I am not who I appear to be

Or is that 'whom I appear to be'?

Turns out, underneath this demure, feminine, 47 year old exterior, I am really an 18-34-year-old-male waiting to bust out. That's right, I thought Transformers was fabulous! No, wait, make that awesome! Or is that supposed to be cool? Hot? Phat? Skinny? What, what's the operative word? This 18-34-year-old-male neeeeeds to know!

I love the noises they make when they do their thing, all that clinking of metal snapping into place! It was great! (Now that's something you don't get from the toys.) There's something very satisfying about pieces fitting perfectly together like that...sort of like sewing, or making an artist's book...hey, I think I'm onto something here, I bet there's a whole segment of the population, outside of that 18-34-year-old-male thing, that would get it -- seamstresses, quilters, book artists, collage/assemblage artists...and I'm NOT just saying that so I could mention 'art' in this entry.

And one more thing -- I thought it was better than Casablanca.

When we came out of the theater and into the parking lot, everywhere I looked, I saw transformers. We drove off into the sunset -- well, ok, to dinner -- in my transformer disguised as a little white Saturn, whom I now shall name Snowflake. Or maybe Dirty Snow.

Well, no studio work was accomplished today. I did do a few chores, and hit the weight room, cut Mike's hair, contact the potential violin instructor in Seattle (after a bit of searching on the net). And of course, go to a matinee.