News at Eleven

It's Curmudgeon's fault. He tagged me. I haven't done one of these things in a coon's age. You?

The rules are, there are no rules. Wait, that's Fight Club.

Here you go:

The Rules Are:
1. You must post the rules.
2. Post eleven fun facts about yourself on the blog post.
3. Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post, and then create eleven new questions to ask the people you've tagged.
4. Tag eleven bloggers, however, you can break the rules and tag fewer people if you want. Make sure you hyperlink their names/blogs.
5. Let them know you've tagged them!
6. Have fun!

CURM'S QUESTIONS:
1. Why is your favorite color your favorite?
Green because it is the color of life and money. Also, avocados.

2. Do you prefer dogs or cats or do you just hate animals, and want to kill baby seals?
Dogs. I can't take cats trail running. Unless I strap them to my back, in which case, ouch.

3. How much time do you spend on the computer?
Eleventy-million hours a day. I can't do my job without it, and I forgot how to use a typewriter.

4. Not including porn, what do you do on the computer?
Wait. There is more to computers than watching porn? Oh, right, there's Tetris.

5. Are you a clock watcher?  Bonus question: Other than me, who would ask such a question?
Not since high school. Now, I try to KEEP it from moving. I dunno, Nietzsche?

6. What do you look for in a partner? Don't say sense of humor, It only lasts while your dating.
Strength, silence, aim. Willing to tie my flies and, on occasion, my shoes.

7. What type of clothing do you prefer? Grunge, conservative, flamboyant, none, Village People, or however you want to answer. I personally like to dress like Flash Gordon.
Debbie Harry meets Stevie Nicks meets Faye Dunaway.

8. What is your favorite type of music? Don't give me that "I like all music." crap.
'90s grunge, old school punk, psychobilly, Vanilla Ice.

9. Do you believe in the paranormal, Ghosts, ESP, levitation, spoon bending? No Zombies! How many fingers am I holding up?
No, no, no, no, no. But of course--how else to explain the U.S. Congress and the average voter? Five.

10. The most important question: Do you have a inie or outie belly button? Like those are words.
Inie. Innie? (Not the outie.)

11. What kind of car do you drive. Just to avoid embarrassment I drive a 93 ford F150. If you drive a Mercedes or something don't answer, or lie, because the rest of us will hate you.
A Jeep with big tires. My other car is about to change because my husband can't keep a vehicle for more than 2.5 seconds. I believe it will be German and red. 

Okay, now I'm supposed to tag some bloggers with the following questions:

1. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun or The Boys Are Back in Town?
2. Camping or the Ritz?
3. What food are you craving RIGHT NOW . . . did you eat it?
4. The most thrilling place you've ever visited. Why?
5. If you could slip into the skin of one public figure--celebrity, artist, politician--who would it be?
7. Look up from your computer. What do you see?
8. Sum up your philosophy of life in one sentence. You can borrow it from someone else, if you'd like.
9. The one thing you just don't understand about kids today.
10. If you could steal one work of art from a museum or gallery, which would it be?
11. Regular toothbrush or electric?

I TAG:
Boxer
Buzz
Troll
Blazng Scarlett
Eggy
Pam in OKC
Karl
Fishy
lx

Do it if you want. I won't hold it against you if you don't, but it will be interesting reading if you do.

Happy Tuesday everybody!

Haiku Monday: VENTURE

1963's

Classic surf rock disc. Telstar!

And the Lonely Bull.

* * * 

You call this a trail?

All I see are trees and rocks.

Wait! Is that a print?

* * * 

Want to venture forth into the great Haiku unknown?

Head over to Karl's place, our host for this week's meme of 5-7-5.

Haiku Monday Winner: X MARKS THE SPOT

I wish I had time to write a synopsis of every haiku submitted this go 'round because if y'all are going to take the time to write and submit, I should at least give a kudo to every haiku. But the alligators of deadlines both personal and professional are nipping at my heels and I also need to eat. And do the dishes. And do something about my hair.

Still, I will give a short shout out to this week's top contenders, who basically boiled down to a bunch of dudes and a lil' lady.

The Dudes:

Czar made me laugh to the point of strained abs with:

Friend’s wife, his IInd--
not too sharp: came home talking
of Malcolm the Tenth.

We all know this man, right? And this gal? And have been at the dinner table or putting green or lift ticket line when something like this has spilled like liquid gold right on out of their mouths, leaving us a story to tell for years, maybe decades to come. I also love the play of Roman numerals here; IInd for second, Tenth for X. So, so cleverly done.

Then there was Troll who snagged my attention with Yum-Yum, which, if I think about it, is probably my most favorite phrase in the entire English language, ever:

Stone Crab Season Starts!
They swim from Bay to Old Bay.
Exoskeletons.

I wanna go have dinner at Troll's house. Scout's honor I'll behave, and I won't even bring up the L for Libertarian word, not once, not at all, and I'll bring the dessert. Just feed me some of those exoskeletons!

From there, it was a hop, skip, and a jump to Rafe's jazzy rumination on religious xstasy:

Xtreme addiction
Whip the flesh; Xpunge your sin
Jonesing on Jesus

I really love the rhythm of this one, the alliteration of the exes and the jays, but also find compelling the way it paints a picture of something both disturbing and yet sublime, the line where piety ends and frenzy begins.

Curmee, who is getting quite good at this haiku stuff, also snagged my attention, not with food, but with a shorthanded tale evoking cute dudes with washboard abs and leather underwear fighting the invading hordes:

Three hundred remained.
At Thermopylae they died.
Xerxes laughed no more.

And then Karl, who, through an impressive economy of words and structure, ended up creating quite a compelling haiku:

A mark on a chart
A position and a plot
Nope, no guarantee.

I love the way this bounces off the tongue when read out loud. Try it, you'll see what I mean.

Then there's Blowfish, the only blogger (go figure) who crossed over into x-rated territory with the naughty-but-nice, and oh-so-funny:

I thought it was Gee.
Not X. Which signals the spot?
Sweet really is best.

And then backpedaled and said this was about tennis. Whatev', dude, it's still a great haiku. (Fishy, please don't kill him; I think we're cousins once removed on my father's side and I can't afford to lose any paisans.)

The Lil' Lady:

Miz Boxer, who colored us all nostalgic with:

X Ray goggles from
Johnson Smith Catalog was
Christmas wish denied

I think we can all wipe a small tear or stifle a belly laugh at the memories this evokes.

Unfortunately, I have to pick a winner out of the creme of the creamy crop, and it wasn't easy. No sir. Not at all.

So without further foot shuffling, the winner is:

KARL!

It's simple, to the point, action-oriented, heralds anticipation, and then warns of potential disappointment. X marks the treasure, but when it proves not to be there, all effort is x'ed out. Nice. Plus, I just kept coming back to it over, and over.

Congrats, Karl! Looks like you are our host for next week! Those of you who have just begun to play, Blazng and Jean, please keep playing, and thanks to everyone for the big, big fun.

Haiku Monday: X Marks the Spot

Okay, all you Haiku Crack Monkeys,
the game's being played here for the duration. 

Topic is X. 

You can play this alphabetically ("X marks the spot"), phonetically ("extraneous intervention"), obliquely ("all my former girlfriends were blondes"), or literally ("I have x-ray vision"). Just make sure your haiku is 5-7-5 and uses a kireji. A reference to nature is nice, but not necessary. Submit here, no more than two, por favor—my brain can only hold so much these days. If you'd like to post on your own blog with images, even better.

Judging will be open until midnight EST on Monday, February 20. I will announce the winner sometime on Tuesday the 21st.

Good luck and I expect some awesome haiku!

Valentine's Day D'oh, Nuts!

Dear Dunkin Donuts,

You know I love you, right?  Like oxygen. Like the desert loves the rain. Like Coco loves Ice. Or Ice loves Coco, I can never remember which.

And that it's been agony for me, to drive right on by you every Tuesday morning for the past eight months, holding my breath so as not to breathe in the beckoning waft of your warm, yeasty, sugary goodness and turning up the radio so as not to hear your siren call begging me to forget about my workout, the 100 burpees and push ups and split leg lunges waiting for me two blocks up the street, and to belly up instead to your cheery counter where you already have waiting for me a steaming cup of coffee—blond, two sugars—and a lemon-filled puff of pastry perfection.

Therefore, if my husband is going to help break my will by sending me a pink and red heart embossed Dunkin Donuts Valentine's Day gift card, how in the name of all that is holy could you possibly RUN OUT OF EVERY SINGLE FREAKIN' DONUT IN YOUR DING DANG FREAKIN' DONUT SHOP fifteen seconds before I get there?

Signed,

Moi

Happy Heart Day

What's your favorite song about love?

Haiku Monday: DON'T MESS WITH MOTHER NATURE

Beat the winter blues:

Force a sleeping beauty's bloom.

Windowsill springtime.

* * * 

Fishy is hosting this week, so head on over to her pond to participate.

Trail Running With Moi (and Crap iPhone Photos)

The sky at 8 a.m., at the start of the run, looking south from the Three Gun (Tres Pistoles) Springs trailhead in the Sandia Mountains. I am cold. I know this won't last long. I know that soon, it will become yet again apparent to me that I am yet again overdressed. I take a moment to admire the sky and the view across I-40 (down there somewhere) to another mountain range, the Manzanos.
(And the nukes tucked away in their foothills.)

Looking north up Tres Pistoles, which begins at 6,500 feet in the Upper Sonoran Desert Life Zone. I am only 3.5 seconds into my run and already I am not running. This will turn out to be a pattern . . .

Hey, what are these Chihuahuan desert plant species doing here? (Obviously, NOT running.)

2,000 feet, 2.5 miles, and one Transition Zone later, I arrived here, in the middle of the Canadian zone, with its shift into piñon, juniper, and Ponderosa. And snow. Way up there in the distance, at 10,500 feet, that's the near-alpine, Hudsonian Zone. Brrrr!

 Moss covered granite boulder. It was so pretty, I wanted to hug it.

 Another granite slab, at 8,500 feet. All this used to be underwater. If you look closely at some of the rocks, you can see the remains of ancient sea creatures, frozen there for all time. For a second, I contemplated climbing on top, lying down, and . . . staying there. Let Great Spirit take my soul and return my body to the earth. Or, at the very least, bring it a cup of coffee and a donut.

Back down again, into the desert, to give my quads a rest along a (relatively) un-steep spur trail. I wonder if HR Giger ever hiked the Hawkwatch trail in the Sandia Moutains?

With rock formations like these, who needs pyramids?




Where was S.B.? He took a right turn at the Embudo Trail spur at 8,000 feet to run down the frontside of the mountain into Albuquerque, which you can see taunting me there in the sun-warmed distance. Down there, in all that sunshine, people were drinking coffee and eating donuts. Me, I drove down and around to pick S.B. up in the Jeep.

We did not get donuts.

* * *

Afterward, I finally realized why this trail is named Three Gun Springs. Because you need three guns to put yourself out of your misery: one to shoot yourself in the head for even thinking about running it, one to shoot yourself in the foot for actually attempting to run it, and one to shoot the ubiquitous piece of over-tanned beef jerky masquerading as a world champion trail runner who just passed you doing 80 mph with nary a water bottle or Gu in his clutches. Cougars don't bother attacking those guys because there is nothing there to sink their fangs into.

Economics From the Mouths of Babes

Conversation with my niece in the car this morning:

Niece: Aunt Moi, how come health care isn't free in this country?

Moi: How do you mean?

Niece: I mean, millions of people die every year from lack of health insurance. So shouldn't health care be free?

Moi: You mean like millions of people die because they don't get enough to eat? Should we make groceries free, too?

Niece: (Thinks for a second.) Okay, that sounds good.

Moi: And how about shelter? People without a roof over their head are in danger of dying. And clothing. Can't be naked out in the elements.

Niece: Yeah! That's a great idea. Free housing and clothing.

Moi: And vacations.

Niece: Now you're just being silly.

Moi: No I'm not! You try working 40 hours a week, day in day out, without a break. Let me tell you, vacations are very necessary to mental and physical health.

Niece: Okay. Gotcha. Those should be free, too.

Moi: So the only question becomes, who pays the people providing all these free services?

Niece: The government.

Moi: How?

Niece: Oh come on, Aunt Moi. You know, taxes.

Moi: Yeah, but, almost everything is free; there is no money.

Niece: Well, the government can just print it and distribute it.

Moi: Okay, but who pays the government to do that? Who pays the printers? And designers? And wrappers? And bank tellers?

Niece: (Getting frustrated.) Okay, okay, I see your point. How about we get rid of money entirely then and trade for everything we need?

Moi: Hmmm . . . not a bad idea, but let me see if I understand you correctly. If I need my teeth cleaned, I go to my dentist and trade him my lawn moving skills. Even-Steven, right?

Niece: Right!

Moi: But what if my dentist doesn't have a lawn? What if what he really needs is his computer de-bugged?

Niece: Well, then you find someone who knows computers but also needs his lawn mowed, trade him, and he debugs your dentist.

Moi: Wow, sounds like this could get awfully complicated. How are we doing to keep track of it all?

Niece: (Thinking.)  I know! How about a system of coupons? Pieces of paper with different values on them that we trade back and forth?

Moi: Great idea! People will work to accumulate as many coupons as possible, so they have enough to trade for a bunch of real stuff. Is that what you mean?

Niece: Exactly!

Moi: Just one problem.

Niece: What's that, Aunt Moi?

Moi: Whatever happened to "free?"

Haiku Monday: METALLIC SOUND

Crunching tin foil chords

wrestle tissue box backbeat.

Rock on, Riot Grrrls.

• • • 

Haiku Monday is being hosted this week by Serendipity. 

Pop on over and see what sounds people are coming up with. 

Better yet, play yourself!

I Thought I Saw a Puddy Tat

S.B.'s print, my print, bob cat print.

American Idol Snark Station: Not Idol

I was so pretty, oh so pretty.

I'm still not watching Idol. Well, S.B. switched over several times last night for grins and giggles. Steven Tyler is still too old to be that young, J Lo is still gorgeous and kind of squishy-hearted, and Randy still looks like Bill Cosby's Generation Yo Doppelganger.

However, I do want to get another music post up. This one was inspired by my drive home the other day. I was in the Jeep, not the grown up car, because I had to take the Ivanator in to the vet after he gnawed off a small tumor on his underbelly—yes, totally gross—the upshot being he had to have what was left of it surgically removed and I was kind of a mess for several days (it's really a good thing I never had kids because I would have either: A. Sold them for shoe money, or B. Worried over them so intensely, I would have driven them to join either a weird-ass religious cult or a rock band, although the latter would have been just fine with me, so long as said band wasn't Emo), but now everything's okay.

Anyway, the Jeep doesn't have satellite radio, so you know what that means. You know how in Texas and Oklahoma all the radio stations play two kinds of music, Country and Western? Well, out here in Nuevo Mexico it's Hard and Rock. From, oh, about July 2, 1977 to September 10, 1991. Which means a lot of AC/DC, Triumph, and Slaughter (okay, "Fly to the Angels" is semi-cool).

So, anyway. As I was ineffectually fiddling with the dials and trying to find something that wasn't either a power ballad or Iron Maiden, I landed on Guns 'n' Roses' "November Rain." Remember this thing? Clocking in at nearly nine-minutes long and as bloated and overwrought as Axl Rose's ego, it's the kitchen sink of rock songs. I think there are even horns. A banjo, maybe. Certainly a tuba.

And the video! Oy. I know you gents would probably be all, "But Stephanie Seymour in that mini-skirted wedding dress!" And I'd be all, "Yeah, I gotcha, but . . ." And then you'd be all, "BUT!?! What about all those OTHER models in mini-skirts with their boobs hanging out? And all those dresses melting in the rain!" (which, of course, is symbolic-ish for the impermanence of love, but to you all, it's just a wet t-shirt contest with tulle). So then I'd be all, "Dudes . . ." And our thought patterns would never, ever meet on this.

And now I will make myself a sandwich while you all go You Tube the video.

Done?

Okay, so tell Moi, what are your picks for the most pretentious rock songs ever written?