Refracted Neurons

I was walking down the street this morning, when I spotted something strange on the ground in front of a construction site.  Now when I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in graveyards, so I was pretty sure that I was looking at a tombstone.  And I'm not referring to growing up Gothic, I'm referring to growing up, er, genealogical .  My mom has always been into tracing the history of our family, so we frequented dusty old libraries and cemeteries.  At the time it was boring, but I've developed a nostalgia for tombstones and microfiche that I entirely failed to develop for computer parts and easy listening music.  But that's another story. When you see it . . .  I pulled the stroller over to the side of the road to get a closer look.  Sure enough, this was a bona fide early 20th century tombstone.  Which brings up some questions: Was someone buried in this plot of land?  Where is the body?  Is this legal?  Do I have a corpse in my backyard too? Close up of tomb

Here it is, the day before the day before Christmas.  The snow is actually falling for once, all our shopping is done, all gifts wrapped, and Santa Claus is terrifying a new generation.  One of our friends asked my 3-year-old if Santa was coming to our house.  Without missing a beat, he responded, "No, he's too scary."  I mean, forget presents.  Santa is a creepy stalker and little P knows it. On a much lighter note, did you know that you can curl wrapping paper like you curl ribbon?  I had this giant present and no giant bow.  So I cut some wrapping paper into strips and ran a scissor blade across it and voila! Dollar Tree wrapping paper curls just like ribbon! With Christmas being the commercialized time of year it is, I started thinking about abandoned or nearly abandoned malls.  I already fessed to my love of evil robots, now I'm coming clean about my love of old places.  Be it a grand Victorian or a humble tenement house, I'm just full of anemoia.

I had this dream earlier this week that I dropped my youngest child off at daycare so that I could go ride a giant slide made out of dirt.  I started to slide down it, but it was kind of slow going.  Part way down the slide was a traffic light.  The light was red, so I stopped.  When it turned green, I started sliding underneath the covered part of the slide.  It was really tight and I was having a hard time going down it, so I decided to go back up the way I came.  I went to the daycare to pick up my daughter and they had shaved her head.  I wasn't really happy about this. Anyway, I didn't have a dream about robots, but someone mentioned the Hardiman exoskeleton recently.  I was only half listening until they mentioned that they were never able to turn it on with someone inside because it had violent and uncontrolled movements.  My head immediately snapped up.  A robotic exoskeleton that tries to kill the person wearing it?  I needed to know more about this.   So I j

It finally actually snowed here.  It has been icy for awhile, and well, we don't do that here.  I was reminded of this by a man in the QFC parking lot.  He seemed vaguely alarmed that I was out in the weather, and heaven forbid driving a car.   This sounds really sexist until you realize that Seattlites don't drive in the ice/snow, especially not subcompact cars with balding tires (yeah, yeah). Whenever it's freezing outside, I always like to think about being somewhere really warm, which makes it perfect weather for a little Culling series action.  Right?  Right! You don't understand, we have a temperate climate here. I've just posted chapter 5, a chapter that seriously makes me blush.  Read it, read it, read it!  Oh, no!  Don't read it!  Nooooooooooooo . . . After their first failed tournament, Charlotte returns to the neutral zone with her team to regroup.  Concerned about the ability of their team to survive, she agrees to Spirit Bond with Orvi

I've been taking the bus to work for about a year now.  I pretty much knew what I was getting into, since I had ferried and bused to school when I was in college.  To make an overarching generalization: there are two types of commuters; weirdos and the people who are trying to stay away from them.  These are not rigid categories.  I tend to wander in and out of them depending on my mood and what I'm up to. This last week was an interesting one commute-wise.  I was sitting in the accordion part of the bus, which I think is a death trap.  I also like to sit there because it seems roomier.  Anyway, I hear this "boom" right underneath me, followed by "BOOM!"  Then smoke starts to come in the bends in the accordion.  I twist around in my seat horrified.  If I could have, I would have moved, but this is the 41.  The 41 gets so full that there is literally no space to move.  The guy next to me is watching my face twist in horror.  He watches for awhile to see wh