The Finch at the Feeder

Bad Names for Orphanages:

Dr. Zhivago's Home for the Unwanted
Baby Barn
Essentially Slaves
Wretches Unlimited
Taco Bell
Walter Wrigley's Urchin Emporium

People I am Justified in Frowning Upon:

Bad tippers
People that can't hold their liquor
People that say they like sushi but only eat California rolls
Those that dressed as the Joker or Sarah Palin last Halloween
"Writers" that make a show of scribbling erratically in their notebooks in public places
Drivers that have an Icthus (Jesus Fish) on the back of their car but cut you off in traffic
Parents that take their kids into restaurants and let them do whatever they like
Whomever keeps busting up our apartment building
& More

So I finally invested in a decent digital camera. This is probably the perfect camera for me--an advanced point-and-shoot camera with great automatic settings but plenty of manual options I can use as I learn. In manual, I can change aperture, shutter speed, ISO, white balance, and all the other stuff that people like Stevi use to make their shots look so nice, but the auto is smart, and has helped me take some crisp, clean shots. My big beef with the camera was that it was battery powered--I was actually so shocked and appalled when I learned this that I was going to take it back to the store--but I've come around. Picture this:

I'm out with all my sailing buddies, taking some great shots of our seafaring adventures, when my battery indicator starts blinking. My camera is all out of juice. In scenario #1-- I have to curse the stars as I scrub the poop deck--there's no way to charge a lithium ion battery on a schooner! In scenario #2, I'm made captain--I just pull a couple extra double A's from the emergency kit (or take a quick stop by the nearest wharf) and I'm back to capturing maritime memories. Count it.

So, as Stevi (who is actually a pretty decent photography teacher) fills me in on the finer points of my new purchase, I'll be blogging my photographic progress. Our first expedition is documented at the end of this post.

In other news, our big resolution is going pretty well. Thanks mostly toTrader Joe's and a little the fine people at Meijer (along with the recipe-writers at Real Simple and bigoven.com, we've been avoiding restaurants and making 3 meals a day. Yesterday included waffles and eggs, Havarti cheese, crackers, baguette and hummus, some serious meatloaf, steamed asparagus with mozzarella, and basil lemonade, the most excellent drink my lips have ever touched. Today? Eggs, home fries, leftover meatloaf, pasta carbonara, baked potatoes, and more basil lemonade. Seriously, when I get to heaven, I fully expect Mary Magdeline to hand me a glass of the stuff.

Also. Last night we got to see our friends in The Bears of Blue River play at Doc's Downtown. It was a smallish show, but nice, and they sounded good. The bartender was making some rum and cokes so stiff they emasculated me for $1 a pop (ha, ha). We were lame and left kind of early because we've been living the lazy life and really liking it.

For example, today I jumped on the Sopranos bandwagon, only about a decade after most of America. I'm four hours in and not completely enthralled, but I'm going to give it a few more episodes before I make my judgment.

Anyhow. Here are my preliminary attempts. I really, really hope I get better at this whole photography thing.

At The Poetry Reading

I can't keep my eyes off the poet's
wife's legs—they're so much more
beautiful than anything he might
be saying, though I'm no longer
in a position really to judge,
having stopped listening some time ago.
He's from the Iowa Writers Workshop
and can therefore get along fine
without my attention. He started in
reading poems about his childhood—
barns, cornsnakes, gradeschool, flowers,
that sort of stuff—the loss of
innocence he keeps talking about
between poems, which I can relate to,
especially under these circumstances.
Now he's on to science, a poem
about hydrogen, I think, he's trying
to imagine himself turning into hydrogen.
Maybe he'll succeed. I'm imagining
myself sliding up his wife's fluid,
rhythmic, lusciously curved, black-
stockinged legs, imagining them arched
around my shoulders, wrapped around my back.
My God, why doesn't he write poems about her!
He will, no doubt, once she leaves him,
leaves him for another poet, perhaps,
the observant, uninnocent one, who knows
a poem when it sits down in a room with him.

First of all, the Writer's Strike sucks bigtime. I know its over, but it's still affecting my life in a very real way. Over Christmas, I bought two TVonDVD seasons: LOST season 4 and Scrubs season 7. Both are--how can I put this delicately?--gimpy. Scrubs had 11 half-hour episodes, with no resolution or finale. LOST had 13 episodes. Both of these sets were regularly priced and pretty disappointing. On the plus side, they both got me pumped for their respective premieres this month.

New Years Resolutions. I have two. One is to write at least one creative page a day, and blog once every three days. Before you open your proverbial mouth, I know it's the 4th. This is the first day I've had web access. It starts today.

The second resolution is going to be harder, I think. Stevi and I are only allowed to eat out twice a week--one on-the-go meal that is less than 15 dollars, and one sit-downer. I have a sub-resolution to cook more, and to cook different things than I'm used to.

I'm graduating in May, pending a catastrophe. I'd like to go out with a bang. I'm coming up with a few ideas on how to make this possible, and some of then toe the line of legality.

Also, it's pretty great to be home. I had a wonderful time with family, friends, and fish, but all that guesting around can get exhausting. I am starving to sleep in my own bed.