I like the caramels.

I was reminded tonight of how much I love Walt Whitman.  I never pick up Leaves of Grass that I don't feel the need to lay on the green ground and stare at the sky through the trees.  Whitman makes me feel like I think a person should feel while having a religious experience.  After a good sermon from Walt I feel hopeful and have a renewed faith in both myself and mankind.  Song of Myself is my Psalms.  I think Whitman intended the reader to feel that way; to have that lyrical, singing quality from his written words.  I'm just glad King James isn't around to screw it up.

Pinkerton, Paul McCartney and a lament of noise.

So, I recently broke my most favorite CD in the world.  It was in my itunes library so I could still listen to it whenever I wanted, but I was still was upset that it was in three pieces on the floor.  I ordered a new copy of the CD and it arrived yesterday.  I popped it into my CD player in my car and fell in love all over again.  I was a different experience than calling a song up on my ipod.  So much of the music on my ipod is put into playlists and shuffled around so that there is no sense of "the album" anymore. 

It made me sort of sad to think about how we don't buy music in the tangible sense anymore.  I remember the first record I ever bought with my own money.  It was the 45rpm single press of "Say, Say, Say" by Paul McCartney (I have had a crush on PM for as long as I can remember) and Michael Jackson.  I listened to it endlessly,  and would carefully wipe any dust off before putting it back in its paper sleeve.  It was something special to take that black vinyl disk, place it on the turntable, and set the needle arm down.   The crackly, poppy sounds that would precede the music were and still are the most amazing sounds.  The were the intro to every song I loved as a child.  I miss that sound.  Maybe itunes should start putting that sound at the beginning of every song.  :) 

Parisian Picspam!

Well, this weather is stinky, so I thought it would be fun to think about how awesome Paris was in the summer. Paris, je t'aime!

The catacombs are amazing.  I totally walked around yelling, "Fortunato!" (Don't send me any email about that story being set in Italy.  I know.  But when else am I actually going to get to walk around in bone filled catacombs?) In pace requiescat!

Check out the Catacombs here!

You don't think it could ever happen to you.  You feel like somehow your family is insulated.  You know a few people who have succumbed to this awful disease, but never really think it will touch you and those you love.

Well, it happened to my family.  That's right folks, my parents have Snuggie-fever. 

I believe the illness is in its early stages, as they have both only had them for about a week.  It will be hard to recover, but I will be helping them get through this tradgedy by purchasing them a lovely sofa throw and some new sweaters.  Please keep us in your thoughts.

I did my tax return today.

I hate the fact that I max out my student loan interest deduction with just one loan.  

And I thought we had done away with indentured servitude.  So much for land of the free and all that jazz.  :)

No, thank you...

So, I received a Thank You note today from a client.  My immediate reation was, "awww, how sweet, I should send her a Thank You note". 

Do they make You're Welcome notes?

Spring Fever...

I am ready to get out into the woods.   I am ready to stick my bare feet in the mud and look up at the sky through the leaves.  I have spring fever without even a hint of spring.  My bicycle is waiting for me to jump on it and ride the trail.  I am ready to bust out!!!!!!!!!  Winter should take a hike.  Haha, get it take a hike. Yeah, I know, epic cheesiness. :)



PS~I got an email today from a friend asking if that was me in the heading picture.  Yes, I think it was my fourth birthday, only 30 years ago.  I just think it is funny because I am holding a birthday cake and it looks like my eyes have been gouged out.

How silly can you get?

Okay, it is time to admit my secret shame.

I. Love. To. Watch. The. Bachelor.

I can't help it.  The shear level of desperation displayed by these women is mostly appalling, but also fascinating.  Sadly, I realize that I enjoy it because on some level it is nice to know that drop-dead gorgeous women are not only insecure, but also bat shit crazy.

Now, I do not pretend to be normal, god knows, I would fail miserably; however, I find the majority of these women INSANE!  Certifiable. Ready for the looney bin.  Crazy with a K.  I can only think of one, maybe two, men that I would physically or verbally fight other women for, and they are both fictional characters.  (Oh, Mr. Darcy, I would take Elizabeth Bennett down with my fists and my wit.)

These women are supposedly educated and successful, but they act like preschoolers fighting over a toy.  Do I think it is stupid? Yes.  Do I think it is, on some level, misogynistic? Yes.  Do I watch it every week? You betcha.  I realize I am part of the disease, not the cure, but I love it.  Maybe I will feel better if I watch a show with some educational value, like an X-Files rerun.  (Oh, Mulder, I would fight an alien AND the cigarette smoking man for you!)

Is it possible to go crazy in less than 48 hours?

Things I did while trapped in my house.

1. Cleaned out my fridge,
2. Drew a "tattoo" of a lightning bolt on my wrist,
3. Ate my weight in cinnamon toast crunch,
4. Played Claire De Lune on the piano five times,
5. Tried to play Claire De Lune on the guitar,
6. Learned that I still cannot play the guitar,
7. Darned a pair of my favorite socks,
8. Bought a new copy of Weezer's Pinkerton on amazon. (I stepped on my original...oops).
9. Called my Mom.  awwww.
10. Rolled around on a yoga ball for 30 minutes. 
11. Watched part of a Matrix marathon on amc.
12. Cleaned the bugs out of the light fixture in my garage.

Yep, a most productive weekend.

Tower of Terror

My friend, who shall remain nameless for her own protection, and I were riding through the country one day when we stumbled upon this... thing.  Now, my friend had long sought to make her own tarot deck from her original photography, and we thought that this little gem might be a good contender for "the Tower".  I mean, what do you call it? Is it a shack? A hut? An upright coffin? A roadside outhouse? One person bus stop for 1980's flea market/carnival workers?  And is that a raft in front? 

I digress, my friend and I circled around this thing twice trying to figure out the best angle to truly capture the essence of this little gem.  We knew we wanted the awesome flea market, blacklight, cobra poster in the frame.  It was delicate work to be sure.  On our third approach my friend rolled down the window and I stopped.  As she was taking the picture we heard a bone chilling sound.  Loud and echoing; it was a whistle, and not a wolf whistle or a person whistling their favorite tune.  No, it was the whistle only heard in the south.   The "hey buddy get ready to get shot" whistle only truly done well by hillbillies.

I have never driven away from a place so fast in my life and that includes the night I got caught spying on my boyfriend while with the same friend.   In closing, if this is your hut/bus stop, please do not hunt me down and kill me.  Many thanks.