I like Kurt Vonnegut, but I don't agree with his politics. Still, he's a tremendously talented and entertaining writer whose work I've always enjoyed.

I've been a life-time film-buff, so it's a bit surprising that I've just gotten around to it, but I watched the film realization of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five tonight, published in 1969. There's plenty of objectionable content in this film, but it contains one of the most side-splitting mind-blowing car vignettes ever caught on celluloid, and you owe it to yourself to see it if only for that. Hell, DVR it and forward through to the car thing - you'll thank me.

There's something about car chases involving practically air-borne multi-ton hunks of American steel - we'll never again see their equal in mastery of the universe around them. A pity, really. Then again, if we're feeling sentimental, we can pop in this film, sit back and watch an unhinged hausfrau laying waste to all in her path with a circa '69-ish city-block sized Caddy. That's entertainment.

Regarding the bit I disagree with - the crux of this film takes place in Dresden, a quiet burgh chock-full of peace-loving Germans whom the Allies senselessly bombed the water out of in WW II. I understand the climate in which this novel was written, but I don't understand the point of revisionist history regarding WW II in order to justify saying "get us out of VietNam."

Every war sucks in obvious and tragic ways, but this doesn't mean war is never justified or necessary. Likewise, major military actions aren't always the wisest or most humanitarian options. However, one cannot definitively state that because Vietnam was a big ole effed up gray area, it follows that all wars are big effed up gray areas. Sometimes war is the only possible option.

For example, Hitler invading Poland was not a gray area.

I wish we lived in a world where lunatics weren't trying to kill big bunches of the rest of us at a time, but we don't get our druthers.

Perhaps Kenny Rogers said it best in Coward of the County when he said:
I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you've done
I walk away from trouble when I can
Now please don't think I'm weak, I didn't turn the other cheek
And papa, I should hope you understand
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man

I know you've missed my artwork. I can feel your longing. You want me to cruelly alter an image of someone, something, ANYthing. Well, here's my baby, communicating with the mothership. I didn't expect her to prove her devotion by getting a tattoo, but her selfless adoration does not go unnoticed, oh no, my darling! And secretly, I'm her bitch, too. Love ya, babe.

It's great having my braces off. The orthodontist told me about a month ago that I can just wear the retainers at night now. Problem with that is if you forget to wear them for just a night, they are a little painful the next night when you pop them back in. Also, I have to leave them soaking in fizzy denture cleaner in the day.

I have never had a cavity or a tooth problem other than unfortunate arrangement, so it's kind of a weird thrill to buy a denture product and have a kid at the register look at me and wonder which tooth is prosthetic. Tee hee.

I know you care deeply and were dying to see it, so here's my bottom retainer in peach sparkle acrylic with an embedded bunny-rabbit sticker. Cute, eh?

The top retainer is fuscia/teal sparkle acrylic with a weenie dog and penguin stickers. They thought I was retarded because I wanted the fun perks they give the little kids. I figured I'm paying a shitload for these appliances, damned if I want them blending in! This is my version of conspicuous consumption. My philosophy is any thing a Japanese 5-year-old would find appealing must be stylish, right?

Husband told a story of when he was in 6th grade and threw his retainer away on the lunch tray, and his mom took him to school that night and they climbed into the dumpster and dug through it to keep from having to pay the extra $200 for a new retainer. Sure enough, they found it, cleaned it off and continued apace.

Well, I've got news: my retainers are $595 for the pair (stickers and glitter ain't cheap, baby!), and if they ever end up in a dumpster, either HE is digging for them alone, or mama buying new ones.

Word verification has been removed from the comments section of this blog. I can't stand it no mo.

Sister went to the State Fair Sunday, and I'm looking forward to going myself, this year. These are the moments when we as a state come together and compare basketry, quilting, butter-sculpture-carving and loads of sedentary arts as we all gasp over how many yards of denim it took to yet again rope in 52-foot-tall Big Tex' fat animatronic ass.

Local German-style sausage meister Hans Mueller (Our Wurst is the Best) apparently has gone WAAAAY downhill, alas. They used to have a restaurant in Dallas, but they closed some 15 years ago, or so. Anyway, I always looked forward to getting HM's German vittles at their big tent at the State Fair, but apparently it's not so good any more. My advice is to seek out some other purveyor of meats-on-sticks to be found at such events. I heard there was spaghetti-n-meatballs-on-a-stick at the Minnesota State Fair this year - must have been an engineering feat. Thomas Edison would be so proud.

[For the best German (in my opinion) go to Bavarian Grill at Park & 75 in Plano, or if you have time to go there, the superb (WORTH THE DRIVE) Rhineland Haus in McKinney is one of the things I miss most about living in that town.]

4 year old nephew who takes drum lessons was quite captivated by the drummers in the Marine Band. Nifty. Niece got the henna tattoo-thingie on her hands, and I hope I get to see that before they fade away.

My buff 6'4" Marine brother-in-law apparently got quite a bit of attention from unexpected quarters. Sister commented to him that groups of gay men kept seeming to notice him appreciatively. She told me he laughed when she said that and he said he felt violated. I said "that is SO going in the blog." Blog fodder: is nothing sacred?

Meanwhile, I went for a splendid birthday lunch with Mom and Dad and husband. I was telling them a story about someone I met recently and saying she was a couple years older than me, about 41, and OH crap, everyone was laughing at me because now I am 41. Wow. Didn't see that coming.

All that being said, 41 doesn't feel significantly different than 21, except that I have better clothes, shoes, furniture and at least one more clue than I had back then. I'll happily say that despite all my remaining quirky collections and decorative flourishes, I no longer have a bookshelf involving cinderblocks and top ramen is not the primary staple of the house, and that will have to do.

This is my Oct 7 post from Dallas Diorama, but it's such a personal interest story I had to post it over here too, though I've punched it up a bit for you sexy, sexy people. Enjoy!


This is a bank tower I worked in for a while downtown, something like the 33rd floor. I always wanted to work downtown in an office of some sort. I fancied I'd wear hot little 40s-influenced suits on the cusp of decent/too tight, with funky shoes, and flounce around pretending to be oblivious to how cute I actually was. You might notice there was no concept of actually working or performing some odious sort of task in this vision - that's why it was a fantasy - it was all about the outfits! Naturally, someone should pay me to exist as an ornament. But I digress.

So when I got this job at a bank, it involved afternoon-evening hours doing paperwork, not in-contact-with-the-public, i.e., free parking in the parking garage under the building, no reason to overdo the garb for mere mortal co-workers and staying within the building. Oh yeah, there WAS a bomb threat one day, but then we all had to tramp downstairs and stand on the street for a half hour, and for that we had the privilege of working late. Not exactly the glam downtown "That Girl" kind of existence I'd envisioned. Oh well. You can't win them all, and I should have taken it as a sign when I arrived early the first day of orientation and dashed to the loo for a quick pee. As I gathered my notebook and purse and coat, I heard the sickening "sploink!" of my circa 1994 two pound cell phone breaking the waves, as it were. At least I'd already flushed.

Seeing as it's been at least 5 minutes since I said so, this Neko Case cd [Fox Confessor Brings the Flood] is so fan-flipping-tastic I have to rave some more. (On sale right now for $10 at Amazon - click over here to give it a listen)

The album laments hit song truism royale:

"That echo chorus lied to me with its
'hold on, hold on, hold on hold on'"

No illusions to hold on to here, just a rawly hypnotic spoonful of heavenly sweet medicine.

Neko Case: coming soon to a town near you. Don't miss her!

...so here's the story about my Dad I promised.

I was talking on the phone to Dad Wednesday night and he said "did you hear about me finding the baby?"

I was incredulous, sorta waiting for the punchline, but it turns out, he really did find a baby. Here's what happened:

Sunday night, Dad went to bed but couldn't sleep, so he got up and did the bills and paperwork for a while, getting everything in order and stamped and addressed and ready to mail in the morning. At that point, he was still wired and didn't feel like sleeping, restless.

So sometime after midnight, he gathered up the outgoing mail and drove to town to the post office. He was about to pull out of the Fina station in his pickup truck when he saw the flash of something white low to the ground heading for the front of his truck and the roadway beyond. He thought this might be a little dog or a piece of paper blowing about. He craned his neck down and took a closer look, and the white was a diaper on a little black baby boy, maybe about 2 years old.

Dad put the car in park and opened up the door and said "hey buddy, where're you going?" and the little kid came right to him jabbering baby talk, arms outstretched, happy to see him. Apparently he had gone out for an adventure on his own for the night. Dad asked him where he lived and he pointed off to a neighborhood nearby.

Dad said "let's go find your mama" and he said "ok." Dad picked him up and put him on the seat of the truck and called the police. He said the kid had a little stuffed bear in one hand and a blue bottle of Elmer's glue in the other, sucking on it like it was a baby bottle. He was clean as a whistle and well-fed, just wearing the diaper and a smile (like I like my men!) and delighted to hang out with my dad.

Apparently a bunch of police arrived at the gas station and a female officer took over doting on the baby, and Dad answered a battery of questions, hopeful to help the little guy find his way home.

Dad called the police station the next day to see if the little man made it home alright, and the lady at the station looked up the file. She said it was one of the strangest police reports she'd ever seen, and that it was miraculous that he'd found that baby, because he could have been picked up by ne'er-do-wells or attacked by dogs (oh yeah, we do have coyotes around that part of Dallas County, too). I suppose they wrote in the report what Dad was doing out that time of night, and she told him "well, you were meant to be awake and go out and find him. you probably saved his life."

Indeed.

Dad said that saving that little fellow from possible harm was the highlight of his week. One neat thing about Dad is that he'd never do something like that with the hope of recognition or praise or glory.

That little boy will grow up and maybe be a linebacker or a dentist or an engineer, and he'll probably never remember or even hear about the time some complete stranger took the time to make sure he was out of harm's way in the middle of the night. But Dad will know and will treasure that thought always, and that's all the satisfaction he requires.

That's my Pop!

I'm so exhausted that I'll be brief for today's post, but check here tomorrow for a really wonderful story about something that happened to my dad this week.

I was in Target the other day and on the dorm-room-type aisles, there was a gaggle of adolescent girls giggling over dancing animated little goofy animal things that played snippets of songs when you pushed a button.

Now, I normally don't home in on a group of anyone in public, but they were giggly and silly, and I was looking at something nearby.

One of the girls pushed a button and a Spice Girls song came on. A girl--maybe 12 or 13 said "Gaw! Spice girls are so, like" *gasp* "middle aged!"

This cracked me up. I'm guessing the Spice girls are 30-ish? That's so, like, ancient!

Remember the little toy surprises you used to get in boxes of Cracker Jack? Well, apparently they don't bother with the surprises any more, which is a pity, considering I always thought the cheap, crappy little prize was better than the caramel corn, anyway.

Sometimes you'd get a little mini-pinball game, sometimes a charm or a gaudy fake ring - but it was great stuff. Oh, and the lick-n-stick tattoos - ya gotta love that!

Then there were the little joke books. I still remember the most shocking joke I ever got out of Cracker Jacks:

What does a man do standing up, a woman sitting down, and a dog on three legs?
If you're like me, the first thing you think of is urinate. Of course.

Well, that was too easy. The correct answer was shake hands.

I will always believe, though, that they wanted you to think the first one rather than the latter, don't you agree? That couldn't have been an accident.

I've decided I'm obsessed with the accordion.

Nothing more to add to that, I just wanted you to know.

My doglet is having to wear one of those awful lampshade collars to keep her from licking her feet - she's obsessed with them right now and will lick them until they are sore, for some reason.

There's a new collar on the market that inflates and you attach it to their collar - it looks hilarious - like a hemorrhoid donut and it's so funny to look at.

I bought one of those and was having a blast laughing at the life-preserver effect, but her legs are so long she could still reach to lick her paws, so we had to revert to the lampshade. Poor lass.

I used to live in a loft with her and in the parking lot the fence didn't fully reach the ground, and she could run at the fence full-tilt with the lampshade on and whip right under it - it was an engineering marvel. Needless to say, shortly thereafter little miss doglet could only go out on leash, poor girl.

The remains of the sign of the Texas Theater over on Jefferson in Oak Cliff. This is where the Dallas Police apprehended Lee Harvey Oswald after the whole JFK thingy. Check over on Dallas Diorama for a couple more pictures of this theater this week.

I had a better day Sunday, having actually had more than 5 minutes to myself and I got my feathers smoothed out a bit. Still, I'm looking at a few working-Saturday-too weeks ahead, I suspect, so I guess I'd better just get used to the over-committed thing.

I decompressed by going to a book store and buying some creatively inspirational reading material, and new cds from Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Muse and Thom Yorke, fellow hypomaniac. Great stuff. Listened to Muse all morning and afternoon as I drove around and snapped photos of Dallas.

At least I don't feel so exhausted, and although the drives with mom have been nice, it'll be good to have a weekend soon when I don't drive 500+ miles, or double that. whew!

Well, you can see that the sign in its current form is not the original sign. In fact, very little detail of the original facade remains. This 1932 photo shows the original condition of the theater. Over at Dallas Diorama you can see the entire front of the structure where the arabesque-topped windows remain but are painted blue, and the upper level of the facade is utterly gone. There's no neon left, either. Pity.

Yay! My birth month has commenced! I'm registered at Crate & Barrel, people, but I also accept PayPal.

The trip to Oklahoma was (thankfully) uneventful. The funeral was beautiful and filled with lots of laughing and good memories. Oh yeah, I cried, but I laughed more than I cried, so I'll take that ratio. I feel good about him and about his well-lived and joyous life. At the end of the day, that's what really matters. Oh, and his funeral included another of the songs I sang at my grandmother's funeral in April - they keep sneaking up on me! Anyway, it was lovely, and that area of Oklahoma is always splendid to see. Even though it was 100 degrees today.

Did you know that with good traffic, you can drive from Dallas to Oklahoma City in about 3 hours? Yep, we're that close.

A new development is the casino just over the border in Oklahoma - woefully tacky. I was sad to see that. It was like a shrine to bad taste - it's sad when something actually makes Las Vegas look tasteful by comparison. This was a huge framework with some ginormous sort of tenting material stretched taut over the bones. Super- ugly. And the parking lot looked like a mall the day after Thanksgiving. Crazyness.

Anyway, good to be home.

My goal next weekend will be to drive less than 100 miles. It may not work out, but it's nice to have goals.

Tonight mom showed me a Barbie with a pet dog named Tanner that she got for niece for Christmas. Tanner eats these brown blobs of food from his bowl, and you pump his tail and he poops them out. Remember Baby Alive? eek. At least the food in this one is plastic pellets.