I've had nothing to say. (Many who know me find this astonishing, yet it's true.) Every now and again I retreat into a pre-language cave and hunker there in the firelight for a few weeks. Blogging holds little appeal, as it requires the use of language. TV, though, is a good winter-in-a-cave entertaiment, and P. and I have been marathon-ing Battlestar Galactica. Not the 1980's Lorne-Greene-in-a-shiny-green-jumpsuit version, but the more recent of-this-century incarnation. Dark & evil sci-fi with half-human/half-cylon infants and Edward James Olmos at his graveliest.
My phone went all photoshop on me:
1. funky geometric graphics,
2. and then it died.
On the tag of an undergarment at a department store:
"prevents muffin top".
At last, a cure for The Heartbreak of Muffin Top!