My friend lives and blogs in Boston.
She is an excellent writer.
Go read her stuff.


the middle of the night

Sometimes these things

these things weigh heavily on my mind.

Pushed up from my heart where usually they lay in dormant slumber.

These hard things. Sad things. Difficult things that are here or else are coming.

They are there. Things that must be done. Or staved off.

Things that are bigger than me. Overwhelming and tricky things.

A list of things a mile long that must be done, figured, taken care of.

These things that get the best of me more often than I care to admit.

Mostly I sleep well. Sleep is healing and keeps the gears running,

but sometimes this list just ticks on through. Not letting me rest in it’s demanding urgency.

The clock is ticking, the list is ticking, time just keeps on ticking by

and still I just keep swimming upstream it feels like. Awash in a sea of mixed metaphors

and similarly confused similes like a salmon throwing itself up the rapids, desperate only to hatch these ideas into fruition.

I’m tired and need to go back to bed, but I needed to get some of this junk out of my weary head.

It will keep until the morning.

My tender heart will not break tonight even though it is stretched tight. My brain paces around itself looking for the lightswitch.

Turn out the lights, it’s bedtime.

Just Keep Paddling!



sometimes I sit next to the ocean and listen to the waves crashing,

just one after the other endlessly and eternally.

without regard for my problems or issues.

enormous and everlasting.

bigger than me.


bigger than nearly everything.

more powerful than me and anything that is thrown at it.

rocks and problems and anything are are tumbled and polished until they are but a grain of sand.

a tiny grain of sand among billions.

as am I.

and then I know that I am small and insignificant in the grand order of things.

and that is as it should be.

and my pain or sorrow is tossed into the ocean to be tumbled and ground down to but a grain of sand and wounds rinsed and cleansed with water and salt.

whatever the source of your comfort,

know that you are on the right path,

everything is as it should be for now,





DSCN6055and you will get where you need to be if you can keep paddling.


A Ticking Timebomb



Self Portrait “Saturday”: Real Beauty

I love the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty.

At least I do in theory.

Because the idea that there is more than one type of body that can be beautiful is something of a revelation in today’s society. Bigger, smaller, shorter, taller, older, younger. Kudos to Dove for broadening the spectrum of beauty in the public’s eye.

And yet.

We know that at the end of the day they are still trying to get you to buy things that they make. Just because they had the brains and moxy to try to expand their target audience to include many of us who are generally excluded, doesn’t take away from their bottom line.

I have read that even within their Real Beauty they don’t allow some versions of beauty such as tattoos.

I have followed them on Facebook for quite a while. I felt that the good they were doing was a step in the right direction and we could work on broadening the beauty definition ever wider as a next step.

But they lost me.

Their latest product (apparently) is some kind of magical deodorant that is designed to help you have beautiful underarms so that you can be confidant and beautiful.

I have never felt particularly unconfidant in my underarms. At least not until you brought it up, Dove.

And they keep at it.

“This winter, don’t let your underarms control what you wear.” (I’m paraphrasing, I think.)

Seriously? Now you think that I let my underarms dictate my fashion?

Any fashion choices I make during the holiday season are fairly strictly dictated by the weather.

My underarms really have no say in it.

Every time I’d see another picture or post about how beautiful my armpits needed to be I’d get all irritated and and ranty about it until I had to hide them from my news feed. It was armpittiful.

So here is a picture of me.

Showing off my Real Beauty.

Because armpits are where real beauty starts. Hadn’t you heard?616612_521563121188300_573323703_o

Stuff About the Place

Seems really pretentious for a meat product, Mr. Spam.

I think this is a local product. Spicy rubs, indeed.

Went down to conferences this week. Got to see the artwork that they have hanging up in the halls. This was working on alliteration.

Got Jokes?

C: Do you know how Flo Rida got his name?
B: No, how?
C: He used to be a dental rapper!
B: ?
C: Flouride.


C: What would Garfield’s name be if he was a paper?
B: A paper? I don’t know.
C: Garfold.

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