The smell of burnt gingham

First off, a quick note: when I made the previous post, I was totally unaware of the circumstances surrounding the shooting in Chapel Hill (actually just a few miles from where I live.) I don’t pay attention to news at all, really, and it’s largely because of exactly this kind of utter nonsense. As one commenter on that site pointed out, it’s considered news precisely because we almost never hear about such things happening (while the particular religious faith of the vast majority of criminals, as well as prison populations, somehow goes unreported.) Anyway, I wasn’t responding or reacting in any way with that post, it’s just coincidental. But while I’m on the subject, this is a pretty good idea.

submerged chorus frogSecond, I realize I missed Darwin Day. Well, I was fully aware of it approaching, but I have gotten no recent images nor found any particular topic to write about in that vein – I even returned when the conditions were better to try and capture higher quality images of some early chorus frogs like the one at right (well, not like the one at right, but much better,) yet they were nowhere to be seen on that trip. Plus when I finally had the chance, I wasn’t at all in the mood for writing. I’ve learned to simply not try at those times, because I’ll end up rewriting the entire thing later on, or post it and then hate it thereafter. There will indeed be a belated Darwin Day post at some point, when I have put the appropriate effort into it. Keep watching.

Finally, in honor of the other holiday, I direct you to The Bloggess, who I feel is absolutely correct in her assessment. Humor of this nature fits in a certain niche (ahem,) because if you understand the suggestiveness, you’re already well aware of the subject matter. In other words, it’s not corrupting – but you’re already ‘corrupted’ if you understand it. Otherwise it’s perfectly innocent. Too many people don’t appreciate this kind of subtle double-entendre artwork; worse, they react to it negatively, sometimes well out of proportion to the joke therein, and thus suggest the deeper meaning to everyone who didn’t get it, having a worse affect than if they’d simply clammed up kept their mouth shut.

Now I wish I’d saved all the valentines I received during grade school in the 70s so I could see what those little tramps were really trying to tell me…

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