It just so happens that one of the local pizza places has a deal where on a Saturday night you can get a large, one-topping pizza, two-liter coke and (strangely enough) the Sunday Houston Chronicle. Now I do not know about the rest of the world, but in Houston, the Sunday paper comes out on Saturday, thus making it the Saturday paper, titled the Sunday paper. Yeah. It’s confusing. Should I ever move somewhere else I’ll have to see how exactly they work the whole Saturday-Sunday conundrum. That, and what their truck commercials are like. I just cannot imagine that Ford is the best in Texas is a big selling point in, say, Delaware.
But I digress. So I have my pizza and my paper and settle down for an evening of entertainment. I will admit that I am a very messy paper reader. No one, and I do mean no one, is willing to read a paper after me. I pull apart all the pages and fold them every which way in what often proves to be a futile attempt to get the print close enough to my nose to decipher. When I finish any given sheet or section, I toss it on the floor beside my bed and move on to the next.
Now, remember when I told you reading was dangerous?
I read my paper last night and then fell right to sleep, fingers still blackened by excess ink and totally unaware of the health hazard lurking just beside my bed. This morning I awoke, and totally forgetting that I had spent the previous evening dismantling the newspaper (I only ever do it every single Saturday night) stepped out of bed, only to slip on the afore mentioned newspaper droppings and land smack-plop on my butt. I am so incredibly graceful.
It hurt and no doubt served as a rude awaking for the people just below me. I hope they did not want to sleep in.
But on a happy note, there was an article about the country of Liechtenstein in the paper this Saturday/Sunday and I am going to clip it and mail it to a friend who once called me a liar for insisting there was a country called Liechtenstein between Austria and Switzerland. Apparently she believed me to be making a dirty joke of some sort. I still do not know why.
There was also a great article about the Chinese space program in which they described their taikonauts as brave souls “ideally suited to minimize load and maximize maneuverability in flight.” There was just something funny about hearing humans referred to in such a manner. I wonder if they’re looking for more taikonauts. I’d love to be the first pharmacist on Mars. After all, my childhood dream was to be an interplanetary dust particle specialist. How much closer can you get to that than Pharmacist-on-Mars?