Saturday was my sister Jaime’s birthday. Happy birthday, sis!

Friday was the monthly gallery walk on the Paseo and after noting in an email exchange with MB that I had not been in awhile, I decided to get off my duff and give it a go no matter what. One of the people I saw was Kay, one of MB’s friends and here’s a shot of her waving hello to MB and telling me that MB MUST email and catch up with each other.

Of course I saw other friends, but to be honest with you, my photo skills are pretty low at best, crude with my iPhone in fact, and the photos I took of Andy Artus and Tim, sans LaNeice, just weren’t worth putting up.

I went to JRB gallery first, as ususal, and the best thing hanging on the walls was in one of the back rooms, an oil by George Oswalt, the most under-rated of Oklahoma’s artists. I really liked this one.

Not long after that, I ran into a group of folks on the walk including MCARP being all incognito. The next day at the Red Cup he claimed he just hadn’t been home to change glasses, but, really, what are the odds that 340am didn’t have a chance to go home?

For the first time in a long time, I saw some art I could tolerate at one of the other galleries, the Paseo Originals, and I took a picture of some art by Beth Wilhelm, who I met and chatted up. She’s the woman on the right.

She told me she’d moved to Oklahoma about a year and a half ago from Anniston, AL, and teaches art and drawing at Metro Tech. According to www.paseooriginals.com, she does pet portraits. Pet portraits!?! Whatever.

My original intention was to go from Paseo to Momentum at the Farmer’s Market. MCARP said he went, but I didn’t make it. Instead, I caught up with some old friends like Paco,

and checked out Picasso’s on Paseo and The Room Next Door, which seems much like Galileo’s with a new name and otherwise, the vibe and all was pretty much the same. By the time I’d listened awhile to the band playing at the apartments, I was cold and tired and just packed it in.

Other than that, Mom’s back from a short trip with Ruth Levinson to Sarasota, FL, MindOverMary has grandkids, it’s Mardi Gras for son Jack in New Orleans, and my grandson was able to stretch his birthday out into March, which is pretty good going if you ask me.

As for me, it’s mostly been allergies. Ah choo! I’ve been wearing glasses since I can’t get my contacts in my eyes, they are so puffy and water constantly. Other than that, the Blockbuster on NW 50th and MacArthur went belly up and I went over there and spent money I didn’t have on some more DVDs that were heavily discounted.

Hope all is well with you and yours,

blogblah

David Koch, a teacher and a Tea Party member all sit at a table with a dozen cookies on a plate between them. Koch grabs 11 cookies and tells the Teabagger: “commie bitch wants a bite of your cookie.”

Blogblah

Imma solve all your relationship problems, bro. (No Homo)

First, take everything you think about women and relationships and mentally put them away in a drawer someplace. If the thoughts creep back into your head, think of a white horse instead.

Second, toss all that Tibetan bowl crap you listen to.

Third, load this video below into your iPhone and bring your earphones wherever you go.

Finally, whenever you meet a woman who even slightly attracts you in that man-woman way, plug in your earphones, put one in her ear and one in yours and hit Play. Keep the volume UP. The earphones will keep your faces close. Get the hint?

You can thank me later.

Blogblah

P.S. Stay strapped, bro. No glove, no love.

P.P.S. Damn, bro! You don’t have to believe everything you think. You need emergency assistance. OK. Got your back. If you are still not kissing her face at the end of the above video, play this one.

This is strong medicine, my brothah. Use with caution. May be habit forming. Don’t operate heavy machinery while in use.

laocoon

Today, PBS taped another “In Performance at the White House,” this month featuring Motown’s 110 No. 1 hits. This song closed out the performance:

Dancing in the streets by Martha (Reeves) and the Vandellas was written by Marvin Gaye and “Mickey” Stephenson in 1964.

During his performance, Stevie Wonder flubbed a line about Barry Gordy and told the crowd he was having trouble seeing the cue cards. LOL.

Blogblah

I am still exploring the possibilities of running for the Republican Party nomination for the U.S. Presidency and expect to make an announcement of my decision at a later date.

Just because a woman member of a vigilante militia group murdered a 9 year old in cold blood doesn’t mean she should get the death penalty. Perhaps reducing her sentence to time served will help lower the overheated political rhetoric in Arizona.

I’m quite sure that I saw Saul Alinsky in the crowd in Madison, WI, protesting against my friend Gov. Walker. Why can’t we all just get along and let the Koch Brothers take over Wisconsin’s energy grid?

Mummar Fuckindaffy is toast in Libya because he makes Glen Beck look controlled and sane.

We only like Mideast Democracy when Paul Wolfowitz is in charge. We made that clear in 2005 when we didn’t like Hamas getting the majority of Palestinians to vote against our friends, the Fatah Party.

I can’t figure out why the Pakistanis are so upset with a Blackwater hired gun committing double murder in the streets of Lahore. No one in Jim DeMint’s state has ever heard of Lahore, and the ones that have think it’s a French prostitute from the New Orleans French Quarter strip joints.

Like Huckabee, I just don’t like Romney because he’s a Mormon instead of a real Christian.

I would have written all about my confused religious beliefs but I’m too busy eating banana caramels.

Bloglbha

I’ve been a day late and a dollar short all week.

It started Monday when I missed my Mom’s birthday and now I’ve missed my grandson’s birthday.

If the trend keeps up, I’ll have to take a pregnancy test because I don’t recall ever being this late before.

Maybe it’s that male menopause I hear folks talking about.

* * *

Hosni Mubarak’s 32 year rule is over. It’s actually the end of a much longer autocratic government in Egypt that goes back to Gamal Abdul Nassar, who nationalistically played Russia vs. U.S. cold war games back in the 50s and 60s, using the Suez as leverage.

Considering that the death toll was about 100, I’m relieved because my fears were that a wholesale armed civil war/revolution would break out with many thousands dead. I don’t mean to trivialize the deaths that did take place, but I also want to recognize the dangers of many thousands in the streets in close proximity to army tanks.

I hope the Tea Party’s congressional zeal for foreign aid cuts don’t foreclose the possibility of the U.S. making a commitment to underwriting some humanitarian and infrastructure aid to match its military aid to Egypt so that we can rehabilitate our Arab image. Egypt has the most Arabs of any country (most Muslims = Indonesia).

The implications for Israel are too complex to consider (by me) at this point.

My congratulations to the Egyptian people. Hooray! for democratic rule worldwide.

* * *

Watched some great movies this week, thanks to finding a treasure trove at Half Price Books: Sling Blade, Rosemary’s Baby, Trainspotting, Thin Red Line, Way of the Gun. That last film includes one of my most favorite pieces of movie trivia, to wit: the comedienne Sarah Silverman, who I adore, has a screen credit in the film as “Raving Bitch”. That cracks me up.

I decided to toast this morning’s snow with something special and instead of my freshly ground coffee, I fixed myself two rather yummy double cappucinos for breakfast as the white stuff kept on coming down. I mean, why not? Some sausage bisquits and cantalope rounded out the morning meal.
I tried getting out a little today about mid-afternoon, but it was a short foray and I shan’t sally forth again for a good, long time.
As I hoped, I made it to the jazz jam at the gold dome Monday night but not before I saw several folks I know at VZDs, where I went to get the chicken fried steak special. Sharon and Lee were there, as was The Duty and Dr. Doom (who was having a cold brew with the redoubtable Larry McB).
Tuesday, I was frigid but summoned all my fortitude to make it to the 8 p.m. “show” at the Western Club. Afterwards another attendee and I had coffee and roundly cussed the current state of romantic relationships for those over 40. We broke no new ground and much of the talk could be summarized in a sort of “can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em” way. Mostly, we were concerned with the dichotomy of trying to date as a recovering alcoholic: most of the people you meet are also in AA meetings but male and female alike we’re damaged goods and often carrying lots of emotional baggage. On the other hand, if you try and date an “earthling”, you take the chance they’re also nuts and have no common framework and vocabulary to try and work things through. It’s no win.
My “brief foray” today was the entire five blocks to Half Priced Books, where I bought some used DVDs. I’m thinking of watching “Trainspotting” tonight, but “Rosemary’s Baby” is also looking good.

Saturday night, I went to the Oklahoma City Museum of Art omelette party, this year called Egg a la MOD with a “Man Men” (after the television show I’ve never seen) theme. We were instructed to dress as mid-60s chic, and thus the skinny tie and snap brim fedora for me. Huda Mussa, Diane Glenn and John Mackechnie were among other friends who served on the committee and the Oz, the Bewleys, Clint Stone, Diane Coady, Larry Pickering and Kate Rivers were among friends whose artwork was featured. Bert Seaborn and Michi Susan had gorgeous works on display that I didn’t bid on, but coveted.

Several friends were among the chefs cooking, Beau Stephenson from Bin 73, Billy Tillman and Roger Lienke from Hefner Golf Course, Bruce from Rococo, Chef Ryan P from Iguana, the list goes on and the food was scrumptous, a sensual dining experience for having to eat off styrofoam plates standing up.

I spent some time hanging out with John X and the redoubtable B (all the way from Vienna), who held the tickets of Oz and the Debster because Oz was not well and croaking instead of speaking.

The normal “gang of 500″ from Oklahoma City’s art world was joined by an equal number of those well-off enough to buy a $75 ticket. Art parties are expensive, it would seem, but it was a fundraiser after all. Art, like freedom, isn’t free, you know.

I was conscripted onto the dance floor by a few generous benefactors, but it was a big mistake for me because the twist did not agree with my abdominal stitchwork and I really hurt by the time I got home about 11 p.m. and kept hurting right through the Super Bowl. I left at the perfect time, I thought: people were drinking and having a good time at 10:30 p.m. but no one I was around was yet at that obnoxious stage of sloppy drunk. I was amazed at the number of my AA friends who were there in some capacity or another.

You can view the photo above and about a zillion other party pics from the event at www.ionOKmag.com.

AND IN OTHER NEWS

Formerly, I made routine trips to that part of Edmond north of 2d Street, but not so much the past few years. Sunday, I returned to familiar territory to attend a Super Bowl party. Although I was invited by Jay, the husband, Roxanne, the wife, it turns out, teaches voice at UCO’s school of music and I saw some old friends rather unexpectedly and caught up on some gossip from the campus I’d missed the past several years. I guess that’s one of the penalties of not being on Facebook.

No one there was a rabid football fan, much less a fan of either the Packers or Steelers, so that was good and there was no impassioned yelling at the television screen. By far, the cuisine was the star of the party and I took home some leftovers as the batchelor odd man, for which I am very grateful since the food was delicious. Christine Aguilar botched the national anthem and, to me, the boxed robot heads during halftime were laughable and the Black Eyed Peas would have been a complete disappointment were it not for my lust after Fergie. The Darth Vader baby commercial was my favorite, but I’d seen it on YouTube before the game, so the ads weren’t all that cool for me and you don’t want to know what I think of beer commercials anyway.

I can’t express how nice it was to get out of the house and see people and do something other than fuss with Sinatra. I hope to go to hear jazz tonight at the gold dome and get to the “show” at 8 p.m. at the Western Club Tuesday night before the next round of snow hits town on Wednesday.

Blogblah

I’ve reached a personal low: eating M&Ms with peanut butter scooped out of the jar and weeping over the death of Tom Hank’s character at the end of Saving Private Ryan just before midnight.

Today’s sunshine cannot blot out the image of myself in thermals and a bathrobe, hair disheveled and bearded, on a couch in front of a television doing this.

The sunshine did, however, save Sinatra from the fate he so richly deserves because he finally went to the door and went out.

The hot water line to my master bath sink also unfroze, so I can shave.

I hope to rally and make it to the omlette party tonight since the ticket was so pricey.

Me alone in my house with the voices between my ears is the most dangerous neighborhood I’ve ever been.

They say more snow is coming.

Pray for me.

Blogblah