a mouse in the cat house

Our two cats - who hate each other - were both corraled around the base of our dining room table this morning. Hmmm. Something was up. I found a torch and bent over to investigate... crawling on my hands and knees to get a good look. Aha! A mouse was surrounded by my two growling felines. Good, I thought. These two are finally earning their keep!

Premature assumption. Flan would stick her fat paw under the table pedestal and the mouse would run out the other side. Miro would bat at it but let it go. Do I have to do everything myself? I grabbed a paper towel and swooped down and caught the mouse in my cupped hands.

Mr. dd unlocked the gate in the back and walked it down the alley and dropped it in a recycle container. With any luck it found a new home at a recycling center on the edge of the city. The cats didn't even realize it was gone. Miro and Flannery were both observing the pedestal table with great intensity. Sad but true.

bad boy karma

I have a friend who is divorced and sharing custody of her child with his father. She is a lovely, creative independent pisces. She has been divorced long enough to have had her heart broken once or twice and has broken a few on her own. She's lonely. Aren't we all, in a universal sort of way?

Nothing confounds me more than needy sagitarian men who choose to hook up with women like my friend. She has been through half a dozen and knows better than to fall for their charms...

At present a known 57 year old bachelor who is attempting to court her - someone who has had a reputation of being a dog for close to 20 years... the freelancing handyman. What can I say? He's attractive. He wants something. He's trailing her and paying a great deal of attention. She has accepted his favors even though she knows the score. She says one thing to me and does another. I am worried about her. I have begged her not to go out with him and she promised to call me after she did go out with him... and today I had a realization...

I sound just like one of the bar staff at Merlotte's warning Sookie to stay away from the Vampire! Alright, already....the warnings may make him seem more desirable so I am zipping it from this point... but I don't think I'll have an ear for anymore heartbreak of the sagitarian/pisces variety.... so - all I can do pray she'll see the light before any harm is done.

I already know the score with Bill and Sookie - I've read the books and every word of the writing on the wall... Unlikely romances are lovely encounters until they are difficult... and, well, Vampire Bill comes with over 100 years of extra heavy baggage.

some things never change

Twist of Fate

I witnessed this outside my door in Bavaria. I have a thing for the snails there and it inspired me to learn a few things about them. The can live 10 - 15 years... and when they mate, as they are doing here, each snail gets pregnant and has baby snails. My, how the world would be different if the same were true of humans.

Yesterday began with positive steps toward the future.
I paid my bills, returned a deposit, addressed a long standing debt, did hard labor on a property I share with two other artists and returned my contracts for my summer classes.

Ahhh.. and timing is everything. The director of the program wasn't in so I asked the security guard if I could slide it under her door. Fine, she said. After making my way to the staff offices I decided to take a peek at the current show and was looking at some printworks when I heard voices behind me. It was the staff returning from their lunch. Oh, so good to see you, I chimed. I turned in my contract and wanted to inquire about fall classes.

Ah, I am sorry but I am all booked up for the fall, director said... I said, really? Nothing? (I've been away but have tried to keep up with these essential matters via email.)

Well, it seems, she said So and So, my boss, doesn't want me to use you anymore. She's really mad because you missed those classes earlier this year. But I was at a funeral, I explained. "Oh, there was something else, another class. She doesn't want me to include you on the schedule.
I know it is terrible about your sister but there is nothing I can do. She runs the program. Please don't mention it to her or call her. You've always done good work for me and I'll try to introduce you again at a later date."

I was in tears at this point, hurridly wiping them away. I love teaching in this program, you see. I do. It pays better than anywhere else and has a certain amount of cache. I've been teaching there longer than ten years. Normally when someone loses a family member their employer sends a letter of condolence or flowers. Here you lose your job.

I neglected to cancel the class, you see. I was in a state of shock...
but it doesn't matter. I am not sure I will want to work for them anymore anyway... I guess I am tired of being kicked around but I don't really know what to do with these feelings... hence the time I am investing sharing them here.

Its always this way, tho. I return from something wonderful... have an experience that gives me hope... and possibilities... and then return home to be kicked in the stomach by my boss. It happens over and over so it must be me. Perhaps I just need to be a farmer or have my own business. I don't play politic very well. I can do it but it is not my forte, obviously.

When I returned from my sabbatical and then a near fatal car accident back in the mid 90's (I cracked several vertebrae, ribs and fractured my hip) the director of the program I was teaching in told me stories my students had shared with him (that I got high with other faculty from another university... not true... europeans roll their own cigarettes) and other things he knew would hurt my feelings. He was angry that I had been away, had a wonderful experience and then came home and had to take sick leave to recover from this accident. He was a small man. A very small man. And of course I was disappointed in the students. I shared something with them that meant a great deal to me... working in a place I loved... and they were just rotten spoiled, to the core.

C'est la vie.
Art and family are the only things that matter to me.

words of comfort

Our electricity went out last night along with 43,000 others in our part of the world due to high winds and a utility company that has yet to accept the needs and demands of the 21st C... but that isn't what this post is about. The slipshod routine we've been living during the past few weeks was shattered and as a consequence we spent way too much money sitting at a bar with wifi and while out of my regular loop I misplaced my mobile.

Before we lost our daylight during the last few hours of standard time I spent some time talking to my Dad. He read me a letter my sister sent him maybe a year ago and it just sent me spinning because it was a beautiful letter which expressed my sister's desire to get her life together and for us all, as a family, to be in one place at one time. It was a dream my sister and I shared but as unlikely as Ralph Nader winning the presidential election. Our lives are very different. Spending time with my family is intense... time with us would make the straightest person I know want to drink or take drugs. I don't know why it is so hard... perhaps it is because we are a humorless bunch... or because we rarely medicated ourselves in each other's company??? I've beaten myself up about this and felt depressed about it for more years than I can remember. Finally it became clear that, well, it isn't just us or the people who inspired Faulkner... a dear friend of mine who lives across the country telephoned on Saturday and we spent some time catching up. We grew up together although our families are very different. She is a therapist now and asked me if being with my family had given me any comfort when I went home. When I confessed that no, they hadn't and how it depressed me she went on to talk about how people turn on each other during times of stress and loss. I couldn't believe it to be true but she is a wise woman who has experienced it herself. I have to admit it helped me a bit... putting it in a different perspective.

The Devil Made Him Do It

By some strange coincidence Mr. dd and I saw the end of a campy, strange film tonite titled "The Prophecy" where we watched Satan, played by Viggo Mortensen eat the heart of Gabriel, played by Christopher Walken... (it was great fun, I only wish we had seen it before October 31...) and then... learned that Joe Morrissey, bad boy disbarred attorney from Richmond, VA is now a member of the House of Delegates of the state of Virginia. He ran unopposed. At least he's a democrat... but is that good or bad? We are very confused.

Um... Did Keith Olbermann really say that Pat Robertson has endorsed Rudy Giuliani?!!! Now we are realllly confused!

Ay, yi, yi, yi, yi!!!!!!! After watching one of the videos below can you determine which character best fits the profile of bullet proof Joe, the teflon former attorney?

Flowers and a Toast in memory of Katrina

Today I left some flowers on our memorial tree for all the people who lost loved ones two years ago today. I lit a candle and remembered the dayh when Katrina blew through the southeast and drowned New Orleans in its wake Mr. dd and I spent many sleepless nights worrying about our friends and family. More than one week later we were very blessed to learn that my sister saved a woman's life and was living in a shelter. In the meantime my parents had been near hysteria and drove down to the coast to look for her. It was complicated because both of them are handicapped snf my mother lived in Gulfport for maybe 20 years... so she was devastated by what she saw. They convinced the security to let them pass onto Hwy 90. My father said that nothing could compare to the things they witnessed and that he hoped he never had to see such things ever again. He said that television and photography could never convey the impact Katrina had on the region. The smell of death hung in the air accompanied by tons of debris hanging in what was left of the live oaks that shelter this distinctive environment most of the time.

The tree I leave flowers on is a Weeping Pussy Willow. It was planted to remember someone we lost not so long ago. Life goes on but it looks and feels different, forever more. True loss is never found.

The rest of this nation has stumbled past Katrina's horrors in a sedated haze of cable tv and easy credit. Katrina was a wake up call. A lot of people heard it and many of them chose to hit snooze. The difference is the rest of the world is watching us snooze via satellite. Any doubts they may have had about our nation are now confirmed. Are we becoming the nation that care forgot?

New Orleans will persist because it is and always will be the city that care forgot. People have always been attracted to the culture of New Orleans because its natives live for those moments of bliss,vlove and the grandueur and beauty that life can reveal...with a passion that often transcends reason. The sublime and the decadent hand in hand... not something common in most American cities.

When I worked at a Kinko's uptown (once a Hibernia Bank, now a Rue de la Course coffee shop) we used to call NOLA a Back Water Banana Republic. Our staff was full of over educated word processors and paper collators... who were gay, straight, butch, punk, transgenger, rock-a-billy, arty boho and more. I loved playing with the copy machines, making one ten cent copy for blue haired ladies on April 15 and spending the month of May explaining to Garden District Debs that we can't get the engraved effect of a wedding invitation with a xerox machine- regardless of the brand or model.

Even then, I knew. We spent labor day weekend in 1984 or 85 taping up our windows while waiting for a hurricane. We drove through the eye of the storm looking for my Mother who was living in Gulfport. She was staying in a three story brick house on the beach that had survived Camille.

Elena and Gloria blew past New Orleans that year. The Gulf Coast toasted their good fortune and we all moved on. I've always told my friends who expressed interest in New Orleans that if they wanted to go they better go soon since one day it would be America's version of Venice. I wish. Instead it is America's version of an urban landfill... full of people, places and things of the nation that care forgot.

The house my Mother stayed in during many Hurricanes didn't make it through Katrina.
In its place she left a casino barge. I hope no one was in the house when it rolled in with the tide.

DIng Dong the King is Dead

Most of my friends and colleagues have no idea of my personal relationship with Elvis. It is something we don't talk about - like one's personal relationship with God. I was born in 1960 and grew up two hours south of Memphis on hwy 61. Elvis was a presence that could not be denied. Every morning the Memphis DJ Rick Dees would do funny impressions of Elvis giving away Cadillacs to forlorn housewives or forgotten vets... I had a framed picture of Elvis on my bedroom wall. It was torn from the Parade Magazine and featured a cerulean blue background.

During the late 1960's or early 70's the Ellis Theatre would feature a double billing of Elvis movies for the pre-teen matinee crowd. I was there with my girlfriend Meg who was was present every Saturday in order to flirt with the boys. I was there to look at Elvis. Yes, yes, the movies were dumb - but it was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon in Bolivar County.

I just liked the way he looked when we were both SO young. He resembed a Greek God and I didn't even know what those mythic figures looked like in 1972. It is an aesthetic I continue to embrace today though the origins are closer to Rome or Greece, via Paris and NYC; than Memphis.

As time passed poor Elvis became a joke to everyone but the most dedicated fans. When we had 50's day (very big when I was in junior high) the loyal few would come dressed as the young, cool Elvis and his entourage. When I learned of Elvis' death thirty years ago today I was standing on a scaffold which was installed on top of the roof of our high school. I was painting the 1978 class motto on the top of a smoke stack in the hot Mississippi sun. It's amazing what one can take when one is young because I know I didn't drink a lot of water back then. Mostly light beer and diet coke - though not on campus! Drinking age was 18 back in the late 7o's. I remember being amazed when my German cousin told me drinking age was like 14 in her hometown... but, I digress.

I was expecting to be "spelled" by a few of my classmates that afternoon but they failed to show. It seems Ward and Meg had taken off for Memphis to attend Elvis' funeral. They weren't the Graceland types - but they understood Elvis and wanted to show their respect. I remember Ward's interpretation of Elvis - who was blonde - and he died his hair black - and wore levis so tight that they split up the rear when he arrived at school. He had someone paint "I love Elvis" with lipstick on the white underpants showing through the split. He wore a while short sleeved button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was a big hit. Still, I am surprised he wasn't sent home. Ward was a preacher's son. He was pretty outrageous - even for the 70's - even for the Delta! I think he's a lawyer now. I'd love to see him in action.

As always - I finished the mural, such as it was. I contemplated what Elvis' funeral must have been like as I sat on my front lawn in the late afternoon haze. The cicadas were buzzing and between their cycles one could hear David Bowie's "Spiders from Mars" and Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run" blaring from of my bedroom window via eight track tapes.

Elvis' presence and my Delta origins became less prominent as I weathered six years of undergrad and graduate art school. Finally in the late 80's I attended a SECAC conference in Memphis. My incentives? Professional Development... Travel money from my department... AND the final banquet was to held at GRACELAND! I'd never been to Graceland though we'd driven by its gates many, many times during my childhood. Christmas Shopping and most any occassion that took us to Memphis would take us right past those famous musically noted gates...

The banquet wasn't that memorable because there was an open bar and in true Elvis Fashion I indulged in too much vodka. I think. Bloody Marys, maybe? Before my turn on the dance floor with Bloody Mary I was able to tour Graceland with a group of about a dozen art professors. Voila! It was authentically fabulous in every sense of the word. I'll always remember his zebra decor in his lounge... everyone's mouth was hanging open.... I think because it was all so real and so fake and so Elvis. No one knew what to say. Needless to say the next day I woke up in my colleagues room, which we were sharing with art students- with one of the worst hangovers of my life. I have no idea how I made it to the plane or how I kept from spewing all over the people surrounding me on that flight.

I remember seeing a few familiar faces on the plane but I don't think they recognized me because I was literally green. (Still, I didn't drink enough water. I was still young and stupid although, like Elvis, I was old enough to know better.)

Finally, as the years passed I found a mate who finds my Delta origins to be exotic. They charm him when things are right with the world. We were married in 1996 and his wedding present to me was a signed photograph of Elvis french kissing a mystery woman in the Mosque theatre in Richmond, VA. To this day no one knows who the woman is. No, it isn't me!

Mr. dd met the famous Albert Wertheimer while researching this mythic image and asked him to sign the print he purchased for me. Elvis story is one that can be read from so many perspectives. He was mythic, tragic, bigger than life, naive, a force, a waste, mislead, etc. Still, they broke the mold. There is no other. We can enjoy the brilliance he inspires in others with fake Elvis, rockabilly, kitch, etc - as long as we appreciate someone who if nothing else was authentic.

Neither photo is a film still!
Elvis films werevery candy-coated.
These were taken by Albert Wertheimer
who Elvis allowed to shadow him on his first big tour of his
career. No one has ever been able to identify the woman
in the black dress. oooh la la!
Mr. dd purchaced the one on
the top as a wedding tribute to
our bliss.

Another Sad but True

Flipping through the digital divide recently I was struck by the aging cheerfulness of Richard Simmons mug on FOX FRIGGIN NEWS. I had to back track on the clicker to confirm it was the real deal with the same hair and sequine encrusted red wife beater he's been wearing for more years than anyone wants to count. Click here to see him wearing it for a publicity still.

Fox News? If there is a place for Richard Simmons on Fox News I suppose there is place for everyone anywhere. Someone please tell him to do something about his hair and wardrobe. Fitness is a good thing. Disco aerobics were scarey then and they are even scarier to see on the morning show, LIVE in 2007.