Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

An Overview Of Acceptable Margins Of Error In The Interpretation Of Predictive Data

The deliberately misleading weatherman loses his job

And moves in with the needlessly unpleasant saleslady.

"I love you," he tells her.

"So what?" she answers. "I could almost care."



His job search progresses poorly.

At interviews, he gives prospective employers made-up names, uses cartoon characters as references, and insists that, if hired, he needs the solstice off in order to summon Aphrodite from out of the spirit realm so that she can join the saleslady and him for a threesome.



She kicks him out.

"You're crazy," she tells him. She throws away his gifts and changes the locks.

All day at the department store, she is abrasive and nasty.

She goes to a sub shop for lunch and berates the girl there for assembling her sandwich in exactly the manner she requested.

"Go back to Pakistan!" she says, and leaves without paying.



In the afternoon, she gets caught between floors in a malfunctioning elevator. 

She is visited there by the Holy Spirit.

When she emerges, hours later, she is a changed woman, courteous and kind to everyone she meets.



They let her go anyway.



Meanwhile, the deceptive and demented former weatherman has reinvented himself as a self-help guru.

His is a multi-million dollar empire based on doubletalk and preposterous claptrap. There are waiting lists and limousines.

At one of his seminars, he meets a sixteen year old part-time Sonic carhop named Amber.

It is instant love for him, and he begins to shower her with attention and gifts.

He is convinced that Amber is the reincarnation of Lily Langtry, the famous "Jersey Lily."

He worships her.

He believes that she is the Perfect Human Being.



She likes that he buys her all sorts of expensive shit.

She tells her gf that he is "not so bad, even though he's older than fuck."

Her famous beau is thirty-one years old, adored around most of the world, and cannot distinguish Nirvana from Nivea cream.



St. Valentine's Day arrives.

He goes to the department store to get some nice things for Amber.

The saleswoman, a different one, is abrupt and insulting. 

He buys more than he had intended to, trying to cheer her up,

And she makes a nice commission.



Amber isn't pleased with her gifts,

Which include a riding lawn mower, several bowling balls, and a South American themed patio set.

She decides that the gravy train has gone off the rails for good, and so she calls her gf to come and pick her up.

He never sees her again.



In the asylum, he meets a woman named Brenda, who is a kleptomaniac.

She...

Yes, she....

Steals his heart.



They are released and move in together.

He discovers that she makes uncommonly delicious soups,

And is kind to strays.

He keeps her lawn tidy with his riding mower, the only thing he has left from his days as a pop guru.

In the evenings, they sit on Brenda's couch together, 

The one she curb picked and re-covered.

They watch "Cash Cab."

She is better at guessing the answers than he is, but he doesn't seem to mind.

One night he takes her hand and says, "It will always be sunny as long as we are together."

It is kind of a sweetly dopey thing to say, but she smiles and decides to go with it.

"Sure, babe," she says.

Why not?
_________

Monday, June 28, 2010

Study Partner

I was ill with a fever.

"Redundant!" thundered Professor Ragbone. "Repetitious! Needless!"



I was well with a fever.

So well, that I kissed her again, until I no longer needed air, or thoughts, or recompense--

Only her, until the seed became a strawberry,

And she told me her name,

Swimming in sugar,

Poured over my melting bones as if they were rich with cream and sweetness and desire.



"Hyperbole!" grumbled Ragbone, pacing. "Hackneyed. Derivative!"



Fever

Is sister to thirst.

Fever

Either breaks or transforms.

Fever

Does as it pleases.

Fever.

Oh yeah.
_______

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Two Moods, Men/Women, Four Travelers, Double Post

Every Sunday, the amazing Daryl has a feature called Tell Me A Story, in which she posts one of her photographs and asks her readers to tell her a story about it. Here is this week's picture, and my scene spun from it:

Rider #1: So how about those neo-cubists.


Rider #2: Oh man! The merging of reality with unreality and the presentation of familiar forms in bizarre and distorted shapes just makes me think, you know, Ed?

Rider #1: I'm with ya on that, buddy.

Rider #2: So how's your son? You said he was going through some sort of Chagall phase...

Rider 1: Aw, he's doin' great. We went down to MOMA last weekend. A buddy of mine had tickets, so we went.

Rider #2: How was it?

Rider #1: My man, the surrealists totally kicked ass, but the critic blew the call.

Rider #2: You're shittin' me.

Rider #1: If I'm lyin' I'm dyin', amigo.

Rider #2: Wow. So Ed man, did you catch the game last night?

Rider #1: Game?

Rider #2: Yeah, the baseball game.

(silence)

Rider #1: Sometimes you worry me. Why would I watch a baseball game?

Rider #2: Aw I dunno, Ed. Forget it. It's just...the wife likes it, so we...never mind.

Rider #1: (shakes head)

Rider #2: (clears throat, pedals harder) So Ed man, how about those post-modernists?

Rider #1: My man!!! (both riders reach across and high five.) I'm all over that shit!

Rider #2: Dude!

Rider #1: Dude!
_________________
 
And, as promised, a new poem:
 
 GYPSY HEARTS
 
All girls are gypsies in their hearts;
 
They have wood smoke in their hair,
 
Soft boots on their feet,
 
And can spot a black cat or an easy mark from a mile away.
 
 
 
Gypsy girls all wear bright red and burnished gold;
 
From the womb, they can dance
 
In lazy turns like an old country road,
 
And they can fix a wagon wheel if the men are too drunk to do it.
 
 
 
When I look at a fence,
 
I can only see the broken spot that might be slipped through;
 
And when I lay out the cards, or stare into the scrying crystal,
 
All I see is you...you...you.
 
 
 
All girls are gypsies, carrying chocolates and well-sharpened silver blades;
 
We toss our hair and smile, then disappear down a dusty road under hanging trees.
 
And what will you do then? And what will I?
 
When with our different bands we have gone, and there is nothing but the turning wheels, the wicks of the lamps, and the memory of each other's
 
eager
 
olive
 
Skin?
________
 
Painting: "Gypsy Girl Kate" by Fran J. Scott.
________

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Plastic Joy Award

Well. This is awkward. Ily has given me the Plastic Joy Award, and I am supposed to name five persons with whom I would like to get jiggy if I could. That's so cute. "If I could." Anyway, the thing is, everyone already knows that my list would look like this:

1. Joan Jett
2. Eva Larue
3. Joan Jett
4. Jordana Brewster
5. Joan Jett

Clearly, they've been delayed in traffic. I expected them by now. So, while I'm waiting, why don't we play a little game? Let's imagine that I've been hanging around with rampantly heterosexual persons such as Riot Kitty and Ily. 

Let's further imagine that I've begun to feel a little strange.

Then let's imagine still further, that they conspire to shove me into their giant Straightmaker Machine...

...and that I've emerged with a new view on things.

Suddenly, I'm going through men like M&M's. How can I choose just five? Well, it won't be easy, and I'll, um, have to conduct a great number of extremely private interviews, but for you, my readers, I have culled the herd and these five men have survived. (Note: the heartless Ily, after shoving me into the Straightmaker Machine, proceeded to scarf up Ed Harris, Andy Garcia and, of course, Johnny Depp right off the top. Who's left for me, Ily? Doctor Freaking Phil?)

Well, I have my little ways, just the same. And to prove it, here are my five:

1. Edward Norton. The man is just hot. Intense. Like he might buy you dinner or burn down the restaurant, depending on his mood at any given moment. Plus, in "The Illusionist", he plays a magician, a favorite archetype of mine. "Watch me pull a rabbit outta my hat!" That trick never works...for Bullwinkle. But for Edward Norton, I bet it would.

2. Sam Neil. He's understated, but he gives me the impression that he would be the kind of guy who would know where all the secret (and best) places to go are in some marvelous foreign city, and that he would have the means and the easy charm to make a gal feel as if she had found the secret to something, just because she was with him. And I like his smile.

3. Donald Sutherland. I know that Keifer is the default heart-throb these days, but though I have nothing against him, my heart belongs to daddy. There is a light in his eyes and his smile is something special indeed. I don't care if he's a hundred, the man is sexy. Plus, you all know how I am about rules. My sense is that, at heart. he is the same way. Whatever he has in mind, I'm game.

4. Don Cheadle. He's another one who seems to me to be in a constant state of slow simmer. I like his dark skin and eyes, and I like his smile, too, but what I like even more is when he is all brooding and complicated. I don't think he is probably ever entirely just one thing. You wouldn't ever have to cheat on him, you could just wait for the wind to shift and, presto, different guy. But the same, too. You know?

5. Jim Carrey. Really make me laugh, and I'll follow you anywhere. It's just attractive. But he also seems vulnerable in "Doing Time On Maple Drive" and "Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind." And he seems like he would just be a nice guy. Is crime? Come to Natasha, Jeemy, I'm seeck of dat Boris. You and me, we haff goot time. ;-)

Oh my gosh, I feel dizzy...I think the effects of the StraightMaker Machine are wearing off. I hope Joan or Eva or Jordana get here soon! I'm going to go watch "The L Word" until they arrive. Meanwhile, please help yourselves to the Plastic Joy Award, if you'd like to participate. And there's Coke in the fridge. 

Poetry next post, I promise!

________      

Friday, June 25, 2010

I Love Rock n Roll (and the 80s ladies who played it)

Okay look. I don't feel like writing poetry right now. There, I've said it. Oh, don't have kittens, the rhymes will be back. But for right now, I am giddy with the prospect of posting about anything I feel like. Oh my.....lack of structure....no adult supervision....it's sounding better all the time.

So anyway, today my subject is rocker ladies of the 80s. You know the ones. If you were like me, you either wanted to be them, be with them, or both.

Now, it is well-established that I believe in Joan. *sighhhhhhh*

But back then, there was another singer I hyperventilated over liked nearly as well. Nena.

Yes, I know, she was a one hit wonder, and the one hit was 99 Luftballoons. But still.

By the way, she still looks fantastic today.

Then there was Kate Bush. She sang about Wuthering Heights, and swapping places with God, and had a fearless lesbian love song on her "Lionheart" album. Completely unfair that anyone should be both that talented and that beautiful. 

I also loved the sultry and smoky-voiced Martha Davis of the Motels. So L.A., dahling.

Can't leave out Annie Lennox of the Eurythmics. Would I lie to ya honey?

or Terri Nunn of Berlin. Got to love "Sex (I'm A....)".

And Cyndi Lauper and The Bangles and Bananarama, and The Waitresses and all the rest.

Some have not aged so well, like Dale Bozzio of Missing Persons. I used to be sooooo envious of her. Um, I'm not anymore. Especially since she got busted for animal cruelty last year.

So who's your diva from the 80s, 90s or 2000's? Once a rocker, always a rocker at heart, I think. Here's to all of them whose hotness remains weapons-grade, even if only because we love them. ;-)

_______

 

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Babs To The Rescue!

Darlings! It's me, Babs, from Objets D'art!

I've made you some lols, because...

Fireblossom has gone entirely to pieces and...

Is down at the local java bar,

Praying to Joan Jett or something.

Aren't you glad Aunt Babs is here to save the day? Lambs, when I heard there was the chance to upstage her help, I came running! Well all right, RRRRRRRRRamon drove me over in the RRRolls. Is that so wrong? Enjoy, Lambs, enjoy! I've got to run. Tennis at three! Ta, Darlings! 

Air hugs,

Babs St. Argent, feeling practically saintly
__________

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Her Talent A Mere Memory, Fireblossom Resorts To Hokum

I made these lols. This one is not Bosco, but rather, a Bosco wannabe.

I will never get the hour back that I spent making these.

I could have been reading.

Or visiting misery upon others.

But nooOOOOooo.

I made lols instead.

(I like them.)

:-)
___________