Buster McLeod posted a photo:

Buster Butterfield McLeod posted a photo:

Buster Butterfield McLeod posted a photo:

I'm in love with these butterflies. They're being mounted as we speak. They remind me of my favorite childhood Christmas present which was a butterfly catching kit. Net, alcohol and cotton balls to snuff out those little beautiful creatures, and little wooden suit case to mount them in. How each different kind of butterfly had a different threshold for human nearness. How each kind came during a certain time of year. The elephant ear (as I called it) was never caught.

My favorite novelist was also a lepidopterist.

If you're in Seattle, come by McLeod Residence tonight to see the butterflies, the flowers that respond to touch, the fabric that puts on a light show, the lasers that make you feel like you're in a David Lynch short film, the prints that make you feel tiny, and the paintings that represent the seasons. Summer is here! Let art magnify your experience and make life more lovable. Meet the artists and bring friends!

I hope to see you tonight! 2209 2nd Ave (between Bell and Blanchard)

Buster Butterfield McLeod posted a photo:

Come tonight: blog.mcleodresidence.com/2007/06/interactivity-o.html

Here’s an entry I ran across on 43 Places that is actually something of a review of 43places.com – and in it, I found some insight into what sort of place we’ve all been building together.

erikbenson posted a photo:

Friday, when they tell me that cloning has side effects. They say that they’re afraid that people who are against cloning will use this as ammunition for their side. Why not? Just because cloning is still an infant science? Or rather, a mutant science? The mutants are dead! Long live the mutants!

Did you know the Chinese killed 1,780 people in the last three months by shooting them in the back of the head? More than the entire rest of the world has in the last 3 years? Why? To stop crime. Why stop crime? So that the rest of the world thinks you’re safe enough to host the 2002 Summer Olympics. I like this sentence, “Most executions take place after sentencing rallies in front of massive crowds in sports stadiums and public squares.” Even though I don’t know my history, I’m pretty sure something is repeating.

I get all my news from Next Draft.

I get all my shews from Payless.

I get all my dues from the Zon.

So I’ve been spending the last week making things. I’m participating in Judith’s 20 things project, and just sent out my contribution via Priority Mail this morning. Also, we’ve finished 20 booklets for our Product #1, and are now working on the CD portion.

On my way to work everyday (and my way back) I see a dead squirrel on the sidewalk. I wonder if it’s my duty to push him over to the grass, but so far (maybe 5 days in a row), he has remained right in the center. Maybe 100s of people walk by him everyday, seeing his slowly decaying body, his rotting gums exposing ever growing teeth, his sinking eyes. But we all want someone else to push him aside. Where are the sidewalk maintenance people.

I’m taking Aikido lessons. Lesson #2 tonight.

I’ve had too much sugar. I’m still planning a book, planning on calling it The Most Beautiful One. The most beautiful one learns to lie about waiting in a locked house. I like sentences that make no. Sense so that the words them. Selves are fish.

Deelish.

K, Jim, and I were looking at our elementary schools online, and although my first elementary school has a lame website (Glenmeade), my second elementary school (3rd to 6th grade) (Stonecreek) seems to have a list of its current staff. The surprising thing is that many of the same teachers still work there. Want to write to my third grade teacher Mrs. Metz? I thought she quit after she taught our crazy class. I guess she came back. And then forth grade: Mrs. Reeves. My fifth grade teacher, my favorite of all, Mrs. Sperber, even has her own little website. That was the year that I tried to win the book-report contest (and even cheated by pretending to read the Hobbit when I never finished it) but was beat out by none other than Captain Lebyatkin). Also, I remember that she loved my handwriting, and sent me to the handwriting contest even though up until then I had always gotten C’s in handwriting. And I was a hit as a painter of flowers. Finally, sixth grade with Mrs. Smith. Strange to believe that they’re all still there. What have they done without us?