Artists, Tell Me I Can Do This

Okay, after sitting on the couch for two days I have decided a number of things.  1.  Someone needs to dust the TV screen.  2.  Our TV is very small.  3.  There isn’t much to look at on that wall other than the TV.  4.  The dude on Color Splash has convinced me that art solves all problems.

Which makes for a hell of a lot of gold wall to stare at.

So, I was thinking that what would be awesome is to get a great big canvas (or a great big piece of wood like Color Splash dude paints on) and do a white background and one giant Tennessee Coneflower curving up through it.

Here is an artist’s rendering of the process.


Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Yeah, maybe I should just find someone who’s been to art school and ask them what they’d charge to paint me a coneflower.  Clearly the realism of my talent is too much for the world to handle right now.

I Love My Grandma

I’m going to be honest.  I did not always like my Grandma D.  When I was growing up, my Grandma A. was where it was at.  She loved kids.  She loved potatos.  She loved chocolate.  And her whole house was open and available to kids for playing.  If you wanted to make cookies in the kitchen, you could.  If you wanted to wear Grandma A.’s earrings while playing in her wedding dress, well, just put them back when you’re done.  Going to Grandma D.’s house was much less fun.  There weren’t other cousins to play with.  There weren’t really toys (except for my Aunt B.’s old Barbies).  And you weren’t allowed to touch anything or run around or make much noise.  And she didn’t even have cable.

And she had fat wrists, which I vowed I would never have.


Which just goes to show you how life is, because I do have fat wrists, just like hers.

Ha, no, not just that, but if you live with people long enough, you come to see them in a lot of different lights.  You come to appreciate things in some folks and see the problems with others.

And today, my dad called to complain that, at her birthday party yesterday, my Grandma D. insisted that everyone sing to her–not just “Happy Birthday” but also “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad.”

I cannot tell you how happy that makes me and how sad I am to have missed it.

Black Says Something Worth Thinking About

So, Tiny Pasture is still all up in arms comparing Camper to Campfield, because Camper dares to make men consider what it would mean if their reproductive decisions were at the whim of the state–Dear Adam, that discomfort you feel?  Like “who the fuck is this woman to even suggest messing with my junk?” That’s what we feel when the State wants to dictate what we do with our bodies.

Oh, and you know folks are all, “But an abortion isn’t analagous to a vasectomy!  It’s the same as having your tubes tied.”  But here’s the interesting part.  Look at what Representative Black says about getting your tubes tied, “and she can do that without anyone’s consent.”

But you don’t need anyone’s consent to have an abortion either.


To Go or Not to Go

It’s at that point in this cold and in the morning where I’m waffling on whether to go to work.  I feel so much better than I did, even though I don’t feel up to par, that I think I could go and sit through a day and be there for the things I have to be there for, though I could just as easily sleep on the couch all day and be fine tomorrow.  At this point, I seem to be just full of snot and not anything else, so I probably will go.  But I wish my co-workers were not constantly dragging themselves to work when they were clearly, clearly too sick to come in, because it makes me feel like a precident has been set–if you can get out of bed, you can come to work.