First, a bit of blathering about other stuff, to make sure the things I’m quoting don’t show up in the Facebook ‘preview’ after I post this… That would be embarrassing. Not that there’s much chance of the Facebook friend of a Facebook friend noticing, but still, why take unnecessary chances? Why knowingly give Murphy, God of Strange Coincidence and Chaos-for-Your-Own-Damn-Good, more to work with?
Murphy has been
messing with blessing me enough already, thanks. As the song goes, All of the beautiful colors are very, very meaningful…
Beloved blog followers, I have a confession to make.
And yes, this warp-quote, obscure as it is, is also quite appropriate, which is why I’m actually gonna share the original:
“Beloved relatives,” I told them, “I’ve a confession to make,” and Random’s hand was already on the hilt of his blade. That’s how far we could trust one another.
That’s from Nine Princes in Amber, by Roger Zelazny. (You’re so surprised to see me quoting something by Zelazny, aren’t you?) Immediately after this bit of dialogue, the viewpoint character admits to having some pretty serious memory problems… Under the circumstances, even seeing that my quote-finding-fu is still working makes me feel a little bit better.
Anyway, the confession: Occasionally I get little details of story trivia wrong.
You’re shocked, right?
A few weeks ago, I was watching television with Grace and my clone. A character in the show says something along the lines of “Some of us aren’t going to look thirty-five forever, you know.” We laughed and laughed, probably more than the intended humor deserved. Had it been any number but 35, we wouldn’t have found it so funny… which is irritating now because I keep misremembering the relevant quote. Thirty-six, damnit. The character in the novel lies and claims that his age is thirty-six:
“May I have your age, for the record?”
“Thirty-six,” I said. That’s always safe.
He jotted it somewhere in the folder he held across his knees.
“You know, I would have sworn — once I got to checking you over and remembering that that’s about what you looked the last time I saw you.”
*shakes head* Well, let’s just hope Alex W. has a better memory than I do (and, for once, the I in that statement is me, not a character from the same stories as Alex). It’s four times nine — maybe that will help me get it right from now on… I can remember the hiding place for his house key, after all. Trivial trivia — gotta love it, ’cause it’s gonna stick in the brain anyway.
I could make a joke — again — about information overload and all, but… let’s not go there, okay? (Oops, too late. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt… Literally, on the last part.) At least my memory is still good enough that I knew exactly where to look to find out if I had the right number (and to be reminded — again — that I didn’t).