Blame it on Chris Hansen or maybe it's just truth defined, but webcam self-portraits just scream "internet predator" to me. Or "internet prey". The end.

Sure, by now I should be used to webcam photos, right? I should. With teleconferencing and other work things like that, I should be mature enough by now to realize that webcams are a good thing initially developed to be a new and better technological innovation -- a great solution, y'know -- it's the Jetson's telephone. And over the last few years, I've tried to reprogram my senses to accept this digital medium and format, without hesitation. But when I run across those dimly-lit or over-exposed arm-length stills of someone basking in the glow of a big, boxy, out-dated computer monitor, innocent or not, I just can't just handle it.

It's that feeling you get when you realize a bug just crawled across your bare foot. In the dark. Like a big part of me inside just shrinks away like a slug recoiling from that burn of everyday table salt. Just about all webcam photos make my teeth hurt. Sure, I'm weird. I snicker in embarrassment every time I hear the word "pickle" or the dreaded "d-word" that I won't, I can't even type here. But webcams just freak me out on another level.

So then, why am I getting a webcam? Besides the obvious reason of making extra cash while sitting around online in my underwear?

Wait. That's not true. One more try...

Besides the obvious reason of making extra cash while sitting around online in somebody else's underwear?

Again, this one goes out to my aunt -- "I promise I am just joking."

For one reason, to talk to a friend in Florida. Actually, besides the fun of a positive behavior modification experiment, that's probably the only reason. Which translates into "because some days, I'm just too lazy to type instead." On the bright side and in the end, this will benefit everyone involved since the Sicilian in me uses her hands to talk too fast, and she's mostly talking the sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Pickle. The D-word. Webcam.

What's my point? What, should I get over being freaked out by webcams? Why not, fifteen years after the fact. But my disclaimer is: So shall it be written, so shall it be done*, henceforth from the day of installation, this is all Orlando Scott's fault.


This one is malignantly cute and benignly scary at the same time. So maybe that's what I'm going for. Or, maybe I should just knit something useful instead and forget this aversion-reversal experiment thought ever happened.

Nah, as usual, ease wins over action. Ordering something interesting, easier than not.

Don't worry, my radical new technological addition won't affect many of you. I won't post any excruciating green-glowing self-portraits unless they are funny, I promise. I do fall off my Pilates ball chair a lot. See, already the webcam and Pilates ball have just paid for themselves that self-deprecating image alone.

But sorry, I have no ferrets to show you. I'm not that kind of weird.



*No, I have not grown a long, strokey-beard to match my sage-like, elder wisdom. Yet. But if I do, at least I'll be able to show you.

My rare kind of favorite joke.
Found at talent6.com.

overheard at an estate sale

somewhere on Jefferson Street,

woman with thick Southern drawl, answering her cell phone:
"...hulllllllll-o?...yeahhhh, at an estate sale...aw, not much, just a whole lotta stuff that makes you wanna go home and cleeeeeean uuuuup..."

at that point, I put down the painted martini glasses and nodded her an Air Five over my shoulder.

man looking down at woman working the sale, writing receipts, minding her own business:
"...hey, Shorty!...I betcha get that one a lot, huh? Yeah? My wife's short, and I call 'er Smurf."

Then I came up a behind a man leaning over the jewelry table inspecting the goods. With no good segueway around his buttcrack which was showing a good five inches, all I could think to announce within earshot of anyone else around me was, "Man, look at that. You could park a bike in that thing." (-- which has become my standard quip these days when treated to these uncomfortable buttcrack moments. It used to be, "Wow, the moon certainly came out early tonight!"; but, resigning myself to the fact that one of the gypsy curses placed upon me at birth is that I will always be treated to these uncomfortable buttcrack moments, I've decided to shake up the monotony a bit with new quipping.)

They had an incredible amount of nice, heavy, woody antiques displayed well within another style of massive, intriguing decor more traditional than modern, and there were intricate collections upon collections of original artwork at this sale -- sculptures, carvings, prints, and paintings (complete with a period-painting of a family of monkeys that I wish I could have, actually) -- all very expensive, most quite unique if not rare, I'm sure. But like a lot of other estate sales, this one just reinforced my core belief that 1. no matter how much you paid for it, you can't take it with you, and my sub-belief that 2. if it's over $2.00, forget it -- $10.00, max.

I'm getting back to "Tuesday Morning Scributes",
but for today, I'd much rather post this as a "Get Well Wednesday"
to cheer up a friend of mine who's not feeling so hot today.

This is Ned. Ned is one of my favorite dogs at the dog daycare where I work part-time when I can. First of all, Ned...Ned? who names a dog Ned? Ned's not a good dog name, is it? Regardless, his owner (otherwise known as his driver) delivers him up most every morning from his long, black, shiny, immaculately detailed Mercedes. Yes, Ned is a very lucky dog. But deep down, Ned's not a happy puppy.

In dog years, Ned is about 47. Ned is part pit bull, part reincarnated businessman, and he's going grey around the edges. I worry about Ned's unnecessary stress-levels. You see, Ned doesn't really know how to do his job effectively. He's not the easy-going, firm-yet-respected manager that he wants to be. He feels that he's losing his edge. All he does is bark at the other dogs, all day long, like he's doing something productive for the company. "It's not personal, it's just business," he barks. "They call it work for a reason," is another favorite. He tries to command respect, and really, that just never works.

He's less than personable and motivational when he barks like this. He's obviously in over his head. None of the other dogs listen to him at all which just frustrates him even more than he is. He actually told me that he wanted the employees to give him more eye contact during his meetings. More eye contact? I think he's losing his grip after a lackluster annual review, five years in a row.

Being the mediator always, I try to make him feel better. I say, "Morning, Ned! How was your weekend? Didya get in a hole or two of golf? (And then I do that thing where I swing an imaginary golf club and make a sound effect to go along with it) ...Don't forget, you have a working lunch today with Johnson...Also, FYI, if you could resend that email about putting the covers on the TPS reports, that would be greaaaaaat..."

If that doesn't work to make him feel sufficient, then I bottom-line it and say, "Ned, I know, I know -- relax, buddy, the top dogs all know you're a highly-motivated businessman, and this company couldn't run without ya, boy. Sure. Look, I gotta run, but let's do lunch sometime next week and have a one-on-one, a brainstorming think tank session if you will, on how you can improve your game. Yes, I do have your cell number. Send my best to the wife and kids. Shake? Good boy, good boyyyy."

Poor guy. I hope he doesn't give himself an ulcer. Maybe I'll take him to a yoga class.

So what're you doin' for New Year's Eve?

So tell me you're somewhere having fun. Oh, I know. It's Amateur Night tonight with all the yupsters out drinking and running their brand-new 2008 hybrids up on the sidewalks, I know. Barfin' sunshine and Wet Willie's frozen daiquiris. But who cares? Don't let that spoil your fun. Tell everyone you've gone green and leave the car at home. Besides, it's beneficial for something-something about the ozone layer and not-melting things. Tell me you're having fun tonight somewhere because let's face it -- it's the New Year. And you know me, I'm psychic. And I'm here to tell you, this year is going to be a good one. Let's call it Año Ocho.

But if you insist on hanging out at home, I understand. Odds are, I'll be doing the same thing. But trust me, I'll be celebrating. So pass the Chex Mix and bourbon balls, kids. I have a few good links to keep us all company.

Get your Yeti or gnome fix at Yeti vs. gnome.com

I could spend a great deal of dogtime here at dogluvva.com

Need a good luck pork tenderloin with black-eyed peas recipe? Yeah. Me, too. So look it up at my new addiction -- cookingforengineers.com.

And that's about it for this year. See you in Año Ocho...

smelltergeist (n) an evil, swirling, odor-dervish that lives at my front door and punches everyone in the nose as they walk in (e.g., "If you smell burned popcorn and fried turkey bacon right inside, it's yesterday's smelltergeist that I can't exorcise.")


Yes, I do miss my apartment, even if it smells a little funny sometimes. So I'll be driving back, getting home to Memphis today. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the front room burning candles.


ps to disneyscott: yes, I will post photos of my new lair. tomorrow. promise.

Ta, chuck!!

Lady B! You have no idea how much I love the giftie you sent me. You know how I feel about pink, but how in the world did you know that my dad always gave me mini mag-lights to keep around the house, keep in the car, etc...? And what gets me is that I have been needing one for my keychain since it's impossible to see the lock on my apartment's back door at night.

Yes, for real! Spooky in that good spooky kind of way.

Thank you again, and expect a postie from me to come soon. xox - bny

Many Happy Jagshemesh, Sinta Klooz!

Well, Santa has passed over Kazakstan and dropped his load
and brought me back the Borat DVD plus free t-shirt,
and I got the book, too.
Now I won't have to sell my brother, Barrimooniloe,
into slavery. Yet.

So, we here at labmonkie wish you
a very Happy Christmas
full of love, peace and joy for everyone!


Unless we don't like you,
then why are you reading this?
Go check your stockings for lumps of coal.
Go on. Get! You know who y'are!

Well, it's officially Christmas now.

I have done something that I never ever do and have chosen to find it liberating instead of enslaving. I have actually been so pressed for time today that I had an entire phone conversation while on the toilet. Yes, I know some twisted people pay good money for that kind of phone conversation, but I'm a very modest person. So I neither announced nor revealed my multi-tasking super-prowess to the caller, but there you go. And now, so have I. So I have several people wondering, "No. Was it me she was talking to at that moment?" For the record, "Yes, it was, and I am a many-splendored thing."

And so are you. awwwwwwwwwwww. Sure you needed to know all this. Now get back to wrapping those presents, Mary and Gay!

Man. Remind me to pack lighter for the Taco Show next time.

I thought I'd NEVER get back and unpacked! Whew. Those Taco Shows can last a lot longer than I ever plan. But one thing is for sure -- I missed you guys (awwwwwwwwwwww). All four of you. God love ya, and so do I.

Well, what have I missed since I've been away? You have to email me and let me know. I can tell you what's been up with me, in no particular order, and for no particular reasons:

> I've walked/played with/cleaned up after/thrown tennis balls for many, many dogs.

> Been without a comfortable internet connection, but have it now.

> Found all of my (oops) computer cables.

> Not making jewelry like I intend to do all along, but hey.

> Vowed to make more jewelry and crank up the etsy store this week. No, really.

> Traveled three road trips, one being to Jackson last week for a stellar report from the doctor. Thank you, God. Literally and figuratively.

> Was thankful at Thanksgiving that I actually made it to another Thanksgiving because I finally realized that without the chemo and follow-up medicine, I literally wouldn't be here -- which brought up a whole bunch of philosophical questions for me to think about and to not think about at the same time.

> Felt like I should give this new chance at life a "Go big or go home" approach -- which is really how I used to be anyway. So that gave me more to think about, the last few years of my life anyway.

> Babbled, rambled, and started sentences backwards and not finishing. Sentences. Making me crazy, when I do that, I hate it. Y'see? Yeah.

> Been watching "Kids in the Hall" DVDs over and over. Been putting off watching the "Who Killed the Electric Car" documentary for no known reason. Gotta watch that. Tomorrow.

> Have been observing the what's and who's around me in this apartment complex, have become fascinated and am taking notes. I have three off-center people I am studying, not on purpose but just apparently. Yes, one is the directly-harmless Happy Hippie (who sadly took down his Christmas tree a few weeks ago. I know. Sad. We found a trail of crispy tree bits all the way across the parking lot to the dumpster where the ex-tree was laid to rest. But on the bright side, that tree was apparently a real tree that we all supposed must have been from last year, which made it a ten-month dried, crispy fire hazard for us all. But, his intentions were good, I believe, and it was beautiful to me anyway.). Then there's another guy who lives here who -- and I really need to get a good description of him for Cold Case Files -- will probably end up strangling a female student to death. I know, I know. Luckily, I am not a student, and knowing this, I can also steer any female students away from him.

> Have become really rusty around the edges with my scribblin's and words, and have made myself really nuts over-using the word "really" really.

> Waiting for Mamie to get out of grad school this semester so I can hang out with her and make cheese straws and spritz cookies.

> Snickerin' at the words "spritz" and "cookies" together. Ew. Grody.

> Making all-natural dog treats. In my opinion, they 're pretty tasty to me. But thankfully, we can all bank on dogs not being too particular at times, seeing that they'll eat their own barf if the mood strikes them, so anything I make them has to be tastier than dog barf. Always seeing the silver lining.

> Have decided that I need to plan a trip back to Europe -- Mamie's got me thinking about Galway and the Galway Arts Festival in June. That's one option. But I'm always thinking the "I See London, I See France" Tour option. I've done that twice so far, and twice just isn't enough.

> Dreading getting a passport photo taken.

> At some point, I've got to show you my old passport photo. Sheeeeesh, did I really wear Anne Klein door-knocker earrings?

> Washed my cellphone last night and spent this morning ye olde landline inquiring about new ones under 50 bucks before I go down to the store and get into a horrible infatuation with the $300 model I'd rather have.

Here's a fugitive thought: The cat likes to sit right behind me when I write at the computer. So in addition to his sparkling personality, that cat makes an excellent butt warmer.

So now that my butt is all warm, I guess I need to get to the Daily Errand List now before work at the doggy daycare. Dogs are the best therapy in the world. Lord knows after this last Taco Show, I could use plenty of good dogs.