Hooters

Please hit refresh. I don't know what it is about my ability to sit and design a style sheet for fourteen hours straight, yet I can't write a 30 second email to take care of long-overdue business. There's something wrong with my brain. That said, this is my favorite blog layout I've orchestrated thus far.

Just wanted to share a perfect craigslist moment. The Boy has about a dozen owl figurines that he wants to relieve himself of. He accidentally mentioned he liked owls at some point and so everyone in his family gave him owl figurines for every holiday and birthday for the next two decades. He wanted them to go to someone who would appreciate them; they are well-loved. So he posted an ad in craigslist, asking a meager adoption fee to ensure a good home. The subject line of the winning email he received in response:

"I am an artist and I NEED your hooters!"

This morning, driving to work with the rain pattering gently on the sunroof, admiring the flamboyant foliage lining Eastlake, I thought, "This is a perfect fall day." And then I realized my definition of fall has changed, mentally, without anguish, without effort. Fall is cool days with dripping, lazy rain, gold and red leaves heavy with mist, foggy mornings with the air so thick the Space Needle is invisible behind the clouds. There is no crispness, there is no cold crunch of fallen leaves. There is mist, and saturated sunsets, and a PJ's-and-slippers-and-tea feeling all around.

Speaking of clouds, I learned of the existence of something so fabulous -- habitats dense with trees, rainforests elevated so high their rain is transformed into fog, into clouds, and you are left with a Cloud Forest. I want to live in a Cloud Forest. It sounds so breathy and clean and soft. And David Garza could write songs about it, and create an Art Cloud in a Cloud Forest, and it would be polycloudinous.

What are you going to be for Halloween? Greenwood hosts a big neighborhood trick-or-treating and Samhain party in the streets on the 28th, when I happen to be working at Cat City. I'm trying to come up with something perfectly ironic to dress up as while working. There is the obvious: a dog; or a mouse... but I'm searching for something purely genius. Without being disturbing. Little kids, you know.

It is time for me to clear out of work, and head home to my little sodden houseboat; autumn means 360 degrees of water. In the sky, in the air, below the floor. Floating. I've been drinking Madagascar Vanilla Red rooibos tea by the pot. Warms the insides.

Goodnight. And dream of Cloud Forests.