This thing of not having a Internet connection doesn't stop me from composing this blog entry, of course. I write, edit, and finalize each day's entry using Notepad, then when I feel it's ready. I copy it and paste it into the new page at blogspot.
No problem, unless the outage continues for an unreasonable length of time.
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Why I blog is the title of a piece I read last night in The Atlantic, and it is an interesting answer to the question I am often asked, "Why do you blog?"
I have given my reasons for blogging more than once and will probably do so again, perhaps each time I am again asked. But you can click the above link if your are at all interested in reading why Andrew Sullivan (The Daily Dish) blogs.
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Photo of a plant that lives on a shelf above the TV
The red (crimson? scarlet?) flowers have just recently sprung forth from the (purple?) flutes (or whatever they're called) and I thought a picture of them might brighten up this page.
Here is a close-up of the tiny flowers
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I read at The Writer's Almanac that yesterday was the birthday of Jerry Garcia guitarist for the Grateful Dead.
Jerry Garcia
Although I was never one of those radical 'Dead Heads' I was (and still am) an enthusiastic fan of the ice cream named after the late Jerry Garcia... namely Ben & Jerry's popular flavor, Cherry Garcia.
"Yum!"
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Yesterday I complained about a tiny grammar error at Science-Based Medicine and after I thought about it I wished that I had not done so. It was merely an innocent typo in which the word 'an' was used when it should have been 'a' -- shame on me. But I revisited the site later and noticed that the mistake has now been corrected.
Someone must have read my blog and reported the mistake.
(Yeah... right!)
. . .
I did not go out for my daily 3.4 mile walk yesterday but I certainly intend to go this morning. Hope I can do so before the daily monsoon rain makes an appearance. The sun is brightly shining out over the mountains at this moment, so it appears that my prospects are good.
My Internet connection is working again now. So I will post this immediately in case it fails again, and go out for that walk.
Not all "Dead Heads" were radicals, unless you define radical as including all "groupies." One such Dead Head whom I knew in the most intimate of ways, was in fact too lazy to raise her body from a Sunday-afternoon couch long enough to consider politics, radical or otherwise. Heck, the sight of a dirty dish frightened this woman more than the spectacle of Lenin looming might have done.
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