Beautiful Desolation...

He hands me a flower. A daffodil. The nymph of spring. I can't keep playing my part in this charade. Is there a time when you have to be true to yourself at the cost of forsaking others? Does he know that this is a farce? Does he know that this has to end? Does he know that life is too short to waste?
He hands me a flower. A peace offering. He knows. He is not angry. He's walked this road. He feels the same.
He hands me a flower. A remembrance. I shall not forget you. You've given me joy.
He hands me a flower...and walks away.


This picture is from www.deviantart.com. The photographer is yourworldasiseeit. I wrote what is beside it. Peace showed me the picture to try and prod some inspiration into life. I wrote what the picture made me think of. If the picture was mine I'd name it what I named this post. Beautiful Desolation. You can check out more of this artist's photography by clicking here.

Well guess who doesn't...

...completely suck at bowling! No not David Duchovny!* Me!
I went the other day with Kara (second time in my life) and played two games. My top score was 101! Prior to that my top score was 74. At this rate I'll be bowling 300's in no time. Of course I have absolutely no form, but that's ok as long as I win right?

*I actually don't know if David Duchovny is a good bowler or not. What I do know is that he is gosh darned good looking (I mean the man is fine!) and a good actor besides. (That man can cry to break your heart. Don't believe me? Watch the first 10 minutes of Return to Me.)

An act of God?...

~ The insurance agent went to stand next to Aiden on the driveway.
"Yup, she doesn't look pretty." He confided knowingly.
Aiden looked askance at the short balding fellow. For the love of all that was good and holy! Not another one! He knew that somewhere, somewhere on the planet earth there must exist an insurance agent that was not irrevocably drawn to stating the moronically obvious. He turned to fully face the man.
"You know those are the exact words that I said to myself. Exactly."
"Uh, really?" The man looked at Aiden again. Aiden looked dead serious. But how serious could he be? He had a small tabby sitting in the front seat of his car. But then, she looked rather serious too. The insurance man stifled a laugh.
"Anyway, the inspector hasn't found any signs that there was structural instability, there were no quakes or tremors the day this happened. Fact is, your house seems to have just...exploded."
"You don't say?" Aiden tried to look thoughtful and speculative.
The insurance man peered at him closely, like you might do to a questionable black speck in your tapioca pudding.
"We're going to have some paperwork you'll need to fill out." ~
~ I made this!
A Selfish Production

~ "Hello and welcome to the 7:45 news, I'm Buttly Nightwax." ~
~ Peace

Something old, something new...

~ Jared lay on his stomach completely still; his slow ragged breathing the only sound. The world began to take on an ethereal focus. The sweet, rusty taste of blood penetrated the fog when he tried to wet his cracked lips. Mist still shrouding his half conscious mind, he felt the cool, rough concrete beneath his cheek, the rest of his body achingly hot. Somewhere in the depths of his mind logic was still functioning and he thought that maybe his fever was breaking. What time was it? What day was it? He fought silently to try and rouse himself at least enough to see if he was still in the same room. It was a losing battle. He grappled against it but the black weight pressed in again, slowly, unrelentingly dragging him down. He finally gave in and the dead silence took him over. Back to the underworld for another night. ~
~ By me.

In May there will be a group of students accompanied by a couple professors going to Egypt for 20 whole days. They'll be touring the country, viewing history from the Ancients up to modern day. They'll get to visit the Valley of the Kings. Cruise the Nile. Visit Cairo and the Great Pyramids. They'll get to go into several tombs.
I am beside myself. That would be so inconceivably awesome! It would be amazing! It would be Egypt!
It's a bit over 4 grand to go though, and even though it would be worth 3 credits that's an awful expensive 3 credits.
Am I envious? Yes, yes I am.

Is surrender an option?...

~ The first thing Aiden saw upon entering his room was Adrasteia napping at her new post. On top of his pillow.
And the phone was ringing.
Aiden set down his foil encased steak au poivre and the phone silenced. His cell started two seconds later. His father. Aiden didn't pick up.
Adrasteia stood and stretched. Aiden set the little bowl of cream that the thoughtful maitre d' had included for his "leetle pussy cat" on the floor and called her over. Like any self-respecting feline she took her time and made sure that it looked like coming to Aiden was her idea.
Aiden sat on the edge of the bed and watched her lap at her little treat. His eye drifted to his duffle bags. The bellboy had set them up on the luggage racks as carefully as any matched, monogrammed leather set.
Aiden knew that, to plagiarize, resistance was futile. You can run but you can't hide. And running pretty much just insures that you die tired.
Aiden hadn't run from his fate since he'd been a boy. He'd always known it would be this way. Always. That didn't make it any easier for a child to accept though. ~
It's all me!
A Selfish Production

So far today...

...I've seen a grocery bag and a napkin go flying by my window. What with living on the 5th floor and all that's not really an everyday occurrence. It's rather reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy is looking out the window of her tornado ravaged house. Various pieces of debris fly past, then a chicken or two, then a cow, and finally the horrid Mrs. Gulch. And, while I am not expecting to see Mrs. Gulch cycling past my window at any moment, I have to say that I wouldn't be entirely shocked if she did either.

"There's no "i" in team, but there's also no "i" in post some crappy footage of yourself on the web." ~ Brett Erlich

Care to sniff the cork sir?...

~ Aiden rang his insurance agent as soon as he and his tabby were checked into the hotel.
Yes, yes his house exploded. No, it wasn't burned down. No, he didn't know how it happened. Yes, he was sure it had exploded. Yes, he knew an investigation would be necessary. Yes, tomorrow would be fine.
He gently returned the phone to it's cradle and immediately it rang.
Aiden was expecting it.
Hello. Yes mom, he was fine. No, she didn't need to fly in, as he'd said in his message. Yes, he'd let her know as soon as he'd heard anything from the insurance. Oh, that's room service at the door. Gotta go.
Aiden sat on the bed for a bit. He went into the bathroom and unwrapped some little soaps. He reentered the bedroom and ate the mint that some hardworking, kindhearted housekeeper had left on his pillow. He untucked the sheets from the foot of the bed.
Aiden had rather claustrophobic feet.
Adrasteia sat observing from the window sill, her languid attention divided between Aiden and a tiny bird hopping about on the balcony, blissfully ignorant of how ridiculously thin the sheet of glass holding back it's feline predator was.
Adrasteia's tail twitched.
Aiden considered really calling room service. It was, after all, nearing lunch time. He rose decisively and strode into the hall, shutting the door with a satisfying click.
Aiden's gung-ho attitude only lasted through the appetizer.
The hotel dining room's authentic French maitre d' hovered over him like a nervous butterfly.
Aiden picked at his food noncommittally.
Was everything alright with Monsieur's entree? Yes, it was fine. Would Monsieur like a coffee instead of wine? A cup of coffee would be delightful.
Aiden was still bitter about not having his morning coffee.
Must the universe take everything from him?
But alas, he knew that there was no point in asking that question.
Aiden sipped at his coffee, and burned his tongue.
Aiden realized that he was what you might call upset. He thought though, that it would probably be difficult for anyone to come to terms with their house exploding, no matter their past experiences.
He lifted the delicate china creamer and noticed that his hand was shaking.
Aiden asked the attentive maitre d' if he could have his food wrapped. ~
~ Mine, gimme.
A Selfish Production

And he's back...

~ Aiden fished his cat out from under the holly bush and carried her to his car, placing her on the front seat beside his brief case.
Time to hit the hotel.
Aiden made his way around the remnants of his house to the small shed in the back corner of the yard. He pulled off the padlock and opened the door. He pushed his shiny, green lawn mower out of the way and reached for Adrasteia's carrier and the blue duffel bags that had been kept there since the day he'd moved in.
Naturally the universe could have taken out the shed as well, but this time it hadn't.
Aiden was used to keeping most everything of value to him on or quite near his person. His laptop, bankbook and personal documents traveled to and from work with him everyday. He insured everything.
He re-locked the shed and carried his bags to the car, placing them neatly in the back seat along with the carrier. Adrasteia watched calmly from atop his briefcase. For now he left her there as he went in search of a jump.
As luck would have it his blackberry thicket owning neighbor was using their paper boy's fantastically bad aim as an excuse to scope out Aiden's interesting predicament.
When he saw Aiden strolling toward him he put more energy into his supposed paper search.
A jump? Why certainly. Thicketman would be glad to give Aiden a jump.
Aiden found it incredibly amusing to watch Thicketman trying to come up with a way to ask him why his house was unusually flat this morning. Why he had overnight bags and a speculative looking tabby sitting in his Honda.
Unfortunately he was unable to come up with that particular conversation starter before the Honda was resuscitated.
His cables were disconnected, his hand shaken warmly. He was thanked politely for his assistance and given an unspoken, subtle, tactful and utterly unmistakable dismissal.
He got his car back to his own driveway and was making his way inside, paper completely forgotten, when he turned to look back at his neighbor.
Aiden, cat, Honda and duffel bags were gone. ~
~I made this!

A PS to my regular readers (doesn't that sound snazzy? Regular Readers...) I am sorry for not updating for almost the entirety of break but I have been quite busy. It's been a hectic time for me. Look for me more once school starts again.
Oh, and it's my birthday! And I'm gonna party like it's my birthday. Cause it is. I'm also going to take 21 fake shots. I do a pretty good fake drunk and I'd figured that I could then get fake alcohol poisoning and make a fake run to the emergency room. We may not have time for the last two activities but you can bet the farm that 21 fake shots are going down tonight.

Adrasteia the Great...

~ A question we should all ask ourselves is: What would be the first thing I'd do if my house exploded?
Aiden had not considered that event and so was at something of a loss. It struck him that, despite a house being suddenly obliterated in it's midst, the delicate gear work of the neighborhood seemed to continue operating as usual.
Aiden wondered if he was, in fact, delusional. If his house was, in fact, still whole and unharmed. If he was, in fact, sitting on the grass beside a holly bush in front of a completely normal house.
No. He disregarded that theory. Aiden's mind wouldn't dare cop out on him and his, up to this point, fairly well-groomed life.
His house had really gone without much of a fight. Not a lot of noise or scattering of debris. The wreckage was fairly well contained. No flames. Not even a bit of dramatic spouting water. It had just exploded.
Aiden figured that he should call the insurance at some point. He knew that after the long and arduous investigation the explosion would be written off as an "act of God". What else could they call it?
There really is no place to hide when the universe is out to get you.
Aiden's cat came strolling around the corner of his wreckage and toward him across his neatly trimmed lawn. She did not look surprised either. After 5 years with Aiden maybe she'd gotten used to inexplicable events. Or maybe she was just acting like a cat.
Her name was Adrasteia after the nymph who raised Zeus from a babe. Aiden had called her this with a touch of irony. It means "she whom none escapes". Nothing like a cat to protect you from the universe. Aiden looked under the holly bush at his protector. She was nonchalantly chowing down on a twitching grasshopper.
No wonder she'd thrown up on his carpet. ~
~ S'all me baby

And then things got worse...

~ Aiden hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand (as if the car needed to be punished) and drove the thorn he'd picked up rescuing his Tribune deeper into his palm. Aiden had always hated blackberries.
He clambered out of his car and stood on the driveway glaring at the world. He'd call Linda. Linda might be able to pick him up on her way in. He bristled at the thought of asking back-stabbing Linda for a favor. It might take a bribe or two, but he had to get to work somehow.
Aiden pulled out his cell phone and stalked over to the big holly bush in his front yard. The only place, he'd discovered long ago, he could get service on his property.
Aiden kicked leaves impatiently while Linda's phone rang.
And then his house exploded.
Aiden was not shocked by this. This would be the morning his house exploded. It occurred to him that his cat should feel very grateful that he'd exiled her outside after she'd thrown up in his living room.
Linda picked up.
"Hello...Hello?"
"You know what, never mind." Aiden hung up.
He sat down by his holly bush and looked at the mass of splintered wood and unidentifiable refuse that used to be his house. He had to admit, the universe had definitely won this round. ~
~ I made this!

Mama said there'd be days like this...

~ Aiden woke up with a splitting headache.
And then things got worse.
This would be the morning his cat threw up on the carpet.
This would be the morning his paper was flung deep into the wild blackberry thicket his neighbor so humorously called "a hedge".
This would be the morning he locked himself out of the front door and almost had a coronary before discovering that he'd left the back door open.
This would be the morning he was out of coffee.
Aiden wanted the universe to grind to an agonizing halt.
It didn't.
He gulped down a glass of cran-cherry juice with his (naturally!) burnt toast all the while cramming folders into his briefcase. With all the time he'd spent excavating his newspaper and scouring the kitchen for a few java beans he was already behind schedule.
Where are the keys!? Where are the blasted- Oh, there they are.
Aiden finally made it to his car, only slightly the worse for wear, and buckled up. He turned the key. He was rewarded with a sickeningly dead grinding noise. Aiden looked at the dash.
Headlamps: On
Aiden cursed the universe creatively in several languages... ~
~From Renee's world. (Her mama never said there'd be days like this...)

Nothing like a new pastime...

...to make you feel alive!

So I've taken up card manipulation, also called trick shuffling, for a new hobby. It's delightful.
I know several tricks by now and mainly I think I need to work on my flexibility and consistency. There are instances when I'll do the scissor cut flawlessly several times in a row and other times that I drop half the deck each try I give it.
I did get a deck of bridge cards which are slightly narrower then your normal poker cards to help me "work up" to some of the moves. Let me tell ya, your hands can be sore after practicing this stuff for a while.
I would like to learn a cool ace production move before I see Josh (cause you know that I'm going to casually show off my moves when we sit down for a game of poker or blackjack) but I doubt that I have time for that.
Speaking of blackjack, funny thing, I brought my cards with me to practice with before both of my exams today.
First exam: I met Stuey outside and we ended up playing blackjack on the back of a book I had with me (Hilariously entitled "To Play The Fool"), and ultimately drawing several innocent strangers into the action.
Second exam: Sitting there practicing the fan and scissor cut and the feller next to me ends up talking to me and saying "We've got five minutes til we start, count me in." So I deal him a hand (is it called a hand in blackjack?) I think the house won the majority of those rounds. To bad we weren't actually betting.
Overall I found it quite amusing.

So I've given up the series idea. You all know that I moved Saturday and most of you know what went down Friday. Those of you who don't can hear it from me personally on break. That way you can watch my lips move too!

For Peace: "It's quite quiet out today. Quit shushing me Quinn and take the quill!"

~ "Do you go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning? Then you need to buy our product!" ~
~ Cowboy

When the going gets tough...

...the smart call in the dem team.

Oh boy do I have a lot to talk about! I think it may be time for another series. Let's start with yesterday and work our way back to Friday shall we?

Sunday I went on a date. A date with my Schloozy Poo. Schloozy Poo is also known as Kara.
So Kara and I went to a concert that the Purdue Symphony Orchestra was putting on over in the beautiful Long Center Theater in Lafayette. It was fantastic!
They played Tchaikowsky's Fifth Symphony, Bach's Concerto for Two Violins and a piece called Samurai by Michael Schelle.
I believe that the last was my favorite. Like good writing, I admire music that inspires emotion and Samurai definitely did that. Something I found interesting was the last movement. Only after it was over did I read in the program that it was called "Prayer with Thunder" which is exactly what I was thinking of as it was played. We had great seats just a couple rows from the stage. There were times that I more felt the music then heard it. The mental images that it conjured were utterly incredible!
I did find myself irritatingly distracted by thinking though. And I found that closing my eyes and concentrating hard on the music and feeling the waves of vibrations washing off the stage was quite hypnotic.

It was wonderful and at the end of the day I got to cross something off my TTDBID (Things To Do Before I Die) list. I do believe that I will be going to another one or two next semester if at all possible.

~ "The passage smelled rather like perfume and Cheerios." She added absently... ~

I'm a mover and a shaker...

...well a mover at least...and if I had a money tree I'd probably try giving it a rattle or two...but anyway! I'm a mover. Today I am moving to my new, fresh, single, solitary, haven of rest from the universe, sanctuary of peace and solace, and totally my own room. Peace has kindly offered to come give me a helping hand with boxes and fridge and such. Right thoughty of him really, right thoughty. I've got all the junk that I'm going to pack packed and am prepared to move two flights down and a wing to the east. This change's official name is The Migration. Or the TM if you prefer.
This in mind I may not be updating for a bit. As I understand it my ResNet connection (aaahhhh, cable, I love it!) may not be up for a couple of days in the new digs. Those that I email will still get responded to for there is always a computer lab. Those I AIM with may not have as much luck (it may be a blessing, for you I mean, it all depends on how you look at it.) That and the fact that it is the weekend before finals week.
On that note I shall just say that last night we had an excellent End-of-All-Time-Until-Next-Semester show! It was a blast and it ended with 5 wet men on stage. More on that later.
That and yesterday was Benji's birthday. Benji, you'll always be a birthday princess to me!
I also need to say: Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy otherwise I think the mafia was going to come and break my knee caps or whack me or something. And I want to keep getting Cowboy's blogger love.
And that folks will be my very last post from this room!
Oh and if you are a person that has my old and wants my new phone number then either email me, AIM me when I'm back, or (if you're reeeeaaaaly important ;) I'll try to call you with it before you get the chance.

"Hey, get Tripod's attention for me will you?" ~Cowboy
"Tripod!" ~Peace
"Tripod!" ~Kamikaze
"Tripod!" ~Brian
"TRIPOD!!" ~Kamikaze
"Star Wars." ~SOG
"What?" ~Tripod

Inconsequential in the long run...

~ "Jared slipped into the pool and lay floating and, for all intents and purposes, not thinking about anything. His back ached and his leg throbbed. Therapy. Wasn't therapy supposed to make you feel better?
After a long time ever so gradually his pain subsided back into edgy numbness. He glided out towards the middle of the pool, slipping through the water with a slow, even backstroke. The pool was empty but for him, the gym mostly dark. With his ears beneath the water he was closed off from the world. Suspended in his own universe. A sharp twinge shooting up his leg made him gasp and stiffen. 'Don't kick, just don't kick!'
"...Trying to kick while you're swimming is a good way to rebuild muscle and increase your range of motion Jared."
"Doc, swimming is my therapy for your therapy. I won't kick. It hurts..."
He gave another tiny experimental kick. Well, maybe it wasn't to very bad...If he kept his foot straight...And limited motion in his thigh.
He reached the far end and turned to go back the other way. He was dreaming lazily of what he'd have for dinner when a cheerful voice from the edge of his universe brought him around.
"Great job Jare! You're trying to kick like Dr. Cooper said!"
Jared stopped swimming and twisted to see Sam standing by the pool in khakis and a green sweater with an insufferably encouraging look on his face.
"I was not kicking!", Jared immediately, illogically, and loudly denied. And, in order to hopefully keep Sam from restating what he knew to be true, followed it up with, "And don't call me Jare!"
Sam looked at him like he was crazy (yeah well maybe he was!) and finally seemed to decide that, since he had no weapon to hand, Jared could keep his harmless delusion for now. He sat down by the ladder, pulled off his shoes and dangled his feet in the cool water.
Jared figured that he could either force Sam to tell him what was up now or he could ignore Sam and finish his swim and wait for him to give in first. He chose the latter.
He took his time, back and forth, for a good half hour, all the while studiously not looking in Sam's direction. As much as he was loathe to admit it he finally got tired and made for dry land. It had been a longer swim then he was used to.
And there Sam still sat. He had to give the man credit; patience is, after all, a virtue.
Jared hauled himself out and sat on the edge next to his friend and partner, casually studying the gym, the pool, his dead leg and dripping nonchalantly.
"Wanna get something to eat?", Sam asked his fingernail.
"Yeah sure." Jared replied to the towel.
An hour later they were sprawled on Jared's couch, 10 Chinese take-out boxes and four beers spread out on the coffee table between them and a Giants game on TV.
Jared watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam busily poked holes in an empty carton with a chopstick. He finally snatched the adulterated carton from Sam's fingers, crushed it between his hands and threw it across the room.
"Ok, what is it?", he demanded.
"What's what?", asked Sam who had immediately transitioned to trying to spin the chopstick across his knuckles.
"What's going on? I know you're waiting to tell me something."
"Good grief Jared, anybody would think that we're some old married couple or something."
"They can think whatever they want, won't bother me." Jared stared Sam down, intent on getting his answer.
"Ok, so they offered me a run in Carolina...I took it."
Jared just gazed passively at Sam for a minute. He was suddenly very aware of his numb leg and Sam suddenly got very absorbed in his twirling chopstick.
Jared shook himself. "Ok...Congratulations. So why ya' telling me?"
Blast it all! His voice sounded thick even to himself!" ~
~It's mine, all mine.

It's easier the 157th time...

~ "The bed creaked annoyingly as Jared shifted positions once again, punching his pillow with perhaps a bit more zealotry then was necessary. He had to sleep! Why couldn't he sleep? He had half a mind to abandon the effort altogether. Just get up and do something. But taking that road would mean no chance of sleep at all. If he stayed in bed then perhaps he'd drift off. Sooner or later. Maybe.
Again he tried turning over, an almost feverish motion. He lay on his stomach for what seemed a very long time. He jiggled his foot. He forced himself to stop jiggling his foot.
Jared was accustomed to reviewing his day in his mind as he lay waiting for sleep but this was ridiculous! It just wouldn't quit.
He tried closing his eyes again, experimentally. No, still no overcoming fatigue, no mindless drifting.
Blast it all! Another oh-so-restful night without sleep." ~
~ It's me again, in more ways then one...

Thus Spoke Zarathustra*...

~ "When Jared stepped out of the darkness of the alleyway and up to the Council door he was a different person.
Sam thought that he'd seen all of Jared's many and highly varied moods (or were they personalities?) but this focused and completely closed face was a new one. Unbidden, the mental image of a much younger Jared, the same look in his eye, striding across the flight deck of an aircraft carrier came to mind.
Why did that look seem so familiar? Oh yes. Sam had seen it on the face of an old friend. They had been in the marines together. Gone to and come back from war together. When their time in service was up Adrian had gone on immediately to join a SWAT team while Sam had drifted aimlessly. Unwittingly giving himself over to his identification with, and subsequent loss of, the marine core.
Sam had watched Adrian preparing for a bust with his team once. Adrian, the entire team actually, had that same all-consuming, almost fanatical focus in their eyes.
There was no room for distraction here. No mercy for mistakes.
Jared silently withdrew his picks from the lock. The latch clicked and the door opened smoothly under his hand.
On to stage two." ~
~I made this!

FASoFGE Countdown: 23 hours 59 minutes

*Zarathustra was a character (also a Persian prophet) used by Friedrich Nietzsche in some of his philosophical writings, one of which bears the name "Thus Spoke Zarathustra".
You may be wondering why I chose that for the title of this blog post. No reason really, other then it being on my mind at the time.
You could, in fact, give this mini-scene some existential overtones if you wanted. I wouldn't. But you might.

I just wanted to say...

...I don't have much to say....very tired...wanted to write regardless. Yeah I'm strange like that.
Well come on. Can you honestly tell me that you have never been caught in a bit of a creative vortex? Where you long to make or write or draw something and you can't (or perhaps won't) rest til you do?
Happens to me relatively often. And hey, I just realized! End of the semester! Surely you know what that means. More time to think, more time to write!
In other news, keep your fingers crossed that I get a little letter in my box this Friday. That would mean that I could move to my new room this weekend. Which would be wickedly awesome. I don't work this weekend, I could get settled in before finals so there's no huge rush during those last few days, blah blah blah, so on and so forth. You get the idea.
Anyway, I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

FASoFGE Countdown: 1 day 18 hours 48 minutes

Featured blog of the day: http://drewcifer3939.blogspot.com/ Published by friend and fellow Fool, Peace. Check it out. Tis worth you time!

And finally, the moral of the story children:
Drewcifer3939: IF I WERE THE KING OF THE WORLD
Drewcifer3939: Duh duh dut
Drewcifer3939: TELL YOU WHAT I'D DO!
Drewcifer3939: Duh duh dut
Drewcifer3939: Throw away the cars and the bars and the wars and I'd make sweet love to you. I say I'd make sweet love to you.
Drewcifer3939: Singing Jooooooy to the world
Drewcifer3939: Aaaaaaaall boys and girls
Drewcifer3939: Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Drewcifer3939: Joy to you and me.

Size doesn't matter...

Today I found the journal that my mom is going to give me for Christmas. (Yes I shop for my own gifts.)
A journal is a very personal thing and I take my writing paraphernalia very seriously. It has to feel right. In my opinion when you pick up a journal it should inspire you. It should make you want to write in it. You should lust after it essentially. And covet it as well.
With that in mind you can certainly see why a body such as myself would feel the need to pick out their own journal.
First of all, it should fall on your eye as something, I dunno, elegant. Majestic mayhaps.
Secondly, it should feel right when you pick it up. This could include size, cover texture, weight, simple make and model, etc.
Thirdly, I'm a stickler for good binding. It should be tight enough that you know it won't fall apart on you and yet loose enough that it can easily fall open to the page you wish to write on.
And (I believe that this is my last point) the pages themselves have to be right. Perhaps you like unlined pages. Perhaps you like your pages lined but widely lined. I prefer narrower lines myself. Also pages that have a touch of elegance, maybe a scroll in the bottom corner. Just not plain, usually. I have seen plain that I liked as well though.
In short it should just call to you. I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world that feels a connection with blank books...
So anyway, I spent at least 45 minutes, probably more, in Barnes & Noble today looking at (and picking up and turning over and flipping the pages of) their extremely satisfactory and excellently diverse selection of journals. And I found it. At first I disregarded it. Though it felt right it looked rather small compared to some, and had unlined pages.
I looked at others. For a long time. I had the choice narrowed down to two...moment of suspense...and then I put both of them back. Neither was perfect. Maybe today wasn't the day I'd find my perfectly complementary journal. Oh well, perhaps better luck later. I went to leave. Passed by the shelf that held this one just once more. Paused. Took it off the very bottom rack. Looked at it again.
It felt right. Soft, dark brown leather with a simple design of scrolling embroidery out of tan thread on the cover, a long tie of braided red, green, yellow, black and white threads complete a tiny splash of color, rough grain pages with sewn binding. It nestles gently in my palm...I write straight enough...Size doesn't matter...

And much havoc was wreaked...

...in a surprisingly short amount of time!

So as anybody who's reading this no doubt knows yesterday was my first time ever hosting an SoF practice.
I was right. I was quite nervous before hand. Felt like bowing out actually. Didn't. But felt like it. I personally didn't think I did very good, but I was assured from several fronts that it was fine. I'd imagine that it's rather like speech class. I always thought my presentations went horrible, and yet I got an A!
I have to say, maybe it's just cause this was my first time, but watching the practice is more fun then hosting it. Perhaps I should hold off judgment until I actually host again. Perhaps I'd like it better the second time round. I know I'd definitely do a couple of things differently. But anyway.
Spanke was able to come and who do ya think popped in during Chain Murder? Wes! Great to see both of them again!
But regardless of what else happened, it was a good practice cause I got to wear my cowboy hat!

In other news, the FASoFGE is drawing nigh! As I referenced before! I'm excited! As I referenced before!

FASoFGE Countdown: 3 days 21 hours 3 minutes

***Giving Peace a hug*** ~Kamikaze
"Awww, I'm in a happy place." ~Peace
"Kama Kazi meet Kama Sutra." ~Benji