Dammit...

Go ahead. Laugh at me. I'll still deny that I have a type, but lately I seem to have found myself going on several dates with a competitive tall blond girl.


I hate you all.

New News

Well, we moved into our house last weekend, and I would have said so earlier, but we were without internet for a WHOLE WEEK! (I know, crazy, right?) So for those of you who care, my new address is

1026 W. Union Valley Rd
Seymour, TN
37865

So that wonderful. No tiny, cramped apartment. I also have a bed now too.

On the other hand, my grandfather died two days ago. I feel bad because I missed the last two Thanksgivings and Father's Days which were always a time when my family would get together and he would always be there. I don't think I'll be going to his funeral because that's not how I want to remember my Pappy. I remember waking up early in the morning and going out to the kennel to help him feed his dogs, or him putting me on the pony, Magic, and giving me a ride (even tho I'd been riding my own for quite some time, this was a new horse, so it was wonderful). He'd let me play with all the new puppies from every litter his dogs had, and even kept my favorite dog to use as a breeder so that I could always play with him whenever I'd visit. He was a tall man (if not quite so tall as I) and even after 90 years you could still see that he'd been a farmer. That is how I want to remember him. That was Pappy.

So that sucks.

Disuse

We've gotten bad. Not a single one of us has posted anything new in a bit, and I'm sadly out of touch with everyone else. Things here are getting on. My roommate (kind of) bought a house, and so since his "Plan A" fell thru, as Plan A's tend to do, Plan B is that we move, and I pay him rent which he puts toward his mortgage. My theory is that 'tis better to help someone you know than just pay rent to some landlord. (Esp. since I have bad luck with them) Life in Tennessee is... typical. It's still Summer, so tourism is still kicking. We have to drive thru crazy traffic to get home, but there's no rush since it's still 80 degrees by the time we get back. I've gone running, or biking, or swimming almost every day for the past 3 weeks, even if I have to wait until 6 o'clock for it to cool off enough. Life has fallen into a routine, and I think I might have to mix things up a little bit, but I'm not sure how. Something will come. Maybe I'll start a community class on building useless but entertaining things out of cardboard.

Infinite

In the dark, how far away is the sky?
Can you reach up and touch it
Or is it infinitely distant?
Silhouetted in the night
A shadow against the stars
If you stand perfectly still you can almost
Fly
The horizon
Where the stars touch the Earth
Caressing her skin
If you listen, you can hear your heartbeat
Feel your breath catch and know
There are only two options
You can fall or you can fly
If you stare, you could be pulled
Your feet would leave the ground
Which?
I
Do not
Fall

Burly burlesque

I went to a burlesque show in Knoxville last night. I spent several minutes lost because the place, "Sassy Anne's" was down a tiny side street in what looked like a residential section. Sassy Anne's turned out to be a tiny, 3 story bar with a balcony-like upper floor that looked down onto the 2nd floor and an impromptu stage. They had World Book Encyclopedias from 1952 scattered about and giant cogs and gears on the wall along with prohibition signs and other similar 1930-60's memorabilia. I was encouraged.

Sadly, the show itself was less than spectacular. The performances were not even on par with your typical Barefoot Monkeys after-party, and they fell far short of a typical Aural Pleasure or Hot Chocolate offering. The performers themselves were all of the type that could most politely be described as "curvy", but would more accurately be said to be "burly".

All in all, it is encouraging to know that such things occur around here, but this particular show fell far short of my hopes.

Wreck of the Scumby Thooner

In swamy spring did we tithe and tyre
A young man's fortune to the waves
Followed we fortunes fickle and dire
That sent men to their graves

With Gyre and Gimble at my side
Stroth then, this fellowship of three
And struck our course with pride
We set forth t'ward the sea

In Mungy Port had we no sooner
Broke backs to grimful toil and labor
Then docked a ship, the Scumby Thooner
A brutish coursing saber

All precarious and intriguing now
Our futures were soon seeming
This vessel had upon its bow
A maiden with hair streaming

Took we then jobs as men o' the line
To fight for God and Nation
A corsair's life is one that's fine
This was to be our station

Across the sea and down the main
Searched our crew for plunder
'Til in summer off the coast of Spain
Came echoing peals of thunder

'Twas nightfall 'fore the storm did break
And tossed the Scumby Thooner
Debris floated in our wake
And lower rode our schooner

'Neath Heaven our heathen hides
Toiled long into the night
Above Hell we fought against the tides
In hopes to stay our plight

Before the dawn could come to hand
We'd run against a shoal
As wreckage flew, we swam for land
But few men reached the goal

And as pale light broke across the sky
To notes of angelic choir
Standing fast and true we heaved a sigh
Myself and Gimble and Gyre

They all have unfortunate initials

Phineas Michael Simpson had an unfortunate monogram. As a child, he was tormented relentlessly by the older boys because of this and for this reason he was a bitter and angry young lad. At the age of 14 he'd taken a Wiffle™ bat and bludgeoned the leader of his tormentors, Webster Anders Smythe-Pennings, into the emergency room. Twenty-five stitches, a course of vicodin, and two weeks later, Webster repentantly approached Phineas and begged his forgiveness. Phineas laughed in his face and kicked him in the balls.

Webster was a man of few words. This was due to a speech impediment he'd developed as a teenager. Realize, gentle reader, that most speech abnormalities manifest with the acquisition of language, but Webster's particular trouble stemmed from the fact that he'd bitten part of his tongue off during a schoolyard brawl during his formative years, and this had given him a noticeable lisp that had made him extremely shy and hesitant to talk to girls. The only woman he'd ever felt comfortable around was Maryanne. Webster had met Maryanne at the Youth Christian Camp he had been forced to attend by his parents. Maryanne had been the reason Webster had entered Seminary School at the age of 18, but he had not seen her for more than eight years. It's sad sometimes, how childhood loves slip out of our lives almost unnoticed.

Maryanne Ooglethorp Pree looked at her watch. She swore angrily, stomped on the clutch, shifted into fifth gear, and gunned the engine of her old but trustworthy Chevelle. She had less than seven minutes to get to where she needed to be. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she considered how angry people would be if she were even thirty seconds late. It didn't bear thinking about, so she pressed her foot even more firmly toward the floor and coaxed a few more RPM out of the roaring engine and a few more MPH out of the drive shaft. Sweat trickled down her temple and her teeth clenched together. She heaved a sigh of relief as she pulled into the parking lot outside the bank just in time to see the glass doors explode outward in a shower of shimmering shards and three men in black coats run out. She'd been in time.