21st Century pop culture chit chat

hmm... and born on Bloomsday ;)

Tupac gives posthumous live performance from beyond via hologram

OK, I'm not big into the gansta shizzle, yo, but I reared a tiny rapper and I'm familiar with the stuff. I also understand from whence the genre was born and how it evolved into a cultural art form more respected in the world we live in than Shakespeare (and that's not a bad thing)-- at least perhaps, by the younguns  I also know that Tupac and Biggie were 2 of the greatest and they both died from senseless gangsta murders. I also know, and have known for a long time, that Tupac was way too beautiful--one of the finest aesthetic representations of the male form in our world-- a warrior in the streets and in the language. This hologram freaks me out. I wonder if people will one day be paying money to see live performances via holograms-- just projections. In more than one connotation, projections & light  are everything in 21st century society & culture. Hmmm, and someone mentioned project bluebeam (?) One day I will work on these unfinished, semi-conclusions...

Isolation: a good reason people believed Howard Hughes was insane...

I've been writing about my self-imposed dissertation isolation, and as the days roll by as I sit before this keyboard and screen, I slowly began to think I was losing my mind. "I used to type better than this?"  "What's up with all the typos in my first drafts?" I type things and sometimes can't even read what I've written... why, you ask? Well, it seems that even though I try to take care of myself, this can become a hindrance. Although I haven't left the office in a couple of weeks, I keep my nails nice and sometimes paint them. I realized last night that my nails have grown too long for me to function, and it's time to cut them off. I remember seeing a film about the final days of Howard Hughes when I was a kiddo and wondering, "How does he move around like that, with those super long fingernails?" Mine aren't super long, but you can tell I haven't been playing guitar, haha!

The thing is, I used to bite & peel my fingernails, and I'll admit it here to no one that as a kid I even bit off my toenails-- I was limber, and I still am--but no, I don't bite my nails anywhere any longer. When I was a kid, my father's fingernails freaked me out. He kept them groomed and well cut, but he kept one pinkie fingernail really long. No, pops wasn't a coke-head, he used it to turn slot screws, clean out tiny grease-filled grooves on some mechanical part, and I think he picked his nose with his hanky-- yeah, a hanky-- that's what we called those cloth, environmentally-friendly bits of cloth one blows one's nose into. So the point is, I grew up my entire young female life not knowing what to do with fingernails. As we grow older, they don't seem to stop growing, do they? And toenails? In the summers when I wear sandals, I forget to look at my toes after I paint them and the next thing I know they're poking through socks or bending my toe up painfully when I suddenly decide to boot-up and take a ride on the motorcycle. My nails are frequently used accidentally as weapons of destruction on some random thing they cling to.

Therefore, I'm ritualistically removing them today so that I can type better, and perhaps pick and grin a bit on breaks, but here's my eulogy for them: Goodbye purple tips!
I-solation

Many days I still miss my longest intimate relationship...

You know how when you really like and love  someone and know them really well you come up with silly & sweet pet names for them? Sometimes I think the love of my life is a sweet, precious dog: "The Specialist," Vaillecita/o, Violetta, Love, Sweetness, Sweet Judy Blue Eyes, Sunshine, Sunshine Puppy, Puccini, "the face," the Phantom, die Hundin gern, Cutiecia, Veezer (the Weezer), Piggasus, Pigasaurus, Ms.Thang, Best Dog Ever, Vyer, Vido, Snuffleluffagus, V, the V-A-I, Bourgee, Locacita bonita, knucklehead, the Vizor, etc.  She stuck by me like Mary's Little Lamb throughout college and real world and graduate school, six boyfriends, one husband and a step-son.  Vai was a silly dog, but she was so human-like she really was a genius, very affectionate and a good groomer, although sometimes she could get a little anxious and would full on attack Akitas and Pitt Bulls and other larger dogs. She often seemed as though she was Marilyn Monroe reincarnated as a dog... the bitch was sexy, that's all there was to it. Like all dogs, she loved snow, strangers, pumpkin pie, ice cream, baby carrots, blueberries... bacon. She hated the beach, short walks, people who walked heavy, especially wearing boots, being picked up, and not getting to go.

Vai's favorite walks were up Animas Mountain, along the Animas river, La Plata Canyon and going up to campus in Durango. In Seattle, she didn't even like the mist at first and rarely would go for a walk or outside, ha, but near the end of our time there she would go on walks up and down and around the block on 75th NE where we lived, and she loved to chase the geese around Lake Washington near the Sound Garden, and she went to Jimi Hendrix's grave. In Boulder, her favorite walks were Boulder Creek, "The Loop" which is what we called the extent of our neighborhood's side streets which were all loopy because of green space to slow traffic, and of course, "The Ring of Fire," which connected the three parks in our neighborhood at the north end of town. She also loved walking to the campus there, and going to class with me. I would ask if my students had allergies to dogs and if not she would come chill out with everyone during classes, she believed humans existed for her to love. .Her best tricks were: "the paw," vying, jumping into a VW bus, psychically causing people to drop food during preparation of a meal, saying "I love you," getting noticed, and of course, faking limps at the beach and running away from the water at all time unless there were pelicans.

Vai saved me when I picked her out in March of 1992 from La Plata County Humane Society. I remember the day I picked her out and how her little brain trembled beneath her knuckle head, and her butt shook when I walked past her cage, and the little scar on her nose that looked like she had given herself from sticking her nose through the chain link fence at the humane society for far too long. The attendant saw me looking at her and told me that she was the sweetest dog, age uncertain, and that her time was up on that day--4 hours more and she'd be euthanized. When I showed an interest in her, the shelter worker offered her for below cost-- I remember thinking how can they eliminate such a pretty little dog with beautiful blue eyes; and she wasn't blind, or deaf. Then the lady said, " If you'll take her I'll give her to you for $20-- she's spayed and you'll still get a free vet visit." Of course I couldn't refuse! Because I was a college student, I had to sign a statement that I would be responsible for this dog and not just leave it in town when I graduated, which apparently happened quite often. I took that document very seriously. They put a little red rope leash on her, and she bounded with that silly gait of her's, leapt right up into the seat of my bus, and then kept trying to make me wreck the whole way home from sticking her head under my hand whenever I tried to shift-- and kept doing that beggy-paw at the sky-- then she did that moaning- growling-beggin' thing she used to do with the trembly-brain and said "Raii Roeoorrvvf Roo." When we got back to the glorious basement apartment I shared with another student, she liked it and ran inside and jumped on the back of the couch like a cat. My roommate KF and I named her--during the drive home I thought I would name her Suite Judy Blue Eyes after a Crosby Stills Nash and Young song, but then I thought that was a better nickname-- we started with Violet (for her blue eyes), then Viola from "Twelfth Night", Violetta from "La Traviata", but when we played Steve Vai's "Passion and Warfare" the dog freaked out when the lady on the CD began screaming "That sounds like noise Mr. Vai". I'd always heard that dogs respond best to a one-syllable name, and then I remembered "D'yer Maker" from Houses of the Holy, and how Robert Plant says, "Vi" at the end, and of course the punning verb "vie" went with her begging... so KF and I decided that was the name . Vai enjoyed the multiple allusions in her name as much as I did, I'm certain. (ie, A language, Vai, is spoken by approximately 105000 people in Liberia and Sierra Leone, the Vai people; also Sanskrit for wind; Yiddish for woe, etc.).

As is the case with everyone's beloved dog, she was the ULTIMATE dog-- so unique and sweet, feisty and adventurous. She was more well-traveled than most humans she knew, and everywhere she went people always stopped and asked what kind of dog she was, noting her striking ice blue eyes: Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Nevada, Arizona, Oregon, Washington, Wyoming, Idaho, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas; she even went to National Parks, like below at Bryce Canyon NP, (and Goblin Valley State Park, Capital Reef NP, Zion NP, Rocky Mountain NP, Mesa Verde NP, Canyonlands NP, Yellowstone NP, Glacier NP, Hot Springs NP, not to mention every state beach between Florence, OR and Walla Walla, WA) but was very bummed about the leash. Vai loved riding on the fold up couch in the back of the campmobile. In Silverton, a jeep tour driver from Louisiana was impressed by her and said she was a Louisiana Leopard Catahoula," trained at one time to hunt cougars in the swamps. Jeez! Although this would explain her propensity for attacking dogs that were obviously tougher than her, she wasn't. Once at a Circle K in Dolores, Colorado, a man having coffee saw her sitting in the bus and was just certain she was a puppy from his recently passed dog (a catahoula). He even had what he believed were her puppy pictures in his car glove-box, which we looked at but couldn't really tell. But he was positive... "there was only one my Sadie had with blue eyes and all that white."

Many of my friends in college would come to my house to see Vai, and if they were going for a hike up Animas (my basement cave was essentially in the base of the mountain), they would stop in & ask to take her along. She loved Bobby, Alex, Pat & Turtle. People sometimes were afraid of her-- thinking she was a pit bull! But a breeder of huskies told me she looked like a beagle/husky mix, common in Alaska; however, everyone had an opinion. She liked to herd, but also to pull and drag. She always took the perimeter of a region before walking straight through. She also received labels of Healer, Aussie, Terrier, etc., from various admirers. Wow! Neither Vai, nor I knew what she really was. Just for fun, we often told inquirers that she was a special breed: The American Dog. (I call myself a Euromutt.)

It pains me to hear about people that don't treat their dogs with humanity. Maybe I'm a nut-job but I sacrificed a lot to keep Vai in my life when many times as a starving college student and graduate student and employed person, I felt like she deserved a better home-- someone who could afford her annual exams and dental cleanings. I felt that attached to this beast. I wanted her to have a better life. But every time I almost gave her up I would decide she would rather be with me and I would rather have her too. In Durango, Portland, Seattle and Boulder, it was impossible to find affordable housing that was decent and clean and functional if you had a dog--no talk of deposits just NO DOGS. So I lived in cheap basement apartments with oddly contrived plumbing, no closets, and lots of spiders the whole time I was single, but Vai had her walks and her couch and her expensive, hippie sled-dog food, which was all I could get her to eat at the time. Although I will say that we finally found a place to rent in Seattle because of her. I had called on a place that had been empty for quite a while and the woman said no dogs, I asked if they would consider meeting my dog? She said no. About two hours later she called me back and said my husband and I have been talking and we have dogs and we will meet your dog. Vai was so sweet and cute and good for them they let us have the house, and even repaired the fence for her.

I have many more stories, especially travel adventures about my special buddy, I'll probably tell more some day... but I've teared up just now thinking about our bond.

Vai was on chemo meds when she passed away from bladder cancer (and possibly skin cancer that spread to her blood, etc.; Vai had endured quite a few surgeries having many cancerous legions repeatedly removed from her nose and belly before we realized it was also internal) that spread to her brain on November 14, 2005. Although her age, was uncertain when she joined my life, she was my primary and steadfast companion for 14 years. Even when she was sick, enduring her final days and had to be carried down the stairs in our house, she wanted to take long slow walk, 4 + times per day! Some jerk in the neighborhood verbally accosted me once when I was out with her telling me I was a freak about my dog, I shouldn't walk her so much, but I loved time with Vai. I miss her often... I have her photo on the wall above my computer... Best Dog Ever.

OK, so she never had to do this, but she would have: SUPER DOG!

"Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood." Pablo Neruda

When I was a kid, I grew up in a nice suburb in between Dallas/Fort Worth. The house was huge by what some standards are today. The kitchen was one of those annoyingly skinny ones with a built-in mod "bar" for casual seating. We frequently ate dinner there. My most traumatic childhood memories are at the dinner table, well, that and when I'd get caught playing in the street. I was a finicky eater, and my father was the guy who wanted me to eat everything on my plate. I was predisposed to some kind of conflict occurring whenever we sat around the bar to eat. I'll never know if it was on purpose, but my dad used to stare into space, his cold, icy-blue eyes always seemed to be watching not me, not mom, not brother or sister, but my plate. I didn't get it at the time, but I guess because I was ten and twelve years younger than his other children, and because I inherited a smattering of his impatience, I can see how going through the fun of kids being picky eaters could get old. It's too bad that's a kind of fond memory of him now.

The entire neighborhood was wooded-- almost every yard had an old stand of trees in front and back.  Our house, built in 1967, was a two-story, four bedroom, two bath, living room, dining room, two-car garage, and it sat on an acre lot, originally about three acres, and there was a tiny creek running through the middle of the property, and many trees, huge, ancient oaks, cedars, elms. The three two-story houses in a row, almost exactly the same with some differences in the stair wells, each had large property dimensions. When I was really small, my sister had a horse named Bandy, all I really remember is he fit in our yard, was white and he would try to eat my hair.

Between my father, when he was around doing cool things, and my wonderful surrogate family next door, those few acres were a paradise . As kids ranging in age of about 6 years, all of our first names begin with "K," and one of the boys was born 16 days before me-- our moms were pregnant neighbors together-- we all went to the same school our whole lives, living next door... and, most of the neighborhood kids hung out with us, and they played while they were still innocent.

In my backyard there was a swing-set with two swings, a big slide and a monkey bar, like parallel bars in gymnastics, and a tiny slide. Over by a huge elm tree there was another set of monkey-bars my dad scored from some park that was being demolished. It was like a huge space-ship and a labyrinth and a dungeon and a jail for all of our imaginary role-playing games. My father built  a wooden airplane swing for me that hung from a high branch in a very very old and large oak tree. It had pulleys on each wing and one at the tail, a bicycle seat, a control stick and a propeller that really turned 'round when you got going fast on it. To the best of my dad's abilities it looked like a British fighter plane, a "Hurricane" I believe, like the one above.

My dad raced cars, loved old motorcycles and was a mechanic, although he was employed as a cash register technician, and our house also had the treasure trove of fun tools, BMW motorcycles, helmets for playing racers, Star Wars, martians, not to forget the old BMW Isetta that dad had bought and it sat for a while in the garage. A little pod-shaped thing, shaped much like today's Smart car, had entry in the front, a big hinged angled door like an industrial freezer--the steering column was hinged and pulled out when you opened the door-- one bench seat, a snap-on vinyl sun-roof. This car was the perfect space ship & time travel device and I remember one rainy day we hung Xmas lights in the darkness of the closed garage and argued over who would be captain, etc. But my surrogate father next door was an engineer, and since he had so many kids I guess, aside from just being a really loving, cool guy, he built a basketball court, where we also held performances of summer plays; a play-house with cherries painted on its lovely pop-out windows, especially good for pioneers at war-- the "pioneers" would be attacked from above with huge black PVC bazookas by the "Indians" who had a stealth position in the tree-house/fort up in a cedar tree to the south of the playhouse along the what by this time had become a large city ditch, former creek. He also built a bridge to get us all across the ditch to where we had a nicely foot-worn baseball diamond, and north of there was a magical,glorious thicket.

When I was a kid I liked the word "thicket" because I'd read it in Bambi, and this was the first "real" thicket I had discovered when I started riding my bike through the trails back there. Of course everyone in the neighborhood likely knew it was there. For me it was otherworldly and perfect; it seemed precisely round and the 15' or higher trees had all bent over the circle and were bound downward creating an enveloping darkness amongst the limbs of the trees, the overgrown shrubs and especially vines.  In the spring and summer, everything from poison ivy to mustang grapes were entangled within the dense brambles; and the flowers, whose names  I learned as primroses, Texas wine-cups, bluebonnets, Indian paintbrushes, Indian blankets, dandelions and buttercups blossomed below the outside rim of trees. In almost the precise center of the thicket was a jagged, worn and shorn stump that still clung to life with fresh green sprouting branches that seemed strategically placed beneath the tiny skylight above. I would carry a lunch there sometimes by myself and imagine that before I arrived there were fairies and elves dancing and frolicking around the spot of sunlight and the green stump. I would feel a surge of energy walking into the circle, and day dream and eat my peanut butter and jelly or plain American processed pasteurized cheese product sandwiches on white Mrs. Baird's bread. I would often look from my brother's upstairs window toward the thicket in the darkness to see if I could see the fairies glowing.

The ditch wasn't so bad either. You could collect rocks and fossils, most frequently the same old fossils but you were still a paleontologist, which was another game we played, along with wildlife biology-- collecting horned toads, and toads and bullfrogs, gathering strands of eggs laid in the still somewhat natural flow of creek water into mason jars and waiting for them to hatch into tadpoles and then grow legs--catching as many fireflies as you could and putting them in a mason jar and staring at the glow all night before you fell asleep. I should feel guilty for all of the slugs we killed with salt just because it was so "neat" to watch. But perhaps we made up for it with the many times we tried to rear a baby bird that had fallen from its nest, or by the fact that our parents actually let us run in the mosquito fogger-truck emanations.

To be continued...maybe... if I have food-deprivation insomnia and am not writing more important stuff. :)

The whole twitter thing...

So I should make it clear that although yes, I have  twitter account, and yes sometimes I post dumb things for no reason, you're really not missing anything if you don't follow me. :)

3 April 2012 Update:  I have to say though there are some gems on twitter, like this great image I stumbled across today of Barbara Stanwyck and Clark Gable shooting the bird on the set of "To Please a Lady"