Irons in the Fire

Hi Sherry,

I took a part time job just before Christmas:

Ikea: beginnings

I have not had health coverage in several years and probably need to have a few things looked at . . . so the Big Blue Swedish Box has taken up a bit of my time lately.

Last week, as part of a secret Power Puff Girls mission, I did some good deeds in West Virginia on my way up to visit fellow partner in crime Gwen. I arrived on the (then) coldest day of the year (-11 ℉) where we drove a slightly singed fire truck off a cliff like Thelma and Louise. I was Thelma.

This bit of vehicular madness is part of a hare-brained scheme involving the charitable provision and production of jobs, tiny houses, chickens, goats, soaps, orris, rainbow hued hot sauces, fruitcake, and gay craft-brewed ales and hard liquor.

As a Protestant free agent and Taoist Pontiff with krinkly edges, I have only recently become aware of the Catholic Worker Movement — and yet its aims and mine (and I think Gwen’s too) are oddly in alignment. It is a Thing That Makes Me Go Hmmmm.

Here we are on the shores of Lake Michigan; certain parts of my body are still thawing from the chill:

Artemis seems to think I look like Santa Claus.

Here is a bizarre video that has nothing to do with anything else I’ve written . . . but it’s fun to watch:

Makes me strangely horny. Also makes me want to go out and buy some sparklers, alto.

I think this might be music appropriate for brushing one’s teeth and/or cleaning the lint trap.