BurningbirdOn the light side, take a look at O’Reilly book cover spoofs. I like a company that laughs at itself; too bad Enron figured that one out too late.
However, why do they keep showing book covers with an eagle kicking my asp?
I wanted a cute little fluffy kitten myself. Furry. Sweet. Big eyes. The kind that people go “Oooo, that’s so cute!”
But nooooo. I get a deadly snake. Hissssssssssssssssssssssss.
Another day of 16-18 hours of writing…Burningbird is burnt to a crisp. Nothing but fried chicken. I’m going to take a break from the weblog for a few days and try and get some of my other writing caught up, and then be able to come back with a fresh zizzle and ping.
I know, you’ve heard this before. But this time I really mean it.
For your listening pleasure while I’m gone, a little tune.
Or, did I mean this tune?
Or this?
(Whatever did we do before Google came along?)
Hey I remember Madge!
Those were such twisted times — women were doctors, lawyers, corporate officers, cops, software developers (ahem), writers, and heads of state. But the TV showed us with our little pinkies in a bowl of green dishwashing soap with no thoughts in our pretty little heads other than being pretty pretty for Joe The Stud.
I didn’t mind the Madge commercials as much — they’re still around in spirit if not in actual products and people. The one I hated — hated with a deep purple passion — was the one that had the tune:
We can bring home the bacon
Fry it up in a pan
And never, ever let you forget you’re a man…
Cause I’m a woman…
It was for Enjoli. These ads were geared to making any woman feel inadequate if she wasn’t the perfect Mom, Breadwinner, and Whore.
Suck prunes, Enjoli.
Speaking of which, this little segue found me Work at Home. Great stuff!
That was fun.
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I must talks about her separation, divorce, and self-discovery. Sometimes, angry is not only good, it’s healthy.
I wonder how many of us are in the process of divorcing, or have divorced recently? My own marriage of 18 years ended in 2001. And I’m one of the lucky ones – I’m still friends with my ex-husband.
No matter if you have a “good” divorce or a bad one, you’re still adrift, floating without anchor. Lonely. Unfocused. Lost.
The greatest joy for a person who is newly divorced or separated is to reach that point when you feel normal being single.
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Working today — should finish a chapter by tonight. Triumph! Time for a weblog break, and then apartment cleaning and lovely walk on the beach. Life’s joy is found in the simplest things.
My new weblog look will be pretty much as you see now – plain, grays and black and white, little bit of fire, and lots of blogstickers. I have new ones into the blogsticker machine:
-Roll me over in the clover
Roll me over lay me down and blog me again.
The Mae West collection:
-Why don’t you come up and blog me sometime?
-Opportunity knocks for every man, but you have to give a woman a blog.
-Any time you got nothing to do–and lots of time to do it–blog.
-I’m a woman of very few words, but lots of blogging.
Pretty soon, my weblog will look a lot like my kitchen refrigerator.
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The sun is shining and it’s a brand new day. I’m not going to waste any more time on “the suits”; instead I’m going to focus on only positive things today. Go for a drive and a walk. Work on my book. Clean my apartment. Ignore the clutter and debri on weblogs.com. Compliment folks.
No, I’m not on drugs. I haven’t had my morning coffee yet.
My very first car.
She has a cuter butt than I do.
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It’s metallic gold, with a spoiler on the back, 16 inch sporty looking wheels and a great sound system. She drives like a dream and stops on a dime. I’m calling her Golden Girl and Marvin’s going to look very cool sitting on the dash.
Hey, if the Userland folks can stuff the airways, continuously waxing poetic about Radio 8.0, I sure as hell can do a little verbal drooling for my very first car, can’t I?
What’s worse — I’ll be posting photos later today. Lucky you.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
If you get a chance you HAVE to see the Encore channel’s My Generation. It’s a documentary of the three Woodstock rock festivals, and it’s fascinating to watch how the concerts change between times and generations. Probably the best documentary I’ve seen in years.
And Michael Lang, the Woodstock originator, didn’t change in looks and smiled the exact same smile throughout all three Woodstocks — one spooky dude.
Play on, Jimi.