

So, of course, I was horribly disappointed once I found out I was allergic to them.  I don’t care if I’m allergic, though, I still want one.

Enough is enough, and this day is nearly done, all eaten up, as is my time blogging.  This is a decent-sized post, I’d say. 

I’ve just decided that I’m going to make a question for each day of BEDA for the lot of you to answer in the comments.

Question One: Have you ever had a pet that you accidentally killed?


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4 Responses to “BEDA Installment One: How about some bound stacks of paper covered in words?”

  1. Courtney Says:

    I am also reading a memoir-y ish type book about Theodore Roosevelt, titled Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey, The River of Doubt. I’m not very far into it, but so far it is very good and super interesting.

    As for your question, no I have not accidentally killed a pet. However Ron was helping me clean my hamsters cage and picked him up to quickly (i was not good at socializing my hamsters) so he got stressed out and got wet tail, which is like deadly hamster diarrhea. So he died. But I wasn’t really that upset, cause I never really named him, he was just “the hamster”, so i never got attached.

  2. supposedly Says:

    Hmm, interesting story. The book sounds good. I love good old Teddy.

  3. pirsquared Says:

    I pet sat a fish once, and it died. Does that count?

  4. supposedly Says:

    Of course it does!

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