tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138919732011-04-21T15:24:26.377-07:00I can take a hint, even if I don't immediately know what to do with it.grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.comBlogger981100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1170993814645066962007-02-08T19:39:00.000-08:002007-02-08T21:24:26.283-08:00

It's another chilly night outside, here, but on the other side of the world, grunts are humping it down debris-strewn streets. A slightly more uneven game of "Cat and Mouse" is underway, as modern vendettas are freely mixed with ancient ones. The pots race to achieve a rolling boil, before the juices evaporate. Where is the race here? Is there a contest hidden here, somewhere?Sure, there's

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1167560520195739692006-12-31T01:37:00.000-08:002006-12-31T02:28:31.610-08:00

Calendars are second only to clocks, when it comes to things that beg to be ignored. Sure, there has to be a readily agreeable way for people to get activities synchronized, to commemorate events and celebrate things in one's life that have either happened already, are happening, or have yet to occur- until something better comes along, I guess I'll have to use these crude devices to delimit the

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1167022553357751452006-12-24T20:21:00.000-08:002006-12-26T11:32:19.256-08:00

I'll be the first to admit to experiencing a certain lethargy (antipathy?) about the holiday season, this year. Not for lack of loved ones, or lassitude, or as an expression of disgust; more nearly, I'd say it was confluence of simpler impulses, all clicking into place at the same moment. However those may be parsed, I've had Hell's sweet time, getting it into gear (in any conventional sense).

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1166846886885818622006-12-22T19:49:00.000-08:002006-12-22T20:08:06.903-08:00

Firm, like an avocado, but smoother than a baby's unlined forehead, but softer, more along the lines of turquoise pudding, but more attentive and readily devoured, like the Meerkat, whose proclivity is for travelling (at least) in pairs, though of course, rounder and more perpetually fulsome, and though blunt enough to withstand the most saturnine, languorous gaze, equally likely to make pointed

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1166756474667351572006-12-21T18:46:00.000-08:002006-12-23T21:31:53.476-08:00

I'm only about two-thirds into the shoe-box, but a lot of the transcriptions have found their way into the shredder (mainly, due to illegibility). I could kick myself, but lassitude prevents such intemperate gestures- too bad, as Bronyard's off-the-cuff remarks were always a mysterious, often incomprehensible treat. At first, I found myself begging him to repeat himself (he never did, as nearly

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1166500451884840822006-12-18T19:26:00.000-08:002006-12-19T04:36:22.300-08:00

"An' now, fer not showin' headstrong, isn' it an accusation o' bein' weak?Was it a Huzzah, er words o' courage tha' yer wanted, or even now, seek?Isn' it the strawman seems ter hava problem, keepin' his hat on?Ah, doan imagine it'll go easier, once all'a problems are gone.Aye! Ai-ai-ai, is our world up for feeble tricks, o' feeble minds a' feeble pricks?Weaker still, an' all puffed up, yet

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1166416291780751292006-12-17T20:16:00.000-08:002006-12-19T04:04:12.220-08:00

"Here's a scrap o' wisdom, once scrawled on an oily rag:Ther' ain't room fer th' third person, not in my sleepin' bag.First person (singular or plural) is about all th' thing'll hold,an' still keep us warm and moist, in the face o' bitter cold.Th' answer ter yer askin' 'bout how or if I'm bent,is somewhere in that pile o' crap, heaped outside th' tent.Unsightly, unseemly, ungainly, no sense

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1166069288494106952006-12-13T18:54:00.000-08:002006-12-15T21:13:52.623-08:00

Howdy, folks! Thanks in advance for the opportunity to shed (however briefly) my usual mantle of curmudgeonly sang froid. It's been more like waiting in the holding pattern, to catch people in the right frame of mind to process joyful imprecations, so I'm deliberately taking a little off of the usual "Hail fellow, well met!" bluster. I'm glad for many things that the year has brought me

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1165195354519518212006-12-03T16:20:00.000-08:002006-12-08T03:34:51.826-08:00

I wonder why it didn't surprise me. A light breeze blew across the crepuscular parking lot, against which the forlorn silhouette of the Disreputable Heap stood, nearly alone. Like the other vehicles, daylight had slipped away hours ago; immobile but uncomplaining, a crushed beercan of uncertain vintage (but with wheels) awaited a journey of some distance into the darkness. Slinging my sack of

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1163303738257456162006-11-11T19:14:00.000-08:002006-11-18T16:57:14.160-08:00

Brown bears in Siberia are wandering around, gnoshing (though they're not really hungry) and walking (though they're usually starting to hibernate). I was surprised when I heard this on the radio, but then it occured to me that they probably don't get to hear too many, "Smile, it's perfectly normal" weather forecasts, thereabouts. So instead, they skip the expert opinions and they obey their

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1162620198514617622006-11-03T20:45:00.000-08:002006-11-04T11:41:15.963-08:00

It's pretty ironic. Here in the States, the mid-term (the Prez and Veep get to sit this one out) elections are coming up in a few days. Normally, voters are content if they don't make it to the mid-term polls, the rationale being that there's not so much at stake (in the out-years, at any rate). That's always been fallacious thinking, at least, to some degree; this year's been a little different

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1162523548687029622006-11-02T18:57:00.000-08:002006-11-04T10:59:20.163-08:00

"A poet somewhere queried,'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star...'. Wonder if the words wonder, 'Have we taken things too far?'Our days, our ways have left fewer stars to be attained,but by night, leave us even fewer teachings to be retainedAs though looking up at stars somehow absolves our hands,we've paid so little heed to the condition to our lands.The same hubris that makes us too big for our pants

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1162266211271798002006-10-30T19:30:00.000-08:002006-10-30T19:51:26.403-08:00

*"Klick!"* As the great beast doubles over from Oxygen deficit(?), the TV is just as abruptedly deprived of its power, both physically and motivationally. "Well, no help from that quarter- may as well try and grab at least twenty winks of sleep. This is like the fifth year in a row that there've been no decent costume ideas, even with the usual spooky flicks on every channel. Maybe the zombies

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1162177560968965412006-10-29T18:59:00.000-08:002006-11-04T11:04:37.460-08:00

Right from the start, I'll admit that I don't know anyone or any place called Chrissakes (althougn there could be such an entity, maybe in Greece or Cyprus?) That's not the point, and there are no religious implications to be exploited here. Imagine a badly composed watercolor, embedded in folio of bad renderings, then accidentally left in the rain. Never mind others' opinions of the relative

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1162029558369270582006-10-28T02:25:00.000-07:002006-11-04T11:08:14.520-08:00

It happens time and again. My feeble attempts at manhandling an upstart Cercadean rhythm have compelled me to set two alarm clocks. The exact time is really beside the point, but the sleep ratio isn't- I've never been able to rely on wallclock time, except as a barometer of abuse, meted out by (or, more rarely, inflicted upon) my fellow citizens. Only psychotic, type A managers could truly

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1154064616675685712006-07-27T22:15:00.000-07:002006-08-01T04:03:28.456-07:00

"My Love, in this twilight, have we failed to spot the reversal, of our uncertain steps on this stage, wanting a bit more rehearsal? Nor a net in the darkness down there, in the event we've tripped Which director? What producer? Who, in the wings, holds our script? Forgetting all that, we'll convulse along anyway, as though we're marionettes. Your peculiar songs and my odd steps are the things

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1152163483478132472006-07-05T21:52:00.000-07:002006-07-06T01:44:39.943-07:00

The trailer, with it's drop-down panels, really doesn't look that big. But that doesn't belie the fact that the borough's band - I'd estimate twenty-plus members - has once again come out for one of its infrequent flourishes. The Sun set hesitantly, some half hour earlier, but has not yet relinquished the sky to the darkness of night- no matter, as our local Kappellemeister undoubtedly had

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1151381848171179102006-06-26T20:17:00.000-07:002006-06-27T00:55:49.273-07:00

It's been an odd week, even by my loose definition of oddness. Forget about the calendar; I'm talking about the days leading up to this moment. I'm still living in the separate, unseen parallel universe in which redheads driving Hummers aren't even elevated to a fantasy, let alone an inspiration- this phenomenon resonates in the other, "Three Little Bears" reality about which I hear such rosy

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1150661986907057962006-06-18T12:32:00.000-07:002006-06-18T13:31:05.713-07:00

Normally, this is one of those cooked-up holidays, one that passes without much fanfare. I talk with my dad pretty regularly, and my kids talk to me; I don't need or want a paper placeholder to commemorate my place in this process. Whether this brands me some sort of misanthropic bum is left to others (presumably, with more time than I have, on their hands) to analyze. Let's say that my

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1149835890168694312006-06-08T23:17:00.000-07:002006-06-12T23:02:16.573-07:00

It's sad, but the only time that mosquitoes are genuinely noticed is when one visits the "Throne Room". Ones activities tend to tether one, and absent the freedom of movement, compel one to a somewhat limited range of responses. Futilely swatting(while squatting) only makes the conundrum more pronounced, highlighting the inherent folly of the circumstances.Sounds like the lead-in to some juvenile

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1149139360126167642006-05-31T20:25:00.000-07:002006-06-07T22:03:01.836-07:00

Technology was trying to tell me something, but I kept dismissing its attempts to waylay me. The first train glided away, even as a small queue of us waited for the ticket window to reopen. It, like the next train into the city, was delayed by some disruption of power further down the line. I found the office building, and after a quick roundtrip to the right floor of the wrong tower, sheepishly

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1148879531855611842006-05-28T20:14:00.000-07:002006-05-28T23:00:47.000-07:00

There aren't many echoes in my diminished world, but I am not oblivious to the outside world. I knew that there was national holiday somewhere around now, and that if traditions held, families would be packing the kids and coolers into their mini-vans, in favor of a long weekend in the mountains, or at the beach. I tip my hat at this much-needed ritual, and its salutory effects on the people who

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1148705875296075062006-05-26T20:39:00.000-07:002006-05-26T23:25:50.370-07:00

The clouds had massed in silence, obstructing the view of whatever Moon and stars there might have been to attend the nearly silent interment. The small garden shovel dutifully excavated the dirt from above the trench which had been refilled less than a year ago. My children looked on, as a small hole gradually emerged from the reluctant earth. The spades curious sighing and scratchy monologue

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1148276740998180342006-05-21T22:15:00.000-07:002006-05-24T20:27:39.026-07:00

I have a hard time figuring out what things actually cost. It's not as though I'm a neophyte, or totally naive about prices of items. The sticker rarely represents what's truly owed for some object or service. More often, the transaction which confers a given benefit for value is merely a jot on the timeline, a punctuation of a continuum which sticks in ones memory; neither the beginning nor

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1147840626518091742006-05-16T20:58:00.000-07:002006-05-16T21:46:50.123-07:00

"Am I hovering asleep, or could I really be standing awake? Beneath me, I can feel the firm timbers as they shake, though I never felt them move, until a moment ago. Rigid and motionless, I see the glass, steel, and air flow, slower down there, nearer the water, slower still overhead. in front of and behind me, separated by only inches and dread, Opposing trains roar past, each politely offering

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1146634487509260502006-05-02T22:15:00.000-07:002006-05-02T23:23:51.366-07:00

Having designed the pit and installed the cages,must I now chain myself to the bars as my neighbor rages?I built it, yes, but should have asked what or whowould join me in my menagerie, my own little zooAs to the zoo, there was something off with old one,that made me think of building another; It's nearly done.In the old one, the beasts got three squares, but no frills,and paced their lives away,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1146286747808780832006-04-28T21:31:00.000-07:002006-04-28T22:10:48.663-07:00

It seems a shame to waste a perfect movie plot line like that, when all I can recall is a separate, unintentional thought: The time to wrangle like a twenty year old is when you're twenty years old. It's like anything else. Dip your toe into the shallow end of the pool, then decide whether you'd like to swim. Time-delayed skewerage doesn't count as romantic inspiration, not when some twit

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1146094141492534502006-04-26T14:35:00.000-07:002006-04-26T19:51:58.693-07:00

Argh! The antenna's broken off from my Beatermobile, thus am I deprived of an important source of mindless chaff, as I sputter unevenly from point A to point B. I'd fallen into the habit of setting the channel selector to autoscan, yielding the much-coveted 4 second burst of every sound ever recorded (attention spans are over-rated, in my book) until something captured my fancy - which, owing to

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1145223687624371432006-04-16T14:25:00.000-07:002006-04-16T20:39:04.063-07:00

"I've given both the sour and sweet a shot,and offered to share among us what I'd got.But it might be truer or safer to assumethat I'm voicing lousy prose into an emptying room. Whether my hand (or another) draws downward the blind,it's for us to put this collegiality behind.It is for you, the onward bearers of the light,to hold up your ideas, against the oncoming night." You'll want to be

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1144309247568370712006-04-05T23:53:00.000-07:002006-04-07T23:36:05.896-07:00

Say what you will about the vagaries of weather, the economy, and so forth, but I've been noticing an increasing interest on the part of both male, and impressively, female bloggers in a favorite Springtime subject: Pie. If you have some nearby, or are adept in preparing pie, then your companions need never stray. Conversely, if you have no pie, or perhaps would like to extend your enjoyment,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1144136569567962822006-04-04T00:33:00.000-07:002006-04-04T01:34:24.790-07:00

I have it from a reliable source that the new Bumpfmaster Mark VIII (TM) has an unlimited capacity for processing ill-conceived jibberish. It's too pricy for me, but maybe someone more affluent can try the following test load, and report on the results: "Why are my ankles once again all wet?Haven't I crossed the Rubicon already? I forget.Whichever way the damned river of tears elects to swerve,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1142465984688451112006-03-15T15:02:00.000-08:002006-03-15T22:08:02.006-08:00

Can it be that I've said whatever I've had to say? Ought there be more to be said, save in some other way? Meanwhile, our talks must go on, as with a friend who knows to bless missing 'Goodbyes', and to accept absent 'Hellos'.

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1140921102472048342006-02-25T17:34:00.000-08:002006-02-25T19:48:05.346-08:00

Note: Now is a good time to warm up your 'Bumpfmaster Pro' (TM) bad verse disposal system. Go ahead, it's the prudent and responsible thing to do. While you're up, have a tumblerfull of Ouzo (or your favorite reading fluid). Okay, proceed, but with caution. Cold, knee-deep water rising at mid-stream, mixes, swirls around where we are, in my dream. We are wading across uncertainly, while the blaze

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1140155156071336912006-02-16T21:44:00.000-08:002006-02-16T21:45:56.096-08:00

Silence. I can shut down now.

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1139907493934635732006-02-14T00:06:00.001-08:002006-02-15T01:33:39.620-08:00

Okay, I may as well acknowledge that a lot of what's been written here has had the slightest hint of seriousness, err, has been pretty damned somber. And it would be reasonable to think of it as depressing, or indicative of the onset of depressive behavior, but I'm here to testify. Yessir, I've been straining my limited cortex to find a fun, inviting theme which might shamelessly draw you, my

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1139794032757730622006-02-12T16:21:00.000-08:002006-02-12T17:30:45.630-08:00

I don't remember how I arrived at the article, but I found the following snippet from "Sneakiest primates have biggest brains"- NewScientist.com News Service more than a little interesting (The article sounds like applied common sense, but this philosophical question about deception sticks out): "... Concept of dishonesty That is consistent with the idea that natural selection favoured larger

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1138525600618707262006-01-28T23:57:00.000-08:002006-01-29T10:07:15.500-08:00

More so now than before, I recognize many smaller items drifting past me, in the stream. A documentary about the gigantic hydroelectric power project in China (a dam on the Yangtse river) bobbed into my consciousness, and I found myself saddened by what seems so inevitable, and yet so tremendously costly and disruptive to a culture which extends back to the dawn of history. Our own monumental

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1137750971227951462006-01-20T01:05:00.000-08:002006-01-21T09:05:46.736-08:00

I decided to knuckle down and do the dance this week, however alien the rhythm and footwork seemed to me. So? How are you going to document that? Maybe an entry in the ol' curriculum vitae, boasting of a prolonged stint as "Amateur Meat Puppet", or maybe, "Emeritus Marionette"? I actually found the process somewhat refreshing. Once again, my life was casually laid bare, in a series of

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1137242032677719042006-01-14T03:24:00.000-08:002006-01-14T04:54:10.130-08:00

Getting through this crazy life means a trip down an unadorned path. My bitch is with the odd barkers of this world: purveyors of snake oil, brokers of vast lots of second-hand oats, hawkers of the polished turds of yesteryear, talking heads pitching half-baked bullschitt casseroles to the numb. It's all good, so long as we get that which we don't want, from those who don't care, pay for it with

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1136448937534804032006-01-04T22:54:00.000-08:002006-01-05T09:59:36.196-08:00

What is it, with these kids? I could hear the TV blaring away from two floors up, as I descended for a cold one. In the parlor, my son was intently watching the last bowl game, which had apparently been a pretty conservatively played one, up to that point. The color man was laying on the accolades with a trowel, extoling the many unsung virtues of one of the offensive linemen, unknown but

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1135925397866505982005-12-29T21:53:00.000-08:002005-12-30T00:09:56.343-08:00

Despite its rather humorous seasonal placement, the approaching new year still strikes me as a time of death and regeneration. These terms have common meanings, and other, more nuanced interpretations. I still favor the latter (far less ominous) versions. Practically speaking, it seems to me that, regardless of ones spiritual leadings, each of us gets a period of reflection, to examine our moral

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1135502740305045182005-12-24T23:09:00.000-08:002005-12-25T01:56:15.050-08:00

The weather, ever a merry trickster, refuses to comply with stereotypes. Virtually all of the snow is gone, and the air is bobbing up and down between the mid-20s and mid-40s; low chance of a white Christmas here, Bing. Even so, the roads are conspicuously empty, and the night is silent. I've distributed a few little gifts to my family on behalf of a small, single-mother family of cats who sit

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1134722242335222572005-12-15T23:58:00.000-08:002005-12-16T01:48:08.980-08:00

It's still a few days until Winter officially muscles aside Autumn, but this year, it has a running start. The usual weather accoutrements have already been trotted out, including ice, snow, sleet, and a handfull of nights bottoming out near zero degrees Fahrenheit. Where's the mystery? These climatic revelations usually don't make an appearance around here until January.It looks as though we'll

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1133751045475897102005-12-04T18:12:00.000-08:002005-12-05T20:45:07.180-08:00

"Snawk!" Well, it was worth a shot, but regular as clockwork, sleep Apnea betrayed my torpor again. I'm convinced that the pews at meeting are designed to maintain awareness (through physical discomfort) in members who gather for worship, but it wasn't fatigue that put me under. Like a special delivery, my subconscious was politely knocking: 'Sir? Sorry for the intrusion, but you have a message

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1132642532792871682005-11-21T21:39:00.002-08:002005-11-27T01:37:29.396-08:00

Progress is most nearly a road faithful only to the terrain followed. We mark the course of progress as we come forward, ever forward, living within the constraints of our short arcs of motion, which prevent any regression. The nap of the landscape varies, rising and falling with the relief of ancient stresses, hidden hardened beneath the surface. As Churchill may have recommended, we simply "

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1132552082033103172005-11-20T20:34:00.000-08:002005-11-21T21:35:37.196-08:00

I know, mea culpas are definitely in order. You might not know it from posts, but I really am looking for the driest path through the drip of tears. It often comes out like a steady outpouring of woes, but life genuinely is about seeking and identifying happiness, not obsession with its miseries. I'm certainly no grand arbiter of what constitutes either sorrow or satisfaction in this world, but I

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1132280893969061122005-11-17T17:29:00.000-08:002005-11-18T14:42:08.946-08:00

Sleeping in still feels like a luxury, once you get the elements at bay. The rain must have grown bored with the sheer repetitiousness of yesterdays outpouring, and moved off in the darkness. The cold air was in no such hurry. Outside of the cocoon, the wet grass moved vigorously. Can't see it, but it's close, right over the berm. Damn it! Have I overslept? Whatever else was happening out there,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1132105591264921162005-11-15T16:28:00.000-08:002005-11-17T00:26:27.103-08:00

For a moment there, I imagined a large crowd's enthusiastic applause. That's what you get for dreaming! Dark, virging on light. The applause issued from raindrops, seeking flaws in my "deli-wrapped" cocoon. More a tenor than a baritone, the downpour wasn't much good as a pink noise source. The cocoon stayed dry, but was palpably colder. Nothing open but a few gas stations and all-night

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1132045720650947862005-11-14T23:02:00.000-08:002005-11-15T02:16:29.696-08:00

The weather seems to be locked in a stalemate. The nights have been cold but bearable, although somewhat demanding on one's weather eye. I've modified my sleeping arrangements so that the gusts of wind hit the smallest cross-section of my cocoon at night. I've been lucky: fitful bursts from the northwest have punctuated the otherwise calm evening air, so my new-found theories about the

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1131955325167163522005-11-13T22:48:00.000-08:002005-11-14T18:18:30.026-08:00

My guide, off in his makeshift shelter, left me with some tactical decisions of my own to make. A merciful God, satisfied that I had as much to bear as I might, had cauterized my sentiments. I walked slowly down the alley, in search of nesting ingredients. He was right. The sheriff's sale had been a momentary attraction for a small crowd, gathered to watch bidders and browsers. It was different

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1131785976191870142005-11-11T22:42:00.000-08:002005-11-12T08:31:47.196-08:00

A few hundred yards away, a passing recycling truck further randomized its load. Like passing trains, the sound was probably one which the brain ordinarily filters out, with familiarity. Give it a little time, to become routine. Brisk. I yawned and stretched, which disrupted the stillness further. Snap! Krackle! Pop! The plastic tarpoulin made me out a fugitive from a Rice Krispies box, as it

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1131614596172593902005-11-09T22:46:00.000-08:002005-11-10T04:59:32.626-08:00

Shadows played games with perspective. The hotel lobby got the morning sun, leaving my legs to contend with a receding line of greyness. Behind our impromptu sitting, the Sun yielded to an approaching wave of wrought lead which threatened random cumulus clouds overhead. A low-pressure front was closing in on the clear day, hand-in-hand with the approaching nightfall. Right. The time for

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1131421649359093212005-11-07T19:13:00.000-08:002005-11-09T02:15:50.763-08:00

It's still a new world out there, at least, while the Sun's up. I'm more used to things and people that I've encountered on my evening walks, but since I've had time to think, I may as well combine tasks: get a bit of exercise and fresh air, find out what the surroundings are like when people are less likely to be about and on foot voluntarily. The journey's already begun, but I haven't settled

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1130842168800816962005-11-01T01:23:00.000-08:002005-11-01T03:30:36.546-08:00

Not for nothing, but the store stands on an obsolete island of commerce. It's not my shop, though I'm minding it again for a few hours. What an odd conjunction of circumstances this is. The best I can hope is that fortune will favor me by continuing its run of non-paying visitors (thus assuring me that whatever comes in will not affect my fortunes), and grant me the one thing of value that's

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1130576661842321572005-10-29T01:31:00.000-07:002005-10-30T21:23:39.916-08:00

Rain like tears had been falling for the better part of the week, but not on this crisp MacIntosh of an autumn evening. Evidently, the raindrops had agreed to a moratorium, only to be supplanted by a willful wind, whose intemperate and directionless gusts threatened to outen the flickering bags of light arrayed along the perimeter wall. Edgy sentinels or conscripts congregated in two small

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1130051272271871932005-10-22T23:26:00.000-07:002005-10-23T01:33:31.526-07:00

Well, now that it's officially law, I feel I can comment on yet another piece of legislation, without fear that I may unfairly inflame political passions - whether you prefer an "Aye" or "Nay" vote on the law itself. I must say that the changes in personal bankruptcy law are placed against a rather fascinating backdrop of freely accessible easy credit lines, weak or neutral discretionary

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1129428946430147352005-10-15T18:22:00.000-07:002005-10-15T20:20:19.976-07:00

Down near the bottom of my figurative dial lies CSPAN, nestled between two "Premium" channels. Further up the line lie Bloomberg and MSNBC. To get from one to another broadcast, one must either leapfrog or, pain threshold permitting, traverse the intervening throw-away channels. On a good day, one could contrast the sepulchral pronouncements of the "Majesty of Moolah", Allen Greenspan, in one of

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1128032136563266682005-09-29T14:43:00.000-07:002005-10-01T20:52:49.486-07:00

Barring the odd riot or Force Majeure event (such as Hurricanes Andrew or Katrina, or the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906), the U.S. has had comparatively few incentives to remake or modernize the way we design our living spaces. The prevalent opinion has been, "Heating oil's a buck a gallon; it ain't broke, so we ain't fixing it." It takes a major disaster, or a prolonged, high intensity

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1127131866785742862005-09-19T04:16:00.000-07:002005-09-19T05:52:16.113-07:00

After dalliances with one field of technology or another, over more years than I can believe have passed, I finally have to admit that most of them have been, glamorous, sexy, and ultimately, bad news for humanity. Mea culpas are like noses, though; Everyone's got one. The mystery looming in my path is,"Is there a way to re-establish a foothold in humanity, and manifest a genuine concern for

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1127018107657803912005-09-17T21:11:00.000-07:002005-09-18T03:58:07.796-07:00

I continue to accumulate seemingly trivial wisdom. While it's possible to drive west through water's reunion, it's not a good idea, on average. This lesson was perfectly obvious, in hindsight "Hmm. So these masterstrokes of brilliance come in different grades of sensibility. Interesting... still, how often does one face those 'one-off' decisions?" , sitting at the crest of the ridge. Life

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1126929001428525242005-09-16T20:08:00.000-07:002005-09-16T21:50:44.580-07:00

Stately. Implacable in their slow procession, the glaciers had rested here momentarily. Lucky ice punched no ones clock, agreed to be nowhere at any moment in history. Above, some 40 miles north, mountains like crumpled bedsheets had, in their newness, thought to impede the flow, but few tears were shed as the slab made its way forward and downward, to where it met the water in the estuary. It's

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1126819627870872642005-09-15T13:54:00.000-07:002005-09-15T16:11:16.853-07:00

Seems like that question's been coming up pretty often, these days. You can probably imagine that any talk of increased fishin' makes me nervous, but it looks like you land-walkers may already have a bigger problem with fission, in it's many forms. Damned unfortunate homonym's got everyone sleeping in their boots, when they sleep at all. Okay, so there's no confusion about fission vs fusion,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1126397483852357932005-09-10T16:57:00.000-07:002005-09-10T18:04:12.850-07:00

Another week draws to an end, and with it, thoughts turn to the familiar pleasures of a simpler life. There are those who would argue that shoveling out trenches IS the simpler life, but even I have moments when I've seen enough dirt and debris for a while. I just want to set aside my shovel, find a comfortable seat, and get my hands on some good, old-fashioned, Vanilla pudding. Believe me, I

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1126247224131624872005-09-08T23:20:00.000-07:002005-09-09T14:08:40.610-07:00

"Eh? ... Wassat?... Tuba mirums spargen sonum? Wuz dawg barking?" Befuddled and torpid, the confused perceptions stumbled out, sotto voce, in each others way. Let's start by getting this blanket off of my face. Sometimes, it makes sense to hold your tongue, until you can make sense of your circumstances. 4:13 AM. Blackout. 4:13 AM. Blackout. 4:13 AM. Blackout. 4:14 AM. Blackout.Sitting up

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1126156908430296242005-09-07T21:45:00.000-07:002005-09-08T20:02:47.066-07:00

Now, I can imagine you land-walkers up there, looking down into the water and wondering, "What an idyllic life fish must have! All they have to do is swim around, looking at beautiful coral reefs, shipwrecks, and stuff. No cell phones, no laptops, no business meetings to disturb their tranquility- just endless gliding through the shimmering, shadowy light. It must be kind of boring, though.

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1125916864184352492005-09-05T02:28:00.000-07:002005-09-05T20:31:33.833-07:00

Man! Am I tired of hearing variants of that old chestnut, "History repeats itself" - It doesn't repeat, but it does bend all the screws, imitating itself. I take what comfort there is from the words of those who have been down this road before, but only fleetingly. I stumbled across a few quotations from some dead Romans, who knew a little about mixing it up in a "civilized" world. Apart from

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1125879479433438952005-09-04T16:05:00.000-07:002005-09-04T17:29:52.533-07:00

A) It's still Summer, for a couple more weeks. Autumn (in the northern hemisphere) doesn't start until the Autumnal Equinox, in a few weeks. From that point on, nights will grow longer, until they hit their maximum duration on the Winter Solstice.B) It's still Winter, until Spring begins around the 22nd. After that, the days will grow longer, peaking in late December.C) It's time to start taking

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1125619623794181642005-09-01T16:44:00.000-07:002005-09-04T00:39:43.810-07:00

I got a phone call a bit earlier from an old friend of mine, a work colleague from another time and place, I was surprised and vaguely titillated to hear her voice again, after many years of lost contact. The call itself was reasonable enough, even setting aside memories- she was curious to know if I'd heard of any job opportunities in her technical field. With base closures and mergers &

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1125366787616776242005-08-29T17:11:00.000-07:002005-08-29T19:25:33.190-07:00

It's too broad a subject to describe in a simple blog entry, but I've been observing usage patterns, which is to say, the way mankind makes use of resources on this planet. It's not an obsession yet, but it certainly is more interesting than cable TV. Cable is not without its uses- there's always something interesting on A&E, the Discovery Channel, or PBS. The biographies and documentaries of

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1124909341950566802005-08-24T10:52:00.000-07:002005-08-24T16:07:35.363-07:00

I have the dubious luxury of having minutes to spare in my "busy" schedule, so by a trick of the light, I'll slip into my penny loafers, put on my Cardigan, and make the professorial assumption that anyone reading this entry has as many discretionary minutes as I care to claim, for purposes which I'll explain shortly. Technically, it pains me to have to say so, but we as people are getting a lot

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1124502892449407032005-08-19T17:40:00.000-07:002005-08-20T17:45:21.046-07:00

Well, I got three of the zombie boxes back to life, including an ancient Pentium MMX box with a pre-PCI mezzanine backplane, which is cool, because I still have loads of old AT-style add-on boards and driver software. The other two chasses are headed for the boneyard, along with a full complement of "shot in the ass" hardware. I also bumped up the patch sets on my UNIX and Linux machines. I know

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1124199664267339622005-08-16T05:43:00.000-07:002005-08-16T17:24:09.236-07:00

This accursed heat and humidity has dulled my wits insufferably. I know it sounds like blasphemy coming from a fish, but going around wearing one's juices like a cheap suit has its limits. It must be impossible for you poor surface-dwellers, staggering around with your cell phones, PDAs, and an imagination as dry as a gulch about seeking respite. Anyone that I've ever spoken with will tell you

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1124133246668311082005-08-15T11:50:00.000-07:002005-08-15T14:46:44.983-07:00

I've got so many contraptions running off the mains here that I can practically trace the juice with a hand-held pyrometer. Miraculously, it holds up pretty well; the stuff that has to keep running, keeps running. But every now and then, the system gives a little twitch, a subcycle burp. That's all the warning one gets. I got one such eructation last night, while I was putting some servers

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123798310423262532005-08-11T14:31:00.000-07:002005-08-11T22:53:22.463-07:00

Despite all appearances, I'm not blind yet. I've been looking around over the past couple of days, searching the faces of men and women I'll never lay eyes on, looking for examples of that peculiar, up-and-over-the-shoulder glance (not at anything or for anyone, generally and specifically). I've seen the signs, and don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about: It's the glance which

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123436913038110482005-08-07T10:16:00.000-07:002005-08-07T12:02:09.326-07:00

How wonderful it would be, to live a life free from regret or remorse. These are accepted as part and parcel of human existence, the compensation for recognition of life's joys and pleasures. If only we had the ability to retract our cruelties, cowardices, and acts of basic folly, armed now with wisdom we did not possess then. Ah well, life goes on, and we must make what we can of our past,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123340939897481262005-08-06T07:58:00.000-07:002005-08-06T09:47:11.376-07:00

Maybe it's a bit different for you hominids up there, walking around on the ground, but here in the water, there's no such thing as too much anonymity. People need to be noticed, or they feel as though they don't exist; A fish that gets noticed, typically gets eaten. My advice? Don't try so hard, either way. It's all being recorded for posterity anyway. At any instant in time, every object that

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123215472367568372005-08-04T20:21:00.000-07:002005-08-05T11:06:51.926-07:00

Okay, so playing Joni Mitchell after a day of surrender was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. All this talk of cats this week, must finally have gotten its claws into me. People who aren't into felines fail to grasp that, despite their initial fierceness, a cats real art lies in the ability to surrender to luxury and sensation. The fight's for show, but the surrender is for go. Unless. If you

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123123999540865332005-08-03T19:03:00.000-07:002005-08-03T20:52:19.196-07:00

Hour after hour, one border collie after another takes its turn at corraling little packets of renegade sheep into a larger, docile herd. If you understand what floats a border collies boat, I tilt my glass to you, and this peculiar art form already has some rhyme or reason. I make no such claim, and view BC's as yet another unacknowledged form of coitus interruptus , or if that's too bold,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123046802742178262005-08-02T22:24:00.000-07:002005-08-03T16:08:36.546-07:00

Interest in perpetual motion machines tends to wax and wane, but it never seems to entirely go away. There's always a hobbit, hunkered down in Suburbia somewhere, fooling around way after midnight in the garage, trying to get at least one of the laws of Thermodynamics to choke on his visionary contraption. Yeah, well... better not bet the ranch on it, pal. Your machine may bend the laws, but no

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1123003403474611242005-08-02T10:08:00.000-07:002005-08-02T10:36:09.996-07:00

It's hard to believe, but I'm coming up on a rather dubious anniversary. It's been nearly five years since my last salaried job, since I last tossed my satchel into my little cell in the corporate cube farm, since I swigged my last complementary cup of coffee in the cool confines of the clean, curved-countertop, color-coordinated cafeteria. Man, what a ride! I'm not even a statistic anymore.If

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1122656363764521332005-07-29T09:48:00.000-07:002005-07-29T10:04:56.970-07:00

This is a classic slit trench, no more, no less. There's no obscure tale associated with it, and it has no practical value as a trysting location, archaeological dig, or repository of hidden truths.On the other hand... For folks who just wanted to drop in and say "Howdy!", to kick around some off-topic topic, or to leave general messages for grumble, you've come to the right place. Thanks for

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1122593897099587522005-07-28T16:21:00.000-07:002005-07-31T23:28:30.676-07:00

I've already slowed to accommodate the relaxed pace of things, and have found that I still have buckets of discretionary time. Or, at at least, so goes the illusion. May as well switch tunes, tap a kidney, figure out what's for supper... And while I'm at it, maybe snap back to matters at hand! It turned out to be an accurate accessment; Even after tending to the short list, I came back into the

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1122362077192413042005-07-25T23:42:00.000-07:002005-07-26T19:52:09.896-07:00

I did something unusual yesterday, in response to one of those little news factoid links. I actually read it, and followed up, rather than ignoring it, as usual. It turns out that they awarded the annual prize for writing parodies as William Faulkner or Ernest Hemingway might have, but badly. The top three submissions in each category were there, as well as the prizewinners from each of the last

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1122177412354361812005-07-23T20:30:00.000-07:002005-07-26T19:51:09.600-07:00

Seconds or minutes passed. For such a brief interregnum, it would have seemed awkward, maybe excruciating, to someone looking on. Two people, facing one another across a small, round table, in the softly-lit parlor of an otherwise tranquil, small walk-up. The ceiling globe dispensed its light reluctantly, revealing a neat, warm setting, obviously a hundred years or more experienced. Obviously,

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1122079271185513192005-07-22T17:37:00.000-07:002005-07-23T16:54:17.186-07:00

Sorry? I didn't catch your remark about something being underrated. I've put on the kettle, barring a prompt series of decisions about where we'd go to drink what, or for that matter, whether we'd drink anything anywhere. To Hell with it. I'll make some coffee for myself, and fix whatever she wants, when it strikes her fancy. Another close shave for Occam's Razor. "Oh! Yes, I was talking about

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121912939471603222005-07-20T19:14:00.000-07:002005-07-20T22:51:34.470-07:00

Okay, I asked for it. First of all, let me say that I should have told you about my experimental apparatus being damaged, immediately. From the looks of things, that storm which passed through the area this afternoon blew over some things, blew other things onto other pieces of test gear, and rained all over most of my technical notes. I'm sorry for not coming down and saving you the trouble

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121813921767572872005-07-19T15:25:00.000-07:002005-07-19T17:06:48.953-07:00

It seems I might have been slightly premature in congratulating myself, for enlisting a willing test subject. Evidently, I may have nicked some sort of cosmic tripwire by even considering research along these lines, and provoked the ire of the Almighty. Either that, or I'd left the damned window open again, and Mother Nature had seen to the details. Whatever. My test apparatus was twisted and

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121571041531889132005-07-16T19:52:00.000-07:002005-07-17T12:43:28.213-07:00

For some reason, people seem to get a little charge from the vicarious flights of their senses, rather than actually allowing any direct encroachments on their own feelings or sensibilities. I don't know whether folks actually trust the calibration of their various senses, but I do know that there's a booming market for synthetic prosthetics of every human flavor. Most of them are for specific

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121381297814705972005-07-14T15:10:00.000-07:002005-07-15T04:10:28.906-07:00

Damn! Did I fall asleep in front of the TV ag... Yo! My head reflexively snapped back. A pale green spider, out on it's nightly rounds, had it's spinnarets going full tilt, as it lowered itself from the ceiling to the coffee table, or points south. I would imagine that the arachnid was equally surprised to find something moving in it's downline path (my head), or maybe it had planned to rappel

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121290417308152322005-07-13T13:11:00.000-07:002005-07-13T18:35:50.126-07:00

Those of you who may have read other posts can attest to my penchant for orotund excesses, but it's not just 'cause I like hearing myself grumble. I get a little thrill when I come across a word, or some obscure phrase that's perfect, regardless of it's syntactic neighborhood. I can give you directions for the fastest route to the airport, but if you're not specific in what you ask for, I may

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121172173533528812005-07-12T05:13:00.000-07:002005-07-12T12:11:49.570-07:00

"Defined by rumors and fallacies,seems I been down, since I begin to pollIf it wasn't for troublesome dichotomies,I wouldn't have got re-elected at all You know, my policies really stinkI'll tax Peter's kids, to pay PaulBut if them voters ever stopped to think,I wouldn't have got re-elected at all" "Mysterious Powder Blues" Lyrics by W.J. "Cathouse" Clinton and G.W. "Buy A Vowel" BushTraditional

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1121035996803482432005-07-10T15:06:00.000-07:002005-07-11T04:26:56.106-07:00

As if on some divine cue, my summer house guests are settling in for a few weeks' stay. It's not as though there's a whole lot of room left, after accounting for the other trappings of my reverie- a dozen computers, plus the other stuff that I use to talk with them; a few hundred books; mountains of papers about one thing or another; my bed and dresser; and occasionally, my cat Colette. I can't

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1120945816441331772005-07-09T13:39:00.000-07:002005-07-11T02:06:30.690-07:00

Compared to the labyrinthine tunnels of the London Underground, my little slit trench is a pretty trivial affair. Apart from its intended purpose - to fix some busted and leaky pipes - I was able to salvage some other useful stuff from the experience, but that was a luxury. The recent explosions in the Underground resonated in some odd ways, by my reckoning, but that just leads me to wonder: What

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1120864991773092132005-07-08T15:58:00.000-07:002005-07-09T00:54:43.210-07:00

Summertime is the one tradition for which I have the hardest time composing turns. I wish I'd thought up the notion of turns myself, but Heinrich Boll beat me to it by a few decades. In "The Clown", Hans Schnier is a clown with issues, whose livelihood depends upon his ability to perform entertaining skits, or "turns", for his clientele. But life doesn't imitate art, instead, art and life take

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1120651136800239282005-07-06T04:51:00.000-07:002005-07-07T15:12:50.733-07:00

Even after boiling off all of the foibles, idiosyncracies, and misconceptions that I recognize as being parts of me, I found that there are a bunch of things left that I can turn my kids on to, and all without interfering with their own development. Practically speaking, that's the only way that our relationships to each other have worked as well as they have, so far. "Why did I wander,Here and

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1120515587430307412005-07-04T14:40:00.000-07:002005-07-05T11:25:25.676-07:00

No additional enticements were required to get my head to the pillow, after yesterday's little jaunt. I was perfectly willing to lead the parade to oblivion, just let me go horizontal and shut down. Fatigue was actually my traveling companion (along with my son, of course) and each seemed hellbent on grabbing my full and undivided attention on the train ride homeward. Curiousity about the city

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1120480933515998292005-07-04T04:51:00.000-07:002005-07-05T22:34:14.776-07:00

Trying to get train connections into the city was either a microdrama or a comedy of errors, if one even took the time to notice. My son and I had been kicking around the idea of just taking a day to wander around the neighborhoods, exploring and sifting through experiences that one rarely sees, out in the sticks. Good excuses for such a foray began to pile up as the weeks went by, which made it

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13891973.post-1120441655516275272005-07-03T18:21:00.000-07:002005-07-05T22:36:58.426-07:00

Hooray! I'm done with the shovel for a while. The trench was excavated successfully, served its intended purpose, and got filled in. I still have questions, a few answers that I didn't have, going in, a sunburn...oh, and some grass seed to spread. I also came to appreciate the neatness required within the confines of trench, which happens to be portable wisdom. I found that it doesn't take much

grumblefishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13030826455979441237noreply@blogger.com2