Its A Contest People!

Another addition to the running Weird Craigs List theme. This (and he's got one of Washington and Jackson too) can be yours for the low, low cost of $35.

How about this: $35 to the first person who emails me which President this is.
Ready, Set, GO!


Erin- you can't play.
Sarah- your disqualified too.

Both ya'll too dang smart.

I was so sure no one had heard...

Damnit Lizzie, is nothing sacred!? ;)

UFC Fighter Kaleb the Kitty

I'm searching for my annual, wear-every-day-all-summer-long linen pants.

I went to Bannana Republic and the Sales Associate (she has an Associates in Hor'dom) told me I was "box" shaped. But not too worry because by doing a few squats with some 5 lbs weights in hand I could lift my ass up and pull in "those hips".

She died.

It was sad.

No Aloha FOR YOU!

Racist White Woman by Haunani-Kay Trask

I could kick

Your face, puncture

Both eyes.

You deserve this kind

Of violence.

No more vicious

Tongues, obscene

Lies.

Just a knife

Slitting your tight

Little heart.

For all my people

Under your feet

For all those years

Lived smug and wealthy

Off our land

Parasite arrogant

A fist

In your painted

Mouth, thick

With money

And piety.

Daaaaaaaamn girrrrrl! Mommas no jokin', no whatd I'm sayin'?

Suck Art.

I was sent a "escher and modigliani hybrid" piece of "art" yesterday. I say "art" in quotations (and lower case) because that is how the artist sent it to me.

That piece above, by the way, is not it, nor is it an Escher or a Modigliani...its a little something Bert Christianson calls "Cleavage".

Look at it again.

Stare at it.

You know you want to.

It reminds you of something, doesn't it?

Kinda Madonna and Child on ecstasy?

Weird.

Escher is a no brainer Art man- he did that curly cue shaving picture of a person's face. "The Rind". Popular modern. Its just missed "cult classic"...a bit more high brow than the notorious elevator into the ocean (which in my opinion is about as devoid of a thinking audience as The Scream).

Modigliani is a bit freaky for me. Anytime he painted a portrait the subject always had these hollow black eyes in a weird alien shape. No like.

Lauded for his weirdoness...individuality if you will, (which I dont get because frankly, with those eyes, they all look the same to me), Modigliani doesn't suck. You may like it, or hate it, but even a poo'head AP Art History high school student will give him props.

Plus he's got the equivalent of street cred in the Artist World. He died a disease ridden drunk, hooked on pills and depressed.

Plus, he was a Jew. Nuff said.

Escher died of cancer in some Artist Colony- boring? Yes. But he was good enough to get away with that type of stand-up lifestyle. My thought: Modigliani needed a healthy dose of high power angst to make him cool enough to be worthy of renowned and all that that word implies.

Which brings me to the question- what makes Art cool? Good? Worthy of discussion- or at least more than a two second glance? And on a counter note- what makes art suck? Tough questions which many philosophers, art scholars and people generally more brilliant than I am have tackled with gusto. But they're often too wordy, explaining every fucking reason behind all their fucking reasons. Drives me nutts.

Here's my rule of thumb: Any time a piece of work that is mass produced by a poster company and then sold to college students across the country for $10, you've got a problem. Ditto if some dude sells your piece of work pre-framed for $20 at a flea market or out of his car at a gas station. I apply my rule to the lowest of the low "Blue Line on White Canvas" to the notorious best of the best, like Monet.

Sorry Monet but The Water-Lily Pond now officially sucks.
No seriously. Its sucks so fucking bad it hurts.

"I have nothing to say / and I am saying it / and that is poetry / as I
needed it"
--John Cage


"It reflects no great honor on a painter to be able to execute only one
thing well -- such as a head, an academy figure, or draperies, animals,
landscapes, or the like -- in other words, confining himself to some particular
object of study. This is so because there is scarcely a person so devoid of
genius as to fail of success if he applies himself earnestly to one branch of
study and practices it continually."
--Leonardo da Vinci

Drinks?

My grandmother used these goblets (they're not "glasses" damnit) while I was growing up.

Between my Papa and I, they have all been broken except for one- which I keep wrapped up in a special box in the garage. I had two, but when the second to the last one broke, my heart just couldn't take watching the last one go. So it got packed away along with all my other life's memrobelia thats too precious to cope with losing.

That is, of course, until my mother decided it was finally time to give in to my begs and drop way too many $10's on these sexy baby blues.

I'm so excited.

Retail therapy is fucking pathetic.

Turn The Volume On Anyway

I've been learning to live without you now
but I miss you sometimes
the more I know, the less I understand
all the things I thought I knew
I'm learning them again

I've gotten a few emails about my lack of posts.
I'm in a bad mood. I hate missing...him.
I've got too much crap in my brain and its all clogged up.
Nothing happens fingers to keys.
Wont last forever, but could be longer than I'd like.
Peace- I'm taking a break.

The Holiday Call

Erin and I call each other on holidays. Every holiday- big or small. It began when I got perturbed with her one year, pre-holiday, when I wanted to talk about some "Amazing Grace" topic and she was being an atheist downer bootie-head.

Well, I'll show her.

Fast forward to Easter. Easter isn't a big one for her. The whole "The third day he rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven..." Apostle's Creed thing just doesn't jive in her mind. Who can blame her? She's Catholic. But even still, I called her an announced in my best mad scientist impersonation,

"He's aaaaaliiiive!"

With my usual celebratory "Risen Christ" Easter attitude, I assured her that she could breathe a little easier because I had officially prayed her way into Heaven. She was most gracious and, of course, thanked me profusely.

I also find it terribly fun to try to interrupt her in the middle of a holiday family event. Particularly those that involve extended family. My fantasy is to call Erin right when she sits down at the Christmas dinner table and butt in with a loud, obnoxious cell phone ring. I would bust into the most operatic version of "Happy Birthday Baby Jesus" I could muster. And she'd have to sit through the whole thing with me on speaker phone! Delicious! The very thought makes me giddy.

One year she answered on Christmas Eve (she gets two phone calls around then- Christmas Eve and Christmas Day) and she said in a hushed voice "We're about to eat- cant chat- call you back." I said a quick "Ok, bye." in a similar whisper and set the phone down with an evil gleam of twisted satisfaction in my eye.

Sooooooo close.

The beauty of Erin and I is two fold: we often disagree and we like it that way. I'm a Jesus Freak and she's atheist. She's a vegetarian and I crave rare cow butt. I like Tupac and Madonna, Erin heads for the indie labels. She assures me that some men really are good in bed. I lament having to waste the 15 minutes it takes the men I've pulled out from under the rocks. And there is little to no chance of changing either one of our minds about most topics. Even if we act like we might in conversation with you...nooo...we're just hoping if we give you a few head nods you'll shut the fuck up.

Ok, so neither of us are really that extreme. No, really, we're very open minded. I happily cook vegetarian dishes regularly, will conceded that the Virgin Birth aint all the probable, and In still have hope for the brother's, if you know what I mean. Erin would agree that humans may never fully understand the concept of existence in all its glory- while happily listening to my rendering of Man in the Mirror, by Michael Jackson. Stoned, I'm a rockstar.

This Thanksgiving, as with all holidays, I am thankful for my Erin, in whatever extreme she can bring. In fact...I might even try the tofurkey.

Frickin' Google

It seems if you google Duncan Hunter and/or California 52 Congressional District my last post will eventually pop up. More than a few of these surfers are Dumb Duncan Fans and have taken me up on my offer in the November 19th post:

Dear California's 52 Congressional District,

I know you've voted Duncan Hunter into Congress since 1981. And I know he's retiring now and that his son Duncan D. Hunter is hot on his father's coattails. And yes, Duncan D. is a Marine. And yes, you've got a lot of drug crime and maybe you think that he's the man for the job.

He isn't. He's wrong. Scary wrong. He's so wrong that I can't even begin to touch on it here. But I promise- if you write me, I will answer. And not in my typical wild curse-word laden manner. I'll send you the emails and blog pages of really smart people- I mean super smart people. Much smarter than me. Obviously, I have an agenda. But if you believe nothing else- believe that so does Duncan D. Hunter.
Get both sides. At the very least, you'll know your opposition even better.

Dont Be Doop'd,
DEE DEE YEE

Well, I came through. And after 47 emails, forwarding them on and having them thoroughly anwsered (like 10 page Law Review anwsered), I have decided to suspend my offer. My super smart politico friends are tired (and really busy as most super smart people are). I am too embarressed to ask for any more anwsers because, afterall, they get paid to think. I'm begging for freebies over here, know what I'm sayin'?

Thanks to Ben. Thanks King. Thanks JennyBenny.
Drinks on me.

The Brookings Institute in Washington D.C. is one of the oldest and most prominent private research institutions in the United States. The scholars of Brookings devote thier lives to the art of thought and logic. They're some of the smartest think-tank motherfuckers I have ever had the pleasure of calling friends. They give us all hope. http://www.brookings.edu/

Duncan Hunter

Could Obama bring down the militarys dumb-dumb Dont Ask/Dont Tell policy? Could The Man liberate our gay and lesbian troops?

(Dude- did you catch that? I just referred to a black man as "The Man". There are so many firsts in this administration is down-right silly!!)

So if Obama is our Great Black Hope...then who's the Evil Do'er, you ask? I'll tell you:

Duncan Hunter

Ranking Member of the House Armed Services Committee

This is what DumbDumb Duncan had to say on 60Minutes on Sunday:

We aren't the Brits. We're not the Europeans. We're not the Swedes. The Fallujahs of the world, the Ramadis of the world that require heavy combat and lots of fire-fighting capability- those are the places Americans go. The other countries tend to go to the so-called peacekeeper zones, where they have fewer fire fights and less contact with the enemy. And the European nations show little will to send large contingents of their military people into dangerous places.

With the Pentagon now making its recruiting goals, would we risk with doing
away with this system that works, where American families sit around the dinner
table and they make a decision that their young man or their young woman is
going to go into this military because they share the values of that military.
Or should we experiment at a time when our military is totally volunteer, when
it's extremely capable and perhaps lose that capability and perhaps lose those
number Perhaps lose those re-enlistments and perhaps lose that
effectiveness.

Duncan Hunter. Duncan, Duncan, Duncan. *tsk* *tsk* Duncan. Finger-wag, finger-wag! Your in time out. Go to the naughty chair! Your grounded! INDEFINITELY.
Richard Simmons will be upstairs momentarily to give you a spanking.

Dear Dumb Fucking Duncan,

I'll work backwards.

A) The Pentagon's making their recruitment goals?

In 2006 the Army had to start issuing waivers to convicted felons, lower their mental and physical standards, double their enlistment bonus and triple their reenlistment bonus. Congratulations! The Pentagon made the cut!

Too bad none of their new recruits could.

B) American families sitting around the dinner table to discuss whether or not their children should serve in the Armed Forces?

Uhmmm...Someones been watching a few too many Leave It To Beaver re-runs. That quintessential 1950's family is legend. A cultural myth. It never existed. It was someones idea of ideal and people tried to achieve it....

Think "supermodel thin" and teenage eating disorders. Like that.

C) You think Peacekeeping Zones are for pussies, eh?

I got idea!! Ship your fat fucking ass to Darfur. No? Dont want to go? How about the Congo? I hear the Tche Refugee Camp's got a great feeding program. Still not good? You like Lebanon? The Hezbollah guerrillas are sure to say "Hi". Afghanistan's got a good NATO Peacekeeping force. I'm sure you could get in there.

Oh, please pick Darfur! Pretty, pretty please!?

D) We're not the Brits? Not Europeans? Swiss?

Did you just say that? DID YOU seriously just insult an ENTIRE FUCKING CONTINENT AND THEIR MILITARYS?

Dear California's 52 Congressional District,

I know you've voted Duncan Hunter into Congress since 1981. And I know he's retiring now and that his son Duncan D. Hunter is hot on his father's coattails. And yes, Duncan D. is a Marine. I know you've got a lot of drug crime and maybe you think that he's the man for the job.

He isn't. He's wrong. Scary wrong. He's so wrong that I can't even begin to touch on it here. But I promise- if you write me, I will answer. And not in my typical wild curse-word laden manner. I'll send you the emails and blog pages of really smart people- I mean super smart people. Much smarter than me.

Obviously, I have an agenda. But if you believe nothing else- believe that so does Duncan D. Hunter.

Get both sides. At the very least, you'll know your opposition even better.

Check out Family Day: A National Day To Eat Dinner With Your Children. http://casafamilyday.org/familyday/

Miss Lilian

Lilian is a mighty three. If you ask her how old she is she will violently shove three little fingers in the air, lock eyes with you and give a millitant "and thats the way it is" nod of her head.




Lilian attends a small, private inclusive school for average-abled and deaf children just outside Washington D.C. There are plenty of other deaf children there, but even still, you can spot Lilian immediately in the crowd. Her clothes are hand me downs from her four foster sisters and her hair was recently chopped (quite hapazardly in my opinion) due to a stubborn case of lice. Amoungst the hip little District kiddies, Lilian is a bit...rough around the edges, shall I say?

Her tuition is split between two deaf women, and two deaf men, who live in Washington D.C. As her foster mother puts it- her "fancy pants" school would never be possible on the small government check she recieves for caring for Lilian.

As her foster mother gripes about money, Lilian is reading the big people's lips and is quick to remind her foster mother that she doesn't have any "fancy pants". Lilian's fingers thrust in the air: "No pretty pants on Lilian!" And although her foster mother doesn't know ASL, she has a good idea that Lilian had a "smart-mouth-sign" and returns Lilian's icy stare with your-about-to-get-time-out eyebrows. Its do-or-die body language in Lilian's house.

Your probably wondering how all this happened to Lilian. To be frank, the first 4 months of Lil's life would make any of us want to crawl back to God and ask for a reassignment. Within moments of her first breath, she got ditched. Her hearing loss is most likely the result of exposure. How fucked does that sound, eh? Trust me, the sign for it is even worse.

If you ask her "You deaf? You hearing?"- a common question in "mixed" company- she will give you a small, sly smile. She's not sure what this "hearing" thing is yet, but she suspects its a trick question- or one of those questions growups ask children just to see if they know the awnser. Either way- she's annoyed. I watch her eyes sink deep and her fingers sign rapidly by her side, in no particular word order. She's thinking of how to outsmart me.

I wait patiently until she responds: "What hear do, I don't know? But I know I Lilian, Big Girl!"

I'm happy to say that I know Lilian, Big Girl, too.

We Won.

"For, while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, it always must be heard." Baldwin, 1965

James Baldwin (1924-1987) was a queer, black American author and civil rights activist who treked the minefield of the human rights race with "an elequence to inspire a nation"*.

His book-length essay, No Name In The Street, is a moving account of his experiences through the assassinations and mourning of his three friends Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

I guarantee he'll make you say "wow" more than once.

*Maya Angelou

I think I'm in love.

HOLY HELL, it finally happened.

I got flag'd on Craigslist.

For all the times I have appropriately flagged some skeevie horn-ball for posting an ad that starts with "Cum over for some hot..." in the Platonic WFW section!

For all those times I have flagged "Help me transfer my money into your account...from Uganda." in the Employment section!

This is the thanks I get. And, to add insult to injury, all this for commenting on my SOLAR TOILET interest*. Of all things, I get flagged over toilet talk!

Some person put an ad/comment/discussion thing up on Craigslist and had a question about solar toilets. I decided to chime in and sent a link to my solar out-house blog post. Instead of writing a long drawn out post (stop rolling your eyes), I decided to simply say "Solar out-houses, a great alternative- check out my toilet blog on 52islandweeks.blogger.com".

Well, some post'er (tag name "jazzy_jeep3000"...dumbass) said it was a tacky attempt to try to get people to go to my blog and flagged my ass!

I have been accused of hor'ing out my website! By someone named "jazzy_jeep3000."

Please be kidding. All I can do is envision some asshole driving a gas guzzeling, jacked out Jeep with foot-high lifted 32 inch tires, a KC top-mount light rack and a Calvin-pissing-on-Chevy sticker in the back window (right next to thier McCAIN-PALIN sticker).

Have you nothing better to do jazzy_jeep3000 than harrass someone trying to do a little for the planet?

I, of course, had nothing better to do than blog about an out-houses.
Quite possibly, we're equal.



*(obsession...whatever).

Woah. Dude. Woah dude.

Ok, so I know. I know I post all too often about some art-form and then tear it to bits because it either A) skeeves me out or B) pisses me off (beside...don't artist like to evoke emotion?!) but this time its different.

Have you ever seen "Reverse Graffiti?" This one is by Scott Wade. Not only does it highlight a medium thats right under our noses- yet for obvious reason often overlooked- it makes what some consider unsightly amazing.

This shit right here- best thing I've seen all year. And I should know. I have mind numbingly important opinons when it comes to visual media.
My Art 101 proff said so in 1998.


Photo Credit: Reverse Graffiti: Activist Art Extraordinaire. Johanna Smith for The Huffington Post. 2008
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/10/28/reverse-graffiti-activist_n_138621.html

Undecided.

I notice little children everywhere I go- particularly babies. Blame it on whatever you like- "that" time of life, hormones- I see them all the time. Cute ones, naughty ones, pudgy ones, black and white, I like 'em all.

Typically I think they are cute and then I comment on their cute little clothing. Other times however, I grind my teeth and pray that the bottle recklessly shoved in their little mouths will quiet them long enough for me to eat my meal in peace. My writing, at present, is about an experience to the latter.

This morning when KT and I were loading up her bundle of gear into the car we heard the not-so distant scream of an infant from across the parking lot. As KT heaved her work gear vests, helmet and a duffel bag full of necessities into the backseat of her truck, I watched patiently over her shoulder while a young mother tugged on her baby, desperately trying to free the child's fitful foot from a tangled seat belt. All the while, the unfazed mother's shoulders and back strained under the weight of a large carry'all bag and what looked to be a portable crib. A balancing act fit for an Olympic Game.

Just moments before, KT and I had finished collecting our things to leave the house. At a morning hour that began with '5' and ended with who-the-fuck-knows, my body was screaming at me for a few more hours of sleep. We were up early and in a hurry- KT had training to get to. As I watched her heave the heavy weight of her gear onto her shoulder and fumble for her keys to lock the door behind her, I silently remarked how steadfast she endured her job requirements. She respected the weight of her responsibility too much to complain about its burdens.

Closing up the car, KT and I briefly met eyes and over the cries of that exceptionally frustrated baby and KT quietly remarked something to the effect of "I'm glad that's not me this morning." I nodded in agreement...my barely awake body didn't want to handle that kid either. We were happy to be on our side of the parking lot.

I trotted off to my car, with nothing in hand but my purse and I smiled. Granted, at that moment, KT wasn't about to trade her bags for that screaching infant. But would that mom have traded places with KT? The twenty pound portable crib for the ten pound bullet proof vest? Probably not.

So here we have two woman- experiencing the same thing- from polar ends of the feminine equation. And me? I was the neutral variable, somewhere stuck between, "wow, I wish I had a big fat gun" and "wow, I wish I had a chubby little baby".

Thankfully, neither KT, the baby momma, nor I have to make exclusive choices. We can be bullet-proof-vest-wearing mommies, armed with a Glock and Gerber.

And being American, we'll take it to go, please. We're on a tight schedule, gentlemen.



Check out Working Mother's article ranking America's top 100 best companies for having your cake and eating it too. http://www.workingmother.com/web?service=vpage/3214

Weird Craigslist

KT and I are looking for a coffee table for the living room. The hunt began on Craigslist.

For obvious reason, we went for one at Target.
If ever something begs the what-the-fuck question, this does.

Can I Vote on YOUR Marriage Now?

I like words and as I may have mentioned in previous posts- I admire linguists who delve into the subtle nuances of language.

A favorite saying, with regard to the definition and usage of a word: "A cliche has never been defined 'a cliche' because it rarely happens."

And I love acronyms- federal finance and military acronyms have their own dictionaries. A couple simple ones that I am almost sure your familiar with:

AMEX American Stock Exchange


F.U.B.A.R. fucked up beyond all recognition

Acronyms are the playful side of hell-of-a-mess word strings and hence, I always seem to get off topic with them. The point of this post is to discuss why acronyms are even used to begin with. Because while playful, they are also a careful way of saying convoluted, sometimes offensive, titles and phrases. You would think politicians would be all over them! Consider: here is a way to,

A) sound smart (because if you use acronyms often and the right way you sound way brilliant) B) have very few people understand what your saying

C) awnser the question without answering the question!

Perfect!

I think Joe Bidden should use more acronyms. How about this one Joe? DOMA. Thats the Defense of Marriage Act. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defense_of_Marriage_Act Its Clinton's often overlooked greatest grand stand fuck-you to homosexuals. Its the only thing that can trump his cute little Don't Ask Don't Tell.

And why must marriage be defended you ask? No, no: its not the ever escalating divorce rate. You see, its the word that needs defense, according to this years Democratic ticket. For them, the word 'marriage' conjures up emotions...heterosexual emotions. And images....heterosexual images. And they, understandably, feel very protective and possessive of those emotions and images. Words like 'rape', 'abortion' and 'holocaust' will also invoke emotions, just on the opposite side of the swing set. Those words can make us digusted or angry. You get the idea.

Obama-Bidden believe that same-sex couples (Jesus, can we just say gay? Its like three letters ya'll.) are entitled to the same constitutional/legal benefits as heterosexual couples. They do not, however, wish to redefine the 'civil' definition of marriage. Hence, Joe and Obama would both have to say, and have said, "No, I do not support gay marriage." They would be those jackass'es that shake our hands and say words like partnership and union.

My point is that while there is nothing wrong with words like partnership and union- nor anything incrediably marvelous about the sequenced letters m'a'r'r'i'a'g'e, you, my politician, do not have to define any of those words...at all. Its not your place.

Certainly, there are some words that you, as my public servant, must define. You are charged with upholding the definitions, usage and application, of words like liberty, justice, equality, and humanity just to name a few. But by suggesting that you somehow can control the word usage of marriage, its defintion and application, you offend me. And then I laugh because....*sigh....oh fuck sake...

I'll tell you what Joe- lets "keep it simple stupid". You use whatever goddamned word you want. And I'll use whatever goddamned word I want. And, in all seriousness, I applaud you using whatever word that you understand and thats makes you feel most secure. Perhaps a word that doesn't challenge your heterosexually homogenized dictionary. Then I will, yet again, call it whatever I damn well please.

We need a revolution people and we ain't got no King.
Or Queen.
How 'bout Kween?

Three simple words can describe the nature of the social revolution that is talking place and what Negroes really want. They are the words "all," "now," and "here." MLK

We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness--That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive to these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such Principles and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. . . . Thomas Jefferson

New Running Theme - Weird Craig's List

I love Craigslist.com

I truly think you can find just about anything on Craig's List. I've found apartments, furniture, concert tickets...uuuhhhmm....

trust me, the list goes on.

While clicking craigslist, I often run into some of the strangest items on earth. Then I copy/paste the pictures and send them to my friends. They claim to think its as funny as I do, so I am going to start posting some of the weirdest things here. All can enjoy.

Damn. I cant write for shit tonight. This reads like a stoned high school freshman writes.

Nevertheless...this "thing" below freaks me out.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh! Its a doggy baby!!

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!