Happy Birthday!

I forgot to post anything specifically commemorating the event (I was too busy dissecting the centurion-related pre-game lunacy), but yesterday was the one year anniversary of HiR:tb. Postings were sporadic at best in the first few months, but all in all I’m pleased with myself so far for sticking with this project to date – I have a bit of a history of beginning things and then losing interest and moving on to something else. It’s been a fun year, and I’ve made some friends in the course of forcing myself to write a little something at least every couple of days. I have amused myself, if no one else, and I have managed to craft a sentence that includes the phrase “sandwich gobbling cowboys”; this literary achievement alone, I feel, justifies the continued existence of my little portal into teh Intarwebs.

This interesting little fellow also turned 15 last week. Yes, fifteen. You can see by the expression on his face Poppy Crazy Runsthat he’s Juniorvania’s happiest new resident. Currently leading the civilized world in the little-known category of “number of twigs, sticks, leaves, branches and other assorted woodland detritus tracked into a residential home”, Popeye keeps busy with his hobbies: avoiding the cat, rubbing himself along the length and breadth of every available piece of furniture, and attacking that damn stuffed turtle like it’s Satan himself. He is available to appear at Conferences, Symposia and Hockey Banquets for a reasonable honorarium, to be provided in unmarked non-consecutive cookies prior to the engagement in question. Prospective clients please be advised: his green room rider includes a non-negotiable requirement for suitable napping facilities and no warranties are made as to the absence or control of flatulence.

By junior

Guitar owner and silly person.

1 comment

  1. Congratulations to both HiR:tb and Popeye! I’m assuming that he’s also been put to task surveying and marking the new borders of Juniorvania as well.

    With our two dogs and two cats there’s no shortage of random-fur-left-on-carpet and mysterious-wet-stains-better-left-unexamined; the big dog, Bean, in particular, chooses both the coldest and the hottest times of year to start shedding his undercoat — we pull gigantic clots of fur out of him seemingly at will.

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