It's National Poetry Month, so here's my poem about loving indigenous hair

Ancient Chamoru
Hair saved the people from death
Mine just clogs the drain.

*****

Oh? You don't know the reference to the womenfolk who sacrificed their locks to, you know, only rescue their people and their lands from imminent doom at the teeth of a sea monster? You should check it out.

Wow! Time flies (and other obvious, trite observations)

People like Miget are crazy and/or powered by a tenacious sense of intestinal fortitude that enables them to chug along and write write write for public consumption. Me, clearly... I have neither the discipline nor the crazy-head.

In the past three years, some stuff happened along the way, namely:

• Everyone got pregnant. Everyone. EVERYONE. You think I'm exaggerating? I know where to buy cheap baby clothes sets, can extol on diaper sizes (one of the major lessons learned on Guam is that diapers come in different sizes!), and can do a pretty mean estimation of how big in circumference the baby mama's gut (sorry, glorious woman oven) is. All this while touching an actual baby literally like three times, thank goodness.
• My hair got long. 
• My neck got sunspots.
• The youths are into these things called the Tumblr and Snapchat and Vine. Also, instead of being a beacon of hope, they have become a source of frustration and despair as I tolerate their laziness/lack of gumption... therefore meaning that I got super old.
• iPad is also now a youths thing, which basically means that whenever I go to a restaurant I'm assaulted by about 50 iPads simultaneously playing "Frozen" but at different start points.
• The parental units decided to ship out, also desde Sanlågu, and are en route. More specifically, in da vill, down da block, within easy "stopping by distance and just to check up on you and make sure you're not doing anything to remotely embarrass us like not do regular yard maintenance."