I'm back

And absolutely drenched. Not in rain--it hasn't done that yet. No, the humidity is such that just the little bit of walking I did and then a bit of gardening has left me feeling very wilted. I'm very tempted to put the air conditioning on, but I know as soon as it rains (and we're under a tornado watch, so I expect it soon), it'll cool down. I may just curl up with the animals and a fan.

Things I've learnt over the past day or so:

• When building a Sims sacred grove, do not locate your bonfires too close to the sacred birches. A conflagaration may ensue, engulfing all your nice, expensive trees as well as your worshippers. (And no, I didn't do that one, but I'm not going to tell you who did or she might kill me. I'm really more the destroy your Sims through toaster oven type.)
  
• Rottweilers are probably the best dogs to cuddle with. They are big babies who just want to be touched, preferably full body, on top of you, and give big, soft doggie kisses.
  
• One of the biggest detractions of the Rottweiler, besides the drool, is the way they go bongy, bongy on your breast (or face) when leaping to see who is at the door.
  
• Never let stability lure you to complacency. Nothing is ever 100% stable. Certainly never accept less than you're worth in exchange for not taking risks.
  
• Gothic is an extremely weird and unsettling movie that makes one question if you really got a bargain DVD for a buck fifty. Actually, it wasn't that bad, just...well...let's just say it could be shown to teenagers to illustrate the danger of drugs. It's a shame Julian Sands couldn't have inched up just a little in the bath. I've always loved the Romantic era (except the women's dresses, which frankly few women can wear well), and while certainly the poets Byron and Shelley were often seen as depraved--well, I think I'm going to go back and do some research and see if Mary Shelley's sister was really stark raving, etc. It may very well be an accurate depiction, but I still wouldn't invite any of them over for tea. I've always had a thing for Byron, even though I do realise Shelley was probably the better poet. (Shelley's funeral, I think, always grabbed me more than the man. I mean death at sea, a beach cremation, then Byron fishing out the heart that refused to burn to take it back to Mother England to bury under Westminster--how could you resist the romance in that? I think it was about the time I studied that in school that I decided I wanted to be cremated.) There was a time when I thought if I had ever been anyone of note in a past life, it would have been his half-sister Augusta (yeah, I know, sick...) but if I were alive then I was probably one of the infatuated cast-offs. :) At least it left me in good stead--I never cared much for poetry when I was younger except for the Romantics and Dylan Thomas. I love poetry now, of course, but then I was more into Arthurian legend, Shakespeare--plays, not sonnets, Dickens, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Funny how I've learnt to love Homer, Plato, and all sorts of things I didn't care much for at 17, but I'm still no fan of Hemingway. I guess some things don't change. "He looked at the fish. He looked at his hand." Grrr. Of course, to be fair, I've never read anything except the Old Man and the Sea.
  
• One of the great things about Dwana's husband (although it probably causes a bit of confusion now and again) is that no matter how you play down a call he will almost always call her with your message immediately--no "just tell her I called" for him--he takes his message stewardship seriously, although sometimes it's like playing the game "operator" as a kid--you once it's filtered through two or three poeple it takes on a life of its own. This, however, seems infinitely better than someone never getting your message. :)
  
• There is usually more effort expended in worrying about something than doing something about it. (Actually, I already knew that one, but it bears repeating.)

Not bad for 24 hours, hmmm?