Sunday, June 20, 2010

a month of "meh"

It's come to this folks: I'm reduced to an inarticulate shell of a wench. Stressed-out and sleepless, I now resort to posting kitteh pictures from that cheezburger site in a lame attempt to maintain some sort of presence in the blogosphere.

Alas, this state of ennui is all too familiar to me once the end of June rolls around. Long-time readers may recall the despairing post I wrote last summer when I struggled to maintain my sanity in the face of the demands of my job. Enthusiasm eludes me. I'm gearing up for an entire month -- 5 weeks, actually -- of "meh."

Since I will be working for the next 13 days straight (at least), I don't forsee having much time or energy available to wring any witty verbiage from my poor, overtaxed grey matter. But I do expect to find a few moments to take refuge in the words and images that others cast to the interwebs. To that end, I am launching a new project, "the daily meh," where I hope you will come visit & commiserate with me.

It'll be kind of like a party, except not.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

1000 words + 1


Painting by Joseph Lorusso, found here.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Full Frontal Reminiscence

Summertime inevitably brings back memories of youth, of the long carefree season where the usual rules didn't apply: no waking up to the clang of an alarm clock, no evenings spent toiling over homework, no … clothes. Back when air conditioning was something we enjoyed only on rare shopping trips, and our family's nearest neighbors were half a mile away, summer was a clothing-optional kind of time at our house. Accordingly, my younger sister, cousin and I switched our TV-inspired role-playing games from "Star Trek" to "Tarzan" in honor of the season's less-restrictive costume requirements.

That all changed the summer of my tenth year, however. Precocious in all things, I got a jump-start on puberty as well, and during one afternoon of topless tree-climbing I came to the poignant realization that I really couldn't play Tarzan with these new bubbies that had inconveniently attached themselves to my upper torso. I left the game, went in the house to find something to cover up with, and spent the hours until suppertime sitting on the kitchen stoop reading a Bobbsey Twins book.

It wasn't parental pressure or any sort of moral brainwashing that made me suddenly modest. I guess I just felt uncomfortable in my new body, and was reluctantly aware that other things would change, too. While garments may not have been compulsory, growing up was. Or at least I believed so then.

Nowadays I indulge in the occasional sauna, hanging out, so to speak, with my friends, in the pretext that I'm doing something for my health. In reality though, I'm just being a naked kid again.

(Edited & Reposted from JS 7/29/05)