Museum Mile Part 1

Not a new work by Christo- obviously Mr. Wright's building wasn't expecting guests...

""Bullshit is just bullshit unless it's done really well, then it's ART." from panel by PSYOP at Design Triennial

I have a list for the summer of things I absolutely positively want to do. Kind of. If I can. OK, I'm going to try. OK I did this, the rest'll be a crap shoot and I won't list them here because then I'll feel guilty if I miss one. Maybe I'll list them later. Pardon the wishy washy-ness it's just 6:30 am.

The Museum Mile- all the Museums near and along 5th Avenue open their doors for free and let the folk who might balk at the $10-$20 admission stop them have a peek at the art. Despite the on and off torrential rain and intermittent thunder, there were lots of folks. I had come with a goal- some people try and see as many museums as they can *I* had just one museum and one show to see- the Design Triennial at the Cooper Hewitt Museum. The Cooper Hewitt is a middle-sized museum here- in an abundance of riches, NYC has the Met, The Guggenheim, The Whitney, The Museum of Natural History and the snooty Frick- and those are just the heavy hitters. The Cooper Hewitt focuses on design with a capitol D- clothing, housewares, textiles, architecture, graphics and interactive work and more. I will write about the CONTENT of this show later on, but for now- the experience. Last night was so big I have to deal with it in pieces.



This man took a Patton-like approach early on, planning his attack on the Mile under the shelter of the Guggenheim's scaffolding.



The line for the Guggenheim stretched for 4 blocks- in NYC we are nothing if not pretty and as I have mentioned before, we love a good line!



A four-piece jazz combo entertained with standards like "Night in Tunisia"



Chalk drawing in the middle of Fifth Avenue



The front of the Cooper Hewitt- tarted up with it's designer "shower curtain". My bag was searched as I entered by a guard with a little baton. He tapped on a bowl in my bag... "What have we here?" he asked- "My lunch bowl" I replied. "Kinda big..." he opined. "It was a salad" I explained wondering why the HELL he cared- or even more pressing- why was I TELLING him? "You know they have these plastic bowls at the supermarket..." he began. I smiled and looked behind me at the growing line of people who were not interested in how I transported my lunch that day. He looked over my shoulder and was seemingly surprised- yes, bud- lots more lunch bowls to inspect here tonight.... He motioned me to move along with a sheepish grin. My luck to get the only guard in Manhattan with a Tupperware fetish.



The view from inside (shhhhhhhhhh- no pictures!) Here is the trick... TAKE the picture, and when the guard yells at you,
say "I didn't see any signs.. Sorry!" I find it helps to use the same line but different attitudes- Puzzlement. Righteous Anger. Extreme Debilitating Remorse. Affected Cameraderie. Note: It does nothing in terms of believability HOW you say this as this line will only work once per guard but it keeps your delivery fresh.



Here is where I got caught- flipped off a couple of shots and the guard yelled " I SAID no PICTURES, Miss" (Oh THANK you for not saying M'am) "ME?" I said. My eyebrows went way up into my hairline... "YOU." " I didn't know..." I said, hand to chest in absolute aghast. "I told you ten minutes ago!" he blustered (it sounded like "meeenutes"- he was from Ecuador...) I said, in Spanish- "It could not have been me, I would have remembered anything YOU told me" and looked at him through lowered lashes. He sort of fussed for a second, then puffed up his chest as he began to get that I might be flirting with him, then smiled. "No more pictures, muneca, ok?" (Muneca means "doll" in Spanish) I thanked him and smiled as I walked off. Don't try this at home, folks. Definitely an advanced move for rule benders. Oh- these lighted panels played musical tones and fluttered on and off as you walked by... it was cool, though I hated that it covered the panelling on the stairs



The Kidrobot/Pixar room. A giant Munny AND a huge Smorkin Labbit.... I died and went to injection-molded limited edition plastic toy heaven.



Folks dress up for this....



I grab a knish under a tree for supper while it rained



Harp player under the scaffolding- She played beautifully. A man walked past the harpist and her onlookers talking loudly on his cel and an elderly women reached out and slapped him on the shoulder "Shah!" she yelled. "She's making music here!"
I love this city.



Top of the Met



Sunset over Central Park.



And what goes better with a crowded subway car home than...



A three-piece Mexican band!

:) X 23.5





and in answer to the Kiwi's query- 14 labbits, 2 munnies and counting.... oh and bud? Next time take the walk with me so you can help carry the labbit...

Summer of Love- a 40th birthday

I was walking across 34th Street towards the Hudson River and my office one recent sunny morning when something fluttered across the corner of my vision. It was a suede shoulder bag adorned with a pink and silver appliqued butterfly perched casually on the shoulder of young woman of twenty something. When I was eight years old I wanted one like it more than I wanted to LIVE. That and bell bottoms, and a halter top, though at seven an ace bandage would have sufficed. The bag tickled my memory. I started seeing paisley flowered shirts- on men. Pucci halter dresses and long straight hair, microscopic mini skirts on willowy young women, cars covered in bumper stickers... It was getting more and more psychedelic in NY as the days passed and the temperatures rose. It was turning into a summer of love.

I THOUGHT the Summer of Love was what 1969 was called. My family had a bungalow not 10 miles from the Yazgur's farm the summer of Woodstock. While geographically we were close, my family was as far from cool as you could get and still breathe the marijuana scented air of that summer. My dad just found one of his famous bargains in the Catskills- so we went to Woodstock, kind of. Really all it meant was for a few weeks in July Mom couldn't find ANY basic groceries in town- not a loaf of bread or a pack of cigarettes to be found for 30 miles. For us the highlight of that summer was a group of long haired youths walking into the local laundromat one day while Mom was waiting for a dryer with us the hippies proceeded to strip and throw their clothing into a washer. Mom hustled us out - with only two hands and three pairs of wide eyes (mine and my brother and sister's- mom's were squeezed shut) we each managed to squirm away for a peek. We'd never seen anyone naked besides each other- it was worth getting yelled at to catch a glimpse.

Turns out that was MY summer of love- the actual event was a gathering in San Francisco's Haight Ashbury district and also in Berkeley and other parts of the Bay Area in 1967. Over 100,000 people came to join the "hippie experience". From this garden came the flower children, whose glory my brother and sister and I viewed in full bloom 2 years later.

Phooey- I am digressing- big surprise. What I was most struck by when seeing these bits and pieces of the 60's walking alongside iPods and Blackberries, Vitamin water and Gucci sneakers was that the Whitney was having a 60's show. You can have a look at http://www.whitney.org/www/exhibition/index.jsp . It has a soundtrack- I feel like everything in life should... included is:


The 13th Floor Elevators – “YOU’RE GONNA MISS ME”
The Beatles – “ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE”
The Beatles – “LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS”
The Beatles – “REVOLUTION No. 9”
Big Brother & The Holding Company: “PIECE OF MY HEART”
Eric Burdon – “SAN FRANCISCAN NIGHTS”
Butterfield Blues Band – “EAST - WEST”
The Byrds – “SO YOU WANT TO BE A ROCK ‘N’ ROLL STAR”
The Charlatans – “BABY WON´T YOU TELL ME”
Chicago – “SOMEDAY”
Country Joe & The Fish – “ACID COMMERCIAL”
Country Joe & The Fish – “BASS STRINGS”
Cream – “CROSSROADS”
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young – “OHIO”
The Doors – “BREAK ON THROUGH”
Bob Dylan – “MR. TAMOURINE MAN”
Fleur des Lys – “CIRCLES”
The Fugs – “KILL FOR PEACE”
Allen Ginsberg – “TONIGHT LET’S ALL MAKE LOVE IN LONDON”
Grateful Dead – “I KNOW YOU RIDER”
Great Society – “SOMEBODY TO LOVE”
Hapshash and the Coloured Coat – “H-O-P-P WHY”
Jimi Hendrix – “ARE YOU EXPERIENCED
Jimi Hendrix – “FOXY LADY”
Iron Butterfly – “IN A GADDA DA VIDA”
Jefferson Airplane – “WHITE RABBIT”
Jefferson Airplane – “WON’T YOU TRY SATURDAY AFTERNOON”
Janis Joplin – “MERCEDES BENZ”
Janis Joplin – “RAISE YOUR HAND”
Moby Grape – “DARK MAGIC”
David Peel – “I LIKE MARIJUANA”
Pink Floyd – “INTERSTELLAR OVERDRIVE”
Purple Gang – “GRANNY TAKES A TRIP”
Quicksilver Messenger Service –“MONA”
The Rolling Stones – “STREET FIGHTING MAN”
The Rolling Stones – “WILD HORSES” Santana – “SAMBA PA TI”
Santana – “SOUL SACRIFICE”
The Velvet Underground – “VENUS IN FURS” The Velvet Underground – “WHAT GOES ON”
Frank Zappa & Mothers of Invention – “WILLIE THE PIMP”

I can hum a lot of these...

The art- paintings, the great Fillmore posters, and concerts I only heard about... that August the Fillmore's schedule looked like this: Aug. 1-6: Muddy Waters, Buffalo Springfield, Richie Havens. Aug. 8-13: Electric Flag, with Moby Grape and Steve Miller Blues Band. Aug. 15-17: Chuck Berry and Charles Lloyd Quartet, with Steve Miller Blues Band opening. Aug. 18-19: Young Rascals and Charles Lloyd Quartet. Aug. 20-21: Count Basie Orchestra with Charles Lloyd Quartet. Aug. 22-27: Butterfield Blues Band and Cream. Aug. 29-31: Cream, Electric Flag, Gary Burton. I would have liked to been there.

It was also about the war. It was about rebelling against a world where you could be drafted and not yet be old enough to vote. It was about a war that no one could really explain. We were trying to stop...Communism? Wars never do make sense, but then, like now, the average person probably couldn't say why we were at war- or why it was important to remain at war, how it made anything better for anyone. And no one could see a way out. Young people were dying while old people made decisions to send more young people to die.

There were protests then. The other night while walking on the Frog Bridge I saw a poster fluttering on a lamp post advertising a weekly peace protest. Each week the folks in Windsor gather to protest the war. Last summer I'd met some folks in Mystic who were doing the same. I asked my friend Dove why they did it- what did it change? "They think it's important." he said.

I looked at the old photos, and the pictures of the hippies and the yippies and for a moment it all looked so- silly. But they did it for a reason. They made love to stop war, even if it was just singing, or face painting or dancing naked in the mud, it was better than participating in the senseless slaughter, in events they had no say in. They thought it was important.

Originally I was all excited to have spotted a trend- to bring it back to the buyers at the store and say HEY- this is coming. But what I am realizing is that this is a response. A reminder. The world has lost its perspective, again. Young people are sitting down and saying- I'm not going to participate. This is your affair. And their elders are saying- "this looks way too familiar- and sitting down and saying "No" as well. The US was in Vietnam for over 13 years- over 48,000 Americans died. So far in Iraq over 3,500 Americans have died and over 26,000 have been wounded. The statistics for Iraqis and other foreign nationals are far worse. The more I read- the less important the cultural trends felt-and the more I began to think about what I could do. For me I do not think flowers in my hair will be enough.

At the end of the summer of love, with the neighborhoods in the Bay Area depleted from the huge influx of visitors, the hippies staged a mock funeral to signify the end of the summer of love. Mary Ellen Kasper later recalled, the message was "Stay where you are! Bring the revolution to where you live."

I'm going to enjoy the summer and its offerings- I am especially looking forward to seeing the New York Shakespeare Festival's production of "Hair" in Central Park in September. But it all looks a little different now. I guess it's cause the revolution is here... and because I think it's important, too.

:) X

From The Snarky Reply E-mail Department

A friend sent me this photo awhile back. Not truly sure as to how to reply I deferred to the customer service department at my favorite mail order house. Their reply follows:

Sir

We have analyzed the difficulty in your drain and the
assessment by our experts is

That is the biggest fucking hairball we have ever
seen.

Fortunately the innovators at Acme have a solution

It is not the Rocket Sled

Nor the Exploding Birdseed

Or The Booster Skates (Patent # 345282662 pending)

We recommend the Hamster Turbo Drain Rooter vers 3.2*

*versions 1-3.1 are still in litigation and we are
barred by legal
counsel from discussing the matter until after the
half life of the
uranium in the core has safely passed and the town can
be repopulated
or until the hamster stops mutating

A very special deal at $29.95


:) X

A hmmmm moment

I went to visit Dr. Freud and Mr Bunny at Twitzstrips this am and found this....

:( XX 25

Seeing Red

It was a cranky day even on a sticker walk... I kept seeing red. And myself.


















:) X 27

So Interesting, They Made a Movie About it

This movie OPENED on my birthday 5/25/07 Coincidence? I think not. It's a movie about the dark side of cute and according to one review marries Philip K. Dick (author of great sci-fi like Blade Runner) and Hello Kitty. As I have read everything Phil ever published and own Hello Kitty underwear- I may need to grit my teeth and go see this.

For more on this go to:
http://www.movieweb.com/movies/film/86/4586/summary.php



:) X 27 (Yippee!)

The Pencil Post

This was a hard one to get started on- mostly because the web exacerbates my undiagnosed attention-deficit magpie mentality. In other words- too many damned shiny objects. Search online under "pencil history" and find pencil collectors, mechanical pencil collectors and the world's biggest pencil (at Faber Castell's headquarters in Germany). Look for "pencil art" and find AMAZING illustrators and folks who make art out of pencils- everything from a pencil clock to a guy who carves around the graphite in pencils http://www.infofreako.com/jad/enpitsu-e.html. Looking for other images I came across all sorts of stuff. I drew the line (no pun intended) at the website for "eyebrow hair loss" (all right, a little bit of a pun...) this is true- somehow pencils and eyebrow hair loss are related, but I can't tell you how- If I was going to actually WRITE something tonight (ok, type something into a browser window) I had to stop somewhere. My eyebrows are fine, so I stopped.

I can't tell you the why of this post. It's seems to me that if I spent so much time looking at pencil things and information, it was important to me- and the blog's all about me. So read on at your own personal risk. It's me or Soduko- you choose.

I have always been a pencil fan. As a kid, if you gave me a pencil and almost any paper surface, from brown wrapping paper to the yellow pages, I could be happy drawing for hours. On the telephone I am never without one- my ex-husband had a theory that if you took the pencil away I could not talk- it was not true- at the very least I could yell " Give that BACK".The pencil snatching may also have raised certain trust issues in our relationship... bit hard to remember now so far down the road.

In meetings, I am lost without a pencil. It helps me focus- I take some notes, but mostly I doodle around my notes-somehow it helps me to kind of stay on track, keeps me in the room and present. Fellow meeting attendees have asked for my notes afterwards- for the drawings- I will happily share if they will reciprocate with the actual facts presented at the aforementioned meeting. Special emphasis on things I might have promised to do and forgotten in mid-scribble is appreciated.

My dad gave me pencils as presents. I know that sounds ... odd, but he was an artist. Never formally trained, he drew for pleasure- in Cray-pas, in colored ballpoint, and very often, in pencil. He'd bring home fat-barrelled jumbo pencils and flat carpenter pencils and slender golf pencils and I remember keeping them in an Owl cigar box, hating to sharpen them, each time losing a bit more precious barrel. The specialty pencils did not fit into a conventional sharpener so at 6 years of age that meant I would have to bring my dulled pencils to my dad and have him whittle a point for me with his utility knife. To this day the smell of pencil shavings brings my dad to me. I smile every time.

For college, I went to art school and favored pencil drawing over any color medium. I had received a gift of a beautiful set of Derwent colored pencils- 72 in a cherry wood box. They sat for years in that box, their matte black barrels pristine, while I stuck to my yellow-barrelled #2 Dixon-Ticonderogas. It seems with that lead (ok graphite), it was the hand that made the difference- and every color was possible- depending on how you touched it. An incredible tool, the pencil.

So anyway. Here's some stuff I learned, which will take the space in my brain that might have been used to remember, say, that I have an appointment sometime tomorrow, or the name of someone I run into on the street that I SHOULD know and don't. But that's ok- if I can't remember their name- I can ask for a pencil- and jot the name down, look fondly at the friendly yellow barrel and say..did you know:

The pencil was invented more than 400 years ago, in 1565.

During the 1800s, the best graphite in the world came from China. American pencil makers wanted a special way to tell people that their pencils contained Chinese graphite. American pencil manufacturers began painting their pencils bright yellow to communicate this "regal" feeling and association with China. Today, 75% of the pencils sold in the United States are painted yellow!

Most pencils are made with a hexagonal barrel to prevent them from rolling off desks. (This does not always work...)

The word pencil comes from the latin word pencillus which means "little tail" The Romans wrote on papyrus w/ small brushes called pencillus

Other early styluses were made of lead. Today we still call the core of a pencil the "lead" even though it is made from nontoxic graphite.

Pencils were standard issue for soldiers during the Civil War as a dry, waterproof writing instrument.

Pencils didn't have erasers on them until 100 years ago because teachers felt they would encourage children to make mistakes.

More than 14 billion pencils are produced in the world every year, enough to circle the globe 62 times.

One pencil will draw a line 70 miles long. (big enough to draw a line across RI)

The average pencil can be sharpened 17 times and write 45,000 words.

A good-sized tree will make about 300,000 pencils. ( I'm not sure I am comfortable with the "good sized" qualifier- I got a lot of this from www.pencils.com- I think good sized should be left up to the tree...)

Ferrule- the name for the little metal thingy that goes between pencil & eraser. During WWII this metal piece was replaced with plastic due to rationing.

Thomas Edison kept a 3-inch-long pencil in his vest pocket to jot down notes.

And artist/ inventor Leonardo da Vinci frequently sketched in pencil.

Famous novelists Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck used pencils to write their books.

Francis Scott Key wrote "The Star Spangled Banner" in pencil.

AND... other people like them too ( famous people)

“I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.” Mother Teresa

"A #2 pencil and a dream can take you anywhere.” Joyce A. Myers

“Map out your future - but do it in pencil." Jon Bon Jovi

“In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing” Vincent van Gogh


“The average pencil is seven inches long, with just a half-inch eraser - in case you thought optimism was dead.” Robert Brault


“Ideas are elusive, slippery things. Best to keep a pad of paper and a pencil at your bedside, so you can stab them during the night before they get away.” Earl Nightingale



Pencil Illustration by Mike Cressy http://sugarfrostedgoodness.blogspot.com/search/label/Mike%20Cressy

“A horse may be coaxed to drink, but a pencil must be lead” Stan Laurel

:) X 28.5

Spring Walk

I want to walk the Great Wall in China with you.
I want to discuss if they call it Chinese food, too, with you
I want to say nothing
and have you understand
every word I never said
words I never spoke
and I know you hear
every word in my head
To be
Forever, and one day more
To be
together yet separate for
To be
with no secrets, so similar
To be
To be
I want to walk the Brooklyn Bridge with you
and ask if where you live it's like this too
To be
With thousands of people, I'm standing alone
Big crowded city but I'm known by one
To be
Everything you are and still wish to be
Like you
Utterly connected and totally free
To be
The one you never question, or answer
or see
To be
To be

I walk along another summer's beach alone
I can't understand why I'm so smart and can't know
the reasons I'm here and you're there
reasons for separateness we don't seem to share
why China and Brooklyn and New Zealand too
have to be walked alone when in the world there's me
there's you
why it's not to be
the one thing we don't say
or be
so it's just you
just me
and the one thing I know
is it's not ever
to be

Spanish, and Other Lessons

I mentioned in an earlier post that I attended a graduation this weekend. MyDove's eldest was getting her bachelor's degree- I came along to hold tissues- for me of course, and maybe for Dove should the room be dusty or filled with pollen. Dove has assured me he only cries at weddings. I, a former cub scout, wanted to be prepared, should the auditorium break out in nuptuals.

Charter Oak College is a little-ish college in northeastern Connecticut specializing in distance learning (online classes) and degrees without boundaries. It seems that here folks with a variety of credits can knit them into a degree, and it really only has to make sense to the student There were a lot of original knitters there that day. As I stood in the Student Union with Dove and his "baby" I looked around at the tables filled with black robed folks and the thought occurred to me that there were an AWFUL lot of faculty attending this event. The truth became clear when the college president woke me from a devilled egg induced stupor (Sunday breakfast was a bit...free-form- as in leftovers) with the following statistic about the graduating class- 62% female and the average age-40.

Boy did I feel like a slacker. I coped and snuggled in until the announcement of the graduates. My peaceful eggy reverie was interrupted by a group of very brightly clad, enthusiastic Latinas sitting directly in front of us. They kept up a running commentary in Spanish predominantly with the jefa of the group- a beautiful dark haired girl who could not seem to keep her seat or manage to keep the bottom of her shirt in touch with the top of her pants. I saw more of this girl- and there was much to see- than most men see in a lifetime of marriage. The belt loops of her pants were adorned with rows of rhinestones that twinkled like hazard lights over the gap in her clothing. I finally decided I should get at least one photo of this phenomena- and much to Dove's barely contained hysteria, I tried. It was like attempting to capture a will-o-the wisp or an aurora borealis- like the Loch Ness monster sightings- you're just going to have to paint your own mental picture. None of the photos do it justice.

That wasn't the best part. The ladies were even less interested in the preliminary speakers than I was-except they weren't sleepy. The best part came when honorary degree recipient Diane Smith gave her speech. She is the co-host of the Morning Show on WTIC-AM and the host of something called "Positively Connecticut" as well as the author of "Absolutely Positively Connecticut". Bright, blonde and bubbly she offered a "few" examples from her book of Connecticut-ians who had passion, faith and determination. LOTS of examples. I was absolutely, positively... comatose or I might have been but for the ladies- after Diane's forth example (nuns, wooden toys for hospitalized kids and the saving of some house or other from becoming a parking lot) One of the ladies leaned to the one next to her and said in a Spanish stage whisper- "Didn't she say she was just going to do three?" her companion replied "Just because they give you a paper doesn't mean you can count..." They both cackled, but not as hard as I did. They turned to me and smiled in conspiracy. The girl with the twinkling backside opined that La Rubia (the blonde) was too skinny to go on much longer without a sandwich. And she didn't, but without the company of the Latinas and Dove quaking with laughter it would have felt a lot longer.

The second honorary degree recipient was Juan Figueroa. He was a crowd pleaser, getting everyone to applaud everyone else- (how about a hand for the parents? how about a hand for the students? how about the lunch ladies? Eek) He was a bright fellow and very personable, President of the Universal Health Care Foundation of Connecticut. His mission is to make sure that everyone in CT has affordable heathcare- a good guy. He talked about his grandfather telling the neighbors that HIS grandson would be a lawyer one day. "Si, se Puede" was his grandfather's motto- "Yes, you can.". His greatest success was in oviously raising a grandson with a determined, compassionate heart.

The ladies were moved to near-silence- near, except for the one in the polka dots who asked the lady to her left (regarding Figueroa)- "You think he's married?" the lady in the sleeveless top elbowed her- "He is too viejo (old) for you- more my type" Polka dots elbowed back "YOU'RE married" . Sleeveless top replied- "Eh, things change." and smiled.

And so it continued to the end. Lani went onstage and we heeded the dean's admonition to hold applause until the end- much to her disappointment. We would've yelled Lani- the tissues muffled your dad's cheers- I swear. Towards the end of the procession of graduates a young girl in a halter top stood on her chair cheering, holding up a sign as a graduate walked across the stage. I whispered cattily to Dove- "these kids- she thinks she's at a hockey game" and scooched down to try for a few last winks before the final graduate's name was read aloud. The young woman kept yelling. I opened one eye and looked over at her. She was still standing on her seat- her male friend holding her around the waist to keep her from catapulting into the next row. "YEAAAAAAHHHH" she yelled. And slipped on the seat a bit so that her sign turned to face me.

It read "GO MOM" "We LOVE you!"

Feeling foolish much I slunk down in my seat, smiling. That was just way too cool.






The lovely (and cute) Lani Dove. Thanks for sharing this with me Lani :)

Congratulations Lani. I don't know you very well but I am certain the world is a bit brighter for having you in it. Si, se puede. Anything you want to.

:) X 29

It rained all last night into this morning- a symphony of water tripping and falling. Made me think of this song- words and music by Cheryl Wheeler. Photo by me this morning as it poured...


Rollin' from the rooftop, splashing from the spout
Your walkin' shoes are never gonna dry out
Rainy little drummers bop all day
A little rock 'n roll, a little reggae

For more on Cheryl: http://www.cherylwheeler.com/home/home.html

Much Ado About Bullfrogs or The Big Batrachian Battle

"Zippy the Pinhead" Bill Griffith

I spent the weekend in Coventry, Connecticut. No kayaking- just a graduation, some things I'd never imagined would make their way onto a pizza crust and a lick and stick tattoo from the eye doctor that I haven't used yet as I am not sure A. where to apply it and B. whether it goes, dignity-wise with my new prescription for transitional lenses... you know, transitional lenses- read here-BIFOCALS. Holy Cow. I am certain I will make them look good. Me and Benjamin Franklin. Moderately certain. I have been assured there is a little period of adjustment- "little"- the Doctor knows me- "little" like a Michener short story is "short".

But, as ever, I digress. I have been lucky enough the past 3 or 4 summers to spend time with a variety of friends in eastern CT. I love the big rift they have there between Yankee and Red Sox Fans, the pebbly beaches on the Sound, how green and lush it is there even in the heat of summer (yes, Wendy, I know, it's damned humid) that ice cream is just shy of religion there (they put grapenuts in vanilla ice cream- referred to by one dear friend as "ice cream with schmutz" I love it anyway) and the people say hi all the time- even if they don't know you. It's a bit disconcerting, but as with clothing, in summer I shed just a little of my city armor up there- tell no one. And in Willimantic they have something I've wondered about for a year or more. It's a bridge with 4 huge frogs, 2 at each end, sitting on top of enormous spools of thread. You shouldn't really question weirdness that wonderful- but I so seldom do what I should. You might want to know more about The Windham Frog Fight- a bit of history here:





WHETHER THEY CALL it the Battle of the Frogs, the Bull Frog Fright or -- by those leaning toward a little Latinate alliteration -- the Big Batrachian Battle, an incident that almost literally scared the pants off the inhabitants of Windham Center in 1754 has been celebrated in story and song for more than 200 years. Because the "singular occurrence" came at a time when the last French and Indian War was getting underway, the scattered settlements in eastern Connecticut were pretty tense and watchful to begin with. In Windham, the people were especially anxious, since one of their most prominent citizens, Col. Eliphalet Dyer, an attorney in civilian life, had just raised a regiment prior to joining the expedition against Crown Point. With many of the town's able young men already off fighting the "savages" with Gen. Israel Putnam, rumors of massacres and assorted bloodletting regularly circulated among the folks back home. Then, on a dark, cloudy, steamy night in June, according to the most reliable witnesses, it happened. After family prayers had been duly performed, the residents of the settlement retired to rest, and for several hours all enjoyed a period of well-earned sleep. Just after midnight, however, their peaceful slumbers were abruptly ended by a noise so loud and hideous that they rose from their beds in one horrified mass of humanity.

The frightful clamor seemed to be coming from right over their heads and from all directions at once, a shrieking, clattering, thunderous roar such as never had been heard on earth before. To some it sounded like the yells and war whoops of attacking Indians. To others it was the last ding-dong of doom, announcing the arrival of Judgment Day. However, one elderly black man, wiser than his neighbors, was said to have protested that decision, arguing that the Day of Judgment could not occur at night.

As the unholy uproar increased, citizens began to react according to their own peculiar lights. Parson White, who had been aroused by his Negro servant (one of the first to hear the sound as he returned home from some midnight frolic), did what came naturally. He rushed with his wife and children into the garden next to the parish house. There, among the bean poles and early peas, the trembling family fell on their knees and offered up an agony of prayer. From almost every house, old and young, male and female stumbled into the streets, many "in puris naturalibus" (i.e., buck naked), their eyes upturned, trying to pierce the palpable darkness around them.

Meanwhile, a handful of citizens less superstitious than the rest had concluded that the village was under siege by a large band of Indian warriors. Nothing daunted, these valiant villagers loaded their muskets and energetically pumped volley after volley into the murky gloom, until all their powder was expended. Several of the more daring musketeers were even bold enough to climb Mullin Hill, an elevation east of the village green, where they discovered that the sound did not come from the skies, as first believed, but from an area toward the foot of the incline, still farther to the east. None, however, dared to venture in that direction until the source of the noise could be determined for sure. They say that one member of this brave band, an elderly man named Stoughton, who had been rushing about simultaneously firing his rifle and brandishing a sword, was finally overcome by age and fear, and fell to his knees in noisy prayer. Taken altogether, it was not a pretty sight.

It wasn't long, though, before the news began to get around that someone had discovered the awful truth, while riding down by Col. Dyer's pond, two miles east of the green, where the Follet family operated a grist mill. As people gathered there to witness the source of the previous night's panic, a curious spectacle was spread before them. Around the shore of the small mill pond and along the banks of the little stream that bubbled out of the pond to the south, lay the belly-up bodies of hundreds, maybe even thousands of bullfrogs!

It seems that the area had been in a state of severe drought for many weeks, causing the pond to be reduced to little more than a puddle. As the water became shallower and shallower, the heavy frog population was sorely affected. On the night of the horrible outcry, something must have finally snapped in the frog community. And as one after another the frogs desperately sought a few drops of water in pond or outlet ditch, they inevitably encroached on some neighbor's wet space. The result was a batrachian battle royal, complete with the anguished croaks of the dying, and little green casualties beyond any accurate body count. Owing, perhaps, to some peculiar state of the atmosphere, the horrible noise of combat appeared to the afflicted Windhamites to be directly over their heads. Thus, considering all the circumstances, it was not surprising that many distressing events occurred that night among the panicky people of the "village of bull frogs."

It is also not surprising that ever since that dark June night, Windhamites have been subjected to all manner of jokes and jests about bullfrogs. For years, no history of Connecticut was complete without some pun-laden or exaggerated description of the night the frogs put the fear of God into the folks in Windham Center. For example, in his History of Connecticut, the Rev. Samuel Peters, a notorious inventor of "facts," in an effort to improve his account of the battle, set the croaker casualty list at over five million! Popular poetasters, too, have waded in with such rhymed inventions as "A True Relation of a Strange Battle Between Some Lawyers and Bull-Frogs Set Forth in a New Song, Written by a Jolly Farmer of New England"; a 44-verse ballad called "The Bull-Frog Fight," published in the Boston Museum in 1851; and the Rev. Theron Brown's humorous "Epic of Windham," read at the town's bicentennial celebration in 1892. The great frog fight even served as the basis for a riotous 1893 operetta, The Frogs of Windham, which, they say, must have been excruciating not only to those who witnessed a performance, but also to the descendants of those who played leading roles in the original plot. The operetta featured a dozen major solo parts, several extensive dances and a cast of seventy performers, including Indians, frogs, local folk, Gypsies and even a fanciful English nobleman. from "Legendary Connecticut" by David E. Philip

Finally- I guess someone came up with a way to deal with all the ribbing vis-a-vis bullfrogs in this rhyme

Some were well pleased, and some were mad, Some turned it off with laughter. And some would never hear a word, About the thing thereafter. Some vowed if the De'il himself Should come they would not flee him, And if a frog they ever met, Pretended not to see him.

These frogs around Willimantic were a bit hard to miss...









The view from the bridge was pretty- thread factory is on the left...



Ah- and this is a piece worthy of local pride. From The ovens of Willington Pizza. From the prize winning- YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS category- A red potato pizza... sour cream, some kind of cheese, broccoli, bacon. One can assume the prize did not originate with the American Heart Association. I have asked for a list but some of the less than pedestrian pizza toppings offered there are peanut butter and maraschino cherries. More on Willington Pizza...but that's a whole other entry.



:) X 29.5

I have a "thing" for Rabbits....

Dr. Freud and Mr Bunny by Brian Woolsey



Actually... badass rabbits.

Happy June, all.

:) X

The truth about Cats and Dogs and The Search for my Inner Sylph

"Incredible Shrinking Woman" card by Fresh Frances www.freshfrances.com

Noelle: You and I combined make the perfect woman
Dr. Abby Barnes: No. You and I combined make the perfect political prisoner. What we really do well is act self-righteous and starve.

The above quote is from one of my all-time favorite movies "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" OK its not Antonioni or Fellini- I'm shallow, it works for me. On a Saturday night it beats a bad date, on a Sunday afternoon I can fall asleep in the middle and still wake up knowing what's happening. In it the hero falls for the cute short brunette instead of goddess and sylph Uma Thurman. It's a fairy tale, but I've bought it. (hmmm senseing a crack in an otherwise flawlessly crusty exterior... DANGER Will Robinson, DANGER)

I told you that story to tell you this one. Recent photographs have revealed to me that, while I love my body, there is a bit more of it than I actually need. Since all of you have been such incredible support in my writing, drawing and photography (not to mention laughing at my jokes- I love when you do that) I am going to share this with you. I am on a quest. Buried here beneath 30-odd extra pounds is my true inner sylph. My former therapist and all my pals have reassured me that thin people have the same problems and challenges that I do (though a thin person does not have to lie on the bed , knees bent, to slide into her jeans- don't laugh- it's happened to you too, hasn't it...) I'd like to view the whole thing from the low end of the clothing rack, where say the size 8's are.

Also. I am not a patient woman. My goal is 2.5 lbs a week. Lofty. I have omitted bagels and my heart hurts. I am walking more- so I have to carry my heels in a little bag- next week, the gym- if I can get my act out of bed in time. So we will see. If nothing else I will be healthier. Hopefully I can make this mesh with my other goal of exploring the ice cream places in Eastern CT... we will see.

Starting now, next to my usual sign off :) X I am starting a countdown from 30 (weight I would like to lose) I would just post my current weight but as no one has threatened to stake me out on an anthill naked and covered in honey- that won't be happening. So wish me luck. I wish you love.

And my favorite line from "Cats and Dogs"

Noelle: Disappointment doesn't kill
Dr. Abby Barnes: Right... rejection kills. Disappointment only maims.

:) x 30