The First 180 Degrees or Do Opposites Attract?

Cell Phone Mania

She's a 10

The Sound of Color

The hills in spring and in summer are alive with the sound of color.  The winter skies in northern climes are alive with the sound of the light bending hues of the aurora borealis.  The fall is alive with the sounds of autumn foliage falling to earth in all its glorious color.

Where did these colors come from?  All are contained in the white light emanating from outer space…but how were they internalized in a flower?  OK, the colors of a flower attract bees and other pollinators and so are a part of the cycle of sexual reproduction that flowers utilize.  But, how did red enter the flower?  Yellow?  Blue?  Orange?  Purple?

What is the difference between a meadow of wild flowers and a symphony played in a concert hall?  What is the difference between a moist tropical forest full of wild orchids and a French Quarter Jazz venue?  The sound of the music is as melodious as are the colors of petals found at the flower mart.

Hear a good pink lately?  How about a crimson crescendo?  And did a deep baritone blue ever sound as vibrant? 

Strike up the band…send a bouquet! 

My Nude Is Better Than Your Nude

My nude is better than yours.  She is shapelier, more statuesque, more seriously drawn and sculpted.  My nude is sexier, more sensual, more erotic than yours.  Mine is more suggestive, way more mysterious, more appreciative of my attention to her details.  My nude creates from the inside out.  She is earthy, sophisticated and always very intriguing.  More than yours…

My nude keeps me awake and alert, diverts my eye and offers the promise of good things yet to be.  My nude is proud of her attributes, confident and clever.  She tells a better bedtime story, sings sweeter songs and her smile sparkles more brightly…than yours.

My nude is a challenge and a bit of a surprise.  She withdraws into her chambers till I pass by and then makes herself known through subtle moves, innuendo, hints and glimpses. 

My nude is better that your nude.  I am sure of it!

How to Revive the Dead

This is humanity’s primary concern.  Every thing else we encounter throughout our days is a nuisance, an annoyance or an irritant.

We were scared to death to be buried alive.  We were afraid to come to the end of our craving for just one more experience. 

Death is mysterious.  We cannot see into it’s gloom.

So we invented the golden parachute: life after life, immortality, reincarnation and resurrection.  And we imagined places like limbo, purgatory, the world to come and heaven.  And we built structures modeled after our death-defying notions: The Taj Mahal, the Charnel House and the Mausoleum. 

The ancients were buried with food and drink, gold trinkets and their chariots.  Some are buried in their Cadillacs. 

Why, whole religions are built around what’s next, how we get to the Great Beyond and what do we do there…70 virgins and platters of lamb chops.  And any particular religion usually owns the key that unlocks those pearly gates for their members only.  That’s just like an exclusive country club.

Well, I, too, have thought about this very human dilemma.  And here are my keys to the game…you are welcome to come along as I attempt to revive the dead!

I for one will be Truckin to that Great Shalom

Grass Roots Politics

The early Zionists were well aware that the resettlement of Palestine was futile unless the first settlers reclaimed the land by draining the swamps, planting orchards, vineyards and field crops.  Work the land.  Own the land.  Build a country from the grass roots up.  The concept was a wise decision.  It came from the intelligence of those who surmised that land is sacred, especially in the Holy Land.

Today a grass roots political movement (of the people, by the people and for the people) does not always come from the intellect.  Often, all too often, it originates in that dark place where fear, prejudice and greedy self-serving mix together in the cauldron of selfishness (in the offices of lobbyists).  I see this in the waste of good tea bags and in many on the right side of the isle.  Silent majorities, born agains and Birchers are dangerous because they lack the power of discernment and discretion.  Their choices are made based on “me vs. you” strategies, not on the premise of we.

I propose that we send these folks back to rural America where they can dirty their hands not in the lies they tell or in the self-servings they strive to legislate or obstruct, but in the soil that makes our country great.  Oh wait a minute; many of them come from there.

Just where is that ballot box?

Inca Dinka Do

As if Native Americans don’t have it bad enough…forced to deal blackjack and keep track of the fast flying bets at the craps tables…they are now frozen out of their homes in the Dakotas because the power lines were downed in a ferocious sleet and snowstorm and for over a week no one came to help them! 

US Indians can no longer be mascots and team symbols, the Illini and the Cardinal come to mind.  It is no longer politically correct to make them stand outside of a tobacco shop holding cigars.  And novels and books on tape still abuse their once proud heritage.  They were slaughtered and scattered in the movie Dances with Wolves and Tonto played the same role to the Lone Ranger as did Rochester to Jack Benny.

And now to make matters way more complicated for the Cuyamaca, the Miwok, the Hupa and the Chumash, in places like California, the term “Native Americans” refers not to them but to the indigenous population of the Spanish and Portuguese speaking countries south of our borders. 

Sounds like a Culture Clash to me…several, in fact.

Playing Tag

Street art tells a story…of wrongs in search of right, of faith that defines wishful thinking and of history retouched and made accessible.

Street art promotes a movie, or a concert or an exhibition or a set of initials.  Look at this…want to see more…special rates for children and seniors.

Street art is often peripheral art…we see it in passing.  We hardly notice it.  We often think of it as a defiant act of defacing property.

Street art is a difficult sale.  We seldom stand in front of it and take it in.  Or, we look at it as a smudge, a blur, a shadow or stain frozen in time.  We don’t read the message or see the content or appreciate the art or find any value in its inherent beauty.

Street art is not for the dead of eye!  And, that’s my own Tag line!

Down in my easy chair

The chair is a basic, eternal shape. 

The chair represents the home. 

The chair is a platform for decision making, for eating and for study.

The chair is musical.

The chair is a workplace.

The chair is an art form.

The chair warms, vibrates, tilts and reclines.

The chair is prestigious. 

The chair is mobile.

But, when forced to flee or driven into exile, leave your chair…

This week is brought to you by the color Red

This week is brought to you by the color Red

Red is a high-energy color.  It is the color of blood, the planet Mars and the passions.  Red cannot be contained or domesticated.  It is the color of anger unleashed and of love fiercely felt.  It shows up in my favorite fruits: cherries, strawberries, apples and raspberries.

Red marks the spot, holds a wandering eye in place and draws everybody’s attention.

Red peppers add spice to the palate, heat to the sinuses and water to the eyes.  A red car goes faster.  The Red army won more battles that the White one. 

So this is that time of the year when we notice red more:  red hearts, wrapping paper and baloons, note cards, red wine, boxes of candy and the reddest of red long stem roses.

Makes the blood boil and the camera quiver!

Dog Gone It! The Mutt Ate My Homework!

The dog days of summer  *  Dog eat dog  * Hush puppies  *  Dog soldiers  *  Dogmatic  *  Top dog  *  Call off your dogs  *  It's raining cats and dogs  *  Three Dog Night  *   Living in Houston, Texas in the summer is like living inside a dog’s mouth.  *  Keep those doggies rollin  *  Pup tent  *  Big dog clothes  *  Dog pile  *  Dog and pony show  *  Dog is my co-pilot.  *  Hot dogs and doggie doors and doggie style  *  Mush, you huskies.  *  Lucky dog  *  Gone to the dogs  *  Let sleeping dogs lie  *  You're dog meat  *  In dog years  *  You are dogging it!  *  Dog catchers, walkers, trainers and psychics  *  Puppy mills  *  The canine corps  *  Sentry dogs, helping dogs, guide dogs, companion dogs, service dogs, therapy dogs and fury friends  *  Puppy love  *  Blue dog Democrats  *  Dog tired  *  My dogs ache  *  Be my bitch  *  Dog eared  *  Dog Patch, South Carolina  *  The dogged GOP  *  In the dog house  *  Dogma  *  Dog paddle  *  Dog tag  *  Dog fight  *  Dogfish  *  Doggerel verse  *  Doggie bag  *  You’re in the doghouse now!  *  Tiger hit that dogleg right.  *  The dogwoods are blooming

You good dog, You!

We are now down to the bare bones

I officiate at funerals.  I lead the service, eulogize the deceased and attempt to comfort the bereaved.  It is a task I cherish…to honor another who made his/her way through the world with loving steps, with blessings that animated others and with acts of goodness given generously.  I always feel honored by the assignment.

No, it is not dreadful work, not when you bring others into the realm of the sacred.

It is the best work in the world…next comes the making of art.

And this is true for me…whenever I leave the cemetery or the mausoleum; I realize that it is never right to live a lie, to play make-believe or to lead others into a blind alley guided by only false hopes. 

I will not use my truth to weaken another and so I often leave the meaning of a phrase up to the interpretations of others.  That way, I remain true to my experience and knowledge base and true to the other's at the same time.  I speak equivocally.

So talk about the bare bones…the essence, the truth, the reality, well, here it is, my friends, equivically.