Loots' View

Check out this gallery of beautiful photos taken by a great friend of mine. I've put a permanent (and direct) link on the right sidebar, but it can be found here:

Planet Plum

Enjoy :)

What a great night!

Let's party! Click on the link below for even more frivolity!




http://cdn.buzznet.com/media-cdn/jj1/headlines/2008/11/first-celebrity-reactions-obama-win.gif

All Fall Down

I usually love this time of year here. If you happen to be out and about when the sun goes down or are up just after the birds, there's that slight nip in the air that has me longing for my hat and scarf and the need for hot chocolate and intermittent use of my windscreen wipers.

It was a really blustery night last night. This morning there are half brown leaves, mixed with the green all over the place and this out-of-nowhere wind has managed to push stuff under cars, into our gutters and doorways, and before it's done with us, will most likely try to wreak havoc on our roads and pathways. Although it happens all around us, at different times everywhere in the world, it takes us by surprise when it's our turn. It appears and announces itself, with little advance warning. But it shouts its arrival.

I think the wind tossed around last night almost as much as I did. But it's sunny right now. This, for me, is a welcome respite, because it always brings the promise that things never stay the same. That things will change again in time.

I love the sun and heat, but I know the landscape moves. It's a sight for sore eyes. So, as it gets cooler, we'll root out our scarves and hats, our defenses against the elements, and make our way through this change. Then, just as we're tired of it and hoping for warmer weather, it'll peak over the horizon bit by bit and warm us up again.

It's only the beginning of this season, though, and no doubt it'll get colder before it moves again. But as we always do, we'll hold hands going over the icy patches and point out to warn each other about the slippery spots. We'll pull on our boots and trudge through when it reaches our knees. We'll wrap ourselves up in every stitch of warm stuff we have between us.

That's why right now, I'm digging in every drawer I have; to keep even just one step ahead of the weather man.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

Unfortunately... it sometimes does take a Village.

Any abuse, child, marital, animal, familial, stranger to stranger - is unacceptable.

In my opinion, whether you're white, black, pink or purple or a combination of all - whether they're white, black, pink or purple - or any combination - there's no excuse. Living where I live I've seen every shade of people treat their kids very well, and very badly. I've also seen white Irish kids being beaten up and down stairs and up and down streets.

It happens in all cultures and all countries. Below is just one of those such incidents - one of too many that happens in our own backyard; in a home, in a town, in a country somewhere - where a type of kitchen martial law rules and there are usually no repercussions to the terrorist, yes terrorist, except for down the road when the broken hearted beaten child not always, but often, is destined to repeat the sins of the father, as it were - or mother and sister, as is in this case. And in between there's no real childhood, no true happiness and joy - just pain and sadness and betrayal and more confused hatred preparing to spew forth into the world. It's one circle of life that has to stop going 'round.

Here's an article that appeared in the Sunday Independent, an Irish newspaper, by my favorite journalist - Andrea Smith:

The Beating of a Child is not acceptable in any culture - by Andrea Smith

Thanks Andrea, for shining light where this ugly aspect of life everywhere lives. Although worldwide, it holds the same address - that dark corner. And thanks for having the courage of your convictions. Some child somewhere thanks you too.

Two Daddies

"Won't remember" Pfft! Oh ye of little faith...

Don't sniffle... don't do it ;)



Unrelated: I opened the fridge door on my face this morning. How's that for a wake me up?! Brains to burn, I tell ye.

"A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails" ~Anonymous

It's been a while.

Quite a bit has happened lately, it seems, in mine and friends lives. Happy times, sad times.

Isn't it strange and disconcerting and really hard sometimes, how, when something wonderful happens in your life, it can all of a sudden be piggybacked with something equally as sad. And sometimes, it feels like some unseen entity is just sitting there waiting to flip the coin on you. It's said you have to take the bad with the good, but why? Who made that rule up? Whoever it was needed a good kick in the tuchus. I've never been any good with rules anyway.

Of course, there are those rare lucky times when it's all happy happy, joy joy and I wish that were the case for a couple of people I hold very dear, but it's not.

Speaking for myself, I know I have a tendency to bury myself away and go into hibernation to lick my wounds and deal with my inner hurt and turmoil (and I know, I know, I don't always take my own advice,) but of all people, I understand that need in others. Having said that, I've always been better at looking after, than being looked after. My family will attest to that. But there comes a time where we just have to give in and just take it. Accept it. And say thanks. I love my family and my family loves me. And they're true, real friends. I'm very, very lucky.

And so we have friendship. The good thing about real, true friends is that they become another kind of family. They can take on any shape you need to shove that square or triangle into. You can cry, yell, laugh, whine, ignore or just have no words, but no matter the shape, it miraculously just seems to fit. And just so you know, I'm trisquarcirculangular. And I'm here. And I can be there in no time at all.

Isn't that what family is for?

It's not just about the meat...

Cows and Chickens are treated just as badly, if not worse, while being 'farmed' for their milk and eggs as they are, along with pigs and fish, for their meat.

And while any effort is to be applauded - absolutely every effort and consideration helps - don't let the mythical terms like 'cage free' or 'free range' - or even, sometimes, 'organic' - fool you. Yes, those are better options... but these farms get around these terms in a myriad of ways. For instance "Cage Free" or "Free Range" oftentimes just means more, a lot more - go into a space that's not "technically" a cage - they're all just piled in together into a bigger 'cage' or area. Loopholes upon loopholes.



Please take a moment to click on this link:

www.aldf.org/mendes/

...and please, please sign the petition - it only takes a few seconds:

Petition

Me and all the little maltreated calves, at least on this dairy farm in California, will be forever grateful for your kindness.

Here's some of the press (and those in the US, please try not to buy dairy products from those companies who do business with this place):

Unfortunately, just one of many of these types of places...

It's always best to do your research - if not only for animals, for your health and knowing just what you're putting into your body. Recently here there was an exposé done on a farm in California (more info here) about its treatment of cows - and although these cows couldn't walk to their own slaughter (a no-no by law) - the workers used all manner of means - waterboarding, pushing them with diggers and shocking them - while they lay collapsed on the ground - to get them (possibly sick and diseased cows) by hook or by crook, right onto your dinnerplate.

I swear... Factory Farming makes me sick and sad all at the same time. Everyone and everything with the capacity to feel, deserves some semblance of caring and respect.

By all means, enjoy your choice of food or dairy product - we all have that right - but please, please, please check the labels, do a little research and if you can afford it, buy the organic option. Just do what you can do, what you're comfortable with or what's realistic to you personally; every little thing helps - even just informing yourself and being aware. Try even just one day a week - or month - eating vegetarian or vegan - it's amazing what it can do for your health and energy level, the animals and the environment.

Food for thought - my brother informed me that, apparently in Ireland, something like 75% of "Irish Chicken" sold in Ireland is not from Ireland at all.

Yes.

Read Labels. Research. It will make a difference to us and the animals.

Anyway... thanks. I'm tired. Goodnight.

"Herdlerpress - Read all about it!!!"

Or, not!

I submitted a piece to the LA Times (I wanted to fail BIG!) late last week - and I got my first rejection e-mail today. Woo Hooooo!!!



As I hadn't expected to hear anything, except maybe their collective laughter of disbelief echoing all the way to the beach from downtown, this is going in my plus column.

Of course, the speed at which they replied could be taken a couple of ways. However, I'll choose door number 2 - and say, hey, at least they didn't leave me hangin'!

Be afraid, be very afraid... I'll keep pluggin' away like the hapless hack I am!

:)

Extra, Extra! Hump Day Round-Up!

My brother, Stephen, is my favorite photographer. The (amount of) photos on his site really don't do his talent its full justice... so I'm hoping that this will push him to put up more - some heretofore hidden gems that are my absolute favorites. I usually feature a different photo by Stephen every week or two on this page (top and to the right) to pretty up the joint. You can get just a further taste of how he sees the world through his lense, here:
Shutterblography

My cousin, Andrea Smith, is a music publicist and freelance features writer (Go Andrea!!). Andrea regularly contributes pieces to the Sunday Independent (for those who don't know, that's an Irish newspaper). She's a lot of fun and her honest humor, compassion and individuality shows through in her writing. Check out some of her work here:
Andrea Smith

Both of the above links are permanently featured in the right hand column, over there above the clocks ----->

For anyone reading my Adventures In Chairs - you'll be happy to know that it's gone. G.O.N.E. gone! Hooray! Farewell, old thorn in my side. I hardly knew ye :)

And last, but not least, a BIG (woo hoo!!!) congratulations goes out to my friend, Sharon F. She's on her way to obtaining her doctorate - a PhD in Criminal Psychology. She's been accepted to every institution to which she applied (I won't mention the institution I feel she really belongs in ;) ) - so far, it's 8 for 8! She makes my heart swell with pride - I know, I know... I'll stop embarrassing myself ;)

I'm going to have so much fun with the ol' "Is there a doctor in the house?" gag. Tee hee.

Some Mothers Do 'ave 'em...

Unlike here in the US, it was Mothers' Day in Ireland, and other parts of the world, yesterday.

The dictionary definition of a mother:
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source - Share This
moth·er1 /ˈmʌðər/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[muhth-er] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1. a female parent.
2. (often initial capital letter) one's female parent.
3. a mother-in-law, stepmother, or adoptive mother.
4. a term of address for a female parent or a woman having or regarded as having the status, function, or authority of a female parent.
5. a term of familiar address for an old or elderly woman.
6. mother superior.
7. a woman exercising control, influence, or authority like that of a mother: to be a mother to someone.
8. the qualities characteristic of a mother, as maternal affection: It is the mother in her showing itself.
9. something or someone that gives rise to or exercises protecting care over something else; origin or source.
10. (in disc recording) a mold from which stampers are made.
–adjective
11. being a mother: a mother bird.
12. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a mother: mother love.
13. derived from or as if from one's mother; native: his mother culture.
14. bearing a relation like that of a mother, as in being the origin, source, or protector: the mother company and its affiliates; the mother computer and its network of terminals.
–verb (used with object)
15. to be the mother of; give origin or rise to.
16. to acknowledge oneself the author of; assume as one's own.
17. to care for or protect like a mother; act maternally toward.
–verb (used without object)
18. to perform the tasks or duties of a female parent; act maternally: a woman with a need to mother.
—Idiom
19. mother of all, the greatest or most notable example of: the mother of all mystery novels.

I'd had great intentions of writing this and posting it yesterday, but it happened to be the one weekend when I had friends in town and we were constantly on the move; the one day when the mother (or Mudder!) who deserves it most in the world, who deserves to have accolades and devotions up the wazoo, privately and publicly laid at her feet, didn't, from me. And that just shows you. Kids!

Most mothers love their children. Most mothers will make sacrifice after sacrifice for their young, doing everything they can to ensure their happiness and ensure their stealthy journey towards that time when kids think they know better. Some mothers, unfortunately for their little children, and to the detriment of the adults those children become, don't sacrifice at all, but today is a day to celebrate the good ones. They do it all.

Most mothers wouldn't consider what they do for us, through love, as a sacrifice and most of us children don't realize what their love means and just what it takes. When we’re children, it’s a bit like the wizard behind the curtain – we don’t see the magic and miracles, the sheer force of will, the cranking and creaking of the pulleys and chains behind the drapes. We don’t see how what we have was come by. At the time, all we see is what we’ve got.

I think it was George Bernard Shaw who said “Youth is wasted on the young,” and how right he was. The older we get the more we realize just what our mothers have done for us and just how much personal sacrifice and loving is involved, if a mother is worth her salt – our scratched knees, boinked noggins and twisted ankles hurt them more than us; what panic and terror it conjures up in their minds, us wandering off the road (or going to "the forest") without telling them, for ‘it was only ten minutes’; how our slights and hurts we feel from teachers or other kids at school, make them, normally peace loving people, want to pounce and scratch at the offenders like a lioness protecting her cubs - and what we, as we blindly trample our way into our teen years, with nary a look back (but usually with a cheeky reply), can do to their hearts. And that sting they feel, when we seem to want to spend time with anyone else but them.

Some mothers (along with the superstar dads, of which I have one) will never have new clothes or get their hair done, so that we can have our red typewriters, books or skates, video games and bikes. And as we become teens, they will continue to do the same, just so we can, frivolously, attend the school disco wearing something that's in fashion. And they're just happy that we're happy. It goes on and on, repeatedly, as we hungrily eyeball our adulthood.

And as we reach that milestone, you would think it would stop there; for some mothers, it does. Some mothers feel that when their kids reach the age of eighteen (if not earlier), their job as a parent is done. Some mothers.

Then there are those few mothers who will continue to show their love as if time has stood still, as if not a moment has passed since the day they brought you into the world. A few mothers will hug you and try to comfort you, even when you elbow them away, thinking you’re too old for that. A few mothers will scan your brain and know what you're thinking, even when you yourself, don't. They will find great joy in the smallest of your successes and pain in your smallest of woes. A few mothers will know when you hurt or when you don't want to be alone or say that there's nothing wrong, even when you try to pretend - that type of mother will love you even when you don't deserve it.

Mothers, few and far between, will, at the time of the worst loss and sadness of their lives, place your heartbreak above their own to comfort you; will fold away their own grief to ensure that you don’t turn to ashes and disappear from view, along with that terrible loss. They will bail you out of yourself and those situations when life chooses not to love you and they will help you to walk for a second time. That same type of mother will be there for you when the world decides not to give you everything you want and need; when the universe gives you the finger or a swift kick in the jubblies, when life doesn't wish to be kind to you - when it shows you it’s nowhere close to being a mother. And just when you reach a time in your life when you feel you're as adult and "old" as it gets, your mother loves you like the little child with plaits and freckles you long left behind – and she does it just exactly when you need it the most. Some mothers are a credit to their own beloved mothers and made them very, very proud.

My mother is the best of all of these mothers and more. My mother is a champion. The word ‘love’ doesn’t cover it. The world hasn’t got another of this mother. If I were forced to choose, she would be #19 above. There has, however, been no dictionary definition created to encompass the depth and meaning of my mother (~and my Fadder ain’t in any way shabby either~). But it is Mothers’ Day.

So, thank you, Mam. Thank you for the typewriters, books, clothes, dinners, protection, loyalty, friendship, pride in me, support of me, fun, love and caring I didn’t, and couldn't, truly appreciate at the time.

And thank you, Mam, for continuing to laugh at my clowning around :)

Few may read this, but one person I know will. My mother. Because she's my mother.

It's a day late, but Happy Mothers' Day, and every day. I love you.

XXX

P.S. My toothbrush fell down the toilet this morning - that'll teach me!

Update - Here a chair, there a chair...

Ahem, I know everyone has been waiting with bated breath for an update; on tenterhooks, and all that jazz. No, no, please. I apologize for the delay. Drum roll please... -- well, it's still here.

So far, it's been used as:

1. An elderly persons' rest stop.
2. A rubbish bin.
3. (possibly) A litter bin for piddles.
4. The "can" in kick the can by the kiddies.
5. A springboard onto my steps by my own cat.
5. A point of ridicule/source of amusement for all and sundry.

I'm going to put it on the street this weekend to see if I can drum up business. I'm going to put a sign on it that says "Needs A Good (or Bad) Home." At the end of the weekend, if it has not been adopted, I and a couple of accomplices will don woolly hats pulled low over our faces and it'll wear "cement shoes" and "sleep with the fishes," as it were.

Wish us luck!

Up the Dubs!

Congratulations to my fellow countrymen and women - and those involved that have discovered that Ireland, and particularly Dublin, creeps into your veins - on the success of their film "Once."

No doubt they invested their blood, sweat and tears - and all of their cash and a lot of craic - getting it to the screen. It undoubtedly paid off, because last night they snookered the Academy into giving them the award for Best Original Song ("Falling Slowly").

Fair play to you, lads. Bula Bus!!!

Here's a trailer:



And awwww. Thank you, Jon Stewart, for letting Markéta Irglová have her moment:



Isn't it funny how her Czech and Dublin accents have collided?! Lovely. I hope the success and media this film and song have garnered now with this award, goes a bit of a way towards more widespread tolerance as times continue to change in Ireland - for all the new people, from all different places, finding new homes and lives there, just as the Irish have over the years, elsewhere. At the end of the day, we all just want to feel we belong.

Sláinte.

"Hold on to your f**&@ing hat!"

I'm sure you've all seen those ads on television for this medication and that. Usually (while trying to mind warp and fleece us), and depending on the drug being hawked, generically attractive young, middle aged and/or elderly people, unrealistically mind you (particularly the geriatric generic), are seen running through meadows, rock climbing, looking depressed, awaking in crisp white sheets with crisp white curtains blowing lightly in the breeze and... well, you get the idea. At close of the commercial there's always a rolling set of possible side effects, a scroll as long as the cast and crew credits of any Hollywood blockbuster. This laundry list of horrors seems always, at least to me, much, much worse a fate than the condition the medication is prescribed for.

As if these all aren't bad enough, I personally find the ones targeted specifically at "women's issues" and "feminine hygiene," etc., even more grating and ridiculous. The ones where (at least in the US) the women are all very gentle and softspoken - the kind of voice used only if you were completely Stepford, drugged up to the eyeballs, or trying to placate a nutjob who is brandishing a gun at a WaMu (that name change still doesn't make them 'cool' by the way) - so annoying and patronizing. What the #%@* do they take us for?

Well, last night I was watching SNL (Saturday Night Live) - it was the first show back since the WGA went on strike, so my tuning in was a combination, I'm sure, of extreme lack of new telly material and the fact that Tina Fey was hosting - reunited once again with her pal and comedy cohort, Amy Poehler.

Now, I love Tina Fey and I love her show "30 Rock." And Poehler never ceases to crack me up ("Blades of Glory" anyone?), so I had to at least check it out. Anyway, just as my age started to reveal itself and I was starting to fade, the following skit came on:



I don't know whether I was just severely lacking and in need of a good giggle, or should be prescribed some of that there Stepford medication, but I absolutely rolled. Their dead-on parody was lulling me, as it was meant to do - between the wig, the use of pink on black and white and the gormless music and hopped up tones and expressions of the women - until around .40 seconds and then kapow! When I saw the... ah well, if you haven't seen it, I don't want to spoil it for you. Just take a look.

I'm so glad this ended up on youtube.

(Wonder if she found that hatchet at one of those 'provide for the needy' outfits. Yes, I'm still grumbling)

(and if the fascist bastids remove the above, try here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=fQL2q-wjAsg )

P.S. Her Clinton/Obama bit was really hilarious too.

ETA: For anyone with an interest in political satire (and Female Power! Ha! I'm talking more about Tina in this instance), here it is:

This is no Blanch... that's for sure. And more's the pity!

Remember when "poor" meant "I'll take it!"? Or you could leave something outside, even accidentally, and it was gone in five seconds flat? Mmm, me too.

Where are those nimble fingered tea-leaves when you need 'em? You know, the ones who would rob your tires while your car was in motion? What happened to that class of fella? Have things changed so much in the world, that you can't bank on those things that meant the most? The things that you held dear? Where is the justice?!!!

And also, along with the old, good-time crooks letting us down, it would seem the poor of 2008 are a different breed of poor, than the days of yore, poor. Apparently, the needy are not so needy these days. And those who work to help the poor and needy are not in the market for a really nice--free--chair; they'd rather sit on the floor and/or would prefer to waste gas to come in person to view, sniff and then turn their noses up at said chair.

Let's see, it all began when I was hoodwinked by a really good friend (who shall go unnamed), into taking a really nice chair. Let me make this clear, this is no crappy chair; this chair IS nice. I just don't have any space for it. And so, it sat in my living room awaiting an even newer new home. Bearing this in mind, I spent a few days vigilantly swatting my cat and her claws away during the daylight hours, but at night, she would have her wicked way with the chair's arms. Still, I persevered. Still, it remained nice.

After a week, and having cleaned my apartment from top to bottom, I got tired of the chair eating my living room. I moved the chair outside of my apartment, pinning it with a really nice--and wordy-- note. So far, everything about this situation is nice. But, no go. I went online and booked a pickup with a group that --sounds like-- 'Starvation Barmy' (AlvationSay Rmyay, pig latin, for the Americans) and knew my chair troubles would be over within four days, the soonest it could be picked up. I was jubilant. In the meantime, I left a note saying if anyone wanted it, they were welcome to it, thinking I could always cancel the pickup if necessary. I'm that much of a giver, you see.

No go. The chair sat there. Tuesday rolled around and while I was making my coffee, I heard the pickup guys outside. I ran to the loo and a minute later, I head to the door to view the empty chair-shaped space. I thought. Well, the chair was still there, along with a note that said "We don't want your effin' chair." It didn't really say that, but that's how I read it. A preprinted note said it was not acceptable for, tick, tick, a couple of reasons. Reasons I honestly couldn't get my head around. A small stain at the back of the chair - the part of the chair that's usually pushed against a wall-- or with a little elbow grease would be a distant memory-- but nope, apparently the poor would rather sit on the floor. Denied. If I had the space, I'd take this chair in a second. What am I saying, I did take it... (damn you, **** *********!)

I have to say, after this I turned into a maniac. I kept my eye on the window and if tenants of my building, or visitors of tenants, even glanced the way of my apartment/chair, I would be out that door chasing them down, twisting arms and giving my pitch. Still no takers. Furthermore, I had to fend off next door's cat--who's in heat for the first time-- from taking a piddle on it. I'm exhausted. There's now my briefest of notes to date, attached to a sheet over the chair in thick black marker, stating "FREE CHAIR," just like that. I don't know whether I actually meant "This chair is free" or "Free this poor chair!" My imagination is working overtime. I believe this chair has now grown a pair of eyes and is sporting a smirk. And it's smirking in my direction. I find this chair ceases to be as nice as I once thought. I think I might now hate this chair.

So there you have it. My only recourse now involves a hatchet and the dumpster... and let's just say, I'm looking forward to it. Now if only I could find a hatchet. Wonder if the organizations for the poor have any of those? Maybe I'll go look at their collection of hatchets, sniff and turn my nose up at what they've got, 'cause you know, there's a scratch on the handle or something. Yep, that's the ticket. That'll teach 'em.

Screw you, sounds like "Starvation Barmy" and "IllWill."

And friend, who shall remain nameless, never mind, I still love you. However, if you visit me while this chair sits here, I will somehow break off a kitty-scratched arm and I will forcibly beat you with it. Das righ'. XXX

Fiona Lily

May all your carrots taste like cupcakes and all your shoes have magical ballerina powers :)

Happy Birthday, sweet and funny little girl.



We love you much, much more, even, than you love Smyth's Toy Store :)

"Do you use a big wreckin' ball?"

This little Dublin girl means business. She's not too hot on her school. And with a prank call, she's determined to enlist the help of a demolition company to take care of the situation. Very funny. I love how they're all just crackin' up!



Thanks to Sharon for telling me about it. Ah, it'd make you miss the craic at home, where a laugh is just a laugh and all that jazz. It also reminds me of Conor for some reason. :)

And one for the road...

For more, check out:

http://millerandgreen2.blogspot.com/

and:

http://millerandgreen.blogspot.com/

Let's hope LA can get back to (ab)normal soon.

On this day...

58 years ago, my Nana and Grandad got married.

Oh, how they've loved each other. Oh, how they've loved us.

And oh, how I've loved them.

"I didn't do nuffin'!"

I've been thinking about the different jobs I've held. Some were short and therefore not so sweet; some were like chocolate. But swirled within each of 'em was some ingredient I could slag off. Here are a few of the most slaggable offerings (in no particular order):

1. Being 'called,' via intercom, loudspeaker and ol' school style through hallways, to trudge all the way up to El Jefe to retrieve a coke from the fridge in said Jefe's office within arm's reach of El diab... I mean, el jefe.

2. Riding around every day in a limousine (torture beginning at 6:30am) with a blind in one eye boss-man. And having to sit. right. by. him. (pat, pat) and take notes.

3. Being yelled and screamed at in a PMS-24-hours-a-day fueled rage for being stupidly full of initiative.

4. A futile attempt at strong arming me, by the new fat and lazy female director, to chase a female porn star down "La Croisette" to 'drum up interest' and in turn, leave my pride at the Carlton. Futile. God loves a trier.

5. Very first job. Office affair. Not mine. "Easy Single" sandwiches in the toilet cubicle. First job. 'nuff said.

6. Perfecting a blank expression witnessing boss burping, farting and sliding off leather chair while using dictation machine. Boss also perfected blank expression.

7. Having begun a job two weeks earlier, I get reamed a new one for something he told me to do a month previous. Now, I'm the first to admit my mathematical failings, but those numbers just don't add up. Oh, have I mentioned he was schizo? No? Right.

more to come...

Help the hungry and have fun too!

I stumbled across this website and it's great! It claims to provide free rice (through its advertising hits) to those who need it and it's a word game too. Be careful, it can get addictive :) and it might even make you smarter ;)

Hopefully, it does what it says. Hopefully. I did a bit of research and apparently it's been mentioned on the BBC and NPR and at this point, seems legit. Either way, if you've got some time to kill, it'll definitely help with the ol' vocab.

http://www.freerice.com

Keep both feet in the one sock, ladies!

Fearing I hadn't laughed enough today, my dear friend Katy sent me this; it's from an actual 1955 Good Housekeeping article. Click below (but do so with ladylike intention) to view it in all its informative and graceful glory... just be careful not to pull a muscle, that's indelicate.

"Not written by..."

Funny, very tongue-in-cheek, blog by a couple of striking writers (David Letterman show, David Spade Show, etc.) blogging about what they're not writing while the guild is striking.

They asked what (really bad stuff, heh) everyone else is not writing during the time, so I sent one in and they posted it. Check it out here if you want:

http://millerandgreen2.blogspot.com/

Their original post is here, some funny stuff:

http://millerandgreen.blogspot.com/

A Great Cause

http://www.womenforwomen.org/

Not the LAPD

Gardai enjoying themselves on duty in Tullamore.

I'm friggin' screwed

Einstein's brain:


Speaking of relativity, the only thing me and Al have remotely in common - the hair:


For more interesting wiki-skewed tidbits on Da Man:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Einstein's_brain

If a tree falls in a forest...

Anyone out there?

Blogging sucks! Down with blogs! So sayeth me!