I just glanced at the visitor tracker and someone is visiting here from a place called Coos Bay.
Given my immersion in many things Scotland since 2019, this struck me funny. Bit late for Coosday, though.
Speaking of Scotland. The good people of Inverness — those aware of the situation, anyway — are about to lose a popular indoor climbing wall. And that got me to thinking. Do you suppose Rory McCann ever uses climbing walls? Somehow I… can’t quite see it. I mean, maybe, if there was some reason he couldn’t get out to the mountains but was itching to get vertical. On the other paw, I could totally see him snorting and dismissing indoor wall-climbing as “nancing about.” On yet a third paw which I don’t actually have because I’m not a fucking mutant, he’s easygoing enough to not see any issue with it even if he’s not interested in it himself. And this is what comes of trying to guess who a person is based on incomplete evidence. One of those things I’ll just have to wonder about, I suppose.
I was watching this weird video today depicting a guy getting a beard weave. Yep, y’all, this is a thing. But as I was watching it, another question about Rory occurred to me. Remember when he was playing the Hound pretty regularly and you could tell when he was working because this entire patch on the right side of his face was shaven? And then he showed up at some awards event wearing a bit of fake beard over the bare patch? So as I’m watching this guy in a Facebook video getting fake hair glued to his face I thought, Okay, question: Where did Rory get that bit of fake beard? Did he buy it himself, or did the makeup department issue it to him?
I mean, it’s not like you can just go buy bits of beard in a shop. Usually. And that was a pretty good match to his actual beard hair, so.
I would be that interviewer who asked him strange questions. He’d walk in all set with his canned answers he’s already given to like five other interviewers in the space of a week and I’d hit him with “where’d you get your fake beard, RORY” and he’d stop like…
…and things would probably go south from there.
That, or we’d wind up at the pub half an hour later, getting incredibly ridiculous. Who fucking knows.
I swear to fuck I am not going to make this whole thing about me, but things are going better. How long they will go better remains to be seen. Knocking on my own head commensurate with the amount of luck I’d need would probably send me into a permanent coma. I’m afraid I will just have to trust, for once.
Let’s put it this way: I’m writing and posting this at almost 9pm. On my laptop. And am not in my car.
Okay. Enough babble. Until next time.