and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

I was gone for some days. It was nice, in that I hadn't strayed from the confines of the Portland "metro" area in quite some time, unless you count jaunty outings into the nearby countryside for frisbee golf,* and bonfires. It wasn't all roses and sunshine, however, as the thermostat on the audi went kaput and we suffered through a five hour drive over the white mountains with no heat. Ah, this is the holidays.

In the meantime I kept a measurable distance from the blog - a break, of sorts - hoping that, perhaps like so many movie moms and tv dads, running away would somehow cultivate or energize the tepid love of this immovable type** that I seem to have lately for this space.

Bah, hum-bug. Always at odds with the direction of things, I can usually be found twirling in the corner like a wallflower pinwheel, spurting comedy water out of my mid-center, squeezed from a hidden bulb. I never know whether to post it all - every link, article, comment, thought - piecemeal (for certainly the essence of time is one best enjoyed not wasted on editorial preening, especially if there is no journalistic date) or if I should censor the unending flow of nonsense. My wallflower petals, aflutter with a sense of quiet inserenity, perhaps insanity, make up the crooked singularity of a solo bouquet. It is, therefore and unsurprisingly, difficult to soundboard, given that wide-open expanses of empty space lack boards even if the sound is there.

When they sing you cant hear, theres no air
Sometimes I think I kind of like that and
Other times I think I'm already there
For this, I ask you, forgive the occasional youtube link. Really, I see the sad pale frailty in it all and I'm sure Viacom or some such body will manage to shut down the 'tuber soon enough so, really, let us enjoy our vapid American dreams while we can, shall we?

Now go enjoy this Jonathan Coulton Project video, IKEA, and enjoy the Norsemen.

* I spent quite some time discussing the relative merits of that comma with myself and, by the time I was done with said monolithic conversation, I had come to enjoy that comma and all that it offered; its stoic reverence for me, its creator. Its inclusionary nature; bringing together different words while still providing the hint of fracture, a society of words based on individuals.

** get it?