frogg files

"She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick." --Flannery O' Connor

Thursday, August 23, 2007

An Offer To Die For

So two nights ago I was going through my mail and found an offer from a company called the Neptune Society, for a chance to win (drum roll please)... a free pre-paid cremation. Yes, you read that correctly; I said CREMATION. Not $1 million. Not a brand-new car. No, I get an offer to win a means of disposing of my mortal remains. As you can imagine, I am thrilled to be so subtly reminded of my inevitable—and apparently imminent—demise by thoughtful direct marketers. Woo-hoo.

Oh and here's my fav quote from the letter: "Cremation just makes sense." Doesn't it though?

You know, this was really the icing on the cake of weird mailings that I've been receiving lately, such as offers for discounts on hearing aids (which I emphatically do NOT need), or offers for estate planning services that would presumably necessitate me having an estate in the first place (which I emphatically do NOT have).

So yeah, seems like 32 is the new 80, folks. Hope you're not older than I am, or you might just as well be a ghost.

OK, I'm off to bed. But before I go, allow me to extend my sincere congratulations to Ruth Sims, who was the July 2007 winner of the pre-paid cremation offer. You go, girl! Have fun with that.

Friday, August 17, 2007


Hey everyone! Look, I'm still alive! Barely perhaps—or so it feels like today—but here I am anyway.

Contrary to popular (i.e., one person's) belief, I have neither been incarcerated nor locked up in a convent for the past however long it's been since my last post. I have, however, been a) working, b) writing (or avoiding it, which takes even MORE energy than the actual writing), c) running (gotta get in shape for the Nike Women's Half-Marathon!), d) trying to have some semblance of something that might approach the rudiments of a social life.

Needless to say, I'm exhausted.

Speaking of writing, I am now just past the halfway point of my second semester. Hard to believe how fast it's going. If I were a better, less completely frazzled writer, I'd come up with some metaphor for the speed with which the seasons are flying by, but I can't. Two nights of last-minute panic putting together a packet of writing that went out this morning have sapped every last drop of creativity that I had, and I have nothing left to give. Sorry. You will have to make up your own metaphor this time.

And please don't ask me what a metaphor is, or I will throw my beloved copy of The Elements of Style at you. (In addition to being tired, I am also cranky. In case you couldn't tell.)

On the plus side of life, today is Friday. That means tomorrow is Saturday. And since I sent off my writing packet today, that means I can actually *gasp* enjoy the weekend.

Wow. Now I have to think of something fun to do, I guess. Hmm, that could take some work.

D'oh! Work does not equal fun, so that means I've ruined my weekend in advance, before it's even happened. I am a talented girl, aren't I?

I really, really, really need more sleep...