Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Do sensors censor us or just sense when we're evading stop signals?
I ask where he grew up. He says California. He says he'll leave as soon as he gets the chance. He looks about 19 years old. Maybe 20. Could be 17. When I ask where, he says anywhere that is not the United States. I ask what is wrong with the United States. He says there are too many laws, too much censorship. I ask him where else he has been, thinking he will justify his answer with his experience with foreign lands being less oppressive. He says Florida, Hawaii (twice), Cancun and... Mexico. He is answering with candid seriousness. I tell him that I travel a lot and there are parts of the United States that aren't so bad. I ask him what kind of laws are oppressive. He says California has cameras everywhere and that they take your picture when you run a red light. He says he has a device on his license plate that blurs the picture. He proceeds to explain that the guys who put up those cameras aren't even cops, that they put them there and then sit around all day waiting, watching. He clarifies that as soon as you run that red light, they snap a picture of you. My mind begins to drift. I decide that if this really were the case, if the cameras weren't just sensor-driven, these guys might be called something like Sensor-Breaker Detectors. Or SBD's for short. Then guys like the kid who's driving me to the airport in his blurry jeep would nickname them Son of a Bitch Dudes who watch over and me and make sure I don't run red lights. I begin to wonder if Blurry Jeep kid has sensors mixed up with censors. I wonder if the SBD's internally censure us after a while for our lack of respect for others' safety.
I ask him how he is censored. He says there are too many ways to explain. I ask for one. He thinks a minute and then admits that he cannot think of one at the moment. I change the subject because I begin to feel as if I am accusing him of something, even though I was really just curious where he grew up. I say I have never been this early to the airport. He asks what I am going to do with 4 hours. I begin to list things... read, write, stare into no where. I tell him I have a hard time getting bored, so I don't mind the waiting. He asks what I like to read. I tell him short stories, funny ones. I ask him what kind of books he likes to read. He says he's never finished a book. He says he never really got into it because in school, his teachers would always make him read things he didn't want to read. I tell him when I am an English teacher, I won't force kids to read things they won't like. He says that'd be cool.
When we get to the airport, he asks me what airline I am flying on. Of course, I don't know, because sometimes I am not completely primed with my travel information, so I pull out my laptop. Delta. I go up to the Delta counter and they are looking at me like a disoriented owl. They ask me what I want. I think to myself, isn't it pretty obvious? I tell them I'd like to check in. They tell me there are no more flights tonight. It hits me that maybe I am not flying out of Oakland. There are about eighty airports in the vicinity of San Francisco. I take out my laptop again and right above Delta, it tells me SFO. I guess it was a good thing I left 5 hours early.
Along my BART ride, I think about my ride to the airport. I wonder if this kid will ever give America a chance. I wonder if he'll ever feel the need to read a book, all the way through. I wonder if I judged him for the things he said, but realize I didn't really. I liked him. I liked how he had a tenacity, a passion in life, even if it was against something. I think having passion, even if misdirected, is better than being apathetic. I wonder at what moment in his life will that passion be challenged and he'll have to decide to deviate or alleviate it. I hope he just redirects it and doesn't let it dwindle into indifference. This may sound a bit extreme, but I wonder if he had only had a better english teacher . . .
I ask him how he is censored. He says there are too many ways to explain. I ask for one. He thinks a minute and then admits that he cannot think of one at the moment. I change the subject because I begin to feel as if I am accusing him of something, even though I was really just curious where he grew up. I say I have never been this early to the airport. He asks what I am going to do with 4 hours. I begin to list things... read, write, stare into no where. I tell him I have a hard time getting bored, so I don't mind the waiting. He asks what I like to read. I tell him short stories, funny ones. I ask him what kind of books he likes to read. He says he's never finished a book. He says he never really got into it because in school, his teachers would always make him read things he didn't want to read. I tell him when I am an English teacher, I won't force kids to read things they won't like. He says that'd be cool.
When we get to the airport, he asks me what airline I am flying on. Of course, I don't know, because sometimes I am not completely primed with my travel information, so I pull out my laptop. Delta. I go up to the Delta counter and they are looking at me like a disoriented owl. They ask me what I want. I think to myself, isn't it pretty obvious? I tell them I'd like to check in. They tell me there are no more flights tonight. It hits me that maybe I am not flying out of Oakland. There are about eighty airports in the vicinity of San Francisco. I take out my laptop again and right above Delta, it tells me SFO. I guess it was a good thing I left 5 hours early.
Along my BART ride, I think about my ride to the airport. I wonder if this kid will ever give America a chance. I wonder if he'll ever feel the need to read a book, all the way through. I wonder if I judged him for the things he said, but realize I didn't really. I liked him. I liked how he had a tenacity, a passion in life, even if it was against something. I think having passion, even if misdirected, is better than being apathetic. I wonder at what moment in his life will that passion be challenged and he'll have to decide to deviate or alleviate it. I hope he just redirects it and doesn't let it dwindle into indifference. This may sound a bit extreme, but I wonder if he had only had a better english teacher . . .
Friday, May 08, 2009
What do you do when you pull the X Q Z from the Scrabble bag?
Plans shift. It's been said to "Expect the Unexpected." To me, this is an apparent paradox, because if you expect the unexpected, then isn't it then expected? Well, what I gather from such a proverb is this advice: be open to shifts. Anyone who knows me knows my middle name should be shift. I PUT ON THE TEMPORARY CAPS LOCK EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE. and sometimes i never touch it. I live for the shift. I live in shift. But I'm not shifty - I am candid and frank. Just call me Candid Frank. Or I guess I'd be Candid Shift Frank, since Shift is my middle name.
... I digress - I was on my way to Chico, CA on Thursday to do some hiking, reading, writing, relaxing and catching up with my friend Malia. On my way, I gave her a call only to find she was in Sacramento with her friend from high school, Adelle. My route took me right through Sac, so I decided to take a pit stop. We ended up chatting on the back porch with wine and sunshine, going out for delicious deep dish pizza and playing a tenacious game of Scrabble before sleeps. Chico got put on hold.
I am sure anyone who finds interest in sitting around a square board made out of tan, salmon pink, baby blue and (the ultimate) red squares, placing a mixture of their 7 wooden squares in vertical or horizontal patterns, so as to maximize points, knows the importance of X Q & Z.
During this Sacramento game of Scrabble, I happened to pull all three of these letters throughout the game - two in the first scoop! And like any rusty scrabbler who hasn't practiced, played or read the dictionary lately, I whined and moaned that I wasn't getting the proper proportion of vowels to consonants. About 3/4's of the way through the game, I inquired about the score. Bookkeeper Malia informed me that I was in the lead- a hefty dozen points ahead of her (she grew up in Indiana... she's goood.) After the game was over, and I won, I thought about what it means to pull those three valuable yet vexatious letters.
It's really about luck of the draw in getting those letters. But I've seen people MacGyver their way to number one out of the scrabble pack with slim pickins of one-point letters (such persons go by the pseudonyms of 'Mom' and 'Maloeuia'). Life really is about taking what you are given and making the best out of it. When you reach into that Stygian Scrabble bag, you have no way of knowing what to expect. You, therefore, can truly expect the unexpected.
Although I did come out on top with the high-dollar letters I was given, it's not easy to place a Q without having a U.
Which reminds me of a poem I once read in a cartoon strip when I was little. I think it may be the only poem I've ever memorized. The cartoon was a little ant reading a poem about his favorite letter to a classroom full of other ants, who probably had other favorite letters. For instance, I found out last week that Rachel and I share the same favorite letter: g.
"If I could be a letter,
I would be a Q -
as letters go
it don't seem Q's
have all that much to do
Mostly they get used in words
for doctors and for ducks
(which may well be the only time
that Q's get any yucks.)
Q's are never all alone in anything they do
'cause everything you find a Q
it's followed by a U.
Privacy is not a thing
I've ever been too keen on.
I'd rather know
when I feel low
that I got U to lean on."
I don't know who wrote this brilliant masterpiece of a poem, but he obviously touched me. I'm in a lot of debt because of that ant's poem.
Anyway, do the best you can with whatever you grab outta' the Scrabble bag of life. Quit complaining about your vowel ratio.
Sidenote: all my hopes dreams and aspirations of my purpose in the Scrabble world were shattered that night when Adelle reminded me that I could never get a SCRABBLE with the word S-E-Q-U-O-I-A (7 letters and uses only ALL the vowels and an 'S'... only word lovers will really get why this would be so exciting for me) because Sequoia is a proper noun. No proper nouns allowed in Scrabble. How discriminatory. I am going to invent my own Scrabble game called Babble. The poets' version of Scrabble, where everything is allowed. All languages, slangs, nouns and names allowed. And maybe I won't use squares - I'll use triangles or something . . .
(One may notice how wonderfully fluid and easy to follow my brain has become since I stopped writing college essays. Right.)
Goodnight Oakland!
... I digress - I was on my way to Chico, CA on Thursday to do some hiking, reading, writing, relaxing and catching up with my friend Malia. On my way, I gave her a call only to find she was in Sacramento with her friend from high school, Adelle. My route took me right through Sac, so I decided to take a pit stop. We ended up chatting on the back porch with wine and sunshine, going out for delicious deep dish pizza and playing a tenacious game of Scrabble before sleeps. Chico got put on hold.
I am sure anyone who finds interest in sitting around a square board made out of tan, salmon pink, baby blue and (the ultimate) red squares, placing a mixture of their 7 wooden squares in vertical or horizontal patterns, so as to maximize points, knows the importance of X Q & Z.
During this Sacramento game of Scrabble, I happened to pull all three of these letters throughout the game - two in the first scoop! And like any rusty scrabbler who hasn't practiced, played or read the dictionary lately, I whined and moaned that I wasn't getting the proper proportion of vowels to consonants. About 3/4's of the way through the game, I inquired about the score. Bookkeeper Malia informed me that I was in the lead- a hefty dozen points ahead of her (she grew up in Indiana... she's goood.) After the game was over, and I won, I thought about what it means to pull those three valuable yet vexatious letters.
It's really about luck of the draw in getting those letters. But I've seen people MacGyver their way to number one out of the scrabble pack with slim pickins of one-point letters (such persons go by the pseudonyms of 'Mom' and 'Maloeuia'). Life really is about taking what you are given and making the best out of it. When you reach into that Stygian Scrabble bag, you have no way of knowing what to expect. You, therefore, can truly expect the unexpected.
Although I did come out on top with the high-dollar letters I was given, it's not easy to place a Q without having a U.
Which reminds me of a poem I once read in a cartoon strip when I was little. I think it may be the only poem I've ever memorized. The cartoon was a little ant reading a poem about his favorite letter to a classroom full of other ants, who probably had other favorite letters. For instance, I found out last week that Rachel and I share the same favorite letter: g.
"If I could be a letter,
I would be a Q -
as letters go
it don't seem Q's
have all that much to do
Mostly they get used in words
for doctors and for ducks
(which may well be the only time
that Q's get any yucks.)
Q's are never all alone in anything they do
'cause everything you find a Q
it's followed by a U.
Privacy is not a thing
I've ever been too keen on.
I'd rather know
when I feel low
that I got U to lean on."
I don't know who wrote this brilliant masterpiece of a poem, but he obviously touched me. I'm in a lot of debt because of that ant's poem.
Anyway, do the best you can with whatever you grab outta' the Scrabble bag of life. Quit complaining about your vowel ratio.
Sidenote: all my hopes dreams and aspirations of my purpose in the Scrabble world were shattered that night when Adelle reminded me that I could never get a SCRABBLE with the word S-E-Q-U-O-I-A (7 letters and uses only ALL the vowels and an 'S'... only word lovers will really get why this would be so exciting for me) because Sequoia is a proper noun. No proper nouns allowed in Scrabble. How discriminatory. I am going to invent my own Scrabble game called Babble. The poets' version of Scrabble, where everything is allowed. All languages, slangs, nouns and names allowed. And maybe I won't use squares - I'll use triangles or something . . .
(One may notice how wonderfully fluid and easy to follow my brain has become since I stopped writing college essays. Right.)
Goodnight Oakland!
Thursday, May 07, 2009
inter-coastal
Last week, while Rachel and I were wandering around San Francisco, Autumn called me to talk about the next leg of my trip. She gave me a few options: bum around the west coast for a week, then up to Portland. Or fly to NYC for the Yoga Journal Conference, then back to Portland and be all 'inter-coastal' about it.
When weighing these decisions in my head, I think of two things: What will be best for ATD? and How will it benefit me? Generally, whenever I am given these choices or asked if I can be here there then somewhere else, I just abide. The dude abides.
And I'd like to say it's because I am easy going or make the best of all situations ... while it may be a bit of these two, I think, in all honesty, it is more about my curiosity. I make the decision that will provide more adventure, more dislocation, more uncertainty. My curiosity overrides my apprehension like an overweight bully on the elementary school see-saw. As much as my mind wants to catch up with itself from time to time, it still wants to be stimulated and overwhelmed with the unfamiliar and what beauty that the not-yet-revealed has to unravel. Like Proust decided to do with Remembrance of Things Past, live first, then write. The writer is the arrangeur, but first, the manger, french for arrange and to eat, respectively. We arrange matters after we feed off of the world.
. . .
As I said, I do consider the company I work for first, because they are the wonderful women that provide me with the opportunity to travel around with beautiful flowing clothes and help women embrace loving the skin they live in. That's how I see what I do - and I am thankful every day that I am afforded the opportunity.
When weighing these decisions in my head, I think of two things: What will be best for ATD? and How will it benefit me? Generally, whenever I am given these choices or asked if I can be here there then somewhere else, I just abide. The dude abides.
And I'd like to say it's because I am easy going or make the best of all situations ... while it may be a bit of these two, I think, in all honesty, it is more about my curiosity. I make the decision that will provide more adventure, more dislocation, more uncertainty. My curiosity overrides my apprehension like an overweight bully on the elementary school see-saw. As much as my mind wants to catch up with itself from time to time, it still wants to be stimulated and overwhelmed with the unfamiliar and what beauty that the not-yet-revealed has to unravel. Like Proust decided to do with Remembrance of Things Past, live first, then write. The writer is the arrangeur, but first, the manger, french for arrange and to eat, respectively. We arrange matters after we feed off of the world.
. . .
As I said, I do consider the company I work for first, because they are the wonderful women that provide me with the opportunity to travel around with beautiful flowing clothes and help women embrace loving the skin they live in. That's how I see what I do - and I am thankful every day that I am afforded the opportunity.
without the rules
Besides Arcata/Eureka's kick-ass radio station KHUM 'radio without the rules', (which made me want to stay at Patrick's Point in Trinidad, just so we could listen) Humboldt County has too much to offer for a mere 3 day trip.
Gigantic conifers with more tourist attractions than Disney World. Brown bears that amble down the road in front of my clearly audible, crappy rental car. Snail colonies. Lost rocks. Big Rivers. The Immense Pacific Ocean. Onomatopoetic waves. Sprawling, scrawling succulent communities. Banananut slug climbers. Rainforest hike/slides. Grey granular sand. Ampersand-shaped petrified wood. Wholly evil petrified wood. Dismantled skeleton petrified wood. Bullfrogs behind the beach campfire. And of course... buddies to hang in the rain with.
Rachel, Rachel and Luke decided about as last minute as possible that weather should never impede on a trip. The plan began as a shifty "Meet ya' in NorCal around Sunday night." Well, give three Alaksans a '70 VW van, shoddy directions and a negligible map of Portland, OR and they will easily double their travel time. They will also own the most Zach Morris, pre-historic of cellular technology.
But give a road warrior another night and morning alone and she'll easily meet a bear, see a few slugs, visit a hidden beach, hike for four hours in the Redwoods, drive under a tree and finally run across Marvin (said '70 VW bus above) in a Diner parking lot in Klamath California.
It was my first time meeting Rachel's friends Luke and Rachel. One of the first things Luke said out loud near me was something like "I think it is impossible to get bored." I wanted to walk up to his face and exclaim "Finally! Someone who thinks straight!" Here's a photo-slideshow of how Springtime weather in a Rain Forest doesn't have to ruin anyone's fun
Gigantic conifers with more tourist attractions than Disney World. Brown bears that amble down the road in front of my clearly audible, crappy rental car. Snail colonies. Lost rocks. Big Rivers. The Immense Pacific Ocean. Onomatopoetic waves. Sprawling, scrawling succulent communities. Banananut slug climbers. Rainforest hike/slides. Grey granular sand. Ampersand-shaped petrified wood. Wholly evil petrified wood. Dismantled skeleton petrified wood. Bullfrogs behind the beach campfire. And of course... buddies to hang in the rain with.
Rachel, Rachel and Luke decided about as last minute as possible that weather should never impede on a trip. The plan began as a shifty "Meet ya' in NorCal around Sunday night." Well, give three Alaksans a '70 VW van, shoddy directions and a negligible map of Portland, OR and they will easily double their travel time. They will also own the most Zach Morris, pre-historic of cellular technology.
But give a road warrior another night and morning alone and she'll easily meet a bear, see a few slugs, visit a hidden beach, hike for four hours in the Redwoods, drive under a tree and finally run across Marvin (said '70 VW bus above) in a Diner parking lot in Klamath California.
It was my first time meeting Rachel's friends Luke and Rachel. One of the first things Luke said out loud near me was something like "I think it is impossible to get bored." I wanted to walk up to his face and exclaim "Finally! Someone who thinks straight!" Here's a photo-slideshow of how Springtime weather in a Rain Forest doesn't have to ruin anyone's fun
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
fat cat is home
When you're a kid, you get presents on your birthday. My brother told me yesterday that later in life, all you get on your birthday is older.
I got friends who came out to my favorite place in the city, bought me PBRs, wrote collaborative poetry and laughed a lot. I got way more than just older.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
A Coney Island for our Time
Cicero said it best:
The less said,
the less missed by
The Unlistener.
It's when the investigation thickens
that the City
truly blooms
into a moon puzzle
meant to be layered like
new tags on the license plate
of someone who will
never leave
their state.
The gift of a great painter
is the capacity
to cover up the underlayers
yet keep
topographical presence.
\
In the Wagon Winter of
Nathaneal West - locusts
infest like lonely hearts
inundate the Tundra.
Humanity shelters us
like a Lime Twig,
or a ladder shadow.
We nibble on this comfort
for it is the embers left
to us
from the Wild Fury
that raged its course weeks before.
Hell is a reflection of
The Very Thing that Happens
when wet cement and laziness mix.
We change our tags but
the plate is the same.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
"i see geese going backwards and i feel so bad"
it's windy in boulder today. real windy.
i rode my bike downtown and felt like i got put on pause when a gust came toward me and transfixed me still.
yet, i need to bike while i am here. i associate it with the freedom i feel by being afforded the circumstance to have lived in boulder. in colorado. i say have lived because i am transitioning into move-mode.
i just relocated the rest of my stuff into a shared storage unit. i am officially homeless as of february 20th. but i do have a van, so maybe it's not that official. it depends on your definition of "home."
and i mean it when i say to people that i am low maintenance. i have less than a rocket box full of stuff to travel with.
plus, i'll be in the south until its about summertime, so i won't need much.
excited to be on the road.
also to come, i am starting a low-key business on the side to sell personal artsy postcards to locally owned General Stores, gas stations and markets across our America. yay!
i rode my bike downtown and felt like i got put on pause when a gust came toward me and transfixed me still.
yet, i need to bike while i am here. i associate it with the freedom i feel by being afforded the circumstance to have lived in boulder. in colorado. i say have lived because i am transitioning into move-mode.
i just relocated the rest of my stuff into a shared storage unit. i am officially homeless as of february 20th. but i do have a van, so maybe it's not that official. it depends on your definition of "home."
and i mean it when i say to people that i am low maintenance. i have less than a rocket box full of stuff to travel with.
plus, i'll be in the south until its about summertime, so i won't need much.
excited to be on the road.
also to come, i am starting a low-key business on the side to sell personal artsy postcards to locally owned General Stores, gas stations and markets across our America. yay!
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Miles for Mastatal
Though half of my audience is gone to partake on this dear journey, I still encourage the other half to devotedly follow and ingest the experiences of my dear friends as they travel through Mexico and Central America toward their final destination: Rancho Mastatal in Costa Rica. The guys taking this journey for a more ever-present cause than we comfy American's would like to admit (caring about and contributing to cultures other than our own) are intelligent in their expressions, kind in their heartfelt intentions and brave in the adventure they have chosen to undertake.
Please enjoy their stories, photographs, mind-wanderings and feats here at their hopefully often updated blog.
And if you believe in what they are doing, don't hesitate to support their cause.
Please enjoy their stories, photographs, mind-wanderings and feats here at their hopefully often updated blog.
And if you believe in what they are doing, don't hesitate to support their cause.
tupperware cupboard
Household dinners are common where I live. I've always felt "at home" in Boulder, yet this added touch of community and familial sharing makes my house feel even more of a home.
I often confuse the two: home and home. I speak of my residence in Colorado as home, and I speak of my parents house in Liverpool, New York as home. "Back home, we sit on the porch and whistle tunes to the runners and cyclists passing by." "I went home for the holidays and I always get put next to babies on planes." I find no need to distinguish between the two.
Pete's girlfriend, Cat, lives in Tucson, Arizona. She splits time between Tucson and Boulder for the sake of love (seems these distance romances are happening everywhere.) She cooked us up a tasty vegetarian stew the other night and the aroma of home-cookin' spilled into every open cabinet, room and nostril in the house. After we all ate our share, we collectively cleaned and shared dish-washing duties (yep, we're old school - no dishwasher at 4th street.)
Cat's friend Theresa commented on our lack of organization of our tupperware. Lack is a soft word to be used for the scale of organization of this cupboard: it's downright chaos. I believe this to be equivalent to the person who appears to be clean, tidy and organized when in reality the underside of their bed is a more appropriate portrait.
My friend George just wrote up a post about this characteristic that I think is more common than we like to let ourselves believe; we don't notice how prevalent this paradoxical trait is because it is within our mental capacity to lie to ourselves. We tell ourselves we are organized because we have systems in place. We tell ourselves we are ready at any moment to conquer the world because we have worked so hard on our systems.
I don't know that we need to stop lying to ourselves about our level of organization. I don't know that we need to rearrange, catalogue, or regulate the tumultuous tupperware cupboard. I believe a healthy dose of chaos can bring a glimmer of humanity and humor to a household.
My mom would disagree, and all of my other truly OCD friends would laugh, saying that I am applying my free-spirit to the order of the kitchen, which is silly.
However, we spoke about that unruly cabinet and the impossibility of finding matching tops for containers for quite a while. And we've spoken about it before in the two and a half years I have lived at fourth street. To come home to a categorized tupperware cupboard would make it much harder to continue to use the word "home" for both NY and CO without clarifying which "home" I am speaking about.
I enjoy the healthy dose of chaos my Colorado life provides me.
I often confuse the two: home and home. I speak of my residence in Colorado as home, and I speak of my parents house in Liverpool, New York as home. "Back home, we sit on the porch and whistle tunes to the runners and cyclists passing by." "I went home for the holidays and I always get put next to babies on planes." I find no need to distinguish between the two.
Pete's girlfriend, Cat, lives in Tucson, Arizona. She splits time between Tucson and Boulder for the sake of love (seems these distance romances are happening everywhere.) She cooked us up a tasty vegetarian stew the other night and the aroma of home-cookin' spilled into every open cabinet, room and nostril in the house. After we all ate our share, we collectively cleaned and shared dish-washing duties (yep, we're old school - no dishwasher at 4th street.)
Cat's friend Theresa commented on our lack of organization of our tupperware. Lack is a soft word to be used for the scale of organization of this cupboard: it's downright chaos. I believe this to be equivalent to the person who appears to be clean, tidy and organized when in reality the underside of their bed is a more appropriate portrait.
My friend George just wrote up a post about this characteristic that I think is more common than we like to let ourselves believe; we don't notice how prevalent this paradoxical trait is because it is within our mental capacity to lie to ourselves. We tell ourselves we are organized because we have systems in place. We tell ourselves we are ready at any moment to conquer the world because we have worked so hard on our systems.
I don't know that we need to stop lying to ourselves about our level of organization. I don't know that we need to rearrange, catalogue, or regulate the tumultuous tupperware cupboard. I believe a healthy dose of chaos can bring a glimmer of humanity and humor to a household.
My mom would disagree, and all of my other truly OCD friends would laugh, saying that I am applying my free-spirit to the order of the kitchen, which is silly.
However, we spoke about that unruly cabinet and the impossibility of finding matching tops for containers for quite a while. And we've spoken about it before in the two and a half years I have lived at fourth street. To come home to a categorized tupperware cupboard would make it much harder to continue to use the word "home" for both NY and CO without clarifying which "home" I am speaking about.
I enjoy the healthy dose of chaos my Colorado life provides me.
a year in review...
Ever since I was in 4th grade and realized that soon I'd be too old to have recess, I've realized that every year I live, I must make it better than the last.
Because I burned this whimsical, innocent, simple ideal into my mindset, I have become shaped by it. I once had a boyfriend, who, after we broke up, made fun of me to all his friends saying "she always has to make everything the best, the coolest, the weirdest." He made fun of my extreme optimism toward the world and attitude that it was actually POSSIBLE. That we could actually LIVE our most absurd dreams and ideas.
Well . . . though I cannot realistically decide whether or not my life has consistently seen better days since I made this pact with myself, I do believe life has consistently felt enjoyably crazy and hectic. And maybe that's what I've needed at this moment in my life: absurd chaos and frivolous, spontaneous pursuits.
It started in January when Heidi was moving out of our wonderful house. I was sad. Heidi and Matt had become a sort of roommate family, and now I had to say goodbye to them. Rachel moved in - an optimistic progressive thinker from Alaska, who sought out Boulder to climb, sponge in more about nutrition and massage and expand her horizons. She liked to play and laugh and do art. I couldn't have found a better person to surround myself with at the moment.
Then in February Andy came to visit. He showed up with perfect timing - right after Valentine's Day had ended and my work (a florist) had settled down from two weeks of madness. He brought more laughter, more insight and more music into my life. He fit right into my lifestyle of Boulder, and he knew it. We enjoyed sharing the mountains, the attitude, the openness and the artistry that Boulder so graciously volunteers time and time again. He inspired me in only the way he can and drove me to delve into my thesis with more passion and commitment than I thought possible in my reluctant, scattered mind.
In March, I started another venture: hoopdance. While writing my thesis and working as a florist, I practiced dancing and swirling and really enjoyed myself. My boss and I went to L.A. and became certified hoop instructors through Hoopnotica - the most advanced company in hoopdance in the world. I was proud of my odd, yet totally freeing achievement.
In April, I actually focused in my life. I think it might well be the longest I've focused in one amount of time. I finished my thesis and celebrated with my friends in the middle of the month for my birthday. I had friends from every speck of my life in Boulder at that party at the Fox Theatre, and I danced. I danced practically all night long. And I smiled. That's not too far off my personality.
In May I began my new job with Autumn Teneyl Designs. I started the month off by traveling Colorado, New York, Pittsburgh... then wrapped it up with the first diet I have ever successfully accomplished. My roommates and I did a two week detox that actually worked and made me feel good. It was a good way to start off a summer of traveling and "modeling".
I started off June in Telluride, then Salida, then Telluride again and then Taos, New Mexico. The traveling aspect was new to me. The meeting new people every weekend was new to me. The freedom and solitude of traveling alone was all new to me. I loved it.
In July, I finished off grad school with my last week of the summer writing program. Gans flew in from Colorado. We were Bob Holman's sidekick for the week. Tim was participating in the SWP as well. Chelsea moved to Boulder. It was a week of more newness.
That weekend, Chelsea and I and our totally new friend Alex drove to Steamboat Springs, then Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I got in my first car accident ever. Autumn's van was totaled and I was shaking for three days. I drove my first UHaul, shared a tent with two stranger friends and enjoyed every second of the rest of our trip.
August was when my parents, brother and aunt came to visit for my parent's 30th anniversary. I loved sharing the mountains and my Boulder world with them. We ate at the Cheesecake factory for their anniversary and true love re-instilled itself in my heart.
I was in Oregon and Seattle for the beginning of September. My backpack was stolen, along with Leland, my computer and my favorite necklace. I spent time with some of the most amazing people I will ever meet (they are all biking to Costa Rica as I type, and I respect them more than I can type.)
I re-met Dan in September. Granted, it was under awful circumstances. My father had serious back surgery and I flew back last minute to surprise him and nurse him. I called Dan before my flight back and we decided we should hang out. I am inexplicably glad we decided to hang out again.
In October, I held three jobs: database entry girl for Free Speech TV; poetry teacher for 7th graders at a Waldorf School and ATD rep for the world. I was atomic tangerine crayon for Halloween.
November was another adventure month, where Dan accompanied me on another one of my trips across Colorado. We went to Aspen, Salida, Crested Butte, Telluride (Obama was elected President of the United States), Dolores, Pagosa Springs, Moab, UT, Park City and Salt Lake City Utah. We had a phenomenal time and I wish we could do it all over again 50 more times.
And in December, Dagny passed away. She was the best kitty in the entire world and I still love her like she's alive. Unfortunately, this was not only the most monumental thing to happen to me in December, but possibly in 2008. She was my sidekick, my buddy who was always there when I came home and I loved her like one would love a best friend or a family member. She had a spark in her that made her more human than animal and everyone saw it.
2008 was a great year. Did it beat out years past? I can't really judge because life is a wave of ups and downs and ins and outs and I truly wouldn't appreciate the sweet parts of life without the sour parts. 2008 had lots of sweets and sours, so it seemed more extreme than other years. Perhaps that is why I can look back on it with such fondness.
Because I burned this whimsical, innocent, simple ideal into my mindset, I have become shaped by it. I once had a boyfriend, who, after we broke up, made fun of me to all his friends saying "she always has to make everything the best, the coolest, the weirdest." He made fun of my extreme optimism toward the world and attitude that it was actually POSSIBLE. That we could actually LIVE our most absurd dreams and ideas.
Well . . . though I cannot realistically decide whether or not my life has consistently seen better days since I made this pact with myself, I do believe life has consistently felt enjoyably crazy and hectic. And maybe that's what I've needed at this moment in my life: absurd chaos and frivolous, spontaneous pursuits.
It started in January when Heidi was moving out of our wonderful house. I was sad. Heidi and Matt had become a sort of roommate family, and now I had to say goodbye to them. Rachel moved in - an optimistic progressive thinker from Alaska, who sought out Boulder to climb, sponge in more about nutrition and massage and expand her horizons. She liked to play and laugh and do art. I couldn't have found a better person to surround myself with at the moment.
Then in February Andy came to visit. He showed up with perfect timing - right after Valentine's Day had ended and my work (a florist) had settled down from two weeks of madness. He brought more laughter, more insight and more music into my life. He fit right into my lifestyle of Boulder, and he knew it. We enjoyed sharing the mountains, the attitude, the openness and the artistry that Boulder so graciously volunteers time and time again. He inspired me in only the way he can and drove me to delve into my thesis with more passion and commitment than I thought possible in my reluctant, scattered mind.
In March, I started another venture: hoopdance. While writing my thesis and working as a florist, I practiced dancing and swirling and really enjoyed myself. My boss and I went to L.A. and became certified hoop instructors through Hoopnotica - the most advanced company in hoopdance in the world. I was proud of my odd, yet totally freeing achievement.
In April, I actually focused in my life. I think it might well be the longest I've focused in one amount of time. I finished my thesis and celebrated with my friends in the middle of the month for my birthday. I had friends from every speck of my life in Boulder at that party at the Fox Theatre, and I danced. I danced practically all night long. And I smiled. That's not too far off my personality.
In May I began my new job with Autumn Teneyl Designs. I started the month off by traveling Colorado, New York, Pittsburgh... then wrapped it up with the first diet I have ever successfully accomplished. My roommates and I did a two week detox that actually worked and made me feel good. It was a good way to start off a summer of traveling and "modeling".
I started off June in Telluride, then Salida, then Telluride again and then Taos, New Mexico. The traveling aspect was new to me. The meeting new people every weekend was new to me. The freedom and solitude of traveling alone was all new to me. I loved it.
In July, I finished off grad school with my last week of the summer writing program. Gans flew in from Colorado. We were Bob Holman's sidekick for the week. Tim was participating in the SWP as well. Chelsea moved to Boulder. It was a week of more newness.
That weekend, Chelsea and I and our totally new friend Alex drove to Steamboat Springs, then Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I got in my first car accident ever. Autumn's van was totaled and I was shaking for three days. I drove my first UHaul, shared a tent with two stranger friends and enjoyed every second of the rest of our trip.
August was when my parents, brother and aunt came to visit for my parent's 30th anniversary. I loved sharing the mountains and my Boulder world with them. We ate at the Cheesecake factory for their anniversary and true love re-instilled itself in my heart.
I was in Oregon and Seattle for the beginning of September. My backpack was stolen, along with Leland, my computer and my favorite necklace. I spent time with some of the most amazing people I will ever meet (they are all biking to Costa Rica as I type, and I respect them more than I can type.)
I re-met Dan in September. Granted, it was under awful circumstances. My father had serious back surgery and I flew back last minute to surprise him and nurse him. I called Dan before my flight back and we decided we should hang out. I am inexplicably glad we decided to hang out again.
In October, I held three jobs: database entry girl for Free Speech TV; poetry teacher for 7th graders at a Waldorf School and ATD rep for the world. I was atomic tangerine crayon for Halloween.
November was another adventure month, where Dan accompanied me on another one of my trips across Colorado. We went to Aspen, Salida, Crested Butte, Telluride (Obama was elected President of the United States), Dolores, Pagosa Springs, Moab, UT, Park City and Salt Lake City Utah. We had a phenomenal time and I wish we could do it all over again 50 more times.
And in December, Dagny passed away. She was the best kitty in the entire world and I still love her like she's alive. Unfortunately, this was not only the most monumental thing to happen to me in December, but possibly in 2008. She was my sidekick, my buddy who was always there when I came home and I loved her like one would love a best friend or a family member. She had a spark in her that made her more human than animal and everyone saw it.
2008 was a great year. Did it beat out years past? I can't really judge because life is a wave of ups and downs and ins and outs and I truly wouldn't appreciate the sweet parts of life without the sour parts. 2008 had lots of sweets and sours, so it seemed more extreme than other years. Perhaps that is why I can look back on it with such fondness.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
not like a line at all, but a cave exploration entry
clever, how a wave will trill upon earth's surface
like stuck mud in a tire tread
willing its way away from the puddle
(even at its own expense)
stretching to seep into something
other than its destined path of pond swallowed stillness
the way a wave reaches inspires,
like it's alive to find the beach's periphery
upon this edge it crashes
as it knocks on the door of fragments dripping,
sifting in an endless hourglass of stimulation
like stuck mud in a tire tread
willing its way away from the puddle
(even at its own expense)
stretching to seep into something
other than its destined path of pond swallowed stillness
the way a wave reaches inspires,
like it's alive to find the beach's periphery
upon this edge it crashes
as it knocks on the door of fragments dripping,
sifting in an endless hourglass of stimulation
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
dag
Dagny passed this morning with the support of Ed at Boulder Veterinary Hospital. Ed was very helpful and understanding of the situation Dagny was in. After a rough night back here at the house (not eating, moving or drinking), Dagny slept in my bed with me and mewed sporadically into the night. In the morning, I gave her a hug and brought her back to the vet when her symptoms worsened. They ran some tests on her and found out her red blood cell count was at 10% which is 20% below normal and 3% away from death. Her tongue was nearly grey and she wasn't responding to anything. Although we are not 100% sure, the predicted diagnosis was feline leukemia and that she probably wouldn't make it to the end of the day.
I made the decision only with the help of Ed and Jen, who talked to me on Monday about her thoughts on euthanasia. At the time, it was the last thing I wanted to think about, since I still had my hope filled heart that Dagny just had a fever. But Jen explained that we are lucky to have that option for our pets; when they are enduring so much pain to stay alive and keep us happy, it is our option to not let them make that sacrifice for us. Dagny was doing just that. She was clinging on to dear life for us. Twice she tried to hide and die, embarrassed to have the ones that loved her so much see her in such weakness.
Last night, I kept her on a pillow next to a low blowing fan to keep her fever down and make sure she wouldn't quit just yet on us. But this morning, when we found out what was wrong with her and that her body was fighting itself to death, Ed helped me come to the decision that she shouldn't be in pain any longer.
She was a brave cat. I always said she could take a mountain lion. Unfortunately, there are diseases and viruses that attack our vulnerabilities. It is impossible for me to find a good reason or explanation for Dagny's passing. She was two years old and the happiest, most active, loving and coolest cat I have ever known. I know everybody says that about their pet. I don't think that diminishes the sincerity or truth of the statement when one makes it.
When I calmed down this morning and thought about all the people in this world who Dagny has touched, who would want to know, it made me happy that so many people loved her. She was the kind that cat-haters ended up liking. And anytime hate can be turned into love, there must be a special soul in the works to create such a drastic change of heart.
I want to say she will be missed and at the same time I'd like to say she is always with me. Neither of these statements are completely accurate. Right now I am suspended in between grief and love of my little buddy who blessed my life with her presence.
Monday, December 15, 2008
pyrexia comes from Greek 'pur', which means 'fire'
i am staring at the seafoam green botched paint job wall of my cell. at least that is what i feel like i am in. i am trapped in this rectangular room with jovial voices behind the employees only door, muffled enough to keep my ears from hearing why or how they possibly could be high-spirited while these adorable, obviously loving creatures are aching, possibly dying, at their fingertips. the portraits on the walls are trivial, failing at their attempts to cheer me up.
i switch positions on the bench. i stare at the poster board of the anatomy of my cat. why didn't they be more specific when asking for her symptoms? i want to burst through the employees only door and see what they are doing to her. if she is laying on the hospital bed next to that barking dog. she hates dogs. i am sure that in her hot little body, that insistent little mind of hers will simply give up fighting for life... it just might not be worth it to live through this night listening to this incessantly yelping dog.
the doctor says his piece to me about how bad her fever is and that they cannot possibly know what it is without a series of tests. he sends his technician in a few minutes later to outline the thousand dollars in costs for tests of every kind. of course it could be anything when they haven't asked me about any symptoms, behavioral changes or factors that might have led up to the fever. i ask if they may do one test at a time to see if anything shows up and then we can proceed to medicate, decide how to treat her illness. she has to ask, she says.
the technician comes back in with a new "quote". i feel more like i am haggling with a peddler. like i am negotiating my cat's life. this this and this will cost blah blah and blah. she is using technical terms and when i ask her what she means, her descriptions are equivocal, like she is defining a word using that word in her definition. her explanations are circular and obscure and i feel like i am being given the runaround. i am not doubting her basic knowledge of what it is they are doing... i just want her to speak in layman's terms for me, because i am asking what we can do to help dagny, what we might do to diagnose and treat her without just stabbing at the issue from a thousand different angles, and eventually, maybe not ever, concluding which angle it is that is poking her so to make her lethargic, feverish, piss herself in the basement and sit in it. . .
i am crying again and it is impossible for me to explain myself or clearly speak to this technician when i feel so vulnerable. i am angry and spastically depressed that i might possibly be spending more on my cat than i spend on my own health. i am ashamed that i am thinking this way. i am angry that this process, these doctors are making me feel like this. she continues the negotiations, eventually telling me that we can do a shot and send her home with me for a fraction of the price, but this is highly unadvised by the doctor. i ask her about the sliding scale of testing again. she responds that the doctor advises all testing to find out the trigger of her fever. she doesn't understand. i am not against trying to save my cat's life. i just feel like i am being robbed. used. i am feeling dagny's fever through anger, shaking and irrepressible sniffling.
the doctor is okely-dokely-ing behind the employee's only door. i suddenly hate him. i want to take dagny and drive her to denver. find a doctor who wants to save animals, not poke around with my cat all night. i want her to sleep in my bed with me tonight. i don't trust these car-salesmen vets.
i leave dagny locked up to her IV in the pet emergency room with those cackling vets and obnoxious dog. i hope she hangs on because so many people love her and because i would and will spend more money on her than on my own health. she is the light that brings me home when i am on the road and the breath that susurrated me to sleep last night. i cathect her.
i switch positions on the bench. i stare at the poster board of the anatomy of my cat. why didn't they be more specific when asking for her symptoms? i want to burst through the employees only door and see what they are doing to her. if she is laying on the hospital bed next to that barking dog. she hates dogs. i am sure that in her hot little body, that insistent little mind of hers will simply give up fighting for life... it just might not be worth it to live through this night listening to this incessantly yelping dog.
the doctor says his piece to me about how bad her fever is and that they cannot possibly know what it is without a series of tests. he sends his technician in a few minutes later to outline the thousand dollars in costs for tests of every kind. of course it could be anything when they haven't asked me about any symptoms, behavioral changes or factors that might have led up to the fever. i ask if they may do one test at a time to see if anything shows up and then we can proceed to medicate, decide how to treat her illness. she has to ask, she says.
the technician comes back in with a new "quote". i feel more like i am haggling with a peddler. like i am negotiating my cat's life. this this and this will cost blah blah and blah. she is using technical terms and when i ask her what she means, her descriptions are equivocal, like she is defining a word using that word in her definition. her explanations are circular and obscure and i feel like i am being given the runaround. i am not doubting her basic knowledge of what it is they are doing... i just want her to speak in layman's terms for me, because i am asking what we can do to help dagny, what we might do to diagnose and treat her without just stabbing at the issue from a thousand different angles, and eventually, maybe not ever, concluding which angle it is that is poking her so to make her lethargic, feverish, piss herself in the basement and sit in it. . .
i am crying again and it is impossible for me to explain myself or clearly speak to this technician when i feel so vulnerable. i am angry and spastically depressed that i might possibly be spending more on my cat than i spend on my own health. i am ashamed that i am thinking this way. i am angry that this process, these doctors are making me feel like this. she continues the negotiations, eventually telling me that we can do a shot and send her home with me for a fraction of the price, but this is highly unadvised by the doctor. i ask her about the sliding scale of testing again. she responds that the doctor advises all testing to find out the trigger of her fever. she doesn't understand. i am not against trying to save my cat's life. i just feel like i am being robbed. used. i am feeling dagny's fever through anger, shaking and irrepressible sniffling.
the doctor is okely-dokely-ing behind the employee's only door. i suddenly hate him. i want to take dagny and drive her to denver. find a doctor who wants to save animals, not poke around with my cat all night. i want her to sleep in my bed with me tonight. i don't trust these car-salesmen vets.
i leave dagny locked up to her IV in the pet emergency room with those cackling vets and obnoxious dog. i hope she hangs on because so many people love her and because i would and will spend more money on her than on my own health. she is the light that brings me home when i am on the road and the breath that susurrated me to sleep last night. i cathect her.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Prop 8 - The Musical
See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die
I wrote a paper in college against a similar proposal in New York back in 2005. I wish I had just written a musical with Jack Black as Jesus. Genius!
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Duck Conquers Colorado, Then World!
This blog began as a place to type up and store my poetry. It has proven very useful for that, as I have had to deal with the death and disappearance of two full-loaded laptops.
When I moved to Colorado, it started to morph into a virtual world of "what's meghann up to?"
Then it again turned into something new... I wanted to make it a place where Leland's adventures were drafted, organized and subsequently turned into a miraculous series of Duck Conquers Colorado, Then World! He has also since disappeared. (Check every single Crane-Operated Claw Animal Vending Machine!!!! He was produced by Sugarloaf Creations and they said all their ducks are specifically sold for Crane-Operated Claw Vending purposes...)
Since I lost my buddy, it has become more and more about posting up photographs, random thoughts, long blusters of uninsightful meghann-head and whatever else a blog can possibly be. To put it simply, this blog is out of control!
It has no discipline, direction, exact purpose... and the reason I am concerned about these things at all is that I want it to have a purpose and direction - which can only be achieved through discipline! I will save my "This is how life is going" for mass-emails or whatever.
I almost think this blog site has had it's day and might continue to be the babble that it is, for my own enjoyment and a few scattered readers out there.
However, a new project is in the making. I want it to be a webSITE, not a blog. So I am projecting it will take a few months. I have started to look into learning more about computer graphics and HTML and anyone (that means you George, Tim, Kansky, Patrick...etc.) who wants to impart their computerly wisdom on me, I am all ears eyes and smiles.
I just want to take this inconclusive conclusion to thank everyone who has read and commented on this raggedly ole blog all these years. You all mean a lot to me, which is why you were invited to read my scattered thoughts in the first place.
Cheers!
890 sq ft of Reality surrounded by Boulder
As has been stated recently on this blog, I am hardly ever in Boulder anymore. There is a huge part of me that feels incomplete and sad never seeing Dagny, hanging out at my house with my awesome roommates and just catching up with old friends in town.
Late last night, I flew into Denver from being home for a Thanksgiving visit with family and Dan. I say these two separately because it was definitely my intention to visit both of these people I love very much. I had such a great time spending time with them and enjoying endless leftovers, not to forget dad's famous turkey stew.
And on the plane ride home, I read and read and wrote and wrote. I am reading a book called The Road Less Traveled by Scott Peck, and anybody who has spoken to me in the last few weeks is familiar with the summary of it. In a sentence, it is a depiction, through the eyes and experience of a well-educated psychiatrist, of the attributes that make for a fulfilled human being through the application of genuine love. There are a few reasons I've delved so deeply into it, one being that he breaks down and defines terms we all too often believe have an umbrella definition, when they are actually inherently interpretive: Love, Discipline, Balance, Suffering, Truth... etc.
When I returned to Boulder, Chelsea called to hang out and just talk. It was late, but I realized I have been lazy with my relationships, hanging out only when it was convenient or easy for me. Peck says genuine love takes work, and I felt that work in my Boulder friendships has been lacking lately. So Chelsea and I sat in my living room. We talked and listened. I missed her more than I had even known.
I am living three different lives. In terms of spreading oneself too thin, I have certainly done it in the past year. I cannot love everyone all the same amount all of the time, especially because of work, distance and time. I essentially live in three separate realms, all of which are known to the ones I love, but not fully understood. I attempt to slap some adhesive on these realms by inviting people to visit or tag along in my traveling world. I think that this helps, but I am glad I have finally become fully aware of its existence so I may take the necessary steps to actually fix it.
This morning Chels, Tim and I went to The Village diner. We had "intellectual" conversations about the world, life, love, choices, the future... all these things that plague the inquisitive mind on a daily basis. Most only have their minds to marinate it in; I am lucky enough to have friends like these two to spill it all out onto. After the morning enjoyment of each other's thoughts and wisdom, we concurred that it is one thing to figure all these things out and say what we will do, it is all together another thing to apply them to our realities.
And that is when we noticed that we were sitting in The Village Coffee Shop, whose motto is "890 square feet of Reality surrounded by Boulder"
We are in reality, where ever we are. We must live like that. Live our to-do lists. Live our dreams. Proverbs and adages are proverbs and adages for a reason; time and time again they have proven useful and true. And with that optimistic thought, we went about our day of work with thoughtful minds.
I will finish my to-do list today.
Late last night, I flew into Denver from being home for a Thanksgiving visit with family and Dan. I say these two separately because it was definitely my intention to visit both of these people I love very much. I had such a great time spending time with them and enjoying endless leftovers, not to forget dad's famous turkey stew.
And on the plane ride home, I read and read and wrote and wrote. I am reading a book called The Road Less Traveled by Scott Peck, and anybody who has spoken to me in the last few weeks is familiar with the summary of it. In a sentence, it is a depiction, through the eyes and experience of a well-educated psychiatrist, of the attributes that make for a fulfilled human being through the application of genuine love. There are a few reasons I've delved so deeply into it, one being that he breaks down and defines terms we all too often believe have an umbrella definition, when they are actually inherently interpretive: Love, Discipline, Balance, Suffering, Truth... etc.
When I returned to Boulder, Chelsea called to hang out and just talk. It was late, but I realized I have been lazy with my relationships, hanging out only when it was convenient or easy for me. Peck says genuine love takes work, and I felt that work in my Boulder friendships has been lacking lately. So Chelsea and I sat in my living room. We talked and listened. I missed her more than I had even known.
I am living three different lives. In terms of spreading oneself too thin, I have certainly done it in the past year. I cannot love everyone all the same amount all of the time, especially because of work, distance and time. I essentially live in three separate realms, all of which are known to the ones I love, but not fully understood. I attempt to slap some adhesive on these realms by inviting people to visit or tag along in my traveling world. I think that this helps, but I am glad I have finally become fully aware of its existence so I may take the necessary steps to actually fix it.
This morning Chels, Tim and I went to The Village diner. We had "intellectual" conversations about the world, life, love, choices, the future... all these things that plague the inquisitive mind on a daily basis. Most only have their minds to marinate it in; I am lucky enough to have friends like these two to spill it all out onto. After the morning enjoyment of each other's thoughts and wisdom, we concurred that it is one thing to figure all these things out and say what we will do, it is all together another thing to apply them to our realities.
And that is when we noticed that we were sitting in The Village Coffee Shop, whose motto is "890 square feet of Reality surrounded by Boulder"
We are in reality, where ever we are. We must live like that. Live our to-do lists. Live our dreams. Proverbs and adages are proverbs and adages for a reason; time and time again they have proven useful and true. And with that optimistic thought, we went about our day of work with thoughtful minds.
I will finish my to-do list today.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
phrase of the day
Gelatinous mass is my favorite phrase of the day. A woman on the discovery channel used it to describe squid genitals.
Yuck, but awesome phrase. Gelatinous mass. Say it 5 times fast. gelatinous mass gelatinous mass gelatinous mass gelatinous massgelatinous mass... squid eggs is fun, too.
Okay, enough. Enjoy the image I just put in your head.
Yuck, but awesome phrase. Gelatinous mass. Say it 5 times fast. gelatinous mass gelatinous mass gelatinous mass gelatinous massgelatinous mass... squid eggs is fun, too.
Okay, enough. Enjoy the image I just put in your head.
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