January 2011
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Book #3 →
“I finished a whole fiction!”
“You read a book! I think that’s great. Welcome to the wonderful world of literacy.”
Har har funny man. It is a big deal. I stopped reading fiction really…kind of almost a decade ago. For one, real life fascinates me enough. And for two, Lordy my Virgo rising makes it very hard to concentrate on someone’s fantasy land and...
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
– Ernest Hemingway
(via quote-book)
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Congratulations! It's a Ploy for Attention!
Me: No, the real reason I was calling was to see if you'd father a child with me.
He: Okay.
Me: That's it? That's all the response I get?
He: Well, you're just saying it to shock me.
Me: You know me too well for conversation to be any fun.
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The Answer None of You Were Waiting For...
Right. Okay, got it.
In trying to figure out fauxniest of all conundrums, “OMGZ. To blog or not to blog,” J. posed the question, “Well. Why do you do it?” The first word that flew out of my fingers was “compulsion.”
Aha. It seems we have a discrepancy here, not of the act itself, but the framing of the act. I blogged for a living. I am accustomed to turning...
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Take This Blog & Shove It...
Maybe. So what happens if I quit the internet? Not in a flounce, but in deference to a lifecycle. I have had stuff to say here for four years. And this has never been my only beast of content. During that time I’ve also made my sole living writing. I’ve written so many things that I can look back at now and don’t even remember having done so.
I’ve black & white and...
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Now That You Mention It...
On the subject of Out of the Window plane pics, this remains my favorite, and the reason my answer when people ask me, “Ooh San Francisco. Did you like living there?” Is and will be, “It photographs well.”
I lived at the top left corner of the park there. The exact corner.
Oh okay, one more. The Golden Gate Bridge from up top.
Sigh. No kicking her out of bed for...
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Two of Heart...
When you’re in the bidness of creating content every day, you get disproportionately influenced by seasonality. What’s the next holiday, event, celebration, or gimmick. By way of having a frame of reference for your blather, I suppose. As such, Valentine’s Day and all manner of the lurve seems everywhere.
I was raised by a traditional feminist. That is to say, she sewed doll...
Who Lives in a Pineapple...?
And there I was, on Facebook, thinking I was being all revelatory and real admitting that my knowledge that pineapples do not, in fact, grow upside down from palm trees is lo, fewer than five years old — I find out:
I’M NOT ALONE.
A thread of comments later, and crossing the streams seems necessary. Though usually known more for my animal husbandry than horticulture, ahem.
This is...
“The Send button goes both ways.”
– Aphorisms for a modern age.
Or! Previously on “Your love is like a knife…”
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Olive Juice (I
Originally posed on the Twerters, now that I consider it, I actually think it’s a question that is more interesting than a passing 140.
How many people do you say “I love you” to?
It’s treated as such a milestone in dating/coupley relationships, and I suppose it is… But it’s also a phrase that’s a forgone conclusion, a reflexive sign-off in [fortunate]...
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"Excuse Me, Do You Validate?"
Back in the ye oldeytime days when a computer was an Apple IIe and the green glow could connect you to nothing more than a sick LOGO program so you could draw a square, your self perception had to fend for itself.
How you saw yourself was entirely a construct of those around you, those who knew you in person, saw you on a regular basis, and unless you were a particularly cunning penpal, they...
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The Pope Blesses Social Networks
And I suppose he’s a “Fan” of “What Bears Do in the Woods” on Facebook…
Pope Benedict gave a qualified blessing to social networking Monday, praising its potential but warning that online friendships are no substitute for real human contact.
via bschoeffel
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Fan Conversion...
As much as it’s possible to hate the concept of sports, I adore the sport of concept. That is to say, baby has a team in the Superbowl this year.
I KNOW.
Here’s why: once upon a story previously told, I became an über-fan of Paul Lukas. Paul Lukas wrote and entire chapter in Inconspicous Consumption about the most brilliantly designed NFL uniform. The rhapsody of the green and gold,...
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Moo.
I have been a giant fan of Victoria since, well for years. (Yup. An archive search shows the first mention of her here was three years ago.)
So here’s to her ongoing flawless taste, impeccable eye, and LOVING this photo.
(PS: We’re scant months out from my FIVE-year vegiversary. Ooh the wood/silverware year. Divine. Because leather would have been awkward…)
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Fake It 'Til... →
Say it ‘til you believe it: “You do not need a fake Eames rocker in the barracks. You do not need…”
Shush. You don’t know me. (And I so do.)
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Book #2 →
I hate books. Books are the only place where people you don’t know can make you cry.
No one will ever love any woman the way he loved Renée. And yes, feel free to replace “woman” with “me” because I did.
I suddenly realized how much being a husband is about fear: fear about not being able to keep somebody safe, of not being able to protect somebody from all the bad...
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Lullaby...
He: I've been teaching myself piano.
Me: NO. Really? On like those ballroom dancing cut-out feet of a keyboard or what?
He: I have a keyboard.
Me: Play me something until I go to sleep? Make it Für Elise, ooh please?
He: Hang on. [Plays. Halting but impressive and recognizable.]
Me: Are there words to that one? Sing too?
He: I don't think Ode to Joy has lyrics.
Me: It should.
He: I'll write some. For next time.
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Sinistra of Your Dial...
And when they say to me when I am old, “what did you learn when you were in the Army?” I will answer them quite truthfully, “the lyrics to every single song that charted in 2010. Oh, and how to make my bun stay in squeaky tight regs indefinitely.” (Four bobby pins, three rubber bands, two squishes of gel, and one very severe part.)
If you were within 50 yards of my...
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“She doesn’t like sports and she’s a vegan.”
– The most delightfully apt description I’ve ever had applied to me, courtesy of Peter Hartlaub. I couldn’t love it (and the other lovely things he said) more.
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And if there’s something about our lives or our... →
YES. The smartest thing I’ve read all day.
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“It was like being a glam-rock roadie for God.”
– Rob Sheffield, on being an altar boy.
It’s spirituality day around here, apparently. And then the psychic-believing Episcopalian wonders what she will give up for Lent this year because sacrifice and self-deprivation are good for her chakras, and faith is complicated.
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Jesus Take the Wheel...
Learn there’s a NASCAR version of the Bible once, and King James will forever drive a sponsored car. Allow me to apply a Christeo-normative lens to this musing in the futile attempt that it sound probable to the “my boss is a Jewish carpenter” folks out there—of which I imagine there a far more than those who consult energies, chakras, and past lives as a means of guiding...
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Almost. Very, very almost.
sincesheleft:
Etta...
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This Is What We Call the Muppet Shoooooow...
Ooh, here’s dicey: I think Kermit was slumming it on Sesame Street. Yep. I took the Sesame’s name in vain. What was he doing, doing the News Flash over there when his night gig was so much better?
Monster for monster, The Muppet Show was leagues above Sesame Street. And I can’t believe I was allowed to watch it. This is the kid who wasn’t allowed Little House on the...
