The Password’s Lasagna.

Note:  This cartoon is confusing to me on many levels, but most troubling is this:  Is it “laid off on the” or “laid off the”?  In a classic move of artistic courage, I chose one and went with it, but there is a troubled feeling in my gut. Or maybe I, too, like this vertically impossible giraffe, should have laid off the kale.  See, “laid off the kale” sounds like I fired it or something.  “You!  Kale!  You are a terrible, unmotivated worker and I have power and I don’t like the way you breathe!  You are fired!  Oh, and by the way, eat some dirt!” Yeah.  Okay.  

That said, here’s a pretty pitcher for ya’, sweetie.

Hey, don’t get me wrong.  I love zinnias.  Zinnias, if you don’t know, come in a variety of colors and sizes, but their defining characteristics include brilliant hues and stiff stems, which makes them one of the very nicest flowers for bouquets.  I wouldn’t name my kid Zinnia, but hey, it’s not bad.  Nothing against zinnias. HOWEVER. When you go out back on a stormy night, long after darkness has fallen, in your vulnerable bare feet and pjs, because you remembered to take the trash out about three hours after you’d forgotten to take the trash out (or “forgotten”, because taking the trash out is the worst), and you find a carefully placed, long-stemmed, single pink zinnia, freshly wilted, ON TOP OF YOUR TRASH-CAN...THAT, my friends, is CREEPY AS H E DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS. If you’ve been reading since Monday or so, you’ll know that I’m in the process of moving.  It’s a long, arduous, painstaking process at the least, and, like Rome, can’t be completed in a day....

My house is currently being shown by a realtor to an average of two potential buyers each day.  They come and they go, and, in real estate as well as trail etiquette, they take only photographs (as far as I can tell) and leave only footprints.   Technically. Not to abruptly change the subject, but have you ever sat on a suede* couch?  If you did, I bet you drew pictures on it with your finger, because the material shows light when you brush it one way, dark the other.  It’s a very impressionable fabric.  I have one of those couches.  It’s tan-ish, it’s comfy, and I like it very much.**  It’s in my living room, because it’s a couch and that’s where couches seem to prefer to live.  They like it dry and temperate with a little bit of soft lighting and a nice view of their territory, as well as easy access to the street in case they have a conflict with the armchair*** and need to make a quick getaway.   But I digress.   All you rea...

If you can do a headstand, please leave a comment, because you’re a total beast and I want to learn your secret. Note:  This cartoon is not autobiographical. Note:  Not at all. Note:  Really.

I went behind a waterfall the other day.  It felt like a different world than the one I’d left - sounds were muted, and the sunlight came in filtered flashes through the falling sheet of glistening water.  Fish soared past on their long journey to quieter waters, tiny cries of “yippee!” echoing off the rocks as they were swept over the edge.   Moss was soft, slippery, under my feet, and the rock overhead felt embracing, not menacing.  The world was water, and silver, and eternally pouring, and I was part of it all.   Then I clambered out and saw a sign, telling me to avoid the waterfall any cost, some of the risks being slipping, falling, drowning, more drowning, and various other unexpected deaths.   Now, there is a time for being cautious, of course, but to be honest...maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go...falling with a fall in the fall.  

You know those posts that stand in the middle of walking trails, to prevent motorized traffic?  Your dog always goes around them on the wrong side.   They’re usually yellow, or orange, sometimes greenly unobtrusive.    They’re easy to run into if you’re not paying attention.   They’re something I’ve generally thought of as a mild annoyance, barely a hazard.    Until now.    Now I know they are equal in danger to a nuclear power plant, or perhaps crawling inside a microwave for a hot ten seconds.   How do I know this, you ask me?  (No, I did not hit one while driving at high speeds on a pedestrian-only walkway.) While on my road-trip,  I encountered one (while walking...what kind of monster do you assume I am?) that was plastered over with official Warning stickers.   There were two, and they read, simply: Warning:  Deformities And Warning:  Cancer I tiptoed from the scene, and since th...