blog paused due to cold

Please check back with blog later. My blog has a bad cold. I will count up all the posts that I missed and make them up later, when my blog no longer has this asshole cold.

happy easter

Scrambling. Scrambling for content. Blog 365 is turning into Blog 300. Happy Easter, jelly beans.

paging oona (or fred), please maybe report to earth

Are we ready to have another baby? Do you mind if I think aloud here about this? Oops. It's too late for you to mind. I've already started.

So, Finn is 23 months old today. We are such good friends, Finn and I, I can't even tell you. When he wakes up, the jokes begin. They're not jokes. They're just...we just start being funny at each other. For each other.

Like, this if Finn's favorite joke right here:

Fuh.

That's it. You just say "fuh" and you do it as stupidly as you can. Make your face go all limp and passive while you do it. He started this joke. It was his first foray into joking, I think. Now we do it all the time. He'll do it, and then I'll do it, and he'll giggle like hell and then he'll say "Finn do 'fuh'" and I keep quiet and he does it and we laugh, and then he's like, "Mommy do 'fuh'!" and I'll do it and it goes back and forth and just gets funnier and funnier.

You'd think he's like five months old with this, or I am. I swear that this is all more sophisticated than it sounds. Because it's not what we're doing. It's how we're doing it. With...funnyness. Mutual funnyness. You have to believe me.

Whatever, no, you don't. You don't have to believe me. Finn believes me. Finn knows what I'm talking about. We make each other laugh until we're just laughing about the fact that we're laughing. And then Finn starts doing his fake laughs, which are bizarre - sort of a cross between a laugh and a choking cough. I don't know what's with the fake laughing but he's really into it. AH-HA HA HA HACK HACK ARRGH RRRAHHG.

I remember when he was just a few weeks old and I was sort of dipping into post-partum depression, and I was worried that we weren't bonding. I wish I could travel back and show me the two of us now. That would have taken a load off.

He's my boy, my little wonder man. I love that I have all this time and attention to give just to him. That would, naturally, change. Oof! I worry about being pregnant and not being in the kind of condition where the little elf can jump all over me. He sleeps in our bed and, damn it, I still like it - even when I get kicked in the stomach. And that would have to change. I'd have to set up a total Secret Service perimeter of protection around the whole belly area. I don't want to block my little man! I love getting dive-bombed and battering-rammed with Finn love. He's getting big but, c'mon, he's still a baby. He's still completely my baby. And it's cuddle city with us. I hate the idea of having to regulate all of that.

But I'm 38, I'll be 39 in July. And we want, have always wanted, feel like it's our magic Rowley number to have another child. The house we're building is built with another little person in mind. And I'd love to see who else we can come up with, the one we have is so good.

The thing is, I don't know this new, hypothetical baby yet. I don't love this person yet. How could I? We have not met! But I feel bad bringing in a new person to the scene when the decks seem all stacked in Finn's favor. We know him. We have hung out for almost two years and we are tight.

And then I feel bad for Finn, how we'd have to be all, move over, bacon. It's time for Sizzlean. I mean, you know, don't move all the way over, bacon. It's time for Sizzlean AND bacon. We still love bacon. Smart Bacon. We're vegetarian. Whatever. You know what I'm saying, bacon. We still love you, always will. But you're not the only guy on the plate anymore. Wouldn't be. He wouldn't be. I don't know, I don't know if I'm ready for him to not be the baby.

Almost 39 = almost 40 = not a lot of time to dilly-dally, dilly-dallyer.

But I think...a little new fatty! A little new fatty in a terrycloth suit. A new little wackjobber. The newest Rowley. New personality. New spin. Hello, sailor!

I'm over the reluctance to go through pregnancy again. Pregnancy was a fucking bitch, no two ways about it. The drooling, the queasiness, the sensivity to smell, the throwing up at the grocery store, the throwing up of entire dinners that didn't appear to have been eaten at all. The giant fucked-up prenatal vitamins that smelled like the toes of the ass of death. Never mind the long back labor and c-section and rough recovery. All of that - it's all right, I can do it again.

I can do it because I know what the reward is, now. I know that I'd be cooking up another most beloved companion for life, another player to roam in the deepest circle of me. I don't let too many people that far in - you can't, really. You're lucky to get anyone at all down in the deepest parts, when you think about it. But there'd be no denying it, for better and for worse, I'd have another person hitting me where I live. That has to be good, even when it isn't.

When I wake Finn up from his nap, I lie on the bed with him for a while and we gaze at each other and I think about how we're tied to each other for life and I feel so privileged and grateful.

And Finn would have a wee compadre. Possible best friend. Possible enemy. Possible frenemy. However that turned out, all of the blessings and the tricky navigation of a sibling is something I want for Finn.

This is good, talking about this. When I started this post I had a big lump of fear right in my gut. Now it's shifted. I'm seriously getting sold on this new baby. I'm about ready to go buy some prenatal vitamins.

I have the feeling that the minute we make a move on this, someone's ready to jump in. I could be wrong but I doubt it.

I'll keep you posted. Thank you for listening.

P.S. Yes, those are the names we would be using. Not subject to change. You love them.

P.P.S. I'm moving my comment up here. Thanks, you guys. My "Cycle-beads" suggest that Monday is a good day to begin. However, I'm actually having unprotected sex right now as I type.

John, yes! I meant to talk about that, the part about it being mind-bogglingly exponentially harder. I have that thought also well in mind. Which, you know - I'm not psyched about it, but I have some acceptance of the fact that for many years I will be like OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED TO MY LIFE in addition to the good feelings.

I moved the comment up here because I thought it was important that the world know that I'm making this decision with that fact very clear in my head. Would that two babies simply meant another person to carry the incredibly-densely-laden silver Mother's Day breakfast tray up the stairs to me. Two babies, yes, do not = two fairy voices now giggling in harmony + no extra trouble. Two children = are you kidding me + you must be fucking kidding me + apparently you are not kidding me.

I've also thought about it from an environmental standpoint, and while that is an important consideration, it hasn't tipped us into the adoption choice. That's definitely an option, but it's not our first choice. I remain totally open to it, though. It's a beautiful thing to do.

finn can't get enough of this kia commercial

"Why?" we ask him. "Is it the cars? Is it the song? Is it the people?"

He won't answer. He just stares at the commercial lovingly and when it's done he says, "Car one again." We rewind the Tivo and repeat the process over and over.

"What is it, Finn? Is it...do you like the cars? Is it...what is it?"

Shhh, parents. Shh. It's ineffable.

oh me god

We just got our date for Dave's green card interview. It's May 22nd. 10am.

Hey, what are you guys doing on May 22nd at 10am? Oh, nothing? Well, um. Hey! Hey. Whyn't you guys all get together in a big group, internet, and hold hands and think of me and Dave and think of us all green and Dave with a green card in his hand.

And while you're visualizing, visualize the interviewer to be like the lady who helped us at the bank today, who was like, "If everyone who came in here was like you, my job would be so easy! I would be happy to be your personal banker forever and ever!" Those are direct quotes. The friendliest place on Earth was truly my local Bank of America this afternoon. The manager came over and introduced himself to us. He looked like he wanted to go fix us some hot chocolate or maybe ask us to the prom or something. Then our eternal personal banker said more things like, "When you come in again, say hello! I would never be able to forget you!" We must have accidentally stepped in a puddle of bank pheremones. Please everyone pray that on the morning of May 22nd we step in a puddle of USCIS pheremones.

Greencardgreencardgreencardgreencard. Green card.

The fingers are crossed.

top o' the vicarious mornin' to you

I'm not Irish, and I've never been happy about it. But here I am in college, where I was frequently cast as a feisty Irish lassie:

Yes, oh well.

And now I'm married to Dave, who - though Australian - is Irish all the way on his mother's side. Which makes Finn Irish! Which makes me Irish.

P.S. See if you can spot Scott Chicken and Monkey Disaster in these photos...

quote of the day

Finn Rowley, at dinner tonight*:

Peanut butter is protein.
Dinner is protein.
And I ate one protein.

*which did not feature peanut butter

Coming soon - photos of Finn wearing his old duck costume from his first Halloween as a kind of trailing hoody jacket with dangling feet. It's his new thing.

Also, today our cousin Leonie visited us. Finn kept surreptitiously calling her baloney*. I'm the only one who heard. He'd peek at her from behind a chair and murmur baloney and I'd whisper to him Leonie and then he'd whisper Leonie. And then in a few minutes he'd quietly try baloney again.

*I'd spell bologna right but then you lose the immediate rhyme-looking-thing. It always takes me a second to process "bologna" as ba-lo-nee.

my friend alissa is the mom here

"That ain't no dreidl. This is one latke you can't unfry, heeb-skillet."

how i stay vegetarian

Son of a bitch! This isn't bacon, but it's bacon enough! I swear on your mother's grave, I would volunteer at a little table in a supermarket for this product. I'd be grabbing people out of the aisles. TASTE THIS! GOOD, RIGHT? RIGHT?! And if they were like, "Not good," I would grab them by their collars and throw them up against the cereal and shake them until they were ready to taste it again better this time damn it.

Put it in a sandwich maker with a little cheese and tomato....throw it on a pizza...I swear to GOD.

the below post is a weird delayed ghost

For those of you who read my post of a few days ago that had the same Sheila E video embedded in it, and are now like WHY IS IT HERE AGAIN?, I apologize. When I uploaded it on Saturday, it didn't seem to do it, so I did it again. And then it showed up in my Saturday's post like I wanted it to. But then it just showed up again today. This is making me look like a crazy Sheila E fan who will be linking you to this obscure video every four days or so. I just wanted to make sure you guys didn't forget about this awesome song. The Belle of St. Mark, you guys! I'll post it again on Sunday just in case.

I don't think I'll be posting it again on Sunday but I don't know what YouTube has planned for me yet. Maybe it will make us revisit "Fox in Socks" or "Yes, We Can."

Sheila E - THE BELLE OF ST.MARK

the soccer hooligan

I had no idea that being a parent would entail getting your ass kicked so often. I'm not talking about metaphorically, although that, too. I'm talking about headbutts and fingers in the eye and elbows deep into the chest and kicks in the stomach. He's not trying to pick a fight. He's not mad. He just isn't yet totally hep to manning his body yet and is working some crazy accidental jujitsu all the time.

Ow. Peace, brother. Peace. Uncle.

this one's for the trees

The good Scott Chicken is looking out for my election-obsessed ass, and has passed this meme my way. Shut up, I know I just did one. Shut up, I don't care. Can't fill a whole year up with solid gold, people. And this comes just in time because today I believe I have "crossed a threshold"...into election-related high blood pressure. I felt it today right there in my chest. Heart all squeezey whilst reading about the politics. And then when I took a stroll in the Arboretum with a dear friend out in the drizzle and trees and fresh air and floral breezes...heart not squeezey any more.

So I'm meming it, as yet another form of escape. You're welcome, Clinton campaign. My can of whoop-ass* will remain shelved.

*Whup-ass? Whoop-ass? Whooping ass. "My child has come down with a horrible case of whooping ass."

Here's the meme at hand:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open it at page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence/ phrase.
4. Blog the next four sentences/ phrases together with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig your shelves for that very special or intellectual book.
6. Pass it forward to six friends

All right, I swear that this is the nearest book. I've never heard of it and don't know how it got into the house. (Dave? This you?) The book is Little Saint by Hannah Green. It's a "meditation on the millennia-long life of a French child martyr."

The road runs right through it, and the part of the wood to the south is a perfect rectangle, and the part to the north is larger, longer and hexagonal, the shape of the old hexagonal reliquaries in the Treasure with their patches of Merovingian glasswork and their gemstones glowing and their windows of ancient glass, so that entering into the fragrant twilight of the fir wood, where quiet is defined by birdsong, we feel we are in a holy grove, protected, like spirit bones within a reliquary. The trees in perfect rows form long corridors that open at the end into the pale north sky, and the sun in the needles above us is silvery and refracted like a star.

Okay. That's more than four phrases and less than four sentences and seemed like the correct chunk. Hmm. It's very tree-y. Like an ARBORETUM. Man, I love things like that. Tiny synchronicities. On the subject of trees, I just want to give a shout-out to the Chinese red birches I saw at the Arboretum today. They may be the most beautiful trees I've ever seen in my life. They're looked like the trees that would be on Venus if Venus were acting like a metaphor and not like whatever gaseous reality it is. (I just looked up some facts about Venus. The cloud cover is super dense and a day on Venus lasts 234 Earth days! And yet there still may not be enough days in a year for Venusians to get their shit done. Am I right or am I right? Who's busy out there? Oh, Lord. I swear.) I gave one of those birches a good pet on the trunk, and it felt so lovely. I could have stood there for days. Venus days.

I pass this meme on to the six of you who want to do it, but come back and tell me that you did so I can go look and then tell everybody that you did it.

i heart tom daschle

This guy is Obama's best surrogate by a country mile, I think. John Kerry is great every time I see him, his arguments are sharp and clear and strong. But Tom Daschle is seriously bringing it wherever he goes. Obama/Daschle '08!

And that is all for tonight. I'm cranky that I forgot to post yesterday - I was so focused on learning lines for the medical training film I shot today. (It was fun! I totally got to pretend to be a doctor, in scrubs and a lab coat and a stethoscope and everything. Bitchen in the extreme.)

self portrait: a clown blogs on to build a future

Full disclosure: I couldn't make the nose work.

The previous post explains this portrait (for the all of you who must be like, huh?).

P.S. Happy Birthday, Jenn Creegan! This clown smooches you.

trudging through for prizes

I pep talk me here. If you make it all the way through this navel-gazer, you get a couple of unrelated Crackerjack-style prizes:

Hey, there, Tina. You look down. Blog 365 is blowing your mind a little bit, isn't it? A year...it's looking pretty long. Yeah. I get that. Years are big. But hey! Listen, you. Look at you! It's March and you've only missed like two days this whole year. And you made up for it, didn't you, with extra posts. Yes, you did, champ.

It's okay to stick a YouTube video up here sometimes. It's just called Blog 365. It's not called Blog 365: Total Fucking Constant Excellence & Innovation 2008. It's just about making 365 posts. Sometimes it gets towards midnight, and you've either forgotten to post or felt like, "I have nothing to say, so why say it to the world?" Oh, yes. The tragedy of blogdom. Millions of people with nothing to say, saying it to the world. You want to be here for a reason - even if it's a microscopic, dorktastic reason.

Well, listen, lady. You got two areas that this Blog 365 business can help you improve. A, you're a perfectionist. You don't want to do things if you're not going to do them well. B, you're lazy. Lay-Z. L'A-Z. So this way you get to swim against both of those streams and build a couple of little muscles: the it's-okay-to-suck-a-little muscle and the oh-just-do-it-already muscle. Maybe at the end of the year you will have made a little psychological dent in yourself, dug a new brain hole big enough to plant a wee tree in.

See?

There you go. Attagirl.

Okay. Here are your prizes!

Here's this thing I found courtesy of the excellent Lee Stranahan. If you're an artist of any kind, you should read it: 1000 True Fans. It's a great framework for thinking about making a living through your art, if your form applies.

And this kind of thing is exactly why I love YouTube:

Sheila E. singing "The Belle of St. Mark"! I loved this song long ago. It completely drifted out of my consciousness, and now I get to pluck it out of obscurity. It feels like finding a sweet old note someone passed me in Algebra class with bubble letters and code names for crushes.

meme break

Hey! I forgot to post yesterday! Hell's bells. I posted three times on Monday, and then I was a crazy primaryhead and forgot to post, or thought I already had. Ah, dude. Dude. Well. I made it under the wire for today.

May I just say that I have got complete election exhaustion. I have got to dial it back. I have all kinds of thoughts about Tuesday's primaries, but I don't even want to look in my head and find out what they are right now. I wept this morning a little - not so much because Hillary had such a good night, but because I want it to be over already already. I'm ready to go under general anaesthesia until we have a nominee.

So good old Wacky Mommy has ridden in on a white steed with a sweet, sweet meme to distract me. I accept you, meme. I do you now.

1. I can’t believe I’ve never…
…won an Academy Award. I mean, you know. I can believe it. I utterly believe it. But also, I'm just starting to believe it. What I mean to say is that there is a tiny, retarded place deep inside me that doesn't quite understand that I'm not a famous film actor, or that I'm unlikely to suddenly pull a Marlee Matlin or an Anna Paquin and sneak up on a win from obscurity. But this year, the tiny place started to understand. Did you guys know that the Oscars are actually sort of boring? I just found out. They're only exciting if you kind of a little bit think you might win one someday.

2. Every time I think about … I still cringe.
Well, I tell you this. I know it's about a boy. But which boy? I am rife with cringeworthy boy stories. You got your formal dances with boys I had the supercrushes on wherein things were looking good and then suddenly I got wasted and put my foot through a deck and threw up on everybody and passed out. You got your myriad I-refuse-to-believe-you-don't-actually-love-me-so-this-eloquent-letter-or-serious-conversation-I-drag-you-into-will-help-you-understand scenarios. You broke up with me already? Oh. I didn't...was I there? I was? Oh.

3. I wish I’d …when I had the chance.
Gone to India after college. A friend of the family was the head of a school of theater and dance outside of Madras (Chennai), and he invited me to come for six months and learn about Kathakali, which is a classical form of Indian dance-drama. My parents would have been willing to pay and send me there. My dad was all for it. But I was in a big soggy depression and I was sleeping 14 hours a day and the thought was too overwhelming. What a chowderhead! I mean, it's sad. I'm sorry I was sad and soggy. But snap out of it! Free trip to India under shit-hot conditions! Dang.

4. I’ve never felt so out of place as when I…
...moved from New York to Seattle when I was nine. I thought everybody said "coffee" and "sorry" and "pen" and "friend" like total assholes. Who were the Mariners?? If anyone was asking if I asked to move here, the answer was NO. Fistfights ensued. (Not with my parents.) (I suppose it goes without saying that it's not a "fistfight" if you're nine and it's with your parents.)

5. … is my guiltiest pleasure.
I have no shame for all the bad tv we watch, so I think that's not it. I think it's Us Magazine. Yes. That has some shame in it. Tabloids make people's lives difficult. I am not one of those who's like, Fuck famous people and their little feelings. Go spend ten thousand dollars and call George Clooney and you'll feel better. But apparently I am a little bit cavalier with them because I subscribe to Us Magazine. You're welcome, pararazzi. Every week when it arrives I'm like, all right! And then I read it and I'm like, is that it? That's all it is? And then the next week when it arrives I'm like, oh, sweet fruit! The Us is here! I'm like that amnesiac fish in Finding Nemo. And a little bit amoral in this regard. Sorry, famous people.

6. I hope … knows how grateful I am for …
Dave. I hope Dave knows how grateful I am for the incredible patience and beauty and generosity of his love, and for what a stunning father he is. I'll be in love with that man until the day I die. Meeting him was the ultimate stroke of luck. I'm telling you, I'm like a walking four-leaf clover. And Finn! He tears into my chest cavity with his bare hands many times a day and grabs my heart and stretches it out and stuffs it back in five times bigger and looser than it was before. It's my job every day to try and convey to him how much joy he brings me. I want him to know it in his bones.

7. In my darkest hours, I secretly blame … for my dysfunction.
Well, hey, look. It's a secret. And these aren't my darkest hours. So I will pass.

8. … changed my life forever.
Dave and Finn. And moving to Seattle, even what with the fistfights and the Mariners. If we hadn't, I'd be somewhere else doing something different right now with an entirely different group of friends and no Dave and Finn. Not interested! Nein, danke! I'll take what I have.

It be time to tag. Who I tag? I tag...who updates their blog? I tag...Bladio Blogio and La Ketch and Stupid Mommy and a recent addition to this blogroll, Miss Mango Hedgehog. Thank you, W.M.! This was a nice hour in which I didn't bite my fingernails for Barack Obama. Like a little trip to the spa.

hey, texas! hey, ohio! give it up for our man!

My statcounter tells me I have a little Texas and Ohio tuning in. We've also got a drop of Vermont, so welcome to you, too.

Rhode Island continues to not be in the house.

Howdy, Lone Stars! What up, Buckeyes! Hey there, Maple Syrup Makers! Tomorrow's the big day. I want to tell you why I'm supporting Barack Obama, and I hope you'll look into it and give him your support, too.

I've done this more in depth here and here, so this is the quick version.

This man has inspired me to get up off my ass and out of the house to work for him. I'm not one of those people who's been active in all these other elections. I've been snugged up cozy as hell in my armchair watching it all happen on tv. But it looks to me like this guy, from his community organizing to the way he's framed his campaign around the word "we", sincerely wants us to wake up and get involved. You know how Lincoln talked about a government "of the people, by the people, for the people". I really think that Barack Obama wants one of those. For real. Like, he means it. He's sincere about transparency in goverment, and he wants us to all get up off our asses and keep an eye on what's going on and participate in our country like adults.

He's the leader that the rest of the world is most excited about. Coalition of the willing, nothin'! Coalition of the psyched! If foreign policy is your concern, get behind the candidate that's going to inspire the world to our side again. Obama's all about dropping the calcified ego of the American government and participating in world affairs in a fresh way.

If you're worried about the economy, take a look at this: Economists for Obama.

The man is for real. The movement is for real. If you're already for him, be sure to get out and vote -- and if you live in Texas, make sure you keep your voting receipt and show up again at 7pm to caucus for Obama, too! Another third of the delegates are distributed through the caucus.

And if you're not sure, go to http://barackobama.com/ and look through his Issues pages. If you really want to go for it, brew yourself a cup of tea or grab a beer and sit down with his full-on Blueprint for Change. If you think he's short on policy, you'll be feeling differently after 64 pages chock full.

All right, sugars. There's my two cents and all of the rest of the change out of my purse. Thanks for listening.

okay, class. let's review.

Let's go over a few things, so we can be clear.

1. Barack Obama is not a Muslim.
1a. There is nothing wrong with being a Muslim.
1b. Most people know this.
1c. Some people, however, don't know this.
1d. Since we're engaged in a conflict with radical Islamic terrorist groups, some people think that all Muslims are radical Islamic terrorists.
1e. Therefore, the mistaken view that Barack Obama is a Muslim could be politically damaging to him.
1f. Hillary Clinton knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Barack Obama is a Christian.
1g. She's been in politics, as she likes to point out, for a very long time.
1h. Hillary Clinton knows how to choose her words. She's nothing if not careful.
1i. When Hillary Clinton is probed on 60 Minutes, "You said you'd take Senator Obama at his word that he's not…a Muslim. You don't believe that he's…," and she responds, "No. No, there is nothing to base that on. As far as I know," she knows exactly what she's doing.
1j. Hillary Clinton is leaving room for doubt.
1k. Otherwise she would have said, "Look, I know full well that Barack Obama is a Christian."
1l. Should any of this matter? No.
1m. Does it? Yes.
(1n. If the shoe were on the other foot, I have no doubt that Ol' Obama would have come right out and said the above on Clinton's behalf. But that's speculation and extra credit so you don't have to memorize that.)

All right. Moving on.

2. The Canadian Embassy has come out and stated unequivocally the following:

The Canadian Embassy and our Consulates General regularly contact those involved in all of the presidential campaigns and, periodically, report on these contacts to interested officials. In the recent report produced by the Consulate General in Chicago, there was no intention to convey, in any way, that Senator Obama and his campaign team were taking a different position in public from views expressed in private, including about NAFTA. We deeply regret any inference that may have been drawn to that effect.

This is in reference to a meeting that one of Obama's advisors had with a Canadian official, a memo surfacing from which suggested that Obama's been talking out of both sides of his mouth on NAFTA. Well, there you go. There you fuckin' have it, as it were. There you have it, Wolf Blitzer. The only 'pretty embarrassing' thing in this story is your coverage.

3. Tony Rezko's trial starts today.
3a. CNN is all, WOW, BAD TIMING.
3b. When, really...so what? Obama isn't a factor in this trial.
3c. But it makes a hot story! Is the worm turning? And whatnot.

4. Wolf Blitzer is a fuckin' potatohead.

Thank you. That is all. Class dismissed.

P.S. This is from John Aravosis at Americablog. Food for thought.

i, confirmed ornithophobe, am letting the healing begin

Oh, yes, me fears the birds something deep. I've been known to drive home, find a crow perched on my porch (during that season where they're all paranoid and testy because their babies are learning to fly), sit in my car crying for half an hour, pull out of the driveway and drive around for 20 minutes hoping the crow will leave, drive back, see the crow still there, and then go weepingly call an ex-boyfriend for him to come and make the crow go away so I can go inside.

A friend recently told me this story. She was walking down the street when there was a thunk right behind her feet. She turned around and saw a bloody, beheaded pigeon. Quoi? Comment? Come again? What?! She looked around to see if someone could have thrown it at her, and saw a couple of guys laughing. Before she could accuse them, they pointed to a tree above her. There was a crow EATING THE PIGEON'S HEAD. He had hucked the body at her! Plus! Plus! She was wearing a hoody. This close, man. This close. Beheaded pigeon thumping into the open hood. It didn't happen. But it could have.

And that is exactly the sort of shit that goes on with birds, motherfuckers. Can you blame me? Their brains are small, small, so small! So small that if a bird has the thought that it must fuck with you, there is no room in there for you to try and slide a contrasting thought behind it. You can't be like, hey, bird, you just don't know me. I'm a good guy. Listen, I can play the violin! Mammals love that shit. With mammals...if, say, you got a wolf coming at you, you just sing 'Amazing Grace' as sweetly as you can and the wolf is gonna be all, yes! A wretch like me. Hey. Wow. All right! You can go. Birds are just focused on their objective until it magically changes or until they're dead. That's how I feel.

So it is with great bemusement that I announce that I am a contributing editor at a new online humor magazine called the Clay Pigeon. It's all pigeon this, pigeon that all the time. Let me be clear. It's not, like, pigeon-based humor. It just has a pigeon motif. I can't fucking believe it. I'm all arm-in-arm with a pigeon.

Diesel, over at the very fine Mattress Police, is the editor-in-chief and he's assembled a crack team of people to make this weekly comedic juggernaut. Oh, it's a juggernaut, all right. The Clay Pigeon is "a massive, inexorable force, campaign, movement or object that crushes whatever is in its path." This is an early review from Merriam-Webster's. Review, you know, well. Maybe not like directly a review. I think they're not allowed to review things. But it's clear that they want to. They wanted to. (Damn purview. All definitiony. So pigeonholey.) (Pigeon!)

P.S. It's come to my attention that when I mention the online humor magazine Clay Pigeon, I need to use the phrase "the online humor magazine Clay Pigeon" for search engine purposes. Two things make me want to scream a little: the phrase "humor magazine" and promoting things that I'm involved in. It embarrasses me. But it must be done! I'm not the only cat involved here! So there you go. You're going to hear the phrase "online humor magazine Clay Pigeon" out of me in the future.

let's face it. this is a filler post.

Another 11:54 pm post in under the wire! Tiny one! Lame one!

Went to a MoveOn.org phonebank party for Obama today, along with the good Nation of Pete, and called 20 Texans. And at least one phone call really did some good. My last phone call was to a dude whose whole family was supporting Obama but who didn't know that they could not only vote in the primary but participate in the caucus later in the day and give some more delegates to the Big O. I was like, DUDE, IT'S LIKE THIS! And he was like, WHAT?! And I was like, CHECK IT OUT.... And he was like, DANG! THANKS!

The rest were largely messages. One hangup. One young dude was for Obama and was planning on voting for him in the primary but had to work during the caucus. His dad answered the phone and had this winky vibe when I asked to talk the guy, like, Oh MATT...it's a GIRL on the phone.

I've done some phoning from home, but this GOTV action in a group is good. It's energizing. I loved it.

I hope Obama keeps up the trend of performing better than the polls suggest. Go Texas! Go Ohio!

now it's 3:02

From the great Lee Stranahan.