I took Husband to a Giants game today as a surprise. And I splurged on, as you can see, fabulous seats. Club box, section 207, Row D, seats 1 and 2. When we win the lottery these will be our season's tickets. Best seats I've ever had at a game.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Photo of the day: Independence Day
Happy Fortha July. What are you doing to celebrate? A picnic followed by fireworks? A BBQ with friends? Husband and I are being very American and going to a baseball game where we shall eat hot dogs and watch the Giants. A beautiful day in the sunshine at the most gorgeous ballpark in the US. I will, of course, be dressed like Betsy Ross.
Happy Fortha July. What are you doing to celebrate? A picnic followed by fireworks? A BBQ with friends? Husband and I are being very American and going to a baseball game where we shall eat hot dogs and watch the Giants. A beautiful day in the sunshine at the most gorgeous ballpark in the US. I will, of course, be dressed like Betsy Ross.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Stream of Unconsciousness
I'm going through a pretty severe insomnia phase and, of course, I'm all out of Ambien. Thanks to the wonders of mail-order pharmacies and tight-fisted insurance companies they won't even begin to process my refill until the 15th. Give it another week for processing and shipping and I'm looking at three more weeks of no sleep. I'm getting about 3 or 4 hours a night, so it's not a total loss. But it's not enough and it's catching up to me.
I'm getting into that phase where the sillies take over. Everything is vaguely hilarious. I feel almost drunk because I'm so goofy and, occasionally, light headed. I kind of like it. Like getting high without all that nasty breaking the law crap. It's actually quite fun, in a completely unhealthy, entirely dysfunctional way. I smile a lot. I'm giddy. God help us, I sing. Today I found myself in the middle of kitten duty singing the theme to "The Muppet Show" to a kitten, only to look up and see the other volunteers staring at me in bemused horror and moving their chairs back ever so slightly. Luckily the kittens didn't seem to mind it. But that self-censoring chip, never very effective in my case anyway, is practically non-existent. Poor Husband. There's no telling what I might do if he takes me out in public this weekend. (Which he will...Giants game on the 4th. Yay!) I don't mean I'm going to rip my shirt off and yell "Do me, Lincecum!" Because, well, eww. But I do tend to say things without thinking even when I do get enough sleep.
Hell, when he introduced me to his boss a few months ago the first thing I said to him was "Hi, do I have to kiss your ass?" I mean what kind of woman says that to her husband's boss? Oh yeah, me.
I don't know how he puts up with me.
I'm going through a pretty severe insomnia phase and, of course, I'm all out of Ambien. Thanks to the wonders of mail-order pharmacies and tight-fisted insurance companies they won't even begin to process my refill until the 15th. Give it another week for processing and shipping and I'm looking at three more weeks of no sleep. I'm getting about 3 or 4 hours a night, so it's not a total loss. But it's not enough and it's catching up to me.
I'm getting into that phase where the sillies take over. Everything is vaguely hilarious. I feel almost drunk because I'm so goofy and, occasionally, light headed. I kind of like it. Like getting high without all that nasty breaking the law crap. It's actually quite fun, in a completely unhealthy, entirely dysfunctional way. I smile a lot. I'm giddy. God help us, I sing. Today I found myself in the middle of kitten duty singing the theme to "The Muppet Show" to a kitten, only to look up and see the other volunteers staring at me in bemused horror and moving their chairs back ever so slightly. Luckily the kittens didn't seem to mind it. But that self-censoring chip, never very effective in my case anyway, is practically non-existent. Poor Husband. There's no telling what I might do if he takes me out in public this weekend. (Which he will...Giants game on the 4th. Yay!) I don't mean I'm going to rip my shirt off and yell "Do me, Lincecum!" Because, well, eww. But I do tend to say things without thinking even when I do get enough sleep.
Hell, when he introduced me to his boss a few months ago the first thing I said to him was "Hi, do I have to kiss your ass?" I mean what kind of woman says that to her husband's boss? Oh yeah, me.
I don't know how he puts up with me.
Photo of the day: The Music Office
Not ours, but the one at the radio station. It's about the size of a small bathroom and decorated mostly in stickers from bands and labels around the world. Highly colorful chaos, really. It can only hold one person comfortably. Two if you don't mind having to move out of the way a lot. Three and the walls start to close in and the air gets sucked out of the room. But we love it.
Not ours, but the one at the radio station. It's about the size of a small bathroom and decorated mostly in stickers from bands and labels around the world. Highly colorful chaos, really. It can only hold one person comfortably. Two if you don't mind having to move out of the way a lot. Three and the walls start to close in and the air gets sucked out of the room. But we love it.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Photo of the day: Bayside
Sometimes you need to appreciate a photo not for its quality, nor even its subject, but what it represents. This represents, to me, what's best about a summer day in the Bay Area. Blue sky. Birds on the bay. Seeing the east bay hills from the peninsula. And, just to the right of where I focused, one tiny sailboat out for a day on the bay. It was clear and warm. The path was full of people walking dogs, runners dripping sweat, and little kids tossing bits of stale bread to the ducks. And this is why I love where I live.
Sometimes you need to appreciate a photo not for its quality, nor even its subject, but what it represents. This represents, to me, what's best about a summer day in the Bay Area. Blue sky. Birds on the bay. Seeing the east bay hills from the peninsula. And, just to the right of where I focused, one tiny sailboat out for a day on the bay. It was clear and warm. The path was full of people walking dogs, runners dripping sweat, and little kids tossing bits of stale bread to the ducks. And this is why I love where I live.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Photo of the day: Abstract in Concrete and Rust
I have no wish to analyze what draws my photographer's eye to things like broken fences and rusty gates. But I'm odd that way. Faced with a beautiful landscape or a falling-down barn, I tend to go to the barn. In my photographic history I've photographed doorknobs when others were shooting garden shots, and captured dented bumpers while the rest of the crows was looking at a dramatic sunset.
This particular shot looks to me like some weird abstract sculptural piece that would cost $75,000 and stand on a platform in your local MOMA and make people spout twaddle like "existential" and "the formless void."
But really, it's a piece of rusty metal sitting on a broken concrete slab.
I have no wish to analyze what draws my photographer's eye to things like broken fences and rusty gates. But I'm odd that way. Faced with a beautiful landscape or a falling-down barn, I tend to go to the barn. In my photographic history I've photographed doorknobs when others were shooting garden shots, and captured dented bumpers while the rest of the crows was looking at a dramatic sunset.
This particular shot looks to me like some weird abstract sculptural piece that would cost $75,000 and stand on a platform in your local MOMA and make people spout twaddle like "existential" and "the formless void."
But really, it's a piece of rusty metal sitting on a broken concrete slab.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Well Crap
A federal advisory panel has recommended a ban on Vicodin and Percocet. Oh goodie. The ban was suggested because of possible liver damage due to these drugs containing Acetaminophen. According to the NYT article, more than 400 people die every year from overdoses. So Tylenol, which is the acetaminophen king, can still be bought over-the-counter and taken indiscriminately. But Vicodin, frequently used to treat chronic pain (like mine) will be banned. So not happy.
Whatever happened to personal responsibility? Yes, I know you can overdose from this. That's why I always take a half a pill first and only take the second half of the Vicodin if I'm still in pain. I've been doing this for years and haven't developed an addiction or a liver problem. I know this because my doctor, who prescribes the Vicodin, insists on a complete liver screening every six months. And while I'm sorry for the 400 people who overdose, what about the millions of us who haven't and aren't likely to? We are to be denied a proven painkiller that we take responsibly because some idiot takes a Vicodin and washes it down with 20 Tylenol? When pain is a daily part of your life, you learn to live with it. But it helps to have something like Vicodin for those days where you hurt so bad you can barely get out of bed. These drugs already require a prescription, which comes with thorough warnings about addiction, side-effects, and dangerous drug interactions. But apparently I'm too stupid to take care of myself and need the government to spare my from my own idiocy and deny me a drug that helps make my life possible. It seems like a very tiny number of people who take Vicodin or Percocet end up in the ER but we're all being penalized. I find it unfair and ridiculous. We're grown ups here, folks, let us talk to our doctors and take our own risks.
A federal advisory panel has recommended a ban on Vicodin and Percocet. Oh goodie. The ban was suggested because of possible liver damage due to these drugs containing Acetaminophen. According to the NYT article, more than 400 people die every year from overdoses. So Tylenol, which is the acetaminophen king, can still be bought over-the-counter and taken indiscriminately. But Vicodin, frequently used to treat chronic pain (like mine) will be banned. So not happy.
Whatever happened to personal responsibility? Yes, I know you can overdose from this. That's why I always take a half a pill first and only take the second half of the Vicodin if I'm still in pain. I've been doing this for years and haven't developed an addiction or a liver problem. I know this because my doctor, who prescribes the Vicodin, insists on a complete liver screening every six months. And while I'm sorry for the 400 people who overdose, what about the millions of us who haven't and aren't likely to? We are to be denied a proven painkiller that we take responsibly because some idiot takes a Vicodin and washes it down with 20 Tylenol? When pain is a daily part of your life, you learn to live with it. But it helps to have something like Vicodin for those days where you hurt so bad you can barely get out of bed. These drugs already require a prescription, which comes with thorough warnings about addiction, side-effects, and dangerous drug interactions. But apparently I'm too stupid to take care of myself and need the government to spare my from my own idiocy and deny me a drug that helps make my life possible. It seems like a very tiny number of people who take Vicodin or Percocet end up in the ER but we're all being penalized. I find it unfair and ridiculous. We're grown ups here, folks, let us talk to our doctors and take our own risks.
The Music Instinct
Husband and I are halfway through a fascinating PBS program called The Music Instinct: Science & Song. It's a fascinating look at how our brains respond to music. What is genetic and what is inherited?
As a world music DJ, I was especially intrigued at the role that culture plays in our musical life. There was a wonderful singer from Pakistan, I believe, and another from Tibet. They discussed how Asian music has a different tonal scale than Western music and, because of this, often sounds "out of tune" to Western ears. I was also fascinated by them playing piano music to villagers in Cameroon who had no previous exposure to European classical music before and how they responded emotionally to the tunes by categorizing each piece as "happy," "sad," or "scary." If you have a chance to check it out, I highly recommend it.
I'm hoping they get to why people respond to different styles of music. Why do I love world music but hate death metal? Why does Husband play jazz and not hip-hop? My siblings and I have very different tastes in music and yet we all grew up with the same records on our parents stereo. So why do I turn to Django Reinhardt and my sister to the Rolling Stones?
Husband and I are halfway through a fascinating PBS program called The Music Instinct: Science & Song. It's a fascinating look at how our brains respond to music. What is genetic and what is inherited?
As a world music DJ, I was especially intrigued at the role that culture plays in our musical life. There was a wonderful singer from Pakistan, I believe, and another from Tibet. They discussed how Asian music has a different tonal scale than Western music and, because of this, often sounds "out of tune" to Western ears. I was also fascinated by them playing piano music to villagers in Cameroon who had no previous exposure to European classical music before and how they responded emotionally to the tunes by categorizing each piece as "happy," "sad," or "scary." If you have a chance to check it out, I highly recommend it.
I'm hoping they get to why people respond to different styles of music. Why do I love world music but hate death metal? Why does Husband play jazz and not hip-hop? My siblings and I have very different tastes in music and yet we all grew up with the same records on our parents stereo. So why do I turn to Django Reinhardt and my sister to the Rolling Stones?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Gimpy
So I had a bit of an accident yesterday involving a runaway kitten and a hard concrete floor. The result is a swollen knee, a sore back, and a sprained ankle. It's nothing serious, and I'll be fine in a few days, but it brings to the forefront one of the things about me that drives Husband crazy: I'm a lousy patient.
I'm just not good at being sick or injured. I insist on doing all the things I normally do, even though I may be in pain or may feel like death on toast. I'll still try to carry a full laundry basket or make dinner. I'll insist on getting up to get my own glass of water, even though Husband has kindly offered to get one for me. I'm just, generally stubborn.
Many years ago when my best friend Steve was dealing with the first stages of being HIV+ he asked me what I thought he'd be like when he was dying. I told him that I think when people die they act like they do when they have the flu, multiplied by a million. I told him he was pretty pathetic when sick so when he was in the final stages he'd probably drive me crazy. (As it turns out, I was wrong.) And he told me that if my theory was true when it came to be my time I would get up and turn off my own life-support system. He's probably right. I'll insist on doing it myself. "No, don't bother yourself, I can hit the off switch."
I try to be good, honest. I admitted defeat and did not go to cat duty today, the first day I've ever missed. But since it hurts to walk and since I'm using a cane, I figured it would just be stupid to try and carry 18-pound cats around. But I was dressed and ready to go with my keys in my hand before I gave in. And while I did spend most of the day with my leg up and ice on my knee and ankle, I did put some laundry in the washer and put dinner in the oven.
But I have to admit, I'm a gimp. My ankle is definitely sprained (it's happened too many times to the same ankle to mistake it) and I am going to have to be a lazy slug this weekend if I want to make kitten duty on Monday. But I also know that at some point tomorrow Husband is going to look at me and say "what are you doing" as I try to clean the bathroom or sweep the kitchen floor.
So I had a bit of an accident yesterday involving a runaway kitten and a hard concrete floor. The result is a swollen knee, a sore back, and a sprained ankle. It's nothing serious, and I'll be fine in a few days, but it brings to the forefront one of the things about me that drives Husband crazy: I'm a lousy patient.
I'm just not good at being sick or injured. I insist on doing all the things I normally do, even though I may be in pain or may feel like death on toast. I'll still try to carry a full laundry basket or make dinner. I'll insist on getting up to get my own glass of water, even though Husband has kindly offered to get one for me. I'm just, generally stubborn.
Many years ago when my best friend Steve was dealing with the first stages of being HIV+ he asked me what I thought he'd be like when he was dying. I told him that I think when people die they act like they do when they have the flu, multiplied by a million. I told him he was pretty pathetic when sick so when he was in the final stages he'd probably drive me crazy. (As it turns out, I was wrong.) And he told me that if my theory was true when it came to be my time I would get up and turn off my own life-support system. He's probably right. I'll insist on doing it myself. "No, don't bother yourself, I can hit the off switch."
I try to be good, honest. I admitted defeat and did not go to cat duty today, the first day I've ever missed. But since it hurts to walk and since I'm using a cane, I figured it would just be stupid to try and carry 18-pound cats around. But I was dressed and ready to go with my keys in my hand before I gave in. And while I did spend most of the day with my leg up and ice on my knee and ankle, I did put some laundry in the washer and put dinner in the oven.
But I have to admit, I'm a gimp. My ankle is definitely sprained (it's happened too many times to the same ankle to mistake it) and I am going to have to be a lazy slug this weekend if I want to make kitten duty on Monday. But I also know that at some point tomorrow Husband is going to look at me and say "what are you doing" as I try to clean the bathroom or sweep the kitchen floor.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Jerks
We're surrounded by them. The guy who drives 95 on the freeway, cutting in and out of traffic and being only a few seconds away from being a statistic. The woman who parks her shopping cart in the middle of the grocery store aisle so that you can't get by on either side. The commenter on your favorite blog who always misses the point. The parents who let their horrible demon-spawn children run around like banshees and then get upset at you when little Boris runs into your parked car and lets out with an ear-shattering shriek (True story. The father asked to see my insurance info. What I showed him was my finger.)
I have serious pet peeves, all of them caused by jerks. I hate people who don't use their turn signals, people who talk too loudly on their cell phones (although it does make for great eavesdropping), people who chew with their mouth open, and people who preach loudly about their close, personal relationship with God and yet seem to know nothing of compassion, tolerance, and love. These people are all jerks.
And since it's 3 am, I'm wide awake and facing another sleepless night and I've got my cranky pants on, I'm going to give you my "this makes you a jerk list."
- being rude to waiters, store clerks, or anyone else without a 401(k) and a Porsche
- thinking we're freaks that we consider our cat to be part of our family
- people who don't give their money or their time to charities
- littering
- idiots who won't make way for a car with their turn signal on that is obviously trying to get over one lane to make the next exit
- overpaid, overprivileged white guys trying to act like rappers
- thinking music is crap just because it's popular. Yeah, OK, a lot of it is. But there are a lot of mega-music-stars who can still deliver a few good songs. I hate it when people get so hung up on being hip that they don't care about what's good. Trust me Elvis Costello will always be better than 99% of indie-feminist-breakup-crap produced from some record label that's run out of the back of a printing shop.
- signing up to be on a reality TV show and then whining about how hard it is to live in the public eye
- hypocrisy
- dismissing a critic's opinion because you think he or she just "didn't get it." It's an opinion, not a true or false test.
- putting so much emphasis on getting married that you don't think about what it will mean to actually be married
- denying equal rights to those you don't agree with.
- thinking you can write when you've never tried. Do you think you can play the piano without a lesson?
- being oblivious to others. You can't wait an extra 10 seconds and hold the door for the woman pushing the stroller?
- not being grateful. If I hold the door for the woman with the stroller, she'd better say thank you.
- being a teenager and moseying across the street like a 95-year old retiree in Boca Raton with a walker and a bad hip replacement. Great, seven cars stopped at the intersection waiting for you to cross and you do it like you're running in slow motion from Chariots of Fire
- talking during the movie
- dropping your allegiance to a sports team when they're losing or it's no longer hip to go to the games. Hey. either you're a fan or not.
- making endless lists of pet peeves just because you're tired and cranky
We're surrounded by them. The guy who drives 95 on the freeway, cutting in and out of traffic and being only a few seconds away from being a statistic. The woman who parks her shopping cart in the middle of the grocery store aisle so that you can't get by on either side. The commenter on your favorite blog who always misses the point. The parents who let their horrible demon-spawn children run around like banshees and then get upset at you when little Boris runs into your parked car and lets out with an ear-shattering shriek (True story. The father asked to see my insurance info. What I showed him was my finger.)
I have serious pet peeves, all of them caused by jerks. I hate people who don't use their turn signals, people who talk too loudly on their cell phones (although it does make for great eavesdropping), people who chew with their mouth open, and people who preach loudly about their close, personal relationship with God and yet seem to know nothing of compassion, tolerance, and love. These people are all jerks.
And since it's 3 am, I'm wide awake and facing another sleepless night and I've got my cranky pants on, I'm going to give you my "this makes you a jerk list."
- being rude to waiters, store clerks, or anyone else without a 401(k) and a Porsche
- thinking we're freaks that we consider our cat to be part of our family
- people who don't give their money or their time to charities
- littering
- idiots who won't make way for a car with their turn signal on that is obviously trying to get over one lane to make the next exit
- overpaid, overprivileged white guys trying to act like rappers
- thinking music is crap just because it's popular. Yeah, OK, a lot of it is. But there are a lot of mega-music-stars who can still deliver a few good songs. I hate it when people get so hung up on being hip that they don't care about what's good. Trust me Elvis Costello will always be better than 99% of indie-feminist-breakup-crap produced from some record label that's run out of the back of a printing shop.
- signing up to be on a reality TV show and then whining about how hard it is to live in the public eye
- hypocrisy
- dismissing a critic's opinion because you think he or she just "didn't get it." It's an opinion, not a true or false test.
- putting so much emphasis on getting married that you don't think about what it will mean to actually be married
- denying equal rights to those you don't agree with.
- thinking you can write when you've never tried. Do you think you can play the piano without a lesson?
- being oblivious to others. You can't wait an extra 10 seconds and hold the door for the woman pushing the stroller?
- not being grateful. If I hold the door for the woman with the stroller, she'd better say thank you.
- being a teenager and moseying across the street like a 95-year old retiree in Boca Raton with a walker and a bad hip replacement. Great, seven cars stopped at the intersection waiting for you to cross and you do it like you're running in slow motion from Chariots of Fire
- talking during the movie
- dropping your allegiance to a sports team when they're losing or it's no longer hip to go to the games. Hey. either you're a fan or not.
- making endless lists of pet peeves just because you're tired and cranky
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Watch Out, Red Cats
Cats at the shelter are broken down into two categories: red cats and green cats. (OK, yes, they're also broken down into male and female. But that's not the point, is it?) Red cats are the ones that have behavior problems. Too aggressive. Too shy. Too aloof. They'll take a swipe at you if you go near them or cower under a towel non-stop. Or you take them into a room and they just ignore you. It's hard to find homes for cats that act like evil assassins (as opposed to the kind ones), dysfunctional loners, or teen-agers.
You need special training to become a red cat volunteer and tomorrow I'll meet up with one of the animal behaviorists and learn how to deal with problem cats. I love the idea of helping the most-in-need kitties with their behavior problems so that they can go to a good home. But I'm a bit uncertain as to whether or not I'll be any good at it. It takes tons of patience (not my best quality) and a genuine love for animals (OK, that I have). What I find the sticking point for me is that when you work with these cats you might not get the usual paycheck you get from working with the green cats -- purrs, a ball of love in the lap, a hand lick. You're more likely to come away with scratches than a shirt covered in cat fur from too much cuddling and too much shedding. (I swear there are some cats that shed little whirlwinds of fur when you just look at them.)
So far the cats I've worked with have given me far more than I've given them. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to play with them, comb them, and have them cozy into my lap. But these new cats will probably not be as generous. I may spend 30 minutes of love, patience, and attention and be rewarded with a bloody hand. So will I still love this when I'm not spending time with non-stop cute? Some of the green cats can be unpredictable and I've had my share of scrapes and difficult kitties who didn't want to leave the kennel or wanted nothing to do with me once they got into the room. So maybe I've already had my trial by fire. I just worry that I'm not good enough to give these problem children what they need.
I'm am looking forward to my next step as a TLC volunteer and am happy that they think I'm ready for it. I'll still work with the green cats, so I don't need to give up on my favorites. But this way I'll be cleared to work with every cat up for adoption, which is a very cool thing.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love this? I swear I've found my calling. Too bad it doesn't pay. I'm going to mourn when I have to go back to work and give up my furry children.
Cats at the shelter are broken down into two categories: red cats and green cats. (OK, yes, they're also broken down into male and female. But that's not the point, is it?) Red cats are the ones that have behavior problems. Too aggressive. Too shy. Too aloof. They'll take a swipe at you if you go near them or cower under a towel non-stop. Or you take them into a room and they just ignore you. It's hard to find homes for cats that act like evil assassins (as opposed to the kind ones), dysfunctional loners, or teen-agers.
You need special training to become a red cat volunteer and tomorrow I'll meet up with one of the animal behaviorists and learn how to deal with problem cats. I love the idea of helping the most-in-need kitties with their behavior problems so that they can go to a good home. But I'm a bit uncertain as to whether or not I'll be any good at it. It takes tons of patience (not my best quality) and a genuine love for animals (OK, that I have). What I find the sticking point for me is that when you work with these cats you might not get the usual paycheck you get from working with the green cats -- purrs, a ball of love in the lap, a hand lick. You're more likely to come away with scratches than a shirt covered in cat fur from too much cuddling and too much shedding. (I swear there are some cats that shed little whirlwinds of fur when you just look at them.)
So far the cats I've worked with have given me far more than I've given them. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to play with them, comb them, and have them cozy into my lap. But these new cats will probably not be as generous. I may spend 30 minutes of love, patience, and attention and be rewarded with a bloody hand. So will I still love this when I'm not spending time with non-stop cute? Some of the green cats can be unpredictable and I've had my share of scrapes and difficult kitties who didn't want to leave the kennel or wanted nothing to do with me once they got into the room. So maybe I've already had my trial by fire. I just worry that I'm not good enough to give these problem children what they need.
I'm am looking forward to my next step as a TLC volunteer and am happy that they think I'm ready for it. I'll still work with the green cats, so I don't need to give up on my favorites. But this way I'll be cleared to work with every cat up for adoption, which is a very cool thing.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love this? I swear I've found my calling. Too bad it doesn't pay. I'm going to mourn when I have to go back to work and give up my furry children.
Photo of the day: My Favorite Flower
I know most people consider it a weed. But I've always been rather fond of dandelions. I suppose to call it my favorite might not be entirely true, but since I have this freaky, well, thing where most flowers give me the heebie-jeebies, this is one of the few that doesn't make me want to go all peculiar. There's something admirable about their persistence and their insistent cheeriness. If dandelions were a person, they'd drive me crazy. But in a plant like this (that doesn't make me go all peculiar) it's kind of nice. There's a huge lawn near the shelter with dandelions growing wild all over it and I think it's so pretty, all those yellow dots in the sea of green.
I bought a new camera bag today so now I can carry my new lens with me. Now I have no excuse not to go out and shoot.
I know most people consider it a weed. But I've always been rather fond of dandelions. I suppose to call it my favorite might not be entirely true, but since I have this freaky, well, thing where most flowers give me the heebie-jeebies, this is one of the few that doesn't make me want to go all peculiar. There's something admirable about their persistence and their insistent cheeriness. If dandelions were a person, they'd drive me crazy. But in a plant like this (that doesn't make me go all peculiar) it's kind of nice. There's a huge lawn near the shelter with dandelions growing wild all over it and I think it's so pretty, all those yellow dots in the sea of green.
I bought a new camera bag today so now I can carry my new lens with me. Now I have no excuse not to go out and shoot.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
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