We Fight the Giant Squid

Percussive Abuse

2012-01-30T21:43:00.000-08:00

I want to rip into your skin, set fire to your lungs.
I want to tear your heart to shreds, like you've done mine.

New song, folks. Deeper, darker, drearier than the usually peppy me. Hope you enjoy it.

<p>&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://farvellys.bandcamp.com/track/percussive-abuse"&amp;amp;gt;Percussive Abuse by Farvellys&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;</p>

Badda Bing, I gotta show for you

2011-10-15T21:16:00.000-07:00

Farvellys, occasionally blogging as We Fight The Giant Squid, and also known as Carmen, has secured herself a gig at Random Row Books in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Doors at 8pm, Show at 9pm
Open to all ages, races, and smiling faces! Come show some love!
$5 cover

You can listen to the music @ farvellys.bandcamp.com

Enjoy!

*P.S. I know I just referred to myself in the third person. Apologies! Please forgive! I had no other way of finishing that sentence!

Love,
Carmen

Repost repost repost.

2011-10-07T18:20:00.001-07:00

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

I like don't like want to change to remain the same.

2011-09-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

I am charming,

let me sing you to sleep with a soft, sweet, floating vox
I will paint the day away until no color remains in the sky
My daily yin and yang is a half-eaten New York style cheesecake on a black plate
all in our bellies adding more and more and more as we laugh and laugh and laugh...

I am not charming,

I play emotional chicken with myself, daring daring to rush headlong into mistakes
ending up scattered in pieces of insanity along the axons
I read between lines until they blur inexplicably
I toss the mess into a burning fire which resonates, originates from within.

I have no idea what I am doing

2011-09-05T21:54:00.000-07:00

I really don't. I just re-read several of my older posts, and I am ashamed. I wrote as if I actually knew something about the world. Pride goeth before the fall.

This is me. I am imperfect, unkempt, irrational, irrepressible, irreversible, unintelligible. I am broken yet solid, pieces of spirit, light, air, water, designs, whims, whirls, flits, dust, dirt. I am.

She is intelligent, vivacious, impish, stormy, hilarious, adorable, adoring, ethereal, celestial, the reason I continue to spiral along the mortal coil.

My heart burns for her, my beloved little daughter. Happy Day, little one. Every day with you is special.

I want, I want, I want...

2011-03-30T13:15:00.000-07:00

If I were hysterically well-to-do, I would be this woman's sole patron.

And I would purchase this belt buckle, and this delicious ornament for my long, thick hair, and something so delightful, so much of a style risk for me that I would literally swoon to have it touch my skin: this daring, lovely, celestial piece.

Ahhhh, if only. Someday.

Encircle Me While I Float Across the Sky

2010-11-03T19:06:00.000-07:00

I want to meet (a) musicians who I can meld with seamlessly. I want their musical sonance and virulent cloudbursts of audial technicolor to wrap around my simple melodic strains like an enfolding embrace. It would look like this:

Except maybe not quite so amateurish.

Tunnelvision

2010-08-29T22:25:00.000-07:00

Strange decision...

I often play around with covers, and taking this song from psychedelic trance-y sonata to unfinished backyard serenade was interesting. Instruments used: banjo, guitar, viola.

Here We Go Magic

2010-08-27T10:23:00.000-07:00

Worship at their feet, they have more talent in their little split ends than most people do in their entire bodies.

Only Pieces, live show... beauty incarnate.

It's Casual... not heart-breaking.

Kina Beana

2010-02-08T17:27:00.000-08:00

I love her. She is so pristine, so clear, so lovely, so honest, so talented. Listen, she will change your life. Or at least change your radio station. Which, as we all know, is a life-style change. So I was right to begin with.

http://www.kinagrannis.com/home/

On rants and rages

2010-02-07T22:13:00.000-08:00

Blood and ashes. Dang blast it. Bugger. Confound it all. Curse it.

Not explicit enough. I need more description and anger in my curses.

Idol of idiot-worshippers! Thou currish shard-borne dolt-head! Thou reeky pox-marked lewdster! Thou craven plume-plucked scut! Thou whoreson fen-sucked jolthead! Thou knavish motley-minded mammet! Thou whoreson base-court mumble-news! Thou jaded raw-boned rabbit-sucker! Thou jaded dismal-dreaming cutpurse! Thou fitful boil-brained remnant! Thou roynish iron-witted scantling!

Ah, William. What would we have become without your imaginative, ranting prose?

F.U.C.K.!

I officially hate my computer. In the middle of recording a very difficult, multi-layered, a cappella piece... IT FUCKING DIED. I was singing "doo, doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo DOO!" FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I really am crying. Out loud. Like a fucking General of Sound. Four star fucking General of the Second Sound Army. Give me an accursed MEDAL for my bravery in the face of SEVERE ANGER at this rabbit-sucking computer! WHORESON!

Really, William, you do add color to our lives.

It's not funny. Stop laughing. Lie still in your grave, please. Spinning, you say? What, did I use any of it in an inappropriate way? Fix my computer, then.

That's what I thought.

love note

2009-12-28T21:45:00.000-08:00

I want to be with you, brush up against you occasionally while making dinner together, laugh belly laughs with you about something inane... I want to fight with you, I want to have make-up sex with you... I want to wake up in the morning and have you there next to me, breathing deeply and exuding warmth like a sleeping volcano. I want to be there for you when you feel like things are shitty, I want to be your safety net, your shoulder, your comfort, your home... whenever you need arms to wrap around you I want to be the person those arms are attached to. I want to make life happen with you... I want to see your face every day for the rest of our lives, see the age lines draw themselves on the skin-canvas like Japanese water color... I even want to make more of you, another you, another me, just combined into someone more lovely than the sum of their parts... we could make life great. You make me happy. I want to make you happy, too.

Land of Goshen

2009-12-01T22:06:00.000-08:00

Holy crackers!!! It has been a long time since I posted last...

For lack of a better blog...

2009-08-26T16:50:00.000-07:00

I have been so frazzled and discombobulated and just downright out-of-control. I am single-handed-ly moving my daughter, horse, cat, and household back to Virginia within the week. Ok, maybe not quite "single-handed-ly"... my father is coming out to drive my truck and trailer and worldly goods, errant cat, and drifter horse the 2500 miles back to our homeland. Talk about a journey. I do not envy him. I am flying out from S.L.C. airport, along with Sophia in all her spoiled grand-baby glory; it is for her comfort and benefit that we fly instead of make the grueling 2500 mile trek. It will only take eight hours for the two of us to be snug and safe again, thoroughly enfolded in the classic mugginess and wet humidity of the lovely southern states. Home.

I suppose this is my rambling, long-winded apology to those who read this dried-up, putrid wind-bag of a blog. It has been almost a month since my last entry. When I get home, and settled, I will dedicate more of my stretched out, flaccid time to this old thing. For now, I leave you with a parting shot of Utah. Utah. I never thought I would miss you, but I already do. Like a heart split between two loves, torn in pieces, I must still choose. It isn't a lightly done thing; I surely will miss the mountains, the wildness, the feeling I get at the top of a steep climb or the burning in my legs from a radically intense bicycle-ride... but the best parts of you I take and keep in my heart, lock you up tight. You have become an integral part of my experiences; experiences shape a person, as you have certainly shaped me, molded me into something a little more pliable, a little more thoughtful, a little more... me. Thank you. That doesn't cover it, not by a long shot, but the sentiment is there for you to do with as you will.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow..." - William Shakespeare, the Poet, the Man.

Waves

2009-07-28T11:41:00.001-07:00

She is a stunningly attractive woman, tall, blond, built like an Amazon. She gives off a surfer chick hippie vibe, her hair bleached white in places from spending so much time in the coastal Australian sun. She has her principles. She disdains major corporations, rails against corrupt politicians, stomps for the underdog. She is vulnerable.

She lounges confidently in the rolling waves, legs astride, hands resting lightly on the buoyant, brightly painted fiberglass short board. She waits for the perfect wave, that elusive curl of ocean water that will take her all the way in on an emotionally charged adrenaline high. Not that she isn't on one now. Her easy posture belies her true cognition, churning, blazing pathways through her mind, round and round, a tilt-a-whirl of thought. Her heart has made a choice her head cannot agree with; reconciling these two vital parts of her will take all she has of time and emotional energy. She is already prune-y from the saltwater. A few more hours in the sun, wind, water will not strip too many more layers of her darkened skin; she won't miss them anyway. Her body is strong, inviolate, impenetrable... she takes pride in her strength and physical ability. It is her psycho-senses that tend toward defenselessness. She waits.

She forgot something. She cannot quite define it, but she knows where it is without doubt. Spain. Adventurous, she is, and a back-packing trip through Spain sounded perfect for her at the time. Before it happened. She shies away from that avenue of reflection, but like rising tides, it follows her in, creeping up slowly, deliberately, an inevitable, sluggish drowning. There are no rocks to shelter upon to escape the briny ocean water... her memory is vivid.

-

The port city of Malaga wasn't one of her planned stops on her trip, as it was too small and out-of-the-way, off her route to Sevilla, but an ancient, feeble man driving his old farm truck brimming with oranges along the highway had stopped to give her a lift into the nearest town. She was glad she had spontaneously hopped atop the fruits into the rear of the truck, or she would have missed it all. The town was lively, homey yet welcoming. She spent most of the morning wandering the wharf, listening to the docks creaking complainingly, the ships nudging against their moorings, impish colts testing the ropes for weakness, ready to escape out into the bay and on into the Mediterranean. Everything hopes for freedom and release. She was no different... she discovered the public beaches east of the wharf, struggled through the deep sand, and collapsed tiredly, arms and legs akimbo, her backpack a makeshift pillow. She could have been alone, all the beach bums were enjoying the warm surf and the company of others, but she wasn't. He had been swimming, it was obvious. In that familiar way Europeans have, he plopped down next to her, leaning on his hands in the sand, already discoursing in fluently speedy Spanish. Sand particles clung to his deep mahogany skin, intricately spiraling patterns radiating from each part of him touching the earth. She couldn't keep up. Uncharacteristically, she allowed herself to just listen to the rise and fall of his intonations, the rhythm of his speech luring her into somnolence. Suddenly his galloping speech slowed deliberately, three words she was able to make out clearly.

¿Te gusta paella?

Yeah, she liked paella. She had first tried the seafood, vegetable, and rice mix in Valencia, the city credited with the inspiration of the dish. The locals sure were friendly here.

He launched his body fluidly up from the sand dune, turned slightly to keep her in his gaze, and offered her a sable, sun-darkened hand to steady herself with. She looked at his face, noting the heavily forested brows, the aquiline nose, leonine wavy mane cascading over his forehead. His eyes were the color of the Mediterranean, lusciously dark blue and streaked through with indigo lightning bolts. Beautiful man. The other locals literally paled in comparison. She allowed him to lift her to her feet, and followed him off down the beach, across the boardwalk, into the chaotic bustle of the lower markets, and along a side path to his driftwood and thatched-roof hut.

He made a stellar paella. And he was quite amorous in bed.

-

She lets the memory take hold of her, storming the bastions of her defense. Her light short board bobs impatiently in the waves underneath her, but she ignores its bucking and twisting, instead finally breaking under the emotional torrent. Her defiant amber eyes blur, the tears that have waited so long to shed themselves finally making an inconvenient appearance. It's just water, she thinks. Just water... with salt. Like the ocean. Salty sea water.

It hurts less and less. The memory is vivid, the colors unlike any in the world save for human imagination, but it is softer, somehow.

She lifts her eyes to meet those of the man sitting beside her, mirroring her position on his own short board, his viking-blond hair and beginnings of a surprisingly reddish beard standing in stark contrast from the memory now fading in her mind. His sweet, boyish face searches hers intently; he wonders why her eyes suddenly filled with tears, why she hadn't taken the perfect wave that is now passing them by. She smiles tremblingly, cautiously, frightened that she might have revealed something in her face as she relived the reminiscence. His honest, brightly genuine grin explodes across his face, and she knows her walls are up again, stronger than before. A beautiful man, he is. Her heart is large enough to hold two loves, and she is glad for the life she has. Another wave approaches behind them, they simultaneously shoot each other wild, anticipatory looks, and take off after the swell. Here and now, she rides the perfect wave. Life, the perfect wave.

Storm Above the Wind Caves

2009-07-22T21:03:00.001-07:00

I make pictures in Paint (the Windows picture editing program) and I recently became incredibly inspired to create another picture, because of this photo.

This is my interpretation of it:

Storm Clouds Gather

2009-07-08T22:27:00.000-07:00

(This wasn't supposed to turn out the way it did, but thanks to reading an essay by a friend of mine who is a pretty good writer, it kind of went in a surprising direction. I blame you, and you know who you are!)

She lifts the long, thin, blackened mascara wand to her eyelashes, carefully, slowly. She hasn't worn makeup since... well, it has been a while. At least she is wearing the black, ruched blouse that makes her feel like she could pass for attractive. Shaved legs are nice. Too bad they are peeling from a vicious sunburn she earned by forgetting sunblock and spending an entire day in the early June sunshine. She sighs, letting the breath out in long, quiet jets. Too late now. Turning in the mirror for a look at her profile, she rests her left hand on her hip, sticks her elbow out behind her, and poses. Oy. Well, she isn't a supermodel, but she could stop you in your tracks for a second look.

Nerves. Are. Debilitating. They turn her into a hyped-up version of herself. Slightly too high-strung, a little bit jumpy, a tad too uber-cognitive. Just feel it. Deep breaths through the nose... and exhale. Again. Her toes grip at the bathroom rug under her small feet. She has always had the ability to grasp with her toes, almost like they are fingers, and their grip is strong. Each individual fiber in the rug she can feel... such sensitive skin. She forgot to put aloe on her burns today. No wonder they are peeling more than yesterday. Absently, she scratches at the sunburn, too late remembering why she shouldn't. A simmering fire starts in her calf, where she has touched, and runs the length of her lower leg. Damn. She is forgetful by nature.

With a last look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she smiles ironically and steps out of the tiny space, slips on her flip flops, heads out the door with her CamelBak under one arm and a sweatshirt under the other. This will be the most interesting date she has ever had. Dinner, and a hike. She loves the idea. Before, dates have always been just a movie, or dinner, or something equally as boring, but she doesn't want to do anything boring anymore. The hike was her suggestion. Perfect.

He stands quietly beside his car, shining and silent. She strolls up to him, and awkwardly whispers the first thought in her head. I'm nervous. That shouldn't have been it, though. She clamps down hard on her tongue, and wishes for a time machine. Get it together. He glances sideways at her, smiles so very faintly, says nothing. He'll forget it in a minute, she will agonize over it the whole car ride to the restaurant. As he turns to open the door for her, she is shattered by the sudden glint of sun rays bouncing off his golden-tanned arms, and the brilliantly bleached, downy-soft hair covering them. Her breath is sucked out of her in a swift vortex... Get. It. Together. She shivers a little in the suffocating afternoon heat. It has been a while.

In his old, distressed sub-compact, the quiet seeps into the cracks in the dashboard and the threads of the carpet... even the a.c. seems subdued, spluttering softly as if to not interrupt the silence. She keeps a running commentary in her head, making lists and counting blocks to calm herself. She steals a glance in his direction. His smile still lingers faintly on his lips, but his nervousness is belied by the faint, repetitive brushing of his knee against the steering wheel. The windows begin to roll slowly down the door, curtains falling on Act One, and the wind picks and prattles at her hair, gently pulling curling tendrils out from behind her ears; they cavort on the breeze like giddy fillies in an emerald green mountain meadow. She lets the vision dissipate. A familiar mantra rolls through her head... "Sun is warm, grass is green." Of course, she stole that well-known line from a blockbuster picture, but it works for most situations.

At the restaurant, they sit opposite each other in an over-sized, over-stuffed, overly red booth with a blowsy, bold Formica table sturdily planted in between. She gets her first look at his eyes. Blue. So blue, and intensely staring at her from deep-set sockets, over-hung by full eyebrows. His stare is measuring. She fiddles with the pockets on her dark brown shorts, crosses her legs, recrosses them, as they talk. Then something changes in his eyes, his expression going from wary to soft in an instant. She relaxes against the crimson Vinyl seat back, and slips into herself again.

The drive through the canyon is again as silent as the first, but then, there is the scenery to distract them. The steep canyon walls soar two thousand feet above the river bottom, ending abruptly in a triumphant display of fierce, craggy rock, piercing the dark azure sky. It is only an hour until twilight, but neither he nor she is unsettled. Night hikes are pleasant. It is quieter at night.

They step out of the car, adjusting and fitting their small day-pack or CamelBak to each respective shoulder alignment, and set off through the waist-high grass and wildflowers growing beside the trail. It is an incredibly steep single-track, with a rating of 'Difficult', not made for easy, side-by-side travel; she contents herself with watching his calves flex with each stride. Man, he is so fast. Quickly, her breathing becomes strained and shallow, but still she presses on. The icy mountain stream they wade through to continue following the path refreshes her somewhat; she is renewed, but not for long.

"Stop. Your pace is killing me."

He halts instantly, but takes his time turning around to face her. His expression is unreadable. She turns around to stare off downhill, and pulls at her CamelBak tube, sucking water in forceful gulps. Too fast, now she cannot breathe for all the water in her mouth... slowly her breathing returns to normal, and he smiles, tentatively. Without words, they both turn back up the trail, this time proceeding markedly slower than the mad rush that characterized the first half of the climb. Again she is captivated by his calves as they swing effortlessly in a steady forward motion. It has been a really long time. She shakes her head to clear the illicit vision forming in her mind. So this is what attraction feels like. Who knew.

After an elevation change of about a thousand feet, they emerge from the scrub and sparse vegetation to plunge into true darkness. Cave. A metal plaque set into a low-lying boulder at the mouth of the grotto marks the entrance, and relates anecdotes on the history of the surrounding area. Soot marks blacken the ceiling and walls, long-dead fires that burned bright for the unknown peoples who started them.

He hardly speaks, she thinks. I don't think I have heard him utter anything more than three words strung together in hours. It is such a break from the babble-fest that dominates most human inter-relations.

They wander through the grotto, their footsteps causing gusts of air and sound to resound against the uneven rock walls. At the back of the cavern is a semi-vertical shaft, dusky sunlight streaming weakly from the top of the natural chimney, half-hidden from her light-blinded eyes. He spots it first.

Do you want to climb up there, he asks. He casts his intense sky blue eyes to meet with her dark chocolate brown ones, and waits for her reply. She ponders.

I am such a klutz, it might not be a good idea, she states lamely. He just continues to stare at her in that unnerving, but strangely reassuring way. She decides to be slightly reckless. Ok, let's climb it.

The climb up the confining shaft is surprisingly un-eventful; the view from the top is disquieting. She feels like she is standing on a topless tower, a spire so high that the clouds tickle at her cheeks and welcome her into their secret sky. They stand near the edge, daring the wind to get aggressive with its caresses and force them to bend under its turbulent will. A storm is gathering, hovering over the south end of the canyon walls and turning the sky a forbidding blue... the clouds, simpering ladies' maids, try on different colors, colors cast off by the fiery setting sun, a wealthy woman's forgotten clothing littering the floor. Neon pink, angry purple, blood red... the sky is crying, bleeding, rending and tearing the atmosphere apart. Murderous shapes appear in the nimbus; a terrorizing many-headed hydra, a burning dragon of thunderheads in turmoil.

She takes out her small, silver digital camera and shoots off several photos... but each picture cannot come close to portraying the perfectly vivid shades of furious colors in the sky. He leans in to observe her futile photographic efforts, she doesn't move; heads close enough for individual strands of their hair to mingle faintly in the electrifying stratosphere. Their movements are slow, deliberate, in sheer contrast to the roiling, unpredictable air around them.

She cannot handle it anymore, cannot stand the charged tension shooting off sparks between them. She jerks her head up and meets his eyes, her gaze stabbing into his without apology or reserve. He stares back... an astonishingly temperate expression in his eyes. He is smiling. It sets her back on her heels, and she loses her equilibrium for a moment. Recovers. Plunges in toward him and like ravenous lions they crash into each other, their bodies melding like hot-forged steel, his lips burning tendrils of fire along her jawline. The tumultuous storm boils over the mountain top.

In the works...

2009-07-07T22:12:00.000-07:00

I have a few more things in the works... it seems I am doubly inspired now-a-days for some reason. I love to write. I might get a post up within the next few hours... maybe. Definitely by tomorrow evening. I love writing short, semi-fiction stories. I have a tendency to stretch my imagination as if it were silly puddy, and I might start a story off pretty well non-fictionalized, but it grows and changes like its own living, breathing being, and some turn out un-recognizable from the start. I also enjoy taking pieces and bits from others' stories and warping them to fit with a vision in my head. Give me your strange, silly, interesting, odd stories and let me weave strands of vibrant colors and melodies into their strong, solid cloth. I am always looking for material.

Love it.

Live it.

Be it.

The Sun God

2009-07-02T12:44:00.000-07:00

(I wrote this a few years back. I edited it a little bit, and posted it here... it doesn't really reflect my writing style anymore, but I thought it would be interesting to compare how I wrote a few years ago to how I write now.)

She crouches low to the ground, balancing on the balls of her feet, rocking her weight from foot to foot. The halter and lead line drape from her right shoulder, lazily mirroring the swaying motion of her body. Her eyes are soft, taking in every object in her peripheral vision. Mostly though, her focus is on a leggy, slender yearling colt in incandescent gray. The animal ambles cautiously toward the fence, halving the space between them, now only ten yards away.

She leans over to the right, shifting her feet wider apart to regain lost balance. The colt balks, spins off to the left side, then angles his head askance to study the slight figure hunkered down on the other side of the barrier. She smiles, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so gently, drawing her cheeks towards her temples in a look that tells the colt he might need to rethink his own agenda. Confused, and only a little uneasy, he switches his tail quickly over each flank, startling an imaginary horse fly into sporadic flight. His ears swivel rapidly to catch each little disturbance on the afternoon breeze.

“Suspense is a killer, is it not?"

Taken aback by the sudden jolt of human speech, the colt jigs up, then rounds and takes off toward the other end of the enclosure, bucking and bending madly in a futile effort to dislodge the offensive words from his delicate ears.

She attempts to soothe him, speaking in quiet tones as he circles the paddock, down shifting each lap until he stands quivering, his tail clamped firmly between his legs. The refined, classically dished Arabian face stabs straight up into the sky, its over sized nostrils extending and retracting with every measured breath. His eyes, two black pools set far apart on each side of his forehead, are dead-set on the girl, who is now standing a few paces away from him.

She approaches calmly but deliberately, holding her hand out in front of her, palm up. She stops moving when her fingers can just barely brush the velvety nose of the horse in front of her. Gently, she caresses the space between his eyes, which are fixed on her with uncertain defiance. He stands stock still, grudgingly allowing the contact between them, trembling with the effort.

Again, she speaks.

“…Hush, be calm… you’re OK, you’re fine,” she murmurs soothingly, becoming serene again herself.

She begins walking slowly over to the gate, letting her hand rest on the colt’s flank as he shyly walks beside her, the fence long forgotten as any kind of physical barrier between them. As she opens the gate, letting the chain fall against the wooden post, he turns toward her and allows her to slip the halter over his nose, buckling the strap behind his ears.

All hell breaks loose.

Suddenly, he realizes his mistake. He rears, bucks, and rips the lead line from her slack grasp and rockets along the fence line, swinging around behind the barn. She looks down at her hand, feeling the burning sensation spread like fire up her arm. The bases of her three middle fingers are severely blistered, bubbling up red and swollen.

“Damn it,” she swears under her breath, then sheepishly, she jogs off after him.

She watches him disappear behind the other side of the barn, then checks her speed, switches directions, heads back the way she came. Rounding the corner of the barn, she stops and gazes at the colt, backed up against the paddock fence, sandwiched between the white cinder block wall and a scraggly dead tree. The expression on his face causes her to release a short barking laugh. He snorts in reply, a look of utter indignation in his flashing eyes. The rope from his halter is caught in the lower branches of the tree. He resigns to the fact that he is trapped; he allows her to grab up the lead rope. This time, she takes a firm hold of the lead, and watches him intently.

“Carmen? Are you going to need help loading that beast?”

She looks over at the small blue two-horse trailer parked several yards away, then shifts her glance to include the three people standing under the eaves of the barn. Her mother, a look of uncertainty and curiosity showing plainly on her dark oval face, shoots a fleeting peek at the colt.

"I think I can manage. Just be ready in case he flips out again."

She pulls lightly on the rope, causing the colt to lift his forelegs up in a mock rear. Jerking down on the rope, she convinces him to keep all four feet on the frozen ground, but the air of quiet rage still lingers on his expressive face. She returns the look, challenging him, holding his gaze, together locked in each other’s eyes. Impasse.

Loading him onto the trailer isn't as easy. Her patience is tested harshly, and with each attempt at getting the colt to comply with her wishes, her patience slowly wears away until her nerves are on knife’s edge, teetering dangerously over her mental precipice. These emotions overflow onto the horse, causing him to project them tenfold. Finally, exhausted and exasperated, she gives up trying to be patient, and gives the colt a resounding whack on his rump with a braided rope.

Immediately the young horse leaps forward, letting the slack in his lead line, which is wrapped around the main pole at the front of the trailer, drop almost to the straw covered flooring. The man standing next to the pole holding the end of the rope quickly pulls up the slack, causing the shocked colt to be hustled into the gloomy womb of the rusty blue box. The ramp snaps up behind him, the swinging top-flaps shut tight against his indignation.

Unloading the beast takes less effort than before, and he learns quickly the limits of the rope binding him to the girl. He stands tall and majestic in the paddock next to the new barn, angling his head to each side, taking in the new vistas and the myriad of scents. Luring him into the stall opening directly onto the paddock, she closes the half door and un-halters him. She settles gingerly on a cement block in the corner of the stall and watches him sniff around his new dwelling.

He stops his inspection of the space and turns to look at her. Lowering his head, he comes eye to eye with the girl. She reaches out and rests her hand on his nose. He does not flinch. She begins stroking his muzzle tenderly. He nuzzles her cheek, breathing in her distinctly human scent. She kisses the small pale star on his forehead, and leans her face against his. Stillness.

Working...

2009-07-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

I am working on a couple of drafts right now... it will take a few days to get them up. Meanwhile, I will leave you with a picture of the sky and clouds from a hike I took last night. The sky was lit up sporadically with lightening strikes, and the clouds were turning darker and more ominous by the second.

Vomit drafts

2009-06-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

That is what these are, vomit drafts. I do them in the time it takes Sophia to have a good long hour and a half to two hour nap (the reason for the brevity of them). I would appreciate feedback, if you would like to give it. I will try and do one vomit draft a day, and revise the ones already up, so the entries will change frequently.

Thank you for reading. :)

Sugar Hollow

2009-06-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

(circa June 2005)

We sit quietly in the rumbling white truck. The cab vibrates with the rolling action of the tires on ill-cared for pavement. Your right hand, with nothing to occupy it, rests lightly on the seat. I debate with myself... to place my hand on yours, or not to. To do so would change everything. The movement my hand would make could trigger the air in the cab to swirl around us, stirring up the tender, delicate friendship and plunging it into something much more complicated. A slight smile plays momentarily on your lips... I wonder if you can read my mind, or if my expressions are just that transparent. My hands stay firmly in my lap, fingers twiddling awkwardly and tangling irreversibly with the light brown fringe circling the edges of my sarong. Change is difficult, strange; I cannot.

The road narrows heading into the hidden river bottoms, the verdantly opalescent green of the leaves on the trees on either side suppresses any truly cohesive cerebration. I amuse myself with thoughts of leaping out the window and landing in a soft buttery eiderdown of edible trees, voraciously gobbling up the liquid beryl leaves. My mind wanders.

The a.c. alternately runs quiet and wheezing, working diligently to produce a cool rain-forest atmosphere for the humans occupying the truck. It is Virginia, late June, the humidity reaching a record-high index. Our bodies are accustomed to it, the deep dragging, drowning water that moves oddly unhindered in the air. We are like fish, or we should be, for all the water we breathe. I look over to you, clandestinely, just in time to see gills sprouting on the side of your neck, and rippling with the passage of co-mingling air and water. I close my eyes. What a fantasy.

It is still and silent. We are very close. You begin to scan for a place to park your truck, occasionally glancing over at my side of the road... I turn my head slightly to avoid your penetrating eyes. If I meet your gaze, I would dissect and analyze all over again the many vivid colors painting your irises, and re-memorize the lines and contours of your face. I am transparent. You look at me and you see plainly the thoughts leaking out of my head, blood from a head wound. So I keep steady.

The truck thunders to a stop, tilted catawampus, half on the road, half in the ditch. Your door clicks open, swings wide and fast, bounces wildly at the boundary of its trajectory, and stills. I force my door up and out; grudgingly it gives ground to my body as I lean against it. I slip out the bottom of the door, and it slams shut, narrowly missing my head. You grin sheepishly. My tremulous smile wipes the grin from your face, and we begin walking the overgrown path at the side of the road, single file. As you pace, your 30mm solid black Nikon FE hanging from its strap oscillates to the rhythm of your footsteps along the dirt path. Periodically, I catch glimpses of it as it sways to your music, peeking out shyly from under your arms like a child behind his father's knee. Suddenly, you stop, turn, and face me. I pause in my stride, expectant. Without hesitating, you whip the camera up to your eye, aim, and snap the shutter. Startled, I let out ringing laughter, and you join in with a resonant baritone that shakes my reserve. We resume walking, giddy with the feeling of the moment and the strong, earthy scents hanging in the air. The river is journey's end.

You settle yourself on a large, flat-ish rock resting half-in and half-out of the water.

"Get in."

I pause again, shy and unsure. Your reassuring smile defrosts me; I untie and drop the sarong, leaving it where it lands. Standing on the edge in my bathing suit, turned away from you, I inspect the river bottom for sharp objects and debris before plunging into the rapids. A crawdad scuttles under a submerged rock, its eye stalks peeping out, warily scanning the water above it. The rushing water closes over my body, slowly, cool and wet. My shoulders shudder in reaction to the chill; I immerse my head quickly under, pop back up spluttering. You grin again, the mood is catching, and I grin back.

You begin snapping photographs of the river and her banks, the rocks shining wet with spray, and me. I protest, but you continue to move around from rock to rock, getting different angles, taking pieces of my heart and the river and melding them together into a simple collage... I submerge completely, close my eyes, and imagine you, still stealing parts of me until there is nothing left to take. My cells divide, little pieces of me separate and float off down the river; I am a water sprite, spirit of running water.

Back at the truck, you open the door for me, holding it against its will until I am safely, albeit tilted, in the seat. Lingeringly, you let the door's gravity pull it shut, a soft click. You lean against the window, and this time I cannot help myself. Your smile again appears, this time more full and emphatic, and my lips slide into a mirror of yours. Too bad there is solid glass between us.

You slip into the driver's seat, start up the engine, and pull out of the precarious parking spot. The trees on either side of the road speed up and fly past, racing to the horizon behind us. Your right hand, with nothing to occupy it, rests lightly on the seat. With deliberate, halting advances, I let my hand slide across the seat toward your hand, now gripping the fabric in anticipation. Your skin is smooth against mine. Your fingers get tangled just as easily. Automatic transmissions are heavenly. You hold my hand the whole way home.

Mountain Climb

2009-06-29T08:52:00.000-07:00

Insomnia is a bitch. But sometimes, it can open up opportunities you never knew existed.

I was up all night last Friday, suffering with insomnia and a slight melancholy that had no explanation. Restless and fed-up with doing nothing productive, at six Saturday morning an idea jumped into my head... "Why not go for a jog... it is early, no one else is about, and I need the exercise." I strapped on my running shoes, shrugged into my CamelBak, grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

A few energizing lunges and a brisk warm-up walk, then I was on my way. I wandered aimlessly through the quiet neighborhood at the foot of the mountain, the entrance to the canyon within shouting distance. Which direction I went in was of no consequence; my legs told me where to go. Eventually, they took me down the hill towards the canyon mouth, and for a rest, I kept quiet company with the still-sleeping geese and ducks on the edge of the reservoir, a bony bench for my seat. An irritated squirrel urged me on, and so into the tunnel under the highway I ventured, singing softly, experimenting with the echoes and acoustics of the tunnel. Out the other side, and up, up, up on a winding gravel trail. At the top of the hill, I came upon a fork in the path. Here is where Robert Frost would be so very proud of me... "two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

So, up, up, up the abandoned access road, renewed with the sense of adventure and the unknown. As I climb, I take out my cell phone and snap poor-quality photographs of the landscape as it changes from gently rising hill to incredibly steep mountainside. The views up here are... almost indescribable. It is like I am on the wing of a bird, or aircraft, looking down on the land from the sky. Occasionally, I sip from my CamelBak, let the tube fall back to my side and drip droplets of cool water onto my hip... I hardly notice. Almost dreamlike, I stoop to pick up a perfect walking stick lying forgotten beside the track, evidence of worms who burrowed their way under the long-lost bark etched onto its surface, making star-burst patterns. The path ends. I stop a few feet from the industrial fence topped with concertina wire, turn to gaze at the view. I notice small, vibrantly colorful mountain flowers, innocently dancing and twirling their petals in the light breeze. I realize my legs are cold. I look up at the top of the mountain, so close, and make a decision. Whatever it takes, I'm going to the top. No stopping half-way, no turning back until the land slopes down again. I leave the old access road, and strike out cross-country over the sagebrush and wildflowers that go wheeling out of the path of the intruder. The grasshoppers have a field day, each striving to out-do the others in a bid to be the highest- and longest-jumping of the colony. The sun is still lingering behind the top of the mountain, as if waiting to greet me at the summit; birds twittering, keening, vainly trying to coax her out in a brilliant display of light and mute cacophony. I am alone. The sole human within hearing distance, and I am drowning in song. The earth and her creatures communicate in life-song, their very own common language. I am merely a paltry, temporary addition to their morning ritual. Higher I climb, stick in hand, aiding me to my destination.

The juxtaposition of silence and sonance is jarring. I stop, turn around to face the west, the peopled places, the cage of civilization, and wonder at the audacity of humankind. We are a plague. We, in a singular sense, are non-threatening. We, in a plural and massive sense, are damaging. We harm that which we should shelter. We spread disease and irreverence, leaving... nothingness... in our wake. We are finished here.

The rocks are new, sharp, jagged and biting; shining with silver, black, blue and gold flecks, reflecting gloriously the sun's temperate rays and mingling delicately with the percipitation in the air. I can feel a rainbow... but none appears. Gingerly I settle myself down into a depression in the rocks, allowing them to scrape and tear into my skin... it is the least I can do. Fragile pieces of the mountain come off in my grip, separating gleefully from the parent rock, to sit glimmering in my awkward hands... I feel how frail you are, dear Wilderness, in this fine example of earthen wealth.

No one knows how long I sit, and I forget that I have brought contraband into the heart of the wild, so time passes, and I find I do not care. Eventually, the sun makes her slow and steady way over the peaks, and warmly enfolds me in her eternally sunny embrace. I bask in her unfailing happiness... and devote myself to her spiritually.

That is my cue. My time in the sun is realized; I slowly stand, cast one last look around at the panoramic vista, and move off down the mountainside. The brush and wildflowers pick at and ensnare my calves, knees, and thighs... but I have to leave, must return to the black, desolate, empty box of civilization to carry your message, dear Wilderness. You are fleeting, inconstant, yet immortal; fragile, breakable yet rugged. We are killing you, yet you still kindly welcome the murderers into your demesne, maybe to enlighten us a little more of your plight, maybe to humorously point out your everlasting will to exist past us, this scar on your face.

I am gone. I no longer tread your secret trails, I am back on the beaten path. But you will stay within me, I take pieces of you in my thoughts and you left marks upon my skin as a reminder. I will remember.

Failed Trail Ride

2009-05-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

So yesterday my friend Courtney and I started out to go for a trail ride. We sure picked the perfect day, as it was very windy, a little overcast and slated to rain. However, the temperature never fell below 70, so it was warm enough for us, and we decided to just saddle up the newbies and go. Courtney's mount is a five year old paint gelding without paint markings who has just had about a month of training put into him. She has done well with him, and so we figured we could take him on an inaugural ride outside of the round pen or arena. Apollo, my half-Arabian, has some respect issues that are completely all my fault, as I have become timid for some reason when riding. I used to be fearless when it came to riding, but I think having a baby changed that. I am working on correcting that imbalance.

Back to the trail ride. So we start out, heading down a dirt road that *supposedly* leads down to the river and through to the government land access road, in order to reach the national forest. Sadly, we were led astray. We were told that we would have no problem with this shortcut, but it turns out that we did have a problem. Several problems, in the square and lumpy forms of settled bovines. Now, normally, this wouldn't be a problem, you would just open the gate, go through, close it, travel quietly through their domain, open the other gate at the end of the pasture, go through, close it, and go about your business. Not so, says the horse. Or both horses. You see, Apollo and Ollie did not tolerate the presence of the ruminants, and would not stand still to listen to reason. So we ended up wandering around in the river basin looking for an alternate route. No dice. But Apollo did almost rip his hind legs apart on a piece of barbed wire, and Ollie was almost impaled by a well-placed tree branch, which ended up skewering his saddle. Courtney and I ended up walking most of the way, to avoid being clotheslined by low-hanging tree branches.

All in all, it was a fine day. Ollie was introduced to trail riding in a somewhat unorthodox manner, and Apollo was able to display his mastery of idiocy.

New stuff

2009-03-05T19:49:00.000-08:00

Sophia recently had her first birthday party! Happy birthday my lovely girl.

I recorded a better version of Maybe That's the Alcohol Talking... I am including a link for downloading (just click on the title of the post and it should take you to the Box.net song download page).

2009-02-10T09:18:00.000-08:00

Alright, so I played out at Why Sound on January 30th; good times. It was the first time in three years that I had actually played out (not an open mic) so I was a little nervous... but it went off well. You can hear me and my guitar on myspace.com/wefightthegiantsquid

Have a great week!

(This post was really jus to let you non-existent people know I am still alive.)

We got a gig!

2008-12-11T23:32:00.000-08:00

I am opening for The Mollies and Jordan Booth on January 30th 2009 at eight in the evening at Why Sound, a venue here in Logan, Utah. I am very excited; I haven't had a gig since before I left for basic training, in January of 2006!!! If you live near Logan, please come out and support me in my effort to terrorize the audience with my awful music! Ha! Just kidding; it won't be much of an effort!

Love all of you non-existent ghost-people who read this blog! Ha! Who am I kidding, not even ghosts would read this dried up old thing!

p.s. that last photo is of me, five months pregnant. I do not have a beer belly, thank you very much.

Early Birdies

2008-11-23T23:56:00.000-08:00

My husband's immediate family had an early Thanksgiving today, since most of us po' folk cannot take time off to go spend four days in the (freezing!) desert of Moab, Utah. This is a tradition; The Family travels down to Moab, or there-abouts, and CAMPS for four days, feasting and hiking and playing games and feasting some more. I cannot even imagine why they started this, since no one in their *Right Mind* would want to go camping in Below Freezing temperatures... but of course, that is assuming The Family is completely sane! They are not, to their charming credit.

But I have diverged from the point of this post (Ha! I have lost my way! Bring on the breadcrumbs!).

So a small branch of The Family had a relatively quiet Thanksgiving at The Parents'-in-law House. I say relatively quiet because it is impossible to be just plain ole' Quiet when in the company of two young, boisterous boys, the children of my Sister-in-Law.

Normally, little Sophia is a very easygoing, quiet child. When she gets around her cousins, however, she becomes an entirely different baby. You see, she adores her cousins; I believe she thinks they hung the moon and proceded to invent finger foods! Sophie gets all growly and squealy and giggly and smiley when in their presence.

I love that she becomes so animated around her cousins. It makes me realize that she is truly a happy baby, and then I don't feel so bad for being a recluse and staying in all day, keeping her to myself.

(I am the Queen of Run-on Sentences, so shoot me.)

Love love love to everyone. I apologize for the rambling post, it is late and I am tired and ill.

Runny nosies and bad tempers

2008-11-20T21:44:00.001-08:00

"She's such a charmer, oh no!"- Kings of Leon

Sophia, my darling little charming girl, has a runny nose, but it doesn't deem to bother her. It runs, she giggles. I wipe it, she wiggles. And then looks accusingly at me as if I ruined her art project.

I am genuinely under the weather. Scratchy, sore throat, throbbing head, hurting lungs. No workout for me today! Surprisingly, I am disappointed. I have actually come to like working out, strange as it seems.

Alas, I have no energy to go into detail about the day's activities (or lack thereof) so I will leave you with a pleasing picture of my delightful offspring.

Hansel and Gretel bloggers

2008-11-19T01:33:00.001-08:00

Let me start by saying that I adore the great Blog-o-sphere, and all her inhabitants, the Bloggers. They inspire me, tickle me, and baffle me. Each blog I read is so unique in the content and theme and personality, and I can never choose my favorite. The authors have become like sisters to me, separated at birth by years and miles, backgrouds and political stances. Suffice it to say, Internettas rock my world!

One little, insignificant, negligible odd instance... I have noticed that many Bloggers are Cyber-Spacial Gretels, in that they often lose their way in a post. It is a regular occurrence to find the phrase (or variations of), "I digress," in many blogger posts.

I think this is what ties us Bloggas together. The fact that we all wander in the literary forest that is the Blog-o-spere. We each drop our breadcrumbs, little snippets of informative thoughts and feelings and musings that get devoured by the lurkers and regular commenters. Of course, it appears Bloggers do not mind this, in fact, Blogger Gretels contentedly continue to drop precious tidbits of their lives onto the ground, potential fodder for the occasional nasty lurker.

I am so glad that our royal Gretel Bloggerettas do not get discouraged by the disparaging comments made by nasty lurkers. Keep on keepin' on, ladies.

Oh I wish I were a little 'lectric eel

2008-11-17T22:08:00.000-08:00

I recently, thanks to Dooce, stumbled across another great blog in the blog-o-sphere, called Flotsam. Flotsam is a brilliant blog, very well written. The authoress, Alexa, is riotously funny and has a wonderful insight to everyday life. I suggest you go to her blog if you need a little pick-me-up in the form of hilarity.

She has a little nine month old daughter, whom she obviously adores, because Alexa makes up verses to the normally hum drum kiddie song 'Oh I wish I were a little bar of soap'. Her new verses are even better than the original song! So on one of her latest posts, she challenged her readers to make up more verses to the song. And from there, the comment section practically EXPLODED with their creative, quirky rhymes. I am going to post all of them, because these ladies are way clever.

Disclaimer: I am not trying to steal anyone's thunder! I just thought it would be cool to have all the verses in one printable place.

(If I have failed to list all of them, if you notice yours wasn't on here, I sincerely apologize, I tried to get them all but I might have missed a few. Please let me know and I will edit this post to reflect the changes.)

Oh I wish I were a little platypus
Yes I wish I were a little platypus
I'd go nuzzle nuzzle nuzzle, and zoologists would puzzle
Oh I wish I were a little platypus

Oh, I wish I were a little mosquito,
Oh, I wish I were a little mosquito,
I'd go bitey, bitey, bitey under everybody's nightie,
Oh, I wish I were a little mosquito

Oh I wish I were a little Loch Ness monster
Yes I wish I were a little Loch Ness monster
I'd go tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee while everybody looked for me
Oh I wish I were a little Loch Ness monster

Oh I wish I were a little kitty cat
Yes I wish I were a little kitty cat
I'd ignore my loving fans, 'til I need them to open a can
Yes I wish I were a little kitty cat

Oh I wish I were a little 'rangutan
Yes I wish I were a little 'rangutan
I'd fling my corny poo while everyone screams "Ew!"
Yes I wish I were a little 'rangutan

I wish I were a little Lion Cub
Oh I wish I were a little Lion Cub
I'd go growly, growly, growly,
(But it sounds a lot like "meow-y!")
Oh I wish I were a little Lion Cub

I wish I were a little Kakapo
Oh I wish I were a little Kakapo
I'd go boom-y, boom-y, boom-y
to find myself a roomie
Oh I wish I were a little Kakapo

I wish I were a little Kakapo
Yes I wish I were a little Kakapo
I'd go skraarky, skraarky, skraarky
so you could find me in the dark-y
Oh I wish I were a little Kakapo

Oh I wish I was a little walrus pup.
Yes I wish a were a little walrus pup.
I'd go glubba-glubba-glub, til my mom shifted her chub.
Oh I wish I were a little walrus pup

Oh I wish I were a little baby deverish
Yes I wish I were a little baby deverish
I’d go whirly whirly whirly with every boy and girly
Oh I wish I were a little baby deverish

Oh I wish I were a little kitty cat
Yes I wish I were a little kitty cat
I wouldn’t say a word, and then I’d bring for you a bird
Oh I wish I were a little kitty cat

Oh I wish I were an existentialist
Yes I wish I were an existentialist
I’d go sulking all around, then say something profound
Oh I wish I were an existentialist

Oh I wish I were a little lump of dough
Yes I wish I were a little lump of dough
You could turn me into bread, or just pinch my cheeks instead
Oh I wish I were a little lump of dough

Oh I wish I were a little Christmas tree
Yes I wish I were a little Christmas tree
You could hang on me a pickle, with my needles I would tickle
Oh I wish I were a little Christmas tree

Oh I wish I were a little toothy beaver
Yes I wish I were a little toothy beaver
I’d go chewing right through wood, then I’d chew you if I could
Yes I wish I were a little toothy beaver

Oh I wish I were a little Bactrian,
Yes, I wish I were a little Bactrian,
You’d go bumpy, bumpy, bumpy
On my little camel humpy,
Oh I wish I were a little Bactrian

Oh I wish I was a spiky lil’ hedgehog,
Yes I wish I was a spiky lil’ hedgehog,
I’d go puffle, puffle, puffle, then I’d hide from all kerfuffle,
Oh I wish I was a spiky lil’ hedgehog.

Oh I wish I was a lil’ horseshoe crab,
Yes I wish I was a lil’ horseshoe crab,
I’d make everybody wary ’cause I’d look a little scary,
Oh I wish I was a lil’ horseshoe crab

Oh I wish I was a little elephant,
Yes I wish I was a little elephant,
I’d use my trunky-trunky-trunky just to pick you out a monkey,
Oh I wish I was a little elephant

Oh I wish I were a little fuzzy pony,
Oh I wish I were a little fuzzy pony,
I’d go neigh-y, neigh-y, neigh-y, then they’d feed me some more hay-y,
Oh I wish I were a little fuzzy pony

Oh I wish I were a little bitty mouse,
Oh I wish I were a little bitty mouse,
I’d go scamper, scamper, scamper, till you jumped upon your hamper,
Oh I wish I were a little bitty mouse

Oh I wish I were a little stripey snake
Oh I wish I were a little stripey snake
I’d go slither, slither, slither till you were all in a dither
Oh I wish I were a little stripey snake

Oh I wish I were a little sea horsey
Yes I wish I were a little sea horsey
I’d go canter, canter, canter, and make high falutin’ banter
Oh I wish I were a little sea horsey

Oh I wish I were a little scrappy pup
Yes I wish I were a little scrappy pup
I’d be so very tiny, but I’d still bite you in the hiney
Oh I wish I were a little scrappy pup

Oh I wish I were a hippopotamus
Yes I wish I were a hippopotamus
I would wallow, wallow, wallow where the river’s nice and shallow
Oh I wish I were a hippopotamus

Oh I wish I were a little bumble bee.
Oh I wish I were a little bumble bee.
I’d go buzzy buzzy bizzy
Until everybody’s dizzy
Oh I wish I were a little bumble bee

Oh, I wish I were a fruit fly.
Yes, I wish I were a fruit fly.
I could never make you cry,
I would go ever so high
oh, I wish I were a fruit fly

Oh, I wish I were a little weenie dog.
Yes, I wish I were a little weenie dog.
I’d go scooty, scooty, scooty as I dragged my little booty.
Oh, I wish I were a little weenie dog

Oh, I wish I were a little sleepy sloth,
Yes, I wish I were a little sleepy sloth.
I’d go snoozy, snoozy, snoozy; wakin’ up is such a doozy!
Oh, I wish I were a little sleepy sloth.

Oh I wish I were a little snapping turtle
Yes I wish I were a little snapping turtle
I’d go bite-y bite-y bite-y and I’d give you quite a fright-y
Oh I wish I were a little snapping turtle

Oh I wish I were a shiny scaly dragon
Yes I wish I were a shiny scaly dragon
If you filled me full of ire I’d singe you with my fire
Oh I wish I were a shiny scaly dragon

Oh I wish I were a little chimpanzee
Yes I wish I were a little chimpanzee
You and I would love to play and we’d share lots of DNA
Oh I wish I were a little chimpanzee

Oh I wish I were a little crocodile
Oh I wish I were a little crocodile
I would lurk around a while
then I’d chomp you up in style
Oh I wish I were a little crocodile!

Oh I wish I were a little water snake
Oh I wish I were a little water snake
I would lay beneath the water
then I’d nip you in your trotter
Oh I wish I were a little water snake!

Oh I wish I were a little fluffy skunk
Oh I wish I were a little fluffy skunk
I’d have a stripe right down my back
all dressed up in white and black
Oh I wish I were a little fluffy skunk

Oh I wish I were a little ocean oyster
Oh I wish I were a little ocean oyster
I’d surprise you with my pearl
and then you’d treat me like a girl
Oh I wish I were a little ocean oyster!

Oh I wish I were a little sly raccoon
Oh I wish I were a little sly raccoon
you might think I’m kinda shifty
but I’m really pretty thrifty
Oh I wish I were a little sly raccoon

Oh, I wish I were a little puppy dog
Yes, I with I were a little puppy dog
I’d go barky, barky, barky when you take me to the parky,
Oh, I wish I were a little puppy dog

Oh I wish I were a Spanish galleon
Yes I wish I were a Spanish galleon
My cannons roar and thunder as the colonies I plunder
Oh I wish I were a Spanish galleon

Oh I wish I were a little raindrop
Yes I wish I were a little rain drop
I’d go plinky plunky plinky as i give the trees a drink-y
Oh I wish I were a little raindrop

Oh I wish I were a star up in the sky
Yes I wish I were a star up in the sky
I would sparkle and I’d glow on the earth so far below
Yes I wish I were a star up in the sky

Oh I wish I were a little sheepy-dog
Oh I wish I were a little sheepy-dog
I’d cause drama drama drama when I sink my teeth in Farmer
Oh I wish I were a little sheepy-dog.

Oh I wish I were a fat and lazy hound
Oh I wish I were a fat and lazy hound
I’d go farty farty farty every time you have a party
Oh I wish I were a fat and lazy hound

Oh I wish I were a little squawky hen
Oh I wish I were a little squawky hen
I’d go clucky clucky clucky when my biggest eggs get stuck-y
Oh I wish I were a little squawky hen

Oh I wish I were a big old grumpy goose
Oh I wish I were a big old grumpy goose
I’d go honky honky honky and my waddle’s awful wonky
Oh I wish I were a big old grumpy goose

Oh I wish I were a little nematode
Oh I wish I were a little nematode
I’d go slither slither slither till I wound up in your liver
Oh I wish I were a little nematode

Oh, I wish I were a little furry moth,
Yes, I wish I were a little furry moth,
I’d go snacka-snacka-snacka,
On your favoritest alpaca,
Oh, I wish I were a little furry moth

oh I wish I were my baby’s little hands
oh I wish I were my baby’s little hands
I’d go lovey lovey lovey
with my grubby grubby grubbies
Oh I wish I were my baby’s little hands

Oh I wish I were my Sophie’s brown eyes
Oh I wish I were my Sophie’s brown eyes
I’d go peepy peepy peepy
Till I fell right off to sleepy
Oh I wish I were my Sophie’s brown eyes

Oh I wish I were a deadly Cockatrice
Oh I wish I were a deadly Cockatrice
I’d go looky looky looky
and make you feel all ook-y
Oh I wish I were a deadly Cockatrice

Oh I wish I were a slimy Basilisk
Oh I wish I were a slimy Basilisk
I’d go breathy breathy breathy
you’d expire something easy!
Oh I wish I were a slimy Basilisk

Oh I wish I were a little flying bat
Oh I wish I were a little flying bat
I would dive and I would hover
Make you scream and run for cover
Oh I wish I were a little flying bat

Oh I wish I were a little plucky guitar
Yes I wish I were a little plucky guitar
I'd go strummy strummy strummy,
and rest against your tummy
Oh I wish I were a little plucky guitar

Oh I wish I were a little CamelBak
Yes I wish I were a little CamelBak
I'd drip water water water,
to make you feel less hot-er
Oh I wish I were a little CamelBak

Oh I wish I were a little children's book
Yes I wish I were a little children's book
My pages go flippy flippy flippy
Your baby in drool would dip me
Oh I wish I were a little children's book

Oh I wish I were a little swinging door
Yes I wish I were a little swinging door
I'd go squeaky squeaky squeaky
And hit your bottom cheeky
Oh I wish I were a little swinging door

Oh I wish I were a little teapot
Yes I wish I were a little teapot
I'd go whistle whistle whistle
While my steam becomes a missile
Oh I wish I were a little teapot

Oh I wish I were a baby Okapi
Yes I wish I were a baby Okapi
You better come and hurry
to see me in Ituri
Oh I wish I were a baby Okapi

Oh I wish I were a little Medusa
Oh I wish I were a little Medusa
I would think it no great shakes
that my hair was made of snakes
Oh I wish I were a little Medusa

Oh I wish I were a little Camel Spider
Yes I wish I were a little Camel Spider
I'd go scuttle scuttle scuttle
And make you scream and huddle
Oh I wish I were a little Camel Spider

Oh I wish I were a little rooster chick
Yes I wish I were a little rooster chick
I'd run by you in a blur
And stick you with my spur
Oh I wish I were a little rooster chick

Oh I wish I were a little greedy colt
Yes I wish I were a little greedy colt
To satisfy my hungry tummy
for a treat, with you I'd get chummy
Oh I wish I were a little greedy colt

Oh I wish I were a little Orchid flower
Yes I wish I were a little Orchid flower
I’d go blossum, blossum, blossum
For nothin’ would you toss ‘em!
Oh I wish I were a little Orchid flower

Oh I wish I were a little Catydid
Yes I wish I were a little Catydid
On leaves I’d amble amble amble
And with the Ants I’d gamble
Oh I wish I were a little Catydid

Oh, I wish I were a little owly owl
Oh, I wish I were a little owly owl
I’d go hooty, hooty, hooty and then I’d bite you on the booty
Oh, I wish I were a little owly owl.

Oh I wish I were a slender crocodile
Yes I wish I were a slender crocodile
I would smile and smile and smile as I floated down the sparkling Nile
Oh I wish I were a slender crocodile

Oh I wish I were a furry lagomorph
Yes I wish I were a furry lagomorph
I’d nibble and gnaw all day just to keep my incisors at bay
Oh I wish I were a furry lagomorph

Oh I wish I were a chubby manatee
Yes I wish I were a chubby manatee
I could charm drunken, lonely seamen and leave them all day-dreamin’
Oh I wish I were a chubby manatee

Oh I wish I were a flippered platypus
Yes I wish I were a flippered platypus
I’d make taxonomists wonder ’bout the “mammal” from Down Under
Oh I wish I were a flippered platypus

Oh I wish I were a little unicorn
Yes I wish I were a little unicorn
I'd dance and caper so lightly
You'd think me purely sprightly!
Oh I wish I were a little unicorn

Oh I wish I were a little tree frog
Yes I wish I were a little tree frog
My brilliant colors like berries boyson
But please be careful of my poison!
Oh I wish I were a little tree frog

I wish I were a little horny toad
Yes I wish I were a little horny toad
With me everyone would sport
‘Till I gave you all a wart!
Oh I wish I were a little horny toad

Oh I wish I were a yummy cherry pie
Yes I wish I were a yummy cherry pie
I’d be gooey gooey gooey
As for calories, oh phooey!
Oh I wish I were a yummy cherry pie

Oh I wish I were a hungry crocodile
Yes I wish I were a hungry crocodile
I’d go snappy, snappy, snappy,
then I’d eat your great grand pappy!
Oh I wish I were a hungry crocodile

Oh I wish I were a little angel fish
Yes I wish I were a little angel fish
I would swim around in space,
and make a fishy face
Oh I wish I were a little angel fish

Oh I wish I were a silly vampire bat
Oh I wish I were a silly vampire bat
I would want to suck your blood,
but only if you were a bug
Oh I wish I were a silly vampire bat

Oh I wish I were a big polar bear
Yes I wish I were a big polar bear
I would rub my butt on ice,
because, of course, it feels so nice
Oh I wish I were a big polar bear.

Oh I wish I were a little pair of eyes
Oh I wish I were a little pair of eyes
I’d go blinky, blinky, blinky
then I’d winky, winky, winky
Oh I wish I were a little pair of eyes

Oh I wish I were a little pair of hands
Oh I wish I were a little pair of hands
I’d go clappy, clappy, clappy
It would make me very happy
Oh I wish I were a little pair of hands

Oh I wish I were a little comfy coat
Oh I wish I were a little comfy coat
I’d go huggy, huggy, huggy,
then you’d be all warm and snuggy
Oh I wish I were a little comfy coat

Oh I wish I were a little corny pun
Oh I wish I were a little corny pun
I’d make everybody groan
in a lovely baritone
Oh I wish I were a little corny pun

Oh I wish I were a little deadly bacterium
Yes I wish I were a little deadly bacterium
I’d go splittie splittie splittie and I’d colonise your city
Yes I wish I were a little deadly bacterium.

Oh I wish I were a little elephant
Yes I wish I were a little elephant
I’d have tusks all creamy yellow
and they’d festoon your piano (<- look: assonance)
Yes I wish I were a little elephant.

Oh I wish I were a little lolcat kitteh
Yes I wish I were a little cute lolcat
I’d go nomnom on a pie and be captioned kthxbai
Oh I wish I were a little lolcat kitteh.

Oh I wish I were a little angry lolrus
Yes I wish I were a little angry lolrus
I’d go fuckit fuckit fuckit
Why did they steals mah bukkit?
Oh I wish I were a little angry lolrus.

Oh I wish I were a little snarky blogger
Yes I wish I were a little snarky blogger
I’d go linky linky linky posting recipes for drinkies
Oh I wish I were a little snarky blogger

Oh, I wish I were a baby without gas,
Yes, I wish I were a baby without gas
I’d sleep wherever I did lie,
And my mommy wouldn’t cry,
Oh, I wish I were a baby without gas

Oh, I wish I were a little platypus,
Yes, I wish I were a little platypus.
I would paddle in my stream
and be a happy monotreme,
Oh, I wish I were a little platypus!

Oh, I wish I were a little whale of blue,
Yes, I wish I were a little whale of blue.
I would swim around the ocean,
anywhere I got the notion,
Oh, I wish I were a little whale of blue!

Oh, I wish I wish I were a little killer bee,
Yes, I wish I were a little killer bee.
I would sting someone and then
they would need an Epi-pen,
Oh, I wish I were a little killer bee!

Oh I wish I were a little baby rat
Yes I wish I were a little baby rat
I’d go squeak-y squeak-y squeak-y and the ladies would scream eeek!-y
Oh I wish I were a little baby rat

Oh I wish I were a little strip-ed tiger
Yes I wish I were a little strip-ed tiger
I’d go growl-y growl-y growl-y while I was on the prowl-y
Oh I wish I were a little strip-ed tiger

Oh I wish I were a tiny little crab
Yes I wish I were a tiny little crab
I’d go pinch-y pinch-y pinch-y up and down your every inch-y
Oh I wish I were a tiny little crab

Oh I wish I were a little baby starfish
Yes I wish I were a little baby starfish
If I came to any harm I’d just grow another arm
Oh I wish I were a little baby starfish

and finally, from the disgruntled grad student:
Oh I wish I were a lowly ABD
Yes I wish I were a lowly ABD
They can screw me every day and I ain’t got any say
Oh I wish I were a lowly ABD

Oh, I wish I were a tiny porcupine-y.
Yes, I wish I were a tiny porcupine-y.
I’d go spiny, spiny, spiny, don’t you dare get near my heiney,
Oh I wish I were a tiny porcupine-y.

Oh. I wish I were a tiny porcupine-y.
Yes, I wish I were a tiny porcupine-y.
I’d go quill-y, quill-y, quill-y, til I heard you scream so shrill-y,
Oh I wish I were a tiny porcupine-y.

Oh I wish I were a little John McCain
Oh I wish I were a little John McCain
I’d say tsk tsk tsk when you say mom’s health’s at risk
Oh I wish I were a little John McCain.

Oh I wish I were a little Sarah Palin.
Oh I wish I were a little Sarah Palin.
I’d say you have to marry when you pop my daughter’s *ahem* cherry.
Oh I wish I were a little Sarah Palin

Oh I wish I were a little artist’s brush.
Oh I wish I were a little artist’s brush.
My work would never cease till I’ve made a masterpiece.
Oh I wish I were a little artist’s brush

Oh I wish I were a little killer whale
Yes, I wish I were a little killer whale
I’d smack you with my dorsal, you tasty little morsel,
Oh I wish I were a little killer whale

Oh I wish I were a fearsome great white shark
Yes I wish I were a fearsome great white shark
I’d snack on squid and seals galore (and maybe a surfer or four!)
Oh I wish I were a fearsome great white shark

Oh I wish I were a surly little llama
Yes I wish I were a surly little llama
I’d go spitty, spitty, spitty on your clothes–oh what a pity!
Oh I wish I were a surly little llama

Oh I wish I were a fuzzy galago
Yes I wish I were a fuzzy galago
By night my eyes would glow, glow, glow as along tree branches I’d go
Oh I wish I were a fuzzy galago

Oh I wish I were a chirpy lorikeet
Yes I wish I were a chirpy lorikeet
I would preen, preen, preen to give my feathers a most becoming sheen
Oh I wish I were a chirpy lorikeet

Oh I wish I were a swimming cetacean
Yes I wish I were a swimming cetacean
I would frolic with all the fish and sometimes spit up ambergris
Oh I wish I were a swimming cetacean

Oh I wish I were little Hip Hip-O
Oh I wish I were a little Hip Hip-O
I’d go wadey in the river then I’d tip your boat and chomp your liver
Oh I wish I were a Hip Hip-O

Oh I wish I were a little Aye-aye
Oh I wish I were a little Aye-aye
Id pokey pokey my long finger, to eat grubs and worms for dinner
Oh I wish I were a little Aye-aye

Oh I wish I were a cheeky monkey
Oh I wish I were a cheeky monkey
I’d eat bananas and fling poopy my red butt is kinda cute-y
Oh I wish I were a cheeky monkey

Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat,
Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat,
You would find me ’round your sink,
or on the rim of your kid’s drink,
Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat.

Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat,
Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat,
My little wings would still be flapping,
while around me hands are clapping,
Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat.

Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat,
Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat,
‘Round bananas I would fly,
but with frost I’ll surely die,
Oh I wish I were an annoying little gnat.

Oh I wish I were a little lightning bolt,
Oh I wish I were a little lightning bolt,
I’d go zappy, zappy, zappy to the poopy in your nappy,
Oh I wish I were a little lightning bolt.

Oh I wish I were a little Julia,
Oh I wish I were a little Julia,
I’d be so pretty, pretty and iddy, iddy biddy,
Oh I wish I were a little Julia.

Oh I wish I were a little fuzzy moose
Oh I wish I were a little fuzzy moose
I’d lay wastey wastey wastey to your garden plants so tasty
Oh I wish I were a little fuzzy moose

Oh I wish I were a little raven bird
Yes I wish I were a little raven bird
I’d go thrashy thrashy thrashy through your biggest bag of trashy
Oh I wish I were a little raven bird

Oh I wish I were a little sledding dog
Yes I wish I were a little sledding dog
I’d go mushy mushy mushy o’er the snowy trails I’d rushy
Oh I wish I were a little sledding dog

Oh I wish I were a little ptarmigan
Yes I wish I were a little ptarmigan
I’d go flighty flighty flighty underneath the northern lighties
Oh I wish I were a little ptarmigan

Oh I wish I were a little snowshoe hare
Yes I wish I were a little snowshoe hare
I’d go hoppy hoppy hoppy with my giant feet so floppy
Oh I wish I were a little snowshoe hare

Oh I wish I were a little otter pup
Yes I wish I were a little otter pup
I’d go gambol gambol gambol for an abalone scramble
Oh I wish I were a little otter pup

Oh I wish I were a little grizzly bear
Yes I wish I were a little grizzly bear
I’d grow hairy hairy hairy when I gorged on wild berries
Oh I wish I were a little grizzly bear

Oh I wish I were a little polar bear
Yes I wish I were a little polar bear
I’d go squealy squealy squealy when I caught a chunky sealy
Oh I wish I were a little polar bear

Oh I wish I were a little sneaky fox
Yes I wish I were a little sneaky fox
I’d go runny runny runny underneath the midnight sunny
Oh I wish I were a little sneaky fox

Oh I wish I were a little caribou
Yes I wish I were a little caribou
I’d go chewy chewy chewy on the tundra lush and dewy
Oh I wish I were a little caribou

Oh I wish I were a little arctic squirrel
Oh I wish I were a little arctic squirrel
I’d go sleepy sleepy sleepy through the winter dark and deepy
Oh I wish I were a little arctic squirrel

Oh I wish I were a monkey in a tree.
Yes I wish I were a monkey in a tree.
I would chatter, chatter, chatter,then I’d eat all your bananers.
Oh I wish I were a monkey in a tree

Oh I wish I was a little English Sparrow
Oh I wish I was a little English Sparrow
I’d go sit upon the steeple and spit at all the people
Oh I wish I was a little English Sparrow

Oh I wish I was a little kitty cat
Oh I wish I was a little kitty cat
I’d go lay in the sun and answer to no one
Oh I wish I was a little kitty cat

Oh I wish I were a little barnacle
Yes I wish I were a little barnacle
I’d go grippy, grippy, grippy
Underneath a pirate ship-py
Oh I wish I were a little barnacle

Guilty

2008-11-13T21:22:00.000-08:00

As charged. I'm giving up on the whole NaBloPoMo thingy... guess I didn't have it in me to follow deadlines! So writer gets scratched off the list.

So... this kinda feels like the end of a relationship where neither one of the lovers has anything left to say but are both reluctant to go, knowing it is the last semi-decent encounter they will have with each other.

Picture! That will do it, make the break-off much easier. Here you go:

I'ma gonna sell that klutz

2008-11-10T14:52:00.000-08:00

That aforementioned Klutz gave me the run around yesterday. Literally. I arrived at the field where he is kept and proceded to find him so I could doctor up the wound on his foot. Before I get within fifty feet of the bugger, he goes tearing off across the field, with his golden oldie buddies struggling to keep up. I spent forty-five minutes trying to catch him, to no avail. I was so angry with him that I said some things I never thought I would say, telling him I hated him and I was going to sell him, all the while blubbering the words because of snot and tears running down my face.

I have never, in the three years I have owned him, had this kind of trouble. Sure, he has been stubborn and woolheaded, but he has never evaded capture before.

I think it is something in this Utah air. Maybe he is royally pissed off at moving away from his farm home back in Virginia, the only home he has ever really known.

Now, of course, I have had second thoughts about selling the Light-blasted horse. Even after all the crap our equine friends kick our way, we self-diagnosed 'horse lovers' will never sell 'em. I guess it is some kind of blood disorder, in that it is IN our blood.

(I didn't post yesterday because, #1, I was so angry with Apollo, #2, I had a bad hair day, and #3, we hosted a house-warming party, since we just moved in to our apartment here at the University.)

The Klutz

2008-11-08T21:47:00.001-08:00

You wouldn't really notice it just looking at him, but this guy here, he is the biggest Klutz that ever walked on four legs. No, I take that back... he is actually pretty balanced normally, but when it comes to special situations, like trying to make friends with other horses across a barbed wire fence, he downright stinks at agility.

Apollo cut up his right fore leg and his chest today on barbed wire. I was feeling fragile today, so something like this if course would send me into hyper-drive. So, since I had failed to assemble a good horsie first aid it, I had to gather the required supplies to tend his wounds. First, I headed to the local hardware store, which reputedly carries ranch supplies. However, when I got there, there was a pitifully dimiutive supply of... heh, ranch supplies! So, I ask the two teenaged sales people where I could find what I was looking for, and after plenty of vague directions given in "like, um" speech, I was able to discern the approximate position of a likely provider of the items I was searching for (betadine solution, leg wraps, cloth bandage, wound-healing pastes, tetanus vaccination solution, needle, syringe, etc.). So, I drive the fifteen minutes it takes to get to Smith and Edwards, reputedly "The Greatest Store In The World", and lo and behold, this Super Store does not carry betadine! Well, I again ask where I can find the elusive betadine solution; this time, I actually was able to understand the directions given, and with no trouble at all arrive at my (hopefully) last destination: C.A.L. Ranch! Now, C.A.L. Ranch is very similar to Tractor Supply Co., so of course I was able to procure the aforementioned items!

(You know, this story had a point when I started, but now I have forgotten it, so it ends here. Oh, I doctored up Apollo's leg and my father-in-law gave the shot, and through it all my horsie was a gentleman! So he was rewarded with a yummy apple straight from the orchard.)

Eh, I feel like I am running out of steam! I think NaBloPoMo will be the death of me.

Music! It's been awhile

2008-11-06T23:57:00.001-08:00

Ok, so I have been searching out venues that host open mics here in Logan, Utah, and I have been moderately successful. Why Music just off the main street is one such place, and it is possible that the university has something... they have a college radio station!

So maybe I will get in a couple of open mics before school resumes in January. After that, I will be flying by the seat of my pants (oy, over-used idioms are the worst!) trying to keep up with classwork and my little baby.

If you haven't yet, check out my myspace, We Fight The Giant Squid. I will make it a link to this post for convenience.

And... boom!

2008-11-06T22:22:00.000-08:00

Oh, Little Sophia. Poor little bug, her eyes are red and puffy, and her nose is leaking oozy snot. But this little pumpkin is smiling! I suppose now she thinks she has the upper hand, since I am allowing her to sit in my lap on the bed, staying up WAY past her bedtime of 8 o'clock. Normally, she is snoozin' not five minutes after I put her down, but tonight... tonight, she might be a little sick with a cold. Poor widdle bean.

And since she is way too enamored with the computer, I shall end this short post. (But it counts as a post!!!! Take that, NaBloPoMo!!!)

"When she blows up, she'll scatter 'cross the hills..."

2008-11-05T20:57:00.000-08:00

Okay! November 5th... and we have a President Elect, Obama. Congrats to the American public for sanctioning and supporting that heinous institution, The Two Party System. Not saying I have a problem with Obama or McCain (not one, several... but that is beside the point), but when it comes down to choosing between two not-so-great choices, I think we may have a problem.

Why not check out Ron Paul or Ralph Nader on their stances concerning how the country should be run. We should try to move away from That Two Party System (where both sides are backed my major slimy corporations and shady conglomorates) and move toward a better way to run our country. Just because Obama (and McCain, sure, why not) had the most support (read: cash, money, moola, dinero, whichever bogus moniker you wish to bestow upon it), I ask why should we succumb to a farcical popularity contest.

I know, I know. 'Money doesn't buy happiness, but it is sure great to have some!'.

Well, hats of to Obama for winning, a dubious honor. I sure wouldn't want to suddenly find myself in the situation of fixing EVERY DAMN THING THAT IS WRONG WITH THIS COUNTRY. That is way too much of the world on your shoulders, Atlas. I do realize that with our Checks and Balances system, the President has about as much influence on what goes on in our country as a flea has on the giant dog it inhabits, but poor Mr. President. He has to deal with all those ignorant fools who believe the President can drastically CHANGE THINGS that are wrong... and so, a few years down the road, when America realizes nothing significant has been done to FIX ______ (insert gripe here), poor Mr. President will be, if not the greatest, at least most popular, Scapegoat in the world.

Yay for America. I bet the Fouding Father's are spining (and vomiting) in their graves.

Wait a moment! Before you start calling me down as a racist, this rant has nothing to do with color, race, sex, what-have-you. I am in no way racist. I love Everyone, and give respect to those who deserve it. So please, before you start thinking I am just saying this because *gasp* we finally have someone other than an old white dude as our Commander in Chief, please recant that thought. I feel sorry for all of our Presidents. Because, Atlas, the world is too large.

I do secretly hope Obama can turn things around, just to have proof that fairy-tales do come true.

"She's so far behind, she ain't got the brains to quit it"

2008-11-04T19:19:00.000-08:00

This is National Blog Posting Month, or if you prefer to shorten it, NaBloPoMo. I am already behind! It is Election Day, and the polls are blazing up in a riotous geyser of human fire... I feel slightly disconnected; I am ashamed to admit that I... did... not... *cringe*... vote!

Before you start wailing over the loss of Democracy in this country because of people like moi, please, allow me to give an excuse that I hope can at least be tolerated if not accepted. I was going to send away for an absentee ballot, since we recently relocated rather swiftly to this great state of Utah and had not yet made it our official home. However... days are too short, and they fly by faster than cheetahs, or chicken hawks, or... well, you get what I'm trying to say. I realized last Tuesday that it was the day to have sent in my ballot... and I hadn't even sent away for one yet.

Anyway, please forgive my attemps at being cheeky; I am not a regular blogger, so challenging myself to this NaBloPoMo probably will be a disaster.

Tomorrow I shall endeavor to new catastrophic blogging heights!

Woooo Hooo!!! VOTE!!!!

Troublesome Pumpkin

2008-10-27T20:38:00.000-07:00

I have a beautiful baby daughter, called Sophia. She was born on Leap Day of this year, that is, February 29, 2008. Such an auspicious day to come into the world. The delicate, intricate strains of music by harp-guitarist Andy McKee heralded her coming, at four-thirty on that Friday morning.

Sophia will be eight months old this week. Her first months have flown by on graceful, silent wings, and before I know it, she is doing things I feel I am not ready for her to be doing! Where did that tiny, helpless, floppy little grub hie off to? Now she is crawling at Mach three speed, showing intense inquisitiveness that only a baby, just now discovering The World, can show.

She has, in the last few months, picked up some strange and amusing habits. Sophia has learned to imitate a ferocious, growling monster, grumbling and snarling to get a laugh out of her audience. As she suckles, she hums pleasantly in rising and falling waves of monotone bliss, often subconsciously imitating me as I hum softly back to her. When she concentrates, her little eyebrows knit together in an adorable emulation of a scientist hard on the heels of discovery. As if her hands have a collective mind all their own, she cannot but touch and handle and feel everything within her grasp, exploring anything that comes into her awareness. She is inexorably studying her world, and with it comes understanding. You can see it in her eyes, and once she has something figured out, the pleasure shining brightly on her face is enough to make me fall head-over-heels in love with her over and over again.

In celebration of you, Sophia, my sweet little grub, a video to embarrass you in the years to come.

Love,
Mama

(click on the title of this post to view the video)

The Fear

2008-10-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

They say that when you've got The Fear, you get things done. A fire is lit under your bum, and off you go like a rocket, trying your damned-est to achieve whatever it is you have set your sights on without falling into the proverbial Oblivion of Failure. I have been wallowing in the mud on the edge of the Oblivion of Failure recently, for no other reason than to play chicken with my inner... selves.

Well now I have The Fear. That archetypal Fire has been lit, and I am off and running. I have been scared for so long... scared of what? Well, just plain old scared, scared to put myself out there and go back to school, play music with my heart on my sleeve, scared of doing things the way I used to rock 'em. I am going to enter the Spring semester at the University and finally be on my way to a Bachelor of Animal Sciences with an Emphasis in Equine Science and Management. Ain't that a mouthful?!

AND (although we have been taught to NEVER start a sentence with and, I will break the rules today because I can) AND, I now promise and do solemnly swear to dandle my guitar on my knee and sing it to sleep every night for at least an hour.

Yeah, I'm getting back in the game and now I've got The Fear.

Screw it

2008-10-21T21:02:00.000-07:00

So the subject of this blog has jumped from My Music to Sharing Good Music to Commenting on Farmer's Market Produce And Other Inane Subjects to My Personal Online Diary That I Deluded Myself Into Thinking No-one Reads. Thankfully I have yet to divulge critically embarassing information to the general Internet Public (however, I fear that circumstance will rear it's ugly head in the future) and I have decided I will write whatever comes to mind, just spread it willy-nilly across the proverbial wall that is the Internet.

Still, on the other hand, I will not fool myself with the number of people who do read this blog... likely that number falls below zero, a sad but factual fact. Factual Fact? Really? Can I be more uninspiring? I believe I can!

Recently, my darling spouse and I received a feral fluff up our nether regions and packed up our entire house and daughter, tossed it all (sans the daughter, who had the dubious honor of being strapped into a car seat) into the back of a sixteen-foot Budget rental truck and drove across the great continent of North America. A three day drive, not counting the nights. Which, by the way, started at one or two in the morning when we had exhausted our supply of energy drinks and grudgingly checked into a motel. I surmise that our unofficial motto for the trip was "Get there faster than the speed of sound, and please obliterate your sanity by stuffing yourselves into the ridiculously small confines of the Budget Truck Cab."

I think this is the appropriate moment to steal a popular Canadian interjection: Oy.

Now, what would make this move to Northern Utah better? Add one slightly stressed mommy (me), minus a husband (he is now working all the time!) and an apartment to live in (Inlaws house!!! Par-tay!!!) and what do you get? Full-on Depression with a capital D.

Of course, I might be able to alleviate the pain, I suppose. I know I should go for more walks outside in the neighborhood with little Sophie and her high-tech stroller. I should excersize, and I should try to eat better. I should study! Because studying and learning is supposed to make people feel like they are worth something in this life.

But, bottom line, I don't have the energy. For anything. I thought that the time in which I get used to being a mom and incorporating Sophia into my schedule would be over now. "Life used to be life-like".... and now it is just a series of endless, numbered days.

Welcome to the World, Sophia!!! It sucks!!! You will love it!!!

Dreams

2008-09-09T08:04:00.001-07:00

I am recovering from a dream I had last night. In it, a dear friend of mine who I used to go skiing with in High school, hates me... and this overwhelming feeling present throughout that the hatred he carried for me ran so deep it perverted everything it touched. Interesting, how the mind twists things into unrecognizable situations.

ha, this blog has turned into an online journal. Well, since no one reads it anyway, might as well use it as such.

Orchasm Rock

2008-08-24T10:51:00.000-07:00

Orchasm: a mix of the words Orgasm and Orchestra. Used to describe a genre of music that is often characterized by orchestra music fused with experimental black metal; the compositions usually begin quiet and with a skeleton crew of musical instruments, then, either gradually or quickly, become a riot of sound.

A good friend of mine came up with this term to describe a group of musicians who go by the name of God Speed You Black Emporer! I suspect this band's music will be hard to find, so I will include a link to one of their songs. Still, I encourage you to find this band; it is a wonderful addition to a great music collection.

Rambling Rose

2008-08-21T17:56:00.000-07:00

I love Disney movies. I think everyone loves Disney movies, or at least the ones that came before about 1999... the classics, man, the classics...

And as a tribute to our beloved children's movies, here is Kiss the Girl. A song. One of the best songs ever written by a Disney underling. I love playing it, it so sweet and simple but full of passionate love. Ok, I am finished waxing goofy. Listen, and I hope you enjoy.

Farmer's Market

2008-08-12T10:22:00.001-07:00

Farmer's market is a riot. Such yummy delicious fresh grass-fed picked-that-morning still-smells-like-dirt sold-by-sketchy-dude-wearing-plastic-bags-on-his-feet GOODNESS! It is heaven, nirvana, or one of the tiers of glory, whichever relig you subscribe. Okra as big as a pidgeon. Green beans as long as my forearm. AND the produce is much cheaper than store bought. AND it doesn't look like it has been in cold storage for the last seven years.

All hail the Acorn Squash, garden fresh.

I love Open Mic Nights...

2008-08-09T19:00:00.000-07:00

...at Baja Bean!!! Here in Charlottesville, downtown on the corner across from the UVA campus, there is a little restaurant called Baja Bean... they have open mic starting at 9pm on Mondays.

I love playing at the Bean because the people who come out and play are so talented!!!

Change

2008-07-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

I have a myspace musician's account, and it is www.myspace.com/wefightthegiantsquid

That is the best I can do!!! I think that will be easier/better to upload songs for ya'll to listen to.

HOWEVER, I still would love to discuss music, so comment here if you like.

Cannonball cover

2008-07-24T13:24:00.001-07:00

I love this song. Damien Rice is the man.

(I told you I would get it up here didn't I? Patience pays off, doesn't it?)

ps. I know there is some odd echo going on during this song. I could not figure out how to fix it... oy.

a cover song

2008-07-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

This is my cover of a Postal Service song, called DC Sleeps Alone Tonight.

maybe that's the alcohol talking

2008-07-23T14:41:00.000-07:00

original song (this one took me a long time to write because I would write it then lose the words... this happened at least twice!!!)

enjoy

Grizzly Bear

2008-07-22T20:43:00.000-07:00

If you haven't yet heard them, check out Grizzly Bear. Great band, phenomenal actually. They have music vids on myspace.

Petroleum Headache

2008-07-22T20:06:00.000-07:00

Well, I have never had a good relationship with Technology, a fickle little thing. It took me a while to figure out how to do this, but here is a song. It's called Petroleum Headache.

(In order to hear it, you have to click on this post's title and download it... I'm going to try to find a better way to stream music on this blog...)

Pilot Post

2008-07-12T19:22:00.000-07:00

Hey hey, we have a music blog. This blog is completely dedicated to music. I will be posting audio files of my original songs and also covers of some of my favorites, and also have discussions about certain kinds of music, favorite bands, new bands I have come across, etc.

The genres I enjoy are folk (like old Jewel stuff, Nickel Creek, Iron and Wine, Damien Rice, Ani DiFranco, Paul Simon, Elliot Smith, Dashboard Confessional, The Shins, Nick Drake, Jack Johnson, Trystan Prettyman, Ryan Adams, Ben Harper, Rickie Lee Jones, Joze Gonzalez, Johnny Cash, Elana Brody...), all kinds of Rock (Coldplay, Death Cab For Cutie, Grateful Dead, Radiohead, The Postal Service, The Beatles, Phish, Modest Mouse, Pinback, La Tigre, Kings Of Leon), and some stuff that is so great as to be un-classifi-able, if that is even a word! (TalkDemonic, Andy McKee, Andrew Bird, Sigur Ros, Bjork, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Portishead, etc...); I also love Orchestral/Classical music.

Please feel free to enter into these discussions; I do enjoy a good chat about music, and I would love to hear about new music and bands that move your hearts and souls... let me know, yeah?