Pixel-stained technopeasantry?

I'm trying to figure out if I qualify as a pixel-stained technopeasant if what I have to offer is already available on the Web, because the original paid publication was to an online magazine.

I will probably put it up tomorrow morning anyway, in the spirit of supporting my friends and the idea. (Also, I may be getting a bit of additional money for reprint rights in a printed book.)

Pixel-stained technopeasantry?

I'm trying to figure out if I qualify as a pixel-stained technopeasant if what I have to offer is already available on the Web, because the original paid publication was to an online magazine.

I will probably put it up tomorrow morning anyway, in the spirit of supporting my friends and the idea. (Also, I may be getting a bit of additional money for reprint rights in a printed book.)

A sunny weekend, and what I've done with it

This was the weekend when the sun came out, it got warm, and Spring seems to be happening all at once: trees visibly budding on Friday are in full, fragrant flower this afternoon. From "oh, look, a few rhododendron flowers" uptown at noon to full bushes of them in the Village at four; daffodils we've had for a week or two, but now they're joined by dandelions and the first violets. And there's lots of green: green grass, lushly so, the light-green flowers of maple trees, and green leaves on other trees.

This is why I'm hesitant to travel this time of year: there's usually one weekend like this, and I don't know which one it will be until it happens. The whole season, I can feel that if I go away for long, I'll miss something important (three days might be okay). There are a lot of important things in the springtime, many of them brief, and knowing that there will be lilacs or violets or cherries next year wouldn't entirely comfort me if I missed them. (I won't: I can't miss violets or cherries, not entirely, having seen a few violets on Saturday and plenty of weeping cherries the last few days. But lilacs won't be along for a little while.)

Yesterday, I took easy, physically: cattitude and I strolled in the park, but not up into the hills. Today I went downtown, and met roadnotes for tea and conversation. La Lanterna has put a glass roof over their back garden, which made sense for the winter but, with the space full and the waterfall next to us, produced irritating acoustics, and was less pleasant than actually being outdoors, so we went out wandering sooner than we otherwise might have. We talked life and relationships, and various people from our pasts. She was shopping for a skirt, and succeeded, and convinced me to buy a black shirt that I quite like but don't know when I'll wear. I bought produce at Jefferson Market (what's been on sale up here in Inwood lately has been sad), and she found powdered mustard there, and then we sat on a lawn in Washington Square Park for a while.

On the way home, I called Cattitude when I got out of the subway, and when he said he'd come out and meet me, I said "Meet me under the apple tree." I thought we'd get a few early flowers there, and be out longer than if he met me along the direct route, as we usually do. It was white and glorious: pulling down a branch and sniffing one blossom, I couldn't catch a scent, but just standing under the tree I did, faint and sweet.

[I've also paid the month's bills, online.]

A sunny weekend, and what I've done with it

This was the weekend when the sun came out, it got warm, and Spring seems to be happening all at once: trees visibly budding on Friday are in full, fragrant flower this afternoon. From "oh, look, a few rhododendron flowers" uptown at noon to full bushes of them in the Village at four; daffodils we've had for a week or two, but now they're joined by dandelions and the first violets. And there's lots of green: green grass, lushly so, the light-green flowers of maple trees, and green leaves on other trees.

This is why I'm hesitant to travel this time of year: there's usually one weekend like this, and I don't know which one it will be until it happens. The whole season, I can feel that if I go away for long, I'll miss something important (three days might be okay). There are a lot of important things in the springtime, many of them brief, and knowing that there will be lilacs or violets or cherries next year wouldn't entirely comfort me if I missed them. (I won't: I can't miss violets or cherries, not entirely, having seen a few violets on Saturday and plenty of weeping cherries the last few days. But lilacs won't be along for a little while.)

Yesterday, I took easy, physically: cattitude and I strolled in the park, but not up into the hills. Today I went downtown, and met roadnotes for tea and conversation. La Lanterna has put a glass roof over their back garden, which made sense for the winter but, with the space full and the waterfall next to us, produced irritating acoustics, and was less pleasant than actually being outdoors, so we went out wandering sooner than we otherwise might have. We talked life and relationships, and various people from our pasts. She was shopping for a skirt, and succeeded, and convinced me to buy a black shirt that I quite like but don't know when I'll wear. I bought produce at Jefferson Market (what's been on sale up here in Inwood lately has been sad), and she found powdered mustard there, and then we sat on a lawn in Washington Square Park for a while.

On the way home, I called Cattitude when I got out of the subway, and when he said he'd come out and meet me, I said "Meet me under the apple tree." I thought we'd get a few early flowers there, and be out longer than if he met me along the direct route, as we usually do. It was white and glorious: pulling down a branch and sniffing one blossom, I couldn't catch a scent, but just standing under the tree I did, faint and sweet.

[I've also paid the month's bills, online.]