Cutest thing ever can be found HERE. This makes me laugh so hard. And I am actually very tempted to get one.

Here is a pretty good summary of how I spent much of my childhood:

Just one of the many reasons PETA scares me can be seen HERE. Link goes to a news article. I guess Obama swatted a fly, and this is an inhumane act against animals. Really PETA? House flies are the filthiest animals possible. Why do you think too many in restaurants counts as a health code violation in many places? This is just absurd, I mean really. Think of what would happen if we all just stopped killing house flies. I would argue that allowing houseflies to live is likely to be more damaging to the native ecosystem than anything.

Silly me, though. Why am I bothering to use logic? These are the same people who think we should all release our house pets right now. Because roving bands of feral dogs is the solution to inhumane acts against animals! Give me a break. These people need to spend some time living on a farm and get their stupid little granola crunching heads in the right place.

(Please note. I love animals. I’m all for humane treatment. But only when it is actually humane, and makes sense. I also very much like granola. FYI.)

1. There would be a lot more family pets and a lot fewer strays
2. Chickens would be acceptable household pets
3. All pills would be available in chewable form
4. Pajamas would be acceptable for most any occasion
5. Life would revolve more around eating and less around consuming
6. There would be more lists
7. You could check things off those lists
8. (It would give you a sense of fulfillment)
9. There would be more time for blogging
10. Honey would not count for calories
11. Everyone would have space for a garden
12. There would be fewer people
13. Economics would be taught more thoroughly than literature
14. Literature would still be taught thoroughly though!
15. Every student would graduate knowing how to balance a checkbook, change a tire, and make bread

This pretty much sums up finals week:

My parents have three cochins. If you have never seen cochins, you simply need to accept that with the exception of polish top hats, they are the most absurd chickens ever. And my parents have three. Two hens and a big poofy rooster. The cochins always remind me of cats, in that they are actually much smaller then they seem. They’re mainly feather and poof.

Anyway, back to heff. When the rooster first came to live with us, he was named lief erikson, a strong viking name. My parents, however, have taken to calling him Heff. Not because of the obvious “two hens” and “Hugh Hefner” connection, but rather, the “heffalump” connection.

Please tell me you know heffalumps. As in heffalumps and woozles? If you don’t, you need to go back and re-do childhood. Clearly something important was missed.

Below you’ll find a video of Heff strutting around and clucking. I love his voice. It so deep and dramatic. Such a contrast to a puffy, plodding chicken.

(Video is mine. Please don’t steal)

Sorry for the meager posting lately. As you’ll recall from past terms (if you’ve been reading that long) I tend not to post much toward the end of terms. To make up for it, here is my boyfriend looking ridiculous with an absurdly large chicken.

If you’ll recall, my heart has recently been stolen by a tiny chicken. I bring to you know video of little peep chasing my boyfriend’s hand. She thinks hands are her mama. And she’s been practicing flying. Video is best at high volume, so you can hear her peeps.

Video is mine, don’t steal, so on and so forth.

I just failed at my breakfast routine. This is by no means as bad as some OTHER mornings, but I felt it worth sharing. I had milk in a glass that I was drinking intermittently. In a mug beside it, I had a tea bad waiting. I stared outside and watched the chickens while I waited for my water to boil. Before I knew it, I had bubbles! (Which is excellent, since I usually peek under the lid about 4 times and it takes about 10 minutes to boil). So I poured my boiling water…. into my milk, not onto the tea bag.

Oh lordy. Brain? Hello? You there? (Uh oh, no answer).

I feel stuck right now. And very frustrated. There is no end in sight. I have projects. I have a 6 page paper. I have 4 finals. And then I go straight into three terms of class, condensed into 11 weeks. I feel like screaming. If I already feel stuck and exhausted, how can I make it through this summer?

I know I am my father’s daughter. Before the bar, instead of reviewing, he disappeared for two weeks and went camping. He had (has?) a history of vanishing to wilderness when life presses in too much. I know I am his daughter, because I find my mind wandering. I’m ending up on lonely planet more than is healthy. Thailand, Australia, Morocco, Mexico. Anywhere and everywhere. I’m ending up at REI.com, looking at pants designed for travel. One pair dries quickly. One zips off to become capris and shorts. One expensive pair does both, and comes with traveler’s underwear. My world just seems too small right now. All I see, everyday, is the same shit I saw yesterday.

I’ve always had the travel bug. This is how I ended up without my family (just 15 classmates and two teachers) in Egypt my junior year of high school. It was terrifying, enchanting, and amazing. I had a dream about the nile yesterday. My group rode a feluca, a chinese sailboat, up the nile for two or three days. Every night we would anchor at the bank and sleep. Once an afternoon we would stop for lunch and to relieve ourselves. One of these afternoons, Saskia (one of the teachers) and myself ended up wandering out to a forage field. We met a farmer there. He didn’t speak english, but it didn’t matter. Saskia motioned to the crop and raised her arms in a shrug, to ask what it was for. He but his hands up like ears and brayed. I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. He started laughing too. He motioned for us to follow him. Winding through this field of scraggly green plants were little dirt trails. His was clearly the only family in the area. A perfectly packed dirt trail, solely from this man’s feet, year after year. Probably his children too. And his father. We eventually came to his house. It didn’t have a roof. It was packed sand, one big room. There were windows and doors. They weren’t covered. Part of the top was covered by palm fronds. The bed was under here. The rest was open. We sat at a small table, oddly plastic and industrial looking in such a bucolic place. His wife served us hibiscus tea. Chickens wandered in and out of the house. They were ignored. When the donkey poked his head through the window, the wife yelled at him and hit him across the nose with a towel. Then she threw some greens of some kind out the window to him.

It was the strangest and most wonderful experience of my life. It sits in my mind as the ideal of travel. The way people’s lives come together. How hospitality and gratitude know no language barriers. I’ve been dreaming this memory lately. As the real details fade, my mind replaces them with my own thoughts. The wife’s face becomes someone I know. Children may or may not be there. I can’t remember anymore if they were. The greens thrown to the donkey become carrots, or corn cobs. The chickens are mine. It is a weird distortion of memory and the reflections of my own life. All I know is that I want to go. I want to meet more people that hover in my dreams. I want to go to more places, so Egypt and Mexico have company when I close my eyes.

(Photo mine, taken Feb 2006 (I think). All rights, etc etc, you know the drill)