Friday, April 29, 2005
Dull Friday
A cloudy, dreary day today. It seems sacrilege for a Friday to be so dull. It's the last workday of the week (for some people, anyway!), and it should be gay, striped, sunny, full of laughter and joy. But no, it is hanging around with a pout. I cleaned the house today, but I bet I could have done it singing if Friday had worn a smile like it is supposed to. But no! It growled at me, so I growled back.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Four Letter No-No Weekend
Well, after a weekend of despicable wind, snow flurries, and general all-around winter misery, today we have a warm, sunny disposition of a day mimicking spring, which is hopefully on the way. I cussed a lot this weekend. Every time I stepped outside, I spew out a plethora of four-letter no-no's that should have made me blush. But the air was too cold for my cheeks to get hot. With that in mind, here is a little poem I wrote about spring and its slow dance into our lives this year. It is a Jozzonet, a Dutch form of poetry.
Jozzonet
A form of poetry with an odd number of lines with the middle line functioning as a mirror.
Spring Graces
(A Jozzonet)
Spring graces the land with soft whispers
Spraying gentle blossoms and sweet scents
Birds and animals snuggle close to her breast
As life is reborn in the forest
Birds and animals snuggle close to her breast
Spraying gentle blossoms and sweet scents
Spring graces the land with soft whispers
Copyright 2005 JO Janoski
Jozzonet
A form of poetry with an odd number of lines with the middle line functioning as a mirror.
Spring Graces
(A Jozzonet)
Spring graces the land with soft whispers
Spraying gentle blossoms and sweet scents
Birds and animals snuggle close to her breast
As life is reborn in the forest
Birds and animals snuggle close to her breast
Spraying gentle blossoms and sweet scents
Spring graces the land with soft whispers
Copyright 2005 JO Janoski
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Wash Me, Baby!
When hubby told me he was going to rent a power-washer, it left me scratching my head. You see, I am mechanically-challenged. For example, once I realized what a screwdriver was, especially which end is the "tool" part, I was overjoyed. Alas, when I tried to use it, my hand-eye coordination orientation thingie didn't work right. If you can imagine a blind person trying to place the screwdriver tip into the screw, that would be me, hopelessly stabbing at everything in sight.
So, when hubby told me he was renting a power-washer, the obvious question in my mind was to wash what? Well, let me tell you, he washed everything outside. The siding, the sidewalks, the picnic bench, the patio...The man's eyes glazed over while holding the hose, searching for new targets. (I hope he doesn't read this; he'll kill me--lol) To be truthful, I stepped out of sight for fear he would want to wash me next!
"Lift up and bare your arm pits, baby! Let's give 'em a wash!" I could picture myself spray-propelled across the yard and splat against a wall like a squashed bug. Yep, I hid out from the guy. I'm guessing this must be some kind of manly ritual. I won't even go into the Freudian aspects of this. He was still out there in the yard after dark, a lonely figure in the moonlight, looking for stuff to clean.
So, when hubby told me he was renting a power-washer, the obvious question in my mind was to wash what? Well, let me tell you, he washed everything outside. The siding, the sidewalks, the picnic bench, the patio...The man's eyes glazed over while holding the hose, searching for new targets. (I hope he doesn't read this; he'll kill me--lol) To be truthful, I stepped out of sight for fear he would want to wash me next!
"Lift up and bare your arm pits, baby! Let's give 'em a wash!" I could picture myself spray-propelled across the yard and splat against a wall like a squashed bug. Yep, I hid out from the guy. I'm guessing this must be some kind of manly ritual. I won't even go into the Freudian aspects of this. He was still out there in the yard after dark, a lonely figure in the moonlight, looking for stuff to clean.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Jeff Probst the Antichrist?
The glint in his eye confirmed it for me. Jeff Probst is the antichrist, no doubt about it. Last night, on Survivor, the suffering group were determined to vote out Stephanie. She's strong. She's determined. No doubt about it! Stephanie had to go or she might win this thing. Then Jeff, the devil incarnate, got to work. Perched on his seat, surrounded by shrines to the power of evil like WWII guns and helmets, wrapped in darkness and fiery torches, it was just like home for him, i.e., down below where it's hot.
He cajoled; he suggested; he manipulated. He reminded Janu of how unhappy she was on the island. Add in a dash of provoking Stephanie to cry about the prospect of leaving and presto, with a snap of his fingers Janu volunteered to leave, canceling out the need to vote and thus saving Stephanie from certain disaster. Now the challenges will be tough with Stephanie in the mix--lots of suffering, eh, Jeff?
I knew he looks too gleeful during Survivor challenges, when those folks are killing themselves to win immunity, jumping off cliffs or eating wiggly things that are still squirming when you bite down, he announces the play by play like it's a day at the circus, savoring every bite. He loves it! Diabolical twists in the game are his favorite dessert, and OH, snuffing out torches is absolute orgasm for the devious fellow. This man relishes suffering. Let's face it--that torch-snuffer is simply a pitchfork in disguise.
He cajoled; he suggested; he manipulated. He reminded Janu of how unhappy she was on the island. Add in a dash of provoking Stephanie to cry about the prospect of leaving and presto, with a snap of his fingers Janu volunteered to leave, canceling out the need to vote and thus saving Stephanie from certain disaster. Now the challenges will be tough with Stephanie in the mix--lots of suffering, eh, Jeff?
I knew he looks too gleeful during Survivor challenges, when those folks are killing themselves to win immunity, jumping off cliffs or eating wiggly things that are still squirming when you bite down, he announces the play by play like it's a day at the circus, savoring every bite. He loves it! Diabolical twists in the game are his favorite dessert, and OH, snuffing out torches is absolute orgasm for the devious fellow. This man relishes suffering. Let's face it--that torch-snuffer is simply a pitchfork in disguise.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Hello
May I start by introducing myself? I am Jo Janoski from Pittsburgh, PA. I work in a family business, taking photographs of the Pittsburgh skyline to sell to galleries and stores. We have sold our photos in the area for almost 30 years now, so if you're from "da Burgh," you've probably seen our work.
I also write by moonlight, meaning after the photography work is done for the day. From morning until evening, I am "glued" to a mat cutter or dry mounting press. But at night I and my computer get together and write. I write poetry, but mostly, I enjoy writing fiction. I have two small books published and a third on the way. Pittsburghers will be interested to know the stories take place in Pittsburgh, as seems fit, considering my relationship to this town.
My husband, Ron, and I have been married 33 years, no kids, but at the moment we have a fun-loving smooth fox terrier named Peepers. Anyone familiar with this breed will confirm what merry, friendly dogs they are.
This blog will be whatever I feel like talking about, be it cultural, political, inspirational, humorous, or hysterical. LOL. Hang on to your seat belts; this could be a bumpy ride.
I also write by moonlight, meaning after the photography work is done for the day. From morning until evening, I am "glued" to a mat cutter or dry mounting press. But at night I and my computer get together and write. I write poetry, but mostly, I enjoy writing fiction. I have two small books published and a third on the way. Pittsburghers will be interested to know the stories take place in Pittsburgh, as seems fit, considering my relationship to this town.
My husband, Ron, and I have been married 33 years, no kids, but at the moment we have a fun-loving smooth fox terrier named Peepers. Anyone familiar with this breed will confirm what merry, friendly dogs they are.
This blog will be whatever I feel like talking about, be it cultural, political, inspirational, humorous, or hysterical. LOL. Hang on to your seat belts; this could be a bumpy ride.
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