So Mojo's been busy with Real Life stuff, so she hasn't been posting. She's also thinking of a major site upgrade, which will take up some of her precious online time. If she does it well you will not notice much change, just New Stuff Added.
Due to circumstances beyond even Mojo's control, she's been too busy with her own sordid affairs to bother entertaining the likes of you. Nevertheless she feels a certain obligation to say SOMETHING of import and interest once in a while. So instead of writing, I shall make you go squee with a daily sequence of pictures of the yellowthroat nest, which is once again camped by my front door. Watch in awe and wonder as tiny leetle birds the size of your thumb joint turn into giant monsters.
So first off, yesterday I was jogging up and down my Favorite Older Sister's driveway in a futile attempt to be healthy and in shape, when Rosie and I were VICIOUSLY ATTACKED BY WILD BEASTS. I realize there are those of you out there who might doubt Mojo's Sacred Word, which is why I am glad there are CELL PHONES so that I might record the encounter for posterity. Watch, if you dare:
(Oh, and if you are a Kind Person, don't play this with the sound on when Rosie's around. She gets very upset and thinks I am yelling at her. I WAS, but not NOW. And only "yelling" in the "*sigh*; Mojo's Irish" sense of the word, which isn't really YELLING, but more like Gently Communicating With Volume.)
Mojo should probably state up front that she has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING PERSONAL against Martha Stewart. Quite the opposite; a bootstrappin' gal like Martha is an inspiration to all capitalistic womankind. My only issue with Martha is that Mojo is not really a girlie-girl, and consequently has NO INTEREST WHATSOEVER in decorating the house. This is painfully evident to anyone who might happen to drop by the shanty-esque hovel where Mojo spends her days glowering out the cobwebby windows like some uglier, more psychotic and far less talented version of Emily Dickinson. (Think "Miss Havisham", without the charm.)
Now, if Mojo actually WATCHED television beyond cartoons, and if Martha were to forego decorating and place settings and deal exclusively with cooking (Mojo likes food) or gardening (Mojo likes plants) or petting various creatures (Mojo likes 'em all, except for ticks and mosquitos), then we could talk. But once the talk moves to fabrics Mojo's eyes glaze over. She'll try to be polite, because that's how she was raised, but There You Have It.
(Actually, Mojo is MOST INTERESTED right now in LAWN TRACTORS, if you must know. Our push mower has been in the shop for a MONTH now. With all the rain, the lawn is literally KNEE DEEP. Recent developments I shall not go into right now indicate the Favorite Husband will NOT be using the push mower this summer should it ever come home. Consequently there are times, in the dark hours, where our usually upbeat and optimistic Mojo quietly despairs at the notion of the lawn ever being mowed again. During these times of darkness, the usual skinflinty Mojo starts daydreaming about how nice it would be to have a riding lawn tractor with a mowing deck. Just ABANDON the push mower at the shop, and SPEND the money already! Other girls dream of jewelry; Mojo secretly pines for a tractor, yet will not buy one for herself until she has studied the market and determined the very best one she should get for her needs. It's a very long and involved process, because, well, Mojo is Mojo. But I digress.)
Anyway, this whole week has been just AGOG with all the news about the Facebook IPO and the various complaints thereof. I have been particularly inspired at the huffy, gaspy revelations that maybe, perhaps, there might have been selective disclosures in the process. Perhaps this is because the Facebook IPO attracted a lot of new people to the stock market--idealistic folks who have somehow convinced themselves that an overhyped IPO for a business that (Mojo suspects) is gonna be the next MySpace will somehow magically make them rich overnight. And when that DIDN'T happen, there's all these cries of anguish and allegations of wrongdoing all over the place. Which may or may not be true. Mojo doesn't know, and Mojo desn't particularly care.
So a little more than a month ago, your esteemed pal Mojo, fresh from her bruising fight with Zazzle over Summit Entertainment claiming Mojo was somehow infringing on their "TWILIGHT" franchise by having the temerity to put up a lion-and-lamb Christmas card for sale, decided to relax with fambly by going to the Magic Wings butterfly conservatory to cavort with our six-legged friends. (And other-leggeds, since they have things like frogs and lizards and button quail, as well.)
Mojo was still experimenting with her new iPhone, so she took lots and lots of video footage at the butterfly place, which she cut together in a video she threw up on YouTube entitled "Dances With Bugs":
Since it was over five minutes long and, let's face it, Mojo is a money-grubbing hack, Mojo signed it up for YouTube's ad-serving, revenue-sharing dealie. Because Mojo is one of them special YouTube partners who can do that, don'tcha know. Funny thing was, unlike just about every other video Mojo put up for monetization, this one did not go through. It stayed in review-process limbo. So, like many a YouTube partner, Mojo did what you're supposed to do: she disabled monetization and then re-submitted it. She did this a couple of times and never got it to budge. And then came this email:
First off, we have bumblebees and heal-all for you to stare at. (In other words, Mojo is still playing with her iPhone camera.)
So Mojo was late for an appointment (not REALLY late, but Mojo Late, which means she might get there only TEN MINUTES EARLY instead of her usual fifteen or so) so she jumps in the car and heads down the mountain to civilization.
One of the many things about living far, far away from other people is, if you are late to go ANYWHERE, you have the added burden of an additional half hour tacked onto your time, which can work FOR or AGAINST you. If the roads are clear of other pesky drivers you can make up the odd five minutes or so by screeching around the mountain passes like Mario Andretti. But if you get behind a school bus or a turtle, it will easily add another fifteen or twenty minutes to your commute. There is NO PLACE TO PASS, even if the other driver is aware of you and trying to pull over to be nice.
So anyway, I have this appointment to get my Favorite Husband's car serviced, and running just a hair late, so I jump in said car and screech out of the driveway. And a quarter of a mile into the trip I come to a screeching halt as a family of woodcocks are occupying the street, perhaps in protest of Mojo's screeching around in her car. (Note to Mojo's Favorite Mother: No, she is NOT actually screeching. She is Exaggerating for Comic Effect.)
She hangs out with GIANT MAN-EATING BUGS, that's what she does!
Happy weekend, folks!
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:
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.