Misc. Thoughts in No Order

While I may still be kinda young (I feel young), I'm a suburban housewife -- pretty sure that disqualifies me from being "hip" (unless we're being ironic, let's not be ironic, my childhood mullet was quite sincere). My not taking it probably has more to do with the sheer numbers and focused vision. Or perhaps there was lack of concensus with the other. No need for the awkward or personal. We can say hello on the street or dine together. I don't know the ages of most and some of my favorite poets are old. A few so old, they're dead. As for those "hip" dead poets, here's a secret: if they're hip now, they definitely weren't hip in their lifetimes.

Some of my best friends rejected my poems. Vice versa too.

I don't have any "hip" friends.

I once attended a wedding full of "hip" people.

I felt embarrassed.

For them.

I'm a fun gal and enjoy bawdy humor -- but handjob humor (if asking for one is considered humorous) is best kept to friends, or at the very least, acquaintances.

Or at least that's how I perceive.

Yes, it's a joke, I know.

Handjobs are not especially "hip," but they stand the test of time.

I guess that's the definition of "classic."

People who call things "modern-day classics" are being peremptory.

Artgems is having a sale on carnelian beads. All of my beads and jewelry supplies are packed away. I haven't made any jewelry for two years and it'll be at least that long before I start again.

Beading is easy. I taught myself from a book.

Someday (probably in the near future), beaded jewelry will go back to being "unhip."

Perhaps it has already.

Beading is bad for your vision.

Easy to strain your eyes.

I have numerous nightmares.

One nightmare is losing my vision and not being able to read.

Confession: The following lines from the poem "If You've Got Nothing Nice to Say" (which can found in Pterodactyls Soar Again) are plagarized from my juvenilia:

The front of a boy’s butt
is a wiener and a nut.

Probably the only memorable lines I wrote during the first 20 years of my life. I have a little over six years left of my 2nd 20 years. After that only the really old people will view my editorial judgments as "young and hip."

Don't hate me because I drive a station wagon.

It's my husband's.

He's wearing a black NANOG t-shirt.

That will never be "hip" in our lifetime.

He was wearing something nicer, but changed for Gideon's bath.

Gideon likes to splash.

Yesterday he turn 18 months and we learned that he grew 2 inches over the last 6 months.

Apparently it's "hip" to have a baby these days.

When I was born babies were "unhip."

Yet for some reason people had them anyway.