The current administration is inspiring to artists. Magazine covers would be dull indeed were it not for unrest and ignorance and politics. I, for one, could use a little peace and quiet. But these are exceedingly clever. When do we get to look back on this time as a brief nightmare in history?
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
Earlier this summer I went on a bit of a rant about a certain type of garment. My fashion challenged self has recently learned that these are called cold shoulders tops/sweaters/dresses. I still think it's a dumb idea. We'll wear anything, won't we?
Sunday, August 13, 2017
I am tickled pink to tell you that I have found a bathtub. A deep, soaking, pedestal bathtub. Not only will it fit in my tiny bathroom, it will fit through my minuscule twenty-four inch bathroom door! This means that very little destruction will be necessary for next year's bathroom redo. The website won't let me swipe pics, so a link to the pics will have to do. Only one more winter without comforting, steamy baths. This knowledge leaves me deeply happy.
This is free speech, girls and boys. Hateful and vile as it can be, white supremacism is alive and well in this country today. And I don't care if this image is photoshopped. It illustrates so well how people of color have been mistreated here in stark and painful candor. In the background, we see the ugly underbelly of anger and hatred revealed. In the foreground we see the integrity, tolerance, and professional demeanor of a police officer who happens to be black. This is a shameful and revealing moment, captured with succinct bluntness, either by a witness to the event or a photo editor who wanted to make a point. Either way, shame on any American who supports or applauds this sort of behavior.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
I've gotten in trouble for this on social media, but only with people who aren't aware of my personal story. So. I'll admit this freely. I have an inherent mistrust of men with a Southern accent. This distrust has its roots in the fact that my father is from Mississippi. His mellifluous way of speaking is initially disarming, it makes you drop your guard and listen intently. Initially would be the operative word here. After a while, no matter how charming the delivery, when you listen to the words the whole thing falls flat. Because it has become clear that his words and his actions have a serious disconnect. He flat out lies. About anything and everything. According to my dear departed mother, he was in the habit of telling a lie when the truth would serve him better. The thing with my dad is that he confessed to me in a boozy haze when I was nineteen that he was completely aware of the fact that he was a liar. That he could charm people to get whatever he wanted. Charm them. Tell them what they wanted to hear. This seemed to be less an unburdening of the conscience than a boastful description of a magical quality he was blessed with. This information sank into my teenage brain only to surface on pretty much every subsequent occasion when I had a conversation with my father. I recognized that he had given me a valuable gift. I had a filter to pass every word through that he told me from that point on. And like it or not, I recall what he has told me in his Southern accented voice, and I associate that sound with the lies contained within. I am happy to say there are a number of men from the American South that I love and trust. Exceptions to the rule are my dear Papa Larry, President Jimmy Carter, and Vice-President Al Gore. Lately my red flags have been flying like crazy! Every time I hear the current Attorney General speak I narrow my eyes and want to scream. Maybe he's a liar, or maybe he just has a poor memory. Maybe he's just not all that bright. All I know is, Southern accent or not, the content of what he says is laden with enough narrow-minded, discriminatory ideas that if enforced, are capable of setting us all back a century or more. I don't know about you, but this isn't the sort of time travel I'm interested in experiencing.
Monday, August 7, 2017
In my second afternoon of paint scraping it started to rain. The cooler weather is conducive to the task. The rain, however, is not. Except that it gets in under the paint that's still there and helps loosen it up. But then leaves the wood soft and vulnerable to damage from the scraping tools. Tomorrow is another day. I have chosen colors in the event that I ever get around to the actual painting. A nice creamy beige in a shade to coordinate with the brick on the house for horizontal surfaces accented with white for the vertical components. A similar paint job will be executed on the garden shed. I'm still committed to painting the front door a deep red. Maybe purple? Okay, so I'm not so committed. A pox on anyone who even considers throwing latex paint on top of a stained surface. I have earned a beer.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Allow me to interrupt your Saturday morning with this fascinating bit of information. You know that debilitating pain you suffer when eating ice cream or drinking an ice-chilled beverage too quickly? It's called ice cream headache by some, brain freeze by others. But the correct, scientific term for this phenomenon is sphenopalatine ganglion neuralgia. Trying to pronounce that is enough to make your brain hurt.
Friday, August 4, 2017
Somebody is toying with the algorithms. That's my not so educated guess. Some days I check my stats much too much. It's a distraction from weeding or cleaning up the mess in the kitchen or scooping cat poop. Gee, I wonder how many page views I have? Or, which post is leading in views? Earlier this week, I woke up to more than four hundred overnight page views! That was pretty exciting. The next couple of days were average numbers-wise, but then yesterday we were stuck at 200 all afternoon. Which made me refresh the page numerous times. Because you never know, clicking on the refresh button might actually do something to nudge the numbers along. Today's grand total was fifteen. Fifteen! Pitiful. Just pitiful. If it's accurate! And two and a half hours into the next day, we are stuck at 2. Two! Good grief, Charlie Brown! Get this sorted so I can be less obsessed. Thank you.
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Yes, it's plastic. Some sort of arachnid/ant hybrid thingy. Still, it freaked me out plenty when I fed Newton this afternoon. Because I didn't see it until the container was open and my hand was much too close to the ungodly thing. There. Right there. Of course I slammed the lid back on and latched it as quickly as an old woman having a heart attack is able to. I'm fine now. Really.
Behold! A lawn of dwarf clover! Foot friendly, drought and disease resistant, low maintenance, easy to grow, chokes out weeds! Once considered a noxious weed, dwarf clover is becoming popular as a lawn plant. This is the answer to my dead backyard lawn. All I need to do is hire someone to come in and level out the ground and the rest I will be able to do. Are you weary of caring for a traditional, high-maintenance lawn? Here is where I found information. I'll let you know how this goes, though to be honest, it sounds almost too good to be true.