Alarm clock? I don’t need no stinkin’ alarm clock! I got me a scratch-a-frass. A harass-a-frass. An it’s freakin’ 4:50 in the morning and I dang well am not getting out of bed to feed-you-frass. An it’s 4:52 and I’m getting ready to open the briefcase for the launch-codes-a-frass. An it’s 4:55 and I’m stumbling down the stairs to feed your silly ass-a-frass.

And now I’m up. And I’ve figured out how to install the digicam on the Linux box. And how to use Flickr to upload pics. And I’ve posted. All before 6 a.m. It’s going to be one of those days, eh?

The flower lady

I was downstairs getting a drink at the water fountain when the flower lady came around the corner.

“Excuse me,” she said in a strident flower lady voice. “What’s the address here?”

I shruged and laughed a little. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know. Can I help you find someone?”

“Well, I’m looking for ‘Desnch… Lench… I don’t really know, but I thought maybe you could help,” she said, shaking her boquet-laden vase at me, coming dangerously close to soaking the carpet. “After all, the sign says ‘Information.'”

“Ma’am,” I replied, biting the corners of my mouth to hide my grin, “This is information technology. Maybe the campus post office can help you out.”

My name in lights

Check it out: I made the “Fab Five” of this month’s music reviews at with my thoughts about K.J. Denhert’s “Girl Like Me.”

I’ve been writing for for a couple months now, and dig it. My editor is really cool to work for; she’s very laid back and easy going, but also competent. Soon, I’ll even start getting paid for my words. Yee-haw!

Check out my other reviews there:

The birth of the Digital Beest

If P.T. Barnum was living today, he might say, “A pain-in-the-ass blogger is born every second.” And, of course, this second, I’m the pain in the ass. I’ll be coming to you from the tippy-top of Wisconsin, on the shore of Lake Superior, and where ever else I roam, on a regular basis. You’ll notice I slyly didn’t mention what “regular” means. It could be daily. It could be regular like uncle-louie-in-the-outhouse-for-45-minutes-every-other-Tuesday. You choose. I’ll post. Maybe we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.

Poetry, photos, musing

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