So Happy To Be Here, Etc. Part I

Yesterday, I ran the gauntlet that is present-day air travel.

The fates smiled upon me because US Customs & Immigration let me pass thru unscathed--until the ninny at Station No. 4 called me Dewanna. (That's a new one to add to my extensive list of mispronounciations).

My flight to Cincinnati was uneventful, save for the nice man seated next to me who smelled like his colostomy bag needed attention--(although I'm not sure he had a colostomy bag). Granted, I wasn't exactly "fresh as a daisy" my own damn self, but this guy had his true Manly-Man-Musk working overtime. Plus, I think he smokes cigars when he's outside the clutches of the dreaded tobacco police. Aside from me having to breathe down my shirt for an hour and a half, the first leg was almost pleasureable.

Cincinnati has an interesting system of gates in Terminal C. Interesting enough to confuse the hell out of a semi-weary traveller whos olfactory system has been assaulted continuously for the last 90 minutes. Despite the ever-thickening haze occluding my brain cells, I managed to make it onto the correct plane. And the guy sitting next to me this time didn't stink, which was a relief in a serious way. Turned out he was from Arkansas, which means he was what us disgruntled travellers call a talker. It turned out alright, all considered, as he too hated Omaha with a passion. What's more, he was going there to appease relatives he didn't really want to be around. As if we didn't have enough in common, the topic of conversation inevitably turned to drugs, i.e. which ones to take to endure the high-drama which is de rigeur around blood relatives.

I'll close by giving him a shout out (only I didn't get his name). But I just want to thank him for offering me some of his Vicodin. It restored my faith in humanity. And needless to say, it warms my heart to meet someone who actually gives a damn.

It's just so beautiful.

"This bear is perverse, dominatrix and hardcore."

Or so says the Teddy Bear Art Project's director.

It's currently being held in Zurich. Regrettably, this dominatrix bear was refused entry into the Teddy Bear Parade. No doubt this will make the dominatrix bear very, very angry.

Read all about it here...or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

Close Encounters of the Knitted Kind

Fidel's Love Approach

My Victoria Day weekend was spent finishing up several knitting projects. Among them, Pasha the Penguin, from knitty.com. I figured it'd make a nice gift for my newest cousin, Naya, born April 20th. In the hope that this attempt would be a bit more successful than "The Funky Worm," I decided to adhere to the pattern a bit more closely. So naturally, something else had to go awry, and this time it was a slight enlargement of the beak. Although this was purely unintentional, I actually prefer a bigger beak. But hey; that's just me.

I decided to test the finished product by introducing Pasha to Fidel, my studly male boar. As you can see from the photos, Fidel wasted no time getting up in Pasha's face. I knew what was coming next--the sniffing. And sure enough, sniffing quickly turned into nibbling. Next thing I knew, Fidel had Pasha flat on his back, and was attempting to mount him, for purposes of eating his face off.

My quick thinking was the only thing that saved Pasha from further humiliation as the object of Fidel's rather boorish advances*. But before the serious carnage began, I got some great shots. (By the way, Fidel is the one on the left).

After a quick spritz with Lysol, Pasha was none the worse for wear, and safe to present to Baby Naya. (And even if she's not into penguins, she shares her home with a dog, cat, and two parents, who might find him more interesting). After that encounter with Fidel, I think he'd enjoy a little indifference, for the time being.

* Yes, I meant to do that, and no, I'm not sorry. So there. Deal.

So lovely.

I think it's very pretty. Of course, I didn't make it--but it's nice.

A lady named Mary from Lincoln, (and I don't mean the wife of the dead president), made it, then gave it to me. She often gave me things. Mary was a lady who lived in a senior's residence with my beloved Aunt Agnes. Whenever I'd visit Aunt Agnes, Mary would come for a visit, because she took a liking to me. We'd tell dirty jokes, eat cake, knit stuff, and generally speaking, kick it. Those days were fun, but they're long gone. Aunt Agnes and Mary have passed onto another plane, so our 'visits' are of a more metaphysical nature. At any rate, I like to believe they inspire me through their 'spiritual presence,' so to speak.

It's doubtful that I'll ever master anything this ornate, but it's a nice reminder of good ol' folks from the good ol' days.

By popular demand...

New! From Jolene Roxbury:

Please note: This link does not mean I condone
the use of this product--er, concoction.
Therefore, I am not responsible for any strange
side effects or injuries resulting from its use.
So don't even go there.
Thank you.

Just showin' the love.

Lee Ann...This One's For You!

Now this is deep...

You scored as Utilitarianism. Your life is guided by the principles of Utilitarianism: You seek the greatest good for the greatest number. “The said truth is that it is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong.” --Jeremy Bentham “Whenever the general disposition of the people is such, that each individual regards those only of his interests which are selfish, and does not dwell on, or concern himself for, his share of the general interest, in such a state of things, good government is impossible.” --John Stuart Mill Utilitarianism 75% Hedonism 65% Existentialism 60% Kantianism 55% Justice (Fairness) 40% Nihilism 30% Apathy 25% Strong Egoism 20% Divine Command 20% What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com

A Mess In Progress

It's supposed to be a capelet, after a kajillion more rows.

I'm still working on it, but it's not the easiest thing to handle. Next time I get a bright idea to make something this...unwieldy, somebody stop me before attempt this again. Thank you.

Jamaica mistake?

No, I meant to do this. And yes, I finally completed the Jamaica Bag, and have even had a chance to break it in on a grocery shopping trip last evening. Nothing was broken (including my shoulders), so I deem it worthy to give to my dear friend Hope in Mississauga, once I Febreeze it real good and brush off the cookie crumbs (please, don't ask).

Sorry about the pukey green background, but the weather sucks right about now, and I wasn't hyped for anything brighter. What's more, when I went to PJC last night, they were completely out of Wine Gums, and I was greatly disappointed. At least once each week, I need to eat candy that has the potential of ripping out my mercury-laden fillings. And I'm getting damn tired of Nibs.

Oh well...

Presenting: The Human Hippity-Hop.

This is extraordinary, and that's just from looking. Can you imagine dragging...I mean, uh...wow. That's all I can say. Wow.

P.S. In the event you're too young (or forgetful) to recall, this is a Hippity-Hop. Resemblance is striking, isn't it?

P.P.S. Sorry about that. No really. I couldn't resist.

Still smokin' baby...

Nothing makes me laugh uncontrollably like bad grammar, poor spelling, and insulting comments. Why not follow this link and have a few chuckles for yourself!

Leftovers again?

This is what I chose to do with some leftover yarn that was taking space and ruining the feng shui up in here. Motivated by the 70's hit "Funky Worm", I modified the design found in a back issue of "Spun" magazine. Sure, mine doesn't look like the one displayed with the pattern, but I was fresh out of googly eyeballs. That, and it's going to a baby, and I don't want her eating its eyes off, or anything. Subconsciously, I was inspired by three elements in this piece--Dizzy Gillespie, radioactive poisoning, and a bad drawing of the human colon. Or maybe it's unconsciously. Whatever...

As if this weren't already apparent...

You appear to be a Knitting Adventurer.
You are through those knitting growing pains and
feeling more adventurous. You can follow a
standard pattern if it's not too complicated
and know where to go to get help. Maybe you've
started to experiment with different fibers and
you might be eyeing a book with a cool
technique you've never tried. Perhaps you
prefer to stick to other people's patterns but
you are trying to challenge yourself more.
Regardless of your preference, you are
continually trying to grow as a knitter, and as
well you should since your non-knitting friends
are probably dropping some serious hints, these
days.

What Kind of Knitter Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

The Graves Family Orchestra, Circa 1923.

This photo is simply fabulous. I say that because it is, and because Grandma is in it (on baby grand). My Great-Uncle Earle is wailing on alto (the guy behind the cellist), and my Great-Grandfather Walter is the stern looking dude on cello. Since they're musicians, it's possible they're on more than that, but I refuse to speculate). The cat on skins is Charlie Bowman. I knew him only briefly, as he died when I was eight. I have no clue who is playing tenor sax, but he looks to be a damn sight happier than Grandpa Walter. I wonder if the reason he looks so hard-core has something to do with him playing cello in a jazz group... Actually, I heard some Old Family Stories about life in Hiawatha, Kansas, 1923. No doubt they contributed to his stress level, and untimely death at 53 years of age...

At any rate, I was asked to scan this ancient photo (in which everyone is now deceased) for the Preston Love Jazz Museum & Cultural Center in Omaha, Nebraska. My Uncle Earle was a most prominent musician, back in the day, and he continued his musical career by leading an orchestra that played everything from swing to polka! (It was the midwest, you dig). His group even had a contortionist. Now, That's Entertainment.

One of the reasons I posted this photo is because it's just so damn cool. Another reason is to prove to people that there are in fact, short people who were related to me. Sure, you can't tell that they're short from this old photo, but aside from Abraham Lincoln, can you even name 15 tall people from way-back-when? That's what I thought. The final reason (for now, anyway) I posted this, is to demonstrate that The Partridge Family wasn't the first group to travel around playing gigs wearing strange clothing. Grandma was all of 15 years old in this shot, and even played for silent movies in Hiawatha. As for her shoes, hey--I know I'm loving 'em. I must have a veritable shitload of granny boots myself. (We have more in common beside appearance and musical talent--I do believe I inherited her podiatric issues, as well.)

Grandma died in 1998, as did Uncle Earle in 1977. But thanks to the as-yet unknown curator of the Preston Love Jazz Museum & Cultural Center, and the internet, they will not be forgotten. Hopefully, some of the little snots coming up will pay a visit, and give their props to those deserving. However, if they don't, it's all good. Because you saw it here first!

P.S. Isn't it 'deep' that Grandma's maiden name was 'Graves' and she ended up marrying an undertaker?

P.P.S. At least, I think it is. And if you know what's good for you, you will too. I'm enduring killer PMS these days, and don't feel like reading any crap. So just go along with things, until I give the all clear. Thank you.

Don't hate, appreciate.

I did this, because it was on Lee Ann's amazing new blog...

The truth is, the older I get, the cooler I get.
I can't help it.
It's just who I am.
(Can ya dig it?)

This is just a damn shame...

I got no comment, other than keep these freaks away from your kids.

You've been warned.