On this Monday, I’m having a crinkled attitude–that hard plastic
crunchiness, stiff like the lid from a fountain soda cup I picked out of the
ditch before mowing the dandelions this evening.  No delimiters indented: Other, Root
Beer, Diet. The skies are scheduled for rain tomorrow. Buckets. Oh please!

I was at the office at a raw hour this morning–and all day after that.  In
my chair at the office before 8:00 a.m.: raw.  Had to turn out three
player of the week nominations for the U.’s baseball and softball programs. 
Email them to the conference.  By the end of the day, I learned that none
of them was selected.  One twitch of invisible work-product.  One
harmless twitch.  And one in my eye.

The men’s soccer program held their annual banquet late in the afternoon
yesterday.  Since the news about heading to Syracuse broke, there’ve been a
lot of "missyous" floating around.  E. gifted a signed game ball to me at
the banquet yesterday, said a kind few words about how we’ve known each other
since we showed up at the U. twelve years ago–a futboler from D.C. and a
basketballer from Michigan.  Abundant good fortunes have lit the course. 
So when E. floated the panegyric, everyone almost cried. A braid of joy
and sadness, I suppose. 

I’ve been directing information about sports at the U. for the last seven
years.  Directing information is akin to "representing."  It
stems from the powerful potential of  fashioning knowledge, of controlling its distribution. 
It’s rhetorical–inventive, moving, extant by conditional delivery. 

[R.E.M. Out of Time in the earphones, strumming.]

Other than the ditch-mow (a near-road precariousness and slant making it my
job) I made chili for supper.  It’s my week again.  Every other
friggin’ week.  Sunday groceries and a week of meals.  D. and I have
been carrying on this way for a few years; at times it’s a gross and unwholesome
contest in culinary underachievement, both of us smiling at a sort of demented relief in
shorting our turn.  Raisin bread and applesauce?  For dinner? 
Anything’s possible in hopes that the other will cave, concede the system, order
pizza.  Ph.’s survived this long.  Hell, he’s even gained nine pounds
since January, I guess.  Who knows wherefrom.  When it’s my week, I
usually throw together a chili, stew or soup.  Something that’ll carry
forward for a few days.  Mid-week cooking: I’m a lazy reheater. 

Short list I didn’t complete: 1. Start C’s proposal on weblogs and audience;
2. Finish reading and responding to 18 project drafts from intro-humanities; 3.
Blog on Connors’ "Modes of Discourse."  Short list I did
complete: 1. Heard back about a NY realtor lead; 2. Read and responded to six
project drafts from intro-humanities; 3. Read Connors’ "Modes of
Discourse." 

I’m still brushing the about graf I hope to tape up over there one day soon. 
Here’s what I have so far:

Earth Wide Moth is the weblog of dmueller. [He’s this and that.  He wrote up a
100 things list some time ago.]  We should think of this weblog as a
playground astir with a confusing, noisy simultaneity of excitement.  We
should think of it as digital-dust tracks toward a morphing autobiographical
sketch-portrait.  Earth Wide Moth houses a fair amount of dabbling, testing,
and rough extrapolation on academia, technology, new media, rhetoric, writing
programs, distance ed, critical geography, info-flow, and teaching.

I can’t think of what else to say. But the comment lines are open.  What should the about section include? 
To what extent should it stick out as business-card standard?  Maybe I
should skip the part about.