Art Attack Central
Fixing stuff, myself included…
Tuesday Too # 9
Up 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.
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Are you Addicted to the Internet?
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“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
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.
Huh?
Okay, I’ll tell you what Mr. Potatoehead said when I asked for his take on the nature of potato mentality.
It 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
Results
“I’m singing in the rain. What a glorious feeling; I’m happy again!”
Huh?
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
Tuesday Too # 8
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.
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“Good humor is one of the best articles of dress one can wear in society.”
–William Makepeace Thackeray ,…but whatever happened to basic black?
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Hello Bloggers
Been rather a lazy poster lately; feeling somewhat guilty as if I don’t have enough to feel guilty about already! I’m supposed to jump up from the computer now and meet friends for drinks at four. I don’t feel like it, but I suppose I shall do it anyway.
What are you feeling guilty about?
Well, I’ve just kind of goofed off all day today, which means I haven’t finished writing my results section, and now I’m headed out to party with the party animals. Other than that I’m a highly respected citizen of my community who rarely suffers pangs of guilt over anything meaning next to nothing. Meaning I’m [outta] hear. Yes as in hear what I say, but don’t do what I do, because that will most likely get you in trouble, but then again it’s Saturday so have fun.
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MA Thesis Update
I’ve managed to figure out most of the statistical analysis I’m doing on my research project, and have sent it to my major reader for confirmation that I’m really seeing what I think I see. I’m running late, so in all likelihood I won’t be able to “walk the walk” in May which makes my mother unhappy. However, I’ll still get the piece of paper, and that’s my main concern. Once I get the go ahead, I have to write the results section, a discussion section and a brief summary. Everyone (the big they) says, “once you get through the committee meeting it’s a piece of cake.” Don’t believe everything you hear.
Is anything good going on?
Depends on your definition of good. Good for me means things I’m looking forward to when this is over, as in so over it.
So over it?
I swear on the internet I will not pursue further education unless it’s something I’m going to use. Speaking of the internet, that’s one of the things I’m looking forward to; the idea of designing Web sites for a living is still my chosen path of insanity. Actually it’s one of the things I enjoy most besides painting.
“The years teach much which the days never knew.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays