animal hybrids

I think there was something about mismatching huge “audiophile” headphones onto a iPod mini that got me thinking about mismatches in general. There are mismatches in love, business, and underwear, which leads me to believe that mismatching inhabits all threads, lofty or lowly, of life. It’s the contra-force tugging at the bottom-side of Evolution. When something mismatches a new and current intention, then change must churn until the mismatch is resolved.

I found these animal stamps in my cart of crafty crap, and I do believe I have had these stamps since grade school! That would make these little slips of paper (at the time, I’m sure they were symbolic to me as little passports of discovery) about 23 years old. They are still enfolded in the stamp book that my mom bought for me at the U.S. Postal Service. Sifting through the pile of creatures boxed into their perforated paper edges, I noticed some had had their heads cut out in circular fashion. I am the only one who could have done such a thing, but why? Curious.

In the mode of Dr. Frankenstein, I (mis)matched some of them together and got some pleasing results. So far, I have a Perchloon, and a Toucanallion.

And then I read this lovely coming of age story by Gaela, which you should all read because it was a hoot. Romantic idealism vs. the funnier-than-thou truth. There is an element of mismatching in every love story, i think.

iPod body, Monster ears, moustaches

I discovered a good way to vaccuum my place now…or rather, block out the noise of the vaccuum. My runway-attendant headphones, fitted with an adapter, plug nicely into my mini iPod. Although it looked gauche (no one ever wears their ipod without the white earbuds–i wonder why), I am seriously thinking of wearing this getup on the morning commute. It’s going to be fly.
Also, I noticed in this picture, that I have a moustache.

Which reminds me, the worst article (and by worst, I mean, it actually pissed me off) I ever read in a women’s fashion mag– was a re-visioning of Frida Kahlo without her moustache and her unibrow (which looked like a stylized bird). The gist was if Frida had gone to a depilatory salon, she would have looked like, well, more glamorous, like uh…Salma Hayek. My inner voice wailed in exasperated despair–”Nooooooo, you stupid ass-people! That was an actress playing the real thing!”

the real thing has hair, and prickles, and a beauty unbridled by design.

My paltry moustache pales in comparison.

Skyped

John called me from Berlin today, on Skype. I could still hear the residual excitement in his voice after Germany’s victory over Argentina. It sure was strange, and nice, to hear his voice. A feeling came over me that I cannot quite describe, but the best comparison might be suddenly going outside (where it’s sunny, hot, windy) after being busy inside your apartment all day. Suddenly, everything shifts in plane– like you were walking with a plate of food, and suddenly the plane of the plate shifts in your hand (it is barbeque season, after all) because of the grabbing wind, or your thoughts were somewhere else. The plane shift jolts you back a little into a feeling which is already lost, but you are aware again.

John mentioned he and Aimee would be traveling to Italy and France soon. That sounds so fun, and yet I am not in the state of mind where that would be fun for me. Not that I would mind if I were in a state of mind where traveling to countries of lush and copious romance, wine, and food (or the legends thereof) sounded exciting and lovely to me. But I’m not there, and that must be because I feel there is so much I need to do in my closet of an office that I have set up in my new apartment.

Mike was miraculously able to fix my computer, which was invaded by the residual guts of an antivirus program so sticky that the company which created it should not be named after an adorable black-and-white bear-like raccoon, but rather after Alien or Thing. If you’ve had the same problems de-installing Panda Antivirus 2005, read his no less than harrowing (but ultimately successful) trial. Go Magic Drake!

He is in Florida in St. Augustine, swimming in an ocean that is *warm* and full of transparent jellyfish. Because it is warm, in my imagination there are friendly spirits in the water with him as he swims. That makes me smile. I miss him.
Here, i always think the spirits in the water are more imp-like, sardonic, and fond of practical jokes. Like slipping ice cubes down your swim bottoms, for instance.

It is the coldest summer I remember in San Francisco. Wearing capris will get you legs covered in goosebumps. Forget about sundresses. But I believe I complain about the foggy summer here every year.

July 4th was puzzlingly depressing for me. I am still trying to piece together why in the hopes that it will provide the cure…the feeling is as hard to correct as a dropped stitch while knitting and you don’t realize until many rows later…

Today I dragged out a bunch of my collaging materials, and sorted through old photographs and posters that I still haven’t put up in this new place. I decided to finally “personalize” my Shuttle with some amazing paper I bought at that Japanese paper place on 4th Street in Berkeley (I can never remember the name). Particularly, two swatches make me swoon, the effect they have on me is like eating ice cream. It made me pretty happy to be cutting up shapes and gluing things down. So rusty! I *myself* am the rusty pair of scissors!

bed wetter

Frida, my sick kitty, peed all over my copious pile of pillows and on my mattress, right about where my head would rest for some sweet sleep, of which i had none last night because I was pulling off sheets and stuffing everything that was soiled into garbage bags to take to the cleaners later. I also noticed her doing the poop scoot across the pristine white pillowtop…for a second, I loved my mattress more than my poor, stinky, sick kitty. Health and beauty pat our hands and flatter us.  Illness scrapes with a small sharp pinky nail, causing bad tempers, making us smaller and smaller.

Frida was diagnosed with chronic renal failure last week. If you are a kitty owner, you know that this is sad and serious.
Mike told me this morning he heard on NPR a story describing a certain KGB torture–making a person stand in one position for days on end. Apparently this would cause all sorts of systemic ailments in some victims, including kidney failure.

He suggested that maybe that's why Frida was having kidney problems– inactivity. Now I feel guilty because i haven't been around as much as i should to play with her. I tried to get her to play yesterday but she is still not feeling well and her legs are wobbly. She moves around like a rickety marionette managed by a bad puppeteer.
Mike also wondered that maybe that's the reason why Soomu (the other kitty) has been hissing at Frida and growling at her. "Maybe she's trying to get her to move around," he suggested.

Tough kitty love, he says.

I think Mike was a cat in a former life. A big, King Cat.

Hello world!

Hi, this is a toe dip before the skinny.