Sketch Of Debra (Not Deborah)

                                   Debra, not Deborah (and for fcuk's sake, never "Deb")

Trees Or Better

I drive down the street and I see things like this all the time
Not that I'm looking for 'em.
I just notice them,..odd things attract my attention.
Dead trees never get much better looking than this
Got that Fibonacci sequence dealio goin' on

Make A Wish, Blow Out The Candles

                            Scott Foreman and Mike Meyers administrate the birthday bruise

Another 365 day trip around the sun concluded for me today, and as with just about every single one of them since I marked the Golden Birthday (the birthday on which you turn as old as the date of your birth, i.e., turning 30 on the 30th), it was a grand day.

Grand if only for the reason I'm still in the game, still alive and kicking to quote my friend Mick. 

I was raised in a neighborhood that celebrated birthdays with a birthday bruise, which is what is happening to me in the photo above. That's Scott and Mike doing the honors.

My god, the hair I had back then. Man, do I miss it.

Well, Isn't This Just A Special Little Party

Well, on the bright side it was only one firetruck, one patrol car, and one ambulance

The thing is, it just creeps up on you. One day you're 22, enjoying the nightlife of the beach area of San Diego (Pacific and Mission Beach, occasionally La Jolla), and the next you're all..."WTF! Where did my hair go!" ...or maybe, "Why are my breasts meeting at my navel?"

Relax, there's nothing to fear, it's just part of life. Though the transition from party-hardy (hearty?) teen-ish person to full-blown adult may be a bit challenging, you'll make it, just like your parents did and their parents before them.

Though without a Facebook page to remind them of how stupid they were. You think the memories of how awful you behaved as a 21-year-old are hard to deal with? Wait until you see the photographic and eyewitness evidence on Facebook - or whatever social media you choose. Heh.

6:12 Tuesday Morning

A Recipe For Regret

                                    The blue quasi-Victorian house

Combine 
An enterprising spirit
With inordinate procrastination
And a near total lack of self-discipline
Along with a heaping teaspoon of fear

Let stew for decades
Until one can taste only the memory of  the wishes
That sparked the desire

Hamburger stands, junk stores and antique shops
Carnival rides and myriad mom and pops

Each and every one
Being run
By a daring enough someone 
Who simply did what had to be done

Catastrophe may lurk
In the swampy, marshy murk
Horrors may wait
Behind every rusty iron gate

but never will one know if the opportunity will profit
If one doesn't get off one's ass and simply try it

It takes decisive action
In order to earn the satisfaction
Of succeeding in a chosen endeavour

Persist
Like salmon swimming upstream
With your fervent hopes and your wildest dreams
Otherwise, you'll earn the fate
Of all of those who procrastinate

Sketching On A Rainy Sunday