Thursday, October 30, 2003

ain't that a whoopin'

Well, I just sat here and wrote good, long post. I went to post it, and it gives me some bull crap about an error occurring. Freaker. Part of it was about how I'm not really in a good mood. Now I'm really not because Blogger has to screw me over. So much for that post. To heck if I'm going to go back and post it again.

easy, breezy, beautiful

I would just like to wish everyone a very happy holiday! Advice for Holly: You owe someone a shout out. Say, "I love you, grey sweatpants."

Yeah, so I'm not eating lunch with Holly and Ashley 'cause I ate some waffle fries while RhinoMo ate his chicken. [insert universal sign for chicken here] I should be reading Tall Tales from the Mekong Delta for creative writing 'cause I really don't like having to wing quizzes and not being able to discuss the story in class, but I'm in such a bloggin'-and-listenin'-to-John-and-complainin'-'bout-my-headache kinda mood. I took some rip-off Excedrin Migraine last night and that helped, but I have such a low drug tolerance, that stuff had me not knowing who I am or where I was at. I should probably just calm the eff down.

I'm such a fabulous person, making the world a John Mayer place one person at a time. I just burned Ashley a little CD reppin' all the aspects of our boy: Inside Wants Out, Room For Squares, Heavier Things, and bootleg tracks recorded from shows. It doesn't get much better. If only I could've fit both Love Soon and Sucker on that CD, but I didn't put either one. You can't put one without the other. That's just how it works. Love Soon then Sucker. The one-two punch. And I didn't get to put the triad on there either. But she did get Why Did You Mess With Forever. The best angstful break-up song ever. "You ask to kiss me once goodbye, but you already did on somebody else's lips." You just can't top that. Try me. I'm THE John Mayer Connoisseur. [Thank you I could've never spelled connoisseur without you.]

Mmkay, I'm gonna go. Gotta read. But I think our boys [Or just our boy. RhinoMo's in love and suddenly too good for us. Kiddin', kiddin'.] are coming over t'night, so I'm sure I'll have some great stories to tell later.

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

did you know snoopy is a bengal?

Okay, so me, Holly, and Val are sitting in Winslow talking about Heart and "These Dreams." Well, Val loves the '80s, so the following conversation ensues:

Val: I wanna meet the Bengals.
Holly: Val, it's the Bangles. Bengals are puppy dogs.
Me: No, beagles are puppy dogs. The Bengals are the Cincinnati football team. [a few seconds pass] Did you know Snoopy is a Bengal?

Yeah, so I got confused, and we all laughed so hard that I couldn't finish explaining that I don't understand why Snoopy is a beagle 'cause he doesn't look like one. Good grief.

So we had productive Wednesday today. It was about time. John finally got clear water. I keep having dreams that he dies, but he always comes back to life. Last night all we had to do was change his water, and he resurrected from the dead. Anyway, he about died today when Holly decided to drain all the water out of his cup before she put him in his bowl. Poor puppy. Anyway, as far as productivity goes, we did some cool stuff. We went to WalMart, picked up my film (Thank you RhinoMo, for the freaking picture of Ryan Dishwasher. *sigh*), and bought fifteen feet of mounting tape (which will last us about two days), six feet of Velcro that don't mess, and some really cute frames. We also got a couple more frames at the DG. So now we have a really cute display of six pictures on our jaunty-out thing, another cute four-picture frame with three pictures in it thus far, and a sink skirt that ain't goin' nowhere. It's a good day.

But you know what would make it better? The fellas. Where they at? Dale's supposed to be down here somewhere, and I haven't heard from him. And I haven't seen hide nor hair of Justin and Ryan in twenty-four hours. My world is falling apart.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

my night was like whoa

For one, I just sat here and did some ridiculously ambitious stuff. I was suppose to come up with 7-10 sources for my research paper, but Captain Research here gathered something like fifteen. Yeah, I'm amazing. Then, I made my bed that I haven't made since non-productive Wednesday, picked the lint out of my hair-dryer, prepared my satchel, put clothes in their respective places (ie, the hamper, the closet), organized my books under my bed, and jotted some things down in my trusty MSU planner--all while maintaining a tolerance for listening to Rich Girls, or whatever it's called, on MTV. I just didn't feel like putting the energy in changing the channel. Some things you just can't explain.

Now for the real highlight of the evening. Okay, me, Holly, and Val were going to get some food at Wendy's, but Holly needed cash. So we went by WalMart, but since she was just running in for a second, we audaciously (sexy lil audacious vixen) parked in a handicap spot right by the door. Me and Val were all chillin' when we hear some angry male voices. We look up at the door to see a couple guys standing around, lookin' all scary. We thought they were fighting. Then one of them pulled some shiny "windshield-wipery looking thing" out of his hoodie pocket and laid it down on top of a trash can. Another older-looking guy shoved him up against the wall and pulled a walkie-talkie out of his hip pocket. (It was a lot more fun when I thought it was a gun.) In like half a second, some other guy comes out, whispering into his hidden collar mic (like the one I have for MR), and helps escort this little thief back into the store. All of his buddies just kinda looked at each other and left. That's when Holly came back. I swear, she wasn't in the store for more than three minutes and she missed everything. We could've seen the getaway car a little bit better if the Shuttle in the big SUV hadn't run us over.

On our way to Wendy's, Ashley calls me to tell me she saw RhinoMo right after we blew out of the dorm circle. She said he wanted me to call him. Dude, I need your number before I can call you. But at Wendy's Val found a shell of a fry filled with oil. About the weirdest thing I've seen in a while. It's displayed in a zip-lock bag on our corkboard. Come see it.

Mmkay, I don't think anything else has happened that's been blogworthy, but then again, I think everything is blogworthy. That means it's been very uneventful around here. I should do something about that. Maybe I'll go TP Valesqueza's door.


Yeah, that's Chopek doing his drum thing in the AGT intro to 3x5. No, not an index card. Question of the day: Where are the tiquetas? 'Cause they aren't here. And it's T-minus nine days 'til Juan.

Whoa, let's just say Lloyd invaded the airwaves. What more can I really say?

Ah! TIQUETAS! They're here. Woofreakinghoo! Give me a minute to get my heart back to beating...

Whew. Okay.

I'm so excited for Lauren. We went down there to show them the tickets, and she's got a new guitar. She cracks me up with all the random instruments she buys. Like that one time we went to Goodwill and she bought the $4 clarinet. Anyway, she let me play her guitar a little bit. I love the sound of an acoustic. Christmas can't get here fast enough now. Dad's getting me a Washburn, I think. For some reason, I have this thinking that if I have an acoustic, maybe I'll play more. I don't know. I'm just not feeling my electric guitar. I mean, it's my first guitar, so I have to love it, right? And I do, I just want an acoustic. But don't tell Justin. He might steal my electric from me.

So earlier I was all mad that the internet was down because I couldn't blog, but now I really don't have a whole lot to say. But hey, check out the altered lay-out of my page. I had a little time this afternoon, so I tinkered around with my template. So now my text window isn't just two inches wide. It was a little hard to read the other way, so I widened it. That's right. I put my readers' interests first. The sad part is that I probably read my own blog more than other people do. You know. 'Cause I have to check and see what's going on in my life.

Monday, October 27, 2003

but they're covered in chocolate!

Those would be my fabulous double dipped peanuts that I tell myself I bought in honor of RhinoMo. And if Holly didn't mother freakin' rip the bag down the side, I'm not sitting here. I oughta beat her like a red-headed stepchild.

I would just like to express my love for Eric Pre-Pharm. He is just funny. Today he used context clues to figure out a sentence in Spanish. He got so excited that he proclaimed that he is practically Mexican. And he also admitted to loving Frida. He said, "I can't tell a lie. I rented it, and I really got into it. I was sitting in my living room screaming at that guy for sleeping with her sister. Gaw!" Two thumbs up for Eric Pre-Pharm. He's my Espanicular buddy.

Justin (Yes, Justin, I typed Justing that time. We're 'tards.) came by tonight to study for Lewis' million chapter test. Haha, we were real productive. We played a couple hands of Uno, locked 'er down a few times, and watched some Any Given Thursday. But Justin has faith in us. That's promise.

Well, I have to write Henry the Paper before Barb Cobb feeds me to Billy Shakes for lunch. And things like that can't happen on holidays!

words from waterfield

Let's hear it for my first blog not posted from my own computer. Woo. Exciting times. Not really. I hate Waterfield's laptops. Pieces of junk. This one doesn't have a battery, so I had to plug up downstairs. How's that for luxury? Actually, I take it back. Having to plug up is better because I don't have to worry about that little window popping up that says, "This piece of dung battery has less than .4 seconds of juice left in it. Run like hell to the nearest outlet 'cause, baby, you and that paper you've been working on for an hour and a half are going doooown!" So me and my culture credit for Espanicular are faring nicely this morning.

So after ee-en-gee two-two-one, guess who taps me on the shoulder. Ryan Dishwasher. Yeah, he asked me if I "stuck around" the other night. I told him I did. He was all asking me if I liked it and if I'd ever seen anything like that before. I told him, "Yeah, it was alright. Interesting. Didn't really scare my socks off." I should've said, "Man, you sucked open butthole, but that drummer, yeah, he was awesome. And what was that crap at the end of the show where you sang and played by yourself? Yeah, I could've done without that. But hey, I really love my free button." Yeah, he came in late to class 'cause he was out ripping down the posters for the show. I don't know why he was late though 'cause we helped him out and already got one poster torn down for him. Yeah, no problem. Anytime.

I should probably be looking up sources for my research paper seeing as I'm supposed to have 7-10 "reliable" ones ready for class on Wednesday. Eh. But things are looking up. This stupid critical theory presentation I have to do alongside the paper won't be so bad afterall. I'm working with Michelle and Jennie. I used to hate group projects, but I really don't want to get infront of this class all by myself, Celine Dion, because they intimidate me. Why? Well, who wouldn't be intimidated by Nickel Creek, Ryan Dishwasher, and the Pagan Society. Okay, so it's not that bad. And we're presenting on Monday instead of Friday. I think we may be one of the first groups going, but that's cool. Get it over and done with.

You might notice a new link on my little (sheesh, what do you call that thing?) byline down there. It's 100 words. It's a fun little thing where you use a blog format to post one hundred words at a time. I think it's a really good creative restriction. I guess it's mini-prose. Anyway, there is a whole 100 words project that goes on, but I'm just not devoted enough to do it. So I'm doing my own--again. You can check it out. But beware, the nature of those posts may be a little more, I don't know, private than these. So go ahead. Keep feeding that voyeur in you and take a look.

a pre-class fix

According to the microwave, I have eight minutes before we leave for class, and of course, when I think to myself, What on earth could I do with this time?, I automatically think, Blog! People, that's how pitiful my life is. Speaking of being pitiful, Paint quit working on my computer. Do you even know how detrimental that is to my well-being? It's rough. I mangle photos on that thing atleast every other day. It's a necessity. When I try to open it up, my computer gives me some freaking message about it's encountering a problem and needs to close. :'(

Well, I've discovered something. I'm not very creative at 9:02 in the morning.

Sunday, October 26, 2003

purex: do not ingest

Why not? I ask. The next month and a half of my life is going suck. I had to dig my Murray State Planner out of the rubble to fill it chock-full of all the millions of things I have to do. I was prompted to do this after Holly did. The rest of her semester looks like hell on a stick, so I figured, hey, mine probably does, too. So I located all of my trusty syllabi and began scrawling dates down. This process led me to the revelation that I have, again, three finals on one day. Fanfreakingtastic. So if I've got all this stuff to do, why am I sitting here tapping out another blog? Because I have about zero ambition and motivation. Persist, there is no ¢ in quitting can go party with Jimi.

Mmkay, things in life just got interesting. I'm proposing a ban on intergallactic communications. Even better, why don't we just destroy all intergallactic beings? Lloyd must die. And yes, I think he chose the right profession.

In other, less interesting news, I've had waffles and a shower today. That's about as productive as it gets, folks. Oh, and I put our Beat-less poster up. With Ashley's mounting tape. We need a lifetime supply of that mess. I admit, I used to really plug the duct tape, but mounting tape kicks some serious adhesive-material butt. If only it would keep up that stupid sink skirt... Anyway, because I'm keeping life as simple and effortless as possible, I just put John, Paul, George, and Ringo up right on top of Harry. We reserve that spot for the British.

peace, love, and log cabin

Nothing like waking up at 12:45 pm only to realize, hey, it's really 11:45 am. Woohoo for daylight savings. But it's colder than [insert your own obscene or antiquated saying here] in this room. That's why I am sitting here wrapped up in my comforter. Goo. It's cold. Otherwise, I still reek of smoke, remnants of Log Cabin embedded in my every pore. But that's cool. It reminds me of the great time we had last night. It was Justin's debut and farewell tour with The Dishwashers. Through it all, I got a lungful of synthesized fog, a button he jacked, his tie, and a gross glass of sweet tea (but good ol' Justin took care of that), Dew, and a ton of ice, lemons, and sugar (thank you, Ryan Morgan). Oh, yeah, and a freaking good time. Oh, the fun you can have when you discover the back room at Log Cabin. It basically consisted of listening to Storytime with Ryan Morgan, trying to think of nicknames (I guess I'm Sundance.), and pulling out a few surprise pictures. Don't mess with Texas, okay?

So now I'm sitting here at my computer, and I'm a little hungry. Okay, I could eat my leg. Like a wolf. Holly and I are talking about going to Winslow to make love to some waffles. But why would I do that when I have not one, but two official games pieces laying right here beside me? Oriental Avenue and B&O Railroad.

Saturday, October 25, 2003

oh, i love a rainy night

Thank you, Eddie Rabbitt.

Okay, was right about the thunderstorms, but they were today instead. So I drove to Calvert City to see my sister, and I drove in some torrential rain. At Sissy's, I got to see their new pup, Junior. Their collie Sondhi fathered a litter of 12, all of which survived, and now they have a chip off the ol' block. He's precious. I also got to see the video of the Gatlinburg trip that all my family took last weekend. I skipped out. Being stuck with my mom, dad, sister, bro-in-law, and eight year old niece for a weekend is just too intense for me. I also got to pick up the awesome Beatles poster my sister got me at a yard sale. Holly's going to sacrifice the Harry Potter poster to put up the Beat-less. But we can't do that just yet because I couldn't bring the poster in because I didn't want to ruin it in the freaking rain. Don't get me wrong. I love rain. But not when I have to run in it. When I was in my car, getting ready to get out and brave the weather, I got the bright idea to roll up my pants legs. You know, they're the jeans I wanted to wear tonight, so let's keep 'em from getting wet. Yuh-huh. I was wet from head to toe. Rolled-up pants legs and all. Now, why can't it do this on Friday? It used to always rain in Murray on Friday, and it just doesn't feel like Murrah without it.

Friday, October 24, 2003

those sneaky aliens'll getcha everytime

Ladies and gentlemen, it is a momentous occasion. My clothes are in the laundry machine washer. It's about time. I'm down to wearing my two year old Old Navy pajama pants that have seen their better days and my Frankenstein tshirt. Don't get me wrong, I love my Frankenstein tshirt, but let's just say it's one of those shirts that ends up in every snapshot I'm in. Not cool.

Haydn was right. Frida is all about some boobs. It was a pretty good movie though, but why am I not surprised? Cinema International has never let me down. But come to think of it, it has. It's been so good to us this year with Talk To Her, 8 Women, and Bowling For Columbine. But I have to say, Rosa Luxembourg was torture. Maybe it was because I was forcing myself to watch it for JT's extra credit. *GASP* Tonight it all came full circle. For the sake of those involved I'm going to put it very simply and very ambiguously: Lloyd and Cinema International. Full circle.

As worthless as it is, I'm putting my faith in tonight. It's says there are thunderstorms in the forecast for tonight. That's exciting. Maybe it'll cool this place down. Our stupid air kicked off again, and it's a million degrees in here. We have our windows open, but it's doing no good. And my poor little yellow fan, as loyal as it has been to me for several summers rigged upside down with a shoestring on my bunk at camp, is churning at full-force--to no avail. It's less that two feet away from me, and I can't feel a thing. Maybe Holly and I need to invest in a Shaun Mayes fan, which is ridiculous. It's late October. But that little remote sure would be cool...

PS - On I Love 87, they're getting ready to talk about lycra. That reminds me of the ghetto name I got one year at camp. I thought I'd share it: Molycra Jamocha Fajita Aphrodite Streptococcus Weems McKay, but you can me Phro. P-H-R-O. That's short for Aphrodite.

the triad

I just want to take this opportunity to express the beauty of the best John Mayer song triad on the face of the planet: Why Did You Mess With Forever, Man on the Side, and Covered in Rain. Three songs everyone should know, love, and listen to in that order. It's a spiritual experience. As a matter of fact, after listening to the triad going to and fro' Matt B's this afternoon, I'm going to add s'more lyrics to my handy little text feature I have up there in the blue box under my blog title. In case you haven't noticed, it graces you with a new John lyric every time you open my blog. Little pieces of heaven.

So after eating too much Matt B's, though that's impossible, I'm going to take a nap. Like a six hour nap. Is that even a nap? That's more like hibernation. But they are reshowing the I Love the '80s Strikes Back episodes that I have missed the past coupla nights, so I might watch that. I don't know. Nevertheless, I'm not doing homework, by gaw. I don't care if I have a twelve page paper to do for English, a seven to eleven page short story to do for creative writing, a twelve chapter test to study for, and about gazillion other things to do.

Hmm, speaking of the triad... (I know, I know. That was earlier.) It's two weeks from today when me, Holly, Jenny, and Lauren get to go see John! Yeah, we're taking a little trip up to Champaign, Illinois (ee-uhl-uh-no-ease) to see our boy. Wouldn't it be freaking out of control if John played the triad at the show? Not likely, though, 'cause Why Did You Mess With Forever hasn't seen a setlist since chili was a nickel. How do I know that? I have a little friend by the name of Scotty Crowe who writes the road journal at who posts the setlists for all the shows. Hal "Scotty" Crowe is one of the funnier fellas out there. But what can you expect? His name's Hal, and besides food, water, and shelter, guys named Hall are a life's necessity. Hal Sparks. Hal/Harry/Henry V. Oh, and Hal Ketchum. You know, the guy who sings Small Town Saturday Night. I may have to name my son (thanks, pencil test) Hal. Or maybe Halmartia.

Thursday, October 23, 2003

a trashy, trashy, inbred good time

So I've come to the conclusion that I'm never going to get my laundry done. Yes, Justin and Ryan came by again. Why am I going to have about seventy thousand snapshots of them making mankey love on the futon? Because I love them. It's not everyday you find two fellas like them on the side of the road. Or is it?

I have a dilemma. Yes, like Nelly and Kelly. I was walking to humanities this morn and my hair was all flying in the breeze and coincidently in my face-uh. I don't know, maybe I was talking or inhaling extremely abnormally or something and I sucked a hair down my throat. And it's still there. I've been battling this thing all day, and I still can't get it coughed up. I'll keep you posted.

Chances are, if you read my blog, you read Holly's too, but I figure it's about time to give a shout out to her page. Her experiences strikingly resemble mine. Maybe because we're roommates and essentially the same person. But I have suspicions that you won't be too bored if you read her blog in conjunction with mine. It's quite interesting and hilarious actually.

And while I'm making suggestions, why don't you check out Stick Figure Death Theatre. Yeah, it's a trashy, trashy, inbred good time.

On that note, I'm gonna go. I have a two page something-or-another due tomorrow morning, and I haven't started. But what's new?

and the alternate universe continues...

Yeah, so I hate Tuesdays and Thurdays. So what if they are holidays? What kind of messed up schedule goes 9:30, 2:00, 4:00? Mine. And I hate it. The highlight of my day is when I sit with Justin outside Faculty as he smokes his cigarettes, tells me about the latest adventures of his life, and curses ladybugs. But all that fun quickly gets shot to poo 'cause we have to go to the wonderful world of EDP260. It's Murray State's little embodiment of hell. Too bad Justin missed it though (He's so cool he got to skip class to go to a job interview...) 'cause Lewis dropped the Shi'ite (Let's hear it for fall semester last year!) bomb, hence my alternate universe reference. But that's about the only thing that class has going for it.

Well, I'm thinking about headin' out to TNT, but first I may have to call my Creole. "What's my Creole?" you ask. *sigh* Okay, just understand that I speak a language all my own. Well, I take that back. Holly understands it. Most of the time. Anyway, so I have a whole bevy of words you probably won't recognize. But just this once I'll explain what I'm saying here. My Creole is my mom. WTF, you say. I've learned through producing the Mystery of the Santa Balloons presentation, flow-charts work best. And it goes like this:

Mom > Mommie > Marmie > Marmalade > Creole Lady Marmalade > Creole

Believe me, if you have any intention of keeping up with my blog, this won't be the last time you think I'm a psycho.

a means of procrastination

So what if I really don't have anything to write about? Is there some kind of rule in the Terms of Use that says that I have to have a motivation to post? Didn't think so. And if we get down to it, I have a motivation. Procrastination. There are a few driving forces in my life, and procrastination is one of them. But hey, I got my poems that are due today revised, printed, and stapled. Doesn't that entitle me to some time to waste? Nevermind the fact that I have homework due in the class that I have in an hour...

It's been a weird day, I tell you. Well, a weird day to Winslow, to be specific. I felt like I was living in an alternate universe. We sat on the south side. What is that? I felt like I was breaking the north side's little northy heart. And to make matter worse, I used bottled ketchup instead of packets. I must confess, I used to be really prejudice against the little packets because they are a mankey to work with. But after Lesil told me the story of her mom pouring a cigarette out of public-use ketchup bottle and I about lost myself on my chewy (here's a holla for Hal) fries, I sucked it up and mastered the art of opening ketchup packets. I was surprised to find out that the ketchup packet people really knew what they were talking about when they had that dotted line printed on there to signify that all you have to do is tear off a little corner. It's hassle-free! Long live ketchup packets.

Alright, well, I should probably be a good student and read the short story that I'm bound to have a quiz on in creative writing today. So I'm going to go. But in all reality, I'll probably organize my package of Sharpies Roy G. Biv style, check out Local-83 'cause I haven't been there since chili was a nickel, and then maybe before class, I'll look and see who wrote the story I'm supposed to read, just in case one of the questions on my quiz is who wrote this story?

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

ridin' in the back of the el train

Wow. What a night. My friend Justin came over and brought his friend Ryan. We had a rip-roarin' good time. Chillin' and being a fire hazard in the 231, droppin' the eff bomb, and ridin' in the back of the El Camino. Breakin' all the laws tonight. Nothing like praying the cops won't see you when you come rollin' out of the broken tailgate as you're flyin' over speed bumps and wallowing in sticky goo. But we made it to WalMart and back all in one piece, despite the scare of when I thought my cell phone had gone overboard. But I found it. Anyhow, it was a barrel of mankeys and we have about a whole roll of FujiFilm to show for it. But we gotta save some of those pictures for Saturday night. That's when our boy is playing the Stables with The Dishwashers. We've been planning for this night for sometime. Everybody better show up decked out with an "I Love Justin Downing" tshirt to show the love for everybody's favorite drummer. That's what he says anyway. Me? I haven't even heard him drum, but boy, have I seen him tear up his air drums... Anyway, the show starts at 7:00. The Dishwashers do their thing 'round about 9:00. I better see you there. You'll see us. We'll be sportin' some puff paint and hanging out with Ryan. We'd hate for him and his little pumpkin to have to sit by themselves.

Well, it's verging on medianoche. Midnight, that is. Sorry, a little Spanish slippin' out on me. Anyway, it's 'round about midnight, and I've accomplished about nothing. It's Wednesday. Do you know what that means? It means it's productive day, but it sure wasn't. Laundry didn't get done. Floor didn't get vacuumed. John's water didn't get changed. (That's our fish. John Mayer Cusack.) I have final revisions of my poems due tomorrow, and I'm not even half done with them. It's good to slack out of college. It's hard being rock 'n roll.

back porch poet

Out of common courtesy and the opportunity it presents to talk about John, I'll explain my blog title. There is this little singer/songwriter named John Mayer, and he has a little album out called Heavier Things. In a song by the name of New Deep, there is a line that goes:

"You know, I used to be the back porch poet with a book of rhymes / Always open knowing all the time I'm probably / Never gonna find the perfect rhyme / For 'heavier things'"

I don't know, it gets in my head on a frequent basis. Plus, I think Johnny's singing about being unable to put into just the right words what he's wanting to say. I can identify with that. On a daily basis. And hey, I love John Mayer, as you will soon realize. It's the least I could do to name my blog in his honor, right? Okay, so maybe it's a little overboard, but so am I. But what can you do?

third time around

Okay, this is something like the third blog I've started in the past year, but don't they, whoever they are, say that the third time's a charm? But really, how many times have "they" been right? Anyhoo, if you want to check out my old blogs, you can click around over there on that sorry excuse for a navigation bar on the right. I'm trying to remember... "the dumping ground" was my attempt at the the 100 Words Project, I think. If that is true, "where it lands" is a short-lived set of meaningless postings, which is what this is, but since blogger is a mankey, it won't let me continue to work on that blog. So this here "back porch poet" thing is just a continuation of that. I was "inspired" to start having something to show for my wasted time by my good friend Justin. You can have a blast and check his webjournaly thing out by clicking here. Right now, I want to check this thing out and see if it looks like it's supposed to. I'll be back to post some senseless mess later.