The dried-up prunes turned into something lovely overnight. Take a look:
Isn’t that beautiful? I can’t wait until the whole plant starts to bloom out. That’s gonna be nuts, yo.
| Casablog | Comments (0) |
Oooooh, we gots us some hibiscus action goin’ on, y’all! I’m stoked as hell. This happened a couple days ago:
That was in back near the shed; I was effing stoked. Just next to this is the Pride-remix of the pink lily, which I think turned out even more beautiful this year.
Above this are some very colorful blooming trees. God, the garden is so beautiful, I wish we were getting married now.
Then, this afternoon I looked at the big, big hibiscus on the east side of the garden, and it’s beginning to really go nuts. Tomorrow it is going to be absolutely gorgeous. Right now, the fledgling buds look kinda like dried prunes growing out of the bush:
Cool, eh? Definitely there will be more pics tomorrow of full-stop flowers. Everything is really, really beautiful in our backyard. And, more or less, in our lives.
| Casablog | Comments (1) |
…buy me this shirt:
Or I will just have to buy it for myself. I wore Jesus to this year’s Pride; I think I need this one for next year.
Or, perhaps, this one:
And by the way; if you like that site, troll through and be sure to vote for new t-shirt designs.
| Interweb, Grind | Comments (0) |
Aaaah, Pride. That magical time of year when everyone smells like Dolce & Gabbana and cheap vodka, when people who would not be caught dead shirtless the other 363 days of the year show up in a public place, with news crews all around and traffic roaring past, in a speedo and leather chaps. Or, in my case, my Jesus shirt:
I decided not to take my own pictures, because I didn’t feel like carrying Bulky Camera around all afternoon along with my flask, and wallet, and drink. But Eric Riddle will have some up soon.
A brief rundown of highlights from Pride OKC 2006:
- This quote by Matthew Perry: "I’m easy. Wait, not in that way."
- During one of the drag shows some drunk-ass bitch got all freaking up on the drag queen. You don’t do that; it is against all rules of Drag Decorum. The Queen is on stage, honey - you are not, and she will do whatever she needs to do to make sure that the attention is on her. So, the drag queen pulled a bitch by her ponytail and flung her back into the audience. She proceeded to drunkenly try to dance around for a few seconds until it really hit her what had happened, at which point she was ready to kick some drag queen ass; as if she could. We live in Oklahoma City, bitch - the town where drag queens occasionally shoot people and police dogs. Anyway, it was funny to watch her be forcibly thrown out of Angles, especially when she wiped out and bashed her face on the steps. Gotta have some drama.
- The frozen drink machine spitting out Bellinis that looked like puke.
- Talking to Jesus on my shirt, like: "Hey Jesus, think we need some more beer?" "Hey Jesus, can you clean my glasses for me real quick? Thanks, Jesus." Queens were freaking about the shirt, y’all.
- The parade was good; longer and more well thought-out than last year. I wonder if that has anything to do with it being an election year.
- The people riding their Vespas through the parade; especially the sea-green vintage one with refrigerator poetry all over it. I decided I need one. Brian agreed.
- Dancing with Brian. Seeing our realtor dancing on the floor next to us.
- Annie offered to make our wedding cake. Here and I was freaking out ‘cus it was the one thing I forgot to plan.
- Seeing Chandra, who worked in my office O-Trip last summer. She’s a big, loud black woman; when she saw me she started screaming, then jumped on me and put me in a headlock. So we went round and round on the street, me in a headlock, screaming, "RAPE!!!! RAAAAAAAPE!"
- Seeing one of my students from last summer. He’s 17 and braver than I’ll ever think of being.
But the best part of the whole thing, undoubtedly the coolest Pride story I will ever have:
As is typical in Oklahoma in June, it started to look cloudy in late evening, just as the Parade ended and we were all lining up to get into Angles. We felt a few sprinkles and looked up, and hanging over the whole scene was this huge, arcing rainbow, lit up perfectly by the sun. I made Eric get pictures of it, and I’m going to ask him to let me post them here. I was almost in tears at the sight of it; God really does love us. It truly was a moment for which there were no words.
| Heaux-Meaux, Blessed Bafflement | Comments (1) |
There is a cardinal who hangs out in our backyard occasionally, courting his lady. I think he’s one of the most beautiful things back there, and I actually find female cardinals beautiful as well. This afternoon, when it began to cool down I turned on the sprinkler to give the flowers some water. The cardinals decided to come enjoy the water and were actually quite cute as they flitted about in my short tree, clearly enjoying themselves. I tried to get pictures, but the little divas were not very cooperative:
Between the sprinkler and the fact that they’re kinda skittish when I’m around, those were the best two pictures I could get of the male. He’s a cute little guy.
When I told Brian about this when he got home, he told me about how, this morning, he was driving along and saw a male and female cardinal flirting with each other, being all friendly and in love, and he fully hit the male with his car while its woman looked on. Man, he’s getting such a bad seat in Heaven; I might have to sneak him bits of cheesecake for all eternity.
| Casablog | Comments (0) |
So I’ve dropped F-bombs in two headlines this week. It’s well deserved. This from CNN today:
PROVIDENCE, Rhode Island (AP) — A former handyman has won more than $400,000 in a lawsuit over a penile implant that gave him a 10-year erection.
Charles "Chick" Lennon, 68, received the steel and plastic implant in 1996, about two years before Viagra went on the market. The Dura-II is designed to allow impotent men to position the penis upward for sex, then lower it.
But Lennon could not position his penis downward. He said he could no longer hug people, ride a bike, swim or wear bathing trunks because of the pain and embarrassment. He has become a recluse and is uncomfortable being around his grandchildren, his lawyer said.
In 2004, a jury awarded him $750,000. A judge called that excessive and reduced it to $400,000. On Friday, the Rhode Island Supreme Court affirmed that award in a ruling that turned on a procedural matter.
"I don’t know any man who for any amount of money would want to trade and take my client’s life," said Jules D’Alessandro, Lennon’s attorney. "He’s not a whole person."
A lawyer representing both Dura-II manufacturer Dacomed Corp. and the company’s insurer declined to comment. Dacomed maintained that nothing was wrong with the implant.
The implant consists of a series of plastic plates strung together with steel surgical wire, almost like a roll of wrapped coins. Springs press against the plates, creating enough surface tension to simulate an erection, D’Alessandro said.
Lennon cannot get the implant removed because of health problems, including open-heart surgery, his lawyer said. Impotence drugs could not help Lennon even if he were able to have the device taken out, because tissue had be to removed for it to be implanted.
Dacomed was later acquired by a California company whose sales dropped when Viagra was introduced on the market. The company filed for bankruptcy the following year.
(C)2006 Associated Press.
DUDE, seriously - WHAT THE FUCK?
Poor old man. Dirty old man. Poor old man.
I’m filing this under "One Man’s Junk" for reasons that, I hope, are obvious.
| One Man's Junk, It's Not Right But It's Okay | Comments (0) |
Boss-Lady doesn’t do Fridays, which is nice, as I get the office to myself, and I don’t have to sit in the same dark room with a festering cooler full of slimy Cokes.
Today I was sitting at the computer, having more writer’s block - or, more accurately, PR block - when I looked away from the screen and up on top of a large armoire standing against the opposite wall. That side of the office is riddled with boxes, as the entire admissions/communications department is a huge mess right now. On top of the armoire was a box that said the following:
ISO 9001 CERTIFICATED
I dunno; maybe it was the writer’s block, or the fact that I was hungover from karaoke last night, or the fact that I am delirious with Pride anticipation, but I could not stop laughing. I almost ran home, got the camera, and came back to take a picture.
You kinda have to have seen "Time Chasers" for it to be REALLY funny, but something about "Certificated" got to me. Levity is nice.
| Sweeeet, Grind | Comments (0) |
I have Pride on the brain. I’m doing this real quick entry while waiting for the Flynns to arrive so we can all go out for some Pride Karaoke. I love having straight, married friends who are as excited about gay pride as I am.
Anyhow, the garden looks like a parade float. Check out these lilies!
I still effing love those bloodred lilies; the peach one from the last entry is back there, but the orange one above is new, and FABULOUS! (No, I haven’t started drinking yet).
Ain’t she beautiful? I love her. In honor of the holiday, a new peach lily sprouted out:
And even the pink one in the back decided to do a remix. She was looking Deady McDead last week, after we got a really heavy rain; the stalk with the flower on it was parallel to the ground at one point. And then - ZOT! Reeeemix!
She should be ready just in time for the parade on Sunday. Maybe I’ll wear her in my hair. Tee-hee.
| Heaux-Meaux, Casablog | Comments (0) |
I have been working on a series of faculty profiles for work. It is kind of fun, because someone already did the interviews for me, which is nice, as my least favorite thing about being a journalist is interviewing people. All I have to do is take someone else’s notes and write short, 300-word pieces from them.
It started out more or less okay; I did a few, and now am completely jammed. It’s like the mental equivalent of passing a kidney stone. I actually used the adjective "poopy" in a draft a minute ago.
Also, last week, my MySpace story totally fell through, which means that my crippling new addiction is totally in vain.
In the shower getting ready for work this morning, I had a brilliant flash in which I completely re-imagined the first novel I wrote since starting grad school.
And what will I probably do when I get home? Probably watch TNT’s Primetime in the Daytime.
Then I have the audacity to complain to Brian that I am panicking because I am absolutely sure someone else is going to write my magnum opus before I do.
| Writer | Comments (0) |
So my new job is fantastic, right? My boss is hands-down one of the top three coolest women I have ever met, and we have a rapport that rivals the one I have had with some of my favorite employers.
The only problem is that I have no real workstation to speak of. I bring my laptop every day just in case I end up with nowhere to work, but for some reason AirPort won’t connect to the law school’s wireless, which everyone swears up and down that they have.
So, I am constantly being shuffled around from desk to desk, computer to computer, all over the building.
The thing you should know about college campuses during the summer is that nothing is in order. I grew up on a college campus and since the age of 18 have not gone for more than a year or so without being employed at one in one way or another. If writing doesn’t work out, I am looking at a career in higher education.
Anyway, there are boxes and trash and things that need to be done everywhere here, just like at any college campus during the summer; our collective belly is hanging out, you could say. This is fine, but it makes it hard for me to have a place to sit down every day.
And so, twice in the past two weeks I have been stashed in the Events Office while the woman who works in here is out on medical leave. It’s a fine office - no windows, but that really doesn’t bother me. It’s quiet, and if I open the door I can see out onto the terrace. There is a printer, so I don’t have to share with anyone.
The woman who had this office didn’t know she was going on medical leave. So I will just put that out there: I never met the woman, I’m not judging her. Much.
So today, my boss came in to ask me about something. We got to talking, and eventually noticed that there was an Igloo cooler on a chair by the door. She opened it up, made a face, and immediately shut it again. Curious, I got up and opened the top of the cooler. This smell like something from Jonestown came out. Floating in the cooler were a whole bunch of soda cans - unopened, but covered in green and brown mold and slime. I looked for only a second, then slammed it shut again.
Then, Boss-Lady opened it up again and the smell overwhelmed me; between that smell and the cheap beer I drank last night with the Flynns, I really thought my stomach was going to give up on me and go live the good life in Palm Springs. I had to step outside for a few minutes for some fresh air.
But, then I had to go back in, because my work and all my stuff was in there. I don’t know what the cooler is for, it’s not my office, and frankly, I was dressed kinda nice and didn’t want to mess up the only pair of dress pants that fit me right now. So I spent the remaining twenty minutes at work just kind of glaring over at the cooler, and noticing other things around the office.
Like a big, plastic drink cup like you’d get at 7-11 sitting on the desk, about half full, with a well-chewed straw sticking out.
She didn’t know she was going on medical leave. I keep telling myself that. The whole rest of the day - glaring over at the cooler and taking the occasional hit off a Sharpie to keep the smell out of my nostrils, and keep my stomach from leaving me forever.
It’s going to make me shudder just to think about it.
| It's Not Right But It's Okay, Grind | Comments (0) |