The Winter of our Disconnect.

Ayoy. These are indeed the dog days of December, when the work week is so fractured by the horde of Christmas festivities, that getting a productive head of steam never seems to happen. I know, I know... complaining about too many parties is a poor way to gain sympathy (although 27 Dec tends to bring a sigh of relief to many).

Here's the thing, though: conversations at the Greenhouse have... deteriorated somewhat. By this point, we're actively trying to say something stupider than the last person. For example, here's how it broke down today:

Opening gambit: "I'd like a different carpool. I feel like I'm trapped in my current one."

Challenger: "Hey, if you were driving with them through a mountain, and then there was a cave-in, that'd be carpool tunnel syndrome!"

Me: "And then their hands would explode! Right?"

(Tumbleweeds)

Me: "What? You guys started it."

In my defense, ever since I saw the trailer for The Machine Girl, I haven't been able to think of anything but exploding body parts.

Such is the power of cinema.

Such is the power of December.