Tuesday May 10, 2005
	Her teeth were gone but I still wanted her (see below).
	The term Podcasting seems so limiting, like somehow it's only for users of iPods.  The idea for this logo came to me in a dream.  Instead of Podcasting how 'bout Flycasting? (See image below). UPDATE (05/11):  I now think I was dreaming about my deceased Aunt Marge and my fresh idea/logo (Fig. B) regarding Podcasting/Flycasting was incorrectly drawn/illustrated.  This afternoon the image of my aunt below (Fig. A) popped into my head (a remnant of my dream) and I immediately sketched it.  Notice the popsicle in Fig. A which I could have easily interpreted (while experiencing my dream) as a microphone. Additionally, please note the large ears and the hovering flies (My aunt is dead). I believe my logo/fresh idea/illustration which I call Flycasting (Fig. B) evolved from the image I actually saw (Fig. A). HYPOTHESIS: The popsicle (Fig. A) =microphone.  See microphone in Fig. B. My aunt had big ears (Fig. A).  See big ears in Fig. B. My aunt is dead and In my dream I saw flies all around her (Fig. A).  CONCLUSION: Microphone=broadcasting/recording, add in a bunch of flies and that equals: Flycasting (Fig. B).      Jeez...What do you want from a dream? She's a cat lover and listens to my Podcast while on the tube in London and sometimes she starts laughing and fellow tubers slowly move away from her.             _____________________ Diary 181: She works at the gas station near my house and she's good to look at and we talk when I'm paying for gas or when I'm buying a 3 Musketeers candy bar or a Coca-Cola or a Budweiser (she wraps it in a brown paper bag). "How are you?" I said Monday evening. "I'm doing well, Norm," she says.  She often walks to work and once I pulled my vintage Cadillac to the side of the road and offered her a ride. "I guess the tourist season is over," I say.  I like talking to her and I don't really know what else to say so I just pull out this easy conversation starter. "Thank heavens," she says then smiling. If it wasn't for her teeth I'd ask her out.  The ones I can see (when she smiles), are black.  Not just one.  But maybe four or five and while we're not talking I'm wondering if she's even aware of the fact that her teeth are bad and then I'm wanting to be a big person and look beyond her teeth and then I'm thinking about how if I robbed a bank I could pay for repairs to her teeth and then we could be together.  "The traffic sure is better," I say.  I live alongside the Gulf of Mexico (Florida).  Tarpon Springs is known for the real sponges they harvest from the bottom of the Gulf and during peak tourist season traffic can get bad. "No more bumper to bumper," she says. I'm thinking: Man, she's beautiful and look at that hair. It hangs to about the middle of her back and it's blond.  Look at that skin and those eyes.  Shit, what color are those?  Are they grey? Blue?  I'd like to jump over this f-ckin' counter and plant my lips on hers.  Those lips would transport me to another place.  It would be nice to transport to another place.  You can bet she's wearing perfume, Norm.  You like perfume.  It's like they're not real when they're wearing perfume.  Like they're a painting in a florist shop only better. "Take care, Norm," she says then handing me my change. "See you later," I say. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT