Friday, February 23, 2007

What did Yours Truly photograph on this fine Middling City day.
Well, YT will tell you.
A bot war.
You know, as in (ro)bot, war.
Made by young met at the U, guys who were either resembling lumberjacks in plaid shirts, huge of stature, or resembling little thin branches that lumberjacks would send crashing to the ground.
The branch guys involved in this bot war were the ones, YT noted, who manned the remote controls of the bots.
There was a plexi cage, a roof of chix wire, a small door. All this elevated.
It rather reminded me of the cock rings in the Philippines with its ring of shouting watchers, the door, and the feeling of a minor, imminent doom.
Poked around the crowd and made images from outside the door and then leaning into the bot war ring when there were adjustments being made - until a concerned citizen type said it was time to get the hell out.
These bots were impressive, not quite Mark Pauline in that they did not shoot out fire, but they were heavy, metal, and caused great damage.
Back to cock fights. Talked my way into one cock ring and did not feel that if a cock with 4-inch blade flopped my way that I'd be cut to ribbons.
Made images at end of all rounds that one sweltering day when the cock owners and handlers butchered the cocks who had lost.
Runner-ups are gone, as in roost in sky gone.
Speaking of destruction,
there is a jungle rot thing happening on one of YT's fingers, something I squirted Bactine on for a few days. Well now it's angrier. So now it's being swabbed with something more serious.
The medically-minded sister got rather hysterical upon hearing about the jungle rot, at one point suggesting, dig this, that it could, just Could, be a flesh-eating spider bite.
She got hysterical after I mentioned the swollen lymph node.
After she hystericed I suggested that that only means that my body is working to get rid of the, well, whatever it is.
Promised her that if this ebola thing is worse on sunday I will, promise, no fingers crossed, head to some authority on such matters.
Perhaps the zoo. Maybe botanical gardens.
Santa Ria practioner.
I just do not know.

Flesh-Eating Love.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

First off, my nouveau poly-carbon shovel just completely kicks ass and worked wonders on the horrid sno-cone-esque quote-unquote snow that lingers.
Today is that day that some folks in the Middling City roam about with smudges on their foreheads, something that always takes me slightly aback–not aback to any past, or roots, or scholastic endeavour.
I did ask Leah Rico today, who I bumped into, if she'd like me to provide her forehead with a smudge, whilst looking about for some dust or whatnot. She declined.
Last night met up with some of the bookclub girls at DiGiulio's for a wine and cheese fest, avoiding the melee that is the MC's version of Mardi Gras.
I pronounced to no one in particular, but was surrounded in a small subdining room by others heaping salad plates with cheeses, that Yours Truly was in cheese heaven.
Is there a better thing to eat than cheese.
I think not.
I tried to tell the wine rep onhand how much I was rather into loathing New York State wines, and absolutely the one he was holding aloft.
Ever being the good sport, succumbed to his wish that I try it.
My head was overcome with the sweet and chemical scent of concord.
He pointed to the reject bucket and in it went. From glass, not from mouth.
Things picked up after that.
We girls sat in the restaurant's circular booth and ended up inviting the wine rep and his beleaguered wife to join us. He told some jokes. She shook her head. He made disparaging comments about her. She reacted as I'm sure she has for decades, a quiet recession followed by a gulp of vino.
Got a few notes of thanks for my Red Dinner, one celebrant referring to it as a Blood bath due to all the red beverages.
Speaking of celebratory red colours, one thing I so dug about Japan in the spring were the red bibs placed on statuary around temples. Red = celebrate.
Just read in NYT that Vegas's MGM Grand had to do a big re-do of their building's entryway from the giant head of a lion as all the Asians refused to enter the head of an animal. Bad luck. Lion demo'd. All is swell.
Speaking of that desert community, received today a box and in that box a silver, serious-looking attaché case. Question mark.
Inside is a serious poker kit with chips, dice, cards.
This is a post-junket gesture from those nice people at Midway Games, a thanks for just being YT.
YT who grooved on all things Midway Games for a few.

Grooving on Love.

PB-related p.s.
Peter sent me an email with a slammin poster for BrötFest, happening in Nippon next month, it ebellished with a PB likeness by YT.
See here.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Was there a more odd news day than this one.
I think not.
Bald Britney, for starters, got a little pink and red lips tattoo on her wrist.
What a bad tattoo choice, this just proves she really is white trash at heart.
And, as all gals know, there is the revenge/trauma diet as well as the revenge/trauma hair adjustment.
Oh and then the story about how the formerly-plump Anna got embalmed.
And has James Brown been buried yet.
And has his ensemble been changed - again.
Last night met Little Laura out for a quick jaunt and visit and we suddenly became aware that there was a man lurking nearby, hanging onto our words.
We sort of talked to him, a transplanted southerner in shock about the weather.
I mean really.
Who even pays attention to the weather.
Forge onwards, get some nice accessories, pay your heating bill, get over the complaining crap.
Today had a gig at the Middling City Museum of Science and Yours Truly was most thrilled to note that the leadership of the sad joint did not see a need to replace the ridiculous nametags for the stuffed mammals in one of the (YT thinks) endangered halls of actual artful installation.
One bright spot was the MCMS had their stuffed polar bear in a place of prominence.
As well as some stuffed caninus lupi.
Made some images of the endangered halls as YT imagines that the ineptitude over there is spreading like ice crystals on a cold MC window.

Weather or not, Love.