I needed to post something today so I don’t mess up on my blog goal.  However, in the words of Carl’s Jr, “Don’t bother me.  I’m [read]ing.”

While I’m waiting for Friday’s Fab Five to post, I thought I’d share a few videos.  If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know I adore Simon’s Cat.  Thanks to my friend Ouisa, I have a new episode to show you.  And, while I was getting the embed code for it, I found two other episodes.

My niece Aymee is a very talented crafter.  Her daughters are always so cute decked out in the hair things and clothes embellishments she makes.  When her oldest daughter was born, she started crafting as something to do while she was at home all day.  She makes beautiful hair ribbons, clips, and headbands as well as miscellaneous things like pictures, cards, jewelry, and magnets.

I love her style of crafts because they’re not in the country style, which is my main experience with crafts.  Aymee’s crafts are very vintage looking (she actually made all the decorations for my niece Carlee’s shower and reception, including the bouquet and other flowers) and look as though they could be sold in a Pottery Barn catalog.

In the past, she has sold her stuff at open houses and booths at holiday fairs.  However, just recently, she opened an Etsy store called Kimiko Gifts.  The store is small right now, but she has been slowly adding merchandise to sell.  I wanted to mention her store to help get her name out there.  Her stuff is super cute and super inexpensive.  You should check it out and let others know about her cute stuff, too!

PS–The things in her store right now are mostly for children, but she does make things for adults too.

If you’re like Corey or me, then you think the Old Spice commercials are hilarious!  Today, the Old Spice Guy (Isaiah Mustafa) created video responses to various tweets, Facebook posts, and youtube videos/comments.  They’re really entertaining to watch and they’re all less than a minute long.  Unfortunately, embedding for these videos is turned off so I can’t post my favorite on my blog, but I definitely recommend watching it because he’s responding to his own tweet. I highly recommend you check out the others, too.

Have you noticed the little monster by your comments on my blog?  Those are known as gravatars, or globally recognized avatars.  Gravatars follow you wherever you go on the Internet when commenting on blogs.  They’re linked to your e-mail address so each time you use your e-mail address to post a comment, your gravatar will display as long as they’re enabled on the blog you’re commenting on.

On my blog, the monsters are there by default.  On other blogs, another design or a blank face icon may appear.  However, if you have uploaded a gravatar, like my friend Debbie and me (see image to the right), then the default design/picture won’t show up; your gravatar will.

How do you get a gravatar?  It’s actually really simple and free.

1. Browse to en.gravatar.com.
2. Click the Get your Gravatar today link.
3. Enter your e-mail address.
4. Click Signup.
5. Click the link in the confirmation e-mail sent to your e-mail address to activate your account.
6. Enter a username and password.
7. Click Signup.
8. Click the Add one by clicking here link to select an image for your gravatar.  (You can upload your own image or select an image from their database.)

If you upload an image for your gravatar, keep in mind that the image can be up to 512 pixels wide.  Also, gravatars are always square.  If you upload an image that isn’t square, your image will be cropped.  When gravatars display, they’re usually only 80 x 80 pixels.  But, that can change depending on the design of someone’s blog.  It’s a good idea to choose a high resolution image so when it’s scaled on different blogs, your image won’t look grainy.

Happy belated birthday, Lauren! Happy birthday, John!

My co-worker Steve sent this to me because I’m a technical writer and he thought I’d enjoy it.  The following is ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas as written by a technical writer.  Frankly, in my opinion, this could’ve been written by someone like Jane Austen with the verbiage, other than the scientific classifications, used.  However, the author is unknown.

‘Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums. My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself–thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic Alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen–”Now Dasher, now Dancer …” et al–guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved–with utmost celerity and via a downward leap–entry by way of the smoke passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his sub-maxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion’s floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supra-labials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.  He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: “Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn.”

Happy belated birthday, Dad!   Happy birthday, Karen, Noah, and Henry!

Corey and I watched this before I left for work this morning.  I thought it was cleverly done and really funny.