Pinhole's Blog

Pinhole's Blog2008-05-17T01:13:18Zhttp://pinhole.orourkeville.com/atom.aspxQuick BlogWicked Air Currents - Busted Babiestag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-04-20:46476027-6f19-4f38-ad55-5e66ed7ee61cPinhole2008-04-20T10:28:26Z2008-04-20T10:20:00Z
My cradle’s hoisted high aloft,
Atop the nearest oak.
Placed there by my sister,
It was meant to be a joke.

Then barometric changes caused
My tiny bed to sway;
And molecules at odds within
The branch began to fray.

The bed and I just dangled,
Like in cartoons, in the blue;
‘til gravity remembered that
It had a job to do.

My limbs, and the tree’s, began
To see a lot of action;
Knowing that the crib and I
Would both wind up in traction.

Who the hell thought this kind of stuff would comfort a child and help put them to sleep?

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My cradle’s hoisted high aloft, Atop the nearest oak. Placed there by my sister, It was meant to be a joke. Then barometric changes caused My tiny bed to sway;

Learning A HUGE Lessontag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-04-18:f25c51a2-2729-4faa-bee8-87abf2b97597Pinhole2008-04-18T17:45:29Z2008-04-18T17:39:00Z
Passing a construction site, yesterday, I parked my car alongside the roadway and watched for about half an hour while workmen methodically dismantled a building that had served, faithfully, for years as an elementary school.

My gaze tracked a crack in the old sidewalk alongside what was left of the south wall, up the front steps, toward the side door, and wandered into fuzzy memories of Bobby pulling Paula’s hair in geography class and Freda kissing Bif on the playground near the swings. Both felonies, now, but at one time regarded as almost a rite of passage.

My reverie broken by the approaching foreman of the project, I spoke with him, briefly, about future intentions for the property. With no emotion, or irony, in his voice he informed me that within a few months the land would be the home of a new store selling bulk food items and other wares. One of those places where you can buy a 55 gallon drum of Cheez-its, then wheel around the corner and shop for a sturdy chair that might hold you once you’ve polished off the snacks.

I drove away comforted by the thought that, if we could afford to tear down a school and build a Costco in its place, Americans must be plenty smart; but, apparently, still not fat enough.

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Passing a construction site, yesterday, I parked my car alongside the roadway and watched for about half an hour while workmen methodically dismantled a building that had served, faithfully, for years as an elementary school. My gaze tracked a crack in the old sidewalk alongside what was left of the south wall, up the front steps, toward the side door, and wandered into fuzzy memories of Bobby pulling Paula’s hair in geography class and Freda kissing Bif on the playground near the swings. Both felonies, now, but at one time regarded as almost a rite of passage.

So, It's Not Just A Chocolate Bartag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-04-15:b4ee94d6-ff88-4542-93c8-7d69e24bca99Pinhole2008-04-15T19:24:43Z2008-04-15T19:16:00Z
I’ve been unable to read “The Three Musketeers”, by Alexandre Dumas. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to; I simply can’t. About 3 pages in I always fall asleep. Narcotics aren’t this effective.

It isn’t the prose. Although some of the sentences run longer than Mrs. Crawford recommended in my sophomore English class, they are smooth and very readable. Classic images abound and adventure is never much more than a paragraph away. Why can’t I keep my eyes open?

Originally, I suspected it was because I was trying to read the book by itself. As some of you are aware, I always read 2 to 3 books, simultaneously, alternating between volumes depending on mood and location (I always keep a book in my file cabinet at work). Four is too many; one is insufficient to feed my attention span. Two or three manuscripts at a time has worked well for me, except that time in Mrs. Crawford’s class when I attempted to devour a Steinbeck novel, along with a famous work by Alistair MacLean, and managed to thoroughly confound everyone with a blistering 7 page oral report on “The Grapes of Navarone”.

But, I had forgotten about a half-digested Dave Barry collection resting beside the TV remote, so that eliminated the single book theory.

Certain that I was afflicted with some type of terminal reading malady I sought help from the only source I knew that might be able to save me: the local Librarian. I got the results of the preliminary tests yesterday, and my worst suspicions were confirmed. She had just finished reviewing my case and the prognosis is bleak.

By now, I’m sure you’ve guessed the diagnosis:

Apparently, I’m “Porthos Intolerant”.

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I’ve been unable to read “The Three Musketeers”, by Alexandre Dumas. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to; I simply can’t. About 3 pages in I always fall asleep. Narcotics aren’t this effective.

If These Walls Could Yawn!tag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-04-13:f7af3c2a-575f-47a3-81b1-f28db3dbb387Pinhole2008-04-13T09:57:43Z2008-04-13T09:46:00ZThe alarm oozed, rather than blared, as the late great Richard Harris lamented that “Someone left the cake out in the rain”*; rendering the snooze button obsolete. This was, apparently, a special one-of-a-kind cake, whose loss was enough to bring the famous Irishman close to tears.

Tossing the covers aside, the air stirred for the first time since the cat had zipped across my head, an hour previously, and I caught a whiff of Tully’s Madison Blend as it made its way toward the window. Every evening I instruct the coffeemaker to brew 12 cups at 2:47 the following morning and it was satisfying to know that someone in the household listened to me, on occasion.

The shower held promise for some minor excitement when I couldn’t get the cold-water spigot to function, but the matter was resolved fairly quickly…and those extra layers of skin are mainly for decoration, anyway.

Morning will be spent at the computer with a minor break for Meet The Press. Lunch will consist of leftover Chicken Lo Mein from last night’s dinner, then a rigorous afternoon of Master’s golf from my faux leather rocker. Whew! I’m getting a little worn out just thinking about it.

Through the early evening I will reedit and prepare some blogs from another site for reposting here over the course of the next few days.

Finally, it will be bedtime.

But, first I’ll have to have a chat with the coffeemaker.

* From “Macarthur Park”, blame the words and music on Jimmy Webb.

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The alarm oozed, rather than blared, as the late great Richard Harris lamented that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MacArthur_Park_(song)">“Someone left the cake out in the rain”*</a>; rendering the snooze button obsolete. This was, apparently, a special one-of-a-kind cake, whose loss was enough to bring the famous Irishman close to tears.

You Should Have Thought Of That Before We Left The Housetag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-04-06:9b71e493-4b95-4f8c-8f8c-f0d9efdb2e69Pinhole2008-04-08T19:32:39Z2008-04-06T14:07:00Z
I continue to be astounded at the capacity and endurance of the human bladder. A fabulous little balloon that, if functioning properly, saves us the discomfort of being catheterized. Volumes have been written about this versatile article, and numerous articles composed expounding on its volume.

As I winced and squinted and crossed my legs through the final moments of last night’s game it occurred to me that Jayhawks must have large and durable bladders, as well. It would, after all, match the tenacity and stamina of these mythical creatures.

Jayhawks were dominant in their battle against slavery, though at times ruthless in the accomplishment of their goals.

I’m guessing the big beak is merely an evolutionary result of decades of “Rock Chalk” cheers. The shoes an endorsement deal gone terribly wrong.

Oh, and one other fact about the Jayhawks…
(Scroll down, please)

News Update!

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I continue to be astounded at the capacity and endurance of the human bladder. A fabulous little balloon that, if functioning properly, saves us the discomfort of being catheterized. Volumes have been written about this versatile article, and numerous articles composed expounding on its volume. As I winced and squinted and crossed my legs through the final moments of last night’s game it occurred to me that Jayhawks must have large and durable bladders, as well. It would, after all, match the tenacity and stamina of these mythical creatures.

What're You Lookin' At?!tag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-04-02:c1687c2b-17bc-4022-8304-6be5301bf1d7Pinhole2008-04-02T18:59:59Z2008-04-02T18:40:00Z

Sorry, I've been in meetings all week, so there isn't much to see here right now.

I might suggest that you join the discussions at Shelly's Place,
or go have a good laugh at Wolf's expense, or even head over to
Montucky's to ogle at the marvelous photos. I don't have time to mention all of
the other cool places to visit.

I'll try to be more productive next week. In the meantime, so you might not think your trip was a complete waste of time, here's a bawdy little limerick I wrote a couple of years ago.

The cat is in heat down the hall,
Emitting a thunderous squall.
So I glued a crayola
As sexual payola
'Bout three inches high on the wall.

(Bows politely and exits computer)

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<img src="http://www.orourkeville.com/user/binocs004.jpg" alt="binocs" /> Sorry, I've been in meetings all week, so there isn't much to see here right now. I might suggest that you join the discussions at

Pardon The Interruptiontag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-03-30:66aff128-9621-4c16-87e9-737d346443acPinhole2008-03-30T16:25:04Z2008-03-30T16:09:00ZI'm posting this image of "Earl?" on a wild ride as part of a tennis match at Wil Wheaton's Blog.

His brother Jeremy appears to be quite the photographer.

Please resume your normal browsing.

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I'm posting this image of <a href="http://pinhole.orourkeville.com/2007/09/06/meet-earl.aspx">"Earl?"</a> on a wild ride as part of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Photoshop_contest#Photoshop_tennis">tennis match</a> at <a href="http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2008/03/in-which-my-bro.html">Wil Wheaton's Blog</a>.

Spoiling For A Fighttag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-03-26:1c9a9a3a-2db1-4888-b853-b04f94748be0Pinhole2008-03-26T13:46:11Z2008-03-26T13:35:00ZStubbornly congenial,
You're patient to a fault.
I've seen your disposition thwart
A blistering Assault.

Hackle-wise, you're hard to raise,
No matter what I say.
At times it's worth the effort, though...

To watch you march away!

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Stubbornly congenial, You're patient to a fault. I've seen your disposition thwart A blistering assault Hackle-wise, you're hard to raise, No matter what I say.

Once More...With Feelingtag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-03-17:884da8e2-cf7c-4865-a386-5e203d3bf9c4Pinhole2008-03-17T10:47:17Z2008-03-17T10:32:00Z
In honor of the holiday I'm reposting a poem that has been attributed to an unknown 9th century Irish monk. Seemed to be the appropriate time.

No, I did not write it. I only wish I had.

I'll admit that I lead a life of relative solitude with a cat in residence; but the similarities, I'm sure, end there.

I and Pangur Ban my cat,
‘Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

‘Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye,
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

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In honor of the holiday I'm reposting a poem that has been attributed to an unknown 9th century Irish monk. Seemed to be the appropriate time. No, I did not write it. I only wish I had. I'll admit that I lead a life of relative solitude with a cat in residence; but the similarities, I'm sure, end there. I and Pangur Ban my cat, 'Tis a like task we are at: Hunting mice is his delight,

Open Up! Physics Police!tag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-03-14:474ac6a6-c054-4f10-88ac-f301c3268c2bPinhole2008-03-14T13:42:07Z2008-03-14T13:06:00Z
Newton didn’t just steal Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion for his own purposes; he also discovered that a Golden Delicious apple, though less dense than a McIntosh, is crisper when refrigerated to 39 degrees Fahrenheit.

Centuries later, Einstein was able to improve on Newton’s theories when riding on a train, going 50 miles per hour rounding a bend at dusk, he realized the reading light was better in the dining car than his sleeping berth.

By the time Hawking rolled onto the scene quantum mechanics had pretty much thrown everything up for grabs. Several scientists had already slightly revised Einstein’s work, as well as starting an Australian airline.

A good tweaking in the world of science is probably way overdue; and although my understanding of physics is limited to the knowledge that if you strap a piece of buttered toast to a cat’s back and drop it off of a porch it will land cat side down 3 times out of 4, provided the dog doesn’t interfere, and that you have to call your pocket when shooting the 8 ball, I’m pretty sure I’m just the arrogant prick to do the tweaking.

With that in mind, on my recent trip to Yellowstone I came upon a discovery that renders our current measurements of time and distance obsolete. No more miles, or minutes. Part way to Mammoth I popped in a new CD and realized that I had already traveled 3 Pink Floyds. By the time I arrived I had traveled 4 Pink Floyds, 2 John Prines, a Hanna-McEuen and a David Gilmour. Another recent trip took me 6 Pink Floyds, 3 John Prines, 2 Tom Waits, a James Talley, 3/5ths of a Randy Newman and a Bill Mumy.

Last week I contacted all of the major automobile manufacturers in an effort to convince them to install CD changers that will hold a minimum of 34 CDs in lieu of speedometers and odometers. Dust off those plastic discs; they promised to get back to me.

At this rate, it may not be long before music completely eliminates the need for physics. Students across the land will, forever, revere me. Now, if we could just get rid of chemistry...

In the meantime, have you calculated the number of notes to your favorite get-away?

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Newton didn’t just steal Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion for his own purposes; he also discovered that a Golden Delicious apple, though less dense than a McIntosh, is crisper when refrigerated to 39 degrees Fahrenheit. Centuries later, Einstein was able to improve on Newton’s theories when riding on a train, going 50 miles per hour rounding a bend at dusk, he realized the reading light was better in the dining car than his sleeping berth.

With Apologies To Dean Martintag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-03-09:4305d7a7-eeb8-4260-bc75-76e97f2543b3Pinhole2008-03-09T15:19:15Z2008-03-09T13:05:00Z
“If you catch a big eel
And it gnaws through your creel…”

“That’s A Moraaaaaay!”

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"If you catch a big eel And it gnaws through your creel..." <img src="http://www.orourkeville.com/user/singingmorayfin.jpg" alt="Dino Moray" />

Gang Initiationtag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-03-02:d0a61081-6dda-43e1-8724-e9a0fa2c8ad3Pinhole2008-03-03T04:03:45Z2008-03-02T20:11:00Z
Recently, I was approached by a local gang about the possibility of me becoming a member. Not an overtly lawless bunch, still I have heard they wear some pretty daring outfits for bookish types. A couple of them were reportedly seen sporting paisley scarves.

Given their raucous reputation, it wasn’t long before I began to wonder if I was edgy enough for this crowd. After about an hour in front of the mirror sneering, snarling and gnashing my teeth, I realized that all my flossing had accomplished, thus far, was to upset the cat. I haven’t seen her for two days.

Word has it that parties thrown by this particular gang can get pretty depraved. There are even rumors of such items as balloons and punch at these events, so you can imagine my apprehension when they mentioned a TEST OF WORTHINESS.

I recall arriving at the front gate to the clubhouse grounds and ringing the bell before everything went black. The rest of the evening is like a broken dream, bits and pieces of reality blended with fragments of laughter. My only clear memories are that my cheerleading skirt kept riding up in the back and my pom poms only caught fire once. Fortunately, when I awoke the next morning my saddle shoes and genitals were still intact.

If I passed the initiation, I hope I recover in time for the mixer on Saturday.

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Recently, I was approached by a local gang about the possibility of me becoming a member. Not an overtly lawless bunch, still I have heard they wear some pretty daring outfits for bookish types. A couple of them were reportedly seen sporting paisley scarves.

Kicked, Right In The Solar System...Againtag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-29:d6107e55-a85d-4806-97a4-c13915c8e0fcPinhole2008-02-29T15:29:02Z2008-02-29T15:19:00Z
This week we will be celebrating the anniversary of the creation of the known universe. Just 37 years since the series of events that resulted in the eventual formation of the Milky Way Galaxy, and in turn, our own solar system, known to other solar systems simply as “Bob”.

Some folks, even today, are under the impression that the Universe was created as many as 70, 80 or even a hundred years ago. PISH and TOSH! These people have been misled by what we used to call “History”, which we now know is merely a series of rumors, innuendo and special effects, with characters like Da Vinci, Einstein and Mighty Mouse made up out of nowhere just to make the rest of us feel inadequate; kind of like siblings.

But, given the latest methods of calculation, and through some really pertinent dream sequences, I’ve established the age of the Universe at 37 years (provided one adheres to the O’Rourkeian calendar, which contains 12 months, 365 days and a dash of vermouth). Besides, what other possible explanation could there be for the fact that I can’t remember anything prior to the eighth grade?

Theories on the origins of the universe abound, and I believe it’s time to put an end to the speculations. I’ll outline the facts in chronological order so they will be easier to follow. First, it was necessary to find a really big shoebox, remove the top and flip it on its side. Then, they (exactly who “they” are has been a source of contention for the entire 37 years that the universe has been in existence and not a controversy which we will attempt to rectify here) painted the inside of the box a matte black, punched little holes to resemble stars and hung various sizes of spheres with sturdy thread to make up the planets, and such.

I realize there will be those who possess differing views, but these people, obviously, didn’t have the opportunity to study Bif Fletcher’s diorama at the Third Grade Science Fair as thoroughly as I did.

What’s that? You have doubts concerning my conclusions because I haven’t explained the phenomena of day and night? HA! Why do you think “they” kept the lid?

Happy Birthday, “Bob”.

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This week we will be celebrating the anniversary of the creation of the known universe. Just 37 years since the series of events that resulted in the eventual formation of the Milky Way Galaxy, and in turn, our own solar system, known to other solar systems simply as “Bob”.

Six of One...Half a Dozen of the Othertag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-23:8a4db710-a269-4a6f-a79b-10fbe2fb9d20Pinhole2008-02-24T07:07:19Z2008-02-23T19:17:00Z
I was tagged by Montucky for a new meme. It’s a six word memoir, inspired by Hemingway, who once bet ten dollars that he could sum up his life in six words. He came up with: For Sale: baby shoes, never worn.

Here are the meme rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir.

2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.

3. Link to the person who tagged you in your post and to this original post, if possible, so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere.

4. Tag five more blogs with links.

5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

So here’s my choice at the moment:

”Think outside it? Sure.

What box?”

I now tag Shelly, FF&F, Wordvixen, Merry, and Mitchell...if his site is back up, yet.

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I was tagged by Montucky for a new meme. It’s a six word memoir, inspired by Hemingway, who once bet ten dollars that he could sum up his life in six words. He came up with: For Sale: baby shoes, never worn. Here are the meme rules: 1. Write your own six word memoir. 2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like. 3. Link to the person who tagged you in your post and to this original post, if possible, so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere. 4 .Tag five more blogs with links. 5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play! So here’s my thought at the moment: ”Think outside it? Sure. <img src=" http://www.orourkeville.com/user/handsbl.jpg" alt="huh?" />

A Little Healthy Anarchytag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-22:03fe8028-4cee-4b21-84d8-6887781662faPinhole2008-02-22T13:18:31Z2008-02-22T13:05:00Z
When did “Defiance” become such a bad word?

Where would we be if Prometheus had bowed to the will of the gods, and never invented the disposable lighter?…

Or if Orville and Wilbur had just wandered back to their bicycle shop and given up on their attempts to defy gravity after being told of the impending flight attendants strike?…

Or if Thomas Jefferson had never founded the musical group the “Airplane”, which later became the “Starship”, just because Simon Cowell told him he couldn’t sing?

Consider the case of Cylie Pastian, a 12 year old cancer survivor from De Smet, South Dakota with a passion for basketball. Relegated to the sidelines due to the fragile nature of her bones, the community decided it was in everyone’s best interest to simply change the rules. The new regulation, known as the “Cylie Rule”, states that, “Whenever a foul is committed, anyone recovering from bone cancer is allowed to check into the game and shoot the teams free throws”.

That’s a rule I can appreciate.

Whenever you find yourself about to tell someone something is impossible, because “it’s against the rules”, remember Prometheus, remember Orville and Wilbur, remember Thomas Jefferson…

And remember Cyle Pastian.

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When did “Defiance” become such a bad word? Where would we be if Prometheus had bowed to the will of the gods, and never invented the disposable lighter?... Or if Orville and Wilbur had just wandered back to their bicycle shop and given up on their attempts to defy gravity after being told of the impending flight attendants strike?... Or if...

The Shadow Knowstag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-18:af9514e6-58a4-46f7-93d3-31683e9ec26aPinhole2008-02-18T19:28:59Z2008-02-18T19:19:00Z
There was nothing particularly unusual about the ball. A royal blue, 8-inch diameter polyurethane orb with red stripes, purchased for 3 year old Preston as a reward for recognizing his potty chair as more than just a step up to allow easier access for emptying the toothpaste tube into mommy’s hairbrush.

This morning the ball had been enjoying a brisk game of “Kick me Against the Siding” with Preston, when it suddenly found itself going one on one with a beige sedan. If inflated plastic is capable of possessing emotions such as hope, and desire, this particular ball was now desperately wishing it were somewhere else.

-----------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Reynolds had just delivered the youngest of her 3 daughters, 8-year-old Elyssa, to the halls of Crighton Elementary where, at this very moment, under the vociferous, but nurturing tutelage of her near deaf 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Gilstrap, she was diligently practicing the making of a cursive ‘J’.

Elyssa’s twin sisters, Millicent and Althea, walked to school. They were fifth-graders. Fifth-graders required parents only on special occasions.

It was on the twins where Mrs. Reynolds’s mind had landed, temporarily, as she turned north on Humboldt Ave. (It should be noted here that Mrs. Reynolds’s mind never landed for long in any given spot; although lately it had been considering settling down, maybe even having a little thought to raise and take over the family business.) Down Humboldt to Eldrich was a shortcut to the supermarket, and she needed treats for Millicent and Althea’s ‘Bunny Rangers’ meeting after school.

As she negotiated these back streets, Mrs. Reynolds was wondering why Robert, her husband of 15 years (she always called him Robert because his buddies all called him “Bob” and she didn’t want to be thought of as one of the guys) had seemed like such a stranger this morning. She wondered if she did her hair differently if he would take more notice of her. She was thinking of a pageboy, but feathered forward on the sides. She was thinking that she preferred it when her favorite radio station had played Classic Rock instead of all this oldies crap. She was thinking it would be wrong to hope the new stock boy in the produce section of the market might notice the effects of the cream she had been using around her eyes, which was advertised to “Take Off Ten Years!” (Ironically, researchers would later find a carcinogen in the lotion’s formula that provided the necessary ingredient for seeing to it that the product lived up to its claim).

She was thinking the kitchen chairs needed reupholstering, and the floor was getting a little dingy, and 35 miles per hour was probably about the right speed limit for this neighborhood, and the reflection off of the ball rolling into the street might blind someone if they weren’t careful, and…

…and then she saw the patch of blond hair...

Mrs. Reynolds was thinking that it felt as though time had taken a little holiday; and worrying what her husband would say about the car, and then...

...she saw the patch of blond, again.

---------------------------------------------------

Some people simply think too much. When it comes right down to it, during many of life’s crucial situations where the really important decisions must be made, for all of their cognitive powers, human beings must finally rely on instinct. All of the reasoning skills in the world won’t do them a bit of good until the shouting stops.

Just before she lost consciousness, Mrs. Reynolds hoped her foot was already on the brake.

----------------------------------------------------

For one man’s reflections on his attempt to capture the essence of specific times and places, and doing his best to fit within these boundaries, join us for the current discussion of Colin Fletcher’s “The Man Who Walked Through Time”, at Shelly’s Place.

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There was nothing particularly unusual about the ball. A royal blue, 8-inch diameter polyurethane orb with red stripes, purchased for 3 year old Preston as a reward for recognizing his potty chair as more than just a step up to allow easier access for emptying the toothpaste tube into mommy’s hairbrush. This morning the ball had been enjoying a brisk game of “Kick me Against the Siding” with Preston, when it suddenly found itself going one on one with a beige sedan. If inflated plastic is capable of possessing emotions such as hope, and desire, this particular ball was now desperately wishing it were somewhere else.

A Valentine Versetag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-14:9a1067a5-de70-48ae-9d8c-59f43314ff95Pinhole2008-02-14T04:37:33Z2008-02-14T04:31:00Z
Your eyes are just like limpid pools,
Of this, no more I’ll speak,
’Cause I don’t know what limpid means;
Unless it’s “Swamp”, in Greek.

They say your body’s heavenly,
A marvel to behold.
Warm’s the side that sees the sun,
The farther side is cold.

Your knowledge knows no boundaries,
The subject matter blends.
Your mind is like a tapestry…
It’s fraying at the ends.

And I’m still single…No, really!

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Your eyes are just like limpid pools, Of this, no more I’ll speak, ’Cause I don’t know what limpid means; Unless it’s “Swamp”, in Greek. They say your body’s heavenly, A marvel to behold. Warm’s the side that sees the sun,

Massacres or Chocolate Kisses: Either Way, Hallmark Is Surely Ecstatictag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-12:d826dfb9-3e63-493f-94f2-a240306deb02Pinhole2008-02-12T20:53:42Z2008-02-12T20:41:00Z
Aaah...February. The month of hearts and presidents. Not only do we celebrate the birth of two of America's most famous statesmen, but lavish our loved ones and sweethearts with gifts of pewter and Vienna sausages.

Any mention of Valentine's Day inevitably triggers speculation of the many myths surrounding the holiday. My personal favorite involves Hypothalamus (the Greek God of Innuendo), eleven nubile island beauties, and a vast array of ancient cooking utensils. Of course, other's tastes may not lean this much toward the ethereal.

But more and more in our society the function of mythology is being replaced with scientific inquiry. While other animals seem to operate purely by instinct, only man, so far, has attained an intellectual level that obliges him to examine every facet of his natural existence to the point where he is barely able to function. Now, in place of spiritual speculation, we can reference any number of erroneous facts gathered through federally funded studies of the human condition. From "A Complete List of Erogenous Zones in Female Primates" to "Kissing Habits of the Bolivian Tree Frog" the topics of research seem inexhaustible. Yet, in spite of this Herculean effort to know ourselves more intimately, we appear no closer to revealing the true essence of our emotional bonds than our most primitive ancestors.

However, amid the continuing quest, a few certainties have been established. As best we can comprehend courting in mammals, human rituals are exclusive in their involvement of a Tequila shooter and the phrase, "What's your sign?” And, it has become obvious that we alone in the animal kingdom are truly able to understand, appreciate, and combine the values of love, companionship, and vinyl underwear.

If you truly wish to say "I Love You"...say it with Naugahyde®.

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Aaah...February. The month of hearts and presidents. Not only do we celebrate the birth of two of America's most famous statesmen, but lavish our loved ones and sweethearts with gifts of pewter and Vienna sausages.

Birth of Self-Awareness - Revisedtag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-08:48b9c42e-b53a-479d-8737-9afb5d27f16aPinhole2008-02-08T17:03:18Z2008-02-08T16:52:00Z
Undoubtedly, one of the most influential occurrences on planet Earth took place in what later came to be known as the ‘Cambrian’ period. Life was simpler then. Really. A lot simpler. And Dom was a simple jawless fish. As Fate would have it (if one believes in that sort of thing) Dom also had a simple aneurysm.

But, Dom didn’t know he possessed this medical anomaly. Dom didn’t know he was getting a headache. Dom didn’t know it was the Cambrian period. Dom didn’t even know he was a jawless fish. And because no one had looked up, or noticed the stars and planets, or understood their relation to each other and the sun, or had broken down that information into what seemed to be logical increments and utilized it in an attempt to provide the illusion of structure to the transience of what would later be called time; and because no one had yet applied this abstract concept, like a fine veneer inlayed with sophisticated, prejudiced, ill-conceived, and often conflicting theories and dogma, to past events, Dom also didn’t know it was Thursday and he was late for his Kiwanis meeting.

Entire futures were placed on hold, waiting for a small vessel to pop in the tiny pseudo-brain of an obscure, but lovable, jawless fish. When the miniscule vessel in Dom’s jawless head finally burst, a bizarre new world opened itself to him; and try as he might he couldn’t close it again. After the initial flash, if Dom had possessed any such thing as consciousness, it would have been precisely at this point when he would have lost it. Luckily, he was able to completely skip that step and merely ‘come to’. “'Come to’ what?”, you might wonder. Dom certainly did, with more than a slight air of panic.

He also wondered where all the water had come from, and why he had thought of it as water. He wondered why he was there. He wondered if he now had purpose, though purpose was a foreign concept; concept in fact was a foreign concept. He wondered about this Kiwanis meeting thing, and if he was late would he miss out on refreshments?

All of this took place in the course of a few seconds, and the last thing Dom wondered was why he was floating belly up near the top of the pool.

Alas, before Dom headed for that big Kiwanis meeting in the sky, he had already procreated and loosed this gene upon the world. Generation upon generation Dom’s progeny gained more and more awareness of their surroundings, until they finally reached the point where they were absolutely sure they had no idea how they could possibly fit into this giant puzzle.

Surprise guests often show up loaded with baggage. “Awareness” arrived with ‘ego, arrogance and unconscionable singularity’. Apparently, it forgot to pack ‘the subtle difference between responsibility and capability, the shift in nuance from instructional guidance to control, and the leap from superiority to realizing and securing its proper place within a previously established system’.

There is likely much more to this tale, but right now I feel a headache coming on.

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Undoubtedly, one of the most influential occurrences on planet Earth took place in what later came to be known as the ‘Cambrian’ period. Life was simpler then. Really. A lot simpler. And Dom was a simple jawless fish. As Fate would have it (if one believes in that sort of thing) Dom also had a simple aneurysm.

Chivalry Is Only Maimedtag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-03:3944e32f-4842-4dff-92f4-1abc15570d49Pinhole2008-02-03T16:19:44Z2008-02-03T16:13:00Z
Placing the phone back in its cradle I found myself faced with a situation, not unlike those fabled knights of old, of slaying the dragon to protect fair maiden. The dragon in question was, in reality, a garter snake approximately 10 inches in length and slightly smaller around than your little finger. The fair maiden in need of rescue was a female friend of mine who lived in a duplex across town.

She discovered the beast sunning itself on the kitchen floor, in front of her sliding glass door, early one Sunday morning. Having already attempted to capture the thing, with a pair of long-handled meat tongs and a paper sack, she only managed to chase the elusive reptile under the china cupboard in the dining room. Undoubtedly, it chose this refuge to gather its wits and calculate an escape from the domicile of the creature with the misshapen hands in the purple housecoat.

At this point in the standoff she decided to call for my advice, or assistance. Remembering my noble lineage, and never one to leave a damsel in distress, I gladly offered to rescue her from this split-tongued monster. Of course, my gallant ancestors probably didn't make the princess wait until they finished their coffee and Grape-Nuts, and had taken a shower.

But times, after all, do change.

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Placing the phone back in its cradle I found myself faced with a situation, not unlike those fabled knights of old, of slaying the dragon to protect fair maiden. The dragon in question was, in reality, a garter snake approximately 10 inches in length and slightly smaller around than your little finger. The fair maiden in need of rescue was a female friend of mine who lived in a duplex across town.

Okay, So I'm No Descartestag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-02-01:9373eaca-36a3-4cc6-8f7c-2a032b68e735Pinhole2008-02-02T18:14:39Z2008-02-01T18:04:00Z
A comment by Wolf on my previous post reminded me of this little piece of nonsense, composed long ago...

My mind, of late, has not, it seems,
a literary bent.
Phrases set aside for dreary
days have all been spent.

I’ve looked beneath the cushions,
for nouns and verbs and such;
I unrolled all my pant cuffs…
never finding much.

First glance can be deceiving (if
it looks like I’m an inker).
I’m really not a writer,
but more an inking thinker.

I'll bet Wolf's sorry, now.

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A comment by <a href="http://blog.wolframdonat.com">Wolf</a> on my <a href="http://pinhole.orourkeville.com/2008/01/27/go-figure.aspx">previous post</a> reminded me of this little piece of nonsense, composed long ago... My mind, of late, has not, it seems, a literary bent. Phrases set aside for dreary days have all been spent. I’ve looked beneath the cushions, for nouns and verbs and such;

Go Figure!tag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-27:35799bce-c9a2-4898-8f3e-e8ff554091efPinhole2008-01-27T10:48:08Z2008-01-27T10:35:00Z
3^rd century B.C. mathematician, Euclid, was also known as “Euclid of Alexandria” – Louisiana, not Virginia. Aside from professional publications, all that is known of Euclid, personally, has been gleaned from Proclus and Pappus of Alexandria; waitresses on the graveyard shift at “Chickie’s Truck Stop” on the south side of town.

As with many great thinkers, and psychopaths, Euclid required very little sleep. Most nights he could be found at the counter of “Chickie’s”, drinking hot coffee, pouring over notes and theorems, and dividing his French Fries and Tator Tots into separate groups called the Sharks and Jets to reenact key scenes from the musical “West Side Story”.

Hailed as “The Father of Geometry” we may never know what provided such inspiration in Euclid. It’s merely speculation, but I think maybe…

He must have had a “Guardian Angle”.

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3rd century B.C. mathematician, Euclid, was also known as “Euclid of Alexandria” – Louisiana, not Virginia. Aside from professional publications, all that is known of Euclid, personally, has been gleaned from Proclus and Pappus of Alexandria; waitresses on the graveyard shift at “Chickie’s Truck Stop” on the south side of town.

Uncle Bob's Diary - Almost Forgot About This Onetag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-24:95121aaa-2cb5-4588-a05e-873c82d771ddPinhole2008-01-24T20:28:28Z2008-01-24T20:15:00ZThese appear to be the last surviving bits of Uncle Bob's wisdom.

Known to family and acquaintances as "The Simple Man's Aristotle", perhaps more emphasis should be placed on Simple...

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These appear to be the last surviving bits of Uncle Bob's wisdom. Known to family and acquaintances as "The Simple Man's Aristotle", perhaps more emphasis should be placed on Simple...

"Cliff" Notestag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-20:90956a87-fe72-43a3-9b24-f9a7c8c81a69Pinhole2008-01-20T18:32:38Z2008-01-20T18:20:00Z
Helpless as the blood stain made its way, slowly, across the front of my sock, it was too late to question my decision to pack 200 feet of rappelling rope, and slings, into canyons with not a single face less than 300 feet.

The constant pounding of my feet into the toes of my hiking boots as we descended from the south rim of the Grand Canyon, surely generated the blisters upon busted blisters, upon busted blisters, that furnished the palette for my sock redecoration; but I thought it might make me feel better to blame the weight of the ropes than my own foolishness and inexperience.

It turns out that heaping layers of moleskin provide much more effective relief than feeble rationalization.

Of course, this was only the first day of a spring break trip, many years ago. A trip launched, I’m convinced, by my brother strictly for his personal amusement, knowing the punishment I would receive.

For a more eloquent account of hiking through Grand Canyon National Park, join us for a discussion of Colin Fletcher’s “The Man Who Walked Through Time”, at Shelly’s Place around the middle of February.

It promises to be an intense experience…so, don’t forget your moleskin.

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Helpless as the blood stain made its way, slowly, across the front of my sock, it was too late to question my decision to pack 200 feet of rappelling rope, and slings, into canyons with not a single face less than 300 feet. The constant pounding of my feet into the toes of my hiking boots as we descended from the south rim of the Grand Canyon, surely generated the blisters, upon busted blisters, upon busted blisters that furnished the palette for my sock redecoration, but I thought it might make me feel better to blame the weight of the ropes than my own foolishness and inexperience. It turns out that heaping layers of moleskin provide much more effective relief than feeble rationalization.

FREAC-Ytag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-18:38a16550-c7be-4ea9-a1b4-f37b827e11faPinhole2008-01-18T10:37:51Z2008-01-18T10:27:00Z
Local O’Rourkeville inventor Thomas Alva, Eddie’s son, recently received a patent on his FULLY REWRITABLE EXTERNAL ALTERNATE CONSCIENCE. Developed, primarily, for marketing among ultra-conservative politicians and big business executives, FREAC, according to Tom, is also priced to be affordable for certain religious leaders.

Naturally, the design is top secret, but it’s common knowledge that every bit of automated equipment in the country built since 1861 was originally some sort of farm implement from the fields of southeastern Kansas. Walnut shellers from old corn huskers; conveyor belts out of obsolete hay bailers; and retired manure spreaders utilized as congressional aides.

Possibly at one time a thresher, the FREAC separates “truth” from “profits” and sorts the truth into neat little disposable bundles. Profits are then whisked away to the next machine in the process (once a cream separator) where they rise rapidly to the top.

Tom stands to exploit, er…earn… that’s right, earn millions from his new machine.

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Local <a href="http://www.orourkeville.com">O’Rourkeville</a> inventor Thomas Alva, Eddie’s son, recently received a patent on his FULLY REWRITABLE EXTERNAL ALTERNATE CONSCIENCE.> Developed, primarily, for marketing among ultra-conservative politicians and big business executives, FREAC, according to Tom, is also priced to be affordable for certain religious leaders.

Dad Gummit!tag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-14:3ae55f1c-c3e3-4e1e-ba7b-75539de6529ePinhole2008-01-14T19:30:19Z2008-01-14T19:19:00Z
A smile became your signature;
A patent declaration;
That cautious laugh and lofted brow
Would greet most situations.

Generations; layered tendrils;
A Holmes/McLaughlin stew;
And tossing in a pinch of salt
So we’d know it was you.

Boundless youth at eighty-eight,
Then here came eighty-nine.
A legacy we hoped that you’d
Escape, and not enshrine.

But, halted possibilities
That shadow us instead;
Make having, now, to say “Goodbye”,
Tougher than Ol’ Billy Ned.

William Ned Holmes
November 9, 1918 – January 4, 2008

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A smile became your signature; A patent declaration; That cautious laugh and lofted brow Would greet most situations. Generations; layered tendrils; A Holmes/McLaughlin stew;

Grated Expectationstag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-11:e0c0a794-b6c9-4346-95dc-d2e456952219Pinhole2008-01-12T08:39:42Z2008-01-11T16:56:00Z
The question has been posed, from several fronts apparently, “What do I expect from my blog?”, pressuring me into an uncomfortable situation where I was forced to think. Of course, any rational explanation of what I hope to get from this blog should, undoubtedly, contain some consideration of what I’ve put into it.

As you are probably aware, the processing of certain animals renders fat and other by-products which, by themselves, battle for acceptance; but blended and seasoned properly are just as marketable, if not more so, than the original cut of meat.

In my efforts as a struggling writer I’ve found that the processing of information while creating bulkier literary entrees yields its own form of lard and lunchmeat. Mental overflow that, packaged properly, might find some favor in the public arena.

So, I suppose the simple, honest answer to what I expect from my blog is…

a reasonable amount of baloney.

How about it "Wordvixen, Jen/domestika, Wolf, Mitchell, Travis; what do you expect from your blogs?

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The question has been posed, from <a href="http://www.terryheath.com/107/a-blogging-meme-what-do-you-expect-from-your-blog/">several fronts</a> apparently, “<a href="http://web.mac.com/shellybryant/Site/Blog/Entries/2008/1/10_What_do_I_Expect_from_this_Blog.html">What do I expect from my blog?</a>”, forcing me into an uncomfortable situation where I was forced to think. Of course, any rational explanation of what I hope to get from this blog should, undoubtedly, contain some consideration of what I’ve put into it. As you are probably aware, the processing of certain animals renders fat and other by-products which, by themselves, battle for acceptance;

The Quasi-Pinholian Zodiac Memetag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-09:c8ccb363-a54e-48bc-b5da-b2f59aa30b02Pinhole2008-01-09T18:38:03Z2008-01-09T14:26:00Z
I was tagged by Silken and Shelly to participate in the newest zodiac birthday meme . Here are the rules:

1. Mention the person who tagged you and create a link back to them.
2. Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months.
3. Pick your month of birth.
4. Highlight the traits that apply to you.
5. Tag 12 people and let them know by visiting their blogs and leaving a comment for them.
6. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve done it.

It appears that the rules became slightly bent; I must have dropped them.

I was born in JUNE: Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Wears entirely too much plaid. Polite and soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Never sneezes less than 3 times in a row. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Will run away from home by age 40, to fulfill a lifelong dream of becoming “Head Stock Boy” in a Middle Eastern vegetable market. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Molds paraffin for professional mason-jar-capping competitions. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Has a weakness for polyester. Stubborn.

JANUARY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Ambitious and serious. Loves to teach and be taught. Always looking at people’s flaws and weaknesses. Likes to criticize. Hardworking and productive. Smart, neat and organized. Sensitive and has deep thoughts. Knows how to make others happy. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Rather reserved. Highly attentive. Resistant to illnesses but prone to colds. Romantic but has difficulties expressing love. Loves children. Loyal. Has great social abilities yet easily jealous. Very stubborn and money cautious.

FEBRUARY: Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizes dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

MARCH: Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate. Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors. Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

APRIL: Active and dynamic. Decisive and hasty but tends to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people’s problems. Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Emotional. Aggressive. Hasty. Good memory. Moving. Motivates oneself and others. Sickness usually of the head and chest. Sexy in a way that only their lover can see.

MAY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and highly motivated. Sharp thoughts. Easily angered. Attracts others and loves attention. Deep feelings. Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint. Needs no motivation. Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to dream. Strong clairvoyance. Understanding. Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves literature and the arts. Loves traveling. Dislike being at home. Restless. Not having many children. Hardworking. High spirited. Spendthrift.

JUNE: Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.

JULY: Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people’s feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

AUGUST: Loves to joke. Attractive. Suave and caring. Brave and fearless. Firm and has leadership qualities. Knows how to console others. Too generous and egoistic. Takes high pride in oneself. Thirsty for praises. Extraordinary spirit. Easily angered. Angry when provoked. Easily jealous. Observant. Careful and cautious. Thinks quickly. Independent thoughts. Loves to lead and to be led. Loves to dream. Talented in the arts, music and defense. Sensitive but not petty. Poor resistance against illnesses. Learns to relax. Hasty and trusty. Romantic. Loving and caring. Loves to make friends.

SEPTEMBER: Suave and compromising. Careful, cautious and organized. Likes to point out people’s mistakes. Likes to criticize. Stubborn. Quiet but able to talk well. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal but not always honest. Does work well. Very confident. Sensitive. Good memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Must control oneself when criticizing. Able to motivate oneself. Understanding. Fun to be around. Secretive. Loves leisure and traveling. Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Very choosy, especially in relationships. Systematic.

OCTOBER: Loves to chat. Loves those who loves them. Loves to take things at the center. Inner and physical beauty. Lies but doesn’t pretend. Gets angry often. Treats friends importantly. Always making friends. Easily hurt but recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does not care of what others think. Emotional. Decisive. Strong clairvoyance. Loves to travel, the arts and literature. Touchy and easily jealous. Concerned. Loves outdoors. Just and fair. Spendthrift. Easily influenced. Easily loses confidence. Loves children.

NOVEMBER: Has a lot of ideas. Difficult to fathom. Thinks forward. Unique and brilliant. Extraordinary ideas. Sharp thinking. Fine and strong clairvoyance. Can become good doctors. Dynamic in personality. Secretive. Inquisitive. Knows how to dig secrets. Always thinking. Less talkative but amiable. Brave and generous. Patient. Stubborn and hard-hearted. If there is a will, there is a way. Determined. Never give up. Hardly becomes angry unless provoked. Loves to be alone. Thinks differently from others. Sharp-minded. Motivates oneself. Does not appreciate praises. High-spirited. Well-built and tough. Deep love and emotions. Romantic. Uncertain in relationships. Homely. Hardworking. High abilities. Trustworthy. Honest and keeps secrets. Not able to control emotions. Unpredictable.

DECEMBER: Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Loves to socialize. Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to be loved. Honest and trustworthy. Not pretending. Short tempered. Changing personality. Not egotistic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions. Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical.

I believe everyone in the known universe has already been tagged, so if you were born anytime in the 20^th century, and haven’t yet been honored, consider yourself “IT”.

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I was tagged by <a href="http://silken-familynight.blogspot.com/2008/01/zodiac-birthday-meme.html">Silken</a> and <a href="http://recommendedread.blogspot.com/">Shelly</a> to participate in the newest zodiac birthday meme . Here are the rules: 1. Mention the person who tagged you and create a link back to them. 2. Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months. 3. Pick your month of birth. 4. Highlight the traits that apply to you. 5. Tag 12 people and let them know by visiting their blogs and leaving a comment for them. 6. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve done it. It appears that the rules became slightly bent; I must have dropped them.

It's My Blog, And I'll Rhyme If I Want To...tag:pinhole.orourkeville.com,2008-01-07:cbf61ce8-86b2-4955-a446-0d1587c5e521Pinhole2008-01-07T19:46:58Z2008-01-07T19:35:00Z
After revealing the sentence for the current challenge I began to wonder, “What was I thinking?!”; then I began to think, “What was I wondering?!”; then I dozed off. When I awoke, and read the passage a few more times, it started to develop a sort of rhythm. Indeed, it seemed a rather obscure rhythm, but it spoke to me.

I chose not to listen and am posting the results, anyway. Hey, I said there were no rules!

She couldn’t place the acce