Sgt. Frog is quite possibly the cutest, funniest manga character I've ever encountered. It's difficult to explain to the general public what is so appealing about Japanese animation/graphic novels-- you really have to read it for yourself. But I'll try.

What appeals most to me in this medium is the intensity Japanese artists achieve. If something explodes, it doesn't just burst into flames. It shakes the fabric of reality, shredding pavement and buildings on a sub-atomic level. If a character is fast, he's not just speedy. His movements defy natural laws and distances in ways that boggle the mind. If a creature is cute, it's not just big eyed and fuzzy. It's pure, distilled uber-cuteness that makes you wish you had one so you could hug him and squeeze him and call him George!

Such is the case for Sgt. Frog. And he's not just drawn cute. He thinks cute. I found myself laughing out loud repeatedly over his antics, his attitude, his quirks. I thoroughly enjoyed the short hour it took to finish the book. You do not have to be into this genre to enjoy it- it's entertaining enough to stand on it's own.

Here's a really good review from Grotesque Anatomy.

"The concept of a gun-toting, alien Kermit was so bizarre I just had to try out the book. (Perhaps this is part of the reason behind manga's success: Manga does a better job of capturing that elusive "I have to know what the story behind that odd yet compelling cover is" effect that American comics have, for the most part, lost since the Silver Age. Or in other words, manga's not afraid to be goofy, silly fun.)

The good news is that the book doesn't disappoint: It's funny in a surreal, madcap sort of way, with plenty of jokes that work largely because of the comic pacing and staging of creator Mine Yoshizaki. The basic premise is simple: Sergeant Keroro, a tiny alien advance scout who strongly resembles a frog, is discovered and adopted by the Hinata family (brother Fuyuki, sister Natsumi, and mother Aki). Much of the humor comes from the comic contrast between Keroro's adorable appearance and his militaristic mindset (he's here to prepare Earth (known to his race as Pokopen) for invasion, you see). Seeing the cute Keroro alternate between plotting against his human family and obediently helping with household chores provides plenty of opportunities for humor both dark and sitcomish. And making this megalomaniacal mercenary so minuscule is comedy genius: Sgt. Keroro easily joins the classic comedic ranks of other deluded, diminutive alien conquerers, such as Marvin the Martian."

I let him do all the hardwork. Why review, when you can cut and paste!!

Gerro Gerro!!

Happy Friday, everybody.

Delicate flower that I am, pregnancy tends to make me light headed. (I know, what a picture of femininity I am). Anyway, I would never faint, because that's entirely too cliche. But, I will confess that I am occasionally tempted to give into that creeping blackness of vision. The room swirls deliciously and white noise whirs in my ears, and I am lulled into the heaviness, the sinking. In truth, I'm entirely too practical to give in to it, but the longer the sensation, the less analytical I am about it. So what if I hit the wall on the way down? Or drop my glass of tea? Such trivial details. The line of conciousness blurs, and walking it becomes a fun little game I play.

Yeah, that's not weird, right?

Whoever believes in psychokinesis, please raise my hand.

I love that my husband sketches things in his spare time on campus, and leaves them for others to find.

Is that cool or what?

Louisiana, I love thee.

This Saturday, we're headed to the Audubon Zoo for some designated family fun time. We've been planning it all summer, just waiting for the weather to cool off a bit. It just so happens that our plans coincide with Swampfest. Oh la!!!

Listen to this.

"Visit three music stages with the finest in Cajun and Zydeco sounds from Louisiana artists. Bring home a piece of Louisiana's heritage with unique Cajun creations. Genuine Louisiana arts and crafts will be sold throughout the Zoo with a showcase of watercolor lifestyle renderings, fish print rubbings, woven cypress baskets, and more. Have you ever had cracklin, couchon de lait, fried green tomatoes, crawfish beignets, or fried alligator? These and many other fest-foods are available both weekends from some of the best restaurants and caterers in Southern Louisiana. Crawfish pasta, crawfish bread, crab cakes with crawfish sauce, fried green tomatoes, crawfish beignets, smoke turkey legs, fried alligator, Jamaican chicken, couchon du lait, shrimp po-boys, pralines, and much more.

Feedings throughout the Louisiana Swamp Exhibit include alligators, nutria, water snakes, possums, coons or just about any other Swamp inhabitant there is!"

How could this NOT be fun? (well, except for the cracklin'. Ew.)

Louisiana has to be the coolest state, though. Seriously, it's too much fun down here!

Where else in the country can you buy beer at a zoo? Awesome.

I got a wild hair the other day when some of the kids in my class didn't catch a movie reference I made. This happens all the time cause I'm old and they're young, but this time it didn't sit right. The reference was from "The Dark Crystal" which to me is a classic that everyone should see.

This movie was made by Jim Henson, and when it first came out, everyone thought it was just another muppet movie. Its more like what a muppet movie would be if it were peyote induced. I remember watching it and being sad and then scared and then just going 'wow.' The surreallity of the scene was compounded by the fact that I was watching it on a Beta player in one of those country craft stores.

It is definitely a nature-based, good-evil duality kind of movie, and it got a lot of backlash from the Christian community because of that. Very parallel to the Harry Potter thing of today.

Anyway, I got these kids to sit down and see how the movie had held up. At first it came across as a little dated. Its hard to watch actual puppets when we have gotten so used to CG characters. After a while, we got into it though, and started digging the clever use of those crazy things. Then one of the guys remarked about how all the stuff looked just like my drawings. It struck me that he was right, though I had not noticed it til then. It was like a buried memory, only more abstract. It was a very strange revelation to have.

I'm sure there have been other influences that have been as big or bigger in the type of stuff I turn out, but I would like to say thanks to Jim Henson and Brian Froud for making that movie. They saw things differently, and then showed it to everyone else.

That's the very essence of art.

Annie's right, I should blog more about being pregnant. (You might regret that request in the months to come, by the way. I'll try not to turn APOG into a babyfest, but it can be awfully tempting!)

Okay, so here's the deal.

I am incapable of keeping good news to myself, and I can never wait the preferred 3 months before telling people when I'm pregnant. So, I'm a month along, and blabbing to the mailman, to the lady at Wal-Mart and to the world at large.

The bad side to that is, if you miscarry, then you have to backtrack and tell everybody what's happening. It's hard because people don't know what to say.

I know this, because before Eli, I had a non-viable pregnancy.

I never thought something like that would happen to me. It tested me, it tested my faith, because I didn't understand why God would go through the trouble of letting me be pregnant, then suddenly, not be. It seemed so arbitrary, so unnecessarily painful, so unlike what I expected God to do. I was angry, disappointed, and just sad.

In the days that followed though, I found peace, and understanding, and now, even thankfulness. There's a purpose for everything, even in the tragedies. God used that to teach me the things I needed to learn.

So now, announcing a new pregnancy, I don't do it with trepidation or fear, because I believe that whatever happens will be the right thing. And yet, a part of me is reserved, knowing that things do happen. The chance of miscarriage is not increased for me just because I had a previous one, but still, there is a sense of detachment until a little more time passes.

Telling everybody, making it public early on, it's trust in God. Not trust that He will do what I want, which would be a healthy and happy baby in 9 months, but trust that no matter what His will is, it's right. That's where this road has taken me, and I can't be sorry for that, no matter how hard it was at times.

So. Am I excited? Oh yeah, I am. Overwhelmed? No, not really! I've already given into the fact that life is going to be crazy busy for me for the next twenty years, and the tradeoff is so worth it. My life is amazing. I love it, imperfections and all. Another baby to share that with will be wonderful!

Lotsa happiness at APOG.

My moo goo gai pan
Fills my mouth with words and food
Delicious again.

It's not much, but it's there!

That's right. I'm going to be the proud mother of a baby whale next June. Which is great, because it's before the seasonal migration, which is a real pain in the dorsal fin.

Yay for baby mammals!!

Whatever, but PLEASE do not name your cat "Pooter". Pretty please?
Brought to you by the Horrified Readers of Random Blogs Society.

The name's Pooter, pal. Get it right, or I ain't moving an inch.

Disclaimer: This cat is in fact, not "Pooter". He is a paid, professional cat model, and expresses his concern that if you see him in public, that you refer to him by his actual name, which is Jean Luc, and not as the character (afore-mentioned Pooter) that he was employed to portray. "It's undignified," he says, "and frankly the only reason I agreed to do this project was to raise awareness of stupid pet names. To get the message out there." Our thanks to Jean Luc, an exceptional feline.

Do you think bowties are effeminate?

Last night in my dream, William Hung serenaded me with "She Blogs! She Blogs!"

That's disturbing on so many different levels.

“It wasn’t like anybody was hurt,” was my mother’s way of comforting me.

“I guess not,” I mumbled into the phone. I hadn’t expected her to understand, but I still felt that old pang of disappointment. “Look, I’ll call you later. I have to file the report.” I hung up and wondered to myself why I’d even bothered calling. It always turned out the same.

It took a few hours to finish up with the police, but it was straightforward. The arson team would be investigating the scene for the next few days, but they suspected it was faulty wiring. I’d get a copy of their report for my insurance company, and that would be that.

I stepped out of the police station and blinked against the blinding sunlight. I don’t have a toothbrush, I thought idly to myself. I wandered down the street, thinking of the bright orange flames that ate my house. I can’t stand not to brush my teeth. Had I left the iron plugged up? How much could a toothbrush cost? I had five dollars in my pocket, could I get toothpaste, too? Maybe my electric toothbrush had shorted out and started the fire. I laughed at that, and then, I couldn’t stop. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face, until I was doubled over in the street.

Somebody asked me if I was okay, and I waved them off. Fine, I yelled, I’m great, thanks. I just need a toothbrush, I laughed hysterically.

They probably thought I was crazy. Didn’t I deserve the luxury of losing it for a few minutes? My whole house had been reduced to smoldering ashes in front of my eyes. The house I had rolled pennies to pay for. I loved that house. Now it was a wet, black, sooty smudge.

But that loss was bearable. It was my things, the little bits and pieces that made up my life, that made me want to scream, It’s not fair! The ceramic cat that Jolie brought back from Italy, the Sammy Sosa baseball my dad had given me when I was ten, the rug I brought back from Mexico. I had always prided myself on not being materialistic; I was above people who were attached to their possessions. So why couldn’t I stop thinking about the beaded lamp shade I’d splurged on last month? Or the quilting pieces my grandmother and I had worked on and never quite finished, and the green chenille afghan on my couch, or the friendship bracelet from my brother? Here I am in a street, wallowing in loss like a complete lunatic, laughing when I felt like crying.

I looked up at the bewildered people watching me, and I gave a wobbly smile. I’m okay, I said, standing up. Really, the crazy girl is fine.

I stumbled around for the next few hours, stopping in somewhere to buy a toothbrush. I was pretty sure I needed some other things, but I couldn't think of what, and I didn't really care. It was dark, but I wasn't tired, and besides, I had no where to go. So I walked.

I ended up on the Antioch Bridge, looking out at the lights of the cars and the houses reflecting off the black water of the river. No light out there has my name on it, I thought to myself. I'm alone, and all I have in the world is a new toothbrush. Oh, and baggage. Yeah, I've got plenty of emotional crap. That didn't burn in the fire.

I didn't stop to think what I was doing. I leaned over the edge of the bridge, and looked down into the nothingness. I couldn't see the water churning below me, but I knew it was there. I held my hand out over the water and slowly uncurled my fingers. The toothbrush dropped, swallowed up by the darkness. I turned and walked away.

Sometimes, you have to let things go.

We are notorious movers. We rarely stay in one apartment for over a year, for one reason or another. This year is no different, and we will be moving after Christmas into a little house near the school. It's housing that is rented only to Landscape Architecture students at an irresistable price. We've been on the "list" and now our turn has come. Yippee!

The current resident was nice enough to give us a walk-through, so I got to check it out beforehand. But, it really didn't matter what it looked like, cause the price was right. Anyway, to my delight, it's cute.

It's an old Spanish-style house with a big front porch, on a nice shady street. The backyard is a jungle and will need a lot of work, but it's big and fenced. The house has 3 bedrooms, one bath (potential crowding issues there, but oh well!!), a nice living room and big kitchen. All hard wood floors, and my favorite feature- walls upon which I can paint.

And paint I will.

We've never stayed in a place that we were allowed to paint. (I'm such a goodie-goodie, I never dared to break the rule!). But now, ahhh, the freedom! I shall paint every inch I can reach! And I'm talking creative painting. Maybe a nice horizontal stripe in Eli's room, a vivid mulberry red in the living room, and something rainbowish for Wrenn's room.

I'm giddy on the fumes already.

If I could borrow Kelly, I bet she could come up with some fun color schemes. I'd then recruit Mike (who's partial to orange these days), Joy, and the rest of the gang to help me paint. Michelle could take some artistic pictures of us at work, Fi could write something witty about our painting skills, and Jeannette could be the dj and play us some music while we paint, and Hugo could do a a running monologue of the whole event. Oh, and Jano can make the beer and pizza run.

I love random linkage.

in the whole world? There's A Hole In My Bucket.

Dear Liza is a great deal more patient than I would be with Dear Henry. I'd be like, "Henry, for crying out loud, go get the other stupid bucket and just THROW THE BROKEN ONE AWAY! I'm sick of going over this with you! It's a simple problem with a simple solution and we don't have to sing about it for fifteen minutes every time you want to use it!! What do you even need the stinking bucket for to begin with? Oh, stop crying you big fat BABY!"

Then I might kick him, too.

I know, I'm not very nice. But in my defense, it is a really irritating song.

I hope you're a little better at it than I am.

For those of you who don't know, my husband is in his 4th year of school for Landscape Architecture. We've been trying to figure out what our plans are for the 5th (AND FINAL!!) year, which involves an internship.

Well, he talked to the head of the L.A. internship program last week. We learned a few things, the first one being that they don't offer internships in the States. Secondly, he doesn't necessarily have to intern, he could just study at a different school for a semester. Or, he could just stay here and do what amounts to a semester's worth of "busy work" with about ten other students. Note, the internship is a paying position, the other two we have to pay for.

Careerwise, an internship abroad is the wisest thing, because this looks great on the resume. Plus, it gives him five months of actual job experience and an opportunity to make some good employment connections.

The second choice would be studying at a different university, and I'm not sure if that means in the States or not. It's not as useful as the internship, but still makes the resume a little more interesting.

The last option is staying here, which is the least appealing. It's basically a waste of a semester, and nothing is accomplished to further your employment/education.

Sooo. Having a family makes the first two choices much harder than the last one. We could all go, or he could go, or none of us could go. Financially, OUCH. It's not cheap. We've been advised that the least expensive place to intern as a family would be Thailand, probably Bangkok (where they speak English a lot). Patrick is corresponding with a guy that went with his family last year, so we'll have more info on that soon.

Options are nice, but I'm a little overwhelmed. I don't want him to miss an important aspect of his education, but I'm not sure how to make this work. The thought of just sitting here for five months when we could be somewhere amazing is too depressing. Grr... what to do, what to do?? I wanna stamp my passport, dangit!

Anyway, that's the latest update in the Internship Dilemna. I'll post more as the complications increase.

I do like challenges though. Good thing for that!

Okay, so maybe I overshot with the "dazzling" bit on that last entry. I tried to think of something brilliant, but it's a Friday, and I'm tired of entertaining you people. (I'm kidding. APOG loves you, and you know it.)

I do want to tell you guys about a book I just read.

Once upon a time, my trips to the library used to be quiet, leisurely moments where I strolled the aisles, perusing and choosing to my heart's content. And now? Ha. It's a mad dash during which I grab a dozen books based solely on their covers (oh the shame!) and pray that one of them will be a jewel. Hey, it's not a perfect system, but it does the job. I usually end up with a few that are readable.

The jewel this time was "The Little House" by Philippa Gregory. Not having read her stuff before, I wasn't sure what to expect, which is the way I like it. There's nothing as delicious as an unexpected find.

The story centers around Ruth, who led a very solitary life until she married Patrick. Unfortunately, she still seems to be "on the outside looking in" with his family, and this story chronicles the breakdown of the fragile family dynamics.
(Wow, I sound like quite the Reviewer, don't I?) Anyway, I don't want to give away too much- because I hate it when people do that. But, I am comfortable telling you that this book surprised me. It was domestically gothic, if that makes sense. It reminded me of a short story I read in highschool, "Lamb to the Slaughter" by Roald Dahl. If you read that, and liked it, chances are this will be right up your alley.

The theme was not one I related to, because even though my Other Half is also a Patrick, he's a dreamboat and my in-laws are amazing. So, it's not the story that got me, but it was the writing. Nothing overdone, and yet, there was a wealth of information to find between the lines. She suggested and hinted and eventually steered you down a path to a startling conclusion. I was impressed with the way she could set the atmosphere with just a few simple words. I couldn't help but get drawn into the story, and even though it wasn't a fast paced book, I couldn't put it down!

Now, the other twelve books I so haphazardly snatched off the shelves... well, they aren't quite as promising. How did I end up with Eminem's biography? Hm.

Well, that's the literary scoop for the day. Yummy, wasn't it?

Today, one of the Short Ones became a little less short. Wrenn turned 4. In celebration of the event, we are NOT having a hurricane. Hoorah!! It barely, no wait, it didn't EVEN rain here! Traffic going back into N.O. was nuts- schools closed just because of that- but that's a small complaint in light of things. Now, what to do with the fifty gallons of water and twenty-five cans of tuna? Man. We just finished using all our Y2K stuff*. If it's not preparation for one apocalypse, it's another!

Anyway, we took Wrenn to the toystore to spend her birthday money from her Papaw (all Southern girls have at least one papaw, you know), and it was fun. I'm not being sarcastic- it actually was fun! She was excited about the utopia of toys, and Eli was beside himself in the car section. She had ten dollars to spend, and she decided on a Strawberry Shortcake doll, which we all agreed was an excellent choice. On the sly, Patrick bought her a Big Wheels and we'll surprise her with it at her party on Saturday. (ugly subject/verb agreement in that sentence. Apologies to all the grammar sensitive types out there. Please don't send me hate mail again.) While we were there, we saw My Little Pony, Rainbow Brite, Transformers, and Carebears. Flashbacks aren't just for druggies anymore, compadres. Apparently, the 80's are alive and well, and taking over toystores everywhere. No peyote necessary for this little trip down memory lane.

It does bring up a question, though. Can they not come up with anything new that's cool? Don't get me wrong- I love that Wrenn's playing with some of the same great toys I did. But our toy designers are totally cashing in on the Old School. Suspiciously, they show up for work at 11 am everyday. And aren't they taking some excessively long lunch breaks? And is an atari really considered a "business expense"? I think not. Something's a little funny there, my friends. Funny indeed.

But on the flipside, I don't want my kid idolizing Brats either. Sorry to state the obvious, but what an attitude problem! Tell me, who do you think is gonna give you some lip? Sweet little Strawberry? Or the Brat? I'll give you a hint. She's slathered on some lip gloss in preparation to run off at the mouth. Guess.

And hey- is the Brat giving me the hand? That little such-and-such! And it's clear that she just dissed Strawberry about her shoes. "Those boots are SO 1988. Pullease," she sneers.

Poor Strawberry.

Is it wrong to shake a doll, until, like, her head pops off? No? Fantastic.

Well, that's the minutia of the day. Fascinating material isn't it? I mean, doesn't that make you want to visit APOG every single day? I'm really quite surprised myself. I'm an endless fount of relevent, cutting edge, thought provoking material, yesiree!

Next post, something diff. Something dazzling. Something you absolutely don't want to miss.

Now I have to go. My atari hand is killing me.**

*This was just a joke. We used up all our Y2K supplies by 2002.
**This, sadly, is not a joke. I had an atari-related injury in the 4th grade that acts up in damp weather. Dang you, Frogger!!! I'll get you yet!

Tuesday likes me better. (What's up with Monday, anyway? If any day of the week needs a Xanax, Monday does.)

Not much time to blog today, trying to do last minute hurricane preparations. I think we'll probably be in the clear for most of the bad weather, but I wouldn't be surprised to lose electricity. Our other concern is flooding. It's like Venice around here during a good rainstorm, so the idea of a torrential downpour is a little unsettling. I think we'll probably be okay, if Ivan stays to the east of us. Um... sorry Mississippi. You know I got nothing but love for you, but still. We don't want it, you can have it. (You know Mississippi is saying, "Sorry Alabama.... you know I got nothing but love for you, but...")

Anyway, not making light of a serious thing, honestly- my prayers are with anyone in Ivan's path.

Okay, well, dinner's cooking so I better get off this here thing. More bloggy goodness tomorrow, I promise. I do realize I've been a bit quiet lately, and I swear to return with a chatty vengeance in a few days!

Monday is trying to kill me.

Guys, I'm not deleting anybody's comments, they are just disappearing on me. I'm working on it.

And so far, no gray hairs. Yippee!

My birthday was pleasant- got a few calls, a few gifts, one of which was a gift certificate to a spa for an hour long massage. Pause. HOUR. LONG. MASSAGE. Can you feel my joy? I've never had a professional massage before, and I want to go RIGHT NOW. Free + Massage= very happy shannon. Birthdays rock.

In bloggy news, I've got most of my links changed for APOG, and I'll admit, Josiah did a great job. The redirect is nearly seamless! I was worried about losing previous linkage, but that's not a problem. I'll probably be paying attention to my stats a little too much for a while though, trying to make sure I don't fall into blogging oblivion.

WHOA- InnerNerd slipped out for a moment. Suppressing geekiness... struggling... there we go. Whew. Back to UberCool. (uber? is it still cool to say that word? no? ok. gotcha.)

Well, that's all for tonight. Sorry to be abrupt, but I'm off work this evening, and Simpsons beckons.

Don't take it personally.

APOG is packing it up, and moving to nolablogs. Josiah has created a new terrablog domain for us South Lousianians, and I'm gonna break it in for him.

So, get ready to change your links for me, starting this weekend. There will be a redirect from my chattablogs url, so just hang on while we get it figured out.

Don't leave me, dear readers. APOG is a co-dependant blog and needs all the lovin' it can get.

We have abandonment issues over here.

I met Jeannette for coffee this morning. With the Short Ones in tow, I walked into the coffee shop and scanned around for someone who looked like they were looking for me. A quick wave from a stranger, and suddenly, Jeannette was more than just the author of Moot Thoughts and Musings. She was this petite and friendly girl, and I thought, hey, we could be friends! How cool is that!

It was strange, to meet someone for the first time that you actually feel like you know a little already. We got a table outside, and the kids toddled around looking at lizards and birds while I downed pure, undiluted caffeine. We talked (fast, in my case) about blogging, our lives, our plans, and basically filled in the blanks of a friendship that had begun online already. It was really nice.

I'm not a social risk-taker. I ease into friendships and relationships slowly, but I wish I was braver than that. I'm working on it though, and this was a conscious choice to move out of my comfort zone. I threw caution to the wind and decided that you never get anywhere if you don't pick up your feet.

And I'm glad I did. We had fun! I didn't spill coffee on myself, the kids didn't eat any bugs, and Jeannette was just like I thought she'd be.

Cool.

I love trees. The first tree I climbed was a magnolia. The limbs were wide and ancient and held me up to the clouds. I kicked off my shoes, and let them tumble to the ground. The bark was cool on my bare feet, as I climbed and explored like a monkey. Ruby red seeds in prickly pods fascinated me, and I plucked them out and rolled them around in my palm, and absently wondered if they tasted like cherries. I wasn't brave enough to try after all my mother's warnings. So instead, with careful aim, I flicked the seeds at the sky, and watched them arc through the air.

I was home.

Much of my youth was spent in those lovely heights. The solitary sycamore in our woods, the gentle mimosa near our drive, the sticky pines at my cousins house, these were the haunts of my childhood. The different textures and colors make up a patchwork of my memories.

Trees evoke all kinds of feelings in me. Those faraway on a hillside make me hungry. The green canopies look so good I want to eat them, like I was a giant munching broccoli. Live oaks, with their knotty roots and reaching branches, make me feel safe. Their trunks too large to wrap my arms around, so still and stately, make me want to sit, and think. Cypress trees, with their woody skirts and knobby knees, charm me. I think of music and dancing ladies and laughter and I want to twirl until I'm too dizzy to stand. Mimosa trees, so unassuming and graceful, make me drowsy. I want to lay under those pink purpley puffs of flowers and watch the wind blow through the branches, feel it through my hair. I can close my eyes and feel it right this moment.

It’s silly, maybe. But that’s okay. Trees make me happy, and I can smile when I say that, because I know it sounds a little goofy. We all have things that center us, that calm us, that make us happy. It doesn’t have to make sense, and that’s part of the joy of it. It just is. All you can do is give in to it.

On that note, I bid you all a good weekend. Enjoy the things that make you happy, because life is short. And if you're near the bad weather, be safe.

See you Monday.

Some girls collect shoes. I collect email addresses.

I don't like to give out personal information (blogging, irony, I get it). Anyway, when I created my latest email address, apeckofgold@yahoo.com, I played a little. As the user id, I put "Robert Frost", which amused me. However, it just confuses everybody else, who thinks they are suddenly recieving mail from a nineteenth century dead poet. Jeannette took it in stride, God bless her. Everybody else thinks I'm nuts.

And since I care what you guys think, (see? you DO matter, dear readers!), I'm ditching the offensive address. Begone, confusing literature reference! In it's place - apogblog@yahoo.com, a fun little ditty that rhymes, and sounds like something a frog would say. Which is great, what with me being a Crawly Amphibian and all.

No more playing around with dead poets, I promise. It's a shame though, because although he's no Robert Frost, I would have looked rather snazzy in Walt Whitman's hat.

I could have all sorts of fun with dead poets.

I had a "moment" a few days ago. You know the kind- where you suddenly realize something big? I'll explain.

I was strongly affected, like many of you I'm sure, by the Russian terrorist act at the school. I especially thought of the parents sending off their children for the first day of school, and to have something so horrible happen, and never see them alive again. I thought about it for days, how terrible it must be for them, and how frightened the children had to have been. Then, Sunday as I was reading the paper, I looked through the obituaries. There was a picture of the cutest little toddler boy, died at the age of two. I thought of his poor mother, how she must have been feeling at that exact moment, coping with the loss of something so sweet. How does it feel to have your heart ripped out? Then, on the way home that night, I was listening to Delilah and a young woman called in to dedicate a song to her brother, who was adopted when she and her siblings were in fostercare. She has no idea where he is. Her mother died, she and her sisters were split up, and she's had a very hard life.

I was bowed under. It seemed liked everywhere I looked that day was heartache and tragedy, and I was grieved. All these people were suffering something so big and I was lost in the pain of it for them.

It hit me then. God, how He's protected me from those things. How He's spared me and blessed me, and how ungrateful I am for that sometimes. I get caught up in what I don't have, or how "hard" things are, and the truth is, I don't even have a CLUE about how hard life can be. I have my health, I have my children, I have a family who's not perfect, but I know my brothers and sisters are safe and thriving. I whine about the little pinpricks in life, and I was ashamed at that moment.

I prayed for these people who have been dealing with the unimaginable, the unthinkable, and then, I praised God for His blessings to me. Not that I think He's cursed these other people, that's not what I'm saying. And I don't think that being a Christian is any kind of guarantee against bad things. But I realize, just how merciful and kind God has been in my life, for whatever reasons, and how I daily take His continued grace for granted. I was humbled, and thankful.

Next time I think of complaining about my little problems, I'm going to remember that.

Thanks for sticking to the end, by the way. I know that wasn't the cheeriest post I've ever written, but APOG is all about keeping it real. And sometimes, the real stuff isn't easy.

Ugh. I hate those forty-five minute naps that leave you crankier than when you laid down. There's nothing like a thousand-words a second tumbling out of your preschooler's mouth to test your freshly wakened patience, too. I politely asked for a few moments of quiet to wake up, and she's granted me a five minute respite. "I have to go to the bathroom, anyway." she told me matter-of-factly. Well. Lucky me.

So, I'm checking email, drinking my one-a-day caffeine fix, and trying to work up a good mood. It's coming along okay.

I did some birthday shopping for myself today. Generally, I like to be surprised, but I decided to cut my loved ones some slack this year. I am actually kind of hard to shop for, even when I'm the one doing the shopping! The things I wanted this year were things I needed to try on, so I did it myself. Let me say, nothing in the world beats a new pair of New Balance tennis shoes. NOTHING. Oh the joy!! My feet are freaking out. I promised them we'd go work out at the gym today to show off a little. My feet haven't been this happy with me since the massage of 93.

Another generous gift to myself, (hey, we're a big believer in birthdays at APOG) is a new pair of jeans. I am highly picky when it comes to denim - almost impossibly so, I'll admit. I found some at Old Navy after a complete meltdown in the middle of the mall. I hate jean hunting, because being 28 (well, for a few more days anyway), I don't particularly enjoy shopping in the teenie bopper stores. But can I find jeans in Sears or Dillards? No. Their jeans are atrocious. They only have Mom Pants. You know the ones. They double as boat sails. Well, no thank you! I like the low waisted, flared and fitted, hey-she-still-looks-hot-after-two-kids kind. I'm not trying to be 15, but I don't want to be 70 either. I mean, come on. Cut a girl a break. I may not be getting Botox, but I'm not committing fashion suicide with Mom Pants either.

Kay folks, that's it for me. I'm feeling slightly less cranky (whaddaya mean I don't sound like it! You wanna say that to my face, big shot?) and now I'm off to do the Stuff That Needs Doing.

Have a good afternoon fellers.

I know this may come as a shock to some of you, but we do actually have internet connections in the Swampy State. Granted, there's Spanish moss hanging from our computer cables, alligators at the doorstep, and most of us have had West Nile virus at least twice, but we're blogging, dadgummit.

And now we have a webring. (scary, huh?) If you blog around these parts, join the Louisiana webring. Do it, or I'm pushing you off this houseboat right now.

"Craptacular".

Sure, it's juvenile... but I'll admit I laughed. My innerchild enjoys derivatives of the word crap, what can I say?

Hey!! I moved up to a "Crawly Amphibian" in the Ecosystem. Awesome!!

If that's not an ego boost, I don't know what is. I mean, come on. Crawly Amphibian is something to be proud of. I've got aquatic abilities, plus land privileges. Sure, I'm cold-blooded. But I can work with that. I'll sun myself, no problem. Do I lay eggs? Why yes, I do!! Jealous, aren't ya?

I'm calling my mom right now. She's going to be so stoked about this.

Aaah.. I finally came up with a decent name for this segment. Formerly known as "Why You're on My Bloglist", now we have a short, concise title, "The Blogwatch". This is Part... IV, I think. Yeah. Okay, Steve over at The Sneeze cracked me up from the get-go. His language can be a bit, well, colorful, so you may want to be careful opening this up at work.

I really like what he does with a game called City of Heroes though. I'll let him explain.

Busting Balls in a Single Bound

I've been messing around with a computer game called City of Heroes. It's a "massive multi-player game" which means hundreds of people are online at once, in this case running around as super-heroes in this 3-D virtual world.

The game itself is okay, but I found I had more fun typing silly crap to the other players. I took some screenshots.

Here's my guy, Capt. Avenger, attempting some of his special brand of chit-chat with the other "heroes" while they're trying to play.

Sadly, the Captain is often met with blank stares.

Thank you, Steve. God Bless You, by the way. And cover your mouth, please.

Reading: Sarah, A Novel by Marek Halter.
Drinking: C2 (hey, it's not that bad!!).
Listening: Millenium, Russian Choral Music (oooh, cultural huh?).
Feeling: quite dandy.
Watching: 13 Going on 30 (J.G. I love thee).
Snacking: almonds.
Humming: Break Away, Kelly Clarkson.
Wearing: a new brown courderoy jacket (thank you Amy!!).
Cooking: garbanzo bean and ham soup (mmm).
Posing: seductively.
Paying: the rent.
Dreaming: of next Fall.
Smelling: quite nice, thank you very much.
Loving: my husband.
Anticipating: my burfday.

First day of September. This month, I turn 29. Wrenn turns 4. Time- doing it's usual amount of flying and freaking me out.

This is the busiest I think I've ever been. Here's the rundown. I wake up around 7ish, get Wrenn to school by 8:30. Back home with Eli to make sure house/laundry is all picked up (can't have our babysitter see the mess!). Oh, and squeeze in a trip to the gym for an hour, plus grocery shopping and errand running, whatever needs doing that day. All by 11:30 - in order to pick Wrenn up from school. Get kids back home and fed lunch. Shower and get ready for work, take out something for dinner (love that crockpot) put the kids down for a nap at 2, as the babysitter is walking in the door. I am at work by 2:30, and finally make it home again by 11:30 that night. In bed by 12:30ish.

I sleep like the dead.

I know I can do all this, it's an artful juggling that is only possible under extreme necessity. But, I'll admit, I'm tired. And a little nervous about burning out. I realized this year, that in order to do all the things I need to do, I have to take care of myself. To have the level of energy I need just to chase after the kids, let alone all the other stuff, I have to invest in myself even when it's not convenient. So, that hour at the gym- it's vital. I need it, so I give it to myself. It makes all the difference in the world. The other thing, is this blog. It's the luxury item I'd take on Survivor. It's my big white canvas that holds the color of my life. I can create, lament, joke, whine, and escape here. I know it's stupid sometimes and I don't know who reads and who doesn't but I try not to care about that. All I'm doing here is taking care of myself, and that's my guilty pleasure.

People blog for a lot of reasons. I think though, there is an underlying need in most of us that causes us to use this medium-- like all artforms. It's expression, whether it's political, artistic, religious, musical. A place to say, you know what? I do a lot of things- I am a lot of things for a lot of people. But here, I'm just me.

I've let a lot of things go, many interests have fallen by the wayside for now. Genealogy, sewing, scrapbooking, all victims of my time crunch. What's left is writing and sweating. Sometimes at the same time. I read on my lunch break and coffee break, so that's just hanging in by a thread. But my life has been condensed and concentrated. But in a way, I guess you could say it's been focused, which is not a bad thing.

You know what? I'm happy.

It's a good life. Blog on.