April 5, 2009

shut up, he explained

shut up, he explained


Today is palm Sunday and just in my random mind, I wondered if Jesus turned the water at the wedding party into a particular kind of wine. I’m sure it was kosher, but was it Manischewitz?
As many of you know, Easter as the time of the crucifixion is a little bit of a charade that happened due to Roman Empire politics. The people of the Roman Empire had many gods, as you know, and from time before there were records, pre-history in other words, people all over the world had celebrated Spring with big parties. Christmas took the place of winter soltice celebrations, etc., etc. So, in order to smooth the transition of Rome from a pantheist state to a monotheist state, there had to be parties to substitute or the hoi poloi wouldn’t have been willing to make the change. Easter moves, in part, to get the calendar and the moon and the orbit of the planet around the sun to all align with the end of winter and the start of spring. It’s so everyone can know when it’s time to plant. Of course, then you have to throw in Passover, the Jewish holiday that goes back to the enslavement in Egypt and the legends of Moses the liberator and law-giver. Continue reading →

April 2, 2009

Chairman of the Bored

Chairman of the Bored


SINATRA SPEAKS!

All hell is breaking loose here! Men came and took the big, soft blue things I slept on in the room with the flickering, talking screen. They took the big metal and wooden desk I hid myself and my pretties under. He says men are coming with loud machines and that when they are done, there will be no cat smells, no cat hairs and the stains of my cat barf will be gone from the carpet. He’s moving other things around. The white post-feline-modernist performance art/installation is now back in the flickering screen room. He says other things are also to be moved. Big things are going on outside — I’ve never seen such fat robins and jays; what made them get such big bellies? He tried to feed me some new food, but I showed him and held fast and wouldn’t eat a bit of it. Maybe now he sees who is in charge. I spent all day yesterday charging out from under things and touching his ankles. Doesn’t he know it was April Fools? Dumb humans.
No wonder cats are in charge.

April 1, 2009

misanthropy killer

misanthropy killer

Grandkids Killed the Misanthrope

It’s difficult to remain a misanthrope when you’re daughter’s become Vanna White and your grandchildren have transformered (?) to lizards and kittens, all at a solar powered music concert. You can read all about it at Mom-A-Tron.

Continue reading →

March 24, 2009 (updated)

Vintage RayBans

Vintage RayBans


I chose carefully the thumbnail photo of myself for this little post because it’s a picture of me that shows a woman’s dilemma: love to hate that kind of guy, hate that they love that kind of guy. Or, at least that’s the conclusion I draw from a Huffpost column by a middle aged widow, “Why I’m Alone.” The piece reminds me in large part of Flibbertigibbet’s frequent postings about her dear departed Jay and subsequent closet moments. I’ll be interested to hear/read her reaction to this woman’s reasons for not having a man in her midlife, some of which, btw, sound a little like “sour grapes” to me — “no one can take the place of the special man I was with” — yeah, right. It seems to her there’s a dearth of special men out there, but what I wondered is how many special men are going after a bitter and dowdy middle aged woman who will always be comparing you to a benchmark set by a dead guy she’s idealized the hell out of. But maybe that’s just me and maybe, as MCARP says, your mileage may vary.
Speaking of Mike C, he seems to be holding out well in the absence of longrydehome, whom I’m told is out of the country. He’s bought himself a new stereo and is marveling at the technological advances in the 35 years since he last bought a stereo. All is calm for Mike as long as he’s not in the stream of life and he’s got his animals and warm, fuzzy red blanket.
There seem to be more creature comforts on 15th Street than in a cave on a cold mountain, but perhaps satori can be found wherever you are. I sure as hell wouldn’t know.
I still really don’t have time to do much blogging other than this hit-and-run, driveby stuff and I’ve got photos from Tulsa to sort through before I can talk about last weekend, if I can get to it at all. I’m running hard trying to drum up some business so I can keep paying for the internet, so if you know of someone who needs a good and honest lawyer at rock bottom fee schedules, please send them to me. I really need the work/income.
blogblah

March 23, 2009

I’m the opposite of 3:40 a.m. — I’ve been too busy to blog. I’ll write when I catch my breath. Meanwhile, here’s a picture of something that happened Sunday morning. Saturday, there were no purple wisteria blooms, but there were plenty by Sunday noon.

Spring purpled my back yard Sunday

Spring purpled my back yard Sunday

March 21, 2009

Chairman of the Bored

Chairman of the Bored


SINATRA SPEAKS!
He says I’m not going to like this weekend, that he will be gone a lot and that things in the house will be moved around and something about Spring Cleaning, blah blah and blah. Like I care whether he’s here or not. But what’s all this about cleaning? I’ve got every single thing in the house lightly sprinkled with my shedding pelt in a post-pseudo-feline-impressionist-modernist perfection. Doesn’t he realize that he will be despoiling art meant for the ages? It’s installation art that I’ve been working on since last year! Doesn’t he recognize the circles of white hair I leave sleeping on the white couch is obvious performance art and an installation about the absence of all figures but texture? It’s bad enough that he carries out so much white hair on his dark suits, but this is blasphemy! While he is gone, I shall surely poo in his shoes.

I READ THE NEWS TODAY, OH BOY

STOP THE PRESSES!!!

I’ve blogged in the past that there have been times when I’ve written emails that I regretted hitting the “send” button almost the moment the flaming piece of crap hurtled toward the fan. Well, Google is adding a feature to its email that will let you “undo send” — but you’ve got to act fast!

March 20, 2009 (updated x 2)

Erica West Jazzed at SXSW

Erica West Jazzed at SXSW

It’s South by Southwest in Austin and the bands do play on. Fellow blogger and former OKC superstar Erika West went to 6th Street, wristband on, with the BF and seems to have had a pretty good time. No word on whether the bunny died.

I READ THE NEWS TODAY, OH BOY!

A bar fight to remember in Idaho Falls

OU wins NCAA first round game.

OSU wins thriller against Tennessee in Round 1

TODAY’S THOUGHT

“We’re fartin’ through silk now!”

Something my Dad would say that amused me. He sometimes meant that it was good times, but he might also say it with irony to indicate things could not get worse. Being male, I find all references to farting enormously humorous.
Blogblah

March 19, 2009

I’ve known J. Don Cook since we worked together at The Daily Oklahoman in the 1970s and we’ve been a mutual admiration society since. If you’ve been to my home, the brushed steel sculpture in the entryway and the gorgeous hand-tint photo “Scratch Patch” are two of his works that prominently adorn my home. He’s a writer, artist, sculptor, photographer and shaman and has to be the 6 and a half feet tall he is just to barely contain all that talent. Sometimes, he sends along something he’s been working on and just this week, I received both this photo of local artist gone Santa Fe, Liz Hahn, and this poem. I admire both works and offer them as better than anything I have to say today.
blogblah

Liz Two, a hand-tinted print by J. Don Cook

Liz Two, a hand-tinted print by J. Don Cook

Bearing Witness

The early light cleans my eyes
And I realize I can bear witness
With God’s blessing of free will,
To objects of my choosing,
And I decide to bear witness
To melting butter on wheat
Toast,
And to the goodness of you and
The shining light of love in your
Face and the reflection of all
That’s holy in the
Iris of your laughing eyes,
And your shoelaces flapping
Like oiled spaghetti
And your cowlick more unruly
Of late, and the freckles on your
Shoulder, scattered like raisins.

J. Don Cook