Goodbye, Gideon. I miss your insistent head butts.
This is old news if you work in the visual arts (and non-news if you don’t), but Pantone’s 2013 Color of the Year is emerald (Pantone 17-5641). Described as lively and radiant, the intense color calls to mind Dorothy’s glittery destination in The Wizard of Oz. However, I recently learned that the Emerald City is …
Jeff got grits in my Thanksgiving feast. I got death on his Christmas tree. Together, we're like a Reese's peanut butter cup. Or something.
This is a sticky subject.
Watch me, a longtime pesco-vegetarian, eat crow. It seems I haven't a clue which cows are destined to become ground beef, although I stated in my last blog post that the cows in Chik-fil-A's ad campaign, aside from being crappy spellers, would likely never grace a plate because they are, or appear to be, dairy cows. In the immortal words of Baby's dad, when I'm wrong I say I'm wrong.
If you want people to act, you must tell them exactly what to do, and how to do it.
This post is about how I'm accumulating almost as many sunglasses as shoes, stupid shit that kids do, and what my cat Wilkie has in common with a certain famous cannibal.
We have all gotten the message by now that sitting is the most dangerous activity in the world besides commercial tuna fishing. Here's how I pedal a bike and do computer work at the same time.
I reported last month that Jeff and I are a Perfect Couple. As has since been pointed out to me, there is no such thing as a Perfect Couple — if "perfect" means never disagreeing. But though our relationship is more akin to a storm or a mess, I still maintain we're the Perfect Couple. (And we might actually stay that way provided I stop writing about the poor guy without his permission!)