Friday, March 16, 2012


If there's a way to access Blogger from the stupid new iGoogle thingie-whatsis, I can't figure out what it is. Now I have to sign into Google, then search for Blogger, then click, then I'm magically transported via fairy dust and navel wax to the wonderful workd of Blogger, wherein I can post a post if I so choose.

Clearly, I'm missing something in all the upgrades that have occurred over the last few months while I was looking at pictures of cities gone to ruin or mountain biking videos or the Daily Mail online. Surely it should be more forthright than all those clicks?

Oh, my problems. Ohhhhhhh!!!


Do you ever talk to yourself in a foreign accent?


I do.


George Clooney got himself arrested today. What made it more special was that he got arrested with his DAD, both protesting the same thing.

Nice to know a man isn't too old to want to do stuff with his Daddy.

(call me, George! You seem fun! We could toast marshmallows and drink hot sake around the fire pit with Biff and Oldfriend!)


There's a girl showing herself up around our neighborhood lately. She' or so, firm of thigh and dark of skin, purely languid of movement and can dance like a boss.

Dance? How do I know this?

Well, because she has danced on our street the past three nights running. She comes up from the right, walking south, at first only talking to herself, then talks louder. The hips start swinging, then the talk turns to song. She then stands and moves shoulders to and fro, head snapping left and right while feet shake an akimbo rhythm to whatever tune she has going on in her mind. She does not care who is there to watch.

Her voice then will rise in song, deep throated and honest, but so odd on this street.

She dances the way up our street, shaking and singing and so fluid you could grease a flywheel with her hips and carpet your dreams with the shimmy of her shoulders. She is lovely, and weird.

I have forgotten what it is like to be her. To be so in the moment of your own making that you are the arbiter of all that happens around you, to be the boss of the moments and winds, so it is nice to see her, crazy young girl on my street, being fetching for that young man who always runs up behind her and walks a little ways with her. He is the reason she goes a little crazy, I think, but there's the hope in me that she keeps a bit of the crazy to herself to pull out and remember when she's older, grayer, but still wild.

Just something I'm thinking, right now. Y'all be well!

Tiff out.

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