Extra! Extra!

Newsflashes! (With apologies to The Onion.)

Local man shaves head, gets tattoo, becomes big teddy bear. (Before photo: distruntled middle-aged man, comb-over, polo shirt. After: goofy grin.)

Local woman believes this the best Pop-Tart she's ever eaten. (Photo: a Pop-Tart.)

Taxi-driving baritone has just the sound U2 missing in "One." ("I know Bono will overhear me one day, singing my amazing harmony," said Patrick Walsh, 45, alone in his cab.)

Monsters with Beaks

Do art-people and blogs mix? I'm tempted (dangerously) to prance about in my emotional knickers here (a tendency for most art-types?) I hope this morning session before the crackling fire (gas logs at the Atlanta Bread Company) will be just a nice, "Something I learned."

Big emotion! Passion! Conviction! I think it can werewolf us (me), in a moment, into a monster. The good news: I have something to say! And if I feel strongly, maybe I can present it compellingly. The bad news: monsters are scary.
So ... is it war? (Proverbs: Don't learn the Angry Way.) Ironically, The Art of War is about efficiency (simplicity), effectiveness (doing it well), not about ... racing around willy-willy, battle hatchet waving.
Is it frustration? Maybe. I want to say what I mean! Clearly (from my mind) and compellingly (from my heart). I'd like to -be- more true (and less afraid of what you'll think).
Is it impatience? With myself, with others ... but God says: live it, then say it and mean it. -He- changes hearts. He is changing my heart.
Outside: patience. Kindness. Inside: the Monster.
So ... I want God to leach away the frustration, impatience and/or war. I want the "monster's" beak to hold an olive branch. (I Googled "monsters with beaks" and found only pterodactyls, giant squid and griffins, so I'm going with the latter. Though I think moths have tiny beaks, so maybe Moth-Ra would have a giant beak and also qualify.)
Couldn't Big Emotion! Passion! Conviction! Be ... majestic?
Alice (in Wonderland) was quite cool with her hulking griffin. "What fun!"

Shades for Spring

Welcome to Evangeline's Mary Kay Website

I have many new colors and textures for Spring. Opal No. 32 to coat your lids like the smear of a moth's wing. Black Cherry for lips, which say to each other, "Fool. He still will not crave you." A spectrum of Sable, Steely, Slate and Charcoal liner for lashes and lips.

New this year: Ivory No. 100 to dust the moist cobwebs Age weaves in the corners of eyes, mouth. Cobs, the unseen spiders. Legs pricking the harpsichord's brittle gavotte, composed for youths, long dead. Now, channel their spark!

Thirty shades of pink for lips, to brighten the height (and heartbreak) of beauty, "to die," even as it to perfection grows.

Bronze, Indigo and Violet make you the envy of faded beauty.

Sage No. 45 rims eyes, "green and dying," though you sing in your chains like the sea.

Come to my party!
7 p.m., June 2, 305 North Poppy Ct.

Or visit me before school, Mr. Craven's homeroom, Room 201, or in the hallway. I am the girl who looks like Poe.


Links:
Edwin Arlington Robinson
Gothic Archies
StrongBad
Chimeras, Scylla and Nymphs
Mary Kay International
Tales of Tangeline

Scouts

We went to see the scouts! On Wednesday night, from between my raised, weightless feet, News 7 reported there'd be 25 scouts at Wren High to watch an outfielder named Jason, the nation's third best.
Irrisistible whimsy.
We skirted Mom at the gate, slipped through the chain links, past a portable pig roaster and a tailgate full of dads. We wouldn't be there long.
The moon sharpened into focus. Cool April crawled up under T-shirts. Teens made bee-lines to no discernable destinations, and mom-talk roiled from the depths of lawn chairs -- but all eyes were on the ball. And their louder Voice called out: "Jason!"
Twenty-five scouts. My roommate and I panned faces. We saw them! But didn't know them. (Duh!)
A khaki-clad clique grinned by the fence. Maybe just Wren's business dads, home from Greenville or Atlanta in time for the game. What about that woman, especially attentive, with the pink-sunglasses tiara?
A lean man, not three feet away, coiled in repose, brim down around his eyes. He watched, too. Waited for the signal -- Potential! Possibility! -- of something rare in the guy winging baseballs in from the outfield.

Ah ha! But there's really nothing here about creamed eggs. It was just a trick.

I tentatively step forth into the great void that is the Internet. Millions upon millions upon millions all happening upon this post because they've happlessly googled: "creamed eggs."