titlei have two readers! welcome, two readers!

here, i’ll read you a poem:

(if, on the other hand, you were looking for a poem about paris hilton, you need to go to feathertale)

song for this earth, by mary steel

as the waters rise
and take back
dry land
while the sun still attracts
our planet
as we spin
round her core

and as the layers
that protect us
are vanishing

i sing a song
for this earth

as our friends the mammals
the fish, the bees, the snakes,
all sea and land creatures
all things furry and
with legs and wings
in whose eyes
there is a knowing
far deeper than ours

are threatened
in their specieshood daily
their millenial existence
annihilated in our
split seconds

i sing a song
for this earth

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what will tom brady do for mothers’ day? it’s a secret. that’s why i don’t know. tom never bothered to tell me; he doesn’t know me, so that makes it a bit difficult.

come to think of it, i don’t even know what the mayor of victoria is doing for mothers’ day. or my neighbours. or my own son! it’s frightening to think how little i know about mothers’ day or tom brady. no, not tom brady. i can live without him. or his yankees hat.

on the other hand, i know a thing or two about gravy.

make sure you use a good pot. not too big – no, not the one for pasta. put it here. ok. on 7, no, let’s make it 8. now there’s a whole thing about what kind of fat to use because we’re gonna start with a roux. the one thing i’d be careful about is to use bacon fat or pork lard – it can taste great, but you may not want that aroma with just anything. some swear you should only use butter. what a crock. you can even use 1/2 fat margarine. and of course olive oil.

anyway, where was i. hand me some of that gin, willya? so cover the bottom of the pot with fat, heat it up. not too hot but nice and hot. sprinkle three drops of water into it, if it splatters, we’re in business. now add some flour, maybe a tablespoon. nah, that’s not enough. more. okay, here we go. first we need a wooden spoon, then we’ll need a whisker. quickly mix up the fat and the flour until it gets smooth and starts to pull off the pot a bit. isn’t that neat? i love how that looks. and it sounds so good: roux!

now quick, let’s see what we can add. water? that’s an option. what else is there? chicken broth? tomato juice? aha – here’s something! we’re gonna make peas anyway, so let’s use the pea juice from the can (ewwww that doesn’t sound good!) pour it in and now we need the whisk. (did i say whisker earlier? i meant whisk. let’s leave your beard out of this).

so let’s whisk in the, uh, water from the can of peas. good. maybe turn the heat down a bit. good, good. now let’s see what we can do to make this taste real good. tastes good already, with the buttery flavour from the, you guessed it, butter, and the sweetness of the peas – what else? how about a good dollop of mayonnaise, to make it even creamier. a touch of nutmeg. a few drops of woucestershire sauce. and then always the difficult question: cayenne or pepper? well, i’ll leave that up to you. a bunch of fresh parsley or dill wouldn’t be bad, either.

by the way, it’s been almost 24 hours since i started writing this post (no, it’s not that i’m such a slow writer but i had things to do in the meantime, like sleep, create world peace, do the dishes, that kinda stuff) – and i still don’t know a thing more about tom brady.

but i do know that i have date at starbuck’s tomorrow, with a lovely young mother.

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ok, i’m not paris hilton. i’m not young, i’m not drunk, i don’t do drugs. that doesn’t mean i’m some sorta angel. it just means that my grampa (great grampa?) didn’t build one hotel after the other (i read his autobiography a few years ago, it was 50s kinda cute). my grampas were both prisoners of war. they both had white hair real early. they were both good looking. but not rich. they were both religous, just like old hilton.

don’t know why i’m doing this. i just want a playground. play around anonymously, see what happens. get ads on my blog. say stupid things. not make sense. blow blog bubbles.

write useless poetry. pray weird prayers.

maybe paris hilton does that, too? or would like to do it, too? maybe that’s what she’s looking for with all these drugs?

maybe she just needs her own anonymous blog.

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