Altered Images...

...of reality.

For this, my 39th year - which I somehow find scarier than my 40th.

I may feel differently about that in 364 days.

For now, here is a tune dedicated especially to me

Happy little rays of information...

...sometimes - not often - come my way that make me feel as if my head will explode. I mean that in a good way.

Today's news: The composer of the Little House on Prairie (and Bonanza, among others) theme tune was called David Rose. He was born in London.

That's not the interesting bit. (First, click below while the suspense kills you.)

David Rose was married to both Martha Raye (1938-1941) and Judy Garland (1941-1944).

Happy?

One more time: The Little House on the Prairie music composer was married to kooky comedienne extraordinaire Martha Raye and she who needs no introduction, Judy Garland.

Not so happy? Dig those threads, though.

This is PIVOTAL INFORMATION to my nostalgically-overloaded brain.

So - what else could I do but write about it in order to help myself digest.

I think I am calm now.

It occurs to me that I...

...earlier described myself as:

"I know very few people in real life who like any of the oddball things that I do. My heart and soul are totally living in decades different than this one, so I am fairly useless when it comes to things most people seem to like to discuss in today's world."

Yes, that does sound about right.

Pacing in...

...front of Claire's, waiting for the bus, I am reminded of how far my life has come in the last 14 years.

This time in 1997 (just a few days before Diana Spencer died), I'd not long left my job of nearly 4 years at Claire's in small-town Southern California.

Today, I am one month away from being granted permission to spend the rest of my life in the UK.

But how did that happen...?

The things I've done, jobs I've held, places I've lived and people who have come and gone that have led me to this day... I suppose I should be grateful for each and every one of those moments in time. Those moments which brought me to this one right here and now.

It's difficult to remember this sometimes, no?

To be continued...

I have been working...

...on a post for so long, that it's now out of date.

I finished it in one sitting a couple of weeks ago, then forgot about it.

Now I've started fussing with it again, as well as struggling with formatting here at this page. Why they make it so difficult to include and position photos, I'll never know. What decade is this, anyhow?

I digress... I will soon post it anyway, even though (or because?) I am tired of looking at it.

It sits here mocking me as another reminder of why something inside of me will not allow me to write for a living.

ConTEMPLATE...

...change.

In seeking a way to change one tiny thing earlier today, I instead ended up here for 2 hours or so, trying to work out how to do lots of tiny things now I have upgraded my blog template.

I didn't want to. I really liked these dots

But, like cake, I can't have my dots and categories, too.

I don't know why, since separated by a common language can. *grumble*

But I rather like the books in the background of where you're reading now. Did you notice?

We shall see. First I need to understand how the new things work (for example, do you see that new search box over there? No, over there...to the left. It doesn't seem to actually do anything. Why?) and then concern myself with aesthetic pleasure.

But, hey ho, it's good to shake things up every now and then. I've had this page for 7 years and haven't changed anything. Hey, I've only just told people (by 'people', I mean 4 - so if you happen to be reading this, you are one of an elite quartet) about it for the first time.

And I still can't yet think of a name for it. I need some ideas...

new beginnings...

... maybe

blast! I have finally had to . . .

. . . break down and accept the fact that Google now owns this.

The reason this page hasn't been updated for so long is because I was very chagrined to learn I had to create a new Google account, etc in order to access my page ever since Blogger was taken over a couple of years ago.

I've finally given in, primarily because I wanted to comment on another blogger's post, but couldn't do so without first signing in. If that person ever ends up on this page, I would like to share with her now how honoured she should consider herself I've finally gone to these lengths, because despite how much I like to say about everything all of the time, nothing has propelled me to do so in over 2 years!

So here I am. Perhaps I shall have to go back to keeping up this page . . . we'll see.


currently reading: Bill Bryson - The Lost Continent


[edit: I've decided to, as time permits, re-post some bloggy bits that were listed elsewhere. I mention this so that I don't look as if I'm contradicting myself by saying above that I've not updated this page in two years, when just below it one can see posts with more recent dates. I'll add them in with their original date and time stamp!]

another reason to fancy Joe Escalante . . .

(. . . an enjoyable account of a recent tour of England)

'It was so cold outside, people were afraid to go anywhere. I did a long power walk to get some exercise but I went so far I had to take a bus back. I just faked an english accent and put a pound in the drivers tray and said "university please" in a ron weasly voice and it totally worked. They don't know you are faking it and if you do it well, like rene zelweger does, they actually understand you better. But you can only do this when you are alone because if the guys in your band hear you doing it, they will likely puke.'

Yes, Joe, I understand . . .

another fantastic quote from . . .

. . . Auntie Abigail (a code name which I have only just selected byway of a funny little word association that just happened in my head):

' "fellow traveler" used to be code for pinko commies who were trying to bring down the establishment.'

I had not heard this before, but have now also found it here.

I do love it, especially given the context in which it was used regarding a friend who working somewhere with someone who is pure Hell...