So Not Clairvoyant

Like the good little nerd that I am, I recently signed up for this book club where they, of course, send me a new book every month like clockwork. But instead of being sent recently published novels, I'm getting a new book from a "Great Books of the 20th Century" collection. Basically, I'm reading all the books now that I should have read back in high school had I been paying attention...okay, had I been showing up to class. (I only recently found out what all the hoopla was about in regards to the green light at the end of the dock.)

I went to go put my latest shipment, "Brave New World" in its place on my bookshelf and I noticed one of my all time favorites, "The Town and the City" all highlighted and scribbled on, with post-its hanging out of the pages. That, along with having just read another Kerouac quote from this blog, made me pull it off the shelf and look through my notes. I decided to go ahead and cop out today by sharing one of my favorites.

"So when the sun of October slopes in late afternoon, the children scurry home from school, make footballs out of stuffed socks, they leap and dash in the powerful winds and scream with delight. Fires are burning everywhere, the air is sharp and lyrical with the smell of smoke. There are great steaming suppers to be eaten in the kitchens of home as the raw October gloom gathers outside, and something flares far off. The children are off again at dusk, they form excited groups in front of fires, the iron-gray clouds mass together and move across the skies. There on the street corners are the men and boys gathered, discussing some rumorous tidings, some news, some furor that can be sensed in the very air--football, maybe, or the big heavyweight championship fight, or the elections. The leaves are piled in the gutters, the supper lights are glowing warmly in all the houses, smoke whips from the chimneys, the whole evening echoes with the calls and cries of children, the barking of dogs. Someone is smoking a pipe and striding the street. The streetlamp at the corner-store sways shadows in a big black dance, the store sign swings and creaks in the wind, leaves fly, apples thud to the ground in the orchards, the stars are blazing in the somber sky--everything is raw, smoky, and terrific."

"The Town and the City"
Jack Kerouac

This is not the quote I originally had in mind but I decided that one would cause you all to think I was suicidal, which, for the record, I am not.

I have two words for those groups singing about how hard it is for them to get up and go work. Even Flash-In-The-Pan groups who probably do have to work like the rest of us now because they blew through their 80’s glam cash.

Either way, I don’t want to hear how hard it is for you. I don’t want to hear how manic your Monday is. Or how you wish it was Sunday (oh-woe) because that’s your Funday (oh-woe) and your I don’t have to runday (oh-woe).

Those two words are “Fuck” and “you.”

Jen would like to welcome everyone to 3PT! Unfortunately, when she wrote the following post, she forgot it was 3PT (thank goodness for Outlook calendars/reminders or she would have forgotten altogether!). Jen has a lot of work to do so she doesn't have time to edit her post to reflect this joyous day so she'll just slap some quote marks around it and make it a giant quote.

"I know I probably stand alone among the masses of gays marching down to the alter, but I don't think gay marriages are the way to gain equal rights.

That's right, my official stand on this issue is: I'm against gay marriage.

I don't think those who are fighting for it are wrong, in fact, I support the symbolic gesture of commitment and I'm prepared to buy wedding gifts should the occasion arise. However, I think the effort to gain rights through legalized same sex marriage is wasted. I think if our efforts were more focused on civil unions and expanding the rights of domestic partnership (where gay and straight couples would both benefit), we'd probably be enjoying those rights a lot sooner. The general population (or at least those making the laws) truly believe marriage is strictly between a man and a woman and as long as our politicians are being born and raised in the bible belt, that probably won't be changing any time soon."

Okay, bring on the flame(er).

Today I’d like to discuss art and as you’ll see, I use that term loosely.

On his drive back to San Jose, my dad placed a hysterical call to my mother. He said he had just seen something terrible and wanted to share it with her. My mother’s heart sank immediately thinking of the drivers who can be terribly reckless as they go screaming past you at 90+ miles an hour. Was it an enormous French sized cow laying lifeless in the diamond lane? Did he narrowly escape with his life by avoiding a ten car pile up? A freeway sniper maybe?

No, it was much, much worse.

“I just saw a La-Z-Boy delivery truck plastered with pictures of Thomas Kinkade inspired furniture.”

My mother immediately shot an email off notifying me of this major home decorating event-slash-fiasco. The truck was most likely headed for Vallejo where I have heard, there is an entire community modeled after his paintings.

I’m not much of an art aficionado but of course I have my preferences. I’m much more inclined to appreciate a Degas ballerina, a Thiebaud cityscape, or even a bronze statue of Alfred E Neuman than I am a Kinkade painting. Of course that’s just my uneducated opinion and anyone else who feels differently should do so freely with only minimal amounts of taunting and ridicule. I mean, art is up to one’s own interpretation, right?

If you recall, not too long ago we witnessed Kinkade’s fame and fortune grow enormously in a very short period of time, about five minutes I believe. Naturally, such a sensation hit primetime and Kinkade made an appearance on 60 Minutes where his now infamous interview forever changed my opinion of him…well, it made me more vocal anyway. Until that interview, I had no problem quietly dismissing his work and keeping my opinions to myself.

Here is just one brilliant quote of the many brilliant quotes he provided:

“ I don’t believe, in time, that [Picasso] will be regarded as the titan that he is now, he is a man of great talent who, to me, used it to create three Picassos before breakfast because he could get $10,000 for them.”

Ohhhhhhhhhhh, right. But plastering your work on upholstered furniture and designing neighborhoods with homes starting at $400K is acceptable. It must be the mark of a truly great artist. It makes me wonder what a da Vinci inspired sectional sofa would have looked like, or better yet, a Salvador Dali town.

(Today’s post is in no way a shameless ploy to increase my hits from Googlers looking up Thomas Kinkade. I swear.)

Yesterday, as my mom and I were driving home in the middle of one of our nastier storms, we noticed a loose dog in the street. As many of you have come to know, I am the Master of Stray Dogs. I don’t know how I earned such a prestigious title but every dog within a ten mile radius is aware of my status. Every wandering, hapless dog seems to seek me out so whenever I turn around, there’s a new sad little face staring up at me. In fact, if the door is open they’ve even been known to help themselves to the warm sanctuary of my garage. They just walk in, turn around three times and lay down for a nap. ß True story.

Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog was no exception. He lovingly came into my life, stunk up my laundry room, drank my water, and peed on my floor. And he shook. And he howled. And howled. And shook some more (he was a bit of a sympathy whore). Luckily for Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog, he had tags letting me know exactly where he had wandered off from and who to call. As soon as Hans’ “daddy” as he liked to refer to himself, got my voicemail, he came immediately to pick him up thus neatly ending Hans’ traumatic afternoon.

The lesson here is this: Please make my job as Master of Stray Dogs easier and make sure your pets have current tags like Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog. And unlike Hans-the-Stinky-Shaker dog, please have your pets spayed or neutered. (I just had to work in a Bob Barker comment, I couldn’t resist.)

Now, on to the Showcase Showdown.

It was a year ago today that I left with a seventeen page letter from my Cubie in one hand and my passport in the other for my first trip to Europe. This was no pansy seven day trip to Paris and London and back. No, this trip had it all. Sex, drugs, celebrities, and the best fucking yogurt I’ve ever tasted in my life. Although there was no sex for me, I believe there was some heavy petting for my travel partner while I stayed back in the hotel room to watch the free porn that comes with every room in Amsterdam.

A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about all the random experiences I had while there…I think about the Dutch photo-mat man that shouted at me to hurry up and decide between doubles or singles (I think it was a direct attack on my mathematical abilities because I was simply trying to figure in my head and on my fingers out how cost effective it was to get doubles as opposed to singles.) I think about the random fist fight that broke out between our taxi driver and the chocolates delivery boy in front of our hotel in Paris. I think about the BBC employee originally from the Bay Area who slammed the door in our face after we walked for hours on our Eddie and Patsy pilgrimage (stopping at every pub along the way, of course). I think about my whole Belgian experience…the 17 year old junkie/pusher who rolled and smoked at least four joints in a three hour period…her middle aged mother who barked directions at us while giving us an insiders tour of Ghent…the dinner consisting of chocolate crepes drizzled with chocolate syrup served with hot chocolate. I think about the French cows who were, to the best of our knowledge, as long as a football field. I think about running into Jerry Garcia who IS alive and is currently running a bar Brittany, France that has anti American sentiments written in chalk on his wall but who was as warm and friendly as anyone would guess Jerry would be. I think about the ghost town of Carnac with the little girl who did not take her eyes off me for 45 minutes and who’s chair must have been possessed because without any warning, flipped her over right in the middle of the restaurant (I swear on my mother’s life I did not touch the chair.)

As much fun as all of that was, I was pretty anxious to get home to my routine and normalcy after three weeks of bizarre experiences and even more bizarre people. However, I’ve had a year to recover and god, I can’t wait to go back. It’s the yogurt, I’m sure.

Jen would like to extend a hearty arm hickey welcome to 3PT!!! She would also like to take a moment to update those of you following her fast track to the top. Okay, she exaggerates, it’s not as much of a fast track as it is a slow, painful schlep.

Jen would like step outside her norm and make a comment or two about her job. She usually avoids writing and posting about work due to the fact she has known of people getting fired from their blogs and also because Blogger dot com has even included a creative tutorial on “How not to get fired because of your blog.” Jen gets the hint and has been very good about keeping her work related opinions off of the internet. Maybe it’s because it’s 3PT that she has the courage to throw caution to the wind and go jazz hands crazy today.

What exactly is so urgent that Jen has decided risking certain termination to share? Well folks, it is this:

Jen is so excited about her new job, she could pee herself.

(There is photographic proof of her incontinence so don't even question her)