Does This Tony Cochran Guy Know Me?

Suspicious. (Click on the image for a readable comic experience.)

Still in the middle of Right-Brain Time. Will be thinking and writing in words again soon.

Foreign Policy for Really Big Dummies

Jon Stewart breaks it down.

This Just In: Dean Downgraded

This is a funny headline. That is all.

This Just In: Dean is Big News

First he shows up on the front page as a hurricane, causing havoc in the Caribbean and Mexico, and then he's on the front page of the Living section, as a bike salesman assisting many, many women with dubious excuses for buying bikes...

Coming Soon to a Canvas Near Me

Words are slowing to a stop. Images are taking their place. Time to get back in the "studio" (read: corner of the family room).

Back soon.

OMG and LOL

This is why a daily visit to Cute Overload is necessary, people.

You Will Thank Me For This

You need to see the surfing hippo now.

National Geographic Photo of the Day: Surfing Hippos

Found Poetry of the Week

I get a perverse pleasure in typing paragraphs like this at work. I'm calling this...

Your Validity Is Showing

Whenever possible each provision

of this Rental Agreement

shall be interpreted in such a manner

as to be effective and valid under applicable law,

but if any provision

of this Rental Agreement

shall be invalid or prohibited under such applicable law,

such provision shall be ineffective

only to the extent of such prohibition or invalidity

without invalidating the remainder of such provision

or the remaining provisions

of this Rental Agreement.

-

-

-

Thank you. I'll be in the lounge, accepting free drinks as tokens of your esteem.

One of the Smarter Labs vs. a Door With No Glass

Labs. You gotta love 'em. Because otherwise they would starve, freeze to death, die of heat stroke, drown, or get eaten by bunnies.

The Ivy Root of the Week

I say it looks a little like a reindeer. The pickaxe (I've decided to spell it with an "e" for extra length) is for perspective. Ooh, I'm a killer. Yes, this IS the most exciting part of my day.

I don't think this picture captures the insidious nature of this wisteria vine, but it's the best I could do. This shoot is like six feet long, reaching out blindly to grasp whatever may be out there to capture and subdue. These shoots come out of the mother vine all over, climbing the roof, getting into the cracks between the house and the eaves, feeling around for something to crawl onto and consume. As you can tell, it has already begun to demolish the fence once built to hold it up. Left alone for a summer, this vine would destroy Vancouver.

If it didn't look like this in the spring, it would have been gone a long time ago. But once more, beauty successfully disguises evil.

Back To (Killing) Nature

It felt good to get out there for a couple hours and dig out ivy roots with a pickax again.

I've been out of the game due to wedding duties, but I had a few hours to myself today (after I completed the few hours to myself that I spent lazing around with a book), so I girded my loins (well, I put on sunscreen) and ventured out to the ivy patch for some ivy killin.

I don't know what I'm going to do for therapy once the ivy is gone. There is nothing like yanking a dachshund-sized root out of the ground with the help of your trusty pickax and tossing it onto the pile of formerly-vanquished dachshunds to make a smallish female feel like a Riveting Rosie.

It's the exact opposite feeling I get from going to the gym and ending up moving myself and my tiny weights to the corner to make room for the larger, more important-seeming manly, grunting types.

I suppose there is no shortage of vines of one type or other here at Estate Von Kleine Schweine. Always something to kill.

More Pictures of Cute Wedding People

Serious practicing went on during the rehearsal. This is how to walk back up the aisle with style.

This is the site of some very arty wedding photography involving some lovely old columns (lovely professsional photos to come soon, I'm sure). Also using the columns this afternoon: a homeless dude and his sacked-out dog. And a dumpster. With Dave in the foreground, classing the place up a little.

I just like the fun being had in this snapshot. Action photo. Movement. Light. LIFE. (Ode to Ingmar.)

"What do we do with our hands? Let's just hold them out in front of us like this. Perfect."

Daughter-In-Law Successfully Procured

Adorable couple posing at the Skidmore Fountain during Saturday Market. Why not?

Adorable wedding party members enjoying a pre-wedding beverage. Why not?

Some random parent and grandparents waiting around for some wedding action. Isn't that foxy silver haired lady wearing the most adorable dress?

Adorable wedding party milling about at the Skidmore fountain for a good reason, I'm sure.

The wedding was short, full of friends and good wishes, and a few laughs. The bridesmaids were lovely and teary. The groomsmen were goofy and warm. The groom was handsome, funny, and fashionable. The bride was beautiful, funny, and relaxed. It was obvious to everybody in attendance that they chose each other well.

The party afterwards was happy, all-inclusive, and full of the best family and friends. I danced like an idiot, but I wasn't alone.

If you don't count the gorgeous bride and groom, I'm going to have to give the Cutest Dancing Couple award to my parents.

Although I may be biased.

I heart Dean and Jenny. They work hard and play hard and know some stuff. And like the best show dogs, they have great bloodlines. They are going to go places.

Brain Activity Level Down to Minimal

Dean and Jenny's wedding is on Saturday. Everybody's starting to come into town. Constant grocery shopping has begun.

Dean and Jenny sent invitations out to pretty much everybody thinking maybe half would show up. Turns out this wedding is the hottest ticket in town. It will be standing room only.

My crossword puzzle powers have melted away along with most of my reasoning powers.

I heard a Flight of the Conchords song today on Fresh Air ("The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room"), and I honestly thought it would make a cute song to dance to at the wedding.

1990 Match Sprint World Championships

This is for Becca. If you ignore the fact that it is 1990 and hence the steroids are practically dripping out of these guys (especially Mr. East Germany), this is a good example of match sprinting. It's got a little bit of everything.

Another Sport I Am Bad At Watching

I consider myself a highly visual person, being a painter of canvases, and a hater of auditory devices such as the telephone. But when the action speeds up, such as in sports, I can't seem to keep up. I like my visual stimuli to stay put while I process.

A lot of my action-watching retardation comes from a lack of participation in sports as a kid. Being a bottle-cap glasses-wearing geek, I was useless at sports involving balls coming at me. I would invariably miscalculate the spot at which the ball would land, and swish at the air frantically. I'm sure it was the huge refraction caused by the bottle caps, but even with later contacts, I was never able to catch up with my peers. I stuck with non-ball activities such as cheerleading and goofing off.

Where was I? Right - it seems that experience in playing a sport helps one to watch it later on. I enjoy football, and I've gotten much better at watching the plays evolve, but I'll never match Drew's ability to watch the entire field and predict the outcome of a play long before it is over, as well as catching all the holding, blatant cruelty and other hijinks that non-players like me never catch.

The same holds true for track racing (cycling, not running, you rubes). I'm getting much better at spotting the hooks, chops and other mischief involved in a good, brutal sprint. But I'll never be able to watch it at the same level as those who have participated in it. Again, Drew must explain some of the stuff I miss.

Soccer wasn't a big sport when I was growing up. Not that I would have enjoyed it enough to pursue it. The few times we played it in gym class, I developed a serious disinclination to having my shins kicked. We ventured into Portland a few times to watch the first (NASL) Timbers play when we were in high school, and that was fun, mostly because it was a night out in the city for a group of young hicks. I doubt that we paid much attention to the game.

Now that the Timbers are back and Dean has attempted to bring me up to speed regarding both the Timbers and European futbol competition, I have been trying to watch fast enough to keep up. It's easier on TV with the magic of instant replay to understand stuff like offsides calls, and to catch the sneakier fouls and more dramatic dives, but at the ball park (or the pitch, as you cricketty types might say), I am left two steps behind.

I like soccer. I like the mass drunken singing, the fast pace, the small crowds compared to football, and the cozy atmosphere of PGE Park. I just need to see more games to develop faster eyes. Mine tend to drift around aimlessly until I miss something important.

Saturday night was perfect for soccer. Perfect weather. Fun friends. Alcohol. Cracker Jack (you really should try a little Cracker Jack with your Pinot Grigio). Easy hypothetical access to the field if you were inclined to practice a little streaking.

And the capper: a win over an English team. Sweet.

I Feel Gritty

So I wander into the Magic Ring of Origins Salespeople today, a safe enough adventure as long as you have your wits about you. Normally, I can get in and get out with a nice tub of moisturizer without succumbing to their assurances that my face wouldn't look quite so disastrous if I were to use some of their make-up. But since my skin rejects make-up like a mis-transplanted liver, I can usually fight them off.

Unfortunately, lately I've been weakened by the spectre of an upcoming wedding - a happy enough occasion, but one in which I must smile for pictures - something that makes my face seize up into fright masks worthy of a tribal art display.

An hour and a half later, I've been facialed, massaged and painted until I open my wallet and just let them take what they want.

Jacque tried valiantly to make foundation look like anything other than cheap latex paint set too close to the heater. When she had done all she could think of, she gave me the mirror with a really nervous look on her face. She had just never seen make-up try to escape a face before.

I felt so bad for her I bought everything but the foundation.

My face currently has so many layers of goop on it, I'm going to have to take a bath before bedtime so as not to ruin the sheets.

Man. I'm still working on this "being a woman" thing. I should have it down by the time I hit menopause.

Welcome Back, Decemberists

The Decemberists are back in Portland. They rocked Troutdale Sunday night. I know because I was totally there.

They could use a better whale puppet, though. I could make one for them.

Oh, Right, THAT'S Why I Don't Ask for Help in the Garden

We bought four large, round, fluffy, expensive pines today to go in the front yard. So large that I would still be out there digging holes next week if I didn't get some help. Actually, I probably would have been the first recorded death by pine if I had tried single handedly to get them out of the back of the truck as well. They would have found me, eventually, in the driveway, under a large potted pine, half eaten by wild bunnies. But that's not the story.

The story is that we only needed three large, round, fluffy, expensive pines. But my need for help required the use of Drew, and the use of Drew required the purchase of a fourth pine to replace the one that he broke. How do you break a pine? You drop it on its head while forcing it out of its pot by turning it upside down and shaking it. Turns out that when you drop a 100-pound pine on its head from a height of about three feet, many of its limbs break off. Then you have a pine stump. An ex-pine, if you will.

The best part of the experience was listening to Drew try to explain to the garden center helper, who speaks English less than fluently, how he broke the pine. The poor fellow could not comprehend how Drew did such a thing, because it never seemed to occur to him that someone would treat a plant that way. All of a sudden, it was like Drew was shopping for a second puppy because the first one wouldn't wake up after he squeezed it too hard.

We promised him to take better care of the replacement pine, but by then he had written us off as another couple of bizarro Americans.

Guilty as charged.

All In

So Dean and Jenny are going all in.

Putting it all on the table.

No guts, no glory.

No pain, no gain.

Insert poster phrase here. My favorite: New Zealand Rocks!!!!

Oh, to be young again. And brilliantly talented. And now, motivated.

The earth shudders under his feet.

Can you feel it?