Oak Park and Washington

Do you have messengers? I'm not talking about any kinda coo coo/woo woo from the great beyond-o-1-900 number crystal ball types. I mean messengers.

For instance, today I was leaving my place of employment and I was wrung out like an old washcloth from yesterdays dirty bath water (not of my own making) and who do I pop right into but Seymour and Fresser out for a walk on a scorching day. Seymour said something like, How're they treatin' you? And this teeny squinched up voice comes out of the back of my throat and I said, Seymour? I just expected better out of myself. Ya know?

Seymour is Marilyn's husband and I'm not going to hand out their personal details except that I hope I get invited to Seymour's birthday party in September because what he really likes to do is feed people and when you encounter his fruit salad with all happy fruit? You, too, would like to wrangle an invite.(He gets the potato salad at Whole Foods. Need. I. Say. More.)

Seymour gave me the most colorful(and by that I mean swearwordlianated) pep talk that had me cracking up laughing by the second block. Even Fresser looked amused or else he wanted me to drop my apple. (Fresser is Yiddish for glutton).

The other day, I had made an appointment with a new dentist and I have to do some serious self-talk to get myself to even make an appointment and who do we bump into but Joe, Grantley's first friend/homeless guy. If Joe has nine teeth that would be a surprise but we saw him on the morning of the new dentist appointment and his eyes were as red as a sunrise and I said, very firmly and bossy-like (because that's who I am to Joe) What's up with your eyes? He had been up all night with a toothache until he remembered his family remedy which was salt water and I thought, ya got that Ann? Tooth + Ache= Go to the dentist/Rent a clue.

The messengers float by me on Hoverounds as I am headed toward the Jewel to buy ice cream. (I don't not go. I just don't get a quart) I've found them impersonating a massage therapist, a nasty receptionist, a zealous Obama supporter and/or an old friend.

I've even been my own messenger when I've actually listened to what I've had to say.

So.

Ask the question, think the thought and then sit back and wait. The answer's on it's way.

Scoville

The skinny latchkey kid that lives around the corner
was walking home lugging a black case.




I said, Wow, what's that?

He said, It's my laptop.

Oh. said I.

Wow.

Few more steps.

I pointed to Grantley.

That's my laptop.

He cracked up and we escorted him safely home.

Lifelong Learning Center Lunchtable

This is the kind of story that makes life worth living.

In my opinion.

It ranks up there with the day I walked Grantley near the Oak Park Arms Retirement Oasis of Joy(aka the park bench on the corner of Oak Park Ave and Washington) and we slowed to let an older gent pet Grantley on the head, thinking we were being all charitable to someone who had to probably go without a dog/boo hoo hoo and stuff and the man asked what her name was and I told him and he said,"Who would give a nice dog like you a stupid name like that?".

I just love that story.

I woke up way early and I touched the top of the casserole and it seemed kinda damp so, I had enough time to heat up the oven and slip it in there while I got ready for the day. Carried it three blocks in the snow. Okay no. I just wanted some fake sympathy from my reader(s)in case there was extra available.

The receptionist trainee took the first helping and she said she would smile even if it tasted bad so there was some hesitation there as she smiled, because we had already established her lack of credibility but she said, "Mmmm." and we didn't have to summon the paramedics or anything, so when Mary the ceramics person dug in, tasted it and proclaimed it really good, I thought Eureka plus Phew! (I've been noticing-especially during Batman and driving-how often I walk around holding my breath. What's that about?)

I got a little paper plate and plastic spoon and you know what? That stuff is 'salichious. (That's what my Mah says about things like Brussel sprouts with okra berry slaw. Speaking of credibility.) All Good Ingredients. (When was the last time you saw real milk? For me, maybe nine years ago when I moved in with the parentals? Whole milk looks like paint.)

So lunchtime cometh and people are all digging in and grunting and I feel ever so happy to have taken the chance and this one woman came up to me and said, "Gladys' casserole was so soft and creamy."

Soft and creamy? I gulped. I had soft and creamy at 6:45 this morning. Like before I heated up the whole house for the second time.

I swear I almost bent over laughing.
Thanks for that Gladys. I shall never forget thee. Even tho we never met. Officially. And stuff.

Here it is (larger)so you can try it at home.

Baked Corn Casserole Recipe
1 can of creamed corn
1 can of whole kernel corn
1/2 cup melted oleo ( I went with Blue Bonnet-I wish they still had Imperial so you'd get that crown thing going on. Remember that?)
2 beaten eggs
4 small green onions from the white to about 3 inches up chopped
1/2 cup milk
1 box Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix
1/4 teaspoon pepper

Mix all ingredients together very well. Pour into a greased casserole. For best results, bake ONLY one hour at 350 degrees.

The Great Beyond

The book fell on my head in the storage closet. Not bound or hardcover which reinforces my minor motto: Lucky. Very very lucky. (We do it in shorthand within the family. We say: L. V.V. L. when the Gods of good fortune smile upon us.) I had just started this new job and as one of my first duties, I helped reorganize this giant closet and it was a Good Thing I was Just Helping because when someone asks me to reorganize,it means three words: Black Garbage Bags.

That wouldn't have gone over in this place where my character is suspicious because I don't sew. The funny thing is I betcha I'd sew like Fred Astaire could dance. I spent five years doing paste-up and mechanicals which is kinda like sewing paper-if you squint.

My first day at the lunch table, my boss led everyone in a kind remembrance of Gladys Wilson who had recently made her transition. Everyone was welcome to say a few words and one man said he would miss her Corn Casserole. It got around to me and since I'd never had the pleasure, I said, I was sorry I missed her but I would try and recreate the casserole in honor of Gladys.

When I got the book off the floor where it had fallen after bonking my head, I turned it over and like a message from the great beyond, it opened to the page entitled: Baked Corn Casserole by Gladys Wilson. "It's an omen" I said to Mary the ceramics lady who's job it was to remind me that throwing things out might be a bad move politically and we set up a secret code for things we thought were unfit for mantle placement. NMT meant Not My Taste which is nicer than making the throw up face. Do you not agree?

Tomorrow, I am going to start a program in which I get my artisans to work with the finest of materials. They are of the generation that saves string. This will not be easy. I've (inadvertently) studied many successful artists, and the ones who excel are the ones who work with the best stuff. I can think of Tiffany-in terms of his glass and the horse guy...what's his name? Remington. When they used the good stuff? They rocked.

I shopped for the ingredients this afternoon. I didn't get Oleo because I'm not sure what it is and I used a couple of green onions in place of the onion flakes but I'm hoping nobody will notice. I had to cook it tonight because it's so hot during the day, it would be animal cruelty to have the oven on.

It looks good. Wish me luck.

Minor Epiphany in Front of Our Lady Immaculate Conception Church

Within ten minutes of my eyes opening, we're on the sidewalk which leads to it's own type of adventure because I don't think I am completely awake until after we cross Washington Blvd. If it hasn't become obvious, I shall never be noted for my artful use of mascara and now that I have a multi-directional haircut? I don't even bother with a baseball cap.

I don't think it's nice manners for a dog to have to wait around to visit trees while their person applies concealer. If this qualifies Grantley as spoiled? Then I guess I shouldn't tell you that I let her sniff the individual groceries as I take them out of the bag because I never want her to suffer with the shrinking brain that comes from lack of stimulation. Not if I can help it.(And I hope she feels the same about me. Just for the record.)

So, we're on the second block headed north and Grantley, all of a sudden, stops and stares toward the street. On the other side of Scoville, there's a woman in a white hat with a white and black dog and she calls out: You know what your dog is looking at, don't you?

Remember I have just re-joined humanity from a night at Betty White's party(so to speak)so I reply with something severely eloquent like: Whut? (Which is a combination of duh and what. Try it. It's very useful especially around media law attorneys and cell phone salesmen.)

She gestures toward a bunny near the curb. I say: Oh. Yeah. She just wants to sniff them. (That's what she does. She likes to track them but she's never brought one home for dinner except for that one which we Do Not Discuss.)

Madame Chapeau-blanc says: That's what we'd like to THINK about our dogs, don't we? (As if Grantley is on some sorta ten most wanted list in the post office at Farmer McGregor's, ya know? Hate the crime, lady. Not the criminal.)

I thought Jaysus, Mary and Joooo-siff, I just woke up and it's startin' already. And I sent out an instant prayer that went a little something like this: Lord? Please do not let this brand of high ridiculocity be a theme for my day. Thanks very much/Sorry to bother You with my trivial crap/Amen. And we continued on our way but the consternation had already been implanted and my head was in a virtual tsunami worthy of the opening sequence of Hawaii 5-O.

My eyebrows were like knitting needles frowning about all the different things I had to do. Meet Lindsay by The Bean, go see Fran and Ed's new house of massage in Brookfield, new dentisting on Monday, get At Least One surface of my seven hundred work spaces cleared off(I went with the kitchen sink. An excellent choice.), plus this, that and the other and suddenly at the corner of Washington and Ridgeland, I thought: hey. Wait a doggoned minute. (See? I'm still channeling Mister Ned from Bozo's Circus).This madness is exactly the life you wanted to have.

And I thought, oh yeah/totally true.

I can't say that we skipped home but I also can't say that we didn't.

Hallelujah.

The Curse Continues

The Joker is actually dead and Batman got arrested and this morning Grantley got into it with a dog named April.

I wanted to sleep this morning which means I completely bonked awake a little after six. We strolled into the first dog park gate and headed through the second when this kind of reddish and black random-bred dog jumped Grantley kinda like what the cow did to the moon only way lower.

Dog altercations move extremely fast but it seems like when you watch them, it's all in slow motion. Gnashing of teeth/dust flying/heavy growling and that's not counting the sounds that come out of the dogs.

When an animal goes after my brown pet? This sound comes out of my mouth. I can't exactly explain it except to call it guttural and to warn you that if you hear that come out of me? Yeah uhh, I'd pretty much stand back if I was you. My friend, the humorist, Gary McCoy would call it opening a can of whoop-ass. It feels more like a case.

Another strange thing about these dog tussles is that you, as the human, walk away with all of this fight juice coursing through your veins. The dogs have been safely separated and it's you that wants to slug someone. So you yell something really random and stupid like the classic: I am rubber and you are glue. Or: Get off my property! No no, not that. It's more like, Hey you chucklehead! Why don't you keep your dog under control?!!

As if the other owner received one ounce of joy out of the situation. That's the hardest part, you're all mostly on the same pro-k9 team but their rule book is on back order from the common sense shop with no estimated date of delivery. You'd really like to provide sensible guidance and assistance to them. Right after you get done smacking them about the head.

I think Grantley is fine. She was covered in dog slime but like all mature females, her tolerance for senseless violence is non-existent.

Tomorrow, I think we'll sleep in.

Theaters Near You

This is a portrait of me watching my major motion picture debut today in my role as 'an evacuee' in The Dark Knight. I'm not really good at scary movies. If I have a choice for movies, I go with the twisty ones especially the ones I haven't already figured out from the previews or boring writing. This movie was very big and very loud and noisy but knowing what it takes to get any tiny thing accomplished, I don't know how anyone could dismiss this extravaganza. Plus you get to see the Brachs candy company building explode. I forgot to notice if Commissioner Gorden had a red phone as seen on TeeVee in the 60's. Or am I thinking of the Oval Office? It's late and I'm tired.

I give it several thumbs up and I believe I can permit my Mah to go see it because it's closer to a dark fantasy comic book thriller than random splattery violence. Plus she can do like I did and hide her eyes during the really scary parts. My Dad can go with the glancing away maneuver or as I did when I was 6 and watching a movie called 'Let's Scare Jessica To Death' from the front row of the theater, he can volunteer to go to the lobby and fetch additional Junior Mints.

Whatever works.

Crossing Scoville at South

It must have been about ten minutes after 7:00 this morning, we're three long blocks into our walk, crossing the street at South Boulevard and I look down and see I what I now recognize as a sign that I should have turned around and gone back to bed.


Was it that I had three minutes to get my blog from yesterday to have a live link and I knew it was gonna take me at least four and a half so I had to pull the whole thing down and that massively annoys me or was it that I had to give the boy-o from AT&T a stern talking to regarding some very not cool salesmanship he had performed just under one month ago (he actually said he was sorry. That's all I wanted.) or was it that I discovered that there are some new-to-me humans who drain energy from other people's life forces like you'd expect of a non-pubescent junior high school girl or oy, ya know?

Tomorrow is, as they say, another day. 54 minutes away and not a moment too soon in my opinion.


May the force be with you.
And as I trained my very coolest students to reply with:
And also with you.

Spam I am

One day last week I came home to this:

Or more specifically this:

Right there in my inbox, I had become spam.

Wow, huh?

If you register? They'll donate a dollar to support animal things and we're all about that.

http://www.powerofpaws.com/TellYourTail/HeroVideo.aspx?pet=dog&id=544

Someone once asked me if Grantley had any idea how lucky she was and I remember thinking it's me that has the luck.

Bigger picture? It matters not. Click the JOIN NOW, won't you?
Thanks.

On the Quilt

I had occasion to speak to one of those modern day-I was gonna say 'shyster' until I read this(from the free dictionary by farlex(http://www.thefreedictionary.com)).

shyster·ism n.
Word History: Calling someone a shyster might be considered libellous; knowing its probable origin adds insult to injury. According to Gerald L. Cohen, a student of the word, shyster is derived from the German term scheisser, meaning literally "one who defecates," from the verb scheissen, "to defecate," with the English suffix -ster, "one who does," substituted for the German suffix -er, meaning the same thing. Sheisser, which is chiefly a pejorative term, is the German equivalent of our English terms bastard and son of a bitch. Sheisser is generally thought to have been borrowed directly into English as the word shicer, which, among other things, is an Australian English term for an unproductive mine or claim, a sense that is also recorded for the word shyster.

Okay that's not the word I was hoping for (altho, whoa huh? I'm gonna use the home version of that board game-I have absolutely no doubt). But in the words of the immortal Mister Ned as he stood near the toe line of the Grand Prize Game, "Let's go again."

I had occasion to speak to one of those modern day 'man behind the curtain-types' (in that he charges you lots of money to point at your ruby slippers) which is what has become known as a 'life coach'.

He asked me what I really wanted to do and I said, "Umm everything."


He said I couldn't do that because what I'd end up doing was doing everything poorly.

I have to agree that I am not setting any kind of land speed records for getting my ibelieveinu.org website up. I wince when my cube dwelling sibling makes random commentary that goes something like, 'Ya think you might have it up by your birthday?' which would be like oh nine months later than I anticipated and stuff. But I'm also deliberately trying to sprinkle my Egg Beaters(egg substitute)into every different kind of basket because last time I didn't? I pulled a personal Humpty Dumpty that was a long time in the body shop.

This time? Because what I'm seeking is balance? I say 'yes' to everything which includes regular dedicated serious naps. An hour towards the middle lets me have the cool early morning bunny waking strolls and the late night blogs and I refuse to relinquish either one because knowing what I know now about the way things go? That would make me a complete scheissenhead.

Madison Street Again

So here's the finished product. Entitled: Still Life With Corgi


And, my assistant who is probably not nearly as sore as I am, because one of us works out at the YMCA three times a week and one of us went out dancing at an outpost of the AARP the night before, but that's a story for another day and I have 800 things to get done during this one and I'm on number 62.

Madison Street

My first semester of art school, we had to take foundation classes, one of which was painting. We were so desperate to be recognized as artists as we walked out of our dorky high schools and out into Manhattan, mostly all of us would try and get paint on our jeans.

Kind of the opposite effect of being cool, when you think about it, huh.

Tonight(aka: 80 jabillion years later) I was part of a chalk drawing/performing arts/street music entertainment section of an evening out on Madison Street in Forest Park. Me Dah was my co-pilot and ya wanna know something? We're getting sorta awesome at it. We leaned against my truck drinking bottled water like fools-it was so hot, my brain was sorta going casserole on me, ya know what I'm sayin'? We were laughing about our learning curve-since we end up doing this about once a year-not much trial to our error, agreed?

This fine art pastel is a section of my jeans. I meant to crop it but I think it's way too beautiful in the larger longer view. Plus, I've been waiting for this particular hunk of art to arrive naturally for a very long time.

Shampoo Bowl

Misunderstoodup (mĭs'ŭn-dər-stʊd'ŭp)

v.

Past tense and past participle of a broken same day social engagement which could only have resulted from a misunderstanding, right? I mean, the first meeting is way too early for the classic 'it's not you/it's me', no?

adj.

1. A mystical division of language regarding the initial meeting of a potential luv connection incorrectly understood or interpreted whereby one party hears "Saturday/I'll call you with the time", and the other party is actually saying,"Hey, let's reconnect on Saturday to make non-specific future plans especially not for this Saturday night."

2. The state a woman finds herself in, late on a Saturday afternoon as she sits with her skull covered in goo, in front of the immortal beauty shoppe shampoo bowl, with a wangled appointment, squinting in complete 'This can't be good' disbelief at the caller id display on her cellphone and unable to press 'answer' due to excessive head goo: a sorely misunderstood situation. An opportunity for more (sigh) personal growth.

Craft & Hobby Association Summer Convention Day 2

Remember those crazy, flowery, rubber bathing caps that those lumpy, veined, nude showering women you'd see (but try not to stare at) in the YMCA used to wear?

So, I'm thinking a wooly winter cap, right? Plastered with glamouously goofball felted roses of luv.

And oh yeah. A chin strap.

woo.

Craft & Hobby Association Summer Convention

I introduced The Shish to Nadia who is one of the kindest people I've met so far at the Lifelong Learning Center which lives within the Senior Citizens Center which lives within the Oak Park Arms in glamorous Oak Park, Illinois, 60302

She said, "So."

There was a long dramatic pause where she gazed at The Shish and The Shish gazed back in admiration. Kind people shouldn't be so few and far between and people shouldn't keep ending their sentences with negative statements about the economy and on hot summer nights, all firefighters all over the planet should be required to sit outside on park benches and pass out dog cookies the way ours do.

"Do I look" Nadia continued and I smiled because Nadia is from Egypt and The Shish is from the other side of North Avenue and one is on one side of 50 years old and one is on the other and here we all were, smiling together in a makeshift cafeteria in Rosemont, Illinois.

"like an antique?"
-------

No art tonight friends. We have to be ready to leave for Fabric Flower Making at 6:00 am. God bless us/God 'elp us.

Scoville/Upper Wacker

I went to see my lawyer on Monday.

I just looked at my check register and I had been waiting for that appointment since February 12th. I am the direct beneficiary of a program called Lawyers for the Creative Arts. A bit disconcerting from the get-go, because in the interplanetary department of volunteerism, I am normally the thankee. However, I did get to sample that orange government cheese in the 1980's but I would never, shall we say, have my own box, oui?

We talked about trademark and copyright and e-commerce.
Actually, I showed them my stuff and remember, when computers first came out and there were people who had entire conversations in this mysterious language like, 'oh I have to get a 492C90 plug re-generator because the 3456354fq5 fried my motherboard' and words/phrases to that effect? If you were me, you were doing a sort of a blink-blink-blinky thing pretending that you could possibly follow along if you only had a proper guidebook or maybe something like someone else's cranium? This felt a little bit like that.

In the presence of these two rock star attorneys, I felt like such a complete dullard (Altho thoroughly informed by the end. Believe me. I pity the fool that tries to put my TM in a circle. Suckas.). On the way back to the Green Line, I had to cross over the Chicago River on a wooden bridge and just for one second, I was so shaken by the entire experience, I kinda checked the depth of the water, like, hmmm, what if I was to hurl myself over this thing right now? It would be like James Deaning my business, right? It could never fail if it never really got tested, no?

I immediately noticed that the water wasn't very deep or chlorinated or umm clean and a few steps more and I spin-doctored my own thinking into something more along these lines: Self? I inquired. This horrible not knowing/dunce cap type feeling is a privilege ya big dummy and the reason it feels so uncomfortable is that the notion of 'comfortable' in this case is the enemy. Remember that cliche? (And at this point my self is completely rolling it's eyes like okay already Gandhi and oh by the way, can we get an iced coffee at Dunkin Donuts er whut?)

So, I re-chanted the familiar phrase: If you always do what you've always done, you'll only get what you've always got. Philosophy-wise, for now, we're gonna go with that. Besides, I had my brand new white with red gym shoes on and I don't want to get them wet.

This is a photo (I call it 'Baby's First Website') Le Shish (I made her French now. Cool, eh? For a photographer?) took as a favor to me. There are some children down the street and every summer weekend they have a lemonade stand that benefits a specific charity. This particular week, they featured art and they always have dog cookies at no charge to the pup which is good because designated walker carries no cash.

Ridgeland Near the Preschool

The other end of the 8 minute commute is the uninterrupted crack~o~dawn 45 minute dog waltz supreme.

This is a patch of those giant purple daisies where certain animals alert certain other animals that it's time to begin the day.

Tonight we* had a discussion about what kind of slippers bunnies would wear. Some days we find ourselves wildly amusing. Other days? Not so much.

Have I thanked you lately for stopping by?


*The Royal 'We'. Grantley is still not talking.

Anniversary

I remember reading that Charles Schulz was proud of the fact that he had done 8679453 dog strips and he never stooped to-shall we say uhhh dog 'bathroom- type' humor. Myself, I am proud of the fact that this is my 161st blog entry, whereupon I have yet to write from the point of view of my dog as well as use the word whereupon. Oops.

You can't have everything.

It's been a heck of a day, my lovelies. As I sat down to blog at 10:27, I said to Grantley, okay now, what am I going to blog?

She brought me this.


What a good doggie.

Broken Homes

Dogs can be jerks.



I don't think I ever knew that-just like I didn't know until I was driving 70 (or was it 180? Ahh I had 8 cylinders then)in Michigan to see my sainted Aunt Alice-that if there was a truck in the way of a sign I needed to see? I had the option of dropping back. I think until I figured that out? I missed a whole lotta signs.

I just never thought of dropping back as a strategy, I guess. Go fig-ya.

Last Sunday, we were at what Oak Park calls 'Dog Park Plus'. It's when they throw open the gate to two ball fields and a sledding hill for two hours and if you have a pass? Early weekend mornings are a virtual k9 jamboree. Party goers range from Sponge Bob the militant toy poodle from hell to Yogi, the loveliest newfie that will ever accidentally shatter your instep.

Last week Grantley got clocked.***

She was doing her traditional scoop De loop Corgi herding thing that she does so well before she permanently stretches out in the red dust of the eastern baseball field and a couple thugs decided she was getting a bit too uppity for their liking and as she made her final triumphant twirl of glory? Kablooie. A full body check that would make Tony Esposito wince in sympathetic agony. Pow. (See: Wide World of Sports-Agony of defeat.)

It's a strange feeling to watch some other being experience pain and we thought about this as we met an old friend for blunch* today. She's waltzing the minefield that is divorce American Style and there's part of that dance that you've just got to do by yourself and as I copied her method of salting her flour tortilla because I don't want to miss anything that might be really tasty, I said, "Eugenia**? Just keep your head down and push push push and get as numb as you have to as long as you focus on the other side."

People can really be jerks.

But you knew that.


*It was more lunch than breakfast.
**Not her real name either. It was that or Louisa Mae Alcott and that's been done.
*** She's fine. Lucky for them.

Kitchen Floor

I'm about to open a can of philosophical berries. Better stand back. This stuff stains.

A friend I had in the days of yore had a thang for shoes. Th-exy shoes. Nine foot high stilettos if she could, but she couldn't because she was cursed with (extra) special needs feet. I remember when she wanted to go to Eighth Street in the Village to look for new shoes and I went because I am a cheerful go-er-alonger if there's potential for jocularity or The Most Glorious encased snap-when-you-bite-it meat at Papaya King but this was before that, if I remember correctly.

She tried on all the shoes in existence and imaginary hands twirled on the clock and pages fell from wall calendars as hours turned into days or so it seemed. She couldn't pick.

"Yolanda?"I said,"When you know where you're going, you'll know which shoes to buy."

I looked at her and thought: Wow, where did that come from? She gazed up at me and thought, why is Ann calling me Yolanda? (Not her real name.)

This is a drawing from Grantley's first official work day on the job. I left her locked in a metal crate in the bedroom and returned home to find her nestled on the living room rug in a pile of my shoes.
I was thinking about stuff as I sorted through my life again today for next week's garage sale fethtival of luv and wondered how I collected so much. I think I had been preparing for every possible life possibility but now that I may have ascertained my general direction? I can release some of this stuff the way a hot air balloon drops sand bags and flies even higher than before.

(Please note: No dogs were harmed in this incident but one dog walking company was so fired their heads are probably still spinning.)

Stairway

I have an eight minute walking commute these days, so I can't be all fooling around. Naturally, my second day at my brand new gig, I couldn't find my keys in this whirlwind of pre-garage sale mania that is my home, so that took extra time and then I hit the stairs and ran right into Mr Cetin.

If I said he was an 87 year old Romanian man, someone else will most certainly come in and say he's Russian Deconstructivist or something. It's not that I don't care about people's heritages and stuff but okay yeah I kinda don't because it's umm really boring. It's also that I want to live on a planet where it doesn't matter where you're from so, I automatically drop unnecessary details(and often times even entire names)right out of my head. Ja-boink.

He spoke.

"A-cheers at the Jewel."

Me(and I am in a hurry so I'm polite but): Huh?

"A-cheers. No more."

"You're not at the Jewel anymore?" I inquired politely as I was trying to prevent my new crappy cell phone(that's actually the model they gave me)from meeting it's maker the way the last(half-decent)one did in the Great Water Bottle Moisture Bag Flood of July 2008.

Mr Cetin was a bagger and sometime cart wrangler. His 'Hello My Name Is' said 'Sulyman' but when I saw him I'd say 'Hey Mr Cetin!' because I have that whole respecting your elders thing going on and I'm afraid it's permanently embedded-not like those twerpy extortionists that live near my parentals and when they ask them to buy pricey gift wrap or glazed tinned popcorn for school fund raisers, they not only shock me with the price lists but also how they call my peeps by their first names.
I would have liked to see myself call Mr. or Mrs. Gutman or Mr. or Mrs. Bales by their first names. Like maybe on the way to my funeral that might have happened right after I attempted that manuver, ya know?
Sheesh.

"A-cheers. No more."

Did you quit? I asked.

He raised his brow. Yes, quis.

I corrected him. You quit.

Yes. Qui-i-i-i-ph.

No no. You ka-ah-wiT. With a tee. Quit.

This went on.

Qui-k.
No. Qui-TEH.
Qui---p.
Uh-uh. Ka-wit. Quit.
Yes, he'd agree. I quif.
No no no. You quiT.
Yes. I quif.

Right right right. I gave in because I had to go. You quif. And you know what? Their loss. Those jerks.

Tank you, he said and I went on my way.

I only waved as I passed the boys in the auto body shop.

I think they're from Greece.

Storm Front

Ode to Magritte.

Do Over-The Headlines

Pet owners prefer McCain over Obama*

(The pets, however, have their own opinions
regarding the reported results of this particular poll.)

The Headlines

Pet owners prefer McCain over Obama*

(*In households currently utilizing newspapers)

(Note: Ack! I don't think this is what I wanted to say at all! In the words of the immortal Magic 8 Ball: Reply Hazy Try Again.

The Sky

Every time I hear of someone dying, a few hours later I hear about someone else being born. Never fails.

Oberweiss

Is this how it starts?


We're walking and we see this high schooly/maybe college-ish girl exiting Oberweiss sipping a pink shake and I see her deliberately throw her straw wrapper on the ground and I say in my most just-fell-off-the-turnip-truck/I have only three active brain cells firing at the moment-like voice, "Hey! Did you accidentally drop something over there?"

I would like to say that she didn't completely ignore me but that is not the case.

Friday, we were out walking and there was a woman/dog combo just ahead and the dog stops and here was my opportunity to use my new line, "Hey! Ya gonna pick that up or what?"

It's a funny thing because I have always looked forward to feeling the amount of personal freedom it requires to speak up on behalf of the planet. I just had no idea it was going to happen so soon.

I guess you don't start actually chasing after the environment-trashing perps until after they issue you your cane.

All Over the Place

One of my Mah's best pals died last week. I read her obituary in the temporary office I set up this morning at the World Largest Laundromat. I am so overbooked with personal minutia, I set up shop everywhere I go. As I told my sister, Diana had an obituary and an article. That's big.

To explain her significance, when she would call? My Dad would pick up a really thick book because when Diana was on the line, the world spun a little slower or to put it more truthfully, it came to a complete screeching halt and that was okay because my Mah loved Diana and my Dad loves gigantic books. Mostly mysteries or those 700 page crime/thriller things but in a pinch-he'll take on a cereal box. I pity the fool who tries to talk to him within the last 5 pages.

Speaking of my very favorite spiritual destination The Worlds Largest Laundromat, I rescued a hunk of dog artistry from the Goodwill, gave it to someone as a gift and she instantly gave me something in return.

It was a wooden plaque with a sort of a bas relief silver colored metal profile of a dog on it. It was marked $2.99 and when I returned another day, it was still waiting to be adopted-so to speak-plus it was Blue Tag day-which means it was 1/2 price and I know two Vizsla's that bear a striking resemblance to this silver dog and okay, just like the doggie in the window, I felt sorry for it and at $1.50, the price was right. So, I snagged it up and presented it to Zsoli's person this very morning and we were chatting about how we were going to spend the day and I think because it was so nice out this morning, I inadvertently whined that I had to do laundry and she admonished me right on the spot. It was awesome.

She said, You make it sound like you have to go down to a river and use rocks.

I could only laugh.

V.L.W.*

We're walking and just like everyone else, when we walk, we say things like, "Wow, look at that purple flower." or "Okay, I'll take that house, which one do you want?" and words to that effect. The Shish stops and says,"What's that?" and naturally, I come back with the ever so brilliant retort: What's what?

"Over there." She points between two bushes about 100 feet away. "That."

Me now, squinting.

"Is it a cat?" because my internal cat flag says-no, it's emblazoned with the phrase: Don't Shed on Me. I do not understand the attraction of a pet that tears your flesh (unless your partner's name happens to be Seigfried) but that's just me. Live and let live (elsewhere) sardine breath. Nobody's stoppin' ya.

It's not a cat and it's moving. The Shish has been having some mysterious throat problem which is especially torturing her now, because she wants to call out to it and see why-what we now recognize as a dog-looks so wandery. Myself, because we're in front of what appears to be a mansion-ette? I figure they have that Invisible Fencing stuff and their pup is out for a permission-slipped doggy door-kind of field trip but since I have learned that apparently my way isn't always the best choice (Let's put it this way. One of us walked home with three goldfish in a plastic bag from the Fourth of July ping pong ball toss in Forest Park and one of us didn't(altho it must be noted that we both were Bingo losers in the financial gain sense/story~wise we're all winners on that one. See: tomorrow's post.) I say 'Hold Grantley and I'll go see'.

The furry one has now started towards the back yard and I'm standing there trying to decide if it looks like it knows where it's going. I know my loose neighborhood dogs and which doorbell to ring when they escape but because this is a Very Long Walk*, this isn't my 'hood.

I'm standing there mentally scratching my head-or maybe I was really scratching my head because I got a haircut today and I have so much pomade on my head, I could be arrested for impersonating a scented candle-and up rips this minivan with the Dad calling: Do you see a dog? And up flies the Mom on a bike and the Dad calls to the pup and we are all treated to a family reunion the likes of which you will only see near international flights at the airport and there's even a tiny little boy looking very relieved in the van and I'm standing there deflecting the joy back to the appropriate receiver by pointing to The Shish and Tinkle who are both smiling from down the street.

Sometime life just blogs itself, no?

Final Frontier

When I croak and I hope it doesn't happen until I'm completely done having fun and I still haven't been to Vegas yet, I think a nice descriptive epitaph would go a little something like this: She was never smart enough to grasp that she wasn't suppose to be a: _____and this space will be filled in by my heirs which will most likely be corgi mixes who are able to write or at least keyboard reasonably well________.

If there is a reoccurring theme to my existence and I am seriously starting to see some massive patterning here, it has to have something to do with these continually groundbreaking chunks of foolishness and by pointing that out, I'm not trying to draw attention to my advanced spectacularity or pretend that I am, as they say, 'all that'(altho my Mah thinks I'm kinda cool), it's just that I keep finding myself in places-oh like looking sideways at MK and The Shish and Grantley was we marched up Ridgeland Avenue as workofarf.com in the 4th of July parade or making my major motion picture debut in Batman or on a corporate gum testing panel or....I dunno. Ask me where I've been lately, ya know?

Anyway yeah, something like...She was too dumb to know she wasn't supposed to take gigantic chances and do better than survive. Or words to that effect.

No rush on that editing gig, tho. I still haven't been back to Mackinac Island yet, and I would like to go.

We(the Royal we)have been running straight thru from 7:00 AM and so no art tonight. Stay turned for some parade photos when Bob sends em over.

Oooh and a shout out to the troops. It crossed my mind about 800 times today, the sacrifice of our soldiers allows the rest of us to enjoy unlimited funnel cakes in peace and with powdered sugar. Be careful out there, won't you?

Under Construction

Today I made some coffee, breakfast and lunch, some new friends and a gigantic mess. I made Mary Next Door crack up laughing before she made homemade potato salad and gave some to me. Grantley and I made our way around the 'hood a couple of three times. We helped make our presentation for tomorrow's parade and the only thing left is to make some of these.

Curbside

I went on a date tonight.

I just about busted a gut laughing at myself. I have lived alone-I mean with myself-for so long and I have so many projects going on that as I was madly cleaning up dog hair tumbleweeds and 4th of July parade entires and whatnot, I didn't think to have a cleared off spot for my gentleman caller to sit.

It's the best when you crack your own self up, no? You're like, hey who's overtaken my free will/skull here, huh?

Oy yoy yoy. Shaking my head.

I don't think I have enough external drama for this guy but I had a very nice time and my most gossippy neighbor was watching as I rode off on the back of this dudes motorcycle and that's gotta count for something, right? In the cosmic scope?

And now that I've got a clean chair...

711 Lake Street

"Ya know," I sez to The Shish because I've been listening to the soundtrack from Guys and Dolls and I've started to talk funny. "If we get everything we're after, we're gonna have to lose some of what we've got, no?"

"OhmyGod." says The Shish because that's the way she says it and if you spend any length of time around her, you will too. "You know? You're right."

Last night at our traditional board of directors meeting, for one trustee? Manna actually fell from the sky.

Okay, it wasn't officially manna, it was more like ENRICHED BLEACHED FLOUR (WHEAT FLOUR, MALTED BARLEY FLOUR, NIACIN, REDUCED IRON, THIAMINE MONONITRATE, RIBOFLAVIN, FOLIC ACID), UNSALTED BUTTER (CREAM [FROM MILK]), CREAM CHEESE (PASTEURIZED MILK AND CREAM, CHEESE CULTURE, SALT, CAROB BEAN, XANTHAN GUM, GUAR GUM), CHEDDAR CHEESE, PASTEURIZED WHOLE EGGS, SALT, SEASONED SALT (SALT, SUGAR, SPICES [INCLUDING PAPRIKA AND TUMERIC], ONION, CORN STARCH, GARLIC, TRICALCIUM PHOSPHATE [ANTI-CAKING AGENT], PAPRIKA OLEORESIN [FOR COLOR], NATURAL FLAVOR, SOY LECITHIN), ANCHO CHILI POWDER and CHILE DE ARBOL POWDER but please don't tell Grantley because I want her to keep believing that once in a while, if you stay open without giving up that tiny internal twinkling glimmer of hope? Good things can and do, just completely fall out of the sky.