Thursday, November 30, 2006

The Callous Red Donkey Siphons Kikaido Car Petrol!


Six inches more. Quick;
plow the road in case some dumbshit
wants to drive in this.

Birdie feetie prints
hop, hop, hop in the snow. Go
put on some damn shoes

3. Muk prints in the snow
reveal that someones cat has
peed next to the door.

4. my dog has four legs
though you might guess five. click to
enlarge, then use +.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

snow: six inches by tonight. for more, visit Frobishers site.

Since the snow hit my life consists of daytime television, keeping toilet paper stocked in the can and coffee, coffee coffee. And thats fine; I mean, it certainly beats the fuck out of being out in this. I feel particularly bad for all the guys up in the woods at this time of year...I can see the lights in the dark of the morning as their log trucks toil up the mountainside and it just makes me shiver.

As my daytime activity shrinks to almost nothing my nightime dreaming life becomes incredibly vivid. As probably comes as no big surprise to anyone, I dream BIG. And even in busy times my dreams are complicated and vivid. I was told when I started taking Prozac that it tends to make you dream vividly at night, and laughed out loud. The addition of Prozac to my nighttime cranial stew has made as much of an impact as throwing a brick into the Grand Canyon. Prozac didn't stand a chance. I dream bigger after a slice of anchovy pizza. (And by the way, anchovies are good and nice and great, with all tastiness and goodness and deliciousness? and are also very yummy and super of tastiness? So don't dis on my damn fishies of anchovies.)

If you have never seen the movie 'Dark City' then do so AT ONCE. It's in my list of favorites for a reason, and that reason is that whoever planned out the concept for that thing has an imagination I admire and a brain that works a lot like mine does at night. (Not that my dreams are all dark and full of flying alien zombies in bowler, not that they aren't; c'mon, just, you know, not exclusively.)

When I dream, I dream in detail. Full detail. Smell, sound, songs on the radio, patina, taste, temperature, it's like daytime life.
But now I have episodes.
Continuing stories, reacurring characters and places, subplots. The backdrops and props are places and things I've seen in everyday life over the years, but with no regard to the time in which I first encountered them. A building I lived in when I was 19, full of people I knew in gradeschool, a car I owned when I was 23 parked out front, on a street I remember from a movie I saw last that.
But all these things stay the same.
I could draw a map of the place. It would have to be on layers of transparencies, like the visible man in the medical books*, but I could do it, and I can visualize it. It stays the same. Details that get added stay added. Details like fabrics. Perfume. People that get older. Things that get broken and are repaired. Seasons. And layers of combinations patched together from my daytime life that make no sense in my daytime memories stay combined in the dreams, from night to night, and from year to year.
Year to year!
This has been going on for years!
It's not bothersome in any way, just odd. I've never heard of anyone else who has dreams like this. Unless you do?
Do you?
I have my own private television shows!

*you ever notice that the Visible Man had no dick? he didn't. Visible Broad had boobs and a uterus with a baby in it, though. christmas miracle? or Visible Damian? you decide.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

postcard from the frozen wastes of Leng

...Quite a different picture this morning, eh, my best beloved? The snow blew away during the night. The sky is so blue it's painful to look at. My front yard is clear, our driveway is clean, and the windchill factor is -20.

The back yard is a different story, though. And this isn't even my damn snow; this is snow from somewhere up around Cultus Lake.
The wind has been blowing steadily, gusting up to 40-50 mph. The ground is frozen hard as iron. The snow that fell as wet flakes has been transformed into diamond sand. Snow ghosts and whirlwinds and huge tall mares' tails all made of ice crystals are blowing past. I wish I could get a picture of what it looks like when the sun hits these brief formations and turns them into moving diamond rainbows; it is enough to break your heart for beauty.
Not quite beautiful enough to distract me from the fact that my hot water lines are frozen solid, and Opie is refusing to eat because he doesn't want to have to go outside. I can't take a shower, and my dog is emitting foul, green, chunky gasses that simply defy explanation. I mean, even worse than usual.
But while I sit here, unshowered, watching daytime television inside my chilly house with my farting dog, I can console myself by looking out my front window and seeing this:

At least I didn't have to hire heavy equipment to dig me out of my brand new house. Thats right. Enlarge this and check it out. I watched it all morning as it scooped snow only to have half of it blow out of the bucket when it turned to dump it.
I am trying SO HARD not to feel all smug about this.

Monday, November 27, 2006

quaint blizzards from my charming rural ice prison

This is the view out my front window this morning...

That white fog you see in the distance? That's freeze dried Canada coming at us in 40-50 mph gusts. Come the thaw it will all reconstitute and I'll be living in Saskatchewan. I have no problem with that. Oh hell yes. If I become a Canadian by default? Hello, no Bush? NHC? Fuck YEAH I'll fly the maple leaf. *warms up pipes* 'Ooooo, Ca, Na Daaaaaaa, some something are so something...'

This is why, in a northern clime, with prevailing northeast winds all winter, you do NOT want to build your home with the front door facing...what directions, kids? NORTHEAST. Brand new fucking houses, too. Every one of them up to the doorknobs in packed snow.
Btw, do you like our festive Christmas lites?
Nothing says 'Holiday Spirit' like a string of bloodshot eyeballs.

As the wind went crackin down between my house and the flowerbeds it carved the snow all the way down to the grass in my front yard. The sidewalk is gone, and beyond that the road is under 2 inches of polished milk ice. That stripe you see in the next field that looks like a road? Not a road. A wind carved bare patch that leads up to the base of a utility pole one block north. Through a blur of blowing ice, this can be really deceptive looking at night. Many drivers end up in the ditch taking too sharp a turn at the corner, thinking they're aiming for bare pavement.

Unfortunately nothing brings out the 4-wheeler dipshits like a blizzard around here. Because having 4 wheel drive means you can drive around the county like a bat out of hell with it's ass on fire, righteo? Having 4-wheel drive means you are INVINCEABLE. Despite which a lot of morons get vinced anyway.

We are fine. BORED OUT OF OUR FUCKING MINDS, but fine.
Stay home, my darlings.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

quaint vignettes from my charming rural idyll

It is quaintly snowing here at rancho FirstNations this morning.

...the rancho at 6:am.
Actually it was quaintly snowing then. Now, it is a baby blizard. We have a full on northeaster wind howling down the Frazier valley and the snow is drifting and packing.
The rancho is mostly uninsulated. What that means is that some portions have some insulation in stupid places like over half a ceiling of a closet and one wall, but most don't. Like eighty percent-type most. Like the entire original house section.
Which faces due northeast.
This means that the back half of our house is colder than a dead eskimos' dick, a witches tit in a brass bra and a whores' heart. And the master bedroom is the coldest of all, placed as it is in the apex of the triangle facing northeast... followed by the bathroom and the kitchen. And the kitchen is where Command Central is, so I'm sitting here inside a heap of ultrafleece blogging with only the tips of my fingies and my nose sticking out.
'Oh gosh', wished the starry-eyed young dumbass, 'it would be SOOOOOOOO ultra cool to live in a historic farmhouse.'
Be careful what you wish for, my darlings.

There is a frozen puddle just beyond the back fence, in back of the garage where in warmer weather the blue herons like to fish and wade. The steady winds have blown the ice to a high polish, and it resembles a slab of black obsidian lying in the snow. The weather has brought out tiny, tiny birds in their hundreds...a tiny little needle-beaked grey and black thing hardly bigger than a female hummingbird, and they are merrily boucing round the gutters and windowframes and the branches of my trees like popcorn. They seem to be finding something of interest to pick at on the ice, because they wait in ranks on the wire of the fence to take their turns inspecting it. While the latecomers wait, the one's whose turn is up hop down to pick at the surface, and as they pick, facing into the wind, the wind is blowing them steadily, steadily backwards along the length of the puddle like little skaters.

The night before the snow started I woke up to the sound of a frog. Down behind the foundation just under my bedroom window, this little frog creaking his little frog song was the only sound I heard for miles and miles around. He will gradually make his way around to the south side of the foundation, under the front porch, and for the rest of the winter he will sing his creaky song every time rain threatens, as he does every year.

Our Thanksgiving was wonderful. For the first time in awhile we had the place to ourselves. The Yummy Biker and I made a meal I would have been proud to serve Careme.
The Biker went down the street and stole some apples off a tree in front of a vacant house. He made an applesauce out of them that would have made a stone saint cry. I could devote an entire post to the perfection of ingredients, method and flavour that was this applesauce. My house smelled like the land of the Blessed all day long, y'all. And just for something to do while he was waiting he threw together two pies and a lasagne for the next day.

He is MINE. He is TAKEN. Back WAY OFF.

I made a sauce and a small loin of pork, and added in a couple of small ears of local corn from this autumn. There was stuffing too, just a neutral one to catch the sauce and the juices.
Now that sounds simple enough, right?
But it was perfect.
Perfectly made perfect ingredients, perfectly combined, perfectly executed. If I do say so myself, he and I know our food backwards, forwards, inside and out. We are one of those rare combinations in the kitchen where the sum is astronomically greater than the parts. Nobody eats better than us on the holidays.
Anyone can bathe things in spices and gravy and call it yummy, but when you can compose a meal where all the ingredients are perfectly in balance? That's a gift. When you can do in in harmony with another person, that's just a damn miracle.

ALL MINE, bitches.

Now I have to go into the other half of the house and thaw out my fingers. Try and stay warm today, northerners! (Southern Hemispherians? Go suck my socks.)