A less than beautiful mind

When I look inside my head, as I usually do about this time of day, and ask myself "what would I like to blog about today?" I often see many colorful suggestions, images and ideas pop to the forefront.

Sure, many of the suggestions that my monkey mind puts forth are so capricious they become either not appropriate or too complicated to write about in about 500 words, on average. But I can usually find one gem among the rubble and bring that to you, every weekday, on my blog.

Today, on my walk over to the cafeteria to grab a salad and rush back to my office in time for another conference call, when I turned inward for a good blog idea, what I got, instead of colorful confetti and suggestions of "poop!," was resoundingly gray. Quiet. Lonesome.

As gray as the cubicle walls that line my office building.

As quiet as the dark winter clouds that have gathered over the Bay Area to lie down and weep cold rain on our heads.

As lonesome as New Mexico state highway 285 between Vaughan and Roswell.

When I looked inward, I discovered that my brain hurts.

For every company that's ever employed me, December has always been a busy month. My current employer is no exception.

At five months into my new gig, I really like it a lot, and as I've begun to hit my stride, I have discovered that cute little word "global" in my title means my days begin in the UK, lunch with Sao Paulo, a quick break for the US, afternoon tea with Australia, early evening snack with Hong Kong and I am put down to bed for the night with India.

All on the phone. All day long. The UK to India run encompasses about twelve hours of my day.

Then I wake up and do it all again.

While this probably sounds like complaining, it's really not. My job is fascinating and fun and really good stuff.

But I am *tired*.

In the interest of my own health, I've begun working out again. Nothing major, Jazzercise a couple times a week and a sashay on the treadmill a couple other days a week.

I found I need that exercise to build up my stamina so I can sustain these long days at work.

But all that exercise wears me out too.

And my blog, my beautiful, wonderful blog. It's suffering too. My goal of a post every weekday stands firm. Then I go and miss a day (like yesterday) and I've got to climb back out of the hole.

So all of these words (about 430 so far) are just my way of saying I don't have much to say.

For today, anyway. That quiet, gray, lonesome mind only lasts for a little while. Then my severe latent childhood will kick in, and I'll figure out how to write another post about poop.

You can count on that.

Artist Heather Gorham's interpretation of the monkey mind

Waiter? I'd Like To Order....

The topic of Theme Thursday this week couldn't be more timely. In the lead up to the best eating holiday of the year, our topic, is: Food.

But here's my sideways twist on the theme.

Over the weekend, while on a fairly long drive, I began to riff on something The Good Man said, devolving, as I'm prone, to low brow humor. The stuff of twelve year old boys.

The Good Man isn't so much a fan of the twelve year old boy humor, so his side of the car went pretty quiet.

Well. Fine. I am who I am. If I can't let my inner twelve year old boy fly free at home, I'll take the next best option...imposing it on you, my fair readers.

So, herewith, my list of food names that are unintentionally rude, just in time for Thanksgiving.

1) Head cheese. You knew I had to start there, right? I'm not going to lie, I laughed right out loud typing the words. I wouldn't laugh out loud eating it though, because congealed gelatinous meat bits doesn’t really appeal to my palate. But whatever.

2) Cacahuete. Hee, hee, giggle *snort*. You said caca! Yeah, cacahuete is the Spanish word for peanut. But still, it's sooooo fun to say!

3) Bubble and squeak. It's just fried up meat, taters and cabbage and when done right is very tasty. That said, eating cabbage *does* cause certain parts of my anatomy to both bubble AND squeak. In addition, I rather like saying the name. Repeatedly. Like a toddler. Bubble and squeak! Bubble and squeak! Bubble and squeak! (making a squeaky noise as you say the word squeak is mandatory)

4) Rump roast. Yeah. Unh huh. And I'm supposed to ask for that at the butcher shop and not laugh? I've always been curious about what names were rejected in that marketing meeting. Ass brisket? Booty beef? 'Tocks steak? I mean, what exactly do you call a cut of beef that is sourced from, well, here. (link is TOTALLY safe for work)

And finally...

5) Spotted Dick. I think the gold standard for rude food names has to go to this British fare. It's a spongy concoction of dried fruit that is usually served in pudding. There is a version manufactured by Heinz available at my local grocery store. I always chortle inappropriately when I see it there on the shelves.

I mean, come on, Spotted Dick? Who thought that was a good idea?

You got any others I forgot? Leave 'em in the comments!

Stumbling in there at the last moment

Several months ago, I participated in a fiction project for the Brooklyn-based Art House Co-Op. I was given a theme and a Moleskine notebook and then asked to fill it with stories and images.

And I did! So much fun.

Based on that success, I decided to take on another Art House Co-Op challenge.

This one is called "The Canvas Project."

They sent me three 4x4 inch canvases and a card with three words on it.

My job? To interpret the three words visually, one per canvas.

The words I got? Not easy.

Here they are:

1. Flatuence (because the universe is laughing at me... And yes, it can be spelled without that second L)

2. Training (really? Visually?)

3. Glassy (Oh, hey, sure. Easy peasy. I can visually display an adjective. NOT! I must have looked at the card twenty times to be sure it didn't say "gassy")

I've had the canvases since July. They were required to be postmarked today.

So of course last night I was madly painting and gluing and fretting! I had two done well ahead of time but the third one, glassy, eluded me.

But I got them done. The Good Man promised to mail them out today.

Whew.

Anyhow, I took some semi-decent photos with my iPhone last night.

Herewith, my entries to The Canvas Project exhibition:

Flatuence:

Yes. That's pinto beans. Yes, that's dried roses. And in case you can't tell from the photograph, that white spot in the center? That's a tablet of Beano.

heh.

Training:

When taking beginning painting (or drawing) classes, they tell you to draw a grid on the canvas and work square by square. So I used a very simple image and incorporated a grid as my own personal training.

All four sides carry the warning "Artist in Training."

And finally...this is the last canvas I finished. The glue might even still be setting up while the canvas sits in a box ready to ship....

Glassy:

By the by...broken glass is a LOT harder to work with than I'd expected. Though I worked out much pent up anxiety by smashing all that glass with a hammer. One clear glass pane from a picture frame, a mirror, and a glass candle holder from the Dollar Store, a San Pellegrino green bottle and a cobalt blue tincture bottle gave their all for art.

Big fun! I'm excited to see if any of my pieces are picked for the gallery show in December.

Yay! Thanks Art House Co-Op!!!

Ain't No Poetry Like Bad Poetry

So I hit up the idea generator today.

And it suggested I write a limerick.

A limerick?

Really?

*sigh*

Couldn't I just take a stab at Haiku?

In fact, here's a Haiku I wrote during a painful interleague game between the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland A's earlier this season:

Jack Cust at the plate
Hits ball three for three today
SF fans Cust too

See? I can do Haiku! Can't I just try another like that?

No, the prompt said limerick.

I remember in grade school we had to write limericks for an English assignment. I didn't like it then either.

Not even writing the naughty limericks.

Whatever.

Ok.

Fine.

Here's my attempt:

There once was a girl from the 'Burque
People found her to be quite quirky
     To California she fled
     No green chile she did dread
Homemade chile rellenos keep her quite perky


Or how about:

There once was a singer named Buck
His songs make a nice rattle in my truck
     From Bakersfield he hailed
     "Tiger By The Tail" he wailed
That acoustic guitar he sure could pluck

(Betcha thought I was gonna get naughty on that one, huh? It was very difficult to restrain myself.)

All right, I'm on a roll now

From a bag of pinto beans I did remove
A handful of rocks and a piece of dry bean root
     Soak 'em I did
     Rinsed, boiled and added a lid
Because if not cooked right, dem beans will make you toot


Ok, ok....I'm done.

Somebody stop me before I try to rhyme Nantucket.

That's not *supposed* to be funny

And yet, it is.

Was reading an article today in the online version of the San Francisco Chronicle, the SFGate with the headline of "Flushed jail items cause S.F. court flooding."

The article talks about how inmates at the San Francisco Hall of Justice managed to flush two orange jumpsuits and a bed sheet down the toilet, thus causing a major backup of raw sewage into the courtrooms.

Workers got the mess cleaned up last night only to have it flood again in the morning.

Just. Ew. Talk about a crappy day at work.

Sorry. No really, I actually am sorry. I've been on a pun kick lately. But that's not the funny part.

The funny part comes toward the end of the article.

Here, I'll quote it directly:

"...the last major problem occurred in the mid-1990s and prompted the city to purchase grinders, known as 'muffin monsters,' that are installed on sewage pipes."

Giggle. *snort* Chuckle. Guffaw.

Muffin monsters?

Ok really. Honestly?

How am I not supposed to laugh at that?

I immediately dashed into the other room to share my new phrase with The Good Man.

Thus proving once more that I am the intellectual equivalent of a twelve-year-old boy.

But come ON. Muffin monsters?

Ok, ok, they really exist and that's really what the manufacturer calls them.

They look like this:

That's all well and good, but I don’t care who you are, that's still funny!

*giggle snort*

New Mexifail!

Whoooo! Some homestate love once more on the Failblog!

Oh Fair New Mexico!!!

Wait. That's not the shape of New Mexico.

Uh.....

I know, I know...the *name* of the company is New Mexico Soap. But...it's still confusing.

Maybe the label could be..."State Shaped Soap, brought to you by New Mexico Soap" or something similar to avoid the perils of the Failblog?

For the record, the people at New Mexico Soap also carry this little product:

There ya go! That's the right shape! They left off that little jut up near Oklahoma, but that's ok.

I'm sure the people who live up in the jut (uh, that would be round about Clayton, NM) don't mind being left off the soap. Much.

By the by, this is not the only New Mexico fail on the failblog. Here's the one I posted back in October.

A matter of personal choice?

So I dropped by a favorite "blog post idea" site today and the first item that was presented for my consideration was:

"Suggest to your visitors some toilet literature"

Oh my.

I mean...I believe toidy literature is indeed essential, but isn't that a highly personalized decision?

There is the good ol' fashioned newspaper, but what with the drop in newspaper circulation, not as many people take a physical paper anymore.

So this material has limitations.

I have a friend who keeps a basket of catalogs by the toilet. It's multitasking! Shopping and...er...you know.

Plus, I suppose they could come in handy in the case of a toilet tissue shortage.

Personally, I favor taking my iPhone along for the journey. That way I can do email, read the news, shop, whatever whim might strike my fancy when I've got a few spare minutes to spend.

The downside of this is that between the sink, tub and other water issuing devices in the restroom, it can be tricky. Best to keep the ol' iPhone nice and dry.

Plus, The Good Man tends to get bent out of shape when he receives messages from me while indisposed.

"Did you just email me from the can?!?!" he'll shout when his email goes 'bing' with a new message.

Well. Yes. Is that a problem?

I'll admit, there have been times when I'm on a writing jag (and you have GOT to respect the streak) when I have taken my laptop in there with me so I could keep writing while doing my business.

I won't even relay the comments I get from The Good Man when I do that.

Suffice to say, he's horrified.

Ok, so back to the topic. I actually spent some time considering options. Novels, magazines, catalogs, short story anthologies, comic books, reading the back of the toothpaste tube and of course nothing at all.

After all this thinking, I believe I've arrived at the best answer.

Something that has quick readability, short segments, maybe even a laugh or two.

Ah yes, I've made my decision.

Bar none, the best toilet literature ever has to be:

Reader's Digest

You're welcome.