tripping

who doesn't like to take a trip? well, a lot of people, actually. i am not one of those people. i like to take trips. short trips, long trips, car trips, bus trips. if you are going to the gas station, i would like to ride along. if you are going to paris, will you take me? most days, i enjoy the commute to and from work, especially if i can take a different route. backroads! i enjoy riding in planes, trains, and automobiles. i enjoy public transportation and private transportation. i like to ride my bicycle to the library. i like to walk around the block. i like to consider my packing and what i will need or want, what i will bring. i enjoy packing, the act of putting stuff into a bag. i like that commercial where the guy throws a dart at a map or maybe he spins the globe and puts his finger on it? he's got this great leather satchel with his stuff in it, and he's going on a trip! it could be an airline commercial or maybe a cologne commercial. can't remember. but... to pack a bag, throw a dart at the map, and take off? that would be grand.

in the rain

so you walk by, and i smile. because that is what people do. people acknowledge the presence of other people. you walk by. i smile. but you don't smile back so i wonder.

i wonder, first, did i do it wrong? did i smile incorrectly? as i ponder the possibility that i could have mangled this simplest of social graces, i realise that people who have mastered socialisation would not have considered dyssmiling a possibility at all. this gives credence to the theory that i did it incorrectly.

i wonder, next, if you perhaps didn't notice me, didn't notice my attempt at bridging the vast chasm of separateness that yawns between each of us and every other each of us. perhaps you're occupied with your own concerns. perhaps you're blind. this bounces the dilemma back to me - should i have tried harder, built a better bridge?

i wonder, next, did you ignore me? did you see my smile and choose not to return the gesture? if so, why? am i hideous? are you painfully shy? is your face so botoxed you are unable to smile? am i not good enough for you, not worthy of your attention, not even such brief attention as a smile?

i wonder, next, why i ever smile at anyone at all.

^^^vvv^^^vvv^^^vvv^^^vvv^^^vvv^^^vvv^^^

if things had gone different, i would have a boston terrier. if things had gone different, i would live in boston. if things had gone different(ly?), i would be a cigarette smoker. if things had gone different, i would be a teacher. if things had gone different, i would run a marathon every weekend. if things had gone different, i would shop at kroger. if things had gone different, i would have two pairs of those jeans. if things had gone different, i would have lost my job as a journalist. if things had gone different, i would have been a cheerleader. if things had gone different, i would have read marjorie morningstar. if things had gone different, i wouldn't have known there was ever an IHOP there at all. if things had gone different, i would watch the simpsons. if things had gone different, i would live in an apartment. if things had gone different, i would know how to make that barbeque sauce. if things had gone different, i would be a tea drinker. if things had gone different, i would not be a billy joel fan. if things had gone different, i would have broken my arm. if things had gone different, i would have two wives. if things had gone different, i would have played the saxaphone. if things had gone different, i would be a gold award girl scout. if things had gone different, i would be able to play softball. if things had gone different, i would have a blue umbrella. if things had gone different, we would never have met.

except if i had a dog because then i would want a fence

i am more into reading & writing, less into styles & fashion, and don't much like conversation at all. i have a sort of fetish for wheat pennies, prefer backyards without fences, and play a lot of scrabble. i choose the city for trips and small towns for living in. if i could choose a power, it would be to fly like i do when i'm asleep and realise i am dreaming. forest, silver, and periwinkle are my favourite colours. i eat a lot of sandwiches. i like to sit on the floor.

more stuff about ace

maybe it's on dvd

i decided to go with both disappearing spoon and jane eyre. simultaneous. makes me feel like i'm back in school -- science and literature. i got a copy of fountainhead but lord that thing is a monster in teenytinytype. somebody should break it up into 3 or 4 books, raise the font size. it just looks so tedious, printed that way.

books 2011

currently:
the disappearing spoon
sam kean
jane eyre
charlotte brontë

complete:
hp7
[jk rowling]
hp6
[jk rowling]
hp5
[jk rowling]
hp4
[jk rowling]
hp3
[jk rowling]
hp2
[jk rowling]
hp1
[jk rowling]
the yiddish policemen's union
[michael chabon]
american gods
[neil gaiman]
land of a hundred wonders
[lesley kagen]
swim to me
[betsy carter]
princess academy
[shannon hale]
the angels game
[carlos ruiz zafon]
they almost always come home
[christina ruchti]
lifeguard training manual
[red cross]
the broker
[john grisham]
queste
[angie sage]
the things we do for love
[kristin hannah]
physik
[angie sage]

an entirely fictional account

it was only the fourth race of the season, and he was only a freshman. the first race had been a fiasco, the second a debacle. the third had been a success compared to the first two but only because it didn't involve his spending any time face down in the dirt. cross country was turning out to be a bit more difficult than he'd originally expected. everyone can run, right? hell, he'd been running since he was, like, 2. right? jeez. his parents said he had to "do something" - play an instrument, join a team, learn to sew. he chose cross country because - big surprise - he liked a girl on the team. she was a junior, dating a senior, but he'd managed to sit by her on the bus after the last meet.

it was only the fourth race of the season, and he was only a freshman. his teammates were migrating towards the line. it was go time. stay on your feet. stay on your feet. stay on your feet. less than 22 minutes - if he could focus, maybe less than 21 minutes - and it would be over. somebody's mom had brought sandwiches to make a small dent in the boredom of the 2 hour bus ride home. just 22, maybe 21, minutes, and he could find lucy, ask her how was her race, try to pay more attention to what she was saying than how shiney is her hair. the girls and boys ran in the same end-of-summer hot humidity - how could she still smell so good on the ride home... there's the gun - oh my god - here we go.

it was only the fourth race of the season, and he was only a freshman. he could do this. he knew he could.

working for the yankee dollar

sometimes you wonder, what ever happened to [person]. sometimes it is, what ever happened to [name], but often you don't know [name]. you just know [person].

what ever happened to [girl from drive thru who got latte every morning at 7:12am] or [guy from gym who wore red shirts] or [girl on bus] or [guy at mall]. in the venn diagram of life, your circles almost only brushed, but they slightly more than brushed, they did overlap. your yellow circle and [person]'s blue circle created a wee bit of green, just a flash of green for only the briefest moment in the absurdly voluminous continuum of spacetime.

and it wasn't a special green. and it wasn't a meaningful green. and it wasn't impressive in any way and if it hadn't been a green created by your yellow, then you would certainly not have noticed it. it wasn't a lasting green that the world could see and it wasn't a bright green that even a few around at that moment could see. it was just a wee bit of shared green between two people.

and so you wonder, what ever happened to [person].

mabon balancing

stand precarious
tiptoe
one foot
facing west.
hold in your northern hand
light.
hold in your southern hand
darkness.

exposure:veil::awareness:oblivion
you cannot know what you do not see.

stand precarious
tiptoe
one foot
facing west.
hold your northern hand
open.
hold your southern hand
closed.

revelation:secret::awareness:oblivion
you cannot know what you do not know.

stand precarious
tiptoe
one foot
facing west.
hold in your northern hand
water.
hold in your southern hand
sand.

nourishment:drought::awareness:oblivion
you cannot know what you do not cultivate.

stand precarious
tiptoe
one foot
facing west.
hold in your northern hand
future.
hold in your southern hand
past.

wax:wane::awareness:oblivion
you cannot know what you do not experience.


mabon balancing

hi, this is ace and i am out for the evening. please leave a message so that i can ignore you in person when i return.

sooner sworn

it gets dark early now
she dont care
she can hide in the night
turn her face from the light
and she aint going anywhere
no not anywhere
she aint going anywhere at all

a train calls through the valley like some old dylan song
and the echo of tomorrow fills her head
if it werent for the shadows tipping over growing long
she would have sooner sworn that she was dead

the leaves are falling now
she dont care
you have to love someone
to know when lonely comes
and she dont know anything
no not anything
she dont know anything at all

a train calls through the valley like some old dylan song
and the echo of tomorrow fills her head
if it werent for the shadows tipping over growing long
she would have sooner sworn that she was dead

the days are colder now
she dont care
cause the cold outside
cant match the cold inside
and she aint warm anymore
no not anymore
she aint warm anymore at all

a train calls through the valley like some old dylan song
and the echo of tomorrow fills her head
if it werent for the shadows tipping over growing long
she would have sooner sworn that she was dead

and it was only monday

did you ever feel minor league self destructive? not jumping off a bridge ending it all, for crissakes, not major - but just wanting to scream or put your fist through the wall, break something, tear something up. say something cruel to someone who respects you. dip some skoal and swallow your spit, feel it burning on the way down. drive too fast in heavy traffic, in the rain, get all road rage on someone. don't show up where you're supposed to be, when you're supposed to be, just don't show up at all. run too far too fast and then run some more till you're beginning to feel sick and you're miles from home. chew off your fingernails till your fingers bleed. google an old boyfriend just to see if there's any scab left there that's not scarred over that you can pick off and pour the salt of reality in that wound one more time. start in on the wine before supper and hell who needs to eat anyway. throw away the goddam brown bananas because you just don't feel like baking another fucking loaf of fucking banana bread. leave the dishes, leave the unmade bed because you are just crazy out of your head being that good girl for another second, that one girl everyone can depend on and count on and that one who will remember and get it done and be there for you. did you ever get so goddam sick of being that girl?

yeah, me neither.

looking at your watch a third time, waiting in the station for the bus.

sometimes it's the outer layer that is holding things together. like, with an egg, the shell is keeping a big mess inside. unless it is hard cooked in which case if you crack the egg, you will not reveal a mess. and, "mess" is a bit of a miscasting, i suppose, since the inside of an egg is actually neatly structured. the "mess" is that it won't stay put, it dribbles away. if you crack a raw egg into a bowl or cup or pan, you can keep it together. the bowl or cup or pan takes the role of the shell. but if you crack a raw egg onto the countertop or onto the floor, it will simply be a mess.

sometimes it's the inner core that is holding things together. i am not an atomic scientist, so i might not have this precisely correct, but it's my understanding that atoms are held together from the inside, by the nucleus. i know about electron clouds and how molecules are formed, so perhaps this analogy is not perfect, but the point is that sometimes it's the inside that creates the magnetism that holds together the loose parts. from the outside, there is disarray, but on the inside is order.

but, either way, there is chaos somewhere.

reaching for walls

she had been alone in the forest at night. she understood darkness. darkness was when the light was gone. darkness was absence. darkness was not what she would have called comforting, but it was not a threat. darkness didn't single her out. darkness could be banished.

this was simultaneously more intimate and more threatening than the darkness she had always known. there were no soft edges or half shadows. this darkness was not made of absence of light. this darkness was presence of all color. this darkness smothered. this darkness singled her out and she could not throw it off or leave it or skirt it or impress or move or change it.

she reached in all directions and there was nothing but the darkness. there were no walls, nothing to stop her moving forever into the darkness, forever away, forever towards...

she began to scream and the presence swallowed her voice and even close inside her there was silence.

the box

she said you couldn't prepare for the next time. like epaminondous, you'd always be one step back - preparing for the past. you would never learn what triggered the box to open and you would never know what was to come out before you saw it appear. but if you tried sometimes, you just might find that you could discern the tells that would give away the box opening. you couldn't stop it, but if you were lucky and quick and paying attention, you stood a chance of getting out of the way. so when you were there, you paid attention, but you spent most of your time and energy devising ways not to be there at all.

15 september

it's not about optimism or pessimism. it's not about glasses half full. it's not about thinking things will turn out okay, or not okay, in the end. it's not about the end at all. it's about the now, the right-fucking-now, and a person can only be in one place at one time, so the now is here. here is now. this is it. there is no other reality, there is only here and there is only now. the past is memory and the future is imagination. the only reality is the present, and it is dying with each tick of the clock. gone. gone. another moment gone. it's not about heaven or hell. it's not about people or places. it's not about thinking or moving or doing. my heart has gone numb like an arm slept on wrong, it's just gone all numb so when i touch it, i can only feel it from the outside like it is someone else's arm, someone else's heart. i can touch it and feel it and know it is there but it won't move. it is like a dead thing, disconnected, useless. it's not about optimism or pessimism. it is about knowing the pain will come when the blood starts flowing again and wondering if the pain is what is killing me or the pain is what is keeping me alive.

good god it is 40s style boppy big band babbling night on the bux music box. if there's anything worse than jazz, it's boppy babble.

so i finished all the harry potters for the third time, and it's hard to start another book after that sort of immersion. not that i don't have some good choices.

FORD COUNTY by john grisham. my old man gave me this selection of short stories. i don't usually enjoy short stories and when he gave it to me it was with the disclaimer that the person who helped him select it said she doesn't usually enjoy short stories but that she really enjoyed this collection. i believe i have read everything john grisham has published except a christmas story of some sort. so, FORD COUNTY has promise.

THE DISAPPEARING SPOON by sam kean. i picked this out the other day at b&n. we were there for just a few mins and i was rushing to make a selection. can't leave without buying something! why didn't i go find the new angie sage or get that alkaline trio cd i've been wanting? well, why the hell do i do anything i do. so, i was forgetting my entire wishlist and going to the science section where i like to hang out and pretend i am a scientist, which the b&n science section is great for because it has all sorts of pretendy-trendy science books. this one looked intriguing - great cover, great tagline. so i purchased it and have been carrying it around in my bag.

JANE EYRE by charlotte brontë. baby einstein (who is not really much of a baby anymore) had this assigned for summer reading and said he actually enjoyed it. he went so far as to recommend it. he said something along the lines of "for that kind of book it wasn't too bad". a glowing recommendation, no? ergo, i downloaded a free copy on nook on my iphone, so that i will have it always handy for those quick between-other-stuff times when you really wish you had a book with you but a book won't fit in your pocket. i was thinking maybe i could get it underway and read it in addition to a different, separate, actual paper book. see, i could read the paper book in some settings, such as on the train, and the ebook in others, such as on the pot. seeing as how i spend much more time on pots than on trains, i am not sure how this will work out. you'll be the first to know. (this is a terrible cover, isn't it? almost as bad as the FORD COUNTY cover. poor plain jane!)

THE NIGHT CIRCUS by erin morgenstern. this is the free starbux download of the week. they used to just do music, but now they do books and stuff. nice cover, huh? much better than the FORD COUNTY cover. sheesh, that is a horrible cover. it would (obviously) be another ebook in the arsenal for on-the-pot sessions. "obviously" one does not download paper. although the ability to download paper would occassionally be handy while on the pot...

THE FOUNTAINHEAD by ayn rand. this is the Important, Ambitious, Real Book that i was planning to read this autumn. do i dare?

release the hounds.

so there i was chatting with some folks, cause that's how i roll, and the guy goes - where did you go on vacation this year? and inside my head i was like, where did i which? but outside i was all, nowhere what about you? and they started talking about this vacation they took to st george's island which i thought was in south carolina but turns out i was wrong (omg!) it's florida, but either way, it's a vacation destination. beaches. condos. piggly wiggly. all the necessities.

i didn't grow up taking annual vacations - i went to summercamp. we didn't raise up junior and mini-me taking annual vacations - we went to soccer tournaments. when my old man was a kid, his family would take an annual trip from their home up in yankeeland to visit family in the rural south. i am not sure you'd call that a vacation, but i am sure my old man's pops had to take vacation time from work to accomplish the trip.

maybe when i was a kid we did take annual vacations and i just don't remember them, but okay, there was a trip once to canada. i drove the diesel VW rabbit truck with a popup camper trailer-hitched to the back. the truck had a camper top, and i am guessing that elvis and sweet baby james spent the trip in the back of the truck. my pops was already in canada, on business, because there were never trips that didn't involve business, and my moms was too long a story to explain here. the crown prince was in canada already, too, because he went to a brilliant summercamp that maybe i will explain another time.

i remember backing the truck+camper into a slot at a campsite, to the wonderment of assorted male onlookers. i didn't know backing a trailer was supposed to be a challenge, so i just did it. i remember losing my favorite hairbrush. i remember we stayed in a borrowed house on a lake in canada, a lake with water so clear you could see down 20 feet, a lake i pushed elvis's head into because at that time i was still bigger than him. i remember sitting in a chair by a window overlooking the lake, in the borrowed house, reading a book. (the chair was in the house. the lake was not in the house. too many prepositional phrases, there.)

i don't remember any meals. i don't remember any other interactions. i don't remember where any of us slept. i don't remember anything else about the drive up, or the stay in canada. it's entirely possible that this vacation didn't happen, or that i have conflated two trips.

i don't remember anything about the drive home except that we were in two cars, and the crown prince had either elvis or sweet baby james or maybe even my pops in his, and also had some canadian beer in there, and although he was overage in canada, he was underage in the USA, so the border guards did not only confiscate that alcohol - they forced him to pour it all out on the side of the road. i remember being very glad i was not riding in his car.

is that what people are talking about when they say vacation?

5000+ words

i saw this on my internet homepage and my first thought was - omg, not another chocolate cake recipe.

---

i saw this pretty bug on the ground where i meet up with my carpool buddy, and it was crawling away so fast i could barely take a pic, and then there was a car coming and i was like, car... bug pic... and i realized i didn't want to get hit by a car, so i tried to scoop the bug back with my foot, and i smooshed it.

i decided not to take a pic of it smooshed. it is better to remember pretty-bug as it was in life.

RIP pretty-bug.

---

look at my groovin' scrabble words-with-friends board.

---

radish brain. funny.

---

if you look at this odometer upside down, it's LELELO. fascinating.

what is inside

when i shared with you my anger,
you diffused it with your humor,
with your wit and with your levity,
you took away the power
that i needed
to bring change.

when i shared my disappointment,
you mitigated past it,
rationalized through it,
and robbed me of the pretext
that i needed
to evolve.

when i shared where i was hurting,
you started in to heal it,
with your psychic salves & tonics,
smothering the pain
that i needed
to be real.

so now i will not tell you
when i'm hurting,
when i sorrow,
when my anger grows inside me
like a cancer in my soul.
because i need my anguish,
my distress,
and tribulation.
i am not always happy,
and you cannot make it so.



(orig pub 27 sept 2007)

books 2011

currently:


complete:
hp7
[jk rowling]
hp6
[jk rowling]
hp5
[jk rowling]
hp4
[jk rowling]
hp3
[jk rowling]
hp2
[jk rowling]
hp1
[jk rowling]
the yiddish policemen's union
[michael chabon]
american gods
[neil gaiman]
land of a hundred wonders
[lesley kagen]
swim to me
[betsy carter]
princess academy
[shannon hale]
the angels game
[carlos ruiz zafon]
they almost always come home
[christina ruchti]
lifeguard training manual
[red cross]
the broker
[john grisham]
queste
[angie sage]
the things we do for love
[kristin hannah]
physik
[angie sage]

apptastic

someone please invent this app --

when you want to turn down your phone ringer like at the movies or you have to turn it off like when you're on an airplane or when you might not answer your personal line like at work - this app will reply to emails, implement a voice mail greeting, reply to texts. you could choose generic replies or custom. you could set a timer so in case you forgot to release the app after the movie or whatever, the app would release based on the timer.

when could you have this ready?

if it weren't for the little birdies, we'd all be up a tree.

can i tell you a secret?

well, of course i can, but then it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?

or, would it?

would you say that two people can have a secret? three? twenty? a hundred? is the number of people that know something a factor in its being a secret, or is it really the number of people who do not know something that defines its secretness? we can all keep a secret from you. alternately, you can keep a secret from all of us.

if you tell me a secret and tell me not to tell anyone, but i tell just one someone, and that just one someone doeesn't tell anyone else and i don't tell anyone else... is that so bad? is your secret weakened? if you never learn that i told just one someone, is our trust eroded? if you don't know and never find out, then how could you trust me less?

but i would have a secret, then, from you. i would have the secret that i told just one someone your secret. if we told each other everything and had a lot of secrets together but didn't have any secrets from each other, but then i created this secret of my having told just one someone your secret, would things change between us? would you be able to tell i had created a secret?

what makes a thing that only i know into a secret? is something a secret simply because i choose not to volunteer it, or is it only made into a secret if i am forced to hide it? if you never ask and i never tell, is that a secret? or, is it only a secret if you ask and i decline to say, or if you ask and i say a lie to cover. if you ask me what size shoes i wear, i will tell you, but if you do not ask you will not know. so is my shoe size a secret?

what if there is a thing that only i know and it is something about you, that you don't even know, but that only i can know because of the way that i know you. i know a secret about you and it's a secret because i am keeping it from you. what if i were to tell someone else this secret about you, would that be a betrayal of your secret? how could it be? you didn't even know this thing about yourself so how could my telling it to someone else betray your trust?

what if i sort of discerned something about you and i think you don't know this thing about yourself, but you do know it. so i have discerned this thing and i think you don't know it, but you do know it, but i don't say anything because i think i am keeping a secret of which you are unaware, but i am actually keeping a secret in parallel to your keeping the same secret yourself. so, we both know the thing, but neither of us says. is it a secret if we both actually know it?

can i tell you a secret?

well, can i?

i wish someone would invent a way to keep the wheat biscuit cereal from turning into wheat dust at the bottom of the bag.

i knew i needed some groceries and that whole foods would do. they don't have everything we use, but they'd have what i needed tonight - butter, pineapple, raspberries, bananas, coffee, and one of those stellar quesadillas from the fridger case over by the hot food buffet. but i wanted to walk first, so i parked the car way up at the end of the lot, strapped on mr garmin, and took off. the weather was great, probably around 70 degrees, calm winds, sun low in the sky at late afternoon position. the first part of the walk was downhill, which was a good warm up. i felt great, just bouncing down the hill, walking, jogging, la la la. i started wondering where i could go when i spotted that bit of sidewalk that leads to that bit of road that used to be a real road. see, there are two - well, at least two - roads around here that used to be country roads, and then they were major backroads the locals used to avoid the highway. then, somebody had the bright idea to smack another road right on top of them, severing both vital arteries. however, they've been preserved, after a fashion, and are now pedestrian byways. so, i took off across the road to that bit of sidewalk that leads to that bit of road and walked up and over the hill, down the other side to where the road is blocked by a gate but it's a gate with no fence, and there's a well-worn path just beside the gate. it's only to keep out cars, see. there was another pedestrian coming up the hill towards me and as he swung around the gate, he grinned and said - "road's closed" and i grinned back - "of course, i saw the sign." and i swung around the gate and down the old road to where it joined up with a new road. huh. where was i? behind something that's probably familiar on the other side. one of the treasures of being a pedestrian is ending up behind something familiar. i took to the sidewalk and came around and lo & behold, it was familiar. so i am now tootling down a familiar sidewalk, looking for more opportunities for adventure, when i spotted that gathering of picnic tables under the portico. i've always wondered what was up with those tables, so i walked over and noticed the sidewalk curved around behind them, so i followed it... down the hill... and into the woods! it was a trail! this was some sort of miniature park. what a find! i walked around the trail and crossed a bridge over a slow moving creek, then through some wet green woods, over a hill, around a turn, past a playground, crossed another bridge over a creek with a swimming hole and a rope swing, past a marshy field of cattails, out into the evening sunshine, back into the woods, around another turn, crossed a third bridge over a creek running rapidly over rocks, and one more turn, and when i was nearly back where i started, i looked up and saw through the trees there was this balcony lit with white fairy lights and there were tables on the balcony with red umbrellas over them and even though it was just the outdoor seating for a chicken shack, that balcony looked magical somehow from the offside, where it was poised over the grassy field with a view of the creek and the bridge, and then it was over and i was back where i started. 1/2 mile of delight right there in the middle of everything. there were three or four paths leading off the main loop, and as i headed back up hills to whole foods, i thought about how it will be fun, next time, seeing what those paths hold.

the ants go marching one by one! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching one by one! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching one by one!
the little one stops to suck his thumb!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching two by two! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching two by two! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching two by two!
the little one stops to tie his shoe!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching three by three! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching three by three! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching three by three!
the little one stops to scratch his knee!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching four by four! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching four by four! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching four by four!
the little one stops to shut the door!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching five by five! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching five by five! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching five by five!
the little one stops to do the jive!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching six by six! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching six by six! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching six by six!
the little one stops to pick up sticks!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching seven by seven! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching seven by seven! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching seven by seven!
the little one stops to add the leaven!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching eight by eight! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching eight by eight! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching eight by eight!
the little one stops to shut the gate!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching nine by nine! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching nine by nine! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching nine by nine!
the little one stops to swing on a vine!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

the ants go marching ten by ten! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching ten by ten! hurrah! hurrah!
the ants go marching ten by ten!
the little one stops to start again!
and they all go marching down in the ground to get out of the rain!

dum dum dum

when you get the answer you want, hang up.

blogger is promoting their new updated interface. yay. yipee. a new interface.

** SIGH **

it's not that i don't like to try new things - it's that trying new things is not what the new interface is about. what? you say, how can trying something new not be about trying something new?

okay, here's how it is - i use blogger to write a blog.

that's it. that's how it is. i don't need a bunch of bells and whistles. i need like three bells and a whistle, maybe two.

the problem with these updates is that they are bloated bell behemoths. whalloping whistle whales. oleaginous lineament leviathans.

IT'S JUST TOO MUCH!

i simply want to write a little note, maybe a couple pictures, using an interface that runs cleanly on a small computer. it's not about not wanting to try something new, it's about not needing to.

punched line

the other day, my old man left his phone in the golf cart, so i kept calling the phone until someone in the pro shop answered and said they'd hold onto it until i got there. i ended that call and immediately called my old man to tell him they'd found his phone.

x is for xylophone

i know a guy who went to run a marathon today and got a bit over half the distance complete and decided he was done for the day. in the running community there are two schools of thought -- it's not over til it's over, covering the distance is paramount, or it's over when you say it's over. there are those who will quite literally crawl over a finish line in order to finish, and those that will live to fight another day.

most of your bucketlist types will finish the distance at all costs because firstly, they are only doing this once. like hell are they ever getting out there again, so if they're going to have done a marathon, this is it. secondly, they don't need to live to fight another day because there won't be another day. they can injure themselves, wear themselves out, cause an illness, doesn't matter. they don't need to save any gas in the tank. they don't need to preserve health for an overall training regimen.

the ones who are out there to RACE - either race the course, or race their old PR, or race another runner - could call it quits before the distance is up if the race isn't going well. their goal isn't the distance alone. their goal is to cover the distance in a certain amount of time. if the time goal becomes unreachable, there is no point in finishing the distance. it's like trying to buy a lottery ticket after the numbers have been drawn - you can have the money to achieve the transaction but you're too late. it's like knowing the geography but missing the test. it's like buying food for your dead cat.

the community of runners is dichotomously divided into these categories. two groups could not be more separate, more disparate, more vastly unvenn. there is not one thing in common between these groups. they are apples and kayaks. hence the saying: red sky at morning sailors take warning, red sky at night sailors delight.

what's the point of carving it in stone?

memory is a funny thing. looking back over the course of life, what do you see? is it like videos or like snapshots? i see more snapshots than video, and i think the video is stuff i am reconstructing, not remembering. not that there is that big of a difference when you come down to it.

it's funny when you are somewhere with someone and you do something together, and then later you talk about what you did, and your stories don't match. how does that happen? perspective, filters, what you've learned or know or experienced in the past, all the other stuff in your brain gets together and decides what you are going to remember.

there's a new teevee show scheduled for fall release in which the main character is a woman with a photographic memory. there's another word for it, but in layman's terms, photographic. the promos all say "only 8 people in the united states have a photographic memory" which i am not sure if that's true, but sheldon on big bang theory has it, also, so two of them are on teevee and what are the odds of that?

anyway, few people have photographic memory banks. the rest of us aren't remembering so much as reconstructing which is why i was saying previously (remember?) -- that those two amount to the same thing.

see, what's happened is that you've told a story and given it a location, and i've only been to that location once. one time, and definitely NOT for what you have described. a conclusion to be drawn from my memory of my having been to that location only once is that you did the thing without me, but that doesn't jibe. see, i remember doing the thing, but in a different location. i sat in a chair by the door.

are we remembering two different occurrences? could be. it's possible that the thing you are talking about sounds like the thing i remember doing with you, but maybe you did this other thing and also the thing with me, so you have two memories to my one. my assuming that you are talking about the thing we did together makes me think you got the location wrong, but if i were to ask you and we were to compare, we might be able to sort it out.

of course, it could be we only did the one thing, together, and that one of us remembers incorrectly. we could talk that out, too, but might not get anywhere. we'd probably need a third party to help sort us out. if it's even that important.

maybe we both did both things, but i only remember one of them. that would be about par for the course for me, especially if i didn't enjoy the occassion. i need my brainspace for all sorts of important information, so i tend to just drop out the memories i don't enjoy. makes more room for the good stuff.

my trapper keeper was yellow with a picture of autumn leaves.

september always makes me want to buy school supplies. i must not be alone in this because stores have instituted an outlet for the fetish - bins to collect school supplies for kids who cannot afford them. you pick out the fresh pencils and crayons, the unopened packs of looseleaf, the pocket portfolios, composition books, inkpens, glue sticks. you make all your lovely selections, then as you're exiting, drop them in the bin. fulfills the need to purchase school supplies and eliminates the need to store them somewhere.

once, i bought a canvas looseleaf notebook that included a set of tabbed dividers, a spiral notebook, a pack of college rule, and a newsprint booklet of maps and times tables. i wanted the traditional blue, but all they had was teal. my need was too desperate, i could not hold out for blue. i purchased the teal.

for years, i didn't even open it, instead just reveling in its pristine beauty. like a clear mountain lake, it was undisturbed by man. but after moving it from bin to drawer to desk to bin and back and again for years, i grew weary of its perpetual virginity. it was mocking me, mocking my pretend-student-ness, mocking my need to purchase a school supply i had no use for. "give me away" - it dared. give me away. NO - i decided. no, i will not give you away, stupid teal mockingbook!

i decided that i would use it, take notes on... on... well, on something for godsake. so earlier this year, i broke open the pack of college rule and i took out an inkpen and i wrote ACE'S PROJECT across the top of the first sheet.

ACE'S PROJECT.

ace's project.


ace's....


project....


being hermetically sealed together all these years was not beneficial to them. inbred like british royalty, like cousins in kentucky, like rats in a box. the notebook had infested the entire system with its misplaced austere disrespect. the blank page was mocking me now. had it forgotten who purchased it? who preserved it? who liberated it? who controlled it? SHUT UP YOU STUPID POOPY FACE PAGE! YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME! STOP LOOKING AT ME OR I'M TELLING! NYAH NYAH NYAH!

yes, september brings out the schoolchild in me.

now, if you'll excuse me, i'll be on the swings.

when grass was green and grain was yellow

i'm sitting outside, because i can. the sky is a muddy pink and it looks as if it will rain. the air is tepid, like bathwater sat in too long. it is windy, gusty but not in an annoying way. the squirrels are chattering, chasing in the yard. while i was walking on the other street today, i saw just by the road a dead squirrel, kind of all turned inside out, gross, and in the adjacent lawn was another squirrel, scrabbing in the leaves looking for nuts, probably, but maybe he was looking for his dead friend. do squirrels even notice when one is missing? "where's pedro?"

after i watered the flowers, i moved that one - the one that always topples over in a storm - i moved it into the corner of the chimbly. i'd like to have a cup of coffee, but i don't feel like making one. i think i could fall asleep right here.