Did You Miss Me?

'cause I sure missed you......

I want one, but haven't found the right one yet.....

History of Garden Gnomes
Gnomes have been part of German folklore since the early 1400's. The first ever recorded garden Gnome was produced in Graeferoda, Thuringia, Germany in the 1800's. They were generally made of clay/terracotta and were painted in bright colours. They were highly collectable and most were beautifully made works of art. In 1874, the British eccentric Sir Charles Isham brought some terracotta Gnomes to England from Nuremberg, Germany. Only one of the gnomes, Lampy, has survived; the gnome, which is 6" high is insured for £1m.
By 1872 August Heissner and Philipp Griebel were turning out Gnomes in large quantities. Several more Gnome manufacturers sprang up round the town. In fact, Thuringia became known as the Gnome capital of Europe.
When war broke out in Europe the German manufacturers closed their business's to concentrate on other things. The next twenty years passed without any significant production.
The 1960's saw several manufacturers making massed produced plastic Gnomes. They were highly coloured, badly painted and could be bought cheaply in the then 'new' Garden Centres which were opening at the time. The day of the quality garden Gnome had long gone and the Gnome began to lose respect and were known for being tacky, tasteless and irredeemably naff. It is said that by the 1990's there were more than five million Gnomes in British gardens but ten years later saw this figure drop to 3.8million. Sales slumped by 68 per cent, making a market once worth £9million a year now worth less than £3million. Even the Royal Horticultural Society, Chelsea Flower Show banned them on the grounds that they were "too tacky".
From the 1990's to the present day, sales of Garden Gnomes in England had hit an all-time low. Gnomes can still be seen, rarely, sitting on shelves in garden centres and occasionally, you may see them residing in suburban gardens.
Hopefully the trend can be reversed, but in the meantime let us preserve their memory. They have brought a lot of happiness and pleasure over the years to so many people.
Report Neighborhood Tyranny
Have you seen garden gnomes in captivity? Report it here. This information will be made available to the Garden Gnome Liberation Front, the Local, Federal, and International authorities, the appropriate amnesty organizations and will be transmitted into space via a powerful, world-class radio astronomy dish.

I Wish I Was the Moon

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins
As numb as I've become

I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight

Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name
'Cause I had sold my soul but awoke just the same
I'm so lonely
I wish I was the moon tonight

God blessed me, I'm a free man
With no place free to go
I'm paralyzed and collared-tight
No pills for what I fear

This is crazy
I wish I was the moon tonight

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands & bloodless veins
As numb as I've become

I'm so tired,
I wish I was the moon tonight

How will you know if you found me at least
'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one
With my heart in my lap
I'm so tired, I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight

-Neko Case

thank you for your candor....

Heather and Eli

I often wake up on Sunday mornings thinking about who I need to call that I haven't talked to in awhile. For my ripe age of 32, I have had very few girl friends. Under five, to be exact. This is Heather Davidoff. She lives in Granville, Ohio, where we grew up. I met her when I was 18, home on Christmas break from college. We spent the enitre break together. By day she worked our shitty jobs - me in layaway at Hills department store, Heather as a Server at Red Lobster. At night we hung out at her apartment, living on grilled cheese, tomato soup, and beer, making every kind of christmas cookie we could think of, and listening to Dead Shows over and over. Occasionally, her gamer roomate Brian Dumm would put in some Moody Blues and sing, so we would retreat to her bedroom, locking out the roomate and her loser boyfriend, Riedel, who was permanently pickled, and color with a 64 count box of crayolas with a sharpener. Once, a captain crunch fight (with crunch berries) started when we emerged from the bedroom, and we were cleaning it up for weeks.
I was dating this guy code named "Slinky" who was 6'7" and weighed 150 soaking wet, thus the nickname. He was the sweetest guy ever, and he got me midnight blue velvet Chuck Taylors for Christmas, but as much as I tried, I couldn't be atrracted to him. When I graduated from College, I went to visit him at Yellowstone.
Heather is married now, to one of the twin brothers who used to run into at high school parties. She has a wonderful life, lives in the country, and has a great marriage to Adam and an adorable son, Eli, who likes to eat apples from the tree in their back yard. I took this picture on a visit to Ohio last fall.

Gumbo for Breakfast

Props to Justin Chalk for my breakfast, a spicy andoullie gumbo over Carolina Planatation rice that Sus' parents sent. Breakfast of champions, followed by a bath while watching season Two of Six Feet Under on my laptop next to the tub.

I need to escape the announcers of the Tour de France- Paul Sherwen and Phil Leggit, whose voices are constantly coming out of my TV. There is nothing relaxing about their constant commentating chatter, announcing every time one of the stick figures on wheels shifts gears, takes a drink of water, or passes gas. If I have to hear about how Lance looked death in the face and now he is the strongman, the climber blah blah blah one more time...ahhhh!
An aside -it would be much more entertaining to watch the stick figures if they hadn't loss their asses somewhere along the way.

Use it or lose it Latin quote for the day :
Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam
I have a catapult. Give me all your money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head

13 Years of Catholic School and Nothing to Show For It

Ok, maybe not "nothing". There is the six years of Latin, and the memories of the nuns in their lace up black crepe soled shoes with their hairy lips and their red pens. My Catholic rearing mostly left me confused, and my confusion manifests itself into endless mocking of the beliefs my parents chose for me.

"Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and I'll forgive Thy great big one on me."
A Concept Self-Conceived
Robert Frost
1958