tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80254102873151835592024-03-05T14:44:47.360-08:00One hundred and one talesAbigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-59764283519281265022013-02-20T15:02:00.001-08:002013-02-20T15:02:40.358-08:00Swordfish!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My Grandfather was 94 years old when he passed away. He appreciated a good joke, cheesy wit included and was taken by a Marx Brothers movie in which a deaf mute attempts to gain entrance to a private establishment. The door keeper asks for the password, and the would-be enterer, not able to speak improvises by holding up a sword and a fish.</div>
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My grandfather enjoyed that story so much that he took on 'swordfish' as his own house's password and asked it of all (family members) who would knock on his door.</div>
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Grandpa, I say to you 'swordfish!'</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKpjsTohESKlr_QzWdjeJsJFt-UcaSGgoHJI6-AJGQ-R2gBR4zcJ9wH3eL4s4VKNe-dwrJYkcz5L6cn9v5khYz2TWnaVp9ia1tCVtecyfFc61GuthGWA-0D7tp4ql_OoXZakYnvZJ4QjOZ/s1600/swordfish+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKpjsTohESKlr_QzWdjeJsJFt-UcaSGgoHJI6-AJGQ-R2gBR4zcJ9wH3eL4s4VKNe-dwrJYkcz5L6cn9v5khYz2TWnaVp9ia1tCVtecyfFc61GuthGWA-0D7tp4ql_OoXZakYnvZJ4QjOZ/s400/swordfish+1.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
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Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-64658910651375565522013-02-14T07:55:00.001-08:002013-02-14T07:56:21.847-08:00A Chip Butty for a Chip Buddy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A delicious + joyful Valentine's Day to all the "foodies," "gourmands," and plain ole food lovers out there. Here's a card I made for my own home grown foodie to celebrate the day.<br />
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Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-38718141224635704892010-05-13T07:44:00.000-07:002010-10-06T15:29:30.717-07:00The Modern Couple<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-orUaDrU7OVXtRRZ_fLrrOQR6gjoqF6IVnCVdz3SJnN4k45u-ubfhl_EYWpRMGs1RxAR1hN5YCxzX9Mwx-SVldylEr026GcZpbkwWjybitfqCmMrq0gagfphKBXw0YmQ73tlL9AswqtW7/s1600/friday_night_movie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-orUaDrU7OVXtRRZ_fLrrOQR6gjoqF6IVnCVdz3SJnN4k45u-ubfhl_EYWpRMGs1RxAR1hN5YCxzX9Mwx-SVldylEr026GcZpbkwWjybitfqCmMrq0gagfphKBXw0YmQ73tlL9AswqtW7/s400/friday_night_movie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470766006914549378" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"I've missed our movie nights.</i>"</div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-89451436259277329762010-05-09T17:34:00.000-07:002010-05-09T17:50:47.608-07:00The Wonderful In-Between World of ChinglishThe New York Times has a brilliant <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/03/world/asia/03chinglish.html">article</a> and <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/05/03/world/asia/20100503_CHINGLISH.html?ref=asia">slide show</a> about the many wonderful phrases that at times emerge when Chinese is translated to English. Here are a few illustrations to accompany some of the very poetic results.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJF1Pon0urtjDadQOmaioQlnI7LewNRXc5YNuAUsOcjAhwcY9vbIhlSSvf2mR5gkbejvGlJ4HsolBvL7zYguuXdroUzrdresMtfBwcDJdho9YjmUUZvWCRmoifuINf85-trSyiTJTI27Wp/s1600/chinglish_grassAsleep.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJF1Pon0urtjDadQOmaioQlnI7LewNRXc5YNuAUsOcjAhwcY9vbIhlSSvf2mR5gkbejvGlJ4HsolBvL7zYguuXdroUzrdresMtfBwcDJdho9YjmUUZvWCRmoifuINf85-trSyiTJTI27Wp/s400/chinglish_grassAsleep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469434808752688754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Little Grass is Sleeping. Do Not Disturb It.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb0E4aYg83W602DTr3QaCSafhLdQZEPmtYpMANCD1798WEeYuKUnrX4hMnPuLeCCeZYDVFf8BAZ4AJ_ewMeZtp-9lLqD4rpGcRwplLPoS2ak5HLK179BCpvhOgMHidvxDZOxtK6xh53Wc/s1600/chinglish_fall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb0E4aYg83W602DTr3QaCSafhLdQZEPmtYpMANCD1798WEeYuKUnrX4hMnPuLeCCeZYDVFf8BAZ4AJ_ewMeZtp-9lLqD4rpGcRwplLPoS2ak5HLK179BCpvhOgMHidvxDZOxtK6xh53Wc/s400/chinglish_fall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469436170203027186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Slip and Fall Down Carefully</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">See the original sign <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/05/03/world/asia/20100503_CHINGLISH-2.html">here</a>.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVa-IoD7nm-bZV82P6MnqegILS5mQvMv1puW5-vw0ZtJZxrcwskRF1fa-6qh5Ov4gPW6vK5SIWaM0tA4xeWkIRcSlpJHRsnR4ZzaGI-1kDGtUu326648iNRWMgEimsUC7mF2qCeFyRlvk_/s1600/chinglish_hotmarxism.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 369px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVa-IoD7nm-bZV82P6MnqegILS5mQvMv1puW5-vw0ZtJZxrcwskRF1fa-6qh5Ov4gPW6vK5SIWaM0tA4xeWkIRcSlpJHRsnR4ZzaGI-1kDGtUu326648iNRWMgEimsUC7mF2qCeFyRlvk_/s400/chinglish_hotmarxism.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469435036798846866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Fragrant and Hot Marxism</span><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/05/03/world/asia/20100503_CHINGLISH-4.html">(outside a restaurant)</a><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwol2zu8kf5hKJrpRCyPAqsyfJ8Hi_sF7FLBLsL-EbxzlqGGafil0oK7mvNucBkoJmB1hwdxaeCUFNHtIM_xsWjpGhVdsqttDu8ZgoXzywaPJoDLGaF2RjZAfgii-V8TbSGkmFx9V2vUX4/s1600/chinglish_execution.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwol2zu8kf5hKJrpRCyPAqsyfJ8Hi_sF7FLBLsL-EbxzlqGGafil0oK7mvNucBkoJmB1hwdxaeCUFNHtIM_xsWjpGhVdsqttDu8ZgoXzywaPJoDLGaF2RjZAfgii-V8TbSGkmFx9V2vUX4/s320/chinglish_execution.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469435348873991506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Execution In Progress</span><br />(on a<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/05/03/world/asia/20100503_CHINGLISH.html?ref=asia"> Caution - Wet Floor sign</a>)<br /></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-65789272493626866322010-05-08T18:07:00.000-07:002010-05-08T18:14:40.130-07:00Inventions that should be<div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEhgQCm88RJZ9byw00jyXypexGqbpbOCZOgfrcnFqoSWezKE3N7npa1IR-at0xP7CBOHVwjS-Z9glb6fiQ4iWBhbTMwbCg2uBUeXXfjjPN3lBOyl2cHut7H5tq8aCR1WO4ZLNPe07DOJ7/s1600/heartbeat_app_final.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEhgQCm88RJZ9byw00jyXypexGqbpbOCZOgfrcnFqoSWezKE3N7npa1IR-at0xP7CBOHVwjS-Z9glb6fiQ4iWBhbTMwbCg2uBUeXXfjjPN3lBOyl2cHut7H5tq8aCR1WO4ZLNPe07DOJ7/s320/heartbeat_app_final.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469070844308573442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"Check out this new heartbeat app!"</span><br /></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-56149871360205185082010-04-21T19:22:00.000-07:002010-04-23T13:59:21.779-07:00Graceful JelliesI'll get back to stories soon... but here are a few drawings from the <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/aa/">Monterey Bay Aquarium</a>. Even if you don't live in CA, they have a ton of webcams that help you 'pop over' whenever you need a fix of <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/efc/efc_splash/splash_cam.aspx">penguin</a>, <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/efc/efc_otter/otter_cam.aspx">sea otter</a>, the <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/efc/efc_kelp/kelp_cam.aspx">kelp forrest</a> or more!<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH9yKgzqBE0xXdBsE7rvTUxk-EAyFkZ8JuwIGR26XhFmQSzqzKAEuRcHeALNZZqDdAk7cikAbjXePkoTCp7tHItAJhG0j9VbPNR0fw98CMDtElP6CT7D2ESXhUNPu7pGnnNmRJqr4S2VSR/s1600/AS+jelly+fish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH9yKgzqBE0xXdBsE7rvTUxk-EAyFkZ8JuwIGR26XhFmQSzqzKAEuRcHeALNZZqDdAk7cikAbjXePkoTCp7tHItAJhG0j9VbPNR0fw98CMDtElP6CT7D2ESXhUNPu7pGnnNmRJqr4S2VSR/s320/AS+jelly+fish.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463438110948731522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><img style="text-decoration: underline;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 294px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuqJkFJ8H9OJyGeU_6cXlMgMkaamRaYNRb3rUAf96M0zTEOZ6GIn6fMHB1gxcpzxgWpfr3nnxu33wHxyY8OpdkO-I2KMbIqav9dBq6QVi2FvxWCKaCpI8LN0Gvzqkd13x0zUyeyAg6bUJ/s320/jelly+fish_0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462783854894057826" border="0" /><br /><br /></div></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-18953443887613559212010-04-12T11:24:00.000-07:002010-04-12T11:42:04.948-07:00Crime or Punishment?<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBTnAsXV4J2iZS4zVwARP-MqV0rBk4zCDKZuV-BUoDaVbcTkyo99AZuURhd26KM00ov0BTTUNnaaLsQmCmb-RSJVRrLuf9JBSHwL0asW8czLRoP3z7il5y8f2t7agkBI-Yqjj8QYEQflE/s1600/crime+and+punishment+composite.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBTnAsXV4J2iZS4zVwARP-MqV0rBk4zCDKZuV-BUoDaVbcTkyo99AZuURhd26KM00ov0BTTUNnaaLsQmCmb-RSJVRrLuf9JBSHwL0asW8czLRoP3z7il5y8f2t7agkBI-Yqjj8QYEQflE/s320/crime+and+punishment+composite.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459320629765070594" /></a><br />I did the cartoon above for Columbia's BWOG this Sunday on 'Crime & Punishment' the book that all students read must read as part of the 'core' or general required class. <div><br /></div><div>And then I did the following sketch based on the idea if there were a Crime or Punishment</div><div>board game. Retro-style to what <a href="http://www.dantesinferno.com/home.action">Electronic Arts</a> is doing and just the kind of thing for masochists & neophyte burglars. </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6crZ6T7KF9HN1vw-g-BHyeMCbx2Suz9mWNVz57togHwHZ_uOvN7t479PkHdWgqY-d8vNn_zE_ggYOvGFWWMIlQsarsRGEuVo-Ydk5TjZkaSYLp8yTt6OoEwGTD0ICvxtSThFBTe1ycAT/s320/crime+or+punishment.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459322788993001810" /></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-30910886485563408792010-04-07T08:27:00.000-07:002010-04-07T08:36:03.365-07:00The very talented Professor GulatiHere's a drawing I did for Columbia's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Blue_and_White">Blue & White Magazine</a>. The article was about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunil_Gulati">Sunil Gulati</a>, who is a (very popular) lecturer in Economics at Columbia University and is President of the US Soccer Federation. The picture will be printed in the 'Mapril' Blue & White.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCK_5CH6gw0vF9-PCfF9uwEP96Ii9S3cU4ZyVg8VgRuyRgx2bzt7U6mSIqSE9RKlc3jraTTsUqfqkPKlO_yB00djiFUIh8EOf2d2cpZtQ-MHH_G9OHwkibxBr4zGjUK4Ug8LNToFZlTMz/s1600/sunilGulati.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 177px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCK_5CH6gw0vF9-PCfF9uwEP96Ii9S3cU4ZyVg8VgRuyRgx2bzt7U6mSIqSE9RKlc3jraTTsUqfqkPKlO_yB00djiFUIh8EOf2d2cpZtQ-MHH_G9OHwkibxBr4zGjUK4Ug8LNToFZlTMz/s320/sunilGulati.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457417667929451026" /></a>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-25708831645805238152010-03-19T12:53:00.001-07:002010-03-19T14:20:31.033-07:00The Hair Iron<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzSWJsNN9PF_6HT_pfgoA8pEvi9X_S9uOkOhcD2tQXlOgoo2wX8mdg3239RYj4zdCnNSKrqIzR63IDslOZQ7CoA1Phn_OUjSARMvAI5hvAD17XVhmNIFUn-1LqGhMnGdnFZ6I94CJ5WJc/s1600-h/hair1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzSWJsNN9PF_6HT_pfgoA8pEvi9X_S9uOkOhcD2tQXlOgoo2wX8mdg3239RYj4zdCnNSKrqIzR63IDslOZQ7CoA1Phn_OUjSARMvAI5hvAD17XVhmNIFUn-1LqGhMnGdnFZ6I94CJ5WJc/s400/hair1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450436736493078370" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This is my hair. It's from Texas even though I'm from Ohio.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 285px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jdFEjadWKAKpjpzwUB4PpKLPOoDNVjwTPhKymM47X6Kjo6-7wiYQh23qOobQd5pYnOZIH6Ej5RyNnmcrJ0sg10K5IGrHozjs94SEsWSlQPne9e1QlR9vbmaAcGF6NsfnkDp4sT_gheQr/s400/hair2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450437387868616018" /><div style="text-align: center;">So I bought this. One cord, two ceramic heaters, and all anti-frizz.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 390px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuekTygoRXdQWCRTua7PxTnWSd3pxhLWgV6cH8lCUEHazYcEZtjbsR6wDG8lya00T4yNnahlBWHWS_87UivO23lKaQWa2Ds7xaYaGemjtDcA1xd1FiOkoZztMwY-Gp2IrUo2sqZ4K2xeb/s400/hair3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450453528633504578" /></div> <div style="text-align: center;">This was what my hair should have looked like post-intervention.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWPXjf6AGY6j5l42D-y6IFt9qsIlU1wvUe9kh8snqXcUIXMHGaPI-gwjFfmbO57_QCQDuk9Yr6BMls70qOf09nZCGAkbz2mMeoXnpsGQcIui67jWxgVVooxEtl2j3mrjbeXraMXHl2Utj/s1600-h/hair+iron+4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWPXjf6AGY6j5l42D-y6IFt9qsIlU1wvUe9kh8snqXcUIXMHGaPI-gwjFfmbO57_QCQDuk9Yr6BMls70qOf09nZCGAkbz2mMeoXnpsGQcIui67jWxgVVooxEtl2j3mrjbeXraMXHl2Utj/s400/hair+iron+4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450457044992164162" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This is how it turned out. </div><div style="text-align: center;">It's not all bad, I guess. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Next week I'm auditioning as an extra in The Lion King.</div><div style="text-align: center;">They said I was a natural.</div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-22601700987517006602010-03-15T12:33:00.001-07:002010-03-15T13:40:06.038-07:00New drawings<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Last summer I was walking to work and picked up a leaf. This humble little leaf has been a wonderful source of inspiration. It is now a sad, faded little thing that I carefully keep in a cookie tin. Here's a sketch of one angle when it a freshly fallen. </span><div><div><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUf_M8eA3hpOXN0CXV71kx6fWTdVFleG5jYP0TrXo_olsRpsU37ztqEva8Xr2Xo2fimweqXOuno1EAC06pYYiaaWArkJZPco2KCCtdLdmKBbqjnC3du_CsiBAs6FbbI5mrLxetKgjTcl7/s1600-h/IMG_0835.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUf_M8eA3hpOXN0CXV71kx6fWTdVFleG5jYP0TrXo_olsRpsU37ztqEva8Xr2Xo2fimweqXOuno1EAC06pYYiaaWArkJZPco2KCCtdLdmKBbqjnC3du_CsiBAs6FbbI5mrLxetKgjTcl7/s320/IMG_0835.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448951838881290322" /></a><div><br /></div><div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I've hunted all through Central Park & have my own personal leaf-hunter in Ohio. Sadly, I've not yet found a leaf with such a beautifully ambiguous form. In the m</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ean time I've been drawing trying to capture it at many different angles before it disintegrates into tine leaf-flecks. Below are a series of large scale (around 5' by 3') charcoal drawings on translucent paper. Eventually the work will go onto a light box frame. The drawing on the left is a work in progress; the two on the right are finished pieces.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 142px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aN44oCHegeD7-kL1kRnTXu-82a9YiAfbBxuz331bgz9BqSZmHr84uGjGtuM_CoF0YjcTqwMP9Ak8zHSHVCLA-h2qKbj2JKmF5GflxXqRmhb3lMVa9ZUKxWmJp6zJeKfrnoODjhnOT5z0/s320/IMG_0834.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448960476138477650" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 117px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWbTV9zrCjKgFvrKdbPKtbWgQ17RlWpj1mfvXK3prR-WjLGve7-msD9ZPy8nu-CMHHPm3HS_0FiNN5iZCM_d4cbTFN5Mq-4C-2OMsju2NPkckXmCIsCqkEchFnLL63rShaW6axn5yuneG/s320/leaf2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448962687479016210" /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 127px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtArDaQEEfoS3BjE4nQsQNWMHFOhWntPj22bdU6z9rTuLpGdD60NgJhR2fLs0Q5Tlc5VBfHdPaFkD86OWgOyd-fn-p0h4kDDs4Qf-e1BfGvJ2QQotBvU1KZY_PYYzdBJi46Mst_CC0jiLk/s320/leaf1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448962561917560834" /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-68020964066366437062010-03-11T12:16:00.001-08:002010-03-16T07:18:29.204-07:00Why, hello Spring...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopN0p2RwklZ_AyJlZ3VUhYyyUAVkFZkghcon2FU8ALlzl_7fBSTJBOv3nPYv5JnNpJXzlOOfGYM2PuM7DoJHyowjlisHERU2G465OKT38RgD_ktW9sD5G14aZSUouyJIHKbc0P-QrFeP_/s1600-h/balloon_head.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopN0p2RwklZ_AyJlZ3VUhYyyUAVkFZkghcon2FU8ALlzl_7fBSTJBOv3nPYv5JnNpJXzlOOfGYM2PuM7DoJHyowjlisHERU2G465OKT38RgD_ktW9sD5G14aZSUouyJIHKbc0P-QrFeP_/s400/balloon_head.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447472895367846610" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Originally posted on Columbia University student blog.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Named in honor of <a href="http://www.foodandpants.com/">FAPPAF</a> friend who is quite familiar with the gentle art of greetings.</div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-11824199018802645552008-11-16T21:16:00.001-08:002008-11-17T17:02:07.604-08:00Mom CatMany thanks to Ronan, an artist from Ireland, for the following story.<br /><br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixS2XTqiWtSfma1YRBMuD5JvfbvLm5uA_msaYHuw792X5gK489RqgxCIae06Le2yGbAgKcmYrS6vyEtffabMg_VZPb2CfaXoV_z7Aa4Gizq_eXfbONZG8mNxqVwMcEJKxWXJ3G9d8J8wne/s1600-h/aby_Deborah1_sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixS2XTqiWtSfma1YRBMuD5JvfbvLm5uA_msaYHuw792X5gK489RqgxCIae06Le2yGbAgKcmYrS6vyEtffabMg_VZPb2CfaXoV_z7Aa4Gizq_eXfbONZG8mNxqVwMcEJKxWXJ3G9d8J8wne/s400/aby_Deborah1_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269491436996940194" /></a><br /></div><div>A woman I have known for many years - Deborah - told me this story<br />when we met last week. Deborah is an American from Iowa, has long<br />bleach blonde hair, sells antique jewelry at markets in London, is in<br />her early fifties and has lived in the same flat in London for over 30<br />years. She had a cat that she called Mom for the last 15 years - whom<br />she loved and cherished dearly. Mom was very cute and gentle with red hair and was very popular.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismzhqon1I5uKSR-Z3de9B2JqSA6fn8PwOok3HqrVlsT8Q_zVpO3bwlVb0A954miJR4qaTD2KsTo6-ciIvdRmGyPrJLtfrfX-K1oTcJAa5nTS5-1tjAvAfqv17F1MGLGniTpIBkev79Hij/s1600-h/aby_Deborah4_sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismzhqon1I5uKSR-Z3de9B2JqSA6fn8PwOok3HqrVlsT8Q_zVpO3bwlVb0A954miJR4qaTD2KsTo6-ciIvdRmGyPrJLtfrfX-K1oTcJAa5nTS5-1tjAvAfqv17F1MGLGniTpIBkev79Hij/s400/aby_Deborah4_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269491215339324626" /></a><br /><br /></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-1344511631908282982008-11-16T21:13:00.000-08:002008-11-17T17:01:43.707-08:00Mom Cat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSuC3h37WDqj7kK6wvByU4VYTWMY0fzEVD8TkWUG701NGGl2TTMUNAvnsBsvRY-ST_7DANNJ18K6RM3NGd8RE0zm9W5_FvbUKuEg8gGi6iXwl1RksB7xt3XzmS-hYjZYTe8PML7dilbXE/s1600-h/aby_Deborah5_sm.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSuC3h37WDqj7kK6wvByU4VYTWMY0fzEVD8TkWUG701NGGl2TTMUNAvnsBsvRY-ST_7DANNJ18K6RM3NGd8RE0zm9W5_FvbUKuEg8gGi6iXwl1RksB7xt3XzmS-hYjZYTe8PML7dilbXE/s200/aby_Deborah5_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269490673994855138" /></a><br />Mom recently passed away after a short illness. Deborah decided to bury Mom in her front garden which is very large. She roped in her pal John Boy to help and he came around one day to do the digging. John Boy is a big strong guy and works as a door man at a local bar. As John Boy dug the grave and Deborah prepared Mom for burial, a girl appeared unexpectedly from behind some bushes at the end of the long garden.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-23969420215796581332008-11-16T21:10:00.000-08:002008-11-17T17:11:21.452-08:00Mom Cat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJ3XyAKQfzjeIi3-ArYN3SAzfZUL3XcnC3Hmkl-wcjSILNZslSYytEwxiLRhjl4dm8K5ndKtUDDlSqy5xbwMeDOB0HEfVJ3Zy79CA41vycJoeOrRyNgdIFmLguPglyxs-fL2ECSRN7a8S/s1600-h/aby_Deborah6_sm.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 169px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJ3XyAKQfzjeIi3-ArYN3SAzfZUL3XcnC3Hmkl-wcjSILNZslSYytEwxiLRhjl4dm8K5ndKtUDDlSqy5xbwMeDOB0HEfVJ3Zy79CA41vycJoeOrRyNgdIFmLguPglyxs-fL2ECSRN7a8S/s400/aby_Deborah6_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269489967837638962" /></a><br />Deborah described the girl as being somewhere in her early to md-twenties and as strikingly pretty with red hair that she wore in a pony tail. She also mentioned that the zipper to the girl's dress was undone. She wore high heels and was quite dressed up. Deborah reckoned that the girl was a prostitute and was also homeless and temporarily living behind the bushes at bottom of the garden. Deborah could see some blankets laid out and bags behind the bushes. The girl acted naturally and said "excuse me...what are you doing?" to Deborah and John Boy. Deborah said to her "Don't worry...we are just burying my cat". The girl goes "oh...how long did you have her?". Deborah replied "Fifteen years". The girl then said " She must have had a happy life with you...where did you get her?"Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-19022807906406178662008-11-16T21:03:00.000-08:002008-11-16T21:23:20.099-08:00Mom Cat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PAHkjfWxFw713ZlC2xWTJND34JFVkiJecd4xibk_5bCDRlaMxiycL327mNpGeMkCN0gHwU_GEaZOgGjqK_AurmlsNRJgwFi3216XuMb3hBCJ8cwJNMwZgPfc0oqgA2_vdUYnh5ZFQQuO/s1600-h/aby_Deborah7_sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PAHkjfWxFw713ZlC2xWTJND34JFVkiJecd4xibk_5bCDRlaMxiycL327mNpGeMkCN0gHwU_GEaZOgGjqK_AurmlsNRJgwFi3216XuMb3hBCJ8cwJNMwZgPfc0oqgA2_vdUYnh5ZFQQuO/s400/aby_Deborah7_sm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269489329337304162" /></a><br /> Deborah looked at her and thought about it for a few seconds and then replied "Actually she came out of the same bushes you did..........maybe you are my cat re-incarnated." Then the girl said "wow" (like "meow") sounding just like Deborah's cat. Then Deborah noticed that the girl had the same two front teeth missing as her cat. And then without saying anything else the girl swaggered off out the gate and into the distance with her long red hair just like Mom's long red tail..........the end. Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-35576114814837016872008-10-12T22:57:00.000-07:002008-10-20T09:36:55.991-07:00The Lion's WhiskersThe following is a fable from Ethiopia and was submitted by Azeb Worku Sibane, an actress, director and producer based in Addis Abba, Ethiopia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_AL_1B5nyGU3-ASRcJ5U2qridWKCeDEE1qThBtcWCwthUsDQw0jAAuDgu5q9DkgqYuMWLlorb1DoC0A9FNvr6nevomGZ_xb_eoMOq8jcOb-Xt70aaPNhizLfC0Xx4SCkLu2ISkHjkzIY7/s1600-h/bar+scene+small.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_AL_1B5nyGU3-ASRcJ5U2qridWKCeDEE1qThBtcWCwthUsDQw0jAAuDgu5q9DkgqYuMWLlorb1DoC0A9FNvr6nevomGZ_xb_eoMOq8jcOb-Xt70aaPNhizLfC0Xx4SCkLu2ISkHjkzIY7/s400/bar+scene+small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256513932995052306" /></a><br />There was a woman who was unhappy because her husband did not love her like before. At the beginning of their marriage he was always very nice with her-he worried a lot when she was a little bit tired, he brought her gifts, and he liked all the dishes that she prepared.<br /><br />But unfortunately, after a while, he changed. He returned home late under pretext of having a drink with his friends or going to oversee the crops. When he returned from the market he didn’t bring any thing for her. He stopped eating at home, and when he did, he complained that all that she prepared was bland and badly cooked. The woman didn’t know how to change her husband back to how he was before. <br /><br />She remembered that one old wise man, a “Debtera,” lived not far from their house, close to the church of Saint Michel. This wise man, knows a lot of things. He can read, write and prepare talismans. She thought that he could perhaps give her a charm that would return her husband’s attention and his affection.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-51617401886924254912008-10-12T22:56:00.002-07:002008-10-12T22:57:52.992-07:00The Lion's Whiskers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6CsgcBf8MFSTRwP5mXz7jDOfYJPRoyihDCyIIieWjrn3QOG1jJ2sI7l15w5hrf_expzoixDLP3avFndzQShEsM8ifo_Xd076dxTYDljAeFGzO7BPj7ezTpj7Jzf1l6SjENhJaS2FsT-5/s1600-h/debtera+small.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6CsgcBf8MFSTRwP5mXz7jDOfYJPRoyihDCyIIieWjrn3QOG1jJ2sI7l15w5hrf_expzoixDLP3avFndzQShEsM8ifo_Xd076dxTYDljAeFGzO7BPj7ezTpj7Jzf1l6SjENhJaS2FsT-5/s400/debtera+small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256513628180220402" /></a><br />One morning she went to find the old debtera in his house. The old man welcomed her and listened to her story with attention. When she finished, he remained silent and then he said<br /><br />“I will be glad to prepare for you a medicine which will make your <br />husband see you with the same eyes as before, but for the medicine you <br />must bring me three whiskers of a lion. But the whiskers must be <br />taken from a live lion and by your own hand.”<br /><br />“How shall I do this, and, how can I find a lion? The women asked<br /><br />- Farmers of the low lands said to me that there was a lion which often <br />comes to the heart of the valley, at the edge of the river.<br /><br />She was worried by the idea of going down to the low lands, as they were known to be a dangerous area. Add to that, she has to pluck the whiskers of a live lion!...<br /><br />“And what do I have to do to make this lion come close to me?” She asked.<br /><br />The debtera answered, “I don’t know. The only thing I know is how to make magic medicines, not to tame a lion.”Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-30409335281801401702008-10-12T22:56:00.001-07:002008-10-12T22:56:50.207-07:00The Lion's Whiskers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwceZF5BLoh3soZdQyjBFfk4qOqnNMjk4h9Hrp5xVy9Tl5-kWOyk1ylq8RvQzm_dWVtN-8c3oXegu248gyFFVHgZQjVSptA1CX0HUzeEvqoLgZgYVl2K2HGKj4qgcvwfWDmG6kNPOjWkKg/s1600-h/lion-roar+small.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwceZF5BLoh3soZdQyjBFfk4qOqnNMjk4h9Hrp5xVy9Tl5-kWOyk1ylq8RvQzm_dWVtN-8c3oXegu248gyFFVHgZQjVSptA1CX0HUzeEvqoLgZgYVl2K2HGKj4qgcvwfWDmG6kNPOjWkKg/s400/lion-roar+small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256513412851241042" /></a><br />She went back home and she asked herself what she was going to do. She loved her husband, and she wanted him to love her as before-certainly the medicine of the debtera would be very effective. The next day she goes down to the bottom of the valley to taking meat in her basket. It was hot in the valley. When she heard the roar of the lion, she put the basket of the meat on a flat rock and ran away.<br /><br />The following day, she returned to the same place and, at the first distant roar, she put down the meat in the same place. This time she did not run away, but she hid behind a tree not far from the place. She heard the lion arrive slowly; he was enormous. He shook his mane and opened a terrible mouth. He came to the meat; <br />he looked at everything around him with suspicion, then he started to eat. When he finished, he left in the direction from where he had come, calmly and the woman returned to her home.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-8132301940279197152008-10-12T22:54:00.001-07:002008-10-12T22:56:04.412-07:00The Lion's Whiskers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidQZ2PB2JCu77K9wLnc-HtifswfNjlo4RafrjiegoPVBiN9_-n6Ku8DYfI2CexKKU20vzWP3Cn7wh5sYTm7cDFcybXO0D7kOKeemWNxEJWGEM0y3_bfvtioDFPRuqmeY8X_IIklgzptd3/s1600-h/landscape+small.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidQZ2PB2JCu77K9wLnc-HtifswfNjlo4RafrjiegoPVBiN9_-n6Ku8DYfI2CexKKU20vzWP3Cn7wh5sYTm7cDFcybXO0D7kOKeemWNxEJWGEM0y3_bfvtioDFPRuqmeY8X_IIklgzptd3/s400/landscape+small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256513222209446930" /></a><br />The third day, she went back to the low lands. She put the meat in the same place, she moved backward to the tree, but she did not hide. She remained motionless, watching for the arrival of the lion. The lion arrived. He looked at the woman, roared out and ate all the meat with a huge appetite, all while looking at her. When he finished, he started to leave, but at the end of some steps, he turned around, looked at her, then he resumed his walking and disappeared into bushes.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-3797182613862565952008-10-12T22:52:00.000-07:002008-10-12T22:54:00.338-07:00The Lion's Whiskers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9Gasabqs6IsRJ_doZdBQnsdEjfSmpbseQa9mey1UBn-_8b_-Elt9huU313Uh84EzRWwm8MQisOUztrwAKgU4oOQjYBG0as0iZ9UbLjCFfBm3h-AH5j-PgLOBPsUfMTzm0PZHSDcDcGBm/s1600-h/lion_woman+small.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9Gasabqs6IsRJ_doZdBQnsdEjfSmpbseQa9mey1UBn-_8b_-Elt9huU313Uh84EzRWwm8MQisOUztrwAKgU4oOQjYBG0as0iZ9UbLjCFfBm3h-AH5j-PgLOBPsUfMTzm0PZHSDcDcGBm/s400/lion_woman+small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256512654851868034" /></a><br />The next day, having put down the meat, she only went away some steps. She was anxious and impatient to see the lion. He arrived, almost noiseless. He stopped in front of the meat, but did not touch it. He looked for a long time with his yellow eyes. Some times he stared at the women, sometimes at the meet, and then he began eating.<br /><br />When he had finished, she made one step, then the other one. The lion lay, immovable. When she was close, he got up and the woman’s heart barely beat at all. The lion opened his mouth, but instead of roaring, he yawns, then he left as every day by turning around several times.<br /><br />The following day, when she arrived at the same time, the lion was already there, asleep near the flat stone. She moved quite slowly and arrived in front of him she took a piece of meat out of her basket, which she stretched out, to him. The lion took it delicately. She sat down next to him to stroke his head. He began to hum like a big cat. She continued to give him the meat, which was in the basket, piece by piece until he became full. She began caressing him. The lion winked his eyes, and fell asleep.<br /><br />The woman held out the hand towards the muzzle of the lion, and, delicately, plucked three whiskers. He grumbled weakly, moved a little, but continued to sleep. The women tightened her hand around the treasure, went away slowly and walked out of the bottom of the valley. Without returning even at her house, she went to find the old man debtera.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-16766297718179189112008-10-12T22:44:00.001-07:002008-10-12T22:52:26.797-07:00The Lion's Whiskers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDBDHipPbn5NSNiWlXvZKYkk8KsvNbMG6QaiG2VqSKulDv2QtQktPD_hXpTvM-zBhJLDcsZ_XaL-4r6L9vYIglmcDVVzw9z8b_sm05J6SgyChGaAs6UJ7tSrl4-3HwWMJtaeeiYDKtPNc/s1600-h/liom-man-woman+small.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDBDHipPbn5NSNiWlXvZKYkk8KsvNbMG6QaiG2VqSKulDv2QtQktPD_hXpTvM-zBhJLDcsZ_XaL-4r6L9vYIglmcDVVzw9z8b_sm05J6SgyChGaAs6UJ7tSrl4-3HwWMJtaeeiYDKtPNc/s400/liom-man-woman+small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256512232645671746" /></a><br />“I brought you what you had asked me.” She said to him, “here are three whiskers of a lion.”<br />The old man looked at her with an amazed gaze.<br />“Tell me how you did it,” he asked her.<br />When she told him how she had reached her goal, he looked at her quietly.<br /><br />“Well,” she said to him, “now you can prepare this medicine that will restore my husband’s affection to me?”<br />“What medicine do you mean? You, who managed to calm and to tame this wild animal, can’t you manage to do the same for your husband? Behave as you did with the lion, with the courage, the sweetness and the patience! There is no other magic.”<br /><br />And indeed, she knew how to find for her husband the words, the gestures and the charms that were necessary. Softly and patiently, also with good dishes, she gets his heart back and they lived with joy.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-87926356067935586642008-10-03T15:22:00.001-07:002008-10-06T18:17:29.366-07:00Rite Aid<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02BUDTDvysy325k_VofwQeMsc5cLOW_REQtO_xQ6D9s1VzMX8dx0rag89zC47_VSTGkwXVxkTjcji5h89NhbSfb15shXPMWrJ662x8_B6qoVoYtvjuFHrLj-qjkL_SrXPBJia5qBX2Mnd/s1600-h/map_small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02BUDTDvysy325k_VofwQeMsc5cLOW_REQtO_xQ6D9s1VzMX8dx0rag89zC47_VSTGkwXVxkTjcji5h89NhbSfb15shXPMWrJ662x8_B6qoVoYtvjuFHrLj-qjkL_SrXPBJia5qBX2Mnd/s400/map_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253057507230429186" border="0" /></a><br />Rite Aid has a brilliant layout. In fact the store's business plan must be marvelously brief and use only one word: sex. Next time you wander the aisles, take a moment and appreciate the subtle journey Rite Aid takes you on.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-36292131755710820832008-10-03T15:21:00.002-07:002008-10-06T18:17:45.590-07:00Upon entering the store, I instinctively go left, (maybe because I’m a ‘Maverick’). At my Rite Aid, this is the cosmetic aisle. These products are a lesson in seduction all their own. Cover-ups advertise a 'flawless complexion' by reducing a multitude of nasties. Zits, moles, hairy moles, wrinkles, skin spots and cancerous lesions instantly and effortlessly disappear. Continuing down the aisle, lipsticks in shades of red and pink so beautiful they move me to tears call out to me like a trashy novel-‘Rip me open and apply liberally’ they seem to shout. How could I not be tempted? These beauties obviously have transformative qualities. Vibrant reds, berry pinks and deep mahoganies guarantee deep, sensual, smeared, kisses. Applied liberally these items are enough to disguise, enhance and flatter the wearer on any night out...or in.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-62865935103543282422008-10-03T15:21:00.001-07:002008-10-06T18:18:01.410-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimm957NtX9Wm5Xb3C-kR78RxxQAJvrfB2T1cCeZD_evIBi3qkhATAuPlr1RiXdgNSbHBYJRB0OGal0DpgbQtAZux2VtS9LE8CBLR4DSXRGczkQaZOWFWd559wPYm02DvVSMXQzKey-LIJu/s1600-h/pump_squeeze_small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimm957NtX9Wm5Xb3C-kR78RxxQAJvrfB2T1cCeZD_evIBi3qkhATAuPlr1RiXdgNSbHBYJRB0OGal0DpgbQtAZux2VtS9LE8CBLR4DSXRGczkQaZOWFWd559wPYm02DvVSMXQzKey-LIJu/s320/pump_squeeze_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253056404382157490" border="0" /></a><br />The next aisle over also prepares eager shoppers for sex, though in a more fundamental way. Shoppers can choose from row upon row of deodorants, toothpastes, perfumes, shavers, gels in all forms of spray, pump, or squeeze, depending on your fancy. They say, we'll whiten your teeth, sooth your bristles, tame your BO and reduce your zits, transforming you into a lovable morsel.Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025410287315183559.post-47808634583350485332008-10-03T15:20:00.000-07:002008-10-06T18:18:18.503-07:00Both aisles ingeniously prepare the shopper for the end of the aisle. Never say Rite Aid does not seek to prepare its shoppers to be responsible adults. Featuring a wide variety of packaging, liquids, textures and sizes adult protection section features an intoxicating selection. Just in case you forget to purchase or use these wares, home pregnancy kits are helpfully located on a neighboring shelf. And just in case two lines appear after peeing, this aisle flows into the diaper, baby wipe and smooshed apple section. One would imagine that, in life, lipstick and training diaper are a world apart. Rite Aid knows better.<div><br /></div>Abigailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04040283086287726094noreply@blogger.com0