Art Attack Central

Fixing stuff, myself included…

The Late Tuesday Too # 10

Tuesday Too1.) Tell us about your most frustrating experience in dealing with the government, or some kind of authority and red tape.

Yesterday, was spent trying to help my friend Abbott, who is eighty one, open a bank account. The bank he has dealt with for years closed his account because he was overdrawn by $7.00! They know who he is, but nonetheless insisted he must have a current picture id to open a new account. No you can’t have your old account back. No you may not use an expired passport, and no your social security card is not enough either, even with your expired license from another state. Off we go to get a picture id from the DMV. You must have your birth certificate if you don’t possess a current picture id. Well, I explain his house burned down, and he no longer has a birth certificate. You must get a copy of the birth certificate from the records of whatever city he was born in. Hmmmm… turns out he was born at home. All this because of $7.00, and the idiot people at the bank who insist he must prove who he is, when they know full well who he is.

2.) Tell us your crazy kitty or, crazy dog, or crazy whatever story.

This is more a story of crazy circumstances. Once upon a time I lived in Adams Morgan D.C. I rented a large one bedroom basement apartment in a no pet building for myself, my lover and one cat (Cosmic Cat also known as Fatboy). I did not know my lover had such a penchant for animals. Duh… she worked for a veterinarian. First came the white standard poodle Leslie, the next new member of the household was a small black cat whose name escapes me, but her pregnancy did not. Then there was Newla the black standard poodle who was quickly followed by Jane the stray kitten we found on the street in Georgetown. Both Leslie and the nameless cat gave birth; Leslie had a litter of 4 and the cat had, thank god only 3 kittens. I know you won’t believe this, but the next was Fred a german wire haired pointer and then Zelda the greyhound who had to be saved from track. Oh, I almost forgot Mark, a feral cat that was never quite tame, and thought our situation completely hopeless. All these new additions arrived within a three year time span. Yes we did have an outside entrance, well almost anyway. We had to cross the hall and go through the furnace room. Always hoping not to run into Peyton the alcoholic janitor/maintenance man who lived in the other basement apartment. Of course they knew we had a circus living with us, but for some reason (actually the owner of the building had a crush on me) we were allowed to stay. Eventually we moved to a house with a yard! on Chincoteague Island. That was one of my I must be near the ocean years.

3.) You’ve decided to buy a vanity license plate for your car. What does it say? If it’s not obvious, what does it mean to you?


Post your URL in the comment.

“We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.”

–Johann von Goethe


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”


I just woke up! give me a few minutes! EST it’s 7 AM

“Designated driver, on the information highway.”

Mind Boggling

Spent the entire day dealing with red tape issues = aaaaaaaack! and double aaaaaaaaack! I’ll have a question on the Tuesday Too tomorrow about that particular issue. On a happier note, I finally did get a kitty cat. I’ve named him Elliot; I decided that Schrodinger was just too much to saddle both of us with.

What’s Elliot like?

He’s a great little cat; at nine months old he looks like a midget maine coon cat. Elliot is a brown tabby with tuffs of golden hair sprouting owl like from his ears and a big fat tail that makes him looks like a raccoon. Already he’s high maintainence, after a sizable “donation” to the SPCA on Saturday, I’ve had to wisk him off to my vet today, who informed me he needs to have antibiotics to clear up a respirtory infection, and eye drops to clear his eyes. All that aside, I’m quite pleased to have him, and he appears to be quite taken with me. Last night he started what I want to prevent from becoming a ritual; the tap, tap, tapping with his paw at 2 AM is not something I want to encourage.

When can we expect the Tuesday Too?

The Tuesday Too will be up around 5 AM, unless Elliot has his way with me again. Remember, I’m a morning person.


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”

Just Because

Just because I said I was re-designing this blog, doesn’t mean it will happen overnight. After all it’s Saturday, and my main objective for today is (can you hear the drum roll?) writing the discussion section of the thesis. It will probably be only about 5 pages, but as I now know this will only be the first draft. You’ve got to start somewhere!

Why are you up at this ungodly hour?

Probably so I can get totally frustrated by blogger not letting me post this morning. **#^* so there, I’ll just write it in notepad… ha! It’s possible I’m signing myself up for way too much; I hope not.

Such as?

Well, besides my bright idea of re-designing here, finishing the damn thesis, trying to lose the same ten pounds I lost and gained last year, I’ve signed on to a group blog: BlogSisters.

Maybe you need therapy.

I think I need another cup of coffee, and an ergodynamic chair to roll around on. Before I can get rolling though, I’ll have to pickup all the statistics books and piles of reference papers on the floor surrounding my porcelain top kitchen table which serves as my desk. I can hear the birds starting to chirp, which means it must be about 5 AM, which also means I’ve been blogging and cruising around since 2 AM. Perhaps I do need therapy.

What kind of therapy do you prefer?

Do you remember the movie Harvey? Dr. Chumley, Elwood P. Dwod’s psychiatrist says all I want is 2 weeks in Akron Ohio, under a tree, with Harvey stroking my brow and saying, “poor, poor thing”. Harvey is a pooka; a giant invisible rabbit that only Dwod and then Chumley can see. Does this sound like an ideal vacation or what?

I think it’s more of an or what.

What if I don’t agree with you? What does it mean when we say the next generation? How many years go by between generations? Ten, twenty? I’m just wondering if there’s a rule here? If I’m old enough to be your sister, we’re in the same generation, unless of course I’m your much older or much younger sister. If I’m old enough to be your mother then I’m one generation removed. If I’m old enough to be your grandmother then I’m two generations removed. Does that make sense?

If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn’t be called research, would it?

— Albert Einstein


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”


Yes you’ve guessed it, as all bloggers periodically go through the re-design phase so go I. While I’ll likely never outgrow my love of Javascript mouseovers, I’ve got the urge for new and different. However, (the preceding is word is written on my forehead) speaking of urge think Dr. Ruth, and not shampoo, or body lotion, or grocery stores, but rather Dr. Ruth on steroids, and what a site designed by her pumped up doppelganger might look like.

I’m not sure I can picture this.

Neither am I, but that’s the general direction I’m headed in. Something over the top is what I have in mind.

Over the top of what?

Top as in spinning, topsy-turvy, top of the line, top o the mornin to ye, take it from the top, convertible, top of the ninth, top it off, top of my head. Does that answer your question?

Is this some kind of bizarre programming?

Not exactly, but it could be Dr. Ruth serving word salad for the main course.

Are you always this oblique?

No, it’s just one of my unruly days that escape me, and I find myself wondering whatever is it that I’m after? Could it be afterward, or could it be that after all is said and done, I’m still left to wonder?

As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.

— Albert Einstein


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”

Can You Believe It?

Still back peddling, again with statistics. Tukey’s HSD test, NOT LSD test; I see the numbers. I know what they mean, but not how to report them. Acccccccccck…

Yadda, yadda, yadda, what else is going on?

My site was down this morning for a couple of hours, so I cruised around and found two new site’s I’m particularly fond of. One was a no-brainer to find = new on the top of blogger’s most wanted list:, and the other is kalilily time, which I stumbled across with delight, but don’t ask me how I found it. Rushkoff will likely get you thinking about “reality tunnels”, and Elaine will get you thinking about the twists and turns within the tunnel; both are brain alignment centers.

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.

— Albert Einstein


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”

Tuesday Too # 9

Tuesday TooUp at 4 AM this morning with much to accomplish today, but first the questions. Is anybody thinking of going to Blog-Con in August? If you don’t know about it check it out.

1.) In your state/country is there a required registry for sex offenders? Do you think there should be, and why, or why not?

Yes we have a registry in Maryland it just went online on the 18th of April. Part of me says yes we should definitely have this information readily available. However, I took a course in Psychology and the law a few years ago and discovered in the Kansas vs Hendricks case that violent sex offenders my be confined in mental institutions indefinitely after serving their prison sentences under the Kansas Sexually Violent Predator Act. This decision was tested and again declared constitutional in January of this year. Many other states have adopted a similar law. So you might say, “why do you have a problem with this?” Well, this person was handed a prison sentence. The point being the offender has served the time they were given. In the opinion written by Thomas in 97 he said indefinite civil commitment is not punishment, and that locking persons in mental hospitals after they have served there sentence is not double jeopardy. Why is it we feel comfortable releasing muderers and muggers back into society at large without a listing of their last known whereabouts? Just thought I’d play the devils advocate on this one.

2.) What did you want to be when you were a little kid? Did you become your initial occupational choice?

I wanted to be an airline stewardess, and no I did not. But the real question is why didn’t I want to become a pilot?

3.) If you haven’t already done so take this test, or if you have provide a link to your prior earth shattering results.

Are you Addicted to the Internet?


Hardcore Junkie (61% – 80%)
While you do get a bit of sleep every night and sometimes leave the house, you spend as much time as you can online. You usually have a browser, chat clients, server consoles, and your email on auto check open at all times. Phone? What’s that? You plan your social events by contacting your friends online. Just be careful you don’t get a repetitive wrist injury…

The Are you Addicted to the Internet? Quiz at!

Post your URL in the comment

“It is important that students bring a certain ragamuffin, barefoot, irreverence to their studies; they are not here to worship what is known, but to question it.”

–Jacob Chanowski


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”

Heat Wave

Yes, here in Baltimore we are under the throes of summer dog days and it’s April! We had a slow moving thunder storm that came in the late afternoon yesterday. From the third floor window, I see brilliant sunlight on new spring green leaves forming a flat pattern against rumbling, three dimensional, charcoal skies. It’s a Photoshop sky, or is it an oil painting sky? Hmmm… I feel the creative urge forming. Perhaps I to am a slow moving thunder storm creating patterns to reflect back? What sort of havoc will I inflict on my sister the earth as my center passes over her. Is she thirsty? Shall I offer her my water, or shall I withhold it until she cries out?

I thought you were talking about the weather.

But, then I’d need to add an audio event to Photoshop. Rewrite the entire program, which I have yet to understand the underlying mechanics of. Furthermore, it would be impossible to explain my obsessions without going into so much detail as to render them incomprehensible.


Okay, I’ll tell you what Mr. Potatoehead said when I asked for his take on the nature of potato mentality.

Potatoe MentalityIt was in late October of last year; all the gingko leaves had achieved the highest color of yellow available to them. Mr. Potatoehead had been confined to his bed for two weeks, due to a broken foot which wasn’t healing properly. Ms Potatoehead had long since passed away. I was among those of us, who had taken it upon ourselves to help him out with various tasks, during his recovery process. Well as luck would have it, when I arrived at my appointed hour of availability, (it still remains a mystery just who was in charge of the scheduling) he was in quite a pickle. Now the nature of this particular pickle is something that stories are made of. Up until this time I had always believed that life was a complicated affair, which none of us would ever figure out. Here’s the pickle part: in his rush to get dressed, and of course also due to his cumbersome cast he had gotten his foot with the cast wedged between the tub and the toilet.

Why was he getting dressed in the bathroom?

Over the course of his two week confinement, the bedroom had taken on a mind of it’s own, and refused to let Mr. Potatoehead do anything at all within it’s territory, except sleep upon it’s bed. All of the clothes had been thrown into the bathroom, along with his shoeshine box, an old mustache comb, a brush, two novels and his snorkeling equipment. You can imagine there was not much room left to maneuver in. While standing on one foot on top of the toilet, trying to get his sock on the good foot, he had unwittingly slip off. As I surveyed the chaos surrounding him he said, “if you won’t carry me over to the Village Pub, I’ll crawl over there.” Not a word about the unruly bedroom, or any explanation whatsoever of his strange new bathroom decor did he utter. He was hell bent on getting to happy hour, and suggested the removal of the toilet as a means of freeing his wayward foot.

Meanwhile, the bedroom was fuming over the untidy mess Mr. Potatoehead, and his caretakers had strewn about, before the bedroom had assumed authority over all it’s occupants. Shoes tried madly to dashed for cover under the bed, only to find that the space was already taken by a shivering frightened blue felt hat, an alligator belt, three computer programming manuals, and the telephone begging the last remaining, and totally shaken jar of moisturizer, who used to live on top of the dresser to call 911.

I managed to free Mr. Potatoehead’s foot by gently rocking the cast back and forth, and agreed to carry him over to the Village Pub. Down the stairs and out the front door we went. I set him on the front stoop, and as I was pulling the door closed I heard the bedroom issuing orders to all who were still within:

One, you will not try to escape.

Two, you will not give any allegiance to Mr. Potatoehead, or any of his friends.

Three, you will be allowed to remain where you are, only if you’re willing to attend vacation bible school.

It was at that moment that I turned, and asked Mr. Potatoehead, “just what exactly is the nature of potato mentality?” His reply gave me hope and made me realize that the world was quite comprehensible after all. He said, “potatoes by our very nature are quite friendly; we have so many eyes because there’s so much to see. We do not suffer from a mind body split as you do; thus our entire physical being is our mental landscape.

“Each problem that I solved became a rule, which served afterwards to solve other problems.”

–Rene Descartes Bedroom


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”


“I’m singing in the rain. What a glorious feeling; I’m happy again!”


I mean, I’ve finally finished writing my results section of my thesis, emailed it off for approval, and I couldn’t be happier. Each step of the way along this process, I’ve continued to think, “the worst is over.” Surely I’m right this time.

So, are you ready to live again?

I’d lay money on it. Today I’m going to go to the SPCA and look for a kitty. Can’t say whether I’ll be taken by an adult kitty or a kitten; it all depends on who grabs my heart. The pros of selecting a large ferocious grownup kitty are, 1.) he can reclaim the kitchen from the mice who have invaded since my main boy died in February, and 2.) she/he would already be spaded/neutered. The pros of a baby kitty are, 1.) they’re so damn cute, 2.) you get to know them as they grow up, and 3.) it’s easier to teach young cats tricks. Sounds like my first choice is a kitten.

“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”

–Carl Sagan


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”

Tuesday Too # 8

Tuesday Too border=It’s already 5 AM in the morning; there’s only one cup of coffee in the house. Let me qualify that there’s only enough creamer for one cup of coffee, and I’m drinking it. [Nough] said!

1.) It’s your job to come up with a new national anthem. What is it?

I don’t know, but Martha Stewart propably does.

2.) There’s no getting out of it. You must do karaoke at the next town meeting. What do you sing?

Elton John’s “Benny and the Jets

3.) You’ve been called naive before, but this is ridiculous. Why are they charging you with that this time?

Fantasizing about an ex-lover.

Post your URL in the comment

“Good humor is one of the best articles of dress one can wear in society.”

–William Makepeace Thackeray ,…but whatever happened to basic black?


“Designated driver, on the information highway.”