Sunday, January 29, 2006

Lonely Vigils, Many Lights.

I spent the hour in vigil.
Afterward I toddled down to the Lake to ponder.
I took out my old journal and flipping to the first page, I rewrote it, knowing that it does one good to be mindful of such things.

The SOUNDS link in the side bar has been updated: Hammered Dulcimer Medley of Snow Blind/Over The Waterfall, courtesy of Peter Ballerstedt, of the NWHDS.

Friday, January 27, 2006

so I am the one standing in the midst...

So I am the one standing in the midst of the hustling, bustling crowd that goes about its daily business.

In the midst of the crowd I stand on a box - a milk crate - and wringing my hands while shouting as though to the world, in a high pitched and quavering voice,


but everyone IS calm and it is only me that panicked.

I am reminded of something a friend once said jokingly a long time ago about being Chicken Little.

I can relate right about now.

*Takes a deep breath*


Show Tunes and Meredith Wilson for better living.

(Quotes from the Famous Play by Meredith Wilson slaved with some miscellaneous observations.)

Madam Libraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...

pick a little, talk a little,
pick a little, talk a little,
chew chew chew talk alot
pick a little more.

I wonder if the library eventually became an albatross?
I wonder why the whole town hated her.
It's not like they really knew her.

But I suppose that's the kind of talk that starts rumours about Travelling Salesmen too.
Well it only stands to reason.
I mean really, it only goes to show that if you just sit down and talk about things....

The problem is, most peoples knees aren't willing to bend.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

G'night Zimmy!

My other best friend has passed away.

I still find it hard to fathom though I have known for hours.

I have done the best I could do for our people both on the lysts as well as the NWHDS.
I have procurred your best beloveds to help oversee.

To step away from the keyboard now, is to embrace a day that tells me you have gone where I cannot yet follow. For you it is a glorious day. Filled with reunions too numerous to count.

I will remain and find a way.

You are my best friend.
I haven't told Barb yet.
Maybe we'll go out for a beer in your honour.
Thanks also for your writing inspiration!
(Now I know that Canker Shores must NOT die and Patsy and Patrick must have their day.)

I am going to go and take a nap now.
The hatches are battened down, and I can step away.

I wish you were here Zimmy!

little m-

Friday, January 20, 2006

2Young 2 B Old and Revelation

It's true!
Oh the crime of it all!
To be a 20 year old trappend inside an ... uhm ... older-than-20-year-old body!
When I am 90, I am sure I will feel the same.
Such is the way of things.

Let not youth be wasted, oh you who are young.

More Myst 4 Revelation in the comments section.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

One Thing Leads to Another

SO after writing that last Angerful blogpost, I found myself visiting the following sites which sure cheered me up, and reminded me of what a great place America has been.
(hee hee hee hee)

The faint of heart should not visit these sights.
Only the wry, dry sense of humour will survive.

One of my favorite Greeting Products designers:
Anne Taintor:
Here, here, here and here.

And James Lileks:
Here, here, a sample from his latest book "Interior Desecrations,"
a sample from his previous book "Gallery of Regrettable Foods".

SO angry I could SPIT!

(*Carries ladder in and places it against a box of Tide(tm) Detergent.
Climbs onto soap box. Clears throat and adjusts Kevlar(tm) lined jacket.*)

I am NOT going to apologise for being an American.

Do you apologise for being French or Canadian or English or Brazilian or Japanese, or Israeli or what ever?

NO of course you don't. That would never enter your head.

It has become far too easy for the entire world (including Americans themselves???)
to blame everything on "Americans" right now.
Screw that.
Its crap.
I am NOT going to own it.
You don't find the rest of the world apologizing for their nationality, or worrying about offending the U.S. or any body else by being born some place?
You don't find the rest of the globe's citizen travelling around being contrite when they enter a country with the attitude, "Yes I know what my passport says. I am sorry you have to lay eyes on me, a foul American, today."

Not everything in the world is America's fault.

Humanity is what it is.
The earths citizens are to blame for the earths problems, both with regard to war and the environment.

It has always been so.
And guess what, it's not going to change because people are people.
There is NOTHING NEW under the sun.

Rome rose and Fell.
So did Babylon.
World powers come and go.
Because they are populated with imperfect humanity.

When somebody comes along saying, "Entire Global Peace can be had for all people now!" then you will know beyond doubt that they are either a complete idiot, or the devil himself.

I am not blind.
Our country has some REAL problems.
But the shape the modern world and its trials and tribulations are not entirely our fault, and for us to go around apologizing for being Americans is WRONG.

On the contrary, who is it that rushes aid where its needed, even to potential enemies?

*Adjusts ladder and climbs down off of Tide Detergent Box*

There it is.

Get over it.

Man, am I MAD!

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Boys will be Boys

My son is the new internet laughing stock for today, Jan 15th, 2006.


I give you:

Thursday, January 5, 2006

Myst IV: Revelation and Elbow

not uch to say tonight except that my elbow is killing me. I got Xrays today. No bone chips but I have an injured Bursa, which tends to get "Rice Grain" textured scar tissue whihc is VERY painful and gets caught in all the wrong places in there and takes MONTHS to heal.
Of course.
Why not.

I did play Revelation again tonight.
See comments for spoilery commentary on that.

Wednesday, January 4, 2006

one armed again...

one handed typing again.
remember that elbow I injured last month when I slipped and fell on the ice?
it has bothered me off-and-on since then. I just assumed I had hit a nerve or something.
it locked up on me tonight and, first I couldn't straighten it out - then i couldn't then i managed to manipulate it out straight, and now I cam't bend it. I iced it but still couldn't bend it to 45degrees, so I just splinted it straight and hope it is better in the morning. Stu thinks its a nerve or muscle spasm. I don't know. I am wondering if it might be a bone chip.
stupid ice!
stupid arm!
good thing I only need one good hand to play Myst IV:Revelation!

More on that in the Comment Section - spoilers - beware?

Stuff and Revelation

Ok so...after another night in Tomahna...well, now I see.
In order not to spoil the game play for any one who has not yet played Myst IV: Revelation, I will confine my blogging about it to the comments section. SO if you don't want to see any spoilers, don't look at the comments.

It appears that Mysterium will be held inSPokane this year.
Yay! A place I can drive to.
This means I can take "mo betta stuff."
This means I can make another road-trip up into wheat land to shoot soem fun photos.
Maybe I can convince Lehsa to go along?
I can fit 3 comfortably in my car, so it would be fun to take an extra day, either thursday or Monday (Sunday?) and just make a day-trip to shoot images.

Fun to think about.

Tuesday, January 3, 2006

I Broke Tomahna, and Kids Become Cats

I Broke Tomahna.
I dunno what I did.
I am not playing Myst IV: Revelation for more than an hour and I already manage to "Break Tomahna." I did what the man said. I started the water wheel. Fortunately the little girl ran across to the safe side just before I broke everything.

Maybe I will try powering up a different section of the place tonight.

By Adair Lara
From : Northshore School District Newsletter, Connections, Junior Ed, Nov. 1996, v. 8, no. 2

I just realized that while children are dogs, loyal and affectionate, teenagers are cats.

It’s so easy to be the owner of a dog. You feed it, train it, boss it around and it puts its heads on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rembrandt painting. It follows you around, chews the dust covers off the Great Literature series if you stay too long at the party and bounds inside with enthusiasm when you call it in from the yard.

Then, one day around age 13, your adoring little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell it to come inside, it looks amazed, as if wondering who died and made you emperor. Instead of dogging your footsteps, it disappears. You won’t see it again until it gets hungry, when it pauses on its sprint through the kitchen long enough to turn its nose up at whatever you’re serving. When you reach out to ruffle its head, in that old affectionate gesture, it twists away from you, then gives you a blank stare, as if trying to remember where it has seen you before.

It sometimes conks out right after breakfast. It might steel itself to the communication necessary to get the back door opened or the car keys handed to it, but even that amount of dependence is disagreeable to it now.

Stunned, more than a little hurt, you have two choices. The first – and the one chosen by many parents – is that you can continue to behave like a dog owner. After all, your heart still swells when you look at your dog, you still want its company, and naturally when you tell it to stop digging up the rose bushes, you still expect it to obey you, pronto. IT PAYS NO attention now, of course, being a cat. So you toss it onto the back porch, telling it it can stay there and think about things, mister, and it glares at you, not deigning to reply. It wants you to recognize that it has a new nature now, and it must reel independent or it will die.

You, not realizing that the dog is now a cat, think something must be desperately wrong with it. It seems so anti-social, so distant, so sort of depressed. It won’t go on family outings.

Since you’re the one who raised it, taught it to fetch and stay and sit on command, naturally you assume that whatever is wrong with it is something you did, or left undone. Flooded with guilt and fear, you redouble your efforts to make your pet behave.

Only now, you’re dealing with a cat, so everything that worked before now produces exactly the opposite of the desired result. Call it, and it runs away. Tell it to sit, and it jumps on the counter. The more you go toward it, wringing your hands, the more it moves away.

Your second choice is to do the necessary reading, and learn to behave like a cat owner. Put a dish of food near the door, and let it come to you. If you must issue commands, find out what it wants to do, and command it to do it. BUT REMEMBER THAT a cat needs affection, too, and your help. Sit still, and it will come, seeking that warm, comforting lap it has not entirely forgotten. Be there to open the door for it.

Realize that all dog owners go through this, and few find it easy. My glance used to travel from my cat Mike looking regal and aloof on the fence to a foolish German shepherd on the sidewalk across the street, jumping for joy simply because he was getting to go outside. Now I miss the little boy who insisted I watch “Full House” with him, and who has now sealed him into a bedroom with a stereo and TV. The little girl who wrote me mash notes and is now peeling rubber in the driveway.

The only consolation is that if you do it right, let them go, be cool as a cat yourself, one day they will walk into the kitchen and give you a big kiss and say, you’ve been on your feet all day, let me get those dishes for you – and you’ll realize they’re dogs again.