Sunday, February 12, 2006


Moving Day

I've been studying Live Journal for a while now and there are several features I like a lot better than Blogger(including the profile page and the comments setup), so I now have a new blog at . I'm thinking of the new blog as a lease to buy arrangement. If I find I continue to like Live Journal better than Blogger, I'll stay. If not, I'll be back here.

Saturday, February 11, 2006


Go Teams!

I am a Winter Olympics junkie. I’m soooo addicted, that when push comes to puck, I’ll even watch women’s hockey.

It all started back in the 70's. The whole family came down with the flu that winter, one by one by all of them. I held out as long as I could. They were all well by the time I succumbed. It was one of the worst cases of the flu that I have ever had (The worst was in 1961, when I was sick for the entire summer and the only thing anyone could guess was that I had a strain of the virus that killed so many during WWI). During the 70's episode, I was delirious for days. The fever finally started to drop and I recognized that I was not wandering alone in the Mojave, but I was so weak that I could not function even as well as a one-year-old. "They" dragged me out of bed, even though I was still running a fever around 102. They insisted that I had to move or I’d get pneumonia. So I moved–from the bed to the couch in the family room. The TV was on. The Winter Olympics. I was still just south of the border of deliriousness, but even if I hadn’t been, I think I would still have been stunned by the athleticism on that old wobbly TV screen. I’ve never been athletic. My sport has always been spectatoring, so to see the impossible being accomplished so easily by so many, it took what breath I had left away. For those two weeks, I stumbled, bobbed, slid, slalomed, & wove my way to the family room every night. Ice skating, luge, downhill skiing, and, omigodidon’tbelievein, the ski jumping. How do they do that????? Sometimes, I swear it was the Olympics was (were?) only thing that kept me out of the hospital–the anticipation of those miraculous snow and ice sports. The funny thing is, anyone who knows me will tell you that I hate being cold. For me, hell is a frozen wasteland. The mythical fires would be nothing more than a sauna for me if I were mythically sent there. I suppose that is actually one of the reasons I love the Winter Olympics so–the cold is another insurmountable object not only surmounted but embraced by impossibly athletic humans.


Listening to:

Cyndi Lauper: She’s So Unusual
Various Artists: Singers & Songwriters
Robert Miles: Dreamland
The Jimi Hendrix Experience: Electric Ladyland
Rod Stewart: Storyteller, disc #4
Red Hot Chili Peppers: Californication

Thursday, February 09, 2006


My All Time Fave DJ

He was a drunk with a social conscience. He frequently stumbled in late after a hard night. Sometimes he was simply AWOL. Late in his career the welfare of Native Americans became his passion and he was either put on "leave" or fired because he would not stop castigating the government for their sins in that area. I wonder why the bio is "to be continued" and then not continued.


Grimm Ace


Ramblin’ On

[I published this originally with all of the links properly inserted, only to find that
Blogger was screwed up again and I don’t feel like going through all the rigamarole again]

There’s an unusual consistency of opinion in this thread, at least when I last read it:

I dreamed I was on the arm of Gregory Peck who looked more like Viggo Mortensen than himself. We were in the country, but in a city. We were running from someone, then I was hiding in a tunnel by myself. Hey, what the hell happened to Greg?????!!!!!

I wonder if I’m the only one alive who still likes "popcorn" ceilings?

People who talk incessantly about the diet they are on are doomed to losing the weight loss game.

Google News "Bush crash" and find out how many times this mistake has been made. Funny!.
I fucking love this:

An hour of sounds from my youth: If I remember correctly, the movie theater that this station was in eventually became a porn theater, but I may be misremembering.



How many ways can you ruin the Star Spangled Banner? I don’t know. Go ask Aaron Neville and Aretha Franklin.
I didn't watch the Grammys , becuz my most unfavorite female lost-note singer was rumored to have infiltrated them this year. I did see just a bit of them after finishing up watching "Murderball" (inspiring, but not nearly as exciting as wheelchair basketball in my opinion) and I thought I had lucked into something extremely fine--the Sly Stone tribute. And it was, particularly since Joss Stone was part of it, as she was last year in the tribute to Janis Joplin with Melissa which was superb. This year, everything was jivin', right up until the poor thang, Sly, trotted out on stage. That was just fuckin' sad, it was. Damn, why did they do that, and whose lousy idea was it? Whoever came up with the idea should be put someplace--no bloodshed, just put them someplace.
Listening to:

Johnny Cash: America IV: The Man Comes Around

The Jimi Hendrix Experience: Axis: Bold As Love

Chage & Aska: MTV Unplugged Live

Elvenking: Heathenreel

Faces: Long Play

Bruce Springsteen: The Rising

Sunday, February 05, 2006


Short Rambles

Has Cindy Sheehan had any real effect on anything? So far, I'd say no, except to validate the opinions of those who already agreed with her. I'm reminded of when I marched in the anti-war demonstrations and knew that they would have no effect at all on government action.

New insult: If the shit sticks, wear it.


It was odd watching MissWhitebreadSkater doing a routine to Nina Simone’s "Feeling Good."


Maybe this is why I love Stephen King so much:


Headline: "Coretta Scott King, widow of Martin Luther, dies" Funny, I always thought ML was married to this woman

And on the same topic, isn't it better that CSK died, rather than being Shiavoed?


Given the recent tornadoes in NOLA, I'm beginning to think Pat Robertson might have been right.


Both my wp and blogger seem to be having problems today. There was more to this post originally, but I've lost it.


Movie Reviews

Gunner Palace: Up close and personal. but it's not going to change anyone's mind. I have to laugh at the synopsis on IMDB "A little heavy on the downer" LOL

Indictment: The McMartin Trial: Just makes you want to throw things at the TV screen when a Mercedes Ruehl's character is on. Good for reminding people that the McMartins were NOT convicted.

The Blue Planet series: Simply magnificent.

Brokeback Mountain: A good movie, not a great one. Could have used tighter editing.


Listening to:

Brian May: Another World
Rod Stewart: It Had To Be You, The Great American Songbook
Elton John: Made in England
Mott the Hoople: Greatest Hits
Madonna: Ray of Light
Voodoo Child: The End of Everything

Thursday, February 02, 2006


A Week of Multiplicities

Monday’s children are zoftig white mothers pushing strollers for two.

Tuesday’s children are yellow cement trucks churning.

Wednesday’s children are grizzled amputees hand cranking wheelchairs.

Thurday’s children are fox squirrels maniacally mating .

Friday’s children are leathery old Asian men speed walking.

Saturday’s children are mottled buttons breaking loose.

Sunday’s children are holding tight to their mothers’ wombs.


Listening to:

Queen: Innuendo
Various Artists: Just Can’t Get Enough, New Wave Hits of the ‘80's, vol 12
Boy George: Cheapness and Beauty
Rod Stewart: Storyteller, disc 4
Prince: The Hits 2
Andy Freilich: Dragons

Tuesday, January 31, 2006


Oh, I'm so glad I didn't say that!

A couple of friends have sent this to me in the past few days:

Have you ever spoken and wished that you could immediately take the words back or that you could crawl into a hole? Here are the stories of a few people who did:

1. I walked into a hair salon with my husband and three kids in tow and asked loudly, "How much do you charge for a shampoo and a blow job?" I turned around and walked back out and never went back. My husband didn't say a word. He knew better.

2. I was at the golf store comparing different kinds of golf balls I was unhappy with the women's type I had been using. After browsing for several minutes, I was approached by one of the good-looking gentlemen who works at the store. He asked if he could help me. Without thinking, I looked at him and said, "I think I like playing with men's balls."

3. My sister and I were at the mall and passed by a store that sold a variety of candy and nuts. As we were looking at the display case, the boy behind the counter asked if we needed any help. I replied, "No, I'm just looking at your nuts." My sister started to laugh hysterically, The boy grinned, and I turned beet-red and walked away. To this day, my sister has never let me forget.
4. While in line at the bank one afternoon, my toddler decided to release some pent-up energy and ran amok. I was finally able to grab hold of her after receiving looks of disgust and annoyance from other patrons. I told her that if she did not start behaving "right now" she would be punished. To my horror, she looked me in the eye and said in a voice just as threatening, "If you don't let me go right now, I will tell Grandma that I saw you kissing Daddy's pee-pee last night!" The silence was deafening after this enlightening exchange. Even the tellers stopped what they were doing. I mustered up the last of my dignity and walked out of the bank with my daughter in tow. The last thing I heard when the door closed behind me were screams of laughter.

5. Have you ever asked your child a question too many times? My three-year-old son had a lot of problems with potty training and I was on him constantly. One day we stopped at Taco Bell for a quick lunch in between errands. It was very busy, with a full dining room. While enjoying my taco, I smelled something funny, so of course I checked my seven-month-old daughter, and she was clean. Then I realized that Danny had not asked to go potty in a while, so I asked him if he needed to go, and he said "No". I kept thinking, "Oh Lord, that child has had an accident, and I don't have any clothes with me." Then I said, "Danny, are you SURE you didn't have an accident?" "No," he replied. I just KNEW that he must have had an accident, because the smell was getting worse. Soooooo, I asked one more time, "Danny, did you have an accident?" This time he jumped up, yanked down his pants, bent over and spread his cheeks and yelled, "SEE MOM, IT'S JUST FARTS!!" While 30 people nearly choked to death on their tacos laughing, he calmly pulled up his pants and sat down. An old couple made me feel better by thanking me for the best laugh they'd ever had!

6. This had most of the state of Michigan laughing for two days and a very embarrassed news anchor who will, in the future, likely think before she speaks. What happens when you predict snow but don't get any? We had a news anchor who, the day after it was supposed to have snowed and didn't, turned to the weatherman and asked: "So Bob, where's that 8 inches you promised me last night?" Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too they were laughing so hard!


Listening to:

Boy George: Sold
Queen: Flash Gordon
Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: The Roaring Silence
Various Artists: Patch Adams, Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
Rod Stewart: Legendary Hits
Macy Gray: On How Life Is


Of Scientific Interest:,0,662628.story?coll=la-home-headlines

Sunday, January 29, 2006


A Short Stroll

I'm beginning to think there must be a blog for every atom that comprises the earth. These are just a few I strolled into today: (Nothing there. I guess their attention wandered.)


What was for dinner?

Catalan monkfish (actually tilapia) with almond, garlic, & red bell pepper sauce
Steamed rice
Garden salad
Clos du Bois Chardonnay

Vanilla soy with honey


Absolute Necessity in

Bathroom Decor

Saturday, January 28, 2006


Looking, But Not Seeing

It’s been years since I had dinner at Benihana and there’s a reason for that–the food is blech. However, it was a birthday party for a close young relative, so I went. Everything looked just the same as when I'd been there the last time: the "decor," the lines of people without reservations waiting to be seated, reservationed others already seated around the hibachi tables, the hostesses and chefs in their traditional "Japanese" uniforms. It took me more than half an hour to realize there was one big difference. Because there was a lot of ambient noise, when our chef would say something in his Asian accent, I always had to ask him to repeat what he'd said. Finally, I heard him say something garbled to our busboy and the busboy replied, "No tengo nada." Good gawdalmighty, I realized that, the accent I was hearing wasn't Asian at all! Although most of the hostesses were indeed Asian, the male workers, including our chef, were nearly all Hispanic! I shouldn’t have been surprised, since in the Bay Area, the majority of restaurant workers are Hispanic; but, damn, it was... dis-Orienting.


Listening to:
Aerosmith: Honkin’ On Bobo
Fuel: Something Like Human
Various Artists: Superhits, 1972
Freddie Mercury: Mr. Bad Guy
Extreme: Extreme
Joan Armatrading: Joan Armatrading

Thursday, January 26, 2006


See Shells

I’ve never seen a firefly. When I was little, someone read a story to me about collecting fireflies in a Mason jar and using it for a lantern. I looked high and low, near and far, day and night; but I never did see one. Of course, living where there are no fireflies might have had something to do with my vain search.

Instead of collecting fireflies, I turned to collecting local insects and other creepercrawlersfliers. It was common for me and my friends to purloin canning jars and lids from our mothers’ precious stashes, punch holes in the lids, and set out to snare the unwary bumble or honey bee. If a uncautious butterfly happened to be snatched into a jar, all the better. Of course, we planned for the comfort of our prisoners–we lined the bottom of each jar with sweet green grass and a toothsome leaf or two–knowing from past history that, no matter how cushy the cell, our prisoners were doomed to their death fate quickly. Who knew that not all critters depend on the same green diet?

Now, at times I shared my twin-bedded room with my grandmother, who shuttled back and forth between my family and my cousin’s depending on which group she was more annoyed with. My grandmother, while not the most squeamish of homekeepers (my mother once caught her cleaning off the stovetop with the same rag she had just used on the toilet seat), was not fond of the lower forms of life, including my cat, which she frequently managed to kick "accidentally" if she thought no one was looking. Because of her critter aversion, I had to keep my wide ranging collection out of her sight. She would not have been too overwhelmingly pleased to know that it resided in the very far corner under her bed. Deceased butterflies (including one dismal chrysalis, destined to burst open to a world of imprisoning glass walls), ants, bees, beetles, snails, slugs, (but no puppy dog tails). No, she would have not been pleased at all, atall.

Some years later, after my father’s death, we moved to a new house in a new town to be closer to my cousin’s family. The new house was situated on a hill and had a tiny backyard. It felt cramped and unwelcoming–until I discovered a treasure. One corner was triangularly bounded on two sides by a neighbor’s fence, and on the base by a row of rocks interspersed by abalone shells! I have no idea how the former owners had acquired the shells. I don’t think I even knew the names or number of the former owners. All I know is that when, out of early teenage curiosity I moved some of the rocks and shells, out skittered a salamander, headed for a better, unmoveable shelter. Now, looking back from a position of ecological awareness and humane kindness, I’d like to be able to say I was amazed, pleased, and respectful of that creature’s life. I wish I could. I can’t. I hatched a plot, and as everyone knows, hatching a plot can be very painful–particularly for the plotted upon. Every so often I would turn over those rocks and shells, Mason jar in hand, and try to trap one of those poor little lizards. Eventually, I succeed. Trapped, imprisoned for life, it lived on a shelf on the laundry room. And when it eventually succumbed to the lack of food, water, and adequate breathing supplies, I filled the jar with alcohol (since I lacked a formaldehyde connection). And that unfortunate salamander would probably still be there on the laundry room shelf, if I hadn’t moved out, and if my mother hadn’t had a house burglary, and if she hadn’t move out herself and decided that she had no use for a preserved salamander.

What reminded me of all this was taking a bath yesterday morning and realizing that the abalone shell holding my razor was one of those that had once sheltered that selfsame salamander.

And thus are memories recollected.


Listening to:

Small Faces: The Anthology, 1965-1967, disc 2
Queen: A Kind of Magic
Leonard Cohen: Ten New Songs
Chage & Aska: No Doubt
Chumbawamba: Tubthumper
Norah Jones: Feels Like Home

Wednesday, January 25, 2006


Nuevo Proverbio

Es fácil hacer ofertas cuando usted sabe que no serán aceptadas.

Monday, January 23, 2006


Sunday Dinner

Gruyer cheese + some Spanish (?) cheese I don't remember the name of and crackers

grilled steak, chile/lime butter
baked potato/mayo
steamed broccoli/olive oil/garlic
asiago cheese bread from the Model Bakery
Coppola claret

molasses/chocolate cookies


Listening to:

Rod Stewart: Atlantic Crossing
Various Artists: Superhits, 1963
Sly & the Family Stone: Anthology
Matchbox Twenty: More Than You Think You Are
Culture Club: Don’t Mind If I Do
Freddie Mercury: The Great Pretender


If I believed in God

I would ask him to make a very special place in Heaven for this man.

Sunday, January 22, 2006


Candy Apple Flaming Flashing Neon Red Herring

I have read so many articles over the years about ALF/ELF that the names of the individuals have become familiar to me, so I have to wonder why these indictments weren’t brought long ago. I sincerely doubt that it has been a lack of substantial, prosecutable evidence. Has it been ineptitude on the part of the authorities, or have they been saving the indictments for just this sort of situation–to divert attention from, and make a case for, the illegal destruction of privacy rights by the cadre?

All Hail

I will not be surprised if they eventually cave in. But...just to take the stand they have, publicly, warms the cockles of my pessimistic heart (uh...what the hell is a heart cockle?). And, if I owned stock in Google, and if they held foursquare against the government, I would happily keep that stock until the company completely tanked and feel that I had done a patriotic duty.

As an addendum, I have always taken the attitude that nothing on the internet is private and that anyone who believes that it can be is either a fool, a naif, or a delusionoid. However, for the government to demand that anyone involved with the internet give up their semblance of privacy protection is treasonous


Am I the only one who wonders if

someone actually TRIED to come up with the worst cough drop flavor possible and discovered cherry-menthol ?

Allan Gurganus wrote his latest short story published in Harper's before or after the vicitimization of NOLA?

it isn't about time that we get rid of the proscription of hats at the dinner table?

Nagin believes in the adage, "It is easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission?"

the cuteness of squirrels is in proportion to the amount of damage they do?


Perfect Decadence

If you must be decadent, this is one way to do it.


Mixing Politics and Religion

President George W. Bush was scheduled to visit the Methodist Church outside Washington as part of his campaign. Bush's campaign manager made a visit to the Bishop, and said to him, "We've been getting a lot of bad publicity among Methodists because of Bush's position on stem cell research and the like. We'd gladly make a contribution to the church of $100,000 if during your sermon you'd say the President is a saint." The Bishop thinks it over for a few moments and finally says, "The Church is in desperate need of funds and I will agree to do it." Bush pompously shows up looking especially smug today and as the sermon progresses the Bishop begins his homily: "George Bush is petty, a self-absorbed hypocrite and a nitwit. He is a liar, a cheat, and a low-intelligence weasel. He has lied about his military record and had the gall to put himself in a jet plane landing on a carrier posing before a banner stating 'Mission Accomplished.' He invaded a country for oil and money, and is using it to lie to the American people. He is the worst example of a Methodist I've ever personally known. But compared to Dick Cheney and the rest of his cabinet, George Bush is a saint."

Jimi Hendrix: First Rays of the New Rising Sun
Jon Cleary: Moonburn
Boy George: The Unrecoupable One Man Bandit
Queen: The Works
The Mamas and the Papas: The Best of the Mamas and the Papas
Janis Ian: Breaking Silence

Saturday, January 21, 2006


A Ghost from Times Passed

The Advocate, 11/8/05, p.44


Listening to:

Darren Hayes: Spin
Queen: news of the World
Rod Stewart: Rod Stewart
Boy George: Love is Leaving
Various Artists: Superhits, 1968
Janet: The Velvet Rope

Thursday, January 19, 2006


More into interior decorating than sex?

Wednesday, January 18, 2006


Homicide Investigation in Dreamland

Roll me over
In the covert.
Roll me over
Lay me down
And kill me again.

* * * * * * * * * *
"Did the vic wash down the apartment walls herself before she was killed?"

"And if she did, why? And why did she use a hose and her hands instead of....?"

"Why was the blue dye stain from her suit on the inside of her white turtleneck and on her skin and not on the outside of the turtleneck?"

"Maybe she started out not wearing the turtleneck or it was inside out?"

"No, her co-workers saw the stain on the inside, too, so if she’d turned it right side out, there was enough time for the outside to get stained, too."

"Why was the dye so unstable? It was all over her skin? Who could sell a suit like that?"

"What was with the big basket of newspapers at work?"

"Why did she take them out to the guy’s car half the load at a time? Why wouldn’t she let him help her? He parked close so she wouldn’t have to go so far."

"Hey, who let all those people in here?! Get them out of here!"

"You! Put down that dump truck! Everybody outta here!"

"Why’d that sand nigger try to steal the truck?"


"Nah, spic."

"Didn't ya see that greasy hook nose? Sand nigger."

"I don’t give a fuck what the guy is, I just want to know why he tried to steal the truck. Did the vic even have kids? I didn’t see anything else in here to indicate she did. Get him back in here."

"Don’t think he was stealing it. Think he brought it in with him."

"Huh? Then why’d he just put it down like that without protesting?"

"Uh, dunno?"

"Rob! Get the bomb squad over here! Evacuate the premises!"

Tuesday, January 17, 2006



I like it.


What does one of my age do for excitement?

One waits and waits and waits for the candle jammed into the Chianti bottle on the dinner table to burn down to a stub and then the stub end to be sucked into the Chianti bottle with a !woosh! and then curses when one misses the terribly exciting moment. Damn!

Monday, January 16, 2006


Addendum to the Cell Phone Snit

I remember when a person used a public pay phone it was considered polite to turn away from others and speak as lowly as possible for two reasons: 1. To prevent others from hearing your private conversations. 2. To prevent your conversation from intruding on that of another. Now, no one seems to care whether or not strangers know the size and condition of their underwear or if their breaking up with their boyfriend seeps under and through Walkman earplugs connected to Nine Inch Nails wailing away.


The Weekend Menu

Saturday Dinner

Sunset Soup (carrot/pumpkin/curry)
Chicken quesadilla
Somebody’s zin
embarrassing childlike dessert–graham crackers with very old leftover lemon frosting

Sunday Breakfast

Sliced bananas and mandarin oranges
Soft boiled eggs
My famous, spectacular cinnamon rolls
"Little pig" sausages

Sunday Dinner

Pecan/cheese sables
Sunset soup
Red curry shrimp
Jasmine rice
Celeriac/apple salad
Mondavi Chardonnay....still haven’t found a Mondavi wine that takes me away.
Blueberry crumble cake

Sunday, January 15, 2006




Saturday, January 14, 2006


Am I the only one who thinks (that)

the reason for the rejection of some words by Bookworm, eg "dildo," is silly.

the lawyers’ reasons for not executing this man border on the terminally inane?

Heronswood Nursery could make all my garden dreams come true if only I lived in the right biome?

it’s possible to be concerned for the welfare of someone you can’t abide when you see them making horrific decisions?


Listening to:

Janis Ian: Hunger
Culture Club: The Best of
Rod Stewart: Blondes Have More Fun
Queen: The Miracle
Various Artists: Superhits, 1967
Nine Inch Nails: Pretty Hate Machine


Movie Review



(There must be a lot of people associated with this execration who just wish it would go away.)

Friday, January 13, 2006


What was for dinner?

Wild rice soup
Assorted Acme bread orts
Mixed greens from the garden salad


Bool Comment (not nearly deep enough to be called a review)

["Bool" ???What the hell is a bool??? Of course, it should be "book," but it's such a funny word, I'm going to leave it up there. *L*]

A couple of years ago I read Hedrick Smith’s The Russians (1976) and at present I am reading his 1991 work, The New Russians. They are both very insightful books, even though he says this in the introduction of the newer book:

"I did know some intellectuals who were desperate for a bit of fresh air, some room to breathe, for a modest "thaw" such as the one initiated by Khrushchev in the late 1950's. But it seemed to me that even a modest reform would be long in coming. Like others who had lived among the Russians, sent children to their schools, studied their history and their institutions, come to know their ways and their mentality, I left Russia sixteen years ago thinking that fundamental change was impossible. And I wrote that in my book The Russians.

"The Decline and Stagnation that sank into place for the next decade, into the mid-eighties, seemed to confirm this judgment. Soviet politics appeared as frozen as the Siberian tundra.

"As it turned out, of course, I was wrong."

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that there will be a third book on the subject by Smith. Granted, he is an outsider, but he did live in the country, with his family, for 7 (?) years and experienced at least as much as he was allowed to experience. And as a journalist, he had/has many sources not necessarily available to the usual outside observer. I would love to read his take on Gorbachev’s successors and his confession of having been wrong once again. The flaw in both books was his predicting what would happen in the future, but his reporting of what was happening at the time is fascinating.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


What's on the Bedside Table?

Ego Trip's Big Book of Racism

Listening to:

Queen: Sheer Heart Attack
Rod Stewart: Lead Vocalist
Boy George: U can never b2 straight
Beach Boys: 20 Good Vibrations, The Greatest Hits
Annie Lennox: Medusa
Pet Shop Boys: Nightlife


What's for Dinner?

Homemade pork/apple/sage/fennel sausage patties
Home fries
Mixed greens from the garden salad/honey mustard, sherry vinegar dressing

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


And too bad there weren't more like him--RIP


Too bad the numbers aren't larger.,,-5535179,00.html



"How nice to do nothing, then rest afterward."–anonymous sleep-T slogan writer

"You cannot solve ideological issues with the help of tanks."–Yuri Levada

"We live, deaf to the land beneath us,
Ten steps away no one hears our speeches,
All we hear is the Kremlin mountaineer,
The murderer and peasant-slayer.
His fingers are fat as grubs
And the words, final as lead weights, fall from his lips,
His cockroach whiskers leer
And his boot tops gleam.
Around him a rabble of thin-necked leaders -fawning half-men for him to play with.
The whinny, purr or whine
As he prates and points a finger,
One by one forging his laws, to be flung
Like horseshoes at the head, to the eye or the groin.
And every killing is a treat
For the broad-chested Ossete."–Osip Mandelstam

"My little beet monkey; my little beet monkey."–me, in a dream


Listening to:

Nine Inch Nails: The Fragile, Left
Creedence Clearwater Revivial: Chronicle
Jonny Lang: Lie to Me
Various Artists: Stand by Me, Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
Moby: Play
Various Artists: Stone Free, A tribute to Jimi Hendrix

Sunday, January 08, 2006


What’s for breakfast/dinner?


scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese
sliced bananas and mandarin oranges
sourdough rye toast with nectarine/apricot jam


Stuffed mushrooms
Christian Bros. dry sherry

waldorf salad
broccoli with kalamata olives, garlic, and lemon
mashed potato pancakes
broiled lamb chops
Coppola claret

mandarin orange caramels
sliced pears.
Concannon pinot noir

Saturday, January 07, 2006


Two (in which my mind wanders like a man lost in the Warner Wilderness without a National Forest Service map)

If I were forced to cancel all but two of my magazine subscriptions, there were be no difficult choice. The first I would keep would be the National Geographic. There is no magazine on the stands that can stimulate both my sense of beauty and my intellect and emotions as deeply as the NG. The last time I was on public transportation, I brought a copy of the NG to read while at the same time I listened to NIN’s first real album, "Pretty Hate Machine." Reznor and company do not label their CD’s with the names of the albums, but instead call them "halo #- whatever number they are at now." I do have a list of the halos, but my brain can’t make the connection between the album names and the numbers. I think it’s the number part that frustrates me. I never was a math wiz, which is why I wound up dropping college algebra half way through the first semester. Also, the nazi (note the small n, though the man was indeed German) who taught it nearly brought me to tears, not for failing to understand the concept, but for failing in accuracy. I was also nearly brought to tears by the story I read that day in the NG about the failure of relief aid for disaster victims. Pledges from many countries have not been met for financial aid for those in the areas devastated by the tsunami. Surprisingly, both the UK and Germany are far ahead of their promises for tsunami relief, while, not surprisingly, the US is far behind in actually committing the funds promised. The US funds, naturally, are going for an entirely different project. (Here’s a familiar trail I’ve been down too many times. I’ll not fall for it’s lure again--for now, anyway) And it will not be all that long before we forget we had any obligation at all. We will forget Indonesia as we have forgotten so many of the other "under developed" areas of conflict, such as Uganda. I once had an acquaintance who had spent several years in Uganda, post Amin. I call her an acquaintance, not a friend, because she played the accordion, and I admit to a certain level of prejudice against bigots and accordian players. It’s not as if I ever heard her play. But I was, at one point in my life, subjected to Myron Florin on a regular basis and that was enough to last me through more than one life. Lawrence Welk always seemed to be a jolly, retarded child, but I suspect he was more of a conniving tyrant. I bet he had more in common with Amin (does human flesh really taste "sweet" as he claimed?) than all those lol adoring fans could conceive of. Whenever I inadvertantly surf into a Welk rerun on PBS, I quicky hie myself out of that box. I wonder if my young acquaintance hangs on every Florionid note. I’ve completely lost contact with with the woman. The last time I saw her, she was headed for...Indonesia. That was back in the days of political upheaval, but pre-tsunami. I hope she changed her mind about going, though someone who delighted in her time in Uganda, probably wouldn’t be put off by a little thing like an incipient war. I have no idea what part of Uganda she’d been in or if she ever had any contact there with the LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army), which I first read about in my other favorite magazine, Harper’s. Harper’s–where else can I read laugh-out-loud snippet articles about human foibles; articles on politics I can agree with; reviews of books that don’t stagnify my mind ( contrary to the Evanovich books I’m addicted to); and much more, including art, though the art accompanying the articles is forced–made to fit the mood, unlike the photographic art in NG. Of course, I have at least one friend who would disagree with me about photography being art and I still have the exchange of emails to prove it. Why can’t I just delete all those way-too-many emails? It must be a case of OOCD (Online Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Or is the "D" Disease?). I guess it doesn’t matter. As long as I’m making up a condition, I can name it any damned thing I want! Harper’s was the first place I read about the condition called Asperger’s Syndrome and the fellow who was fixated on the NYC trains to the point that he would pose as a worker and actually take control of them. Imagine riding home from work and not even realizing a stranger had virtually kidnapped you! Too bad that the children that the LRA storms in and kidnap in the middle of the night don’t suffer that same unaware fate. I’d say that their kidnappers are nothing short of inhuman, except that the older I get, the more I realize the capacity for inhumanity we humans have. One of the most memorable pictures of inhumanity I’ve ever seen was in the NG–a sewer worker in India, of the Untouchable class,without any protective gear, rising up out of the manhole, covered with what no human should ever be covered with. The first memorable layout of pictures, for me, in the same magazine, aside from those in the bound volumes my father kept, was of the Olympic National Park in Washington state. The pictures were so lovely and I was so young that I never considered why they were so lovely–the nearly constant chilling rain that created the forest. No less chilling than that rain was the Harper’s interview with one of Daniel Pearl’s eventual kidnappers (published before the event took place!) about his bumbling previous attempts. And how, I ask, when I had never read the RL Stevenson story, did I immediately recognize that it was a production of "Kidnapped" on the PBS station that I’d surfed into? Damned if I....Oh, look! There’s a ranger station straight ahead! WhoooHoooo!

Friday, January 06, 2006


Am I the only one who thinks (that)

anyone who uses the talents of a prostitute should be called a "buy sexual?"

there should be more Saturnalia cards?

the issue of Harper’s with the religion and gun nut articles was a little peculiar?

she is not your usual politician?

coal miners are damned if the mines are kept open and damned if they are closed?


Listening to:

Nine Inch Nails: Things Falling Apart
Rod Stewart: The Ballad Album
Culture Club: 12" Mixes Plus
Cat Stevens: The Very Best of Cat Stevens
Queen: Live at Wembley ‘86, disc#1
Various Artists: Two Rooms, Celebrating the Songs of Elton John & Bernie Taupin

Thursday, January 05, 2006


What's for Dinner?

Ham, carrot, and hoppin’john soup
Acme Bakery olive bread
Mandarin orange, fennel seed, and goat cheese salad.
Fetzer zin


From "The New Russians" by Hedrick Smith

"In 1989, a Soveit philosopher told me a bit of folk wisdom. According to an anecdote then making the rounds n Moscow, he said, the Soviet state oscillates between bald leaders and hairy ones–between reformers and conservative tyrants. He ticked off the pairs: Lenin, the bald revolutionary, was followed by Stalin, the tyrant with thick, bristling brush-cut hair and menacing mustache. Nikita Khrushchev, the peasant reformer, who was bald as a potato, gave way to Brezhnev, the conservative, whose bushy eyebrows and headful of hair were parodied by cartoonists in the East and West. Yuri Andropov, a wispy-haired puritan bent on modernism and efficiency, was succeeded by Konstantin Chernenko, a defender of the Old Guard, who even in senility had an abundant head of white hair. So it was only natural that Gorbachev, whose birthmark gleams from a naked pate, should usher in a new era of radical reform. And of course, the philospher said, smiling, nervous liberals were already beginning to speculate about what hairy hard-liner would succeed Gorbachv."

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


lost and FOUND

lost: jeans

lost: stick

lost: mind
found: never


TV Quiz

Why wasn’t it "The Captain’s Island?"
Did he really love Lucy?
Why did Clint Walker and James Garner have to get old?
Was Mr. Rogers the neighborhood child molester?

Tuesday, January 03, 2006




Listening to:

The Kingston Trio: Absolutely the Best of the Kingston Trio
Nine Inch Nails: The Fragile, Right
Boy George: The Martyr Mantras
Savage Garden: Affirmation
Various Artists: Lost Highway
Various Artists: Superhits, 1964

Monday, January 02, 2006


Good Riddance

to him and him.


Am I the only one who thinks (#3)

1. that if "imbibe" is a word, why isn’t "bibe" something more than an acronym?

2. that this is sad and scary?

3. that there is no reason why a painting cannot extend over the edges and around to the back of a canvas?

4. that "George Bush" is a collective noun?

5. that it would be impolite to tell someone they remind you of Don Knotts?


Listening to:

Julee Cruise: Floating into the Night
Cyndi Lauper: hat full of stars
The Peter Malick Group featuring Norah Jones: New York City
George Michael and Queen with Lisa Stansfield: Five Live
Jimi Hendrix: Rainbow Bridge
Paul Simon: The Paul Simon Collection, On My Way, Don’t Know Where I’m Goin’, disc #2

Saturday, December 31, 2005


Oh, the PERILS!!

Pack of Chihauhuas attack Fremont officer

By Lisa Fernandez

A pack of nippy Chihuahuas attacked a Fremont police officer as he escorted a teenager home at 3 a.m. after an early morning traffic stop.

The case all began when officers Paul Mourgos and Paul Rush spotted a 17-year-old boy driving Wednesday about 3 a.m. without a driver's license, and escorted him home to his parent's house. When they arrived and he opened the door, five itty-bitty dogs ``viciously attacked'' officer Rush, according to a Fremont police report.

Of course, the dogs couldn't reach anything higher than Rush's ankles, and the officer was treated and released from the hospital with only minor gnashes, police said.
Rush is the third Fremont officer in two months bitten by a dog.

The dog attack was the first of two bizarre incidents that happened in Fremont in the wee hours of the same morning.

Two hours earlier at about 1:15 a.m., a mother and daughter were sleeping at their Niles neighborhood home when someone was able to unhook a kitchen window screen, slide open the glass and get inside, according to a police report.

The mother, whose name was not released and whose husband is traveling in India, awoke to find a man typing on a computer in an upstairs bedroom. She quickly went into the master bedroom to call police, and the man fled without taking anything or hurting anyone. When the woman went to check what the mystery man was doing, she noticed ``erotic Indian art'' left on her computer as a screen-saver.

Friday, December 30, 2005


Ah needs to get me one uv these! LOL!


Wrong Decision

He should have chosen Bush.


Where did this mother go wrong? (edited up the wazoo)

Right here: "When she found out her son volunteered for Iraq, she said, 'I died,' but added that she supports him wholeheartedly even though she doesn't support the war."

Walnut Creek soldier anxious to get to Iraq
By Danielle Samaniego

Marine Lance Cpl. Damian Musante refused to wait for a tour of duty in Iraq.
When the Walnut Creek resident found out his unit wouldn't be deployed anytime soon, he found a unit that was. He asked for a transfer from a San Bruno unit to one out of New Hampshire, putting him on a fast track that should get him to the Middle East in a few months.
It's a stint he's been mentally prepping for since childhood, when he dreamed of being a military man. In 2003, he joined the Corps after reading a newspaper article on soldiers putting their best efforts into the ongoing war.

"I thought maybe, had I been there, I could have helped out," said Musante, who is part of an elite infantry trained for close combat. "A lot of people join to get a cool tattoo and brag about it to girls, but I'm trying to bring somebody back that couldn't get back."
With his move, Musante will say goodbye to his 2nd Battalion, 23rd Marine Infantry Division. The 28-year-old says his gung-ho attitude stems from his years of training with the Marine Corps, a group he likens to the underdogs of the military and the first to go before combat.
"It's a different type of training and war fighter ... it's more exclusive, more special," he said. "We get hand-me-down Army rifles and the worst gear, but it doesn't matter; the man behind the rifle is still cut from a different material."

While Musante fostered a desire to join the military from a young age, he didn't immediately enlist after high school. He toiled in community college and held odd jobs to keep afloat. But he decided to get his act together in 2003, when the war broke out.[? Sounds like some sort of disease that arose spontaneously.]

"I've always tried to do things for other people; I haven't always been successful, but those are my intentions," he said. "I thought to myself, 'When I'm an old man in my rocking chair, what would I wish I had done?' Joining the Marines would have been it, and I couldn't live with that."
If it were up to Musante's mother, Penny Musante, she could have easily lived without seeing her son step onto Middle Eastern soil for combat. A pacifist who volunteers with the Peace Center in Walnut Creek, Penny Musante thought her son's military passion subsided with adulthood.

"His whole life has been wrapped around doing something, Navy Seal or something, since he was really young. He wore camouflage pants as a child, and did paint-balling. I would hope that would have gotten it out of his system, but it didn't," she said. "I was shocked when he graduated from high school and didn't go into the military. Happy, but shocked."
Because she never let her son play with guns as a child, he ended up building his own out of paper or using sticks or bananas for play weapons. When she found out her son volunteered for Iraq, she said, "I died," but added that she supports him wholeheartedly even though she doesn't support the war.

For his part, Damian Musante understands how his mother, whom he calls his "patron saint," feels.
"She cries when I'm not around and so does my girlfriend, but I try to keep my head nice and clean. They do a real good job of not falling apart when I'm around," he said. "Regardless of political agenda, I'll be wherever the Marines are."

Musante will go through more training when he gets to Twenty-nine Palms before moving to Iraq in a couple of months for a six-to-seven month stint. Once there, he will be part of three missions, including foot patrols, clearing border cities and strongholds of insurgents and convoy operations.

Though he admits that he's not too excited about the idea of being on big trucks because they're the biggest targets for attacks, he is ready for this next phase in his military career.
"The only thing I have apprehension about is making a mistake and getting a Marine killed or killing an innocent civilian," he said. "I don't worry about my own safety, it doesn't phase me at all, but I don't want to get anyone else hurt out there."

Addendum: Why is it so easy for the bigoted to say "I'm ashamed of my child" and so hard for the less bigoted to say the same thing without adding "but"? Why do they erode their ethics when it comes to their children?


Yet another mother's idiot son:

Listening to:

Iggy Pop: TV eye, 1977 Live
Dion and the Belmonts: A Teenager in Love, The Best of Dion and the Belmonts
Paul Simon: The Paul Simon Collection, On My Way, Don’t Know Where I’m Goin’, disc #1
Vince Gill: Souveniers
Rod Stewart: Camouflage
Nina Simone: Live At Ronnie Scott’s

Thursday, December 29, 2005


C. M. Wilson came for a visit today.


"At first

there's nothing but a sour bunch of beads hanging down. Time passes, the sun ripens them, they become as sweet as honey, and then they're called grapes. We trample on them;we extract the juice and put it into casks; it ferments on its own, it's become wine! It's a miracle!"

Nikos Kazantzakis (1885-1957), Greek poet and writer


Listening to:

Rod Stewart: Unplugged and Seated
Boy George: High Hat
Chicago: The Very Best of: Only the Beginning, disc #2
Abba: The Definitive Collection, disc #2
Cirque d Solei l: O
Moby: 18


At first,

this sounded like a real "ewwww" moment. Until I read this. And then....oh, hell, it still sounds like a real "ewwww" moment. *L*

Wednesday, December 28, 2005


Different Angles, Same Mirror

Life & "Art."

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

I read, but don’t participate in, several message boards. On one there is a person who drives me absobloomin’ nuckin’ futz. Why? Because no matter what the discussion question she just has to pop up with something akin to "I don’t know the answer to your question, but I’m sure someone will be along to answer it for you soon." Okay, I admit I’ve been known to do some extremely annoying things on message boards, so why should this bother me soooooo much? I just want to get out my squirrel gun and shoot the woman!*


Listening to:

Norah Jones:Come Away With Me
Chicago: The Very Best of: Only the Beginning, disc #1
Abba: The Definitive Collection, disc #1
Rod Stewart: A Night on the Town
Culture Club: Kissing to be Clever
Various Artists: Superhits, the Mid-60's

*my FANTASY squirrel gun, that is.

Monday, December 26, 2005


From Al Jazeera

Inhuman Rights


Listening to:

The Staple Singers: Freedom Highway
Brian Wilson: Smile
Queen: A Day at the Races
No Doubt: Return of Saturn
Various Artists: Superhits 1965
Savage Garden: Savage Garden

Sunday, December 25, 2005



The Bush Family patriarch




To the World

Saturday, December 24, 2005


Compost (work in progress)

Lace cascade scattered along Nature’s bridal veil path.
Tangled twisted tans entwine Taiwan with China teas.
What’s shredded black and white and read all over?
"Extra! Extra! H. Dumpty’s body found crushed,
In ruins of dismal, grey compartment house!"
Barren lemon womb; Avocado pregnancy.
Announcement of unvirgin birth.
The ghost of Christmas present.
The ghost of Christmas past.
Unplaited crowns of thorns.
Crosspiece of resurrections.
Grounds for improvement.
Silkyslimyclumps of
"What was that?"
Worm shit.

A fox squirrel digs for buried treasure.

Friday, December 23, 2005


I wonder

if anyone else has noticed that the user stats "profile views" increase by increments of 8.


Interior Decorating

My computer is soooo festive. The desktop is decorated with the pic on my profile today (I've been changing both daily for the past week) and the chili pepper lights are on. Whooeee! I'm in the MOOD!

Thursday, December 22, 2005 why does "temporary extension" remind me so much of " temporary tax ?"


On the stereo:

carter the unstoppable sex machine: blame the goverment
The Dovells: All Their Hits & More (disc 2)
Moby: Moby
Queen: The Game
Natalie Merchant: Tigerlily
Rod Stewart: If We Fall in Love Tonight

Wednesday, December 21, 2005


The Avian Flu

is just another manipulative Fear Factor propaganda ploy. Remember the anthrax mania ? I still believe it was started by some nutcase directly angry with the National Enquirer and the other four (five, total! count them, five!) who died were just victims of track-covering. Sheesh!


'weds' ? BITCHES!

"Elton 'weds'... and the grooms wore black"


Felicitations to

David and Elton!


B. L., you might want to rethink your proposal.

Much as I love Rep. Barbara Lee, her latest statement on the local interview program made me laugh. In reaction to the illegal spying*/destruction of citizens’ rights mess, she declares that the American public has the right to know whom the administration is spying on. that we can cast bricks and/or brickbats at possibly innocent people?

* And even the legal way involves going to a secret court to get a warrant. Do I hear the soft tinkling of the words "secret police" in the dark background of my uneasy mind?


To This Collection of Atoms We Call Planet Earth


Tuesday, December 20, 2005



I wove a wreath out of Elaeagnus commutata clippings, hung it out on the patio, and am decorating it with fluffy bolls of dryer lint for the birdies to use for building their nests in the spring.
On the stereo:
The Dovells: All Their Hits & Much More
Various Artists: Super Hits 1970
Red Hot Chili Peppers: Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Queen: Made in Heaven
Cher: Believe
Pet Shop Boys:Discography


Non Sequitur 12/19/05

("Remember when tenacity used to be seen as an admirable trait?"
"The end is STILL near!! And criticism of past failures in prophecy just lends aid and comfort to the enemy!"

Monday, December 19, 2005



I am anxious to see "Memoirs of a Geisha," even if it turns out to be a dud, because it portends to be visually stunning.


They should have passed out manure shovels last night, so that everyone in the Oval Office could dig their way out. Hmm.....on second thought.....


Another Blogger annoyance--when you write a draft and eventually publish it, it shows up as published on the time and date of the original draft.

In the stereo:

Queen: A Night at the Opera
Blood Sweat and Tears: 3
Nine Inch Nails: Sin
Various Artists: In From the Storm
George Michael: Patience
Nina Simone: Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood

Sunday, December 18, 2005


Am I the only one who thinks (#2)

1. there must be something not quiet nice in KFC's Extra Crispy Chicken that makes it extra crispy?

2. the bath tub is not the smartest place to be during a lightning storm? (Yeah, I hopped out right spritily.)

3. the number "69" is losing its sexual significance?

4. too many people demand the "equal pay" part and ignore the "equal work" part?

5. that it's annoying that you can add only so many Blogger "interests" and when you go over your limit, the older ones slide off of your visible profile?

Friday, December 16, 2005


Make Me Laugh

Last night I made a mistake and I stuck with it to the very bitter, boring end, because I was too lazy to get up out of the recliner and do what needed to be done. I watched "Meet the Fockers." Several of my friends and acquaintances had told me it was hilarious. I really should have known better. I rarely agree with one of those friends about movies and when I do, I tend to wonder what is wrong with me.

What makes me laugh? That’s an easy question to answer. Wit–the clever manipulation of words by likeable people in every day life or put in awkward or even improbable situations. Ogden Nash comes to mind. He frequently created a need and filled it with a word that didn’t exist but should have. I love to witness the deflation of a Hindenburg ego by the prick of a finely sharpened riposte. And a good (yes, there is such a thing) pun. There was none of that in the film . I do not think watching a cat flushing a small dog down the toilet is funny (though I might laugh uproariously if the same situation were depicted in a Far Side comic–that’s another essay, isn’t it?). And by "likeable people" I certainly do not mean Goody Two Shoes . My upper lip curls and my mind goes on hiatus whenever I encounter that excessively saccharine breed. My friends range from those who view the world acerbically to optimists who live in it joyously, but with a strict eye on realism. And there’s a sparkle in that eye that tells me humor about themselves and others resides there.

Of the four parents in "Fockers" I could find not one with whom I could empathize by imagining them to be friends or even by imagining them to be myself. If I met any of them, I’d do a mental glaze-over and hope to make it through the rest of my life without ever having to meet them again. Boors and nincompoops do not amuse me, except by giving me fodder for my imaginary putdowns.

Lest anyone think I’m a full-time snob, I’m not immune to silliness. One of the most amusing movies I saw as a youngster was "You Never Can Tell" in which a dog and a horse are reincarnated as detective and secretary. I still laugh when I remember the scene in which the secretary is running to catch a bus and on the sound track you hear the clomping of a horse at high speed. Corny–idiotic even. But it pretended to be nothing else. And I found the characters to be very likeable. In the "Fockers" there was an undercurrent of distaste–something not quite mean, but not quite not either.



WhooHoo! I scored some tickets for "Queen + Paul Rodgers." Now I just have to steel myself for the performance without Freddie Mercury. Gonna be weird. Not that I ever saw Queen WITH Freddie, but I have video after video of the group–MTV-type thangs and live performance and interview thangs--so I’m pretty familiar with what he was like, at least for the consumption of the public appetite .

Thursday, December 15, 2005


Staircase to Escalator

Glass glittered my path.


Not Safe-T.
Not C-gram’s.
K-Mart crystal.

80 toasts,
Without fireplaces,
Hurled to the pavement instead?

The Dwarf lit up a Benson and Hedges.
"Don’t you know you’ll stunt your growth?"
Bubbled up and stuck in my p.c. throat.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005


Wobbly Fence-sitting

I’m feeling abivalent about the death of Stanley Tookie (Since that is his given middle name, why does the press insist on putting quotes around it?) Williams. There is no question that I am against capital punishment. It is a horrific confirmation of our species’ vengeful bloodthirst. However, the man was sentenced under the present law and despite all the outward appearances of reform, it seems there is a possibility that he was still involved in running the gang from inside prison. Whether or not this is true, and whether or not the law is just, it is the law. So, I guess the real question in my mind is this: Given the law under which he was sentenced, was it proper to execute him?

Tuesday, December 13, 2005



I’m having trouble with my profile page. Anything I have to type in sticks. Anything I have to make a preset choice for sticks for a little while (minutes, hours, days?) and then POOF! No one seems to know what’s wrong, so I guess I’m just going to have to live with the static quo.

Monday, December 12, 2005


Career Occidentalated

Given how much I love to decorate for Christmas, instead of yearning for having been a librarian, maybe I should have been a window dresser. However, I think I’d skip the part where an acquaintance of mine in the profession staple-gunned her eye.

Sunday, December 11, 2005


ElBaradei and the Nobel Peace Prize

"The Norwegian Nobel Committee said in October that the agency and ElBaradei were honored for their "incalculable importance" in promoting nuclear nonproliferation and ensuring safe, peaceful use of nuclear energy."

Don't get me wrong, ElBaradei is doing important work, but this takes me back to one of my pet peeves, the words, "rules of war," which I find to be as perverse and oxymoronic a phrase as was ever uttered. Why is nuclear warfare so much worse than our lovely tradition of hand-to-hand (or bomb to bomb) combat? Because it slaughters hundreds of thousands at one swell foop? Well, damn. Let’s just slaughter those hundreds of thousands one person at a time. Let’s give them lingering deaths or, even better yet, lingering lives. Yup. So much kinder, don’t you think? Phooey!

"Ensuring safe, peaceful use of nuclear energy"?

As of this writing, there ain’t no such bird, unless it’s the extinct dodo. Peaceful, sure. Safe? Who wants to hop into a barrel of nuclear waste and ride it over Niagra Falls with me? Or even sit in the damned sludge barrel and sunbathe with me on a substantial piece of ground. No takers? Thought so.


Is he related to Tom Cruise?

Colin Egglesfield If so, I hope he's not as nutsoid as Tom.

Saturday, December 10, 2005


Am I the only one who thinks

1. Paul McCartney is bland and talentless?
2. the poorer a person is, the more likely it is that they smoke?
3. the "Peanuts" specials are boring, particularly because of the insipid, tinkledydinkedly music of Vince Guaraldi?
4. Tata Vega sounds like a jazzier, more soulful version of Boy George?


Bourgeois Art

I was alerted to this artist via a blog whose author seemed to think there was an undercurrent of pedophilia about this http:// .

Is there?

I wish I could figure out how to link without putting the entire addy in the entry.

Due to automobilic circumstances beyond my control, the trip didn’t get started until late Tues, so we decided to stay an extra day (or, rather, part thereof). Luckily there was no one else booked for it. If it hadn’t been the weekend, we’d have stayed another day as well, but Sunday traffic coming down from Tahoe is a bitch. Other than that small botch-up, the short getaway temporarily salved the itch of my traveling feet. The weather was nearly perfect except for the expected highs lower than the lows at home and a little rain one day. But with the warmth of the fireplace to cozy up to at the condo, who cared. Did a lot of hiking, cuddling, and snuggling. And a little gambling. I broke even, so HAH! on the casinos and their one-armed bandits!

Sunday, December 04, 2005



A wine glass slipped from my fingers as I was putting it away in the cupboard, hit the counter below, and shattered. And a shard bounced up and cut my upper lip. I guess I should be thankful it didn't pierce one of my eyes, but this is not something I was really praying for just before my trip to Tahoe. I look like I was in a bar fight. Crudola!

Saturday, December 03, 2005


Too early for Valentine's Day, but what the hell...

I don't love you as if you were rose of salt, topaz
or carnations arrow that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved
between the shadow and the soul.

Pablo Neruda



Believe nothing--and then only half of that.

Friday, December 02, 2005


Travelin' Shoes Polished and Bags Ready to Pack

Well, it may not be Ireland, but I leave for Tahoe on Mon. and will return on Fri. WhooHoo!


Shuffle, Shuffle, Shuffle, and Turn the Page

A while back my beloved CD player died. It was no surprise given the use the shuffle mode got. It was constantly in motion. So, I began the search for a new player. A stroke of luck! I found the exact same player at Best Buy. Brought it home, set it up, and damned if it wasn't defective. Dismantled it. Took it back. Bought a replacement. Brought it home, set it up, and damned if it wasn't defective, again, too, and also! Okay, so I took the hint. Widened the search. Finally found a combo CD/DVD player. Brought it home, set it up, and it worked! Sorta. It's VERY complicated to use and as far as I can figure out, there's no way to put the 6 CD's in, set it on random mode, and not have songs repeat without knowing which ones have never been played. It doesn't just shuffle through the songs once. It plays longer than infinity. So I listen on chain mode, which, as anyone who knows me, does not set well with me. Right now I'm listening to Ottmar Liebert. Then Diana Krall will entertain me. Next on the schedule, Rod Stewart. Then, sandwiched between Marilyn Manson and Bette Midler will be Adrian Belew. I hope he enjoys the cuddle from the odd couple.


I've set myself a reading task. I hope to read bios (not autobios) of all the presidents before I expire, or die, which ever comes first. I'm not very far into the project. In the past I've read bios of Truman, Roosevelt, and Adams. On the nightstand is one on Washington. I have a lot of reading to do before the eternal end.


Past and the Future Dinners

Last night was the first Dungeness crab of the season. Even if it was shipped all the way from Washington state, it was sweet and succulent. (Hopefully the new CA catch will show up in the market soon.) A green salad from the garden and warm sourdough. Ah. Oh, and a sip or two or twenty or forty of gewurtztraminer.

Today I'm roasting a turkey so that there will be the leftovers for turkey sandwiches which I sadly miss when I don't have T'day here. And I'm hoping that the smell of the roasting bird covers up the ooze of skunk that is seeping in through every pore of the house.

Thursday, December 01, 2005


What Could Be Better

on a blustery, rainy morning than making cinnamon rolls while the sounds of a long, calm ambient piece play in the background?



From an Article in the November 2005 Saveur:

"Rena rose every morning before dawn. 'We worked daylight to dark. On winter mornings, I had to put on a coat and overshoes to go into the kitchen to build up the fire for the cookstove,' she remembers. 'I made oats, biscuits, sausages and bacon, eggs, and coffee. Oh, and corn bread, always corn bread.' On Sundays she would make breakfast and cook lunch before they started on the three-mile trek to the Church of Christ in Blue Springs. The older children [there were 13 in all in the family] walked, and Rena and William each carried a little one. 'We'd come back home to eat; then in the afternoon we'd walk the three miles over to the Sinks ([community])* to another church service. It was where my grandpa went, and it was a chance to see him. I loved Sundays.' Rena says."

Whew! I guess I'm pretty spoiled. I don't think I could conjure up a feeling of love for such an endeavor. Could you?

* I couldn't figure out how to handle the quoting the brackets in the article, so I just enclosed them in the parens. The other set of brackets are mine.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005


The Morning After the Night Before

Last night I had dinner with a Nobel Peace Prize nominee and I didn’t even know it until I ‘d left the affair. But then, almost everyone at the event was praiseworthy. How was I to know that he was deemed to be more so than the rest? More often than not the headlines we read are negative and anger-invoking. And yet, there are millions of people in this diverse country of ours who quietly go about the business of giving to others. I do believe that the human beast is flawed and will either overcome or succumb to those flaws through further evolution. However, it was an excellent evening saluting those who, both the very young and the very old, resist the scars on the soul of the species. The event was made even the more excellent by the presence of an exquisitely shiny purple Rolls with a pink top and champagne and chocolates as a send-off. Oh, and by the presence of a firecracker of a beautiful woman, an Olympic hopeful, with whom it would be very easy to fall a over tk in lust. It’s a good thing I won’t be coming in contact with her very often.
"Gary Glitter" will forever remind me of Farouk Bulsara’s first(?) pseudonym, "Larry Lurex."

Tuesday, November 29, 2005



Go here:

Monday, November 28, 2005



I received a forward of a forward from a friend today about another friend's trip to Ireland. If it weren't so long, I'd reproduce it here. What a wonderful trip it seems to have been. Made me want to pack my bags and put on my travelin' shoes again.

Sunday, November 27, 2005


Deep (?) question

I've just finished watching "Bad Education" and it made me wonder several rerun wonders, the most prominent of which is, are there people who have been molested whose lives are not ruined or affected in any substantial way as a result? There must be. I'm not convinced that the characters who had been the objects of the priest in the movie led their lives in the way that they did because the priest had done what he did. Does that make sense? Everything that happens to us shapes us, but some things less than others. There must be people who are healthy enough, mentally and emotionally, who just shrug their shoulders and say, "whatever." Or have our societal "norms" conditioned us so deeply that it's not possible.


Is there a god of desertification?

The dessicated air has rubbed sandpaper over my lips and made them revoltingly unkissable. Rain, rain, please fall today. The sun can come another day.

Friday, November 25, 2005


Momentous Thought (probably should wait on this one, but I'm not going to)

One of life’s most profound truths: When putting ice from the freezer into your glass, you must always drop at least one cube onto the floor in homage to the resident god.


What is the Allure?

Of posting in a blog? I haven't yet figured it out. All I know is that I keep having monumental thoughts that I cannot wait to post. Except that I do wait and they lose their monumentalousness after a few hours.

I awoke with an incipient cold this rainy morning (sore throat and drippy nose) and promptly grabbed the Cold-Eeze. If it works as well as it has the past couple of times, I will be establishing the Church of the Wholly Blessed Zinc Lozenges in the extremely near future.

Thursday, November 24, 2005


In Abu Ghraib?

I suspect that the cadre humiliated, tortured, and subjected the turkeys to unspeakable acts of bestiality before pardoning them.


And with that twisted thought, I wish anyone who stumbles upon this silly enterprise a wonderful and stuffing-filled

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


Only the Fiddler Hears the Music

Today I saw a street musician playing a fiddle. Except-- he wasn’t really playing a fiddle. The bow strings were in shreds. The fiddle strings were nonexistant. And yet the raggledy-taggledy man played the silent instrument and danced a maniac’s dance. It was as if he thought the devil would take away his soul if he stopped.

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