So much posting, so little time
Or, perhaps that should be so little posting, so much time. Drove back home for Mother’s Day over the weekend (ain’t I just the bestest son in the whoooole world?). Then, as one would logically assume, I drove back. Thirteen total hours of driving for twenty four hours of being back home. Sleeping on a far too small air mattress, braving dirt roads chock full of treacherously large pot holes, overzealous highway patrol officers trying to fill their quotas… all for Mom.
Something I learned on this trip, my Dad may have gone ’round the bend, so to speak. It was bad enough when he started stringing up hummingbird feeders like there was no tomorrow (cause if today was your last day on earth, wouldn’t you want to feed as many hummingbirds as you can?). He put up so many of them that there are now swarms of hummingbirds at my parents place. Yeah, you read that right, swarms. Imagine hitting a bee-hive with a baseball bat. See all those bees? Now replace them with hummingbirds, and that’s what their front porch looks like.
But he didn’t stop there. He started hanging ‘regular’ bird feeders, but the squirrels were eating all the bird seed. So how did he solve this problem? Not with my ingenious invention (to be posted at a later date), but rather by feeding the squirrels peanuts. So now picture the flocks of birds, swarms of hummingbirds, and army of squirrels. Got all that? Now add these two little guys:
More to post, but still recovering from the long drive… also, I gotta go to work at 5am tomorrow, so that bed is looking pretty damn enticing right now.
Sad songs and waltzes
Johnny Cash’s cover of Hurt plays through my head when I look at this picture.
Semper Fidelis Tyrannosaurus
Another day soon over with, not much to show for it either. Really need to get out of LA, it’s been grating on me a lot lately. Luckily I’ll be leaving for the weekend. In the meantime, I’ll just wish I was here:

Full size here.
Luckily it’s almost fair season. Carnies, rides, and everything under the sun fried up and consumed.
Wooden Frog should put down the stick, and pick up the Scotch.
He doesn’t drink because he’s alone, he drinks because it’s the only way he feels alive.


