¿Dónde está el cuarto de baño?

Alright, let’s try this. I am still quite cranked, but it has nothing to do with you all – well, most of you at least.

Regardless of writing much of my personal feelings for net publication, I am at heart a private person. Intensely private. I’ve left enough stories in my wake for people to talk for the rest of their lives in some diminishing increment of their pathetic existence. In fact, I’ve faced the wall of blowing my brains all over the forest floor and decided not to because I didn’t want to give the vermin yet another story which either began or ended with, “I knew it would happen.” Talk about pathetic, eh?

I don’t mind being tagged as a vacationing carny. I love that some people tune in just to see if the train wrecked yet. I chuckle when I check my SiteMeter and see locales threaded through my history. I do mind, however, when those given a crow’s nest view of my life abuse the privilege. It is a privilege to be so perched in anyone’s life – there is no aspect of a “right” to it. Privileges, quite by design, can be revoked or, in the alternative, made painfully uncomfortable.

Intensely private. The privilege of the crow’s nest. Painfully uncomfortable. We on the same page? Glad we had this conversation.

Alright. Done. Onward.

New bumper sticker: “Your honor student initiated sex with my dog.”

Found this in my travels: Since light travels faster than sound, is that why
some people appear bright until you hear them speak?

Orlando was good. It was all work – never left the grounds of the conference center. Twelve hundred attendees with a handful of fun folks. Disney dominates that town like something out of Brave New World. It’s frightening. Bus after bus at the airport transported visitors on their pilgrimage to the Land of Manufactured Happy. You gotta know that the Queen of Hearts (or whoever that cranky one is) is a dominatrix in her second job, and that the testosterone-driven unspoken contest each year is to see who can nail the new Alice or Cinderella or Snow White first. Is it a trifecta if you get all three? There is a dark side to Disney, and it is not limited to the frozen cells between Uncle Walt’s ears.

I’ve mentioned this before, but it is worthy of sharing again … you can get a lot of free music through Papaiti. It is nothing more than a specialized google search for indices of mp3s. I just put in an artist name and rarely bother with song titles. Not all hits return music – when you get to a site and within a directory so that you have apparent mp3 files, right click and do “Save As.” If it returns a save as “mp3” you are ready – sometimes it comes back as an html file. Move on to another site. Also, be sure to move up the line on a site by hitting the “parent directory.” Sometimes you tap into the mother lode. I’ve found some good bootleg as well as released music.

I was over on futility closet, and noticed a November 11, 2007 post (tagged, “death”) wherein he lists some “unfortunate grave inscriptions.” I have always enjoyed graveyards. I cannot remember a time when I was not moved to silence as I walked through the resting places. I always notice fresh dirt or flowers as I drive by. I used to wonder what inscription I would want, and I finally realized a few years ago why I could never come up with even a phrase: I am not going to have a gravesite. I want nothing left behind but stories and fading memories. I toyed with the idea of having my ashes made into Christmas ornaments for a few folks that I loved deeply, but that, too, has receded. A few stories, traversing good and bad, a few pics that lose their depth over time and become a two-dimensional rendering of a person the viewer once knew – that is appropriate methinks. “Fade to black, and … cut! On-set break for lunch.”

I have nothing more to say right now. I’ll be your clown later. Have a good day …