tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91936352008-07-02T22:25:17.024-05:00Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comBlogger520125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-67689263722838369872008-07-02T12:45:00.002-05:002008-07-02T12:51:12.461-05:00

From the source of 101 20-Minute Appetizers and 101 10-Minute Meals (from which I have used a number of recipes), comes 101 20-Minute Picnic Dishes. Of the dishes he lists (and many of them are quite tasty sounding), I definitely think this one may enter the repertoire: 8 COLD PEANUT NOODLES Cook Chinese egg noodles or regular spaghetti. Drain and rinse. Toss with sesame oil, peanut butter (or

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-62336739560729420232008-06-25T23:05:00.005-05:002008-06-25T23:11:51.940-05:00

Sorry for the poems and such for those that aren't interested, but I just had an urge. Of course this is going to look a bit silly and backwards to those without an RSS reader, but oh well. I thought long and not so hard about how to post this since the sequential nature of a blog gives you the latest first, even though there is a clear sequence (in my head). But, in the end, I decided to get

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-6241423577416921812008-06-25T22:56:00.004-05:002008-06-25T23:14:51.814-05:00

Apology In addition to Bartram’s Travels, I had many other works in mind when writing this section. One other is Henry David Thoreau, especially his essay, “Walking.” On the highway today, one is certainly a saunterer in one of the senses that Thoreau delineated in his essay “Walking.” All travelers upon the interstate are at the very least saunterers insofar as they are sans terre while

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-36526309952680009042008-06-25T22:54:00.001-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.417-05:00

Muting snow blankets the ground save the still warm pavement; melting in small puddles, it gathers, reflects opacity. Still, only one sound can be heard. A distant highway shears through night's sound-proofing batting, now less pressing: poor conditions inevitably slow the endless careen of trucks some. I miss the silence's totality that past greeted those in

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-10895215880919593482008-06-25T22:53:00.001-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.419-05:00

Driving a darkened highway, deserted though before midnight, only the broken lines, jumping into the headlamps’ halo, as if on a dare, and sprinting past, regularly relieve a landscape painted too heavily in shades of black. Save for the distant red wink of brake lights, those ravenous eyes leering from trucks whose drivers incessantly chat on radios with others whom they have never met, and lit

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-21587568527656224822008-06-25T22:51:00.000-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.420-05:00

Returning is a skill not forgotten; the road itself knows the way; sights long seen the eye notices but still does not see, as they slide past on the road's side, flattening themselves as those who glide to and from the bar on a Friday night. Against window's and mirror's screen we play our lives, each unfolding scene subsumed by the foreground as it scrolls past, seen but not heard. Does a

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-58938143787582043772008-06-25T22:49:00.001-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.421-05:00

The old feeling returns again, rising in the throat, like mountains crawling slow over the horizon and erupting into the realm of sight; nostalgia riding shotgun beside, traveling Interstate down from the hills, nausea—memories sit heavy on the stomach, coming unbidden. The lighted barrels point the way--bridge work ahead. They highlight lost destinations: the dining room cluttered with

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-68684366686219425682008-06-25T22:48:00.000-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.422-05:00

The roadside signs sidle by—skulking past on vision's edge, flattening themselves against sight's blurred wall, letting cars hurtle on, lest something disturb endless monotony by becoming noticeable—unlike the white lines that crash forever forward into speeding cars only to dwindle into the nonexistence of passed horizons. The rearview mirror paints an ever changing portrait of a life in the

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-34226705534626274412008-06-25T22:44:00.004-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.423-05:00

The highway lies just there, unseen, unheard, and remote, though only bottle-rocket distance from my desk, one island amid a well-carpeted archipelago. Here, muzak cannot replace the music of cars in motion: engines harmonize and tires play their riffs upon the road below. Each one moves on constrained on that narrow ribbon, where such potential becomes energy fully kinetic as, when realized,

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-16043485300872999272008-06-25T22:43:00.000-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.424-05:00

The interstate highway, a long time foe, stretching out lives behind until they bend and break, now acts as my closest friend, bearing upon its back my whole life. She rushes through green valleys with black floors toward me to the rhythm of broken lines that running by, are reflected in the windshield and, receding, are seen no more. Arteries of this new long-distance land, the highways quicken

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-47905280700580976262008-06-25T22:41:00.003-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.426-05:00

The creases in the pavement mark the time for a race of white lines: marathons that are never complete but unheeded by spectators in box seats stuck between the horizons—start line and finish tape. The cars, each a penny-ante Eden, are traveling wombs made for insularity and comfort: rarefied air and clinking beer bottles container-cooled just behind, a movie continuously playing upon the

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-72786513974711884852008-06-25T22:37:00.001-05:002008-06-25T23:02:24.427-05:00

I remember growing up in the valley of Virginia, on the hills that formed the divide between the watersheds of the Shenandoah River to the north and the James River to the south—one of the highest points in the valley proper. On all sides were long limestone ridges, the valleys bottoming out to carry the water on its long course to the Chesapeake Bay, some 200 miles to the east. I could not

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-73986086904696448762008-06-24T18:00:00.003-05:002008-06-24T18:03:08.124-05:00

Frozen Toothpaste identifies two warning signs: There are two general signs that a blog is heading toward extinction. The first is a declining frequency of posting, and the second is a proportional rise in the number of posts about the blog itself.All in all, the post is a pretty astute observation about blogging in general. To be a bit self-referential here, sometimes they just go into

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-67382426104439471682008-06-23T09:51:00.003-05:002008-06-23T09:56:31.235-05:00

Long-time readers of this blog will recognize Matt Harding, the proprietor of Wherethehellismatt.com. His latest goofy dance moves are featured in a new video. Previous videos: 2005, 2006.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-18447056939441732372008-06-16T13:40:00.001-05:002008-06-16T13:42:30.105-05:00

Happy Bloomsday everyone.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-78872826863705061012008-03-28T13:26:00.001-05:002008-03-28T13:29:01.128-05:00

While most of the world focuses on other, dire news from my original stomping grounds, my parents can actually see St. Mary's Wilderness Area burning. And for those of you who know me well, you can guess my feelings here. I know it's a natural part of the ecosystem, but I'm still gutted by it.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-28856881150118590292008-03-17T14:15:00.004-05:002008-03-17T21:53:11.033-05:00

Thanks to all that have e-mailed, blogged, called, etc. We're OK even though the tornado passed within 50 or so yards of our loft. For some pictures of the damage in my 'hood, here's a link to Flickr images tagged "Atlanta" and "Tornado". Oh yeah, that Loft they showed on the news all day Saturday? It's just on the other side of the cemetery. And yes, it is as bad as it looks.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-10123331062405485522008-03-14T11:58:00.000-05:002008-03-14T11:59:44.682-05:00

Kottke.org is 10 years old today.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-53491984413224927532008-03-14T10:19:00.002-05:002008-03-14T10:19:40.784-05:00

Google Sky. Like Google Earth for Stars. I could probably waste hours with this.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-22561515828404793892008-03-13T15:49:00.000-05:002008-03-13T15:50:29.900-05:00

The 100 best last lines from novels.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-60501464587379262512008-03-13T12:44:00.001-05:002008-03-13T12:46:26.642-05:00

Spinner ranks the 25 best band logos.

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-14473324241006013662008-03-13T12:33:00.004-05:002008-03-13T12:42:06.579-05:00

This is so right on so many differently levels. Pulp's "Common People" as a Archie comic. Archie in a different class... Indeed. (via Information Leafblower).

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-73052551847739289862008-03-03T21:38:00.001-05:002008-03-03T21:43:14.734-05:00

File this under I don't believe it. Warrick Dunn has joined a long list of other fan favorites. Dunn was released by the Falcons today. Long time readers know I don't pay much attention to American Football, but the major moves being made by the Falcons lately have attracted even my attention. Sure, Dunn may be past his prime a bit, but the guy has been such a pillar of the community here in

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-55852334801258128172008-02-28T00:09:00.002-05:002008-02-28T00:13:29.107-05:00

I doubt you've noticed it, but I've added a couple of new blogs to my sidebar. Also, I've started a new project that's much more work focused: Contented: a weblog dedicated to content strategy and web copywriting. I don't know how far I'll get with it alone, but I felt the need to write about some of the things I deal with on a day-to-day basis at work. Hopefully, I can expand the authorship

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9193635.post-66474372339286803532008-02-27T23:50:00.004-05:002008-03-07T16:24:28.086-05:00

A Newsweek blog has an interesting post describing how Obama's branding efforts are more thorough and complete than any campaign thus far, and certainly more so than his rival. It explores something I've been thinking about as well. Obama's "brand" looks way more Apple or Target than Hillary's or McCain's (Dell and Wal-Mart/Army circa 2003). Also, his "O" logo scales much better online than

Timhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04447629718018884887noreply@blogger.com