In the last six months, I’ve joined (I think) two poetry boards. I think I have two posts at one and none at the other. I’m not really sure what I think I’m achieving by joining. I feel a strange guilt if I lurk without joining. Obviously, I’m just plain weird.

Honestly, I’m looking for inspiration. I don’t know why I think it’s out there and not in here *taps noggin*. Maybe because nothing much is in here *taps noggin*. If you put your ear to my head, you can hear the ocean!

I moderate at a book forum. We keep getting hit by spammers trying to sell a book called Chasing Cool. They’re signing up just to spam us.

Note to publishers, this is a piss-poor way to treat readers. And what advertising for your book, since we all know that spam is the epitome of cool. Yeah. Like ringworm.

Idiots.

This is my new favorite picture in the whole world. Courtesy of here.

“I used the imaginary kingdom not as a sentimentalized fairyland, but as an opening wedge to express what I hoped would be some very hard truths,” he once told an interviewer. “I never saw fairy tales as an escape or a cop-out. . . . On the contrary, speaking for myself, it is the way to understand reality.”

83 years. Too short.

The blog was fubar’d for part of the day yesterday because I was tinkering. After whining that WordPress wouldn’t let me change the template, it was fitting that I crashed my blog because I could change the template!

I really do believe that there’s an evil elf somewhere, giggling at me.

The Indians have a fine young pitcher named Fausto Carmona. It sounds like that should involve a cream sauce somehow.

Still, he doesn’t compare with the A’s pitcher Kiko Calero, or the Twins’ young Boof Bonser. I don’t think I’d want a Boof Bonser with cream sauce.

Do you suppose, that waiting hands on eyes,
Veronica has gone to hide?
And all the time she laughs at those who shout
her name and steal her clothes
Veronica
Veronica

It looks like “Veronica Mars” is history. So sad. My Tuesdays look bleak as hell.

I was feeling pretty chipper until yesterday’s grey and gloomy rains. The sun is now starting to peek out and I’m feeling better again–not so tired and angsty.

My blank verse so far has been hyperfocused on gardening, weeding, that sort of thing. If you had told me a year ago what enjoyment I would be getting out of plants, I would have mocked you to your face. And pointed. Because I’m rude.

One begins to feel a little persecuted after the roofers don’t call back multiple times.

Do I have roof cooties? Is my brittle slate contagious? I pay! Big money! You like!

There are two roofers in the county. Two. Guess how many I’ve called? Grr.

I’m not going to gloat about it. It’s too late to feel anything but sadness at what these pompous, arrogant, self-righteous charlatans have done to this country.