Brief life update: The workgroup is gone. Andrea has come. And we are shopping like maniacs. I continue to bend the laws of time and space in my maximum efficiency mode, but sadly, that leaves less time for blogging than in weeks past. Things promise to be hectic until the end of the month.
But here's something I've been thinking about. You know that book, The Giving Tree? What's up with that book? I got it when I was a kid, and I loved it. But now I really wonder. I mean, here's this tree and he loves this boy, and the boy pillages the tree repeatedly, taking pretty much everything the tree has: fruit, leaves, branches. The boy carves his initials in the tree and plunders his friend until all that is left is a fucking stump, upon which he places his greedy ass. What is the message here? (Andrea interjects: It's a love story.)
In the course of my online shopping this season, I came across The Giving Tree as a recommended book. No fucking way, I say. I wonder about the connection between reading The Giving Tree at too impressionable an age and my relationship choices.
Andrea suspects George W also read The Giving Tree when he was young, but he identified with the boy, not the tree. Thus our foreign policy. Maybe NATO really needs Alanon. (Unanon?)
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