Gary Jules' version of Mad World by Tears for Fears
Loved this song in Donnie Darko. Curious little video.



Enlargen your world.

Francis Farmers of the world: unite and take over.

Two girl scouts have raised a stink by refusing to sell the Thin Mint cookies because they are made with palm oil and the palm oil industry is endangering orangutans. Why is it that the smugness of morally superior PC pre-teens is even more annoying to me than the grown-up version?

Maybe they could do a union field trip to "help" intinerant farmers and earn their Che badges, hmm?

Or, do some crappy public wall art and earn their Diego Rivera badges?

Let's think of more forward thinking badges Girl Scouts might earn in the perfect world of their imagining...

Later added:

Sorry, I was tired and not feeling well when I posted this last night, and I maybe didn't fully flesh out my thoughts here. What I want to know is did palm oil production only begin AFTER deforestation of rain forests? Is Indonesia the only place in the world which produces palm oil, and if not, have they verified that the palm oil in those particular cookies came from orangutan habitat?

I have nothing against orangutans. If not for their magnificent hair color alone, I have high regard for any creature like myself which can chew its own toenails. I hope they're around for many moons to come.

Simplification?
I'm trying to remember, because I think I mentioned "minimalism" with a straight face this week.

I've got too much stuff. If anyone's had a house fire or been hit by a hurricane lately, please call me and I'll hook you up with some stuff. It just ain't right. Oh, and all my stuff is fabulous.

Today's musical interlude fits the theme of folks who over-burden themselves. Myron turned me on to this fabulous Delbert McClinton song Too Much Stuff a couple months ago, and I've been thinking it about 48hours solid. You can hear Lyle Lovett in there, too. It could be a very depressing theme, but that walking bassline on the be-bop piano is the embodiment of jollity, letting us know it'll all be okay anyway.

So the great simplification continues.
I've hauled impressive parcels of flotsam and jetsam to Goodwill today, and even managed to drop some more desireable junk at a consignment store. This is SO overdue. At least one piece of furniture will be kicked to an accomodating curb in about 8 hours.

I have this bad habit of making mish-mash bead pieces comprised of dozens of focal beads combined with a broad woven mixture of tiny seed beads. I call this bead-roux, and my bead gravy always makes for a really original project. If I use the same roux again, I'll add one more bead or two to the mix so it won't be identical. I get bored.

This means that in my jewelry studio, I literally have dozens of plastic tubs and containers half-full of beads and other bits and bobs, but there are no lids to be found. How did this happen? I can't figure our whence the lids have evaporated. I certainly wouldn't have discarded them. Perhaps they sulked off into the Sunset, bemoaning my neglect. I'm consolidating the tubs and finding there is way less of a mess than I thought, I was just very efficient at stringing the mess out over dozens of containers. Dozens of soup bowls have been repatriated to the kitchen, but I'm keeping the spoon rests, dammit. Shallow basins are great for picking up tiny beads... Now I have mere fileboxes with ziploc bags corresponding to particular projects and color groups. I've probably handled about a quarter million beads Friday night in little bins, vials and bags (if not more). I'm not kidding.

If the world monetary system ever totally breaks down and we revert to beads, well, I'm rich, beeyotch. If you can find your way to me at that wretched moment, I'll hook you up. Just ask for Empress Phlegmmy.

Industrial boulevard to be renamed to present a spiffier image for the billion dollar Trinity River Sinkhole--er Development Project.

What's the problem with keeping this street named for the purpose it's served for about a century? We all remember the recent news of last July when the Airgas plant on Industrial did a daylight firework display. What could be more industrial than thousands of exploding canisters of gas? I can't think of a thing.

Maybe we could re-name Industrial Silicone Alley for the gentlemen's clubs scattered along its length? Or the liquor stores? Or the rundown seedy dives? Or the massage parlours?

Then there's one of my favorite features of Industrial, the Lew Sterrett Correctional Facility and the adjacent Court building. You can always tell the hung over pups as they slink across the street in tow of a concerned/irate/broke parent. No discreet way to get to your car there, the gauntlet from the jail to the parking garages is always a walk of shame. Funny, the git-ups they got-up in the night before don't usually look so suave after a night in the slammer.

Bail bonds! When I think Bail Bonds, I definitely think of Industrial Blvd.

I say we all suggest and vote for FUEL CITY TACOS Esplanade. I had to go get me a couple fuel city tacos on Saturday. Them was real good, 'ceptin' LouLou the Baby Shoe was stinky for a few days thereafter, wot with the grilled onions, peppers and what not. Their tomatillo sauce is a marvel. I also got a cup of that Mexican cream corn from the little cart in front. I had my sunglasses on, so I may have been passing for La'in. Everyone standing in front of the taco stand and corn cart was Mexican, and I noticed a nervous little knot of whiteness standing inside the store behind the glass--two mighty white couples, and rather upscale for all that-- looking mooney-eyed at the corn. They finally mustered the courage and came out and ordered 4 cups of corn. I wondered if their food was still warm when they'd traversed a comfortable enough distance from which to enjoy their "slumming" nosh.

Anyway, the business owners who will have to change their addresses and business cards and everything will have the greatest say in the re-naming, but I'm betting nothing on earth will prevent the street from being re-named, no matter how silly the whole concept is. I'm betting the powers-that-be in Dallas will shoot for a gentrified, high-falutin' sobriquet in hopes of a self-fulfilling prophecy type outcome. After all, about a billion dollars in the form of 3 Calatrava bridges over the Trinity River will each find their terminus on Industrial/Whatever Boulevard. We need lofty names for the street, even if it comes with a handy sensual massage replete with happy ending.

Way to go, Dallas: keep it plastic!

Sorry for laughing, but...

a construction worker has sued New York Presbyterian Hospital after he was administered a rectal exam against his will to check for spinal injuries. After suffering an on-the-job injury, the guy was taken to the hospital where he insisted on not being examined in the dirty way, as he was saving all his butt-luvvin' for the IRS. Hospital staff was hard-assed about the issue, and they administered a sedative after he put up a struggle. Come on, people: no means no. So, anyhoo, he came to later on with a greasy hiney and raised quite a stink. Staff insisted they had not, after all, performed the rectal exam. Cheeky, cheeky.

ZOMG!

THIS is why I probably shouldn't have vast sums of wealth. I'm not saying I'd build a Neverland or anything but...

This ferris wheel is on ebay for $50,000. I don't like heights, but I lurves me some bright colors and spinny lights. *le sigh*

I drove by Miss Badu's house over by White Rock Lake Sunday. It made me remember this song, and I looked up the video. Somehow, the fact that she's preggers and pissed-off makes this song so much better, don'tcha think?

From the demented genius that brought us Betty Butterfield comes Shirley Q Liquor. I loves me some SQL so much it just swellseses up my heart, honey.

I don't know who the guy in the headwrap is, lipsynching, but I don't know where else to find this audio, which makes the whole of Titanic worthwhile. Good stuff.

There's an area of Dallas that has in recent decades transformed from a warehouse/rundown/slummish sort of zone into actual hep cat neighborhoods. I moved to that area and started living in lofts about 20 years ago. I would always tell people coming to see me to pass the dealer on the left and turn right just past the three hookers. Sometimes I'd sit on the roof with friends, wine and cheese and enjoy the downtown view and the bracing sight of street folk using the street as a toilet.

There's one building in the area that has a large open space that makes a perfect venue for large parties and art exhibitions and gatherings. The folks to whom this space belongs have swinger parties. I know these people (though not in the biblical sense) and they've been in that neighborhood for nearly 10 years, and they are actually quite nice. I tend to be pretty live-and-let-live, anyway. If they want to open a can of worms, well, that's their business.

Several years ago, the re-development into neighborhood began in earnest, and now there are condos and townhomes springing up all over the area like mushrooms after a rain. This is a nice development for everyone, I think, and the new has seemed to ease in amongst the old, and it's generally been a peaceable kingdom.

'Ceptin' for one Mrs. Kravitz who moved into a new home and was morally outraged about the swinger party crowd. She bitched and moaned and ranted and raved to all and sundry. Folks politely listened and went on not thinking about the swinger parties. After all, the area is still somewhat industrial, the events have been going on for-evah, and there's actually no disruption to the neighborhood.

Well, that wasn't good enough for Mrs. Kravitz who'd twisted herself into a macrame owl over the issue. She decided to take matters into her own hands. One night during an event, she snuck into the parking lot and wrote down make/model/license plate of every car in the lot. Using that information, she wrote letters of outrage to the owner of each of those cars and mailed them.

What really cracks me up is that this woman acts like sweetness and light, sugar-wouldn't-melt, when in fact she's actually rude and selfish. If this group had suddenly moved into HER happy families neighborhood and started having their wingdings, I could understand her and all the neighbors taking umbrage. However, SHE moved into THEIR crappy neighborhood. She is the newcomer, and I really don't think she has grounds for playing high-and-mighty. In fact, she KNEW they were there before she moved there. Everyone knows.

But here's the real kicker to me: she has an auto tagline on all her emails to the local neighborhood online group. It says:

Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

I suppose she means for other people to be kinder than necessary. She's exempt, being as she is the hammer of justice.

Heaven preserve us from self-appointed Hall Monitors.

About 15 years ago I was living in an old industrial building that was converted to loft apartments. One of the neighbors was a sculptor guy who kept pestering me to pose for him without the benefit of apparel.

I may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but I knew what that was about, and politely declined the offer.

I couldn't decide what would be worse - posing nude and having a pass made at me, or posing nude and not having a pass made at me. Whatever. I decided to live with the mystery. Besides, he was about twice my age. Ancient! (though the age he was doesn't sound nearly as old these days)

Sunday I went to an arts market thing, and I commented to a woman about how great the "juicy butts" looked on the women in her paintings. She laughed and agreed, saying she would never bother to paint a rail-thin woman. I said "presumably you already know how to draw a skeleton". She said "exactly". Then she said "you would be my ideal model".

I don't think she was trying to get into my pants. Oh, well, I guess she was, literally, but not, you know, into my pants. This time, I'll take that as a compliment.

Was this an overshare?

Cleaning today I listened to some cds I haven't heard in a while. One was by Ulali, a group of Native American women who sing in the most gorgeous harmonies. Here is a clip from one of my favorite films (get the soundtrack) Smoke Signals near the end. This is a 2:04 clip, and in the last 30 seconds or so, you can hear a bit of my favorite song by Ulali, which is one of my all-time favorite songs. Gorgeous stuff. Watch the movie, if you get a chance.

Temporary? Eternal? Who gives a rat's arse?
Everything must go.



Yes, in an unparalleled fit of domestic (?) zeal, I've been cleaning and throwing away and hauling crap to the local charity dropoff.



I'm even getting rid of my vhs tapes which are pesky and the players on the market these days are for crap, so what's the point? I have no sentiment about any of them except one small handful.

I have a Young Ones in NTSC (I think that's what it's called? - the North American VHS format) and 3 tapes of Bottom Live (the Britcom series starring Rik Mayall & Adrian Edmondson) and I'm not keeping them, but like sad little orphan puppies, I can't bear to turn them out into the cold, cruel world of a dispassionate charity shop with no hope of understanding. If you want them, email me your address and I'll mail them to you, mkay?



So, paper, paper everywhere, and not a match to strike.

Where does it all come from? Magazines, mail, adverts, mail, onion peel unravelings of an unquiet mind scrawled on receipts and post-its and some more mail, and all sitting awaiting discovery.

Well, I couldn't be bothered to read them, and I simply don't trust them in the world. I swept my hair up into a French twist and went about the business of sorting papers into recycle/throw away/shred or burn.

Ah, burn! Burning is fun. I had a shopping bag of burnables (anything with name and address), so out I went to the chimenea. I lit a tealight in the chimenea and threw in wads of paper to get the fire rolling. Soon a furnace-like blast was emanating from its gaping piehole. Unfortunately , it was a bit of a gusty day, and I leaned too close.

Heigh Ho! Something smells funny. I didn't put any hair in that fir----SHHHIIIT!

My hair somehow got singed.

Fortunately, it was out almost immediately. I whined to Hols on the phone shortly thereafter and she said "relax, honey, like me, you're one of those people who could lose half your hair and no one would ever notice, because there's so much of it left." I suppose that was oddly comforting, but I'm still mulling it over in my pea brain. I spose we'll see how wonky it looks when I warsh it next time. Oh well: I'm making more.

As I sorted and said my goodbyes to things, I kept thinking of that line from The Devil by PJ Harvey which said

what formerly had cheered me
now seems insignificant, insignificant...

which always leads me to think of Hamlet's soliloquy which concludes

Man delights not me, no,
nor women neither, nor women neither...

Quite.

Anyway.

Clear the Area by Imogen Heap:

Goody.
A revolting trend sweeping Japan has leapt the Atlantic. Hakata Tonton is a restaurant which specializes in "pied de cochon." (I love that they're putting lipstick on the pig foot by deploying the French sobriquet) for New Yorkers who are emulating the Japanese trend for these fountain-of-youth foods.

I'm pretty open-minded about trying different foods, and even some which many Westerners would call revolting, but eating something like pig feet or soft shell turtle as part of a beauty regimen is simply beyond the pale to me. Yuck. Even if you stay looking as fresh as a baby's butt, sitting around eating trotters is not a type of aging I'd call graceful.

I may get really wrinkly before this is all over with, but I'm going to be cute-wrinkly, dammit.

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

PHLEGMMY'S PRODUCT ROUND-UP

Actually, why eat something oogy when you could just slather something nice-smelling on your skin?

I don't use a lot of makeup because I've always been pretty lucky with my skin. However, I do need moisturizer sometimes, and I've found the PERFECT one, and it's really natural with no preservatives or other harsh stuff. It made in Greece and it's called Korres Wild Rose 24 Hour Moisturizer. It does smell faintly of roses, but in a very nice, not-cloying way- it doesn't smell like fake-rose scent. They also have one that sounds wonderful called Thyme Honey Cream. Sweet!


This is the only moisturizer I've ever used that seemed to work without feeling like I was smearing petroleum product on my face. It's a little bit pricey, but also worth it for the additional sun block.


That is all.