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I just came across a site that posted a list of clear and precise bylaws for all to read.  The particular writer, who I will not reference out of sheer fear that I will have violated one of his bylaws, was of course, a lawyer.  Who else would have us reading fine print on a page already bloated with fine print?

But I think I’m forced to agree with the idea of his bylaws, no matter how desperately I want to smart off.  Maybe I’ll adopt them myself.  You know, to keep my own direction as clear and precise as a practicing attorney.

Maybe I should decide to offer no legal advice, just like him.  This sounds easy like an easy bylaw to keep.  Kind of similar to my Speak No French Rule.  I can do that.  Matter of fact, I can do even better then that.  I can crank it up a notch, I think, and will boldly proclaim my first bylaw:

I will offer no advice.

Now that’s a bylaw!  I decided the only appropriate thing to do was send our nameless attorney an email.

Dear Sir:

As for your other bylaws, we can discuss those in detail when . . .

And that’s when I stopped writing, realizing that I had already broken my own bylaw.  Broken it before I had even had a chance to officially post the thing.  Can an attorney I don’t even know sue me for breaking my own bylaw?

Blogging, I’m finding out, is tricky stuff.

It’s freezing in here!  I swear the only heat in the place is from the friction between my fingertips and keyboard.  I’ve typed furiously all day, but it’s a big place.  No one can type that fast.  I’ve decided that my only refuge is the comfortable chair, wrapped in a blanket, watching a movie.

I’ve rented just about every movie the local shops have to offer, so the pickings seem to be getting thinner and thinner.  Last year, at the height of my low time (that’s a good one), I would sometimes watch three or four movies a day.  It seems impossible, but I assure you, it can be done.  I became a movieaholic, pouring them into my brain as fast as my eyes could watch them.  A chain watcher - I’d pop open the next case before the movie I was watching even had a chance to finish.  DVD’s are great - no rewinding.  It speeds up the whole process and makes the movieaholic’s life so much easier.

I had a good reason for becoming a movieaholic, but I won’t get into that right now.  Let’s just say that tonight’s pick, Down With Love, couldn’t be a more excellent clue.  What an evening.  Wrapped in a blanket freezing to death while watching that squinched-faced Renee Zellweger fall in love with the dashing Ewan McGregor.  The box promises that the sparks will fly me to the moon and back.  Great.  Just what I need.  The even more intense cold of outer space.  I better get two blankets.

I’m still learning little lessons.  Ones like: if you’re typing something into the Post screen, don’t click over to the Design tab with your brilliant idea without first saving the letter.  The result of the brilliant idea ends up being a letter that disappears and a brilliant idea that evaporates due to the frustration.

I didn’t make it very far with my movie, which ended up being a three blanket movie in a cold house.  Two to wrap around your body, and one to wrap tightly around your head to block out all the sight and sound you possibly can.  Leave only one small, tiny hole for air.  Leave no hole whatsoever if you’ve watched your way too far into the movie and you can’t stand the thought of one more horribly written line.  Don’t even mess around with some small lap blanket.  Use a nice, big, king sized blanket, and just keep wrapping.

Or, of course, turn off the movie (which I did just as Zellweger looks out the window and sees a big, full moon - the closest I ever came to actually making it to the moon and back - so much for movie box hype).  Read a little, then spend about forty five minutes writing a nice little letter, adding a couple of pictures that won’t line up how you want them, and then click over to Design and watch the whole thing disappear forever.

I’m not sure whether to be thankful for the ease of iTunes or not.  When I first got home with my new PowerBook and oohed and aahed and loaded all my music and realized how simple and reliable it was going to be, I never counted on my eight year old son discovering the huge stash of Beatles songs and deciding to burn one CD after another.

Yes, thanks to iTunes ease, I now have the words I am the egg man . . . I am the egg man . . . I am the walrus . . . kook kook a choo stuck in my head.  Two straight days of I am the egg man . . . is more then enough, I think.  So I’ve decided that the only way to purge this thing is to bundle up, brave the freezing rain, and walk the few steps it takes to get to the nearest diner and have them whip me up one of their delicious omelettes.  I give up.  I will be the egg man, hoping that it stops there.  I have desire whatsoever to be a walrus.

Curiously, in the fresh little blog Lines (which I’m hoping will blossom into the nice little writing & art combo blog the owner is also hoping for), I found a reference for what’s ailing me.  It seems I have a case of ear worms.