We have to wait until Saturday, but that doesn’t mean I can’t run around in circles and say “Wheeeeeeeee!” Actually, Ray’s not feeling well. I think the nap she took on the way home from Bishop Castle was due to coming down with (another) summertime cold. Update: I ended up staying home with Ray and […]
I like eating grilled food, but I can’t help it. To me, grilling isn’t cooking. It’s just killing stuff.
Stan (Boulder Dude) and I drove out to Bishop Castle today. I think the closest thing (in spirit more so than in form) that I’ve seen to it is the House on the Rock. If you check out the difference in the places’ respective websites, you’ll get an idea of how different Bishop Castle is
“Television is a medium because anything well done is rare.” –Fred Allen
Odds of dying… In a flood: 1 in 144,156 After being struck by lightning: 1 in 79,746 By legal execution: 1 in 62,468 By accidental electrocution: 1 in 9,968 In a fire/of smoke inhalation: 1 in 1,113 By drowning: 1 in 1,008 By suicide: 1 in 119 In a motor vehicle accident: 1 in 84
I am both nervous and impatient to get on with the house-buying process. Things both are dreaded and cannot happen fast enough. I’m like that with anything new. Anyway, since I started proceedings on Thursday, I’ve been restless. What needs to happen is for me to use up all my excess energy on a project,
An early-morning rumination following a dream of a bookstore: What is the writerly muse, if not a collection of interests, curiosities, subconscious desires, obsessions, and memories that has become a individualized figure, an entity to be visualized and invoked at will? What does “I have lost my muse” mean but “I have no obsessions”?
The illustrator who designed “Olive, the Other Reindeer,” J.otto Seibold, has a new book out, “Alice in (pop-up) Wonderland.” And a Flash website, too. (Via Neatorama.)
Reading the Otherland series* by Tad Williams, I wandered across the legend of the Wulgaru: He chanted the most powerful incantations he knew, and tapped the figure with his woomera. The sun sank, dusk changed to dark and, daring the evil spirits of the night, Djarapa chanted and tapped without stopping on through the night
