Nothingness

Some days I have no problem writing. It just pours out of me. Some other days, though, I can't think of a blessed thing to write. Yesterday was just such a day, and today is little better.

Today I was at work and they've been playing the Christmas music for almost a month now, which is slightly better than that usual godawful muzak they usually play, but only just. A lot of it is lite-jazz renditions of Christmas carols, with gobs of saxophone ladled over it like so much sticky sauce over a plum pudding, and easily the worst of the tunes is what is hands-down the worst rendition of "Angels We Have Heard On High" ever; it's just wretched. And then I thought, "Gee, I wonder how the saxophone got its name?" And I figured I'd go home and look it up and that would give me something to write about. About three minutes later I realized that that saxophone was obviously named after some dude named Sax, which in fact turns out to be the case, so that's that out the window.

All I have today is a couple of amusing links from Boingboing to Flickr pages: the first one consists of signs that contain unnecessary apostrophes and the second is signs that contain incorrectly placed quotation marks. Of course, if you already read Boingboing as I seem to keep exhorting you to do, then you will already have seen these, and you're on your own; otherwise, enjoy.