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The Occasional Blockade

It would seem that after what appears to be a writing spree for a week or so I have finally encountered the dreaded and nearly mythical entity that would make the Ring video seem like it was in full color with cheesy Flash effects. It seems to happen to every writer (or anyone who calls himself a writer) where at some point of time they simply can't get any words out as fast as they used to, and even telling people that they used to be able to get out some words faster seems to be a lot more difficult than the last time, whenever that was.

It would seem that I'm getting somewhat of a demo of this whole thing. My whole mind has seemed to be getting foggy somewhat of late, so much that a London weather girl could take one look at my cranium and sink into a deep depression at who anything could possibly outsmog London.


In other words, what I'm really trying to get across here is that my writing may not have been what it used to be, whatever it used to be, and that may or may not be a bad thing or a good thing respectively.

But meanwhile, a pre travelogue.

Knowing me (and if you don't, then well done), most people might already know that I"m flying over to China at popular request of the Japanese. And while all the negotiations and such are going at this time, I'm simply getting ready to fly over, and no cybernetically enhanced super soldier in green armor's going to stop me.

Anyway, not two days ago, I, accompanied by my mother (damn! mixed up the order again), graced a Winnings winter ware wearhouse sale with our presence.

I should probably say that at this point, I was rather charmed by the selection of coats that they had, that is to say, completely gobsmacked and on my knees. And while I could take this opportunity to make an even greater homage to the Queen (I mean, the QUEEN), I'm going to have to describe the coats now, so I have no choice but to move on to the next paragraph and let the QUEEN have this one.

The place could only be described as a coat hangar (yes, with an "a"). And while there were plenty of coats that were actually useful, the ones that I really grew partial to were the trench coats. Well, not so much trench coats as they were the kind that you would wear while trudging through the night streets of London with a smoke that was almost burning out, and with a case on your mind. It was simply beautiful, and would have descended from the heavens if it wasn't for the damn ceiling.

I would, at this point of time, like to say that I had gotten the coat.

While I'm wishing, I'd like a time machine.

And with that, I have nothing more to say on this subject that could possibly pacify anyone (or entertain, if that's what's popular these days), and I therefore must adjourn this session with a few pictures, along with some loose commentary.

Together, we can fight cancer. And fashion.

I'm afraid the Boss isn't in at the moment...

I don't have to tell you what I was doing in the wool socks section. (Yes, the ones for your FEET.)