And then there was this time, you know, when I was so into those things, but I was, like, what, eleven months! Hello? I'm practically 18 months now and my parents just don't get it. I'm like, grow up!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Monday, December 05, 2005
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
38 - Love
Hopping over the net to congratulate your opponent is a tradition whose utility escapes me. Sure, good game, old sport, tally ho, all that. But, by gum, what ever happened to looking your adversary square in the eye and tossing off a debonair witticism, to whit, "Waaauuuh! Mamaaaa!"
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Gingerly
There's no other way to look at it, this Ginger character just needs to chill out. She came right up to me, in public, witnesses and everything. She licked me. That's right, I'll say it again: licked, as in tongue. Aiyiyi. Next time I'll be ready. Out comes the tongue, I'm gone.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Inny or Outy?
My philosophy is, enjoy the best of both worlds. Today, I'm a little bit of an outy, but someday, my contrarian belly button may be more concave than convex. That's just the kind of adhocratic individual I happen to be. Can you dig it? Not literally, obviously.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
A day of sunshine
Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.
I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies ;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.
And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where through a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon.
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.
I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies ;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.
And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where through a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Monday, October 17, 2005
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Twilight of the Idles
Our Jenner Jaunt saw our intrepid heroines brave the frontier of the Western edge of North America. Young Freya, being myself, knew no fear among the darkening hush, fowl and varmint passing a-twitter in the night. Lo, the evening curtain descended with no trepidation in our hearts. Verily.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Walkin', yes indeed, I'm talkin'
This is one small step for a Frosia, one giant leap to toddlerhood. (Actually, this is about the ninth step, after I took two steps, fell down, grabbed the bottle, then got up a few more times.)
Little Red Freying Hood
In all my theater-going days, I can honestly say I've never seen anyone tread the boards like Rosalita C. de Camargo. Her Granny had me laughing, weeping, and breathless. When that big, bad wolf ate her up, I lived it. When the woodsmen somehow extracted her from the ruthless predator, I, too, was born a-new.
New Information
Really, Father? This merry-go-round is powered exclusively by the cuteness energy radiating from little old me? I believe that's what Einstein was getting at in that little-known theorum, e=(frosianess*freyiosity)^2
which of course was later proven by radiological analysis of the polarization spectra generated by the Large Magellanic Cloud as conducted by Lowell-Parsnip at Durham.
which of course was later proven by radiological analysis of the polarization spectra generated by the Large Magellanic Cloud as conducted by Lowell-Parsnip at Durham.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
farewell, Ft. Ross
My Russian mother and I departed Fort Ross for the last time in 1841, after the fur trade income dried up and the Empire called us back to Mother Russia. We sold our holdings to John Sutter of Sacramento and said goodbye to the only home I had ever known.
Where did Mother get those sunglasses in 1841?
Where did Mother get those sunglasses in 1841?
Die Walküre
"Freya traveled on a golden-bristled boar or in a chariot drawn by cats. She resided in the celestial realm of Folkvang, where it was her privilege to receive half of all the warriors slain in battle... (Freya is)... sometimes identified with Frigg, the wife of Odin. Friday originates from Frigga's day."
Alas poor Yorick!
Whether tis nobler in the Pampers to cast off this mortal cloak and speak of country matters!
Proclamation!
Let the word go forth from this time and place, I, Princess Freya, declare these lands and seas the twin provenance of the crowns of Russia and Scotland! Verily.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Oooh, petting zoo!
And my mom's all, like, time to see the sheep! And I'm all, like, No Way José! That goat is way scary and I'm not getting off this fence and going to see any sheep until that goat learns some manners or gets out of the way and maybe takes a walk to the other side of the park!
This little piggy
There are those who imagine I might use a photo like this for some sort of unflattering analogy, which might slight a family member, acquaintence, or public figure with swinish comparison. Or slander a porker with an unfair human comparison. Yet I am loath to do so. Instead, I'll make a snorting and oink-like sound and get this off my chest right now. Piggies are cute!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Frosiac Space Module requests permission to dock
Here I am, hovering thousands of millimeters above the Earth, recording images of startling terrestrial oddities, including blades of grass and guffawing progenitors. We chose remote Lake Tahoe for this space probe event; next up is Saryshagan, Kazakhstan, just below Lake Balkhash. Or possibly the upper reaches of my crib.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Chariot racing finals
Long ago the people shed their anxieties, ever since we do not sell our votes to anyone. For the people—who once conferred imperium, symbols of office, legions, everything—now hold themselves in check and anxiously desire only two things, the grain dole and chariot races in the Circus.
Westward Ho!
Ma 'n' me, we was moseyin' up Sacramenta way, 'n' we stopped in ta see that Sutter fella 'bout our gold claim. Dag nab it if'n he didn't up and skedaddle on us more 'n a hunnert years ago.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Le Bath, pt. 3
As soon as the rest of the world learns my secret language, they'll think I'm so dang funny. Here, I offer a rejoinder to a saucy and, dare I add, insouciant measuring cup.
Le Bath, pt. 2
Today we pose for Jacques-Louis David for a new Marat, and for Eugene Delacroix's new version of Liberty Guiding the People. Or at least I should. Because in my well-scrubbed mad fandago of late-infantilistic brio, I believe we see something superbe et émouvant.
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