Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Have you ever played the Question Game? The last time I did was after the funeral of the mother of a dear friend of mine. Cho was a beautiful spirit, a straight-talking, tempura-slinging lady who liked to sing "Danny Boy" and loved her daughters something fierce. She wouldn't have wanted us to be sad, so the Question Game, middle name: gleeful and inane, was a fitting tribute. The rules are deceptively simple: You look at someone and ask them a question. That player doesn't answer the question, but instead looks at a different player and asks another question, but it has to be completely unrelated to the question they were asked.
So… on that day it went something like this:
P to R: "How do you want your eggs cooked?"
R to S: "What's the speed of sound?"
S to M: "Can we talk?"
M to entire group: "Does the cat have an ass?"
Does the cat have an ass?!! Where the heck did THAT come from? It was so outrageously silly that it immediately put an end to the game, and poor M. got chastised for being so ridiculous. But you know the best part? He truly wanted to know if the cat had an ass and, come to think of, that's a REALLY good question.
Consequently, I have a soft spot for what may or may not be cat butts large or small, including the leonine glutes of steel shown here. This mighty dude was one of four to act as my guides during my recent trip to DC, affording me safe passage by the light of a honkin' mo-fo of a moon. A rare one that shone on things known/unknown.
When I studied the photo later, I was delighted by what I didn't see at first--the big cat basking in the sun/moon/street light, a three-way inversion that somehow still left you standing upright.
And a week later, back home in NYC, the whole thing hit me on a deeper level, when the image cued up Plato's cave and his use of the sun as a metaphor. Basically, he says, we human beans are all prisoners in a cave, chained and immobilized so that the only thing we can see are the shadows of what goes on behind us. Not the real thing, of course, but since that's all we see, we think it to be the big-T Truth In other words, we're pretty stoopid. And slow, too. Were we dragged outside into the light, we'd still think the shadows were more real than the sun. But Plato's not a total buzzkill--read the Republic if you want to know how we gain enlightenment.
As for further Plato exploration, well… I recommend the Symposium, especially the part about how we were all cut in two long ago and go around searching for our other halves, and NOT the paper I wrote as a college senior on Plato's philosophy of aesthetics, which I cobbled together based on random stuff he said about art and beauty. The professor returned my paper, not with a particularly bad grade but with the comment that Plato didn't have a philosophy of beauty.
Yeah, and he'd probably say the cat didn't have an ass.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The other night I came across this dude in a window display for a dry cleaner's (wha?!), and I was hoping we could all admire him here. For those of you who haven't yet met a snake, they're not slimy at all. This guy's expression is albeit a bit..uh…plastic, but trust me…snakes are this amazing mix of bend-back and muscle, like, I dunno, a giant spinal cord with biceps, wearing a Snuggie.
And then there's their amazing ability to grow and change--ecdysis, an exodus…shed your skin and then begin. Right before this happens they get all cross-eyed and cranky, but it's less like being on the rag and more like being reborn. The snake's your go-to guy for a quiet, powerful transformation. Sure, the phoenix gets more press, all bells and whistles a la Jimmy Page and his freakin' violin bow, but remember, Johnny Cash did just fine fingerpicking.
So I think of it this way…there are plenty of people who know who Rahm Emanuel is, but how many have jukeboxes in their head that can cue up classic, though not especially good, hot rod tunes on command? I thought so! (P.S. My favorite bad car song ever: "Convoy.")
For Loma P, known for her ability to simultaneously run and meow-ee-ow-ee-ow, 'cause we used to listen to this together:
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
On Monday I saw this on a billboard for some new store soon to open on 34th Street, and today I had to go back to take this photo. What's in a world that is Puffier for All? Discerning noses (olive oil and blood oranges, your application may be accepted), eyes that look with love...and everything, everything, with parmesan cheese on top.
Puffy get loose! This is the one during which she premieres the first-ever pirouette done by a cat, per the children's story I've been saying I have to write since, well, forever:
She's sweet like this one (tho what kind of idiot runs around in a tutu, ahem..):
XTC Wonderland by Celtiemama
It took me a way long time to find the perfect Puffelina Stones song. After debating between "Waiting on a Friend" and "Country Honk," this one wandered in on pink-paw-padded kitty feet:
For more Puff, click here.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
I was watching this guy hanging out on the East River early one morning this week, and I swear he held this pose for at least 15 minutes. After awhile I started to feel all antsy in the arm area and had to stand up and do it, too. You know what? He has a point. Pre-flight feels right.
Alternately, if this doesn't suit you, you could always take your cue from the 83-year-old ex-dancer in Elyse's college yoga class. "I interviewed her for a paper," reports Elyse, "and she told me she still goes to the bathroom with her arms in the air to keep her posture in check." If you try that one, please let me know how it's working out for you.
If the phoenix bird can fly, then so can I
Monday, July 4, 2011
This blog gets its title from a nickname given to me by an ex-boyfriend, like way, way long ago. I thought it was sweet and funny at the time, 'cause it rhymes w/my real name, but when I think back on it, it's not nice at all. Who wants to be associated with a wrinkly old fruit known to act as a laxative? Anyway, lucky for me he moved his angry self to Hawaii and, not so lucky for me, left me with 11 snakes and a cat. I found them homes, but I'd like to publicly apologize to them all right now and acknowledge how upsetting that process was. I know it wasn't all my fault, but, heck, we all have to lie in our own bed, or however that one ends up.
Oh, I almost forgot the inspiration for my little photo-montage-collage. I've gotten 3 emails inadvertently addressed to "Prune" in as many weeks. Just an observation, really, but somehow I wanted to respond by creatin' something. And in general, I've decided to take a bigger hint from Derek Jeter, who was quoted in the New York Times, "I don’t like talking about myself. Never have. I don’t even like people who talk about themselves. If you can do it, why do you need to talk about it?”
He's essentially talking about putting your money where your mouth is, which, heck, isn't exactly the issue here…but if my money were prunes, let's just say we'd probably have to call the plumber to fix the toilet here on ssspunerisms.
Hang on to your ego!