Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Couple a days or so, or so what?

Yesterday, after the ritual pureeing of the yard waste, we popped off to the blood bank and dumped a couple of quarts for the cause.
Then had lunch and goofed off for the rest of the day.

So, if a pint's a pound, I only weigh 199 today, right?

Today I frantically edited the 2vln concerto piano reduction for some spelling and playability concerns.

Not everybody has a span of a tenth.

An octave will do nicely.

The usual prelims, walking downtown, parking, Ladro for caf&carb, the library, where I got bored until I found Alex Shapiro's other world cartoon persona, as gorgeous as a 'toon as in real life.

Full story on my Facebook profile.

Walking back uphill.

Although, when you think about it, who's to say which is the reality and which is the imagination? All your senses accumulate in your head and forms pattern that one's brain assembles and labels "reality" which have no more proof of accuracy than the amusing scenarios one experiences upon waking from sleep.

But what the hell, as long as I don't bump into too many invisibles.

How can CA be so dim about Prop 8?

A good proportion of my commenters are from the other team.

Let's face it show biz without gays is as lame as music without blacks.


Here's a picture

I can't sneer out of that side of my mouth anymore.

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Blogger butch said...

I used to give blood
but one time I tried
and found out I have too many things wrong with me,
and am on too many meds
to please the smiling vampires.
So I guess I've got
4F style lubricant in my veins.
I am listening this morning
to the CD you sent
that has the viola concerto
on it, and it zings along
keeping my mind abuzz with
poetic notions and iconraphy.
I keep forgetting to watch
Alex Shapiro in CGI at home,
where I would have access
to it. Here at the office
it will not plug in, or allow
me to view it. Big Brother
is such a prude and a poop.
After exhausting the online
available poetry of
Albert Huffstickler, I begin
to realize that very few
poets ever made a living of
any sort exclusively from their
poetry. They all had other
jobs and then got lucky enough
to publish some. Buk was a
bit of an exception because
he lived in rat traps and
only needed chump change for
wine and cigs. Huffstickler
was kind of the same way.
Young John Korn, who became
a poet in 2002, the year
Huff died, loves his poetry,
and has published a book
of his own, but actually is
a social worker to pay the
bills and such. Where the hell
are the patrons of the arts,
those wealthy sombitches who
used to keep a poet or two
around living in garrets and
attics and basements, cranking
out their verse, or lack of it?
I need to remember to plug
in Jannie's rockabilly video
too from my home computer.
I am missing so much by
just concentrating my efforts
only here at the office
before the cock's crow,
or the morning constitutional.
One of these days or years
I will pay more attention
to Facebook. You seem to have
yet another life, another
persona over there. Have you
put anything on YouTube?
Like you driving Gokwiis
out in the middle of Lake
Washington? "Proof of Accuracy",
ah yes, now we shall dip into
the metaphysical, the philosophical, and try to define
reality, or surreality, or dreams,
or what's beyond the veil, or
behind the curtain adjacent
to the wizard. Good CGI, or even
fairly good animation like ROGER
RABBIT, is a kind of reality--
you are bang on there. Marvel
Comics is certainly grateful
for modern film technology, since
only now could Iron Man, the Hulk, Spider Man, Batman, the Supe, and many others really come big on the
silver screen. Stan Lee is smiling
so hard his lips may fall
off. I haven't kept up on
Prop 8. Is that the same sex
marriage bill? You are certainly
accurate when you honor
all the switch hitters and
gay folks who linger in the
ozone of cyberland, waiting
for a good old fashioned
gab fest here at FFTL.
1959, Doug Mercer (Palmer),
with longish hair slicked
back, Buddy Holly glasses
(now Elvis Costello), and his
trusty six-string hanging
on his neck, ready for fame,
fortune, or whatever life
was ready to throw at him.
This is the way you looked
when we first met all those
dim decades hence, all those
blood under bridge years ago.
Thanks for the memories.
I need to find out how
to scan old photos onto
my new Mac, so that I can
wax poetic about the 50's
and 60's and all like that.


6:03 AM  
Blogger Lane Savant said...

If mice can't talk, how do you explain Disneycorp (or whatever they're calling themselves these days)?

8:17 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hallo, Lane!
It wasn't Californians as a whole who nixed Prop. 8, but just a few judges, and judges are notoriously behind the times, basing as much as possible on "precedent" and are generally conservative in their attitudes toward "life styles".
A ray of hope about the Judiciary, however, could be Ms. Sotomayor, if theReactionaries don't nix her appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court!!
Brava Sotomayor!!

3:46 PM  
Blogger butch said...

Actually the actor,
the third one since
His wife does Minnie Mouse.
I forget his name.
Anyway, here is your chance
to hit the big time.
Just get hold of Disney,
or Pixar, or whomever,
and in your fabulous
falsetto, introduce yourself
as Lane Savant, the "new"
voice of the Mouse.
Check out the new Austin poet,
W. Joe Hoppe, that I stumbled
upon while searching for
the last of the available
Huffstickler poetry. Joe
is cool, off the wall. He
of course makes his actual
living as an English teacher
at Austin Community College.
That is always the way, enit?
50 years I have been working
for the man, several men
actually, not counting being
in the Navy, or when I was
mostly an unemployed
under appreciated movie star.
One more year and those seven
day weekends will be upon me
like blowflies on cow pies,
and I will smear my retirement
all over me like insect
repellent, and the working world
can kiss my keester, much like
it does for you now, sort of.


6:11 AM  

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