My last post.

After reading it I felt like a jerk. This is because, I sounded like a jerk. I am not one. I would delete the post, but as Auntie B says: "like it or not, blogs are forever". Sort of like diamonds. I think its funny that some people want to return to a gold standard. How bout wampum? Honestly now, gold isn't intrinsically worth anything. I think that shells are much more pleasing to the eye. I'd like to see a king-tut type mask made out of shiny shell. The kind that you pick up on the beach and take home by the sandy pocketful and then eventually throw away. Like you eventually throw everything that you've ever owned away. Or put in storage. My guitar is in storage, in Texas. I'm kicking myself. Everything on the East Coast is so expensive. I wish I were an oil baron. Then i could afford a new guitar. Then Soaring gas prices would make my family smile. I think that they all smile anyhow. If you always frown, you come off as a jerk. Just like if you write nasty things about people all the time. But sometimes... you just have to.

professionals at the library

Well, I'm at the library, and this guy across from me is testing my patience.

How bout that! Why is he frustrating me?

Well, he came in about ten minutes ago, in his blue collared business shirt and his mauve tie and his manicured business hands holding his footlong tuna-fish Subway sandwich. My peripheral vision, which, I've been led to believe is actually much more acute that my straight on, has been filled with this guy's smacking lips for the last ten. He's burping and and stretching and yawning and viciously clicking the mouse-buttons. Ya. I forgot to mention that were in the computer room. I think I hate him. The air smells like fish and... Arrhhhhg. Ok. now he's straightening his tie and doing that neck-cracking thing where you crank your neck waaay to the side and grimace and it goes thock, thock, crick, pop. You're getting this in real time. He's still here. Now he's leaning back one hand on the mouse on his knee. Man alive! Even the way he breathes is pissing me off. He constantly lets out those under the breath burps where you tuck your chin in and sort of hiccup them out. Ohhh. Dear. Now he's discovered the little scrolling wheel. Great. Scroll Scroll click scroll, burp, lean back, breathe heavily through nose. The worst part is that he looks like a professional. A lawyer or stockbroker or somesuch. I'm pretty sure he'll get caught in one of those whorehouse drug raids later this week. With his face covered in cocaine. Ok, now he's drinking gatorade. Lustilly throwing his horrible, pampered, face backwards and gulping it. Now he's really surfing the internet. Leaning back with one arm behind him the other hand firmly in control of mouse-button left, mouse button right, and the scroll wheel. I still haven't taken a full on look at this two-year old in Armani. Forget it. Well, looks like he's done here. Getting up, stretching, cracking his neck and... ahhh. gone.

thanks for the blog, jerk face.

What is a "honeymoon" anyways?

I've been spending a lot of time at the Library lately, and have consequently been renting lots of DVDs. I thought I'd look for one about how bees make honey. I've always been a huge fan of honey. I put it in tea, on my cereal, and sometimes eat it by the spoonful. My family once received as a gift, a metal tin containing a large peice of Yemeni honeycomb which was dripping in golden honey. (It looked like this) http://www.aiys.org/webdate/can10.jpg In Yemen, honey is used as folk medicine to treat a variety of different ailments, and can be very expensive. Honey is mentioned frequently in both the Bible and Quran, and people have been enjoying and cultivating bee's hives in order to harvest this sweet product for thousands of years. So....
I was thinking about borrowing a bee documentary yesterday, but was filled with a great fear that it might put me off the stuff forever. You know what I mean. Nature documentarys always take pride in matter-of-face, show-in-greatest detail even the ugly bits type of footage. I decided to get it anyhow. I watched it last night. It was great! Not only did I not lose my honeylust, but I learned a few things as well. Aparently, there are thousands of types of bees, but only a handful, the honeybee variety, produces honey. These bees work for twelve hours a day, braving weather, bee-eating birds, bears, and avoiding hostile people. (I realise that this may sound like the picture of an ideal vacation to some, but to the bees it's a matter of existance ) The majority of these bees are workers which are females. They are small-bodied and build the hive, and tend to the birthing of the male drones. The male drone might make up only 10% of the colony or so. They are slightly lager and have huge black eyes. I wondered why out of all the larvae, why so few became males? They don't build the hive, or gather pollen and nectar-- they just mate with the queen and die. not much of a honeymoon foe them... If this seemed mysterious at first, the sex-ratio of the bees, the circumstances which surround the Queen Bee's life were even more bizzare. At least the documentary explained their lives in more detail than that of the pitiful male drone. All pupae are, when they are first deposited into their hexagonal wax wombs, covered in a substance called Royal Jelly. Obviously, whoever coined the term, had issues. Issues aside, this "royal jelly" (which is secreted from glands in the heads of worker bees) is used to feed all pupae in their very beginning stages of life. They go thorugh several molthings, and even spin thier own cocoons. I'm not sure at what point, but very early on in the process they're quickly taken off the RJ and primarially subsist on pollen and and nectar for the remainder of their metamorphoses, and on into their adult lives. But, if a Queen is needed, a seperate area is constructed, a sort of royal nursery, where pupae are fed nothing but Royal Jelly. Then, they turn into Queens. If several Queens are born, the first one to break out of its wax compartment will quickly "murder" her rivals, by stabbing them with her stinger through the walls of their cells. I thought that all of this was pretty cool. I kind of want to be a beekeeper now. (An "apiarist" to those in the biz)

Robert The Bruce

I've decided. The next animal that I buy, adopt, rescue ect... I am either going to name Robert the Bruce or Nigel. Honestly. I've actually had quite a few "Nigels". A couple horny toads, a scorpion, and a frog, I think. They all died. The name seems to be fated to a sticky end. One of the horny toads was stepped on by a fellow backpacker accidentally after leaping from my hand in a heroic effort to escape. But, I'm convinced that the fault usually lies with the animals concerned. Not me. C'mon. They were obviously not fit to bear the name "Nigel". I will find a nobel creature to name Nigel. Then I will challange it to a game of wits. And I can't wait to name something Robert the Bruce. Just to see what happenes. Naming something or someone is powerful. Names intrinsically contain power and mess around heavily with destiny of the recipient. If you name your child Vincent, he or she will tend towards painting. If you name your boy Henry, he will be a steel drivin man. If you name him Che' he will be rebellious. If you name your child Sage Moonblood, Apple, Fifi Trixibelle, or Pilot Inspektor, your child will have alcohol and drug problems. Not that they are hopeless. Perhaps one of these star-screwed children will rise above their silly names and become, perhaps, the next President of these United States. Watching Pilot Inspektor address the United Nations would be tickling. But, I'd still vote for my ferret, Robert the Bruce.