The REAL me...

I ripped this from PointLess...

Merry Elfamas!!

Courtesy of: "The Right Reverend Rafael the Euphonious of Giggleswick under Table"

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Most Noble Lady Sydney the Mad of Wimblish upon Frognaze Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Addendum to Super-Smart

You know, I'm not, really. Recently I watched a program about Katie Morgan (porn star... and don't ask why. It was late, I was tired, and her atrocious boob job was mesmerizing) . There she sat, all nekkid tanned and porny, being interviewed about the "industry" and at the conclusion it was noted that Internet IQ tests (note: oh so scientific) gave her a score of 165. That's well into genius zone. But I imagine if you take enough of those little quizzlets (much like the afore-posted), you may realize that real IQ or smarts is not about test-taking*.

And consequently, some of the very smartest people I know are absolute morons - about some things, even most things relatively. Not to mention that there seems to be a connection between mental stability/emotional inconsistencies and genius. Just look at the artists, scientists, and achievers throughout history. They're busy making stuff, inventing stuff, revolutionizing stuff in between looney bin stints. Cutting off body parts, getting in arrears (or in the rear as the case may be), pissing off the Medici's or whatever ruling/banking class was footing the bill.

So, I guess it's all a matter of perspective. If you can do physics in your head but can't get your panties on frontwards, well where are ya then?? Not to say that frontwards facing panties are all the rage (got mine on inside out the other day**), but there is something to be said for not hitting your own head, with your own Jeep hatch, with your own arm-hand combo****.

*By the way - just polished off this semester with two perfect "A"'s and not in diminished subjects like "Remedial Pants Putting Oning,"*** but in International Finance and Entrepreneurship.

**as "inside out" as a micro-swatch of fabric can be

*** and people always use the "Underwater Basket Weaving" example here which I think would be damn challenging without gills or at least a papyrus reed that was long enough. Or maybe it's the irony...

**** What, as opposed to the spleen-follicle combo? Callete already, Güera!!

Omen Theory

I can control events with my mind. And not only future ones, but retroactively as well. I do it ALL the time.

Example:

About two weeks ago I was driving to the gym. Just as you "on-ramp" to the loop, you must navigate a bridge over a bitty man-made lakey thing. As I looked off to my right, over the bridge railing, and at the water (because that hurtling 2000lb piece of metal 'neath my ass doesn't need all that much concentration...), there were little pointy ripply thangies on the surface of the water. I was intrigued, so I looked longer. Obviously, immature Nessies taunting me. As I casually glanced back to the road spiralling out in front of me, I seemed a tad close to the guardrail barring me from the plunging edge of the bridge.

I corrected and rocketed on. But as I continued on my merry way, I visualized (this is the mind-control part), giving free reign to the possible outcomes that didn't happen, but could have, but were prevented, retroactively, by my giving them full expression in my wee brain after the fact. Got it?

Here's what might have happened: I looked out over the railing to see the ripply things and the Colonel (as my plum Jeep insists on being monikered) plunges through the guardrail, off the bridge and down into the coldy-cold little lakey water (slow-mo). As I watch the dark and oh-so-solid looking water stretch up to meet my oncoming SUV, I have time to completely and thoroughly assess the opciones. If I start unwinding (ooo and I have the auto down windowy option) the 'lectric window now, it will have time to roll down far enough to let pressure equalize so I can open door (window crank? I got your crank!!!). At same time I will craftily unlock doors before the nasty hard water shorts the modern convenience 'lectric system Now, all I have left to do is unbuckle the safety harness, extract face from airbag, exit through open window, and backstroke leisurely to bank and await rescuer-y folks. 'Cause I definitely would have had plenty of forethought as to be holding cellphone well out of watery grave, and of course passers-by would have seen my Jeep careen off the suddenly looming bridge. This could have been very, very bad... BUT...

Now, see... that didn't happen, couldn't have happened, and can't happen because I have given such free, unfettered, and complete imaginative expression to the drama so that it feels unto itself as if it has actually occurred as has given vent to it's fullness of bad thinginess. Hence, by letting bad things/omen/occurrences happen vividly in my peanut-sized brainpan, they cannot happen in reality to my peanut. (but don't tell them or the spell is broken...)

For the Aliens

Completely unrelated to what I was searching for, but ran across the following and, true to my thoughtful and generous nature, I thought I would save it for the aliens...

Ultra-precise probing made easy

So all you intergalatic probers, get your telepathy hats on and come on down for some probing made simple, efficient and easy.

I'll bring the lube!!

Left Toe and Revelations

Someone requested that I write something new. Now there's a bonk on the head. Didn't think anyone was really stopping by here, nor my blithering be something sought after (weird sentence but go with it -literary license and all). But perhaps I ascribe too much to a simple request.

More on the death theme, 'cause it's a jolly time o' year to contemplate our demise on the eve of a birth (or so the religious right would have us believe), and the overuse of apostrophes''''''''''. The parents of someone very close to me were killed, yes both of them, by a drunk driver. A mere mile from their home.* Went to the memorial which was attended by scads, nay pantloads, of folks. The flattery was astounding, and the lauds were thick.

In response, I've told friends, family, whomever will listen, that I do NOT want this sort of drivel when I die/pass on/pass out/snuff it/become/go all limpy/commune with the aliens. All this flummery and rattling on and on about what a delightful and amazing person I was during my life. How I affected the lives of so many. Nope, not me. If you couldn't say that stuff about/to me when I was alive then you are just lying, right there on that rug.

Please just to burn me up, do whatever with the ashes, and then drink heavily in a very sunny place, preferrably with beach. Or barring the burning, if we can arrange for me to be "recycled" that would be even better. Take me out to sea, throw me in, and wait for the sharks. I could eventually be shark poo! I'm probably much healthier fodder than what those wily sharks/fishies are eating now. I eat organically (nicely marbled), exercise regularly (plenty of muscle flesh to gnaw on), big ol' brain just bursting with fat and protein, and lovely hard bones to crack. And then have a big party with Eddie Izzard and laugh 'til your knees drop off.

Yea.. that sounds about right.


*isn't there some statistic that notes most accidents happen within 10 miles of your home**
** Steven Wright comments wryly that given that information, you should move

SeaCow vs. SydSquid

And furthermore on the subject of intelligence, isn't it all really relative? I mean, put me in a tank full of water and start letting little fish and sea lice humiliate me and there's nothing my big smart brain can do about it. I'm out of my element and my high IQ or general genius can't begin to make the remedial grade. Just 'cause a species doesn't "intelligize" well on a human scale doesn't necessarily mean it ain't sparkin' on all cylinders. Who said human intelligence was the end-all-be-all??

Wouldn't it be nice if we weren't so smug about our feeble brain power?? There are all kinds of intelligence mingling among us but because they don't measure up on a standardized test, we smirk and poo-poo them. Yeah, look how smart we are - raping our environment, killing eachother willy-nilly, creating unsustainable growth.

Yeah - we're REAL smart.

Genius or Retentive????

These aren't real indicators, but it's something for the grey matter to masticate:

You paid attention during 100% of high school!

85-100% You must be an autodidact, because American high schools don't get scores that high! Good show, old chap!

Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz

@ the Cock Shack

Why did the Chicken Cross the Road?????

to kick this little kid's ass..................



And after much laughter, the minstrels were eaten and my sick, talented, bloggy friend Brad wrote this little ditty:

Genius, Briliant!!!!!!

If you see a faded sign by the side of the road that says
15 miles to the... Cock Shack! Cock Shack yeah
I'm headin' down the Des Moines highway,
lookin' for the cock getaway
Heading for the cock getaway, love getaway,
I got me a farm truck it's as big as a whale
and we're headin' on down
To the Cock Shack
I got me a transport, it seats about 20
So hurry up and bring your moonshine money

The Cock Shack is a little old place
where poulty fornicate
Cock Shack baby, Cock Shack bay-bee.
Peck me baby, that's where it's at,
Ooo peck me baby, that's where it's at

Sign says.. Woo... stay away ducks,
'cause cocks rule at the Co-o-ock Shack!
Well it's set way back in the middle of a field,
Just a funky old 'bago and I gotta get back

Corn feed on the mattress
Corn feed on the highway
Corn feed on the front porch
Corn feed on the hallway

The Cock Shack is a little old place
where poultry fornicate
Cock Shack bay-bee! Cock Shack baby!
Cock Shack, that's where it's at!
Peckin' and a scratchin', cluckin' and a layin',
wearin' next to nothing
Cause it's hot as an oven
The whole shack shimmies!
The whole shack shimmies when everybody's
Movin' around and around and around and around!
Everybody's cluckin', everybody's fuckin' baby!
Hens linin' up outside just to get down
Everybody's cluckin', everybody's fuckin' baby
Funky little shack! Funk-y little shack!

Hop in my farm truck,
it's as big as a whale
and it's about to set sail!
I got me a transport, it seats about twenty
So c'mon and bring your moonshine money.

The Cock Shack is a little old place
where we can get together
Cock Shack baby! Cock Shack bay-bee!
(Cock Shack...Cock Shack...)
Cock Shack, that's where it's at!

Peck peck peck on the door baby!
Peck a little louder baby!
Peck peck peck on the door baby!
I can't hear you
Peck peck on the door baby
Peck peck on the door
Peck peck on the door baby
Peck peck
You're what?... Big cock, busted!

Cock Shack, baby Cock Shack!
Cock Shack, baby Cock Shack!
Cock baby, that's where it's at
Cock Shack, baby Cock Shack!
Cock baby, that's where it's at
Cluckin' and a scratchin',
Peckin' and a layin' at the cock shack

Meme, Schmeme...

Not normally, but when uninspired...

1. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR KITCHEN PLATES? White, but I DO have garden plates with parrots on them, so there!!

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? "The Heretic" & International Finance

3. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? mouse

4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? Trivial Pursuit, Pictionary (the best game for spasmodics like myself)

5. LEAST FAVORITE SMELLS? Can't say I ever met a smell I couldn't tolerate. But what about those people who haven't taken a shower for a while, been drinking non-stop, and peed a bit in their pants... yea, no so much on that smell.

6. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF IN THE MORNING? "How much longer can I stay here??""

7. FAVORITE COLOR: purple or pistachio

8. LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: black - not really a color unto itself but a lack thereof

9. HOW MANY RINGS UNTIL YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? whatever, I screen

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? Fetus Maximus

11. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Ack - raspberry or pomegranate

12. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? Just how fast are we talkin' about here??

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? real only, please

14. DO YOU LIKE THUNDERSTORMS? immensely

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? '64 VW bug, red with white vinyl interior, no A/C (in Texas)... Hot, Baby, Hot!!!

16. FAVORITE SONG TO SING OUT LOUD? Hall & Oates - "You Make My Dreams Come True" or that song from the circus tha tthey play on the calliope

17. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? for the birds

18. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB WHAT WOULD IT BE? cetacean researcher/trainer

19. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY COLOR HAIR WHAT WOULD IT BE? red, red, red

20. IS THE GLASS HALF FULL OR HALF EMPTY?stupid optimist questions...

21. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE? tie - "Dangerous Liaisons" or "Dances with Wolves"

22. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR HANDS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? hardly

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? ghost turds; supports for the waterbed; and a pathetic, beaten down bogey-man or two

24. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? 68 - no comment

25. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? TV - American football, live - rugby, ice hockey

26. BIGGEST INTENSE PAIN? this f*****ing Master's degree

27. (deleted due to irrelevance)

28. (ibid)
- evil #29 has been stricken from the record
30. HAMBURGER OR HOT DOG? die meat-etaers!!!! die, die, die

31. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? Birthday season

32. THE BEST PLACE YOU HAVE EVER BEEN? Taiwan was pretty cool, but I was to young to appreciate it

33. BEST FEATURE ON YOU? some say eyes, I like my big ol' brain, but boobs are definitely right up there

34. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FAST FOOD? Whataburger (I know...hypocrite)

35. YOUR BIRTH NAME? if I tell you I have to kill you

Significance of Death, Part Deux

Dry, dry, dry... dry, dry, dry, dry, dry, dry... dry, dry, That's what this whole death scenario has done to me. Made me dry. Dry. Dry as your late, dead great-grandmother Georgina's dusty, web-bedecked vagina cuddled six foot under the spongy loam of her last resting place in the crumbling confines of a conspicuously extravagant coffin once lavishly quilted with the finest of silks and velveteens to comfort poor grandmama's little birdie head as she twisted off into the netherworld to become ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust. Yes, quite dry, not a drip, drab, dram, not a jot nor tittle, not a bead nor nuance of wet to be found in my vicinty. Just dry.

Dry like that heat you've heard them mention. And no doubt this is a southern/western thing. As only when the mercury soars, nay skyrockets, into the upper regions of the meter, blazing a trail for days on end into the the 100+ degrados, do we begin to qualify the heat. Maybe to distract ourselves from the mere fact that heat, at anything above 100 (really above about 104. That seems to be the magic cut-in temperature for misery) is simply hot, hot and scorching and DRY, because no self-respecting molecule of moisture would be caught dead in that kind of heat. It's not only unfashionable, but it's just not DONE, cavorting about in that kind of heat.

"Ooooo, dear, but did you hear it was 112deg today???"
"Yes, Minnie, but was it a dry heat?"
"Indeed - nicely dry; flirty on the palate; hint of leather, pomegranate & mesquite; burnt finish - alltogether a delight at 112deg. Get a case, let it age and then sprinkle the dust for a lovely, gritty addition to any course."

As if somehow dry heat makes the 16 layers of derm you have just left on your leather car seat so much more pleasurable, even preferrable. Skin-crackling, pore-enlarging, sweat-tap-opening, I-will-drink-my-own-urine-if-I-have-to, cactus-wilting, dirt-boiling hot. Yes, it was a dry heat, like the heat they have in Arizona. In fact, let's all move to Arizona, where all the old, really dry people are, in order to experience with some frequency, regularity and longevity that place where dry heat resides. Seek it out and embrace it warmly. Eschew the tenderness of moisture and simply flake off. Nope, at 100+, I don't care if its dry, tepid, humid, moistened, binty, dirty with extra olives, insouciant, or Copernicus, its f**ing hot AND dry.

And that's how the death has left me feeling. DRY. All dried up. Except for the mucus, of course.

The Significance of Death, Part I

I've tried changing my route. Going "to" seems to be worse than "from" which is at the end of the day when you might conjecture it would be worse. Changing the route seems to be the poultry way out in some sick way of thinking (often a way that I think). I chide myself that I should force myself to absorb the nastiness of the "caninus inocentus" incident in all its gory splendor. To rub each and every ounce of its disgust into my pores and let it percolate through so I can blend all of the implications into my world vision. Translate that unhappy moment into some sort of activism and action and development into a "better" person.

Conversely, it is just perverse that I strangle myself on the grotesquerie of it instead accepting my role as comforter, allowing the progrees of nature to be my solace and to know that I was instrumental in the gentle passing of a life. My focus and image should be of the transcendant light of transit and the transformation of being, the devastating gift of nature that runs both hot and cold. My place in the universe, and the universal flow. My place just there and then.

This is a struggle not just about the death of a small creature, but a physical representation of the signs of our times and of the forecasts of our futures. A time to sit on the haunches and think and chew the cud and smoke the pipe and maybe even trip the hallucinogen just to get a glimpse of the other inner side.

Helpless...

Horrible and revealing this morning on my way to work. Helpless, as that small puppy gaily flounced out into the road under that woman's tires. She heedlessly carried on - no brake light, no slowing, no acknowledgement at all. He wasn't mangled, but he wasn't unhurt. Grabbing the indian blanket that I keep in Colonel Plum for just such emergencies, I rushed to his side there in the street. He was very stunned, but I could see by the whiteness of his gums that he was already in shock. No outward signs of injury, but my fears ran deep that he would not be with me long.

Luckily a police officer happened by and waved off traffic as I tried to comfort the little pup. He sported a nice leather collar but no tags. His confusion subsided and I could tell that he was slipping away as his breathing shallowed. I cried there in the street in the humid morning, talking him through his last moments. The girl who hit him came back to justify her own indecency, and assuage her own ignorance. I waved her off. My little stranger began to gulp for air and I stroked him gently - it wouldn't be long now.

His blood was brilliant red, arterial and sparkling on the pavement - a testament to his short life. He took his last breaths and I gently lifted him to the curb. I asked the officer if he would look for the owners. They must live nearby. He seemed disaffected and distant, not wanting to even participate or offer the slightest consolation.

The welter of emotions will wait for another post, but I suffice it to comment that death is not nearly so dismal as indifference.

Contactus Orbitus

They say that making good eye contact is, well,... good, indicates healthy self-esteem and respect for others. I've been told I make good eye contact, however now I'm beginning to question the logic in that. I don't think people REALLY want good eye contact. It may be a generally espoused concept in the "This is how to get a good job" or "This is how to win friends and impress squirrels" handbooks, but the slovenly, heathen, heaving public in their deepest of deep places doesn't really want to make or have made at/with them good eye contact. Those that don't make eye contact, good or otherwise, are appellated "shifty-eyed" which connotes a world of meanings. Not only the obvious, eyes maniacally struggling to escape their sockets to avoid intercourse, but the implication of dishonesty, not "meeting the eye". It is said that rapid blinking is fair indication of fibbers, or maybe the speaker is merely trying to dislodge the great whelping calumny that is desperately clinging to his sclera. To disrupt the painful construct poinking desperately into the gelatinous, moist sphere through which here peers into this dis-reality ripe for his manipulations.


So, what is too much, too little, too extended, too penetrating, too contact-y good eye contact?? When I am playfully yet oh-so-tenderly situating my orb 'gainst yours.... Oh, you mean I don't actually touch my ball to yours??!! Well, hell... no wonder folks having been giving me the evil eye. Maybe my good eye contact has been a tad too painful, rather like the little man that comes to poke you in the eye. You know him. The dapper one that shows up at your door the morning after you have snorted just a bit too much coke, and you wake to the light like a thousand tiny needles trying to edge themselves 'neath the delicate margins of your thin eyelids. As you stumble about for water, the little man knocks lightly and you answer knowing he will be there with his wee pointy finger or jabby small stick. A quick poo-hoo to the eye and he smartly turns and retreats leaving you to gasp painfully, slapping palm over socket, in full knowledge that you have deserved every prickly nanosecond of that poking. But now you can relish the rest of the day, saunter lazily to Mi Michoacan, order up three tasty 30peso taquitos of your favorite carne - be it barbacoa, carnitas, o bistec - a dollop of runny refrieds to adorn along with some finely chopped cilantro, a dash of real red picante and a few slices of pickled jalapeño (o habañero as is your wont to abuse yon colon). A steady trickle of baby beers should round off the meal while I sit on the sidewalk and gaze at the passers by waiting for the sun to zenith and sink to the horizon signalling another day past and another night of frolicking. Hmmmm.... I digress, but so pleasantly indeed.

As for eye contact...overrated in so many ways. In much the same way that the gurus of polite and gentile society demand that we make our eyes contact pleasantly and our hands shake ever so simply and our Thank You's quite so sincerely, yes, all good in theory but the practice makes the normal folk so very, very nervous as do most of the things I propose and pursue. The conundrum of the not normal.

Oh Allright Then

I'm as much a fan of the mythical as anyone - look at my delusional and hypothetical life! But there is a line to be drawn, not in the sand, but a firm line in the scientific mortar twixt evolution, the realms of "Middle Earth", and the creative minds of Creationism. Hence, the application of "hobbit" to earthly hominid remains (oh sorry... singular... remain) is completely, utterly, and solely a condescension to and a diminution of not only the language that we vulgarly call "English" but of the discipline we arrogantly claim as science. Nevertheless to use the idiomatic creations of Tolkien (regardless of his literate brilliance) as descriptors of proposed hominid species, sub or otherwise, is evidence of the lunacy and inability of current "learn-ed" society to separate real from unreal.

Hobbit, my ass. It's ONE for Chet's sake and can we leave the politics and Peter Pan egos at the airlock?????

Dervishing Whirls

tarantism (TAR-uhn-tiz-uhm) noun

An uncontrollable urge to dance.

[After Taranto, a town in southern Italy where this phenomenon was experienced during the 15-17th centuries. It's not clear whether tarantism was the symptom of a spider's bite or its cure, or it may have been just a pretext to dodge a prohibition against dancing. The names of the dance tarantella and the spider tarantula are both derived from the same place.]

Is it wrong that this happens to me in the produce section of my local organic grocery store? Just the other day I found myself jiving to Sting whilst sifting through the haricot vert, and shuffling to some reggae while sampling the last of the pixie tangerines. Given the crunchy-granola-earthy types that hang out there, punctuated with the occasional yuppie-upper crusty-starchy types slinking about guiltily with clueless expressions , I don't think anyone either cared or noticed that I gayly torque and twist my way through the tortuous paths. Somehow I am joyful when I go to my grocery. The mere act of procuring organics for myself and the animules is one of my small pleasures, my small modicums of control in a world of terrorism, injustice, ignorance and just plain ol' mean spiritedness.

Extend that to my little dream, eventually one might find me hustling through a small garden all natural and wiggly; weeding, picking, gazing lovingly at 'maters on the vine, my own haricot vert on the string, and perhaps some squush reposing about waiting for a lovely braise with some butter. Envision livestock and poultry fat and happy living off my little parcel of land and a chipper house in harmony with its environs. Idyllic, no? To me, yes. Not to all. Maybe I kid myself with the simplicity, as it is complexity that can really turn me on and stoke my internal furnace. However at the end of the day, it is Clyde's warm feathers against my hand, Chauncey's little furry body pressed into my armpit, the sweet smell of aired sheets, a quiet evening on the patio, a well-made meal, and conversation with loved ones that keep the flames burning.

Am I Hallucinating???

Came across this picture and wondered if it looks like me. I wish it did, but how can one be objective about one's own visage that one gawps at each day? Maybe you guys can... all two of you who stop by.

Helpful links in the Gallery to the left under "The Royal We"

If this Don't Make Ya Drool...

Look at your tongue closely. Get right up close to the mirror, in fact, get one of those stick-on magnifying mirrors so you can really see in there. Stick out your wiggly mouth muscle** and take a long gander at the little bumps thereon. If you are vigilant and have darn good eyesight you will observe the little papillae (taste buds/bumps), and you will also observe that they vary in shape and size depending on where they are located on your tongue. You'll have to stick your tongue way, way out - Gene Simmons style - to see the ones way back there. These are the little guys that let us taste our food and they are arranged in specific zones for tasting specific tastes. But funnily enough they only come in five categories (when I was in school it was only four) all combining to produce the myriad of flavors that we relish when we stuff our gobs with the yummies in which we delight.

Silly me was laboring under the falsehood that sour was already a given, perhaps because we tasted it we just assumed, however now we know the exact receptor. Nevertheless, sour is one of my favorites, if not my very FAVORITE, and as I read the above cited article my little mouth juicers (read that salivary glands) were really working it. My mouth filled right up with spit as if I had just eaten a slice of lime, sipped a tangy margarita, or crunched a lively salt-n-vinegar potatoe chip. The only confounding aspect, and little mentioned I might add, of that report was the confusion as to why a sour receptor/taster might have had any evolutionary validity or why the need.

Well don't you need to be able to tell acid from base when the enemies are trying to get you, when you are mixing one with t'other, when deciding red or white?? Sheesh, these scientists... a little sophistication please!!!

**which, did you know, is the strongest muscle in the human body [or alien body for that matter (I happen to know. They told me after the probing)]

Real Relevance

“There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself.” -Hermann Hesse

This Will get Ugly

As part of my new leaf, here's a little opinion that I have about a fairly hot topic. Maybe not so hot now as it was in the 90's but still can rankle a nerve or two. But take a gander at this article. Short and to the point but brings up some lovely points of contention.

HIV... AIDS... Voluntary drug use/abuse... Afghanistan... Why do I give a flying rat's reticulated rosey ass through a rolling multi-colored, sprinkle-covered, chocolate glazed, raspberry filled, fried donut??!!!!!!!!! About people who come to MY country, refuse to speak MY language, lap up MY benefits, kill MY neighbors and friends and compadres, use up MY natural resources, stink up MY breathing space, and just generally ick me the eff out??? Well, I don't. And they can all just sit over there and shoot up with blood-encrusted, camel poop- encrusted needles, filled with inferior brown Mexican heroin mixed with cockroach powder until the goats come home and I will be glad to buy it for them. In fact, I will fly my tasty, white, AMERICAN, red-white-n-blue, yuppie hiney over there in business class to pound their little emaciated forearms or necks or groins to raise up a scrawny vein in which to inject a large bolus of mind-numbing, toxic narcotic to which they can mumble their last salaam or salaat facing towards Mecca. I'll even be so kind as to whip out a nice rug and bend 'em over it.

Yep, no need for clinics, or free clean needles. No need to warn anyone of the dangers of contracting potentially fatal diseases via sexual congress. Feel free... go on... boink in the streets. Mohammed would. He's a lascivious bastard. In fact, get all your treats in a one-stop-shopping spree. Boink and shoot-up all at the same time. Maybe even practice a little sodomy while you're at it just to make sure it takes.

Have I been perfectly clear on this one?

Love's Liabilities

You WILL end up here... sooner or later. It is the uneasy truth. I have wrestled with this from the beginning of the blog-era and the recent "doocing" of MrFab has pinned the tail on my donkey of indecision, and I have decided that my days of self-censorship have come to a screeching, yowling, nails-on-the-blackboard, forehead-into-the-dashboard halt y alto!!!! Despite my squirmy, colonic reticence at being dissected for the honest and brutal thoughts I am definitely going to write from now on, my overwhelming need to be heard is driving me more insanely batty with each passing f-bomb I drop inside my wee, little, scrawny, child-sized pate. (Just now I can hear "Texas Tom's" rather prodigious jaw hitting the floor as he wonders just what parts I have been censoring o'er the last decade.... things that make you go "Hmmmmmm????")

However, as thinly veiled as they may be, all will be monikered as I see fit. Not necessarily to protect the innocent, but to prevent the massacre of the stupid, insipid and deserving. Also be aware that much of what appears here may one day make it into some local venue as material in an act, fodder for the local riff-raff. Exposed wounds in which to jab digits, to rub minerals, and with which to silently commiserate.

Make no mistake, in the paragraphs and prose to follow, blood will be let. Oh yes, you will suffer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




(I am such a weinie)

Nature, Go for the Eyes!!!

Have I mentioned that I have a zoo?? Eight rescued parrots of varying species, sizes, demeanors and colors; and three rescued dogs from two different countries. Anywho, they all have an overabundance of toys. The favorites being little stuffed animals and anything made of raffia (this mostly for the birds). However, herein what I would like to address are things with eyes - painted, plastic, cotton, whatever. True to nature as the cobra spits his venom at the eyes of his hapless victims, as the tiger claws the eyes of its chosen prey, as the goat gores out the eyes of the unknowing grasslet, and the bunny gnaws out the eyes with its big, nasty bunny teeth. So am I surrounded by the limp and eyeless bodies of lavender T-rexi, blinded and de-moo-ed cows, the unseeing globes of Nemo's floating over the tiles of the great room. Even the lobster with its large, snappy claws has fallen victim to Chauncey's clever de-eyeballing pranks, not forgetting to remove the back-up sensory antennae [technically termed the "corollary Cheetohs" (I'll provide photographic evidence when I get my camera back from work)]. Even now, Mr. Pants has proudly presented the most recent de-eyed victim, a purple Nemo, all other parts perfectly intact except for the two eye polyps now exploded atop his head.

Instinct embedded firmly in the frog brain, the Nature-Nurture controversy rages.

Priscila, Reina de Mis Labios

Current idiomatic expression in the vernacular suggests that some people "wear their emotions on their sleeves." Meaning that they are transparent in the display of their feelings. While I, on the other hand, being a twisted and misshapen example of the human genome, seem to "wear my feelings on my lip." Yes, I have a fever blister on my lip (Superior Maxillary Dexter to be exact), and I am now calling her "Priscila". Not because she is particularly pretty or lovely or feminine, but for precisely the opposite. A big, obnoxious, suppurating fibre on my most sensitive lip, feeling for all the world like a giant pulsating advertisement of my contagion, should have an ethereal and graceful moniker to adorn it.

Now it is on the wane, retreating into its dendritical terminal hidey holes to await the next onset of a super stress event. The ever-present threat of a maximum critical mass event just out of sight over the event horizon. Ah.... the thrills that await.

Empower Thyself, Woman!

I once knew a woman who reeked of, was perhaps the embodiment of, empowerment or something very similar looking. It may just have been a very clever illusion, in fact now that I think about it, this is probably the inherent case-in-fact of empowerment, mostly illusion - smoke-n-mirrors, disappearing Statue of Liberty thing... Anyway, I digress.

The night in question, a torrid yet breezy Mexican evening in the caldera hills outside of Guadalajara as we all sat bloated postprandially round the terraza, I watched in abject, drop-mouthed revulsion and dribbling awe as this diminutive, child-sized woman related her triumph over another in a verbal dual. At the climax of their exchange she screeched horribly at her rival, ".....ram my fist up your aaaaasssssssshhhhhhhhhooooooollllllleeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" while she pistoned her tiny, skeletal fist in the air repeatedly ramming her virulent empowerment up the poor adversary's already ravaged colon. Her "Devil-May-Care" attitude struck fear and amazement in my wimpering, cowering heart. Where does one come by such cojones??? Such naked entitlement to yours, theirs and mine?

I need some of what she is having, Garçon!

Equus Multi

A stable is what I am going to have. No more of this "one" business. Not one to buck the system now, whether it be termed "cougaring"" or not, I am in for the long run. I will have mudders and trackers, goers and finishers. There will be young 'uns with fire but no know how, and there will be mature charmers with panache. I will have my choice from a panoply of flesh ranging from firm and sleek to ripe and full. And I will do none of my own training. Nay, none of that here at my horse farm. There will be a professional on hand to train these fellas up. I have put in my time and trained my fair share only to have them serve up the win for other fair damsels. No, this time 'round it is the roses for me and for me alone.

Let the races begin!

I don't Exist

except in a book or perhaps in 19th century France or Italy. While driving home this morning, ears bleeding and in a fat-induced haze (a completely different story altogether), I finally came to the conclusion that the bundle of attributes of which I am concocted could only be found in the imagination of a writer or possibly in a person of a different century. Many of us labor under the uncomfortable suspicion that we have been born in the wrong century, the incorrect social "time" because we can't seem to fit in, to "groove" with the current sociopolitical milieu. And usually that is a case of being too lazy or stubborn or stupid or obtuse as opposed to truly a rare combination of attributes.

But...in MY case, it's true! Examing the facts we can only come to the conclusion that I am indeed a social misfit. Somone who has so many contradictory, archaic, sensitive and divine sensibilities that it makes it virtually impossible for me to be absorbed into the fold. I present:

1) Always been told I'm smart. Not just by family, not just by teachers, not just by the tests. But I excel at nothing. Work at the family post. Making "B's" in grad school, no famed literary achievements, no movie roles, no scientific awards, no immense brainiacal expellations. So what am I doing with all these smarts???

2) I am the most insanely naive person on the planet. After 40+ years of frustration, lying, abuse, deceit and general stinky behavior on the part of those with whom I interact, I still labor under the misconception that folks will act in a manner that is consistent with a wholesome and honest approach to life. I get burned by this every day. It blows. I am unrealistic and I am positively and absolutely unwilling to abandon my need to believe that we are all fundamentally good despite the mounting evidence to the contrary.

3) Chivalry and nicety should be a way of life not something we should have to read about in a book or see in a Merchant/Ivory movie and recall as "quaint". Sex is not the end-goal, but romance and passion are. Yes, I am the more delicate gender despite the fact that I am self-sufficient and can operate power tools. Just because I can, doesn't mean that I want to, ALL the time.

The list goes on but I think you can see where this is going. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces missing and some of them jammed together just to try to get the damn thing finished - but the edges don't really match up. Just the other day I mentioned to some friends that what I really wanted to be when I grew up was an Italian goat farmer. They laughed. I was serious. I imagined myself on the lush hillsides of a small township in Italy, singing gaily to my goats as they munched yummy green grass, milking them for their fat-laden milk and then hand churning it into delicious goat cheese to sell at the local market or restaurants. Feeding my goats the finest herbs and flowers to effect a flavor to their milk and cheese that would be unparalleled. I've got it all planned. I'm a big chicken for not picking it all up and following my goaty dream. I could even learn to drive a moped.

Or maybe it's just the new medication.

Against the Wall...

Once again I am out of clever beans. Everyday stuff seems just that - everyday, mundane, cliché, and trite. Bird stories are only fascinating to bird people unless they are truly out of the ordinary. [I mean who wants to hear how the Twins clean my noseholes and chew off my small moles, crawl in my pants legs, and attack paper with a vengeance (they were much offended by the nudies of Britney on the cover of Bazaar)].

School is school - business law is much like science. Very strategic. The only interest is in the details and we're not actually litigating, just learning theory.

Personal is the struggle as usual. How do I fit in? How do I fit it in? (I wish) Do I need to fit in? Why won't my head fit in the oven?

Maybe I'll work up a rant. I must be coming to one. The other day I cried all the way to work. For no reason. Then I cried at home. For no apparent reason. Just weeping. Hot tears squeezing out against my will. Lip a-tremble with some unknown shame or insecurity. Sweaty with pent up angst and imagined derision.

Another light-hearted post from Yours Truly...

Travelling Nuts

This morning while munching on my nut mix, I accidentally dropped a cashew.... in the bib of my overalls. I still can't find that little sucker. Should make quite an impression as I stroll into the bank for a mortgage loan and a cashew casually pops out my trouser leg. I will pick it up, brush it off, and scold it heartily for being such a little miscreant nut. Then I'll munch it down right in front of the loan officer and everyone. Then they will know I mean business and they will approve my loan without an application or credit check.

The power of nuts!!!!!!

(Did that sound vaguely Jack Handey??????)

Like the movies,

that's how I want my love. Poignant, dramatic and a little less than 2 hours long. Ah, but seriously, methinks my love-life suffers from my unrealistic expectations about how it should unfold.

I think I think too much about things that are best left un-thunkened.

Throbbing... Pulsing...

Neck Vein! Standing in the middle of my small office, swearing vigorously and attempting to communicate my frustration to my minions, my step-brother seems to be rapt with my rant when suddenly he points out that I have an enormous throbbing neck vein that is jerking and jiving like a thousand Mexican jumping beans embedded under my skin. Then the other boys chime in that it's all they can look at - just like that little piece of glitter or hairy mole that someone has on his face. Dammit, Man! I'm trying to be in charge here and you are spectating the gyrations of my blugy vascularity.

Welcome to my life!

Typo, Schmypo

Sometimes I think my e-mails and/or blog entries would be much more compelling and funny if I left in the typos. The other day I had some good ones while writing to a prospective date from an internet dating machine (which shall remain nameless so I don't have to plug the site which is quite worthless in my opinion, but if you have a couple of glasses of wine on a Friday night and start feeling sorry for yourself, maybe even pathetic, you might be tempted to join for a month), and I almost left them in ("puince" and "creppy") but then thought better of it.

In hindsight I should have left them in...

Poor Pathetic Me...

About a week ago at an highschool alumni function, a friend told me that my blog was "pathetic". I chuckled as if he was just pokin' fun at me, but my selfconscious meter went haywire and my confidence took a nosedive. All this time I've been so sure that my pitiful moments were few and far between. That mostly I write here with tongue firmly in cheek and the breath of sarcasm swirling sinuously just below the type.

When I first got ready to write this it was the day after, a Friday, and I was doin' my usual - hangin' out at my house, cleaning the etigére, talkin' to the flock, having a glass of yummy Kim Crawford Sauvignon... Hey! I am pathetic!

So I waited. I wanted time for that pathetisism to roil around in the grist mill, fling out the chaff, and perhaps see if there was any grain to that particular thought. (Are you loving my metaphor??) Wanted to decipher my own insecurities and superiorities, ready to accept what I found.

I, I'll have you know, am not pathetic (in general). Sure there are moments of self pity and seeming distraughtfulness, but the overwhelming sentiment is that DAMN! I am righteous! I rock, I could be said to be the pinnacle of Rennaissance Woman. Hence, any fleeting instances of incongruent self image should be completley ignored.

Give us a Little...

New blog I've been visiting... http://thecheerfulnihilist.blogspot.com/. Nice and weird, twisted and longing... I likee, I likee.

Give us a little read if you would be so kind and please check to see if my skirt is caught up in my panties...

(I'll be adding zippy to the blog links in the left column)

And In Related News...

Continuing the testosterone theme for today... http://www.nature.com/news/2006/060605/full/060605-1.html

Parts Is Parts...

So much from so little... http://www.nature.com/news/2006/060529/full/060529-12.html

Most of you, no doubt, have little if any experience with mice or any other rodent for that matter. While I have been thoroughly and completely indoctrinated into the world of rodentia (a complete other part of my life), and will just tell you from experience that rodents have some of the largest balls, as percentage of body size and weight, to be found in the mammal kingdom. While primates (of which we are the most recent incarnation if you subscribe to evolution) have an amazingly low body size/weight vs. testicle ratio, with those big giant mountain gorillas having almost imperceptible balls, but pretty amazing cojones. I certainly wouldn't stand one off.

Today's science lesson brought to you by the letter "T" and the number "2".

Hysterical Morbidity

"...Sometimes these are the only questions we're allowed to ask. Am I merely to wallow in just how much life is nasty, brutish and hilariously short? Am I never to go outside lest I be attacked by angry pigeons with nail guns and rabid bird flu? Is my car being broken into and are rabid cancer cells attacking my colon as I read this very sentence? Because, Christ on a pogo stick, some days it sure seems like it."

One of the reasons I don't watch news... the other being that I like to maintain a semblance of blissful ignorance and worldly nonchalance. These things can't intrude into my life if I refuse to acknowledge their existence, however this author has such a keen grasp of the little kernel of things. I laughed out loud when I read this bit and I think it probably lengthened my life by a nanoyear (and they do add up, ya know).

Eureka!

Not a fan of the new anime or any of the weird-ass cartoons out there these days, I am a purist. Warner Bros. all the way with the Martian, the Abominable Snowman and his "George", and Bugs. Today I ran across a transcript of my very favoritist Bugs, http://www.dosado.com/articles/bugs/index.txt

(you should hear me screeching with glee)

This isn't funny...

but it is. Just browsing my pharmacology/medicine/research reads this morning and ran across this title... "Evolving concepts in the pathogenesis of hairy-cell leukaemia"

No form of leukaemia or any other disease is particularly funny, but who can resist it when the scientific community stoops to using common phrases like "hairy-cell". Awesome imagery there.

2 Incarnations

Men come in two different variations at their most basic level. Forget all the drivel about how all they want is sex and a remote. The division I'm talking about runs at a different level: 1) those men in the know and 2) those not, which means those who have a true affinity for fine and sophisticated things and those who have a penchant for the mundane. Intrinsically there is not one superior to the other, after all it is a matter of choice. My issue is that they seem to occur in only one form or the other - rarely a pleasant mix of the two characteristics - and I've dated both types only to find that I become dissatisfied with the limited scope. After all, I have been known to swill beer on a bass boat and tip back Woodford's at the equestrian center. If I can encompass both, why can't he?? And if he can, please step up to the plate so I can assess your swing...

Thank You for Your Support

Weird-Ass Blogger

I figured I'd update my profile. 'Til now I never answered the tard questions that they propose in the profile and it was because they are tard questions. But today I thought I would belly up and show my smart-ass side and then blogger pulled a super-tard and only allowed 150 characters to answer the tard question. ACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So in retaliation I am posting my answer here because I know all of you have been in a veritable frenzy to see my ribald riposte to the scintillating question,

"Why is honeydew melon the money melon??"

Answer: I'm not much on the whole melon thing, as are most Southerners, however I have been told more often than not that I have nice melons, honeydew or otherwise, with which I suppose I could have at one time or another made some guiddas. Sadly now I am just a middle aged lady with a penchant not for melons.

(I told you it was tard...)

My Lovely Feature

Lookit, lookit lookit everyone!!! My very own spriggling water thingy in my very own rented backyard. Better watch out when I get a house of my own when I grow up!!!!

I spy with my little eye....

Click here for a wonderful and amazing bit of nature (make sure you have a hi-speed connection). I have been watching these little guys since they were still embryos. Occassionally Mom/Pop stop by and feed them up, but my how they have grown this last month. One has already established dominance (he was born a day earlier - you can tell by his feather growth) and eats first, gets preferential treatment and is much more eager than his sibling. Most of you will find these fellows to be rather gruesome on appearance, however, "yif and yonly yif" you are a bird person will you find these creatures darling. Regardless, this is a majesty that is slowly disappearing in America and for which very few, I fear, will mourn.

It's Waaaaavey...........

Not only the blog theme but the posts in it. If I was clever I would figure out how to make the post wave-y but I'm an ignoramus with HTML. All this to say that I am mentally flogging myself for not posting since before finals (?). One might think that with the reduced pressure after Spring semester, that I would be posting pictures (Adam's wedding, Ren Faire...) and writing my little grey matter out. There seem to be two issues at work here:

1) I feel that my content must be meaningful, if only to me, but hopefully to the hordes that stop by. Often I will happen upon a blog that is truly nothing but twitter and I wonder. Obviously my approach is not the only one out there when it comes to blogging (although, of course, the best), but why just fling blather out there if it has no relation to our world at large or has no meaningful content that may incite some other folks to cogitation. But I think I have competent things to write about...

- and -

2) Maybe I just want to relax - to go home and feed the flock, pop in an insane DVD and fall asleep while watching Peter Lorry leer at himself in a German mirror. Can I ever really relax with all this angst about blogging??

I sense some wine in my very near future.

Touched by Silly Things

No, you perverts... No. Read this article and your little bleak hearts will warm. Obviously for me this is particularly sweet in light of my flock. This morning MrNewburg (see previous post for picture) made first nice contact on his own. As I sat sipping my obnoxious morning yogurt frappe, Newbie scuttled down his cage and delicately moved to my shoulder. I pretended normalcy. He then undid my hair clip, (at which he is amazingly agile - rather like those guys who can unhook your bra by merely brushing their hand across your back), preened my left ear and straightened a few errant locks of hair. We communed for a few minutes and then he was back to his cage to ransack his new toy.

Obstinate animals that befriend us rekindle our ancestral/primitive instincts. And for a brief moment allow us to catch a glimpse of a simpler, less-polluted and more wholesome existence.

Found...GUILTY!

You would think I am Jewish I have so much guilt. If I don't post - GUILT. If I eat meat - GUILT. If I don't shave my legs for the pedicure lady - GUILT. Where did I get all this guilt? Why, after counseling, therapy and familial support, can't I shake this guilt-monkey? I read my daily affirmations, sometimes I even chant them to myself while driving. I try to practice "being in the moment" and letting history and forecasting be damned. Yet still, this lurking perverted guilt that stains my psyche. I know people who seemingly have no guilt. They amaze and disturb me. Guilt makes us humble, neurotic and human. I think we should have USDA recommended daily allowances for guilt. That way I could wake up, get my enormous quanitites of guilt quickly put away, and saunter saucily through the rest of the day. I might even find myself skipping, humming, chatting gaily with strangers.

Oooooo, the possibilities are endless...

Armchair Activism

I figure better to support my passions while lolling on my Gaiam exer-chair, than to not do it at all... So, in support of the Ocean Conservancy, celebrate Earth Day.

"Made Up" Makes it In

Browsing through my morning reads, I stopped at Nature to find this article on catfishes that can hunt prey on shore. Within the first couple of sentences, I was all a-giggle when I read that this erudite pubilcation had chosen to describe the catfish as having a "bendy neck". Well, now I've been saying "bendy-this" and "bendy-that" for years and now I can proudly use it in intelligent conversation.

Thanks, Nature!

A Clever Plan

Swiped from boingboing.net, this lovely use of odious chocolate is almost as funny and riveting as the infamous scientific peep studies. So many clever folks out there...

I'm a Sucker!!

Everybody has their weak-spot and I am no exception although I DO like to kid myself that I am exceptional. Anywho, animal stuff makes my heart squeeze up tight and my maternal instincts go on high alert. The mistreatment, abuse and neglect of animals, specifically those used for commercial purposes, is abominable in light of the gluttony, obesity and greed that this world thrives on. So, in my little way, I do what I think may contribute, and part of that is signing these little petitions. I don't know if it makes a hill of beans difference in general but it assuages my little mind to a certain degree.

All of this to say, if you get bent when you encounter chickens with amputated beaks, cows penned into muddy, feces invested feed lots, or dolphins entangled in the unkind drift nets of the Japanese, this may help you feel like you can help.

A Cool Stolen Forty

Thanks, Mole!

Forty Questions (minus scary #14)

1) Who is the last person you high-fived? -- Echo, my Mom's parrot

2) If you were drafted into a war, would you survive. -- definitely, unless i saw something really gross like a dead person. then i would cry over the nauseating meaninglessness of it all and someone would probably sneak up on me and poke me real hard with something pointy.

3) Do you sleep with the TV on? -- they say it's bad joujou

4) Have you ever drunk milk straight out of the carton? -- only when i have guests who i know will drink after me, then i laugh privately to myself

5) Have you ever won a spelling bee -- i was a geek, but not that much of a geek

6) Have you ever been stung by a bee -- once, bottom of the foot. he was hiding cleverly amongst some white clover just waiting for my tender young instep to find his bad barbed stinger

7) How fast can you type -- depends on how much i've had to drink and how long i have procrastinated

8) Are you afraid of the dark? -- dark good....

9) Eye color -- moss

10) Have you ever made out at a drive-in? -- old, but not that old, so no

11) When is the last time you chose a bath over a shower? -- normally i would bathe regularly to soak in my herbs and oils, however, i hate my current tub. what i really want is to design my own bathroom in my own house and put a disposal under the drain so i don't have to sift out all the flotsam i sprinkle in there to make my bath teas

12) Do you knock on wood? -- the fake stuff in my Jeep, although i do use the saying

13) Do you floss daily? -- no, but thanks for the guilt-heaping

15) Can you hula hoop? -- yup, i win regularly against the Hooters chicks

16) Are you good at keeping secrets? -- wait'll you hear this.....

17) What do you want for Christmas? -- a vacation, this Master's business is a real drag

18) Do you know the Muffin Man? -- i know a Man who likes my Muffin

19) Do you talk in your sleep? -- shhhhhh, don't you know you shouldn't use the pink rollers??!!!!!!! Mom will kill you

20) Who wrote the book of love? -- gabriel garcia marquez - a couple of them actually

21) Have you ever flown a kite? -- one of those double stringed stunt kites... smokin'

22) Do you wish on your fallen lashes? -- nah, wishes are for fishes

23) Do you consider yourself successful? -- in some realms

24) How many people are on your contact list of your cell? -- too many

25) Have you ever asked for a pony? -- still do

26) Plans for tomorrow? double step @ 8:30am, pay the rent, study for finance, clean bird room, study for finance, eat, study for finance, nap, study for finance, and finally, study for finance

27) Can you juggle? -- nope, used to have a set of juggling penguins, but....

28) Missing someone now? -- indeed

29) when was the last time you told someone I Love You? -- wrote it to my Dad yesterday

30) And truly meant it? -- it was true by my definition

31) how often do you drink -- constantly - water, tea... oh, you meant alcohol, once a week

32) How are you feeling today? -- a tad compressed and burnt out

33) what do you say too much? -- it used to be "crikey", but now it's probably "don't bite"

34) Have you ever been suspended or expelled from school? -- not a chance

35) What are you looking forward to? -- the next adventure

36) Have you ever crawled through a window? -- definitely, B&E is my specialty

37) Have you ever eaten dog food? -- tried a biscuit

38) Can you handle the truth? -- when it is not brutal

39) Do you like green eggs and ham? -- it's not really the color of food that bothers, it's the texture

40) Any cool scars? -- tooth marks from pitbull on forearm, really more of a good story than scar

But did you know???

As interesting as a "leftie" snail might be, did you know that when snails court, and they do fall in love, they shoot eachother with "love darts"? Snails are hermaphroditic, having both male and female reporductive stuff, but do not self fertilize; and have a store of small, sharp darts which they shoot at the objects of their affection. This apparently conveys a competitive advantage to the sperm which are exchanged between the two lovers, and has been the metaphor for Cupid's darts for centuries. Often upon close inspection, you can see snails sporting multiple darts protruding carelessly from their necks and heads - a sign of their fecundity.

Next time you are in your garden, look carefully at the snails.

Sad but illustrative

250 years of taking his time, eating plenty of fruits and veggies, and just plain clean livin'. maybe we should try it. However, would anyone really want to live that long??? Discuss...

I Love Grapes

The green ones - firm flesh, tart juice, crisp palate. I loved 'em when I was a kid, ate boatloads of 'em until my belly ached. Handy, no mess, lovely color. I really do love grapes. Maybe that makes me a pre-vino wino.

Uh....What the *&%$!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Texans have always prided themselves on being a "breed apart". Huge state, monstrous egos, ginormous hair, colossal politicians... but when I saw this on the news and then read about it, I wondered out loud. One of the last states to ban drinking and driving, we have historically flung our collective fingers at the law. Flaunted all that is bumpkin and continued on our merry Texan ways. Pretty soon we'll just go to the bar to, well, uh... look at the interesting interior design???????

In the Crack

The schedule races forward relentlessly, dragging me along behind to fret anxiously, gnaw at my own inability to have "sticktoittiveness", snap convulsively at those least deserving and demean my ego for not being perfection incarnate. Many internal promises and resolutions are passed by the psychic committee that sits in residence, much babbling and dithering about the process and how the reward system should work. But nothing concrete ever results and so the schedule gallops rampant, snatching my will and forcing itself on my decency.

Double Standard

When I cruise over to my regular blog reads and nothing new has been posted for a couple of days, I get bent, miffed, annoyed and indignant. How dare my "ether-eal" literary slaves deny me the insight into their weird worlds and psyches to which I am entitled. It is my right to look inside their heads and be amazed, horrified and entertained.

But my blog, my whimsical little piece of the web can go days, weeks, an eternity without entries, updates or flippant response. You people out there...

Snatched from "Pointless Drivel"

Somethin' fun to do 'til quittin' time...

Four jobs you have had:
Lifeguard
Scientist/Animal Researcher
Baby-Bird Raiser
Waitress

Four movies you could watch over and over:
Dangerous Liaisons
Holy Grail
The Piano
Little Mermaid

Four places you’ve lived:
Tyler, TX
Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico
Midland, MI
Caldwell, TX

Four television shows you love to watch:
anything involving sharks
Rome
Deadwood
Nova

Four places you’ve been on vacation:
Ambergris Cay, Belize
Santa Fe, NM
Orillia, Canada
Manzanillo, Mexico

Four of your favorite foods:
Red Wine
Sugar Snap Peas
Cheese
Rice Krispie Treats

Four places you’d rather be right now:
With James
Fiji
Underwater
Home

Four sites I visit daily:
Nature.org
mail.tcu.edu
Ocean Spirits
Yahoo!!

New Flock, New Jock

I've been promising for quite some time, but now I am pony-ing up:













Chauncey



MrNewburg

Silly Quizlets

If it can define me by my selection of a picture, how generic does that make me??

Your Hidden Talent

You are both very knowledgeable and creative.You tend to be full of new ideas and potential - big potential.Ideas like yours could change the world, if you build them.As long as you don't stop working on your dreams, you'll get there.

What's" Your Hidden Talent?

I've Wanted to... No, Really... I Did

Alright, stop whining, you ninnys. Very soon, there will be new posts a-plenty. For the few of you who do still stop by and wonder at the banality of this blog, there have been oh so many changes in my quirky little world - Mr. Newburg joined the flock just prior to X-mas festivities, there was a serious lapse in judgement which has turned out to be allright indeed, Yippicus strayed from home only to have an adventure with a nice entrepreneurial family, a sleigh was installed and the painting is on-going. Classes start again this week. Bloody Hell, that little hiatus was short. And romance springs eternal.

Details to follow [do I know how to entice or what???!!! (Yackkkkkk!!)]