The Hero

I decided to go running again today. Who would have thought getting rid of Marigold for hours a day would encourage healthy behavior? Anyway, this time I timed my jog around Forsythe. Exactly 8 minutes, 30 seconds. Not as good as last time, but still pretty good for 1.5 miles. I paced myself much better this time, and didn't kill myself like last time. Afterwards I was walking in circles to cool down and watching a group of people play Ultimate Frisbee. I only played a few times with Eric, Dana, Ben, Rebecca, John, etc,but it was always fun. I thought that it would have been just as much exorcise and a lot more fun to play some Ultimate with them. Good times. It's too bad I like to move to another state when I find some decent friends.

Then a torrential rain poured down as I walked home. I felt like a hero coming home from battle walking slowly through the rain. My point is: I'm a badass, my friends.


Listening to 16 Horsepower. If you want to feel badass while listening to old time folk music, this is the band to rock out to.

The Box

Another Long Post

Here is a good website. I downloaded the My Morning Jacket with M. Ward show, but there are many, many shows from other artists that don't mind people trading and downloading their live shows.

My favorite room in Savannah. I like to hang out there.

Trash

The following account is an anthropological study that is purely objective and in no way makes any judgments on the subjects:

Marigold and I were driving to Michaels earlier tonight and saw a prime example of Trash driving an early eighties Ford Fiesta with a terribly spidered windshield and mismatched side panels. Three men were in the car and one female. The alpha male driving the "vehicle" was adorned in what must have only been shorts, because only a fine mist of dirty hair covered is upper half. As was the case with the two other, younger males in the back area of the Fiesta (aprox. 10 and 16 years old). It seems with this interesting group upper clothing on males is not encouraged. As is the case with cleanliness, as evidenced by earthy stains on face and body of said Trash. However, when possible, creative facial hair is, in fact, highly encouraged. Said facial hair does not have to be daily primed, and actually is more than likely not. The alpha male was sporting a fine "handlebar" mustache with long thick "lambchops" and the older son was seriously attempting a sprinkling follicle infection on both upper lip and chin. The Female, amazingly, did have a shirt on. The shirt, however, did not help her rather severe case of Ugly and Fat. She was further encouraging her fattiness and that of her younglings though McDonald's french fries.

Trash's healthiness was on full display as burning cigarettes hung from arms extended out the windows holes, and complete lack of vehicular restraint straps. Considering the precarious veering of the Fiesta, this seemed especially unwise.

Further examples of Trash can be see here.

Exegesis

Every now and then I get it in me to read the Bible. Really read the Bible. There is some very weird stuff in there. Example: The book of Ezekiel in the Old Testament. This dude was supposedly around during the 500's or so. Here he is describing the cherubim that came to him (Ezekiel 1 4-7,22-24, 10 21,9-17):

"A stormwind came from the north, a huge cloud with flashing fire [enveloped in brightness], from the midst of which something gleamed like electrum. Within it were four figures resembling living creatures that looked like this: their form was human, but each had four faces and four wings, and their legs went straight down; the soles of their feet were round. They sparkled with a gleam like burnished bronze.

"Each had four faces and four wings; something like human hands were under their wings. Each had four faces: the first face was that of an ox, the second that of a man, the third that of a lion, and the fourth that of an eagle. Each one went straight forward.

"I also saw the four wheels beside them, one wheel beside each cherub; the wheels appeared to have the luster of chrysolite stone. All four of the seemed to be made of the same, as though they were a wheel within a wheel. When they moved, they went in any one of their four directions without veering as they moved; for in whichever direction they were faced, they went straight toward it. The rims of the four wheels were full of eyes all around. I heard the wheels given the name "wheelwork." When the cherubim moved, the wheels went beside them; when they stood still the wheels stood still; when they rose the wheels rose with them; for the livings creatures' spirit was in them.

"Over the heads of the living creatures something like a firmament could be seen, seeming like glittering crystal, stretched straight out above their heads. Then I heard the sound of their wings, like the roaring of mighty waters . . . When they moved, the sound of the tumult was like the din of an army. [And when they stood still they lowered their wings.]"

He goes on to destroy Israel under the spell of "Spirit."

This is not the vision of cherubim I was given in Sunday school. No whimsical babies with birds' wings here. Why don't they ever read the fun stuff in church? How would the priest explain the "wheelworks" as uplifting to our humble faith in the good Lord? This stuff was completely available to me when I was a kid. Why didn't I take the opportunity to bring it up in Confirmation class. No guidance councilor, and probably most priests, would have been able to give any good answers as to how this is HOLY material meant to help me in my personal spiritual journey. I'm not sure what to think of this, but Erich Von Daniken can't be to much of a whack job to interpret this as aliens.

F**k

Today Marigold and I had to get something notarized and then send it overnight. None of your business what it was. Anyway, the price of all this surprised me: $5 for the notary, and $24 for the overnight. "Shit." I said. "What a pain in the ass." Then for good measure I through in a few more shits. I don't think I said, "Fuck me in the goat ass, cock sucker." but it wouldn't surprise me.

Marigold kindly pointed out that my language was not very lady-like once we departed from the older, kind gentleman servicing us. I thought back over the experience, and promptly decided that she was in fact correct. My behavior was actually akin to one "Steve" I knew in high school who had a very dirty mouth outside of his mother's presence.

Therefore, I solemnly vow to seriously attempt less sailor talk.

I swear.

Larry and Bob

I finished another school project, but I cannot post it because I cannot reproduce it digitally with any accuracy. The pictures I took had the same problem that the American Jam picture had. I think that the camera we have does a super crappy job of getting red information. When I get the pic into Photoshop to adjust it properly, all the reds (and oranges and violets, which this project mostly is) are blown out, with no subtlety. They are neon orange, like men at work signs. I have spent many hours trying to correct this with precise selections and levels. This time I didn't even try after seeing the pictures in the camera. You can see how successful I was with American Jam. The "white" parts are really light blue. The roads are dark purple. And there is a star in the upper left accident scene, that is much easier to see with accurate colors.

I have great respect for art photographers. They have to be very scientific and use precise tools to get the job done. I don't have the patience or the tools tonight.

Also, a giant scanner (and/with a film/slide scanner) might be a good gift for me for Christmas or my next birthday. Think about it. Confer with your good buddies. Then buy me a scanner. Or just give me the $7,899.95, and I'll put it to good use.

Madonna --> Esther

Most people believe the studies that say people only use ten percent of their brain. Or that Humans in general are capable of more than the current mental standard. There are studies and examples all the time of ordinary people who do amazing things in tight circumstances. Or extraordinary people, who have capabilities beyond the normal, like Einstein, DaVinci, or Ken from Jeopardy, which regularly surprise their peers and help move understanding to a new level.

So, if most people believe this, then why don’t they strive to achieve more for themselves. I’m not talking about more in life, but more than simply, standard human behavior. More than ten percent. Eleven! Twelve! Why don’t I make every effort to improve myself beyond what is currently, culturally accepted as our limits? There are instruction manuals everywhere you turn: yoga, meditation, the Bible, drugs, everywhere on the internet. But which is the true path, and which the medicine show? Most people don’t care. They might pick a church and have full faith in its teachings, but never actualize the root meaning into their everyday lives. The afterlife is the place for personal improvement, this life is for suffering. But can I bestow upon me greater abilities and understanding, or what some might call super natural powers, through well-directed effort? It would be a worthy goal. So why don’t I even attempt the journey? Maybe the enlightened are enlightened simply because they honestly looked for enlightenment. That is the only tool necessary, and there are few who dare to wield it. Like Madonna.

Or maybe it is very late, and sleep is what I need.

Religious, Xenophobic and Pro-life

Are people embarrassed by words like "xenophobic" being applied to them (Populist Republicans)"Anti-environmental. . . Little concern for the poor. Unsupportive of the women's movement." (Staunch Republicans) "Anti-immigrant and intolerant of homosexuality." (disaffected) "Uninterested . . . Rarely vote." (Bystander) "people should be willing to fight for the country whether it is right or wrong." (Socially Conservative Democrats) "Not very well educated. . . Largest group of single mothers." (Partisan Poor) Shouldn't this all be incredibly embarrassing? As you can see, I have a hard time understanding some other people's logic. Why can't you be more like me (liberal Democrat who thinks he is independent)? The world would make a whole lot more sense. And would be better looking.

Yay!

I'm finally up and running on SoulSeek. Now the RIAA can kiss my grits as I enjoy collecting digital messages of love for me. So far I've just partaken of music, but I suppose that movies are available as well. I'll take that path when I get bored enough with this one.

Also, I am two more levels toward completing Warcraft III. Oh! That is so wonderful! Now I only have something like 40 or 50 more hours of play to go. Sons of my bitches. I could play online, but that is a cookie that I would rather not tempt myself with.

Now I must go get paper so that I can draw the hobo skeleton while Marigold works away her youth.

America Jam

This one is for my Materials class. It is collage and paint and about 16" x 20." The colors came out terribly, terribly wrong for the digital pic. I need to take another pic with full daylight instead of incandescent bulbs. I thought that this project might be boring at first. It was just to reinterpret the American flag, which I wouldn't naturally find incredibly inspiring to begin with. However, the constraints of the design really made me stretch creatively. College is fun. I really like the deadlines. I don't like the torture, but the hot chicks make up for it.

Repulicans

I took a big nap today. Naps are like drugs. I watched TV today. TV is like drugs. I went to school today. Knowledge is like drugs.

Then I took drugs. And that was just a downer.

P.S. Marigold's Blog is not publishing and she is very upset about it. Rest assured, She will be back once she kicks Blogspot ass.

Glen

There is a monster that lives in my left nostril. He hides most of the time, afraid of the searing light. But occasionally, when the time is just right, he exposes his ugly self in all his dark, thick glory. Scissors will temporarily stop him, but he'll be back. He always comes back, and it's usually in public. He is tenacious. He is ruthless. He is menacing. He is Glen.

Luke's Blog Wannabe

For the record: Andrew Bird is awesome. Totally rad. Listen to everything he has ever done, and then write a fan letter to him about how you are his new stalker. He is that exmidgulant.

I used to feel this way about They Might Be Giants, but they kind of just went on and on and Lord knows I tried to be loyal. Unfortuanately, being loyal to TMBG just means that everyone around you who isn't a superfan gets annoyed. Anyway, They put out a new record the other day and I am curious, but not curious enough to buy it. I haven't really started the P2P illegal downloading thing yet. Although, God only knows why. I have a cable connection, but not the extreme desire to do the research about which one to use and how to get the huge amount of starter files so they let me in the door. Also, I can't get the router to work, so both computers can't get online like they should. This has been a source of irratation for quite a while. I need a nerd to help me. I'm sending up a Batsignal to all computer geeks.

Other bands I'm interested in, but currently don't have anyone forcing them upon me:

Ween (great website)
Uncle Telupo
Hives (just because all the important mags say I should be interested)
Giant Sand
Macy Gray (SpiderMan reminded me that I like her voice)
back catologue of Nick Cave
Rufus Wainwright
Frank Zappa
The Pogues
Michael Hedges (he put on a kick ass show just before he died)

Two Things

I might be behind the curve on this, but the Abu Ghraib Prison abuse issue is on my mind. Reading about it in Newsweek actually gave me the chills and a little nausea. How can people be like that? This is worse than your worst comic book bad guy. Comic books writers would be afraid to admit this type of behavior in any way, if they even could imagine it. I have a hard time admitting it even happened. I would much prefer to pretend that torture of this kind is not humanly possible. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does every time. I am reminded that humanity has no moral bottom. We are our own worse demons. What is the worse thing you can
imagine doing to another person? Rape? Burning? Cutting? Drugging? Raping and killing their daughter in front of them? All these things and much, much worse happen every fucking day. And don’t delude your self into thinking that they were doing this torture to Terrorists with information, as if that would make it okay. Many of the prisoners were common criminals in for car jacking and rape.


Here is one that we killed with torture and loved it! Oh! It's soo much FUN! And my hands stayed clean!

And the second thing: just as shocking though not as immoral. According to a poll something like 47% of Americans even opened a book in 2003. And that is down from ten years ago, so they expect it to go even lower in the future. Book publishing is way up, breaking records in fact, but there are much less people to read them. (I can’t find the article anymore, so look it up yourself if you don’t believe me.) I was thinking that everybody read The DaVinci Code, but no. If everyone who does read, read it, it would be half of the people you know, but most of them wouldn’t read that crap. What are these people doing instead, sleeping? TV, movies and video games aren’t good enough to fill all your nonworking, nonsleeping hours. I don’t understand.

And number three: I bought the Deluxe Edition Spider-Man movie today. Awesome!

PICTURES!

Justin asked about the model boat progress. Here it is in all it's glory, my friend! Look at it shine with potential for greatness! Maybe one day it will be President of the United States. I pray for the day, my bearded compainion, I pray.


On a walk home from the Telfair museum here in Savannah, somebody decided to voice his or her honest opinion using a sharpie. Ha! Those poor guileless, talent less SCAD kids have no idea what will hit them. Who needs SCAD anyway?


Have I mentioned that it is hot here? Yes, my pacific time fans, it is hot.

Ray Bradbury and Fahrenheit 9/11

Apparently, Ray Bradbury, author of Fahrenheit 451, was pretty steaming mad about Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11. "Michael Moore is a screwed a-hole, that is what I think about that case. He stole my title and changed the numbers without ever asking me for permission. [He]is a horrible human being – horrible human!" This was reported June 3, 2004 in a Swedish interview, so it isn't new news, but it is to me. I was never in love with Bradbury's writing (it is a bit to high schoolish to dwell on), but I still respected him. Also, he is a total technophobe. He doesn't like computers, the Internet is a scam, and he has never driven a car. I guess that that might explain some of his stories' morbid techno-horror futures. On the political front he hates Clinton, and loves Bush, but that has nothing to do with the Michael Moore Rant (he says). Why would this experienced writer think that anybody needs to ask permission to spoof a title? In fact, you can reuse any title of any creative work without permission, and Bradbury has. Titles are not copyrighted. This just makes me lose respect for the man because he has proven that he is just a cranky old man who is pissed that he will be dead soon. Reading recent interviews with him shows how old-manish he really is, like his powers of observation have shut down, and he is just running on old steam and anger.

Or maybe I am reacting emotionally to this infantile attack on Michael Moore's movie? Fahrenheit 9/11 was very informative and poignant, but also unbelievable in same way Rush Limbaugh is. The limited facts given were arranged in order to garner the most arousing reaction. The whole truth was not given. However, I still agree that Bush is a slime ball. And Bradbury should just go away.

People WIll Like You

Here is a fun thing to do: You and your friend are going for a ride someplace and he/she is driving. Make sure that radio is on, this usually isn't a problem, but it is vital. When you get into the passenger seat and your friend has started driving, start to tell and amusing anecdote or dramatic short story to your friend, the driver. After a few sentences, he/she should be really into the story, if your anything like me. Reach to radio as if you are going to turn it down, like it is distracting. Instead, turn it up. Slowly. Gradually, over several more surprising developments in your story, the radio should be blasting. Screws are coming loose, speakers have busted, other drivers are looking, and your friend is screaming and bleeding from the ears. That is when everybody realizes that that was a really funny joke you just played on them.

FNG

I'm doing the book-on-tape thing while I work on my boat lately. I just finished listening to The Beach by Alex Garland. It was a good, fast paced book that felt pulpy with an intellectual edge. I won't review it here, but I want to see the movie now. Like all books that have been adapted into movies, I can't imagine them doing it right. The popular movie format shoots them in the foot right from the getgo. For instance, I remember reading Tai Pan by James Clavell. It is a great historical novel, along with it's brother, Shogun. As I turned the last page I could actually see the credits rolling on a beautiful, visually stunning movie. But it would never work, unless it was something like 12 hours long at a minimum, I told my self. I looked it up anyway, just to see if some idiot had tried. Yep, they tried. And they proceeded to make one of the worse pieces of crap put on the screen. It also looked terrible; not low budget terrible, they had plenty of money; but I stabbed the eyes out of my head with rotting shit terrible. Maybe I exaggerate, but it really pissed me off, that they could desecrate such a great story and setting with this poop. It joyed me to see that Shogun was done right, as a mini-series. Sure, it has it's faults, chiefly, that it is dated, but it still stands up strong. All this bitching about bad taste at film studios and still I can't resist wanting to see the crap they produce. I always hope that maybe, just maybe this time they got it right. Like One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Great book and great movie.

So on my list is The Beach, and Minority Report for right now. I hear that M. Night Shamalan is going to make Life of Pi. We'll see if he can do it.

Adam and Steve

I hope that I went overboard for this school project. This is a schematic contour study of the Adam and Eve panel of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling fresco. I like that it came out fairly trippy. I didn't expect this assignment to fun, but I loved it. Maybe to torture myself I will do some more just for the hell of it.

The biggest lesson that I learned from doing this is: I knew that Michelangelo was gay, but now I know exactly what kind of gay-taste he had. Big muscular men with firm boobies and long curly hair. That's about as gay as gay gets.

Sleep Is Like War

Sleep is like war. Many mornings the alarm goes off, signaling that it is over. I’ve won. We’ve done our duty, and now it is time to better the world through conscientious good deeds. But there are also many mornings that are like Desert Storm II. The alarm signals that major operations are over, but in actuality there is much fighting still to go. You can dream all you want in your flight suit, on your boat, about being victorious, but the hard part has just begun. Alarms go off every ten minutes (senate committee hearings), but they mean nothing. Sunlight might be streaming into the room (accusations flying in the liberal media), but that just buries you deeper in the bed sheets. At some point you will be forced to open your eyes; you know this. Your fickle dreams nag at you to stop wasting time. You could have been doing your conscientious good deeds by now. But the struggle’s been going on so long now it has gained a sense of nobility to it. You can’t give up! You raise the funds, go on the attack, slinging mud, elevate threat levels, appoint conservative judges, and roll back environmental laws. Waking up now means that you have some kind of weakness in your fundamental character. And suddenly, without realizing it, you’ve worked yourself up so much you are awake. The sheets twisted around your curled up body. Your bladder is pounding. Your jaw slack, the pillow is covered with salivate. You know you’ve lost and now you must face the day.

New 1.5 mile record!

I went running today just to see if I could (see entry below about lack of things to do). I ran around Forsythe Park, which is right next door. If rumor is to be believed it is a mile and a half around. It has been about three to four years since I have even tried to run a distance like that. Running to the bathroom was enough. So anyway I used my cell phone clock as a timer, definitely unscientific. It read 3:22 when I started. It read 3:29 when I finished and quickly changed to 3:30 a few seconds later. I was very proud of myself for never slowing down, but just under eight minutes! I have blown myself away! What's the world record for Forsythe Park, because I think I just broke it! We'll see how I stack up the next time I try, in three or four years.

At Home Blues

So Marigold is working a lot now. She is working for something like ten days in a row and this is only the third day! It is nice that she is finally bringing home the bacon, but I got used to her being around all the time. When she is at work and I don’t have classes I am at a loss for what to do. So many options: bake a cake, slow cook dinner, do my nails, go shopping for stuff I don't need, watch Oprah (Yesterday they had a stunning episode where they talked about Brad Pitt’s butt for at least five minutes!), General Hospital, and then some dusting and vacuuming. Maybe later I’ll spit a baby out of my vagina and call it a day. When Marigold gets home, I’ll smother her with hugs and kisses and we’ll have nice, long conversation about her exciting day.

I Don’t Have To Do This

Blogging, if that’s what you want to call it, is not mandatory. I do it to entertain the masses. It might have some tertiary personal value, but I certainly don’t feel it. Although, it is fun to make myself sit down and do something everyday. That used to be Taekwondo, but the money dried up for that, so now this is a poor substitute. Speaking of substitutes, this replaces friends for the time being. I can pretend that this is a conversation with my friend, the internet. For instance, I can ask other’s opinions about Life of Pi, and get meaningless replies. Tell me I’m an ass, people. Tell me I’m dumb, and be specific. Tell me to shut up. How else would I know? There is certainly no personal introspection going on here, not in this head. Except once when I was 16, but that doesn’t count because it was for a class.

So here is a line from an old song that I liked (Arthur Smith “Adieu False Heart”):
My love is like the constant sun
From east to west it ranges
Yours is like unto the moon
It’s every month it changes

Here are a few lines I wrote during one of the many rounds of the Palestinian/Israeli violence was going on a little while back:
Let’s play squabble,
Let’s play fight,
Let’s kill each other
For what we think is right.

Life of Pi

I finished reading The Life of Pi by Yann Martel today. It is a very good book. I really like the idea that it is better to believe than to be alone. I'm not sure if this proves God's existence to you, but it works for me. It might be sacrilegious to say this, but I think this is a much better book than The Old Man and The Sea. Both are about a guy in a boat with an animal of some sort, and God. In this book God is real, not symbolic. No Jesus-story retelling (like The Matrix).

But I still don't get the island part. It just didn't have the same sense of believability as the rest of the book. It seemed a part of another story. I know that I am being dense. Yann wanted me figure this out myself, after giving the clues to the rest of amazing events. Maybe Hasmin should email me what she thinks it means. Or anybody else with any theories. I think I need a book club.

Unrelated: Mr. Kenneth Lay (Ex-Enron CEO) was dragged into court today for fraud like his lackeys before him. I don't know if this guy can really get a fair trial. I mean, I hate him and what he represents: fat, greedy cats. Millions of dollars mean about as much to this guy as ten means to the rest of us. He's as guilty as O.J. or Martha and everybody knows it. He might get off on a technicality, but that won't change his guilt or wealth. I wonder why he didn't leave the country months ago. Probably some secret that will "redeem" him in court. I wonder if Bush still forgets whether he knows "Kenny Boy" or not. Now would be a better time for Bush not to know Lay, but doesn't change the fact that he does. They were good buddies before Kenneth was signing, "Nobody knows you when you're down and out."

First Assignment: Done

The project that this is for was themed "Summer." I kind of hated having to do such a cutsie piece, but as a illustrator you do things that the art director says. You don't have the freedom of a fine art painter, but you do have the up front payment. But it is interesting that I really embraced the cuteness. One of the people in class thought that the animal next to the little girl was a mouse, not a dog. I think that it is obvious that it is a dog, but that's just me. Other people said this or that, but mostly this.

It is 14 by 17 inches and done with soft pastels on Canson board.

Bureaucracy

Why does any organization, once large enough, have to suck? Beyond three people having coffee or watching a movie becomes a gigantic hassle. It's like we enjoy sticking our heads up our asses as soon as five people are in a room together.

I specifically speak of SCAD, my higher education of choice. These jackasses have just informed me today (7/6/04), by post, that I owe $5,498.00 by last Thursday (7/1/04). The problem is obvious in hindsight. You see, I changed my address with SCAD when Marigold and I moved over a month ago, but apparently only my MAILING ADDRESS was changed. There are a host of other address categories, i.e. grades, financial aid, permanent, parents, etc. Therefore, this notice went to our old address and then was redirected here. At least the post office forwarded it. That actually makes me smile a bit. I don't expect those dunces to count to three accurately, but this time they got lucky. So SCAD doesn't mail items of important information to the student's MAILING ADDRESS, but instead to some other address of choice (which all should have been changed anyway). Also, the bursar's office does not have any connection with the Financial Aid office. They are saying that I owe the whole amount of Fall's tuition. But when you actually are able to get someone on the phone, they say, "No. Isn't that cute. You just ignore that honey. Unless there is a difference, which you then owe us by last week or we will drop you from all your classes. . . What? Oh, we can't tell you if there is a difference between what you owe us and your financial aid. You can figure that out yourself. Have a nice day." A-holes.

Brass Thumbtacks part 4

Walking across town is the best way to see and be seen, Lacy thought to herself. Plus, it was cheap, some exorcize, and better than sitting at home crying. She could stop in to browse at any number of stores: book, flower, record, or shoe. Whim was the rule of the day, except for the strict ten-dollar spending limit. Sometimes, when she was feeling a little crazy, she would spend next week’s money on something she REALLY wanted. That was how she acquired Faulkner’s cat in skeletal form. It was mounted on a very nice cherry pedestal with a brass nameplate: “Funny Face 1932 – 1941”

Dead To Me

I just heard the news last night that Brando died. Dead! You know, Reagan died just a few weeks ago. And Ray Charles. What's with all the dying? Why, just a few years ago I remember Kurt Cobain dying. And John Ritter. In a big surprise Strom died too! I think I see a new trend coming on. Those Hollywood types were always into being trendy. "What's hot?" Dean Martin would ask Mama Cass. And she would coldly respond, "Oh, death is, cool daddy." "Good bawdy fun!" chimed in Chauser from across cafe where he was smoking a cigarette with Maria Shriver.



Who's next, Bob Hope? You're already dead to me, Bobby. Dead to me.

Mirabella

This is Mirabella, cutest niece ever. She is four years old and destined to be a genius. She can do it all: sing; draw; read; write; tell stories; play piano, tree people, and My Little Pony. Her mother (my sister-in-law), Hasmin, helps her send hand-made cards to us when Mirabella is inspired to think of Marigold and I. This makes me think that I am a bad uncle for moving away from her. So trips back to Louisiana must be planned. This is what came in the mail today:

A drawing that Mirabella drew on 6/28/04. The spider's name is Tony Haske. I guess that Tony made quite an impression on her when he visited New Orleans over a year ago.

Spelling

We watched Speelbound last nite. This muvy reely stresssed me out. All those keds are amasing! I wanted to emidiately challege mysef and thos around me too spelling compotisions. However, I have no frends, so it was jus me trying to outdue mysef. It serprized me that the longe words wurnt the hard ones, like "amphigorey" or "abecedarium." It was wurds like "Grass" (wich I spelt G-R-A-S-S-I-N-G) or "Banns" that reely got me. It's gud thing that we have the wunderfl spellchek cumputors. Still, the keds in Spellbound are butter people fer having sutch diciplin. If I had an ouns of wat they have, I wood have allredy founded a global corparat impire, dominated the internashunal tenis seen, drunc mysef into oblivyon, and dyed cold, sad, and lonly in a bak ally in Dehli.

New Haircut

Yesterday I was walking to one of my classes and the bugs were figuratively crawling up my ass. Gnats seemed to have a heat seeking attraction to my beautiful head. So I was walking like a crazy person with the constant twitching and swatting and twisting and crouching to poop and spit. I don't think defecating helped to dispel to bugs. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Next time I will try to remove my buttocks from my pants first. Yeah.

Anyway, I realized that a fair amount of the tickles I was feeling on my ear-holes was not actually any gnat creature, but my very own hair. If I let my hair grow (as if I had a choice. Damn hormones!) it can get quite unmanageable. As those of you who know me know, my hair at more than two inches long makes a very nice woman’s perm, circa 1954. I've tried to grow it longer in the hopes that it passes it's awkward stage and just looks cool and flowing like Jim Morrison, or Gavin Rosdale, or Cindy Crawford. Of course, this was in my college days (Round 1) and I didn't pull it off. There are a fair amount of people out there that would say I, in fact, failed miserably in the cool department. That's okay though. It was college. We are all supposed to have questionable taste in college, especially at Humboldt. So in an effort to not repeat the horrible mistakes of the past, I promptly shaved my head when I got home from class. Now I sigh with relief every time I don’t have to do anything at all to maintain any hair mess from happening on top of my head. I recommend that everyone do it. Come on ladies! You’ll love it! Then we can wear all the same clothes so that that isn’t a worry either. And then maybe we can rank each other so that there is no confusion over who gives the orders around here. And lights out at 0200 sharp!


Here's the before and after pics from the haircut. I think I did wonders.