About a million years ago, or two weeks in sane time, the hard drive on my MacBook crashed. With it went a project I'd labored over, three years of writing, all my iTunes and every photo I'd meticulously collected.

When the new hard drive was installed, I rejoiced. I had an external hard drive and surely much of what had been lost would be there!


It was as if I were starting over. With everything.

And so I am. The ideas that are worth writing about again will still be in my soft drive (i.e. cranium) and the project may be better the second time around (and I thank thee, oh saintly project giver, for your patience).

After slowly recalling all of my passwords, I made my way back here. Here, too, I will begin again.


Happy Song

Lyrics of woe matched with music of joy. Glorious.

Everything’s horrible today,
La la la la horrible today.
I’m so sad and lonely, I’m so sad and all alone.
No one’s gonna love me, la la la la love me.
I’m gonna be an old woman all by myself.
With my dog in a house on a hill,
And then I’m gonna die and no one’s gonna even know,
And I’m gonna rot for days, I’m gonna rot for days, I’m gonna rot,
For diddly diddly diddly days.

Ingrid Michaelson



My Autumn So Far

Red Admiral

A morning glory folded in on itself

Sumac leaves turning

Spirals from gourd vine that had taken over the garden.

A rose water stained by the previous nights rain.

Chinese lanterns.

CSI Disney


A Glorious Pile of PaintThei

Thierry Ysebaert


Originally uploaded by ajpscs
Japanese Tea Ceremony

By the 16th century, tea drinking had spread to all levels of society in Japan. Sen no Rikyu, perhaps the most well-known—and still revered—historical figure in tea ceremony, followed his master, Takeno Jōō's, concept of ichi-go ichi-e, a philosophy that each meeting should be treasured, for it can never be reproduced.

His teachings perfected many newly developed forms in Japanese architecture and gardens, fine and applied arts, and the full development of chadō, "the "way of tea". The principles he set forward—harmony (和 wa), respect (敬 kei), purity (清 sei), and tranquility (寂 jaku)—are still central to tea ceremony.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Sir Tilda

"A dame? I’d so much rather be a knight. It would, of course, be a great honor to be asked whether one would. I don’t know. But I think Sir Tilda sounds so much better."
- Tilda Swinton

Sometimes Its Hard to be a Straightman

"Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it."

— Maurice Sendak


this day

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


On the Road to Dystopia

There is a sound in this house.

It is night time. To help her sleep, my sister has turned on the mega fan in the hallway. It is loud.

Very loud.

Have you ever watched any of the old Flash Gordons? The black and whites?

The fan sounds like one of those ships landing on the planet Mongo, glorious sparkler driven engines coming to an abrupt stop upon hitting the rocky surface. Except this sound does not stop.

All night it drones on, inveigling its way into my dreams like a Burroughs novel bleeds onto the page. My mind plays movies of dystopian machine ruled planet in which I struggle to survive in a world man made. Vivienne Westwood has provided my wardrobe. Trent Reznor the soundtrack. The director is obviously obsessed with Metropolis.

I could turn the damned thing off.

But then sis couldn't sleep.

Maybe I should just jump ship.


Ghostly Dust

What's lighting up nebula IRAS 05437+2502? No one is sure. Particularly enigmatic is the bright upside-down V that defines the upper edge of this floating mountain of interstellar dust, visible near the image center. In general, this ghost-like nebula involves a small star forming region filled with dark dust that was first noted in images taken by the IRAS satellite in infrared light in 1983. Shown above is a spectacular, recently released image from the Hubble Space Telescope that, although showing many new details, has not uncovered a clear cause of the bright sharp arc. One hypothesis holds that the glowing arc was created by a massive star that somehow attained a high velocity and has now left the nebula. Small, faint IRAS 05437+2502 spans only 1/18th of a full moon toward the constellation of the Bull (Taurus).

From NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day

An Urban Scout Mullet

That's right. You heard me. And here he is.


It's Going to be a Crazy Week

Let's join it.

All we have is now! Now is all there is!

The Bounty

Sporting sweat dreads and muck, I sit in front of my beloved computer with the jungle that was the front garden marginally tamed.

Except the bean vines. They were somewhat rescued from themselves but their plans to dominate the universe continues.

Dianne and I inadvertently went for most mosquito* bites (me) and largest mosquito bites (her) in a one hour period. I was swatting them three at a time, smearing blood and bug smush on my filthy arms. Dianne yelled at them. Both methods were utterly useless.

Others bore witness to the proboscis armed swarm.

This just in: this mosquito season amongst worst on record.

Amidst the plant chaos are about a zillion tomatoes, three very cute softball size watermelons and two honeydew that resemble hardened Shrek snots.

The tomatoes cover the front yard and the butcher block table in the kitchen. And they won't stop growing, ripening, asking to be plucked and eaten, being harvested and sitting still as life goes on around them.

The various roses avenged my neglect of them by catching on my skin. My neglect consists of not protecting them from evil Japanese beetles. Bad plant mommy!

The terrified toad was briefly chased in order to be place in a safe and bug-filled spot. He thanked me by not peeing on me. For this I was quite grateful.

There are other photos in my Facebook album, Yardage.

UPDATE: I now look as though I have chicken pox. And, no, I am not going to put up a photo of that. Even if you ask nicely.

And it is because of the mosquito bites, smart ass!

Thank you.

*Only the female mosquito bites. She requires the protein in our blood to produce her eggs. The female will mate only once in her lifetime, however she can lay many broods of eggs before she dies.

Mosquitoes do NOT only bite during the night hours. Certain species of mosquitoes are only active during the daytime, and in most cases, daytime feeders are a great deal more aggressive than nighttime feeders.


This photo embodies the spirit that compels me on this fine, sun-blasting day.

My current short story (too short as of this post) is about Lily, known as "Grunt" in her days as grease monkey for the Warlocks Motorcycle gang. Abandoned in a third-rate "assisted living" home, her most cherished possession are the leathers left from those freedom filled days. When one of the hoodlums paid to do maintenance work around the home steals them, Lily calls on some old friends. The tattooed and intimidating kind.

Will she get her leathers back? And will her cane, Edgar, find revenge for her in the nether regions of a slack pants hoodlum?

Udder Dismay


I sat there singing her
Songs in the dark.

She said,
“I do not understand
The words.”

I said,
“There are
No words.”

— Langston Hughes, “Songs.”


Long Weekend

People are blowing things up outside in order to celebrate independence. I once celebrated by holding a firecracker in my hand. Be advised against this.

Stay safe, dear people.