Friday, March 31, 2006

Feelin' Scrappy

I am thrilled to see my people spreading their wings and branching out into new creativity!

Blue Max is getting back into his 3D work. I know he has some great texture libraries and all manner of fun stuff at his site and locked away in his old bean too. I canna wait to see the body of work that is produced there in the coming year!

And my sister is letting fly with her unedited and freewheeling writing style.
She works so hard all the live long week, and I am SO pleased to see her take another recreational opportunity to write. Write write write! Edit later! (Or in this case, never!)

As for me, well I uploaded two projects into the scraps gallery, both still works in process.
Honestly, I need to do anything to jumprstart some creativity!
So I 'lined them up against the wall and shot them,' then I dragged them over and threw them into the Scrap pile - ehr...scrap gallery.

More Childlike Ironies

Sure, sure, children are usually sweet, nice things that you're happy to have around until they discover the joy that is appealing to their peer groups, and the attendant familial disassociation whenever the 'groan-ups' are nearby.

Two year- and three year-olds are in a special catagory when they are learning to assert their sense of individualism by pushing boundaries and learning to say "no." Often. Very often. Contrariness becomes their end-all of existence for a period of time... Which is why, during three days of illness that you wouldn't wish upon a committed enemy, let alone your kid... there is an ever-so-slight guilty pleasure in that child wanting to do nothing but sit in your lap and hold you till he/she falls asleep.

I wonder what illness they have to get to put them off of creating miniature death-scene coffins out of violin boxes. Hmmm...

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Childlike Amusements

I read Rushings Blog tonight and his situation is so common and yet his response to it was SO uncommon. He sounds like a good guy, simply because of the choices he makes, no matter how uncomfortable to himself. I kind of lump him and Blue Max into the same pile in that they are both dads of this kind.

On a seperate note, my own child has been up to odd things.
Yes, she is 10 and she still holds some regard for a few dollies.
She has one, which she rec'd for Christmas, which is one of the "Bratz Big Babies."
Holding that thought in mind, lets move along... Scout and I rec'd our fiddle-which we purchased off Ebay - and the box was quickly claimed by KenZ, as it resembled an oddly shaped coffin.

So, while some sweet and good little children might construct some loverly diarama or other such tableau type creation, my daughter creates a sarcophagus for her "Bratz Baby."

Interred therein, is the mummified baby (Toilet paper wrappings and shroud) and a seperate "Canopick Jar," containing the dollies brain (having been hand crafted of fimo clay and baked) , and the dollies intestines (shoes laces stolen from some outgrown Converse shoes).

She then went on to adorn the exterior of the sarcophagus with paint, representing the appropriate rank, or "Station" of the occupant in glorious tempera paint.

I can safely state that I had nothing to do with this activity.

I just gave birth to odd little people I guess.


Friday, March 24, 2006

Don't Mess with Gramma Texas!

An eye witness gives an account of a car accident.
Must have speakers.

Also, for some pointless fun:
Go waste a few minutes clicking and dragging Boneless Girl

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Neuroses Revisited, Chapter 3

I am working on a series of architectural abstracts.
I love goemetry.
It is safe.
It is a haven.
It is a safe "Play Pen" in which to experiment.
And yet because of the purest line, I find myslef trying to replicate the perfection that exists within the structure rather than boldly letting the paint fly and represent - or MISrepresent the original piece.

Damned in the doing
Damned in the doing not.

The circles in my mind go round and round and round and round.

Paint this,
Do not paint is wrong.
Do this... do it not, for no one will grok it.
Care not if others grasp, or grasp not; the impetus, the elan.
Just do.
Just be.

Just BE.

Permit yourself to exist.

As you are, right this moment.

And breathe.
Exhale paint.
For so has God apparently ordained you to be in this single moment.

Who then am I, to deny the handi-work of the Almighty?
Do I say "curse this thing that you have made?"

Does the pot say to the potter, "You screwed up, dude?"
(Make that Dude with a Capitol 'D')

Or do I step out in risk, and Be.
Just Be.

The mental/emotional gymnastics make me want to puke.

It is the demonic rollercoaster.
The rollerscoaster from hell.
Aka, "work."
Aka "Art."

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Further Boldening

My own personal pet peeve word that people use? "irregardless."

"Regardless" means "without regard." The "ir-" prefix is a variant of "un-," a prefix denoting negation. Therefore "irregardless" parses to "not regardless" or, down to its least common denominator, "with regard", a definition that is likely opposite to the intended meaning of the speaker.

I hear this word and my hackles rise. Perhaps it's just me.

Monday, March 20, 2006

May I Be So Bold... to say that, I believe that what I am about to say is 100% flawlessly correct?
Indisputably correct.
With regard to the correct usage of the word "Anyways" within the confines of the English language,:

well...there is no such word.

"Anyway" is indeed a word.

Anyway(S!) is not.

There is no 's' at the end of any word spelled in this manner: a-n-y-w-a-y.

No Such word.

Today in a production of the play entitled, "The Imaginary Invalid" I heard this particular NON-word transcend it's text based mis-use and enter spoken language.

It was an abomination unto mine ears and a grievous sin, steeped in vileness.

So let me stand atop the mount of all that is linguistically holy, and pray for my bretheren that they may not sin in such a manner again.

May the truth be written upon stone tablets for the future generations to behold:

And therein was the word written:

"Thou shalt not speaketh, or writeth with the hand,-nay verily, even with thine keyboard, the word "anyway" with an 's' upon its ending."

And the heavenly host sang joyously over all the land, for truth had gone forth.

Book of Hesitations, Chapter 5, verse 55.
The Blogbiscuit Paraphrased Edition.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

(Inter)National Digressions ?

Oh its 2:30 am! In a fit of insomnia, I say "lets hop on the blabbering rollercoaster to Free-Association Land!"


Tis a great day to pay hommage to himself, America's own patron Saint of Ireland, "Lucky The Leprechaun," .
(Warning, hideous ad banner, but fascinating and Magically Delicious trivia.

In response to the previous post by Blueness Maximus,
this Canadienne says (on the subject of Seperatist movements) :

"Hey! Mes Freres! You want to be seperate? Go for it, everyone should have their chance to try!" Of course I say that about Scotland too.

And I have also been known to hover between saying:

A : "Screw the Middle East and their oil. Let's take Californian's and put them over there and pick up Israel and transplant it to Southern Cal. Of course that would be contrary to what God did in the bible, I mean, He didn't lead Moses through the desert and across the ocean to California. I mean, truth to tell, it ain't no promised land.

and B : "Screw the Middle East and their oil. Let's just forget about it and use up all of our own resources as fast as we can, have a huge civil war about it, and then the survivors can go back to an agrarian society."

Eeny meeny miney.

And yet as far as my seperatists sentiments go, I also flop to the practical side where La Belle Quebec is concerned, saying, "Mes cher ami's, you cannot make it on your own Franc. You need your "Loonies" and "Moonies. You need the rest of Canada."
(Said while waving the Blue & White Fleur-de-lis, and shouting "Je me souvien!" Yes, it is a schizophrenic moment.)

Loonies-the $1 coin with a loon on the front.
Moonies-the $1 coin with the Queen in front and a "Bear" behind.

The Queen?
Didn't Freddy Mercury die?
(My Great Grandmother (Quebecoise) kept a portrait of the Queen on her fireplace mantle. When she died, her daughter (My Grandmother) burned it. Of course she also burned a portrait if my great-great-great-great Grandfather...but that is yet another macabre tale worth sharing next Halloween. Or so I have been told.)

English Pig Dogs?

And what is up with that?
A teeny tiny little island of a country, originally populated with troll-like beasties, (genuflect to Peter Street and Tweek,who never read this blog anyway. "Beggin yer pardon, Gentlemen") rose up and subdued the known world, bleeding the wealth off the French for 100 years like a parasite, and carting it back across the sea.
What makes them so ferocious?
So self assured?
Who are the inhabitants of this postage stamp sized nation, who conquered continents?
The proof 's of their global dominations are housed within the confines of the British Museum.
How did this scruffy little people manage it?
Probably by harnessing the Scots. (They were supposed to be a pretty scary bunch.)

Well I don't know, and yeah, I can take a happy-go-lucky swing at the English from time to time, (after all it is my birthright, being French) but you gotta admit, they have everything because they have managed to do everything and when it comes down to it, thats no small feat.
And then they show up on this continent in groups of Fab Four and, when they open their mouths to speak, an odd accent rolls forth melting the brain cells of women from one coast to the other. Multitudes concquered and nary a finger lifted.

Well it's all Greek to me.
(While not actually BEING Greek.)

Ah America.
Sufferers of MHD - Multiple Heritage Disorder.
Isn't familial stuff weird?
Do you ever do any genealogical stuff?
Man, it seems like the further you get into it, the more freaks you find buried in the closet.
You should try it sometime, for the sake of your bairns.

Well after leaping all over the globe, I have managed to bring it back around to the original subject.
That would be a first.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Redheaded Redux

There are those who are proud of their ancestry and there are people who simply give it a tip o' the hat from time to time, but for whom it means not more than a yearly brouhaha. And that's OK.

Our host here, however, has got a bit of a personality problem. Not that her personality is at fault, or even fault-y; nay forbid the thought. It's just that she's recently coming to terms with a diverse heritage that will be difficult to reconcile between it's various aspects.

Take the long established Canadian portion, and now let's throw in the possible English connection. Now, would this Canadienne be perhaps a bit of the Canadian seperatist? Would this Mihshehl be more likely to spit on Queen Elizabeth or recommend that she be further immorialized by having her portrait on all of the Canuck Cash being spat out of ATMs in downtown Toronto? It boggles the mind.

Then let's consider the French Celt, similarly long established and borne out by the artistic streak and Catholic outlook. Good Lord, should the Teutonic chromosomal vector bear out, would she attempt to simultaneously go to war with her own Gaullic half and also to invite herself to Belgium for an economic conference and a cigarette? Or, God forbid, the German doesn't pan out and we hit the Angle or Jute of the Isles of Great Brittain for a genetic kegger: Would our Mihshehl attempt to throw herself into either side of the English Channel at once, only to meet herself in the middle for a fistfight and a bottle of Port? It boggles the mind.

So, truly, as you read these words, say a prayer for our Mihshehl, as coming to terms with her own existence will either be A) nigh impossible or B) if attained, it could cause a rift in space time causing universal chaos: wars, death, destruction, plausible Democratic foreign policy, lego chicken legs and a reduction in cable television rates.

May God have mercy on her soul.

Red Haired Skeletons in the Closet.

Well it is St. Pats and this day strangely holds new meaning me.
It was only about a month ago that I found "Skeletons" in the family closet.
This is the half of the family that I don't hang with much.
They are far more quirky than I (as hard as THAT is to believe.)
So, having invested my genealogical research throughout the years into the obvious half of my family -the French Canadian/Acadian side, I managed to ignore the other half - writing them off as being "probably" English, (derisive snort!) and calling it done. wrong I was.
My grandmother was apparently full of Green-Leprechauny-Goodness.
(She had the maiden name "Ready", which is a bastardization of the name O'Reddy and more formally, O'Rhiada.

I guess, like alot of Irish immigrants, they dropped the 'O'.

I always wondered what the big deal was with St. Patricks day and my mom.

The woman worked for 3 days to turn beef brisket into corned beef with its accomanying cabbage and potatos.
Her simple answer to my query was always, "Thats what we do on St. Patricks day.
Gramma did it, and her gramma before her did it, and I learned from them how to make it."

Poor gramma, She was a saint.
She married an itinerant Hell-Fire-and-Brimstone-Screaming Preacher who dragged her around the hot southwest, making her and the kids do migrant farm work while he preached from town to town. I can remember him kicking her under the table, interupting her conversations when he wanted to speak, and he would say to her, "Shut up Ethel!" and then he would commandeer the conversation.
Nice compassionate man.
He beat his sons when they found some bottle caps in the street and played with them.
He accused them of stealing the bottle caps.
He beat my mom in the face with a jelly ladel when she was 18 because she put on make-up and went to see a movie.
It is the only time that my gramma got in his face.
She grabbed the ladel right outta his hands, and she told him to "stop that this instant!"
As the story goes, apparently he was stunned by her boldness.
In his pause, my mom raced out the door and ran away to Astoria.
She went on to marry a catholic Frenchman and later returned with him and two children, to Oregon.

So there is apparently a fair quantity of Irish in me that I never knew I had.
Somehow I will have to square with that half.



Thursday, March 16, 2006

Skype and SOUNDS update

Gotta Love it.
I can transcend the confines of traditional text and send forth the nuances of all my screwy idiosyncratic speech patterns in all their glory. And Lehsa can bounce them back in reciprocal quirkiness and we laff and laff and laff and laff our butts off - while all the time remaining in CC chat and nobody knows what the heck we are going on about.
hehe hee hee hee he.
Ahhh I like Skype!

In honour of St. Patricks Day, I loaded a sample of Flogging Molly.
It is a 3.9 MB wma


Sunday, March 12, 2006

Updated 3/14/2006: Help with UU

Tuesday March 14th

The boy knows I am neurotic.
My friends have me pegged.
As embarrassing as that may be, it is also a comfort, because I know that they know and there is no fooling. I can't hide the fact that I get...uh...wound up.

So in his grace he writes the following:


Start by making a nice cup of coffee.

Then turn the computer on... if the computer doesn't respond make sure that the cat didn't eat the power cord.

Then go to this site:

If you own regular Uru Ages Beyond Myst - use this patch

If you have Complete Chronicles- use this patch

When patching make sure you direct the patch to where your Uru is installed.

Mine is C:\Program Files\Ubi Soft\Cyan Worlds\Uru-Ages Beyond Myst

If you still have problems after all of this, it might be because your firewall ports aren't opened.

If nothing works. Take a walk outside and smell the roses. If the roses aren't out. Smell tree bark.

If tree bark seems funny. Call me


Now if that weren't all, I get another phone call from a very good friend (who's Airline and Storm Door Company shall remain nameless) and after only a few minutes he discovers that the first thing to do is to get out of the router and straight into the modem.

Again, I have to say, I have THE best friends.

They put up with me.
They educate me.


In the old days, James would have told me, step by step, what to do and what to expect.

I am so THANKFUL that I have Lehsa.

She doesn't make me feel stupid for the asking.
As though I should already know something.

Thank you Lehsa.

And also, many thanks to Barb, Blue, Walt and Peter.
Just for being knuckleheads.

What great friends I have!

Friday, March 10, 2006

Brue Matz Have Happy Fliday Menu of Joy Luck

Special Alert:

To BabZ: you must go here now. You will read. You will laff. You will die from laff.
The you must go here and thank Mr. Max for making path to Happy Menu of Joy.

To everyone else:

Go therefore, and do likewise.

Thursday, March 9, 2006

yes I am frustrated with UU

But it is ok.
I am quite USED TO it.

It's probably some incompatability issue with some hardware in my computer.
Oh well.
Such is life.

Many many many thanks to my dear friends, namely Walt and Gavin C, Aeronie and Toria who have all been so open with invitations and good advice.
Bless you all, I just canna get the bloody thing to fly.

And most of all, thank to you, DragonBoy. Your patience has gone into the "long suffering" zone.
Thank you for always being my friend.
Even when I am stupid.
EXPECIALLY when I am stupid.

Anyway, I wish you all thebest on your "Cavernsome" adventures.
I do not have the time or skills required to join you.

And some how, it's really ok.

Saturday, March 4, 2006

Weird little Tune

Blake came across this oddball little tune.
I have no idea what its called or who did it.
Or even how old it is.
It was on a mixed CD he got from a friend and forgot about.
It had things from the 70's, it had Sinatra. It had all inds of odd songs.
Anyway, this funky jazz whistling number will remain in the "SOUNDS" link in the side bar for a while.

Its 2.70MB

Thursday, March 2, 2006

To answer or NOT to answer, that IS the question.

Since Summer of 2004 I have become a "screener" of phone calls.
Granted, with moments of irregularness, but for the most part, a screener.

Those moments of laxity do often carry profound and reinforcing consequences however.
And so, tonight I crafted my own personal post-it note and stuck it to the front of the cabinet housing my Message Machine.

The Note reads:

The phone is EVIL!
Do NOT ever answer it.
Listen to ALL calls first and NEVER pick up.
You can always call back.

(Exceptions to those rule are the kids. Only the kids.)

Why must I hit myself in the head (as with a hammer) with this message more than once in a lifetime?
Surely it is because I am a stupid, gullible idiot.

Why do I continually think that things and people can change?
Well, frankly - OMG there it goes AGAIN! The phone is ringing NOW!!!!
Let's see who it is....


It is Stu calling for the kids. Good I am off the hook.
Anyway, where was I?

Why do I continually think that things and people can change?
Well, frankly because they DO.
It's not always for the better, but sometimes it IS, and doesn't everyone deserve a chance?
A second chance?
A third, fourth, fifth chance?
All that "70x 7" crap that Jesus spoke about with regard to forgiveness? Why woud i expect to receive such forgiveness if I am not willing to extend it?
I dunno.
I am danged if I do, and danged if I don't.

But at least I have gone back to not answering the phone!...except... I just did, didn't I?


Labour -VS- what EVER!!!!!

I am SO angry!!!!
I just got off the phone with my friend. (Not Barb)
She was speaking about her job situation and how she was going for a job at the hospital.
No problem.
Its all good.
Then she mentions how her landlord said that there was a job down at the local grocery store, they were looking for checkers.
She said, “Oh! No way! It would be like waitressing! I want SO much MORE for my life than some loser job like THAT.”

This pissed me off on SO many levels and I decided to not back down, but to drive it.
So I pointed out that, if one does not live in a small town (like ours) then there is a Union for Grocery checkers and they make good money AND retirement AND benefits (all of which she does not currently enjoy) She said, “Oh no. If I did THAT job, then I would be ashamed and couldn’t show my face. Not in public”

Now I am filled with a white-hot blinding rage.
So I ask her, “why?”
She says, “Well I want MORE for my life.”
I said, “No. you want different.” You want different challenges in your life. The people who make a career out of union grocery checker jobs want job security and pensions and retirement and health benefits etc. They just have different priorities. So what you want is not “more” or “better” but just “different.”
She did not agree.
I after she went on to further berate the value of service jobs such as grocery tellers and waitressing, I said to her, "I want you to know that I take offense. I know VERY good people who spend their lives working in just such a vocation, serving others and providing for the needs of their families, and what you are saying is that you are judging them.”
She says, “No I am not judging anybody”
I replied, “Well then, is a grocery clerk or waitress job, a “loser” job.
And she said, “well YES!”
And I said then you have misjudged and demeaned valuable people in my life.
She totally did not see this.

I am so pissed.

She says "I am just talking about ME. (me me me, blah blah blah me me me)
I personally would be embarrassed to be seen in any of those jobs.”

I said, “I am not asking you about YOU anymore. We are no longer speaking about YOU.
"I am talking about value and about losers. Do you see people who take those jobs as dead end losers?”

She hemmed and hawed and she would not answer.

Finally after some spluttering, she said, “well, I don’t know how the conversation got there. I was talking about ME.”

And I said, “well I am not talking about YOU. And you have just dissed some VERY good and valuable people I know.”

We hastily ended our phone conversation.

I am pissed at her viewpoint, she seems to think that some one who does a service job is of lesser value than some one who does a media or art job.And she seems to think SHE is more special than somebody else.

Even though she said SHE did not want such a job, she spoke with derision for such jobs and the people who “sink” to doing them.

I am SO offended.

In Gods economy, there is NO job too menial.
There is NO task that is valueless.
And the relegating to the “Loser” category of people who work in service jobs is offensive and unacceptable to me.
Everybody has value!

Greater is he who works hard and supports the needs of his family, than he who earns little for the sake of his/her arrogance.

The poor man/woman is the one who will not give 100% to any task that comes to hand, no matter how small or insignificant it seems to be in the beginning.

And I would love to quote God Almighty here even, by saying, “to the one to whom much is given, is much required.”
“Do your best in all things, as though unto God himself, and much will be given to you.”
That last sentence was the Mih paraphrase)

The point is, EVERY ONE has value and EVERY job has value.
How dare(HOW BLOODY DARE!!!!!!!!!!!) anyone relegate any task or person doing it, to the unwanted or valueless pile.

I am so mad, I can almost vomit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wednesday, March 1, 2006

Sumus Two

This is an after thought which has come since my writing of this, and my reading of this and responding to it in his comments section.

I was just working on a canvas that has royally ticked me off for quite a few months.
As I was attacking it with more white paint, I was also thinking and pondering the words he said at this blog and my own responses, and it suddenly occurred to me that, to top off everything that I said, it's not even like my art has any identifiable subjects even!

So in summary and up to this point I suppose it can be said based on all that has gone on during this exchange of ideas, that :

A). Being an artist, I am there for not a sentient life form.

B). And the end product of my endeavors as an "Artsist" is not even about anything at all. No nice landscapes or portraits, but evidenced here, here, here and here.

Now granted, the majority of this conversation has gone on with a significant Tongue-In-Cheek attitude, yet it is still funny how some things bubble under the surface and while we know they are wrong, we wrestle with them anyway on a deep gut level.