According to the line
The dog is sitting, quietly. While I wolf down a plate of stir fry, he reminds me, politely, that sharing is righteous. I am unsure if he realizes that I keep the best pieces of beef, while sending odd bits of broccoli stock and misshapen carrots in his direction.
Outside, the wind is “shivering the timbers”, peaking at 60+, and with random moments of freezing rain, we’re getting the sort of weather that keeps one (me) close to home. By this time tomorrow, everything should have passed on, and winter will be cold, icy and provoking impatience.
I’m still playing games with a certain seller in China. I asked, again, for my refund and received, again, the answer that it was coming. Soon. Oh, and a request for good feedback. Delusional behavior, on both sides.
While I wait for the AFC championship game to begin, I decided to ask Google about the chances of a win for either team – and promptly fell down a rabbit hole. Up front, a disclaimer. I don’t bet on stuff. At least, not since high school, where I won an occasional pastry or two in the lunchroom. But it appears that a lot of other people do. Advice, galore, as long as I joined a betting site and gave up real money in return for “the line”. Intense computer simulations, that are supposed to predict a winner well in advance of the betting window closure. I guess I will have to do like many others, and wait for the evening news. No TV time, here; we’ve got Netflix, and it wins over American football, ten times out of ten.
