FRIDAY NIGHT MUSIC: AL STEWART AND PETER WHITE "ON THE BORDER"

From 2011 benefit, a nicely stripped down version from 1976 "Year of the Cat" album. Peter White (at right) played on the album. These proper English geezers still have it and rock out.

Al Stewart was a much played and admired artist amongst myself and my roommates in the Omega Hotel. It inspired my bud Lowell to go out and by himself a guitar and take a couple of Spanish-style guitar lessons.

1000 DRONE SHOW AT BURNING MAN 2022

Very cool. The drone movement reminds me of the murmuration of Starlings that I posted a while back.

GARDEN PUT TO BED FOR THE SEASON

 

LAST NIGHT'S DINNER GUESTS

 

Hawk and one of this year's stampy kits

Handsome Cooper's Hawk, note his natty school bus yellow feet.

We were just sitting down to supper last night when we were surprised by a couple of guests in the back yard: a young Stampy and a Cooper's hawk. Even more surprising was how long they stayed, probably 15 minutes. All other critters made themselves scarce because of a world class predator in their midst. Oddly, young Stampy seemed oblivious-it just went about its business scrounging up some seeds under the feeder. Mr Cooper did a bit of preening, evidently was taking a break after a long day of hunting. Finally, Stampy wandered off under the honeysuckle. Coop turned around, bent over, raised up the rear of his wings like a gentleman lifting the tails on his morning suit and let loose a vigorous, long white stream. He glanced over at us as if to say "Hey, hawk fertilizer is primo!" and flew off.

A note of concern: we haven't seen Sky squirrel in a couple of weeks. I thought perhaps his missing tail fur had grown back and I was mixing him up with Bhadra but we have only seen two squirrels in the back yard recently. Izzy's tail has grown luxurious, no doubt in part to the daily dose of peanuts that she begs for, prairie dogging and practically knocking at the slider door with her tiny fist. "Please sir, more peanuts." Stay tuned.

FIVE SECOND STORIES

Trees are turning color these days, some are doing so in a gradual, overall manner. Some, have just a swatch of color in an otherwise monochrome canopy, like how some gentlemen get an area of silver grey in front or on one of their temples. Extreme version: Paulie Walnuts from "The Sopranos".

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He had an affinity for bossa nova music-melancholy and sweet like bitter ice cream.

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A grand troupe of apes, co-workers, met for lunch at a sports bar. It was quite a busy, popular place and they had taken two booths on either side of an aisle in the back. Soon, the room filled with testosterone and the F-bomb was thrown freely as beers flowed while they waited for food. Speeches were given by men on their feet, expounding to their seated colleagues. A couple of late arrivals-a guy in his 50's and a younger man in his 30's. The older man found a seat with his buds but the younger guy ended up in an adjacent booth by himself, his back to the rest. He looked quite dissimilar to the rest-a GQ-short-cropped salt and pepper beard, hair that was short on the sides with a thick swoop of Elvis hair on top. Big, black-rimmed glasses. He sat for for a while, looking at his phone while food and more beer arrived and more speeches were given. Finally, without invitation, he pivoted to one of the booths and requested a seat. His wish was granted as one of the men scooted over, without comment or interruption of the many conversations.

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It was the constant upgrading, ever-changing technologies that frustrated and at times overwhelmed them. Far too complex to really understand and the time investment involved to do so made them shudder. The younguns got it, though.

For the couple, it was yet another reminder confronting them daily that they were getting old. It was beginning to assault them on several fronts: mental, physical, intellectual, spiritual, situational, values, the self and the mirror told the tale every day. Everywhere they went, the world revolved around the damn cell phones and The Apps. They had to request a paper menu in restos because they didn't have an Iphone to read a fucking QR code that many establishments used. Paper maps were practically obsolete. Casual conversations often meant explaining references and lifelong common phrases to blank-faced recipients.

It was all wearying as the speed of life kept ramping up but despite all this, they managed to stay resilient. Sleeping was craved more and more and so delicious when successful. Waking up to another day made for a feast to be enjoyed and savored.

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British military salutes from left: Air Force, Army, Navy

Why the British Navy's salute is different from other services? Because during the Age of Sail, sailors hands were filthy, covered with tar and pitch from the rigging. Legend has it that these dirty hands upset HRH Victoria while reviewing the troops and she decreed that the salute be changed. 

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The couple next door are spiraling inward and down. He is 87 and she is a few years younger. She has been progressively, painfully, chronically ill with a variety of ailments for the past 8 years with no remedy or hope in sight. Once a gregarious person who loved being out and about with people, she now rarely is able to leave the house. All of this has turned her into a screechy harridan, lashing her fury at her husband, who has developed a pronounced hump.

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It's curious living with a species so quiet beside you that you can turn your head and return to find that they have  disappeared.

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Corporate insanity I encountered the other day at a local Chipolte: you cannot walk in and order a quesadilla at the counter. This can only be done via the drive-thru. WTF

 

 

CURWOOD CASTLE

Finished in 1924 in Owosso Michigan, this replica of an 18th Century French Chateau served as a writing studio and meeting place for hometown author James Oliver Curwood. Born in 1978, Curwood studied journalism at U of M before turning to wilderness adventure writing following the tradition of Jack London. Many of Curwood's stories are set in the Canadian Northwest Territories and often used animals as the protagonist. By 1922, he was very wealthy from the success of his writing and subsequently built his Castle. Curwood died in 1927 as the result of a septic bite or sting suffered during a fishing trip in Florida. He bestowed the Castle to the city of Owosso in his will and today it serves as a museum open to the public.

CURIOUS ALBUM ART: FLEET FOXES "SUN GIANT" 2008

 

This cover is a photoshopped amalgam of several photographs by Sergey Prokudin Gorsky who pioneered color photography in Russia in the early 1900's.

The original foreground:

 

BAT SHIT CRAZY

This type of divination used to be the stuff of comedy. Now we have a former President of the United States claiming such abilities.

Amidst his ongoing battle over possession of classified documents after leaving the White House, the Roach told Sean Hannity that Presidents can declassify documents "even by thinking about it." For me, this signals a new manifestation of his deepening mental illness. None of this will faze his rabid MAGA supporters whatsoever: many of them believe that their lives are governed by a supernatural force, with whom they believe they can communicate with.They also believe that Roach was sent by said supernatural force. Therefore for these folks, it is entirely logical that Roach would possess such abilities. 

Meanwhile in Italy, Giorgia Meloni, the hard-right, Nationalist, post-Facist leader who is likely to be the next prime minister of Italy, is a huge Hobbit fan. In her youth, she dressed the part and joined in numerous cos-play events. As a politician, she has integrated LOTR into her ideology declaring that the book series is sacred text. “I think that Tolkien could say better than us what conservatives believe in,” said Ms. Meloni. In Italy for the past half-century, LOTR has been a central pillar upon which descendants of post-Fascism reconstructed a hard-right identity, looking to a traditionalist mythic age for symbols, heroes and creation myths free of Fascist taboos. 

Crazy stuff like this is happening all over the world and people believe, reinforcing the famous PT Barnum quote "There's a sucker born every minute." 

PS. Meloni indeed has become the PM of Italy.

SUMMER'S LAST HURRAH

                                                                                                                    Faye Lendels

We had a series of thunderstorms late yesterday afternoon bringing much needed rain with 1.5" at my home gauge. Driving rain, hail, not much wind but very intense lightning, the most I have seen in quite awhile. We were lucky the power stayed on. As the final storm slid past, the setting sun turned the Eastern clouds to orange with a rainbow much like depicted above. We had another series of brief storms today at mid-morning and the temps and humidity later were both in the 80's. This could very well be the final 80 degree temps of the year.

For some reason I had never heard of Meteorological Fall, which began on September 1 while astronomical Fall, the Equinox, begins on September 22. Astronomical Fall is associated with the seasons and is based on the sun. Meteorological Fall is temperature based. 

It was as if Summer put on a final show as a reminder to us all of the awesome power it is capable of. Drought, storms, while we influence the conditions that create these events by our actions/inactions but ultimately, like so many things, it is out of our control.

 

THE FINAL DAYS OF SUMMER

The last tomatoes

 

 

 

Callas, peppers and coleus.

The East Garden, monarch buffet

We now have four monarchs, they are all in this photo. Like the kids puzzle magazine at the doctor's office, can you find them?

Yesterday, I saw a couple winging their way under the birch heading for the East Garden.

THE CARPENTERS: "DRUSCILLA PENNY"

 

From 1971 written by John Bettis and Richard Carpenter. With strictly Richard on the vocals, this dreadful song seems to be a send up of hippie music and the counter-culture in general. The title and substance feels like Richard is pointing to the Beatles "Eleanor Rigby", "Penny Lane", "She's Leaving Home" further signalling the reference by starting the song with what sounds like a harpsichord, which was in popular use at the time. Poor Druscilla is not thought well of, at least not by the adults.

Druscilla Penny what a name.
Are you sure you didn't make it up yourself.
You're very pretty, yes you are, but with all the junk you wear it's hard to tell.

 

Man you must work hard to get your hair to look like that.
I don't need a horoscope to tell me where you're at.
Your family's probably given up on you
Since you began to follow groups of long - haired rock and rollers.
I can hear your mother crying for her daughter
Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah

 

Druscilla Penny what a girl.
Where's the purpose to the crazy life you lead.
It doesn't matter after all you're so sure that instant love is all you tell.

 

I've seen your face at least a thousand times,
You're always standing there behind the stages at the concerts.
Waiting for an offer to be with someone after.
Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah

 

Druscilla Penny how's your head.
Do you ever wake up lonely in the night.
It isn't easy, for a girl when she can't decide if love is wrong or right.
I hope I live to see a change.
Could you ever really love, ever really care?
Ever really get it together?
No!

 

This song reads a litany of complaints by the Moral Majority, ragging on how those damn kids dress and their long hair, stupidly believing in horoscope (instead of Jesus), making their mamas cry because they're groupies and engaging in sex outside of marriage. In the end-will they get it together: NO! They're doomed by the wages of their sins! As C quipped, it is no wonder The Carpenters were invited to Nixon's White House to perform.  Nice and wholesome like a glass of white milk. Hello Wisconsin!

A VISION THAT MOVED AN ENTIRE PEOPLE WESTWARD (NON-EUROPEAN )

 

The Ojibwe originally lived near the mouth of the Saint Lawrence River. A prophecy containing a vision of a floating seashell referred to as the sacred miigis, warned the Ojibwe that they needed to migrate westward, otherwise the people would perish. According to oral histories, this trek may have taken hundreds of years. At the Straits of Mackinac, the channel of water connecting Lake Huron and Lake Michigan, the vision ended, and the Anishinabe divided into three groups. One group, the Potawatomi, moved south and settled in the area between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron. A second group, the Ottawa, moved north of Lake Huron. A third group, the Ojibwe, continued westward and settled along the western shore of Lake Superior. The vision that told them to search for their homeland in a place “where the food floats on water.” The Ojibwe recognized this as the wild rice they found growing around Lake Superior, and they settled on the sacred site of what is known today as Madeline Island, part of the Apostle Islands east of Duluth. By the 1600's they were well established across the Great Lakes region when the French fur traders arrived.

Miigis shell

 

 

 

FIVE SECOND STORIES

 

A rare event: encountering a turkey in flight. Today driving home on a road often frequented by turkeys, I had a hen fly off in front of the car, traversing the length of the windshield, barely. I doubt a male could have done it. They're essentially a bowling ball with wings. 

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The celery sticks had been in the water container for about 10 days. C inquired if they were still edible and found their opinion was split 50/50:

A. Never better! We can go a couple more weeks, boss!

B. For the love of Christ, release us from this watery hell! Consume us and deliver us into our vegetable destiny!

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A 70's sitcom that never made it into production: The Angry Rabbi. The main character, a loud angry Rabbi, drives everyone nuts with his obsessing over what Christianity has borrowed from Judaism. Think Frank Constanza. Per the trend of the times, there was a punch line in each episode with the Rabbi screaming:  "Something else they stole from us!!!"

Oi vey! 

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Seen during lunch: a standard of most restos these days are TV's usually tuned to some sports station with the volume off, thank goodness. Commercials can be interesting without the words because in adworld images reinforce language. One particular ad was hawking male testosterone supplements. Of course, the pitchman was some beefy current/retired player that I did not recognize-not surprising because I'm not a sports fan. He's walking down the middle of a suburban street (in real life some hysterical, pearl clutching white woman woulda called the cops because there's this black man walking down her street) past all sorts of middle-aged guys having all sorts of issues...like a gnarled up garden hose. Evidently, this product will enable him to kick some hose ass screaming "There you go Mother Fucker!" because he forced 30 feet of rubber into a proper coil. Yep, a good dose of aggression and healthy, regular erections is a solution to many of life's frustrations when you're an older dude here in America. I reckon it's marginally better than alcohol, meth or a hand gun. 

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Perks of living with a writing professor who is a voracious reader: We were watching BBC's 1995 version of "Pride and Prejudice" and the word "bold" was used. She commented that in Ireland (where she taught in Summers) and probably throughout the UK, "bold" when used in reference to a child or teen meant that the adult speaker thought that the youngun was being naughty. "You're being bold, Lydia!" for example.

TUCSON RATTLESNAKE TALES

 

Blacktailed rattlesnake

 

Out of the sixteen varieties of rattlesnakes found in the US, twelve live in Arizona and six in the Tucson area. A couple of tales from brother Mike who has lived there since 1980:

Mike was an avid cyclist for years but one had to be prudent where and when hit the road. A favorite route was up in Sabino Canyon NE of his home. One hazard was rattlesnakes who would venture out at the end of the day onto the pavement to soak up that day's lingering heat. Best as he and his buddies could to avoid them, sometimes the snakes would lash out at their bikes. One evening, he arrived home after a ride and discovered a severed head and about a foot of torso caught in his spokes-the remnant of an angry rattler.

A high-end hotel chain built a new property up in the foothills north of town. Someone from corporate either didn't do their homework and/or ignored advice from the locals. The first Spring hotel workers and guests discovered to their horror that the parking lot was literally crawling with rattlers. It seems the company built the hotel on an ancient rattler breeding ground.

Rattlers during cold weather brumate which is similar to hibernation but the creature does not conk out for months at a time. Instead, rattlers will sleep a lot, become less active and their metabolism slows down tremendously. As the weather warms up, the become more active and often are cranky until they feed. Then, they're in the mood for luv.

MORNING SKY AT THE HOUR OF MY BIRTH

 The eastern sky at 4am, September 16, 1954, Lansing MI

GRUMPY MADAME

 

Madame had a rough day yesterday. During a scritch session, she complained about the numerous noise violations in the neighborhood and in our house. First, it was quite upsetting to have strangers in all our yards, making noise and hammering on the house (the eaves installer had finally arrived). Of course, there was the daily intrusion from those yapping mutts across the street who were hollering because people next door were having a garage sale. Then those hooligan young squirrels were running around constantly and squealing. For hours. Then Mom stupidly throws out those damn peanuts (why encourage these tree rodents??!!) and a big Blue Jay came and fetched one like a dog. He then goes high in the birch to brag about it (quite loudly). Another Jay to the East hollers back and the two engage in a raucous duet that went on and on. Merde! My nerves!

"There, there darling" I responded as I gave her a nice forehead stroke. "It's quiet now, I have soothing music on. Even the dogs have shut up. Mom made you a tasty supper. Time to chill." Madame gave me two licks on my forearm. "I love you, too", I replied.

PHOTOGRAPH FROM SEPTEMBER 11: POEM BY WISLAWA SZMBORSKA

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                     Marty Lederhandler

They jumped from the burning floors —
one, two, a few more,
higher, lower.

The photograph halted them in life,
and now keeps them
above the earth toward the earth.

Each is still complete,
with a particular face
and blood well hidden.

There’s enough time
for hair to come loose,
for keys and coins
to fall from pockets.

They’re still within the air’s reach,
within the compass of places
that have just now opened.

I can do only two things for them —
describe this flight
and not add a last line.

 

THE LOST TOWN OF SINGAPORE MICHIGAN-A CAUTIONARY TALE OF ENVIRONMENTAL DESTRUCTION

 

Founded in 1836 and home of Michigan's first schoolhouse, Singapore was built by a land speculator who hoped that he could created a port city to rival Chicago and Milwaukee. It was located on the Lake Michigan shoreline near present day Saugatuck at the mouth of the Kalamazoo river. After fires swept through Chicago, Holland, Peshtigo and Manistee in late 1871, the area around Singapore was almost completely deforested supplying lumber for rebuilding. Without the protective tree cover, the winds and sands coming off Lake Michigan quickly eroded the town into ruins and within four years had completely covered it. The town was finally vacated by 1875 although a legend has persisted about one man who refused to leave his home. He entered and left his house via a second story window and stayed until the sand reached the roof.

C's poem about Singapore

An elegy for Singapore, Michigan

A city built on sand and metaphors,
as Petersburg was raised upon a swamp.

Your founding czar came also from the east:
Oshea Wilder tried to live his name.

Reaching peninsula, he called it island,
a hub to rival Asian Singapore,

and, more important, that big-shouldered burg,
the windy city built on mud, Chi-Town.

You had your little fifty years of fame.
At first you trapped small mammals for their fur.

And then you turned to trees, an endless fund.
Your wildcat bank made its own currency.

When bank inspectors came, you got them drunk:
brash as Tom Sawyer of St. Petersburg,

(Missouri) selling whitewash privileges.
And still folks came. They called you Ellis Island

of the Great Lakes.
                                                            And then Chicago won.
A brilliant sacrifice: by catching fire

she took your forests, leaving you the dunes.
You sold off every tree; thought they’d come back.

Or didn’t think at all, as people don’t.
Within ten years the sands had covered up

the last remaining building, though they say
one foolish Ozymandias stayed on,
acceding to his house by climbing through
a second-story window, while he could.

The literary ones called you Pompei,
though you had suffered no volcanic flow

but human greed.

                                                            But who are we to speak,
as we burn off the surface of our world,

as ice caps melt, and ocean waters rise
far past our second stories, and we stand
on rooftops and pretend it isn’t real?

DAY 161: POLTAVA

 

The time had come when she had to report back to her unit. He was staying behind, holding down the fort at home, his right leg still recovering after being shattered in March. He was pretty proud of his hobbling abilities with a cane. They embraced hard at the end of the drive. Mila had run off in tears to the back fields when her mother broke the news. 

Finally, she gently pushed away, head down and began walking the half mile to the pick up point near town. He just stood there, watching the back of her head, hair in a bun topped with an olive green beret, rising above the straps of her weapon. He was close to tears when she quickly whirled around, still walking backward, and placed her hand on her heart, looking at him intently, eyes welling up, then turning back. He smiled and waved.

This was all seen by Mila, who had returned from the fields and come around the side of the house. "For now at least," she thought, "I still have two parents and this is all that matters." Her father's smile broadened as she walked up and gave him a hug. Together, arm in arm, they watched their mother/wife disappearing around the bend by the field of sunflowers.

OUR BUSY ALGORITHMS

 

One day, YouTube presented me a new Browse By Topic: "Subliminal Stimuli". Evidently, between my dipping into atmospheric music and C's yoga shows, the algorithms (ALS) decided that this topic might be a good fit.

One vid had a very strong odor of late night, cultish QVC BS. As a "subliminal session", this EIGHT hour vid was titled "Attract Abundance While You Sleep". Yikes! Run! Snake Oil Alert! I didn't click on it for fear this would justify the ALS decision and they would send more ideas such as this. I wondered if further training sources were embeded throughout, classes that were available...for a fee, of course. 

Imagine some knucklehead trying to sell this to their ever-suffering spouse, their interpretation of the word "abundance" is MONEY. "Hon, I can make money while I'm sleeping!"  If the spouse is wise like Alice Kramden, the perfect response would be: Sure, we ALL do if we have a savings account. 24/7, rain or shine, awake or not, we're making 1.37% per annum on our money. Woo hoo!

I also regard this whole scheme to be a cousin of the Christian based "Prosperity Gospel" that seasoned bullshitters like the ever oily Joel Osteen have yapped about for years. Yeah, you've been blessed because y'all been good little boys and girls. And if the Lord means for you to have this wealth, well sir, then you are obliged to do what the Good Lord wants you to do. Earlier practitioners include Norman Vincent Peale from the mid-20th Century with his "The Power of Positive Thinking" (1952) and  Napoleon Hill's "Think and Grow Rich" (1937). 

I'd be remiss not to mention the latest and ugliest manifestation of this kind of con: MAGA. Dear old hobo Steve Bannon, who perpetrated a major swindle asking folks for money to build a wall along our Mexican border to protect them from the thieving, raping brown hoards swarming into their precious White's Only property, has been indicted for pocketing the cash. Bannon thought his Get Out of Jail Free card pardon issued by his buddy, the former President would absolve him. (game show buzzer)  Either Steve didn't read the fine print or his enormous ego figured no one would have the balls to take him on in court-the pardon only applies to Federal statutes-so prosecutors are going after him on State charges. As historian Andrew Gawthorpe noted in his recent article in The Guardian "In the end, Maga is nothing but a scam with hate in its heart and other people’s money in its pockets".

SATURDAY NIGHT MUSIC: DOROTHY ASHBY "PAWKY"

 

From her second album Hip Harp (1958)

 

Sometimes the algorithms provide interesting material. I came across this artist a week ago and was intrigued by her novel sound: jazz with the main instruments being harp (Ms. Ashby) and flute. No piano or horns. The harp sound and patterns remind me of the West African kora, made famous in recent years by the Malian Toumani Diabaté.

 

Dorothy Ashby (nee Thompson) grew up and studied in Detroit. She married John Ashby and together, they created theatrical musical works for the Ashby Players, a theatrical group specializing in work that would be relevant to the African-American community in Detroit. 

THE HOBBIT

 

Eagles rescuing Bilbo and group of fighters from near destruction at the hands of Azog.

We've been watching The Hobbit. I hadn't seen it since it was released and C, while never having much desire to see it, decided she should become acquainted with one of our culture's blockbuster franchises. Fabulous CGI and both of us are relieved at the restrained amount of gore in the many battles our intrepid band of warriors end up fighting. Heads might go flying but blood is kept to a minimum.

I remember when I first read The Hobbit. I was living in the house known as the Omega Hotel on Sycamore St. downtown with the St. Johns fellows.  My pal Lowell was taking theater classes and I was studying printmaking. He and I began reading it at the same time. Most in the house had read it so they were familiar with the tale. We were avid Risk players and we developed a similar board game set in late 19th Century Europe. Many late night campaigns were waged and we adopted personas: Lowell was Lord Pomeroy and I was a nameless auditor from The Hartford Insurance Company. He wore and ascot, I donned a tie. Both were bent on world domination.  We were also huge fans of early Genesis when Peter Gabriel was their front man.  Very much young anglophiles.

FIVE SECOND STORIES

 

Thank goodness gas prices have gone down, the couple reflected. With three hungry, orphaned teenage squirrels getting ready for Winter, their expenditures on peanuts have doubled.

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Up till now, Madame would only take her thyroid med mixed with a meal and usually would try and eat around it if she could. Mom started to toss it on the floor like she would a treat and Molls would hoover it up. Except the other night, when she was half-hearted in her windup and toss. Molls immediately recognized the lackadaisical attempt and wouldn't play the game. The Dowager Madame is very much a stickler for things to be done proper. "It's so hard with servants these days" she sighed.

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From C's Red Cross Lifesavers Manual while in Scouts: better a few bruises than a watery grave. This guidance was in reference to the saver's actions with a thrashing, panic stricken swimmer, advising some strong arm tactics to get them under control and ultimately, getting them out of harm's way.

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Izzy had come up close on the deck near Molls who was lounging. The teen squirrel was rather rude and hurled an insult at the "fat and old" feline. Ironic, being catty to a cat.

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The warm days, cool nights with adequate rainfall made the grass feel vibrant and cocky like a Tarzan yell. "Yeah go ahead and cut us, it only makes us stronger and we'll grow even faster!

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The Egyptians name for cats was Mau, much like the word meow. 

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Now that it was sweatshirt weather, he found that his cuffs were covered with silver hair after a long scritch session with Mollsy.

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It's hard being without a Mom. With the shorter days and cooler weather, our three squirrel teenagers have ramped up their feeding activity especially Izzy. She's going after everything she can get her hands on including low hanging nearly ripened tomatoes and even green cherry ones. Bhadra is acting more aggressive including bullying his siblings. It's not play like with Izzy and Sky. Bhadra is mean and we heard Izzy cry out the other evening during a scrap with him catching either a claw or a bite. If Rolla was still alive, she would be out there with them, giving advice and tips as well as general reassurance to her children as they approach their first Winter.

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He was in the car waiting for his wife who taught at a University building. Class had let out and he noticed that every single student who came out had their head bowed looking at their phone.

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Molls returned from one of her patrols after supper.

J-Well, how did it go? Did you teach those chippers a thing or two?

M-I told them how tasty their cousin was.

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Madame enjoys unlimited laptime and scritches, door openers upon request and evening supper served al fresco. I doubt any of us will be lucky enough to enjoy such things in our final years.

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He felt bad about cutting back a number of branches of the ancient birches and apologized to them. Those branches hung over the pool deck, not only making it difficult to use the long poles for cleaning but also spreading blizzards of their tiny seeds that he and his wife termed as "wheat germ". The things we do for our convenience. Do they hate us?

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Seen on a bathroom stall in Paris: Pain drills a hole that is filled with joy.

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A massage experience that sucked: the masseurs smelled of tobacco smoke and whose massage style could be described as "industrial". No soothing aromas or background music in the shop, just the noise of passersby in the mall.

CLASSIC KGB HIT

 

This past week it was announced that Lukoil Chairman Ravil Maganov had died, making him at least the 8th Russian energy executive to die suddenly this year. Ostensibly, Mr. Maganov died as a result of suicide, jumping out of a hospital window. The hospital reported he was taking anti-depressants. A classic KGB liquidation spun with straight-faced nonsense. It may have gone down like this:

 

After disguising herself as a nurse, the operative gained access to Maganov's room and administered a debilitating drug that would disappear from his system a half hour later. Returning shortly afterward, before Maganov was totally out of it, she awoke him and told him that his friend Vlad had sent her. Of course Maganov was terrified but the operative talked reassuringly and emphasized their continued friendship. "Look, a surprise for you on the building across the street" the operative cooed. "Come over here and take a look". She nicely filled out her uniform, whose top 2 buttons had mysteriously come undone. Maganov was a bit woozy by then and she gently took in by the arm. "Look, my friend, on top of the roof. You have to bend over a bit to see it". The window was open which in Maganov's mental state, did not seem odd. "Just a bit more" she urged as his body rested on the window sill. She was freakishly strong for a woman her size and with lightning speed, she grabbed both his legs and gave him a great push.

He left without comment. She moved some equipment around so the power cables to the outlet would be in front of the window in case anyone walked in. Her story would be that he was babbling about something he saw outside and unsteadily rushed over to the window, tripped on the cables and out he went before she could stop him. But, no one came in and she quietly walked out of the hospital into a waiting car. 

The oligarchs are finding continued association with Vlad is becoming a major, if not fatal health risk.

 

 

MONDAY NIGHT MUSIC: THE FRIENDS OF DISTINCTION "GOING IN CIRCLES"

 

From 1969, fabulous vocals from The Friends.

SCENES FROM ATTENBOROUGH'S "PLANET EARTH"

The pattern on this Whale Shark reminds me of a computer circuit board.

                                   Sea Whip Coral

 

The Blue Whale, largest animal ever, double the size of any known dinosaur. Typical individuals can reach 29 feet in length and weigh up to 196 long tons. Look at scuba diver for an idea of just how big this creature is.

A personal nightmare-sea snakes hunting in packs. Shudder.
 

Curious term we'd never come across while watching Attenborough: watery desert. Seems that a good percentage of the ocean has little life in it. This concept had not occured to me.

ALL ABOUT THE "M"

 

She sat stoically while her humans blathered on and on about the M on her forehead. Christians said it was Mary who put it there, for the Muslims it was the prophet Mohammad. In all her cycles, no one had come close with an explanation. It was simply a genetic quirk but boy, did it make the apes happy to create tales about. In feline folklore, desert cats with such markings were among the first terrestrial creatures that the Aliens encountered. They found cats possessed a intriguing combination of fearless aggression coupled with high intelligence, something that the Aliens prized in themselves. They were impressed. And the final icing on the cake was that the M reminded them of the stars back home.

The constellation Cassiopeia, whose star pattern resembles an M in Fall and Winter, a W in Spring and Summer.

SATURDAY NIGHT FIGHT NIGHT!

Stills from last night's epic throw down with Big MamaC opening up a can of whup-ass on a peanut butter jar. It was brutal!

MamaC, looking quite fetching in her post-Labor Day coat of near-white under coat which is v prominent around her cheeks and chin, with the rest of her body showing an attractive grey flecking, the remains of her Summer coat, with a delicate russet on her belly and legs.

I put the audio through Google Critter Translator. Good Grief, the mouth on that 'chuck would make a sailor blush. She sounds reminiscent of the Andy Capp cartoon character which in England is known as a Geordie accent.

Alas, the bout did not go well. Peanut butter jar (thanks to the Ape invention of plastic) triumphed.

MamaC, looking deflated on her apartment stoop, reflects on her defeat.

 

BIRCH SCULPTURE

 

                                                                                                                 Cheryl Caesar