Funky Friday, Birthday Edition

Along with Ms. Wench here, also debuting in 1960 was Jimmy Smith's album "Midnight Special." Take a listen to "Jumpin' the Blues" and feel happy:



The party starts at 8 and lasts all year. Don't be late.

Local Color

Welcome to Buford's World. That's what the stick-on lettering says on the door of the building pictured. Buford is a local artist of sorts (when he's not working on the garbage truck) whose canvases are a few blank walls on some buildings in town. My camera was acting wonky on the day I snapped this shot, but I'm making it a mission to capture Buford's works before someone decides that they need to be painted over.

I'd also like to get Buford to paint the shed in my backyard, but the landlady (my mother) might not go for it. Oh, well . . .

One neat thing about small towns is that the smaller populations make it easier for the local characters to stand out. In addition to Buford, there is a fellow I call Forrest (after that Gump person). Our Forrest walks, though, doesn't run. Nevertheless, every day he must cover 15 miles or more in the county, walking stick or umbrella in hand. His age is hard to determine, and there is something definitely not quite right about him, in a Boo Radley kind of way. He always walks alone.

I usually see "Forrest" walking down the highway as I'm commuting to and from work. One recent evening when I saw him just standing alongside the road, at the spot where earlier in the day someone's big black dog had lost a race with someone else's motor vehicle, I wondered why he was staying in place, not moving. Well, the next morning when I drove to work, I happened to notice that the dog's body had been moved off the road. In fact, the realization struck me that the many cats and dogs who meet their fates on Highway 421 and aren't rendered one with the blacktop are frequently "relocated" from the traffic lanes to the shoulder of the road. I suspect that Forrest's mission is to spare these beasts any final indignation, give them a more restful resting place until, maybe, an owner comes to claim the body.

Some people (my mother) think that people like Forrest should be made to do "real" work, to earn their keep in society and not be a drain on resources. If my suspicion about Forrest's life work is true, however, I think his actions do constitute real work. Caring about something, simply for the sake of caring, is a job that not enough people do, regardless of the pay.

All About Me Meme

I am being a terrible blogger lately, but truly have been a bit busy with work and finishing up school work and honing my procrastination skills. However, April IS poetry month, so I posted a new offering at word art.

On this page, though, I took the lazy way out and offer the following trivia:

Name 3 things in your wallet:
1) Does purse count?
2) Because I don't use a wallet right now.
3) But my purse's contents include: lip balm, insurance card (yay!), and car keys.


Name 3 things you always wear:
1) You mean "always always"?
2) Does skin count?
3) And hair?


Name 3 things you do when you are really stressed:
1) Eat
2) Go for a walk
3) Cuss. A lot.

Name 3 career choices:

1) Restaurant reviewer

2) Travel writer
3) Philanthropist


Name 3 goals in 2010:

1) Pay down debt
2) Write more
3) Worry less


Name 3 plans for the coming week:
1) Day off Friday
2) Bike ride with Sis
3) Give the dog a bath


3 things I want in a relationship
(OTHER THAN love):
1) respect
2) laughter
3) communion


Two truths and a lie (in no particular order):
1) I don't like monkeys
2) My eyes are green
3) I once drank half a bottle of Jack Daniels all by myself


Readers, choose to respond as you like, or not. Of course I'm interested in you, but I'm not going to be pushy about it. Heck, you can just tell me one secret about yourself...and I'll promise not to tell anybody else.

Funky Friday, Tax Day Edition

Many happy returns, y'all.

All Night Long (I want to do my taxes with you) - watch more funny videos

Sixteen to Fifty

...or is it seventeen? I don't know. It'll get here when it gets here. Although time does seem to be speeding up at a precipitous rate ... and it's likely to just get worse as fifty comes and goes. Or at least that's what they say.

I'm quite looking forward to my birthday gift to myself, though -- my very first ever solo vacation, a few days "on the Cape" before fetching intellikid & stuff home from BU next month. Meanwhile, today I indulged in a 90 minute massage, which felt as good as a week-long vacation. Yeah, it was far more enjoyable than the procedure pictured...

Which begs the question: Why is it completely acceptable for dogs, cats, and other domesticated critters to solicit physical touch from humans, while it is generally frowned upon if we humans publicly seek out the same sort of contact from each other?

Discuss.