tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69801531515324522132011-09-15T13:33:50.493-04:00you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.comBlogger1331100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-84788346391952436282011-09-15T13:29:00.002-04:002011-09-15T13:33:50.526-04:00

from the zine, Off the Map, by Hib & Kika

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-42340571646705119012010-08-18T23:37:00.010-04:002010-08-22T22:45:48.011-04:00

Sometime around the 1960s through the 80s, a barely teenaged kid carved his name in wet concrete throughout his North Beach, San Francisco neighborhood about 1000 times. A few decades later, a laid-off journalist spends his unemployment checks and free time staring at the ground, combing thru concrete, in search of Nikko. I read it all on-line for free here, but you can also support the writer by

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-32650631248171473092010-08-11T21:05:00.007-04:002011-09-15T10:57:20.549-04:00

Do you ever have one of those days, or months, or maybe even years, when little seems to be going the way you envisioned or hoped, and feeling knackered is the norm, and all things that life demands, from the minute to the grand, just becomes too much that life sucks itself into itself like an astronomical black hole at the blue event horizon, and in a flash that feels like an eternity, the

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-12914132584166918462010-05-29T00:11:00.017-04:002010-06-02T09:28:56.973-04:00

Who are you? And what if you lived forever? Will your essential self change after 250 years? 500 years? A thousand? Will you hurl yourself toward self-destruction and eventual annihilation, or if given enough time, will you eventually understand Everything and eventually achieve enlightenment, nirvana? Will you evolve, or devolve? Go to war, or turn the other cheek? Say, "I am sorry," or throw

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-66971524393249905992010-04-16T23:02:00.024-04:002010-04-18T23:40:45.400-04:00

To anticipate spring, many of us tend to look for the green shoots of crocuses and daffodils, or to tree buds bursting open and the return of migratory birds. But a wonderfully reliable and lesser known sign of spring in some regions are when the vernal pools return after the first heavy rainfalls. An army of ritual breeders--salamanders and wood frogs--mate like mad and lay their gelatinous egg

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-21361323143090338062010-03-11T21:38:00.012-05:002010-03-12T09:39:35.088-05:00

Do you have a memory that has no context, and therefore makes very little sense, and yet the moment is as vivid as if it happened yesterday? (If so, feel free to share!) Background p butter foto taken from this site here.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-34117378368038470782010-02-09T22:08:00.014-05:002010-02-09T22:58:12.257-05:00

I have recently received complaints in the form of threats that I have not been prolific enough lately on this site. This probably is true, and I am sorry and will strive to improve this. So, in the interest of blog productivity, I've come up with a list of reasons why I have not been as productive: My home was swept out to sea and washed up on the smooth shores of a remote island. The remote

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-33729783325732173182010-01-24T19:47:00.067-05:002010-04-06T10:45:31.611-04:00

Tracks from top to bottom: White Toed Mouse (& tail drag), bird wings flutter, Raccoon on porch steps. To survive winter, some animals like birds, whales and senior citizens migrate south to warmer climes. Others stay put and adapt by thickening their fur, cacheing their food, or slipping into a comatose dormancy. A few go into deep hibernation

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-37916323125665219132010-01-18T20:04:00.031-05:002010-02-03T19:19:23.456-05:00

In 1968, over one thousand black sanitation workers in Memphis took their place in civil rights history by walking off their jobs and going on strike for better pay (above the poverty line) and safer working conditions. The sanitation company had been dismissing the workers' heath concerns for years, and routinely denigrated them and refused to pay their wages. When two workers had been crushed

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-61603605254392266412010-01-12T20:12:00.009-05:002010-01-12T20:15:31.129-05:00

Ever have one of these days? . .

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-19972565964388288072010-01-08T08:56:00.005-05:002010-01-09T23:14:22.863-05:00

A polished cement floor in the lobby of a contemporary art museum. There is also a wall there, at least 25 feet high at its peak, pasted with old newspapers, and displays an installation of about fifty framed colored mirrors of different sizes. The  high wall and expanse of mirrors are striking the first time you see it, but not so much in subsequent visits. The cement floor beneath,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-71782921285079555912009-12-18T12:24:00.025-05:002009-12-18T22:41:59.560-05:00

Here are some wabi-sabi bowls made in the studio, fresh out of the kiln, waiting to be filled with hot, hot soup, or cold, cold ice-cream. There are few things that we use on a several-times-a-day regular basis, over and over and over as we do the vessels we eat, drink and nourish ourselves from. I still remember bowls in the kitchen cabinet from when I was a kid--a mish mash of cheap bowls and

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-38364008615910662172009-12-11T20:04:00.008-05:002009-12-14T14:05:18.409-05:00

The number strongest and most frequently found in nature. The number of films you can sneak-watch in a theater before getting famished. The number of tries it takes, on a good day. Photo taken at a utility pole 3 minutes from my front door.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-37917080084924282812009-12-03T16:54:00.122-05:002009-12-04T09:35:25.634-05:00

Right behind me is the concrete jungle of an inner city neighborhood: a bus stop pole, a deserted bench, a set of traffic lights, a box of abandoned clothes, a crushed empty soda can, and to the right, a cracked, paved parking lot

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-56716635485894537332009-11-27T18:51:00.031-05:002009-12-05T21:27:12.521-05:00

When you're an immigrant on Thanksgiving Day in the U.S., half of you wants to try to get into the whole turkey and boiled beets bit to keep peace and go with the flow, the other doesn't understand it. You're stuck in that strange gap between two cultures that can leave you feeling a little left out of both, when you're neither Here nor There. You understand Thanksgiving is one of the Big Solemn

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-45922155202565663752009-11-23T09:08:00.021-05:002009-11-27T21:49:22.135-05:00

Do you know what I love about kids? Other than that they are insanely curious and full of wonder about little things like wriggly earthworms and where color comes from? Other than that they still know how to properly breathe deep in their bellies? Other than that they speak their minds, and when they hurt, they cry? Other than that they live in the moment? Or that their

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-35681177571649882912009-11-20T21:52:00.020-05:002009-11-28T14:19:44.931-05:00

In addition to brightly-colored foliage, shorter days, and chillier temperatures, a lesser-known sign of fall is the prevalence of mushrooms on the forest floor and trees. To me, wild mushrooms are an often overlooked, under-appreciated wonder of nature. Fall is a favorite time of foragers since quite a few wild mushrooms are edible and great for soupmaking. Finding the various

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-79178036972362332372009-11-17T19:34:00.030-05:002009-11-21T00:14:41.252-05:00

This is Helen. There she was trapped behind a storefront window, staring out at the same street corner for the last two decades. Not much had changed. Not enough to make it interesting. The cars looked different--bigger, curvier--but the people who drove them too fast were still the same. Helen is wistful, having every intention to shatter the glass and walk away. If only she had

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-91193400809600755162009-11-15T08:44:00.015-05:002009-11-22T20:37:31.191-05:00

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above, Don't fence me in. Let me ride through the wide open country that I love, Don't fence me in. Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze, And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees, Send me off forever but I ask you please, Don't fence me in. Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle Underneath the western skies. On my

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-24060209915804392072009-11-09T08:11:00.011-05:002009-11-09T22:05:30.098-05:00

The road the road just south of Frenchtown the poemthe one by Mordecai the river the river theone on my left if I am travelling north thecar a box with wires loose on top of myleft leg the radio fine the light behindbehind the clock not working the rose so deadI am ashamed the crows too shiny their featherstoo wet the cliff on my right too red the bloodthe blood of an animal, a skunk, they

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-26558608840993133192009-11-05T17:14:00.008-05:002009-11-06T00:09:56.743-05:00

Together they took the least space they could.Entered each other deeply, to be less,to throw one shadow only, to be stillfor all the world while moving for each other. —So space, so barely dented, might not bruiseand cry, and time come running. To this endbreaths went untaken till the only endof that (this side of nothing): the great sighthat gives the place away . . .............................

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-25657605174448161602009-10-26T08:25:00.001-04:002009-10-27T10:02:32.099-04:00

ukulele for a british ninja from simone bui on Vimeo.A short tiny simple island folkish song thing I made up. Can't help strumming with my middle (banjo frailing) finger.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-29553285283865130862009-10-24T21:17:00.032-04:002009-10-25T21:37:57.891-04:00

Looking down from the 2nd balcony of the symphony hall, I sat with a lump in my throat listening to the orchestra rehearsal of Beethoven's Symphony No. 1 and then eventually, the amazing, incredible Symphony No. 5 Op. 67 in C Minor. Experienced live in a music hall with violins, piccolos, oboes, flutes, horns and cellos--with a German Spaniard colorfully conducting at the helm--this is music that

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-27669578407040524472009-10-20T16:15:00.011-04:002009-12-02T20:26:44.145-05:00

As seen on Modica Way, b.k.a. Central Kitchen alley in Cambridge. Caustic pungent smells aside, a little slice of lovely on a warm fall day when the sun--barely high in the sky--floods light through a colored plexiglass canopy. Like walking through a rainbow.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-39656673085969380812009-10-15T20:16:00.004-04:002009-10-15T23:29:35.241-04:00

Chilly, grey New England evening--a first in a long line of way, way too many. But homemade apple streusel in the oven and hot chai tea on the stove is meant to ward off the brrrrr, and help to warm up and cozy in.I take it that our big, sweet fluffy friend, who comes over for lovin' every time we visit the rescue farm down the road, is not as wimpy about the cold. We like to thank him (and his

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-63452382322736514202009-10-08T21:29:00.006-04:002009-10-25T20:49:58.556-04:00

pink (ish) panther from simone bui on Vimeo.Holy moly. Playing the melodica and piano at the same time is tricky...

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-54644509984177851772009-10-05T08:19:00.005-04:002009-10-06T19:08:52.876-04:00

by Paul MadonnaMore existentially angst-ridden tuberous starch at www.angrylittlepotatoes.com.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-44576113495440429992009-10-01T20:15:00.018-04:002009-10-01T21:06:10.727-04:00

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-58936849518764010112009-09-28T12:59:00.014-04:002009-09-28T20:16:39.738-04:00

Outfitted with a net, jam jars and a hand lens, we marched off to sunny meadows in search of bugs. Kids LOVE bugs, and somewhere along the way into adulthood, it seems many of us leave behind our innate fascination and curiosity for these tiny, amazing, important creatures. Would we care more if they weren't so small? If they were furry and cute or more massive and magnificent? I don't know. But

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-21410854553829109342009-09-24T19:37:00.020-04:002009-09-25T16:42:25.463-04:00

We had just capped off one of the last of the summer beach days by going to get burgers and shakes. It was one of those places that had a few of those old school gumball machines with crazy cheap toys and bouncy balls inside. I slipped in a quarter, he turned the crank and out tumbled a dozen of these little plastic bubbles not much bigger than an acorn. Some time later, I found him sweetly

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-70157098155609228562009-09-21T20:59:00.017-04:002009-09-24T19:01:09.514-04:00

Shorter days mean less sunshine. As sunlight wanes, chlorophyll wanes, and the green of leaves fade altogether, revealing brilliant red & yellow pigments that were always there. And as sunlight ebbs, these leaves will fall off completely so the tree can slow down, preserve its energy and go into rest. It seems people (at least in New England) prep for a similar dormancy process as well. Our

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-79212929209124222102009-09-19T08:51:00.026-04:002009-09-24T22:43:26.248-04:00

I had written a post about the amazing flurry of fall wildlife activity I had recently observed one afternoon. Fall season is a wonderful time to pull on a sweater and be outdoors. But then I realized that probably very few want to read about why salamanders and frogs are so busy this time of year, or how to find them chillin' under heavy logs in a muddy forest floor. Fewer would agree that they

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-12025299507421150812009-09-16T09:02:00.011-04:002009-09-24T21:28:05.597-04:00

When I was 18 and ready to buy my first set of wheels, I combed the classifieds for months for a cheap 5-speed Karmann Ghia that wasn't one lugnut away from collapse. I dreamed of long drives along the unfettered Northern California coast and road trips to Lake Tahoe. How I loved, and still love, overland travel and exploration. Land stretching to the horizon ahead, and a zoomin' car and paved

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-39436046031854367992009-09-14T19:16:00.062-04:002009-09-16T09:56:18.304-04:00

Cultivating tiny seeds into seedlings into leafy plants into fresh food is a laborious but amazing process that feels distinctly organic and human, and helps affirm our connection to--and dependence on--a healthy earth. But on occasion, a vegetable plant's basic instinct to thrive is all it really needs. Ex. 1: Back in spring, we planted some pumpkin seeds and ushered the seedlings through a

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-64414548265791067722009-09-11T08:28:00.056-04:002009-12-25T01:13:52.472-05:00

Update 10/19: I have since learned in a rather unexpected but cool way that the skateboarder in Cambridge that I attributed to Kenji below is actually the work of street artist bACk eASt, whose work could be found right here. Update 9/14: Seeing the b&w skateboarder stencil (4th image below) again today, I noticed that it'd been torn since I last saw it. Looking at it more closely, it doesn't

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-35424681615295120782009-09-09T15:57:00.007-04:002009-09-10T14:34:17.647-04:00

Recently, I received a lovely email from a woman named Joy Markgraf who shared her story of how she had been following a black bear on the edge of the wilderness where she lives. Joy graciously agreed to let me share her remarkable story here. Thank you Joy! Photo by Joy Markgraf Today I was doing a

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-27331588863208897362009-09-04T17:04:00.035-04:002009-09-06T14:27:15.998-04:00

.That's the why!High Sierras in Yosemite wilderness. A place so wild, serene and beautiful it felt surreal and, instinctively, like home. Thank you John Muir.7 miles with a 45 lb pack at 9500 feet, and the company of one lovely sister (and one stealthy black bear, a mule deer and two spotted fawns, a few hawks, a bunch of chipmunks, a woolly bear caterpillar, a starry night, one full-ish moon,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-15342603553298669722009-08-29T22:23:00.016-04:002009-09-06T12:39:18.641-04:00

.And they sailed off through night and day, in and out of weeks, and almost over a year to where the wild things are...Sunnyvale, Santa Cruz, Boulder Creek, Dolores Park-Mission District.My son & me back home in the SF Bay Area. .

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-57903811215747641612009-08-19T20:28:00.004-04:002009-08-19T21:27:33.914-04:00

During a short walk in the kind of blistering heat that calls my sanity into question, a duck into the overgrown area of nearby defunct railway to seek shady refuge brought me face to face with a wild and hardy specimen: the chicory blossom! Though many consider it a pesky weed with its jagged dandylion-esque leaves, the chicory is a lanky, light blue edible wildflower that has the remarkable

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-38603772092408627752009-08-18T21:15:00.001-04:002009-08-19T23:13:57.197-04:00

.Once upon a time there was a giraffe named Yummy. Yummy likes to eat. One time, he sneaked into someone's house and ate all kinds of foods. He ate everything he could eat. That night, Yummy slept in the house and dreamed that he was inside a blue toy car. The next morning, he found a real blue car and got in it and drived away. He first drived to the water park, and then he drived and drived

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-17787570979869013642009-08-15T08:32:00.008-04:002009-08-15T12:44:52.196-04:00

Years ago, I bought this used book while living in a California ocean town that was bound by Pacific Coast on one side, and Redwood forests and the Sierras on the other. The book's New England geographical references meant little to me but I loved reading about wildlife. I hadn't noticed it at the time, or perhaps just had no reason to remember it, but the book was published in Brattleboro,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-67055718759327049812009-08-13T19:48:00.017-04:002009-08-14T14:32:45.901-04:00

Blissful, blurry, vivid analog joy.Photos taken with a super-duper, holy-macanoli sort of cheap find: 1st gen folding SX-70 Land camera, analog SLR, with expired 600 film. First photo double-exposed, last one hand-held extended exposure.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-53409734149859661512009-08-10T08:11:00.041-04:002009-08-10T20:38:58.641-04:00

Links related to the above street art installation can be found here and here, and the book that inspired it can be found here. Photos below by James T. and Karla L. Murray.Maybe because my parents worked their butts off running various highly immigrant, slightly insane mom & pop shops since I was a little girl, or maybe it's because I'm weird, but I love mom & pop stores. Whether at home or when

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-9910624854898662292009-08-09T16:43:00.035-04:002009-08-10T19:05:35.591-04:00

A few scenes from a recent visit with good friends in Burlington, Vermont.Vermonters like their ephemeral chalk graffiti. I do too, though this quote is awfully serious, or maybe, awful & serious. Seemingly random chunks of curved brick masonry on the shores of Lake Champlain. Stunning reds on worn bricks and I liked that the "end grain" was used as surface, presumably for curvature. It also

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-46521918675059459302009-08-05T12:20:00.014-04:002009-08-13T22:13:59.795-04:00

.BB: Mama?Me: Hmm.BB: I love you bigger than the beach.Me: Really?BB: Actually, no.Me: Oh.BB: I love you bigger than the world, and Saturn.Atlantic at sunset. In the shadow of my body, my son sits--and still fits--neatly tucked in my lap.Plum Island, with expired Polaroid film.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-82605947188408591822009-08-02T20:14:00.003-04:002009-08-02T22:13:28.796-04:00

Street stencil photo: hsb, Helsinki, FinlandFrogs, lovely frogs, are one of nature’s barometer species. They are one of the first animals in an ecosystem to respond to an upset in their environment’s balance: an extra limb, deranged behavior, missing gonads. It’s not that they are fragile and weak, but rather, it seems, a reflection of how much they live in harmony with the rhythms of their

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-27845798993770370322009-07-30T08:44:00.012-04:002009-07-30T20:51:03.523-04:00

Okay, so they're not German or Bavarian, but New Yorkian and rather unexotic and American, but consider buying stocks or shares (or whatever those sit-back-and-watch-your-money-grow things are called) in Haagen-Dazs because I can't get enough of its Mango Sorbet and will be going from freezer to freezer, market to market, state to state, buying them ALL up, AND! including, but not limited to,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-77868443097069434742009-07-28T17:26:00.012-04:002009-07-28T22:20:37.154-04:00

by Paul Madonna, whose off-beat, honest, illustration art, if you like this sort of thing, can be found here.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-75302857759681365692009-07-23T14:24:00.052-04:002009-07-26T10:34:23.565-04:00

Things took a dive in 5th grade math. That’s when they forced decimals on us and made us envision slivers of a pie as parts of a whole number. What? Just give me the whole darn pie. I'll eat the whole thing until my belly aches if I have to. Just don’t make me divide the pie into 6ths or 16ths, or whatever, and then make me multiply that by 2/23rds. Eating baked goods should not be this

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-10156646689290040892009-07-17T09:17:00.012-04:002009-07-30T15:31:35.858-04:00

A bit disturbing that I can spend hours hovering over a potter's wheel in a ceramic arts studio,yet, I loathe looking at finished work on display.To me, bowls and plates belong on a kitchen table--filled with savory, brothy soup, or a slice of homemade pie a la mode, or even polaroid snapshots, bird feathers & expired coupons--not silenced inside a glass case, or colonized by armies of dust mites

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-14646602029779563172009-07-14T14:29:00.025-04:002009-08-15T00:23:37.137-04:00

Like clockwork, the absence of a steady paycheck turns unsettling at one critical point each month. Yet, on the whole, I love being self-employed. Sure, there are work days I wish would end before they’ve even germinated. But some days, like this one, feel marvelously balanced:After drafting and mailing some letters this morning, I walk outside and tend to my illicit farm in the forgiving morning

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-13912791308791153232009-07-13T12:59:00.034-04:002009-07-13T15:10:45.206-04:00

Craig Arnold, November 16, 1967 - circa April 26, 2009. I came across his name, which led me to his poetry, a few months ago in the back pages of a newspaper. An accomplished and talented poet and professor, Arnold was observing volcanoes for his writing. He went missing during a solo hike on a volcanic island in Japan. Expert trackers were unable to find him, and he never returned.One of his

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-39589490635233984522009-07-09T10:25:00.006-04:002009-07-11T21:57:14.728-04:00

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-55449904127499359542009-07-06T21:54:00.011-04:002009-07-13T03:54:21.338-04:00

As the sun goes down, sun-burned tourists head home, returning the local beach to a less jumbly kind of place. A picnic dinner with the seven o'clock sun, a perfect breeze, and a spectacular cloud show...what better way to celebrate our nation knocking out the two front teeth of the British.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-6613303020550747522009-06-28T15:00:00.021-04:002009-07-18T11:10:43.930-04:00

My little front garden is overflowing with the lush of green: perennials, shrubs, wildflowers, mint sprigs, succulents and even clumps of flowery weeds clinging to their tenacity for life. Ignoring the neighborly etiquette against “farming” in the front yard unless you do, in fact, reside on a farm, I’ve also planted a little crop of squash, sweet peppers, lettuce and pumpkin right next to the

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-41064885515595821102009-06-24T08:51:00.044-04:002011-07-07T02:02:09.991-04:00

With robots still on his mind, my son recently told me a C3-PO story he was "thinking about" while lying on the floor gazing at the ceiling. I made the very short animation below for him based on his imaginings. Vimeo only allows original or permissible content, thus no Star Wars theme or something more cinematic like a Philip Glass or Yann Tiersen score. It was either this, or "This Land is

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-2218710937311778632009-06-22T14:27:00.018-04:002009-06-23T18:08:23.594-04:00

Maybe my limbs are mademostly for decoration,like the way I feel aboutpersimmons. You can’treally eat them. Or youwouldn’t want to. If you grabthe soft skin with your fistit somehow feels funny,like you’ve been herebefore and uncomfortable,too, like you’d rathersquish it between your teethimpatiently, before spittingthe soft parts back upto linger on the tongue likeburnt sugar or guilt.For

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-1569298584159448492009-06-18T16:50:00.037-04:002009-06-19T23:22:48.219-04:00

I pick up my son from summer art camp this afternoon and a few parents and kids huddled around the teacher to chat about the day's projects."Today," the teacher reported with a smile, "the children worked on still life drawings and focused on the unique way different artists interpret things around them."We are told the class had carefully studied a real bouquet of flowers in a vase, and each

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-44726411770736816152009-06-13T21:30:00.010-04:002009-07-13T05:00:43.693-04:00

This photo was taken by Tread, who often shoots with a Holga, a plastic medium format camera. If you shoot with 35mm film in a Holga, you get shots like this--with the spooling schprockets running up the sides and the image bleeding to the edges. Actually, if you're Tread, you get shots like these. If you're me, you get shots not like these. I really love this one. Lying in the tall grass,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-67600842630465706602009-06-12T08:42:00.013-04:002009-07-09T19:13:44.903-04:00

Yeah, I know I'm weird.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-88701466684915413652009-06-10T14:46:00.035-04:002009-06-12T10:06:01.769-04:00

Transcript of a conversation while getting my car inspected at an Albanian (or otherwise eastern European)-owned gas station.Car Guy (doing a guy's version of batting eyelashes): How come you only come see me once a year? I want to see you more.Pretending I didn't hear the creepy part, I shrug my shoulders and motion towards my car sitting in the garage bay.Car Guy: So, you only come for

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-45527212786766158632009-06-02T20:05:00.021-04:002009-06-04T17:05:29.985-04:00

If you knew back then what you know now, would you do things differently? What have you learned since then that matters? That staying still is harder than moving quickly? That people are very, very rarely who they seem to be? That cashmere is over-rated? That lanolin comes from shorn sheep? That the things you say and do make you sometimes wish you had had no lips or limbs?What if you knew back

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-60456637534145728802009-05-16T22:11:00.018-04:002009-05-17T23:09:30.545-04:00

In anticipatory celebration of a few upcoming days of glorious weather (60s, 70s, yes, my Californian standards have changed), I'd like to share a few scenes that almost cost me a car collision and some limbs.This photo was taken in Cambridge one late afternoon driving down a pretty non-descript main street, past an otherwise un-spectactular haggard house. Except that the weary house was

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-65305907640877997992009-05-06T08:24:00.017-04:002009-05-07T14:32:48.398-04:00

Yes, it is true. I have been nurturing some melancholy lately, and I am being told it shows. There, I've said it.Mel-an-chol-ee.Happy?Like you, I have a dark side (not to be confused with The Dark Side), but I am not typically melancholic. In fact, I am usually quite an optimistic, hopeful, batting eye-lash, doe-eyed doe filled up to here with trusting naivete, in love with "earth's bounty" as a

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-10891116757219597292009-05-04T21:11:00.003-04:002009-05-04T23:15:30.860-04:00

I am glad I have a blog. There is some pressure to write, to create and produce something better than what people can bear to stomach, and that I won't completely regret and wretch up, at least not immediately. But, also, there is no pretense of perfection; just a creative inlet and outlet for insignificant things that I hope matter more than just to me.Less and less have I wanted to create

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-19566170261471906962009-05-02T09:44:00.013-04:002009-05-03T01:22:13.222-04:00

Would everything really stick to you? Would your body be a walking billboard of where you've been? What would people see? Would there be a crust of seashells, soft kelp and gritty white sand running up and down the back of your neck and legs? Cookie crumbs and an explosion of Cheetos fake cheese powder yellow #5 on your belly?Or would your elbows and knees be capped off with shards of broken

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-53963782814848025402009-04-20T21:28:00.010-04:002009-04-21T22:04:32.113-04:00

Photo: My hand, taken by my other hand. I sure am lucky to have hands.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-43394939248318812382009-04-15T11:05:00.022-04:002009-05-03T10:15:14.735-04:00

I'm at the Google homepage, my go-to guru for answers to my ridiculous questions. I start to type in "is it possible...." and before I can finish, Google's auto-completion function displays a drop-down menu of possibilities, apparently based on the popularity of queries searched by everyone.This is what I get verbatim:is it possible to be pregnant and still get your periodis it possible to get

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-4830265420747515472009-04-12T08:48:00.011-04:002009-06-23T02:16:20.329-04:00

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-80123070253266451222009-04-07T19:24:00.005-04:002009-06-12T22:30:39.056-04:00

During a very serious marathon day in court today involving very serious matters and me wearing a very serious suit around some very serious people, I jotted down the following not-so-serious random observations during some down time.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-64565995674461801162009-04-01T15:44:00.044-04:002009-04-07T16:38:20.748-04:00

There are things meant to be fleeting in our immediate lives: a just emptied paper egg carton whose last egg was just cracked into the frying pan. Or, a smooth, thin twig, snapped off its branch minutes before, now lying motionless on the ground. And there are things whose lifespan might outlive our own, like a rusty nail puller forged by the hands of a long-ago metalsmith. Or, an experienced

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-7709127876601474202009-03-13T09:37:00.017-04:002009-03-15T23:04:29.489-04:00

For some of the best stories you'll ever read, go outside and look down.My tiny land stake, spring 2008.Call me nuts but I've never been so thrilled to see the signs of the striped skunk in my yard. This morning, I saw the telltale tracks of a skunk in my garden soil. I first wondered if it could be the opossum who likes to come out at night and give me the heebie jeebies with her R.O.U.S.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-21395563589222138152009-03-12T02:02:00.002-04:002009-03-12T02:13:09.995-04:00

This puppetry in shadow seems so simple, yet is wildly creative and detailed, and so beautifully done. I love the concept.Music video: Twice by Swedish band Little Dragon, whose lead vocal is a woman of Japanese descent, Yukimi Nagano. Directed by Johannes Nyholm.Thanks to my friend Jeremy for sharing it.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-42501866177065126982009-03-08T10:51:00.005-04:002009-05-04T15:09:17.563-04:00

Here is the last of the posts about the trip--for your sake and mine.I had wandered off to plantation country where I watched a behemoth barge move along the Mississippi, and I picked up a tired banjo in Breaux Bridges, a small town in Cajun Acadiana where Branford Marsalis was born. Shocking perhaps but Cajun isn't just a potato chip flavor. This region is home to one of the largest Francophone

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-21856603618329155792009-03-07T08:47:00.006-05:002010-04-27T11:49:35.888-04:00

Congo Square is a place in New Orleans, in the Treme neighborhood just across from the French Quarter, where African slaves once congregated on their Sundays "off" from plantation work to sing and dance. This is where people of different African tribes would come and share their different musical and dance traditions, and try to reclaim their spirits, redeem themselves, and feel like human beings

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-29166588695417573892009-03-04T14:24:00.049-05:002009-05-04T15:08:50.253-04:00

Deja VuThis time last year, I was slated to go on a road trip through Baja Mexico with an old friend. She was unable to go in the end but I opted to go on without her and I had a great time. This year, same friend, different destination. I invited her down to New Orleans to explore and to pitch in on building housing in a Katrina-demolished neighborhood. I was a little stunned she agreed to meet

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-80748161005063858592009-02-19T08:04:00.017-05:002009-02-20T14:20:14.966-05:00

Rare are the moments where tears and laughter happen almost simultaneously, one piled on top of the other like fallen trapeze acrobats.Recently, a very dear friend of mine from too far away sent me a card with stick figures on the front that read:"'You're the strongest person I ever met,' she said,& I said, 'you too,' & we decided we'd know each other a long time."Unable to hold back the well of

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-32316306844991225732009-02-18T08:08:00.021-05:002009-07-17T21:26:33.355-04:00

Next week, I am heading down to New Orleans, Louisiana to remind me that the world still goes 'round outside my little corner of life. I decided last year that no matter what is going on in my life, each year I travel and explore somewhere I've never been. That these warm-weather trips coincide with the New England deep freeze is not really coincidence at all, but a necessity for a girl born in

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-80040860226789952922009-02-15T08:22:00.010-05:002009-02-17T13:21:24.287-05:00

And so you keep trying. You laugh, you play, you do, you sit. The more you try to forget, the more you remember, and the more you remember, the more you want to forget. But that’s not entirely true either. There is a part of you that doesn’t want to forget what it was like, what this feels like. But you know the longer time lapses, the less you trust you will know it, like trace decay. And the

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-50234459984107574702009-02-14T08:18:00.026-05:002009-05-04T23:27:50.514-04:00

She would be born inside a plant plant, where plants were manufactured and grown only to maximize its usefulness to human beings. The year was 1989. Her mother had been 44 weeks pregnant and nothing the midwives or fancy doctors did could coax her out of her mother’s womb. Even as an unborn baby, she knew she was better off staying inside her mother's weary placenta--not because she was afraid of

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-63701999626090002252009-02-13T08:48:00.008-05:002009-07-17T22:23:46.212-04:00

As much as the framing of the shot, I love the discolored letters on the red marquee. And I like to think about the person who decided to put them up, creating the possibility of this great photograph without even knowing it.Photo by J. Kamm, Berkeley, Calif.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-21861217545420198892009-02-11T10:30:00.060-05:002009-02-13T14:57:14.956-05:00

I've been tagged by some friends to make a list of 25 random things about myself, including facts, wishes & goals. Here's 26, revisited. Feels a bit like Francois Begaudeau's self-portrait homework assignment in Entre les Murs ("The Class"). 1. I'm amazed by Francois Begaudeau, not just because he was a teacher, writer, actor, but because he wanted to show the world his ugly flaws & mistakes.2.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-26882820253282092272009-02-06T21:14:00.018-05:002009-07-08T11:26:52.264-04:00

thought in my head.tear in my eye.kink in my neck.lump in my throat.hole in my heart.like the back of my hand...knot in my stomach.deep in my back.sway in my hip.asleep in my leg.numb in my toes.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-69632350561061941742009-02-03T10:05:00.011-05:002009-02-05T00:29:13.424-05:00

I never imagined broken window glass and an empty banana peel to be such a lovely pair.Photo taken at London bus-stop.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-49280218292754025902009-02-02T22:35:00.010-05:002009-02-05T10:10:26.480-05:00

A few nights ago, walking out of a supermarket, I looked up and saw the crescent of the moon, and next to it, a star so luminous and bright I thought it was a nearby airplane. I dismissed it. Nothing special.The next night, I look up and saw the crescent of the moon again, and that sparkling airplane was still there. Hovering. Of course, I realized it was not an airplane. And I stood there with

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-47545383556185130792009-01-29T15:19:00.005-05:002009-06-23T02:16:51.087-04:00

of South America often loses an antenna or leg—butalways grows a new appendage. Often nature makes amistake and a new antenna grows where the leg was lost. —Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Eventually themost accident-proneor war-wearywalking sticksare entirelyreduced to antennaewith which theypick their waysensitively,appalled byeverything’sintensity.--Kay Ryan, the Paris Review,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-4920787268714467422009-01-27T10:20:00.012-05:002009-01-27T11:28:11.895-05:00

Yesterday marked the first day of year 4707, Year of the Water Buffalo, or Ox if you're Chinese-leaning.A water buffalo. That's me. Dependable and patient. And boring. I've always yearned to be an alluring and courageous Tiger, or an exceptional and mystical Dragon. But no, I'm just a big fat dirty agricultural bovine. Tireless, enduring, grounded. Yawn. I sound as exciting as a tractor.I suppose

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-19790203284408142202009-01-23T22:32:00.022-05:002009-01-26T15:18:20.665-05:00

Photo by Darren HesterWould the sight of you walking in the park eating an ice-cream cone delight young children, or make them go running for their mothers, triggering feverish nightmares for years to come?If you needed to send Waterford crystal across the country, and were desperate for packing material, would you slough off dead peanuts from your arm into the box and call it day? Or could you

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-55418642628658774092009-01-22T11:17:00.020-05:002009-02-03T18:18:29.997-05:00

What we see before us, with just our eyes, is already a profound and significant change.President Obama with his bi-racial Asian-American sister on her wedding day to Konrad Ng, a Chinese-Canadian, in 2003, Hawaii.When was the last time you saw this much color in an American's President's family?Descendants of slaves, slave owners, and recent immigrants.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-35809812187752266132009-01-18T20:14:00.018-05:002009-06-03T22:05:18.944-04:00

How many vegetable samosas can one eat in a week's time before it is considered a clinical overdose, or socially unacceptable? If I return to Shalimar Cafe 4 days in a row and order 4 samosas each time, does that make me compulsive, or does it just make me a bad planner? Will the shopowner think me strange for only buying 4 samosas at a time for 4 days, rather than 16 once a week? Do I eat

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-6940028325922304472009-01-16T22:53:00.017-05:002009-02-04T10:22:53.067-05:00

Happy Friday to everyone as we head into a weekend honoring the birth, life, work, death, and legacy of Civil Rights leader Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and as it leads into an historic and powerful inauguration of our next president. There is no way I am going to miss B. Obama being sworn into the Presidency, and I am hoping I get to see him escort W out to the curb. If only he could leave most

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-75181368771883422582009-01-15T08:01:00.009-05:002009-02-03T16:35:55.659-05:00

when i look down, i just miss all the good stuffand when i look up, i just trip over things.-ani difrancoOne long hot summer years ago, I, unexpectedly, fell madly in love.I was on an archaeological excavation studying the Anasazi of the American Southwest desert. I was there to uncover bones and potsherds, incomplete crumbly chunks of old things, and to discern its significance, and its journey,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-81439438363490931632009-01-12T14:11:00.010-05:002009-01-23T23:28:21.903-05:00

3hree things in my life today that haven't changed one iota since January 1, 20081. My unnatural, unbreakable focus with flossing my teeth once I get started2. Lonely, cold, and rather self-conscious IRA & college UFund accounts3. My height3hree things likely to remain totally unchanged by January 1, 2010, but which both comfort and torment me.1. My inability to remember to properly coif my hair

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-61847258651566417002009-01-09T12:23:00.011-05:002009-01-24T09:36:44.510-05:00

In honor of my more than 24 hours of labor (most of it in a glider chair in my son's then-baby room) and of the fourth anniversary of my son's debut into the world at 5:50AM tomorrow, I am posting these beautiful videos by filmmaker / painter Jeff Scher of his wee sons.I've watched the one linked above, entitled "You Won't Remember This Either" about 18 times. The first time I saw this, I was

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-73693016604288896362009-01-07T19:42:00.015-05:002009-01-07T21:12:18.483-05:00

There are those who have their goals, know where they're headed, and how to get there efficiently and with minimal delay. Then there are those of us who often get lost, run a little late, get distracted by tactile or sparkly things along the way, and frequently have to remap our route.I won't cast judgment on either, I am a dissonant bit of both. A precision stumbler, possibly.But lately and more

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-40737771168994392522009-01-04T17:33:00.024-05:002009-01-24T09:33:16.239-05:00

Alas, I am finally emerging from my wintery holiday cocoon to give proper greetings to all in the Gregorian solar new year. I sorta apologize for the disappearing act. I say “sorta” because a break from life's routine is what I need to reboot and clear the cache, but that I don't get enough of. So, I'm sorry, but not really.Alright, true-ish story : I awoke early Christmas morning to a chubby old

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-25226691172728587622008-12-23T08:23:00.007-05:002009-01-04T21:43:52.100-05:00

Happy Festivus!In these United States, not everyone celebrates Christmas, Channukah, Kwaanza or even Christmukkah. Thankfully, there is a Festivus for the Rest of Us. So put up your unadorned aluminum pole, or just skip to the best part: The Airing of Grievances.After your Festivus Feast tonight, each person gets a chance to lodge the litany of complaints that they've been holding in all year.

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-64233058212540135592008-12-17T07:35:00.017-05:002008-12-18T13:40:30.107-05:00

I am what one might call a god-fearing agnostic. First, there's the lack of evidence, and then there's evidence showing the lack thereof. Then again, there is also Blaise Pascal and his rather troublesome existential wager.I think myself spiritual--someone easily overcome by the woods, the mountains, the desert, the sea. I trust there is a great, fantastic, omni-benevolent spirit and pure

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-62644594549217285852008-12-16T17:48:00.008-05:002008-12-16T21:11:03.600-05:00

Friendly Old Fuddy Duddy Lady On Train: Ooo! I see you're knitting. How absolutely charming!Knitter: Um, thank you.FOFDLOT: What are you knitting my dear?Knitter: A body sock that connects from the head to the wrists via a laptop computer.FOFDLOT: Mmm. Sounds lovely, dearie."Laptop Compubody Sock for privacy, warmth, and concentration in public spaces.""Cell Phone Ski Mask""Ski mask for eating a

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6980153151532452213.post-53609738667689955702008-12-13T10:45:00.015-05:002008-12-23T20:30:15.748-05:00

Suggestions on how NOT to pick up a Christmas tree with your 4 year old:1. go to a Christmas tree farm in 25 degree weather with wind chill factor of 14 degrees (in other words, it feels like 14 degrees -- for those, ahem, Californians who don't understand weatherspeak).2. bring a very young and sensitive child to cut down trees when he does not yet understand the concept of growth, harvesting,

you know whohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14110544697481265969noreply@blogger.com8