Can You Believe It?

I'm back in Virginia again. It is possible I have gone insane.

Spring was very pretty here though.

And I have a new car.

Extra Innings Extra

do people still blog? I can never think of anything interesting to say that I would want everyone to read.

Extra Update

I never did give up ice cream.

Good News

I finally remembered about this blog.
Unfortunately I've been using all my good material over at the Sons of Sam Horn message board where I'm a HUGE hit.

Will try to come up with something clever soon. Or at least post some pictures of the cats or something.

scary. VC has been down for over 16 hours. i'm starting to get the "VC"s. get it? like DTs?

*sigh*

today would be good day to go out and get some fresh air. maybe VC will never come back up and i'll be freed from it, like a spell cast two years ago, now lifted.

Count Down

How many days til pitchers and catchers report?

Back in RI

don't know where my stuff is. On a truck somewhere. sleeping on the floor of a friend's house. bedbugs. cold weather. barely employed. picked up the world's surliest cat yesterday. needless to say she doesn't get along with the other world's surliest cat here.

merry christmas

Sunday Dinner

Turkey. free range, vegetarian, no antibiotics roasted turkey. I must say though, it was a lot easier being a meat eater when someone else handled all the meat. I don't like the smell, the texture, the look of raw meat. Why can't it all just look and smell and feel like, say...celery with ranch dressing?

what is like to live down here in sprawl

Poem: "The Undeniable Pressure of Existence" by Patricia Fargnoli, from Duties of the Spirit. ©


I saw the fox running by the side of the road
past the turned-away brick faces of the condominiums
past the Citco gas station with its line of cars and trucks
and he ran, limping, gaunt, matted dull haired
past Jim's Pizza, past the Wash-O-Mat,
past the Thai Garden, his sides heaving like bellow
sand he kept running to where the interstate
crossed the state road and he reached it and he ran on
under the underpass and beyond it past the perfect
rows of split-levels, their identical driveways
their brookless and forestless yards,
and from my moving car, I watched him,
helpless to do anything to help him, certain he was beyond
any aid, any desire to save him, and he ran loping on,
far out of his element, sick, panting, starving,
his eyes fixed on some point ahead of him, some possible salvation
in all this hopelessness, that only he could see.