tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51549315121351499362024-02-19T02:11:33.813-05:00A Traveling Mudshow with Krista DetorNo, seriously, I have the answersKrista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.comBlogger193125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-14616594050199996742014-02-07T19:34:00.000-05:002014-02-07T19:34:40.958-05:00<h2>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Answer #210 - <span style="color: cyan;">Smoke the Rod</span></span></b></h2>
Dave, my partner, is an active guy. He loves 'the beautiful game..' (Soccer. Futbol to those of you NOT currently residing on U.S. turf).<br />
<br />
The beautiful game is grisly sometimes. Like the time he got hit by some idiot who thought that a cleats-up, flying slide tackle known as a 'leg breaker' was a good idea for a friendly Thursday night on the turf. Compound fracture. Yep, the kind where the bones shoot out the front of your shin and your foot flops sideways.<br />
<br />
What a tool. The 'leg breaker' guy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihj-R5910wC0cIDAT5L44HXNH8EBNIyF2RYpsDHrHeAzB02Nit2NHWDdsnFmO8vMLy-AvOPDp_ue0TLJNDtQ0e2GvMg7HtEykiD3nBBWdt7b47Yd9P7B85348wZYP5Gm_u0-wNvuwVrxzB/s1600/FightClub.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihj-R5910wC0cIDAT5L44HXNH8EBNIyF2RYpsDHrHeAzB02Nit2NHWDdsnFmO8vMLy-AvOPDp_ue0TLJNDtQ0e2GvMg7HtEykiD3nBBWdt7b47Yd9P7B85348wZYP5Gm_u0-wNvuwVrxzB/s1600/FightClub.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm not sure what anyone expected of a chap whose FB likes include the wretched incongruity of <i>'Fight Club' </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkOhZs7uJcpRvltk0p_5IOWDS6HMkRh4GJqNQrKD6K4dbAWJOU5-lKynFyFV4kuIQgc1Oo_LdLbzlc53NelwyjuZR98P6CfMlCb6KFBOYfy3Agk1uPIMBq275lArB3AErxMTOIBkJ0ZNq/s1600/Jesus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkOhZs7uJcpRvltk0p_5IOWDS6HMkRh4GJqNQrKD6K4dbAWJOU5-lKynFyFV4kuIQgc1Oo_LdLbzlc53NelwyjuZR98P6CfMlCb6KFBOYfy3Agk1uPIMBq275lArB3AErxMTOIBkJ0ZNq/s1600/Jesus.jpeg" /></a>and 'Jesus..'</div>
<br />
Which could bring me to a rant, it really could, because all too often Jesus' (the Prince of Peace) name is invoked in the name of blood sport (don't get me started on the Crusades... and their eventual lead-in to Dubya's reproachable declaration of 'holy war,' as he invaded the Iraqi oil fields - and well, here we sit: In a quagmire of endless war, a military-industrial complex that has the country, quite literally, on its knees (ouch), and <i>Black Ops3</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WaWjQQLhC38uJP5XxTqpZ7S_7N1vVEB5NerhyphenhyphentbeDjKZOMc7V3mrrlf6vQ3uchArb3qmLdf13BPyeSccjxel1DAiUqaIQqESdur221ELzIJ-Nnl91UPXA6oJmXfXkXS24SZQAFId2Z21/s1600/Blackops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WaWjQQLhC38uJP5XxTqpZ7S_7N1vVEB5NerhyphenhyphentbeDjKZOMc7V3mrrlf6vQ3uchArb3qmLdf13BPyeSccjxel1DAiUqaIQqESdur221ELzIJ-Nnl91UPXA6oJmXfXkXS24SZQAFId2Z21/s1600/Blackops.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></i></div>
to make the whole thing more palatable and exhilarating..)<br />
<br />
<br />
See. I almost ranted.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">So what do you do when life hands you titanium and a long recovery?</span></b><br />
<br />
Here's Dave, post-surgery, still at the hospital on Tuesday. A little woozy from the anesthesia.. and in great spirits.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenEKJGMszEdh4vdK94DnYF8zGaxkDmHJwWoP_xUWevxrTfYn1KVPaTsQWPh9FI5UcuwThoAbnDnnexMP9PKlvDDAsAqlgbDHPn31asp5WFhfiJuktubVeQidf4mFlpsvMZbE8E1ntowfp/s1600/Davesmokingrod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenEKJGMszEdh4vdK94DnYF8zGaxkDmHJwWoP_xUWevxrTfYn1KVPaTsQWPh9FI5UcuwThoAbnDnnexMP9PKlvDDAsAqlgbDHPn31asp5WFhfiJuktubVeQidf4mFlpsvMZbE8E1ntowfp/s1600/Davesmokingrod.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The thing he's 'smoking' is the titanium rod they had to pull out of his leg to fix the ACL tear, a hold-over from the leg-breaker.<br />
<br />
Thing is.. he loves the beautiful game, despite the occasional idiot and/or body count.<br />
<br />
And the thing is, I wouldn't have it any other way.*<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWxXi7kDfytTmB7bp7R3H8q5BuX9y1KXBAUV17H4A3NYwejzX9YTmQvWYe3jEgGGVmi1rjAD2T5c20AsQedSbdawGxsJox1NyvxhNMHPXsW_RQOlu2irI0DxRtsUcsunZDWJL2uryv0W1/s1600/UncleVinnie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWxXi7kDfytTmB7bp7R3H8q5BuX9y1KXBAUV17H4A3NYwejzX9YTmQvWYe3jEgGGVmi1rjAD2T5c20AsQedSbdawGxsJox1NyvxhNMHPXsW_RQOlu2irI0DxRtsUcsunZDWJL2uryv0W1/s1600/UncleVinnie.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*(I would maybe have the leg breaker smacked around a bit by my cousin Vincenzo, but that's not very 'folk' of me.. and is a story for another time.. to the tune of 'That's Amore..')</span><br />
<br />
<br />Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-88366347559901691242013-10-16T12:44:00.000-04:002013-10-16T12:44:14.485-04:00<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: cyan; font-size: large;">Answer #209 - Yes, Hyperspace is real</span></b><br />
<br />
Nah. I don't know if hyperspace is real. I'd like it to be. I saw this great documentary on NOVA some time ago - a study in perception science, wherein, at odds of 400 billion to one there being coincidence, subjects were able to predict the future. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNlyS-gA-LAVaxm6nOdy1w_bUIMdVD7OYKDIakmyWCfdhdrFYGLji3v_EO1KqpIXANcJwnCYCwfb-HAst4zfH0xTaSYmIHqOW9p_ONO_HXqclkwVCdjSPfYVY3pQ_OpJaL8ALGEATQr77H/s1600/psychic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNlyS-gA-LAVaxm6nOdy1w_bUIMdVD7OYKDIakmyWCfdhdrFYGLji3v_EO1KqpIXANcJwnCYCwfb-HAst4zfH0xTaSYmIHqOW9p_ONO_HXqclkwVCdjSPfYVY3pQ_OpJaL8ALGEATQr77H/s1600/psychic.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
They were subjected to randomly emotionally arousing images, hooked up to all manner of diode and battery cable. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi92qZM-S0CxG1bQSemfyEW_-SB2BcUWr8XmIpJa2oW-Hy2OoLbd9QC5RMuOT9yhdCKc3R46_GxQhrykhbctipOHIkaD3yO49T4g-b8GOIyQosyeqx1EBsswaAbmyiJn00JpDBjaVkWLAu/s1600/girlnwires.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi92qZM-S0CxG1bQSemfyEW_-SB2BcUWr8XmIpJa2oW-Hy2OoLbd9QC5RMuOT9yhdCKc3R46_GxQhrykhbctipOHIkaD3yO49T4g-b8GOIyQosyeqx1EBsswaAbmyiJn00JpDBjaVkWLAu/s320/girlnwires.jpg" width="238" /></a> Scientists could measure physiological response to the disturbing imagery at 2-10 seconds PRIOR to the image actually appearing on the subject's screen. As if the subject could physically anticipate the disturbing imagery, in a series of random benign images.<br />
<br />
Crazy. I know. Gives one pause, however.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3RVMcZMfwnbAO2xJaYWKlmp1CgHJ2XFMyJXiL87BqINTbrG4TH6ejuj7vwJGOtxtDnyKmmu5LBe72G-OqawmR_-EpuRIj7jUA3-ayJ06W6wTUJKXhboYLO6J4iCChTKuajfVdjpI2EA8/s1600/theprofessor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3RVMcZMfwnbAO2xJaYWKlmp1CgHJ2XFMyJXiL87BqINTbrG4TH6ejuj7vwJGOtxtDnyKmmu5LBe72G-OqawmR_-EpuRIj7jUA3-ayJ06W6wTUJKXhboYLO6J4iCChTKuajfVdjpI2EA8/s320/theprofessor.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
If you're me, and don't even pretend to play a scientist on TV, you think to yourself, 'Huh. Maybe this wacky hyperspace notion has some merit. Sure, it's set fort by a bunch of those Quantum guys that the Age of Aquarians have really glommed on to because even THEY don't understand the mathematics and the whole thing sounds awesome.. but... Einstein was looking for it, right? Hyperspace, I mean?<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">What if the unseen 'hyperspace' is the stuff of </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">premonition, gut feeling, 'I can't explain how I </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">know I just know,' and the realm where all manner </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">of communication and stringy forces ravel and </span></b></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">unravel.</span> </span></b><br />
<br />
And maybe, when the corporeal body turns back to the dust from whence it burst forth that warm summer night in the backseat of that car - we're still hanging out. Unseen.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGBdAZl4-ngFbEYDokragBJHdl983Us15SYwdXSnAGLgT5ryQVv3MLt-yBjLRij9EIWs0mDKrvRxyu-LZqrFfBCXU5_8TpMPmWqgcHj1jvCWDNLi459kS7TiPW-fUoX3vQs4fKkdsAdJ9/s1600/sleepingdolphins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGBdAZl4-ngFbEYDokragBJHdl983Us15SYwdXSnAGLgT5ryQVv3MLt-yBjLRij9EIWs0mDKrvRxyu-LZqrFfBCXU5_8TpMPmWqgcHj1jvCWDNLi459kS7TiPW-fUoX3vQs4fKkdsAdJ9/s320/sleepingdolphins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Whispering to dolphins while they sleep.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-40422945203382683792013-09-24T12:34:00.001-04:002013-09-24T20:46:41.966-04:00<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Answer #208 - <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Draw the line</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">How do we continue to believe in the intrinsic good of human beings, despite corporately-fueled evidence to the contrary?</span><br />
<br />
I just re-read the first line 10 times. Because I want to believe in the intrinsic good of human beings. I draw the line.<br />
<br />
I want to believe that we are, in fact, at our best when things are at their worst.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabV-f6VM_IQ_qoFIP23ZIKIjYbLVJDDaS71TeIbfqIOiJL-PdE4Chh12NAHeNAsdMexu3D-YBOyhlINlKn25K2aMRL2RI22-LQQz-cZztcojpAQAh_R3UKIxy9OHYErRG7Xbe93JAheyQ/s1600/egypt21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabV-f6VM_IQ_qoFIP23ZIKIjYbLVJDDaS71TeIbfqIOiJL-PdE4Chh12NAHeNAsdMexu3D-YBOyhlINlKn25K2aMRL2RI22-LQQz-cZztcojpAQAh_R3UKIxy9OHYErRG7Xbe93JAheyQ/s320/egypt21.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I want to believe that we're at the apex of the nutty and hysterically blithering swing of the pendulum, and that I can actually feel the tug of the slow fall back toward center.<br />
<br />
I'd like to live long enough to see the full apex at the other side of the swing - the one where your credibility as a Congressperson is upped by your ability to design this<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzKL3l47yIDFTm367ya1ICmLp2Jsv5RRTLW7BAHP16et04n7RTcw4tchoRi9uHob1OCv2wpk9og1oYNDPErHZLAwZ7NPv3iMYRGkwEmk_7qaaZrfKntZ_PfLVOU4y7aIfAnM2EJy03BYJ/s1600/Bookworm-by-Atelier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzKL3l47yIDFTm367ya1ICmLp2Jsv5RRTLW7BAHP16et04n7RTcw4tchoRi9uHob1OCv2wpk9og1oYNDPErHZLAwZ7NPv3iMYRGkwEmk_7qaaZrfKntZ_PfLVOU4y7aIfAnM2EJy03BYJ/s320/Bookworm-by-Atelier.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
and your proclivity to actually READ the works of art within the work of art;<br />
<br />
where Monsanto and their horror-show contemporaries are reduced from this<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcsUSJXC0hnWr6DHg8Z5AcnfrckYm4ZU4r1Ll5IAXJtjKU_sJLhQj_0NSSN1BPnM4iKiiroTykhSzy4IfZeM-FwcnI3bcwSd7rrCIk0NLhrE9-b2SwTUYgWTqGzcV2yaaLDQdxEY-EEFau/s1600/monsantolaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcsUSJXC0hnWr6DHg8Z5AcnfrckYm4ZU4r1Ll5IAXJtjKU_sJLhQj_0NSSN1BPnM4iKiiroTykhSzy4IfZeM-FwcnI3bcwSd7rrCIk0NLhrE9-b2SwTUYgWTqGzcV2yaaLDQdxEY-EEFau/s320/monsantolaw.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
to this<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXEB3UBBEU7Z7RQ9sVfZcs44YpF77YkEkZLStxdTKm_88Jv7de6EotOxNOQCEpUGP7XcwI-mbC0ozFEjE1_QuM_tuV-RUJiag5-nNtDW3LcTrBtEHH8-OuzBQReMyW2uCuVq72ijl8ME7/s1600/monsanto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXEB3UBBEU7Z7RQ9sVfZcs44YpF77YkEkZLStxdTKm_88Jv7de6EotOxNOQCEpUGP7XcwI-mbC0ozFEjE1_QuM_tuV-RUJiag5-nNtDW3LcTrBtEHH8-OuzBQReMyW2uCuVq72ijl8ME7/s320/monsanto.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
and where this<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5-qlYPuKpIFizx9tuOhmq5KYowpLS0pqyIfEj1as9pROiGibYKRttj1OmyUhLhr1leDxB5eaj2CB0rmRU9bUlICp2XLITQ9vFVkPsRNtbnM8dexhztXz9HmaKawGzLjV-RjpxA9pjHyj/s1600/education-future.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5-qlYPuKpIFizx9tuOhmq5KYowpLS0pqyIfEj1as9pROiGibYKRttj1OmyUhLhr1leDxB5eaj2CB0rmRU9bUlICp2XLITQ9vFVkPsRNtbnM8dexhztXz9HmaKawGzLjV-RjpxA9pjHyj/s320/education-future.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
is the road that everyone travels. <br />
<br />
I draw the line at this, however:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0QzAYuYmcNKS3Jz_TeUOh7bZptm3UVvdLVc9Np-GwAFg71kGcF-r6BCpluquLIQbIiHvlBWBhZ8Qs9cvThHHKaXFnXusgJXMfKUiypih0jOyFEVM78tuehfPVXJjoltLUc-pNmkKLgkU/s1600/earth-full-view_6125_990x742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0QzAYuYmcNKS3Jz_TeUOh7bZptm3UVvdLVc9Np-GwAFg71kGcF-r6BCpluquLIQbIiHvlBWBhZ8Qs9cvThHHKaXFnXusgJXMfKUiypih0jOyFEVM78tuehfPVXJjoltLUc-pNmkKLgkU/s320/earth-full-view_6125_990x742.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Because I also want to believe that the earth is flat and rides on the backs of four elephants, atop a giant sky turtle who swims, endlessly, through the vast expanse of space.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvgaFE3wuPttIJcfYvdJqt5K6yTc3szR2N80DLJAbHlMpHi5dXPtZtuPlLiQeXCsz2UXv9qxs0LFftbw0eFGPaozWrAhhfAQVhuiTRlDfL9u3bMD9u_gOwjbLKA0d0tbeCdKvzO8yX7NT/s1600/flat-earth-turtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvgaFE3wuPttIJcfYvdJqt5K6yTc3szR2N80DLJAbHlMpHi5dXPtZtuPlLiQeXCsz2UXv9qxs0LFftbw0eFGPaozWrAhhfAQVhuiTRlDfL9u3bMD9u_gOwjbLKA0d0tbeCdKvzO8yX7NT/s1600/flat-earth-turtle.jpg" /></a></div>
Let's not quibble. I've drawn the line. Just go with it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-21260695975039668612013-09-19T15:26:00.000-04:002013-09-19T15:26:17.335-04:00It Takes a WillageAs the music industry came undone, I came up with a notion to step out of my comfort zone and see if I could get fans and friends involved in <a href="https://kristadetor.crowdhoster.com/flat-earth-diary">collaborating on funding a project</a>. It's the new world order. It's the new way. It's.. amazing. It's made me have a couple of personal Sally Field moments, not this Sally Field<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUwhyphenhyphenf3X73fwLtODY5Xdedrgw42efTjETqAvzJ33-sl2ERKi4_ZSvoE4zvoW7rAJXAD61B0SGUWvP7Kx2tvbuBj2RGpHqwnKoW6LRCFmOhVSCpZQipufnbLgzkCM-ejPxCraTc6eM5Ynt/s1600/flyingnun.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUwhyphenhyphenf3X73fwLtODY5Xdedrgw42efTjETqAvzJ33-sl2ERKi4_ZSvoE4zvoW7rAJXAD61B0SGUWvP7Kx2tvbuBj2RGpHqwnKoW6LRCFmOhVSCpZQipufnbLgzkCM-ejPxCraTc6eM5Ynt/s320/flyingnun.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This one<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYYjUXdEGbrHaezyoDQh1MtFo7LQisKexqTLr2YC9bhb2Nyh0s9zPDASNlBGRxOq309hzDOd4lrHyWMT0hr5lSRrYbOmKOm79_Z16QfLYnDzh6Nc1a_SlRNZ67ILFqbwgng9DQkRZT7bA/s1600/sallyfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYYjUXdEGbrHaezyoDQh1MtFo7LQisKexqTLr2YC9bhb2Nyh0s9zPDASNlBGRxOq309hzDOd4lrHyWMT0hr5lSRrYbOmKOm79_Z16QfLYnDzh6Nc1a_SlRNZ67ILFqbwgng9DQkRZT7bA/s1600/sallyfield.jpg" /></a></div>
Actually, a little of both. But I kept them to myself, regardless.<br />
<br />
You know, more or less.<br />
<br />
I might be able to fund not only the new album, but projects I've long wanted to embark upon:<br />
A visit to Africa, to visit Nyaka and write songs/record stories with the students there.. collaborative projects in Ireland and the U.S. It's given me a ton of confidence in the possibilities, let me tell you.<br />
<br />
THANK YOU, COLLABORATORS. A world of joy is the gift you've given me.<br />
<br />
(And I didn't even need to buy an Oscar De La Renta knock-off at TJ Maxx to celebrate the occasion)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-37643614068908105572012-09-14T00:17:00.000-04:002012-09-14T00:17:10.694-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 11 - AlanaanBollyblog Day 11, September 11, 2012<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm going to need a 12-step group to let go of my compulsion to consume Naan. This Indian bread marvel magic amazement is too much. It's too much. I can't <i>not</i> eat it. And wheat really messes with me, having decided to jump on the gluten-free bandwagon with the rest of my hippie friends.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QyzfFq-TKFINM9mWhHjqzvBINCbTHVvUKXwESto84umtONskcwTJaJHN3FrwS9Guopq_4eGPYD6skBIr9S1P3x-ithRgnNbVXqB-nd4DGGXNIsU6tZv2I-5jK_WzBAnWIxKLB825GtJh/s1600/naan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QyzfFq-TKFINM9mWhHjqzvBINCbTHVvUKXwESto84umtONskcwTJaJHN3FrwS9Guopq_4eGPYD6skBIr9S1P3x-ithRgnNbVXqB-nd4DGGXNIsU6tZv2I-5jK_WzBAnWIxKLB825GtJh/s1600/naan.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
No. There's not a song in it. There's just magic bread and all the varying chutneys, pickles, raitas (yogurt sauces) and all manner of everything creamy and holy to slather on it. I could be talked into being an Indian food critic. No, I have no background to draw on, no sophisticated palate in this realm, and I'm not sure I'd even enjoy the critique even if the Indian people would offer anything other than mildly annoyed amusement at my attempt. Nope. I would just really love to get paid to eat Naan.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiInK8mnBfwAqL6T-sfYM2rTPvcrAnQGX60cXHl5Civb6GeFhGAnSmFpy0VIrB-ekqArrGQCLq5ovjtb2pJreTiXoldtpH9Egk9t0MN_Sc2j6FhDTTcXU4F3Td0XlQ82oZB2jDs8PseLeo6/s1600/IMG_0808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiInK8mnBfwAqL6T-sfYM2rTPvcrAnQGX60cXHl5Civb6GeFhGAnSmFpy0VIrB-ekqArrGQCLq5ovjtb2pJreTiXoldtpH9Egk9t0MN_Sc2j6FhDTTcXU4F3Td0XlQ82oZB2jDs8PseLeo6/s320/IMG_0808.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div>
Meanwhile, here's a picture of Dave at the Red Fort. It was astounding. But I used all my good adjectives on the Taj Mahal and the Naan. So you'll have to settle for a visual and imagine accompanying flowery language. (It was spectacular, though. It really was)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-57958434288055021282012-09-12T04:22:00.000-04:002012-09-12T04:22:24.098-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 10 - It can't be made of marble<br />
<b><u>Bollyblog, Day 10, September 10, 2012</u></b><br />
<br />
Whatever you think about the Taj Mahal - whatever cliche', over-exposed, iconic, <i>yes, among the 7 wonders of the world, yes, but come on, how different could it be than the countless pictures we've all seen from childhood on</i> - thing you think you know. You don't.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTpT_shn_h6Ty2xND4cWr0t3QB7UpAVXgRkxGr-slBgKm89Ij9hU2SFmWzwBoDkR9_waxO8WqacR6wUkU6mzGtxuC38xNM-2bOT_w-WKhBiatZjrclfC_-K3y5HiG1L6T4vsY38-wOpRU/s1600/IMG_0801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTpT_shn_h6Ty2xND4cWr0t3QB7UpAVXgRkxGr-slBgKm89Ij9hU2SFmWzwBoDkR9_waxO8WqacR6wUkU6mzGtxuC38xNM-2bOT_w-WKhBiatZjrclfC_-K3y5HiG1L6T4vsY38-wOpRU/s320/IMG_0801.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
So the point in even putting this picture in this chapter is, well, 'monumentally' stupid. But Great Ganesh almighty, the Taj Mahal is maybe the single most glorious structure I'll ever see. A thing of such concentrated beauty that it almost pulses like a quasar, emanating light for eons..<br />
Finished in 1653, it was built over 20+ years by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Granted, she was his favorite wife, among many, which of course left me wondering exactly how many food tasters were in her employ in the day.. but oh, he must have loved her fiercely, because love actually seems to be a living component in this structure. It is made of solid marble.<br />
<br />
"How can that be?," Dave the engineer asks. "The sheer weight of this thing..." followed by his jaw dropping as we both slowly walked the perimeter, gaping like thirsty bird dogs on a Mississippi dirt road in the middle of July.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-TewQYCA49Eobrk-a0bydJvLEU23a3bbsj4lsNRGHX0ZdUVo5JQbxetRIFyQqmoZeBf0y8KpD181zjbuWVSNcfJAOr8GWY1hsF77yJmWfYL5Miq3XJdddsp9k-cqErPp0J8fCFqP7RuH/s1600/IMG_0806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-TewQYCA49Eobrk-a0bydJvLEU23a3bbsj4lsNRGHX0ZdUVo5JQbxetRIFyQqmoZeBf0y8KpD181zjbuWVSNcfJAOr8GWY1hsF77yJmWfYL5Miq3XJdddsp9k-cqErPp0J8fCFqP7RuH/s200/IMG_0806.jpg" width="149" /></a>Of course we couldn't be in Mississippi because our car engine was a camel.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-28681521286914418582012-09-11T02:21:00.000-04:002012-09-11T02:21:35.116-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 9 - Send in the Cows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJ5YRhTHBZv6twD9k6jIaxSDkdyh6ZQGDIr272KzLUBKe0qcmnk0FmAOtKvb1saqucohJQuukz6eSza3FhMNJz9G9beIUZtj9MDwEyrTN3ORJXbn_2FF1xwe_0SRZ7fcZiUBmDXMccqKY/s1600/IMG_0788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJ5YRhTHBZv6twD9k6jIaxSDkdyh6ZQGDIr272KzLUBKe0qcmnk0FmAOtKvb1saqucohJQuukz6eSza3FhMNJz9G9beIUZtj9MDwEyrTN3ORJXbn_2FF1xwe_0SRZ7fcZiUBmDXMccqKY/s320/IMG_0788.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Bollyblog, Day 9, September 9, 2012</u></span></b><br />
<br />
It's all true. On the long road to the Taj Mahal, there are at least 750,000 cows... lying leisurely in the medians, on the sides of the roads, in the road, on the grass, in the heartbreaking miles of dirt and mud that make up what would be sidewalks, or houses, or beds elsewhere... and they walk down the middle of the road, against traffic even, while cars whizz by unbearably quickly, dodging children, street dogs, motorcycles, tuk tuks (that green & yellow 3-wheeler behind the cow up there) and yes, cows... they're like dogs, tied to trees, walking down the road on thin pieces of rope, led by small children. Cows...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtBGET0qDaYeNa1eN4Cn-y1FPSqz21c3MQKPiy4XaYsvAFF2hGsEoYYVTi8E5RMbaV4CsxT0caHOADTGTpP6IXw74YqDt-ntuRBZSV_L3_GiXyiLMiLuUw8TgRyhh7O9_L7fHHnkHfJD7/s1600/IMG_0791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtBGET0qDaYeNa1eN4Cn-y1FPSqz21c3MQKPiy4XaYsvAFF2hGsEoYYVTi8E5RMbaV4CsxT0caHOADTGTpP6IXw74YqDt-ntuRBZSV_L3_GiXyiLMiLuUw8TgRyhh7O9_L7fHHnkHfJD7/s200/IMG_0791.JPG" width="200" /></a> Women in beautiful, bright saris and wraps adorn the cacophonous streets.. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxyxgW-EKEhmcBwWp5CBSwWhMYUuH69WBIXtBG1BjfN4SVAojLNPVjZhz3uJqABf8QEqn068bRO2ZBTjf9S8VQjI_SsI7dY4pguDwX9zADQ0c-yCRv45cQv_DuHkZ5BwECZ_WUI9rxTQPr/s1600/IMG_0787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxyxgW-EKEhmcBwWp5CBSwWhMYUuH69WBIXtBG1BjfN4SVAojLNPVjZhz3uJqABf8QEqn068bRO2ZBTjf9S8VQjI_SsI7dY4pguDwX9zADQ0c-yCRv45cQv_DuHkZ5BwECZ_WUI9rxTQPr/s320/IMG_0787.JPG" width="320" /></a>and the backs of motorcycles. Shoulders must be covered, but not midriffs. Yesterday, a man wanted money for us to take a picture of a monkey which he led around on a thin rope.<br />
<br />
I won't settle in here before I leave in the next few days. How could I? So much sound, smell, color... floating like dust on the rumor that Delhi is a city full of djinns, forever protecting it from permanent ruin...<br />
<br />
I want to believe in something today. But the djinns don't belong to me, though I wish I'd found a lamp to rub at Dilly Haat.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-28678874495134972342012-09-10T06:00:00.000-04:002012-09-10T06:00:52.703-04:00Bollyblog, Chapters 7 & 8 - Betel nut, Betel nut, Betel nut<b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Bollyblog, Day 7, September 7, 2012</span></u></b><br />
<br />
The show on Friday was enlightening. Mostly because I realized just how many references I make to liquor, guns and even cigarettes (gasp) in my songwriting. Of course, singing to a theatre full of students (some of them as young as six), faculty and parents, .. well.. really made me take stock of things. In a blushing at first, but inevitably just admitting that debauchery plays a big a role in my imaginary life. Because I don't smoke, even though I own a .22, I tell myself.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkicqs0lmRjOhuccUuyHgjbwbFWF5xWi7kUCewOxEUGPB8wypEruPfsnpLqCTA_JqtssvAWaO888pZj4TSOMbCkXstja0wFmmuSM3-9bPIfff78DHNcxnQOIhUiBem5NSwb_cm0NWS7ghk/s1600/IMG_0708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkicqs0lmRjOhuccUuyHgjbwbFWF5xWi7kUCewOxEUGPB8wypEruPfsnpLqCTA_JqtssvAWaO888pZj4TSOMbCkXstja0wFmmuSM3-9bPIfff78DHNcxnQOIhUiBem5NSwb_cm0NWS7ghk/s200/IMG_0708.jpg" width="149" /></a>Seriously, I must not be living right. Despite the fact that the audience, on the whole, including the six-year-old contingent of girls dressed in princess garb, found the whole thing hilarious, and I got a curtain call (truly unexpected), I think, for my new happy album, I'll come up with subject matter other than grain alcohol. </div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Bollyblog, Day 8, September 8, 2012</span></u></b><br />
<br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><b>Dilly Haat market</b>... the cab driver was a Sihk with a beautiful head scarf. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K6VbHg9_vcWr7n8EsyizpTfwMnUrTawpdjdRYZ-pGm7msmOYqEfmeFe7xA4CVvlVnKgHTXv81BVHtX7Ust7m3_I5NHW1FninslXgnLdlti1dIlr5BQYjbFPeoJtkgq9wYxRvj6r8Bpjg/s1600/IMG_0770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K6VbHg9_vcWr7n8EsyizpTfwMnUrTawpdjdRYZ-pGm7msmOYqEfmeFe7xA4CVvlVnKgHTXv81BVHtX7Ust7m3_I5NHW1FninslXgnLdlti1dIlr5BQYjbFPeoJtkgq9wYxRvj6r8Bpjg/s200/IMG_0770.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">The market was a melange of color, music, smells, merchants pushing all manner of silk pasmina, carving, camel-skin wallet, exotic instrument and little statues of Ganesh. It was a beautiful night, the perfect temperature with a light breeze, as the stars came out... and then it wasn't. The rain started, and the tarps were extended, and the humidity rose... so that I was essentially soaked to the skin and beyond... I left with a new wallet, and not much money in it.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-bdzdugN-4fQmNv4yq8ROwvqxbMQHGn9fO5yx0bHtCIDRom6h6ip7ktrPLZ2uwam-D7IAEQXsTGUbNBhI6nGcUw_SjvVfwywlFB1Heyv5CHVO7kZxPi2h1_C3Qc0LDP9_CRmlzznHmYC/s1600/IMG_0769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-bdzdugN-4fQmNv4yq8ROwvqxbMQHGn9fO5yx0bHtCIDRom6h6ip7ktrPLZ2uwam-D7IAEQXsTGUbNBhI6nGcUw_SjvVfwywlFB1Heyv5CHVO7kZxPi2h1_C3Qc0LDP9_CRmlzznHmYC/s200/IMG_0769.JPG" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKvEK9BIWQhw2OIPjorBJjNCvLlkp7BWeNNRPAoU6T9csIMi85ghY2G76Q7Rnu7Skp7-I_iT_NykmTczZae2zAeRJpHkErwu5DZN_rXVrmJW4AuO85ujaMN3HJrhB_XnrLFjWX6QvuJfW/s1600/IMG_0767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKvEK9BIWQhw2OIPjorBJjNCvLlkp7BWeNNRPAoU6T9csIMi85ghY2G76Q7Rnu7Skp7-I_iT_NykmTczZae2zAeRJpHkErwu5DZN_rXVrmJW4AuO85ujaMN3HJrhB_XnrLFjWX6QvuJfW/s200/IMG_0767.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">The next evening was a visit to the <b>India Gate war memorial</b>.. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd35AzryNJGc9IzIXnAtlrM904xudC7qyWGsc9uZuX9neoIuDm3Kei9t_tN54rfYUrNTlOhRltFLE1vM9tnKHPnh4z5aVsOUoiDOafA-aNFQPX6JgZntAEtEZJb6FsinmpAxjdWuqExnRA/s1600/IMG_0779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd35AzryNJGc9IzIXnAtlrM904xudC7qyWGsc9uZuX9neoIuDm3Kei9t_tN54rfYUrNTlOhRltFLE1vM9tnKHPnh4z5aVsOUoiDOafA-aNFQPX6JgZntAEtEZJb6FsinmpAxjdWuqExnRA/s200/IMG_0779.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">more merchants, with different, lighted wares - LED-lit whirling copters that flew high in the air and down, glow-in-the-dark super balls, neon-colored cotton candy, ice cream vendors everywhere... </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYo7LFG1lahxMZvXlf_lC8QVA8lK42GTFOvuYIw-NzpXn8MfQ1L7FC6UmbOtHBTfMXqWoFgqlgYsBJ99yumYK7TXdHtRDDQqwKBlgCpmV3W-a2tPsuX1kW7_0UjmSJzLuUIznkHbl7QZYm/s1600/IMG_0781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYo7LFG1lahxMZvXlf_lC8QVA8lK42GTFOvuYIw-NzpXn8MfQ1L7FC6UmbOtHBTfMXqWoFgqlgYsBJ99yumYK7TXdHtRDDQqwKBlgCpmV3W-a2tPsuX1kW7_0UjmSJzLuUIznkHbl7QZYm/s200/IMG_0781.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
AND an interesting looking treat made of something called <b>Betel Nut</b>. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiInC5tXaheidwbJ985ak8rcQ41MaePrAv-WDsBMQjdnMSPLCyzDKhZjl2TKbB8P_H2mxhem5iPlsCRugCA6RjDoWXGVMmNXf9SHlIzUZWpgYEM1278CBErAfg6IqDhoNjxkwAaVWzC65/s1600/IMG_0776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCiInC5tXaheidwbJ985ak8rcQ41MaePrAv-WDsBMQjdnMSPLCyzDKhZjl2TKbB8P_H2mxhem5iPlsCRugCA6RjDoWXGVMmNXf9SHlIzUZWpgYEM1278CBErAfg6IqDhoNjxkwAaVWzC65/s200/IMG_0776.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
You apparently chew the stuff like tobacco, with similar nicotine effect, and it turns your teeth blood red, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOr5MUQnxA1OHtl8paZkXweDfyvJGLr-K6JH5NgzHiftyheu8CKstwlFKeR5Oq4CyrhkicARn8BQMLrbe5kB0cV49wQiF3JMeD7jKJx8Eql7q-qFVbwIcs3P8kkbGspP4pz7qoSUHGFOl4/s1600/betelnut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOr5MUQnxA1OHtl8paZkXweDfyvJGLr-K6JH5NgzHiftyheu8CKstwlFKeR5Oq4CyrhkicARn8BQMLrbe5kB0cV49wQiF3JMeD7jKJx8Eql7q-qFVbwIcs3P8kkbGspP4pz7qoSUHGFOl4/s200/betelnut.jpg" width="200" /></a>and you spit red stuff all over the place, and.. no, I didn't try it in the way that I didn't try stewed silk worms in Seoul. Nope.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-73404114252342334822012-09-06T06:09:00.000-04:002012-09-06T06:14:57.005-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 6Bollyblog Day 6, September 6, 2012<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1awvKHW41tcCFzoXnuaRPWMDxF5abjuL0yaq4dHrlmvwI6tFGEPKcOlBVk8nEAnAM2mx5pFiXE7N6Gm4OTPjnPRFeGWzdoXYak5bnLrNZfYpGX2Jiv7FvNXvjYW-LnfFZGt0PIynwGIPj/s1600/IMG_0761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1awvKHW41tcCFzoXnuaRPWMDxF5abjuL0yaq4dHrlmvwI6tFGEPKcOlBVk8nEAnAM2mx5pFiXE7N6Gm4OTPjnPRFeGWzdoXYak5bnLrNZfYpGX2Jiv7FvNXvjYW-LnfFZGt0PIynwGIPj/s320/IMG_0761.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Got a little closer to a monkey. Frankly, up close, they're a tad menacing.. something about the long claws.. still, I risked it and took a photo. He was dozing, but those little eyes were open enough to make me think Ridley Scott was hiding around a corner with a camera somewhere. Like the monkey was feigning sleep, and then he was going to come and eat my head, and Ridley would catch the whole thing in H-D. Luckily, he didn't.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0zp4C49XebqKfBzMcGkM92yrTVwPpiyN0s_25SyThh0Ldow3c9T7ZmoborsEECebEiTk0oq8frfrw_SNZNicji_mXuST5_4uyW1rxXASjOpKRx7kiW1ALO0jOzVTqnfcDl2bqUJAQMYk/s1600/IMG_0749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0zp4C49XebqKfBzMcGkM92yrTVwPpiyN0s_25SyThh0Ldow3c9T7ZmoborsEECebEiTk0oq8frfrw_SNZNicji_mXuST5_4uyW1rxXASjOpKRx7kiW1ALO0jOzVTqnfcDl2bqUJAQMYk/s320/IMG_0749.jpg" width="239" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Lodhi Gardens yesterday was beautiful.. mosques and cranes..</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YD8Aryhjbl6IUek4lcCiBBJA_W8RkC1WqgDX5rcsw-kC1rG1ARBxxllt-G80p5txh4XDiPCcwxSyQRVuMV_EwoYFlsQG8JISecjqDOdsv8HcQAps6p35Ep2mlKokGSfrc2ji8edgqDYz/s1600/IMG_0758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YD8Aryhjbl6IUek4lcCiBBJA_W8RkC1WqgDX5rcsw-kC1rG1ARBxxllt-G80p5txh4XDiPCcwxSyQRVuMV_EwoYFlsQG8JISecjqDOdsv8HcQAps6p35Ep2mlKokGSfrc2ji8edgqDYz/s320/IMG_0758.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCXpKWWpmE-sxz6s-bIZrWbM9PqOzRQSZLAiLK5CIFRNRChDyFmsBsrH0wvIS6kM-r-3IZI6-I_hto1_7JaZ2gEeYYx6aXQyJ3hYVkDWwqVrVsHfJNeH0fFDE4MaSvSaqLLp4a8DVPw9P/s1600/IMG_0753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCXpKWWpmE-sxz6s-bIZrWbM9PqOzRQSZLAiLK5CIFRNRChDyFmsBsrH0wvIS6kM-r-3IZI6-I_hto1_7JaZ2gEeYYx6aXQyJ3hYVkDWwqVrVsHfJNeH0fFDE4MaSvSaqLLp4a8DVPw9P/s320/IMG_0753.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
And the markings of humanity.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-18986414866850237402012-09-05T08:04:00.000-04:002012-09-05T08:04:23.766-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 5
<!--[if !mso]>
<style>
v\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
o\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
w\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
.shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
</style>
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>44</o:Words>
<o:Characters>252</o:Characters>
<o:Company>Airtime Studio</o:Company>
<o:Lines>2</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>309</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Bollyblog Day 5, September 5, 2012<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finally got to leave the compound with a driver and go to
Humayun’s Tomb, the precursor to the Taj Mahal. It’s stunning.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSrQOLIAw0rMZ4uCrZfzeYZsVrmm1tFgwSC06QaP_2MDY4bcTCS3eJczxrQeoY6B8NHRCW7bqEbnMZCMpyYZp7u6B95TZ4rzYYrtGf3HkyHzDdf4TRdlts_3ZsWD5g1pm-W_ZjgmwcWCi/s1600/IMG_0742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSrQOLIAw0rMZ4uCrZfzeYZsVrmm1tFgwSC06QaP_2MDY4bcTCS3eJczxrQeoY6B8NHRCW7bqEbnMZCMpyYZp7u6B95TZ4rzYYrtGf3HkyHzDdf4TRdlts_3ZsWD5g1pm-W_ZjgmwcWCi/s320/IMG_0742.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><!--[endif]--></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are street dogs everywhere, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
even here, in the national
treasures... . <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiUpdh52rGdvFbtjBF2A9l_Hm5Uj_Nh3wHLyGMM01cVrLcKoy9jzSF_PjoJR_OsoQb9rcr3SdAcOYdP1ei0640l2hu1q6FmJn4FpBFCeSq5x1ydEwdUj70S1tiMdFrU04h1ttlgWh6_lbM/s1600/IMG_0732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiUpdh52rGdvFbtjBF2A9l_Hm5Uj_Nh3wHLyGMM01cVrLcKoy9jzSF_PjoJR_OsoQb9rcr3SdAcOYdP1ei0640l2hu1q6FmJn4FpBFCeSq5x1ydEwdUj70S1tiMdFrU04h1ttlgWh6_lbM/s320/IMG_0732.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaPGPucFWFUwONdvZzSPoLY6wf6RlTo8DoflaKEmeIcecVm7zTTG10Bov0f_q1eQL2LlJ9BDmg_YlqBoW1dQSN9vG3t7131Hqtit3p5BX5klP-7T5ZgNutACbYbpU3G7RivsfegRfdKk5/s1600/IMG_0738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaPGPucFWFUwONdvZzSPoLY6wf6RlTo8DoflaKEmeIcecVm7zTTG10Bov0f_q1eQL2LlJ9BDmg_YlqBoW1dQSN9vG3t7131Hqtit3p5BX5klP-7T5ZgNutACbYbpU3G7RivsfegRfdKk5/s320/IMG_0738.jpg" width="239" /></a>The trees look to be wrapped in the souls of dancing women…</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-23846342557967137212012-09-05T01:26:00.001-04:002012-09-05T01:26:18.526-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 4
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>148</o:Words>
<o:Characters>847</o:Characters>
<o:Company>Airtime Studio</o:Company>
<o:Lines>7</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>1040</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Bollyblog Day 4, September 4, 2012<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>Finally!<span> </span>A monkey sighting. There were many more than this little guy, but we were running late for rehearsal. There were at least 20 of them, climbing up and swinging around the abandoned building that is lovingly referred to ‘monkey house.’ </o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxZyFv6kFzHc93I6DnlhI8gv03X2eDF4_gCppR2djIdgacmQkLcAdYUNNYQZUkUDzC52CoNsFqvQmYLpVsJwQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of monkeys, American politics are getting me down, even at this
distance. I’m trying not to let it keep me awake at night, but still.. even
‘The Earth is Enough’ isn’t distraction enough. I’m in India, for the love of
Mike. THAT should be distraction enough. I’m hoping that the trip to a shrine
and a market will smack me into a broader perspective. I feel like songwriting, but
my brain is still time-travel mush. Rehearsals every day and edits, edits.
Still – this show is going to be wonderful. I’m working with amazing people. I’m
luckier than anyone should be… All this and monkeys too? You’re right. Who
cares about the donkey and elephant circus when you’ve got monkeys and the REAL elephant,
Ganesh, waiting to enchant you around every corner.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-42023015296810703862012-09-04T01:34:00.000-04:002012-09-04T02:20:29.610-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 3<u>Bollyblog Day 3, September 3, 2012</u><br />
<br />
I've been outside a total of 10 minutes. All day spent in the theater of the American Embassy School, working on the new musical. This place and the students are amazing. Here's a clip from yesterday's stab at choreography for one of the ensemble pieces. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxVUOzQhiKsN676IIy3YqZrL0oiuyh-RvB2Rfpo5mKL2zIVtYymR_yDMnCoY5cSq1qUR2XeDiEXHjHKYMM' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<br />
On the walk to the theater, my host informed me that the chances are good in the next two weeks that I'll be accosted by monkeys if I'm carrying food. I, of course, am looking forward to the experience, in a theoretical way. Of course I'd give up my granola bar if push came to shove. Maybe I'll see some of the city tomorrow. Maybe the monkeys will show up. In the meanwhile, internet comes and goes with the rains...Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-60569123253759504542012-09-02T15:16:00.001-04:002012-09-03T02:44:14.098-04:00Bollyblog, Chapter 2<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page Section1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.Section1
{page:Section1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bollyblog Day 2, September 2, 2012</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At departure from Heathrow to Delhi, insecticide was fogged all through
the cabin of the plane. I covered my face with my scarf, and then realized the
futility of such a thing, in a closed, recirculating-air system. British
Airways is now my favorite airline, despite the toxic perfuming (they claim
it’s not, but anything that carries the suffix ‘icide’ I generally consider to
be less-than-healthy). The meal (curry, with two kinds of chutney and a
cardamom and orange ‘posset’ (pudding) was really tasty, the service was
great, and one attendant made the trip my best int’l flight ever. Not a lap
dance, no, but, I wanted to give him some sort of gold statue. Or a big wad of
cash. Instead, I thanked him warmly and fell soundly asleep on my travel pillow
of fluffy goodness, in the whole row of empty seats he snagged for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stretched out and slept an amazing 6
hours straight. <br />
<style>And I <!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page Section1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.Section1
{page:Section1;}
-->
</style>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN4PZhj5dboYyswRRcSMxgcxbN1PO7rSycbK7edkRo7Co4RZQR2Crrvv46ibk1rwxpg_TwinDDY9WuYevlPZ8t0jUGOw4E6LSA3zzOKHAe6NTx83gbtJJYzxasovtaTLUb4cU_zGAkn1j/s1600/Airport_delhi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN4PZhj5dboYyswRRcSMxgcxbN1PO7rSycbK7edkRo7Co4RZQR2Crrvv46ibk1rwxpg_TwinDDY9WuYevlPZ8t0jUGOw4E6LSA3zzOKHAe6NTx83gbtJJYzxasovtaTLUb4cU_zGAkn1j/s320/Airport_delhi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I've arrived, and I didn't fall out of the sky. It occurs to me
it's a little morbid posting those "psychic" premonitions. Secretly, I wanted
the posthumous kudos: "Wow. She could make a decent guacamole AND was a
psychic, too!"Ah well. I'll have to conquer telekinesis or something.</div>
Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-48880005309860962432012-09-01T18:35:00.001-04:002012-09-01T18:36:01.524-04:00Answer #194 - Do a Daily Blog on India, Chapter 1: Bollyblog<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page Section1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.Section1
{page:Section1;}
-->
</style>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><b>Bollyblog Day 1, September 1, 2012</b></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What do you do when you've got approximately 20 hours to kill?</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the Chicago airport, enroute to London Heathrow, I’ve
just tried Rick Bayless’ Frontera. It’s actually great, and the sources for all
the fare look to be within about a 6-hour radius. Minimal carbon footprint,
compostable plastic, and the best guacamole pretty much anywhere. Except my
house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m more stressed than I’ve been before a trip, as I head
into India on my own. Maybe it’s being alone, without Dave. Maybe it’s that two of
my close-in relatives have died in the last couple of months, and these things
happen in threes, and my father keeps having worrisome dreams about me…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m scared, getting on this plane to London. Yes, I’m
cursed with a wild and melodramatic imagination, but still, I don’t like that I’m
scared, despite all of the glorious speeches I’ve imagined at my imaginary
funeral, where the football stadium at the university is crammed with people, waving
farewell, enmasse, like you do at football stadiums.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, the guacamole rocked and now I’ll actually open up
the Rick Bayless cookbook my sister sent me last Christmas.</div>
Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-49253633906234493642012-07-18T15:44:00.001-04:002012-07-18T15:44:28.495-04:00Answer #193 - Get Happy in 5 Easy Steps<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So how do you shift your perspective from the introspective?</b></span><br />
<br />
Here are 5 easy steps to banishing your innate existential angst while contemplating the new HAPPIER album you're planning to write.<span style="background-color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: black;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: black; color: #d5a6bd;">
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"><b> 1) </b></span><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">Acknowledge that change is the new static</span><span style="color: magenta;">.</span> </b></div>
<b> </b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOkA9AoXz3FSFpZ4Wac4of-nWbU02PYKerQlhiyhFiTo0nveECuWzbGs_TTIm-1musKiNbwP9ikGClyDsYL7GD-GxSW4VOsWkgZPNH6J4c0HKOTkGgOQXWq5dHuKSvO9bkD5pUUB5RpTZ/s1600/mindcontrolhelmet.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOkA9AoXz3FSFpZ4Wac4of-nWbU02PYKerQlhiyhFiTo0nveECuWzbGs_TTIm-1musKiNbwP9ikGClyDsYL7GD-GxSW4VOsWkgZPNH6J4c0HKOTkGgOQXWq5dHuKSvO9bkD5pUUB5RpTZ/s200/mindcontrolhelmet.jpg" width="180" /></a> Roll with it. Realize that you have the choice whether to a) completely lose your mind and write a
personal anti-change manifesto on the side of your neighbor's barn, in
the blood of a recently deceased goat who died of natural causes, and
send it, piece by piece, to Mark Zuckerberg's office over the course of a
year, or b) just post your stupid status update in whatever new form Mark Zuckerberg wants you to. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOkA9AoXz3FSFpZ4Wac4of-nWbU02PYKerQlhiyhFiTo0nveECuWzbGs_TTIm-1musKiNbwP9ikGClyDsYL7GD-GxSW4VOsWkgZPNH6J4c0HKOTkGgOQXWq5dHuKSvO9bkD5pUUB5RpTZ/s1600/mindcontrolhelmet.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Then you can acknowledge that, eventually, the entire net will be thought-driven, and not screen-driven. And ha! You'll laugh! Oh yeah.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #f1c232;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAyxK64ysUe_YdBScI59V4mclioONP6wUu2nPQRyuNse3QsnlG6nI3yj11_usx9VW63p-GoAKLNx93Qm9XLfVsjtK2TY8s623hgNN9ZwFanjusgV4IuV40BolkZifdJDVqyEzsSvxNCR9/s1600/hellokitty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAyxK64ysUe_YdBScI59V4mclioONP6wUu2nPQRyuNse3QsnlG6nI3yj11_usx9VW63p-GoAKLNx93Qm9XLfVsjtK2TY8s623hgNN9ZwFanjusgV4IuV40BolkZifdJDVqyEzsSvxNCR9/s200/hellokitty.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: black; color: magenta; font-size: large;"><b>2)</b> <b>Buy a new Hello Kitty iphone cover.</b> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> Then, when you find yourself suddenly asking Siri all those John Malkovichian questions, and getting increasingly angst-ridden at the soothing condescension of the programmed voice, pretend it's Hello Kitty answering you. This will make you laugh. And others will laugh. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqDpV-TYDtLJxk4TEP2sGTtLd-QwcLGCXYaa3cqmJOaznXcFTXtrzHgFOu_TFzMqzDGMF3o7Ac9klOxOWoC0TONzmq45-Qfz1fx-mB_M9DI-gzx2vf2oCK3gStNMt4_E3xoHAFall17mM/s1600/Solzhenitsyn.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqDpV-TYDtLJxk4TEP2sGTtLd-QwcLGCXYaa3cqmJOaznXcFTXtrzHgFOu_TFzMqzDGMF3o7Ac9klOxOWoC0TONzmq45-Qfz1fx-mB_M9DI-gzx2vf2oCK3gStNMt4_E3xoHAFall17mM/s1600/Solzhenitsyn.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: magenta;">3) Give away all your Solzhenitsyn paperbacks.</span> </b></span>Just stop it. The Gulag's probably closed by now anyway. Time to pick up<i> 50 Shades of Gray</i> and get on with it. Laugh erotically and stop wringing your hands.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEWDU1kgUvMsyit7-mgLube68IcKuq4_Hzw60NtqJVmGpvYJ_3dSfDLQ_1KcmRpnIeeiBWHFVlO0UwNDhvlKnpRYWx5Gsjw_JrMB2rDqd1NSwZz8E8vIPG9aBEB9jcjjiyAA4bvfKID4U/s1600/beerandbiker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEWDU1kgUvMsyit7-mgLube68IcKuq4_Hzw60NtqJVmGpvYJ_3dSfDLQ_1KcmRpnIeeiBWHFVlO0UwNDhvlKnpRYWx5Gsjw_JrMB2rDqd1NSwZz8E8vIPG9aBEB9jcjjiyAA4bvfKID4U/s200/beerandbiker.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: magenta; font-size: large;"><b>4) Learn to like Microbrew beer.</b></span> The people that drink microbrew beer look alot happier than you and your over-sized goblet of red wine (in order to aerate it, yes. It needs air). They are telling jokes and laughing and sweating from bike rides. Laugh, and while you're at it, buy a mountain bike.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkD1f39bTBhbECWnkMH5UbE8ezK1weAXlwqg04d5CsB9pjlUrJtwUXMx-ig3pJXXjSrQZXFHPBuNSyj4JZpyainUK25I0ZU_Y_kyBxTV28Dkq58Qqseca-b6ugwpIVWwMDkdenLD222RQ/s1600/tutuman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkD1f39bTBhbECWnkMH5UbE8ezK1weAXlwqg04d5CsB9pjlUrJtwUXMx-ig3pJXXjSrQZXFHPBuNSyj4JZpyainUK25I0ZU_Y_kyBxTV28Dkq58Qqseca-b6ugwpIVWwMDkdenLD222RQ/s320/tutuman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: black; color: magenta;">5) Find a pink tutu and wear it everywhere</span>.</b></span> Not like Sarah Jessica Parker on the Sex and the City opening sequence, but like this guy.* Tell everyone you could have danced with the Bolshoi but didn't want to shave your back to cater to someone else's esthetic sensibility. They'll laugh, and then you'll laugh. And then, as God is my witness, you'll write that happy album!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*Who, for the record, takes photos of himself all over the world in a pink tutu, to increase cancer awareness on behalf of his wife. That actually makes me really happy...</i></span><br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-37259584063391551932012-02-08T14:36:00.001-05:002012-02-08T14:43:42.813-05:00Answer #183 - We are the People<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 45.0pt;"><b><u>Channeling Gertrude Stein via Senator Vi Simpson</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 45.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 45.0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTiM6KUT3JN4On6NH8-u_0A5ytqOGzedY-Ty6iXP4t2RjC_y35zBiLlK5F9wnA93IT7g4ikMCAF_TavYc01nm9TbZFwEoEcfHMnQrPFRqLe7oSvfnerErpkGnvN_5Xh4O_napLaOSfyI7/s1600/gertrudestein.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTiM6KUT3JN4On6NH8-u_0A5ytqOGzedY-Ty6iXP4t2RjC_y35zBiLlK5F9wnA93IT7g4ikMCAF_TavYc01nm9TbZFwEoEcfHMnQrPFRqLe7oSvfnerErpkGnvN_5Xh4O_napLaOSfyI7/s200/gertrudestein.png" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaox_6oyvzg3lKnUEYyluWxePfWeDuJCS0UnSY4wHYE0uptHi25rQ76E4PusFL_mxtDlhs0NEipsA3wo5oeKQkiNTQqurJNd0PsIWR-c5cXNk2gQw7PPrjOhWDUHDb3IG6C7GWBAyRZtZ/s1600/ViSimpson2-thumb-250x192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaox_6oyvzg3lKnUEYyluWxePfWeDuJCS0UnSY4wHYE0uptHi25rQ76E4PusFL_mxtDlhs0NEipsA3wo5oeKQkiNTQqurJNd0PsIWR-c5cXNk2gQw7PPrjOhWDUHDb3IG6C7GWBAyRZtZ/s1600/ViSimpson2-thumb-250x192.jpg" /></a>It’s American as apple pie and chutney yes it is it certainly is. Equal representation yes it is equal and fair and right it’s Creationism alongside Judaism and Islam and Scientology and every other worshipful thing and I can respect a good story no matter who propagates it or what their head dress or how they hold their hands it’s a free country this native land of ours yes it certainly is. Free free freedom free to speak freedom of speech free thought free market where is the freedom in the market when there is inequality where is the market when inequality is the market and when did the market displace the good and true liberty as she stands there on the island sinking to her knees, all alone now. In our hands are the hearts of our children in our hearts are the minds of our children the minds the wonder in the future the future the future in the hands of those who would bring the walls in tight and hard and rope the minds like cowboys in the old west and they think they are, they certainly do. But here we stand and the good boys coming home from war not like WWII when the pride swelled in them and there they stood dapper and crisp and we shook their hands in those cafes and slapped their backs those strong backs and those good hearts but here we stand and the boys coming home from war are not like those boys no they’re not. Boys. They’re boys. They’ve always been boys and some girls too some girls some young and not young and for this freedom freedom they’re fighting with not enough armor and breathing the poisons we thought we’d outlawed in Geneva 1925 and scavenging like hermit crabs looking for shelter in the shrapnel and scrap for pride and home home home home begging to go home go home and for this we offer them a rope and tight hard walls and tell them no matter where their grandmothers come from those grandfathers who built the grand nation on their backs and with their own bleached bones and no matter their generations upon generations of head dress and hands held and eyes pleading heaven or stars or trees for mercy and light they will learn to pray pray pray our father who art the lord almighty have mercy upon us have mercy upon us here. At home. Home. Have mercy. Have mercy. Theocracy that is. A Theocracy and I am no theocrat and America is Democracy I’m a Democrat, democratic red white and blue we are guided by the stars and the bars and the good constitution by the good people by the good by the good, the right isn’t always good but the good is always right. oh say can you see oh say can you see through the tight and hard walls graffitied in dogma a mighty fortress? oh say can you see his wrath and power are great and armed with cruel hate America the Beautiful can you see? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 45.0pt;"> In good conscience, ladies and gentlemen I must insist I must, I certainly must insist upon equal representation for we the people. We are the people and we the people are individuals and we blaze our own paths we blaze them and walk unafraid into the deep woods and ladies and gentlemen pray that there will always be deep woods to blaze and places that no government has paved over forever. American as apple pie & chutney, ladies and gentlemen we are a nation of immigrants who’ve brought, thank God, God with us in many scarves and many baskets and if god is everywhere and everything then ladies and gentlemen let us teach our children to recognize the face of god everywhere they go and in every vision ever held in the mind of man of the love of god. Pray ladies and gentlemen that god is merciful pray that all gods hear us pray hard, pray hard and earnest for ladies and gentlemen we have boys and girls mothers and fathers who can’t yet come home who hide in tight and hard packed sand walls until one day they can burst from airplanes to run in open air in free air and ride in parades in New York City city of freedom and ladies and gentlemen, when they arrive with prayer beads worn down and small clenched tight in hands held in every worshipful grateful way, who are we to tell them that their god has been asked to leave America?</div>Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-63951665525648502792011-12-12T13:31:00.000-05:002011-12-12T13:31:59.143-05:00Answer #182 - Somewhere under the welcome matBlessed are the Meek.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghz6RPXNUpQTy9Yx6COXCxWZMxKa2ekJORY9q2Gre14_A3f08D5Z1kp4rJ5S8jslFdvhSd_VL0jJmMVDEQmIuF7QIvtYIhi0YPb47HE3MQL0YyI8buXCsIxlmH9juXatxzlu4f9_1Hkcil/s1600/finished-puppy-dogs.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghz6RPXNUpQTy9Yx6COXCxWZMxKa2ekJORY9q2Gre14_A3f08D5Z1kp4rJ5S8jslFdvhSd_VL0jJmMVDEQmIuF7QIvtYIhi0YPb47HE3MQL0YyI8buXCsIxlmH9juXatxzlu4f9_1Hkcil/s200/finished-puppy-dogs.png" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Complicated notion.<br />
<br />
I have one dog that is meek and one dog that eats that dog's lunch when said non-meek dog is done with her lunch. The meek one is the boy, the non-meek one is the girl.<br />
<br />
The non-meek one gooses everybody. EVERYBODY.<br />
<br />
It's disconcerting.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdByVVSwNLwGsIAFNQTCXgjbJoqXqYWoBbuzf909zwMG4SN16wvbfv-XySqVhgRptXC_1oajbhJp0bfpPIM8K4HMh33mzkVqHiKIlqRR7IsCAnnFzh8GWt6L0D2YDQAKe6EKjcJGP7Cirh/s1600/happy_cartoon_dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdByVVSwNLwGsIAFNQTCXgjbJoqXqYWoBbuzf909zwMG4SN16wvbfv-XySqVhgRptXC_1oajbhJp0bfpPIM8K4HMh33mzkVqHiKIlqRR7IsCAnnFzh8GWt6L0D2YDQAKe6EKjcJGP7Cirh/s320/happy_cartoon_dog.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
She eats boxes the UPS man leaves. For no good reason. They don't, say, contain meat. Or anything perishable. Just sweaters. The meek dog would never do this.<br />
<br />
The non-meek dog chews on the meek dog like he's a chew toy from Walmart. Not that I've ever owned a Walmart chew toy.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Where's the Blessing? </b> </span><br />
The meek one asks with his eyes.<br />
<br />
The non-meek dog gets all the food, the chew toys, the gooses, the Christmas sweaters, the warm spot to sleep, to lick the cat whenever she wants, and the attention of almost everybody because she's absolutely adorable on top of all that.<br />
<br />
Gotta go, she's scratching on the door and if I don't let her in she might eat the welcome mat.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-20790223547206762152011-11-07T13:15:00.000-05:002011-11-07T13:15:26.991-05:00Answer #181 - A Thundershirt“You’ve got to be kidding,” my dog said with his eyes. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">“Another party, I’m expected to wag my tail at these </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">people whom I neither know nor like the smell of? No. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">I think I’ll be in the office, in the dark, under the desk. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">In case you’re looking and happen to have a leftover </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">piece of meat.”<br />
<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">I’m reading Skymall Magazine, enroute from Stanford, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">via Salt Lake City (holy mother of Mike but what a</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">beautiful place this time of year – covered in snow, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">surrounded by a ring of mountains), and wondering<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How am I going to get my dog to lighten</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>up already?</b></span><br />
<br />
And there it is – </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEq5gkFpYqPvLInb3VAbR2HERXQXPyYwai3OrppQnIVirmrqC1tSwXfRdmvJv0gpGisP6SjngYroPS6E1xXYnSydJalWS8qg3EE76YhI0bMlOd26kUYy3g-Iywzsbw_TUwcuyv2hMxXiZ/s1600/ThundershirtGray.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEq5gkFpYqPvLInb3VAbR2HERXQXPyYwai3OrppQnIVirmrqC1tSwXfRdmvJv0gpGisP6SjngYroPS6E1xXYnSydJalWS8qg3EE76YhI0bMlOd26kUYy3g-Iywzsbw_TUwcuyv2hMxXiZ/s320/ThundershirtGray.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">The Thundershirt. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">Temple Grandin’s a genius, brilliant, evolutionarily-</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">leaping genius and there it is, among the retail fruits of </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">her mental acuity: The vest you put on your dog to make </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">him relax when </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-right: -0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>1) There is gunfire from somewhere in the woods, which<br />
is often, up here on Fulford Ridge </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in -0.75in 0.0001pt 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-right: -0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>2) There are fireworks, firecrackers, or other small, nonspecific</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"> explosions, which is often, up here on Fulford Ridge </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in -0.75in 0.0001pt 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-right: -0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>3) You’re having yet another party and a ton of people your</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"> dog is unfamiliar with show up and attempt to pet him and/<br />
or get him to do stupid pet tricks, which is often, up here on<br />
Fulford Ridge</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in -0.75in 0.0001pt 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-right: -0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>OR 4) you’re the owner of an inexplicably neurotic, but sweet</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"> laborador retriever, ala the sleek, black lovely my parents are<br />
enamored with, and a Thundershirt’s basically a good way to<br />
get through the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6u5VZoRBTsjap5o8VCyDmvt33TQpUDJjZi5vZmHOkEcRoumCT592eIu8DQZXhHK9jjSHmRmu74i-e6B2z7U8Lab3mbvt1NIyJ0bIeM0zUXV31xr5x5jgpCSZ4aQsPOwSCWLhHyS9XrI-/s1600/veterinary_scared_dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6u5VZoRBTsjap5o8VCyDmvt33TQpUDJjZi5vZmHOkEcRoumCT592eIu8DQZXhHK9jjSHmRmu74i-e6B2z7U8Lab3mbvt1NIyJ0bIeM0zUXV31xr5x5jgpCSZ4aQsPOwSCWLhHyS9XrI-/s1600/veterinary_scared_dog.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">Thank God for Skymall. I had no idea what to get them for Xmas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">this year.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">But there’s still the matter of my dog. He asked for a bark enhancer</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">for Christmas this year, because the girl dog we adopted from the<br />
shelter is part Shepherd. She sounds distinctly German and scarier<br />
than hell. He’s having a hard time with this. However, fact is, she’s<br />
just as traumatized by loud noises and strangers as he is.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;">I think the solution is to get her the Thundershirt and him the bark<br />
enhancer. If such a thing can be found. Yeah, I know, I’m particip-<br />
ating in the whole perpetuation of the patriarchy thing, but if you<br />
heard him bark, well, you’d make the same decision. <span style="font-size: 8pt;">Woof. </span><br />
<br />
Maybe the big bark’ll make him braver and more willing to do<br />
stupid pet tricks for my friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2C0OP63Eru-IusJtcxqbjFXgmibFL7-QyI5PCLbXOBvSvGUMp4APaWaTpsEKWTcnbx70zpkxSI6PB-NfqUd99jtlTeB4YPE0pLD98wMjbS2zjXvdlOP9xZeCrPkVBkCNEiCNI6_-LEzo8/s1600/hoedown.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2C0OP63Eru-IusJtcxqbjFXgmibFL7-QyI5PCLbXOBvSvGUMp4APaWaTpsEKWTcnbx70zpkxSI6PB-NfqUd99jtlTeB4YPE0pLD98wMjbS2zjXvdlOP9xZeCrPkVBkCNEiCNI6_-LEzo8/s1600/hoedown.gif" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -0.75in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span>Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-30564310759876082262011-10-26T10:38:00.000-04:002011-10-26T10:38:34.800-04:00Answer #180 - After the first sip of Beer<b>It's Halloween. I'm baaaaacccckkkkkkkk.......</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Today's Limerick is about a witch with a candy house:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A witch with sweet tooth once said,</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Yeah, I built my house of gingerbread.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The occasional pity -</div><div style="text-align: center;">have to cook up some kiddie.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ah, well. Adds some crunch to the spread!"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzs1fH_kvxo99mSp_IeB3Visyuwo-3YPM8FaUH3yry9MrzSMcoPWSVQIw6PmKA6hyZgvtZG64AcY5vtPwtmLMw5kZmZ3oWOKEUExYyH4mwBMPLyMXlrOXXXUEx6BXeyakHwzrebBorgK3/s1600/gingerbread-house.350w_263h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzs1fH_kvxo99mSp_IeB3Visyuwo-3YPM8FaUH3yry9MrzSMcoPWSVQIw6PmKA6hyZgvtZG64AcY5vtPwtmLMw5kZmZ3oWOKEUExYyH4mwBMPLyMXlrOXXXUEx6BXeyakHwzrebBorgK3/s320/gingerbread-house.350w_263h.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
As a child, this concept of gingerbread houses of course brought to mind numerous perils. Among them, ants, rain, the inevitable decay...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpctM6EbEi-79ztCqCo0-3AcdcPB41YaqKVpF4i7OTg3hBZORETCLbj6vXuZId8pIk6mVElDYgrlDChKUxvUvH07JzGKcamlUF5lFsD4il8d9eaP3DSeHfWMz0qKoulgPCTpEcWXI-HN-T/s1600/brokengingerbread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpctM6EbEi-79ztCqCo0-3AcdcPB41YaqKVpF4i7OTg3hBZORETCLbj6vXuZId8pIk6mVElDYgrlDChKUxvUvH07JzGKcamlUF5lFsD4il8d9eaP3DSeHfWMz0qKoulgPCTpEcWXI-HN-T/s1600/brokengingerbread.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I was that kind of kid. Couldn't conceive of why a witch or anybody else would build a house out of cookies and candy. Pretty sure I asked this question of the tour guide at the Museum of Science & Industry on a field trip. No answer. He tried to divert me with some kinetic energy display. Or something that made bubbles. Regardless, the thought of eating gingerbread made me wretch. Actually wretch, with those wretching sounds and everything.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQV9jpNY-6bpoIWAvKiKwPvdXbugISc_6sDfv9IqBhiR3rpdZLa8FRxngXIJg7_XRP2aQS3lf9m-_sTuIuYV2GJuQOv0zHMDouitPDNqT2d_jIYJf5GVq-34cIviwiiGooQbSmJEihMiVk/s1600/Barfing+Kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQV9jpNY-6bpoIWAvKiKwPvdXbugISc_6sDfv9IqBhiR3rpdZLa8FRxngXIJg7_XRP2aQS3lf9m-_sTuIuYV2GJuQOv0zHMDouitPDNqT2d_jIYJf5GVq-34cIviwiiGooQbSmJEihMiVk/s320/Barfing+Kid.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>Further, I couldn't conceive, CONCEIVE, of why ANYONE would eat any other pastry, cake, doughnut, candy confection or anything ever other than one that was made out of CHOCOLATE. I truly, truly couldn't. And gingerbread was simply disgusting. Tasted like my grandma's house smelled. All spicy and musky and such. And historic.<br />
<br />
So I decided, at 8, that something BAD happens to adult brains, in that they get bored with just chocolate, and so they convince their tastebuds that horrible things taste great. And then they call it 'an acquired taste.' <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hLJASDt2rdxxnme0hLz1rAwFYqeKPKbuUGvPu_ITmUbiDKk2XXmN4UncIHZW6H31fUw8c_04Yzy59syrOSn3pNWHZFsCKcvGorC-EI1g8C6yuf39kNtx1GyG-BZbnHzN9obOuaoY8bIJ/s1600/escargot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hLJASDt2rdxxnme0hLz1rAwFYqeKPKbuUGvPu_ITmUbiDKk2XXmN4UncIHZW6H31fUw8c_04Yzy59syrOSn3pNWHZFsCKcvGorC-EI1g8C6yuf39kNtx1GyG-BZbnHzN9obOuaoY8bIJ/s320/escargot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Seriously, at what point do we acquire 'Acquired Tastes?'</b></span><br />
<br />
I also believed that other bad things happened to adult brains which made them talk about insurance, stories about old people in ancient history, and sit around all the time drinking rum and coke and smoking cigarettes. Even though they laughed alot while they did it. I determined that, somewhere, along the way, adults lose their ability to think clearly, and therefore shouldn't be allowed to run the world, what with all that insurance and smelly history and rum rolling around in their heads. No, kids should definitely rule the world. I knew it clearly at 8.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBkcIHCrjO79MHL2TcsdRX0qqXsfYte_YGNMan7MipZSZn9MS4k5T5jMUyCvArwBAn1e2hyz1njY5NcDFqny6gEVhCjkY8Kb8NJVBMxoRirXe0zkSETyWs_6GEA5o69nKBGMLwxcX5TtM/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBkcIHCrjO79MHL2TcsdRX0qqXsfYte_YGNMan7MipZSZn9MS4k5T5jMUyCvArwBAn1e2hyz1njY5NcDFqny6gEVhCjkY8Kb8NJVBMxoRirXe0zkSETyWs_6GEA5o69nKBGMLwxcX5TtM/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Pretty sure I was right about that.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-51360812936985014182011-03-08T08:44:00.000-05:002011-03-08T08:44:38.972-05:00Answer #179 - Kite Builders<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There, through the window, what characters wake up?</b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Robert dreamed of mercury. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsb_4avI_MVlPSnpxWZJiX2d4Dhy0BBTeB9ZJqfS8p8lP8CKIWde7iZVWBue8jDMgt1vH1F3L6YBGp_36trf3R4wU5spdTL01OylxQcwbQr2roLG4L63y-AC1olr6c1ytFHC65-AST5mPn/s1600/kiteparts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsb_4avI_MVlPSnpxWZJiX2d4Dhy0BBTeB9ZJqfS8p8lP8CKIWde7iZVWBue8jDMgt1vH1F3L6YBGp_36trf3R4wU5spdTL01OylxQcwbQr2roLG4L63y-AC1olr6c1ytFHC65-AST5mPn/s200/kiteparts.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> The bedroom below was full of kites; kites in boxes, in repair on the workbench, on the floor and hanging from the ceiling. Blue cement was the unfinished sky, as were the walls,<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qB26WHS8ANEiG8_Sa6W-HPgTCPKLXMdMw0IDgbSQR8MA7Iurf3TV3fq0dpCq3WvdPK4INOrDZWrg4T81z_GTUxqSWwr07V7Cx-9vbX-Ysr9KBQ3epRrbARohkjO6ny2E-taWO2-YZPB-/s1600/clouds1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qB26WHS8ANEiG8_Sa6W-HPgTCPKLXMdMw0IDgbSQR8MA7Iurf3TV3fq0dpCq3WvdPK4INOrDZWrg4T81z_GTUxqSWwr07V7Cx-9vbX-Ysr9KBQ3epRrbARohkjO6ny2E-taWO2-YZPB-/s200/clouds1.jpg" width="192" /></a>painted with kindergartenish, puffy clouds and V-birds with no bodies or feet. In the bedroom sometimes Robert dreamed of liquid mercury oozing from the twin bed posts and floating above him in silvery blobs in and around the black V-birds; beautiful poison bubble kites with no strings, just floating silver and cold.<br />
There were signs of a great flood in the years before Robert lived in the small house; high water markers here and there in the main floor rooms. None upstairs. None in the basement. Robert made notes and did the calculations. He read old newspapers on microfilm at the library and gathered stories from neighbors as to how very nearly the hand of God had swept all of the houses away. Robert wondered if the house could somehow be anchored to the live oak in the yard, should God reach down again. The tree had been there centuries, surely and could maybe hold a small house? He'd drawn a sketch of the mechanism but frustrated by the mathematics of maximum potential force that the watery hand of God might exert (because who could know just how angry God might become?), he'd wandered away from it years before and it lay in a stack of aviator articles, meteorology journals and colored paper.<br />
Robert finished the dishes and glided to the back porch in search of clouds. He did this every night. The illusive dark clouds were his current fascination, and the wind had come in off the ocean, bringing them with it. Not the cumulus clouds, but the low stratus, filled with rain, like dark blankets - they were what he was after and he was patient. The most patient man he knew.<br />
Bits of colored paper blew through the field beyond the porch - bits of discarded kite making their escape, tumbling, occasionally catching air. Some windless nights, he saw something at the horizon; what must be the light of a train back behind the trees, though there were no tracks. It always moved at steady speed with a discernible doppler blue as it approached. It never arrived, though. Not even the night he heard the train whistle pleading. He'd jumped off the porch, he knew he had, though he was a rational man and therefore there could be no train heading for him to smash the house to bits on its way through the tangle of old houses and sheds in the borough. But the light and the violent, pleading whistle said otherwise, so Robert jumped.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-6746408475323144042011-02-28T13:13:00.002-05:002011-02-28T13:34:14.238-05:00Answer #178 - Caught between a Folk and a Hard PlaceI watched <i>Devil</i> last night. Shyamalan's <i>Devil</i>, that is.<br />
<br />
I can't help it. I like the guy. I like the way he's hit and miss. I like the way the critics skewer him and he still says, 'blow this. I'm still making a movie about other-worldy interlopers, loosely wrapped around a morality play... neener, neener...'<br />
<br />
Beyond that, I just like him. So whatever he does, I'll watch it. And hopefully his financial backers bank on that fact.<br />
<br />
The movie's about an elevator full of morally-questionable folk - none of whom deserve, necessarily, the grisly gutting that awaits most of them by the presence of Satan among them, the actual Devil, come to take their souls to the nether-regions. And yet, it calls into question our relationship with the divine and (its) nemesis, and where in the world we actually find ourselves - at the end of the day, when it's only us and the leering conscience. And that big sky and all those stars.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Where do I stand, there in the dark, when I'm the only one to Answer for the Choices I've Made?</b></span><br />
<br />
I honestly don't know. I tumbled down the stairs the other day, but no one showed up to collect my soul, so possibly I'm doing okay, and maybe still have a few more tick marks in the column that Santa Claus takes note of, than the column that Beelezebub does.<br />
<br />
But I'd rather listen to a jazz combo than Kum-By-Ya any day of the week.<br />
<br />
Damn! I think we all know where that compass points.. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.up993.com/files/event-image/pj.JPG?0" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.up993.com/files/event-image/pj.JPG?0" width="237" /></a></div><br />
Ah well... for now, I'm still buying Girl Scout cookies. That should count for something.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-29697886982086915962011-02-16T10:56:00.000-05:002011-02-16T10:56:33.633-05:00Answer #177 - Start the story<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Out of focus. What do I do? </b></span><br />
<br />
Robert set the box of clouds next to the stove pipe. Small white puffs hung, silent, bumping gently against the lid. Robert's feet nearly slid across the worn carpet; years of mildew and fuel oil left slick trails where he walked - and in this way, he looked more like an ice-skater than a handyman. It was 7:00. Soon the larger clouds would gather, and with them, the winds.<br />
Poison comes in many forms. He knew this from childhood and secret places. And sometimes poison came accidentally and you swept it away, down the drains and from the surfaces. Pretty petals were sometimes poisonous and all manner of insects. <i>Tethered to poison</i>, he thought to himself. We're always so close to it. We can never entirely get away. "Best to be careful," he said to himself, as he put on the rubber gloves he kept next to the sink and squirted dish soap into the warm water.<br />
Robert dreamed valleys of clouds. Robert dreamed wings. Robert scaled the sides of buildings on occasion, with neither wings nor puffy cumulus to break a fall. His heart beat faster in the descent, while his fingers carefully held the rigging. He imagined the free-fall, imagined one day to jump out of an airplane and see, for certain, if the chute would catch air. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhQmZxS8SafK3Wom1N-p6sCJMNiaj9PuR2axruAP2-kdSRWdQZKev4zT8vyLwie3EYvIAY8asV7LQc0snWzfYXGIYtrO5fNo32PEAL0Re_L9XuFhaTJMmW4Ui2hM3D-BaziFoWlGcECyR/s1600/Mercury-element.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhQmZxS8SafK3Wom1N-p6sCJMNiaj9PuR2axruAP2-kdSRWdQZKev4zT8vyLwie3EYvIAY8asV7LQc0snWzfYXGIYtrO5fNo32PEAL0Re_L9XuFhaTJMmW4Ui2hM3D-BaziFoWlGcECyR/s1600/Mercury-element.jpg" /></a></div> Robert dreamed of mercury.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
beginnings.<br />
who knows what comes.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-22569584175865857892011-02-10T12:05:00.000-05:002011-02-10T12:05:22.183-05:00Answer #176 - Himmelhochjauchsend oder zum Tode betrübtGoethe made the reference to the artistic temperment in <i>Das Leiden des Jungen Werthers</i>. The translation from my Dutch friend, Ben, is 'cheering from sky high or deadly sad.'<br />
<br />
I admit, there's not much middle ground. I think, in this way, of Cohen, not unlike Beckett, and yet - plumbing the depths and the multitudinous <i>winters of the soul</i> for pearls or crystals. The difference - Beckett spent countless hours in dark spaces, at least too dark for me to stay in with him (heh. and that's saying something) - didn't seem to cheer from sky high - Cohen moved through the waters and up, like a dolphin, bursting into the air long enough to whisper <i>Hallelujah</i>.. so beautifully that the sound will carry across God knows how many bursts of solar radiation.. and diving back down again.<br />
<br />
I'm neither of those people, and to little dispute. Cartoonish scenes and sensibilities dance in and around me half the time, and holding on to the shaky framework the world takes so for granted daily, washing its doggies and driving its buggies, whirling endless through color and sound.. it's challenging. Most of the time, I'd rather write the new world into play, rather than put on my gravity boots and trudge through the jello of repetition and cordialities in this one. But, hell, I'm a paying member of the human club and there are certain obligations that come with carrying the card. Sadly, the percentage of club members that can currently influence world legislation have embraced the notion that goo for brains in the exploitation of every possible resource is a card member privilege and the key to happiness, marching the rest of us like Lemmings to fiery, oily seas. Nice looking as we trot, though. Well, some of us. Occasionally. So lately I want out of the club some, but there's a nasty ritual that goes along with exiting. I think it involves paddles and swallowing goldfish.<br />
<br />
As beautiful as the German phrase is, this is where things begin to go a little dark for me and Yankee philosophy comes in.<br />
<br />
<i>Himmelhochjauchsend oder zum Tode betrübt</i> can be treated with any number of small pills. We're the pharmaceutical kings of the world (say it with me: S O M A). No worries, no issue, no moon boots through jello. We Yankees have lots of clinical names for such malaise and its associated symptomology because we like categories and specialities, and we really really like people in lab coats that charge us lots and lots of money to diminish humanity to microscopic misfires of glands, serotonin uptake and peptide receptors.<br />
<br />
We're good at this. <br />
<br />
We need, however, to be better at hearing whale song and interpreting the chitter of dolphins.<br />
<br />
And there's no pill for that. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So. Which is the better longitude?</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesM_ArMnPPe9PnS0jANeX-RF5hcIHNnnBDIpjxt9MnNwAg5Lcku2gChwPPPfQVWolopLqwBc5QTWfrpEL_7OjU2j5hL3YQtIFaquUEYP8Z1V0sEcCU9O1-U_-beVyrcMhrE0pRyWs_FgP/s1600/harborseal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesM_ArMnPPe9PnS0jANeX-RF5hcIHNnnBDIpjxt9MnNwAg5Lcku2gChwPPPfQVWolopLqwBc5QTWfrpEL_7OjU2j5hL3YQtIFaquUEYP8Z1V0sEcCU9O1-U_-beVyrcMhrE0pRyWs_FgP/s320/harborseal.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I'm going with Goethe today. <i>Himmelhochjauchsend oder zum Tode betrübt</i>. And leaning toward the longitude just nearer the sun. Boxes of clouds under each arm, heading to the memory of last year in the Kenai Peninsula, where the curious harbor seals followed us along the beach for an hour, just watching, just wondering, maybe even waiting for us to say something they understood.. somewhere between the sky and the water.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-12079205039696735002011-02-09T09:20:00.000-05:002011-02-09T09:20:16.028-05:00Answer #175 - Someone with a box full of clouds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObNYM6azHbQHkUx6vXDuIyEu10clqFA2-allW0c_gzl8O3MwXUeSVF_IiWBEbmYLpEj7sksv9EdvYxUAa9WxRUL77lZAAKtkYZ7o0E8QJib_mYNxr1lLgO5Upc5XTYfS_jpeTQyAKn4_R/s1600/tethered+cloud_parkeharrison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObNYM6azHbQHkUx6vXDuIyEu10clqFA2-allW0c_gzl8O3MwXUeSVF_IiWBEbmYLpEj7sksv9EdvYxUAa9WxRUL77lZAAKtkYZ7o0E8QJib_mYNxr1lLgO5Upc5XTYfS_jpeTQyAKn4_R/s320/tethered+cloud_parkeharrison.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>It's a new year. It's actually February of a new year.<br />
<br />
January blew by in a hail of hail, ice, snow and a short trip through Nebraska.<br />
<br />
Nebraska? In January? Yep. Driving snow 6 hours there. Driving snow 12 hours back. We can never be accused of lack of dedication. Besides, we love Nebraska. The sky is huge, the people are an amazing combination of fierce independence and, despite their unquestionable ability to probably outlast all the rest of us in times of war, famine, or drought, unassuming humility. Is this because the weather on the Great Plains is truly humbling? Maybe half the nation's problem is that half the nation doesn't get this idea? That, despite our red, white, and blueness, we really aren't the biggest, baddest entities on the planet. Ice storms are. And don't get me started on tornadoes...<br />
<br />
I wanted a concise overview of the year. To try to draw the conclusions I'd hoped to draw at the end of touring a new album, spending days and weeks on end on the road, and, in general, making a living at music.<br />
<br />
But I don't have them, really. The industry shifts every five minutes, not unlike my myspace and facebook pages, and I find myself charting a new course along with it. Daily. Sometimes hourly, as a friend once said.<br />
<br />
This year, I'll finish the play, <i>Jane</i>. I've got a new album rolling, but it won't stick its head above the dark water for quite a while. Instead, I'll finally start the book. I've wanted to forever. It kicks at me, and tickles my ears sometimes.. it starts with Robert setting a box of clouds next to a stove pipe.<br />
<br />
And I don't know why.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>But who am I to ask?</b></span><br />
<br />
The world in Indiana is iced today. I like the idea of a box of clouds by a warm stove pipe... anything could rise out of the mist.<br />
<br />
Anything could rise out of 2011. I'll keep you posted.<br />
<br />
It's good to be back.Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5154931512135149936.post-78958289777200637022010-11-13T16:54:00.001-05:002010-11-13T16:58:07.527-05:00Answer #174 - Yes. And for the space of 3 hours, I had the whole catastrophe figured outSmoke pours from a stack to the South. It's a coal plant or a nuclear cooling tower. Earlier in the day, smoke poured from a burning van to the North. <b>A day punctuated by smoke.</b><br />
<br />
I'm surrounded by big rigs hauling freight East on Highway 70. <b>A day punctuated by trucks.</b><br />
<br />
I'll be in St. Louis in an hour. <b>A day punctuated by departure points.</b><br />
<br />
Three days traveling no less than 8 hours per. <b>A run punctuated by ticks on a calendar.</b><br />
<br />
People keep asking where I played and with whom and when. <b>A tour punctuated with question marks.</b><br />
<br />
I've just booked Alaska in December. This will not be predictable. <b>An album release punctuated by extremes.</b> The first in the deep South. The last in the frozen far NorthWest.<br />
<img alt="Go to fullsize image" height="212" src="http://ts1.mm.bing.net/images/thumbnail.aspx?q=272980838216&id=b37bbabf757d4dba34e21647c2aa34fb" title="http://www.army.mil/-images/2008/02/25/12999/" width="320" /><br />
<h3><cite id="cite11""></cite><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I don't know. I don't remember where I played and with whom or when. <b>My existence, these last months, is a dotted white line, punctuated by sound checks.</b></span></h3>And stops at Subway. And Starbucks. And though I refuse to speak Starbucks Orwellian Italian hybrid, I still drink their stupid coffee. It's predictable. I need predictable on the road. <b>A life punctuated by the familiar.</b><br />
<br />
Alaska, in the winter, will not be familiar, but I can't think on that. I've got St. Louis tonight. And I'm lucky. I'm working. And tonight, <b>I'll punctuate the weekend, back in my own bed</b>, because I'll drive 4 hours through the night to do it.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Was it always like this, all this space between punctuations? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span>Krista Detorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02730716803769838020noreply@blogger.com0