Smoking Kids

I dunno...my son is home from college and was using my computer.  I came home and this link was up. It does have a strange effect doesn't it.

From this website

WTF

I mean really....

starry starry night...

The Magi

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,   

In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones   

Appear and disappear in the blue depths of the sky   

With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,   

And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,   

And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,   

Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,   

The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

Happy Christmas to all who happen across these words.

Freedom in Amerika?

"Andrew March, a Yale University professor who testified for the defense as an expert witness, said the verdict sends the message to Muslim Americans that they do not have free speech.

"I do what he did almost every single day at Yale University. I teach Islamic law, I study Islamic law. I translate things about al-Qaida. I teach people to debate," March said. "Because I'm not a Muslim and because of what my name is, I have no problem doing it. But if my name were Tarek Mehanna, I would have everything being tapped, and that should worry every single one of us."

freetarek.com 

The new store is doing tremendously well.  Our customers can't seem to say enough about how much they love the look and feel of the place.  It's sure encouraging.  We had our best day yesterday -- over 700 dollars in sales.  We're seeing the same people come in over and over and we've only been open 3 weeks.  And only 4 days a week.  It is a good sign all around I think.

The best part, well there are many best parts but it is really cool to be able to be supporting local artists.  And word is getting around because more and more are coming in with their wares.  Before we opened, people were giving us such negative vibes about our location ... there had been several different types of stores in this building that didn't make it but still ... anyway it is fun to be,so far, proving them incorrect. Or better, just making the energy positive on our little corner in Cotuit.  

This post is light and unimportant in the scheme of things.  But I never pledged that every day would be a serious undertaking or earth shattering.  Just sharing.  Here is a photo of some of the deliciously smelling organic, made in the USA soaps we are carrying.  The orange is citrus lavender and just yum.

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad..."

No.  Not Philip Larkin ... of course not.  First off, he's dead.  And when he was alive, he was British.  It's the US Poet Laureate, Philip Levine I saw an article about this morning.

But wouldn't it have been fun to have Philip Larkin as US Poet Laureate.

I didn't even know Philip Levine was Poet Laureate.  I haven't much kept up with modern poetry.  Except with the poet folks I hang around with.  I'm not sure why -- no that's a lie -- I know precisely why I haven't kept up:

A:  The Professor hates most poems written today (no more he says they aren't Poetry and does try to encourage by being critical) and of course I have followed him like a faithful student does.  Picking apart modern poetry like a turkey vulture on roadkill.

Jealousy is a very horrible trait.  For many years I worked to eradicate the "j" word from my life.  I did pretty good -- it remains, however, lurking inside me with regard to two specific areas:

1. Brilliant poems written by young women.

2.  The drug addict with the perfect ass the Professor had in his life (for 5 years) who didn't love him worth a damn but drove him to ridiculous lengths to keep her in his bed.  AND for whom he wrote smoldering poetry about.

I think it is coming a long way to be able to point out specifics like that.  Don't you agree?

Where was I?  Oh.  Philip Levine.  I couldn't finish reading his poem "Drum" this morning.  I found my mind wandering ... I wasn't compelled to keep reading.  I wasn't drawn in.  Once, I wrote a poem in which the first line is  "your mind is a sun-fucked sea..."  I wasn't attempting to be a shockjock poet, I was thinking of when a sun ray shoots down into the ocean.  How an idea can pierce the mind --

I stole sun-fucked from a dear dear old poet -- well I didn't steal it -- she said I could have it.  She used it to describe a story of her and a lover being on the beach.  Sun-fucked.  I love it.   Anyway,  I'm not sure poets should be normal people.  Maybe that is the problem with some of the poet laureates we've had in the USA lately -- they are so "normal."  Why wasn't Mr. Ferlinghetti ever named Poet Laureate?  Or Allen Ginsberg?

They seem very normal to me.  Don't you love Mr. Ferlinghetti's "her hair was rainy, her breasts were breathless..."

Random brain scrapes & tablescapes

I saw a headline today about Michael Jackson's hair being made into a roulette ball.   It wasn't on one of those "most outrageous" headlines site either.  That's just fucked up innit?

Do you still write out Christmas cards?  I hope you do.  Even if it is just to a few people.  Imagine -- the post office is going down the shitter -- I'll probably have to explain to my grandchildren what Christmas cards were.  It is odd.  I don't feel old.  I read a blog of a guy who is just 2 or 3 years younger than I am and he is preparing for the birth of his first baby.  And my babies are 20 & 15.  It's strange.

Someone told me the other day that there is truth to the notion that time goes faster the older you get.  Something about hormones ... I think that is what she said.  I'll do some research and report back.  Remember when you were a kid?  It seemed like it took forever for Christmas to arrive and now were are heading into the End of Times (2012 and all).

The sports radio guys can't stop talking about Tim Teebow.  It is better than Jerry Sandusky I guess.  All of the sudden they are protecting him like he really is an Angel sent from Heaven.

Hey!  Maybe it will be the end of the world with Gingerich being President.

I dunno.  I do love the smell of gasoline & leather.  Do you know that Dankso advertises "Vegan Shoes?"   I guess all the trendy companies do.  I have stacks of things to do.  I'm not going to do any of them this evening.  I've got the hot tub heating up.  I'm going to sky watch and relax.  Maybe smoke a little bone then write some Christmas cards.

This blogging stuff is something.

Mother Nature

Is this the beginning of something?  or the last of something ancient?  And I don't mean the "being served at restaurants" part.

I'm no scientist so maybe this stuff isn't even that interesting to anyone.  Maybe it's just old news.  But  I just love when new species are discovered.  We read so much of the species that disappear -- it makes me even the slight bit optimistic about the planet Earth when I read "deep in the green jungles of Vietnam this lizard was discovered in 2010...."  And I just can't help but think of those campy B movies where a village of super powerful women are discovered.  I'd miss men though, for sure.

There was a snow ring around the moon last night.  It was quite lovely.  I think I might even be ready for the first real snow.  Something quiet -- snow that begins falling at dusk and full of sparkle.  We went for the Christmas trees last night.  Now comes the decorating.  I'm doing the upstairs tree in all birds.  I have a funky purple owl for the top.  She's already up there waiting for the rest to arrive.  Hannah will decorate other tree with all the "traditional" ornaments we've accumulated during the lives of her and her brother.  We love to pull them out and laugh at the ones they made in nursery school.  Some full of scribble & haste but still garnering the perfect spot on the tree.   If only the holidays were that easy....

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field, Mary Oliver 

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow —
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought:
maybe death isn’t darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —

as soft as feathers —
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

Discombobulate

Do you know Anselm Kiefer?  I didn't (until I read this article on huff post this morning).  So much I don't know.  It is a prideful thing -- to think one "knows" a lot.  I want to know a lot.    

Europe is another planet isn't it?  Like Asia.  Australia doesn't seem so other worldly though.  Perhaps it is the barrier of language.  I don't know.

At one time in my life I investigated purchasing a light house.  I got the list of the light houses for sale east of the Mississippi.  I got the bid forms.  I was going to apply as an educational organization.  I dreamed I could some how combine my love of the sea with my passion for poetry in some tangible way.  It would be a place poets could come and stay -- have sabbaticals.  Or something.  I realized when trying to fill out the proposal forms I hadn't really given it enough thought.   I couldn't explain to the government why I should have a lighthouse for poetic reasons.

I gave up that dream when I realized my corporate job wasn't going to let me "hit it big." When a giant deal I was working on with a company focused on usury didn't come to fruition after almost a full year of being tethered to that hope -- I quit that rat race shortly after that.  Well after going almost broke because I had put all my eggs in that basket I guess.  I am one of the most hopeful folks on the planet I'm sure.  I can see hope in the blackest of despair.  Until I fall in of course.

A Libra should not allow themselves to suffer such highs and lows.  "Grab the balance stick in front of you and hold on..." a Yogi who I studied with for over a year taught me.

Is this post swinging all over the map?  I am an expert in that type of writing,   I think.

Monday's are my weekends.  Today I will do many mundane things.  Grocery shop, clean, go to the post office.  I will also find a few minutes to go to the local thrift stores and dig for treasures.  Tonight Hannah and I will get a Christmas tree.  I tried to talk her into a beautiful artificial one -- she said no.  The Black Swan had a very successful weekend of the Nutcracker.  I can't believe how she is progressing.  Her boyfriend attend the same show as I did -- he picked her up and swung her around when she came flitting out in her last costume.  I was standing there with two bouquets of flowers and she told me to "go away now...".   Motherhood.  One must be awful tough to endeavor that occupation that's for sure.

Where was I?  Oh oh oh...

Anselm Kiefer.  "Art is difficult, it is not entertainment."

Saturday ....

It's been a super busy Saturday ... two sales, the Nutcracker, the new shop.  I'm spent but didn't sleep much last night.  Stayed up till 4AM to watch the American Masters on Pearl Jam's 20th anniversary of being a band.  The first time I went to see them I had an infant under 1 and the second time I was pregnant with my second.  The second time was 11th row and everyone was nervous about people moshing on me with a fetus in utero (I wonder what Cobain would be doing if he was alive).

The Nutcracker performance tonight was lovely.  Hannah is certainly amazing -- but it is not good to brag about ones own child too much.  There were some three year olds that slayed of course, they always do.  Matinee tomorrow.

Just came in from soaking outside.   Cold -- about 35 degrees but the water was up to 105 by the time I got home from the performance and the night so bright and blue -- that sort of mother's milk blue spilling all over the yard.

I've got nothing to complain or whine about this evening.  Tonight ...let's just dance and kiss under the Blue Moon.

Poll indicates Gingerich is the "true conservative."

Well.  Now that we have that out of the way.  True conservative... really?

Really?

These are mad mad times.  But not the good mad ... where art & intellect flourish.  These are no Enlightened times.  Nopey.  This is like Mad Max Goes Right Wing Christian or something.  And I've already expressed my "those right wing Christians don't know nuttin bout Jesus" opinion.

But at least the folks who have been masking their racist attitude toward our President are coming out of the closet.  "Food Stamp President.."  "Soul Train Initiative.." what else have I heard over the past few days ... oh "poor kids have no idea what a working role model looks like." "Gay people shouldn't openly serve in the military" ... oy vey.

As distressed as this stuff makes me feel, I actually wish people would always be that honest and quit couching their real feelings in innuendos.  Just say ... "I really am afraid of those black folks getting more power."  or "White people should always be in charge."  At least then we'd have somewhere to go.  It wouldn't necessarily be a good place but at least it would be honest.   The bubbling lava under the surface is making my feet hot while walking around this country.

And let's not even talk about the Town Dictators taking over 5 or 6 cities in Michigan thereby making the citizens of those towns votes null and void.  WHAT?

If I spend too much time reading and listening to this "news" I feel too depressed to get up and go out.    If I don't pay attention and try to talk about it I feel like I'm being irresponsible.  But I have to stop getting into arguments with people I guess.  I have been hit with several anti-union folks lately.  As if unions are the cause of all our problems.  I'm learning to smile and just not engage anymore.  What good will it do to argue with these strangers?  I'm not going to change their minds.

I'm depressed and I've not started my day.  I have a big estate sale today and tomorrow (two this weekend with one being a benefit for the Boys & Girls Club of Cape Cod).   I need to smile and be cheerful for the next two days.  

I need to be a lover ....

Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy
absentminded.  Someone sober will worry about
things going badly.  Let the lover be.

Rumi

The Week of Nutcracker ...

Homework on the run.  Hair in a bun.  False eye-lashes.  Tide-spot stick.  Make-up remover.  Costume changes.  Toe pads.  Pink tights.  Brown hair nets.  Bobby pins.

Not even the polichinelles are cute during dress rehearsal...

My Black Swan.

Sexual Objectification

Apparently if you are a woman and participate on the show Dancing with the Stars, you should not be upset or surprised that a strange man films you naked through your hotel peep door window.   And 10 million dollars is too much money to sue for damages.  And she's an awful reporter.

This is what I heard on the Boston sports radio station I listen to in the morning.  Well, it was something close to that.  Something about Erin Andrews dancing with her "ass up in the air" on Dancing with the Stars and therefore she isn't "really upset or damaged" by the guy who filmed her naked without her knowing it at a Marriott hotel and posted it to the internet.  A Marriott hotel that gave out information about her staying at the location and rented the filmer a room right next door to hers.

The two men radio show hosts said these sort of things.  A few days ago they were asking for the castration of Jerry Sandusky because of the charges being brought up against him.  

Is it just me?  Shit.  I know innocent children and stuff but really?  Are women THAT much below the sexual food chain?

Of course these are the same guys that bash the Occupy Wall Streeters.  Why do I continue to listen?  I may not.  I can get the sports news I want from other sources.  I don't think I want to continue to give those guys ratings.  I know, I know, I'm simply a small fish in the big pond of listeners but it is really the only way I know how to protest.  I did call the station about the Occupy Wall Street bashing -- the woman I was directed to said "Well, I wish they'd talk more about the Patriots and not the Red Sox after all it is football season..."  So I'm not sure how far my complaint got -- but I did at least call.  I simply stated I listen to the station for SPORTS news not POLITICS.  If I wanted to listen to politics I'd turn the dial.

I'm bothered by what I heard yesterday.  In my ears it sounded just like "well if you wear a low cut shirt how could the rapist resist?"  Even a few female callers said "She got famous after the incident in the hotel ... no one knew who she was before that."  So therefore what?   Crimes against her should go unpunished?

I know that is a bit hyperbolic  but listening to those people yesterday made me wonder about the real progression of equality for women.    No not equality necessarily I suppose -- basic respect?  I'm sure 10 million dollars is a ridiculous amount of money for the suit.  But that isn't really the point of this.  (Honestly, I don't know what the point is ... writing into cyberspace).  Sigh.

On a forum at an online site I participate in, I posted something similar about the first Herman Cain accuser and how some of the public were reacting to her accusations.... a man contributed to the thread with a comment close to "Men lust after women it is just the way it is...."

I'm not a hyper feminist -- really.   I'm don't even think I qualify as a feminist.  I'm just a Libra interested in the balancing of scales.  I totally believe if a woman or man wants to be a stripper or a prostitute or pose nude etc. and the deal is on their terms -- more power to them.  

Ah. Never mind.  This is silly.  I'm going to go stare at photos of Tom Brady to make myself feel better.

Winter Tales

I was out last night.  No, not in a bar or restaurant or shopping.  I was out in the night.  I took the flashlight and mucked across the street to look for owls -- I heard them but they were too far into the 8 acres that live across the street from me to find.

But the night --- ah.  The Night.  I should paint it.

The sky was curdled with moving clouds and the half dome of a moon was so bright it cast those purplish/yellow -- nacre colored really-- halos around the outlines of the clouds and its prideful self.  Beautiful Moon you.  

I wish you were here to see it with me.   But of course I wouldn't want to be talking too much -- just looking up and sharing thoughts about it later.

After the trek I went into the hot tub (I know that sounds awfully disgusting but I always wanted one and about 8 years ago did it with income tax refund money).  The water was 103 -- perfect.  I laid with my head on the edge and stared up until my skin felt just about boiled.  I didn't want to stop looking.  Orion is up too.  With the clouds moving the sky felt more alive than usual.  I love the feeling of it -- is almost as if the stars and moon are scrolling by not the clouds.

I do love a cold winter sky even though I deny my love of the cold and winter.  I seem to be inspired most in the season of white death.

Star blood in the veins of the moon.  The bare trees flat and charcoal against the sky.  And the animal sounds.

I was reminded yesterday of a poet I like -- Patrick Lane.  I leave a short poem of his.  I think he and I are of the same branch.   I have never been modern.


You Fall Into Light

Someone loves you in the brief glance
the moon is when she rises.  Look at that light
as it holds the needles of the solitary pine,
the single feather above the sudden eye
that is an owl at rest, her prey
hanging from a fist of claws.  Your face
is salt and water.  An argument for dream
is as brief as the glance the moon gives.
It is the single touch you reach for.
Behind you your lover sleeps
and you are standing on the back steps.
Every moment as brief as this.  The owl
rises on soft wings.  The moon falls.

The Season of the Witch

I feel asleep at around 3:30 reading Spinoza and watching "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" on Satellite TV.  After, of course, Sunday night Poetry Club.  I remember reading the book but never heard anything about the movie.  Did I?  Colin Firth plays Vermeer!  But it's Griet who I am thinking of this morning -- oh not the Griet of the movie -- the supposed girl in the painting -- but Scarlett Johansson.

My mother believes Ms. Johansson to be a witch -- the likes of Angelina Jolie.  She believes that there isn't a man on the planet who can resist either of these two because of the magic that dwells within them.  Evil magic I think she thinks.   She told me the other day she feared for the wife of Matt Damon because Damon was filming or had filmed a movie with Ms. Johansson and obviously, according to Madre, the marriage is now doomed because Mr. Damon has been cursed and can only think of Scarlett while making love to his wife.

And Angelina Jolie is even more evil.  "No man can resist her" my mother tells me.  We have long argued about Jennifer Anniston --the former Mrs. Brad Pitt -- my mother thinking her movies so "adorable" to my "she's utterly insignificant to the craft of film" point of view (yes, I know but my mother watches Entertainment Tonight like a Pentecostal praises Jesus).  Angelina's magic lured Brad from Jenny and boom.  or something like that.  These conversations give us something to talk about during long rides to St. Lawrence County, etc.   I try to explain I can hardly resist her, Angelina Jolie.  No not her movies, I can't remember the last time I saw an Angelina movie -- probably that one with Nicholas Cage and something to do with cars.   But she, my mother, doesn't understand.

I didn't feel quite the same way about Johansson.  I mean of course I adore "Lost in Translation" but I always thought it was because of my strange obsession with Bill Murray or perhaps my obsession with Sofia Coppola movies.  I can't ever get over Virgin Suicides either.   But is the real reason I watch "Lost in Translation" and one of my least favorite Woody Allen movies "Vicky Christina Barcelona" -- every time I'm in front of the TV and I click and those movies are on because of Johansson ?  I must watch this "Ghost World" Cafe Selavy mentioned a few posts ago and see if it is true.

As Griet -- Johansson looks like she is wearing not a stitch of make up (I know this isn't the case but the make-up job is make-up-less looking).  Her lips are so full... have they always been?  Angelina has giant lips too -- is their magic in those lips?

Ah Beauty, Beauty, Beauty.  I have always loved you even though you refuse to show me your full self and only reveal yourself to me in flashes and shadows.

Hannah's boyfriend asked her to go to his house this past Saturday night without any make-up on.  At first she thought -- no, I'm not going to do that.  Most recently she had told me "they weren't yet at the stage where she could see him looking like crap yet."  But she went -- Saturday night -- without makeup.  I asked her what he said and she reported he told her "she was absolutely beautiful -- stunning."

The Professor says "when one finds something Beautiful it is wrong not to share."  He told me this a few times after my feeling incredibly jealous of a poem some young girl wrote that I had discovered.

Where was I anyway?  I can't seem to keep a theme going on these posts can I?

Scarlett Johansson as "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" - I could hardly resist her.  The movie seemed to float around her.  Those lips...

Salome

Must you wear these veils?
each one I remove
reveals another,

are you lavender and silk,
dancing in another love?

and why should I write
for you
long dead:

your eyes reflect the candlelight,
and are brilliant with the fire.

another veil removed
and still I cannot see you
clearly,
drunk upon my wine stained couch,
and you hurt me
when you turn away,
why do you touch me
in that way
when the night wanes
and dawn touches the Sky?

Another veil removed,
and your lips touch my pain
pale skin
colored by the tapestries
reflecting the newborn light,

and another veil removed,

you are dreaming.

No.
Remove no more for me.

I have made a ceaseless effort not to ridicule, not to bewail, not to scorn human actions, but to understand them. Baruch Spinoza

How come Herman Cain had to suspend his presidential campaign and Newt Gingerich is surging?

Newt has a history of extra-marital affairs doesn't he?  Is it because Newt hasn't hid the fact that he's an asshole and Cain has done everything possible to hide the fact he is (poorly in my opinion).  Is it because Cain sometimes looks like a black pimp ?  C'mon you know when he wears those hats you are thinking the same thing.

I don't really give a crap what people do inside their own relationships and/or marriages -- that has nothing to do with me.  Remember Clinton?  and the Cigar?  Christ, how did he ever actually survive that --  was it really the "economy stupid."   Hilary survived too.  What makes their relationship work is their own brand of juice.

But what does all this hypocrisy say about us?  Americans that is.  Why is religion so much a part of our political landscape?  And yet the basic teachings of Jesus are not?

We give millions of dollars to other countries for aid and yet 50% of us have no problem our neighbor is going to lose their house because her kid got sick and the family has no health insurance.    We  are totally cool with paying physicians $500,000 a year but believe teachers who make 35-50K teaching children how to read shouldn't have a say in their contracts.  

I know, I know I'm not making any earth shattering points here.

But really, who are we?

As a Libra (no chuckling there), justice is always ever present in my thoughts.  What is the modern definition of justice?  How does justice and equality work in our current society?

It gets dark real early these days, I'm pulling some philosophy books off the shelf, it has been too long since I've read Spinoza.  

 Sacred & Profane Love, Titian 

Excessive indulgence of one's own appetites and desires.

I'm thinking about Galway Kinnell's poem " when one has lived a long time alone" this morning.  Well actually, I'm thinking about a star fish sky which made me think of a Galway Kinnell poem and then about "When one has lived a long time alone."  I remember the person who told me so long ago that it was his favorite poem.  I wonder how he is doing, that person.  I lost touch with him.  I liked him.  It's too bad.     There are other Galway Kinnell poems better I think.  There's the one about old Providence and the factories or even another popular one about footsteps after making love.

My Professor always says that Kinnell was "too wordy."  He's very critical about poems.  Sometimes so critical I feel can't share mine with him anymore.  Not that I write many poems anymore.  I do have to write one for the upcoming Mutual Muse exhibit.  The painting I was assigned is kind of cool this year.  I hope I can do the painting some honor.  I think I'll read some Frank O'Hara, he always helps.

I think I would have loved him.  Both Frank O'Hara and the person I lost touch with.  That's a problem for me.   I fall in love too easily.  Good thing the Greeks have like 100 kinds of love.  Okay maybe just five.  I've always loved the word agape.  Maybe that will be the title of the poem I need to write.

My neighbor said he saw the fox last night -- I need to get outside more.  I miss it.  Tonight I will take the flashlight to the trail and look for owls.  Maybe, we have another night of open house at the shop tonight.  And I'll probably be too tired or buzzed from the champagne we have to drink.

Tomorrow I promise to write about you not me.  This has been incredibly self indulgent.  And boring.

I've been an awful blogger.  Blogging is dead isn't it?  Fitting I feel spurred to start.  Of course I'll fail because right now it feels like a good idea.   I'll cringe at the thought of writing this.

It is because of this guy www.cafeselavy.com.  He writes every day. Actually it is because of someone who referred me to cafe selavy if I'm truthful.   Both of those people are probably geniuses.  I'm a dolt who loves geniuses.  I never graduated from college.  I quit after getting into a philosophical argument with a English professor.  He was a dolt.  Well, at least I thought so at the time.  I broke everyone's heart "Lisa the Smart One" failed miserably in academia.  Ah well.  That's another story for another time.

But I've always loved words --and books.  and Music.   and Geniuses.  and that has led to a fairly interesting life I suppose.  Where was this post going?

I was so sure of something I wanted to say after my morning dance to the Jackson Five and KC and the Sunshine Band -- I said in my head "I should blog this...."  and now it's gone.

It was something about Words.  or Boys probably.  or Books.  or Music.  Blogging can have a tree/branch-like effect.  You read someone's blog and then the comments on the post and then you go read the commentators blogs and possibly get hooked on reading and commenting on them.  Perhaps it is a different version of that thing called Facebook.   Is anything here worthwhile of this space I'm taking up in cyber land?  I haven't an effing clue.

Today is the grand opening of a new little store I've opened with a good friend. www.simplyvintageofcapecod.com  if you care to have a look (or not).   Why not self-promote eh?  Isn't that what part of the blogosphere is about?  Help me here.

Okay.  What I wanted to say slipped away just like the mercury that breaks from a thermometer and wiggles away when you try to touch it as a kid (not knowing it is deadly to your insides).

Read cafe selavy and the people who comment on him.  They all seem like very interesting folks who I'd like to sit around and talk to about "stuff."

Until tomorrow....