Ok, I won’t effuse too much, but the first 30-45 minutes of Wall-E (and I think this despite the-really-full-of-kids-who-didn’t-get-that-they-were-watching-a-silent-film theater) was some of the best filmmaking I’ve ever seen.  So, go see the movie.

I need to take a moment to do a special shout-out. The movie featured one of the best EVER scenes featuring a spork:

Wall-E collects things he finds interesting and takes them back to his “house.” He finds a spork. When he goes to put it away, he has a collection of spoons on the right and a collection of forks on the left. After puzzling for a second, he places the spork between the forks and the spoons with great reverence.

Sporks deserve their own place and it should be special.

This maxim is NOT true of foons.

It’s been such a long time since I wrote a post that my browser didn’t autofill my blog address. I guess it can be said that sporksforall exists on its own without care from me, but my Google Analytics reports seem to suggest that it exists in such a state as to prompt a series of empty-answered philosophical question about whether something that doesn’t get looked at has any meaning at all.

Word to the visitor from Midvale, Utah who spent .56 of a second on the site. I don’t think my mouse clicks that fast.

Actually, to be fair, that seems to be the minimum unit of time Google Analytics calculates, so my Midvale, UT readership exactly matches my Decorah, IA and Fayetteville, NC readership. Also Arlington, VT. S’up y’all?

I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. Someone from Riga, Latvia has spent more than four minutes learning about sporks or nene or something. And I’m hoping the one minute nineteen second someone from Male in the Maldives was deeply meaningful to them. Sporksforall–perhaps now meaningful in the Maldives!

The map on Google Analytics is my favorite feature. The numbers are depressing and what I get hits on focuses more than I want it to on elephant seals and their Latin name. The map, though, gives these nice green emphases to people in their offices or on their laptops coming my way.

I heard recently about this thing the new iphone does called “document cloud” wherein one floats documents in the ether to be retrieved as needed. I pictured (as I think I was supposed to) floating excel spreadsheets–transparent and ephemeral–gently bouncing along at chest height.

The Google Map, on the other hand, makes me think of all those people in real space finding their way to me. California is dark green. I’m most “popular” there. Some states that are medium green I can explain (I have blog friends there, I said nice things about Miss Washington, etc.) Others puzzle me. I might explain away Nevada’s darker green color by physical proximity, but New Mexico is pure white (meaning no folks from Truth or Consequences–or anywhere else in our 47th state–have visited my blog at all). I should note, by the by, that I typed in New Mexico’s 47th place in their joining of the union and then confirmed I was right (which I was). January 16, 1912 was when it became a state.

Anyway, my lack of readership MIGHT be explained by New Mexicans still being mad because I didn’t initially understand that I actually had to surrender the hideous chili pepper wreath at the agricultural station. I had bought it in a moment of irony, I swear. I also gave it up willingly, and am still glad I did. Irony stops being ironic at a certain point, after all.

Hey Germany, how is it that Google thinks you are UNDER 0 seconds as an average time on the site? Negative time visits seem so, well, contrary, not to mention improbable. I took “German for Graduate Students” while I was doing my PhD. What more do you want from me. Bring it UP to 0, ok?

Anyway, wherever I go, you’ll find me here.

I’ve never been a big fan of Paul.  You know Paul, right?  The guy who wrote all those letters.  The ones in the Bible?  That Paul.

Despite my general distrust of him, I always liked this painting depicting him.

That’s Caravaggio’s The Conversion of St. Paul which hangs in a small chapel in the back of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome.  I’m a little bit of a freaky fan of Caravaggio.  He’s always seemed, well, funny to me.  Don’t you just get the sense the the horse is looking at Paul like, “What the hell are you doing on the ground?  You know I poop down there, right?”

I spent a semester in college in Rome and wandered around from church to church with my very worn Michelin guide to the city.  Always a bit of a completest, I saw every Caravaggio in the city.  It wasn’t a singular obsession, I also saw every Borromini church in the city.

That’s St. Ivo della Sapienza.  I like how wavy it is.

Anyway, back to Paul.  I don’t much like to say what he has to say about women, among other things.  I should note that I come by my dislike of him perhaps somewhat organically.  An ancestor of mine was so enraged (relatively late in his life) about the Pauline perspective that he resigned his ordination to the ministry and began writing books trying to debunk the various epistles written by Paul as heretical.  The demand to publish these tracts was rather small, as you might expect.  So, he opened up a vanity press to publish them himself and kept it going with others’ projects of the same type.

Despite my dislike of Paul, I’ve always liked one verse.  Really, half of one verse.

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.”  That’s 1st Corinthians 13:12, if you want to know.

That was the King James version.  Here’s the New International version:

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.”

Same basic idea, though the “through a glass darkly” is the bit I like the best.

I’ve always connected it to the Platonic allegory of the cave.

“Behold! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.”

The difference, really, is that Paul makes promises.  He suggests that at some point, we will see clearly.  Which gets me back to not liking Paul–how can I believe in the clarity when the rest of it seems so suspect?

So, art, ancestors, philosophy, and religion aside, what’s my point?

I don’t like how what sometimes goes on in my head seems disconnected from reality.  I keep trying to turn my head to see what’s reflected, but it’s always just out of view.

The Misanthrope over at Toner Mishap, bless his heart, tagged me. I feel so, well, touched. In a good way.

Herewith the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir

2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like

3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere

4 Tag five more blogs with links

5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Herewith the picture:

What kind of secret could Halo tell the stuffed meerkat?

Herewith the bio:

Paddled canoe early. Map still evolving.

Herewith the tags:

Everyone. I really can’t think of anyone who has a blog I read whose six words I don’t want to read.

Honey and I were watching “Everest: Beyond the Limit” the other night. The narrator noted that the Nepalese were born to climb the great mountains of their country. Their hearts are bigger. Their lungs are bigger. It reminded me (and I said out loud) of the piece that I read in the L.A. Times last week about Disneyland redesigning the “It’s a Small World” ride. It seems that the boats keep bottoming out. Disneyland, not wanting to alienate its visitors, has refused to blame the expanding American (and non-American) waistlines on the problem. Instead they argue that years of fiberglass build-up on the boats and water channel have made the ride less functional. The problem, apparently, is so acute, that they’ve built a platform near the Canadian Mounties to help people out of the boats so the ride doesn’t get held up too long. Listening to that song a few MORE times than the ride normally requires may be too much for people.

At any rate, I remarked, upon hearing the narration about the Nepalese, that Americans are born to bottom-out Small World boats. My Honey laughed. I like making my Honey laugh.

I liked this Shakespeare thing. It has nothing to do with what we’re born to do. Still. Macbeth would have been way different with sporks.

Is this a spork which I see before me,
Its handle toward my hand?

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Honey suggested that I begin my relaunch with a paean to sporks. I eat with one almost every day. I like them. So much so, I’ve gone and bought a sporks domain. How’s that for iconic?

So, why do I like sporks?

• Sporks have a pleasing shape
• Slip one in your bag or pocket and you’re good to go
• Sporks function pretty well as spoons
• Sporks function fairly well as forks
• Titanium sporks are very light and very strong
• I like liminal things.

Welcome to my new space. Looks pretty spiffy, no? Big thanks to Treecup and Sly for making it happen. It’s nice to have my own little corner of the internets. I think I’ll keep it.

Some years ago Honey and I first took a trip together. (When we were Honies-in-Potentia, though we should have KNOWN what was coming. But that’s a story for another time). We saw a California Quail family. There’s something about quail that make me all gooey. As we were heading into our National Park (Sequoia) this weekend, a quail family ran across the highway. The babies flapped bravely and the mom and dad ran interference from the mighty “little blue truck” that was bearing down on them. Honey and I hadn’t seen quail since that first trip. It seemed a good omen.

These aren’t the quail we saw. Still, how can you resist the little topknots?

The quail came at just the right time to distract us. I was feeling tense because I was driving and we were in a caravan with friends. I am semi-tense by nature and the caravan thing was making me nervous. To add to my tension, we had forgotten pillows. I am sure there are many people who would scoff at the idea of camping with pillows. We, however, are camping wimps.

We realized that we had forgotten pillows before we got to Visalia. Visalia was our best pillow opportunity. I got tense about making unauthorized and unplanned stops in the caravan and didn’t stop. I told Honey that we’d find LOTS of pillows in the tiny town of Three Rivers. When that looked like a no go, we made a plan to fool the maid at one of the motels there. Honey would pretend to be drowning and I would steal pillows off her cart. If someone other than the maid tried to save her, she would insist that she needed the maid to save her.

Anyway, the quail distracted us from the pillow crisis for the moment.

As we drove into the park, Honey began to look through the CDs I had in the little blue truck. They’re the same CDs I always have in the little blue truck and none of them suited her. This caused her to begin to sing DonnaFreakingFargo (DFF) loudly and out-of-tune as I wound up the mountain. I was more than a little nauseated. It was probably the Mexican food we had for lunch. There are other suspects.

We went to the supply shop in the park and found the “amazing exploding pillows.” Here’s Honey to demonstrate this wonder of technology for you.

Here’s the pillow in its “compact” state:

Here it is in its “expanded” state:

Honey can barely contain her surprise!

The evening proceeding in a camping-type fashion, with dogs (of hot), s’mores, and a roaring fire. Our sporks (NOT foons) came in handy. That’s because sporks are always handy.

We were camping in bear country. The bear hysteria is high. So high that there was concern around camp (doesn’t that sound so outdoorsy?) about graham cracker crumbs dropped on the ground and backwash into Nalgene bottles. Every camp site gets a bear box. Here’s the sign on it:

Good to know that fun can happen after food storage but not before. We didn’t see any bears. The people in the site next to us, who were playing do-wop well into the night and decided to inflate their air mattress after 11pm, thought they saw bears. Bears don’t like do-wop and so they weren’t actually there. I took the gamble and took my Nalgene bottle to bed. I’m not sure how much I backwash, but we made it through the night.

Actually, I didn’t sleep well and got a cramp in my leg at about 1am. I went to the car to try to stretch out a little. While lying, in pain, in the car, I could not get DFF out of my head. I blame Honey and Wendy.

In the morning I was walking to the bathroom and encountered a mule deer munching on some bark. She looked up and let out a small cough as I approached. I kept walking toward her, trying to give her wide berth. She filled her lungs and coughed LOUDLY at me. I went around the other way. I had no idea deer could be that loud. There was a lot of ear flicking as well (on her part, not mine).

On the way out of the park the next day Honey asked me if I had any new CDs in my car since yesterday. Since the Lodgepole store hadn’t been any better at CDs than it had been at pillows (I think there were some new-agey ones), we had the same selection we had the day before. Honey again launched into her medley of “Happiest Girl” (she did change the pronouns, which was sweet) and “You Can’t Be a Beacon.” We compromised on Alanis Morrisette.

I have a few new camping tips:

1. Remember pillows.

2. Store food, then have fun.

3. Give the deer room.

4. Bring better CDs

5. See quail, if possible.

6. Claim Your National Park soon. There aren’t enough to go around.

We’re leaving tomorrow to go camping in Sequoia National Park. I like Sequoia. It’s closer than Yosemite and has much bigger trees. And much less traffic.

I really like the idea of camping in a tent. My natal family was not of the camping variety. My mother really prefers a four-star experience. She’ll do big chain hotels of the Marriott type, but not much “lower” than that.

I did get sent to summer camp as a child. First, I was sent to Presbyterian camp, which was a classic summer-camp kind of place with a little Sunday School thrown in. We hiked, canoed, and made lanyards. But we stayed in cabins, never tents.

I then transitioned to horse camp. Little Hope Ranch was an odd place, but I loved it (for the most part). There was no real “camping” at Little Hope. Girls rode horses twice a day. There was a pool (a mildewy pool) to swim in at night. Otherwise, it was all horses. Note to Rachel, if you’re reading: Sunshade kicked Little Lamb’s spotted butt. Little Hope is gone, replaced (from what I understand) by a VERY needed (not) new housing development.

Honey and I bought a cheap-ass tent at Pic n’ Sav some years ago and tried camping a couple of times with it. The first time we showed up after dark and had to set up the tent with no real light. The second time wasn’t much better.

Then I bought us a nice tent and an air mattress at REI. I also bought some hautemallows (those are high end marshmallows) and we tried it again. Other than the stale Whole Foods wheat hot dog buns, it went well.

Here are my camping rules for anyone over 35:

Get a big tent. (Two people in a four person tent will feel about right).

Get fresh buns, good beef or uncured chicken hot dogs, regular marshmallows, and good chocolate for s’mores.

Shop at the NPS concessionaires. They’re a nice mix of touro-crap and cute shirts to buy your honey. They’ll also have beer if you decide you need it–which you might.

Pick a cool National Park.

Listen to the nice ranger about the bears. If there are bears, use the bear box. Bears are bigger than you.

You will need to pee more often than usual overnight. Practice the “get up off the air mattress” maneuver until it’s smooth.

Turn the flashlight/lantern off before you get back in the tent from the bathroom trip. You don’t want those bugs in the tent. Trust me.

Eat breakfast at the hotel/lodge in your National Park. The civilized nature of served breakfast will make you feel better about not having showered.

Then go home. Take a shower and watch a good tv program. Tell the cats and dog all about your adventure. Post about what went wrong on your blog. Be sure to take some pictures. The big trees are better appreciated with visual aids.

Oh, and bring sporks. Everything tastes better next to a tent while being eaten with a spork.

Sandra–the coolest person ever drew me three sporks. I picked the coolest looking one and then picked a new template to go with the spork! Here were my choices…

Go sporks!