Dragon and Gryphon

My gryphon has a new playmate!

Jen and Oni bought me dragon for my birthday. His name's Sid. Yes, as in Sid Vicious. Of course.

Sid's set up so's he can sit up on the roof like a weathervane though our boy is TOTALLY not into the Al Roker thing. Nope. Sid's all about scaring away marauding seagulls, scary-ass nightmares (ya know, like a dreamcatcher!) and degenerate Republi/Fascists, hellbent on stealing my peace.

Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own.
~ Evgeny Shvarts

Ah but who'd ever wanna get rid of one? 

I don't seem to have a name for my poor gryphon. How can they possibly star in their own buddy flick without one?

What shall we call Sid's gryphon pal?

They say it's my birthday

It’s the big day – my birthday. I’ve arrived at the door of 61 feeling veddy, veddy tired, achy and all around kvetchy. What up? Well, did I mention? I’m fucking 61 years old! Shit don’t work as well as it used to. I’m not so resilient and shit.

I will never again be as thin
or energetic as I was in 1973,
at the tender age of 15.
On the other hand I’m a
shit-ton more secure and sane now.

I was, pretty much, flat out exhausted after this month’s Pittsburgh trip. Exhausted and feeling failure-esque. Daddy likes to hear my stories and I couldn’t think of one to tell. All that came to mind were humorless whines and rants. So, I kept my sad yap shut. I'm just no damn fun.
 
Tomorrow,  Ten and I will head north again to Quilcyville – Cindy and Giovanni’s magical upstate Vermont patch of paradise. We’ll, once again and unbelievably for me, camp out in their wondrous yurt, swim in their river and, just generally, wander around their enchanted and enchanting farm.

Nota bene, I’ll wander NOT hike. I like being in gorgeous pastoral surroundings – woods, glens and the like – but don’t make me climb and struggle over uneven terrain to get there. If I wanted to do that I'd hit the goddamn elliptical more.

Meanwhile, here have a few words AND their REAL definitions.

Fascicle
noun [fas-i-kuhl]
a section of a book or set of books being published in installments as separate pamphlets or volumes.

Ah…no. This actually refers to the microscopic man bit of Republi/Fascist Americans, particularly after his advances have been roundly rejected/frozen out. Mind you, this is the usual sitch so fascicle is now synonymous with Republi/Fascist mini wang.

Shivaree
noun [shiv-uh-ree]
a mock serenade with kettles, pans, horns, and other noisemakers given for a newly married couple; charivari.

No, this was a Gidget-esque surf movie from the late 50s. Duh!

Subitize
verb (used without object) [soo-bi-tahyz] Psychology.
to make an immediate and accurate reckoning of the number of items in a group or sample without needing to pause and actually count them.

Nuh-huh. This is when you make something or someone ready to take a ride on a submarine. In my case, with my trés muscular claustrophobia, this would involve administering weapons grade sedatives.

Donnybrook
noun [don-ee-brook] (often initial capital letter)
an inordinately wild fight or contentious dispute; brawl; free-for-all.

Yes this is word DOES refer to a fracas, a melee but the definition isn’t precise or complete. This is, essentially, the overall state of our country as we draw closer to the 2020 elections. This refers specifically to The Criminal In Chief and his renfield, Moscow Mitch. The two of them and their angry dimwitted suckers won’t go down without a donnybrook to end all donnybrooks.

Redoubtable
adjective [ri-dou-tuh-buhl]
that is to be feared; formidable.

Nope. It’s when you’ve expressed uncertainty over something or someone and then find that you need to repeat yourself. This is just prior to disdainfully asking “What? Did I stutter?!”

Beadledom
noun [beed-l-duhm]
a gratuitous or officious display or exercise of authority, as by petty officials.

I think the word actually has something to do with the movie Beadlejuice. Ya know, the one where the crude, altogether gross and fratboy-ish (but I repeat myself) demon, played to perfection by Michael Keaton, terrorizes ghosts and live humans with his creative but nasty-ass party behavior.

So, the word REALLY means perniciously obnoxious, boorish, misogynistic and violently rape-y.

Oh wait, the movie’s spelled Beetlejuice? Huh. Nevermind.

So, Happy Birfday to me. I gotta hit the gym now so's I can work off all that carrot cake Ima eat later.
Birthday – Beatles

So, wha'd I miss?

Whelp, pResident Evil (AND Blindingly Stupid: the freakazoid lie machine) continues to be SO very incompetent and hateful that I wonder how he managed to get 62,984,828 people to vote for his disgusting, badly dressed, hate-a-tronic fat ass.

Mind you, I’m just assuming those voters were human. Could be they were aliens from Mars who really wanted to fuck with/destabilize Earth so’s they could slip in and easily take over. Ya know, this’d totally explain his VERY brief flirtation with going to Mars. It's not that he's a Martian but, like with Russia, he wanted to open one of his vermin riddled hotel/restaurants there! Oh but wait, space travel involves science stuff and that shit bores me senseless (even more so).

Another theory, Trump voters were no more than people shaped casts of rabid weasel excrement who, through a vile spell, were animated just long enough to ignite the death of our nation. This, actually, could be part and parcel of the Martian’s dastardly plot.

Ya know, why waste resources fumigating Earth when it's easy enough to get us to destroy ourselves? Those Martians have a lot on the ball, eh?

Did you see? Another of the Tangerine Twat’s very fine people, taking a page from the Charlottesville White Nazi playbook, drove his pick up truck into a crowd of protesters in Rhode Island.

One of Truck Boy’s victims was a righteous 67 year old protester.

“The short of it is, I’m fine,” Belair said in an interview. “Everybody wants to focus on the injuries and stuff. They should be focused on the First Amendment.” (source)

The privately run prison originally had a police presence, (to make sure the protesters remained peaceful) but, just before the violent fuck in a truck came barrelling through the protesters, the police *POOF* magically vanished. Interesting timing, n'est-ce pas? Oh and at some point, the privately run prison guards stormed out and began pepper spraying the peaceful protesters. 

With a magically disappearing (potential murder enabling) police force and a prison staffed with quick to violence tools, there's not a whole lotta reason for me to ever visit Central Falls, Rhode Island.

Media types have long been saying that we’re headed for another civil war. This is it. Ya know, you're soaking in it. Not North against South this time. It’s the easily conned, dimbulbed, desperately frightened and hate filled gun humpers who live next door against sentient humanity.

Frankly, if I was Martian I’d be seriously leery of us earthlings. We’re on the whole, not terribly bright, we’re ridiculously shortsighted and WAY too quick to violence.

Oh right, THAT'S why they want to get rid of us before they move in.

Going Home

The minute Ten and I drove out of the Pittsburgh city limits, or so it seemed, the day went from bright sun to Stephen King-style dense mist. Ominous no? Was this a foreshadowing of the things to come?

Nope. Sometimes near impenetrable mist is just, ya know, weather.

I was still fried from the day before’s heat stroke inspiring walk around the Strip District so I was relieved that, when we got to Relieved why? This gave me the opportunity to do stuff that takes zero emotional energy like arranging and scheduling his optometrist appointment. This turned out to be a more involved process than expected. It’d be awesome if there was a visiting eye doc and there IS one BUT it’s not covered in Pop’s insurance. I’m a little confused – why aren’t visiting docs a standard offering in nursing homes? Why are insurance companies involved?

Doesn’t it make enormous and compassionate sense to have health care pros go to the  elderly, infirm patients as opposed to putting them through the struggle and stress?

Instead Daddy will be transported via the nursing home van (though the woman at the desk called it a truck. Now that I think on it, this is concerning). Also, they won’t take him unless I’m here. OK but this involved a game of 500 way tag. I texted Jen to find out when she could get off work to accompany me. Then I told the desk which day and times next month would work for us. She called the department store (it has an optometry department) who’d originally told her that Friday afternoons were good/open. Fairly simple, yes? Nope. No optometrist working on the first chosen date.

I confirmed that YES the eye doc’s do usually work on Friday afternoons. I picked another Friday, texted Jen to see if she could get that one off instead. She cleared it with her boss and got back to me. I spoke with the front desk lady who called the store. She stopped by Pop’s room to let me know that this new date didn’t work either We went another couple rounds before I asked “on what day next month can they give Daddy an afternoon appointment. Preferably a Friday or Monday?”

Luckily Jen’s employers are more elastic than this supposedly flexible shop.  (Friday afternoons next moth are totally open!)

WHY jump through all these back and forth hoops when Ten could go with me whenever (and he was standing RIGHT there)? Daddy’s VERY comfortable with Jen. The appointment, leaving his home and his nurse and sitting up in a wheelchair for a couple hours is gonna be stressful. Jen mellows him clean out. Me too.

Yes, Ten chills me out BIG TIME. I’m sure he’ll do the same for Pop after he gets to know him better.

This morning I’ve alerted Daddy to his responsibilities – he’s to sing happy birthday to me (it's Sunday, not today) AND eat cake. Very important. After that, Ten and I will motor back to the airport and then home where Coco will, doubtless, inflict her near lethal guilt. There’s catnip and treats in our future!

I'm Going Home – Rocky Horror Picture Show

Dragon Lady

Dragon Lady with Dino

And by Dragon Lady, what I mean to say is that I am SUCH a drag!!!

How’s that you might ask (those of you who you don’t know me well, that is)?

Ten and I were  in Pittsburgh for ONE afternoon. We could’ve gone to the Carnegie Melon Museum or ridden the Incline or gone to Station Square. We could’ve wandered Liberty Ave – Pittsburgh’s old Red Light District, to see how radically it’d changed in the 30++ years since I lived around here.

Shroud of Turinesque Buddha Tshirts
No, I could NOT resist

What’d we do? Took a stroll on the main drag of the Strip District looking, ostensibly, for tie dye Ts (which, shockingly, we didn’t find though we DID find these charmers at left.). After our relatively short walk, I was so battered, broken and sweat soaked from the soggy 84º heat (sheesh! Am I a pansy OR WHAT!?) that all I had the energy for was a dinner of sammiches and a WAY too expense sauvignon blanc from the hotel bar.

I was reminded of The Amazing Bob who was such a homebody that, after  30 minutes of sitting with Jen, Oni and I on the porch (all of us reading and wave watching) he would stand up and, tongue firmly in cheek, indignantly announce/ask “we bought these perfectly good houses – WHY are we sitting outside?!” He’d then, mock-huffily, head inside. This was AOK ‘cause…C’MON…this was TAB fer fucks sake!

So yesterday I was thinking “we paid for this perfectly good hotel room – WHY are we leaving it!”

Ten, just FYI, has WAY more energy (and heat tolerance) than I. Yes, I feel desperately guilty about this. If guilt was an Olympic event I’d take the gold every damn time. Also, me back’s, loudly, threatening to off me, my knees are volunteering to donate to the Kill Donna Fund and my internal thermostat is all “so you thought hot flashes sucked – well…TAKE this!”

NOT a chilly male parental unit
but a frosty soda
OR tonic if you’re from Southie

The sandwich shop we went to, here in the the theoretically hip and enlightened Strip District, was  named Peppi’s. The large menu wasn’t ALL meat but close. Under the “Vegetarian” header they listed a tuna melt, tuna salad and, get this, CHICKEN strips! FYI Peppi, while some vegetarian’s DO eat fish (more accurately termed  “pescatarians”) chicken is NOT in any book, considered vegetarian.

I was reminded of the old timey Chinese restaurant  back home which, under vegetable selections, listed dishes which included pork. Is the thinking “only cow is meat?” Ummm…WRONG!

Peppi’s DID have two entire, honestly veg, selections. There was a grilled portabella mushroom sub and something called The Shadyside (grilled onions, mushrooms, sweet peppers and provolone)

The Shadyside was very good.

Afterward, not unexpectedly, I experienced a series of small explosions which would eventually lead to my own personal Fartmageddon .

Incredibly, Ten did NOT kick me outta the hotel room. The man’s a saint.

In a few hours we’ll drive to my father’s wee hamlet for a visit or three. We’re staying with Michal, out in the gloriously gorgeous, peaceful and pastoral Idaho with her three cats and BIG Jake dog. I’m SO looking forward to it.

Whoosh!

On the way to Pittsburgh (and running late...as uszh) and then to my father's little town north of there. Yeah, it's another wam bam thank you ma'am visit BUT we're doing things slightly different this time. Gonna stay one night in Pittsburgh (or in the local parlance "Pikksburgh"), to wander and chill.

Chill-age, I'm in BIG need of that!

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other places, other lives, other souls.
~ Anais Nin

Waldeath

Apparently it was a busy weekend for the microscopically dicked Amurikkkan set, (I got me a BIG ass gun and that makes my pee-pee look HUGE, right?)

Frankly, I think this is a plot to make Walmart synonymous with death (not just poverty level wages and destruction of mom and pops). Ya know, make shoppers too afraid to pass though the doors of Cheap, Badly Made, Crap Heaven. This MIGHT be a dark pay back scheme perpetrated by very organized, deeply disgruntled, sick and sick-of-the-slave-wages workers. OR it’s being done up by vengeful former small biz owners who’ve been forced into bankruptcy by the Walton's inhumane unscrupulous biz model.

Looka here, I’ve created my own bullshit conspiracy theory!!

The whole thing began with the murder of John Crawford III, by a police officer, in an Ohio Walmart for his crime of shopping while black.

In Miami-Dade, on December 9th, 2018 a gunman opened fire just outside the Walmart on Northwest 79th Street and Northwest 32nd Avenue. No one was physically injured.The threat was enough.

At a Suburban Philadelphia Walmart there was an argument at a cash register where a dude whipped out his penis substitute. Again no actual murder but there was plenty of mayhem – five people got fucked up.

Huntersville, North Carolina's Walmart was the scene of a murder in late May.

Early June of this year brought a murder just outside the front door of a Merritt Florida Walmart. 

There was the Juy 30th murder of two people in the Southaven, Mississippi Walmart.

And, of course, there’s the Trump inspired El Paso Texas Walmart Massacre where 21 human lives were horrifically stolen on August 3rd, just ten days ago.

Gun toting ghouls have been busy little midget dicked bees in that week and a half since then.

Police in Springfield, Missouri, said they arrested a man who showed up Thursday at a Walmart store carrying a rifle and wearing body armor, terrifying shoppers who fled from the store. Springfield police posted on Facebook that "an armed individual" was arrested. No shots were fired. CBS News' Tom Hanson reports.  (source)

A Florida white supremacist has been arrested for threatening a shooting at a Walmart just days after 22 people were killed at a Walmart in El Paso, Texas, in one of the worst mass shootings in the country’s modern history.  (source)

A happy carnival ride. Hey, I gotta have some pretty amongst all the fury!

My Walmart conspriacy theory's fallen apart with the arrest of the Las Vegas neo-Nazi who was plotting to bomb a synagogue and a gay night club.

Conor Climo, 23, who worked as a security guard, allegedly was found to be in possession of bomb-making materials and was “communicating with individuals who identified with a white supremacist extremist organization using the National Socialist Movement to promote their ideology,” according to the FBI. (source)

Apparently all or most of the recent big gun violence is authored NOT by folks who want to shoot the Waltons in the wallet but by white supremacist terrorists. Shit House pResident 45 doesn't want us to know this though. A report was done by the New Jersey’s Office of Homeland Security Preparednes. It showed that 25 of 32 domestic terrorism incidents were identified as white supremacists. 

The document includes data Congress has sought from the Trump administration but the Justice Department has been “unable or unwilling” to provide. (source)

And who heads the the so called Justice Department? Oh yeah, that weasel dicked Trump puppet, Willaim Barr,

I Only Mention It But…

One of the great things about getting older is that I really, for the first time in my life, honestly don’t give a rat’’s ass if people like me, my sartorial style, paintings, photos or not. Sure, sure, I PREFER being liked but here at the august (July too but not September) age of 60 (almost 61!!!!)  I’ve found that it’s more important for me to like my own-self.

So, I wear practically nothing else besides tie dye Ts and yoga pants. They're comfortable. Better still, if I’m down, donning a bright, swirlingly colored shirt lifts my spirits. Also too, now that I no longer need prescription sunglasses, I get mine from the kiddy display at  CVS. The selection is a shit-ton more colorful and fun than the adult selection.

So, the walls of my house are covered in doodles, paintings and drawings. I didn’t take pains to match my mural colors to those in my rugs OR curtains (curtains, by the way, are all those 1960s cheap hippy/groovy style beaded affairs). Living inside a a gallery's worth of paintings and objet d'art calms me and makes me happy.

So, while I take great care to do unto others as I wanna be done unto, if someone’s consistently unable to rise to the kindness occasion…well, boyhowdy…out the airlock they go. From time to time I DO miss some of the air-locked individuals but then I remember.

Speaking of kindness – Ten and I hit NETA on Friday. The line to get in was longer than usual, resembling an airport TSA queue. It was a hot day with the sun beating down and y’all know me and hot weather are NOT buds. The line was moving at a glacial pace (post global warming but STILL not rapidiamente). I‘d had quite enough of the standing around in the blazing sunshine, thenkyew veddy much, and plopped my ass down on the asphalt.

Ten went up to the line minder and asked if I could step out, sit in the shade and rejoin him when it was his turn to enter the shop. Simple request, no?  They went WAY better – immediately pulling us both out of line, escorting us directly into the store where another weed worker kindly, compassionately ushered us up to the FRONT of the very long in-store queue. Another young man then brought me a chair AND 600 bottles (more or less) of cold water (which they’d been distributing outside) while I waited for our transaction to be completed.

Yep, I'll def be frequenting this establishment again.

This, naturally, brings us to the song for today!
Try a Little Tenderness – Otis Redding