“We put the ‘K’ in kwality!” –from work.

(Dale’s idea.) After Dr. Methuselah’s wife, Candy, died, he went a little crazy. A little mean, a little maudlin. He mixed the genes of a weeping willow with a few DNA strands harvested from the hair of his late wife, weaving in a passel o’ nanotech… The first love tree seeded itself on top of

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have Internets! Huntsville: Brick + wood siding = house. Beware the Quality Inn, one of life’s little ironies. The weirdly-positioned handicap-accessible grab bars on the toilet are 1) rusty 2) cannot be used if the toilet lid is open. Says it all, really. Too bad it’s like conference week out here

Off tomorrow a.m. on business trip…to take notes a thousand miles away. Because nobody else can write things down. Gov’t $$$ at work. Back Saturday afternoon. May/may not have connection.

We played Nine Princes in Pulp again yesterday…hooray! What with all the running back and forth to the books, we only go through 3 1/2 rounds (I think). Nevertheless, during those 3 1/2 rounds my character got in more action than I usually do in a session, making a heroic leap from a zeppelin to

Guy at work was telling me about a pony he’d had when he was a kid. “You had to do the weirdest thing to make him go,” he said. “If you kicked him, he’d trot, but that was about it. To get him to go any faster, you’d have to wave a pine bough–you know,

Pick up a can of “Anything” or “Whatever” and get a random taste sensation… WARNING: This cola might, like Jelly Belly, pick up some kind of Harry Potter sponsorship, and then you’d be drinking grass…spackle…overcooked pork chops… (via Growabrain.)

My mother deserved better, but then I always had been an inferior child. I’d left her ashes in their dark urn–in a garage, extruding only the smallest amounts at Christmas, her birthday (ironically, on Valentine’s Day), and Mother’s Day, wearing the sigil of her love of my forehead like the mark of a curse, or

Sigur Ros, “Svefn-g-englar” and “Saeglopur“

grenades work.