Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Missouri Dead Last

Doesn’t matter that I’m not in the few few waves of vaccines: our state doesn’t have any vaccines at all.

Here’s yesterday’s local newspaper headline:

The online version doesn’t used the word “DEAD”.

I’m glad to know that other people winced at that headline. I mean, it’s true, but do I want to wake up to it?

New Press Secretary

Dear New Red-Headed White House Press Secretary Jen Psaki,

I have scanned your press briefing for Inauguration Day, and I am quite that you missed an opportunity.

But it isn’t too late. I will love you forever if you say, “That was the smallest crowd to witness an inauguration, period.“ Think about it, Ms Psaki.

And while I’m at it:

Dear Rachel Maddow,

I already love you forever, but I will love your forever and an eon if you start your next show with this:

“We wrote an entire show, and then, at 4 p.m. ... we did not have to tear it up and start again, because there was no breaking news at 4 p.m., and on top of that it was not a “crazy news day.” It was actually pretty boring. I’m going to tell you now about something boring that happened in the Grover Cleveland administration, and then after twenty minutes I will tie it in with something boring that happened today.”

Think about it, Ms Maddow.

Rewriting the Novel: I Have Had to Buy 100 More Tiny Magnets

Is this progress?

I find I have had great success writing crabbed notes on scraps of index cards, though. The notes mean I don’t need to write things chronologically, which is a chore.

It’s good to have two ways to be productive. On left-brain days I outline, or right-brain days I write.  I don’t even see how people could sit down and start writing, without sketching it in first. That would be like painting a painting, and painting the bottom left corner in full detail and leaving the rest blank. Just .... how could you even do it? 

I’m slewing crap on the page with a broad brush. And all I write is the dialog - that way I don’t have to deal with tapping in to the narrator’s emotional pain. That’s later. I think what I’ll have at the end of this is a plot synopsis, all in dialog. Sadly, I’ll already have to gut it, because I have written 20k awkward words now, and that puts me at half the words for the age I want. 

Then a round later for description, and another for making the dialog distinctive, and then characterization, then reaction and emotion, then a vital one for subtlety, to de-telenovela, and then each one again, and then again one last time. 

I wonder if it’s like painting in that the last twenty minutes , when you do the details, is the most fun, when it comes alive. I hope the book isn’t like the block peonies, in which I plan and do the easy stuff and then give up when it gets hard and is ugly.

Weekly Paint Progress: 1/21

The big peony went from this:

... to this:

I’ve decided to stop glazing by the book for a while. I need some positive reinforcement, so I’m going to use my cardboard box to combine some things I’ve painted before: the croquet ball, the dog bank, and the small mason jar.

And this time I’m not starting with a white canvas, I’m starting with a neutral color so I won’t be confused by the white of the canvas and white paint.

I am this far!

Thank God It’s Over

I am old - how old? So old that I’ve taken a White House tour.

To further emphasize my oldness, I was there during the bicentennial in 1976. I remember touring the White House, the Supreme Court, the Library of Congress, some of the Smithsonian. The outside photos would suggest I toured the Capitol, though I have no recall.

What I remember best about my visit 44 years ago was how very boring it was.

Remember? Boring?

Remember four years ago? The grumpy scowl on Michelle Obama’s face, and the fading smile on Melania’s face? Remember George W’s pithy review of Trump’s speech? And, to be balanced, remember how very Jackie O Melania looked in that blue outfit? That was hot. Very TV friendly.

I pray that Biden/Harris Make Americans Bored Again.

Review: 63 Up

I have now the latest installment of the Up series, 63 Up.

(If you don’t know what 63 Up is, it’s a documentary that has followed a group of 14 British children every seven years to test the saying, “Give me a child until he is seven, and I will give you the man.” It’s a remarkable capsule of society. Find it, watch it, but good God don’t binge it.  It’s meant to be seen every seven years , so it’s very repetitive. Mom and I loved it.)

So, now that director Michael Apted is dead, will the latest episode be the last episode? Or should the Up series go on without him? Should there one day be 105 Up, with everyone dead except for Tony? Instead of Neal there would be, say, a group of Neil’s friends at a table giving a synopsis of what he died from? (Neil is not dead.)

I did not sing “Waltzing Matilda” in Latin, as these seven year olds do. I sang “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”  As for, ”Give me a child until he is seven, and I will give you the man,” I’m nothing like I was at seven. I was quiet and shy, and now I am an aged Attention Whore. Then again, I seem to remember getting a lot of attention at seven for being so painfully shy. Perhaps it was all a scheme to get adults to talk a lot in an effort to pry information out of me.

I have decided I do want them to continue the series until everyone is dead, and give the last one standing a prize, like a tonteen. (It will be Tony.)

Life of a Mouse

Well, the mystery chipmunk/rat/wee squirrel has been identified, and it is most assuredly a mouse.

 

Clapping

This morning I suddenly heard someone clapping right outside my window. ClapClapClapClapClapClap! 

I immediately pulled the blinds to see WHO the HELL have the nerve to clamber up in my landscaping and mock me with applause right outside my window, and why. 

No one. No one was there. No flutter of shrubs to show they’d run off. No one could have run off, it was ClapClapClapClapClapClapBlinds!

All I can think is that I encountered one of the clapping birds mentioned in this article.

My money’s on the short-eared owl: they fly in the daytime, they live in Missouri, and it was in the morning. 

Gary heard some raccoon sex last night, perhaps the owl is saying “thank you for breeding the baby raccoon snacks.” 

I tell you, it was really strange.

Weekly Paint Progress: 1/14

This week the big peony went from this:

... to this:

There’s a part I like. Can you guess?
I plan to paint over that part I hate and start that over.

The small peony went from this:

... to complete failure. I give up. Pulling the plug.

It’s just like when you say a word too many times and it stops making sense. It was supposed to look like this:

Of course I realize not that while this was a painting in the glazing book, it wasn’t a step-by-step example. I am going to gesso over this one and reclaim the canvas.

Amazon Head Games

We all remember the shipping nonsense that happened over Christmas. In addition to KC’s difficulties, I had Facebook friends posting maps that showed the twisted paths their packages took to get the last few miles — jetting off to Georgia on the day they were to be delivered. 

I did have something that they sent to a center in the next state instead of the one 13 miles from my house, and I thought,”Well, my center must have been overloaded.” 

And then I muttered, “Or, maybe they’re lying. Maybe it’s at my center but they can’t get to it for a day, and instead of saying ‘This will be delayed a day because your center can’t keep up,’ they thought it would be more palatable to say, “Whoops, we momentarily lost it.’”

I have been buying into that paranoia for a few weeks, and then I checked on My Orders in Amazon, because that’s the only pleasure I have in these plagued times, and saw that two packages would be delayed for a month. 

My husband’s sweat pants: “On the way but running late”

My brother’s socks: “Expected February 8th.”

Remarkable, given that at that moment my husband was wearing those sweatpants and my brother had already thanked me for those socks.

So of course now I assume they are manipulating me to think, “Ha HA! I got those packages, I win to Amazon track the package game.”

Am I paranoid? Or is tracking being used to manipulate and lower our expectations?

A Review: History of Swear Words (NSFW)(No spoilers)

Where has this show BEEN? No, really, Netflix has been around for years, why are they just now getting around to this series of delightful 20 minute episodes, each devoted to a curse word. 

I have seen almost all of them.

Episode 1: FUCK - here we are presented with the show’s premise: we follow a curse word through history, from when it is coined to modern day, noting when the meanings change. Professors and bookish types say FUCK very seriously and shamelessly. 

Episode 2: SHIT - at this point the novelty and humor of bookish types saying SHIT wears off and is surpassed by the humor of how the show just goes there, “there” being over the top. An embarrassment of cursing. 

Episode 3: BITCH - I was waiting for this one, because first it was a bad word, then we took it back, then some women said we don’t want it, thank you, get that word away from me. It was more philosophical than the previous ones, but it does have the best delivery of any joke of the entire series.

Episode 4: DICK - In case you didn’t know, men love their DICKs, and it shows. They love them, and they love the word. Evidently men and their dicks have little conversations on the regular, did you know? Also, there’s a nice bit with resentful narrator Nic Cage.

I have not seen the last two episodes, PUSSY and DAMN, and I really don’t know why they sign off with those two, unless they are going from least acceptable to most (even though I think they posited that SHIT was more shocking than FUCK, my stars no. Not here in Missouri. FUCK Trumps SHIT any day.)

And where, you say, are the two C words? Whither CUNT and COCKSUCKER? The big guns? I can only guess there will be a season two.

Politics — Seriously?

You know what I’ve done a lot of this week? I have watched a lot of Fox News. 

Step 1: see utter batshit madness on CNN or MSNBC.
Step 2: change the channel to FOX just to see how they were going to spin it.

FOX kept up. I didn’t hear them use the words “liar” or “sedition,” but at least they were displeased that Trump supporters had blocked Constitution avenue with a Winnebago. 

I stayed up all night watching the electoral tally after they resumed. (You know, after the mob stormed the capitol, as they do. As they do in South American dictatorships.)  I expected to be lulled to sleep. Nope. States accused other states of unlawful voting  And why? Judges legally added voting places. They enacted mail-in voting, like they did in my state. I am taking names, especially the name Hawley (Republican senator for Missouri).

And now, the news stations are going on and on about the 25th Amendment or Impeachment with Removal. The odds of either are the same as a Brokered Convention. Exciting to talk about, but not going to happen.

I hear that Trump will have his own inauguration by the Washington Monument and use Mar-a-Lago as his new White House. Silly.

Second Civil War. Hahahahaha.

But what do I know, I thought Wednesday was going to be boring.

Rewriting the Novel: Midpoint

Well, the emotional drama is just as telenovela-esque at the midpoint as it was in the resolution. It’s useful for charging ahead, because I am not tempted to revise it, because it makes me cringe to read it.

I have hit the point at which it’s a problem, and what do we do with problems? We throw money at them.

I bought a book on plots, which chided me immediately for not writing an hour every day, so I have done that for three days and I have three pages. As a result, I have no free time and I haven’t read any more of the book.

I also replaced my non-magnetic white board with a magnetic one and one HUNDRED tiny little ceramic magnets. I can re-position tiny bits of index cards and not go through the mawkish exercise of making my heroine/mother cry.

Weekly Paint Progress: 1/7

This week the big peonies went from this ....

... to this:

Same thing as last time — looking too structural early on. And cartoonish. And, another thing I did wrong; I painted it like a watercolor instead of being patient and glazing it in layers. Plus, I haven’t been standing back and actually looking at it. Next week I’m turning my attention to the non-peony flowers instead.

The small glazed peony went from this:

... to this:

I know ... what is that yellow doing there? I tell you, I can see it in the original. It all looks like a bunch of ears now. 

So I’ve decided that painting is like cooking, and sometimes you have painting sprees and sometimes you have painting slumps. I also have decided that after these peonies are done I am painting simple shapes like buffalo. (I remember the barbecue place that sells chicken skin has loose paintings of imposing buffalo.)

Loose Ends

Revisiting loose ends.

In the furniture wars: I did not win the loveseat battle — the chair still is planted where it would block potential guests. However, it is a new chair. In the win column I have completely trounced him on the revolving spatula holder.

I did indeed make my own chicken skin appetizers, twice. Chicken thigh skin is better than chicken breast skin.

Even though I bricked in the gap where the patio sank, I can still hear gnawing critters. They don’t scuttle, though, so I’m telling myself they are sitting on the outside with their backs up against the siding, gnawing on bones or whatever.

After I complained that young white folks are missing out on Uncle Remus, my NPR station played a re-telling of the Tar baby / Briar Patch story during A Season’s Griot on Kwanzaa.

In what I hope is not the end of the story, after spending horrifying amounts of money on correcting our lawn drainage, I woke up to this nonsense after the recent New Years ice storm.

Nonsense

Electoral Protest

Twenty years ago there were congresspeople who protested Al Gore’s electoral college loss even while he was certifying the electoral college decision. They protested, but because it required a senator to back them up, they were out of order. Gore, as head of the senate, had to shut them down, even as they were referring to him as the deserving winner of the race. I still remember it. 

Now we are here again, and the protestors do have a senator to back them up, my own damn senator, Josh Hawley. Do we think Pence will uphold the constitution they way Gore did?

From the New York Times, 20 years ago:

The alphabetical roll call of states began with Mr. Gore handing the electoral vote certificates to four lawmakers to examine and read them aloud. In one moment of levity, when California's 54 electoral votes were awarded to him, Mr. Gore playfully pumped his fist in the air ...

The vice president told his supporters as they attempted 20 protests that under the rules they could not debate their points. Republicans loudly called for order.

Still, the dissidents managed to spit out pointed words before being gaveled down, reminding the chamber of complaints that newly registered black voters were turned away from the polls in Florida or that registration lists were flawed or that there was a sudden police presence in black neighborhoods.

Occasionally, Mr. Gore showed some humor. ''The chair thanks the gentleman from Illinois, but, hey,'' he said at one point to Mr. Jackson. As the objections came near their end, Mr. Hastings called out to Mr. Gore, ''We did all we could.'' With a smile, Mr. Gore said, ''The chair thanks the gentleman from Florida.''

In all situations, it doesn’t matter, because protests are very nice but certification isn’t needed to win an election. I mean, it’s needed for an orderly transfer of power, but ‘orderly’ is no longer a value with the current government.

Georgia

So the election nonsense continues into January, with tomorrow being the vote that definitively determines who wins the Florida senate votes, and thus the Senate overall.

Seriously, this senate has been balls-out nonsense the last decade or so. 

Do I think the Democrats can win both Georgia Senate seats? No, not really. If they do, do I think they can stick to the party lines the amazing way the Republicans have? No, not really.

I hope I’m wrong, otherwise it will be Joe Biden vs Mitch McConnell for the next four years. 

Paint Thinner

My brother was again talking about the radioactive creek near our childhood condo, and I mentioned the only person we know who lived there who actually had cancer was our stepdad, Dan. 

Dave said, “Yeah, but he said paint thinner is what gave him the cancer.”

”What are you talking about?”

”When he got cancer he did some research, and paint thinner’s a carcinogen. He said he’d been elbow deep in paint thinner when he painted grandma’s house.”

”Seriously, he didn’t think the cancer came from the chain-smoking instead? Hey - that explains why he stopped painting.”

Now that I’ve been oil painting, I’ve wondered why Dad dropped it as a hobby. He used a palette knife for the later paintings. I remember he had some paintbrushes wrapped in tinfoil in the freezer, so he wouldn’t have to clean them. When he painted anything outside the house he either froze his paintbrushes or threw them away.

Blaming paint thinner for his cancer, not the smoking. Remarkable. I suppose the painting was easier to quit.

The Year In Review: 2020

2020, of course, divided nicely into pre- and post- Pandemic.

Pre-pandemic! 

Early in the year, a friend threw her husband a birthday party that included a concert performed by a member of their favorite band. I was so effusive in my praise the artist posted it on his website under the Living Room Concerts heading. Remarkably, during this party we all sat next to each other on the inside of a barbecue restaurant! On the inside! Next to each other!  Breathing! (Can you imagine?)

I watched movies at the theater. (Weird, right?) I saw Cats, 1917, Joker, The Turning, and The Gentlemen. Sitting right next to people.

And, I sent spit through the US postal system and it arrived in a timely manner, which is to say I looked at my DNA and was unimpressed.

And then, on the last day of February, I made an oblique reference to some virus that seemed to be troubling cruise ships.

And then, The Plague. 

At first, I was annoyed that it took away my writing class, fancy ice cream, the aquarium, concerts, and toilet paper, 

At first, I thought the lockdown might last two months, even, but eventually I wised up. 

At first, I didn’t believe Gary had the Virus, but then I realized he had, even with a negative test. Late in the game I thought I had it myself.

Eventually, I changed to a medication with easier access to a normal immune system if I needed it, and later a vaccine was promised, by Election Day even.

But, there were still some High Points, none untainted by the plague, except I suppose for the space launch.

Covid was great for the animals. The famous Bruno the bear got within miles of my house.   Raccoons and ducks wandered the neighborhood one morning. A Coopers hawk ate a raven in the backyard. 

The plague gave me some excellent on-line concerts, like the Steven page concerts and, the best thing of the year, Dave’s Family’s concerts.

Speaking of concerts, the Barenaked Ladies Christmas concert was only forty-five minutes long, but Deck the Halls sung to the tune of War Pigs was worth fifteen dollars alone. (‘Oh lord, yeah” was replaced with “Oh San-ta!”)

What else happened ... I gained sixteen pounds, as so many did, and less typically, I read through the cardboard box containing my inheritance from Jerry and decided to both fur and plagiarize his novel out of spite.

2021? It all depends. Let’s say everything goes back to normal. If I ever get on a plane I’ll wear a mask anyway. I’ll draw something on it like “your cold is my covid.”  If movies go back to releasing at the theater before streaming, then I think people will rebel. Maybe theaters can change, allow the occupants to group-text in the theater so there’s more of a sense of community, give foot-rubs mid-movie, I don’t know.

People say the 2020s will be the Roaring 20’s again, but I don’t know. I don’t plan to double-down on freedom. I like working from home, I like having all my groceries delivered, I like not shaking hands, I like not catching colds, I like walking into my closet and saying, “oh, that outfit’s cute” and it’s something I’ve already bought. 

Also, after nine months, Gary says he is starting to feel like himself again, and that’s the most important thing.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/31

This week the big peonies went from this:

... to this:

The glazed peony went from this:

... to this:

So, of course I’ve now over-corrected, but that’s okay. It’s been absorbing.

Wild Bill: a Review

I wanted to watch Wild Bill because I chanced across a promo and it seemed funny. Ron Lowe seemed smug, and local British people seemed over it. British people slapping down smug Americans. Amusing. (She said, smugly.)

I liked the first episode, though there wasn’t quite as much smug-slapping as promised, and I persuaded Gary to watch it too. Gary more than liked it, he loved it. 

Mid-binge, I went to IMDb to find out how many episodes there were, and I read this:

“On Wednesday, 13th November 2019, ITV announced that the police drama would not be returning for a second series. Viewing figures dropped from 5.7 million for episode 1 to 3.2 million by episode 6 and the series received mixed reviews from critics and viewers. In addition, the series struggled to find a U.S. broadcaster.”

“Well, shit,” I thought, “I can’t tell Gary this.”

Gary asked, “How many episodes does it say there are?”

“Ummm ... six.”

“Only six? I hate how they only put a few episodes in each season now.” (This is true, children, back in my day 22 episodes equaled a season.) “How many seasons are there?”

“Ummm... shush. You’re missing stuff on the screen.”

It was like lying to a child about Santa. For the next three hours he would randomly gush about how well-written and delightful it was, and how he loved it, and I had to hold my tongue until we were done and he demanded more. Then I had to confess that it was over, that’s  all they wrote.

He was mad and bereft all at once, plus betrayed, oh my God, betrayed. Not betrayed by me, but by the viewing public for not embracing his favorite show.

Christmas Events

Does it seem as if there has been a spate of Breaking News Events on Christmas mornings? I remember in recent years there was a tsunami, the airline shoe bomber, a typhoon, and now this Nashville bombing.

It’s eerie how my subconscious looked at the aerial photo only identified as “downtown Nashville” and I said, “That’s the street I walked down the last time we were in Nashville.” My ability to look at a shot of roofs and debris would make more sense if they’d shown the River in the aerial view, but they didn’t. 

Perhaps I looked at a satellite view of that area sometime and then my subconscious stored it for future reference. Weird.

Merry (?) Non-Christmas

We had such success with the Thanksgiving coping technique (Shake Things Up To Spite the Virus) that we are doubling down on it for Christmas.

Or more accurately, maybe tripling or quadrupling down, because instead of picking one tradition to shun, we’re ignoring Christmas entirely. You know, so as not to invite comparisons with Christmas Past. 

Still, no matter what coping techniques you use, I wish you a Merry Christmas.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/24

Very slow progress this week. The big peonies went from this:

... to this:

... and the glazed small peonies went from this:

... to this:

It looks interesting, but less and less like a flower and more and more like a surgery in progress.

Review: The Lady Vanishes (various versions) (spoilers)

Nothing but spoilers below! 

Once upon a time the was a book titled “The Wheel Spins,” and Alfred Hitchcock adapted it into The Lady Vanishes, and it was entertaining. 

When I saw that there was a BBC adaptation that was closer to the book, I recommended that Friend Anne and I set up an Amazon Watch Party. I hadn’t read the book, and she hadn’t seen the Hitchcock version OR read the book, so it sounded like a good prospect. 

I made the foolish assumption that the book and this new adaptation would have some similarities. The beginning and end are wildly different. So different that 1) I apologized to Anne and we watched the Hitchcock version the next day, and 2) I went to Wikipedia to see what the book said originally happened, and then I found that there are three versions, because the end of the book differs as well.

So, acronyms. TWS = the original book, titled The Wheel Spins (per Wikipedia),  AH = Alfred Hitchcock version, BBC = 2013 BBC version.

The beginning

AH: the heroine is frivolous but plucky.
TWS and BBC: she is frivolous and whiny. Having her be insufferable adds a nuance when she’s demanding that the Nanny has vanished: are people just lying to her to get her to go away?

The middle

In all three versions a woman on a train gets increasingly desperate as she tries to convince people her nanny-like seat-mate has gone missing. There’s a nun.

The end

AH: the Nanny was a spy all along! There’s a coded message! The nun was in disguise! The nun is supposed to dope the heroine, but doesn’t. There’s a chase scene! A shoot-out! The young woman falls in love with the young man who has helped her. No one played cricket! (Key plot point.) 
BBC: no one is a spy, the Nanny just saw too much and gets tied up with the luggage. There is no coded message, no one is in disguise. The hero dopes the heroine, so she semi-rejects him, and no one even mentioned cricket.
TWS: Nanny is disguised as the nun’s patient, the hero dopes the heroine, and she seems perfectly okay with it because she makes plans to travel with him again. It’s all been a fun adventure, even with the roofies.

And guess what. There’s a very poorly reviewed 1979 version, adapted from the Hitchcock version, avowing no knowledge of the book, starring Cyril Shepherd, Elliot Gould, and Angela Lansbury as the Nanny. We’re watching it Christmas night. 

Rewriting the Novel: Exposition

I am in exposition hell. And it’s odd, because I love novels that trickle out the exposition slowly, or else don’t give it at all. Like The Handmaid’s Tale. But I keep thinking of cunning ways to dole it out in chapter one. So I’m 6,000 words into chapter one.

If I were bold I would just ditch chapter one right now and go to the midpoint. It’s not like this is going to be my only draft. Plus, I’ve got an outline. 

It’s just I’m one scene away from being done with chapter one. 

You know what? I‘m abandoning chapter one. Instead, I’m going to write an exposition checklist. It’ll be everything you need to know, then I’m going to note when the facts come up organically. 

Then again, maybe I won’t. It seems I’m putting a lot of effort into avoiding revisions. Right now I’m heading down Jerry’s path to a good first chapter and a bad conclusion, and I’m sober.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/17

This week the big painting is this, because I will not let peonies beat me. And I think that I will not do as I was previous advised to: to think of the flower as a sphere — at the start, anyway. I’ll make it more spherical after it’s done instead of at the start.

... and this is the current state. It makes sense to me.

The small glazing project went from this:

... to this:

I don’t hate it. It needs a white wash on top ... maybe? It’s darker than the original but maybe I like that.

Nostradamus

Seriously, Nostradamus, what kind of seer are you?

You accurately tag the Great Fire of London, Napoleon, French Revolution, Hitler, and both World Wars, but then you completely whiff it on the great global pandemic. 

No Quatrain for 2020?

Into all countries comes a deadly flu /

Greeted in the streets with a clanging of pots / 

Wash the hands, Wear the mask, Don’t touch the face /

Many do not believe the learn-ed men.

Not only did Nostradamus whiff it, so did The Generalist. 

Rewriting the Novel: a Brief Setback

I slogged my way through the resolution for The Novel, and it felt so unnatural that I had to go back to the outline and see how I was going to get the main character from Point A to Point Z.

This was a big job, too big for the iPad. This was a job for the whiteboard. The whiteboard, the dry erase marker, the the yardstick for the straight lines, the index cards, the numbered Ziplock snack bags in which to put the index cards of scenes and imagery to be taped to the right side of the whiteboard to augment the dry-erase notes of the progress of the — not one — but two themes. 

All this happened, and then, at nine in the evening I was sitting in the office chair making a final note about the resolution. The big whiteboard was tilted against the wall, the resolution was at the bottom of the whiteboard, and instead of getting of the chair, I just leaned down to make my note at floor level. While I was sitting in an office chair. I don’t know what it is about office chairs that make me forget the fundamentals of physics, but of course as a I leaned my top part over to make a note by my ankle, the chair slid out from under me and I fell forward.

I was fine, the whiteboard was fine, but when I slid down the whiteboard my shoulder wiped out everything from the midpoint to the last plot point. 

Happily, none of it was inspired, and it wasn’t too hard to re-create. Not the early works of Hemingway. Still, it might have been a disaster.

Very Very Soon ...

2020 will be over in 20 days. Then we can start complaining about 2021.  

Top Ten Possible 2021 complaints:  

1. This airplane to Italy is too empty.
2. How did I ever spend an hour in a grocery store?
3. You mean we have to drive to the restaurant?
4. Politics is soooo boring.
5. Why do all these other people have to make so much noise during the concert, and why are they standing between me and the entertainers?
6. These cough drops are stale.
7. I miss my children during the day.
8. I have forgotten how to drive.
9. Boy, the Oscars are slow when everyone has to walk to the podium.
10. My bra hurts.

 

Weekly Paint Progress (?): 12/10

This week the peonies went from this:

... to another permutation I won’t even show you, then to this ...

... and then I gave up. Whatever I am trying to do, I’m not ready yet. I painted over it with white. Picture a white rectangle below.

Let’s look at the original and laugh:

The glazed peony went from this:

... to this:

... because I decided one of the many things I did wrong with the pink peonies (many many things) was that I went all sketchy and vague with the pre-paint drawing. This drawing is more exact. That way I won’t need to decide on shape and color at the same time. It will be more like paint-by-numbers. 

So discouraging to take a step back after the success of the sunflowers. Clearly, because I bought a grownup easel, now the gods must slap me down for my hubris.

Impossible

I was visiting the drive through at The Teat, and saw they had an Impossible meatless sandwich. I’ve wanted to try one of the Impossible burgers, preferably a Whopper, preferably next to an original all-meat Whopper so I could do a taste-test and call it a Whopp-off, but that never happened.  But here it was under my nose.

And here it is, exposed to the world. Unappealing.

“Odd,” I thought, “I read they use beet juice to make it juicy. So that we think it’s medium-rare. That just looks ... grey and unappetizing.”

Then I took a bite, and I noticed it had a vaguely sausagey taste, as if it had gone bad. It had not gone bad, because it was a sausage breakfast sandwich,  but I had to go to the Starbucks website before That became evident.  I certainly didn’t bite in to it and think, “Yum, sausage.”

I palmed it off on Gary. “Yum.”

I then handed him what I had originally intended for him, a flaky bacon cheese sandwich. “UM YUM OH GOD MWAHAH NUMNUMNUM.”

So, disappointing. I am still holding out for cloned beef and now cloned sausage.

Pearl Harbor Day

I did a little research, and by that I mean I did one search in Wikipedia, and it seems obvious that no American holiday is ever discontinued. Each outdated holiday is supplanted by another holiday.

We initially celebrated Armistice Day/ Remembrance Day on 11/11 with the rest of the world, probably even handed out poppies, but then in 1954 we were glad to embrace ALL the wars and rename it Veterans Day.

Then they took Decoration Day and called it Memorial Day, so that the North and South decoration days for all the civil war dead could unite. (Worse, they changed the date in 1970, which still messes me up to this day.)

There seems to be a courtesy delay of 50 years before messing with a holiday. So, what’s the plan for repurposing Pearl Harbor Day? It seems every few years the current President — Clinton, Bush, Obama — re-declares it a National Remembrance Day. It’s hobbling along.

I would hate to think of it, but might it someday be united with September 11 to become a day in which we remember days when we were attacked. Attack Day? Homefront Day?

Vengeance Day?

Bear-poking Day? 

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/3 (with added easel footage)

This week the peonies went from this ...

to this:

I currently hate this. I don’t recall hating the sunflowers like this. I think that’s because I shaded the sunflowers as I went along. Right now I’m in the color blocking stage and this could be in acrylic for all the nuance it has. 

I called time of death of the Orange, and I am now starting this:

And so it begins -

I realize now that one problem with the glazes is that I was supposed to apply gesso to the canvas, let it dry, and then sand it before painting, so that the surface is utterly slick and I don’t get the canvas texture. I am not doing that. No. 

But hey, that’s not the big news! The previous easel is being transitioned into semi-retirement. Say hello to Godzilla on Wheels.

He’s in the low seated position. In the standing position he soars among the rafters. 

You see the problem with the previous easel.

I have probably overcorrected. But I tell myself that if I redecorate it could be a room divider, or if I get a pole I can use it as a vehicle and punt through my subdivision if it gets icy.

Rewriting the Novel: Dreams

Okay, now I’m dreaming about the novel. This was not a Kubla Khan dream. This was an awful dream, a Puppies in Peril dream. 

Somehow, my dreaming subconscious decided it would be a fine plot point if someone in this Oklahoma boom town decided to put puppies in bags and toss them off roofs. I don’t know why, maybe as a sacrifice to the oil gods? My dream didn’t track the progress of the puppies, it’s possible they escaped the bags and could suddenly fly.

What’s happening now is I am writing half a page a week, and making about five notes a week, because out of nowhere I’ll think of an interesting idea that may entertain someone for half a phrase. Perhaps the puppy dream is a guilt dream because I am not writing enough? Perhaps. 

More probably, I find the current plot boring. Gotta jazz it up with flying puppies.

 

 

Thirty Years

My brother has been a recovering alcoholic for 30 years. That’s a long, long time.

Evidently if you’re make it to 30 years, your chance of relapse is less that 15 percent. That’s encouraging. 

I don’t know that I could stick with one thing for 30 years. How could I make it if society said, “You cannot argue with your husband for 30 years” or “no food for you for 30 years.” (Alcoholism might have been a problem for me, given that it runs in the family on both sides, but thankfully liquor tastes vile and doesn’t affect my mood as well as food does.)

It’s a shame he couldn’t have a 30 years celebration with his friends clapping him on the back and giving him hugs, but he invited me to his AA meeting on Zoom, which was very nice.

Weekly Paint Progress: 11/26

This week the peonies went from this ...

... to this:

The orange glazing project went from this:

... to this:

The Orange appears to be a bit overripe. I think I will stop on this one.

Oh, and happy Thanksgiving! I am thankful Gary is still here despite his (crosses self) Covid. He feels much better - he doesn’t even need his cane anymore.

The Season’s Cheese

Only 30 shopping days until Christmas!

Yeah, and then what? Given how this year has been measured out in coffee spoons full of POISON, it seems like this year there should be a multitude of tiny little gifts instead of one big gift. Perhaps that’s why so many friends have been buying themselves Advent Calendars. Advent Wine Calendars, Advent Cheese Calendars. 

Done. Exotic cheese of the day calendar for me. I suppose I should get something for Gary too. Well, he can have half the cheese. 

2020 Retrospective

My favorite time of year is fast approaching. No, not Thanksgiving. Not Christmas.  It will soon be Retrospective Time again.

2020: The Year In Review. What do you think the big story will be?

Of course, this year, some CNN or Time intern has been tasked with finding the Non-COVID stories. Australia caught fire, there were hurricanes, and Herman Cains, and then we’re back to Covid again.

Perhaps they should have blank pages dedicated to what didn’t happen, like a big empty five page spread on the Olympics. 

I can’t imagine what I’ll do Jan 1, when I usually my make own year in review. You know, the post filled with all the concerts and vacations. Sigh. 

Gavle Goat

I was discussing Zozobra and Burning Man with a friend who clued me in to what must be the greatest of all Fiery Catharsis Voodoo Dolls: the Swedish Gävle Goat, or Gävlebocken.

First off, the goat is just really visually pleasing. It’s a Swedish Yule goat, which is evidently a straw goat with a handle. It makes a good Christmas ornament.

Alternatively, you can get the 50 foot high version.

That’s the straw goat in the middle of the town square in Gävle, Sweden. So, in the tradition of Zozobra and Burning Man, you figure that giant straw creature was made to be burned down.

Evidently there’s some disagreement about that. Ever since the first goat was erected in the 60’s, people have been driven by a compulsion to torch it. I love the city elders who stoically build it, knowing that if you build it, they will come, and they will burn it down.

Then, after years of the war between the Goat Builders and the Goat Burners, a faction decided they would make their own goat, perhaps as a decoy goat, I don’t know. The new goat was smaller and easier to demolish. The Wikipedia page has a list of the ways people found to kill the new goat. ‘“Smashed.” “Collapsed.” “Rammed with car.”)

Then the two pro-goat factions battled each other. To quote the Wikipedia page,

“There was some hostility between the Natural Science Club and the Southern Merchants, evidenced by the fact that the Natural Science Club put up a sign near their goat wishing a Merry Christmas to everyone, except the Southern Merchants.”

I know the citizens of Gävle probably take this very seriously, but I prefer to imagine it  as a merry war. Why is this not a quirky independent Christmas movie?