The Wormlips Scrapbook

On my next post I’ll tell you about the journalism & technology conference I attended today in Silicon Valley. For now, there are more pressing matters.

Here is a contest for you. Please match the dog to its owner (or, as Kathy McAnally would have said, “match the dog to its human.”)

Winner might win something. Maybe chocolate. We’ll see. Submit your responses in the… well… responses section, just below these pictures.

[A couple of you have been confused by the anti-spam thing. Under the comments area is a red box into which you'll need to type the two words shown there, and then click "submit comment"; otherwise, your answer will never see the light of day.]

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Though a new camera is the last thing I can afford after my trip, I just replaced the one that I drowned in the Rio Claro on the Oso Peninsula in Costa Rica and the one that split in two when I threw it into the lancha at Lago de Atitlán in Guatemala.

Would you like to see what I got? I broke with conventional wisdom (Nikon or Canon for a DSLR, and Lumix or Sony for point-and-shoot). Instead, on the advice of Wired Magazine, I got an Olympus (which was my dad’s favorite breed, and it’s water-resistant) and a Casio, of all things. Both of them were massively on sale.

This means you’ll start to see pictures here again soon, if anything interests me.

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Mom’s oyster bash last night was a great success. I wish I liked oysters.

Though Mom’s friends, now in their eighties and nineties, are dropping like flies, some fifty of the undead made an appearance, despite imminent foul weather. Many of these people figured prominently in my childhood. Many I’m not likely to see again. That made for a bittersweet evening.

When my sis and bro and ma and I get together, insults, jokes and unearthed memories zap back and forth as fast as our synapses can fire. My brother’s poor wife looked like she was watching a tennis match, head turning left, right, left, right between us as the banter flew. Our exchanges are quite funny, except when they’re painful or maddening.

At the party my brother-in-law Ned tried to take pictures of my siblings and me, but got the camera backwards so it looked like this.

Once we regained our composure, this is what Ned saw at the other end of the camera.

Our family doctor was there, and my aunt, and our parents’ lifelong best friends, and my Godmother whom I hadn’t seen since I was 18. She was the best Godmother ever because she gave the coolest presents. My godfather gave me Bibles and inspirational things. She gave me art supplies, and one time a miniature, red lacquered accordion that I practiced until I was ready for the corner of Greenhill Avenue and 19th Street. I played there for a few days until a neighborhood kid convinced me to let him try it. You know what happened next.

One of the party-going pals of Ma’s was the co-inventor of fiber optics. He was a delight. I showed him the fiber-optic nightlight I’d bought Katie and he wanted one.

While gazing upon my siblings, I got curious about eyes. People say Mom and Jay have nearly identical eyes. When Dad had eyes, they were similar to Kate’s. But a scientific study has never been done.

I feel a poll coming on. Click on the comparative-orb photo and then answer the question. If you want, I mean.

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