Happy Thanksgiving Day!


I had a nice Thanksgiving Day, and I hope you did as well. I ate everything on my plate, which you see above, and then I had a bit of pie. I was in terrible pain, but what else is that food there for, if not to hurt you? I remember my first Thanksgiving Day celebration here, in the United States. I was brought a dark beverage that turned out to be root beer. Never have I been served anything so foul, not before, or since. And I used to drink molasses water when I was a child. I drink green smoothies all the time now, but those are delicious, even with the heavy inclusion of fresh sprouts. But… where was I? Oh, yeah. Thanksgiving Day food. That year, or the next, I had my first taste of cranberry jelly. What the hell, people? You can’t do that to me, not without warning.

This is how it’s done:

Cranberry Apple Under-relish


  • 1 (12 oz.) package fresh cranberries (3-1/2 cups)
  • 1 cup pure maple syrup
  • 1 large orange, grated rind removed, and juice reserved
  • 2 medium apples, cored, pared, and sliced (I’ve tried Golden Delicious, but Golden Russet were also excellent)
  • 1/2 cup chopped walnuts, toasted


  1. In saucepan, combine cranberries and maple syrup; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer for five minutes, or until mixture thickens. While it cools…
  2. Combine juice and grated rind from orange with apples; stir into cranberries; add the nuts.
  3. Chill to blend flavors.
  4. You’re welcome.

This year, I’ve been thankful for many things, and upset about a few. I feel both about the emails from my readers I never answered. Sure, my computer exploded (not really, it just died), and then I lost all desire to blog, but how rude of me. My blogging apathy included never deleting my emails, so don’t be frightened if you see that I’m finally answering an email you sent me in 2011. To try to make up for my rudeness, I will soon include a blog entry with a recipe for turkey soup, and instructions on how to throw away pie. I’m sick of it. I’ve had three slices, including the one I had on Thanksgiving Day, and now I can’t stand the sight of it.


Sometimes I wonder why. It doesn’t happen very often, but say, every few months I do ask myself what it is that happened, if anything ever did happen, to make me the way I am now. Why do I fantasize about tiny men a size so impossible, it will never come true?


I wrote the above paragraph six years ago, and left it there, abandoned it the same way I abandoned by blog. Nowadays, I wonder, but less often. Maybe every year I ask myself that question. Is it DNA? Is it something that happened in utero? During my baby times? Was I struck by lightning? I know it couldn’t have been that time I touched my brother and found out he had stuck a fork in the wall socket. Bzzz. No, it could’t have been that electric moment, because by then I was already inclined this way, like a tower of Pisa no amount of therapy can straighten.

Or can it? There’s someone over there, somewhere undefined, that once told me he doesn’t think about this stuff any more. How can that be? He mentioned it to me twice, so I figured I couldn’t bring up this stuff to him anymore. It’s OK. I have you guys and gal for that, but my point is: is he “cured”? How can someone that was so heavily into this, suddenly be out? And not just out of writing, out of collaging, out of forums, but OUT out. As though the giantess that lived in his brain packed her huge bags, gave him a sad look, and left forever, no forwarding address, you little bug.

Sometimes I wonder if that will happen to me. I don’t think it’s possible, but what if? I’m not the same person I was when I started blogging. I have changed tremendously. My outlook in life did a 180, as did my philosophical, religious inclinations. But this? No. This is still in my head. Both my heads. That little bastard is never moving out. He will grow old with me, and when the day comes that his dollhouse crumbles into dust with my last breath, he’ll totter out and leave with me, wherever we go.

I found the image above in a magazine, I forget which one. It belongs here. Who doesn’t want a giantess for the weather? Despite what Samuel Clemens insinuated, the good weather in heaven is created by the gentle breath of kindhearted giantesses. Of course, if you want to go to hell for the company, I’m sure you’ll find the appropriate devouring viragos. Have fun with that.

And to cap it off, I had a strange dream last night. I was looking for survivors on a field of dead soldiers. At my far right, the sound of battling could still be heard. At my feet I saw a dead man with a note pinned to his uniform. I undid the pin, and read the note. He had written something like, “If I’m dead, take my rifle. It’s a Mosin Nagant.” On the other side of the piece of paper it read, “Take my laptop too.”

There was no laptop, but there was a rifle. I pried it from his cold, dead fingers, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction, as I’ve always wanted a Mosin-Nagant. It was’t a sniper rifle, and my mind told me it sure as hell wasn’t a Mosin-Nagant either. It felt more like a much older, long-barreled Marlin. Still, I took it, and went to my quarters, which were magically untouched by war. As I hid- er, put it in my locker, a Toby Jones type appeared in my dream, and I was suddenly thrusted into an inquiry with the purpose of finding out where the god-damned rifle of a soldier was. A soldier who was very much alive.

I sat there, and said nothing. That rifle was beautiful.

Dude, where’s my bug?

Dog-day cicada

I don’t know how your tiny brain works, but if it’s anything like my giant one, then certain visual input triggers certain mental images. Since I don’t only think of shrunken men as sexual fodder, I also ask myself poignant questions: What do you do for a living? What do you eat? What fabric do you use to make your clothes, if any? -And the ever popular- What do you drive?

I took the picture on the left with my cell phone one morning, as I went out the back door to do god-knows-what to my back yard. As you surely heard if you live anywhere these critters exist, they were out in full force this year, loud as all get-out, day in, day out. They are clumsy flyers, and easy snacks for birds.

This little fella perched himself on my screen door for four days in a row before I lost sight of him, and every day I thought of a tiny man riding on its back to get himself from place to place. The mental image makes my brain feel fuzzy warm.

In other news, did you see what my cats did to the screen on my door? Crazy little maniacs. Don’t ask me why they like to stick their claws in there to climb up, maybe get stuck, then cry out for me to help them. Such turdheads.

Lost at sea?

Screen Shot 2016-09-22 at 9.06.44 PM.png
A cool glitch?

I enjoy looking at my visitors’ data, namely countries and pages they visit. It still puzzles me to no end that one of the most visited pages has to do with my crushing a cricket. Sickos.🙂

When I gawked at my most recent visitors’ world map, I saw the above image. It brought forth the image of someone struggling to stay afloat after having gone overboard,  yet considerate enough to Visit the Undersquid while waiting for a rescue party.

Don’t you worry, little guy! I’m coming.

I was shopping at Walmart…

Perfect for him.
Perfect for him.

…And I spotted a box of 20 wooden clothespins. Perfect for a two-foot-tall little guy during laundry day, no? Their true function is that of paper clips. I think I used one once, and added the rest to the pile of Walmart things I never use. That’s not true: I don’t have a pile of Walmart things I never use, and the clothespins are in a wooden box I use to store pens and staples and paper clips. The contents of said box have changed very little in the last twenty years, given that “pens” and “staplers” and “paper” are objects I seldom use nowadays.

That’s not true: I used a pen this morning. I used it to write on a return form enclosed in a box that also contained shoes too uncomfortable to keep. I didn’t staple the box shut, or closed its cardboard flaps shut with mini clothespins. I used mailing tape. I’m not crazy.

That’s not true: I am crazy. I do have a pile of things I never use. It includes VHS tapes, Christmas decorations, fabric notions, a Jar Jar Binks blanket, and other things I will soon “purge”. I can’t be classified as a hoarder yet, but the pile will try to convince you otherwise. And I’m never getting rid of that Jar Jar Binks blanket.