As the full moon rose this evening, I was struck by the plain-vanilla look and feel of our nearest celestial neighbor. There was nothing blue about it, and my eyes were open wide, as they always are when they expect a special treat.
I won't say I'm disappointed, because that would imply an expectation of some sort. That's never a good idea where lunar phenomena are concerned. Instead, I'll just chalk it up to poor timing, and hope the hues are more favorable where you live, moonwise.
Up next: 2010. Is this getting predictable, or what?
Oh mama. 
Teetering on the edge of Christmas, custom dictates what we wish upon others. Old favorites like Peace and Joy, All Our Best, and the all-encompassing Season's Greetings make a long story short. After all, I don't know what you really want for Christmas, do I? 
What a strange week. I knew something was missing the minute I saw Monday, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I tried everything, but nothing provided the sort of insight needed to solve the puzzle. Putting my finger on the shriveled grape I found under the refrigerator was fruitless, and the bit of lint in my navel only made me giggle when I touched it. I'm ticklish anyway, but my bellybutton is exceptionally reactive. I worry about it coming undone, which might be a dangerous situation if rudder control is lost and I accidentally fly through the kitchen window before someone has the chance to open it first. I didn't want to touch the 
Whenever I hear someone say that life isn't black and white, I have to laugh. Well, I don't have to, exactly. I know it's a decision, like spreading grape jelly on my shirts before ironing them, or staring directly into oncoming headlights instead of stepping onto the shoulder. Not that I would actually do that, of course. I haven't ironed my shirts in years. 
Are you working? If you have a job, this question is as familiar to you as the locations of the stairwells and closets you use to escape the incessant hazing by superiors and coworkers, whose unwelcome intrusions into your none-of-their-business activities so often ruin an otherwise productive day. Fortunately, whether your response to the question is delivered with a carefree toss of the head or in a more venomous way, repeated insinuations of shiftlessness simply indicate a lack of understanding of the proper definition of work, which really isn't your problem at all. 
Take, for example, the hypercaffeinated worker whose 
vibrations are sometimes evaluated with the primitive work equals force times distance formula used to justify continued employment, but rearranging the formula—as I've done on the right—demonstrates just how misguided that approach really is. 
I got up this evening
We got up this morning
I am the eater of donuts
1) Do you have forensic evidence? 
Proper nutrition and a daily fitness regimen are as important to our wellbeing as clean laundry. The proof of this can be seen in the faces of those whose steady diet of frozen burritos and soiled undergarments has robbed them of the vim required to get out of bed on weekends. Vim isn't a right but a responsibility, even among those fortunate enough to have only one chin. 
New moon
As you know, 
I haven't taken a bath since it first dawned on me that I might go down the drain with the water. The idea of sitting in a big white deathtrap with no clothes on is frightening enough already, so whoever decided to put claws on certain bathtubs was either sadistic by nature, or simply too preoccupied with the feet of predatory beasts to care about my personal hygiene. 
One particularly troubling facet of human awareness is 
Guess what? Right, it's test time! You won't need to sharpen your #2 pencils, because even a dull pencil can ruin the look and feel of a perfectly good LCD, and probably won't improve a CRT display, either. Use a marking pen instead. 
I had just begun leafing through the latest issue of 
I've heard it said that one man's trash is another man's treasure, but I don't believe everything I hear. In fact, one woman's trash is another man's treasure, which is how I came to be in possession of the Sacred Branch you see over there on the right. If you want to believe otherwise, that's fine with me; I'm certainly not going to stand here and argue with your dyslexic mind. What's important right now is the branch's multilayered, wooden personality, and how that might affect its position within the system of coordinates we use to find our way home. 
I could be wrong, but it seems I'm finally near the end of the longest job-interview process I've ever experienced in my life. Assuming Monday's launch date holds, it will have been exactly four weeks from initial interview to final clearance for takeoff. This may be an entirely normal timespan in the corporate world these days—it's been some time since I worked for a company of this size—especially in light of the extensive background checks that now seem to be commonplace for even the most rudimentary vocation
This week will see the final hurdle in my mission to find something useful to do in spite of these infernal headaches. It really isn't much of a physical, but then, the job in question isn't what most people would consider physically demanding. Mainly, I think they just want to know that I can (1) see, and (2) say howdy without spitting on the customer's forehead. In other words, I remain optimistic—in a relative way—that the current spell of unemployment won't last more than another couple weeks, if that. 
Theoretically, I should have learned not to make predictions about stuff, but so much of my brain has been lost over the years that it's tough to remember that I should have learned not to make predictions about stuff. After all, so much of my brain has been lost over the years that it's tough to remember that I should have learned not to make predictions, especially when it comes to, you know, stuff. 
In dreams, I use my hands to propel myself through the dense atmosphere. I am heavy; I am unable to move quickly in the viscosity of the place. I pull myself forward with my fingertips, but not along the ground. A tapestry of woven strands lies below me and stretches out in front. This is how I move. 
I think I might be losing my mind. While this will come as no surprise to those who believe the event actually occurred many years ago and simply went unnoticed by its owner, others may wonder how the very mind used to evaluate its own evaporation can be trusted to inform others of the condition. 
If truth is the first casualty of war, the perceptions and events responsible for the bloodshed cannot be allowed to write the history books that shape the anger of our children. We love our children; that's why we go to war. 
When I was a child I cried out for salvation, but God was out for the night and couldn't hear my screams.
Some p
It is with a heavy heart (and, of course, apologies to the Beatles for the title of this one) that I must relate the following tale of true grit in the partially-decomposed face of adversity, and how I came to a fuller realization that the life of a park ranger isn't all trees and breathtaking vistas. There are other aspects of the job that are similarly breathtaking, but not in a good way. 
As some of you have pointed out, it seems no one is at the controls of the Omegaword blog anymore. While this isn't entirely true, it also isn't completely false. It's just that life has taken a somewhat unexpected turn, and I'm fortunate to be spending the summer working for a park ranger in one of the more attractive settings in this part of the world. 
Another important part of my job is traffic control. Speeding through a narrow cañon creates a hazard, especially during those crowded summer months. As you might expect, a Caterpillar 430D is a highly effective weapon in the battle against renegade motorists. Its turbo-diesel engine provides all the power a guy needs to flip even a large SUV onto its side, while the backhoe is useful for removing the roofs of smaller vehicles. 
It's an old saw, I know, but twice inspired, once shy holds as much water today as ever. 
Knusper was angry. It wasn't bad enough that he was just another slice among slices, pasty white and tasteless, with no more nutritional value than the jelly beans in the cupboard above the stove. He had been watching the calendar himself, knowing this day would come. And now it was here, having arrived with ominous precision at exactly midnight, and not one second more. 
Learning to speak and understand a foreign language, it's said, is best undertaken during the early years, while the language-processing apparatus is still fresh and relatively unencumbered by the patterning that ultimately shapes our communication. It's said, too, that the most effective method is immersion in the culture and language of interest; rote memorization of foreign words and phrases doesn't work nearly as well. 
When I awoke this morning, David Byrne was singing in my head. 
