return immediately!

littletraceycopy-e.jpg
Okay. So I’m teaching myself Photoshop. Uhm, perhaps you could tell from this image? Anyhoo.

Here’s what I learned how to do in the last 24 hours, as evidenced by this admittedly ridiculous image:

1) Cut an illustration from its background.

2) Alter original illustration.

3) Lose original illustration because I altered it and didn’t save it separately or blah blah something like that, although, honestly, I’m really now sure how I managed to do that.

4) Save things like a crazy woman to the point where I now have, oh, 963 versions of this super scary tree photo I took.

5) Layer one thing on top of another without totally screwing it up. Hooray for me.

6) Use Photoshop text. I kin spel.

Photo that was the inspiration for my original, now lost, drawing, here. Now I know the face here looks nothing like my face in the photo. I was a chubby-faced four year old and she looks like a sad weary woman who just ended her shift at the cracker factory. So, let’s face it, the need for her to return immediately to the sudden yurt commune for the respite of some Twilight readings and Joycean charades is even more urgent, poor thing.

This whole thing came about from selecting a couple of totally random elements I’d scanned and just messing around with the program. This image is for no purpose other than experimentation because I learn best by just pressing buttons. Although, sometimes, it feels more like being the little kid who touches a burner and learns that the stove is hothothot, but, STILL, I am practicing Thee Olde Photoshoppe! Which is clearly necessary!

GO ME!

(Furthermore, if any of you are Photoshop experts and will let me barrage you with questions and moans and whines, I will give up my first dibs on the Sleep-It-Off Trailer for, you know, some mere round-the-clock, drop-of-a-hat assistance.)

the mascot for the sudden yurt commune

The perfect psychedelic creature for our psychedelic caravan.

This is for real, pippa! Wonders never cease. Seriously. I love stuff like this.

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(I think I see a future member of “The Club of Curious Friends.”)

Read the whole story about Pinky, the albino dolphin, found in a lake in Louisiana.

Oooh. Lisa lives closest; she can kidnap it for us. (Didn’t I read this in a Pat Conroy novel?)

Our mascot. She’s a beauty, ain’t she?

Oh, I just love my new life in our sudden yurt commune with the sleep-it-off trailer and the Joycean charades and the albino dolphin mascot.

poem

What’s in My Journal

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can’t find them. Someone’s terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

~ William Stafford

the blog retreat/commune headquarters

A hippie motorhome, natch. So we can take our sudden yurt commune on the road.

coolmotorhome1.jpg
Look at this floor. I am in love. In love, yes, with a floor. Also, the seat fabric. I want to wrap myself in fabric like this and roll around on this floor.

“Hey, you guys. Where’s Tracey? It’s time for Joycean charades!”

“Uh, she’s in the motorhome. Rolling on the floor. MB’s trying to get her to stop.”

“Poor MB.”

“I know.”

coolmotorhome2.jpg
The commune kitchen. Check it out, chef-aroos! Jayne. Nightfly. This is where you’ll be lovingly chained to the counter, ‘mkay?

coolmotorhome3.jpg
The psychedelic loft. Where all the hungover alcoholics can sleep it off. Me first!

this is where we will have our retreat

Wouldn’t it be SO cool to have a Blog Friends Retreat??

And wouldn’t it also be SO cool if we all got together AND everyone got to stay in one of these:

coolspace.jpg

(I am obsessed with this image. My inner Amish hippie pines at the sight of it.)

Isn’t it gorgeous?

All right. The Blog Friends Retreat!

Everyone gets their own teepee-yurt thingie.

Oh, bonus: Cullen will bring his guitar for campfire sing-a-longs. (Sweet mammy. Campfire sing-a-longs! I am hot and bothered already.) Jayne will cook for us and we won’t care that we leave lugging an extra 30 pounds because every morsel that goes in our mouths will be so so worth it. Maggie May, life-saving goddess, will do our taxes — I cannot overstress how much we will love her for this. Sarahk will teach us how to shoot a gun and be gluten-free. I will teach people how to pull an espresso shot and force them to play drama games. Sheila will lead us in Jeff Bridges appreciation sessions and Ulysses readings. Ricki will explain the entire natural world to us. Nightfly will bring The Official Puppy for us to smother with love. Sal will teach us — meaning me, especially — how to sew. Kate P, Young Adult Librarian, will a bunch of the most angsty books from the Young Adult section and we will read from those as well, over S’mores at the campfire, with much overwrought emotion.

And every night, stuffed from Jayne’s cooking, high on S’mores, humming Kum By Ya, we will stumble off to happy sleep under the moonglow in our cozy magic teepees.

Who’s in?

the future is hamsters

An unedited quote directly from today’s edition of The San Diego Union-Tribune.

The future is here, peaches:

Georgia Tech researchers found a new way to convert irregular biomechanical energy into electricity. They put a tiny jacket, attached to nanogenerators, on a hamster and harvested energy as the hamster ran and scratched itself.

Look. I know. I know. You’re freaking out. You were worried about all the wind farms soon to be cluttering our open spaces, but now you’re suddenly worrying about tripping over all the zillions and zillions of hamster wheels that will soon overwhelm our country’s landscape. I understand. I do. It’s hard to imagine that our future may involve being Hamster Overlords on a mind-boggling scale, but I think we need to think this through. That’s what I’m here for. So let’s just take a breath and analyze the pros and cons of the advent of rodent energy.

~ Well, okay. I imagine you can forget about that furnace in your basement. It’s now a dinosaur. The future in energy is rodents and you need to get on board, Crackie. Hamster Power Activate!! and all that jazz. Soon, your basement will become like a old-timey ship’s galley: Hordes of Ben-Hur hamsters chained to their wheels, running their teeny little feet off so you can watch CSI: Miami, dropping dead at an alarming rate, needing to be replaced hourly. On the upside, you can yell at them all you want and whip them relentlessly with some noodles or string. They won’t moan or cry out or rise up against you. They’re hamsters, pippa! They’ll just run and run and run until they don’t anymore.

~ In addition to our coming omnipotence over our rodent minions, there’s this: Our economy needs help, jobs, life support. Think of all the new jobs sure to be created from the need for billions of those tiny hamster jackets. Someone will need to make all the tiny hamster jackets. Maybe even you, if you’re lucky and the jobs aren’t outsourced. You’ll sit at your sewing machine, cutting eensy little pattern pieces, endlessly pinning them on your stuffed hamster model, sewing til you’re cross-eyed, trying to reach your quota of a million jackets a day. The American Dream will be yours!

More rodent energy jobs available:

Hamster Galley Manager: Although, let’s be honest: Getting them to sign the form whenever they’re written up for slacking or having sex with each other will be a real pain in the fanny, man.

Hamster Chain Supplier:
Look. It’s up to you, of course, if you want to keep your hamsters free range, but it will be a lot harder to get them to concentrate on making our lives possible. I recommend chains to keep them focused and in place. Luckily, you will be able to purchase them from your local hamster chain supplier. If you can’t afford chains for the thousands of hamsters now slaving in the dark of your basement, you can have your little Johnny fashion them out of foil.

Hamster Sensitivity Trainer: We can’t have hamster harassers on the job demoralizing other hamsters. I mean, that will be our job. WE, the humans, will be the bosses, the harangue-ers, the harassers, because, after all, we will be the Hamster Overlords. Certain pervy hamsters will have to be taught not to comment on how another hamster’s bottom looks as it “works that wheel” or how much they want “just three seconds, three seconds with that” and etc. I think we can all agree that our future depends on hard-working sensitive rodent slaves.

Hamster Union Leader: Frustrating, though. A real trial to get them to hold the “STRIKE” signs. But just wait. This job is sadly inevitable. Some crusading Norma Rae hamster will come along and ruin everything for the rest of us just trying to get an honest day’s work from our lazy malingering rodents.

“Hamster Bull” Energy Drink Sales: Uhm, duh. Everyone will need to keep their galley hamsters hopped up on the stuff. I mean, this is obvious, right?

Hamster Dentist:
Yes. I understand this seems obscure, but those little buggers like to gnaw, don’t they? We can’t have them escaping their chains or gnawing the walls desperate to find fresh air. No. Upstarts will not be tolerated. A toothless hamster is a productive hamster; therefore, in our near and glorious future, all galley hamsters will need nothin’ but gums.

For that matter …

Hamster Dental Equipment Manufacturer:
Um, again, I know I’m being so boring and obvious here, but them whippersnappers is LIDDLE. Their teeth, aka undesirable tools of potential freedom: LIH-DUL. So, naturally, any Hamster Dentist will need special equipment to render all plague carriers toothless.

Oh! For that matter …

Hamster Blinder Manufacturer: Or HBM, for short, because, lordy, that is just too hard to say. But you know the blinds horses wear when they’re racing? Well, we’re gonna need itty bitty versions of those for all our galley hamsters. Eyes on the wheel, vermin, eyes on the wheel. We don’t want distracted hamsters. Looking around at other hamsters is bad for morale. Distracted hamsters become slow and lustful.

Oh! For that matter ….

Hamster Sex Facilitator: Hamster sex will be necessary, of course. Our ability to text message and use our iPods will ultimately depend on hamster sex and procreation. No power, no battery charging, right? But we don’t want our rodent slaves whoring it up on the job. No one needs that free-for-all. No, their lust must be contained. Plus, they like to eat their babies which would seriously lessen the hamster population which, in turn, would seriously lessen our quality of life. So Hamster Sex Facilitators will be necessary to discourage hamster orgies and separate hamsters throughout the day for productive trysts — or “lovemaking” should individual hamsters prefer to call it that.

Hamster Grave Digger: No upper body strength necessary! Teaspoon provided.

Now, this is really just a smattering of ideas, pippa. I’m sure I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of all the potential rodent energy jobs. All the shiny new possibilities make my heart go pitterpat with joy.

Hope and Change and Hamsters!

Let us move forward and embrace our future as Hamster Overlords.

Si, Se Puede!!

YES, WE CAN!!

uhm, okay …

So the excerpts below have disappeared. When I go to the edit page, the whole post is also — poof! — gone. I haven’t even been online for several hours. Haven’t touched the blog since this morning.

Well, they were really fine excerpts from The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie. So, uhm, go buy the book and you’ll see what I was talking about, I guess. I’m not going to put the whole thing back together.

What is UP, Crackie??

you are welcome, san diego

So. Okay. I’m finally learning how the world works. Obtaining vital knowledge which I believe I have successfully avoided my entire life. But now, oh, now, I am aware, pippa, enlightened even, which is nice for me, I guess, although I think the soul-filling swell of blissful ignorance should not be underestimated.

I walked out to my car this morning — parked on our new street. Thursday will be one month living in the surreality of our new lives in the new place with the new street and the new street sign that — because of my total immersion in blind surreality and cozy depression — I did not notice:

NO PARKING
STREET SWEEPING
EVERY 2ND AND 4TH TUESDAY
10 am – 1 pm

It was 10:30 and my car had a $40 ticket on the windshield because I am an agitator and a very naughty girl.

Oh, and the street sweeping? Yeah, that didn’t happen.

San Diego is broke. Has a $54 million budget shortfall. So, really, may I say how delighted I am to take my spanking and open my naughty girl pocketbook and help fill up the empty coffers of America’s Finest City — she of the crumbling streets and the mass exoduses and the street sweepings that are announced but do not occur?

I stick my tongue out at you, San Diego. I do. Because I am an enlightened savvy grown-up person.

Nyaah.

“where did the oscars post go?”

(UPDATE: It’s back. See below. Thank you, sarahk.)

(Someone emailed asking this.)

Answer: I don’t know. My blog is having problems the last few days eating posts or parts of posts. Ah, well. See if I can get it back. If it’s gone, it’s gone. If you missed it in the brief time it was up, here’s a summary:

“I AM CRABBY.”

Pretty much it.