ready . . set . . .

Action!!!! I finally tried an action today. And this was the result. Is this photo not gorgeous? And all I had to do was press a button. One little button. Amazing.


Credits: Paper and pin head: Vinnie Pearce, Pin Body and text: Katie Pertiet, Action and mask: Something Blue Studios.

Here is the original photo so you can see the difference.

It would literally have taken me hours of fiddling around to create something similar to Lynn's action. Doing a happy dance. Tippy tap, tippy tap.

There is something . . .

so appealing about something so bizarre it just makes me chuckle. Can you imagine sporting a slab of bacon on a cut? How about a knee covered in pork? A blister cuddled tenderly under a hunk of ham? It would give new meaning to pig's knuckles when wrapped around a phalanges.

And whose mind is it that comes up with these goodies. Was it the studious kid in the front row, raptly attentive during anatomy, who flew through his gifted classes, graduated from Johns Hopkins with honors and then suddenly, inexplicably, burned out like . . . well, like bacon sizzling in a skillet.

Or was it the jokester from the back of the bus . . . the one who never did his homework but reveled in his title of class clown? Was he sitting in front of the T.V. one night, beer in one hand, munching on a peanut butter and bacon sandwich with the other, when the light bulb went off?

I have no idea. But it obviously amuses me. So to whomever it was that created Bacon Strips, I thank you.

the fascination . . .

with overlays and textures continues . . .


Credits: Paper: Linda Roos, Dots and Overlays: Roben-Marie Smith @ Paperbag Studios, Fonts: LB_Typewriter and CK Alis_Handwriting, Heart and Stitches: Taylor Made, Staples: Pattie Knox

And no, that is not my house. I could however, be induced to occupy it in a moments notice. Really, I could.

Life's little oddities . . .

This morning the 9TS and I left the house at 5:15 a.m., heading to Tampa for his four month check up. I woke up long enough to catch a shot of the moon setting . . . in my side of the world, we normally catch it rising over the ocean.



The news was good and although we were doing a happy dance, I was inevitably bored on the second leg of our four hour trek. Out came my camera. Lots of silly stuff going on.

My favorite of course, are the Air Streams which apparently dove one after another off the diving board into the pool having forgotten to first check the water level.







Then we have the normal power lines.



But because we are in mouse territory, we have these.





And although I have passed this roadside artifact numerous times, this is the first time I noticed the poor man, doomed for all eternity, to hang half way out the plane door. Hope he went to the bathroom first.



Beats playing I Spy.

Mayhem in the Manor . . .

Tuesday, the 9TS came home from the gym, expounding the virtues of a new step machine he had tackled. He was invigorated. Pumped. Totally jazzed. That is until sometime past dinner when, after disappearing for a bit, he reappeared looking decidedly perplexed. It seems that along with the normal awkward rhythm section that is his rebuilt heart, he had added a piccolo. A slightly nervous piccolo. A drunken piccolo as it were. The 9TS was not happy with this interloper, neither it seems was his blood pressure. After much consideration it was decided that the band should pack up its bags and march to the hospital for a private performance. And there was the piccolo, on screen in his big debut, doing his utmost to keep up with the base drum and the snares . . . failing miserably . . . off beat and off key. They kept the 9TS overnight.

The next morning, slightly drugged, the piccolo was more cooperative and while still in desperate need of a Julliard education, he was now playing nice with the big boys and I was allowed to bring the 9TS home. The entire band has decided to lay low for a while.

On another topic, I woke up this morning to someone gently stroking my hair. Deftly lifting the curls off my head and dropping them softly onto the pillow. It was quite a pleasant sensation in my semi sleeping state until I awoke enough to realize that it was not the 9TS and therefore not quite so endearing. I contemplated the alternatives and realized it was none other than Ninja trying her best to weasel down between the covers which were wrapped tightly around my neck. In this below freezing weather, the temperature in the house had apparently dropped sufficiently so that her favorite black coat was no longer doing its job and she was, in actuality, trying to dig her way under the covers to nestle along side me rather than on top. I obliged.

The boys on the other hand decided 6:31 a.m. would be a good time to spar. I wouldn't mind so much except once again, I had drifted off to sleep. Sigh.





and yes, I do keep my camera next to the bed . . . "the better to see you with", said the big bad wolf.

texture . . .

Veevs, one of the girls over at Spraground, does THE most marvelous photographic treatments using layers of texture and blending modes. I look at her work and drool. I finally got up my nerve and asked for a tutorial and she obliged. How sweet was that?!?. So I printed off her instructions, pulled open a photo and went to town. Here is my before:



and my after:



I love knowing how to do this. But, if you want to see a pro at work, check out Veevs site here. She really turns photos into works of art. Thanks again Veevs, for the tutorial. Amazing stuff.

Terror on the merry-go-round . . .

Sunday is laundry day in this neck of the woods. All my clothes were separated and waiting their turn for the joyride of their existence . . . spinning and frolicking among the suds and water. They were so excited. The darks . . . always the pushiest of the bunch strong armed their way to the head of the line and obediently hopped, one by one, into the drum, giggling with excitement. Closing the door behind them, I filled the drawer with detergent and started the machine. You could hear them kibitzing . . hold tight now . . . keep your eyes closed and your arms up . . . don't look down . . . oh, they were having a ball. The faster the drum sped, the happier came their voices until somewhere during the final spin, something went terribly awry. I could hear the terror inch into their cries, they were holding on tightly to each other . . . starting to panic. The knocking inside the drum becoming deafening. Both the 9TS and I ran to see what the commotion was . . wondering if our dear winter woolies were safe. Finally, the jack hammering stopped and I quickly opened the door. At first, the darks were all stunned, sitting there in a damp huddled mass. As I gently lifted each one out in turn, and gave them a careful shake to bring them back to life, little bits of plastic rained down onto the floor.

With all the little fellows tucked in the warm, safe cocoon of the dryer, the 9TS started his investigation and shortly discovered the entire drum was out of line and huge chunks of plastic had been shaved off the edge and spewed all over. The 9TS's bathrobe quickly announced he really was not so dirty after all, and the whites took off for points unknown. Only the towels did not budge. Knowing their life to be a utilitarian one, they understood, should they be damaged, they would be resurrected as a floor mop . . . a dust rag . . . a shoe polisher . . . all well respected occupations. But, alas, there would be no second ride today.