faithless in little things...

     A string broke on my classical guitar. Around these parts, that's a big deal. Couldn't find any strings in any of the places you'd normally find 'em, which shows how negligent I have been in this vital spiritual matter. Until tomorrow, she will remain mute and practically entombed in her case.
     Advent is a season of repentance, and I see now that I have much to do in a short time.

This terrifies me.

you guys sure are weird...

     I'm ever so fond of my friends near and far, but for the life of me it sometimes feels like we come from different worlds. I suppose that's the Way it's meant to be, and it doesn't bother me in the least (well, sometimes it does, but that's life in the Big City you know). 

     Still, my friends, you'll lose me - in the sense that I won't understand you - if you make references to, inter alia: Doctor Who at too great a level of detail (which Doctor is which, how they dressed, who the Bad Guys were and are, what's happened in the last three years, etc); Star Wars as though it's still a Thing; Tolkien, because he's overrated and most of us are not in high school anymore; any of C S Lewis's fiction, and almost all of his nonfiction (his criticism is, oddly, rarely mentioned though it's quite good); Harry Potter and The Hunger Games, mostly because I think they suck; comic books; video games after 1989; most anything intended strictly 'for children' (this goes all the way back to when I was a child); Gilbert & Sullivan (I only know a couple of lines because they're in other movies or television shows); etc. Any mention of Chesterton is likely to make me want to strangle a puppy, especially if it's a clever quote meant to Explain Something Important.

     None of that is evil (well, Chesterton...), it's just from another world. So I love y'all, my friends, but I really don't know what the hell you're talking about half the time.

why not post a low quality photo of myself?

Your humble chef and factotum. I look like an escaped convict who broke into the house and decided to do some cooking.

Um, sorry for the mess. I made eggnog.

an interim report...

     Last night we completed Phase 1 of Thanksgiving Cookingpalooza 2014 by making stew and biscuits. I also confected The Nog and prepped for Phase 2, a Thanksgiving breakfast of french toast served with The Nog after it has chilled several hours. I am pleased to report that Phase 2 was a smashing success. The Nog goes well with french toast, o yes it does. 
     We've already begun Phase 3. I sautéed onions, celery, mushrooms, etc, for the dressing. I also made a wine/brandy/stock mixture for said dressing. Now Lea Ann has taken over the kitchen to prepare The Bird. Later I will make my Insanely Good Mashed Potatoes. O, and there is still plenty of The Nog in the refrigerator.
     Here endeth the interim report on Thanksgiving Cookingpalooza 2014. I'll leave you with these words from the Reverend MacLean in A River Runs Through It: 'I'd say the Lord has blessed us all today. It's just that he's been particularly good to me' 

a couple of things in the news...

     Somehow I've never thought of cricket. 
     Seriously, cricket never crosses my mind, or at least it didn't until this morning. Now that I have thought of cricket, the sport doesn't look that violent to me. Yet there's this guy named Phillip Hughes you see, and he's on death's door, felled during a cricket match of all things. 
     O, and they've thrown a proper riot in Ferguson, which will no doubt make things all better. 

help out a writer with too many books and not enough time...

     I seek a patron, one reasonably indifferent to what I do as long as the requisite sonnets and epithalamia appear at the appointed times. If you know anyone who would like to set me up with $3k a week, let me know.

the gospel according to Beckett...

     As always, Sam’s wisdom is apt to the day: ‘All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’ 

so you know...

I've been up since 2:30am. That's all. Suffering needs no embellishment. 

pre-flight whining...

Why do people insist on bringing bags bigger than Cadillacs onto the plane? They're wedging the damn things into the overhead compartments with crowbars and frontloaders. This is why it takes fifteen hours for everyone to find their seats.

South Park Tells About the Foundation of Mormonism and Joseph Smith

This about sums it up.

only God and the Marines are up that early...

     I must rise at o'dark-thirty in the morning to catch my flight to Jacksonville. That's 3am in human time, which is about when I like to fall asleep. So, it should be a doddle, a cinch, a lark, a piece of cake, a walk in the park...

my very own modest proposal...

     While we're killing children for convenience and profit, we might as well use the opportunity to see who really means what they say. So, I propose we decree that those who declare themselves 'Pro Choice,' either by explicit statement or by the votes they cast and their common associations, must register to kill an unborn child before they will be allowed once again to vote, hold office, serve on a jury, drive a car, register for a firearm, or legally work in the US. What's more, each of the killings must be of a child at four months development or later. 
     The use of proxies for these killings would be forbidden. Under the supervision of licensed professionals, those who are 'Pro Choice' must themselves deliver the chemicals to burn the child to death, or they must dismember the child. If need be, they must partially deliver the child, insert the scissors, and suck out the child's complex brain so as to make the skull collapse. No one who is 'Pro Choice' would be exempt for any reason. 
     (Those who have openly declared themselves 'Pro Life,' but who exhibit all the proclivities of those who are 'Pro Choice,' will be required to participate in this program.)
     Those who complete the killing of an unborn child will be given a tattoo signifying their willingness to kill a helpless human person who is completely vulnerable and at their mercy. After being given their special tattoo insignia, they will also be given the remains of the unborn child they killed as a reminder of their special day.