Yeah, my wife took the photo — she’s good that way:
I walked up to Claire. She took one look at me and asked, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” We left together and retired to Waffle House for a two-week affair.
Before that, I returned the picture favour, photographing my wife with tonight’s headliner, Rick Taylor (and his band), who also happens to be my wife’s former coworker, a physicist at SAIC:
How can I 1) watch how well Jeff Gordon races in Charlotte and 2) dance to the music of Claire Lynch and friends at the same time?
Life is a series of happy dilemmas!
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A special nod to Greg and Carolyn at Cook & Company; the friendly folks at L’Rancho Restaurant; Travis and cooks at Broken Clock Gastropub; whomever I’ve forgotten to mention lately in my rush through life.
Schedules — ugggh! However, we are defined by our habits.
The privilege of tattoos.
The privilege of privilege.
Methinks we complain too much ado about nothing!
Yesterday, my sister and I talked about my wife’s recent statements full of insecurity. We reminded each other that my wife’s nuclear family is gone, making me a more significant figure in her life, raising her expectations for my emotional/financial support of her.
Points to ponder.
Should I set a periodic calendar reminder?
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Stephan, Jenn amd Abi — the wellspring of my creativity, worth more than anything.
What is it about black holes that fascinate us little sets of states of energy?
My imagination plays tricks on me at 7:30 a.m. on a Friday morning on the seventh floor of a hotel near the St. Louis airport, while down below me construction crew members, smaller than ants, begin their workday on the local freeway.
A storyline starring Lee and Guin is in the side pathways of my thoughts as I block out time slots for the morning and afternoon to snap some still photographs and video shots to make a video short story about the vainglorious immoral unethical exploits of a black hole.
I had initially named the black hole the Might Blackholio in homage to a television “character” named the Great Cornholio but I’ve changed my mind, not having been a fan of Beavis and Butthead, just a coworker of a fan (an almostfan, like an almost-famous also-ran (but not mistaken for a Ran fan)).
Last night was an almostbreakthrough evening, my wife encouraging me to dance with other people and the two of us almost having fun together on the dance floor. I need to get my wife to show me what she wants rather than tell me — there’s nothing like talking or, rather, instructing your dance partner that does more to ruin a good mood in the middle of the fluidity of West Coast Swing dancing.
Our distance from a black hole gives us hundreds of millions of years of stability in our solar system.
What if a black hole could jump through spacetime?
What if a black hole had the ability to take on a personality like a human?
What if a black hole could hide its personality amongst us?
What would be its motivations, its goals, its dreams, its passions?
I think a better name for the black hole villain in my story is Collapsaricus.
And so it shall be!
Two names entered my thoughts while I absentmindedly looked out of the study window — William Jennings Bryan and Sarah Palin.
There’s a new story in my thoughts but I’m held back by the desire to protect my social heritage and family ancestry.
And, boy oh boy, I wish I was more inclined to spellchek and grammatically-cirrectarian my blog entries — I guess I know that language is alive and well-worth butchering in realtime.
treetrunkdings 