Thursday, February 19, 2009


Avie darling - would you please quit, and I mean RIGHT NOW, please quit bombarding me with all this third party FB gadgetry. I hate to be a snot-nosed scrooge, but all that junk does absolutely nothing for my dystopian frame of mind.

I ALWAYS respond to email, that is to say, words crafted especially for me by someone I know who is sharing a part of themselves with me to communicate, jest, laugh, fear, commiserate, mourn, sneer, enjoy, you name it, I'll claim it, treasure it, commemorate it.

But while I do occasionally break down and respond, and even initiate one of those damnable FB gadgets (out of a nagging but false sense of guilt that I am the one being difficult), I really prefer the literary vices to ANY and ALL of that other virtual pomposity.

Yep, I'm a hard-prick bibliophiliac. And prefer my own kind.

This is your FINAL warning, dearie. I'm drowning in the shallow end of this pond, and will fight back with the most earnest of tools. Now SMILE when I say that. I just did.

Best wishes otherwise you silly goose,


Also known as the sincerest of fools...

Sunday, February 15, 2009


Hey sweet cakes, when did I EVER love you? Beheld you with a certain ill-prepared fondness perhaps, but love? That's an overused and far too frequently misappropriated word. And besides, aren't you Our Lady of Perpetual Crisis? Just ragging. But you can be a lady sometimes, I know, I just know it.


On our end of things, we've relocated the studio out to a large historic horse farm on ten acres in a stretch of the good life I call the throbbing nipple of Sweet Virginia. Five miles to Maryland. Ten to West Virginia. Some 60 miles outside the spin of DC. Awesome place, this farm. Will post pictures at some point. Still trying to sell or rent the city condo. Will sign with an agent this week I think. Suzy Blue brought out the papers this weekend, but we have yet to discuss the finer details.

So tell me, how's YOUR wretched deal going? Haven't heard anything new about you and the kids since Clyde swooped in and snagged the old man. Did you guys patch it all up? Was it all just a bad dream? Is this memorex or a badly scratched 78 RPM, thick and unbreakable? Is the Black Hand of Injustice really black, or is that just the shadow of doubt I read about in the tea leaves of the nightly news?

After a rough patch or so near the beginning, things are going okay for "The Chaz" up here. He just got his motorcycle humped together again yesterday. Allan & family have been up here a couple times with Paige now being observed and penetrated at the National Institute of Health. That's a sad case of mistaken identity. But for the grace of God...

All in all, it's been family reunion tour of sorts for us. Not a bad thing, given the circumstances, the timing, and the hare.

Unfortunately, the grace of transitional power is not the only sensation that's left the building of late, as we are still strung out, and will be hobbled until the condo situation is rectified, and we shift our primary household out here in the fastest growing and richest per capita county in the nation. Despite all that, this definitely feels like the right move at the right time. The two loved ones seem to cherish it here even more than I do, but once I am together again with my books to surround and protect me (nods to Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel), I shall embrace the Blue Ridge winds with equal force.

Well, stick it to me, dear. It's the way this game is played. It's true, I never tell you ALL my business. But again, I'm sure you've held out on me as well...

Just thinking about the plural of gravitas...