Remember a Time Before Texting?

http://gmailblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/really-new-in-labs-this-time-sms-text.html

Revolutionary.

Mind Body Soul

Every morning after my salutation to the sun, I'm ready to face the day. And people have noticed how ready I am. After having received repeated questions regarding my morning workout routine, I've decided to share it with the world. I purge myself of toxins, anger, frustration, and just...breathe easy. Now, you can too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHg-PofQMDA&flip=1

Veggie Tales

Hi fans,

I haven't written in quite a while but I thought that 8-8-08 would be the opportune time to start up again. I'm attaching the lyrics to Radiohead's "Vegetable." Really thought-provoking. Enjoy...

Vegetable

I never wanted anything but this
I tried hard, worked hard
I ran around in domestic bliss
I fought hard, died hard

Everytime you're running over me
Everytime you're running I can see

I'm not a vegetable
I will not control myself
I spit on the hand that feeds me
I will not control myself

I never wanted any broken bones
Scarred face, no home
Your words surround me and I asphyxiate
And I burn all hate

Everytime you're running out on me
Everytime you're running I can see

I'm not a vegetable
I will not control myself
I spit on the hand that feeds me
I will not control myself

The waters break, the waters run all over me
The waters break, the waters run
And this time you're gonna pay

I'm not a vegetable
I will not control myself
I spit on the hand that feeds me
I will not control myself..

After Apple Picking

My All-Time Favorite Robert Frost Poem.

After Apple-Picking by: Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well Upon my way to sleep before it fell, And I could tell What form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and disappear, Stem end and blossom end, And every fleck of russet showing dear. My instep arch not only keeps the ache, It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. And I keep hearing from the cellar bin The rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much Of apple-picking: I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall. For all That struck the earth, No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble, Went surely to the cider-apple heap As of no worth. One can see what will trouble This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is. Were he not gone, The woodchuck could say whether it's like his Long sleep, as I describe its coming on, Or just some human sleep.

You Are What You Watch