Diametrically Opposed

THE Metroplex. Ringed by a loop that looks oddly like a penis and scrotum turned upside down. And inside of this asphalt lingum two very distinct peoples, Fort Worthians and Dallasites. I am a Worthian and have very definite opinions about Dallasites, not particularly unfavorable, just differences I see or perceive. I feel lost when I go to Dallas. Not literally or culturally, mind you, but aesthetically and socially. Dallas is all buildings crammed one 'gainst t'other, maniacal drivers, expensive cars and Manolo Blahniks. Everything seems to be on display... the more you have, the more you fit in. Fort Worth on the other hand is historic facades, maniacal drivers in Dualleys/Dooleys, expensive horse trailers and Anne Kleins. The more you have, the more you disguise it. Dallas is frenetic. Fort Worth is casual. I imagine that Dallasites have their own opinions of us BoHunks o'er here in the West.

I love that two cities can live mere miles apart and be so distinguished.

Ack! True Disaster

I shall horde them...

USATODAY.com - Mother Nature puts squeeze on tomato production

BOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HAH!! Bet ya thought I was done with all this nonsense... Well, I fooled you. Arisen from an animal induced coma, I have returned to the keyboard to pound out more mercilessly inane chatter about my life, aspirations, birds, dogs, boobs and other miscellany.

The overwhelming obsession is my upcoming Day of Birth celebration. Yep... It's the big one, or the biggest one for me yet. Ummmm, yeah well, tautologically speaking that would have to be true...

Moving on... Normally I am inordinately jazzed, frothy, torqued even about my yearly aging. But in this 40tieth year since my birth I am stricken with feelings of inadequacy, unbelief, and dis-shevlement saturated with more healthy but less pervasive inklings of accomplishment, self-awareness and bliss. It's the age-old complaint when reaching milestones and I have succumbed to mainstream Americana this time. I am no different. I will feel no differently and I will probably celebrate as will millions of other average twits on this really not-so-auspicious day.

On the other hand, I am still an amazing hottie and can attract men half my age for meaningless evening carousing and boasting... And I still fit into my highschool cheerleading outfit. HAH!!!!

Premonitions...

Chatting gaily at our favorite Bar&Grill, the birds whistled and strutted. This place was one of the group's favorites - a large enclosed outside aviary with resident parrots in free flight and pet parrots welcome to visit and play in the spacious quarters. Chino (called "Bryan" in this dream) made occassional visits to my shoulder for reassurance and kisses but spent most of his time intimidating the other Amazons and looking for unattended snack plates. Eventually we left, and for some reason I forgot "Bryan", and didn't realize it until we were almost home. Running crazily back to the Bar&Grill, I was ashamed of my own irresponsibility at leaving "Bryan". The place was closed but I could see the bartender doing his side work and I banged on the door. He let me in, and I cried out for "Bryan" hoping he would immediately come to my side. The bartender kept trying to foist off other birds on me, but all of them had yellow heads and "Bryan" has no yellow at all. Several little handicapped birds perched expectantly on my arms and shoulders but none were "Bryan". I was frantic - calling, begging, pleading for "Bryan" to come to me. More parrots with yellow heads rustled up as I began to lose hope, and then "Bryan" materialized out of the phycus and came sweetly to my shoulder.

MAN...talk about anxiety dream. But even so, listen to what REALLY happened...

I go to work and mid-morning get a ringy-dingy from Betty, the Pet Haven director. "Do you want a couple of Amazons?" she asks.
"Okily Dokily," I respond.
"Well, I've called someone else and you're just my back-up, but I wanted to check."
"Sure, just call if you need help."

About a million calls later and rescuing Betty from her sense of misdirection, I absorb a Double Yellow Head, and a Yellow Naped Amazon into my living room.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm??

Rain Check, Please!

All sweaty and flushed from teaching an invigorating cycle class this morning, I approached the front desk to log my hour and I could see the rain pounding outside. I slopped to my car, even more wet from the deluge and headed back towards home, clouds so thick the sun was giving dawn a miss. Humid, cozy home awaited me blanketed in dusky invitation. The birds were still lightly snoozing and the dogs were still snoodled under the duvet. I wanted to do a little snoodling as well. A Rain-Day... yummy warm breakfast tea thick with cream, flannel comfy pants with little cows and moons, some piñon incense to promote the scent-memory of a Santa Fe fire, my book and my animal companions, a grand recipe for a stormy day.

Alas, plopped in front of my computer, I'm dripping around work and am consoled with the thought of Mom's squiche for dinner.

New Gelatinous Discoveries

MMMmmmmmmm, try the Margarita Jelly-Bellies at Central Market - they've even managed to get the Tequila flavor in there (and they're a purdy color, too).

Wit and Wine

My literary juices flow much more freely and rampantly when I slurp down a couple of glasses of wine. Mostly when I'm sober, there's too much introspection, word cramp, and sentimentality. I like raw prose - strong, unfettered, ribald stuff stumbling crazily from my digits in search of a cozy corner in which to slump.

A little veen-o would be keen-o.

I Yam what I Yam!!!

boffin (BOF-in) noun A scientist, especially one involved in research.[Of unknown origin.]

Today's word in Visual Thesaurus: http://visualthesaurus.com/?w1=boffin

If a pocket protector could be considered an official accessory of a nerd,white lab coat, glasses and clipboard would be the equivalent for a boffin.The term first appeared as a moniker given by members of Britain's RoyalAir Force to scientists doing research on radar. But like most slang, thehow and why of this are unknown.

(I'll work on getting a photo in garb...)

Puffy, snotty, dry and tight... this is my autumn. As we give thanks for the bountiful harvests, I stealthily blow my nose. As we fluff sweaters and shake coats, I place frozen spoons on my swollen eyes. As we gather wood for the coming cool evenings, I hack and gurgle.

The last of the blooming foliages are now desperately flinging their seed to the four winds in hopes of impregnating the soil with their spring spawn. Dampness creeps covertly into carpets and closets. This is the beginning of fall and as the seasons follow their cycles so do my allergies. Nevertheless, this is one of my favorite times of year, especially when we revert to "real time" (sans daylight savings). There will be cozy evenings by the fire, yummy dreams 'neath the duvet, and overcast weekends for reading and napping. Football will occupy Sundays and Hockey will begin feverishly. There will be soups and stews, shepherd's pie, squash casseroles and plenty of toasty muffins.

My immune system be damned!

OOOOOOoooooooooo, SCARY!!

Birdy Boyz warn me, warn me, warn me of the dangers of non-clipped parrot feathers. We sit and talk briefly of it last night as Chino rambled on my shoulder.

After taking delicious fertilized, yummy yard-chicken eggs to Mumsie this dawn, I rattled off to my nearest park to romp dogs and commune parrot with Zephyrus. I, in my sleepy clothes and sans footwear, laying sleepily in the humid grass. Dogs smelling, sniffing, frolicking with glee. Chino sees Hawk. Hawk cries and Chino (of the "thought-to-be-clipped" wings) heads soaringly off into the foresty banks of the Trinity trickle with me trippingly, hyperventilatingly, akimbo-edly skipping after. Bushwacking at semi-dawn in jammies and naked feet, I thrash the underbrush and crash after my darling pstittacine. Perching pluckily on a low branch, he hoots and trills letting me know that this is great fun and I should try. As I approach, he flips off to another branch, feathers flashing as he dashes farther into the growth. Stumbling after, heart caroming around in my chest, burrs clinging desperately to flannel pants, I thrust my commandeered stick up to my fluffy child and he chooses to sidle down the branch to my waiting naked limb, immediately clutching shoulder and tucking head coyly under my chin.

I swear to Gawd!!!!!!!!!!!11

EEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

WooHoo! New background. Boring to you guys in the know, but a super-accomplishment for me. Now, for the experts... I want to blur the edges of the background-to-body images so that they don't look like boxes but a smooth transition... anyone, anyone,... Bueller? Additionally, does anyone know how to do the following:

1. I want bubbles to follow the cursor.
2. I want my links to rotate randomly so that there are always 5 links visible but each time you refresh the page they rotate/change, so that I can have lots of links in the template, but not this ginormous list on my page.

Franks a Snot and Spank You Very Much for any and all contributions to my HTML education.

I'm Sorry, What Did You Say??

"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is a delightful gem. Last evening, I sat unblinking (no amount of teeth scraping on fork, gaseous emissions, or Kerry proselytizing could have swerved me) for two hours, and wished it had been longer, losing myself in a 17th century Dutch world. What is it about these period films that engrosses me so - sparse dialogue, consuming adoration, ripe and restrained tension, vast unspoken communiques. Acted impeccably (although, regrettably, not featuring Anthony Hopkins), and cinematically seductive, I was rapt.

A "must see" for those who feel they were born in the wrong era.

Bloggy Madness

I wonder what the Shelley poem would sound like if Cartman read it?? Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!

Pain/Pleasure Principle

Cleaning out my old "love e-mails" folder, I came across the third stanza of this poem that I sent to a passion past. I was struck by two things:

1. How miserably wrong I was about that love...
2. How poignant still this poem is and I will use it again - perhaps more wisely and with better results.


Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792–1822

The Indian Serenade

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feetHath led me -- who knows how? --
To thy chamber window, Sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream --
The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart;
As I must on thine,
Oh, beloved as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;--
Oh! press it to thine own again,
Where it will break at last.