Conversations with Mom: Birthday Dinner

A standard conversation with Mom (and by "standard," I mean non-cohesive, illogical, and frustrating [for both parties]) in which Mom double-binds me by asking where I would like to go for my birthday dinner, then nixing my choices. This video addresses two of the four restaurants I chose, and takes place AFTER she had changed the schedule from evening to daytime, and from Friday, to Saturday (with a possible Sunday), all without consulting or telling me (making any other social arrangements for me quite challenging).

The Innocence of Childhood

Happy Christmafestihannukwanzukavus

Find more artists like Hand Bob the Spoon at Myspace Music

Uhmm...yeah. What they said.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEPH!

I DO wish the video quality was better, but this still made me laugh. Happy birthday, friend. I hope it's grand.

Picasso: Happy "Other World" Birthday, Schnickelfritz!

This is the anniversary of the day you were reborn to doggy heaven. I miss you so very much. You were my best friend and the most snuggly partner one could ever desire. You were downright silly, compassionate, gentle, hyper-playful, mellow-loving, and more gracefully dairy-cow-splotched than I could have ever wanted in a life mate!

You were the EPIC Doggy of Doggies.

The goofiest, lip-stuck-on-the-tooth, head-tilted, tail-wagging, most spotted One of Ones for me.

I even made a "toon" in your honor.

I was fully intent on getting a (calm) female. But...well, there you were in all your goofy glory....and I fell in love.

You were the "odd" one of the bunch. All the others of the litter were busy fighting for food; you, once challenged, went to your mom's dish instead and let them rumble amongst themselves.

I thought I would lose you when you exploited your newly-found ability of walking on your hind legs and discovered the Cylert I had set on the kitchen counter to return to the pharmacy (as it didn't help me [and, oddly, there was a refund offer from the pharmacy...seriously]). Thankfully, you survived (although that was quite the Stevie Wonder act you performed--wow!).

And you stuck by me through thick and thin (and there has been a lot of both this past decade) for a very long, healthy doggyhood.

And you truly enriched my life.

You were patient and unconditionally accepting. You were amusing. You were beyond amazing. I cannot imagine loving another. Not like I did you.

You were "it" for me.

I will miss you for as many days as I have left.

Greatly.

BlahhhhhhG: on OCDers, Formatting, and Poetry

I'm not liking that I cannot customize my poetry.  

Much of my poetry is also expressed visually in how I lay out the words, the colors, fonts, etc.  Apparently, this blogger utility is not able to accomodate such details.  In fact, I can't even put extra spaces/tabs in without the program deleting them. I've put some poetry "out there" sans this formatting, but it's really starting to bother me.  /sigh

Anyway, to my (2...lol) followers:  please forgive all the posts, deletes, and reposts if you're getting notices as I try to sort this out!

Thank you.

~The Management

The Door

Guča Trumpet Festival--Miles Away

I found a new Someday.  /cheer

Supposedly, Miles said of this festival, "I didn't know you could play trumpet that way." 

Now, as an artist and former professional musician, that's speaks miles to me (volumes, I know, but it's so hard to avoid oppuntunities when they arise, so I went with it!).  Miles was a creative guy (obviously), and thus inclined toward experimenting/exploring.  He was clearly no conformist (even within the social "confines" of the non-conforming jazz world).  After all, how many beboppers (esp. those from the original 50's era) tucked the younger generation under their wings and mentored them to the point of accepting (adopting, even) their newfangled, electronic, "noisy" forms? 

(That was initially intended to be rhetorical, but...well, those who know and love me are mostly gentle, patient [longsuffering?] sorts, so....) 
My answer: relatively few.  To be clear, though, I am not at all placing judgment on those that don't/didn't choose to actively pursue mentoring others.  In fact, I believe an artist is not ethically bound to formally teach others (although, by default, most artists do, at minimum, teach by example and/or the work(s) they produce [even if said work(s) has/have a limited audience {and even if the artist him/herself is the sole audience}]).  

I personally choose to not place boundaries around artists, confining them to a set of social qualms--boxing them up in neat packaging--to make them or their work more palatable to others.  I prefer instead that they be palettable (new word!): the world is the rigid palette, and the artists are the malleable colors--not malleable to the world/palette, mind you (as they are often as oil is to water), but in their capacity for an infinite variety of expression.  And, after all, isn't a very large part of the point (as regards cogency and objective) of art to be boundless?

Okay.  Back to Miles.  Miles was not just a "player," but a true artist at heart, and one who matured in his art form.  He was not merely technically competent, but was one whose very soul reached out of the bell of his "axe" and grabbed all who listened--who truly listened (not just heard or analyzed).  I'm referring to attentive, focused listening in a peaceful environment (sans distractions).  I am convinced that anyone who (inter)actively listens to Miles play, will be changed. 

Like any artist, Miles touched the heart and soul of the recipient.  He could play a fast run, a humorous riff, or just float an airy, distorted note precariously over the changes.  He chatted; he coerced; he joked; he prodded; but, no matter what he said, it was true-blue to the soul....and haunting, as if his soul understood yours and was speaking directly to it. 

Yes, Miles certainly was capable of opening a can of bebop whoopass and passing it around.  But he didn't have to once established....and he preferred, it seems to me, to actually express.  To me, that's what art is.  Jazz is art.  And the true-blue (not just Kind of Blue) essence of jazz is improvisation (spontaneous expression). 

So....if Guča was good enough for Miles, then it MUST be interesting, and I wanna soak it up!

Guča's 50th anniversary is scheduled for August 13-22, 2010. My birthday's that week as well, so how amazing would that be?!  (I'll happily and humbly accept donations and/or travel partners for the trip!)  /fantasize

Sedition and the State of Life

"What manner of life is this," I ask,
"That entreats Wisdom without
Experience?"

"Death It is.
Death:
to Honor; to Piety;
to Justness and Propriety; and
yet Vile
Not to Self."

What is Valorous ceases
to exist in the animation of the
Living Dead:
afraid of Accountability's burden.
lazy reasoning.
unkempt Existence.

Numb to Their own reality:
slumbering unto Their demise,
They are deaf to deliberation...
but not otherwise
Dumb.

Pat the Fly with Window and Bamboo

Well, it seems old Pat, here is a bottle fly.

Hexapoda > Diptera > Calliphoridae
Calliphora vicina Robineau-Desvoidy, 1830

Many (if not most) bottle flies are SHINY, with metallic hues (mostly blues and greens, though bronzes exist also).

Not so with Pat. Dull, dull, dull...

Nope...couldn't be tormented by a shiny, colorful bottle fly; had to be a dull one. /sigh