Running on Empty...But at Least I'm Not This Guy

I am SO sorry not to have posted in awhile; my jobs have been keeping me very busy burning candles at every end. Currently I'm learning of this concept called "Weekends", during which I hear people actually relax and don't work. It's a strange custom, but I've tried it a few times and think I could learn to like it.


Not much to say today, so I will instead let the great Stephen Fry do the honors. He hosts a wonderful quiz show on BBC called "QI", and it's more than your average game show. The people who grace the panel each night are actually smart folk who know a thing or two about the world. But even these enlightened and erudite luminaries get stumped every once in a while. And everyone who either watches or guests on the show runs the risk of learning something new. Have fun watching this. It'll boggle your mind, appall you, and at the same time make you laugh.




(From BBC's "QI")

We're All Born Ignorant, But One Must Work Hard to Remain Stupid (B. Franklin)

...However, I somehow think that these folks came by it naturally. I can't imagine maintaining this level of idiocy and actually putting effort into it.  

Ladies and Gentlemen:  These are the people in charge of running the country.  Remember when Jay Leno was likeable and he had that little skit on his show--"Jaywalking"?  I used to almost fall over in disbelief when I heard the utterly inane and brain-dead responses to basic questions from average Americans.   Wait, scratch that. If they'd been average, they might have actually gotten the answer right to: "What are the words to the 'Star-Spangled Banner'?"

Oh, but this is much worse.  These are people who, by some twist of universal anarchy, got elected to office.  They're in charge of who gets money, when they get it, whether or not school and social programs will continue or not, and vote themselves raises.  I'm completely in the wrong line of work.

You may need a face mask to protect yourself from the odiferousness.  This kind of shit just seems to spread without quarter. I don't know who compiled these gems -- it wasn't me--but if they would like credit, I will joyfully give it to them. 


A DC airport ticket agent offers some examples of why our country is
in trouble!
1. I had a New Hampshire Congresswoman (Carol Shea-Porter) ask for an aisle seat so that her hair wouldn't get messed up by being near the window. (On an airplane!) 


2. I got a call from a Kansas Congressman's (Moore) staffer (Howard Bauleke), who wanted to go to Capetown. I started to explain the length of the flight and the passport information, and then he interrupted me with, ''I'm not trying to make you look stupid, but Capetown is in Massachusetts.'' 




Without trying to make him look stupid, I calmly explained, ''Cape Cod is in Massachusetts, Capetown is in Africa .'' 

His response -- click. 

 
3. A senior Vermont Congressman (Bernie Sanders) called, furious about a Florida package we did. I asked what was wrong with the vacation in Orlando . He said he was expecting an ocean-view room. I tried to explain that's not possible, since Orlando is in the middle of the
state.. 

He replied, 'Don't lie to me, I looked on the map and Florida is a
very thin state!'' (OMG) 


4. I got a call from a lawmaker's wife (Landra Reid) who asked, ''Is
it possible to see England from Canada ?'' 
 
I said, ''No.'' 

She said, ''But they look so close on the map.'' (OMG, again!)


5. An aide for a cabinet member (Janet Napolitano) once called and asked if he could rent a car in   Dallas. I pulled up the reservation and noticed he had only a 1-hour layover in Dallas. When I asked him why he wanted to rent a car, he said, ''I heard   Dallas was a big airport, and we will need a car to drive between gates to save time.''  (Aghhhh)

6. An Illinois Congresswoman (Jan Schakowsky) called last week. She needed to know how it was possible that her flight from Detroit left at 8:30 a.m., and got to   Chicago at 8:33 a.m.

I explained that   Michigan was an hour ahead of   Illinois , but she couldn't understand the concept of time zones. Finally, I told her the plane went fast, and she bought that.

7. A   New York lawmaker, (Jerrold Nadler) called and asked, ''Do airlines put your physical description on your bag so they know whose luggage belongs to whom?'' I said, 'No, why do you ask?'

He replied, ''Well, when I checked in with the airline, they put a tag on my luggage that said 'FAT', and I'm overweight. I think that's very rude!''

After putting him on hold for a minute, I looked into it. (I was dying laughing.) I came back and explained the city code for   Fresno, Ca. Is (FAT - Fresno Air Terminal), and the airline was just putting a destination tag on his luggage.

8. An aide for Senator John Kerry (Lindsay Ross) called to inquire about a trip package to Hawaii. After going over all the cost info, she asked, ''Would it be cheaper to fly to California and then take the train to Hawaii ?''

9. I just got off the phone with a freshman Congressman, Bobby Bright (D) from AL who asked, ''How do I know which plane to get on?'' I asked him what exactly he meant, to which he replied, ''I was told my flight number is 823, but none of these planes have numbers on
them.''

10. Senator Dianne Feinstein (D) called and said, ''I need to fly to Pepsi-Cola, Florida . Do I have to get on one of those little computer planes?''

I asked if she meant fly to Pensacola, FL on a commuter plane. She said, ''Yeah, whatever, smarty!''

11. Mary Landrieu (D) LA Senator called and had a question about the documents she needed in order to fly to China. After a lengthy discussion about passports, I reminded her that she needed a visa. 'Oh, no I don't. I've been to China many times and never had to have
one of those.''

I double checked and sure enough, her stay required a visa. When I told her this she said, ''Look, I've been to China four times and every time they have accepted my American Express!''

12. A New Jersey Congressman (John Adler) called to make reservations, ''I want to go from  Chicago to Rhino, New York .''

I was at a loss for words. Finally, I said, ''Are you sure that's the name of the town?''

'Yes, what flights do you have?'' replied the man.

After some searching, I came back with, ''I'm sorry, sir, I've looked up every airport code in the country and can't find a 'Rhino' anywhere."

''The man retorted, ''Oh, don't be silly! Everyone knows where it is. Check your map!''

So I scoured a map of the State of New York and finally offered, ''You don't mean  Buffalo, do you?''

The reply? ''Whatever! I knew it was a big animal.''


They are among us.  They have offspring.  They have driver's licenses.  I'm going to go dig a hole, jump in, and take some Gatorade with me.  

Irish

Lost Without LOST

I loved LOST.  I miss LOST.  But it's nice to know that I'm not the only geek out there who revels in the geekdom.  We don't wanna let go.  Which is good, you see, because the stuff geeks come up with is way better than most of the crap that's on television these days. I miss Hurley and Sawyer. I miss Michael Giacchino's epic music. I even miss the Smoke Monster.

This is hilarious.




(From Newsweek and ABC Television's LOST; Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, producers)

It's Got Juice

My Mom sent this to me. Only in New York, folks. 



(Update: Since the original post, I've learned that this is a group of actors/performers who routinely invade public places and joyfully flummox their fellow citizens with displays of song, dance, and general buffoonery on a level not seen since television's Fame.  Love it!)

Maybe I Should Emigrate to New Zealand

It just hurts less to laugh than to cry. Read on, and brace yourselves. I did not research or compile the following examples of The Next Generation's utter and complete hopelessness, but I wish I had.  If and when I find the person responsible for raising the alarm, I will most readily give credit. 

The following questions were set in last year's GED examination.  These are genuine answers (from 16 year olds)............and they WILL breed.

Q. Name the four seasons
A. Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar


Q. Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink
A. Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists


Q. How is dew formed
A. The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire


Q. What causes the tides in the oceans
A. The tides are a fight between the earth and the moon. All water tends to flow towards the moon, because there is no water on the moon, and nature abhors a vacuum. I forget where the sun joins the fight


Q. What guarantees may a mortgage company insist on
A. If you are buying a house they will insist that you are well endowed


Q. In a democratic society, how important are elections
A. Very important. Sex can only happen when a male gets an election


Q. What are steroids
A. Things for keeping carpets still on the stairs (Shoot yourself now , there is little hope)


Q.. What happens to your body as you age
A. When you get old, so do your bowels and you get intercontinental


Q. What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty
A. He says goodbye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery (So true)


Q. Name a major disease associated with cigarettes
A. Premature death


Q. What is artificial insemination
A. When the farmer does it to the bull instead of the cow


Q. How can you delay milk turning sour
A. Keep it in the cow (Simple, but brilliant)


Q. How are the main 20 parts of the body categorised (e.g. The abdomen)
A. The body is consisted into 3 parts - the brainium, the borax and the abdominal cavity. The brainium contains the brain, the borax contains the heart and lungs and the abdominal cavity contains the five bowels: A, E, I,O,U..


Q. What is the fibula?
A. A small lie


Q. What does 'varicose' mean?
A. Nearby


Q. What is the most common form of birth control
A. Most people prevent contraception by wearing a condominium (That would work)


Q. Give the meaning of the term 'Caesarean section'
A. The caesarean section is a district in Rome


Q. What is a seizure?
A. A Roman Emperor. (Julius Seizure, I came, I saw, I had a fit)


Q. What is a terminal illness
A. When you are sick at the airport. (Irrefutable)


Q. Give an example of a fungus. What is a characteristic feature?
A. Mushrooms. They always grow in damp places and they look like umbrellas


Q. Use the word 'judicious' in a sentence to show you understand its meaning
A. Hands that judicious can be soft as your face. (OMG)


Q. What does the word 'benign' mean?
A. Benign is what you be after you be eight (brilliant)


Q. What is a turbine?
A. Something an Arab or Shreik wears on his head.

Friday Frivolity

I was originally going to write a spleen-venting post about the do-si-do Congress is playing with HR 4312, but you know, I'm just too tired to get that pissed off.  Besides, I'd rather start the weekend with a smile than a growl.  So, for your viewing pleasure, may I introduce Maru.  He's a happy cat living in Japan, and his owner somehow captures the most darling video of him.  Whenever I need a smile or a good belly laugh, he always comes through.  Enjoy.




(Credit for the preceding video belongs to the Amazing Maru and his Person.)

All Dogs Go to Heaven...

...Where, in some future time and place, they'll be waiting to see us again.

(Photo by Jorge Garcia)

Jorge's beloved Nunu died on Monday after having been hit by a car.  She was a happy, loved, and loving companion to him and Beth, and they doted on their little morsel.  Who wouldn't, with that face?

One day, I believe they'll see her again. After all, there is no "now" there...

Namaste, Nunu.  We love you.

All the News That's Fit to Print

Jorge Garcia had a rather scandalous picture on his blog yesterday...so I joked that if the tabloids got hold of it, he was in trouble with Nunu.  Me being who I am, I figured I'd get the jump on them.  After all, I am a writer.  And I was a publicist.  And I'm Irish with a seasoning of Spanish, which means I have a warped sense of humor.  But thank God I never had to stoop to actually working for a real tabloid. 

(Canine and Garcia photos belong to Jorge Garcia, except for drunk Chihuahua, which is from an unknown source. Cowboy photo is also  from Unknown Source, but your friendly Irish Girl will be pleased to offer credit to the authentic owners of  these images, if they really want them.)

Something to Smile About

I just love this video.  Dunno why.  It just makes me smile.



(All credit and deference to DreamWorks, Puss, and Antonio Banderas.  Some credit to Nancy Sinatra.)

The World That Woke

Ninety-Eight years ago on this date, the Titanic sank.

 The RMS Titanic departing from Southampton, England for the first--and last--time, April 10, 1912.

In 1912, steamship was the mode of overseas travel, and the Atlantic shipping lines were veritable freeways of steel hulls and massive engines traversing the divide between Europe and America.  These were the last days of the Golden Age, the Age of Innocence--when men dressed in silk hats and fine cravats and ladies wore corsets and gloves as a matter of course.  Immigration from the Old Country to the New World was in a boom; hundreds of thousands made the long journey with little more than what they could carry on their backs, brimming with optimism at the promise of starting anew in a prosperous land that welcomed everyone. To do it on the most famous, the most beautiful, and the largest liner ever built was something of a coup, even for the third-class passengers.  It was a marvel of human ingenuity: miles of deck and cabins and luxurious recreational facilities, restaurants, even a Turkish bath.  You could walk the length and breadth of it and still not cover the same ground each time.   Even Charles Lightoller, the Second Officer, said that it took him nearly two weeks to navigate its layout with any confidence, and he was a veteran of many voyages and many ships.  Such was the immensity of Titanic that it seemed nothing could ever hurt it. 

"The history of the R.M.S. Titanic of the White Star Line, is one of the most tragically short it is possible to conceive. The world had waited expectantly for its launching and again for it's sailing; had read accounts of its tremendous size and its unexampled completeness and luxury; had felt it a matter of the greatest satisfaction that such a comfortable and above all such a safe boat had been designed and built- the "unsinkable lifeboat"- and then in a moment to hear that it had gone to the bottom as if it had been the veriest tramp steamer of a few hundred tons; and with it fifteen hundred passengers, some of them known all the world over! The improbability of such a thing ever happening was what staggered humanity."
-Lawrence Beesley, Titanic Survivor

The whole period was full of optimism, full of supreme confidence in the domination of man over any and all obstacles, including nature.  Looking back in hindsight, we might judge society then as being almost naively arrogant, almost asking for a good ass-whooping.  Hubris is something we usually only see after the fact, while we're picking up the pieces of the latest disaster.  It was no different on that night, when over 1500 people died in the cold water of the Atlantic, and a world was paralyzed by shock, disbelief, and grief.

"There was peace, and the world had an even tenor to it's way. Nothing was revealed in the morning the trend of which was not known the night before. It seems to me that the disaster about to occur was the event that not only made the world rub it's eyes and awake, but woke it with a start, keeping it moving at a rapidly accelerating pace ever since with less and less peace, satisfaction and happiness. To my mind the world of today awoke April 15th, 1912."
-Jack B. Thayer, Titanic Survivor

I don't need to go into the specifics of the sinking--unless you've been wrapped in cotton wadding and sealed inside a hyperbaric chamber all your life, you know how it all happened.  How there were so many "ifs".  If the crew hadn't misplaced the binoculars.  If the captain hadn't gone to bed early that night.  If the radio operators had relayed the iceberg warnings more quickly to the bridge. If the Californian hadn't turned their radio off.  If J. Bruce Ismay hadn't insisted on increasing speed across an ice-infested course.  If the Titanic had changed course. If Frederick Fleet had seen the iceberg just an instant sooner; if the bridge had hit the berg head-on instead of sideways. If Thomas Anderson had won the fight to have more lifeboats on deck. If, if, if.

"I still think about the 'might have beens' about the Titanic; that's what stirs me more then anything else. Things that happened that wouldn't have happened if only one thing had gone better for her. If only, so many if onlys. If only she had enough lifeboats. If only the watertight compartments had been higher. If only she had paid attention to the ice that night. If only the Californian did come. The 'if only' kept coming up again and again and that makes the ship more then the experience of studying a disaster. It becomes a haunting experience to me, it's the haunting experience of 'if only'." -Walter Lord, Titanic historian and author

None of that mattered, of course, to those who followed Titanic to the bottom, two miles below the surface. Or to the survivors, who struggled with grief and guilt for the rest of their lives.  Some endured international and unforgiving censure--most particularly J. Bruce Ismay, Chairman and Managing Director of the White Star Line, who climbed aboard one of the last lifeboats at the very end and paid for it until he died a quarter-century later.  He defended himself at the inquest, insistent that he had done nothing wrong.

"What do you think I am? Do you believe that I'm the sort that would have left that ship as long as there were any women and children on board? That's the thing that hurts, and it hurts all the more because it is so false and baseless. I have searched my mind with deepest care, I have thought long over each single incident that I could recall of that wreck. I'm sure that nothing wrong was done; that I did nothing that I should not have done. My conscience is clear and I have not been a lenient judge of my own acts."  -- J. Bruce Ismay

Certainly Stanley Lord, captain of the Californian, whom the world blamed for retiring early and leaving the Titanic's increasingly desperate calls for help unheeded, was regarded as a pariah and, if not heartless, a bumbling goon.  It didn't matter, in the aftermath, that he had rushed to join the Carpathia the next morning, as soon as he heard of the sinking.  He never recovered from the debacle of blame and recrimination and retired, in disgrace, never to sail again.

The morning of April 15, 1912 marked the beginning of a harsher, more hardened outlook on life by a society that had suffered a devastating blow.  It was hard not to be cynical; a goddess had been toppled on her maiden voyage--a goddess that had been built over four years by the love and mastery of Irish shipbuilders, conceived by the demigods of the time, and borne into solid reality with the finest minds in construction, innovation, and engineering.  No wonder people had so much confidence in her; she was a stunning, sleek, luxurious behemoth who carried such luminaries of the day that it seemed ludicrous that anything could possibly go awry. 

"I thought her unsinkable and I based my opinion on the best expert advice."
-Phillip Franklin, White Star Line Vice President

"You weren’t there at my first meeting with Ismay. To see the little red marks all over the blueprints. First thing I thought was: ‘Now here’s a man who wants me to build him a ship that’s gonna be sunk.’ We’re sending gilded egg shells out to sea."
-Thomas Andrews, Managing Director of Harland and Wolff Shipyards

Control your Irish passions, Thomas. Your uncle here tells me you proposed 64 lifeboats and he had to pull your arm to get you down to 32. Now, I will remind you just as I reminded him these are my ships. And, according to our contract, I have final say on the design. I’ll not have so many little boats, as you call them, cluttering up my decks and putting fear into my passengers."
-J. Bruce Ismay, Director of the White Star Line

"The press is calling these ships unsinkable and Ismay’s leadin’ the chorus. It’s just not true."
-Thomas Andrews, Managing Director of Harland and Wolff Shipyards

To his credit, poor Thomas Anderson tried.  He really did.  He was an excellent design engineer who would constantly carry around a little notebook, marking down improvements and correcting flaws right up to the day of sailing.  He was onboard the Titanic, and was jotting stuff down even then, when most engineers would have sat back and basked in the glory of their accomplishment.  He lamented the fact that he had been overruled on his proposition to carry more lifeboats--a decision he regretted not fighting harder, even as the ship was sinking underneath him--and one that the White Star Line never lived down. It was also the decision that prompted a maritime law stating exactly that--each ship had to carry enough lifeboats for ever single soul on board. No exceptions.  Andrews would have applauded that, if he had lived, though I think he would have been bitter at the fact that over a thousand people had to die to make it so.

Even now, most people think that those who perished on Titanic drowned.  Not so.  The majority of them died of hypothermia.  The waters of the North Atlantic are paralyzingly frigid, and in April, the bergs are thawing after a long winter's sleep, breaking free and sliding in to drift along the massive currents.  It's like dropping an ice cube into a drink, only on such a leviathan scale that it's almost incomprehensible to imagine being submerged in it.  But the passengers, desperate to escape the groaning tonnage of iron in its final death throes, found out very quickly just how devastating it was to the human body.  At the end, when the ship rose out of the water at a terrifyingly steep angle, it was impossible to hold on any more. 

"Just then the ship took a slight but definite plunge - probably a bulkhead went - and the sea came rolling along up in a wave, over the steel fronted bridge, along the deck below us, washing the people back in a dreadful huddled mass. Those that didn't disappear under the water right away, instinctively started to clamber up that part of the deck still out of water, and work their way towards the stern, which was rising steadily out of the water as the bow went down. It was a sight that doesn't bear dwelling on - to stand there, above the wheelhouse, and on our quarters, watching the frantic struggles to climb up the sloping deck, utterly unable to even hold out a helping hand."
-Charles Lightoller, Second Officer aboard Titanic

"Striking the water was like a thousand knives being driven into one's body. The temperature was 28 degrees, four degrees below freezing."
-Charles Lightoller, Second Officer aboard Titanic

That's the kind of temperature that will kill you in minutes, and they didn't have survival suits back in the day.  Most people didn't even know how to swim.  Those passengers fortunate enough to find floating debris or a remaining capsized lifeboat clung on for dear life, hoping that help would arrive before they succumbed.  Those passengers even more fortunate to have boarded lifeboats two hours earlier floated a distance off, unwilling to return and help those in the water, screaming for someone to return and pull them out.  It was a sound that haunted survivors ever after.

The agonizing cries of death from over a thousand throats, the wails and groans of the suffering, the shrieks of the terror-tricken and the awful gaspings for breath of those in the last throes of drowning, none of us will ever forget to our dying day."
-Colonel Archibald Gracie, Titanic Survivor

"The sounds of people drowning are something that I can not describe to you, and neither can anyone else. Its the most dreadful sound and there is a terrible silence that follows it."
-Eva Hart, Titanic Survivor

"The partly filled lifeboat standing by about 100 yards away never came back. Why on Earth they never came back is a mystery. How could any human being fail to heed those cries."
-Jack B. Thayer, Titanic Survivor

The Cunard Line Carpathia charged steaming through the early morning hours towards Titanic's last known position, 58 miles away.  His was the only ship in the vicinity besides the long-suspected Californian, and even then he was nearly four hours away.  Captain Arthur Rostron had ordered an immediate change of course as soon as he heard of the disaster and, mindful of what had befallen the Titanic, put extra lookouts on the bow of the ship, scanning anxiously for more icebergs even as he rushed at a then-breakneck speed towards the survivors.

"Icebergs loomed up and fell astern and we never slackened. It was an anxious time with the Titanic's fateful experience very close in our minds. There were 700 souls on Carpathia and those lives as well as the survivors of the Titanic herself depended on the sudden turn of the wheel."
-Captain Arthur H. Rostron, Commander of Carpathia

It was only at daybreak, in the light of the morning sun, that Rostron saw the ocean was littered with bergs--small and large--through which he had steamed over the previous hours.  "I shuddered," he said, "and could only think that some other hand than mine was on the helm that night."

The arrival of the Carpathia was almost too good to be true for the survivors who had endured the cold, shock, and uncertainty of the night.  Passengers aboard the rescue liners gave up their own cabins in order to house the refugees, and when the last was rescued, Rostron turned for New York, leaving the now-aware Californian to keep looking for more survivors, if any.

By the time the Carpathia arrived in New York Harbor, the entire world of course had heard of the disaster, but hoped against hope that it was only a rumor, or at least that most had survived.  But instead of a triumphant liner completing her maiden voyage and docking in her designated sloop, only the lifeboats were lowered in tribute to the water--the last remains, as it were.  Then it was real. 

The sixteen lifeboats at Titanic's empty dock in New York Harbor.

Let the Truth be known, no ship is unsinkable. The bigger the ship, the easier it is to sink her. I learned long ago that if you design how a ship’ll sink, you can keep her afloat. I proposed all the watertight compartments and the double hull to slow these ships from sinking. In that way, you get everyone off. There’s time for help to arrive, and the ship’s less likely to break apart and kill someone while she’s going down." -Thomas Andrews, Managing Director of Harland and Wolff Shipyards 

The infamous bow of the Titanic, where it has rested for 98 years, two miles below the Atlantic surface.

You Say Potato

I got the same chain email from a few people this week; it was a photo of President Obama carrying a book entitled "The Post-American World" by Fareed Zakaria.

 
In the email, the original sender (whoever he or she is) urged friends to forward the image on to their email lists, intending to "bring the bugger down through the internet".  The email went on to say:

THIS WILL CURDLE YOUR BLOOD AND CURL YOUR HAIR
"Post" America means the world After America! Please forward this picture to everyone you know, conservative or liberal. We must expose Obama's radical ideas and his intent to bring down our beloved America! 

Sheesh.

Now, I'm a fervent believer in expressing one's opinion--even if I disagree with that opinion.  These individuals have a perfect right to say what they wish about Zakaria's book or the fact that Obama was reading it--back in the summer of '08, by the way--before he was even president.  They even have the right to point out that Zakaria is Muslim, although I find that distinction rather unnecessary and churlish and smacking of bigotry.  However, what I do have a problem with is people expressing opinions based on erroneous assumptions or misinterpretation.

"The Post-American World" is NOT about the world after America has been "brought down".  It is a treatise/thesis on the impact of the United States' in fostering global democracy, and how other countries have taken up the US model in economics, industry, and cultural development as a free society.  It also talks about how America has been the foremost world power for over a century, and how other countries such as China have risen to become powers in their own right in a post-industrialized and more global society.  One day, the United States may be neck-and neck with China in terms of world influence and power; Western civilization, and to a great extent, America, has had a huge impact on that development. What I understood from reading Zakaria's work is that this book is not about the fall of the United States.  It's about the progress and growth of--well, everyone else, and what the US role in a world of equals or near-equals may be. A quote from the book:

The world is moving from anger to indifference, from anti-Americanism to post-Americanism. The fact that new powers are more strongly asserting their interests is the reality of the post-American world. It also raises the political conundrum of how to achieve international objectives in a world of many actors, state and nonstate.

Far from being a book calling for US annihilation, it holds the US as being a primary force for development and stability in the modern era that is being emulated by other countries and societies.  Ultimately, with such growth, it would be optimal for those developing and increasingly influential societies to act in concert to achieve common goals that affect the entire planet.

Zakaria, a Muslim, is a naturalized US citizen of Indian descent. Growing up in India, he had an extremely open and secular upbringing, singing Christian hymns at school as well as celebrating both Hindu and Muslim holidays. (Frankly, it doesn't matter to me if he sang Irish Shanty songs and worshipped the Greek pantheon.) He is a graduate of Yale University with a Ph.D. in political science from Harvard University.  He was also editor of Newsweek International and wrote a famous cover essay for the publication after the 9/11 attacks entitled, "Why They Hate Us".  His argument was that Islamic extremism's roots lay in dysfunction and stagnation of the Arab world--people clinging ferociously to the old ways of doing things and smothering their own growth with anger and rage. 

In that article, he defended the US and called for more inter-generational efforts in the Muslim world to create more open, dynamic, and fluid Arab societies--insisting that Islam should be brought into the modern world, and not remain stuck in the fugue of fundamentalist violence begat by antiquated laws, fear of change, and archaic, literal interpretation of the Koran.

If you would like to read that article, try this link:  The Politics of Rage

Other books by Zakaria include:  From Wealth to Power: the Unusual Origins of America's World Role, and  The Future of Freedom. He was co-editor of The American Encounter: The United States and the Making of the Modern World.  He is a prolific and respected commentator and writer on international relations, trade relations, and American foreign policy. 

The day we become anti-American for reading a book, we're in deep trouble.  And the old adage applies here...don't judge the book by its cover.  Let's at least find out what's between the pages before condemning it.

Sucked (heh) In

I am mortified at myself. Truly aghast.  Shamed.  I can no longer hold my head up and face my friends and family.

I started reading the Twilight saga. 

My background as an English major and a reader of erudition has taken a nosedive into the morass of popular culture, and for that I am chagrined.  But you know, I have to admit--grudgingly--that it's a pretty darn good story. Not the best written novel I've ever come across, but the story...surprisingly compelling.  I've been avoiding the whole Twilight-Edward Cullen-Robert Pattinson frenzy ever since the books came out, and then when the film debuted--Well, I sniffed, I just don't see the point.  Wasn't it some kind of teen/tween-oriented bullshit anyway?

Silly me. Never turn your nose up at anything, chilluns.  You might find yourself eating your words with a side salad and a glass of wine.

Off to read now.  And yeah, I've already seen the first movie. Waiting for the second one to come out on DVD.....

Sigh.

Irish

Coyote Uglies

Poor Jessica Simpson. Her adorable little Malti-Poo was snatched by a coyote and likely made the entree for that night's dinner.  She put out flyers, offered a reward, even hired a petfinding agency in the slim hope that maybe little Daisy might have survived and was trying to find her way home.  A lot of people evidently made fun of Simpson for that, which I think is cruel.  Vain though the hope was that her dog lived, I can understand it. If anything like that ever happened to Billy, I'd be out of my mind with grief.  We all deal with it in different ways.  My hope is that at least Daisy's death was a quick one.

Coyotes are a big problem here in the southwest.  Just the other day, one of my own neighbors lost her cat to one.  The beast came right into her backyard.  Poor Deb tried to fight the coyote even as it had the cat in its teeth, and got her arms scratched all to hell and back during the struggle.  The coyote won, unfortunately.

Although they're primarily nocturnal hunters--like javelina--I'm very careful about letting Billy out on his lead line.  Nowadays we get up early enough that the sun is just rising, and there's still a risk of predators trying to get a last meal in before they tuck in for the day.  I've taken to going outside with Billy, coffee in one hand and my big, heavy walking stick in the other.  I'll bash the hell out of any coyote or javelina that tries to go after him.

I'll have another post going up--hopefully later today--about another topic.  There's a little movie a couple of friends of mine made, and yours truly is the publicist.  So I'm using my blog, Facebook, and Twitter pages as extra ammunition, along with my arsenal of Rolodex numbers and emails to various editors and media managers.  I spent part of last week sending the usual press releases and calls out to promote the film's nomination at Chicago Horror Fest.   It's called "From a Place of Darkness", and it's an excellent film.  Not your usual slasher-masher-bloody-gorefest.

Until I post the entry, go check out this link:  From A Place of Darkness
Ta, everyone!  See ya later...

The Week that Was

You know how it's said that everything happens in threes? Well, the universe sure kicked my ass this week. Horrible seven days for me.  I really thought at one point I was going to have some sort of meltdown, dive under the covers in a foetal position and just stay there until...well, ever.

Monday morning I wake up to the cheery revelation that my refrigerator had broken down.  My freezer had defrosted itself, and water was dripping into my crisper drawer at an alarming rate.  I tried everything; checked the outlet, checked the fuse box, switched the breakers on and off--no go.  The fridge light works, so I know it's getting power, but the motor wasn't running.  So that morning consisted of running round frantically, dumping my freezer food into a neighbor's unit next door, cleaning up the mess in the fridge, and loading my cooler with ice so that I could salvage what was left.  You know how much RV refrigerators cost retail?  It's astronomical--$1500 or so.  And they're hard to find secondhand.  I just about cried. 

Then on Tuesday I find that my stinkin' bank overdrafted me because I was four cents short on a purchase.  Yeah, you read that right.  Four lousy pennies.  And so I got nailed with several $35 NSF fees, because of course everything else that posted after the first overdraft...was short.  I'm dumping them this time. I've had enough of that crap from them.  Being charged that much money for such a small error is ridiculous, and the banks are legally executing robbery.  I'm just done.  And I had to hoard what money I had left this week after paying bills. 

So after about a day or two of panic and another day of sulking, I set about attempting to find ways of resolving these issues.  Shot off a letter to the CEO of my bank, just to make myself feel better, though I don't know if it'll do me any good.  Figured out a budget so that I can pay back the overdrafts, and started working on getting new jobs so that maybe I can either fix my fridge or buy a new/used one.  A friend of mine in a neighboring town said he has an RV unit I can have; he's going to see if it still works, and if it does, he'll bring it over.  Cross your fingers for me.

Then number three hit this morning.  I woke up and found that my cooler had started leaking during the night--not too bad, but there was a definitive damp spot spreading underneath my rug.  Sigh.  Outside I hauled the cooler, next to the door, and began plopping old towels onto my floor and stomping on them to try and absorb as much of the moisture as I could before mildew could set in. (I can't yank the carpet up because there's too much furniture and whatnot holding it down.)  Since it was only really damp and not wet--I lifted one corner to check underneath for pooling puddles and there weren't any--I think it should be all right.  Problem may be that it's a really damp, overcast morning, so it may take a while.  If the weather improves, however, I should have it dried by evening. 

All in all, not a great week for me.  But now that my three catastrophes have hit, I am projecting that things will get better from here on out.  Only good things now.  These things will not defeat me. 

If y'all have a minute, send a positive thought my way.  I could use it.  :)

Between Heaven and Earth...

 "Lakewood"

This is the only photo I have in my collection of our other summer camp; my much loved cousin Bren has told me she has many more she can send me when she unpacks her new home, so she'll send some to me in a few weeks. Anticipation!

I can't remember the actual name of the lake; we called it "Lakewood" because directly across the water was Lakewood Theater, a beautiful summer stock program that featured some rather fantastic actors. Some were famous, some not--but they were always wonderful. I believe I saw my first production of "Godspell" there--one of my favorite plays. Years later, I played The Prostitute at another program and had the time of my life. Always wondered what it would have been like, though, to play it at Lakewood.

This camp was near Skowhegan, Maine, near Madison, and the lake was ringed with cute little cottages, clapboard homes, boats, canoes, docks, and splashing children. Unlike Guagas, it was heavily popular and populated; there was no sense of isolation here. As much as I liked our more remote retreat, Lakewood was my favorite place to go every summer, and I looked forward eagerly to the day when we'd pack our car and start the journey north. For a girl like myself, who wasn't all that outdoorsy, Lakewood was my idea of a summer camp. We had hot and cold running water, a real bathroom, a fully equipped kitchen (small though it was), and electricity. If memory serves, we didn't have a telephone, but neighbors to the right and left did, so we were always able to contact someone if necessary.

There is a beautiful, expansive backyard that spreads down about five hundred feet to the somewhat rocky shoreline. Dad built a gorgeous dock that jutted out into the lake, and we'd have loads of fun having contests to see who could run and jump the furthest. My grandfather was a pilot and owned a Cessna...110, I think--a two-seat floater plane, and would literally park it out on the lake in front of the dock. This served as the marker point for swimming races. The water was clear and cool; you could see everything when you went under and opened your eyes. We'd swim out and drape our arms over the Cessna's floats, just dangling in the water, while tiny little fish would curiously nibble at our toes.

We had several boats; nothing fancy, but there was a small Sunfish-type sailboat, a motorboat, rowboat, and I think at least two canoes. My entire family tried so hard to teach me how to water ski, but I was a wuss. Having a deaf ear meant that my balance was just crappy, and for a preadolescent, there is nothing worse than feeling inadequately dorky in front of your conversely athletic and poised sister and cousins. Amy took to skiing like...well, like a duck to water, and Bren and her sister Cap were equally proficient, as were my father and grandparents. I was perfectly content to sit in the back of the boat and operate as lookout, shouting to the driver when a skier wiped out in the water. I loved being on the boats, but I was terrified of trying to get up on those skis. Now, I realize I was completely capable of doing it, but it was the potential humiliation that stymied me and prevented it from happening. I've still never managed to get past that particular childhood obstacle.

Canoe fights, however, were fun for me; me, Amy, my cousins, and the two girls next door with whom we hung out and played with nearly every day would pile into the boats and proceed to go to war with our oars and any other weaponry we could invent or pilfer, trying to knock our opponents out of their canoes or, better yet, sinking them in it. There were really no rules, and we were diabolical in our pursuit of championship, ending up either drenched to the bone or submerged in ignominy along with the fish. I would usually bail as soon as it looked like our canoe was about to go under, leaping gleefully clear of the doomed vessel, not caring if I was fully clothed or not. Then I'd swim over and try to tip the other team's canoe.

Mom was pretty happy when I was outdoors, being active and playing with the other kids, but I also loved reading for hours on end. Sometimes I'd find a quiet spot somewhere on the grounds and tuck into a good book--okay, I was hiding--or I'd sit on the dock while the others cavorted with waterskis and sailed. But my favorite spot was the sunporch. It was a beautiful, rustic room in the back of our small cottage, surrounded on three sides by windows that let the sun drench the walls with warmth and light. A porch swing hung invitingly at one end, and tucked into the wall was a massive collection of comic books. Good ones. Archie, Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, The Justice League--even a couple of Superboy and Supergirls. I would lie back on that swing for literally hours, a stack of comics on the table next to me, a cool drink in my hand, and my nose buried avidly in the stories. It was a source of consternation to my mother--she just couldn't understand why in the world I would prefer to stay on that porch and read instead of being out in the sun and the wind and the water. My perception was; there's gonna be another sunny day tomorrow. Today I want to read for awhile; is that so wrong? It got to the point where my parents would let me read only during certain hours or if it was raining. For a while that worked, but now that I'm forty, I can reveal that I managed to sneak books and comics into secret locations and disappear to read them. One ideal spot was the graveyard across the lane; I'd tuck myself up behind a tree or one of the monuments, and they'd never find me there.

I was a rather bookish, isolated girl, mostly because of my own insecuriaties. I was a skinny, pale-skinned, awkward black-haired little girl with buck teeth. My sister and cousins, however, were athletic, tanned, poised, active, and absolutely gorgeous creatures who looked amazing with their hair wet and who could get up on waterskis. No thanks, I thought. I'll stick with James Clavell's Shogun.

 Heh.

They're still gorgeous and graceful, and I'm still awkward and I weigh too much, but that's another blog entry...

However, I wasn't a total recluse. I'd get up early in the morning and go fishing with my dad. Despite the fact that I was no more of a morning person then than I am now, I loved that time with him, and would willingly forego my warm bed or tent to load up the boat with fishing poles, tackle, and bait, and go out on the water with him in the predawn hours. I wrote an article about it once: 

Once we were in the boat, out in the middle of the lake, my grumbling stopped, and by the time Dad and I started back towards shore, answering my mother's breakfast bell, I was always happy I had come, whether or not I had caught anything...Flashes of memory come back to me; the blue rowboat Daddy and I would sit in for hours, our lines in the water, no sound over the lake except a few early-rising loons.  I remember it was peaceful--so much so that it was tempting to just go back to sleep. but then my line might give a little tug, and my energy was suddenly renewed, like an electric shock through my body.  All fatigue was forgotten as I carefully reeled the line as my father gently encouraged and instructed me.

Although it has been many years since I've picked up a fishing rod and tackle, I remember the elation of catching a good-sized trout and knowing I'd be eating it for breakfast that morning. It didn't matter if Dad caught more fish than I did, or if we got none at all, really.  It was the effort and the work athat went into it that mattered--and the time I got to spend with my father that was just ours. 

Dad taught me how to gut and clean my own fish, and we'd have our fresh catch at breakfast that day. It's one of my fondest memories; being out on the lake watching the sun come up with him, and hearing my grandmother ring that bell to call us in to eat, the sound of it unmistakeably clear across the quiet water...and we'd haul in anchor and head home, ready to begin another idyllic day at Lakewood.

Gone Fishin'....

The Girl in the Picture

The photo that you now see adorning my blog was taken when I was about 8 years old. We had two lake houses in Maine where we vacationed each year. When this photo was snapped, we were in a remote area near Ellsworth, where our family maintained a little, rustic, one-room cabin in the woods. It had no running water, no electricity, and a privy for which to answer the call of nature. The lake itself was more of a marsh, with snapping turtles and multitudes of frogs, and I remember myself, my sister Amy, and my cousins would spend half the day catching and releasing the little critters just for fun. There was a huge sawdust pile about a thousand feet or so from the cabin, and it was ideal for use as a slide into the water below. Or as a diving platform from which to launch yourself. Nearby, there were vast fields of wild Maine blueberries, and we'd make a day of going out with big buckets to harvest the juicy morsels. Fresh muffins and blueberry pancakes were a staple food each morning, and because we'd literally pick bushels of berries, we'd freeze boatloads of them and have them throughout the year.

It was all very Huck-Finnish, and I doubt back then we realized how lucky we were to have a place like that, something that was constant and fun and which we looked forward to every year. We were lucky, and I feel very fortunate to have had such a great childhood experience.

It was such a remote location that we couldn't drive in to get there - we had to hike for about three hours on a very rough, unmaintained road instead. We would travel there by car or truck to a designated stopping point--if I remember correctly, it was some kind of radio tower--get out, and start gearing up for the onerous foot journey. We'd change our clothes -- something that protected us from the ubiquitous mosquitoes and other bug life. Usually it was white turtlenecks, hats with pull-down netting, much bug spray, and good sturdy boots. After that, we'd haul our individual backpacks up and begin the trek.

I remember hating that walk; mostly because I am and was a fundamentally lazy girl. If I could have had a sampan and a couple of strapping boys to lift me up and carry me in, I would have been perfectly happy to make the journey, but alas, it was not to be. And even when we got to the cabin, we couldn't quite relax, because there was a good hour or more of setting up camp. Mom would have to get after me time and again to get off my butt and help out; I was always trying to tuck myself in a corner and hope like hell I wouldn't be noticed until everything was done. Heh.

But once camp was set up, the cabin opened, canoe perched happily at the edge of the shore, we had so much fun. Today I think I'd be pretty squeamish about swimming in that lake, with it slimy, soggy bottom and the various lifeforms that resided therein. But when you're a kid, things like that don't faze you in the least. When I wasn't burying my nose in a book (which was quite often--another thing Mom got after me about), I was joyfully playing in the water with my sister--and my cousins, if we were all there at the same time.

We haven't been there in many years, and I miss it every now and again. Recently my Mom lent me her computer, and there were some great photos of us back then. As I sifted through them, I was suffused with nostalgia, wondering if the sawdust pile was still there, or if it had eroded to a mere memory. Our camp log, which every member of the family had faithfully written in during each visit, had been stolen in one of many thefts and raids over the years, so a lot of our memories had been lost along with it. Whoever the bastards are that raided that place and took our stuff, may God visit that karma back on you tenfold. What we had there wasn't much, but it was important to us, and you just came in and took it because you felt like it. Assholes.

At any rate, my cousins and I just got back in touch through the magic of Facebook, and it's really wonderful to be able to send them messages and stay in contact again. I've missed them a lot, and am so happy to hear that they're all doing so well. Hopefully we'll all be able to get together one day and have some fun again as a group. That would be the coolest thing.

Tomorrow I'll write about our other lake house and post some more images, but for now, I'll leave you with some previews. Ain't we adorable?

Me and Sis and the Sawdust Pile. My hair has not improved or tamed in the intervening decades.


Getting geared up for the hike to camp. Check out Amy's rockin' pants!



Morning coffee and cocoa with Mom.


BANZAI! Amy takes the leap.

Oink

For those of you who were asking and wondering, here is a visual aid to accompany yesterday's post:

This is a Javelina. Nasty lookin' little shitter, innit?

By the Seat of My Pants

Yay! I got paid! This is a nice thing, even though I'll only have a brief, shining moment to admire my own largesse before pretty much all of it goes back out again to the billz. Ah, well. At least I'll have insurance and contact lenses - two very important things for driving. I may even splurge and buy propane a week early. Wheee!

This week I am determined to ferret out and query some new magazines for whom to dazzle with my writing prowess. Maybe I can even con them into buying and reprinting some previously published work - that's always really cool. You get paid for doing virtually nothing except getting the proper permissions and perhaps a quick edit. So basically, I get paid twice for a piece I may have written two years ago. Sweet.

I had a busy day today. A friend of mine had outpatient eye surgery this morning, so I drove her in to the next town over, dropped her off, and then went gallivanting off in search of a grooming mitt for Billy. Ya know, those rubber things that look like potholders, only with bristles on either side. You can brush your dog--or cat--and give them a little cuddle at the same time. I borrowed one from a friend, and Billy loved it so much that I resolved to find one for him. Alas, no joy. I evidently went to every shop in town except those that have the mitts in stock. I'll try again in a couple of weeks when I go food shopping. There are a few more places I can hit.

After this fruitless search, I drove over to the Visitor's Center to see a friend who works there--hung out for an hour or so catching up. Then it was off to pick up my vision-challenged pal for the drive home. By the time I got back, it was nearly 1pm, so I wanted to finish this blog entry before I have to go into Tombstone to get some stuff out of storage. Wouldn't you know, the damn Blogger service somehow lost my login information again--insisting vehemently that "that account doesn't exist". AAARRGH! Took me several refreshes, a bootdown of the computer, a maniacal call to Google (who was no help at all, thank you very much), and a few primal screams before I managed to get back in. And I just KNOW it'll happen again. I'm Irish. That's what happens to us.

So anyway, I was planning to write something interesting and perhaps profound in this entry, but find that my nerves and my patience are both worn too thin to attempt such erudition. Maybe I'll manage it later in 140 characters or less on Twitter. I suppose anything is possible.
For now, I'm going to get a quick shower and buzz up to the storage unit before it's time to feed Billy and myself. Toodles, everyone. I'll try and be more bedazzling tomorrow.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

It is 7:15 AM, and I've been up for forty-five minutes. Being the veritable antithesis of a morning person, this shocks me as much as it would anyone who has known me for a couple of hours. I do not LIKE getting up early, and never have, but ever since moving out to Arizona, a strange phenomena has manifested itself. You see, Arizona doesn't observe Daylight Savings Time--which I love, because we never have to deal with the nonsense of changing clocks and circadian rhythms--so, consequently, around late spring, the sun comes up earlier and the days are longer. Back in New England, even in summer, it was still blue-pink dark at 7am; who wanted to get up? It was difficult for me to do, especially when I was working a regular job, but not much easier even when I worked at home. I'd have to set my alarm for three different times just to make sure I didn't stay in bed most of the morning.

Anyway, now--not so much. And it's kinda nice. One benefit is that it's so much cooler in the early to midmorning here, and I can get a lot of stuff done around the house and yard before the temperature becomes too much for me. My appetite is better; I actually eat a healthy breakfast sometimes BEFORE having coffee (another detail which should shock my friends and family). Around 9-10AM it'll start getting hotter, and about 11am I start kicking on either the fan or the AC and try to stay as cool as possible until evening comes. But the mornings are nice, and I'm glad I'm able to enjoy them.

This morning I got up before Billy did--also unusual, but evidently he was too comfortable snuggled in his little blanket, nose tucked between his paws. He waited while I washed my face, flossed, and started the coffee before rising on all fours in a luxurious, spine-popping stretch, his tiny bum pointed skyward in a canine display of laziness. When he saw me observing him from the doorway, he immediately flopped over in one motion to beg for a belly scratch, grinning at me as only your dog can do. Of course this is irresistible, so for the next five minutes he managed to fleece me into a full body massage before finally getting up, giving himself a shake, and trotting to the door for his morning constitutional.

We live in a small valley-like depression on the outskirts of Tombstone with a fantastic view of the Dragoon Mountain Range and the Chiracahuas to the East. I took a moment after putting Billy on his line to appreciate the beauty of a Southern desert sunrise before shuffling back into the kitchen to pour my coffee and turn the computer on. After a few moments, as I always do, I went to check on him as a safety precaution.

Good thing I did. He was on point, just outside of the door, staring off to the south. Following his eyeline, I was greeted with the sight of an impressively-sized Javelina just 100 feet away. Aforementioned Javelina was gazing at Billy with equal and unbridled interest.

Now, if you've never seen or heard of a Javelina, go look on Wikipedia. They're the ugliest creatures that God ever made. With high shoulders that slope down into a stubby rear end, they kind of look like a cross between a pig, a hyena, and a really big rat. Beady little eyes, coarse fur, and a snout festooned with little tusklike teeth complete this unholy vision. They're just hideous; there's no way around the fact. These little ferkers are indigenous to the Southwest, and are found throughout Mexico and Central America.

I could deal with their general unattractiveness if they didn't have temperaments to match. Their ugliness is compounded by the fact that they're plain nasty, mean, aggressive and sneaky little sons of bitches. Woe betide anyone who is unfortunate enough to get between a female and her pups (which are actually kind of cute), and God help you if you run afoul of a pack. They have no fear of humans, and they like the occasional free snack.

Which brings me back to Billy and his throwdown challenge to the little bastard across the way. Billy is, as I've said, a Miniature Pinscher. He is teeny, although if you asked him, he'd say he was as big and tough as a Rottweiler. At fourteen pounds, he'd barely make an hors d'oeurve for the piggy that was sizing him up, although I'm sure Piggy wouldn't have complained. Whatever he was rooting for at my neighbor's house paled in comparison to the juicy morsel Billy presented, judging by the look of intense concentration he displayed.

Both animals were stock-still, Billy straining the tension on his line, while Piggy lowered his head a few inches as if to get a better look. Here I broke a cardinal desert rule--it's not a good idea to go outside barefoot. Critters, cacti, stickers, and other flotsam and jetsam can end up in your skin, and are more often than not extremely difficult and painful to get out. Thinking only of getting Billy out of harm's way, I barreled out the door and snatched him up, giving Piggy the dirtiest, most menacing look I could muster. Unfazed, Piggy continued to stare as I carried Billy back inside. Piggy continued to stare for a few minutes until, with a porcine shrug, he went back to his foraging.

Folks, if you've never been to or lived in the desert, there are things you should remember to do as a rule: Have lots of water on hand, because you can drop from heat exhaustion before you even start to sweat. Keep an eye out at all times for snakes, because they can hide literally in plain sight. Shake your shoes out before donning them, because scorpions love to crawl into the toes and hide there, and those stingers HURT. And always, always, always check your environment in the early morning and early evening for cougar, coyote, and the annoying, peckish, and frighteningly implacable javelina.

Emerging From the Ether

Okay, okay...yeah, it's been three YEARS since I last blogged. So sue me. It's been an eventful three years. I've been writing some stuff I actually got paid for, which was great, got a job and then got laid off--which wasn't so great. In all the melee, the blog kinda got lost in the shuffle. You know how that can go.

Anyway, I'm still in Arizona, and loving it. I don't think I'll ever go back to living in New England again, although I'll visit. My sister is there, and my niece and nephew, so of course I'll want to see them regularly. But I can live happily without ever seeing snow and sleet again, not to mention subzero temperatures. Not my idea of fun.

Well, what else is new? I got a dog....a little MinPin named Billy, who has now been with me for...well, three years now. I got him almost literally my first week out here. He's a rescue dog. I didn't go to the shelter with the intention of adopting--I was just going to check out a dog-walking job. But there he was, peering up at me from his cage, looking so tiny. Then they let him out to run and visit with me, and he was a little ball of energy rocketing across the yard. The next thing I knew, I had written a check for $25, had a carrying kennel, toys, and dog dishes in my Jeep, along with a very excited and happy little runt of a dog. Go figure. I'll post pictures of him as soon as I remember how one does that, but for now, you can go to my twitter pic page and check him out at http://www.twitpic.com/photos/Rowaenthe . He's a little love, but boy, he runs me ragged.

Not much to write at the moment--I had an epic struggle trying to recover my username and password to reclaim this blog, and that in and of itself was frustrating enough. My brain isn't on creative mode at the moment, but give it time. It'll kick back in.

Hope to see some comments soon--when I write something worth commenting on. Have a great Sunday, everybody!