B

Uh...unsophisticated (possibly dyslexic) cutter? To quote from 'Mame', "when you're from Pittsburg, you have to do something!"

drapes

It's a matter of syntax not too small to interrupt my sleep. For all it's invested meaning, "Measuring the drapes" accomplishes only one thing; you confirm the length of your predecessors drapes. Measuring width [in order to determine 'fullness'] would certainly take inquisitiveness to a point well beyond the ridiculous. One hundred percent (twice the width of the window) is standard. What I'm almost sure the Republicans are endeavoring to articulate is "measuring the windows for new drapes". In any case, the interior design process should most certainly begin with determining the dimensions of the room. Changing only the drapes marries you to your predecessors choice of carpeting, and after that, suitable upholstery fabric- the wrong way around. Really, for people with money to burn (my favorite client only when they are willing to concede every matter of their own personal style to me), they seem all too eager to flaunt their ignorance. Well appointed rooms don't just happen. Relegating the Presidential emblem to the foyer [where it belongs] may fly too heavily in the face of tradition, but come November, no one (with the possible exception of the ghost of Jacqueline Kennedy) will be happier than I to see western-themed oil paintings missing from the Oval office.

looking ahead

It's a whole lot worse than "More of the same", a mantra I'm already bored with because it is in danger of being applied to the Obama campaign. From the moment most people realized that 'compassionate conservatism' was as oxymoronic as 'moral majority', Democrats have bent over for the pummeling their bait-taking asses deserve. Houses are dropping, but they're not landing on the people who need to be woken up. Speaking for many of us who have watched our jobs, paychecks, home values, retirement funds, and savings disappear- it's too soon to be turning our noses up at that 'fat' Social Security check. Watching McCain/ Palin run a successful campaign against their own Party's record by suggesting that we just haven't privatized, deregulated, cow-towed to the evangelical community, or prosecuted a failed military initiative far enough has me wondering, well..., what country I'll be living in in a few months hence. I'm looking for something sub-tropical, hopefully English speaking, where the barter system still flourishes. (Spain is still on the short list, though). Since the equity in my home is exceeded by it's value as a pile of smothering ashes, and adjusted by the amount I'll end up owing on my 401K account in administration fees after the principal evaporates- I figure, a few good yard sales and we'll be 'squatting pretty' in a studio apartment in some picturesque fishing village. And since I don't fish, I imagine my future- painting clouds on the nursery ceilings of my fellow ex-patriots. Or just maybe, some percentage of the Republicans and Independants who aren't looking for candidates to have hypothetical beers with will see through this 'McCon job'. Let's apply an equally superficial measure to our candidates, one many of us are already comfortable using to pre-judge. The true measure of a great President- who would look best on our currency! It's been a long time since we've had a really 'hot' President. I don't mean 'not gross' like Bill Clinton, but drop-your-petticoats HOT, like Thomas Jefferson. Conceding that everyone comes off better in an engraving (and a wig), can you imagine the lumpy sort of thumbprint John McCain's mug would taint our bills with? Or on a coin- would you even know you weren't looking at another commemoration of the moon landing! I love my friend Doug Cluff to death. I've spent hours in bars with him. The fact that he doesn't drink only endears him to me further. And he'd make a great President. But for Lord's sake NO to the Doug Cluff dollar. (Great legs, though, DC). Barrack may not even drink beer (Scotch would be my guess, or maybe only silly Rum drinks... on vacation), but if led to imagine my grandchildren's pockets stuffed with cash, I'd have to pray as hard that they wouldn't have to wince every time they made change for a parking meter. Experience may account for a lot. And I need my next President to be a maverick. But let's be honest- looks ARE everything. Be honest now, they are. Visualize. Just where is the potential for greatness?

riddle

Q: What's the difference between Sarah Palin and George Bush?
A: Lipstick

columbia? (scratch, scratch)

Let's call Washington D.C. what it is; a city in Maryland. Glance at a map, it is incongruous to suggest that it is part of Virginia- appearing as it would, a wart, and a bite out of Maryland's belly (Is that too close to being a metaphor?). Designating it as a District was a whack idea to begin with- like the license plate says; that's taxation without representation, man! Statehood?, never going to happen!- thanks but no thanks to more Senators. Why not let the State Of Maryland, the Department Of Transportation, and the National Park Service hash through it for a while and see how they slice it up. More pork, more tolls, more memorials- something for everyone! Sure, someone will grumble, but let's just get some more Maryland voters out there- and a Congress(wo)man with an actual vote.

klondike sal

My, what a tangle of latched-onto opportunities this Republican platform has turned out to be. What I saw [at the convention] was; an exclamation of surprise from the (P)resident that his lawless rein of misrepresented initiatives has angered the left (forgetting, momentarily I suppose, that about half of his own Party are echoing their sentiments); a photo-op with the ghost of the twin towers; snide dismissals of community service, conservation, and diplomacy; selectively fluffed biographies; and the introduction of a self-described pit bull in lipstick (which I am ready to believe). I saw a self-emaciated trophy heiress in a $300,000. dress use her adopted daughter to nominate herself as the great white hope of brown little girls the world over (Mother Teresa owes her bigtime), a promise as smug as it was hollow that "Special Needs children" would have friends in high places, and perhaps the most scurrilous charge of misogynistic muck-raking Us magazine has ever known. I was taking it all in stride until... the woman who looks like she stepped out of a Lens Crafters ad took a swipe at set designers with her belittling comment about Styro-Foam columns. Just where does she think that is going to get her? It is not with a great amount of pride that I report that one of the few reliable sources of income I've had in the past eight years has been filling Republican convention halls, inaugurals and after-parties with...what? Scenery- the staging of every conceivable fantasy from a simple evening in "Margaritaville" to the full-out ensconcement of George II on a neo-Roman dais at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial. The day I spent gluing red glitter to a nine foot cut-out of the State of Texas to read; "Bush Country", was surely a concession to putting Froot Loops on my table that has stained my very soul. If that woman hasn't paused to imagine the life-sized foam moose that is undoubtedly waiting for her at some $1000. a plate "McCain raisin' " event, then her expectations just aren't high enough, yet. There are bound not to be many surprises from her in the coming weeks- until the scrappy little maverick has had time to integrate more of the Party planks into her comedy routine. In place of a candid reaction to pressing issues we can expect only the replay button to be pressed on the "Palin-drone" we saw at the Convention. I may have to agree with her surrogates- she and her family are undeserving of space in the tabloids...for red-necks, they are quite unremarkable. But what DO you buy your sister for Mother's Day?

5-7-5

Who has time to sit around filling ashtrays and channeling thoughts into typewritten words when there is so much else to be done? Actual things that need actual doing! Tomatoes to transplant, stamps to buy, ...blood to wash off the vinyl siding. There's a quick story about that last one. Lulu, our great Dane, had the bad luck to be wagging her tail in too close proximity to a slamming car door. She lost about three inches in all- I know this because about a month later I found her laying in the driveway, licking the amputated bit of tail which had escaped us. She's healed up nicely though, and doesn't seem to have been put off tail wagging. Thoughts about my three and a half months working in Massachussetts were recorded (in haiku form) in an illustrated journal and I've been keeping up with friends (in haiku form) with text messages. The once all important blog has been pushed aside to make time for [mouthing syllables as I count on my fingers]. Once constructed they are dashed onto a tiny keypad with the corner of my right thumb and sent, sometimes for annoying or harrassing purposes, to select contacts. I am proud to report that a good percentage of the replys are also haiku. This is not to suggest that I have abandoned the blog (or the illustrated journal) as creative outlets. Surely moments still come when I can't be brief. But if I am slow to post as I have been, please understand:
I've run on some time, in sentences that dizzy. Let's all get some sun.