Retired porn star
cynthia+2016-05-16T14:17:02-07:00The old woman glared at us. "I'd LIKE to get into my room, if you don't mind." ...
The old woman glared at us. "I'd LIKE to get into my room, if you don't mind." ...
Every once in awhile I'm reminded of the original purpose of a blog (WebLog, that is): To comment on interesting stuff you find on the Web. When three separate sources pointed to the same Tim O'Reilly post, I figured it was worth a read (and, anyway, I like the man and his company very much). Interesting stuff. To sum it [...]
While I find hive minds fascinating--one of the purest examples of an organic computer--I'd rather they stayed out in the wilderness where they belonged. In particular, Tapinoma sessile, the Odiferous House Ant, should really be going home now. ...
"I've got a list of license plates," the tow truck guy growled, "of guys who've flipped me off or rolled down their windows and called me names. Someday, ma'am, one of those jerks is gonna need a tow, and I'll just let 'em sit there. " He finished hitching up Max, my usually trusty Maxima, and started winching it in. Max's electronics had reeled and died on a windy Portland hill after sundown, just past a busy, dark and dangerous curve. I was shivering by the time Max was finally up on his haunches and secured to the tow truck, while a long line of drivers honked and glared and inched past us. ...
Snowing again today and the forecast is for it to keep it up until Friday. White Christmas indeed. And I'm getting a kick out of documenting the progress of the snow levels on my back deck. Here's on day 1: And here's yesterday's: And here's this morning's...with a furry addition who's not in the least bit interested in the weather: [...]
Until you're behind the scenes, watching "Dad" become "Dr. Morgan," you can't really understand the value he brings to the world. And once you've had your first Mr. McCorkle, you'll try for the rest of your life to understand how your dad continued caring for terminally ill patients with such grace, even when he knew he couldn't "fix" them. ...
Just had to post this one for all you geeks out there...
When I moved to glassland I learned many astonishing things about glass, life on a corporate cubicle farm and being at one with Nature. Nature, apparently, also learned to be at one with me, at least when it came to raccoons. More specifically, Nature went out of her way to explain that the cute, cuddly little bandits of my favorite animated fantasies were just that: Fantasies. ...
“AAAAIEEEUUUNT NO SUNSHY-YINE WHEYUUUN SHEEEEEEAAAAH’S GAAAAWWWWWWUUUUUUUN…” Startled, I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw the man in the car behind me, mouth open all the way back to his tonsils, belting out the Bill Withers classic. “THAT voice,“ my old singing teacher would have said, darkly, “shouldn’t be allowed to sing.”
I'm an artist. Period. Is it just me being Ms. OversensitiveWordist, or is there something a tad demeaning in the term "glass artist?" I mean, when we talk about a sculptor, do we say he is a "bronze artist?" When we talk about a painter, is he an "oil artist?" Nope. So here's my soapbox on "glass artists."