Night Visitor and Sexy Music

I left the hose running all night. It filled the strip of a garden trench that runs alongside the sidewalk. A visitor came by to check it out.

Aren’t these cute? They look like the hand prints of a tiny child but are not.

It almost looks as if the gnome, relaxing near did a handstand.

Maybe not.

Frank, who took me out first thing this morning to see these prints, said they are the impressions of racoon feet.

It looks as if the racoon stood on the sidewalk, stuck his front paws into the cool soup and had a drink.

This little guy was near the scene of the prints this morning sloooooly frolicking among the fallen Amaryllis fronds.

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I was up in the middle of the night downloading podcasts. I had the pleasure of listening to John Doe and the Sadies on Terry Gross’ Fresh Air this morning.

Doe has a new recording, Country Club, with the Canadian band.

Terry loves him as much as I do. I dare say she was fawning and deeply appreciative. Good taste Terry.

I have now put down the iPod to hear Radio Lab on NPR. They are focused on semen and animal and insect sex.

Some ducks have 14 inch penises. Did I need to know that?

However frightening this is to contemplate, it leads me to my next subject.

The first thing I did when I plugged in my new iPod was to upload all my Queens of the Stone Age material.

I have confided my deep love of people born under the astrological sign Taurus. One of my favorites is Josh Homme of QOTSA. His nick name is Baby Duck. I won’t go any further with the duck/dick connection but I will say that Homme makes some of the sexiest music ever.

Ladies and men who love men, start with Lullabies To Paralyze to see what I mean. It drips with desire and heat.

This is the album in which we get to feel the blossoming of his sexual fascination, attraction and love for Brodie Dale. They had a beautiful sweet baby duck baby and married.

That’s all I know. I hope they have the best of lives and I hope they make music 4 ever.

I think I’ll upload Lucinda Williams today. More sexy music.

Season Finale

Sunday will be the season finale of  AMC’s Breaking Bad . I have loved watching this show. The second season was full of ghastly happenings that were completely captivating. The brilliant writers and actors all deserve the fattest accolades.

Bryan Cranston, Aaron Paul,  Anna Gunn (great name), yes, every actor on the show has been great.

What am I going to do when the season is over? Nothing else on TV is this good.

Any suggestions?

I urge you to treat yourself to this creation. Check out Breaking Bad at Netflix.

On the trip south last weekend I spent a great evening with my son, Brian. It was a Sunday and I was very fixated on finding a TV to watch Breaking Bad. No problem. The Max G. Arnold homestead is rich with the technology of visual/cerebral pleasure.

My son is learning law, day and night at the Arnold household. He also enjoys the perks.

Rex Arnold’s room is like a theater. No, it is a theater, equipped with a projector, a really big screen and black curtains to make the day like night. It is a cinema lover’s dream.

All the boys — Brian, Rex and Barrack — are history buffs. It was really fun to drop my hungry eye into that cinematic womb.

After we watched Breaking Bad we watched Luther. Joseph Fiennes plays Martin Luther, the father of the protestant church. The story depicts a fight for deliverance from old school Catholic domination in the 16th century in favor of a more DIY religious experience. Vanquish the hypocritical intermediary, sayeth Martin Luther.

Wonder if the sheer size of the images on that big screen can make any movie more spellbinding.

I loved hanging out with Brian even though my time there was short. I was sort of a stealth guest. Max and Margie had company and I didn’t want to intrude. Brian slept on a couch and gave me his comfortable bed.

I whimped out quickly on that trip and wanted to get back home to Frank. True Love does that.

North Beach Lunch

The city was gray and misty by the time I reached the bridge. It was so cool. Redding had been very warm with the feeling that summer was coming on too early. I brought layers of clothing to add as I drove south.

I had missed the turn onto 29 south. I’d forgotten it was 53 at that point. I drove all the way up Clear Lake listening to my custom made Marc Bolan – T Rex CD.

I’d started with Grant Lee Phillips. Played Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Space Girl, then Marc Bolan.

*photo by Bob Gruen

It was nice to be alone with the music.

“No, you can’t stop the children of the revolution. Oh, oh no.”

The sweet trill of Bolan’s tremelo voice was a joy.

I drove on. When I reached 29 at the top of Clear Lake a glance at the map let me know that I’d have to go all the way around the lake returning south east to get back to where I had originally intended to be.

I decided to go over 175 to Healdsburg. On the map it looked like a pretty straight line over to 101. It was miles of twisty narrow road over the mountains.

I thought of Victoria Williams song about always being on time no matter what time you arrived. It’s a psych thing. Set the scene. My world.

I wanted to get to San Francisco because Jessica had wanted to go to dinner. I didn’t get in until 8 p.m.

We hung out and watched Colbert Report and The Critic on Hulu.

Isn’t this a great color on their walls?

Warm and rich to balance  the gray that came the next day.

On my trusty map it looked like I would roll right up to her door after I reached the bridge but there was a drive across town first.

The city was packed, busy, jammed. I managed to find my way.

Jessica and Colby have many great albums. Yes, they are vinyl elitists. Their roommate, Moises, works at a groovy record store. They all are awash in the minutia of release dates, labels, track listings, liner notes. Albums are history. I loved all the records I ever had. I could look at the cover art and liner notes over and over again. It’s a world unto itself.

These are the stacks of vinyl. You may drool and would do more drooling were I to have a list of the treasures that sit on these shelves.

Jessica loves Townes van Zandt and other good men. Colby loves Brazilian music and African and together they love lots more. Both are musicians themselves and they have carved out a nice space, physical and psychic, for themselves in San Francisco.

That makes me happy.

This is a portrait in charcoal, I guess, of the lovely Miss Jessica Lynn Pratt.

A friend of hers, now gone from San Francisco, made it after knowing Jess a short time. It’s beautiful.

Sunday morning Jess, Colby and I headed for North Beach. It was jammed. We found a cool parking garage across the street from Caffe Macaroni, the  restaurante Italiano were we brunched.

Good stuff. It’s their favorite spot.

I know I am prejudice but aren’t they grand?

So very very cute. I could post this on cuteoverload.com

They’re as cute as any puppies or kitties or hedgehogs I’ve ever seen.

That is in no way a dis. Rather, it is sincere high praise. Cuddly, brilliant, complex shining sweetie pies.

Brunch was amazing. I ordered the sea creature fanatasia dish.

The black linguini was covered with mussels, little octopi things and a large shrimp thing, ocean dwellers, crustaceans.

I’d never ordered anything like it. It was quite extravagant.

Beautiful colors and nice if chewy.

Before we had the main course we had delightful appetizers.

It was rich, cinematic, and very tasty.

There was good conversation and Euro MTV on televisions scattered around the joint.

Prosciutto and melon with strawberries looking good.

And speaking of looking good:

The waitress offered to take a picture of us all together. Thank you!

Time the Thief

A new computer was one of the reasons I traveled to the Bay area. The real reason, the human reason, was to see my kids.

I didn’t know it when I pulled out of our driveway here in Redding but I had some unfinished business as a mother.

My children had left the nest “for reals” after we had moved to this house in late 2006. Jess left as soon as she had the money saved to go set herself up in San Francisco. She was so anxious to get into her real adult life.

Brian, a being with great and august past life history I am sure, took his time and went when he had a deal he could not pass up. Law School Arnold style. More about that later.

Jessica convinced me to make the Memorial Day weekend a travel adventure. I had wanted to go to break up my long string of seriously dedicated days of working. I’d been cranking and focusing very earnestly every day of this year and the last year, too.

I needed a break from everything just to clean my psychic lenses. That’s what I told myself and yet I hesitated. I shouldn’t go. No, I should go. My brain was scrambled.

But finally I went adventuring alone for the first time in a very long time.

I spent a Saturday night and a Sunday morning with Jessica and her man, Colby. It was cool, great to see her and Colb and to meet their roommate, Moises, the lovely sprite boy artist, in the flesh.

Sunday afternoon I left to go have dinner with Brian and Barrack Arnold then spent a lovely night at the Arnold’s beautiful house in Santa Rosa. It was a cozy comfortable visit.

I always feel comfortable with my kids. They are both so generous and affectionate toward me.

Still, I felt was a monster wave of sadness roiling in me. It was pulling itself into shape as the weekend progressed ready to curl and break.

I left Santa Rosa with mommy tears at having said goodbye to Brian. I love him so dearly.

The tears rolled down my cheeks and nearly blurred my vision as I took the curves on highway 29. I was finally grieving for their absence from my life. I had felt little spurts of pain for years but now I really knew with my whole heart that the kids were well launched in their own lives.

It was a strange combination of  joy and a deep sadness. Such a weird feeling. I was standing on the threshold of the rest of my life.

We will always be close and have great love and affection for one another. Now I can see that even when I put myself in their physical presence I can never really be in their world.

In this river of time we are all in separate boats. We may be able to wave hello or pull up next to one another and talk for a bit but our time together on the water, in the flow, will be fleeting. Time is a thief.

COLBERT!!!

Last night was my first night visiting San Francisco. I watched the Thursday Colbert Report on Hulu with daughter Jess and her beau, Colby at their groovy digs in the Excelsior.

This is the way the youngins watch TV. They do not consent to full strung out enslavement to the cable company. In the future we will all be using this system. I will when the $ runs out.

Colbert looks like Jerry Lewis in this shot.

I turned in after my long drive and a goodly visit to sleep in Jess and Cclby’s very comfortable bed. What dasdardly thing befell me as I dreamed?

The randy Colbert and I were meeting  in short spurts (pun intended?). It was all very secretive. We were sneaking around. At one point, as the sexual intention escalated,  I recall being  covered in sweet pickles (Hey, sometimes a pickle is just a pickle).

I had shared my observation (with Colby and Jess)  that Colbert  frequently diverts attention to his nether regions at times during the Report.

Then the dreams came.

“Colbert!”  I, full of impotent rage,  shake my fist at the heavens.

Letting It Go

This is what cilantro looks like when you let it go.

I know that with herbs one should trim the buds and keep them low and bushy but I wanted to see the blossoms.

Very nice.

I did trim them this morning.

They are sitting in a dark blue cup on the kitchen table.

This is the spinach sprung completely. I used one of these tiny bolted stalks in eggs the other day.

Pulling the big spinach bucket down allowed room for the lilies and cactus on the raised bench.

That way we can see them from the kitchen window.

The lilies are so bright and perfect. Yes, truly bitchen like a naughty GTO.

Which GTO would you choose? Miss Pamela is gorgeous.

See more of her at www.pameladesbarres.com

Thrift Store Finds

Frank and I  passed the stone house at the river park up the street early this week. These magenta lilies stood out against the green grass.

I’ve confessed that if ever I am offered a rental property in Bernal Heights I will jump at the chance.

I am very seriously attached to the beauty of my surroundings here so I may hesitate just a second or two.

The spring is so rich and the mountains that encircle this place are like strong, silent friends.

When I was attending school in Iowa City I became aware of just how much I love to be near mountains. Their presence gives me some kind of peace. The flat lands don’t do it for me.

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Last week I stopped by a fave thrift store and found a whole collection of vintage beaded earring from the 50s and possibly 60s. I bought all the most beautiful pairs.

Madmen may sway many a young filly toward the tight fitting sheath, gloves  and the smart ear bob. Aren’t they swell?

My favorites are listed at DarcyArts.  This pair of really unusual  floral rhinestone 50s earrings.

They appear to be made of a ceramic material with tiny white beads inlaid in the center beneath the rhinestones which are set in separate little blossoms. Sweet.

I show each pair here as I put them in my Etsy shop.

These dazzlers remind me of mocha coffee and secretarial work. Ah fashionistas, feast your eyes on these retro beaded earrings.

I think I may stop by that thrift shop again to day.

I need to go out for more thread and I’m also thinking about buying one of those fold out, cardboard grids so that I might cut my sewing materials on a straight line! There are tools to help us achieve something close to perfection.

Joann’s I’m a coming. I need more stiff material for the chimp caps, too.

Fruits of My Labor

The lilies are opening. The sun is bright. It’s all golden.

I’m a busy, bustling, bee.

I’ll be making a trip to the post office soon but first I must attend to the details of DarcyArts. Relisting, organizing, convos.

I have two prints to send to a groovy Austinite Etsian  —  Joey and Johnny Ramone.

I love these two paintings.

There’s a Laird Hamilton film to watch when my work day ends. So Stoked.

Three chimps are nearly done. There are caps and bags to make for them.

The obviously are not identical triplets. Each has it’s own personality.

One needs arms and legs. One is riding the exercycle. He must be the health nut.

I’d like to sit these guys out in the yard. They could have a tea party and frighten the squirrels.

Not today.

TV While Fuzzy

At the end of a really long day of plushie wrangling, after tending to last minute details at the DarcyArts shop, Amazon sales, e-mail, convos and the preparation of an evening repast, it’s time for TV. By 6 p.m. my eyes are toast and my mind has tossed it’s thinking cap.

There are TV shows I have to see.

I’m way into Big Love,  LA Ink and 30 Rock. All three have finished their runs for this season.

Breaking Bad is the only show I can watch twice. I view the same show a second time with riveted concentration. The new episodes air on Sunday. I can hardly wait.

I’m fond of documentaries, musicals. Frank is getting way into Turner Classic Movies. Together we regularly devour, Rachel Maddow, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report. If it wasn’t for DVR I’d rarely see any of these shows. We fit them in when we have shared time to view.

Still, I’m hungry for new thrills.

There is a new tattoo show starts May 27,on A&E.

“Tattoo Highway follows artist Thomas Pendelton as he travels the country in a mobile tattoo parlor of his own design,” sez a blurb on the A&E site.

I caught the ad for it yesterday. Pendleton tours the U.S. in an RV giving tats for gas (his license plate). I don’t know why they made Pendelton look so bad-ass macho. His tats are sort of scary, with lots on the neck, but the camera shot of him, up from the worm’s eye view, is sorta overkill.

I noticed the show will be preceeded by half a dozen Dog, the Bounty Hunter episodes. Think they are going for an all male audience?

Looking elsewhere, Dave Bianculli’s  bloggy mag TV Worth Watching reminded me that I am determined to see at least some of the fifth season of Denis Leary’s relentlessly foul Rescue Me.

I became a Leary fan in the early 90’s. He was a fresh face on the fresh cable channel Comedy Central. I was watching comedy to correct an over-serious series of commitments — matrimonial and academic.

Leary was the most rock n roll of the comics. His shaggy rockish hair and his bad boy attitude caught my eye.  His humor hadn’t yet been shown as fully infantile, all cigarettes and misogyny. It was before the public en masse discovered him. Ot maybe I just didn’t notice while I was grooving on his lanky, Gaelic charm.

*askmen.com

But I digress. I watched the first two seasons of Rescue Me and then succumbed to it’s heaping helping of negative masculine idiocy. It left a bad taste in my mind so I quit it. I know, I know. Leary is trying to show the negative outcome of masculine idiocy but I just have such a low tolerance for it as entertainment. It’s why I can’t watch Madmen even with the sweet Christina Hendricks as enticement.

*askmen.com

I  must return to Rescue Me to delight in Michael J. Fox’s performance of the wheelchair-bound, substance abusing, paraplegic live-in lover of Tommy’s (Leary) ex-wife. Yeah, that’s a downer but one laced liberally with deeper layers of meaning for the viewer.

I saw a short clip when Fox was on Oprah and was stunned. Yes! Fox has a fire in his belly.

*TV Worth Watching

Check out Diane Holloway’s piece for TV Worth Watching on Fox’s rad turn as Dwight. It’s a ways down the page at the previous link.

*indicates photo source

Walk it Off

Have to go take the car for repair. We’re bound for Athens repair shop and will enjoy a nice walk back to Freebridge.

I will try to communicate my need to have only one thing repaired, try to readiate the I’m-not-a-sucker vibe. I’ll tell them I have the Car Guys’ home phone number.

Watched Frost /Nixon last night.

Frank Langella was fantastic. Michael Sheen was distractingly goofy looking (no disrepect). I think they gave him fake bags under his eyes. It was like looking at a chipper 13 year old aged to look 35. He’s got a dazzling smile.

Sam Rockwell is one of my favorites.

Had a very interesting dream about the RS.

More later.