Radio Free Perpy

It's 8:06 in the pm. Perp's been in her crib for nigh onto an hour now. Yet she's still awake. I know this because of the advent of that most blessed and cursed invention, the baby monitor. It's great because you know when the baby freaks the fuck out over rolling onto his tummy during his nap, and can go soothe/get him, as the situation requires.

It sucks because you hear every snuffle and wheeze as clear as day and remain ever vigilant to the slightest change in breathing rate, aware of each and every sigh. I tend to go up before it's truly warranted and I think that may make for more full wake-ups than there might otherwise be. Then again, maybe not. See?! These things suck!

Then again, it rules because you can transcribe your daughter's conversation with her crib pals after she wakes up. She talks to Tucker! She's got wawa in her cup! Red! Red! Red! Yewwo! Goo-DAAAAAAHB!* Ditty: SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN!

I suppose it's not entirely polite to eavesdrop on her; after all, it's her room, her sanctuary, and I'd be hella pissed if I found out someone was listeneing to me on the monitor. Mostly all anyone'd hear is swearing or snoring, but still. It's the principle of the thing. Personal privacy and alone time are (becoming more) important to me, and I want to provide it to my kids as much as possible. But I can't hear her when I'm downstairs without the monitor, unless she's pretending she's having a tooth removed, in which case she makes plenty of noise.

So the monitor stays for now. Besides, one can't invade another's privacy if the invadee has no concept of privacy, right? I mean, I'm technically not snooping until she starts shutting her door, because, GOD! Mother, I'm on the phone!

There is not. enough. Prozac. to prepare me for having a bi-polar rabid dog teenage girl in the house.

*Apparently we say "good job!" a lot. A LOT.

Primary warning

The dude is asleep on the couch, cuddled up next to Husband who is in a poker tournament with Billy Burke even as I type. Billy Burke! At first, I thought he meant Billie Burke and was confused as to how he could be poking with a dead woman. Please to notice I pass on the obvious joke here. Man, I must be tired.

He (dude) is sleeping on his tummy again, but this time he's actually sleeping. Quietly. Cutely. So cutely, in fact that I commented that I might actually explode. Don't do that, Husband advised. Then he went all Cops on me:

"Put your ovaries down and back away from the baby."

But! He's got his butt in the air! His butt with a monkey on it! Monkey butt!

And despite all that, here's how lazy I am: I won't go to the garage to get the camera out of the car to snap a shot of it. I will, however, use the 'sposie camera we have and when (if) those are developed, I'll post it. ...there. Just snapped it for posterior. Er, posterity.

Bored

Updated with an actual photo of him in the actual position that has me actually freaked out.

Seriously. How can that be comfortable? And then? Then? He rolls the rest of the way onto his tummy and freaks the fuck out because he doesn't remember how to roll back.

I don't really have much to write about, though I have a few things percolating below the surface. So in the meantime, I shall inundate you with photos of my offspring. Suck it up!

Word to my homies

Whatever he's on, I want some

Who sleeps like that?!

What's that song?

We were cozily ensconced on the couch watching Austin City Linits (Jason Mraz/Fountains of Wayne from last week - great show) and it occured to me: hey! why is payola illegal but all the drug reps can hand out endless swag to get docs to prescribe and that's totally okay? Legally, I mean. I have serious ethical issues with it though I will freely admit I also have a lot of said swag so I'm probably a hypcrite. I heart my Zoloft mug! Just don't put it in the microwave.

Husband specualted it's because the airwaves belong to the government and you need a license to use them, but stations sell acess to them all the time: advertising. Drug dispensing requires a license as well, so shouldn't the dispensing of toys, trips, magnets, pens, whatever, be as illegal as the A&R rep trick of sending a left shoe to a DJ, promising the right one upon completion of X rotaions of Y song?

Seems to me it oughta be. Or else they should both be legal. Or maybe I'm missing the point entirely. Quite likely, actually.

Does anyone out there know the technical details on the whys and wherefores on this?

Well, now

I'm totally changing browsers.

Blogged with Flock

a test

I'm trying out a new browser that lets me blog from the file tab. Do it work?

Chatty Cathy

AMP is quite the talking dude. Even as I type, he's discussing the day with his left index finger. Sometimes another digit wanders into the conversation, but for the most part, he's pretty well tuning everyone else out. I wonder what they're talking about?

He has a lot to say. He'll scrunch up his forehead so he looks like a shar-pei puppy, then launch into what I'm sure is a soliloquy worthy of Shakespeare. Or at least Boohbah <>.

I was listening recently to a file of Perp babbling. It's astounding to me that even before she was remotely verbal, her cadance was in place. You can hear, even back then, exactly how she was going to speak, her inflections, pauses, etc. Crazy. I need to find that goddamned italk so I can record him, too. Not to mention saving Perp's crazy mispronunciations.

In other developmental news, he can now reliably reach for and grab things, at least the ones hanging on his play mat. Big shakes!

He still sleeps in what seems like it should be the most uncomfortable position ever. I haven't dumped my pics yet but as soon as I do, I'll sift through and find a good one. This will have to suffice in the meantime. It doesn't capture the wrenching or cranking he does with his back and neck, but hey, it's still kinda cute.

et voila (but I'm still waiting to get him in the cosleeper):

I heart Site Meter

Seriously, I think I'm addicted. Every day, whether I post or not, I go check my stats. I look at referrals, out clicks, and locations, at least.

It's the referrals that are becoming most interesting to me. They tell you how a reader got to you, whether it's backtracking a comment post (Hi maboudica!), google (I've discussed this before, but I'm STILL getting hits via those searches. I'm starting to fear for a number of children out there, I swear.

It's crazy to me; I know that I get a fair number of hits from a moms board I frequent, and a few from family (hi!), but the rest are either links from blogs, the next blog function of Blogger, or random searches. I have no idea, based on hits, how many readers are out there, but my hit count is increasing a bit day by day (as in, I think I'm getting more new hits as opposed to increased current readers if that makes sense). As more and more people come here from farther and farther afield, ihe image of the 'net as a giant web makes more and more sense.

I've been online since 1986, starting out on the WELL. I eventually moved to coding my own page in the early '90s, before FrontPage or any other HTML publising programs. I've seen the rise of the web from the very start. And I shit you not, checking my stats and more or less being able to stalk people who drop by might be the most fun I've had.

Blabber.com

Perp has trouble with a few sounds. She can't make F sounds reliably, to our great and everlasting joy (we have some issues that often express themselves with words that start with F). It makes hearing her say her name especially amusing, though.

For instance: fish is "hish." Fork is "hork." She also has some trouble with hard C sounds, though not always. She calls the chicks "kicks," but can say "kicks" so maybe it's a sound she can't hear yet; despite this, she can say "choo-choo" and "clothes." Odd bird.

I'm not worried, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it's funny to hear her refusing or inable to make a sound in one word but perfectly able to use it in another.

It's interesting to watch someone learn to talk but I didn't think it would be so amusing.

Bad day to be a squirrel

When we bought this house, we wanted to live in the country, with all its attendant glories. We have a pond (now with muskrats!), umpteen outbuildings, several acres of open field and another 10 of woods.

We also have mice.

We were okay with the rodentitial visitors until they started leaving evidence in the silverware drawer. That's when Husband bit the bullet and sent me out for a cat. A nice cat. With no claws, if possible, and one that won't suffocate the baby while she sleeps.

Armed with this list of requirements (and with one or two of my own) I hied myself to the shelter to search for The Cat.

I wanted a female, knowing the spraying issue would be infinitely less likely, and because I just dig chick cats. There was only one female at the shelter, a skinny, scared, blue with the most gorgeous green eyes. She'd been there for several months, according to the volunteer, and was pretty skittish. It was a bit of a struggle to catch and box her up, but I was able to leave, mission accomplished, with Thelma the Cat.

She spent the first several months lurking in the basement. She came upstairs at night to eat and drink, but otherwise chose a subterranean life. I think the noise and smells would be enough to send anyone over the edge, let alone an unsocialized basically feral kitty.

One day, I was getting something out of the basement and I saw her peeking out from behind the chimney. There was a narrow leash hanging on a nail next to me, and I dangled it in front of her, to see how she'd react. She batted at it for a second then backed away and hid. I knew I had her, though. She was so totally a string whore and I was going to work that angle like a dimestore pony.

So for several days after, I'd sit on the stairs into the basement with a string and toss it in, reel it back. Toss, reel, toss, reel. Flyfishing for kitties. One day, she took the bait and came close enough for me to scratch her forehead. That's all it took. Kitty ho'bag was in my back pocket.

She started coming upstairs at night to sit in the living room while we watched (far too much) tv. Then she started sitting on the back of the couch. Soon she was coming upstairs to our room and sleeping at my feet.

Now, she's a completely different animal from the scared, skinny thing I brought home. Well, she's still skinny, but healthily so. Svelte, I should think. She adores Perp, lies next to AMP if he has to wait for me to get him from the cosleeper, and shares the bed in front of the fireplace with the dog. Perp can do anything to this cat, and has never, not once, so much as looked cross-eyed at the child. Which is something I do several times a day. At minimum.


So you can imagine my surprise when I saw this tonight



I will spare you the closeup.

Mannerisms

We're working on teaching Perp some manners, so people don't make the (correct) assumption that she was raised by wolves. Heathen wolves. In a barn.

She's been pretty good at saying "please," since I started giving her just about anything she asked for if it was preceded by the magic word. Now I'm cutting back on it and making her work for her goodies. Not so popular with the ankle biting set, I must say.

She's fallen, lately, into the unfortunate habit of saying "yeah" whenever she answers in the affirmative. I decided it was time to step it up a notch and work on talkin' proper. Now when I ask her if she wants something I repeat the question until she answers, "Yes, pwease!"

Tonight, as with every night, Husband got her ready for bed. He put her on the potty and left her to do her business, as she prefers. She's a retiring lass who needs her privacy. Ha! See, right there? I made a funny.

She was off in the bathroom for a few minutes, then wandered back in the living room, congratulating herself on a job well done. Husband asked, "Are you ready for your pajamas and a dipey?"

"Yes, PWEASE!"

Apropos of nada

Lunch: hideous mcdonalds and ONCE AGAIN they managed to fuck up my simple "extra pickle, extra mustard" request and give me neither. How freaking hard is it? Even for people with no frontal lobe, it should be doable.

I bought two bottles of pomegranate juice and I may not even share with the Perp.

Mango martinis (yes *tired sigh* I know it's not a real martini but fuck off, they're my taste buds) are the bestest drink of EVER and I'm happy to pay $8 for them. HAPPY. Especially 'cause they come in a pint glass.

Blueberries in excess make for a scary (but oddly pretty!) diaper.

King Friday is a freak:
"Propel, propel, propel your craft
gently down the liquid solution.
Ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically,
Existence is but an illusion."

Google marketing

So for those of you with gmail -what? you don't have gmail? it's only the bestest webmail program around! shame on you! shame! - I'm sure you've noticed the sponsored links at the top of the page. Every once in a while, I'm struck by one. Today's:

I Am Extremely Wealthy - www.WasabiMarketing.com - Be Wealthy Yourself in 6 Months I Will Personally Train You Now

A) I love the name Wasabi Marketing. I love wasabi. I love any horseradish, but especially one you can get in a tube.

B) How much money is involved when you declare yourself to be extremely wealthy? Is it, like, "I have a share in a private jet" wealthy? "I OWN a private jet," or "I buy expensive things at discount at Overstock and flaunt them to my friends in order that they might feel my wealth and despair"? Whatever, it's probably more than I make. ...I don't get a paycheck, see? That was ironic humor. Ha.

3) No number 3, but I did want to point out the lack of punctuation in the link. I hate that.

C) I am in a rambly mood so brace yourself for a flurry of more or less pointless posts.

Memes

What's with all the memes about the 'net? I see 'em on just about a daily basis, but I never manage to find the originator. So, I'm going to do a meme even though I wasn't tagged, and then I'm going to start one up and tag somebody. Ain't no law says I can't!

5 Items in my Fridge:
hummus
head of lettuce
gallon of milk
acidophillus
gripe water

5 Items in my Closet:
little black dress
pashmina shawl
faux pashmina shawl
purses I don't use
heels I don't wear

5 Items in my Car:
car seat
carseat (can I count two? yes. I said so.)
diaper bag
ipod
gallon of washer fluid

5 Items in my Bag:
diapers
change of clothes for each kid
snax
burp cloths
nail file

5 Items on my Desk (at home):
I don't have a desk. I must suck.

5 Items Growing in my Garden:
tomatoes
zucchini
raspberry volunteers
onions (leeks? scallions? I have no idea)
four or five bales of hay, unstrung


4 favorite foods other people think are disgusting:
Chicken livers and gizzards (especially fried, with hot sauce)
Peanut butter and honey sammiches (*how* does anyone think that's gross? it rules!)
Sushi (mmmm, sushi)
Tofu

4 favorite books (kid or adult, picture or chapter):
The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien
His Dark Materials trilogy, Philip Pullman
Mistress Masham's Repose, TH White
Five Children and It, E. Nesbit

4 most favorite places in the world:
Bed (especially with a good book, cup of tea, and a thunderstorm)
Las Vegas
Libraries/bookstores
Sidewalk cafes

4 foods you won't eat on a dare:
sweatbreads
chitterlings
pig knuckles
sheep's eyes


Devan, Nessa, Dyke One, Shelli: tagged!

Shout out

to my bich, headhebe, who fired up a blog today. She's cranky. She's funny. She's the bomb.

Aw, hell

One more cool site to suck up my time. At least with this one, I'll have something concrete to show for my time: graphs! I am such the geek that I'll totally be paying for this. If nothing else, it could help me figure out what Perp's eczema triggers are. And how often AMP poops, 'cause it's not frequent or regular, as far as I can tell.

Geek out.

Dear Google

I know that I jokingly mentioned that I must hate my kids because I dared to have a homebirth. And I know that you base your searches on some complicated hoodoo combo of science and witchcraft. But that person REPEATEDLY searching I HATE MY KIDS? please stop sending them here. It's freaking me out.

Other search phrases that freak me the fuck out (and not only because they led to my little corner of the 'net):

"stall next" peeing blog <--- did someone have a vague memory of reading my labor story or is this a fetish?

that monica sure do suck hard <--- I can't even imagine

But the kid-hating seach? Six times. It's popped up six times on my Site Meter referral listing. That's just tragic. Is it the same parent, searching over and over for something to either validate or condemn, or is it six actual people? Either way, searcher, please consider talking to someone about this, therapist, pastor, priest, rabbi, whatever. But this isn't the place to find your answers. I just shoot my mouth off a lot and happened to fall under your radar. Good luck.

Cool!

I'm not sure I'd pay for it, but I'm positive I wouldn't do the spreadsheet, so...

Trixie Tracker

I'm just geeky enough to be drooling over this. I bet it could actually help me track and solidify his naptimes... crap, one more freaking site to bother with. Stupid internet.

The Whys and Wherefores

I've noticed recently that many of the blogs I read are written by women who are dealing or have dealt with infertility. I'm not sure why, but out of the long list of writers in my blogroll, they stand out. Are these women fantastic writers who also happen to have been dealt a supremely shitty card? Is there something about this experience that brings out the writer in them? I assume it's just that they happen to write well and have had this experience and there it is. Maybe it's like forging steel: a trial by fire produces the strongest, most resiliant metal. Forgive the clumsy metaphor, as with a lot of my posts, I'm just dropping these duds where they lay and pretending they make sense.

Some of the best days are when I go to read one of the infertile blogs and I find a picture of a positive HPT; I just want to weep. Sometimes I do. To come back, too often, and read of loss, repeated loss, early, late, stillbirth, strikes at the core of me. As much as they drive me insane, as tired as I can be, as angry as I can be, I can't imagine life without my kids. They came to me so easily, I feel like I've gotten away with something. I've had two pregnancies and two kids, easy peasy. Yet women I feel I've come to know struggle so hard to even become pregnant, let alone carry to term. But I want them to know that I think about them every day, and I wish so much for them to succeed, whether it's with a healthy term pregnancy and easy delivery, adoption, or deciding that enough is enough.

I'm not sure how to talk to the few friends I have who are going through treatments. I've read Tertia's post but of course every person is different and what applies to her may be the absolute wrong thing to say to someone else. I know myself well enough, though, to know that chances are just about 100% that I'd say the wrong thing. My instinct is always to try to defuse a tense situation with humor, and I suspect that my feeble attempts would only make everything worse and paint me as a complete asshole. I have to admit that I've been tempted to say exactly what Tertia says not to do: "Hey, you can have my kids."

It's a hard thing to be supportive to someone who is going through something that you cannot fathom. I hope that when I stumble while trying in my clumsy way to be encouraging, I don't do more harm than good.

So I don't generally comment on these blogs. But if you happen to read this, please know I'm out here, rooting for you and sharing your joys and sorrows in the best way I can. And I'm spreading the word.

Help me, internets!

I screwed up my formatting somehow and now all my links are at the bottom of the page. I can't figure out what I did or how. Anyone? Bueller?

I can't even remember her cute words without writing them down:

she likes to have a glass of ernch juice or peeled ernch sections with her breakfast.
Pa-Moose the Tank Engine sends her into paroxysms of delight.
MeeMash (Uh, Honey, it's Asher...), the dog likes to play with her.
We got a batch of kicks that are brooding in the garage until they're old enough to go into the coop with the other hens.
She loves a cheesy slice of peetspees (extra sauce, please!).

Polygamy, the law, and you

Forgive my my mental diarrhea, I'm just riffing here and haven't bothered to edit or firm up my arguments. A delicate mini rant, if you will.

Okay, I'm back on the polygamy tip. There's a debate going on at a board I frequent, about gay marriage. As it always does, the discussion has turned to the subject of polygamy. As in, "If we let the gays marry, the next thing will be allowing polygamy." And don't even get me started on the marrying animals rant.

What's with the Right's argument, here? For a group whose members often claim to accept the Bible as the literal word of God, they sure like to pick and choose. The Bible is FULL of polygynous marriages. And if it's in the Bible, it's okay, right? Like slavery. Or killing all the women and children during war. Rape.

It's not like these guys are stealth husbands, secretly marrying women without their knowledge, sneaky thief spouses. The women are fully aware of what's taking place. Yes, yes, there are groups like Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (FLDS), who essentially hold their women hostage (there's an actual Underground Railroad for those who want to escape). There are also, though, thousands of families throughout the country who simply believe in the Principle. I'm fairly certain that the women in these relationships were receptive to the idea and didn't wake up one morning with some random guy claiming that they were now part of his family.

I don't see how ANY group of people who want to be part of a family unit, who want to raise children (or not), garden, mow lawns, pay taxes, and participate in society, shouldn't be able to, out in the open, and with no shame.

I lived in the Castro District in San Francisco for several years. It is the gayest area of the gayest city in the country, possibly the world. Seeing GLBT couples walking down the street holding hands; kissing; strolling with their kids; hell, shopping for groceries seemed to me like the most normal thing in the world. I suspect that the sight of a plural marriage group, composed of adults who entered into it with open minds and full hearts, should be the same.

eta: I totally spaced that I hadn't posted my original polygamy post yet, so it's down below. Duh. Baby brain!

Dreamfeed

Have you heard of this? It's when you feed a baby whilst s/he's still asleep, to get them through the night without waking. I'm not quite sure how you manage it with a breastfed baby, but I suppose it could be done.

But this isn't about dreamfeeds. It's about feeding dreams. The other night, I dreamed that I was nursing a 25-year-old man. It wasn't during the Dustbowl, it wasn't for erotic purposes, it was just ... lunch. I don't remember much about the rest of the dream, but that's some fucked up shit, man.


As long as I'm here:

• A week or so ago, Husband and I were lying in bed, observing The Dude bicycling his legs and generally flailing about. We both speak for The Dude on a fairly regular basis, as one must do for the pre-verbal and dogs, since, duh, they can't talk for themselves.
  
  Me: Man, he sure gots some busy little hams, there.
  DH: I can't crawl yet but when I can I'm totally gonna fuck some shit up.
  
  So maybe it was funnier in the moment but I nearly peed my pants.
  

• Perp likes to play peek-a-boo. For some reason, she calls it "boo-boo." She loves it when Mr. Rogers plays boo-boo. She adores sitting in her carseat, covering her face, and crying, "OH, NO!!" while I pretend I can't see her. Then I spot her in the mirror and she goes ballistic with joy. The other day, I was putting on a shirt and Perp, as usual, pointed out that I was topless: "Na-na!". She loves my breasts. She pokes them, holds each like a sandwich when she nurses, and generally includes them in her daily running commentary. As I pulled my top down, she chirped, "Boo-boo, na-na!"
  

• With two kids in the house, I sometimes neglect my own stomach at mealtimes. Today I had a can of Diet Coke (with Splenda! I heart Splenda) for breakfast. Lunch (3 o'clock) was half a tuna "samoosh" with cheese and crackers. So a lot of times I find myself furtively gobbling the remains of Perp's lunch while I'm trailing after her in the wake of her destruction. The kid eats well, I must say.
  

• The Dude has unerring aim and timing. He never neglects to baptise me in a stream of fresh-made cheese just after I've changed my shirt from the last round. And I never manage to have a burp rag on hand. You'd think I'd have learned by now. Perp was a prodigious puker, full-bore projectile hurling at the drop of a hat, and I always at least managed to have an extra shirt on hand (except the times I bragged about how clever I was to always have an extra shirt on hand, in which case, well, I didn't). At least he hasn't pissed on me above the neck. *whew*

My Big Problem with Big Love

Actually, it's a problem with the law surrounding polygamy. How is it illegal? I mean, take the show, for instance: Bill is only married to one woman, Barb. He has a legal marriage with her and "legitimate" children with her. He has this unrecognized relationship with the others. Where's the problem? He's not stealing from the people by getting unwarranted public aid benefits. He takes care of his family and they entered into it willingly. Where's the beef?

Travel conundrum

Dear friends what live inside my infernal computation device,

I have plans to head East with the poppets this July, and I have three options:

Fly
Drive
Train

There are distinct advantages and disadvantages to each method of locomotion (including locomotion!) and I seriously can't decide which is the least insane.

My MIL is going with me, then we're parting ways in DC, NY, somewhere out there. I can have a brother, my dad, or my stepmonster meet me for the trip to VA, but the part that I need help with is getting to the coast.

Flying
Pros: like ripping off a bandaid, a few hours and it's all over.
faster, so we're spending more time with Grandma and Grandpa and the uncles.
less disruption of what little routine we have

Cons: given her nuclear meltdown on the last flight, it could make for rough sailing.
lugging all that shit sucks balls, pure and simple
monumentally uncomfortable for a few hours

Driving
Pros: See the country! Stop whenever and wherever you like! Smell the roses!
DVD player for to entertain Certain People
Road trip!

Cons:
Road trip!
Gas prices!
Car seat insanity!

Train
Sleeper car!
Extended trip, but with the ability to run around while traveling
See the country! Smell the roses!

Cons:
Possible extended layovers when cganging trains in Chicago
Frankly, the room descriptions are a little icky.
More expensive than flying or driving. By a lot. A whole lot.

Help me, friends. What would you do in this situation?

Word to the wise

If your toddler comes up to you asking to have her hands washed and she has not been painting, do not ask why. Do not inspect her hands. Do NOT smell her hands. Simply wash them, with a lot of soap, then change her diaper.

That is all.

Snooze you can use

Find your own pose!

Excalibur Traits and Tendencies Excalibur couples may battle just as much as other couples (and participate in more than their fair share of public huffs), but they look so good together, it outweighs any other deficiencies they may share. It isn't that they're classically good-looking, or similarly sized (though certainly both those pairings are permissible). It's more that the aesthetic chord they strike satisfies in profound ways. Like gorgeously plated food or song filled with unusual harmonies, the wan and freckled hand-in-hand with the tragically tan, the pigeon-toed with the duck-walkers, these Excalibur couples achieve such perfection in their pairing that reminds the world that anything is possible.

Comfort Zone Excalibur is in the Wind pose family. Other Wind poses you might enjoy include Softserve Swirl and The Ventriloquist.

Health Note An unexpected rash or orthopedic adjustment can sometimes lead an Excalibur couple to fall out of balance. Physical adjustments may need to be made, or an entirely new pose could even be in order.

I'm in the money

or at least BlogShares. My stock is going up, baby.





Okay, I'll confess right here that I know NOTHING about this fantasy market, but I'm in it somehow, so I feel like I should pay attention. I'm bullish on this one, kids.

'Fess up, internets.

Hey, Australia! how'd you find me? Canada, what's your story? London! I've got a reader in London! Or a passerby, I'm not sure, but still! London!

I'm curious to know about readers. I read a lot (LOT) of blogs and I sort of work my way around the world on a daily basis, South Africa, London, Scotland (I think), all over the US, Canada. Now it seems there are some internets out there who are doing the same thing and my little corner is one of their stops along the way.

So tell me about yourselves. Where are you from? How'd you come across my ranty little refrigerator-box clubhouse?