She has this fantasy: Some calamity occurs and she must stay inside for weeks, drifting from her lofted bed to her easel, passing the days by painting, alone.

That’s from a Washington Post article about Matt Sesow and Dana Ellyn’s gallery show opening/wedding on Friday night. My main regret about all of this snow is that we missed their wedding. You can read all about it, and them, here: “D.C. couple put hearts to canvas at their wedding turned gallery show,” By Dan Zak

Be sure to check out the brief narrated slideshow, it’s kinda sweet.

You can check out Til Death Do Us Part at Longview Gallery, through March 1st.

Matt & Dana’s wedding website is here.

I feel bad for both the driver and the moose, but I’d be lying if I said my first thought when I saw the headline about a moose dropping out of the sky onto a car wasn’t relief because it wasn’t me.

The moose that “fell from the sky” Tuesday, in an observer’s words, landed on its head and quickly died.

The yearling bull nearly took a man with him after it fell from the Interstate 95 overpass onto Hinckley Road.

Shirley Bailey, assistant town clerk, got the frantic call shortly after 8 a.m. Tuesday. The caller was driving along the road when he saw the moose fall.

Bailey recalled his comments: “‘I was driving under the bridge on Hinckley Road and a moose fell from the sky.'”

The man was “a little shook up,” said Bailey, who quickly notified Police Chief Charles Runnels. “It was quite frightening, I guess.”

“It was quite frightening, I guess.” Has to be one of the most unintentionally hilarious sentences. Later in the article, someone named Reynold (who I suspect is a typo referring to Chief Runnels) also states, “Such accidents are not as uncommon as people might think.” Moose collisions, perhaps, but airborne moose collisions? Airborne moose collisions are not as uncommon as people might think?

Upon further reflection, I’ve never considered the possibility of an airborne moose collision or a plague of moose falling from the sky, so even one case would make this type of accident more common than I ever suspected. Chief Runnels/Reynolds, I stand corrected.

(you may make your own Bullwinkle jokes in the comments)

Blog365 ends today and I haven’t got anything momentous to say.

It was a year of posts about squirrels and Huckaphobia and Artomatic and Frankenstein and coffee and lolcats and movies and politics and pop culture. So, basically the same as every other year.

I just tallied up my posts for the year: 533. Plus this one. So that’s 534. I don’t think those automatically generated twitter summaries should count, so let’s subtract 5.

That leaves me with 529 posts for 2008, if I can resist coming back to post again today. For a moment I thought 529 was a prime number, but it’s not, it’s a square number. The square root of 529 is 23, which is itself a prime number, so that makes 529 interesting by association, I think. 530 is much less interesting than 529, so perhaps I should leave it at that and just say, “See you next year!”

Michele B gifted us with such a stunning and delicious array of cookies that Husband and I – and we’ll neither confirm nor deny this – may have growled at each other like wolves over the little chocolate cookies. Also the gingerbread man. Also the dainty little pastries that were like tiny tasty creme brulee cousins.

We also got lovely surprises from JunglePete, as well as Dr. Birdcage and Phil, although none of these turned out to be edible.

On a completely unrelated and most assuredly not edible note, I’m very happy that Pete has been posting about coyote poop and has posted nice pictures. When coyote poop started showing up in my neighborhood I let a biologist take it and didn’t think to take pictures til it was gone.

Husband and I are proud to welcome the newest addition to our household: our new HD Tivo. Lacking creativity, I named it OverLord II. Being products of the 80s, we have that compulsion to append the phrase “electric boogaloo” every time we say OverLord 2, so I suspect we’ll be dropping the 2 soon enough seeing as that joke got old in, oh, say, 1984.

In other (non)news, Valet Mag has actually tracked down a rather attractive tuxedo for under $500. Last year I made someone I live with give all of his tuxes to charity but I haven’t gotten around to finding him a new one. He and his dad are the same size so I wanted to check in with him before we did any actual shopping or called on the tailor. (Yes, that was all. All, as in more than 2. No, I don’t understand it either).

I’m ridiculously organized. Martha Stewart doesn’t scare me. Sometimes I fear this could lead me to do bad things – like crime or drugs or scrapbooking.

Husband, on the other hand, has never met a piece of paper he didn’t love. He’s by no means a horder, but let’s put it this way: Remember way back in high school when you took the SAT and the registration form had that section that you were supposed to keep? It said, “Retain this form for your records.” Guess who still has that form in his records?

Yeah.

Despite me extreme tidiness, we do somehow have pockets of clutter that accumulate and every once in a while I sort through them and file or shred or otherwise dispose of things we no longer need. I was on hold today for an interminable amount of time, which did have the minor benefit of giving me time to sort through one of these clutter-pockets. It’s at these times that I discover things like commendation letters that my extremely modest Husband forgets to tell me about. My current favorite is one I just found from then-Vice President Al Gore that basically says, “Hey Eric – thanks for being you.”

If I had more than 30 free seconds today I’d tell you about the “Darth Vader baby pictures” incident.

Today is Husband’s birthday so I thought I’d do a special FishInnards Friday Five edition.

Husband’s website is fishinnards because once upon a time he asked me to register a name for him and I asked him what name he wanted and he said, “Surprise me.” I didn’t think of it entirely on my own, however, I was inspired by this truly horrendous smelling fish innards curry he made on morning to take to the monks at the Thai Temple. Despite the fish innard curry, he’s a very good cook, which is good because I’m not.

Hey – here’s his blog post with the recipe. I just read his notes at the top of the recipe and had a laugh, Husband is the master of understatement: “It kinda stank up the house in a weird way.” Um, yeah.

You will note the recipe doesn’t contain either the imaginary ingredient “curry” nor the yucky grocery store concoction known as “curry powder.” If you ever want to see Husband turn several shades of purple, pretend that there’s one common ingredient in all of the curries of the world (there isn’t) and that you don’t like it. For advanced fun, tell him all curries taste the same. Then you should prepare to sit a spell, because you’re in for a very long lecture.

When Husband isn’t feeding me in the manner I’ve become accustomed (read: no fishinnard-based food stuffs), he makes music with his current band, Astroknotics. We’re supposed to be recording a project of our own, but we haven’t even started it, so I won’t link to that because it doesn’t exist yet except in my head, but you really don’t want to go rooting around in there.

He also produces the Indiefeed Dance channel, which itunes put on their “best of 2008” list for audio podcasts, so it must be good!

He’s also DJ to the beautiful people, and he shares his schedule and also the occasional mix with the rest of us via his myspace.

This is a really boring post, isn’t it? I was going to list some of the other things he’s really good at, but this being a family-friendly website, I won’t. Wait, it’s not family friendly at all. Ah well, that’s none of your business, anyway.

Have a nice weekend, kids!

Faith had her baby! He’s 4 weeks early and so little he looks like he could sleep in the silverware drawer, but everyone seems to be doing okay and Faith hasn’t killed her mom yet.

(That’s 4 weeks early, not 6 as previously posted. Math quiz. Fail.)

I believe I’ve finally scrubbed all of the historical political speeches from my ipod. I’m such a political nerd I had hours and hours of them, but no matter what I did I couldn’t keep them out of the shuffle. Nothing wrecks the rhythm of a run more than having your ipod shuffle from White Zombie to Richard Nixon.

My brother has spoken approximately 27 words in his entire life. It’s possible he speaks at work, when he’s deep in the bowels of the Pentagon creating the dinosaur-human hybrid super-soldiers that you must pretend to know nothing about, but I can’t vouch for that.

He gets this lack of verbosity from our father.

Among my mother and her legion of siblings, there has not been a documented break in the conversation since 1932. There are rumors that there was a moment of collective silence at a Church service in 1953, but lacking credible eye-witnesses, I choose not to believe it. Conversations in my mother’s family are like the audio recordings NASA pumps into space, they will be floating far out into the Universe long after our sun explodes and our galaxy is snuffed out in a fiery cataclysm.

My father, on the other hand, was a man of few words.

I don’t mention these conversational contrasts because I worry that someday life-forms in a distant galaxy are going to pick up an argument over cheeze-it flavors on their radio telescopes, which will have far-reaching implications for their civilization.

I mention it because my father had an effective method for dealing with busy bodies – those people who won’t take no for an answer and demand to know what else you need to do that could possibly be more important than what they want you to do.

The conversation would go something like this:

“But surely you can stay for a few more hours.”
“No, I’m sorry, I have things to do.”
“What sort of things?”
At this, my father would lean in, repeat simply, ominously, in very hushed tones, “Things.”

And then, he would smile.

It was the unexpected smile that sold it. If you’re curt and rude you just seem socially inept and boorish. If you smile and are polite as you brush them off, it unsettles them a bit and allows for a graceful get-away. I highly recommend it.

It might help if, like my father, you’re very large and heavily armed and otherwise never say a word, Regardless, I say go for it. If nothing else, maybe politeness itself will be enough to confuse them.