For Halloween this year I was a curmudgeon. I didn’t even need a costume! I just turned off my porch light and lurked in my bedroom, working on illos, listening to a huge party of shrieking drunks down the street and wishing I could order a drone strike on the Sobbing Child video that has taken over the Internet. At first I thought it was Honey Boo Boo, whose family makes me cringe with shame. I longed to write code that would fill the hard drive of anyone who posted the damned thing with Barry Manilow videos, but then apparently that would be everyone, and then I’d have no one left to talk to. Even NPR got in on the act, to my chagrin.
The fact that every other human on Terra (even the very crabbiest ones I know) thought the video was adorable did not sway me from my loathing. It magnified it. If I didn’t have so much work to finish I would have loaded myself into a spaceship and left the planet.
This was the only thing that helped, covering one moronic meme with another one. It was Clint Eastwood, appearing near the end, that really restored my soul.
Oh, and getting this photo in the email at midnight from Christina Porter didn’t hurt either. She accidentally put seven petals into her Fortuneteller instead of six, so it fits her upper arm. And I’m sure looks fantastic.