Art Attack Central
Fixing stuff, myself included…
Almost
Almost is never the winner; while I’m not exactly trying to win something, I am trying to finish something, and almost doesn’t cut it here either! If you don’t finish you don’t get the piece of paper as in sheepskin (another googlewhack possiblity). Having trouble getting enough subjects for my thesis research, and it’s too late to change the procedure. Really wish I had prepared to collect data via the Web. Much to do today. Tune in tomorrow for another adventure with Mr. Potatoehead.
Down to Earth
Come in Earth… Down calling Earth… anybody home? Realty check is in the mail. If you’ve stumbled upon this blog by accident it’s merely a coincidence; there is nothing synchronistic about it. Chances are you’ll never be here again, that being said the odds are in my favor that you are not the WEB police. This is a day for brain realignment, rearrangement of priorities, and other tasks left over from my previous life in which I was a circus performer of some renowned. I was known as Dangerous Diane, Queen of the Underworld.
Under where?
Dust under the dresser draws my attention to the details of living the quiet life of a recluse without excuse, as in dust to dust. I [dust] wonder why, I don’t care about where, when the sun’s out. It’s only a matter of time before life catches up with you if you’re not caught up in it.
What?
Now you know why I was talking about brain realignment being paramount; on my plate today it’s the zucchini of chef salad. Speaking of salad this is probably borderline word salad.
I think you’ve gone too far this time.
Well it’s a long way back to the future if you put your mind to it.
“Happiness and moral duty are inseparably connected.”
–George Washington
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Strange Bedfellows
Soon as I typed bedfellows I was struck with a goolewhack insight; Spent last five minutes searching without success; however I do think bedfellow or bedfellows is a good bet with something. I will refrain from whacking the rest of the day! Hmmmm, refrain might be the companion word? NOT, and nor is it hotbed or deadbeat, although deadbeat bedfellow is a good starting place = 28.
Twenty ate what?
What was left of Bertha’s Mussels after Mr. Potatoehead (see yesterday’s post) cleared the joint. Well anyway as I was dusting off the Gypsy he was pumping the accordion vigorously and began singing in Hungarian. Mr. Potatoehead darted past us making a beeline for the harbor. Instantly I knew he meant to throw himself off the dock. He was a rotund Jimmy Steward in It’s a Wonderful Life, and I was his female Clarence counterpart. Great, just what I had in mind for a Friday evening in late December. As I dashed after Mr. Potatoehead I could hear the Gypsy singing behind me; I felt his green eyes pulling me backwards like magnets.
Did you save him?
Mr. Potatoehead was almost to the dock when I tackled him. With the Gypsy’s song pounding in my head, I could hardly hear what Mr. Potatoehead was saying, but this is the gist of it: “I’m trying to get the water taxi; let go of me you idiot.” What I heard was, “I’m dying in the water; don’t you get it.” It was fortunate I did not yet have my wings, or surely they would have been crushed rolling on the cobblestone street under the weight of Mr. Potatoehead.
“Reality is a crutch for people who can’t handle drugs.”
–Lily Tomlin
Later
I know, I know… I said no more whacking, but here’s another reabsorbed hatband.
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Whacked Register
That’s what I’m thinking, a place/page for people to register their whacks. Wonder if whacko.com is already gone? Too lazy today to check it out. Maybe just an info. page on how to claim your whack.
Can’t you tell us something real?
Feeling like I don’t really have anything to say today. So perhaps I’ll just sign off. I could tell you about what’s going on with my friend Su, but that’s none of your business and none of mine either. Maybe I should tell you about the time I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. You know how people get their mouths wired shut to lose weight? Well I had mine wired open so I could put my foot in it any old time. There I was on the corner of Broadway and Eastern Ave. just minding my own business, my feet planted firmly on the ground, nowhere near my mouth when the Gypsy looked in my direction. He was Hungarian and playing an accordion.
A Hungarian Gypsy playing an accordion?
Whaaaat… you can’t imagine it? It was the time of day when the light could be early morning, or late afternoon. He was a short man, no not a midget, or a dwarf, but very short with dark hair and green eyes. So short in fact, that the accordion looked huge as the red bellows waved back and forth across his chest. His tiny fingers hitting shiny buttons and black and white keys seemed to dance unpredictably, yet the music was magical. He was coming towards me, but it wasn’t until he looked at me straight on that I noticed his green eyes. They looked at me the same way his fingers danced on the accordion. At that same moment Mr. Potatoehead popped out of Bertha’s Mussels (yes that’s a real place) and began shouting obscenities to all passing by on the street. He had just learned of his wife’s death via his cell phone; needless to say, he was totally fried. The small Gypsy was knocked over by people trying to put distance between themselves and Mr. Potatoehead’s cursing.
Is this just another Mr. Potatoehead story?
No, this is about the Gypsy and how I got my foot stuck in my mouth which led to having my mouth wired open. Anyway as the crowd thinned out scrambling to get away from Mr. Potatoehead, I helped the Gypsy to his feet and dusted him off. It was while I was dusting the Gypsy that I made the quintessential faux pas…
“Cyberspace: A consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators, in every nation.”
–William Gibson
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Ice Trays
Yes, ice trays can signal a new beginning. It’s time for one when you open the freezer, and find five trays completely devoid of cubes. The only thing chilling is a bottle of vodka. Rushing the trays between sink and freezer you feel control returning. Within hours the hardening of the water gives you power, and power is a tradable commodity. Now all you need is the formula for turning the moving sea to ice, and I don’t mean thin ice. There will be no skating on thin ice, and skating is called for in this situation.
What situation?
Googlewhacking (see Monday’s post) of course if you want to whack/not hack… there’s always a better way. Here’s my whack (unfurled snaggletoothed) which after the google robots cruise my site again won’t be one, because my URL will come up as well, and thus there will no longer be 1 of 1 = whack!. If you want to figure out your googlewhack score you multiply the number of times the first word alone comes up, times the number of times the second word alone comes up.
Why would I whack?
All I can tell you is just like the .coms the whacks will quickly slip from your grasp; you’ll be left standing with no whacks and no place to go. A surfboard without wax is not a safe bet, so set google as your start page and “whackattack” the waves.
“Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.”
–Jonathan Larson
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Get a Life!
Age discrimination at the ageless project (no, there’s no link here)? Ha, no link between “Get a Life” and the ageless project that is. Wonder why there are only 14 people in the forties category? Are they just too busy to add another site? Have they stopped adding sites to the project, because the project is over (so over, so old)? They say you’re over the top when you bump over 50; it’s kind of like a speed bump. As you near fifty, you slow down, take your foot off the pedal, you might even have to hit the brake so as not to ruin the suspension system when you roll over the bump. As you watch the bump diminish in the rearview mirror, with your foot pressed firmly once again on the gas pedal, you notice that the little red needle is pointing to E. E does not stand for enough, or elephant or education, oh no, E stands for epiphany. Yes you experience an epiphany as the car rolls quietly off onto the shoulder of the road. The pulsing glow from the plastic virgin Mary on the dashboard consumes your vision. The car rocks back and forth as if the tiny virgin pulses were sent directly to the… hmmm, I seem to have lost my train of thought here?
What about the ageless project?
I will tell you that I was a bit over zealous in my attempt to become one of those listed (screen capture) on the project. The day after I registered/submitted my information, (Jan. 17) I designed and emailed a button to the project. I received a prompt reply thanking me for the button/link (see right side page) and informing me in all honesty that the button in no way would guarantee my acceptance. Well so far I’m not listed there, but the real question is why do I give a rats A**? That’s what I mean by get a life! It’s the internet junky trying to take over and run the show. Show me a reason why I shouldn’t give up being online entirely, instead of entirely being online and I’ll show you mine.
So how old are you?
Old enough (sometimes E does stand for enough) to be the mother of most of my readers I imagine. Old enough to wish I’d fall in love again, but old enough to think I won’t. Old enough to have an awful lot of baggage which didn’t come with wheels. Speaking of age, one has got to wonder just how relevant age is in relation to how much time your willing to devote to a cyberspace life. The Time Travel Research Center will leave you either laughing or, gasping for air from a different era.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
–William Shakespeare
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