Wow! That's worth 10 votes.

Aaaaah! Just came home and discovered something extra-special in the silver cupboard. Some people just replied simply: Cora Mae or the Ukrainian dairymaid. Some indicated their choice and gave various explanations for it. Quite amusing, they were. But, you have been all one, two, three--no, eight-upped by one respondent. On the back of the postcard above, more of the dairymaid's tale was revealed.

"Local legend has it this is the very stretch of Interstate that the Ukrainian dairymaid set out on to seek her fortune in the dwindling field of dairymaiding. She finally came upon the great, magical Iowa State Fair where she got a job pouring milk and churning butter in the Living History exhibit. I saw her Friday. She says, 'Wassup.'"

Wow! That just made my day, especially after aggravating my neck injury from New Year's 1997. I'm still twitching and wincing like a fool, but I've got a smile on my face. Thanks, P.S.!!

"About Me" July 2007

I have Muppet hair (Animal! Animal! Animal!). My hair and I have come to a detente. We let each other alone and most of the bad feelings each of us has instigated have dissipated (mostly). I've come to realize we're actually similar: both of us need the illusion of control to be cuddly, bright things; asserting your authority and telling us what to do will bring only snarls and sneers.

Having hinted at the fractious dealings of myself and hair, let me say I absolutely love my curls. Hair is what I see in the mirror and demands the daily upkeep of outrageously expensive shampoos and conditioners. I feel my lovely curls and only really "see" them with my fingertips. Occasionally, I get a peek at a perfectly delineated curl. Otherwise, they lovingly wrap around an insecure digit or play "bounce" with bored ones. Individuals are loved and cosseted; but once their uniqueness is lost in a group of others, distrust is born and aggression soon follows. As the wise gentlemen of the elements have said, "That's the Way of the World."

Postal Art

Thank you to everyone who responded to the postal art question. Not everyone has replied with their choice, so get your votes in. As of now, "Cora Mae" is definitely beating the "Ukrainian dairymaid." I love people's reasons for their choice as well and the surprises in my silver cupboard definitely make my day. Thanks Again!

I've Been Working Too Long

I have been working non-stop to the point I don't know what day it is. I showed up at the marble counter this morning thinking I was on time. But there was no supervisor or superJenn.

Of course, I flipped out. And, nobody goes nuts like I do. I immediately thought I missed the memo about the place being fumigated and any minute, men in white haz-mat suits were about to gas me to death. I frantically searched the office blog for new postings. Then, I checked the office schedule. Lo and behold, I was 30 minutes early. Ha Ha.

Unlike you lucky ones, I have no weekends. They're all weekdays to me. And, the marble counter doesn't open until 8:30 on this day devoted to Zeus' father.

But, all was not in vain. I met a gorgeous black man who illustrates children's books and also is a fine artist. I did him a favor (he looked lost). I'm sure he's not available. So fine, so talented and single? And, if he is single, then I'm sure he's an upstanding Baptist. And, that won't mix with my heathen ways.

Nobody sings the blues like I do, non?

Excuse me, Sir, there's a Spider in my keyboard

Arachnida In the Machine

I have one of those white and clear plastic keyboards. The kind that catches, and more importantly, displays every crumb, dust particle and random staple on it's tray. Yesterday morning, I was surprised to see one of the crumbs moving. As I had just wiped the night from my eyes, I couldn't rely on what I was seeing. I tipped up the board, and, yes, a tiny arachnid had somehow gotten into the cracks of the alphabet. It couldn't resist the angle of the tip, and fell further into the board.

I contemplated if this webmaker would be destroyed once I began typing. It stilled me for a moment. But, then I began clacking away. I'm an optimist and I believe she's making a home under my keys. Besides, it's not the worst way to go.

Arachnida |əˈraknidə| Zoology a class of chelicerate arthropods that includes spiders, scorpions, mites, and ticks. They have become adapted for a terrestrial life and possess book lungs and tracheae, and many have silk or poison glands.

What in the world are "book lungs?"

Littering in Space

I keep track of the goings-on in space via CBS News. Dry and horribly formatted items are messaged to my inbox. I see a need for tabloid reporting on this beat. What a lovely idea to put on my back burner. Anyway, they had a spacewalk yesterday, which they successfully completed: all tasks checked off and nobody sucked into the void. During this mission, they threw away a 1,400-pound ammonia tank. A thingy filled with ammonia that NASA never ended up needing. And, they just jettisoned it because there wasn't a convenient space shuttle flight to bring it back to earth. I also gather they were influenced by some deadline Our Glorious Doofus set; though why a bunch of overachievers from Cal Tech and MIT would listen to a legacy that scraped through Yale on a "C" average, I don't know. They calculate that the doohickey (which is the size of a refrigerator) will float in orbit for almost a year, and then drop back into the atmosphere. They claim most of it will burn up in re-entry and whatever makes it through the fire will land in a body of water. I sense a lot of hopin' and wishin' on that last bit.

I don't like this precedent of littering. The environmentalists really need to start thinking "universal." Let's face it: Americans are going to be biggest pest from this planet. And, one of our biggest talents is creating waste. We need to incorporate sustainability into our space travel. I don't think the Creator (or whatever you choose to call her) will really dig us turning the Milky Way into a junkyard, although she probably won't be terribly surprised.

"Space station astronaut Clay Anderson, an avid sportsman and former multi-sport college athlete, will perform a feat during a spacewalk Monday that would impress Charles Atlas: tossing a 1,400-pound ammonia tank overboard. 'It won't be a problem,' Anderson said before his June launch. 'It's about the size of a refrigerator. We've been doing some work on the air-bearing floor here at NASA and I've been relatively consistent with being able to chunk it at around 40 centimeters per second (0.9 mph) and we really only need five centimeters a second. ... So I think I can send it on its way.'"

By William Harwood
CBS News Space Consultant

Withdrawal & Dividends from the Subway Karma Account

Sunday night, I was completely drained after work. I had been up since 3:30 a.m. and I was heading home at 10:00 p.m. My dinner up to that point had been a bag of Circus peanuts (the orange marshmallow treats, not the real stuff) and all the nervous energy that had helped me power through my first solitary shift at the marble counter now dissipated into the night air. I boarded my train, and I took a seat and promptly started a waking nap. I peeped at each door opening in case someone who needed a seat boarded, but I got through my ride without rising.

And, then something remarkable happened. First, I had to wait at least 20 minutes before an Alewife train barreled into the stop. Again, I was perched on a bench. That night, I was wearing my blue T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan, "More than Ever...", which somehow promoted Wisconsin Public Radio. This caught the eye of a tall, avuncular gentleman with bright eyes. Ever a city dweller, my antennae pegged he was a tourist and I concluded the wine must have been good at dinner.

He was prompted to ask if I was from Wisconsin. "Just high school." was my conservative reply. He persisted, and since he was joined by his wife, I became less wary. Eventually, a chain of locales (Green Bay - Milwaukee - Hales Corners - Shorewood - Greendale) led us to the surprising stitch that Mr. Luck had taught at the same school as my grandfather. Not only that, he knew him! We exchanged remembrances and our desultory chat made those 20 minutes less painful for an exhausted lady.

Randomly Seeking Drunken Penguin

This is lifted from an outrageous message I sent in 2005.

Top 10 Destinations
According to (2005) tripadvisor.com:

1.	Venice, Italy
2.	Agra, India
3.	Tulum, Mexico
4.	Grand Canyon, USA
5.	Luxor, Egypt
6.	St. Petersburg, Russia
7.	Great Barrier Reef, Australia
8.	Galapagos Islands, Ecuador
9.	Siem Reap, Cambodia
10.	Machu Picchu, Peru

Top ten destinations Spinner has never been to:

1. Iceland...I want to see volcanoes, ride a reindeer, and get into a streetfight with Bjork.

2. Paris...I want to vandalize the Hermes store, get buzzed on wormwood, piss in the Seine, and get into a streetfight with Bjork.

3. Tokyo...I want to eat Kobe beef, purify myself under a Shinto waterfall, lose my soul in the neon, and get into a streetfight with Bjork.

4. Patagonia...I want to climb whatever they have down there (mountains?hills?berns?), fish in frigid waters, listen to opera on a glacier field, and get into a dusty roadfight with a drunken penguin.

5. Cairo...kayak past the pyramids, try not to eat anything with my left hand, buy a beautiful carpet and a super fez, and drag race using camels.

6. San Francisco...play in the park, eat oodles of chocolate, write haiku on the docks, and get into a streetfight with a drunken Sean Penn.

7. Senegal...weave my own wallhanging, win karaoke night at Sami's, swim in a salty, pink lake, and get into a surfoff with Djimon Hounsou.

8. Spain...roar around the country in a ridiculous car, write country songs, learn how to dance the flamenco, join the Basque separatists, and get into a streetfight with Catherine Zeta-Jones.

9. New Zealand...sail around the country, avoid sheep, ride a whale, and play rugby (streetfight on a lawn) with a tattooed man.

10. Bhutan...dispel all bad impressions from Cameron Diaz' visit, climb a tree, duplicate the EddieMurphy/Golden Child temple scene at a sacred monastery, and, of course, get into a knifefight with Bjork.

I have yet to land in any of these spots and, no, I've failed to scrap it up with the Siren from Reykjavik. I only want to fight with her because I adore the fierce beauty of her throat.

Little Ms. Epistle

I love to exchange letters. It's a more civilized way to communicate. Phones, be they land-lines or those infernal cells, are entirely too abrupt. In theory, no matter what I may be doing--ablutions, studying, binding of spells, or taking in the wisdom of Master Shake, Meatwad, and Fryman--I have to drop my task and obey the summons of that dratted ring. In practice, I can ignore a ringing phone quite well or I've just unplugged it.

Mailboxes don't whine for your attention. They wait patiently to be filled and then emptied of their contents. The sight of a hand-lettered envelope or postcard in my silver cupboard is a source of delight. Plus, I can read it whenever I want and however I want--in theory. In practice, I gobble it up as if it was a candy-sweetened child who has strayed from the path.

I also find that phones don't bring me anything of use. What passes through the receiver is a weakened version of the caller. Plus, I need a face and body language to either reveal the subtext of the story or distract me from a less-than-fascinating episode. On the phone, I'm blanked in calm confusion of why this person is telling me this or that, and what do they want of me? I grope for the correct response and hope that I've given no offense where none was intended. A letter or card might be full of the mundane ("We've had good weather for a while."--I always include a weather report in my missives.)or trite ("Wish you were here!"), but eventually something unique will be revealed. Something you would never say on the phone, and something that would be excluded during person-to-person contact because it doesn't fit the shtick.

I also enjoy the adornment of the envelopes. When preparing an envelope, I try to avoid the generic stamp. At this moment, I'm in love with the semi-obsolete $.39 square because I affix two $.01 ones (dripping Tiffany lamps are the image) along with it. I'm not ashamed to use a sticker, and praise the lovely people at Dover Books often. I'm not sticky about what paper or stationery I use (not as much as a certain laconic blonde I know). In order to thoroughly enjoy replenishing my stock, I'm trying to empty my voluminous store of cards, paper, and bits. So many choices and decisions go in to the creation of a personal letter. Much like creating art.

So, why not distribute art via the post? That was my thought a while back. It all started on a morning with only dull hours waiting to hold me captive. To keep me from shrieking, I added something to my prim uniform that would attract glances and arouse brief wonder. Oooh, such wicked pleasure did I revel in that day. I created a small artwork to memorialize this pert act. Something that could folded and inserted into an envelope and sent on its merry way. For I am the Queen of Nonsense and a Cavaliera de Bellicosity.

If you wish to receive small fabrications that you can call your own and hold right in your hands, please, send an appropriate address to steelgirl@bust.com. I will intermittently drop something in the mail. You will then have the chance to find something unexpected and frivolous in your correspondence cupboard.