Gnomish beard.

It seemed, at three this morning, that one of the gnomes on my desk looked like me, but with a whiter beard. And smaller, of course. It was like looking into a tiny mirror that made me appear as a two-inch desk ornament fifty years older than I am. Okay, so it wasn’t like a mirror. Funny though.

Photo Friday: Disguise.

My brother in New York, December 2004. I think this looks like a Rene' Magritte painting, in a nowhere near as good kind of way. We were waiting for a table at a fancy pizza joint, and I tied that yellow balloon to his bag on our way to our table, which he was not happy about. Funny, though. For Photo Friday: Disguise.

Story. Soon.

So I have a story about my Magic Gloves. My Magic Gloves and how Tuesday can't stand up to them. But I'll have to tell it later today or tonight. Been very hectic, moving the pencil blog to Wordpress, for reasons I can't talk about yet. You know the love I have for Blogger, etc. So you know it's for good reasons. Here's more snow village, cause it's going to hit 60 degrees today in Carbondale (cold planned for the weekend, though).

Not cold enough.

So I must be crazy. We either walk or bike everywhere we go, and I am pissed that it's not"cold enough" for winter. We sold our car at the start of winter (December 1st!), and the dude at the dealership thought we were nuts. We sorta told him we were moving sooner than we are. Didn't want the nice guy to think we were trying to pull a fast one on him. "Yes, we're dropping a lot of money doing this. No, the car has never been in an accident. No, we don't owe any drug money. We are not trying to screw you over, nice man." Etc. But I think the dealership homey was crazy. It seldom gets very cold in Southern Illinois. Of course, this is only my third winter here, but I checked the almanac, and things are pretty normal. One of the things I got excited about when we moved to Boston was the idea of a long and cold winter. The first one was not so great. But the second winter (three years ago) was cold, snowy, and long. Perfect for me. People told me I was nuts, and I will admit that I was glad to see spring come that year (in May). Yes. Okay. But I don't think it follows from these or any other guidelines for human sanity that I am crazy for wishing it would get colder here, damn it. Thank you.

Photo Friday: Vanity.

I don't really like to take photos of myself, much less put them on the net. But here is me, without a beard, lit by a red lamp. Summer 2004. Bored as hell, and hiding from the heat in the AC. No, I don't live in a brothel. For Photo Friday: Vanity.

Men and women.

Stephen's comment makes me wonder why there is no science of the sexes? My wife does work in gender studies, and I know there is a new thing going on that is more or less the male version of feminism but isn't just dudes in an alley beating the shit out of each other -- or so I've been told. But I mean a science. Forget Mars and deep-sea exploring. They don't make our daily lives easier. At least not yet. But if those of us of the male persuasion understood those of the female persuasion (and vice versa of cource, lest I get labeled as sexist), think of how much easier life would be? How much better -- how much more time we might have to explore Mars and the murky deep if we didn't have to spend days a month trying to figure out our significant other or how to get one or why we don't want one. In the Bigoted States of America at least, there are myriad reasons that homosexuals have a tough time, so much so that I feel guilty for being of the other orientation, the same as those damned bible-fuckers. But at least you nice folks are lucky enough to not have the darkness of the opposite sex to muck with. Of course, even in same-sex relationships, there are certainly problems. It's not like women all understand one another or like I have a clue about my guy friends sometimes. So maybe we need a science of other people. But damn, that might take a while. I'll quit philosophy for it, though.

G2 mini.

I know, word about these is all over. But for anyone who doesn't read Moleskinerie enough (and why not?!), the new Pilot G2 Minis I was talking about this summer are here. Gary found them at Staples. And apparently, they've had them for quite some time at Jet Pens, in blue, black and red -- with good US shipping rates -- cheap!.Not to mention from Cult Pens in the UK.

True story.

A syndicated episode of "Frasier" tonight reminded me of a dream my wife had over the holiday. Apparently, in this dream, I was a cad and then some. I slept with eleven women (other than the Mrs.) and impregnated one or more, I don't remember which. I was not at all sorry in this dream. My wife woke up in a mood, and after prodding revealed the dream. She was pissed because of something I did in a dream. "But Honey," I pleaded, "if that really happened, I'd at least be sorry!" She was not amused.

On foot.

Some bridge that crosses Interstate 64 from Louisville, Kentucky into Southern Indiana. January 2006. We got to the mall in Carbondale on foot Saturday. Leg power anyway. We were going to bike the whole way, but we got out of shape over the holidays. I got softer and slower, anyway. Shame, since I was able to ride a good five or six miles at a time at a good speed and not get too winded. Anyway, we were too tired, so we rode about two miles to Faner and then walked the other two or three to the mall. It's all up hill to where our departments are, and we were pooped. I know, you fit Europeans are thinking, "So?" But we doughy Americans don't do anything like that. We don't walk anywhere. I live about five minutes from the market on foot. It's so close that I never ever bother to get my bike out to go there. My neighbor drove there yesterday. I don't know if it was because it was raining or because he's lazy (and I am, too, so don't take it like that), but he drove less than 1/4 of a mile, and he didn't even get a lot of groceries. I saw things on foot Saturday that I had never noticed in a car. Let's keep it at that. Streams that run through town, a huge motel I never saw before (I drive fast). Etc. There was one point where crossing the street got difficult and required some darting. While this sort of thing made me feel like a loser for some reason when we didn't own a car in Boston (because we didn't need one and didn't have the money for one), it doesn't anymore. I think it's funny, and it makes me feel a little braver. That's good, I think. We stopped by the liquor store and bought some local wine, at Walgreens and at the bike shop downtown to get lights for our bikes and more bungies. We wound up staying past closing talking to the nice owner, and I even found a tiny cable to lock my helmet to my bike so that I don't have to carry it around. Am I passing judgment on cars and car owners? Please, no. I'm beginning to view car ownership like meat: fine and good and very enjoyable, but just not for me. Believe me, I miss meat and wish I could eat it and feel Okay about it. It would nice to be normal enough to be able to order anything on the menu when I go out with people for dinner. In getting judgmental, I'm judging my Pre-December First (no more car day for us) self that was too afraid to do anything fun and who gave up the urge to travel because it meant scratches on the damned car. The guy who was too lazy to visit the market he lived across the street from for two years because, by golly, he's gonna drive the car he pays too much money for. The guy who was very lazy (and still is in a lot of ways) to try anything new. And a hundred other things I want to kick two-months-ago me in the nuts for.

Birthday.

Happy Birthday to my wonderful wife, who turned 25 yesterday. Until she starts lying about, and it is then perpetually her 29th. Not that she would ever lie about that. But she kicks ass, so she'd be allowed to lie all she wants. (Not that she will need to.) Etc.