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No soup for you

squirrel_1.jpgI finally got an answer from the uber-nerds at Squarespace (my host with the most). Here was their reply:

"We figured out the problem and you were right. Apparently we inadvertently blocked all blogspot.com domains! This has now been corrected."

Peachy. They can’t stop the spam for mail order Viagra, but they can block kindly folks like you from commenting. That’s the thing about technology. Looking for love in all the wrong places. And how was your day?


My obsessive-compulsive disorder. (Does that period look funny to you?)

notobsessive.jpgI have a confession. I have mild OCD. I say mild because I know people who have full-blown, gale-force obsessive compulsive disorders and they’re nothing like me. These are people who completely pluck out their eyebrows during scary movies. Or wash their hands 30 times a day. I even have an Aunt with OCD who was picked up by the Oregon Highway Patrol for walking down I-5 naked––trying to stop cars with the power of God. (Actually, now that I think of it she was more schizophrenic, but it conjures a nice visual doesn’t it?)

Why am I telling you this? Because it’s a wonderful thing. There’s this obsessive zone that can be incredibly productive. Like being a manic-depressive, without that bitter depressive aftertaste. Sure it’s a little odd at times. How odd? Well, I always stop the microwave with two seconds left since it’s my favorite number. Is that so strange? And how do I treat it? I don’t. I indulge it through my work. It gives me something to obsess over.

And it’s not all bad. It’s alleged that sufferers are generally of above-average intelligence. (Bonus!) And famous figures who’ve been known to have OCD include Joey Ramone, Florence Nightingale, Howard Stern, Jessica Alba (Jessica Alba?) and everyone’s favorite Kleenex box-wearing billionaire Howard Hughes.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to spell-check this twenty times before posting.

What do you obsess about?


Year of the Pig

faijin.jpgDim Sum is a Cantonese term loosely translated as "touch the heart," although it’s possibly derived from the phrase yat dim sum yi, meaning “little token”. With that in mind, here’s another little token. A bite size morsel of flash, served up over at Fictional Musings. It’s entitled Year of the Pig.

If you enjoy it, let me know. If not, send it back to the kitchen and we'll fix you a grilled cheese sandwich or something.


Amazon is watching you

sexyknits.jpgAll right. Who hijacked my Amazon.com account? Raise your hand. If you’d like to slip me a note after class I promise I won’t tell.

Because much to my surprise I found this under my "Your Store" section––Sexy Little Knits: Chic Designs to Knit and Crochet.

Along with Freakonomics : A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything (okay), In Cold Blood (a little Truman, okay), The Opposite of Fate, (Amy Tan, thanks, that works). But Sexy Little Knits?

I do love Amazon. Not as cozy as a real, honest-to-goodness analog bookstore with overstuffed chairs and WiFi––but in a pinch, it works.

What truly wrinkles my dust jacket though, are the cookie-fed books Amazon somehow manages to recommend to me. Usually they're at least on the grid of my, albeit somewhat strange, personal tastes. But in what concentric circle of Dante’s Database Hell did they pair me up with bikini crocheting?

Maybe Amazon is right. The cover photo does make me want to riffle through its pages like the naughty little paperback it is.
And what strange picks are lurking in your Amazon store?