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Putter. Putter. Putter. Parrr-kayyyyy.... - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Putter. Putter. Putter. Parrr-kayyyyy....
Do they even make that stuff anymore? (Answer: yes.) Is that still their tagline? (Apparently not.)

With my workworld closed for the day, no sport of any interest to me on the tv, and Eleanor at work in the morning, I alternated between putter-ing and parkay-ing my ass on the sofa.  I got the tree down, much to the disappointment of its biggest fan-


-and, in the process, made next Christmas's assembly job infinitely easier: the branches on this fairly ancient artificial tree are coded by color and letter at the "trunk" ends, and a good third of the labels have worn or fallen off over those years.  As each layer came down, I relabeled the naked ones before tossing them all in the box.

Beyond that, and the ritual Vacuuming of the Needles, I did a small amount of bookkeeping-type work, but otherwise made headway on Read Number One of the New Year, which came in at the library yesterday:

It's a bittersweet and haunting tale of life behind the thickest remaining stretch of the Bamboo Curtain. Written long before the hacking events of recent weeks, it conveys the pain, fear and hatred that is indoctrinated into even the youngest and most elite of North Korea's students- but also leaves a little bit of hope that might just make it outside the box.

Also got caught up with the on-hand episodes of Elementary, through Mycroft's multi-episode New York stay.  They end with him speaking to someone in 044-land about a fiendish plot his brother and, who?, are up to.  The next disks will be in hand tomorrow; whether they'll be seen will depend on whether work is out of hand or not.  Given how things were last Friday, I'm suspecting not.
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