Blogtrotter

Moving along

so am I, to the wife's Dear Diary blog at http://casamurphy.blogspot.com and visit (paid blurb) her own foodie site at http://manifeasto.blogspot.com

(Photo update Mid-April 2007: That's the gal in her hog heaven, the farmer's market-- selling licorice, however, so I am not sure about the local support of our horny-handed agricultural science and animal husbandry majors-- at Kellogg Ranch, Kellogg perhaps as in not only that traffic landmark near Cal Poly but perhaps the Battle Creek cornflakes that were part of that whole Road to Wellville anti-masturbation pro-vegetarian prot-vegan diet craze. Glad we don't have fanatics like that now, huh? No, not my wife. Those neighbors of ours-- that's the Angeleno stereotype I'm talking about, not the ethnic market/ chowhound dive types such as hers truly.)

That whole CasaMurphy trip is her own bag, man. She hates my own sad blog here, yes this one. She expects me, dutifully as the spouse, to tag along in her flamboyant wake. But I will be transferring my reviews of note from Amazon and the like here, somehow when I have time.

My brain's fried from being on the computer all day in that hybrid on- and off-line class teaching over thirty students How To Write, a thankless task even in person. Made worse by the clunky platform we're condemned to at E-College. Not to mention the hoops we have to jump through in eight weeks to meet the demands of Advanced Composition, compressed, mass-produced, standardized for our factory model of for-profit, systemwide, uniform, higher education. Still, I try for my own inimitable touch. For instance, today, posting to them about MLK, cursing, and why not to type in all caps, among other pearls of wisdom.

I too have to write, revising an essay that my wife generously helped me edit. But tomorrow. I cannot think above the level of reading yesterday's NY and LA Times. The former always is last, since the latter takes so brief a time to peruse. Who wants to read a letter to the editor, anyway?