avast! ye evildoers ~ ~ pclef.net

THEODORE THE WALRUS OFFERS A CLARIFICATION

...listen up you bitches!...

...you know, I hate to break up my routine of dragging my 750-pound carcass onto this increasingly thin (thanks for that, by the way) shelf of ice after gorging on tiny mercury-toxined fish (again, muy gracias), but you all are beginning to get on my nerves.

here's the thing: summer isn't over. the end of august does not mean that summer is over. the beginning of autumn means summer is over. you're not even into labor day and all you bitches on the elevator are starting in again with the vapid annual conversation...."I can't believe summer is over already!"...what are you, plane crash victims who were once deprived of air and can no longer rely on simple cognitive thought?

Now I may just look like eskimo food to you, and it may well be true that I'm a relic from the age of mastodons, but I do know something about the advent of winter. 'round here it usually means a subtle drop in temperature to the point at which spit freezes before it hits the ground. that's why I eat this way. to stay warm. in the winter. which hasn't arrived yet.

so happy labor day, you spoiled, pointless creatures.

love, theodore

...

RECKON AN INTENTIONAL WRECK PLAYED OFF AS SOME INTELLECT

...the busy bee be busy...

to-do's....on my mind lately....

fuzz face. sent some money to these cats. parts came in two installments...sort of weird--were I more geek-inclined, wouldn't I just call up the appropriate part numbers and order the whole mess myself? isn't the idea of a "kit" that I'm paying to be spared the bother? anyway, the late delivery doused my initial enthusiasm a bit, and the immense scheduling conflicts of the blues trio this summer--who knew three middle-aged guys would be so in demand?--lessened the impetus to connect up the thingies and see about some dirty sustainy stratocaster tone as per his jimi-ness and other dead 60s/70s types. still, it's a germanium circuit...potentially wonderful. so, I'll leave the casing design for later, and get the solder xions done, see what happens. that's an evening...maybe two...

thudstaff's telecaster. everything done but the neck and final assembly. fender neck amber is a pain in the, you know, ass. shoot too much spray, and dark brown ochre collects in puddle droplets against the fret wire. wipe away the excess and the wet lacquer acts as a solvent, stripping away previous coats down to the wood. the construction steps had gone so well up to this point. still, faint light emerges at the end of tunnel: once the bloody thing is tinted to my satisfaction, all that's left is clear coating & wet sanding, tuners, then cut the nut, and after allowing the neck to gas off for a few weeks, set the intonation and it'll be picture time...finish line: weeks away...

les paul. with the '74 strat in pieces, (getting a refinish/rebuild in the shop [winter 06-07]), this honey is my longest-standing squeeze. replacing the pots/switches/everything electronic. trying to match up the "vintage" schematic of this guy. got it all wired up, and voila! no signal. something ain't right. this morning I downloaded additional schematics which should provide me with a path to maximum humbuckerness and a reunion with my 1978 les paul custom...once I went black, and now it's time to go back...finish line: any day now...subquestion: to what degree will this newly restored main squeeze impose itself on share-of-playing-time now dominated by home-built strat & tele? the tone inventory is now at such a happily superb level that my old frankenstrat and 335-type ibby are both collecting dust in a spare room upstairs...I do not expect this instrument--a bona fide gibson les paul, all-original--to collect any dust...

so then, with ernesto precip expected, labor day might well be just that...

did I mention that I'll be packing up the studio next month? heating system. ductwork. everything moves upstairs. times like these, I get supremely envious of the folkie/bluegrass people who arrive with flattop boxes and share one microphone...

...

KASEY THE KID ASTRONAUT SAYS HEY! EVERYBODY! BLAST OFF!

...greetings from space!!...

hey there fellow space travelers! zoom! go thrusters! go retro rockets! who's ready for a liftoff today? hold on! I'm getting a message from mission control! [static and unintelligible chatter]...

WHAT? no launch today? WHY? [more static] a what? a hurricane? but they said [more static] we'd be [louder static]...oh alright.

I'll show them. my super-turbo super-hurricane rockets are invisible! zoom! blast off! they can fly right through a hurricane or even a tornado or earthquake or tsunami! all I need is another $10 billion in grant money! and someone to prove that global warming is a lie!

until then, this is kasey the super astrokid saying I'll see you in space!

...

REQUIEM FOR THE FOX

Maynard Ferguson, 1928-2006

"...We all keep secrets. One of mine is that if I were to be somebody else in life, I would be a trumpet player. Playing the trumpet is a primal experience, human lips pressed next to cold brass, no need for a quivering reed in-between, and somehow flesh and metal together produce a sound at the other end that is clear, clarion, bold, the call that heralds angels. Playing the trumpet combines aesthetics with athleticism. It is the height of macho. Chops, cheeks, breath control, tight stomach, tight butt, erect posture, flexed biceps, spit. And now I will tell you a dirty little secret. One of my favorite trumpet players is a guy named Maynard Ferguson. I was once a member of the Maynard Ferguson fan club. This is a dirty secret because Maynard would never be the choice of self-respecting jazz aficionados, and I'm afraid that naming him as one of my guilty pleasures will probably discredit me among my music colleagues here. Most trumpet players start out in a low register and work up to higher notes; good ones go only so far upwards, because they don't want to blow out their lips straining for higher notes. Maynard was born a freak of nature. He is known as a screech trumpeter. He started out on high notes and worked his way down. He played lead trumpet in Stan Kenton's big band in the fifties, so he's not exactly a musical slouch, but he was never known for his subtlety and sophistication, either. In the last twenty five years he's had his own band, produced his own records, and every, every Maynard song features Maynard working up to and eventually hitting a high G above triple C. When he gets there, it is a sonic spectacle to behold. The audience roars in approval, and Maynard milks the applause for all it is worth. Usually Maynard appears in concerts in an orange full-body jump suit with a scarf around his neck, and he jumps to center stage displaying an innovation that he introduced into the musical world which he calls the pelvic thrust. When Maynard hits his high note, simultaneously he arches his back and juts out his pelvis, presenting it to the audience as a visual gift of sorts. Maynard is a man's man. A Maynard Ferguson record will feature screech renditions of songs such as the theme from Shaft, the theme from Rocky, and of course, Hey Jude. Maynard surrounds himself with bright young musicians right out of school who tour with him for a year and then leave, maybe out of embarrassment. Just before I left Boston for Pomona four years ago, I had the once in a lifetime pleasure of hearing Maynard play with a full band accompaniment in a little bar, Johnny D's in Somerville. Maynard was about to take his band out on the road, and he wanted to try out some material in a small venue before he hit the concert scene. I told my friends about this rare opportunity, and we all stood about five feet away from Maynard as he thrust his pelvis at us and blasted away. I lost part of my hearing that night, but I also thought I saw God around the second chorus from the theme from Star Trek. Glory, glory Hallelujah. Maynard Ferguson--he has a great name, a perfect name for celebrity, like Shaquille O'Neill. Maynard holds clinics in high schools all across this country, and every drum and bugle corps member in every small town shows up, they buy his mouthpieces and records, and he is almost single-handedly responsible for keeping together many music programs in America for the last twenty five years. Maynard is a living idol in some small town circles, even if he isn't a household name in Hollywood. Yes, there's a part of me that would like to be Maynard, a flamboyant good guy screech trumpeter."

--John Seery

...

ALFONSE THE PIGEON REGISTERS A COMPLAINT

...football. you heard me. professional football (a designation which arguably now includes the collegiate level). the nicknames, the personalities, the drugs, the suits-regular ones and also those ones with the funny collars, the gambling, the legends, the lies, the fat men, the fatter men, the trophy wives, the trophy girlfriends, the trophy babies, the paternity suits, the steroids, the soup commercials, the use of the phrase "near fatal," the deodorant commercials, the brylcreem, sportscasters who scribble plays on the screen as if you give a shit, the shaving commercials, the wardrobe malfunctions, the beer commercials--clydesdales / frogs / budbowl, the cheerleaders, the unbelievably original name spellings, the legend Keith Jackson, the ignoramus Terry Bradshaw, the blimp John Madden, and of course the blimp itself (is it still Goodyear?)...hey, it's the American way, right? Who am I to overwhelm the irresistible engine of pigskin commerce? I'm just a bird who shits in the park.

however, despite it being just pre-season, here's what we have to look forward to: movies. football movies. 'cuz here's the thing: I'm a pigeon, so math isn't my strong suit, but I can tell when there are lines at a movie theater, and I happen to be an expert in the science of spilled popcorn recovery. so, in this one area, I happen to have some degree of authority. I can spot a hit movie. hit movies fill my belly. popcorn, pretzels, twizzlers, peanut m&m's, they're all scattered on the sidewalks following a well-audienced matinee. during the year of "titanic" I gained so much weight it was literally difficult to fly. my nickname around the hens is "blockbuster." 'nuff said..

bottom line: this multi-course feast of popcorn and nacho crumbs has never taken place at a football movie. I can only recall with rue and chagrin the "Great Fast of Rudy" or "The Replacements Famine," as I like to remember them. I've only heard chirpings from my elders concerning the "golden age" of family-feeders like "The Longest Yard" or "Brian's Song"...but those days are long gone...ergo, my basic working credo: "on any given sunday, the wise pigeon goes to central park"...

and this year, we're facing down a particularly paltry-for-poultry scenario, with box office poisoner mark wahlberg in "Invincible," followed by master thespian "the rock" with "Gridiron Gang"...if the acting is as bad in the movie as it was in the trailer, I fear for the lives of my family!

So please mr. hollywood, this annual flail at imagined profits from the small-budget sports market, in particular the football movie, a twice-kicked dead horse of a genre, has to end. how about getting to work on "legally blonde VII"? 'cuz we're dying out here. literally.

...

WOMAN

...finally got around to "Walk the Line" last night.....

here's to June Carter...a great lady, and a GREAT artist...

SURVEY RESULTS FROM OUR RESIDENT CONSULTANT: DOOFUS

Hiya Kids! It's your old buddy Doofus, here today to help you understand what's going on in the mainstream media! *burp*

Hey! Didja ever wonder why they keep talking about how many people believe there's a connection between 9/11 and Iraq, even though it's been denied by nearly everybody, and even though we've been in Iraq now, fully invested as an occupying force, for over three years? And haven't turned up any evidence whatsoever? Didja? Huh? Well they don't call me doofus for nuthin'! I'm plum confused! Because even I, a total nitwit, know that there wasn't any connection between the 9/11 terrorists and Saddam Hussein! So we thought we'd try to figure out why they keep talking about it. We did a little informal survey. And here's what we found out!

% of average Americans who think there was a connection between 9/11 and Iraq:

about 10-20%, give or take (state of Ohio excluded from survey results)

% of Dick Cheneys who think there was a connection between 9/11 and Iraq:

100%

See? It all makes sense now! Jibbity-jibbity-jumpin-jibbity-snaps! buh-wah-buh-wah-buh-wah-wah-well then I'll see you all next time! so-la-so-la-so-la-soooo---looooong!! *burp*

...

OBSESSIVELY PRIMPING MYSELF FOR MY INEVITABLE ANONYMITY

Pebbles can't help it: Polish jokes crack her up.

...

CRACKER & PITTY GO TO THE BALLGAME

...[singing] take me out to the ball game, take me out to the crowd....

...you seem rather chipper today...

...nothing like a vigorous day of cleaning house! ...I'm just about done with doing the floors...I have my broom, and my dustpan, and...

...I think I know where this is heading...

...no wait! allow me this brief, possibly illusory, moment, when all the surfaces gleam....when the silverware and china sparkle, the windows divine the late summer light...and the air tingles with the faint aroma of disinfectant...now if I could just get done with these floors!...

...so now it's time for the, uh...vacuum?...

...good heavens, no, my bovine sisterfriend!...we penguins are an old-fasioned lot, whose generations of nomadic living have bred a distrust of all things mechanical! for instance, we are largely uninterested in football or golf...too many technological devices, too much metallurgy...no, we're fond of simpler pursuits...for example, we don't care much for sports per se, but give us a simple pastime, as it were, and we're in the gravy...still, I can't be dawdling now, so close to the achievement of my objective!...

...which is?...

...why, to finish up these floors! I've gone over them with a broom now for four days straight..(we penguins are also perfectionists)...and today is the final act of, of....of....um, you know, using the broom to clear away, to clean up, to....to....to....

...to sweep?...

yes!...that's it!...that's the word I was looking for!...thank you, my esteemed-yet-pitiable boon companion!....that is indeed my task...oh yes indeed, today is just the perfect day for a good sweep....

...I thought you were from Pittsburgh...

...

CRACKER THE COW AND PITTS THE PENGUIN GO TO THE MOVIES

This week’s review: The 40-Year Old Virgin

CC: Welcome back to another edition of Cracker & Pitty At the Movies…
PP: Should be Pitty & Cracker…
CC: [ignoring him] This week we’re reviewing the surprisingly engaging and very funny “The 40-Year Old Virgin”…
PP: You know how I know that you’re gay?
CC: [winking] No, how do you know?
PP: You own a collection of Kate Winslet collector cards. And you bought a limited edition set of collector’s plates for “Titanic.”
CC: So how does that make me gay?
PP: You’re supposed to be a movie critic. The only way you could possibly like anything about “Titanic” would be because you’re attracted to Kate Winslet.
CC: Well, I did think Kathy Bates was very good as the unsinkable Molly Bro….
PP: SILENCE! Your prattling chatter is giving me a headache already. Let’s do the review.
CC: [already flustered, collecting herself] Well OK, but I thought Leonardo DiCaprio was utterly dashing, and furthermore…
PP: Fag.
CC: [reddening, whispering…] Please stop. Can we? Now? Do? The? Review?
PP: Welcome back to Pitty & Cracker Go to the Movies! This week we’re giving you the goods on the utterly vapid trifle that is Steve Carrell’s feature film debut…
CC: [aside…still whispering] I’d thought we were going to give a rave this week…
PP: Friends, if you’re tired of the mental gymnastics required to get through most "reality" programming, if the intellectual pyrotechnics of “So You Think You Can Dance” are making your brain tired, head to your local theater and enjoy two solid hours of one-dimensional stereotypes and juvenile sight gags.
CC: Pitty, this movie hasn’t been in theaters for months. It’s on HBO already.
PP: Then why are we reviewing it?
CC: It was your idea. I just went along.
PP: Just went along?
CC: I want you to be happy.
PP: So, in your view, the key to my happiness lies in sycophancy and passivity on your part? To make me into a professional movie critic who reviews films only after they’ve long left the commercial movie houses and gone to cable?
CC: It might still be showing in Europe…
PP: Well then Bon Jour Mes Ami! La Virgin De Qatorze Anos esta muy poopy!
CC: Actually, I thought Paul Rudd was quite good in it…
PP: You’re just saying that to show that you’re not a big gay cow.
CC: Dickweed.
PP: [rising to the bait] Whoa! She pulls out the big guns! Dickweed! Now that’s a word I”ve never understood. An insult, to be sure, but what does it refer to? Is there a form of penile horticulture that I have hitherto been ignorant of? A plant, undesired to the extent that it is referred to as a weed, growing spontaneously from one’s tallywhacker? Or is it merely a plant in the shape of said phallus, upon which one might assign the less meritorious qualities of a villain whom one has been forced into a face-to-face meeting with. Or, was there a dastardly person, one Richard Weed, whose chicanery was so dastardly, as to brand all future Dick Weeds as painted with the same reprehensible brush?
CC: [ignoring him, returns to his review] Featuring an all-star cast…
PP: “All-Star?” How about “No Stars”?
CC: Catherine Keenan…
PP: As Grandma..
CC: And Paul Rudd, whose star is on the rise…
PP: And let’s see…the black guy who can’t keep his dick in his pants, the lovable stoner, the older woman with a heart of gold, the horny store manager, and more bimbos than you can shake a stick at…
CC: …tell a heartwarming story about a grown man’s search…
PP: Sounds like an episode of “Survivor!”
CC: …to find the one thing that’s missing in his life…
PP: Sex.
CC: Love.
PP: Fag.
CC: Dickweed…
PP: And that’s all for this week! Join us next time for more relentless repartee on the great and not-so-great….until then, this is your old pal Pitty saying we’ll see YOU at the movies…

...

I LIFT MINE EYES TO THE HEAVENS AND WEEP FOR BRUNO KIRBY

Hi Paul, seems like ages since we yacked. Since then, war has broken out between Israel and Hezbollah. Your thoughts?

Looking back it's still surprising, I was sinking, you were risin', and with a look, you caught me in the mid-air. now I know God has his reasons but sometimes it's hard to see them…

In your opinion, is George Allen merely a silver-spoon bush-clone yokel who’s extremely insensitive to racial issues, or just an idiot?

After all the livin' hell you put me through you'd think I'd want no part of you, but it's harder now than it's ever been before. Harder now when I hear your name, my tears begin to fall. I guess I love you after all…

Actor Bruno Kirby died. Age 57. Life can be so unpredictable. One minute you’re on top, the next thing you know you’re dying from leukemia. Paul, say something. Help us to figure out this crazy world!

Some days it don't pay to get up out of bed. Seems like the whole world is overworked and underfed. But life is loaded with sweet surprises--never know what it will do, and just when you're planning on another rainy day, the sun comes shining through…

Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards finally came to an amicable agreement in their high-profile divorce. If those two great kids can’t make it work, what hope is there for the rest of us?

Life is not a love song, but broken hearts will mend. And in the quiet of my room, we might sit and hold the pieces. I think that we could still be friends…

Ladies and Gentlemen, a warm round of applause for the legend….Mr. Paul Williams…

...

THE BEWILDERING DEMANDS OF MY SECRET SUPERPOWERS

...ask any sloth; laziness has its merits...

..

A GEORGIAN PRELUDE

...see the first thing you have to keep in mind is that there'll always be plenty of folks around to help you get your stuff done...you've got the smart people in charge of the hard stuff....so if you happen to be in the middle of a war, the economy is tanking, and the Israeli Prime Minister dies, someone will be along in a while to bring the airplane tickets to you...also, you'll have a huge staff of servants...

...servants! just like home...

...that's right. just like home. see? I knew you'd understand. your mother always chattering about jeb being the bookreader and all...just remember--guns & god, guns & god...if you're talking about one and run out of something to say, just switch over to the other...

...see? up there? that's where I shot old Jack Tarver in the face. back in '84. 'course the media never found out. wouldn't have cared if they did...

...sweet...

...

NUDE DESCENDING A STAIRCASE (TO HEAVEN)

...I swear. like butter.....

...

CRACKER THE COW AND PITTS THE PENGUIN GO TO THE MOVIES (AGAIN)

CC: I'm so excited!
PTP: uh huh. what is it this time? is there a sale on cheese this week?
CC: No silly...this week we're going to review "Crash" that wonderful movie that won the Academy Award last year!
PTP: I don't get it.
CC: Don't get what?
PTP: I don't get what's so great about it. The whole thing. It doesn't make any sense.
CC: All this month, Cracker & Pitty are going to take a look back at great movies of the recent past. This week's focus: "Crash", directed by Paul Haggis.
PTP: Sheep's guts.
CC: Excuse me?
PTP: Haggis. Sheep's guts. Scottish folks are nuts about it.
CC: Oh. Um. Right. "Crash" is a story involving how the lives of a diverse group of people living in Los Angeles connect and clash over the course of two days.
PTP: You got that from the film's web site, didn't you?
CC: Excuse me?
PTP: the "diverse group of people" connecting and clashing. I know you. You don't talk like that.
CC: I just thought it would be a good intro to use the official synopsis.
PTP: Good thing I only have these awkward penguin flippers or I'd have to spank you right now.
CC: [moving on] As a series of events unfolds that will heighten already-existing racial and cultural tensions, individuals are brought face to face with complexities that their prejudices have prevented them from seeing.
PTP: more synopsis. right. so here's my beef.
CC: here we go.
PTP: first Matt Dillon is the racist cop who pulls over a black couple, and simultaneously assaults the woman, groping her sexually while emasculating the man, humiliating them both. he's a pig, a scoundrel, the personification of how most people think of the LAPD.
CC: I don't think that way.
PTP: Shut up. So here's this bad cop, whose own partner doesn't even want to ride with him anymore, and then, later on, he saves the life of this very same woman by pulling her from a flaming car wreck, risking his own life in the process, a super-brave hero.
CC: Very moving.
PTP: Bull crap. I don't see either thing happening in real life. Nor any of the other plot constructs--for instance, off-duty cops don't pick up black hitchhikers in downtown LA.
CC: What about the little girl?
PTP: What about her?
CC: When the man shot her, and her invisible cloak protected her? Weren't you moved?
PTP: I will say this: Don Cheadle kicks ass.
CC: You're avoiding my question.
PTP: What question?
CC: What about the little girl?
PTP: Here's the thing: the shop owner nevers confronts the girl's father because out of work immigrants don't go around shooting locksmiths! I don't care how bad-ass your downtown L.A. neighborhood is.
CC: I found the scene very moving.
PTP: Well that's because you're a big sentimental cow.
CC: And you're a tiny heartless penguin.
PTP: "Crash" was trite and overrated.
CC: It is a wonderful film.
PTP: One hoof up, one flipper down.
CC: [weepy] I thought we were friends...
PTP: Thanks for joining us. We'll be back next time with more pithy comments and argumentative rejoinders, so until then this is your old pal Pitty saying "so long" and we'll see YOU at the movies...

...

A CHIPMUNK DROPS THE SCIENCE ON GLOBAL WARFARE

"I know the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and I could be doing more, but my current gig is just too good--it's keeping me in free peanuts and all I have to do is chirp occasionally and twitch my little nose. What choice to I have? I'm going to keep milking this cuteness thing..."

...

SHELDON THE FOX WONDERS ALOUD

"...of course anti-semitism concerns me. but such mishigas over just one asshole movie star! I'm increasingly concerned that media attention is being unnecessarily diverted away from our most important national crisis: the rescue of Natalee Holloway..."

...

CRACKER COW & PITTS THE PENGUIN GO TO THE MOVIES

PTP: I won't see it.
CC: Whaddyamean?
PTP: I mean I've already managed to live through it myself, so why would I spend $10 to sit through Oliver Stone's version of something I've already experienced personally? As far as I know, Mr. Stone was nowhere near downtown Manhattan on 9/11.
CC: But we're here to review the film. You know, "World Trade Center."
PTP: I don't care if they call it "Porno for Penguins." I don't care if they call it "March of the Penguins II" and all of us get on a caribbean cruise ship and do nothing but swim in the pool and eat herring with little penguin hookers, I won't see it.
CC: Then this isn't going to be much of a review, is it?
PTP: So what? So I'm supposed to go along with the premise--and thank you Oliver Stone for confirming this--that 99% of the country thinks of 9/11 purely as a cinematic event? And then tell them how it's a super-ok film to talk about, you know, with their kids? that I should just go along, and tell these people, most of whose communities are under zero threat of terrorist attack and yet receive thousands of dollars in homeland security hand-outs each year, what I think of nicholas cage? I don't need to watch "WTC" for that. I can tell them right now, that which should be self-evident to all: he blows.
CC: that seems a little harsh and dismissive. I mean, we're supposed to be objective critics...
PTP: what part of "Con Air" resonated most with you? at which point in "Face/Off" did you conclude "oh my he is a very fine thespian?" when you gave up 125 minutes of your life to watch "The Family Man," what manner of receptacle did you use to catch the vomit? During "Snake Eyes" did you think to yourself (as I did) what a fine thing it is that there exists a major hollywood feature film that the mentally retarded folks can enjoy along with the rest of us?
CC: I actually thought he was OK in....
PTP: SILENCE!
CC: [silently] wha?
PTP: Thanks for joining us. We'll be back next week with more pithy comments and cinematical surprises, as well as a visit from our very own culture vulture...until then this is your old pal Pitty saying "so long" and we'll see YOU at the movies...

CC: [off camera] can I talk now?
PTP: Jeez you're such a wuss. We never even got around to reviewing the damn thing..
CC: But you said...I mean, I thought...but no you...um....but....

oh.

...

OCCUPATIONAL THERAPY FOR THE UNEMPLOYED

..."I suppose this job would be easier were I more fond of children. Even still, there should be some limits....I mean good lord they're everywhere...for starters, my name's not Billy. I wish they'd stop calling me that..."

...

EVERYDAY I GET THE BLUES

...Lemuel's penchant for comedy often seemed overmuch--to him, everything was a joke. Sometimes Janet just wanted to, well, to talk. Quietly, sensibly. "He's such an ass," she thought to herself.

...

...during his old age, Elton John spent most of his time in his sitting room, listening to classical music, not saying much...

...

MARTIN BEAGLEMAN EXPLAINS

As his big floppy ears began to flap in the breeze, Marty suddenly had a realization.

"They can't possibly expect me to understand a goddamn thing about this global warming stuff. For goodness sakes, I'm a beagle. So you'll just have to excuse me, Mr. Ozone, because this here desk fan hurts so good...."

...

IT'S A HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHICKEN!

Happy Birthday to mi hermano, c-to-the-motherfuggin-d....with hopes that his chicken will be finger-lickin'...

...

A BELL IS A CUP UNTIL IT IS STRUCK

"In Life I was silent but in Death I sing."

...

GRAVE MEDITATIONS INSTEAD OF COMPLETE THOUGHTS

Eldridge the defiant rooster chicken, enjoying a rare moment of peace. "Them hens, always with the clucking..."

He looked out, as he always did, through the hole in the slats. The pony. That pony, who pranced by every day, unaware of her audience, not knowing he even existed. Why?

He couldn't quite figure it out. To a chicken, the big answers don't always come so easy...

...

“Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless - like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup, you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle, you put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”
--Bruce Lee

DISBURDENED OF HIS COMPASS, HE TURNS TOWARD THE MARKETPLACE

..."the devil story worked!" mused Merkin, the elder goat. "I can't believe they fell for it!"

Thus signified, he was now ready to work the system.

And freedom rang out with its sweet music...

...

CHUCKLING MIRTHLESSLY AT THE PRECIPICE OF THE EVERLASTING VOID

...Persephone the myopic sheep maintains a cheerful exterior despite the overwhelming odds against her...

...

BLIND MAN CLIMBS TALL MOUNTAIN LOOKS DOWN

...

ARRESTED FOR DRIVING WHILE BLIND

...today's discussion topic: at what point does life begin?...

...

BLIND MAN DANCING ON THE PIRATE MOON

...

A BLIND CAT ON PATROL

...

BRAVE MONKEY RIDING TO FREEDOM ON A BLIND DOG

...

SUMMER IN THE CITY

...in case you need to find me...

at some point in my life, between leaving behind the vapid sun-bleached languor of my hometown, or breaking away from the bucolic leafy environs of upstate college town and going to live in hot airless brooklyn on entry level salary, I learned to love the city in summer. I seem to be constantly surrounded now by suburbanites who are obsessed with their addictions to air conditioning, television, and the best way to combine the two technologies for as much as possible, as long as possible. also, the endless twaddle about children. at least I have some cool neighbors...if I had to live near some of these other folks I've met, I'd have been forced to learn masonry and build castle walls 'round the perimeter of the property, inquiring with the town as to the proper way to dig a moat "to code."

but thank goodness that won't be necessary. and since my daytime hours are the essential distillation of this as-described conversational tic (ann landers, how do I tell my co-worker that I really don't need to look at all 74 snapshots of her dribbling toddler?), I eagerly anticipate my next 72 hours of nyc leisure time, away from all that, in one of the greatest sanctuaries ever created, the ultimate redeemer of new york fucking city: central park. as a resident and former manhattanite, I know that a great thing, if not the greatest thing to do, in new york, is to do nothing at all. if you slow down and stop moving for a while, the city takes off and becomes its own show. the italian ices, the street musicians, the sun & shade & enveloping foliage await...

keep cool...

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