Saturday, September 3, 2016

Yeah, but he's saying it like it's a bad thing.

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Finding heroes in the damnedest places....

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

A Place Where Elves Matter

Although we suspect the caucasian population of Iceland tips the scale considerably compared to the US, the largest multi-ethnic democracy on earth, we are respectfully bemused to hear of these recent events.

We are wondering if any incendiary episodes, the kinds that perhaps disgraced all involved - elves and humans - precipitated this construction.

Just for today, we're glad we broke our self-imposed exile from the news to read this story sent in by a true friend.

(And if we're being punked - that's OK, too. We needed the break.)

Monday, August 29, 2016

Warning: Unabashedly sentimental prose ahead.

RIP Gene Wilder

To a Man...

...unlike any other. Sent to carve layers of mirth, depth and soul that were so stratospherically unique that even our grief at his passing defies description.

A pregnant friend - due in a matter of weeks - is carrying a boy named Wilder. They chose the name because of Gene. The uncanny timing of this, we're pretty sure, can't be lost on the angels who espy and maybe even negotiate such comings and goings.

Right now, all together, we want to holler out the loudest, heartfelt thanks to Mr. Wilder for so much but mostly for inhabiting our world for approximately 30,000 days in so a thousand unforgettable places, ways and moments.

Sir; the skies were bluer, the ocean warmer and the pupils of our eyeballs were bigger just because of you.

You contained more poetry in your silence than all the bards alive with megaphones

You boldly went where no one ever went before and nobody will be able to follow your zany path in or out of the woods.

What magic you brought.


What truth, what dare, what audacity, what tremulous timing, rapturous grace and, Lord knows, what FUNNY.

Our Frankenstein is gone.

Our Wonka slipped away.

All right, all right even the fire in our saddles is smoldering...

But our memories.

And if you look over your shoulder, just now, maybe you'll see a bit of the shimmer of your wake: Your silver cord was that visible to all of us.

These are real tears, but they're the clear, sparkling kind and we're smiling through them. They're traversing the planet. In all languages. All for you. Not just sadness at your passing, but joy that we got to know you at all. And you're worth every one of them.

We'll see you again. In our purest imagination.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Social mores run the wild gamut as we circle the globe.

In America, many are succumbing to the virus of outrage. It's part political, sure, but definitely social.

The illness is bizarre to espy in another, yet we're certainly not immune to it ourselves: We just tend to call it other things in perhaps a disingenuous move to disassociate from those surly bands of malcontents. Maybe insincerity is the more egregious act.

Yet here is a tale well-told that plum fascinates. We're trying to imagine a parallel experience here, in corporate realms, but draw the damnedest blank when we do.

Cabbages and Kings

This link seems fake. Or almost a lost act from 'Candide". Perhaps a chapter from "The Golden Ass". But pickles.

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