Thursday, July 30, 2009

Heading out for a few days, aka hiding

Today I'm struggling with trying to get a couple of subs done and I'm worried I won't make it - not with my current mood. I'm going away for the weekend and though we're no longer going to be camping (bad weather is forecast) - I've decided NOT to take my laptop. So I will be away from all this internet craziness.

Oh, forgot to add this! On Sunday, head over to Marina St. Clare's for this week's Spicy Summer Sunday blog stop where she'll be dishing up Basil.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Being slutty again

Over at Trollop with a Laptop, Ms. Alison Tyler is dragging my name through the ... posts. Seems I am the proud winner of a most wonderful custom Metal Taboo necklace. Thank you Tiffanie for choosing Fuck Shame from the comments here. I promise to post a being-worn picture of it when it arrives. I am quite excited about this (honestly - you don't know how excited I am - it's like karma man). Then, as if that weren't enough, Alison posted this. I kinda got choked up. My first inclination was to not say anything here. Ya know - hide out. But I'm trying to walk the walk - the one about valuing what it is (writing) we do. I was actually (am still) worried that folks will think I sent it (the chapbook) to her just to get a plug. Which is silly. I'm usually more inclined to NOT do something, NOT say something for just that reason - fear. So, I'll shut up now and try to get back to writing something that is being difficult. It's called running off and hiding.

Oh, and you want something that'll make you smile? Here.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

A compendium of stuff that has stopped me in my tracks lately

Today it actually feels like summer and I just finished reading Happy Baby by Stephen Elliot - am now waiting for this to arrive. My bender continues. Though I admit I bought from the evil amazon - I was impatient - I want to read them before I take a class from him. But this post is not about that.

There's a bunch of stuff I've been coming across - weird stuff sometimes - or stuff my husband sends me links to - and I've been wanting to post it, but I've just been in a strange place writing-wise. Including blog post writing. So I haven't. Posted anything that is.

But now I'm going to. Just because I'm killing time before baking a cake. So here are some things that weedled their way into my brain.

The Gender Genie. Using an algorithm, it takes a sample of your writing (fiction, non-f, or blog post) and determines the author's gender. Supposedly works best with samples over 500 words. I tested a lot of stuff. I'm mainly female, but often male. I'm happy with that.

Manhood for Amateurs: The Wilderness of Childhood: Though the "manhood" part kinda pissed me off, this essay by Michael Chabon in The New York Review of Books is pretty good. When we moved to the east coast not quite seventeen years ago we wondered where all the kids were. Yes, it was snowy and cold, but I was soon told by a neighbor that folks didn't let their kids wander. There were prearranged "play dates" that required the use of cars and telephones and scheduling. And to think I'd let my oldest daughter (in 1st-3rd grades) walk home from the bus stop a half mile down a dirt road where we knew there were wild animals like bears wandering at times. Here the buses pick the kids up and drop them off at the end of the driveway. Michael Chabon wonders about literature though - all the great adventure stories - and how if kids grow up without adventure what that means for the future of adventure literature. It was a very thought provoking read.

The Poetry Brothel. The other day Jeremy Edwards mentioned Black Heart Magazine in one of his posts, so when I went to check it out, this article about The Poetry Brothel jumped out at me and grabbed me by my little poetry heart (and other body parts) and I spent an inordinate amount of time reading all the "Meet the Whore" entries and about their finishing school for poetry whores, and well, I went off on a little fantasy.

And more for you poetry geeks - This!

For those of you with eyesight issues - Eyebobs - reading glasses with names like Adult Supervision, Bottoms Up, Checkered Past, Huge Hefner, Knockers, Too Naughty, Topless, and Unzipped.

In the some people are hopeless category we have the Delray Beach Florida Nude Sculpture Controversy.

In the I'm still shaking my head category we have the Air Sex Championships. Yeah, I'd heard about these, but still... I have to agree with a commenter "why not just have real sex?"

And for you foodies - Earthy Delights.

Okay. It feels good to get that off my chest.

Monday, July 27, 2009

What? It's Monday?

Just took a walk in the hot and humid outdoors. July has finally arrived in it's last week on the calendar. I have to go out and prop up my tomatoes - something is pulling them down. Last week I found a tomato plucked and carried 3/4 of the way across the garden. I did not do it. When I get back in I will sit down and do a proper post.

Oh, that picture was taken a couple of years ago.

Update: Obviously, no proper post from me today - I have a ton of stuff to post about - links and whatnot - but I'm in one of those hole-up moods.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Gingery Isabel Kerr - Spicy Summer Sunday

The spiciness continues today with a visit to Isabel Kerr. She's offering up a love affair with ginger with a mouth-watering recipe and story. Plus she has a provocative question for us, here hinted at below.

This summer spice tour has been inspiring, in more ways than one. It continues.

8/2 Marina St. Clare - basil
8/9 BadAssKona - rosemary
8/16 Emerald - poppy seeds
8/23 P.S. Haven - salt
8/30 Gala Goodbye

Friday, July 24, 2009

Thinky, but not writey

Was going to write that my brain is percolating, but then I started to wonder - if my brain is a coffee maker, is it the kind I use (french press) or is it drip? It sure isn't a fancy espresso machine. Do they even make percolators anymore?

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

A sorta kinda review of Stephen Elliott's The Adderall Diaries

Yeah, I know. Three posts in one day. What can I say? It's been raining nonstop since I got up.

This isn't really a review of Stephen Elliott's The Adderall Diaries: A Memoir of Moods, Masochism, and Murder - I wouldn't know where to start. I no longer have the book - I got it via the Lending Library and had to pass it on to someone else (I think you can still get a copy this way). And I don't trust my memory past something that Elliott says at the front of the book - "Much is based on my own memories and is faithful to my recollections, but only a fool mistakes memory for fact." I remember that because it struck me so hard I had to write it down. There's a lot of lines in Elliott's work that make me want to do that. But I don't - I always hated taking notes.

I can't write a review because I can't with any certainty comment on something that was said on, oh, page such-and-such, because everything I've read by Elliott, or about him (see An Oral History of Myself at The Rumpus, where Elliott transcribes interviews with people he grew up with), tends to blur together in my mind. And I don't think that's his fault. It's how my brain works (or doesn't depending on one's viewpoint). And I'm not very eloquent, especially when I'm talking about something that gets me all fired up.

Before I started reading this book, I was somewhat familiar with Elliott's writing from The Rumpus and a few stories in erotica anthologies edited by Alison Tyler. But I had not read any of his previous books. Before I started reading this book I'd signed up to take a workshop from him called Writing From Experience. (soon!)

Why? Because there is something about the way Stephen Elliott writes that gets under my skin. In a good way. I've heard the terms "brutal honesty" and "slyly seductive" used to describe his writing. I've yet to be able to put my finger on just what it is that sucks me in. His writing jumps around, but that feels very familiar to me. In my experience, life is narrative interrupted.

Elliot writes with honesty. And I don't mean that in the tell-all talk show way (I can hear the voice-over now - overcoming a horrific childhood to become a celebrated author, blah blah blah). Horrific childhoods are a dime a dozen (unfortunately). But Elliott doesn't strike me as whiny or consciously trying to shock (both complaints that have been said about his work). It's more he just lays it out - this is how it was/is.

Then The Adderall Diaries came in the mail and I sat down to read. The book is about a murder trial, writer's block, drug dependency (the Adderall of the title), depression, sex, writing, memory, violence, parents, friends. It's about a lot more than that though. I'm sure his style of writing is not some readers' cup of tea, but I found myself falling in love with some of his passages. I'd actually stop and reread a paragraph or two because of the writing. I can't tell you what they were, because I don't have the book here and I don't trust myself to remember them right. There's a part where he talks about Sylvia Plath. I was almost tempted to type that up so I could reread it at my leisure, but I didn't because it was longer than I wanted to type.

But this bit I did type up - and for some stupid reason I left off the beginning of the sentence and I can't remember it now - "an epiphany to wrap things with a neat little bow. I searched for that in each of my novels, but kept coming to the same conclusion. In every book I ever wrote the point was to do as much as you could after coming to terms with your limitations. I can't wake up one day with a healthy relationship with my mother and father and a sense of abundance. I wake up instead and I think my father hates me, and I know that I am partly to blame." When I read that I thought "we're all fucked up - the secret is to embrace our fuckedupedness." Umm, don't ask me why I thought that - I just did.

There is a reason why writers often seem to have a "theme" running through their work. In "the old days" all that was covered up with metaphor. And while I love metaphor, I also love truth in all it's tarnished glory. Not "facts" but truth. I want to be moved when I read. And I was moved.

Reading The Adderall Diaries brought up stuff for me. When he wrote "I know everything there is to know about fathers who root against their sons" it brought up issues I had with my mom. When he writes about Adderall being the same as Ritalin it made me think of a good friend of mine and his adult-diagnosed ADHD (don't get me started - I have a lot of very strong opinions on the drugging of creative folks to make them fit into our society). When Elliott writes about consent (having to do with writing about people), I thought of all my hesitations to write my truth and the reasons/excuses I make for not being brave.

So I finished and sent it off to the next reader. I was sad to see it go. Our library had one of his other books - A Life Without Consequences - and I immediately checked it out. Am reading it now and liking it even though I think I've read him say that it's not very good (but my memory could be failing me there). I ordered two of his other books - Happy Baby and My Girlfriend Comes to the City and Beats Me Up. I bought his download Why I Write. Yeah, I'm on a bender. It's what I tend to do when I come across a writer that I like. And I'm so fucking glad I splurged and signed up for his workshop in NYC in August, though I do worry that I'll be disappointed - there have been times in the past when I've taken a workshop with a writer (usually a poet) that I've had a "writer crush" on and they turn out to be ... well ... not exactly whatever it was I was looking for. But I have no preconceived notions here, so maybe I'm okay.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to identify just what it is about Stephen Elliott's writing that gets to me. Maybe because I have those dark corners that I'm compelled to keep trying to see into. I want to decipher the cobwebs and divine the meaning in the dust. For that I need a lantern, a flashlight. And I have one, but I'm afraid to use it. Yet.

Stephen Elliott's not afraid to shine the light into those corners. But I have the feeling he's still trying to understand what he sees.

So where's the fucking erotica?

I've been posting lots of ... don't know what the hell I've been posting lately. But nothing sexy, that's for sure. Like I said, I'm in the summer doldrums. I just got a rejection notice - for poetry that I'd submitted months ago. Typical form letter - just plug my name in. And so I'm feeling kinda down - doesn't help that it's gray and rainy again. And yeah, I just published my own chapbook and did a reading, but rejection still sucks.

So I thought I'd post a few things - flashers that I'd done for Alison's contests. And yeah, I've fallen behind in posting these to the point where I don't know which ones came first and I know there's some missing, but what the hell. These are the ones I was happy with. I'm also trying some of the other fonts because I'm sick and tired of the one I was using. If anyone has a suggestion, I'm open. And then after I post these I think I'm going to make myself a pot of tea and do the post I've been avoiding.

The four flashers are in order: Impenetrable Night, Rewind, Unlaced, Unwashed Denim. Hmm. I wonder what's up with all the "un" things I do.

Impenetrable Night

Headlights switch off, and we plunge into darkness. New moon. Overcast conceals any starlight. Far from the tiny town, and late, so most lights are off. Pitch-black and I can't see a damn thing. But I feel your hand on my thigh.

Our eyes try to adjust. The shrubs just dark shapes as we slowly make our way. We follow our noses towards the vaguely sulfurous pool. Our clothes come off and are piled together so we can find them later. The air is warm on our skin.

We don't speak. We enter the water as if by instinct. It's deep. We swim towards what we think is the middle. I stop and tread water silently, listening to the liquid lap against your skin as you circle me. Then silence as you dive.

Your hands clasp my ankles and pull. Underwater there is no up, no down. The darkness, the silence even more complete. You move against me, find my mouth and kiss. Your hands swim my body, find my spring.

The sound of our breath is thunder as we break the surface. I grab your cock and pull you towards shore. I kneel in the muck, take you into my mouth and taste the mineral tang clinging to your skin. Your hands on my shoulders turn me, press me forward, hands in the dry sand. You mount me in one swift move. Straining against each other we see stars against our eyelids. In the distance a coyote howls.



She types the name of an old lover, hits search on a networking site. None of the results are him. She does a general search, adds the last profession she was aware of. There, near the bottom of the results. She's sure it's him. Calls up the page. Finds his email address.

Rewind. She talks to a old friend, one who also knew him, but wasn't aware of the illicit relationship. Her friend laughs as she recounts stolen moments, reveals details never before admitted out loud. She wonders, what if they were to meet again? Now?

Rewind. She writes in a journal. Describes in lascivious detail all their encounters. Rubs against the chair as she remembers. Their bare skin together. Their mutual fantasy. His whispered suggestions in her ear.

Rewind. She buys a card and remembers one she got him. A large shiny red (heart) and lame you're the best lover ever inside. She'd slipped it under his door in a moment of wantoness. He'd smiled. Rewarded her later.

Rewind. She finds an old college notebook while cleaning the basement. From the class she took with him. She turns the pages, looking for evidence of his then overwhelming presence in her thoughts. Feels his lustful stare again. Hears his voice again.

Rewind. She finds a picture of her old car. The one they stood next to for half an hour talking, then kissing. The one they then steamed up the windows of.

Rewind. She meets him.



Unfamiliar atmosphere. Flashing lights, pounding music. Bodies in motion, pressed against each other. Don't normally frequent places like this, but I'm here at your invitation, looking for you, hopefully not in vain.

When I see you, relief rushes through me like an orgasm. Even though your back is turned, I'd know that ass anywhere. Clad in skin-tight black leather, moving in time to the music, it's enough to take my breath away.

As I approach through the crowd, I notice your shirt. White lace, nothing underneath but tanned skin. Tight across the back to show shoulder blade, waist. Long sleeves cling to your shapely arms, ruffles drape your wrists. I want to kiss the pulse hidden there.

Your thick black hair sways with your body. I reach and push it aside, kiss your neck. You don't turn, but I hear your greeting deep in your throat. My finger traces your spine from collar to leather edge, feeling the glimpses of skin. You press your ass back at me. I reach my arms around you, find your nipples poking eagerly at the fine open fabric, pinch them.

This sends a jolt to my clit. My hands roam across your chest and find the lacing that carefully holds the shirt closed. Slowly I loosen the strings, letting fingers stray to hot skin. Lower and lower. I find your navel, slowly sink into that puckered hole. Lust gets the better of me. I grab at leather, find your cock hard.


UnWashed Denim

Feet. Bare feet. Legs. In denim. Legs. More legs. Even more legs. Velvet. Sofa. Legs. Denim. Faded. Legs. Rumpled. Legs. Cut off. Bare legs. Rolled up. Legs. Arms. Skin. More skin. A shirt. Unbuttoned. Arms. Skin. Closed eyes. Bare feet. Ankle bracelet. Arms. Navel. Nipple. Hair. Short. Hair. Long. Arms. Hands. In hair. On back. Neck. Skin. Lips. Parted. Closed. Meeting. Skin. Denim. Undone. Soon. Skin. Fingers. On zippers. On skin. Lips. On denim. Wet. Hands. On skin. In denim. In. Around. Hard. Skin. Legs. Around. Under. Over. Lips. On navel. On navels. On nipple. On nipples. Around skin. Soft skin. Hard skin. Smooth. Denim coming off. Smooth. Legs. Around arms. Around lips. Pressed. Lips. Into. Legs. Together. Into. Skin. Wet. Around. In. Pressed in. Closed eyes. Tight. Pressed tight. Into. Fingers. Pressed into. Here. There. Here. Again. Hard. Hard skin. Pressed into. Here. There. Again. Wet. Skin. Again. Wet. Velvet. Again. Wet. Denim. Wet. Lips. Wet. In. Arms. Legs. Lips. Denim. In pile. On floor. Again.

for smutgirl

Some unenlightened being left a snot-filled comment at Sommer's blog and Danielle put a link to this here video in his comment. I'd heard the song before but never seen this wonderful, uplifting rendition. So here, for your viewing pleasure...

Monday, July 20, 2009

A Year Ago Yesterday

a whomping willow whacked our house - my daughter reminded me last night. July 19. My arm was in a cast (from an earlier mishap) and I was home alone when this happened. Husband and son up in Maine, daughter at work. Short, violent little storm. I was just about to go out front and water plants but it looked like it might rain so I didn't. Good thing. I think I fared better from inside. We got a new roof out of it, but I still get a wee bit nervous when the wind gets nasty.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Jeremy Does Dill - Spicy Summer Sundays

And he's in a fine pickle this time. Head over to Jeremy Edwards' blog where he's speaking French (I imagine Helia grabbing his arm and kissing it whenever he does that - haha), providing a scrumptious dilly bean recipe, and a bit about the sex life of Anethum graveolens (who knew?). Oh, and of course there's writing talk too!

Friday, July 17, 2009

So it went okay

And I know that right now some of my friends would be saying "what do you mean it went okay - you were great" - but if I say that lightening will strike or something - right? And it's strange, I feel quite uncomfortable talking about myself, but once you get me started I can't seem to shut up. Hence last night, in the question and answer period after the reading, I blathered on saying "anyway" and "you know" way too much. Ack! I so admire people who can be eloquent on the spot - because I am anything but. (And I'm already feeling quite unsure about posting that photo - but I will anyway)

So, anyway, hehe, the crowd was small - about a dozen folks (sometimes this reading has upwards of forty) - hey, it's summer. But if I am to believe the comments, my reading was well-received. I only stumbled on a few lines, I forced myself to look up at the audience and even braved the dreaded eye-contact-monster. I sold two chapbooks.

The place is a "private" library - members only - but the poetry reading is a member. The room is like walking back into time. I've had a serious "thing" for the card catalog, and so I took a couple of gratuitous images.

This is the lamp over the entrance door with it's anti-pigeon defenses. I took a picture as we were leaving.

Afterwards some of us went to a nearby eatery and had some very good eats - and I had a "Flirtini" on the recommendation of a friend who knows my tastes. It was good. The seafood salad was excellent - shrimp, scallops, calamari and mussels with crisp red onion and peppers in a light vinaigrette. It was late when we got there - past 9:30pm and I don't normally eat that late. But I wanted something because I didn't eat much before. Oh, and I had a piece of the flourless chocolate raspberry cake. Yum.

Then there was a horrendous thunderstorm - the street outside the restaurant was a river. So we bided our time till it passed. Traffic lights were out and it looked like whole blocks were without power. But we got home just fine.

All in all, it was a good evening. And yeah Donna, I'm glad I did it.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Scared Shitless

Sometimes I wonder why I agree to these things. My friend is going to be here in an hour and we're driving down to the poetry reading where ... shit ... I'm the feature. I can't pull myself together and I'm afraid I'm gonna really screw up and look stupid. Looking stupid is something I live in utter fear of - because I've felt like I was stupid for a good part of my life. Why do I put myself through this? I could just be someone who doesn't do anything weird like write - who was happy sitting at home watching TV and maybe reading the latest bestseller that everyone is raving about. Instead, I'm desperately trying not to forget something and put on a brave show.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Wow - just finished reading

I just finished reading Stephen Elliott's The Adderall Diaries. When I have the time (like on maybe Friday) I want to sit down and write about reading it and some of his words that stuck in my head. It will be interesting because I won't have the book anymore - tomorrow I send it off in the mail to the next reader. And the book doesn't come out until September (or thereabouts), so I will have to wait to get it.

All I can say is this touched me on several levels. More later.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Summer Doldrums

Does not feel like July around here at all. July is usually hot and humid. It's been clear and crisp and sunny and warm (but not too warm) and breezy - like a warm Spring day. But it's July. WTF? Not that I'm complaining - if summer was like this all the time I'd be quite content - though it would be nice to have some hot weather - just a wee bit.

So, it' gorgeous out, the mulberry tree outside my window here is loaded with berries that the birds and squirrels love (and that the cats love sitting in the window watching). I just took a nice long walk. I have plenty of things that I could be doing. I have laundry that's waited long enough. I have to get my house clean for a writer's group meeting on Saturday. I have a book I need to finish reading (an advance copy of Stephen Elliott's The Adderall Diaries) and get sent to the next person on Thursday (I take my commitments seriously). I have emails that need to be sent. I have to get ready for a poetry reading Thursday night (my first solo in about 3 years). I have gardening to do (weeds to pull, plants to plant, maybe some harvesting if I'm lucky). I have to clean cat litter boxes. I need to find a recipe for Donna. The list goes on.

But I'm feeling somewhat unmotivated. My husband is away for ten days - and of course for this trip that we couldn't afford for me to accompany him he has a really nice room with a spa in the bedroom (what a waste). It's been a long time since he's been gone this long (and yes, he just left yesterday - why am I complaining?) - and maybe it's because we're not going to get any vacation in this summer (and what he's doing this 10 days is NOT vacation) - I guess it's the summer doldrums.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Spicy Summer Sundays: Craig is peppery!

Today over at Craig Sorensen's the Sunday Summer Spiciness continues - and he instructs us on the delights of a much overlooked spice - pepper - in it's many varieties. Because variety is the spice of life? Right? Sorry, couldn't resist. It's early. And I'm having no luck uploading a pepper image. So, you HAVE to go over to Craig's.

Oh, and I'm changing to a larger type size.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Yay - the weekend!

This photo taken almost a year ago - that's the Rogue River Canyon

It's been a somewhat hellish week - I've been working on pulling together a poetry chapbook and it's been a long strange trip. So many issues come up for me when I do something like this. "This" being take myself seriously. I've had hysterics, cried, repeat ad infinitum - but it's done. Feels quite strange. Yes, it's self-published - but nowadays I'm starting to believe that self-published is the only way to not have to compromise. And since I've spent most of my life compromising - it's about time I did something the way I want to. I like to use art/images with my writing (in case you haven't noticed) and that is not something that most publishers want to do. The other year I attended a conference called Metaphor Taking Shape: Poetry, Art, and the Book. That was because I had a project in mind - not this chapbook just finished - which would require using art.

Well, shit, I could keep on writing here, but I need to go print out a copy to take over to a friend's house. So, hopefully I'll be back later to ruminate on all this.

Update: Printed 20 copies out - found a mistake that had been fixed but obviously not saved and so we had to print that page again (hence 4 pages) and remove the staples and take out the screwed up page and replace with fixed and restaple. My husband is a saint. I am soooooooo looking forward to going out to dinner with friends tongiht!

Friday, July 10, 2009

Whew! It was only a dream

My alarm went off this morning and after I turned it off I went back to sleep. Big mistake. When I woke up in my own room and realized it was just a dream, I was so relieved it wasn't even funny.

So, we're on vacation. Eating in a restaurant. We finish and head out into the parking lot. But our car is not there. It's been stolen. With everything inside. Including our laptops. And I'm devastated. Now, I do back up all my written work (poems, stories) on a thumb drive that I keep with me and also since I have a .mac account (excuse me - "mobileme") I back up stuff on my iDisk (if you have to ask...) - BUT I don't have all the thousand plus pictures backed up and these are what I'm upset about, as well as the pages of a chapbook that I'm working on (they are not backed up and I was up late last night working on that). It was so real - the sense of loss.

Of course, I should have known better. The car was the old (then) car that my husband had when I met him and we got rid of almost 17 years ago (in the dream it was my fault because I hadn't locked it because I'm used to just pressing the fob button to lock my car). Also, I had a baby in poopy diapers (and of course all the clean diapers had been stolen) as well as two little kids. My youngest is turning 16 soon. So, I guess it was a nightmare on many levels. ;-)

So, today I'm still working on this damn chapbook - resigning myself that I missed some fiction deadlines because of it - though no longer feeling bad about missing the Black Lace deadlines (hugs to all who are affected by the news).

Necklace here at etsy

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Building a better catnip mouse...

Sorry, I saw this and couldn't resist posting it - we have three cats - this would be hysterical, except the guys in the house might not think it as funny.

Quiet, but...

This week I am frantically working to finish up a project (gotta have it ready to go this weekend) so I don't have time to do much blogging - and of course I have all sorts of ideas - isn't that the way it works? So here's a pretty picture - those leaves belong to a moosewood - which is a very pretty striped maple.

And because I know a lot of folks missed it - go read my interview with artist Randy Lagana - it's in three parts. 1, 2, 3.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Okay, this is cool

Okay, was informed that this specific clip has been removed. That's too bad. But here is a trailer which has the second half being part of what was on this clip.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Gotta Be Kreativ

So, this meme's been going around and this past week both Donna George Storey and Scarlett Greyson nominated my blog for the Kreativ Blogger Award. I'm honored that folks think my blog is worth wasting time on reading.

Now, I'm supposed to nominate 7 more blogs that I think are worthy. Well, that's too fucking hard! Just take a look at my blog list over on the right there (you might need to scroll down a bit) - those are just some of the many blogs I like to keep an eye on.

Then I started stressing about it - not wanting to leave someone off the list. I kept flashing on high school gym classes where I was the last girl picked when sides were chosen. Even for basketball - that I loved to play - so what I'm short! So, I decided to wander outside of eroticaland and mention some other blogs that I like. I may not read all of them everyday, but they're worth checking out.

The Rumpus Blog (helps me find what's new on The Rumpus)
Tiny House Blog (just because it's fun)
The Geology News Blog (it has rockin photos)
The Ethicurean (because we all have to eat)
Schott's Vocab (living language)
Dave Barry's Blog (I have long lurked there)
BoingBoing (well, duh)

There. Whew!

Okay, now I'm supposed to list 7 of my favorite things. Again. JUST SEVEN???!

1. Sunny, dry days
2. Birds (especially like raptors)
3. Chocolate, dark
4. Our piece of dirt up in Maine (where I'd be right now except Mr. E cannot take any vacation time - boo hoo)
5. Ice water with lemon or lime (whichever is cut)
6. Books
7. everything else that couldn't fit into a measly seven favorites list.

Oh, and if you missed my interview with artist Randy Lagana - check it out - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3. Lots of nice pictures.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Scarlett Greyson has Thyme for us - Spicy Summer Sundays continues

How wonderful, a bonfire and pot luck (someone's already brought the makings of s'mores) - the conversation is just getting started. So head over to Scarlett Greyson's blog where her stop on the Spicey Summer Sundays blog tour features Thyme.

The fun continues each week through August - here's the rest of the line up:

7/12 Craig Sorenson - pepper
7/19 Jeremy Edwards - dill
7/26 Isabel Kerr - ginger
8/2 Marina St. Clare - basil
8/9 BadAssKona - rosemary
8/16 Emerald - poppy seeds
8/23 P.S. Haven - salt
8/30 Stay tuned for the special grande finale!

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Those Kind of Fireworks Too!

Happy Independence Day! (that's one of Mr. E's signature sparkler bombs)

The sky was clear this morning and the sun was out when we got up - a bit late because we had some of our own fireworks sometime after midnight. ;-)

As the day progresses I'll keep adding stuff here - I just don't have the time now because we are having waffles with whipped cream and berries.