Could you describe the ruckus, sir?

I have finally taught the facebook and instagram algorithms that literally the only thing they should bother suggesting to me are cute cat pictures and videos. I could probably teach tumblr same, especially now, if I were willing to follow more cat stuff, but two out of three is acceptable.

It may have helped that I've been using Firefox Focus for all my mobile link-following off twitter and facebook for a couple months now. I'm still being chased by a couple of zombie ads from my amazon holiday shopping, but half of that stuff was pet-related too.

Also, the only thing YouTube is suggesting to me are Bon Appetit videos and Lin-Manuel Miranda, with an occasional swerve to one of the broadway-adjacent things that I've already watched 15 times. If you missed the Kennedy Center Honors on TV the other night- https://youtu.be/9QoRHMuiqMs - One Last Time only made me cry a little bit. Brb, watching that again for the rest of the afternoon.

Grace Garland (yes, really) is a Marine just off active duty in Afghanistan who's going to be an engineer of some sort in Cincinnati. She misses her search-and-rescue (and also explosive detection? sure.) dog. Named Christmas.

Joe Petersen is a small-town judge who lives on a farm with his dog, Justice. She crashes her new-used car into his fence because something on the car broke. Again, sure. Whatever. Non-threateningly handsome.

If this were airing on Lifetime, it would fully be a coin flip whether the dude whose farm she crashes into is going to be the love of her life or a serial killer. I get that you're a badass marine and also have just conked your head, lady, but yikes.

I would have had more to say about movies before actual Christmas if I hadn't been cringe-watching this one in 8 minute increments for the past week. What we have here is two people plus extended family who talk to everyone with depth and openness in a way that is probably great for maintaining healthy relationships, but personally makes me want to flee.

( this one's short )

I fully only stuck with this because once I realized where it was going, I hoped the last 20 minutes would be good. The last 20 minutes were good! I genuinely believe that all these very nice characters will be very happy for the rest of their fictional lives.

So once, when I was in college, I got an email from a sort-of-friend, a guy I was on good terms with, socially, but who was much more popular, and I am sure was a lot more well-liked than I was, in his general good-natured attitude and sense of humor.

And the email said, more or less in its entirety, something like "see, she writes just like she talks."

As he explained later, I think also via email - I no longer remember for sure, but I like to think I would have said something more if it had been in person - he'd accidentally replied to me, when what he'd intended to do was forward the message to a friend from home.

It had to have been about some House business - either the year he was President and I was the RA for the hall we both lived in, or the year I was Treasurer and he was on Ath Team. I wasn't in the habit of sending chatty emails to friends, then or now.

And I think it might have been meant as a sort of compliment? If we had talked about "authenticity" then, this would have been a place for it. At worst, it was merely an accurate description and a mild complaint, which I'm also fine with. I don't remember the content of the email now, but I remember that I scanned back through what I'd written and thought, "yup. I do."

But I'm curious, and I've never asked. Either he doesn't remember, and wouldn't be able to tell me one way or the other, or it was the sort of mortifying minor mistake that you hope, when you make it, is only mortifying to you and that the other party immediately forgets.

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It's been a weird summer. Vague plans for a first date in limbo for *checks calendar* three months now. Mild injury, unexpected travel, figuring out how best to support other people through their loss (a pet, a job, a parent, all suddenly and unexpected).

I thought I was going to spend the summer jogging and checking twitter for our most recent national tire fire. Only one of those has happened, and it's not the one good for my health.

This feels like a weird one, but journaling, eh?

I'm watching the Tony awards back because live hockey got dibs on my TV time from 8 until 11, and the first performance from a musical was "Welcome to the Rock" from Come From Away, a song I don't know from a musical I'm not sure I'd heard of until ten minutes ago.

And there's a line, a moment, about halfway through the song, "Oz! Turn. On. The radio." And I just started crying out of nowhere.

That's so central to my memory of 9/11. We were out on a construction site, and one of the contractors had one of those fancy DeWalt radio/chargers, and I can't be sure, but I think I might've been the first person on the site to hear the news.

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