Well done, Sir Pratchett!


Discworld conjurer Terry Pratchett is honored with a knight hood. That's a very nice note on which to end the year.

h/t to DBA Dude

Bubble on Absolutely Fabulous



I lurves me some Jane Horrocks.

My girlfriend Kelly came over for dinner Tuesday night. I cooked a fabulous dish of chicken on mushrooms and shallots with fig sauce, which I gracefully sloshed over my right paw resulting in right smarty little burns. Ooch! Clumsy heifer, me.

But it was delish.

Kels brought a gorgeous chocolate mousse cake dessert she made-- she's a real gourmande-- and we had a generally lovely time.

The pups wouldn't leave her alone. I find they gravitate to the person they think most likely to give them scraps.

They went wanting. But Kelly was a sweetheart and threw the Cuz about a million times for Praline.

I've got a couple divine Christmas prezzies to show on the blog rilly soon. Santa's an awfully smart fellow. ;)

Glamour is a breeze.

Wit is impossible to fake.

Promise you won't laugh?

This is all purely hypothetical, of course.

Let's pretend a woman is 5'2" and is the super-cute sort of gal.

And let's just say one of her favorite shoemakers made a pair of shoes with robot-fabric lining the shoe and a robot on the sole. And let's just say that pair of shoes was a wee bit nutty looking with stripes on the platform heel and cherries on the front.

This really super-cute woman (the one we're all just making up in our minds) could get away with these shoes, right? I mean, like, as in going-out-in-public-with-a-straight-face getting-away-with-these-shoes, right?

But then there's the metallic basket-weave ones which also have the robot lining and sole. Hmmm...

What a dilemma. I will have--- er, that is to say, she will have to choose. *vexation*

***********
Midmorning addendum:

Okay. Cooler heads prevail. Was still a little clouded with sleep and not thinking clearly earlier. Our cute fantasy lady drives her imaginary car a lot, and I'm thinking those felt stripes would get awfully dirty on her lead-foot side. The bronze/gold, however, would surely be more dirt-resistant.

Don't worry about me yet. Well, not any more than you already do.

I mean, her-- don't worry about her, yet. ;)

I've been making more diminutive pieces of jewelry lately, but every so often I haul off and make a Grande Dame piece, and Sunday I did just that. Sorry I can't tell you what mine this strand of turquoise came from. This is not the finest turquoise, but I liked the rich brown matrix and the shapes of the stones. I had the raw strand of beads out on a woven African textile on a tabletop recently when a friend came over and remarked that they'd look good with irregular pearls.

Did you know that turquoise is found around copper mines because it is a hydrous phosphate of copper and aluminum? If you think of the way copper oxidizes blue-green, it makes sense. The finest turquoise to be found is often from famous copper mines such as Bisbee (southeastern Arizona), Kingman and the pure sky-blue turquoise of the Sleeping Beauty mine. Sorry- chasing a rabbit there. I love turquoise. Someday soon I'll take time to wax euhphoric about my favorite First Nations silversmith Calvin Martinez who often uses turquoise in his work. His stuff is in my opinion the very pinnacle of the craft. There I go again. *sigh*

Anyhoo, despite how the photo appears, these are not small stones and the necklace is probably at least 22" in length. I call this a Grande Dame piece because this sort of thing looks best at home on a woman who'd look apt on the prow of a ship. Fortunately, the lady who suggested the irregular pearls sports that very sort of rack, and since she's been such a gem, I made her this necklace using faceted quartz beads as spacers. I must say I think it turned out rather well, and she seems delighted with the finished product. They certainly look impressive on her.

When I've been to the range in recent weeks, I've been picking up a little brass before and after shooting my own. I'm calling that redneck yoga. Anyhoo, I collected enough that I filled a little more than half of this one gallon glass jar. See how attractively I wrapped it? This brass was a gift for Majestic Ship Lady's husband, and I think he was thrilled with his gift. Also, I didn't waste time and money on something he'd find to be useless. How clever - all I had to do was spend $$$ on my pistol club membership and there was one bit of shopping already ticked off my list. Will be doing my redneck yoga year-round now so I avoid the last minute rush.

Sunday, Puppy Sunday

Let's be honest: these two have it ruff.

midday addendum- What We Have Learned Today:

Either fishnet stockings are not puppy-friendly, or puppies are not fishnet-friendly. They ruined my favorite gray fishnets. Meh.

Gonna keep the puppehs anyhoo.

So, this is an absolutely true story of me, Christmas and guns from my own distant past. Forgive the repeat, to those of you who've heard this before.

We were living in a little house in northern Mississippi. Dad worked in Memphis, and Mom stayed home with me and my brother. I don't remember what I found under the tree that morning, but I was endlessly fascinated by the bb gun my big brother had gotten. As tall as me, here was an instrument of power and majesty. The bb gun had voo doo qualities. Hmmm.

It also came to pass that darling Daddy had a new wristwatch.

Dad had bad luck (wink) with wristwatches when we were kids. He'd had an Elgin he bought when he was 17, wore it all through his Army days in Panama in the early to mid 60s. When we lived in Frazier in the Memphis area and I was mebbe 1, a toddler, and bro was 2 and barely speaking in complete sentences, bro absconded to the great outdoors with Dad's Elgin and never was it seen again. Dad asked bro "do you know where my watch is?" and brother said "yes" and led Dad to the back yard where they proceeded not to find the watch nestled among myriad blades of grass. Finally, brother shrugged and said "maybe the frogs ate your watch." Some days later, it was raining, and brother looked at Dad and earnestly said "your watch is getting wet."

So, a couple years later, here we were in Mississippi. I still remember the wood floor, the hip minimalism of Mom's blonde danish-modern style furniture. The room was quiet. Too quiet. Hmm. Dad's watch, ticking. Hmm.

Recall, if you will, this was a moment in American culture rife with ads of elephants standing on watches and their Herculean crystals bearing up manfully, impervious to the crushing weight of pachydermal* tonnage. I wonder if... bb gun... Watch... Hmm...

Cocking the bb gun took all my strength, but I finally managed it. I laid the watch out flat on the clean wood floor, and carefully balanced the business end of the bb gun on the crystal. Keep in mind that the gun was as tall as me, and pulling the trigger took some effort, but boy howdy, did I hit my mark! The watch burst forth with coiled things, gears and things too fierce to mention, springing to life like a little mechanized popcorn kernel. Dad came rushing into the room and saw immediately what happened and said "Phlegm! Why did you do that?" and this is the first lie I remember telling in my life, but even then, I could think on my feet. I looked up with my big baby blues and said "I was aiming at my toe." Dad said "well, I wish you had hit your toe!" I knew he didn't mean it. Odds are, I sat on his lap and ate ice cream that night, as was our habit.

We talked about that again Friday night, both of us laughing. He said that had been dangerous to leave a cocked bb gun sitting around like that, and I told him it hadn't been cocked. I remember the exertion and how it was thus far the great feat of my young life, making that tool work, dipping my toe in the pool of the boys' club.

No chicks allowed?

Heh.

Pow! Pow!

*Is that a word- pachydermal? - I think I can say that, can't I? Hell, it's my blog, I'll make up what I want!

Sometimes you have a business lunch and you know that everything you say is golden, that you're hitting every line out of the park and your sparkling personality is winning friends and influencing people. You'll smile and laugh, twinkling like a leetle starrr. You'll flash your best big grin like that cheeseball guy in Die Hard. The folks around the table will smile and nod, laughing with you and not at you. Everything's coming up roses and such.

Sometimes, you've just got a big hunk of chipotle on your tooth.

Oh, rot.

The delightful Paul Whitehouse as Rowley Birkin Q.C. on The Fast Show (broadcast on HBO as Brilliant! in the USA)

YULE DOO

For the Christmas tree that has everything, you now can get this lovely dog poop ornament.

5"x5" lifelike dog poo ornament with sparkle sprinkles.

So festive!

Between you and me, I think the dog that produced the prototype needs to be switched to the dry stuff.

Lookie here:

Funny the things you run across when you're too busy to take time to look. This is Buddha Hand fruit I saw in the produce section of Kroger at Mockingbird and Greenville on Christmas Eve. It's apparently a citrus fruit. I didn't buy it because you may note the sign in the upper right hand corner of the photo which shows this curiosity to check in at $13.99/pound. I think that was prolly about a 2 pound specimen I was holding. Interesting.

****************

Christmas Eve I took a nice bubble bath, and Praline got in the tub with me. I have created a monster. As a pup, I wanted her acclimated to the water, so I took her to the lake and she got in swimming pools and such, and she LOVES bath time. Well, last night, she graduated to sticking her whole head - eyeballs and all-- under the water and blowing bubbles. It's hilarious. And a little antithetical of what a bubble bath is meant to achieve, but, whatever...

Now Chuy can't stand it and he has to jump in, too. Next time I plan a bubble bath, I'm putting the puppy shampoo on the edge of the tub, too-- one stop shopping. Better yet, next time I plan a bubble bath, I'm shutting the bathroom door. My mom is already grossed-out that the dogs sleep with me. Hearing that they get into the bath with me will surely induce paroxysms.

***************

Anyhoo - Y'all have a lovely Christmas. :)

Blowfuzzy von Saucy didn't get the memo that everyone uses their real names on Facebook. I think she's smarter than the rest of us.

She ain't heavy. She's my sister.

but! but! but! I don't WANNA go to Mexico!


Kraftwerk is opening for Radiohead's Mexican and South American tour dates in March.


*quiver*


h/t to Bad Tempered Zombie

The pups always seem to know when I'm talking on the phone to Lin, and they put on a proper floorshow. They make a funny sound like a mini pair of cropdusters or something. She says they vacillate between sounding like a Tasmanian Devil (the cartoon variety) and buzzbombs. Buzzbomb is the right word.

They've figured out that momma is perhaps a smidge less observant of their antics when she's on the phone, so that's a perfect time to act up and get away with it. On the phone with Lin recently, I said "no, Chuy!" rather less emphatically than Lin seemed to think was warranted under the circumstances. She seems to think a cattle prod is in order. Says I'm puppy whipped.

Uh.

*blush*

Guilty as charged.

********************

BOOTIE CALL

My office was like a morgue Monday.

I never said so here, because I wasn't sure if I'd make it, but in September, I bought (are you sitting down?) a sensible pair of shoes and vowed to buy no other new shoes until 2009. Guess what I'll be doing on January 1?

Just kidding.

Or not.

I'm a weak woman.

I've been good. I'm going to make it.

Have bought nary so much as a flip or a flop since forever ago.

Any the who, midday Monday I dashed over to Northpark to get a sensible, necessary product from Sephora [body butter is necessary and this stuff is the only one I really, rilly like] so I parked (illegally) and ran into the mall, the closest port of entry being Barney's New York. Rather posh, that one is. Scant few racks scattered about the store hold mere uncrowded handfuls of pricey frocks. I hied me in, bent on my task and using them as a very expensive hallway to Sephora across the mall.

*record scratch*

Shoes.

Twelve o'clock. We have to look.

Can't....

walk....

on by.

OF COURSE, in that way that I have, I decided to fall in like with a pony hair pair of ridiculous shoes painted zebra stripe. Sale price? $650-ish, which was a huge savings from the original $1700.

And then I saw them from across a crowded shoe rack: Prada Cut-Out Bootie. Here they are photographed in black, but the ones which made me slobber were a burnished metallic bronze color. Be still my heart. They were $259 from the original $640. Pocket change. A mere pittance.

WHY I WANT THEM: I am, after all, still me. And just lookie here! *palpitations*

WHY I WON'T BUY THEM: First of all, the only other pair of Prada I own have 1" kitten heels, and they are fine when I put them on, but after I stand in them a while, they are one of the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I ever have owned. And that's saying something. These may be more comfortable, but I'm leery for very good reasons. Also, well, I have several other pair which look vaguely akin to this, although none are that lovely bronze color. Finally, I can think of 259 reasons why I won't be buying them. I reserve the right to dream, though...

But if there's another super-duper markdown after January 1...

down, girl!

modesty mode *ON*

Sis: That ensemble looks so Wiccan.
Me: Really? They dress this nicely?

Someone was telling me recently about "easter eggs" -- suggestive or outright lewd little nuggets embedded in the artwork of advertising. Sometimes, though, it's not what's subtle or hidden that's dazzling.

Great balls o' comfort. I swear I didn't make that up. Watch and learn.

Sunday, Puppy Sunday







Goodbye $10 Thrift Store Pimp Chair
It's been nice...


Hmm. Normally they're so well behaved!

Now, the dumpster will be emptied tomorrow at...?

Class III beverage alert
Please return your trays to the upright position.



This defies description. I mean, he couldn't really have been trying to sing well, could he? I can't stop laughing. It starts off uncomfortably bad, so bad it actually made my scalp tingle with sympathetic shame. Then the wheels fall off about a minute and a half in. I laughed and laughed.

In Decatur there's an old 1930s gas station and motor court which is clad in petrified wood. It was a beautiful day, and the structure was worth all the trouble it took to find.

The motor court is pretty much gutted and the rooms are teeny tiny without even space for bathrooms, if you were to restore them, but it could be grand. It's such a cute place. I love it. I could do something amazing with that place. I think an insurance company has an office in the gas station bit, and it looks like the cafe still functions. Would like to stop by sometime when they are open. Maybe I'll get around to that one of these days. :)

Have a beautiful Saturday. I intend to.

Once I was flying into London Gatwick around Christmas time. I'd goofed when making travel plans, bc Heathrow would have been closer to my UK destination. However, the scanners at Heathrow were going mad over Christmas pudding, and the sensors thought the dense cakes were plastique, or some such. Turned out it was faster getting in and out of Gatwick.

Speaking of Christmas pudding, here's a guy who sculpted a couple shrubs into a giant Christmas pudding. Yeah, it's silly, but it's kind of cute!

If you guessed I'm one to bedeck myself with ornaments, you would be correct.

Check out my snazzy new knife with the gold-plated clip. There may be a day when I dash out of my home without the requisite cornucopia of fruit on my head and crapless prosthtetic parrot on my shoulder, but I will not leave home without this knife, even if I'm in a dress and heels and it must be secreted away betwixt an obliging bit of lingerie and my heart.

Ain't it purty? I'm very proud of it. :)

Andy Warhol was featured in this Japanese ad twenty some years ago. I came across it whilst searching youtube for any little snippet of his Love Boat appearance. Came up empty on the Love Boat thing, but the Japanese commercial is golden.


Now we know who Stephen Hawking's computer voice was modeled on.

Surreal.

I've never lived before, until I saw this beef jerky purse.




SRSLY.

Monday night Hols and I went to see a Texas songwriters' showcase at House of Blues. It was so cold and nasty out, yet there was an impressive turnout in the audience for the show.

The first set included Max Stalling, Trent Willmon and Paul Overstreet. All these guys were fantastic. It was also very nice to see a live show with just acoustic guitars and no percussion or entrail-jarring bass. They played their set tag-team style, each musician taking his turn, with the others playing along on guitar occasionally. I have to say Trent Willmon is a remarkable guitarist. All were clever and entertaining. Max came by the table to hug Holly when I was away in the powder room.

The second set included Ray Wylie Hubbard, a genuine Texas character (who I first saw about 22 years ago at the Old Town Music Hall which was located at 2111 Commerce Street), Roger Creager who sang a fabulous song called "I got the guns" and Willie Braun of Reckless Kelly. It was a fabulous show.

All the singers varied between jubilant silliness and love-gone-wrong type stuff. Lots of laughs. Paul Overstreet-- who's written some huge hits-- delighted the audience with golden chestnuts from his musical canon such as "I think she only likes me for my Willie" (of course this was a reference to his Willie Nelson impersonation which was, indeed, impressive, and chock-full of manifold-entendre) and "It takes a lot of liquor to like her, but when I'm liquored up I like her just fine." Yeah, you can tell it was quality stuff, right?

Anyhoo - from the same twisted psyche that wrought those gilded nuggets sprang this lovely song, which Paul Overstreet sang at the conclusion of the first set.



It was a very nice evening. Thanks for coming with, Hols.

It's amazing how many news articles these days leave out pertinent information, and how many state the obvious. From an article about a reporter throwing his shoes at George W Bush:

In Iraqi culture, throwing shoes at someone is a sign of contempt. Iraqis whacked a statue of Saddam with their shoes after U.S. Marines toppled it to the ground following the 2003 invasion.

The reporter should have gone on to say in which culture(s) throwing shoes at a person was a ingratiating gesture of affection and goodwill. *much eyerolling here*

Saturday I went to my shooty club to put my .38 through its paces. I stopped by the office to drop something off for the president which I had borrowed earlier.

A gentleman in the office said "hello. I enjoy your blog." I didn't see that coming. I gather my blog is just an occasional read, but it was flattering to hear someone say he was a lurker but enjoyed what I wrote. I'm very complimented and humbled that folks get enjoyment my humble scribblings, truly I am.

Anyway, have decided I need to shoot my .38 a lot more. It's become the gun my aim is worst with. I'm going to work on that, though. My ego won't let me just blow it off for a different gun so I'm just going to step up the practice. The good thing is that my aim is great with the Ruger Mk ii. I hate the sights on that one, but I'm adapting to them. It's like this big evil fishook sticking out on the end just waiting to snag something. Anyway, I didn't take targets or spray paint, so I found an unmolested steel plate and then practiced shooting a magazine first at 7 o'clock and then the next magazine at 4, then 9, etc. Found I was shooting pretty good groupings after the first couple magazines.

Must shoot more. It's good clean fun, even if I do get a little dirty.

So I'm in bed, Sunday morning having a lie-in, like you do.

About 7:30ish, some voice comes on a loudspeaker somewhere. Not close enough for the voice to be anything but garbled, but not loud enough to ignore, either.

Sounds like a sports announcer.
It's not 8:00 AM on a Sunday, yet.

Grrrrrr.

Great. Is there a marathon on my street? I hear crowd sounds. *much grumbling*

It carries on, the puppies settle back down and I sort of doze a bit more, all to the three step tonal range of an animated announcer. Ok. Whatever.

Then a few minutes before 8:00, I hear the voice of what is obviously a child singing our national anthem in that new, obnoxious way one hears so often. Call me curmudgeonly, but the Star Spangled Banner is something on which I'm very much a purist. I think noodlesome Whitney Houston/Celine Dion/Mariah Carey antics are simply uncalled-for when it comes to down to it. In fact, I think properly sung, it's the text and the grandiosity of its musical structure which is so deeply stirring. However good a singer may be, I think the SSB is not the moment for someone to showboat and take license with the meter of the melody, festooning its form with great syrupy swags of unwritten notes which the whole song has to stop to accommodate. You know the reason so many people add all those extra notes? It's because it's SUCH a hard song to sing with its high notes and sustained tones. Sing it as written and well and then I'll be impressed, baby, or don't sing it all.

So, as the song was ending was when the jet fighter flew over. Nice. So much for more sleep. *harumph*

Lady Hosen.

We're too sexy for our torsos.

Clothing for all Weman

Jefferson Avenue, Oak Cliff

Aw, shucks!



Bettie Page died yesterday.

Wow.



Okay - this is the kind of geekery that makes me so love the internet.



Did you know that over at coolnumbers.com you can look up the serial number of a dollar bill to find its universal coolness index? Srsly.



For example, from the UCI Hall of Fame comes this gem with a whopping coolness quotient of 99.77%:




The Hall of Fame number you chose was 44444444.
Congratulations! You have found an extremely cool number! It has a Universal Coolness Index of 99.77%

44444444 contains an 8-of-a-kind together. Only 0.000010% of 8-digit numbers have this combination.
44444444 has 1 unique digit. In 0.000010% of 8-digit numbers, there is 1 unique digits.
44444444 is a palindrome! Only 0.010% of 8-digit numbers are palindromes.
All of the digits in 44444444 are powers of 2. Only 0.070% of 8-digit numbers have this property.
All of the digits in 44444444 are even! Only 0.39% of 8-digit numbers have this property.

m r chickens.

m r not chickens

o s a r chickens: saddam wings?

o! i s a r chickens!

Yup, a super-spicy hotwings outfit in China is using the image of Saddam Hussein to promote their product.

The dictator’s history of war crimes and genocide has been elided and somehow
translated into the Passion Barbecue Chicken Wings shop's light-hearted motto: ‘Saddam loved a challenge – and eating our spicy wings needs the same courage’

and later in the article:

Another local added: "It's a sick gimmick. But you can bet that where Saddam is now is a hell of a lot hotter than any spicy chicken.”

*hyuk!*

Actually, one thing I heard was that when Saddam was found in that hole in the ground, he'd been subsisting on fun-size candy bars. I can't quite wrap my brain around how, but that seems somehow poetic. Fun size.

Hunh.

Try the whine. It was a very good month.
I'll give it a 7, but I can't dance to it.

Planning my annual Christmas party for residents, recent high utilities and taxes have resulted in a drastically reduced budget for food/drinks/door prizes. This pains me. The people who have been such great and loyal tenants year 'round deserve a little token of esteem at the very least.

I called up people at several local arts, concert and sporting venues and got more than 3 dozen comped tickets for major events donated from these generous facilities. Thrilled that I'd be able to possibly have enough for everyone in attendance to win at least one pair of tickets, I crowed to the owner of the company, thinking he'd be pleased. He said "that's all very well, but please don't put your own name in the drawing."

Thank you, Captain Obvious!

Excuse me-- last I checked, I'm being compensated for my time and efforts. My concern was that the residents should feel we'd made some small effort to treat them to some enjoyable event to which they could take a pal or a significant other. Why, oh why would I want to horn in on the very gifts I sought to give them?

More disturbing, how can someone know me for this many years and be so obtuse as to think I would licentiously elbow in on goodies I actively sought for someone else? Then again, perhaps the only intention was to insult me.

Well done on that score.

SHOPPING REPORT

Several people have asked where I came up with those nutty checks by the artist Shag. Well, I got them from Message! Products, and they have a couple other featured offbeat artists, as well, but you really have to know where to look for them.

You can see Shag's style is that sort of tiki/lounge/voodoo effect.

There are also checks by an artist called Kozik. LOVE the pig with the knife. Yes, these checks can be yours!

Tell your bill payment centers what you really think of them. Dear electric company...

IMPORTANT QUESTION - OPINIONS NEEDED:

I'm about to send in my app for my chl. Larry Bartek told our class we all should be meticulous in the presentation of materials in the packet we must send in. He said you don't want to give the paper shuffler any reason to reject your application, because it may make the process take even longer or result in you not being granted your license altogether.

This got me to thinking.

I put my packet together this weekend and slipped the check in. Then I suddenly was given to wonder if the printed decoration on my check might result in a rejection of my application because they may conclude I'm barking mad. Think about it this way: some $5 an hour public employee paper shuffler is more than likely one of Obama's athletic supporters, and may be disinclined to look favorably upon this process from the git-go.

To wit, here is the check company's display image of my checks:

The artist is Shag and the picture is called Wives with Knives. A bunch of shriners are sitting around drinking cocktails whilst watching a too-many-armed blue hoochie mama dancer who has bombs in each hand and their wives are at the door with knives obviously upset that their men are having a good time looking at some lady with a better hairdo. One might conclude wimmins is violent, or something.

The big question: Should I go ahead and send it in as written with my check, or should I get a cashier's check just to be sure? Like I said, I don't want my arty pretensions to shoot me in the foot, here.

Okay, so this old graveyard in Aurora Texas supposedly holds the remains of a pilot who crashed an alien spaceship here in 1897. Yup. THis is an official state historical marker, dated 1976.

I looked around a bit, saw a lot of mid to late 19th century graves in the front section of the graveyard, but didn't notice any spaceman graves. Perhaps if you visit the place at night, one of them glows. Still, as with any place of historic significance, it's the state-generated plaque one really came to see, right? Remember the Alamo? They have a plaque. But no basement.

Whaddayaknow if YouTube doesn't have something on this place. In comments, Holly said

"Aurora, Texas" recorded by Allen Damron is a most excellent song telling the
story of the alien ship that crashed into Judge Proctor's windmill.

Couldn't find Mr. Damron's song on YouTube, but I did find this bit:

Teaser:

Sunday was a glorious day. Within a 2 hour drive of Dallas, there's a rich panoply of photo subjects. Will elaborate more on tomorrow's post. (or not).

But saw this incredible rock on a building clad in petrified wood. Looks like sandstone, looks like two lovers to me. Klimt would approve.

I think they are kissing.

Saturday was a good day.

Chuy went for his last puppy shots. Got my oil changed. Took a guitar lesson. Bids on my ebay crap went up by $100 so that's $100 more to make up for what I spent on my geetar. Yays!

You know how you let the email pile up in your in box? Well, one of the problems of buying your camera a card with a jillion chiggerbites of memory is that stuff will stack up on you and it's a bear to sort through. Now the memory card in the camera is empty, and I've got new photos for the Diorama, which I have sorely neglected for yonks. Anyhoo, the main thing is that's thousands of photos I won't be carrying around in my camera next time. It feels lighter already!

Here's a little green bottle type wasp I snapped in October. It was brilliantly colored, but impossibly tiny. You can see it next to a Varsity disposable fountain pen nib to get an idea of the scale. Click either picture to embiggenate. Nifty stuff. (The reason I was able to photograph this little guy is I came outside and found him awash in the doggies' water bowl, so I fished him out and he hung around on this concrete wall long enough for me to run get my camera while he dried.

One of these days I'll get a better handle on the intricacies of my camera. Was going to liken my camera skill set to the Wright Brothers suddenly manning the helm of a 747, but I think to do so would be to insult Mssrs. Orville and Wilbur. Oh well, one of these days...

Today will be a gorgeous day. I hope get a picture of a Texas graveyard with an 19th century alien grave. Srsly. Pictures tomorrow. :) Watch this space.

Fluevog of the day: Here's one of my oldest pair of 'Vogs still in circulation. Yes, they're gold. Yes, they're pearly. They are Michaels from John Fluevog's Angel series with the Original Angelic Sole, 100% Natural, Biodegradable, Resoleable. Resists alkali, water, acid, fatigue and Satan*. Got these shoes about 13 years ago at a shop in Austin. I have these same shoes in black/burgundy and brown/forest, but the pearly gold ones have a special place in my heart.

Step righteous over here, brothers and sisters.

OMG! Just remembered. Looking at these shoes, I was thinking I wore them to England once. I sprained my ankle in them while I was there. (*I recommend these for everything but cobblestones after too long at the pub) I was also wearing these when approached by a Cockney foot fetishist and I really can't tell that story in print because you've just got to hear the accent to really appreciate it.

No one seemed to want me to get a clear picture of these shoes, for some reason. Praline didn't want me to get a clear shot, and yes, the buttress flying through the other photo is Chu-man fu, who's going to get his 15 week shots today. What's really cool is one of the techs at my vet's office rescued a little female who was Chuy's littermate, so when I take him in, they get to romp a bit. She's a very cute girl, but, of course, I got the real gem from that litter.

Have a great Saturday!

In a perfect world, there would be a cigar bar in a former church called Holy Smokes.

There also would be a diner run by a couple named Sam and Ella which would specialize in undercooked pork, questionable eggs and dubious potaters.

There would be a landscaping company run by shade-tree law enforcement officers and it would be called Lawn Order.


That is all.

Um I'll take "Tacky Stuff" for $2000, Alex.

Went over to Oak Cliff to get some Diorama photos a few days back. Went by the Texas Theater on Jefferson Avenue. For those of you who don't know, Texas Theater was where one Lee Harvey was nabbed some 45 years ago. They've redone the sign, which is great - I think it's a lovely theater, actually.

Anyhoo, it's got landmark status, no doubt, and now some arts and theatrical events are being held there.

Anyhoo, apparently on November 22, Oliver Stone's JFK was screened there. I dunno - struck me as a little odd, as in of questionable taste.

Breda did a broadcast sort of meme tag, and I'll take the bait, all the while feeling guilty that I owe a response to a Brigid tag,which I rilly will get to soon!

1. Started your own blog.
2. Slept under the stars.
3. Played in a band.
4. Visited Hawaii.
5. Watched a meteor shower.
6. Given more than you can afford to charity.
7. Been to Disneyland.
8. Climbed a mountain.
9. Held a praying mantis.
10. Sang a solo.
11. Bungee jumped. Never will.
12. Visited Paris. Uh, does having a layover at Orly count? If so, hated it.
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea.
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch. Working on guitar, now.
15. Adopted a child. rescued one very noble and virile chiweenie
16. Had food poisoning.
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty.
18. Grown your own vegetables.
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France.
20. Slept on an overnight train.
21. Had a pillow fight.
22. Hitch hiked.
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill.
24. Built a snow fort.
25. Held a lamb.
26. Gone skinny dipping.
27. Run a Marathon.
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice.
29. Seen a total eclipse.
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset.
31. Hit a home run.
32. Been on a cruise.
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person.
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors. Have been to Skye, but who knows where all the others were from?
35. Seen an Amish community. I'm guessing Mennonites count
36. Taught yourself a new language. Have made a study of geek for the past 14ish years.
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied. Have had a lot of money, and it doesn't satisfy in the way one expects. True satisfaction can not possibly come from something like money. It doesn't suck, but it doesn't salve the yearnings of the soul.
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person.
39. Gone rock (wall) climbing.
40. Seen Michelangelo's David.
41. Sung karaoke.
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt.
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant.
44. Visited Africa.
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight.
46. Been transported in an ambulance.
47. Had your portrait painted drawn.
8. Gone deep sea fishing.
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person.
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling.
52. Kissed in the rain.
53. Played in the mud.
54. Gone to a drive-in theater.
55. Been in a movie. Was an extra once
56. Visited the Great Wall of China. (my best friend has!)
57. Started a business.
58. Taken a martial arts class.
59. Visited Russia.
60. Served at a soup kitchen.
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies.
62. Gone whale watching.
63. Got flowers for no reason.
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma.
65. Gone sky diving.
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp.
67. Bounced a check.
68. Flown in a helicopter.
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial.
71. Eaten Caviar.
72. Pieced a quilt.
73. Stood in Times Square.
74. Toured the Everglades.
75. Been fired from a job. Uh, several
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London.
77. Broken a bone.
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle.
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person.
80. Published a book.
81. Visited the Vatican.
82. Bought a brand new car.
83. Walked in Jerusalem.
84. Had your picture in the newspaper.
85. Read the entire Bible.
86. Visited the White House.
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating.
88. Had chickenpox.
89. Saved someone’s life.
90. Sat on a jury.
91. Met someone famous.
92. Joined a book club.
93. Lost a loved one.
94. Had a baby.
95. Seen the Alamo in person.
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake.
97. Been involved in a law suit.
98. Owned a cell phone.
99. Been stung by a bee.
100. Read an entire book in one day. so long as little kid books count

Sorry for the crap lighting, but here's some more stuff. The olive pearl and crystal necklace from a few weeks ago needed earrings, I thought, so I whipped these up late Tuesday night. I had a bear of a time finding some 24 ga wire that would go through the teeniest pearl holes, but I dug and dug and finally came up with some. It was water everywhere and not a drop to drink because I had to dig through pounds of sterling and fine silver bezel and bead wire, stuff like that, just to find the regular wire.

By the way, sterling is .925 pure, whereas fine silver is .999. Fine silver is great because it never tarnishes. Sterling will tarnish because of that other .075% metal in the mix, but I think that other metal helps make it harder. I could be wrong, though. I love Karen Hill Tribe silver from the remotest areas of Thailand, because it's usually fine silver and it has a whitish, burnished sort of quality. Plus, I generally like tribal jewelry anyway because it's so interesting. Other tribal stuff I love is Nagaland, Tekke and Tuareg tribes from Asia and Africa. Grand stuff.

Yup, the photo background is a terry cloth washrag. I know: fancy.

For some time I'd been craving a strand of irregular, mismatched white pearls for myself, so I strung these up a few days ago. I wore them Monday for the first time, and they are a nice comfortable length and look dressy but not too fussy. I'm pretty pleased with the progression of my pearl knotting. I'm still working with silk, but one of these days I'll try some synthetic thread and see how it makes up. I have my particular tastes and dislikes, but I also think it's good to be a little open-minded about materials - it'd be a shame to find out many years down the road that one preferred the material they'd turned their nose up at out of some personal and irrational prejudice.

*************************

Your Freudian Slip is showing...

In a professional capacity, someone I have to deal with said something I KNEW but which he'd heretofore never admitted. At the end of our meeting, he said there was something else he'd wanted to mention to me. He sat a moment and I fiddled with some paperwork I needed to finish, and after a while I said "was there something else you needed to tell me?" and I could tell he was wracking his brain to come up with it as he distractedly said "there was something else I wanted to criticize you for." Funny thing is, I don't think he realized what he'd said.

Now, why do I want to leave Dallas? Hmm...

Me too, Breda!

What are the odds that we would wear the very same polish on the same day?

Monday, a vendor rep on property repairing a piece of equipment came to my office to tell me the equipment still wasn't put aright.

Him: I'm going to have to have a talk with our parts supplier. He keeps giving me the wrong part.
Me: Tell him if he keeps that up I'm going to come over there and spank him.
Him, grinning: Yes, ma'am!

That's what I like to hear.

Sometimes, disparate qualities converge and result in a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Culture, taste and sensibility expand and contract and we find ourselves mere leaves floating along their tempestuous currents. Then for one shining instant the most unlikely of elements collide to form a molecule of something distinctive and in its way the embodiment of that moment's perfections, flaws and incongruencies.



From one such happy accident came this gorgeous moment frozen in amber. Al Bowlly would have a rough time making it in the professional music circuit of today with its idiotically Hollywood standards. Monia Liter's brilliant technique on the old 88's might fare slightly better but only just. But they were here at the moment meant for them, and they did what they were born to do, and in so many ways, they are the very embodiment of one of the most brilliant epochs in the evolution of the music of our species.

Find your moment and be in it.
Dare to sing, even if it's not perfect, or correct or anyone else's ideal-- someone out there wants to hear you sing.


From Wikipedia:
Albert Allick 'Al' Bowlly (January 7, 1899 – April 17, 1941) was a popular British Jazz singer in the United Kingdom during the 1930s, making more than 1,000 recordings between 1927 and 1941. Bowlly was born in Mozambique to Greek and Lebanese parents who met en route to Australia and moved to South Africa. He was brought up in Johannesburg, South Africa. He was killed by the explosion of a parachute mine outside his apartment in Jermyn Street, London during the Blitz.

Sawr this over at Just a Fleshwound.

KEWT!

Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid.

Hedy Lamarr

I dunno- Hedy looks pretty smart to me, and def. glam.

Deep Forest - Media Luna

I'm so glad this week is over.

Someone Friday (a straight female, not hitting on me) decided to tell me that a certain physical property of mine could yield me a lucrative career online.

O
M

G.

I had one of those rare speechless moments.
I think I'll stay home this weekend and hide.

Awwwwww!

They're so cute when they're in love!

Creaky, stultified and however remote, one remembers dancing and one remembers having a reason to dance...



She can read: she's bad. Oh, she's bad.

For the beauty of the earth...


Have you ever looked at aerial images of your home on google or mapquest? You really should.






Here's my grandpa's place in the Ozarks, and a larger version. In the first photo, there's a black-ish oval in a purple circle which barely shows up. That's a pond where my brother did most of his fishing when we were kids, and I just tagged along and looked at stuff. You'd be amazed by the giant black ants they have up there. They don't bite though, so they are okay. That's also where I ate tadpoles, which, as everyone knows, are merely raisins-in-waiting. Gritty, though. Took me years to forgive raisins. The pink circle is my grandparents' house which they built in the late 70s, and which, to my delight, has indoor bathrooms. The outhouse is something you really should have experienced, though. Their little old house, built in the late 40s, is concealed by the trees just above the pink circle. There used to be a mimosa tree there which seemed huge to me. I loved those pink furry chenille blossoms. I was amazed when I was an adult to find that the branch I couldn't reach as a child was barely higher than my head. That tree has been gone for a long time, now, though.

The second photo is a larger version of same, with the above photo area in the yellow rectangle. Then below and to the right is a blue square where the church is that a lot of folks in my family helped to build. WWII vet Uncle Homer was a carpenter and built the pews for that church. I have one of those pews in my home, now, and I'll always treasure it.

You don't get a sense from this image of the undulating terrain, but there was something marvelous about a large American-made car flying along these roads. I always felt like my guts were fighting to catch up with the rest of me. Dad would drive fast, and we'd giggle like fiends in the back seat.

Most of my childhood we lived in the mid-South, Memphis area, and we'd make the two-ish hour drive up to the hills to see grandparents most weekends. Hundreds of times we must have made that trip, but I've only been on those roads a time or two in the past 30 or so years, and yet I remember the entire journey so vividly. A few times, I've gotten on mapquest aerial and started following the roadway from Balfour Road in West Memphis all the way up to the hills, seeing the satellite version of the landmarks I remember, rail lines and waterways being the silent companions of the journey.

Holidays make me think of these trips, too, and of being so alert with the anticipation of seeing loved ones, being spoiled by lovely grandparents, good food and too-rare glimpses of favorite cousins and places I thought of as home. The flat fields of Crittenden County would give way to yet more miles of sprawling cultivation. I always noted when we passed one particular place where the property was dotted with disused freezers and fridges, portholes cut in to accommodate nesting yard birds. Recycling, anyone? Usually, but especially at holidays, Dad and Mom would have classic radio music playing from an oldies station, lots of Bing Crosby, Benny Goodman and the like. That was the sound of home, too.

I hope your Thanksgiving is full of good memories and warm times with dear ones.

Thank you for reading my blog.

ABJECT LESSONS



When I was in first grade, my fingertip was smushed in the hinge of a big heavy bathroom door here. They need to put a little effort into that website, by the way. I wonder if they have a plaque up immortalizing that moment? No? This'll have to do, I spose.



I blame any subsequent bad behaviour in my life on that moment, if, in fact, I've ever actually done anything remotely naughty. Which, of course, I haven't. I'm just misunderstood.

*************

There was a girl in my class who wore froufy dresses to class with lots of ruffles, and she won some beauty pageant and got to ride on the steamboat down the river with all the beauty queens during the New Year's Eve fireworks. I was really jealous-- how could she get to be the cutest girl in Memphis when they must have been aware I was there?



Nap time came daily after lunch. Nap time was difficult for me. Golly, it was the most tedious, boring 30 minutes of my entire life repeated daily. It took becoming (at least age-wise) an adult and having to earn a living to make me crave naps. Sitting still was torture. We sat in our seats, heads down on desks. Other kids seemed to nap, but I'd look around the room sending eye-daggers at the kid who always got the best crayons and then broke them, or wondering if I'd get a chance to play with the clay that day. Would I make it through the day without being sent out into the hallway or to the principal's office? Luckily for me, the principal seemed to be the one woman in the world who didn't think I was the spawn of Lucifer, so she never paddled me. Yeah, I'd sit there and wonder what I was about to do wrong, next. Then, every so often, something would happen that would remind me that for all my flaws, there were some humiliations in life I would be spared. Every so often, I'd look ahead and to the right and would marvel at the little puddle splattering to life below flounce-beswagged seat of Little Miss Memphis, and I would think "at least I don't pee in my chair."
*Shirley Temple in Baby Take A Bow

Of course, that was a very immature inclination, but I was only 6. I forgive myself.

***Upon its 1934 release, this Shirley Temple film was banned in Nazi Germany for its depiction of gangsterism and gun play.

...speaking of Star Trek-- what do you think of the ideer of the new Star Trek prequel thingie?

Here's my problem with it-- we already have the ST films with the aging original class and the beefed-up budget for set design and cinematography. We will now be expected to go back to pre-series era Star Trek characters with a super-slick degree of technology and design values. To me, if the producers of the prequel had even the tiniest mote of irony about them, they would have found a big-budget way to emulate the geeky analog adolescence of the birth of sci-fi tv without lampooning it.

Star Trek was one of the handful of shows I watched and loved as a kid in the 70s. A marked characteristic of the original series was its ability to take side-trips to the riduculously sublime. I think if a kid today sees the entire series in order beginning with the prequel, they won't get what was so fabulous about the original series. My thought is that the wide-eyed earnestness of later Star Trek films coupled with the luvved-up prequel will spell a whole that is less than the sum of its parts.

Other than the thought of the immaculate Simon Pegg as young Scotty, I can't wrap my brain around the idea of finding enjoyment in this film. I could be wrong, and someday when I see this film, I'll admit it if I am.

Come to that, I hope I am wrong.

Don't feel so bad, Detroit. TV's not so good anymore, either.


One hardly ever hears Concierto di Aranjuez these days, and how long's it been since anyone intoned unctuously about the richness of soft Corinthian leather? Well, that's too long, my darling.

Here's the whole thing reimagined, on the wings of gentle zephyrs and whatnot.

Use the fork, Luke.

shamelessly purloined from clever Christina

Sunday, Puppy Sunday