For you, on my birthday

A nekkid photo of myself:




Let the festivities begin!

Spring must be close. . .

if a person dressed like a cup of water ice is waving at traffic.

LOL

I will confess that I'm a fan of LOLCats. If you don't know what they are, you'll have to read the hilarious entry on Wikipedia, or check out I Can Haz Cheezburger or if you, like me, are an Obama fan, you may enjoy Yes We Can Has.

If you want to know where all this LOL-ishness will end, perhaps you'd like to help translate the Bible into LOL-speak. The 23rd Psalm is already done, though.

Now back to the dyepots.

More beach time

Of course, my role as chief weirdo magnet continues, with this peculiar image burned into my retinas:

However, scenes like this



make it all worthwhile.

Holy crap, I'm 42!

But I don't look a day over 41.

Happy birthday wishes are also appropriate if you happen to read the blogs of Chuck Woolery



Erik Estrada



le plus grand comedien francais, Jerry Lewis


Pat Nixon


and/or the former Shah of Iran (who in retrospect, doesn't look like such a bad guy).

Only 17 shopping days 'til my birthday

Here's a thoughtful gift idea.

[with thanks to Bonnie....]

"It was a dark and stormy evening."

Here's the seventh weird thing about me: I played Peppermint Patty in my senior class's production of the musical Snoopy!.* (In case you haven't heard of it, Snoopy! was the sequel to You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown.) There is a scene where Snoopy and Woodstock act out an entire novel-writing session, beginning with "It was a dark and stormy evening."

At the time, I didn't get the reference, but I later learned that a British novelist named Edward George Bulwer-Lytton penned that sentence (well, actually, he wrote "It was a dark and stormy night"). In honor of his painful prose, a California university has an annual contest for the opening sentence of the worst of all possible imaginary novels. Here is a link to this year's winners, including my favorite:

Sex with Rachel after she turned fifty was like driving the last-place team on the last day of the Iditarod Dog Sled Race, the point no longer the ride but the finish, the difficulty not the speed but keeping all the parts moving in the right direction, not to mention all that irritating barking.

Can you believe it was merely runner-up in the romance category?



*And if Franklin gets off his heinie and manages to respond to my million or three emails sometime before noon tomorrow, I will post on this blog a vintage photograph of me in costume.

Has it come to this, then?

Thanks for this go to Franklin. Although once you read it, you will perhaps NOT thank Franklin for calling this to our attention. Whenever a craft project starts out with a used bra, you're in big trouble.