• My Brain On Crack,  Time Machine


    I have a new thing for pink. No idea where this comes from. For years, pink was right up there as Most Hated Color in the Universe. Possibly because I was surrounded by it: my walls were an insipid shade of pastel pink, my ruffled bedspread was sort of a washed-out salmon color, and even my rug was pink. There’s a photo of me as a wee thing, lying on that pink rug, nose in a book, wearing something plaid. Oh yes, 1970 was a great year for interior design. Pink clothes were out. I allowed my body to be clad in drab plaidish kneelength dresses with Peter Pan collars,…

  • Go Places,  Ho, Earthling!

    I Have Giant Spiders For Pets

    I have lost my fear of spiders. No big deal. Just now I saw one there on the wood floor of my living room. His wingspan was at least six inches. No big deal. I just upended a glass jar over him, slid a folded utility bill under the jar (what else are those things good for, anyway?) while Mr. Spider danced over it, then took the whole thing to the front door and tossed him unceremoniously into the grass of my tiny front yard. No big deal. It’s a far cry from not-so-many years ago. When I was a kid and there was a spider in my room, usually…

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  • My Brain On Crack

    Crisis Of Identity

    I’ve been blogging here for nearly a year, and elsewhere three years before that. In this past year I’ve used this space mainly as I pleased, which is of course the whole hyper self-aware point of blogging. The 365 project was a massive FAIL. I should know better than to attempt to do anything regularly other than excrete, and you would probably rather I not mention my excretions in any sort of detail. Fine, we have a deal on that. I’m not too worried about OMG-what-should-I-do-with-this-blog? because, after all, there are only three of you reading it. That’s fine. It’s for me, anyway. Mine, all mine, except in this oddly…

  • My Brain On Crack

    The Great Raw Experiment: Day Something Something

    Let’s just say we’ve been on and off the Raw Wagon, shall we? And by “we” I mean me, and by “off the wagon” I mean WAY off, like Oreos, a tasty but absurd conglomeration of the associated evils of trans-fats and high-fructose corn syrup if I’ve ever heard of one, Oreos that haven’t crossed my threshold nor passed my lips for probably nigh unto five years, but that somehow needed to be eaten rather than all those sugar snap peas, radishes, and Rainier cherries I somehow passed by. Oh, and here’s another tidbit of absurdity: despite feeling rather awesome eating only raw foods, I managed these past couple of…

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