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Rue From Ruin – Part 5

The much maligned, and hopefully much anticipated, part 5 is here. Revel in its glory. Relish its brevity. Relinquish your focus on daily life and enjoy. Finally, the story continues.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, start with the Rue From Ruin page.

When I first sat down to write part 5 I was calling it something different, and I thought I had it all planned out according to my outline for the story. Yes, there is an outline. Back on task, you. Anyway, the words just weren’t coming out in a way that I liked, and I felt that something was missing. I let it get in my head and ended up sitting on my hands for some time.

I LIED to myself.

I told myself I was too busy to finish. I told myself my promotion at work was too demanding, and my brain couldn’t find a way to write. I told myself, I just needed a break.

Truth is, I was stuck. And instead of asking for help or even just trying to brainstorm an alternative, I was making excuses. Then I went to LTUE. Then I thought, I should ask my writer friends for help. THEN. Then I had a direction. A purpose. I knew what I was supposed to be writing.

And here it is.

Rue From Ruin – Part 5

Running. It seems like I’ve been running for months. Maybe I have. Today I’ve been running for a few hours. The wretched, burning globe of the sun is high in the sky, and I can feel it searing the bare areas of my shoulders. If I could sunburn, I’m sure I would. Even so, the pale white skin that shows beside the shoulder straps of the rough denim overall feels more irritated than the skin beneath the straps.

If it seems like I’m complaining a lot, maybe my tale isn’t for you. The life of a pissed-off wolfman bent on revenge isn’t all unicorn colts and sugar and spice and other cloyingly sweet similes. Being me generally sucks.

Yes, I’m still chasing after the elusive Professeur Demons. He’s playing dirty and took advantage of my exhaustion to slip out of the backwater jail we were both locked up in before I woke. I’m close enough I can almost feel the trail of his scent. The odor attacks my nose like a kid sticking a nail through drywall and twisting it, rotating to widen a hole meant for stuffing with treasures hidden from Mom and Dad. The smell of him only feeds my anger. But, there’s something else there as well. Something — familiar.

It’s not familiar like an old shoe, or like the scent of your own pillow in the spots where you’ve drooled, open-mouthed while you slept. It’s familiar in a much more recent way. Like dropping off flowers for a loved one on the way to work, and coming back to the scent of them filling the house. Realization dawns on me and I almost trip in surprise. The bastard has taken the Spanish girl.

I trot on, not wanting to lose them, wondering what he thinks his hostage will buy him. I wrack my brain to determine his plan. I guess he’s going to threaten to kill her? Unless, there is some connection between them I don’t know about.

Poor girl.

The smell of her intensifies as I jog through a thicket, and I know she must be near. I emerge into a full-blown view of the Pyrenees Mountains, much closer than I thought they would be, and then I’m upon her. She’s stumbling, incoherent and mumbling something under her breath. There is no sign of Demons, though he can’t be far. I catch the señiorita in my arms just as she is beginning to crash to the ground. Touching the skin of her arms is like grabbing the handle of a cast-iron skillet that’s been on a stove too long. I still can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s quiet, slurred, and most relevantly, in Spanish.

“Are you alright? Can you understand me? Entiendes?” I ask.

She doesn’t seem to notice me at all. I shift my grip on her arms so that I can help her to a sitting position and I see something peculiar on her on her neck. A small red dot the size of a pin-head. Or. A needle. There is a faint smudge of wiped-off blood around it, confirming my suspicion.

He’s injected the girl with whatever it was he gave me. I don’t understand it. Why would he do this?

I know what it means. The girl will be fine. As fine as I am anyway. Ok, so maybe not so fine. The people near her will be less fine. Especially if she finds her way back to her village.

I want to do something to help. My impulse is to help her and keep her from my fate somehow. My NEED is to catch the Professeur. My gray-matter battles itself in an attempt to find the right solution to this problem, but there doesn’t seem to be one. He’s slipping farther away from me over every second that passes. It’s so hot and bright, and I can’t think straight.

I don’t want to have her blood directly on my hands, but this would be his mistake, not my guilt. I can’t leave her to wreak havoc behind me. Can I?

Nice and easy, I lay the girl down on the ground. She’s barely conscious now, and her breathing comes in quick pants. The pouch tied at my neck dangles down and brushes her lips as I lean over her. She flinches away from it. The thought hits me like a Mack truck carrying a load of solid lead bricks.

What if I give her a dose of tincture?

Rue From Ruin – Part 4

Here it is. I hope you enjoy it. If you don’t know what it is, go here.

This is the last time I’m going to write recognitions for folks who’ve helped out directly on a part. I’ll move all of them to the main Rue From Ruin page soon. In the meantime, I need to say this now. It’s important because, without these fine people, you wouldn’t be reading Part 4 today.

So much great help from Meri. She spotted all the really dumb stuff I was doing and she found it while suffering from a horrible cold. What an amazing woman! I’m blessed beyond belief to have her as my wife. My teen sons also took turns reading although their feedback was more along the lines of, “Ooo! Pretty good, Dad!”

Big thank you to the beta readers who provided some wonderful critique and helped me add more story that might have gone missing otherwise. J. Rushing, K. M. Alexander, and Drew Gerken all pitched in. Each of them had a unique perspective and I appreciate them immensely. They don’t even know. Srsly.

Rue From Ruin – Part 4

I’m being marched through the center of a village at gunpoint by a fourteen-year-old girl, I think to myself. I wonder how pathetic it must look. Vanity isn’t a major weakness of mine, but I’m not immune to it either.

A tall young man, several years my junior, lounges against the wall in front of the small building we head toward. Incredibly, the squat stone structure appears to serve as police, fire, and La Poste for the little hamlet. The youth stares at me, but the girl with the shotgun ignores him and his sickly complexion. There is something familiar in his dark hazel eyes; I can’t place it. As we breeze past him, I’m unable to stop staring back.

“Watch where you’re going, scruffy-man,” the tall teen says and nudges my ribs with her 28-gauge. I turn around just in time to stop myself from walking right into the doorjamb of the building we are entering. She says, “I am the gracious host, am I not, señor?”

I nod agreement, not trusting my tongue to be civil.

It won’t do any good to snap at her, I remind myself. However, if I hadn’t taken the tincture in time… I shudder and try not to think about it.

We resume walking through the door of the multi-purpose building. I catch a whiff of something pungent that causes me to stop like a car in one of the crash test commercials. I feel the shotgun barrel dig into my back as the girl presses forward, not anticipating my sudden halt.

I know this scent.

The girl sighs, impatient, and we continue down the narrow stone hallway past the shuttered window where La Poste customers fetch their mail. The odor is so strong it’s becoming overpowering. I can almost see it. After ten meters, the hall opens up into a tiny room with a small rectangular table, covered with a black and white checkered tablecloth. A man in a rumpled uniform sits behind it. The officer barely registers to me because my sinuses are reeling in the overpowering smell of HIM. I swear the odor emanating from the small window on his cell door is practically visible, with sickly green tendrils of smoke-like stench reaching for my nose.

“Hola, papa,” the girl says to the man at the table. “This Americano was trespassing by the old well on the Laurent property.”

I barely notice her speaking, because this is it! At last, the end of my search! I’ve found René Demons. And soon, he will pay so dearly for what he has done.

After I get some answers, I remind myself.

The man in the chair straightens and says something in thickly accented English about, “… night for trespass … go in morning.” He waves a hand toward the open door of the second holding area. It’s barely a closet, and his daughter gives me a nudge toward it. I try to catch a glimpse into the window where the sickly scent-tentacles are reaching out. No luck. I listen for any movement in the cage and hear none.

Of course, Demons probably knows I’m here. I haven’t said anything, but he’s always been very canny at running from me; the monster must know I am near. He can’t be allowed to escape, but I also can’t see a way to get to him now without slaughtering the officer and his daughter. As badly as I want the Professeur, I don’t wish to harm these people.

Deadlocked by indecision, I allow myself to be herded into my tiny prison, hardly noticing as the door grinds shut behind me. Once in the cell, I sink to sit on the cot. It’s barely larger than an oversized camping cooler, and no softer. That doesn’t matter. All I can think of is how I’m going to rend the Professeur’s flesh in the most painful ways.

After sitting for a while, fantasizing, I start to consider the questions I’m going to ask him in the morning. Why turn me into this… thing? Why let me go home to my family as if nothing were wrong?

Why the hell didn’t he just give me some answers that day? I’m clearly delirious. He’s been running from me because he knows I’m going to kill him. How could he have any doubt of my intention?

Exhaustion and the droning on of the father and daughter eventually lull me. A night of rest will ease my fatigue and help me deal with him in the morning, the rationalized thought comes thickly as if bubbling up through molasses. I fall asleep sitting on the cot, back against the wall, chin on chest.

The dream always brings back every painful reminder of what I felt like waking up on the morning when they died. I’ve dreamt it more times than I can count. It goes like this:

I’m looking up at the ceiling and note with morbid fascination that there appears to be something crimson speckling its powdery, popcorn texture. I roll over on the slick, hard surface, nearly naked in my shredded clothing from the night before. I’m covered in sticky red blood and, in fact, am lying in viscera in the middle of our kitchen floor. Their dead and waxen faces are waiting for me as I roll to my knees in the ichor. The bright red lifeblood spattering them is a stark contrast to the porcelain of their features. There is so much of it.

The details of the night before are hazy, but I do remember coming home and feeling terribly sick. I went straight to my bed to lie down and was frustrated and worried that the Prof had gone off his rocker. He had taken a phone call earlier in the day, I think. Shortly after hanging up, he had left for a few minutes and then he came up behind me and injected me with a hypo of what I think was his own blood. I recall his crazed screeching about it being the only chance.

I called security immediately, and the Professeur fled the lab. I tendered my resignation in disgust and left the office to return home after making my report.

No longer able to keep my thoughts to myself, I remember getting up and coming to the kitchen. Always my sounding board, my wife was there sitting at the table with little Kara. I sat with them and ranted on about the incident. Marilyn, ever rational, reminded me that some blood tests were probably in order. Just to be sure I wasn’t infected with something dangerous like HIV. How I wish I would have left the house right then to follow her advice. Instead, I complained and whined and said I would get checked in the morning.

Then the change started coming on. I felt the terrible pain of displaced bone and muscle and ligament for the first time. The dread of a strange, overpowering hunger and the anticipation of sating it.

To my utter dismay, shame, and heartbreak, there are only two human beings I’ve ever killed in the throes of my curse: my wife, Marilyn, and my daughter Kara.

After awakening and sitting up to the scene of their deaths, I collapse back to the floor. Salty tears of despair flow freely, and somehow I can’t seem to breathe. Finally, a cry that sounds like the mating call of a grizzly bear escapes my lips. Once released, the wracking sobs won’t stop for what feels like hours.

When the tears finally run dry, I make a solemn vow to my dead family: I will make vengeance my life’s last goal.

The door swings open, and a man in a fireman’s uniform is speaking to me in French. Still mostly asleep, I don’t understand a word of it. I wipe the wetness of the drool from my chin. But, unfortunately, it has also soaked a portion of the overall I’m still wearing. There is a large salty-edged saliva stain on the front. It must look ridiculous.

The man motions me to leave. Finally! I wipe the sleep from my eyes; stand and follow him out. I’m groggy, but I still notice the open door to the other cell. I sniff the air, and although the scent is still there, it’s somehow weaker, less overpowering. My worst fear of the previous night is realized. They’ve let him out while I slept!

Sniffing the air, I catch a tendril of scent leading out of the building. He is still very near.

I don’t much care what the Frenchman is yelling after me as I sprint out of the building at full tilt.

Rue From Ruin – Part 3

If you are wondering where to find the beginning of the story, see Part 1 or Part 2.

This one was difficult because there reveals, and I don’t want to give away too much.

I had some amazing help from my friend Pablo Orozco on the European Spanish. Also, Meri, Drew, and K.M. all helped me work out some issues I was having and assisted the removal of the stiffness from my writing. Without these fine folks, Part 3 would not be what it is. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! What an incredible learning experience.

This story is a labor of love. Check out the inspiration if you have time.

Rue From Ruin – Part 3

So damn close!

The sun is a melted tangerine sinking toward the horizon.

Melted tangerine probably isn’t a thing, the finicky thought follows immediately.

I’ve been running all day in this stupid chaffing overall I grabbed from a hook in some abandoned barn, and I’m tired. Can’t remember the last time my muscles felt this exhausted. He’s got to be somewhere near. As an urgent reminder, the tincture materials swing at my neck. There isn’t much time.

Maybe I’ll just let the change happen, and then catch up with the Professeur and rip his lying throat out.

It’s so tempting. But no.

My wife Marilyn and little Kara deserve answers. It’s his fault, what I did to them. And he can’t keep running forever.

Eventually, he will fall asleep on a train, or in a hostel, or under a bridge. He will have to rest. No one can stay awake forever. Even the cursed must sleep – I would know. It hits me then just how tired I am. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours minus that short rest at dawn. I’m so worn down it feels like I’m going to collapse.

If I don’t drink my tincture tonight – what will happen? Will “the beast” take over and decide to lay down for a nap? Something tells me it won’t. I would probably just die of exhaustion in the morning like a horse flogged to gallop all day in the desert. Inexplicably, Another One Bites The Dust by Queen is now playing in my head. I start to contemplate the level of impropriety my brain is capable of and halt refocusing on the immediate need.

The sun has now sunk to the point of touching the horizon. It’s ruddy, and the optical illusion of its line of light is expanding across the western horizon.

I’m going to wolf-out soon if I don’t take action. It’s now or never.

Running to a vantage point at the top of a nearby knoll, I see several buildings. There are barely ten of them huddled tightly to form a village. Most of the structures are built of the pale stone common in the region. Looking south, I can see the shadowy forms of the Pyrenees Mountains in the distance. I’d been focused on my search for signs of his passage on the ground, and I’d almost missed the proverbial forest for the trees. Focusing my search, I look for water to mix with my tincture because swallowing the vomit-inducing liquid straight isn’t in my repertoire. I spy an ancient looking rock-rimmed well. It could be right out of a storybook. Jogging down toward it, I keep an eye out for locals but don’t notice any. Hopefully, the reservoir isn’t dry; a relic of days gone by, but never removed, just capped.

Reaching the short structure, I see that there is a bucket. I can smell the dampness of deeper water. Luck. Finally. I drop the wide, rusted iron receptacle into the depths. I barely remember to catch its recently attached, and still crunchy, nylon rope. The tincture pouch has to come off my neck. I grab and yank.

It doesn’t break. Frustrated, I wait to hear the bucket splashdown; it does, and I breathe a sigh of relief. There is water.

In a huff, I begin yanking it back up. The sun sinks further as I hand-over-hand the rope frantically. Only a quarter of the fiery globe is still visible. The horizon has faded to a rich red as the purpling of twilight sets into the east.

The decrepit container clanks up over the edge, catching the lip slightly. I slam it down on the brink of the well with a dull clang. Reaching for the strap around my neck, I lift it up and over my head. My frantic fingers fumble for the cord tied around the mouth of the pouch.

Finally, it’s open! With only a sliver of sun left, I pull out the tiny bottle of tincture, spin off the lid and shakily deposit a single drop into the bucket of water. I replace the lid and hope like hell it isn’t too diluted. Then, I raise the nearly full bucket to my lips and drink.

With my hands this close to my nose, I can smell the blood still crusted under my fingernails. This morning’s quick splashdown wasn’t as successful as I’d hoped.

I gulp down four huge swallows in seconds.

Then it happens. I feel the cold metal of a firearm pressing into the back of my neck. The pressure is uneven, with the top edge of the barrel biting deeper into my flesh. “Tranqui,” a low yet feminine voice says. My Spanish is even worse than my French. Without a pocket translator, there’s no way I can say exactly what she said, but the meaning is clear. I slowly set down the bucket and raise my hands above my head, careful to clutch the pouch of tincture in one closed fist.

“¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?” she says. I just shake my head. The next statement is under her breath, but I hear it because… yeah, “Capullo estúpido.” Then louder, “Parlez-vous français?”

I shake my head slowly and say, “Pas vraiment.” Not really.

“American?” she replies with a mild accent. “Makes the sense.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not, so I decided to err on the side of not. I was the one drinking madly from her well after all.

“Yes, American,” I said. “How’s your English?”

“Much better than your French,” her rich contralto reply. “You are the second man I’ve caught on my property this day. Am I holding some fiesta I wasn’t to know about?”

I understand that word, “No, no party señora,” I reply, hoping to ease the tension by using what little Spanish I think I can speak. Total backfire.

“Turn around! And keep your hands up!” she says. I oblige, as I do for all women holding me at gunpoint. My eyes are greeted by something unexpected. A tall, dark-haired Spanish girl, probably only in her mid-teens. She considers me and asks, “Do I look like la señora to you, señor scruffy-man?”

“No,” my heart goes out to this girl who’s discovered two intruders here today. Strange indeed. I want to comfort her, but by the agate-hard look in her eyes, she doesn’t want to hear it. As if to prove my thought, she nudges my ribs with the high-gauge shotgun she’s holding.

“We’re going to go to have the talk with the police now, scruffy-man. After you,” she says.

The scattershot loaded in her gun won’t keep me down for long. But I don’t want strange stories to circulate about me. That’s the last thing I want for so many reasons. Could I even get away as tired as I am? We walk into the rough square of buildings, and I observe a red-smeared hypodermic needle in plain sight. The blood looks fresh. It has to be a sign of his passage. Confirming my suspicion, the Spanish girl doesn’t notice it at all.

At least I haven’t lost the trail.

Continue the story in Rue From Ruin – Part 4.

Rue From Ruin – Part 2

Well hi there! I hope you, my three readers, enjoy this next part of my Serial Story. You may have heard it has a title now: Rue From Ruin.

Special thanks to K. M. Alexander and J. Rushing for helping me nail down a name I really like. If you want to know more about the title, shoot me a comment here or a question on Twitter. Extra special thanks to Drew Gerken and my wife Meri for all the proofing/editing help on short notice. I owe you all!

Writers: if you don’t have a writing support group as delightful as these fine people, then your writing will probably be worse than mine. Did I write that? Obviously no one proofed this intro.

If you are wondering: WHAT IS THIS SERIAL STORY THING? GAAAAHH! Please refer to Part 1. There, you will find a beginning. You may also wish to note: Part 2 is not the end. If you only enjoy stories if they end as soon as you read them, come back when Rue From Ruin is done. Without further ado…

Rue From Ruin – Part 2

6:30 AM

I scrunch up my face. It’s a futile attempt to keep a single, dust-filled ray of sunlight from playing directly across my eyes. The air must be filled with pollen and particles. I can smell the hay. Out of reflex, I brace myself to stifle a non-existent sneeze, even though allergies no longer plague me as they once did. I open my eyes a crack to glare at the offending gap in the wall of whatever building I’m in.

Apparently a huge mistake. The sun is low on the horizon. It is waiting there to greet me, and I regret my decision instantly. I flop over, clamping my eyelids down again and feel the sharp poke of what can only be more miserable hay digging into my bare skin. Something gives way beneath me, and I fall a short distance with a thump. Dull pain begins to pulse through my shoulder and hip.

“Ow!” I say. I hear a nearby horse snort and immediately regret the noise I’ve made. If I know anything, I know being discovered naked on someone else’s property won’t win friends or influence people no matter what country you are in. Unless you are trying to influence them to bring out a pitchfork or a shotgun. I lie very still listening for anything and notice only the thumping of my own heart and the sound of birdsong somewhere outside. My ears are much keener than they once were, and they aren’t picking up much until an abrupt electrical buzz like a cattle prod startles me.

Time spent on Grandad’s farm quickly informs me that this is only the sound of a controller for a wired electrical fence. The device is cycling its pulses of power. I remember my older cousins taunting me into touching a live wire. The event spawned a deep appreciation for the way the device cycles so that grabbing hold didn’t cause my muscles to convulse, unable to let go as I slowly electrocuted.

I focus on breathing, forcing myself to relax, and open my eyes.

Immediately, I remember to check my neck, and I am relieved to find the leather strap and pouch containing the ingredients for my tincture are still there. Looking down at my unclothed form, I feel a pang of sadness and regret. There is blood covering my fingers and hands. It speckles my forearms, abdomen, and chest. No doubt my face is covered as well; as I focus, I feel it cracked and dry around my mouth and inhale the strong metallic scent. I grab some hay, trying without success to wipe the blood from my mouth. My senses reach out, frantic, searching for a trail of trauma and find it with ease. The body must be close.

Don’t lead to a farmer or a kid, or some other person, I thought. Let it be HIS blood. Just this once, let luck be on my side.

Cautiously, I follow the trail down the steps from the hayloft where I had been sleeping. I note the horse I heard a moment before in one of the stalls is a black Mérens stud. He rolls his eyes at me and shuffles in his stall but is otherwise quiet. I don’t smell death coming from the stalls and say a silent prayer that it isn’t coming from the house. I silently pad across the dirt floor to the building’s only exit. The few tiny pebbles on the ground don’t bother my feet as much as the clinging layer of filth sticking to their sweaty, calloused bottoms.

Once, I braved the dangers of a Lego-strewn floors with those feet; I would give anything to trip, cursing at the plastic caltrops of parental doom again. A tear finds its way out of my eye and courses down among the dried blood on my face as I remember why I’ll never be swearing at building blocks again.

The electrical fence controller buzzes again, but I’m expecting it now.

Peering out of the slightly ajar barn entrance – I again rely on my heightened senses. There doesn’t seem to be anyone nearby, and people are easy to pick out by smell. A sickly sweet scent is coming from the right of the door, away from the small french-styled rock cottage. I ease the door open and sprint to the edge of the barn, looking over my shoulder as I go. Hoping no one takes notice of the pale, naked, and blood-drenched man running through the barnyard, I dodge around the side of the large outbuilding. The scent of copper is stronger here, mixed with the foulness of something disemboweled. There, farther down the side of the weather-worn barn is the remains of something black and hairy, but not quite so large as a man. I think it’s… a goat?

I breathe a huge sigh; relieved Bordeaux did not pay too dearly for my decision last night. There must have been a reason I came here instead of returning to my clothes.

Right. Clothes… and a bath. Probably not in that order.

Those problems need to be sorted out before picking up the trail. I can’t delay or risk being run-in to a French jail on indécence charges. My window of time is brief. Losing the trail of the Professeur again is not an option.

Finally able to focus, I can see a sign of his passage. The hunt is on.

Continue the story in Rue From Ruin – Part 3.

Rue From Ruin – Part 1

Without further baiting or delay, here is part one of my new serial story. No… It doesn’t end at the end. Like life, there will be more. See currently published parts and planned parts on the Rue From Ruin page.

Rue From Ruin – Part 1

Bordeaux Will Pay

I despise Bordeaux. It’s so… so warm. Warm and… beautiful. The sun mocks me with its cheerful rays making my customary black overcoat intolerable. Give me a chilly highland night or even an early summer evening in Seattle over this rubbish any time.  Aside from that, Bordeaux is French, and I never fancied the French with their stinky cheeses and wines and their turned up noses. Still, here I am. Smack in the middle of the south of France searching for him

He had been here; that much is obvious. I turn a corner, following my instincts and almost walk straight into it. A SIGN. Funny thing about signs is that, sometimes, they actually, really, and truly are signs, and not just portents of something mysterious or sinister. This one’s blue and white like all the street signs in the area. Of course, it doesn’t look out of the ordinary to anyone without the sight. Even to me it seems innocuous enough unless I read the pale words. The grit and grime of years clings to it and yet the painted metal is not old at all compared to the wall where it hangs. Being from the new world, it has taken some time to get used to how ancient everything is in Europe. After traveling here many times on my hunt, I’m now shocked by the appearance of something new and modern among the decay.

I turn my attention back to the sign and read the words inscribed though each one hits me like a left jab to the gut. Rue Professeur Demons. He has been here and left his mark.

I haven’t learned yet if it is intentional, the way his trail taunts me, or if he has no control over it himself. I only know the grief-stricken agony it causes me when I think of the way this monster took me in as an “apprentice” and then killed my family and tried to kill me. By tried, I mean nearly succeeded. I still have to drink a tincture of foul-smelling (and tasting) liquid each night, or I can’t even move the next day. It’s the only thing that protects my sanity.

To confirm my discovery, I pull aside a man passing on the adjoining street and point, asking him in my broken, Googlized French, “S’il vous plaît, ce qui est cette rue?” Roughly: what is the name of this street, please?

He looks at me in that disgusted way that French people reserve specifically for large, gruff outsiders who pull them aside and ask them silly questions. A sprig of something forgotten and green dances in his teeth as Mr. Stereotypical replies, pointing with a jabbing finger. Pointing to the plainly visible sign he says, “Rue du Professeur Demons.” He spits at my feet before wrenching free of my grasp and hurrying on his way leaving me dumbfounded.

A dead end? How is this possible? There is an actual street in this city with this name? He must have known. He must be onto me. It’s too good, too well planned, to be otherwise. His trail brings me to Bordeaux and is going cold while he slips by on the merest technicality. Hell, maybe this is even where his curse originated.

Tomorrow is going to be a waste now. Tomorrow I’m going to be a wreck.

I’ll have to forgo the tincture and Bordeaux will likely pay for my choice, but it will be worth it when I pick up the trail.

Tonight, the moon will rise. Tonight, I will track by scent.

Now, where to stash these clothes?

On to Rue From Ruin – Part 2!


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Two years' experience among the Shakers being a description of the manners and customs of that people, the nature and policy of their government, their marvellous intercourse with the spiritual world, the object and uses of confession, their inquisition : in short, a condensed view of Shakerism as it is /

Main Author: Lamson, David R. 1806-1886.
Corporate Author: Making of the Modern World
Format: Online Book
Published: West Boylston : The author, 1848.
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Picturebook of the Week monthly recap: May

Posted on Jun 5, 2017

The Lost Kitten
Lee (text) & Komako Sakai (artwork)
translated by Cathy Hirano
(Gecko Press)

When a mother cat entrusts Hina and her mother with a poorly kitten, the little girl is reluctant at first but soon finds out it is can be fun having a pet, albeit not easy! The signature smudged appearance of Sakai’s artwork always gives a dream-like atmosphere to her stories, and creates a safe empathic environment to tell stories about fears and feelings. This story draws some interesting parallels between looking after a kitten and looking after a child and older family member, and Hina’s feeling sof abandonment  and worry allow her to become more empathic towards the kitten. On a more obvious level, it is also a great introduction to looking after a pet. It is gorgeous book, as is anything touched by the superbly talented Komako Sakai.

Grumpy Frog
Ed Vere
(Puffin Books)

Frog is a hopping happy frog. Honest, he is .. as long as things are green. Because Frog does not like other colours, and they make him rather grumpy, as does not winning. Vere’s signature vibrant colours and thick black lines brilliantly accompany the dynamic text, touching on some  difficult themes with lightness and zeal. Prejudiced and egoistical, Frog learns the hard way not to be so quick at judging people and to become more tolerant. The use of colour as the reason for his intolerance is ingenious as it looks completely unreasonable and nonsensical; yet it is unfortunately not so unbelievable. This is a great example of a humorous anthropomorphic picturebook working perfectly as a platform for showcasing with some very serious issues.

Me and My Dad
Robin Shaw
(Hodder Children’s Books)

This is the simple story of a little girl , who while walking  though the town with her dad, imagines all sorts of adventures. It is enchanting, celebrating the power of the imagination and the joys found in simple things.  Shaw’s background in animation comes through in the artwork which has a real cinematographic feel, particularly in the detailed backgrounds and street scenes which convey a vivid sense of place. The glorious bookshop café, which turns out to be their destination and the ultimate treat for the little girl, is just all kinds of heart-warming. Clues in the artwork in the bookshops scenes link her imaginary adventures and her love of books and readers will be able to relate the love, comfort and utter joy oozing from the pages to the special bonding time that sharing a story is. Just lovely!

Paws Off My Book
Fabi Santagio

Olaf the giraffe loves reading but his joy at finding a new book to read does not last long, as he keeps being interrupted by well-meaning friends who want to tell him just HOW to read it.  Poor Olaf only wants to enjoy his new story in peace. This fun tale of book-loving animals makes a great read-aloud and has a great message at its heart; it draws from the same philosophy as Daniel Pennac’s rights of the reader, that everyone enjoys reading in different ways and that is just fine. A striking almost neon-like palette of colours adds to the fun of the tale and Santagio’s playful use of scale, orientation and framing really helps to make this a dynamic tale which is just what is needed when celebrating books and reading. Delightful!

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Posted in Daily tally

Good day. :)

I said, good day! (Sorry, I’m a dork. :p)

Not a whole lot to report, except that I think I have my groove back.  I’m excited again, about reaching my goals, about feeling good, and being healthy.  I slept great, I had fun walking today, I ate well (and will be having some greek yogurt that I tossed some cinnamon into and a teaspoon of brown sugar, and then tossed the whole thing into the freezer. *Grin*), and I got quite a bit of work done.

Tomorrow I’m going to walk over to the Assessor’s office (Living in town does have some benefits 😀 ) to slog through the old books to find out exactly when my house was built and all that.

The Day of Scale was Eh. No loss, but I really feel like I’ve put the wheels back in motion after a summer of stagnation. 🙂

I don’t have much to say tonight, but it really is kind of a “no news is good news” day.  I feel great, and hopeful and excited again. Win. 😀

Artist and owner of Bramblefae Boutique. I design whimsical jewelry, I like good writing and good games.

One thought on “Good day. :)

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Another Tree Branch Decor Idea

Hi there, Welcome back. Hope you are doing great.

Ok, so last week I shared  a DIY on Tree branch candlesticks smallbranchcandlestickand this past week I was busy with more branches.

There were so many beautifully shaped branches ready for disposal it was hard to pick and save what few I did.  At the time I saved them I had no clue what I was going to do with them.  But, as I was marking them to cut, I took a double look at the detail of those I piled together.  Call me crazy but I thought “how beautiful is that”.  They nestled on each other as if it was meant to be.  (that’s the tree nature lover in me)

treebranchlognaturalAnd the details, the nooks and moss, knots and torn branches, Awesome.  Before moving them, I asked Hubby to tie, nail, screw, wire ..whatever was needed to hold them together so they would not lose, what I considered, this perfect form.

I saw the beauty and wanted to keep them as is, naturally.  Just as I wanted with the branches used for the candlesticks.  But I reconsidered and spray painted them to coordinate with the gold candlesticks.   img_0604

Talk about shocking gold!  A fireplace hearth would be the ideal place to display this.  Since we don’t have a fireplace… I’m not sure how to display them.  Maybe on a sofa back table.  But I know eventually the lightbulb will shine. Until then I created this little vignette called …

The Fallen Orchid0635treebranchlogs

I don’t think I’m the only person who still sees the beauty in fallen trees.  She’s a keeper….the question now is where? 🙂

Can you believe I still have more branches? (too funny)  But I’ll let my brain rest awhile to decide their fate.

Hope you enjoyed my little tree branch DIY recycle. I may have to re-do them for a Rustic Christmas Theme…hmmm??  Who knows.

Until next time…. Have an awesome week-end and thanks for stopping by.


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Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Write from the start…

Writing is something I do because it’s easier than not writing. I write songs (2 CDs released – Check out for those), I write poetry, I write essays, epigrams, and short stories.
To be fair, I write a lot of other stuff too; like reports for work and grocery lists. Don’t worry, I won’t post them here.
I also draw and paint, so I often find that a poem I’ve written will inspire a picture, or vice versa.

I’m going to start this blog with a poem titled “I Am Me”.

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  1. Bill Studley on said:

    Looking good my love. Keep on writing, we’ll get this recording together soon and work on the music and writing.

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Is My Pee Hole Always On Ghost Mode???

This is a peculiar topic. Even for me but it is something I have been meaning to talk about for a while. If you are a guy reading this, gently click on another post and mind your own business! Moving on…

Basically, us girls have three holes: a butt hole, a vagina hole and a pee hole. We know this much for sure. Although I once had a gay friend(in the abroad) who had never actually seen lady-bits in the flesh, and as such thought we only had two holes. When he told me this I gasped indignantly and said, “So what, you just thought we piss all over our babies?” (Side note: we can totally pee while having sex.)

Now level with me for a second; we’ve all seen our vagina hole, whether out of curiosity (a girl who hasn’t sat spread eagled in front of a mirror treating her body like a science experiment is like a child who, upon discovering a in a bowl of sticky goo, does not put their finger in it), or necessity (think along the lines of “first tampon”), and likewise most of us have seen our butt holes (go back to the spread-eagle-mirror scenario but just think of it backwards). These are easy holes to see; blatant holes, if you will, in that they don’t take much more than a simple spreading of skin to reveal.

But as I’ve discovered recently, most women have never seen their pee hole. It’s not like a dude’s pee hole; that thing is basically staring at you like a cycloptic yet sightless worm, and like the Mona Lisa it’s impossible to escape its vacant, unwavering gaze, especially once it’s excited and waving all about of its own accord.

No, I have never seen my pee hole, and I’ve never even really thought to look for it (until now, that is).

Why haven’t any of us (or at least “any of us” who I know and have spoken to), taken the time to find the pee hole? Undoubtedly the hole we use the most (I think I pee at least 4 times a day, whereas I only poop about twice, and in a lucky month I’ll only have sex three to five times), the pee hole, essentially, is a ghost hole. It’s there; we know that much because it squirts out warm yellow liquid from between our legs on a regular basis. But none of us have ever actually seen it for real.

The vast majority of us aren’t stupid; we know vaguely where the pee comes from. But it’s all sort of… swathed in flaps. I assume this is why they give you a cup with such a wide circumference at the rim when you go to the gyno— because when you’re peeing in a cup, placing it is just a process of estimation, because no one really knows where the pee comes from. We just sort of know the approximate area.

This, incidentally, is probably why I always end up peeing on my hands at the doctor’s.

The enigma of the pee hole is a little bodily mystery that I quite like. It’s the Loch Ness Monster of orifices(if you don’t get this reference, I have nothing to say to you); its legend is pervasive, and we occasionally catch a glimpse, but if you ask around you’ll learn that none can tell you for certain exactly where you can find it.

If you have seen your pee hole, please raise a hand!!!!

Have an amazing weekend ahead guys…x


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It’s Been Exactly 80 Years Since the US Declared War on Weed — and Weed Is Still Winning, by Carey Wedler

Prohibition didn’t work out too well with alcohol, and it hasn’t worked out too well for marijuana…or a host of other banned substances. From Carey Wedler at

The government fought cannabis — and cannabis won.

This Wednesday is the eightieth anniversary of the first major action the federal government took against cannabis in the United States, and eight decades later, that same federal government has still failed to reduce Americans’ consumption of the plant. In fact, it’s on the rise.

Long before the era of prohibition, druggists used cannabis as a medicine. According to Origins, a joint publication by the Ohio State University and Miami University history departments:

Cannabis, like opiates and cocaine, was freely available at drug stores in liquid form and as a refined product, hashish. Cannabis was also a common ingredient in turn-of-the-century patent medicines, over-the-counter concoctions brewed to proprietary formulas.

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Author: Lisa the Infidel

I am an #Infidel - born and bred North Carolina.

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JARED PADALECKI , sweater, jared padalecki

was born in San Antonio, Texas, to Sherri (Kammer), a teacher of English, and Gerald Padalecki, a tax accountant. He is of Polish (father) and German, English, Scottish, and French (mother) descent. Jared started to take acting lessons when he was 12. Then, he won the “Claim to Fame” Contest in 1999 and got to appear on the Teen Choice awards. Jared lived in San Antonio, Texas and attended James Madison High School. He was named a candidate for the year 2000 Presidential Scholars Program. Jared Padalecki and Wife Genevieve Take Their Son Thomas to the Vancouver Food Truck FestivalAfter graduating in the year 2000, he moved to Los Angeles, California to pursue an acting career. He played “Dean Forester” on Gilmore Girls (2000) on the WB starting in 2000 and ending in 2005. From 2005 to now, he has portrayed “Sam Winchester” on the CW’s Supernatural (2005). He also has several feature film credits.

– IMDb Mini Biography By: spyder84 and corrected by CLShannon75, Shailesh,Ahmad Hassan

jared2 jared3


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ComPost Live with Alexandra Petri

Nov 27, 2012

Join us next Tuesday to laugh, cry, and dish about the moments that amused you, shocked you, or caused you to yell things that frightened the other people on the subway.

Past ComPost Live Chats

Connect on Twitter: @PostLive | @petridishes

Sorry I'm late! Painfully sincere apologies! Let's get to chattin'!

What is this about the war on men? Is our nation able to afford another war? Will there be a draft? How should I prepare for this war?

Do the usual pre-war drill: entrench your habits and interests, plant a small victory garden, and hoard things. No worries about a draft, unless you or your relatives are drones.

What are you wearing for Advent? I know, it's just a scam for the pink and purple candle makers to sell their products, but hey... candles...

Well noted! We had half a Halloween chat once, and then never again.

I do enjoy some candles, in spite of my personal war on the too-early advent of Advent...

Wake me when the British Bacon Marketing Board has stocking stuffers.

(I'm about to order six.)

I went to Guy Fieri's Restaurant based upon your column. I want to compare the experience to when I went to Umani, after reading in LA Weekly that they supposedly had the best burgers in Los Angeles. I went into both places totally open minded. I ordered a Trufle Burger at Umani and the special burger at Guy Fieri's. The $17 burger at Guy Fieri's was good. The $13 Umani burger was excellent. The Guy Fieri burger had a slight soapy aftertaste and I am not likely to return. The Umani burger was so good I have been back several times. And thus is the unprofeesional review from a non-food expert, except I eat what I like. I will comment that the Gury Fieri restaurant may not have its act together. I was observing that it took 35 minutes for me and the people around me to get their food. That is much too slow, especially for New York. The wait staff was nice and helpufl and I observed them taking care of customer requests with smiles. We expect rude, not slow, in New York. To survive, I hope they have cut down that 35 minute wait time, especially being in the theatre district where people are often eating on the run before a show.

Thank you for that! I'll be sure to check out Umani the next time I head to LA!

And yeah, I second the slowness. Everyone was so polite about it that I didn't notice at the time, and I had my live-tweeting to occupy me, but it did take a while.

So if a girl is a true feminist, then she'll have sex with any many who says hello to her? I should've taken some of those womyn's studies courses when I was in college!

No, obviously.

Do you want a serious answer? I'm guessing from your spelling that you don't.

Tie up a man in bed and read poetry to him all night. That would be doing your part, and then some.

I think that might be considered fraternization with the enemy.

I'm so sure that women are going to take over the world that I'm planning to join them. This is squirrel bopper, by the way.

Yankees don't know how to burn a phrase. It should be folksy and involve a critter. Something like "You're a northbound tick and I'm a southbound dog."

That's great!

"We're a dazed and wandering elephant and you're a GPS unit that keeps saying, 'Recalculating' in a disapproving tone when we're trying to park" doesn't quite have the ring of yours, though.

I met a friend for breakfast at 6 AM (she starts work at 7 AM), and that was the only item on my agenda for the day! It's snowing just enough to not want to drive around in it but not enough for a snowman. What can I do?

At this juncture, were it slightly later, I would recommend hot chocolate and a good book.

My elementary school self would recommend hot orange juice with a marshmallow in it and a good book, but no one ever listened to her.

Archie McPhee is offering a Krampus sweater. The Krampus is the anti-Santa who stuffs the bad boys and girls into a sack.

They also have a Cthulhu sweater, which is -- I want to say "cute," but that can't possibly be the word.

I'm doing my part by not dating any men. ....wait. :-(

They also serve who only stand and wait!

Finally, a war I can get behind! Just kidding. War on men? Was someone feeling alone? Neglected?

It all started with a piece on

But I'm sure it will spiral out of control in a few weeks, with everyone amassing arsenals of cats and hissing at each other as they pass in the street.

"I do enjoy some candles, in spite of my personal war on the too-early advent of Advent..." Just FYI. Advent hasn't actually started yet. Under Lincoln the customary last Thursday in November became federal law, and the following Sunday was always the 1st Sunday in Advent. When Roosevelt changed the day (for economic reasons -- more shopping days to boost spending) to the 4th Thursday, that didn't change when you light your first candle.

That's true. That was a bad choice of words. Advent exists in the same hermetically sealed realm where all church holidays exist -- at a sort of right angle to the real world's calendar. No candles yet.

I should also note that when you said "Under Lincoln" I was worried it was going to be a movie spoiler. I haven't gone yet, but when I do I am definitely wearing a top hat and shouting a lot.

Elmo, Elmo is that you?

My guess, after the Romney snafu, is it's Big Bird.

You shouldn't. Too many house fires are caused by candle usage.

Things I Publicly State That I Enjoy and Things I Actually Have In My Apartment are two lists with remarkably little overlap. For instance, I am out of bacon.

just the opening shot in the war on Christmas?

Peace on earth, goodwill to men? Sounds fishy to me!

As long as this doesn't conclude with the nightmare scenario where we swap out all the old scanning rhyming pronouns for more inclusive ones that neither rhyme nor scan.

Really? You'd label something "good" that left a soapy aftertaste in your mouth that you aren't willing to return for? I would give that a mediocre or poor rating. If you don't like the taste and won't go back, it's not good.

I worry about the larger implications of this rating for the chatter's life.

"My marriage? Oh, it's great. We haven't seen each other since 1994, when my spouse sent me an unpleasant postcard."

"John Carter? Oh yeah, pretty good. Midway through I put out one of my eyes in hope that it might make the film shorter. I'd see it again."

My daughter (9 years old) only discovered bacon this summer (and by discover, I mean try it). She was upset that we didn't routinely keep bacon in the house. When I purchased some this weekend, she was very happy (even did a happy dance). I believe bacon will become a staple in my house.

Oh wow, that's the best child-rearing news I've heard all week! Admittedly, it's also the only child-rearing news I've heard, but that should in no way diminish it. Well done!

Actually, fires are started by the mis-use of candles. Candle now rank third in causes of fires. They used to be way down on the list but moved up quickly when interior designers and touchy-feely people started to talk them up as thinks to have.

Ah, "interior designers and touchy-feely people," causing house fires from time immemorial.

That description really tickles me. I know just the candle-havers you mean. a sweater with those pooping Christmas dolls on it.

Yes, these dolls never cease to amaze and alarm me. I don't understand why they haven't caught on over here! I would pay serious money to pick up a load at Macy's.

What's the deal with all these women complaining about not finding a nice man? I moved Metro DC area recently, and most men I have met have been nothing short of wonderful (I am not a hot girl). But then all of my girlfriends say the complete opposite. But then a bitter, jaded guy friend of mine called all of my girlfriends 'those girls, those feminists running around."

I think DC contains many nicer guys than it gets credit for, although I am reassured by my friends that the Self-Important Obnoxious Stereotype Who Insists On Introducing Himself To The Waiter In A Way That Implies The Waiter Should Probably Get His Autograph Now, While The Getting Is Good does exist and is exactly as exhausting as described.

Obviously a man named this. We don't need another war. We've got a war on drugs, a war on poverty, a war on Christmas, a war on terror, a war on trans fats, a war on mediocre sitcoms and a war on Twinkies. With the exception of that last one, these wars aren't accomplishing much. How about a nice skirmish or perhaps just a frontal assault? Who needs another war?

Personally, I want to bring back the "squirmish."

A while back, I saw a strange movie in which the men were all making war. Finally, the women were getting tired of it, collaberated, and invented a shrinking machine. They shrunk all the men, put them in cages, and from thereon in, their society was always peaceful. I wish I could remember the name of this movie. Clever idea.

I'm guessing not Lysistrata.

My two year old loves bacon and sriracha. He wants a little pile of sauce with his eggs.

Oh wow! If this trend continues, he will have some stern words for Guy Fieri when he's older.

I'm looking at the anchor-babes' legs. I was always a Cokie Roberts man, myself.

This is one of those chicken-and-leg articles I wonder about. Did someone sit down and say, "Hey, female anchors are finally able to wear fitting dresses and be taken seriously!" or did someone say, "Hey, if I write about how female anchors can wear dresses now and be taken seriously, we will get to plaster a shot of what you describe as 'anchor-babes' legs' on the homepage?"

Doesn't negate the message, though. I hope.

I recently moved to Portland Oregon. I found a jewish NY deli (I'm from NY originally) and was so excited! So I went there with my husband...and we were eating, and I asked the waitress something - and she just walked away (okay, maybe she didn't hear me...). Then I commented to my husband: oh, just like NY! They are way too polite over here.

There's a certain relief in rudeness. Too much politeness can be weirdly stifling.

In four short years I'm gonna be Special Assistant to the Deputy Undersecretary of Formosan Affairs.

You called it!

Was this trend started by the old GOP men who want us back in the kitchen, raising babies and not having opinions?

That might be the first time those folks succeeded in starting a trend. "Akin Hair" still hasn't caught on.

That being said, sometimes I wonder if there isn't a certain element of straw misogyny out there too. If you actually rounded up all the people who legitimately think ladies should be in the kitchen raising babies, opinionless, I wonder if the number is as large as the echo they make whenever someone says something that seems to identify him as one. It's getting to be like yeti sightings -- lots of fuss, but not so many photographs. Or is it? How deep is the iceberg?

But that's another week.

Anchor-babe's legs: for a second I thought "why is he looking at the legs of immigrant's babies?"

We have anchor women not anchor babes (who must be clustered on the coasts). No one (even the younger women) wears tight sleeveless dresses. And I wondered what is the temp on the news sets? Are the men sweating in their worsted wool suits or are the women sporting goose bumps in their sleeveless frocks?

I think that last question is deeply important. My guess from the limited times I've been on sets is that it's cold, because if it weren't, the lights would melt everyone.

You mentioned that two other people were at Guy's restaurant to sample it. How bad would a review have to be to drive customers away?

I'm not sure how much worse it could have been. I think the closest you might come would be to say that it was delicious, wonderful, poetry in motion, but that as you left you thought you spotted a rat in the kitchen stirring something.

My dad was born and raised where it snowed maybe once a decade. So when it happened back in 1922, my grandmother sent him and all the other kids outside with buckets and large bowls in order to collect snow, which she used instead of ice in order make homemade ice cream! (They had old-fashioned hand-turned models back in those days, the kind that normally used chipped ice + rock salt to chill the mixture, and the kids all took turns cranking the handle, with the eldest son and grandpa going last when the mixture was getting hard, because they were the strongest).

Oh wow, that sounds idyllic!

I miss when you could eat things made with snow. I was always reading books where that was the case as a child, and all my efforts to pour maple syrup into the snow were constantly thwarted by my frantic parents, shouting about pollution and dysentery.

And on that note, I must skedaddle! Apologies for the late arrival, and thank you for the first sallies in what I am sure will be a long and bloody conflict.

Keep reading the Compost, and feel free but unobligated to follow me on Twitter!

In This Chat
Alexandra Petri
Alexandra Petri writes the ComPost, a lighter take on the news and issues of the day, and she contributes to the Post editorial page. Her work has appeared in venues such as The Huffington Post, The Week,,, Collegehumor, and The Harvard Crimson. She has appeared on Jeopardy!, Showbiz Tonight and Canadian radio, and she has performed at Boston's Comedy Studio and Comedy Connection. She would love to be on your TV show, radio show, Daily Show, HBO special, or to be an honored guest (or regular guest) at your Bar Mitzvah. She is the author of two books (unpublished, but contact her!), two screenplays, three plays, one musical, and one memoir (Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast.)
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The TV Column Live: Best reality show judges, goodbye Tim Urban, loooong 'Idol' episode, South Park brouhaha, more

Apr 23, 2010

Post TV columnist Lisa de Moraes takes your questions about the drama, comedy and heartbreak of the world of television -- both onscreen and behind-the-scenes.

This week the NY Post listed their thoughts for the best reality judges. Gail Simmons (Top Chef), Michael Kors (Project Runway), and Simon (Idol) were deemed the best. I think Tom Colicchio is among the top. Who is on your short list?

Hi. My list is extremely short. It has one name. Simon Cowell:  The pre-2010 Seasons. My list of best reality series host is equally short: Tom Bergeron. Anybody else out there have an equally short list?

Pookie, has anyone ever been sent home on Idol Gives Back night before? I seem to remember they always waited till the next week, and then sent two people home based on the total two-week vote. Do you think the producers had waited so long for Tim's name to come up last that they didn't want to take any chances by waiting for another week's votes?

I believe this is the first year they've whacked someone on Idol Gives Back Night because, they had always explained, whacking someone did not seem to be in keeping with the charity-ness of the night (and yet, Fergie stomping around dressed as a dominatrix while the Black Eyed Peas sang "Rock That Body" is  in perfect keepign with a charity fundraiser show).  But, given that the last time they did a Gives Back night it clocked the show's smallest audience of the seasons -- despite its celebrity lineup of performers -- I'm guessing they decided to return the whacking bit to the show to try to goose the ratings. Anyway, I was thrilled to see Turban eliminated this week AND Kate Gosselin eliminated the same week. Makes you believe somehow that the natural order of things is starting to return...

So the producer was saying there was going to be a big surprise with Melinda and Bill Gates. I didn't watch the show, and didn't see anything about a surprise in your blog. Was there one?

Nope -- total bait and switch...

I waited all season for the grinning Tim Urban to be sent packing, and missed it even with a DVR set to record 15 minutes over. They pay Seacrest 15 million a year for this?! (He could learn a thing or two from Tom Bergeron.) When will "American Idol" learn to manage its (already bloated) allotted time?

Pookie, they had given up trying to bring it in on time before the show even started. Seabiscuit announced the night before that it was going to run long so you should set your DVR accordingly. Which I'm guessing is another way of saying "record 'Glee'." geesh.

Vampire intervention! I have fairly high-brow TV tastes, but this show is my one guilty pleasure. Pookie, are you watching?

I tried the other day but it makes the top of my head come off and I have to stop watching. Vampires should NOT be allowed to be out during the day -- period. It's like wearing open-toed shoes after Labor Day.....I don't care what special ring they're wearing, or tea they're drinking, or hand lotion they're using. It's just not right. If a vampire can go to high school during the day then he's not really a vampire -- just some dude with bad teeth and pasty skin. Very unattractive...okay, I think I'm through ranting...

So sorry to see Numb3rs is on the bubble. Are their ratings that low? The cast of Rob Morrow, David Krumholtz, Judd Hirsch, Navi Rawat, and Peter MacNicol, and the others were great together, IMO. Plus cool graphics--however accurate the mathematical theories were. (How accurate were they??)

Yes, and, unfortunately, in the life of every show there are two lines. One is the line graf of how much the show costs -- it starts in the bottom left-hand corner of the chart and steadily climbs as it moves to the right over the years. The other line is the Ratings line and it starts high on the left and works its way down over the years. When you get to the point on the chart where they cross and the ratings line becomes lower than the cost line -- a show's pretty much over -- ESPECIALLY if, at the point at which they intersect, the show has produced more than 100-ish episodes, which is what you need for a series to be a viable product in syndication. "Number3"'s lines have converged and it has produced 118 episodes...

They also cut Michael Johns (in a rather cruel but hilarious manner) on Idol Gives Back in Season 7.

I had forgotten about that... that was fun....

Loved Jon Stewart's response to the brouhaha over South Park and RevolutionaryMuslim; the praise choir was a pretty awesome touch.

It was brilliant. If you have not seen it, I've asked my producer to embed the video here.

Pookie- What can we as Americans do to stop Ryan Trainwreck from further dampening my "Glee"? My theory is that Ryan has shared too much and the wheels have come off the Seacrest bus. We all now know that he is a sad, fat little boy trapped in the body of a power-mad pixie (hmm... Rumpelstiltzken?) courtesy of a picture shown on Oprah. It's like the curtain has been pulled to reveal that he is all facade. Which isn't true, but he feels that it is and he is now avenging himself by ruining "Glee" for the masses. How can Fox fix this so that it doesn't happen again? Have you heard anything about a drug/alcohol/donut addiction that is being addressed quietly?

Are you saying Seabiscuit is ruining "Glee" because "Idol" keeps running long? I am guessing that "Glee" creator Ryan Murphy is, as we chat, working on some wickedly clever episode of "Glee" in which he takes his reveng on Seabiscuit..

So Comedy Central was responsible for the bleeps during this week's "South Park"? I figured it was Matt and Trey. When I read your column this morning, I figured Comedy Central and Matt/Trey were in cohoots, but I couldn't think of what there would be to gain from it.

Comedy Central says they did the bleeping but Mat and Trey put in the black bars with "Censored" on them in place of the actual Muhammad figure -- which Comedy Central says, they did because the network told the guys they would not air it otherwise...oh, and what did they have to gain from it? Loads and loads and loads of publicity for the show which, you may have noticed, was getting absolutely zero buzz this season until this two-episode storyline was introduced to celebrate the show's 200th episode... very clever.

Do you think "My Boys" could do an episode about how they all could watch "South Park"? (now the world is safe for another week) Seriously though, its really sad that "South Park" is the only show on TV that is willing to point out the double standard when it comes to making jokes about a specific religion. How do you feel about the Network saying that they are censoring the episodes for the creators own safety. I think they had a chance to make an important stand for free speech. I also loved the Shakespearean aspect of Cartman's storyline.

Yes, I too think the network is making the wrong call on this one. Oh, and at long last, we have something to report on "My Boys." It is returning to TBS on July 25 -- that's a Sunday, I'm told -- at 10 p.m.... It's about time, I say!

Pookie, this is what the subject line offers as an example of a question to chat about. is my question: Can a Redskins linebacker, engaged and very stressed out about his upcoming nuptials, have the ability to effectively judge health care reform pros & cons?

I didn't think the lameness quotient of this new system could get any greater, but it has defied even my expectations...

My office-mate and I read your Idol summaries together in the morning. Love Love LOVE it. xoxoxo Way to help with office bonding pookie.

My pleasure -- always happy to help facilitate harmony at the workplace...

What does the arrival of Conan and the NCAA Tournament mean for "My Boys"?

It means My Boys is returning July 25 -- before Conan!

Hi Lisa -- Thanks for taking questions today. Would love to know what you of thought of "Glee's" "Madonnathon" this week (I know, it was only an hour, so not really a marathon, but I was going to use that no matter what). I suppose it would depend on how you feel about both Madonna and the show, but given how much work they put into using the maximum number of her songs that they possibly could, I was disappointed that they didn't have Madonna herself appear -- perhaps as the school's new hot chemistry teacher who tries to take over the glee club or something, or better yet as Sue Sylvester's that would have been clever, given Sue's obsession with Madonna, which to me seemed the most strained part of the whole idea.

What I think of the Madonna-thon is that if that gawdawful "Marriage Ref" can get Actual Madonna to show up to give marriage counseling to a lineup of hopelessly ill-suited couples, why cannot The Great and Powerful Ryan Murphy get Madonna to show up on his allegedly hit series, instead of having Jane Lynch stand in for her? Let me hasten to say I really like Lynch in this show -- just not dolled up as Madonna. That was super-scary -- so much so, I had nightmares about it all night.

Pookie, please tell me that new show with Bradley Whitford is going to be good. What's the scoop?

Let's just say Bradley Whitford is very, very good. Do watch the first episode...

Lisa, I find Comedy Central's reaction to those threats it received about the "South Park" episode's appearance of Mohammed utterly pathetic. It boggles my mind that insulting figures from other religions is perfectly fine, but anything involving Islam is too sensitive, so they would rather censor the whole thing and give in to a bunch of terrorist threats than just let the episode speak for itself.

preaching to the choir....

After watching the astonishing mish-mash of "Idol Gives Back" (which offered only one musical performance besides the group lip-synch in its first 40 minutes!), I realized that "American Idol" is slipping for reasons beyond the loss of Paula, or the presence of an unnecessary fourth judge, or having underwhelming contestants. It's biggest problem is that Nigel Lythgoe is no longer the producer.

I don't know if Nigel should get the credit or what, but that special was definitely lacking in star-wattage. Russell Brand? Jim Carrey? Black-Eyed Peas? You know what is my definition of a music special these days? No? Well, I'll tell you -- it's a special on which the Black-eyed Peas do NOT perform... I am up to my eyeballs in Black-Eyed Peas. Is there any music trophy show or special they WON'T show up at?

Just checking to see if AI is still on. I set my DVR for +3 days just to be sure.

lol....You saw that Fox is so contrite (read, Ryan Murphy is so mad) they're rerunning Tuesday's "Glee" episode tonight at 9? For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, "Idol" ran sooo long Tuesday (and Wednesday too but that's another story), the big music number -- to Madonna's "Like a Prayer" at the end of  "Glee" got cut off on the DVR of all the Gleeks who had recorded it that night. And if there is one group you do not want to mess with on TV -- besides, that is -- it's Gleeks...

Okay it's brain candy but I like the show. Will FOX renew the show for next year?

Hard to call. The season finale numbers were definitely not great and it can't be a cheap show with all that guy-candy -- aka pyrotechnics, etc. -- I too like the show. Okay, I actually just like the lead, but it's practically the same thing.

Will she ever fade? Her 15 minutes seem to have lasted 15 weeks. For someone without any particular talent, why does she stay in the spotlight? I've never watched her shows, so I can't understand the appeal.

I think Kate Gosselin was put on TV to make us all feel better about ourselves. No matter how mess up my life is, I can watch an episode of "Jon & Kate + 8" and say to myself, "well, at least my life isn't THAT messed up" and I feel much better....

Pookie, if you were going to write the 7 millionth "why does Idol suck so much this year" piece, and then retread all the prior seasons, why bring up that debunked texting fraud story from last season? Not even an Allen fan and I think it's ridiculous. He won because he was cute enough to appeal to the tweens, inventive enough to appeal to the "real musician" true believers, and close enough to the musical stylings/personalities of the former contestants (except Allison Iraheta) to pick up more casual fans than Adam Lambert did. (Especially after Gokey blew it.) It shouldn't have shocked anyone. Also, I really think the more obviously the producers stack the deck on AI, the more viewers turn out or confound their plans. They wanted a pretty blonde guitar girl this year, and of the four or five, they've kept one. If Bowersox weren't as good as she is, and if the boys weren't as boring as they are, I think another white guy with guitar would be going straight through just because it's clear TBTB don't really want one.

Pookster, not debunked. I am willing to concede that Kris got more votes, but for one of the show's sponsors to have held Kris Allen Fan Voting parties at which they were loaning viewers cell phones and teaching them how to speed-vote for Kris was wrong, wrong, wrong. Even if Adam Lambert had won last year it still would have been wrong because it wasn't about the outcome, it was about the impropriety of one of the show's sponsors. EQUAL TIME PART: AT&T insisted at the time it was just one rogue regional manager, or some such staffer, who had arranged these parties.

Several years ago the top two AI contestents got new Ford Mustangs. Last year they have them new Fusions. I guess this year they'll new Fiestas. Gosh what a let down.

Tough economic times.

Whenever I watch Kate Gosslin perform on DWTS, I immediately flash to Tom Petty's "Last Dance with Mary Jane" video. It's all I can see.

I KNEW it reminded me of something. Thank you for clearing that up.

Meanwhile, I have neglected to let everyone know that we're going to try something new here at the WaPo TeamTV chat:  for next week's TV chat, please send your most bizarre TV trivia fact to @wapoteamtv on Twitter,  I am going to pick a winner.  It's all for a good cause -- amusing me!

"Wife Swap" and that nanny show also make you feel like maybe you're doing a few things right.

Isn't this the function of so much reality TV programming? I know I feel pretty smug after each episode of  "Real Housewives of Fill in the Blank"... friends have told me I'm insufferable for at least 3 hours after every broadcast.

This doesn't bode well for the finale, does it? Who are they gonna get for that---Neil Sedaka?

Hey -- Neil Sedaka night on "Idol" was fantabulous a few seasons back.

why does Cougar Town insist on airing their show at 9:31 to 10:01, it only hurts them cuz I have other shows at 10 that block it and I end up not recording ANY of the show. Do those TV execs NOT have DVR and know how it works?

I'm guessing ABC is doing that to squeeze one more ad break into "Modern Family" -- the show that airs right before it and which is more successful, ratings-wise. You can figure out most of what goes on in the TV industry if you just follow the money...

Why do the judges seem unable to grasp the idea that the same song can have quiet parts AND loud parts? Maybe Siobhan could sing a Kelly Clarkson song for Kara while they are hanging out? Maybe even one Kara wrote!

Let's all agree to just fast forward through the judging bits after Siobhan sings. Kara DioGuardi saying in response to her most recent performance that she would rather hang out with Siobhan than buy her album -- Why The Face?!

You mean like how Stephen Stills auditioned to be one of the Monkees and was turned down because he had ugly teeth?

See -- I'm extremely amused by that. So that's perfect!

I wish they would just bring back "Battle of the Network Stars"... there's something about Telly Savalas battling Gabe Kaplan and Robert Conrad in a relay race that just makes for gripping television!

Didn't NBC try to that during the Ben Silverman Years? Or did I just dream that it was part of that "Knight Rider"/"Gladiators" season?

C'mon pookie, give "Glee" it's credit. It's the top rated non-reality show 18-49, and the 2nd highest rated non-reality overall. There's nothing "alleged" about it.

Nichy, but I take your point. The point I was trying to make is that if it's such a big deal, why can't Murphy get Madonna to actually, you know, show up? She'll do "Marriage Ref" which means her standards are very, very low....

Agreed. But they ARE the biggest act in pop music right now. The problem with Idol Give Back is that it's way tooooooooo long.

Yes -- they should have cut the Black-Eyed Peas....

In the land of TV, where a ratings hit always breeds clones, can we expect another network to try and copy Glee with a jukebox musical show? Along the same lines, can we expect more faux-doc style shows with people talking to the camera (Modern Family, Office)? Your AI Gives Back wrap was awesome, by the way.

Thank you. Meanwhile, we already have our first "Modern Family" knockoff -- when NBC saw how well it was doing, it remade "Parenthood" to be more like "Modern Family." If you had seen the first "Parenthood" pilot, with Maura Tierney in it, you'd know what I'm talking about. It was very dark and drab....

What is this new show that Bradley Whitford is on, and when does it start???

"The Good Guys", on Fox, May 19.

Time drags on, and still no DC Housewives. So, will we get a "Christmas with the Salahis" special this year, or must we wait for 2011?

My guess is we have to wait until the feds give their stamp of approval on the Comcast buy of NBC-Universal (Bravo is one of NBC-Uni's networks). My guess is Bravo's parent company doesnt' want the network to announce this show with the Salahis while that merger is under talks here in Washington. The Salahis are catnip for the network, because they'll pull in a huge rating, but they are also radioactive for the network's parent company right now what with them having embarrassed the White House and all. Just my guess...

RE: "Didn't NBC try to that during the Ben Silverman Years? Or did I just dream that it was part of that "Knight Rider"/"Gladiators" season?" YES! I had totally forgotten that. Although they used C-listers, and they paired them up with professional athletes, and one got "voted off the island" every week. So it was only kinda' like the old BNS, since there wasn't any network affiliations.... Does that count as my obscure TV trivia, or do I have to try again?

No, that's a fine entry....

Did we forget to mention Lost?

What about it? Except that it's about to be euthanized?

As a horse racing fan , I would like to protest the appellation of the name of one of America's all-time greatest race horses to a third-rate, shrill, possibly deranged television emcee. The real Seabiscuit, Horse of the Year in 1938, was an inspiration to Americans during the Depression. When he retired, he was horse racing's all time money winner. He also sired 108 foals, a claim that some others certainly can't make.

But he kinda looks like a horse -- you'll at least give me that, right?

Do you watch Survivor? If so, have you ever seen anything like the last two episodes, where a) an immunity idol is just given to an opposing tribe member with no strings, and then b) two idols are used by the same person to save two entirely other people? It's insane! and, against all odds, making this season one of the most interesting in ages (even though the cast is yet another rehash).

Okay, this is making my head hurt. Reality TV is not supposed to be that complicated: please tell me the women are all in bikinis. At least give me that to hang on to.

No. His comments are always geared towards kicking off the person the show wants off, as opposed to the person who messed up the worst that week.

So we'll kick him off the list....

Did you think Seth Aarons clothes were wearable?

Yes, absolutely -- if you are a cirque du soleil performer.

So the show has entirely given up even pretending to be run professionally? And when I think of how much of "Idol Gives Back" could have safely been cut---starting with the group lip-synch, extending through the phone-bank gag, and ending up with George Lopez---I mean, gosh, Pookie, it's sad. When has Tom Bergeron ever allowed "Dancing With the Stars" to run over?

Well, I dont think Tom Bergeron ever has allowed "Dancing" to run that long. But let's be fair -- Seabiscuit is not yet powerful enough that he dictates whether there will be some lame Group Lip Synch every week and I have no idea what Fox exec George Lopez has photos of...

In the Happy Days episode where Fonzie waterskies over a shark enclosure, no one, not even a stuntman actually jumped over a shark. Accordingly, the TV phrase "jumping the shark" is a misnomer, since no shark has actually ever been jumped on TV. Also, the show Happy Days started to suck way before Fonzie and the gang ever went to California.

another excellent entry.. I'm out of time. thanks for joining me...

In This Chat
Lisa de Moraes
Pulitzer Prize winner, Peabody recipient, Medal of Freedom honoree -- Lisa de Moraes is none of these, but she is an authority on the bad direction, over-acting, and muddled plot lines being played out in the TV industry's executive suites. de Moraes worked for a decade as the television editor at The Hollywood Reporter, the entertainment industry trade paper, where she was routinely on the receiving end of more shouting phone calls from TV suits than Paula Abdul's manager.

When she upgraded to The Washington Post in 1998, a well-known executive producer called to suggest she have someone else start her car, but her trenchant writing (and refusal to use words like "trenchant") earned her the following praise from the brilliant, handsome media observer at Slate: "She writes like a wicked bitch." Wikipedia has called her "a noted television columnist," but they're often unreliable. It's pronounced "deh more ICE."

The TV Column
Lisa's Blog
The TV Column Live Q&A
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Jesus beckons…

“Jesus beckons us to come. If we stay focused on him, we will be able to go anywhere and do whatever is required of us. If we take our eyes off him and stare at the storm, at the danger, we will surely sink. We will never go to the millions trapped out there in darkness, without water, suffering abuse, disease, famine, loneliness or hopelessness. Fear and faith cannot coexist. He doesn’t ask us to go (as long as) or (if) or (after) he removes all danger and takes away all fear. He asks us to go (in spite of) and (even if) and (anyway). He says simply: Believe. Go with me. ” – Christine Caine

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Need a referral? Let me know!

Beware of Overpaying For Home Features

Brendan DeSimone | Zillow Blog | April 5, 2013 | link

Spectacular view
When a real estate agent sits down with sellers to discuss the value of their home, the conversation inevitably turns to the home’s features — a spectacular view, a cool garage workspace or perhaps a one-of-a-kind garden.

While those features might be selling points, the truth is potential buyers may not value them nearly as much as the seller. That spectacular view may not be something buyers want to pay extra for. Some buyers will see the garage workspace as a liability. And while beautiful to the seller, that unique garden could look like a lot of maintenance to a buyer.

A home may go on the market with what real estate agents call “seller pricing,” which is based more on the seller’s perceived property value than on actual market conditions. Inevitably, after some time on the market, the price eventually gets reduced.

Here are three strategies — one for sellers, two for buyers — to avoid losing money on home upgrades.

Sellers: Test the waters — but not for long

You fell in love with your home’s view, garage or garden when you were a buyer. You’re convinced another buyer will love it too and won’t mind paying extra for it. But, your agent thinks otherwise.

Consider this: By pricing your home higher because of what you see as a special feature, you’re shrinking its potential market. Don’t want to risk it? Try listing at the higher price for a short period. If that view-fanatic buyer is out there, chances are he or she will appear early on and make an offer.

If you don’t get a good offer immediately, do a sharp price reduction and give the listing another life. Here’s why: If that buyer doesn’t materialize and six to eight weeks go by, you’re facing an unpleasant reality. Even if a view-loving buyer enters the market, he or she is unlikely to offer the price you want. Your property, having been for sale for a while, will be seen as “stale.”

Buyers: Don’t get emotionally attached

As the market continues picking up, stories of multiple offers are everywhere, in places such as Indianapolis, Raleigh, Sacramento and South Florida. With such little inventory, buyers are forced to compete for the limited goods. This competition, which we’ve seen before, creates a frenzy, causing some buyers to make an emotional purchase based on their attachment to a potential home, its features or location. This results in a quick increase in home values — what some might call a “bubble.”

Make no mistake: This is a great time to buy, especially if you have a down payment, a stable job and good credit, and you’re committed to the community for the next five years. In most areas, it’s cheaper to buy than rent. Just make sure to always think like a seller, not just a buyer, as you move ahead on a particular property. Weigh the potential market value of its amenities five years down the road, when you may turn around and sell. To achieve the maximum equity, try not to overpay for those features, either for competitive or emotional reasons.

Buyers: Think like a seller

In 2005, a buyer in San Francisco bought a home without a garage. A deeded garage can increase a home’s value in that city by $50,000 or more, but the buyer didn’t see the value in having his own garage. The house was on multiple transit lines, he used his bicycle for transportation, and he knew he’d have access to a leased garage space if he needed it. He was competing with a few buyers and ended up paying a little more than his competitors.

Fast forward three years and the market slowed. The buyer didn’t believe his home should be priced less than a comparable home with a deeded garage because his house was so centrally located. Plus, he had the leased garage space nearby. What he didn’t want to believe was that 25 percent of buyers commute to work and don’t want to risk having a leased garage space taken away later. They wouldn’t even look at his home’s photos online — let alone go to the open house — due to its lack of a garage.

This was a clear case in which the buyer failed to think like a seller. He didn’t anticipate issues he might face selling the property later. Don’t let yourself fall into that trap.

Author: kimhuntkw

We specialize in Real Estate in the Pleasanton, Dublin and Livermore areas of the East Bay in California

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SubjectRe: [PATCH, RFC] RCU : OOM avoidance and lower latency
David S. Miller a écrit :
> From: Eric Dumazet <>
> Date: Sat, 07 Jan 2006 08:34:35 +0100
>> I agree, I do use a hashed spinlock array on my local tree for TCP,
>> mainly to reduce the hash table size by a 2 factor.
> So what do you think about going to a single spinlock for the
> routing cache?

I have no problem with this, since the biggest server I have is 4 way, but are
you sure big machines wont suffer from this single spinlock ?

Also I dont understand what you want to do after this single spinlock patch.
How is it supposed to help the 'ip route flush cache' problem ?

In my case, I have about 600.000 dst-entries :

# grep ip_dst /proc/slabinfo
ip_dst_cache 616250 622440 320 12 1 : tunables 54 27 8 :
slabdata 51870 51870 0

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SubjectRe: CD writing in future Linux (stirring up a hornets' nest)
>Giving up while scanning is a problem for other reasons.
>Let me introduce you to SE Linux. One can have RAWIO
>capability, RT capability, mlock() capability, and still not
>have the right to access all devices. You might not even
>be able to get stat() to succeed, but you could burn a CD
>if you use the correct device file.
Unfortunately, setting up SELinux is currently not easy.

Jan Engelhardt
| Software Engineer and Linux/Unix Network Administrator
| Alphagate Systems,
| jengelh's site,
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The Top 5 Longreads of the Week

Our top stories of the week, as chosen by the editorial team at Longreads.

Below, our favorite stories of the week.

Sign up to receive this list free every Friday in your inbox.

* * *

1. 'How's Amanda?'

Eli Saslow | The Washington Post | July 23, 2016 | 23 minutes (5,892 words)

A story of a mother and daughter facing heroin addiction.

2. We Are All Witnesses

Jordan Ritter Conn | The Ringer | July 21, 2016 |15 minutes (3,833 words)

Twenty months after Tamir Rice was killed in Cleveland, his mother is still grappling with how to grieve in private following her son’s public death.

3. The Story of The Equals, Britain's First Interracial Rock Band

Jason Heller | Pitchfork | July 18, 2016 | 12 minutes (3,220 words)

In the swinging '60s, Caribbean immigrants and born-and-bred Londoners came together to create a new pop-rock sound.

4. After the Fall

T.J. Quinn and Simon Baumgart | ESPN | July 21, 2016 | 25 minutes (6,300 words)

High school basketball star Johnathan Turner punched his friend, Troy Causey, leading to his death. What happened that night?

5. How One Colorado Man Disappeared While Hunting For Hidden Treasure

Robert Sanchez | 5280 | July 26, 2016 | 30 minutes (7,525 words)

A man goes missing near Santa Fe, New Mexico after searching for an eccentric arts and antiquities collector's buried treasure.


text:
Samantha Craft’s New Book!

If you have been researching autism, especially female autism, for any length of time you have no doubt come across Samantha Craft’s blog, Everyday Aspergers. Her soul bared, posts are both whimsical and down-to-earth real. Sam has everything from helpful lists (because, come on, you know we love lists) of female Aspie traits, to sensitive, thoughtful poetry, to personal anecdotes from her life experience. It is all engaging and enlightening and comforting and validating for those of us seeking to recognize ourselves, our differences, in someone else. To know we’re not alone.

Sam’s beautiful book is available now from Booklogix for those in the US and will be available July 1st on Amazon. It will also soon be available internationally through Amazon.

LIB6735_C_AD_FINALThrough 150 telling journal entries, Samantha Craft presents a life of humorous faux pas, profound insights, and the everyday adventures of a female with Asperger’s Syndrome. A former schoolteacher and mother of three boys, Craft doesn’t experience ordinary everyday happenings like most. In her vivid world, nothing is simple and everything appears pertinent. Even an average trip to the grocery store is a feat and cause for reflection. From being a dyslexic cheerleader with dysgraphia going the wrong direction, to bathroom stalking, to figuring out if she can wear that panty-free dress, Craft explores the profoundness of daily living through hilarious anecdotes and heartwarming childhood memories. When she’s not laughing at the bizarreness of her days or reflecting back, then she’s sharing the serious and relevant challenges of everyday living on the autism spectrum. Ten years in the making, Craft’s revealing memoir brings Asperger’s Syndrome into a spectrum of brilliant light—exposing the day-to-day interactions and complex inner workings of an autistic female from childhood to midlife.

If you’ve felt out of step with society your whole life, like me, you might just be a lost girl (or boy) – a person almost like everyone else. Except you aren’t. When you don’t understand the nuances of expression and conversation. When you become easily overwhelmed by sensory stimulation: noise, touch, smell. A million things are different, but nobody sees or experiences it. Nobody except you.

The current ratio for *diagnosed autism is 1:4 girls to boys with the “disorder.”

I respectfully disagree. I am an older woman with three grown children (two probably on the spectrum – but that’s a story for later) and have worked closely with all ages of children most of my life, both professionally and voluntarily. I believe the numbers are much closer if not equal. And the autism ‘epidemic’? The ‘crisis’? The *1 in 88?

I don’t think so. Detection is getting better, but I’m convinced autism has been around for as long as people have, and I’m sure there are way more people affected than are diagnosed.

Now that I understand why I am different, I see others (as I get to know them over time) everywhere. Girls. Women. Females with unmistakable autistic traits. Female traits, like mine. And nobody notices us because we don’t fit the profile for detection – a predominantly male profile.

If you are anything like me, you are/were a master of invisibility (except from bullies). A chameleon. A mimic. We struggle every day just to blend in but never fit in. So we remain unnoticed. With our sometimes crippling anxiety. Our social confusion. Our emotional intensity. Our many incomprehensible differences.

Lost girl.

We are also amazing. We have talents and dreams and ideas and desires that the rest of the world can’t even imagine.

As I have begun to understand myself as an autistic woman it has meant the world to me to realize that I am not the only one. That, while my personality is unique, I share a laundry list of traits with other autistic women (and men). I am not alone. I have a people.

Lost girl found!

I react badly to negativity – panic, anxiety, guilt, etc – and assume others may feel the same so I wanted to create a place that is just for us. A positive place. A place of encouragement and a place to say, “This is how life is for us, and that’s okay.” A place for art and stories and illuminating articles and humor. Please, let there be humor. I will post pictures, memes, original content, and reblog articles I’ve found helpful or entertaining. I have a lot of stories to tell and I hope you do too. Guest contributors are very welcome! Collaboration, shared thoughts and experiences, funny stories, encouragement.

No harsh opinions. No bullying. No complaining.

If you’re seeking diagnosis or therapy, or you are a person dealing with a loved one with extreme autism and looking for help, you are very welcome here, but we can’t help you with those things. I will, however, work on getting a page up for links to other sites and organizations that may prove useful to you. If you are seeking a place to vent, have people feel sorry for you, or harass others, this is not the place for you. (This site will be carefully moderated.)

So, as I get this going, I hope you’ll consider sharing a thought, a poem, an anecdote, a picture. General comments and interaction between readers is encouraged. If you are interested in contributing or have a link you think appropriate to share, leave it in the comments and I’ll contact you. It helps so much to hear the voices of others like us – those who share our experience and understand. As the rest of the world works on its ratios and defining traits and tries to catch up with us, let’s celebrate who we are.

Because we are wonderful. And we’re not lost.

*These numbers are estimates and change according to researcher, organization, country, weather, what day of the week it is, etc.

B B Shepherd is an musician, educator, and author and can also be found at Glistering: B’s Blog