Mojo's Media

IN WHICH Mojo Gets a DMCA Takedown Notice, and Does Not Respond Well To It.

AGES ago, and by that I mean YEARS, some Christmas I was struck by all the Christmas cards depicting the whole lion-lying-down-with-the-lamb thingie. Which is all very well and good. But every time I see one of those, I am reminded of the amusing Woody Allen quote: "The lion and the lamb may lie down together, but the lamb won't get much sleep."

So at some point I decided to paint my OWN lion and lamb card, to illustrate the Woody Allen quote. But when I was done, I found that--while I like him (much better than the lion, by the way; the lion kinda sucks)--my lamb did not look at all frightened, and hence he did not really depict worried insomnia at all. So instead I ended up captioning it with another sheep-inspired truism that I felt DID capture the essence of Mojo's Little Lamb:

Mojo Wishes You a Merry Christmas....

Christmas... a time to forgive

If you've ever wondered how Mojo became the enchanting and bewitching lass that she has become, wonder no more.

 

The only immediate family member from Mojo's youth to escape this seasonal wrath was her Favorite Younger Sister, who is represented via proxy. That's because Mojo did not have any decent pictures of her handy, and those I found on the internet tended to be crowd shots of her as a single face in a sea of faces. Because that's the sort of questionable life she leads. Not that Mojo judges. Not to her face, anyway.

Spending the Holidays....

If you're scrambling for holiday gifts and you're looking for something not too expensive that will require VERY LITTLE THOUGHT OR EFFORT on the part of you, the magnanimous giver, Mojo oh-so nonchalantly suggests you buy one or two or a dozen or so of her books she has recently put up for sale at fine booksellers everywhere.

These are actual books written by our beloved Mojo, mind you, not a stupid compilation of blog posts you can read for free, or crappy books others have given her and now she's foisting off on people who just want something that once resided, however briefly, in Mojo's hot little hands. No--real books; novels, as a matter of fact. So tell your friends, wake the neighbors, and rip 'em apart on the reviews on Amazon if you have the notion. (You could say NICE things about them too, if you like, but when was the last time Mojo ever said anything nice about YOU, huh? I rest my case.)

More From Mojo's Sordid Past

Red WolvesJust when you thought Mojo couldn't POSSIBLY get ANY cooler (uhhhh, you WERE thinking that just now, weren't you?), Mojo has gone back to her private vault of experiences to bring you her tenure at what used to be "The Wolf Sanctuary", more formally known as the Wild Canid Survival and Research Center at Wash U's Tyson Research Center in Eureka, MO. Being the charming lass she is, Mojo got permission from various Authority Figures (heh heh--suckers) and spent many an hour communing with wolves, well before it became oh-so-super-trendy to do so. (And eventually Mojo accepted the simple fact that the wolves, as noble wild creatures of intelligence and discernment, have no particular desire to commune with HER. Which is a lesson many a nature-lover has yet to learn, it sometimes seems.)

(The WCSRC has since changed its name to the Endangered Wolf Center; you can see what they're up to (and, hint hint, donate!) at http://www.endangeredwolfcenter.org.)

Mojo's Weekends...

Ashley awaiting treats, courtesy of the Favorite HusbandMojo has been on her self-improvement kick for almost a year now, and one of my goals was to get back into shape, instead of being the lazy blob everyone has come to know and love... or at least tolerate. So I have been trying to keep away from my stupid laptop on the weekends, and instead I go hiking with the dog out in the woods.

Of course, sometimes you end up doing more than you intend. Such as, if you remember my last blog post, I mentioned I had to have my truck's frame completely replaced at the dealer's expense. When I got my little truck back, I skipped around for a week or two, until it happened to die on me in mid-drive, about a half a mile from my house.

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