The Peculiar Mix of Things

I just washed my car, a 1990 Volvo station wagon. Hizbullah just hit a Israeli navy ship with a missile, killing four sailors. We went to a garage sale this morning, where my wife bought an old letter organizer, decorated with painted roosters, for three dollars. The majority of our newspapers refuse to report stories on how many schools, wells, power stations, hospitals and other irrelevancies our military have built, and are building, in Iraq. Britney Spears just declared in a press release that she is going to get serious about getting back into shape after she has her second baby. Tiberias, a town in Israel twenty-two miles south of the Lebanese border, just got hit by rockets, the first time it's been attacked since the 1973 war. I had a piece of cold pizza for breakfast this morning. We have over 11 million illegal immigrants in our country, obviously the best and brightest and most law-abiding citizens of Mexico. Regular gasoline is about $3.30 a gallon here in central coast California, which makes it a lot cheaper than Starbucks coffee or bottled water. Iran is fighting a proxy engagement with Israel via Hizbullah. I planted hollyhocks in the garden and they are doing well. A majority of new marriages in our country these days end in divorce. The corn at our farm is ready for harvest and, by the end of the month, the heirloom tomatoes will be as well.

The Rhythm of Our Lives

I think, at the end, we'll find that the rhythm of our lives, however disparate they seemed during the perspective of our short days, will fit neatly into one of two songs. One song unbearably beautiful and the other song unbearably hideous.

A Second Poorly Written Poem on Taxes

That dang Republican guy up in Alaska,
without even a polite, "lemme ask ya,"
ran off with my money clutched in his hand
to build himself a bridge to nowhere-land.

Driving Past Fields

I'm currently working on an interactive project for an educational foundation. It involves a lot of flash and art concerning farming and science. Anyway, I drove down to south county yesterday with the fellow who's doing the art for the project. We had to take some photos at a vineyard. The fields stretch forever on either side of the road, miles and miles of lettuce, cauliflower, celery, artichokes, ragged rows of wine-grape vines hiding the promise that will be harvested in September. Every shade of green imaginable, with the hills beyond blasted into gold by the summer sun.

As you drive, the rows flash by like long, impossibly straight legs running.

Breadwig

My friend Brian has started a blog
full of strange art and the occasional dog.
So gird your loins and click on through;
if you shout "Gah!" you can always sue.