Archive for the Therapy Category

THE KEVIN SERIES: Intricate Polychromatic Art Speak for Incongruous Fun Torturing Kevin

Posted in Activism?, Adventures and Interludes, Being a Virgo, Communication, Confusion, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Literary, Narcissisim, Pest Control, Philosophy?, Photoshopping Kevin, Special People, The meaning of life, The Process of Art, Therapy, Thoughts with tags on November 26, 2012 by Admin

An old image I found years ago:

which was then modified for an old blog post:

recycled for THE KEVIN SERIES.

THE KEVIN SERIES: Dissecting The Projectile Photshopping Opus Of My Muse, Kevin

Posted in Activism?, Adventures and Interludes, Being a Virgo, Communication, Confusion, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Literary, Narcissisim, Pest Control, Philosophy?, Photoshopping Kevin, Special People, The meaning of life, The Process of Art, Therapy, Thoughts with tags on November 26, 2012 by Admin

This is part of a new series I have only just realized I have been working on for days and which I shall post here as both intellectual fluff and bloggerly filler, as I slowly find my way past the crushing pain (I live with NINE herniated disks/sheer pain, daily) and back to the habitualities of blogging regularly.

This blog has been untended for some time yet I realize that with this sort of Spy vs. Spy relationship I have going on Facebook with my pal Kevin, I have created a series of artwork which should be shared with all, for Kevin says and does the craziest things.

After a grueling day spent posting about politics (which hurts my head, even to simply post that which I have observed, for posteriority) my brain needed an exorcism of sorts and so I made ART. I have a new muse, Kevin who, much like Dwight Shrute, is a farmer. Kevin is my muse. Kevin pretends to me angry about this, he rants, he raves, he threatens, and yet if I miss a day he starts baiting me which I smartishly recognize as begging for more.

Also, this is how my brain works:

And so, I present the new and ongoing series (until I become apathetic), Photoshopping Kevin. It begins with random photos stumbled upon in the interwebs and takes on a life of it’s own. So each opus shall include the before image.

I call this one, Dissecting the Projectile Photoshopping Opus Of My Muse, Kevin, With Identities Blurred.



Suisse Miss Meltdowns, Adventures, and Garlicky WTFs?

Posted in Communication, Confusion, Home remedies, Learning Spanish, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Narcissisim, Philosophy?, The meaning of life, Therapy, Thoughts, Travel with tags , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2010 by Admin

Note: Since I can never finish anything here, so it seems, I am just going to hit publish for this mess, and update it regularly. So, MESS warning… I will fix this when I FINALLY have enough time to myself. Maybe tomorrow…

One walks through this fountain to get to the pool at lac de Geneve. We waded through, but swam only in the lac.

So, today I snapped.

The ridiculously tiny shorts I was given/circumstantially-forced to wear while awaiting the arrival of my equipage, a day later, after my day late arrival. From the closet of a 16 year-old girl. Ridiculous at my age.

I partially melt down, here and there, because there is so little that is easy, comfortable, or painless, though everything is beautiful, glorious, exotic; a roller coaster adventure in Nounou-ism, de la maison et le chien, en Suisse. It took me days to figure out how to use my mobile phone because it is in French, and it navigates counter-intuitively, like the Blackberry I tried for two days and returned. After taking a picture of the washing machine dials and then sending them to a friend who is fluent in German, I finally did a proper load of laundry.

We had dinner in Carouge on the night of the world cup and when we found that Spain was a point away from the inevitable mayhem regardless of who won we scram-aised. But only after a feast of gastronmie galore.

But I exaggerate only un peu; mostly it is Shangri-la here. I made a new song last night — when I had a meltdown-ette over the big, BIG, inexplicably huge and very loud, frog that now lives in my house; the tick I stunned with dissolvant (nail polish remover) and wrenched from Leon’s face; the giant hornet in the house which sounded like a helicopter; the broken ‘Insekt Tenschroter’, which means I now cannot kill the bugs and hear the popping sounds when they explode anymore (one of my favorite sounds); the big FROG in the house, redundantly rattling around somewhere in the pots and pans; the screaming cat who won’t eat her food… and etc —  so my song, “I’m fou-uuuuu, fou for feeling so blue…uuue.” sung to Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’. Fou is crazy, in French. I am not really blue, just at times overwhelmed about everything that prevents me from getting sufficient rest.

Smoked salmon with dill, Shrimp salad, terrine, avocado, melon with port wine (which was the simple surprise gastronomie) and more.

Today I receive hope for all good times and no more discomfort, from the stars:
Hi Mo! Here is your Daily Horoscope for Tuesday, July 13
You’re feeling a little overwhelmed with all the crazy action going on around you, but there’s good news as well: you’re reaching the climax of this insane time. Things should be settled by tomorrow.

On the way to the BBQin Gruyere, in those Alps, we passed this chapel of indecision or whatever it is. the Alps were spelndiferous! I was floored.

Adrianna, Creo que puedo encontrar la manera de llegar a mi casa desde aquí, así que está bien si usted desea ir a su casa desde aquí. Voy por mi cuenta. No quiero que usted tenga que caminar padre que es necesario porque hace mucho calor y una tormenta está llegando ahora. Eres tan dulce. Le doy las gracias por ayudarme. Estaré encantado de verte el sábado o el domingo, cuando próxima vez que vengas.

translation: –> “Adrianna, I think I can find how to get to my house from here so it is fine if you wish to go to your home from here. I go by myself. I do not want you to have to walk father than is necessary because it is very hot and a storm is arriving now. You are so very sweet. I thank you for helping me. I will be happy to see you on Saturday or Sunday when next you come.”– my note to the housekeeper, who helped me find the market, for the first time, after weeks of “going” there every day to get food.

I take a lot of pictures of fowers here. I envy them for being able to be outside yet not being covere with bites. I am being irrational and elusional. A sign of bug poisoning, so they say.

It had all been leading to this juncture in the journey. Fortunately no one I knew was there to see it, well, except Adrianna, but she was not entirely listening and she does not speak English. (I didn’t actually yell any of this, I internally-musttered [love that typo! Mustered + muttered; keeping it] it, but for the sake of this post let’s say I quite firmly spewed it). <– Oh, the tangled grammatical webs we weave, when at first we set out to… relieve….? (what? my conscience? MY God says it is not so much a bad word, but rather a word that means, “exponentially, whatever I just said, like, to the
googol (aka, ten duotrigintillion, which is how many mosquito bites I have, to date, more or less, which the garlic tablets, evidently made of gold, are for)”, though it does have a naughty, naughty, angry sound. I mean it endearingly and frustratingly, and not literally.

The chalet in Gruyere, where we went to the BBQ.

And then, everything was fine. Hilarious even. The calm after the storm. By the way, a real weather storm is moving in and I am la-de-da-lighted! It is finally cool! I am comfortable! I am wearing jeans! socks! and even my Bearded Lady Piercings Sweatshirt! I made her a blog in exchange for swag, which is now the property of a few Genevans, and they will now send in photos of themselves wearing them in Columbia, Paris, and wherever they go, as a favor to me, because I talked my amiee Amiee (the Bearded Lady) into this blog, saying of course people will come and comment and send in their pictures! I digress a lot.

My favorite photo at lac de Geneve. I made certain to try not to accidentally capture any speedos.

Anywho, the breaking point for me was, “Eighteen Fucking Francs for Garlic Tablets?! 50 FUCKING garlic tablets? For… 18 fucking francs!? FUCKING FRANCS!? GARLIC FUCKING TABLETS? CHINGANTE TABLETAS DE AJO? Putain 18 francs pour les comprimés d’ail!?” (I had made my shopping list in both Spanish and English, as Adriana helped me shop today. Usually I make it in English and French, but then, I come home empty-handed as I rarely actually find the market). As opposed to… whatever!? It – the opposite of anything — does not need any opposition; it is my illogical, ludicrous, POO TO THE GAZILLIONTH, Naughty Swiss Miss MELTDOWN. I forget what I am saying. I am losing it, un peu, a veces. Soon I will be staying at Belle Idée (Hôpital for Adultes Difficulté Sociale et Psychologique)!

Sunset in Confignon, at the end of the Alp-ian BQ day.

I am not even certain off the top of my imploded head what a franc equals in American money; I just know that my entire groceries — including pate de whateverthefancyfuckingshmancykindofmushrooms that I had just bought — cost 70 francs, and NOW the pharmacist with her poo of english (“peu” is little, and is actually pronounced “pueh”, like a short burst of garlic breath. When I asked if she parlez vous anglais she replied, “un peu”. My french = 1/2 a poo, literally, and one of my pet peeves is how people say “literally” when they mean “actually”, so when I say “literally”, I generally mean literally, but all’s fair in an actual meltdown. I might not even be spelling peu correctly but at this point I am on a roll and will NOT stop to look it up. I am sicksicksick and tiredtiredtired of looking everything up. THIS is a meltdown; THIS is a situation we have here), sigh I no longer have any idea what to do to complete that pile of illiterate lint/”sentence”, with all it’s horrible, jaunty grammar; a reckless disregard for the structure and formality of language, and I am languaged-out. I lost that one. I have lost a lot lately; pints of blood, my way, the ability to sleep well, the ability to do laundry, the ability to figure out how to use my mobile phone…

Walking back to my Fiat Punto HSD, after dinner with Claudia in the old town of Geneve, at Malakoffs. I Genevois-ian had escargot.

So, to start at the very beginning (“a very good plaaaaace to start….”, a la Doris Day, which I am singing aloud as I type (have I mentioned that this is really a meltdown?). BTW, I know every word to every song on that album. IN ENGLISH.

The clouds over lac de Geneve, approx 7 PM.

Oh, and then the pharmacist said, sweetly, helpfully, “You take two tablets, three times a day!”

WTF?! I can do that math and it means I will be spending more on garlic tablets than pate during my month here.

So back to go, (or, Doh! — a deer)… Today I arranged for Adrianna (the housekeeper here) to go to the market with me, and to only do a perfunctory job of cleaning the house, because every day I take my Fiat Punto HSD out to find places and I circle endlessly till I get home, often empty-handed.

Oh, by the way, I am house and dog sitting in Switzerland. I don’t speak French. I speak some Spanish and am fluent in English, Spanglish, and jaunty grammar. I am in Loëx (pronounced Looh-AH), population 48 + me, and likely 4 dozen illegitimate puppies fathered by the unfixed, randy, Leon, but we’ll get to THAT part of the meltdown later.

My view from the front yard,the 'Lignon' of Geneve. From the back yard is all farms and vineyards and cows.

Sweet, sweet neighbor cows, whose bells I hear tinkling all day and all night.

I was (e-motion-ally) sick of driving in circles and sick of craps (the crepes I taught myself to make, which are actually pronounced sorta like that) and of living off the eggs from the hens and whatever I can pick from the gardens, so, as Adrianna comes on Mondays, I arranged for her to have a field trip with me as opposed to actual cleaning, and of course she agreed, she is being paid. Mutually advantageous. I think at first she was not terribly psyched as she was on her cell phone while she swept and mopped and I could swear I heard, “Americana Estupida”, followed by giggles, but I have learned to enjoy being paranoid here and as I call myself that, she is free to do so as well, with my blessing. Fair is fair. I love Adrianna. I look forward to Mondays.

The boats - none of which are mine - at lac de Geneve.

We got in the car to go and at first it was awkward; I had only spoken a few paragraphs to her over the last 2 weeks and I am not exactly sure what tenses I had used and what I had said. I believe I said most things correctly but I might have skipped around tense-wise. I might have even said, “I am going to be so hungry last week so I thought I would have needed more food for my tomorrow day, and some killing things for the very evil swimming, which I had liked to have swum in yesteryear, which is part of the razor why I come here and kill mosquitoes, as well as grand batteries for my tenshooter.”

Gruyere, what a delight, especially to buy fresh local gruyere cheese and double cream for my crazy-strong morning coffee!

I have a tennis racket thingie that they gave me which is a bug electrocutioning thing and it says, “Electrk Tenschroter” on it. Swear. True, that. My favorite sound here — over the constant tinkling of the bells which the oh-so-sweet cows in the yard wear; over the myriad birds, including the one who does a wolf whistle, even when I am not in my bathing suit, every day; over the roosters; over the hens that make a sound like they are laughing hysterically at me when I tiptoe into the henhouse; over the crows that sound like horses whinnying; over the actual horses that go by, authentically whinnying; over the wind flowing through the wall of bamboo between my front terrace and the trail beside which I live, which so happily reminds me of riding an elephant in Chaing Mai in August of 1996 — as I have developed a bloodlust for revenge.

Posters, as you enter the part of lac de Geneve with the bathouses.

In actuality, I only have 200 or so bites. They hurt like bee stings when they happen. They then spontaneously combust into bleeding scabs. The crows have it wrong; I don’t look haute in my bathing suit, I look ravaged. Some of you have seen the pictures I sent privately. I’ll NOT be posting those. Many people can attest that any comment like, “Oh, they love me too!”, would be insensitive and irrelevant at this point. Anja – the woman who owns the house with her husband — presented me to the chemist the second day I was here, who Frenchly gasped. Aloud. And gave me sprays and lotions. It took only one day (in the Alps, I am actually having the time of my life) to get over 100 bites. Chemists/Pharmacists here seem to be mainly female, in my limited experience.

More posters

I had accepted this gig thinking many things, one being that I would swim in the pool every day. But it has since been abandoned and is now symbolic of my pain. It is very very hot here, we do NOT get a breeze from the Rhone which is like 50 feet away, and the pool sits rottingly, stagnant, full of standing water, where the “mozzies” breed like uber-bunnies. There is also a pond where they breed, which is fittingly Estanque, in Spanish. There are also no screens but for two of the windows in the entire house. There is also no air conditioning. No fan. Nada, zip. They are in the habit of leaving the door open all day to go in and out and to also let Leon — the swiss chocolate lab I am responsible for — in and out as is his wont or whim. Inside there are almost as many bugs as outside. I battle them. I had cleared out the house for the most part, with great effort, and then Anja’s teenage daughter came by to get some things and… left the door open. I almost sobbed.


So I have been waging an heroic war against the mozzies. I wear bug spray all the time and constantly refresh it. I take shots of apple cider vinegar as often as I can override my gag reflex, to change my PH balance. I have made traps in and out of the house out of two-liter plastic bottles so they go to lay eggs and die. I pick fresh rosemary from the gardens and boil it into a tea, and then soak in it. I spray every drop of standing water in the house with bleach and water. I make traps of vinegar, covered with foil, with a tiny puncture and they go in and die. I put antihistamine on the bites and never, ever, scratch. I keep all windows but for the two with screens shut tightly. I cover all empty wine bottles with foil with a single puncture so they also go in and die. I put tablets in the stagnant pool to kill them and stop the breeding. I wear a vitamin B1 anti-mozzie patch. I soak in baking soda and ginger powder to remove the toxins from the DEET and reduce the swelling. I mix pure Calendula with moisturizer lotion and slather myself till they fairly drown on my skin. I wield my Tenschroter and delight in the ZAP! which means they are fried. Before bed, I go around the house turning on the lights and then kill anything that gathers and/or moves around the lights or anywhere. I keep a double-broiler on the stove all day long, keeping honey-vinegar-water warm, with that aluminum foil with that good ole puncture in it so they go in and…die! And I take million-dollar garlic tablets.

A house in Fribourg with a painting on the outside.

So today Adrianna and I went off to the market! On the way there I gained courage, lost stage fright, and after a while we were chatting — me mimicking bilinguality — and she began to laugh with me, a sign to me of success with a foreign language. We combed the stores for tablets to put in the pond (Estanque, in Spanish, coincidentally, redundantly) which is safe for pets and fishes but kills mozzies and their eggs, to no avail. We scoured stores for gluten-free foods. We made fun of pissy salespeople. We had a lot of fun actually!

Watching planes land from my back garden at 1030 pm

And then I felt bad because a storm was coming in and while she had offered to accompany me back to my casa, I did not want her to then walk farther than usual to get to her home in the city. So I said I am certain I can find my way home. I insisted she go home from there. She said, “Remember, to get home you just keep turning right; Derecha, derecha, derecha!” and I said, yes, I CAN do it! I will do it! and we kissed cheeks three times, as one must in Suisse, she left to wait for her bus.

This guy seriously passed us in Fribourg (land of the free).

So I drove home, turning right, and right and right, and then I was back at The Coop! I giggled, thinking Adrianna can likely see me from her bus stop and is likely thinking again, ‘Americana Estupida’!, and I quite delighted of that image. So I tried again, driving around the impossibly narrow swiss roads, grinning in the aftermath of my garlic tablet meltdown, and even laughing aloud, and again, I found myself at… The Coop! At the third arrival at The Coop, I was hysterical. On the fourth try I found myself on a dead-end street at which I often find myself, so I pulled a now-habitual, highly illegal U-turn and then, I noticed a car also U-Turning. I kept trying different streets and everywhere I went, this car was behind me. I studied the occupants, at a red light, in my rear-view espejo and they were two men in white shirts. I wondered if they had matching pants

We crossed lac de Fribourg on a viaduct.

Earlier I had said to Adrianna, in Spanish, “As I drive around in circles each day, talking aloud to myself in Francaislish, I often wonder if one day they will take me to Belle-idée!”, at which she looked at me to see if I knew what I doth said, and then she laughed and laughed. Belle-idée is a mixed-use geriatric and psychiatric hospital in Geneva. ;-)

The men in white shirts following me in endless circles looked young and clean-cut, so I pondered if they might be Jehova’s Witnesses. But they both had such a mad and intent grin on their faces that it reminded me of the creepy cover of an issue of Wallpaper I had at home.

So they keep following me and I keep over-imagining paranoid scenarios. It hits me that they are probably Scientologists! Because of course I have failed their usual, handy-dandy, “personality” tests which they give to potential converts, as reason to tithe away all their future earnings, and now I am hysterically laughing-afraid. So now I start turning only left (“Be like a Marxist, if you keep turning left all the time, you will find the market”, Claudia had advised me on my first day driving here) and they do as well. Finally I lose them, I find my house, and just get inside in time to beat the storm, only to find that the wind had blown my last roll of papel de toilette into the toilet; the one thing on my spanglish shopping list which I had failed to purchase. I can not even accomplish a shopping list with a minder in tow to care for me.

The better option I wore to the BQ in Gruyere which might have looked more dignified with real underthings, rather than the borrowed pink thong.

The better option I wore to the BBQ in Gruyere which might have looked more dignified with real underthings, rather than the borrowed pink thong. With a bow. Thong. At this age. Bow. Pink. 46.

En route (literally. HA! Get it? PET PEEVE: Whenpeople say

Ok, I am off to get lost in my Fiat Punto and eventually find the Pharmacie in Old Town, and get some Caladium Segium pills which Claudia has them holding for me – the only batch they have — which her co-workers say I must have, after she told them, “I have NEVER seen anything like it; the way the bugs attack Mo, you should SEE her”…


Flowers of the Alps

Fribourg, Bulla line. Stop and smell the prayers along the way.

And smell the Lacs along the way. Oui.

Click here for Obama sushi rolls

Posted in Animal Stuff, Special People, Sushi, The meaning of life, The Process of Art, Therapy with tags , on March 2, 2009 by Admin

obama-roll-2Click here

Then you will have the magic permission to click here… Continue reading

The Wizardress of Ensorcellment

Posted in Free Pile books, Literary, Philosophy?, Special People, Sushi, The meaning of life, Therapy with tags , , , , , , on October 31, 2008 by Admin

Anaïs Nin, inadvertent comedienne and ensorcellress both; “sensuality is a secret power in my body,” she once said. But since she said it, it’s not such a secret anymore, now is it? One critic called her “A major minor writer”. That critic was obviously wearing anti-ensorcellment venom.

Anais Nin and Henry Miller

Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller

And don’t get Gore Vidal started on the topic of the word ensorcellment. Because of their seemingly love-hate relationship they sniped at each other in later years and, much to her chagrin, he modeled the character Marietta after her in his novel Two Sisters, whose “favorite word is ‘ensorcelled.’ She cannot write a book without it. Unfortunately I cannot read a book that contains it.”

By the way, Gore made for some pretty great quotes. Did you know… he was once engaged to Joanne Woodward and she broke up with him to date Paul Newman? but they remained good friends all three forever after so it’s all good.

There is not one human problem which could not be solved if people would simply do as I advise. – Gore Vidal

The more money an American accumulates, the less interesting he becomes. – Gore Vidal

A narcissist is someone better looking than you are. – Gore Vidal

Anyway, back to Anaïs.. Continue reading

Life is a scary Costume Farm. Boo!

Posted in Communication, Confusion, Idiomacies, Pest Control, Philosophy?, Special People, The meaning of life, Therapy with tags , , , , , , on October 21, 2008 by Admin
India Fashion Week - Manish Arora Spring/Summer 2008 - catwalk New Delhi, india (10/20/08).

India Fashion Week - Manish Arora Spring/Summer 2008 - catwalk New Delhi, india (10/20/08). Love the dress in the middle, but not just because it is in the middle.

The heroine (?@!) of the tale, Gem Irony – a possibly self-negating, anagramatic, and typically foolish moniker with too many descriptive comma-ish annotations (with each annotation requiring its own sub-annotation) – is pondering Halloweens past and present, but never the future. Such  self-negations make her wonder if she even exists, and, as such, if things are in fact, negative, or, negated. She rarely ponders the future, finding it to be a seemingly insurmountable and progress-hampering task, preferring a Scarlet O’Hara-ish avoidance approach. She is thinking about poseury, plumery, costumery and Continue reading

Putin Stole My Jamoka

Posted in Animal Stuff, Miracles, Superstition and OCD, The meaning of life, Therapy with tags , , , , , on October 17, 2008 by Admin

I swear I did not photoshop this. Click it to see the real article on HuffPo.

Remember when I used to photoshop Jamoka into all sorts of things for my art newsletter? Well, he’s not gone. It was a ruse. He was stolen and Putin is now making my Jamoka carry around whole satellites. Shit. This looks so photoshopped. it looks exactly like I photoshopped it. Proof below the caption.

“Wearing a collar containing satellite-guided positioning equipment Putin’s dog Koni walks ahead of his owner, now Russia’s Prime Minister, right, in Putin’s Novo-Ogaryovo residence outside Moscow, on Friday, Oct. 17, 2008. Russia’s GLONASS satellite navigation system isn’t fully operational yet, but it seemed to function Friday at Putin’s Novo-Ogaryovo residence when he tried the equipment on his black labrador. The government had promised to make GLONASS fully operational by the beginning of this year, but it was delayed by equipment flaws and other technical problems. GLONASS was developed during the Soviet times as a response to the U.S. Global Positioning System, or GPS, but it has been slow to take shape amid the post-Soviet economic meltdown.(AP Photo/RIA-Novosti, Alexei Druzhinin, Pool)”

A walk down memory lane below. See!? People don’t die. They go somewhere else. I have always refused to believe otherwise. Jamoka is the dog who miraculously appeared in a huge ice and snow and water sculpture in the canal outside my window almost 2 months after he died. For that. I believe in miracles. Hell, I now believe the Virgin Mary did appear in the window at Mercy Hospital recently. She appeared on what would have been my Grammie’s birthday so of course it is absolutely real. I now believe in everything.That I want to.

A letter from John Cleese about the election

Posted in Activism?, Confusion, Life Performance Art, Special People, Therapy with tags , on October 16, 2008 by Admin
Me and You and Everyone We Know

Me and You and Evryone We Know

Holy MOly. My internet has mercury-retrograde-ically been down for a full week (and 5 hours and 28 minutes) and it’s nice to be back up again because after working at the wireless cafe/deli, my clothes all smell like…. well, like I worked at the deli.

So, catching up. Carrying on then. Here I post a letter supposedly from John Cleese to me and you and everyone we know. ;-)



Subject: important message from John Cleese to all US citizens.

(teaser – “15. You must tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us mad.”)

‘Britain is Repossessing the U.S.A.’

A message adapted and updated from Mr. John Cleese:

To the Citizens of the United States of America:

In light of the strong possibility you are about to elect an elderly gentleman with a bad temper and a lady who thinks she can run foreign policy because she can see Russia from her house, as President and President-In-Waiting of the USA and thus to risk Life As We Know It for everyone else on the Planet, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy). She won’t actually be in charge, but she’ll greet foreign leaders as necessary and not put her foot in it or vomit on anyone at dinner.

Your new prime minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. He will choose someone who does not have his or her hand in the till and has significant experience in running Big Things. You have not had one of them for almost a decade and trust me Continue reading

Life is a Carnival

Posted in Communication, Philosophy?, Special People, The meaning of life, The Process of Art, Therapy, Thoughts with tags , , , , , on September 30, 2008 by Admin


More rust spots to go. I hope I don't dent the hood getting to those.

More rust spots to go. I hope I don't dent the hood getting to those.

I was working in the alley again yesterday. I have all this rust on my car; I have little spots here and there and threatening to grow. One of them is on my door so, fearing losing my door and having no budget for taking my car to an auto body shop or to buy a new door, I decided to do it myself. I felt qualified, in a half-assed way, since last summer I had use fiberglass and resin and bondo to create the vacuum cleaner project, in that same alley, and it was fun working in the alley with all the visitors, human and otherwise.

There was this loud BOOM! As I was dragging out a 100 ft extension cord and I ducked and then looked around to see if anyone saw that embarrassing bit. People opened their windows and leaned out and seeing me, asked what was that. I told them my new project is a mosaiced canon and I was trying it out. No, really I told them I didn’t know and then of course told them about my embarrassing duck which I’d just a moment ago hoped no one would notice. I am like that. It can be embarrassing to be me.

Not so bad for a first auto body project.

Not so bad for a first auto body project.

So I was using my disk sander and grinding off the rust when 3 huge HG&E trucks came by. Guess what!? It was my same pals from that whole saving the birds by cutting the Bird-killing wire thing. It was nice to see their smiley faces. One said hey! You guys were in the paper yesterday and gave me a copy of the Republican with an article about Holyoke artists quoting the city’s “goal to create and establish a network for artists” and also saying, “I think they’re going to play a very important part in revitalizing downtown”. Gosh. That’s sweet.

We do have quite the existing network and we all mostly know each other and have meetings and such (like the one with the Mayor last week) and it’s nice that the city wants to know us as well. It’s funny how a group of people with limited resources and peculiar skills can be credited with a revitalization. The article was right next to an article titled. “Two men rob audio shop”; that wasn’t us though. So HG&E likes us (and they like the wildlife), and the Mayor likes us and now the City likes us. That’s a lot of like.

Anyway – I was wearing my respirator and gloves and my favorite ratty old red hoodie sweatshirt for this momentous first-time auto body project. That sweatshirt is like a security blanket. And it was fresh from the wash because I had inadvertently make it smell by using elderberry hand cream the other day, which made it smell not like elderberry but like something else, like a person from my past who caused me insecurity. My security blanket had thus become an insecurity blanket, but after the wash it was all security-ish again.

My friend Jim,

Apropos of nothing really: My friend Jim, visiting from Brooklyn, ponders the "dness" in The Kindness Coolerator.

I had gotten all the rust off and more guys came by from my building and asked when I was going to spray the primer. I said in a bit. NONONO!, they said. You have to do it now; the metal starts oxidizing immediately and so you cannot wait. Shit!, I replied, I have therapy at 2! So I rushed and got the primer done in time. Phew. Then halfway through therapy, and the recounting of the latest crisis, my therapist said, “that’s a fire drill, I have to leave the building.” And she hung up with a promise to call back.

Sometimes I feel like a cartoon.

But my auto body work came out pretty good for a novice. In this life.

Main Entry:
Pronunciation: \pi-ˈkyül-yər\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English peculier, from Latin peculiaris of private property, special, from peculium private property, from pecu cattle; akin to Latin pecus cattle – more at fee
Date: 15th century

1: characteristic of only one person, group, or thing : distinctive

2: different from the usual or normal: a: special , particular b: odd , curious c: eccentric , queer
synonyms see characteristic, strange
– pe·cu·liar·ly adverb

This is getting ridiculous…

Posted in Adventures and Interludes, Animal Stuff, Pest Control, The meaning of life, Therapy, Thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2008 by Admin

This blog is turning into a pest control rant. First mice, and then skunkings outside my window and now.. Brown Recluse spiders. I am turning into a spa of sorts for various pests of escalating danger. DANGER, I tell you.

BTW, I am trying peppermint spray for the mice. I brewed peppermint tea and added drops of peppermint oil and I obsessively-compulsively spray every few minutes around my whole space. It smells, and this is shocking, like peppermint. A lot. Chokingly. Knocking on wood… no mice. No mice in the luxury mice hotel traps I set with huge chunks of Gouda.

The spider in my tub this morning; asshole spider from hell.

The spider in my tub this morning; asshole poisonous killer malicious dangerous hunting spider from hell.

Anyway, this morning I killed a Brown Recluse. It wasn’t easy. it was a battle. I found him (surely it was a him, his name tag said “Mr. Spider”) in my tub. The fruit flies like to go into my tub every day and die.  I have fruit fly hotels scattered everywhere and they are full of dozens of dead fruit flies. Fruit fly hotels are merely recycled plastic hummus containers with vinegar in them and a few tiny holes in the lid. They climb in and can’t get out and die of obesity and entrapment.Brown Recluse spiders are not web spinners; they are hunters and they are lazy. They hunt insects and such and are happiest when they find dead ones, like prepared foodstuffs.

So, I sprayed scalding water and Mr. Brown Recluse Spider dropped and rolled. He kept springing back to life. I had to try to crush him with the soap dish. Even down to one last leg he still ran, dropped and rolled. I recognized his kind; I was bitten by one back in a day – somewhere about 1992. It was after my broken leg and before my snapped neck episode. I measure time in calamities. I was often called Calamity Jane as a child.

So back in that day I woke up to find a bite. I scratched it, as I am wont to do, and it got bigger. And bigger. Soon it was a mass, about which I will spare you the details. Finally I went to the ER at Beth Israel Hospital. They said it looked like a Brown Recluse bite. I had seen him then – monochromatic brown, violin shaped, markings on the back, 8 legs, smirky face of evil intent. I forget what they gave me. Antivenom perhaps. And valium. They cleaned up the nasty mess on my ankle and bandaged it and informed me that I’d have to have my apartment exterminated specifically for the Brown Recluse. I’d also have to sleep somewhere else till it was fully and professionally exterminated.

So I called Mrs. Brown, my landlord. Mrs. Brown always wore a navy blue suit. It looked like the same suit but surely it could not be. Mrs. Brown owned 12 apartment buildings in Boston. Mrs. Brown laughed – she had a jolly laugh – when I explained my situation and need of utmost urgence for brave people in tyvek suits with poison to make a house call. But she called, and the exterminator came, and I lived. I had to wear a suit to work back in that day and slacks were frowned upon for the women in this office (men could wear slacks) so I skipped off to work each day with a little suit and a big bandage around my ankle. I still remember picking shoes to match my bandage and then choosing an outfit to go with the shoes. Fortunately it was summer, for how ridiculous would it look to have stockings on over a bulky bandage?

My internet research about getting rid of this particular spider does not turn up peppermint oil variety remedies. It seems I’ll have to either call an exterminator, leave, spread powdered poison, or set glue traps. “Be careful when removing the traps for the spider may still be alive, wear gloves” they warn. Sigh. “Many times during those months the brown recluse will go without any food or water. It is nearly impossible to fully get rid of brown recluse spiders once they have become established in these areas of the home. The brown recluse does not spin a web either to catch their food; instead they hunt their prey which usually consists of insects, either dead or alive.”

Super Sigh.

Years later and after many moves I called up Mrs. Brown to see if she had any apartments available and when I said my name she laughed jollily and said, “Oh! The Brown Recluse lady!”

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