Dinged doors and strange talents
The minor inconvenience of a leak over my desk, last week, was a polite warning that things sometimes go terribly wrong. Sometime overnight, the office down the hall had a relative deluge. From the ceiling, again, but this time they had to clear the room and call in the professionals to restore order. Blame it on the weather, or the age of the building; water damage is still not much fun for the parties involved.
Getting a ding in the fender of your new car isn’t much fun either. Turns out that the emotional shock extends to doors; house doors. I wasn’t there to see the accident, but one door hit another (it’s a long story). The resulting bangs and scratches won’t be removed by a good wax job, or crossed fingers and wishing. The professionals will be called for this one.
We’re watching another audition round of American Idol. Serious overestimation of talent by many of the chosen. Give credit to the producers, who have learned to milk the comic humour. “Cheap dramatizaion” could be a spinoff program. As for alternative material, the yodeling puppet will be on YouTube, probably within minutes.
The judges have morphed, again. Mariah Carey, Keith Urban and Nicki Minaj are anchored by Randy Jackson. The mix is like one of those strange box of chocolates that you leave on the coffee table over the holidays (hoping that the dog won’t take a liking to the flavour range). No team play, yet, but the comments are unexpected. Always.
