Shall we blame the Mayan’s faulty interpreters? I wasn’t one of those who were waiting for the end —(I bet they’ll find a new date to panic over and keep Armedeggoning their wobbly bottoms off) but a wee something wouldn’t have gone amiss. A powerchord? A ‘tada.’ A comma?
Minutes ago my Remax calendar ended.
Perhaps the reason I’ve got nothing, is because of infinity, immortality, and the inevitable tomorrow. Still waiting for the deus ex machina? Waiting is so last year. (Snap!)
Oh. Poopot. Just dropped goat cheese on the floor.
Yes. So. My own mind, having deserted me, I turn to the wisdom of the directors I work with. Like all good vegetables-- urg-- actors, I attentively wrote down the tidbits they let slip this year: an embarrassment of bon mots--too many for one simple blaargh, but here is a cheese plate, a sampler of my heady diet. And why I am qualified to tell you how it is.
So please, do ask.
The verbal finery of 2012:
--You’re bagged, pooped, El Poopamundo. You only have one lung, and... go!
--“That’s what you call a gloss-over. Like when you’ve brushed you teeth for 5 minutes. You haven’t really brushed them, have you now?”
--“That’s not what the little engine said… What did the little engine say…?”
(Terry Klassen, director of just about everything)
And from James Corrigall, director of everything else:
--“Almost there. A bit more stank.”
--“Uh, go heavier on the licking. Puppy-style.”
--“I’m taking that photo of you out of my locker now.”
And my favorite of the year:
--“Alright folks, I think we’re reaching Macarena saturation”
(demonstration of real life application of this quote below by self and Maryke Hendrikse)