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Showing posts from February, 2006

Google, eBay, Girls and Paris Hilton

The things people search for! The current Top 30 Keywords are remarkably consistent, which must be wonderfully reassuring and validating to both Google (#1 and #30) and eBay (#2). Yahoo (#3) shouldn't feel too badly, either. But I want to know...what keeps Paris Hilton in the top 5? I wonder, are people actually searching for the Hilton in Paris? As it happens, that does end up on the first page when you google. Maybe she's getting bonus hits from travelers. It's all inadvertant. She's certainly good marketing---her name I mean. I saw that Paris + Hilton hotel result and instantly felt a desire to check out Expedia to see what fares to France were running right now. It appears Pamela Anderson has kept her popularity. Amazing. I haven't heard anything about her at all recently. I feel okay about that. And to tell the truth, I just copied the link out of the search result page, didn't even go to her site. A lot of people also want lyrics (#6 and #23) and gir

Double-edged sword

The Pygmalion Lesson is to never fall in love with your own creation. But I have to admit, I really like the above image. I named it, "Double-edged Sword." I don't usually create fanciful titles for my work, ironically. I usually name them something like "red flower 1" and "yellow flower 2." Still, just look at the edges...nature carved that. It really makes me think about how we humans think of ourselves as the top of the food chain, if you take my meaning. Or maybe I was there already due to the corn . (The corn, as it happens, is done now. The shriveling stalks are left there. I don't know what to do with them. I can't bear to cut them down, yet. But I know I should. I'm sure my husband will take care of it with the next lawn mow. He's not as sentimental about it as I am. As is evidenced by the way he so cavalierly threw away the corn husks. I mean, this is the man I nag daily about not tossing things on the counter or floor, "

What is love

Love used to be romance: roses and chocolates, candles and cards, Judith McNaught and Johanna Lindsey novels, dashing heroes, dinner at restaurants with no prices on the menus, lingering glances over single flame flicker...time enough together to feel in love, time enough together to be apart and not regret it because there was all the time we needed. Love has since morphed in something more like patriotism, joy in tribe. Counting on one another, being together in thick and a whole lot of thin, thinking more as we than me. We marvel, "Look at this family we have created." We despair, "Look at this family we have created." Now love is kissing hair and smelling something funny, then realizing your precious progeny has dumped your expensive new hand lotion over her head. Love is a lap, yours, that offers safety and shelter to your adventurous new toddler in those not-so-adventurous moments. It's my breast, that piece of anatomy I finally stopped thinking about, whi

Do you miss summer?

I don't. I don't get the chance to, here in the subtropics, because the verdant green blooming season never ends. I would never miss summer here, anyway, because summer is oppressive and I retreat indoors more than I ever did even in cold winters, like when it stayed in the low teens for a month. Today was actually a gorgeous day: little windy with plenty of direct sun, and highs in the mid-60s. After a birthday party at the gymnastics place, we decided to go to the 5th St. Cafe and Wine Bar . It was so nice, we ate outdoors, where my daughter learned two new words: pinot grigio (Gabbiano) and alfresco. While waiting for my food at the cafe, I took some photos. Here is what winter looks like for me today: My daughter's two new vocabulary words worked in her favor because they loosened up my husband and I enough to agree to a quick stop at the Boardwalk for a little playtime. Her favorite street performer---the burning chair man---was there, but not performing. She loitered

Heaven, she said

"I like Heaven," she said, "because I love Kiki, and she's in Heaven." She looked sad for a moment, and in classic four, switched to say, "I like Care Bear snacks too." Then she blew a raspberry. "Did you know," she said around her candy-masquerading-as-nutritious snack, "Did you know that tadpoles turn into frogs ?" She stared at me intently. "Yes," I said, "I did know that. What do you think about that?" "Well," she dug in her cellophane packet for a moment, "Look look Funshine Bear!" She popped it in her mouth and chewed with verve. "They turn into something else. They know what they are going to be. Do we turn into something else? Do we know what we're going to be?" Sometimes, I don't know whether she means something literally, or if she really is grappling with a metaphysical issue. Before I can decide in this case, she's off on another tack. She slants her "ha

Tongue Tied

By Julie Pippert Artful Media Group Museum Quality Digital Art and Photography Limited Edition Prints Artful by Nature Fine Art and Photography Galleries The Golden Orchid: Original and Unique Wearable Art © 2006. All images and text exclusive property of Julie Pippert. Not to be used or reproduced.

I want to be Joss Stone when I grow up

Seriously! Who wouldn't? I want those long, flowing locks. I want to wear hippy chick clothing. But more than anything, I want my inner Aretha---and trust me, really, she's there---to gush out in such a fantastic soulful and rockin' way. My inner Aretha comes out more like drunken belting Karaoke and what can loosely be called dancing, somewhere between Bridget Jones and Ally McBeal. The best that can be said is that I do it with much gusto. Maybe next life. In the meantime, I buy her CDs and feel the funk flow through least when I am alone in the car. By Julie Pippert Artful Media Group Museum Quality Digital Art and Photography Limited Edition Prints Artful by Nature Fine Art and Photography Galleries The Golden Orchid: Original and Unique Wearable Art © 2006. All images and text exclusive property of Julie Pippert. Not to be used or reproduced.

Poetry in motion: A Dancing Daughter

Checked white and red skirt swirling unevenly With her unmeasured twirls. The lace border no more than a white streak. Her hands, lengthening but dimpled still Brown Round Soft Clapping with delighted rhythm. Sometimes two feet, sometimes one, or maybe just a few toes On the ground. Hair bouncing straight on top and curls below mixing as some locks leap up and others dive down. "I'm not dizzy," she cries, "No I'm not dizzy Yet!" Her spins gallantly include the entire uneven pine floor. "Just two more," she cries spinning five, six times, "Just two more and I'll be dizzy for a long weekend!" My heart twirls around the floor with her Emotion as butterflies winging, kissing the soft corners still there Feeling remembered Unbounded joy Enjoying a silly song Knowing nothing beyond a moment Head empty save sought for dizziness Mouth full of laughter as the body tumbles From the weight of the dance And nothing more. By Julie Pippert Artful M

She must be hearing what I'm hearing

This, by the way, in case you can't tell---and I might not have been able to other than actually doing a deliberate search for her and running across this photo---is Kelly Clarkson . American Idol and movie soundtrack princess. I'm watching the American Idol auditions. It's silly background noise (and I use the word noise deliberately since it means unpleasant to the ear) and let's be honest, entertainment. Something to amuse me while I do other unpleasant things like slowly shred the collection of credit card preapproval letters my husband collects (in lieu of a more interesting and less fire hazardous hobby). My point is that I really , really wonder WHY . No, not why I am watching. That's obvious. I already explained. I like rubber necking, reminding myself a million times over why I never wish to audition for anything ever again and recalling vividly that my one consistent life goal is to avoid fame. For some reason, something (or someone?) propels these people

Arenas of false heroics

It strikes me that televised news has become, more than ever, an arena for false heroics and melodrama. Article II, Section 2 of the United States Constitution provides that the President "shall from time to time give to the Congress Information of the State of the Union, and recommend to their Consideration such Measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient." When this was written of course, there were no telephones, telegraphs, Internet, or the Almighty Television. News now is instantaneous. Nothing affects the state of this union without 2,342 news blips about it, continual and live, Podcast, broadcast and posted, over and over, every day until interest wanes or something like Lindsay Lohan breaks her foot in an defunct 80s rocker's shower. These days, the President can't sneeze without everyone knowing about it (or the Republicans lock-step applauding it) (okay and to be fair, the Democrats lock-step critiquing it) (the only difference being who *I* think is