In late 2010, I sent an email to 8 or so people with the subject line “perhaps this will come in handy someday,” and it had the following content, with no explanation: And indeed, today it came in handy–today I found out our dear sweet terrible Frances died during the night at the vet’s, and I … More Her Hammer Pantses
Fifty years and two days after the passage of the Voting Rights Act, the Carroll County branch of the NAACP joined the national organization for 22 miles of the 860 they are walking, from Selma to DC, to protest the gutting of that legislation. I’m a member, and I went; we started at the Alabama state line and … More March Ahead
Honestly, it’s been a shitty few rural months. So I haven’t announced much. But heavens, the original reason I started this was to report on the charming, painful, poignant rural happenings that didn’t happen in my previous New York life, so let’s get this show back on the road. Here beginneth a doodle update: But now, … More Among Other Rural Things: Fall/Winter 2014-2015
Let us pause, and appreciate “Airplane!”! Let us appreciate picking the wrong week! What else do we do? How else do we teach ourselves horrible gross painful great things, but by picking the wrong week for whatever? A Story: Last night when the dogs careened inside after the day’s final adventure, Calimari performed some extra galumphing on the … More Looks Like You Picked the Wrong Week to Go Through My Trash
An urgent need arose to know about “calamari.” Urgent now, yes, but also simmering since Greece, when I began with more earnestness to consider what relationship the squid-word held to the “mar” whence it came. Morphologically. Mar-phologically! But here’s the real reason: … More Squidword Ho
This is my kitchen; these are my chickens. We’ll get to this picture, but first: one thing I’ve learned from my chickens is how lame “to get to the other side” really is as a possible reason chickens might cross a road. I get that it’s supposed to be anti-humorously offering the obvious, but I detect a presumption … More Why did the chicken…
Four years! Four years, six jobs, one dog, one cat, eight chickens, one ginkgo tree, three truckloads of mulch, 100 gallons of paint, two new banjos, one old accordion, six published crossword puzzles, countless hilarities, and one wedding later: 522 College Street, a Spanish Pipedream if ever there was.
It’s that time of year, y’all!
Why would you NOT get a tattoo of this?! http://mobile.theweek.com/article/index/259347/meet-the-sand-pooping-reef-saving-hermaphroditic-parrotfish It’s still ruralia, y’all. Palauan ruralia.
There’s a new one every day! How long can she keep this up?
interlexionality 