We're still at war, right? With unknown terrorists?

I believe this is my favorite movie.

Manly horoscopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  FB is 10 years old now, which make all of those Farmville animals middle-aged.  (How long did Dolly live, anyway?  Oh wait, I'm on the internets!  I could look it up!  Of course I will.)  Although I'm so lacking in material, I will not tell you what I had for dinner, although it was delicious.  No one gives a rats ass what anyone else had for dinner.  

(I'm sorry about the weird font issue here. So sorry, indeed.)

  Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I'm having this relationship with my bed that may or may not be affecting other actual relationships with the living humans.  But it's mutual and comfortable.  (Well, it was comfortable, until I started sleeping with a rock, but that's another matter.  An actual rock, in case you're wondering)  Your horoscope, Taurus, is this:  if you're going to sleep with a rock, put it in the microwave for at least three minutes first.  That seems like a long time, and it may also seem like unhoroscopish witch doctoring, but you won't even need a hot mitten or whatever they're called to carry it to your relationship bed.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Someone suggested that I start a new internet game where I find an article of clothing in a dumpster each week, and take a picture of it next to a picture of something I wear, and see if people can guess which is which.  For about a minute, I was thinking, wow, that would be so fun!  And then I realized, oh wait!  This game, um, it doesn't exactly paint me in the best light...  Gemini, shine your best light this week!  And if you need a light, I have a green tank top and a ghee candle for you. 

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I can't find the citation, dammit, but they've discovered a new portion of the brain that's unique to humans.  How awesome is that?  It separates us from even the higher primates,.  Uh oh.  Not so fast on the awesome, people.  It turns out this is the part of the brain that's involved in schitzophrenia.  Right?  What separates us from the other primates, Cancer, is hearing imaginary voices that tell us to do bad things.  That doesn't come as a huge surprise, but still.  Just listen to the good voices this week, my friends.

Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly.
And so it is with the drawing of the pollinators.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I went on a ride-along recently, which is when one person has to drive and the other person likes companionable knitting, and they join together.  But instead of knitting I mistakenly grabbed a bag with dirty yoga clothes in it.  At first I was disappointed, and then I remembered that the poor dirty yoga clothes never get to go anywhere, and they were glad to get out, even if it was just to Burien, and even if they didn't really get to go.  Leo, I just learned that you live in the house of pleasure.  Astrologically, of course.  The fifth house.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): The other day at yoga (oh, it seems awkward that 93.4% of all my sentences begin, "today, at yoga..." or, "I was listening to a podcast..."  But that's not your horoscope.)  Anyway, one of the lovely yoginis was lamenting the fact that her two favorite eyelashes had just fallen out during a make-up removal situation.  She wondered if she still looked okay, and of course she did, but it made me wonder where all the eyelashes go.  Is there an eyelash afterlife?  Do they have to believe in something, like mascara, in order to participate in it?  Anyway, Virgo, you have at least three really awesome eyelashes.  But if they jump, grieve for a while and then try to carry on.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   I got it in my head that I need to make ghee lanterns, I'm not sure why, but I bought some butter and then looked up stuff on the internets, and found detailed instructions that became vague at, "make the wick out of a cotton ball", which is kind of like, "spin straw into gold" but whatever.  I bought the cotton balls and twisted them around, and a giant fire ensued, until I watched this instructional video.  Right?  I'm not sure if it's madness or what but I've been laughing for a week now.  Then I made the candle and almost burned down the house.

Scorpio (10/23: One of my people noted that between three of us, we have the makings of a really depressed person -- one of us sleeps, one weeps, and one fails to take pleasure in things that formerly brought delight.  I think I got off easy, being the sleeper.  But it does seem like a fun game, possibly a party ap that could be created, where you find the matching parts to create a malady.  Like, one person has a headache, another person has blurred vision, another has chestpain.  Bingo, hypertension!  Has that ap already been created?

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Someone suggested that I take a look at The Art of Manliness website, and after supressing my first thought ("Sheesh, aren't I manly enough already? ), I let my fingers do the walking, (remember that?  Dumbest thing ever.) and went for a visit, and became quickly enthralled.  For example, I'd never even heard of "swamp crotch", which apparently is a thing.  A thing to be prevented.  The part that really captivated my inner manliness is the focus on Manly DIY projects, in particular, Things to Do With Empty Altoid Boxes.  Who's not excited about that, Sag?  See what you can do.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The thing about empty altoid tins, Cap, is that they're what you need in a forts, which is what we all really want.  To build a little structure out of blankets or trees, and only bring tiny, organized, useful things, along with blankets, crackers, and one or two friends into it.  That's what the altoid tin craze is all about. The fort apocalypse begins at home, and we prepare with Altoid tins.  What's in them, you ask?  Cool secret stuff.  First aid kits, and emergency supplies, games.  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  So they found this wooly mammoth tusk in Seattle, which is super cool.  As the plumber who found it said, 

"I've dug a lot of ditches and seen bottles and other weird stuff," he said, "Never anything like this."  

Aquarius, I believe him.  I totally do.  I hope you see some weird stuff this week.  Even weirder than bottles.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I heard something on a Planet-Moneyish talk on the gabfest about how in every other era, you could hear a few facts about someone (age, level of education, race), and pretty much know their income pattern over a lifetime, but all bets are off with the Gen X and Yers.  They were presenting that as an alarming fact about the demise of the middle class, but maybe its good news.  Maybe Gen X and Y are on their own path, maybe they finally get it, that this is it, this is our one life to live, maybe focusing on making money isn't all it's cracked up to be, and maybe being solidly middle class isn't the dream we all pretend it is.  Maybe the demise of the middle class is really just an uprising of the people, giving the bird to the demographers, playing hide and seek with the charts that can't be made out of them.  Do you think so, Pisces? 

Short days

Time is so short these days that I can't create even the lamest post.

Here's the breakdown of how I spend my days.

That tiny light blue segment at the top?  What's supposed to go in there, my friends, is all of this:

1. Make money, pay bills, do dishes, have friends.  Behave like a person.  Although there's some question about that.* 
2. Do all the other important stuff, like draw bugs, make ghee candles, track bloomtimes, learn about pivot tables, read, write, try to empathize with all of the suffering humans.  
3. Shop for a new pillow.
4. Go outside.

Anyway, I keep thinking I'd like to write horoscopes, but in addition to the lack of time to write, there's the problem of being awake long enough for something to happen, and collecting 12 things. Twelve recent things that aren't all dreams and route talk, and then writing about them.

*I got this from 23 & Me: 

"Betsy, our laboratory attempted to isolate DNA from your saliva sample. Unfortunately, the sample did not yield sufficient quantities of DNA."  

It has been pointed out to me that I either have spit issues or I'm just a mechanism that's been tricked into thinking I'm human.  It's not so terrible, either way.

Stoner bowl

There's a giant hoopla going on around here, something about football.  People I know and love are inexplicably excited about it, so I've done a little research myself.  If you, like me, are fairly unfamiliar with the whole thing, here's a primer.

There are 11 guys from Seattle, and 11 guys from Denver who really want the ball to be at their end of the field.  There's only one ball, though, called a pigskin.  It's not really made of bacon.  Their end of the field is in New Jersey.  Both of their ends are in NJ, but we'll get to that.

If I were the parent of these guys, I'd say, "Hmm, could you boys work something out using your words?  Maybe the fellows in the blue shirts can have a turn with the ball at their end for a while, and then the other guys can have it?  Here's an idea:  you could do rock paper scissors to see who gets the first turn!  Or maybe you could have a lemonade stand, and work together to earn some money to buy a second pigskin so that everyone can have it at their end at the same time!  Because, my boys, one of you may need the other one's kidney one day!  Live each day as if you will have to ask that favor any minute.  In five minutes, it could be you saying, "Dude!  I need a kidney!  Help a brotha out!"  And if you've been hurtling towards your brother, grabbing instead of using your words, he just might not be in that kidney-donating frame of mind."

But no one asked me.

So these grown men, they tussle over the ball, hurling their huge bodies into one another, causing concussions and permanent brain damage.  Together, the eleven boys cost Paul Allen $135 million a year, which I guess makes it worth it to be one of the eleven, because in one season, each of the eleven boys makes more than most people will make in a lifetime of showing up steadily in their cubicles, trying to get along with the other humans, trying hard not to cause concussions, spiritual or otherwise.

If you have trouble envisioning what $135 million looks like, picture this: all those dollars in ones, end to end, would create a circle around all of the permits I've been involved in for the past 15 years, and then loop back around my many unfinished projects, by volume.  (I added, "by volume" because that makes it sound scientific and legit.)

The more mysterious phenomenon, though, is the number 12.  Let's review:  there are 11 guys fighting eleven other guys over one ball.  Although there seems to be a lot of money flying around, they don't do the obvious thing (buy another ball!)  But here's where it gets interesting:  everyone else in the region is the twelfth person.  I know, confusing.  But stick with me.  There are a gazillion of the 12's and only eleven of the eleven.  The eleven each get their own number, but the gazillion twelves all have the number 12, and all have matching blue jerseys that Paul Allen doesn't buy for them, they pay for these shirts themselves.  The twelves are really loud.  (I'm hiding under the bed with earmuffs on, so I don't know if that's true or not, but I read about it on the internet.)

All the people with the 12 are like one person, one giant person on the team, although they never actually get to touch the ball, and they don't get paid.  (In fact, they pay, which sounds confusing but we'll save that for another time.)  On the bright side, the twelve (which is actually a gazillion) don't get so many concussions.    There is some risk of injury, though, because they do things like wear their matching blue shirts while they wave giant #12 flags from freeway overpasses.  This is to draw attention to the fact that they really care about getting the ball to the proper end of the field.  Wearing the blue jerseys helps.  They care a lot, and I mean a lot about whether the eleven guys get to have the ball at their end of the field in New Jersey.  They know it's their end because some high-fiving white guys said that's how it would be:  "Blue, welcome to New Jersey.  This is the end you guys care about.  Red, you care about the other end."  And then they do!

Anyway, all of the twelves have parties with little meatballs and Buffalo wings (wait, is buffalo named after the city or the animal?  But I digress.)  Meanwhile, me and my earmuffs and my lovely daughter are going for a walk in the sun.