Thursday, March 27, 2014

Yo, my peeps!

This post is for the birds.

Does anyone even SAY that any more?

Doesn't matter, I just did, and I'm leaving it as it's a wicked (dun dun DUUUUUN!) foreshadowing of the topic of this entry.



This is, in fact, about birds!

But why birds?  Why not something interesting, like a recipe or the proper way to iron a placketed shirt?

Here's why - I'm thinking of cutting down trees.

Trees that house some very speciala guests: my peeps.  My cutie-pie adorable little peeps, who at dusk every evening set up a fluttery chorus of 'peep, peep, peep!' for about 10 minutes, until the day goes blue and presumably that's their bedtime.

Two months ago they were peeping at 5:30, not they peep at 7:30.  But they are faithful to peep every day (kind of like these little guys at about 1 minute in) and it cheers me up tremendously.

But they live in an overly tall hedge of Leyland Cypress that are going bald at the bottom and thinning through the middle (interestingly, normally as one ages those things happen exactly oppositely!).  Those trees are not looking so hot at present, and if the tree guy says they can't be saved, well then they might just have to go.   They're there, after all, to off some privacy, and when I can SEE the preschool next door through the branches, it's obvious that that whole privacy thing is not really working so great.

Important to keep in mind here: as implied above,  if I cut down the trees, the peeps will have no place to perch to peep, and I might lose my little buddies who I really do love.  THEY ARE SO CHEERY!!

What to do?   Do I let the trees just die slowly, providing housing for the wee peepers, or do I do the unthinkable and chop down the trees with their peeply lil' birdies (and, presumably at this time of year, their birdie babies?

Oh, I just went there with the babies thing.

A new level of pathos unfolds.

No.  NO. I can't do it.  I can't cut down the trees! Not with chickie-chickie-babies as a potential collateral damage point.

Could you??

Keep in mind - THEY'RE CHEERY.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

A few random things rolling around that need to be evicted.


I’m sure you know by now that I have become a ‘woman of a certain age,’ with all the attendant joys thereto.  Oh yes, the joys.  Wrinkly old-lady hands, strange under-eye skin, dry hair, let’s not even TALK about the chestal region, and, recently, a chin whisker.


A unique little darling, quirky and original.

So naturally, I call it Tracy Lynn.  I’d like to think she would approve of this.

Biff made ‘Fish with hobo spices’ for dinner last night.

It was spicy, as you might expect for a dish that involves that much of many different kinds of pepper.  I can dig spicy, we’re pretty good buddies, but this dish flirts with bordering on ‘too much.’  Doesn't touch the border, mind you, but it definitely approaches the line.

I didn’t eat but about half of mine last night, so brought it in to work with me today to have for lunch.

And, wow.  It took me 30 minutes to eat ONE tilapia filet, because overnight in the fridge the spiciness not only CROSSED the border, but did so with tanks and heavy artillery.  Holy schnikes, I just about needed a drool cup.  Each new bite was a powerful blast, an explosion, an assault, but I was not vanquished nor beaten by a piece of fish!  Oh no - I withstood the onslaught, raised my defenses (lots of water), and soldiered on, masticating the maruading attack into submission and finishing it all up like a good girl.  I, in short, WON.  Over FOOD.

I’m sure you’re as proud of me as if I was your own child finishing a grueling marathon or winning an award for best penmanship or something.  I really love that about you. 

Mother Nature is pulling out all the stops today for the first day of Spring.  Good Lord, it’s gorgeous outside.  In the 60’s (F), sunny, a little breezy – perfect.

Compare that to what nonsense was going on earlier this week, with the sleet and the frizzle and the snow and wind so fierce it blew the chimey bits off our windchimes (our neighbors might not be so sad about this), and I’m pretty confident in stating that Mother Nature is a schizo freakjob with a definite sadistic streak.

Whoever is out there with the tub of Chiffon trying to passit off as butter, knock it off!  It’s been over 40 years, that ruse doesn’t work, it just pisses her off, and you’re making all of us suffer!  Lay off!


I also prefer butter, so understand the anger.


Well, that's it for now.  I feel better getting all of this Very Important Information to you in a timely manner and within budget.

Tiff out.

Thursday, March 06, 2014

The Blog is Dead! (Long Live the Blog!)

Now that's what I'm talkin' about!
We are all savvy consumers of eGoods by this point, with our ethises and ethats pouring into our brains and homes at a pace faster than a galloping gazelle.  eBooks!  eFriends!  eFamilies and sheets and blankets and lives and alter-egos and fandoms and playmates!

Of course it really all started with eMail.  Then it was chatting on ‘boards’ or ‘rooms,’ how quaint.  Then IM, then came blogs.  Ah, blogs.

I started thishere blog in the fall of 2005, or about 8.5 years ago.  I was in a very different place in my life, with a very different brain, but all along in the blog thing I meant only to write as myself, for me, about me, sometimes only TO me.  It was a heady time of personal blogs, with everyone having at least one, and some of us tapping away on multiples, several times a week.

All for fun.

(OK, there was the Shrinking Piggies blog, which was for motivation, but we had fun there too!).

I am sad to report that, as reported before here among other places, things have changed and the tide has not yet turned back to 'blogging for fun.'  No, nowadays it appears that it's blogging for profit,' which is not the same thing at all.

Today I read this festive little piece about how to get started in blogging, build traffic, and eventually turn that ol’ blog into a money-maker.  It’s divine….ly depressing.  Note how the notion of ‘blog’ is now a topic-bound item, with no room for ‘middle of the night ranting.’  That you have to find your ‘niche,’ and trackback, tweet/retweet, pingback, link lavishly, namedrop, cajole, wheedle, and spit on your thumbs to make any success at all from your blog.  You have to put in HOURS of research for one post, so writing even just one post daily is like a full-time job, but hey Mister if you want to be a world-famous blogger, you have to put in the tough hours, do the hard work, nose to the grindstone (or screen) and churn out that dang work.



That’s sounds like about as much fun as….working, and I do enough of that already.  So, don’t listen to that dour buzzkill, kiddoes – just write from the heart, write fast and furiously, do what you love and the money will follow!

Just as long as you remember that retweeting thing.  That probably works.


If you are ever in the market for a new dishwasher, don’t even THINK of getting anything but a Bosch. 

Wise words you’d do best to heed.


Our roof needs to be replaced, the house needs to be repainted (or re-sided), it’d be nice to have a new-to-us car for commuting purposes (gas savings, here I come!), but what I would REALLY do if I had an extra few thousand bucks?


Aw, yeah.

What would YOU do if you got an extra, say, $5000 to use however you wanted?  I’m thinking hot tub is #1 on most lists, am I right?

Do blather on about your choices down in the comments, and we’ll see one another again soon.

Tiff out.

Monday, March 03, 2014

Iced in, like a fine keg.

We'll get to it...
OK, so winter's come around again, blowing and hollering like a toddler who's 2 minutes from embarrassing his folks in the grocery store if he can't have THAT BALLOON RIGHT NOW and by right now I mean yesterday and even then it's too late, here come the tears and screaming.

Because, Wow.

To contrast with whatever evil is happening outdoors right now (30F and sleeting at the mo, thought it might be in the 20s by now, such is the temp slip) hear this:  Saturday we took a lovely walk in a nature preserve in north Raleigh, sans coat.  Sunday (yesterday, obvs) we had the house windows open because (check this) it was 70 outside and 65 inside.  Open the windows to warm the place up.

Then close them real quick to keep the heat in, because today flings itself in faster than Johhny Weir can triple toe loop and we're slammed into the 40, then 30s, then (likely) 20s, with all forms of precipitation imaginable in the ordinary course of things (no blasting steam, for example), and enough wind to dry your granny's bloomers in a minute flat.  I had to take our flag down out of a sense of compassion, such was the whipping about (and also rain, because I'm kind of a purist when I think about rain and American flags.  Take that bad boy down when it's raining!  I know, it's a chore, but if you're around, don't let it get wet.  Who likes a sodden symbol of our great nation?  No, it's like seeing Fabio with wet hair and a zit.  Nobody wants that.).

So, anyhow.  Winter.


One thing it's good for, I SUPPOSE, is cooking, but after last night's al fresco meaty grillin' time, stewing things is a less-than-awesome alternative.

Too bad I don't have ingredients for this in the house. Come on.  Dill pickle, cream cheese, and salami wraps?  You KNOW you would.  And it's totally paleo.  And gluten-free.  It's HEALTH FOOD, in a shiny salt coating.  MmmmMMMmmmmm.  Certainly the ice in my adult beverage would combat the resultant dessication and subsequent dehydration.  It would be SO worth it.


This post sponsored by The Parentheticals (A new puppet troupe out of Shenegwa Falls, NY specializing (but not exclusive to) paper products, large things on sticks (no animals used), Frenchy-sounding pastimes, and subtitled mime shows (in nine languages! (we know!))), and Sister Johnny the Emphatic, RESOUNDING supporter of ACTION VERBS and emphasis in writing since 1964's Vatical commisure on writing, which was really dull and uninspiring in her opinion so she's been bringing the VERVE to the world through author support for lo these 50 years.

Thanks to both.

Tiff out.

Saturday, March 01, 2014

There isn't much to talk about

My typing skills are so poor that I had to go all 'bridge of the Enterprise' in the light turning-on procedure to see well enough to type this post.

Sink light - on.  Crown moulding light, on.  Desk light, on.  Buffet/ha-ha it's a convenience corral light, on.

Now I can see the keyboard, and write.


Not that there's much to talk about.

Except Kaply died, and that hole is too big to even start to fill in yet.  Here, a week and overmore since she passed, there's nothing to really say except 'well, shit.'

Well, shit.  We all knew she wan't the wellest person on the block (or city, state, country, or world), but somehow she was SUPPOSED to live with use until our old age and we would care for her in thought, word, and deed.

Turns out, it's the deeds that we couldn't do, nor could anyone else, and that sucks beyond everything else.

So it's there I dwell, in the small spaces that allow such indulgences.  Surely, she would have moved on by now.  However, to the eternal-11-year-old that I am, I can't help whispering at the shy corners of possibility, 'what if'?


Also, I got fired from a project team.

First time ever.

It sucks.

But..moving on.  While still supporting the team in a way that they can gustate.

Which leads me to certain hallway verbal drivebys that say one thing, but mean another, where the certain former team members are concerned.

Busy turning the other cheek, am I.

Practicing is hard, so much I want to smack some people but cannot.


I miss ranting.


On the plus side, I'm yet again part of our town's cemetery tour this year, so come on out on 10 May and have a bit of creep under the turf with us.  Many interesting and influential folks are interred not but about a half mile from the Tiny House, so we could make it a party!

Aside from Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Lake Week, it's my favorite part of the year.


Tiff out.