A Treatise on The Spoon and Nakedness

Loyal Reader Sadie recently commented on the perplexing paucity of posts present in pthis phumble pblog (true fact: alliteration is always pretty.) All I can say is that when you have wrists as delicate as Barbaro’s ankles (which I do) then you have to rest up when you can or risk being ridden by small hairy foreign men. Or something.

What I’m trying to say is that I’m like Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally and this blog, The Spoon, is Meg Ryan (but funnier and with a less iconic haircut). So me and Meg Ryan have really hit it off in the past, but we haven’t achieved that wonderful stage of our relationship where we feel comfortable making orgasm sounds together in public. But then something happens and we don’t see each other for a while. And then bam! – we run into each other again and the flame is reignited. Except now I’m divorced and I really like to play topless beach volleyball with my dude friends and Meg Ryan is still grieving over her dead fighter pilot husband. Or was that Top Gun? Aw, screw it, you know what I mean. I’m back baby!

Except for the Scientology, I could be looking in a mirror. Topless.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what direction The Spoon is headed. I still like writing movie reviews but it isn't really enough for me. Writing nothing but reviews is like having an all meat diet. Sure, meat gives you all the nutrients you need for a thick, healthy stool, but sometimes you want some greens to clean up the plumbing. So you can probably expect a few off topic posts. However, I will absolutely do my best to NOT spend ten paragraphs describing last night’s dream in which my mom dropped me off at work and I had a really big piece of gristle stuck in my teeth and nobody told me the entire day. And also I was naked. So, don’t expect to hear long-winded tales of my naked-dream-gristle-exploits because that’s what my psychiatrist is for. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. And you can also be naked if you want.

Hats are optional