Riddle Me This II

Ok, so my last attempt at riddling was a bit of a failure. I'm admitting it freely. However, I've never been one to admit failure so easily, so I'm trying one more time. This time however, the answer lies in one area of knowledge.

Put these objects in the same order Dido would.

Arm and hand
Throwing stick

As for the 1st riddle, the solution follows.

((Samuel Clemens separated by Contemplation The Paper of Record Tods Zahn)less .... )split by Continents is C/d.

The answer is True. Why?

Samuel Clemens was better known as Mark Twain. "Mark Twain" was actually a command on riverboats to mark the anchor line at 12ft.

separated by = Divide

Contemplation is another word for "Fathom". Fathom is also a measure of depth equal to 6ft.

The Paper of Record is the "Times".

Tods Zahn is german for Death's Number. In the tarot, Death is #13.


.... is Mayan for 4.

Split = Divide

Continents number 7.

C/d is another way of describing the ratio pi.

So you have (((12/6)x13)-4)/7 or 22/7 which is another common way of describing pi.

I know....sucky riddle. Hopefully you enjoy the new one.


Just saying....

It's like getting a small glimpse of the future?


Fun with PhotoShop

Photoshop doesn't have to be used to make Nicole Kidman's forehead as smooth as a cueball, or to give Keira Knightley breast. It can also serve as a great timewaster at work

Raf, Sky, and I believe Lily and an unidentified baby they stole in order to balance the photo (I'm sorry but this family is just too damn fertile, I can't keep up)

Verdant Rest (does that sound appropriately pastoral?)

The Betrothed

Slow Boat to China



Riddle Me This

Ok, here is the definitive version of the riddle.

((Samuel Clemens separated by Contemplation The Paper of Record Tods Zahn)less .... )split by Continents is C/d.

True or False and I need Proof.

Hint: The answer is derived from many different types of information


3 thoughts & the 3 of Swords

Miley Cyrus is a spoiled bitch. There, I said it. One wants to give a 15 year old girl the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve decided that at this point, there is enough evidence to conclusively define that girl as a royal bi-otch. It’s bad enough that the Disney Channel decided to inflict this “singer” on the preteen set with her own show, but now that the Tweens rule the world, the rest of us have to put up with this Trashella as well. First there were the Youtube videos of the Lolita-lite flashing her bra to her over-sexed boyfriends, and then making out with some other underaged slut. She finally gets a chance to come off with a little class, and then she and her Dad go and try to trash Annie Liebowitz. Annie takes the only shot of her that doesn’t look like a reject centerfold from Barely Legal, and they try to claim they were taken advantage of. Puh-leeze! Now, the ungrateful urchin goes and makes another video where she insults her fellow Disney starlets. Clearly, she got her brains from dear old Dad—Billy Ray Cyrus. The Litter doesn’t fall far from the Trash-heap, now does it?

What is it with straight men and Lance Armstrong? They can all pretend that they admire him for his resilience, his athletic achievements, or his bevy of bodacious girlfriends. But you and I know all those metro-sexuals have major man-crushes on the Lancer. Whenever the subject of Armstrong comes up, grown men blush and flutter like 12 year old girls with a fresh copy of Tiger Beat. They can all claim that the fad of the yellow wristbands that swept the nation a while back was due to an all consuming concern on the part of yuppy-boys everywhere with finding a cure for cancer, but the truth is, wearing that rubber bracelet was just the closest those boys were ever going to get to Armstrong’s nut-sac. Sad, just sad.

There is that moment when one realizes that the guy they’ve been crushing on is, most likely, a major tool. It’s not really surprising, because most of the men you’ve crushed on have shown themselves to be tools, eventually. But it is disappointing. You hoped that this time, maybe you managed to pick someone to focus your affections upon who would be worthy of your attention. Not that your attention is all that special, in the scheme of things, but it’s the only attention you have to give. Everyone around you seems to have been able to screen out all those potential suitors that will never be what they need them to be, and found someone who is, at least for now, exactly what they need. Somehow, you haven’t gained that skill with age. Instead, you’ve only gotten better at recognizing the inherent toolishness in the men you have let capture your fancy a little bit faster. You’ve yet to learn how to give your affection slower, but you have learned how to ask for, or to take, your heart back faster than in years past. Wisdom, perhaps, less broken hearts, for sure, but less love given, less daydreams had. No wasting of minutes, hours, days, months on fantasies of love requited. Those moments are now free. You notice that free sometimes just means empty.


Headbanging to Muzak

Sorry for being absent me-bitches.
But I've been writing my little heart out over at Flaming Politics.
Please come and visit, and keep any snarky comments about why anyone would be interested in my political opinion to your self.
I happen to be very accomplished. Kind of. Maybe. Sort of. Well, not really, but that's besides the point.

So, in lieu of actual content, I thought I'd leave you with these two things.
1) Fat Rant by Joy Nash

2) VGL Gay Boys Attempt to Get Tickets to Sex and the City

These two remind me of my 2 bestfriends, Rafi and Russel, so much it's a little frightening.


Cuz I'm a Loser, Baby!

In honor of my ten year reunion, I post here my favorite poem by Vassar Alum, Elizabeth Bishop. A villanelle on all that falls away. And a masterful piece of modern structured verse.

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

And because I am in a poetical mood, my all time favorite poem.

This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold