I'm a Raconteur Wannabe

From the Word of the Day feed in the right-hand column:

raconteur \rack-on-TUR\, noun: One who excels in telling stories and anecdotes.

He has an excellent raconteur's mind, memory, vocabulary and tongue, brings in a story just at the right time, in the right manner, serves his anecdotes perfectly either piping hot or ice-cold as tragedies.-- Anatole Pohorilenko and James Crump, When We Were Three

The pronunciation makes me think of Dolly Parton travelling from concert to concert.

One Hail of a Storm

Just took that pic about ten minutes ago. It took several shots to get one that was decent and without exaggerating any, it probably lost a quarter of its size, melting in my hand while I tried to hold the camera with the other.

All day long it felt really "funky" to me and anyone who lives or ever has lived in the Panhandle knows what I mean. The barometer was dropping and it felt as though there wasn't any oxygen in the air. The sky had a green tinge and then the temperature dropped ten degrees in a minute, then the hail started coming down, sounding like a machine-gun nest on top of my roof.

At first the hail was pea-sized, then started falling in larger and larger sizes. I ran out and got a golf-ball sized stone and tried to take a photo of it, but couldn't concentrate as I was a little afraid the tornado sirens might start their fearful wail.

I knew the storm was coming; I had heard the weather forecast and when severe weather threatens, I go to the National Weather site and see which way the storm is headed. I started to batten down the hatches when I saw the "white" on the radar profile. "Red" and "Orange" scare the heck outta me and white is the "worst".

This is a screenshot of the current radar and it looks as though we might have another round of hail headed this way, but it will pass just to the north if we're lucky.



Still, I had best unplug the computer...again.

The Beej is somewhere in this house, but I don't know where. I wish he'd let me in on the best hiding places.

Like a Rock

The Ten Commandments
Groom Cross

This is one of those times where I was trying to be more "artsy" than I have any right of being. On this photo, I lay down on my side trying to get the reflection of the huge cross behind me and didn't think about the reflection of the huge pile of lard laying on its side trying to take the picture.

Band of Gold - Freda Payne

Big Hits on a Little Topic

Since I got the Feedjit feed, it's been fun to see the various places and people that find this blog. There have been hits from all over the world and quite a few states here in the U.S.

Google has provided the most fascinating statistics, though. This blog has had recent activity from being listed in the search engine for various news articles I've cited and commented upon, but by and far the largest amt. of hits have been for the Gay Irish Dwarfs article I wrote. We're up close to the top for those search terms: Gay+Irish+Dwarfs.

Since my article was tongue-in-cheek and nothing to do with any sort of fetish, I'm sure most of the visitors are disappointed. (I've never gone out with a dwarf, but I have been told by some of my dates that I was a mental midget)

I'm not quite sure what to think about it all. Sure, I'm glad for the hits, but I also wouldn't want anyone to think that this is some sort of "kinky" or fetish-type blog. (although I HAVE been thinking about writing something about my fondness for pantyhose...)

Recently this blog got a hit to an article I wrote: "My Sister's Feet", and following the entry URL, found out that the visitor had come from a Google search "I+Love+My+Sister's+Feet".

Hey, I'm no prude, each to his own, but...that's just a little TOO kinky for me.

Maybe I need to be a little more careful how I title my posts?

Bjorn Borg Born

Today, in 1956.

Never was a huge fan of Borg; was more of a Jimmy Conners guy.

I just couldn't pass up the alliteration.