OurGirl: Dear God, What is THAT

that's a line from the Princess Bride:

Westley: I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye followed by your right.
Prince Humperdinck: And then my ears, I understand let's get on with it.
Westley: WRONG. Your ears you keep and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear God! What is that thing," will echo in your perfect ears. That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.
Prince Humperdinck: I think your bluffing.

i ain't bluffing, either. i've swallowed my pride and i've done it. i've created an etsy store called chesapeake street. and it sells shell art that i create. see right column.

very funny. shut up.

ok, first, shell art kept me sane during a career transition. anyone familiar with me knows my not so secret hobby that i would rather not talk about but feel compelled to, anyway. if you don't know, here's the bare bones.

me loves sailor valentines and 18th century victorian shell art. i own books about it. i even started making my own posies out of shells. and selling it on ebay. it helped keeping me sane and when i landed where i landed and made a ton of new friends and then the vineyard kicked in and i started grad studies so i lost time and the hobby went into hiatus.

but i still have the detritus and the desire to do more craft. no. i only own one cat. why do you ask?

so my brother pointed out etsy, but that was back in the day, so i went uh-huh, really trying to put that behind me, you know? and didn't act on it. don't want to be that crafty-girl. then my girl graciously accepted a little shadow box i put together for her birthday. and she hung it in her bathroom. and i dug that.

i started thinking. i've got to unload some of the pieces i've done. it would clear out space in my office/second living space no one uses. it would make my husband happy. we had agreed i would not cover the house in my creations. he did say that if i did go mad that he would donate my output to the american visionary art museum. i liked the idea it might sit in the same room as the throne made out of tin foil.

you know, its just one of those john-hughes-esque movie lines where the hard core chickie-boo that competes hard, talks big and works her heart out turns out to have a very soft nougat-ey centers that enjoys making tiny, tiny effete flowers out of seashells and adhesives. i'll learn to live with it and your comments. walsh, morgan and andy are not allowed to purchase anything from the store w/o prior permission as i think that will crush me to have those two separate worlds collide like that.

the rest of the world need not seek my permission for buying my stuff or for anything else they may need. just saying. heh.

Morgan: Rebirth of Victorian Blogging

I've got to admit, I've gone through some serious blog phases after the last Bout of Blog. Admitedly I was baiting the bear with loaded blogshot and I shouldn't have posted one photo which I thought was innocent enough. When the rebuttal came I was shocked that we had been shutdown...I felt guilty and started questioning my actions. Then I felt angry, because I have always sucessfully danced on the sharp edge of appropriateness. And I was upset that I might have slipped and offended my friend. Then I reread the rebuttal, and slowly like a Rhino waking from long nap I realized "She" was more upset with her own actions...Then I got mad all over again for different reasons. I start formulating aggressive responses, like "I fear No Man!" and "whatever happened to freedom of speech!" and "Screw 'em all if they 'aint got a sense of humour" However, the seeds of doubt had been sown, and I was uncertain about any of my topics. So I waited and worked on other blogs, designing headers and new illustrations for Monday Artday. The longer I waited the more worried that I became that she didn't want to blog anymore. because I really do enjoy it. And then I tried to look at it from her perspective...and I began to understand, we had gone astray(in our writing)...and she had every right to be concerned, even if I didn't feel the same, I could empathize and change my style. If that's not enough I posted Streaming TV at the bottom of this blog, and Sudoku...scroll down and see whats not on TV or play Sudoku! I have removed the TV...Poor ratings.

Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same. He had committed— would still have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper— the essential crime that contained all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed forever.