Claire and the telly

It is a good day to die. For some reason someone thought Richard III said that before the Battle of Bosworth Field, and I guess he had some reason to think so after the deaths of his adored wife and son (and heir). I guess he didn't know Shakespeare was lurking in the wings. But he had nothin, I tells ya, nothing. Today, you understand, is the Oscar's ceremony, broadcast un-live (dead?) on our TV. And Claire, bless her fiery little soul, is going to watch them and scream at the telly. Which is a good reason for me to avoid our flat for a while. It's not that I don't like Claire, it's that I like and appreciate my eardrums. Please don't tell her who wins. For me?

And the girls in my flat have set up a little temple to Manpower or something equally demeaning. Don't they realise that we are more than just our bodies? We have feelings and emotions that can be hurt, battered, bruised or can lift us to soar with the seagulls over a polluted landfill. I suppose I should give them the benefit of the doubt. Can't be easy living with someone as shallow as I.

In other news I have no other news.