Furry geckos in outer space

I suppose I have been neglecting my responsibilities as an author. Of popular literature. At least, I could be an author of popular literature. If I had talent. And weren't lazy. But well, life sucks, then you die, as Rusty often said.

So... the other day, I went in to work and Beth made some comment about what I would write on my blog and suddenly, everyone at work knows about it. I expect they'll look at it once for curiosity's sake, skim it, laugh a little bit, and then leave it alone, leaving me free to make fun of them once again. Heh-heh-heh.

Yesterday, I was introduced to cleats. Not soccer cleats, but like... ice cleats. Or something. Metal spikes nailed through rubber that you put on your shoes and theoretically don't slip on the ice. They're unsteady and wobbly (both!) on pretty much any surface but ice. And maybe gecko fur. From all the furry geckos in outer space. Speaking of which, why do we call this planet Earth? That's just about the most boring name I can think of. Why didn't we call it Burrogaki'zheran, Home of Equines, Felines, Canines, and Land Mines? Or, you know, something with an apostrophe in the name and a big long title after it. Maybe even two apostrophes. But no. We call it "Earth." It's not even named after one of the Roman gods like every other planet in the solar system. Noooo. "Earth." La-di-freaking-da.

But I digress. I was talking about cleats, wasn't I? Yes. So anyway, you should never tap-dance in cleats. It sounds cool, but it scratches the heck out of whatever tile floor you may be standing on at the moment. Not that I would've done anything stupid like that on resort property. Of course. I sure hope my boss skips reading this paragraph. While I'm hoping that, did I ever tell you about the time I set fire to the carpet in one of our townhouses? While I was cleaning the fireplace, I learned, for about the fourth time, that the white coals are still hot. Aren't learning experiences fun?

But the cleats. Yes. So, they're unsteady and wobbly on any surface but ice and gecko fur. And they also click loudy with every step. And the spikes dig into cement floors so you have to yank them out. That's why you're not supposed to wear them inside. "Click, yank! Click, yank! Click, yank! Pay for new floor... Click, yank! Click, yank!" Like that. Or you can come inside, yank them off your feet, walk around normal for three minutes, spend five minutes fighting to get them back on your feet, walk around outside for eight seconds, and repeat the whole process. There has to be a better way. If I were intelligent and ambitious, I would probably attempt to invent something better. Or maybe there is something better, and I just don't know about it. Either way, I don't really care right now, because there's a rainstorm in the Pacific that demands my attention.

That said, I'm going to go turn the rainstorm into a neosporadic francophile. I think I just made those words up. They sound good, though. Toodles!