Tales of a Secret Rockstar

One of Tara and my favourite things these days is play Scrabble on Facebook. I have a word in the works right now that could get me 56 points, but I think she's going to foil me. (Update, she foiled me only slightly. I still got 43 points. To which she said, "Gross. I don't like this game.") It's nice to relax and play a game, and have the computer doing all the scoring for you.

Every time I mention computers when I'm blogging, I immediately want to write about how computers are taking over the world. It's this weird tick I have. It's like I'm the only one who is aware of technology's true intentions, but I'm a futile prophet in a world of yes-men. And ironically enough I'm using technology to spread my message. So I'm a hypocritical futile prophet. Because I enjoy technology as much as the next person. Although I have this growing fear that my cellphone is actually a tumor farmer, growing its crops in my head. There's little snippets of news about that floating around these days. It's kind of freaky. But what am I supposed to do, attach a cord to my wall and just hope my "telephone" will magically connect me to people? I hardly think so!

That was slightly ranty.

I should get back to my scrabble game . . .