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rabbit hole day
01/27/2006 = 12:11 PM

Because Mozart's birthday doesn't lend itself as well to surreal blogging ...

Today is the 174th anniversary of the birth of Lewis Carroll, author of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

As such, this day has been adopted by LiveJournal writers as a holiday, the premise being that one should, instead of writing from one's normal perspective, envision life down the Rabbit Hole and write about the skewed version of one's perspective that one finds there.

I do have a LiveJournal account, but I only use it for commenting and for doing quizzes. Since I'm loving on this concept, I'll just do it in here, and cry forgiveness of the actual LJ webizens. So here we go.

Including pictures and conversations.

Golf Widow was considering, in her own mind (as well as she could, for the corporate setting on a wintry Friday made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of blowing off work to have a martini would be worth the interaction of its ingredients with her pain medication, when suddenly she noticed a Clockwork Tiger pacing sedately across her desk.

There was nothing so very remarkable in that, other than the question of whence the Clockwork Tiger had come, and why it was there in the first place. Golf Widow thought nothing of it (though when she thought it over afterwards it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but, when the Clockwork Tiger stopped by Golf Widow's flat-panel cleaner (a Bean Bag Pig) and said, 'Are you ready to leave, then?' and the Bean Bag Pig replied, 'Yes; let's go,' and the two of them jumped off her desk, Golf Widow started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that the Bean Bag Pig had never spoken before, and certainly should not have spoken now, and burning with curiosity, she followed the pair down the hall, and was just in time to see them enter the large conference room.

In another moment in went Golf Widow after them, never once considering that, if a meeting were in session, she would be forced to remain till its end, and she had neither water bottle, nor coffee cup, nor Listerine Breath Strips, let alone pen and planner for note-taking.

She was most astonished to discover the Clockwork Tiger and the Bean Bag Pig seated at the conference table, the marble top of which had been inexplicably overspread with green baize: the March Hare and the Hatter sat next to them, as did a Knight, who was resting his elbow on a Rubber Chicken, using it as a cushion. 'Very uncomfortable for the Chicken,' thought Golf Widow; 'only, as it's rubber, I suppose it doesn't mind.'

'Shuffle up and deal,' said the Hatter.

Golf Widow sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. A stack of chips appeared in front of her, and a pack of playing-cards marched into the room and jumped onto the table by her right hand. She picked up the cards with some difficulty, as they held out their arms and legs in all directions, so that altogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold them.

As soon as she had made out the proper way of shuffling the cards (which was to say to them, 'Be careful; or I shall call Phil Hellmuth,' so as to prevent their squirming), she mixed the pack and dealt two cards to each player.

'What have you got?' asked the Clockwork Tiger.

'It's not my turn,' replied Golf Widow; 'I never look at my hand till I have to play it.'

'I have Big Slick,' the Clockwork Tiger remarked; 'and you should fold now whilst you have the chance.'

'Come,' thought Golf Widow; 'now we shall have some fun,' and when the table folded round to her, she peeked at her cards. Just as she did so, she heard one of them say, 'Look out now, Eight! She is going to bet!'

'Of course she is, Seven,' replied Eight; 'she thinks the Clockwork Tiger is bluffing, and we are both of a suit.'

'Stop it!' said Golf Widow indignantly; 'You've given my hand away!'

'You've no right to talk to us so,' Seven said in a sulky tone; 'Howard Lederer is always very nice to us; you are being contrary.'

'Who cares for you?' said Golf Widow, 'You're nothing but a pack of cards!'

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself seated at her computer, head down upon her desk, a puddle of drool in front of her mouth.

'That does it,' said Golf Widow to herself sternly; 'no more televised poker for you on a work night.' Then she said, 'It's a pity I woke so soon - perhaps if I'd staid in Wonderland a bit longer, I could have gotten some Turtle Soup.'

And the Bean Bag Pig said, 'The Tiger was bluffing; he only had Five-Two offsuit.'

'Fuck it all to hell,' said Golf Widow, and went to get some coffee.

I've been nominated for the 2006 Bloggie Awards.

Which means I've turned into one of The Nominated People With a Graphic on My Page.

But I'm still not going to smacktalk my fellow nominees. Attention whore or no, I'd rather still like myself when this is all said and done.

I am nominated in the category of "Best-Kept-Secret Weblogs", which is way the hell down by the bottom of the page, thereby ensuring that I remain a well-kept secret.

Voting will be open till 10:00 PM EST on Tuesday, January 31.

drinking: coffee
listening to: nothing
that: was more fun than it had any business being