It always pisses me off when people litter, but I seem to revel in the defacing of property—ONLY if it’s for art’s sake. Exhibit A: Someone did this to not one but both of the elevators in my building a couple weeks ago, and it made me laugh.
The title refers to tea bags, but maybe also those who don’t like graffiti? It’s a stretch, I know.
I first titled this photo “Om for Cats,” thinking Derrick’s tail was sorta like the symbol for om. It’s totally not! There may be everything and nothing contained in the space said tail makes and breaks, but geesh, you would need more than one cat to do a furry om up right.
Speaking of tails, there is none fancier than that belonging to the species known as the Brush-tailed Binglet:
Can you see it in the upper right? It looks like a little shaving brush, but Bing doesn't use it for anything like that. It rarely goes straight up, all exclamation pointy, but when it tweaks from left to right like an on/off switch, I know he's about to go somewhere, fast.
Songs to listen to when debating if cats (technically) have butts
You know, I was prepared to call this next song the worst song ever, but I realize that there’s nothing nasty, as in mean-spirited, about this, so I take it back. This may be a bad song, but it is not the worst ever.
Have you actually listened to the lyrics? “Put a little tiny man in your butt!” That’s sort of delightfully, idiotically silly, though I do think I may not be this song’s intended audience. Who ya think is?
Doods! Join me in celebrating this delicious day off as I fill this riotous space with words, most likely silly ones, just because I can… wheee! So we’ll call it a LessWord Wednesday, and if it gets too jumpy and bumpy, skip the trip and simply ponder this amazing pic…
Elyse and I were walking to Adams Morgan in Warshington (Valerie told me that’s how the natives say it), D.C., last week, when we came across a butt-load of photos on the ground, all glossy and tossed all over the sidewalk. Ooooh!! I’m sort of embarrassed about my Dumpster diving-ways, so I quickly grabbed a handful and we went on our way. Found art, I marvelled, and so ridiculously silly, too, but they were mostly just shots of drunk girls with balloon sculptures on their heads. I consciously stopped myself from making any judgments and focused on their smiley faces and the pretty Tootsie pop-colored balloons. All good. I can do something funny/creative with these..
But then I thought about the others I left behind, and felt cheated. If the universe is giving you a big bowl o’ inspiration, do you just take a sip? Heck, no, you jump in and mainline it. So Elyse remembered where they were, and when we went back—S Street, everybody—I grabbed a whole bunch more, including this one. I noticed there was a couple sitting at a table outside the brownstone behind us, holding one of the photos and drinking wine. Did they spill the whole lot on the ground and wanted to see if passers-by would stop, or were they drinking in what the cosmos sent, just like me?
So no, I’m not gonna make any cracks about “pole position” or anything, but if this is your a$$, well, hats off and bottoms up to you.
Music to listen to when you’re on candid camera:
Brilliant! Be sure to catch the first two words…
Um, OK, so I don’t get this channel at all..this was the only video I could find for Nick Lowe’s “Stick It Where The Sun Don’t Shine.” Do the lyrics relate to the imagery in some way I am missing? Turns out the whole channel is full of Nick Lowe songs accompanied by “Japanese fashion girls.” 82 vids’ worth! Oh well. Kinda makes sense in a non-sense way.
Oh dear, this blog wouldn’t be complete without this one! I tend toward this sentiment about picture-taking…I’d rather be in the moment than have someone try to capture it, which is impossible, but funny how social networking is sort of making ‘the act of taking’ the moment itself. Not quite sure how I feel about that, but I love Ray’s lyric here…
In honor of Saturday’s supermoon—at its cheesiest and pleasy-est in 18 years!!—here is Keith Moon with his wife’s Siamese cat, Fudge. I can’t find a reliable source to confirm that said kitty a) belonged to Keith Moon’s wife’s and b) was deliciously named Fudge, but it’s a durn good story so we’re going with it.
Durn? Who the heck says that? (Editor’s note: Mark Twain, it turns out.)
Anyway, I have definitely felt the pull of the moon, its champagne light glimmer-shimmering in the night like waves in a dark sea, the only thing (but admittedly, a big one) you have left in common with your unrequited love.
Alternately, I do think it’s probably made of cheese, a yummy triple-cream one like Explorateur.
Ah, the title alone...makes me wanna be/live all poetic:
Andy Partridge's demo of a Dukes of Stratsophear tune...you like?
Not necessarily my fave Who tune, but it's meezer-appropriate. And our hero is featured at the beginning.
I just can’t get enough of Dusty, the naughty snowshoe (he counts as a meezer, doesn’t he?) who has stolen 600 items, including bathing suits, stuffed animals, underwear and brazeers, from his neighbors’ backyards over the past year. If he didn’t have four paws and a tail he’d probably be locked up by now, but it’s nothing but charming if you ask me. Here he is mid-heist.
So what can a cat do with a stuffed dinosaur or a pair of tighty whities? Well, I’m not the best person to answer that question, as Dusty’s loot is actually a lot more practical—and re-sellable, for that matter—than anything I’ve kind-of stolen in my entire life.
That list encompasses: - a baby blue balloon (uninflated), lifted from a general store on Shelter Island when I was 5 - a pair of false eyelashes from a Connecticut CVS while in college (OK, I did get a lot of use out of them) - a box full of plastic 18-inch blue-and-white seahorses from Oriental Trading Company. I paid for 3 and they sent me 3 dozen by mistake.
If I think of anything else I’ll add it to the post. Until then, here’s some music to pilfer by.
I do like MJ's version best, but this isn't half-bad:
“Ewww….that’s disgusting!” she IM’d back. I think I responded with an “I know!,” but there was a part of me that wanted to eat several of these repulsive, fat-infused treats. I thought of Cookie Monster, and a couple days later I actually ran into him walking past Macy’s.
In order to be like Bing and Derrick and live life more in the moment, I’ve been systematically shredding all my journals. They’re full of crap mostly, but it’s kind of a symbolic gesture of letting go of my old baggage. Anyway, I recently came across this ridonkulous entry accounting a visit to my parents’ house, written probably about 10 years ago.
What you might need to know before reading: Bizzy was my sister’s sweet cocker spaniel, and Sister Rita was a) a nun at my parents’ church and b) their good friend.
“…Mom accidentally got peanut butter on her shoes, which Bizzy licked off later during lunch when they were telling the story of Sister Rita’s false teeth…Apparently she left the “bridge” (the back ones, like the place they go on Star Trek) at my parents’ house, and Dad had to send it back to her. He wrapped it in bubble wrap and sent it first class, and Sister Rita called two weeks later asking, ‘Did you send it yet?’ Yes, of course, he said. And then all the sisters prayed to Saint Anthony, and the next day she received them in the mail.”
What does this have to do with Siamese cats? See the ceramic meezer that Derrick is posing with? Sister Rita found it hanging around the convent, knew I liked cats and asked my parents to give it to me. I love it to this day, and I figured this was a nice chance to say that nuns can have really good personalities, in case you didn’t know that already, and good senses of humor, too.
