Sunday, November 30, 2008

Friday, November 28, 2008

Love Hurts

My Husband’s Aunt Stole My Silver Shoes

I had decided to wear a funky dress to dinner this year with my husband’s family. A brown linen number with turquoise tights and these kicky burnished high heel silver shoes. If I say it myself, they were smoking hot. Now, I knew these would be uncomfortable after a while. As high heels often are. And I am willing to pay that price to be fabulous. Beside, this was just holiday dinner with the judgmental family, so I didn’t have to bother being cool all night since they were not going to notice my efforts anyway. When they hurt I would take them off. Simple. Well, not long after arriving Auntie G. came over to me and told me, in a very concerned tone, that my those shoes were just too high for me. I needn’t try so hard anymore. Why, she had given up heels years ago, (she's in her late sixties!) pointing out her sensible flats to me. “What size are your feet any way,” she asked? “Ah, their a size 6,” I answed. “Well, then I should give you all of my old ones since you insisted on wearing heels.” She said, as floated away in search of another relative to chat up. After about an hour I gave up and took off the painful, yet wonderful shoes, thinking I would put them back on after a rest for my toes. I went to grab a glass of wine when someone tapped me on my shoulder. There was my Auntie G standing in my silver shoes! Look at me! She sang out in a sweet baby like voice, as she twirled. “Oh Auntie you look great” I said. I tried to mean it. I really did. I mean so what if she wanted to try them on for a minute. Sure she had just told me I shouldn’t wear them and should be over this silly phase by now. But maybe she way giving heels a second thought. Changing her mind. Maybe I wasn't too old to be glamourous. Maybe even she wasn't too old to be glamourous. Auntie then said across the room so everyone could hear. Wow, Bev, These shoes are really big. Are your feet this big? Well, Gee, Auntie they’re a 6# and I’m a 6# and they fit me. So if 6# has suddenly become a giant size that I don’t know about, yeah I guess they could be big. Bitch. No, I didn’t say that, I did said, well you’re your just such a petite elfin creature, Auntie G. they must seem so to you! So, anyway an hour later she takes them off! Then comes over to tell me my shoes really are very uncomfortable. I should probably never wear them again. They might damage my feet. So let me get this straight. First my shoes made me look like I was trying to hard. Then they were worth stealing for over an hour and pointing out to the room that she looked better in them but was really too small for them. And when she was done the shoes in the end were not good enough for her. I know I am whining. But I am just trying to vent enough to take a deep breath. So that I can remember… Pearls before swine. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wear pearls. It just means you shouldn’t mind when the swine try your pearls on and act foolish.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Some Crazy Photos of Boats

I wanted to shoot something abstract, warm and even a little sexy on what was a very cold and windy, winter day. If you can't tell (and I hope you can't) these are the plastic wraps they use to seal boats up for the winter.

Monday, November 24, 2008


This is my doll Babette. What you should know is she is not scary. Unless You get on her bad side. Then she says in a french accent, "I don't care what you think mon cheri . I am going to smoke and think about existentialism, and my hat. Then I will go find a good bottle of wine and some cheese. I am too cool even for myself. Au Revoir

OK, How about this one.

I just thought what with the smashing dolls and frightening monkeys that one might have found a fan base. Well this one just has cute guys.

Saturday, November 22, 2008


As those who know me can tell you, I occasionally have bouts of insomnia. What not everyone knows is that I love having it. At first. I love having the night to myself. I love the quiet. The moonlight is beautiful and as a very fair skinned person, I find it not nearly as threatening as the sun. There are great old movies on late at night and you can read a book uninterrupted. It is wonderful. I can stay up and still be up when the kids wake up to go to school. I see them off and then try to grab some sleep. I wake up when they come home and I am up for the night. All is right with the world. That is until it isn't. Like when you can't grab any sleep at all. Then your staring at morning TV, thinking, "could this be any more stupid?...OMG, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" That's right I am no longer one with the night. I am a frazzled spaz,tweeking in my kitchen as I stare into my fridge, trying to remember where I put the milk. The linen closet?

Friday, November 21, 2008

The Skeleton Dance

Sorry this wouldn't embed the right way. But it's SO fun.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

In defense of "Modern Art" One of It's father's Goya:"Perro semi- hundido".

One of the few truly original works of art. Without getting into any "artspeak" that can quickly become pompas, I would like to point out how amazing it is that such an early artist conveys so much emotion with his use of brooding sentimental color, vast empty plains of space, and the center placement of just the dogs head. You ache for this abandoned dog. This dog who you feel has just appeared to have realized he is alone in the world. Fearful and paranoid. Something the great Goya himself surely was familar with. Later in his life he was tourtured with migraines,tinnitus and severe depression, Many thought him a madman as they thought evidenced by his works such as Saturn Devouring His Children. What I choose to believe is that art is not to be judged, or challenged or used to make anyone feel superior or insecure about ones self or intellect. Art is something the artist must do. A release that will not be denied. For the viewer it is to evoke an emotion or a reaction. Whether that is pain, or joy. What I think often gets over looked with modern art, is that the viewer is asked to do some of the work. In other words, bring some of their own emotions to the table. This does not always have to be a heavy meal of abandonment as in Perro semi-hundido. It can be wit, or sarcasm or even silly, like Mole Men Leaving Laundry In The Field.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Mole Men!

Journey to the center of the earth!

What with the recent release of the new Disney movie to DVD, lots of people are giving new thought to that old question: What’s going on at the center of the earth? Yeah, sure they have that theory about magma. The warm, chewy, center of the earth that keeps us all warm and grounded and, yadda, yadda, yadda. Whatever. I’m no scientist, so that explanation just isn’t very interesting to me. Therefore it doesn’t seem sound.
So after much research and, I don’t mind telling you, considerable camping, which I hate, I can tell you my story. Yes, it is a difficult story, but such is the price for the noble pursuit of truth.
In short I went to see for myself.
First, when undertaking any new task, a smart girl will go to the library. This is true whether she wants to learn about the best way to lose her virginity, or make the perfect martini. And if she’s done her homework, she will see that it’s best if she combines both to achieve a gratifying out come. But that is a story for another day.
One of the first names I came upon was John Cleves Symmes Junior. Who like all his men in his day called themselves a scientist if they could afford a globe, a magnifying glass and knew the Latin word for sponge. It was he that put forth The Hollow Earth Therory. Did he do it first? I don’t know. (The new copy of Vogue distracted me. Gosh, Jennifer Aniston looks good these days! Not too spray-tanned, you know? Oh, that Angelina Jolie I don’t know whether to lover her, or hate her? Anyway.)
It was it John Cleves Symmes Jr.’s theory that the entrance to the hollow earth could be found at the poles. Why? Because no one had yet to go there, and they were a perfect place to hide entrances to secret places since who would want to go there. They were terrible by all accounts. All very bleak windy and so cold that anybody whoever tried invariably ended up eating their dogs. The ones they brought with them I mean.
However, this being the adventurous time that it was and everyone believing anything Jules Vern and their ilk would write about places that were hard to get to i.e. under the sea, the moon, etc. There were those crazy enough to try. What they found was a lot of ice, magnetic north and eternal sunlight, and need I say it…more ice.
So I had a theory of my own. If there was a Hollow earth and if in fact it was, as hypothesized inhabited by intelligent creatures often referred to (and quite presumptuously, I think), as Mole Men, then these fellows must surely know about us even if not all of us know about them. What with all our building, drilling, and underground nuclear testing. I bet they have more than guessed that they have noisy tenants living up stairs. With this being said if we have yet to find them, it is because they don’t want to be found.
In my vast experience with hiding things I have always found that right out in plain site is always best. So with this in mind I looked over many charts and maps and decided that the best place for me to look would be Oahu, Hawaii. First because it is lovely this time of year, and what place could be more crowded than the beach at Waikiki? Well, no sooner had I applied my sun block 28, did I notice a small opening behind the third palm tree on the left, pool side at The Royal Hawaiian. There carved at the opening were the initials A.S. Had Adam Sandler been there before me? It was a chance I had to take.
After a quick salad and pineapple daiquiri I went back to my suite to pack. Camping gear, (ugh) fetching khaki hiking togs, with pith helmet and buff hiking boots. Adorable! I was off.
I will spare you the boring details. Let’s just say, dark, at times desperate and seemingly unending. Much like any office Christmas party you’ve ever been to.
But after, what I guess by my watch, to be the third day I noticed two things, my hair was beginning to frizz and there was a warm glow emitting from a relatively short distance ahead of me. I took this to mean that the moisture content of the air was rising and that I was nearing my destination. I quickly massaged some de fizzing lotion in my hair and headed toward that light with new found resolve.
It was for me sometime the following day that I came to the edge of the city at the center of the earth! It was an incredibly humid and hot place with strange vegetation and stranger yet creatures.
If you’ve ever spent anytime in Georgia then you’ll know what I am talking about. The people were incredibly friendly and yet I had a feeling that it didn’t necessarily mean they liked you.
Most of the food they ate was fried and appeared to have cheese on it. Even the cheese they ate had cheese on it.
I don’t mean to sound like they weren’t lovely in their own way. They were dear, short-ish, pale, little, darlings. They said, please, and thank you, and were far more gracious then most of my friends. In fact I just received a charming Thank You card from them for a small trinket I gave them. My Blow dryer. At first it might have seemed a thoughtless gift, what with the male pattern baldness, (on the women too!) but they seemed to want it.
You can’t fault them for their love of the basic black turtlenecks. It’s a classic. Also Vintage Hoover vacuum cleaners are kinda cool. If not an odd thing to have as a collective fad.
When my time to leave had come, my new friends showed me the “other” pathway home. Intrigued I headed out resupplied with some fried bananas and fried granola with cheese on the side.
I’ll make this part of the story short since it was exactly the same, only going up and getting cooler.
Well, you’ll never guess where I came out? New England. It’s true. Check it out yourself on a globe.
The Mole People told me that they sometime come to the surface. But only for Hoover Vacuum Cleaners. That and to leave their balls of laundry out to dry over night once in awhile.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

I want to be a spy.

I just saw the new James Bond and I think I could keep up.  I could shoot to kill. That is if they were evil. I could jump out of a plane. If it was going to crash, and a had a parachute.  I could be distractingly beautiful, kill with a common household appliance, speak five languages and swim leagues with a kalashnikov strapped to my back.  All I am saying is where is my cat suite. I am ready!  

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Don't hate me because I'm perfect...sometimes.

I have just got to learn how to balance this blogging and being a perfect mother thing. I mean what the heck.  How hard should this be. Witty writer, artist,photographer, and gourmet. All this while still having that gin and tonic chilled and waiting, when my man comes home from a hard day at the office.  What can I say, my children are adorable and my hair is perfect.  I was just late getting my blog in. When you look at it in perspective it really seems like such a little thing.  Yet still I feel guilty. What can I say, it's hard being me. 

Oh, and Ana is perfect too. And can back up everything I just said.                

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Why must I push people's buttons?

Why does it seem that sometimes I must say or do things simply because I know that some would want me not to. What is this special joy I get from being just a little bad. Now, I am sure that if you asked any of those who know me, if I am a good person they would answer that I am more then reasonably so. But oh, those few aqaintances and family members that would have me be more prudent, reasonable, cautious, or even sagacious, drive me to behave atrociously.      So I set out into the world each day, trying to be good. But, I do so with my own terms.     My navy blue nails, polished and buffed to a high gloss and as razor sharp as my tongue. It has taken some time for me to realize that not everyone will get me.  And that just fine.  Those poor careful fools. 

Is it me, or could this man use a hug?

It makes you wonder. What if someone had shown the man a little love. Would it all had to have been so dark?  Maybe then we would have had The Tell Tale Heart (The musical).
Do I answer my own question? Yes, scary, just in another way. Poor Poe. If he could have found a balance. Murderous Gorillas on the page and a loving hearth and home. A grown woman at home, who could have keep the laudanum and brandy well locked away in the cupboard. "and for gosh sakes Edgar, eat breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day, and don't forget your galoshes you'll catch your death. Oh, and here, I baked you these, they're called chocolate chip cookies. I just read the recipe in Modern Housekeeping for uptight Victorians.  Love Ya! "

Monday, November 10, 2008

Did Elvis achieve perfection too often?

Did he reach for the sun too many times? We can't blame the
 Colonel completely for his downfall. What price does an artist pay to give  it all, to kill with each performance, act, production, piece.  Then  again,  what price do you pay not to try at all?

In the Pursuit of Perfection

Thou Shalt Always Kill

Sunday, November 9, 2008