2001-03-29
Dear Diary: ����I've heard rumours there is a season called Spring, eh. ����No, really, apparently there is. ����I was thinking about that exotic concept yesterday morning as I shovelled away yet another six inches of fresh snow so I could get my car out of the garage and head off to the gym. ����I also mentioned this Spring idea to the spousal unit as he shoveled the woodshed roof yesterday afternoon for the third time this year leaving a mountain of snow now over nine feet tall beside it. ����We've both decided that this Spring thing is obviously the product of someone's overly vivid imagination. They probably, um, you know, .:cough:. inhaled .:cough:. when they were young, eh. ����Spring. ����Yeah, sure. --Marn
Want to delve into my sordid past? She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 - .:Adventures In Oz:. .:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.
This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine. Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive. �2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you. |