The blog you’re reading is inactive.

It remains available, as many of the posts are not my own. But there will be no new posts, and I will not be visiting.

In the three years I’ve been blogging, I’ve had some fun and met some fascinating people, one of whom is now my life partner.

But in the doing of that blogging, other tasks have been neglected. They may be neglected no more.

And the effort expended has not translated into a readership sufficient to justify the effort. Others have demonstrated the kind of blogging that will develop a readership. I am pleased for them; success in these troubled times is a significant accomplishment. I, though, am not capable of, or much interested in, sandwich boards, or manufactured cats, or comfortable lies.

I wish you health, and joy, and success. Aloha.

“Dude! Did you see those comments? I always thought you were weird, but I never thought we were scary!“

“It was the leotard, dude. You’re not exactly Playgirl material, you know. The mere thought of you in tights would drive a teetotaler to drink.”

“Well, she won’t be doing any of that at our place.”

“What? Men in tights?”

“No, dude. Drinking. Or didn’t you see that puddle in our driveway?”

“Puddle … in … our … driveway …”

“I don’t see how you could have missed it, dude! The water line to the house is busted, and now we’re ancient mariners.”

“Ancient? Me?!?“

“You and me both, dude. Dammit. Water, water everywhere / And not a drop to drink. Or flush.”

“Uh, dude?”

“Yeah?”

“This is, like, bad!“

“Yeah.”

“Is somebody coming to fix it?”

“Yeah.”

“Now?“

“In Hawai‘i?!? Maybe next week sometime.”

“But I hafta go to the …”

“Neighbors, dude. And hope they’re friendly.”

===============

Alas, the dudes speak truth. Quilly and I have been exiled to the Land of Dodgy Internet until someone can find and patch the hole in our water line. This may mean that we’ll be hard to find for a little while. Please do not adjust your LCD display, the problem is not in your motherboard. This isn’t exactly one of the lasting memories that Quilly was hoping to create, but, Mick, you can’t always get what you want.

Please bear with us.

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

Those of you who follow Quilly regularly, irregularly, or even sesquihebdomadarily (yes, it still is Three-Word Thursday, at least here in Honolulu), have probably noticed that … well … just at the moment …

… you can’t follow Quilly. [UPDATE: the blog recovered around 5 PM HST today (22 July 09).]

No, I don’t know either. All I can tell you is, about 10 this morning Hawai‘i time, something at her hosting site went blooey, and I haven’t been able to log on since.

Know that she is well and at work (her job didn’t vanish, it just shrank below the Benefit Line). She may not even know about her website glitch yet. Though she’s about to, she just put the car in the driveway.

Hang with us …

cheers, The Amoeba

As if the current economic news, plus the 4-hour daily commute to work for both of us, wasn’t enough to explain why neither of us has been blogging lately, now there’s this.

Quilly’s computer has died. Again.

This time it looks like the DC power jack. A $5 part that will probably take $500 to replace. ‘Cause the repairers will insist on replacing the motherboard along with the jack. If they don’t insist on replacing the whole computer.

Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll be relearning the lost Depression-era art of cheap repairs, so they can take whatever customers they can get. They sure as hell will be, if they’re watching the news, and the markets, like the rest of us.

OC

It’s been over a year since O’Ceallaigh first showed up at my door with his heart in his hand. There’s been a few changes since then. For instance, nowadays when he shows up at the door, his hands are usually full of musical equipment and he needs help turning the knob. Of course, that is a minor change. His first visit also featured the trumpet. From the beginning it has been my rival for his affections. We have learned to tolerate each other.

Lately there has been another, more subtle change. We still sit on the couch side-by-side. We still hold hands. We still exchange kisses and soft touches as we pass by each other, but –

I asked him if he was ready for his nightly ice cream. He said he was, then he ordered a cup of tea as well. Occasionally, when I tell him what the dinner menu is, he requests substitutions. At such times I often suggest he call a waitress. Other times I tell him we are calling a waitress because I don’t feel like cooking.

We also make decisions for each other. I have been known to critique his apparel and send him to change. He has done the same to me. He tells me when to carry an umbrella and scolds me for forgetting my (fill-in-the-blank). He has learned to tolerate my camera. I’ve (mostly) gotten used to his thinking out loud.

We know when to talk and when to shut up. We know when a hug is needed more than words. We know when to help and when to back off. We know when to say, “I’m sorry.”

We know we are loved.

If A is a singular article, and couple is a  plural noun, then a couple must be a singular plural.

Happy Birthday, Hon. I love you.

The problem is not with your computer.

We get Internet installed in our new place in a week’s time.

Until then, our presence in the blogosphere will be limited.

Yes, that is a bear with us.  Don’t worry, we can handle it.