Feral Pears and Black Plums: A Warm up Exercise

I'm trying to get back into watercolor. I really suck now so I've thought up the idea of doing a series of warm up exercises--a few small paintings before each session. Going back to watercolor class could help too.

They deleted my blog. Musta thought I was dead.

It's me da!blogger a total mystery now. Cannot see what I'm typing or where. Do I have to move this whole thing to another platform?

I Have Up the Strangest Playlist on iTunes

I really wanted to check in with you on Blogger, but I have to give context, always. Playing Now: Jesus was a Leprechaun by Snakefinger.

Right,
Jesus was a Leprechaun
Dying on the Cross
Remember when..something something

Jesus was a Leprchaun
His name was Tiny Tom
He tried to have a little fun
(unintelligible high pitched electronic chorus, here)

Unforgettable solo guitar riff from Snakefinger, but okay, you've heard more than you want to about it. Man, I love this song.

So in a world where trying to have a little fun on the internet—or anywhere else—was interrupted by events best not mentioned—could be some in the room with weak stomachs—I'm back. You will be even more excited than I am about me transferring one of my domain names to this blog. That name would be Another Hundred Crimes. Just let me call Go Daddy right now and do it before I once again start cleaning my place to within an inch of its life. There's a photographer coming from Channing Realty on Wednesday to take pictures of the former home of the Hampshire School of Art. Best that any prospective buyers not see my piercingly insightful posts on Hard to Believe Sights Around the Neighborhood.

What the living room looks like since they hauled most of my stuff to storage

Wow, it's the Screaming Blue Messiahs. On my playlist, Yo!

So I'll soon be on the streets of Albuquerque with my video camera. (if the place doesn't sell, I'll be on the streets of Cambridge with my shopping cart and tin cup)  Thomasin, Frankie and I will be podcasting our road trip from Boston to ABQ. I was talking to my dad, mentioned the podcasts. He couldn't understand why anyone would want to see these. I tried to explain it but he wasn't buying. He's right too. But that isn't something that will stop me. 

Wondering why the living room looks so great? That would be Andrew Reid and Harold Brown of F.D.R. Construction, my two Jamaican friends who not only painted the walls, sanded the floors, fixed every damned thing that had fallen to pieces over the past 27 years—Harold even fixed my vacuum cleaner—but every day they brought a bit of Jamaica to Inman Square. Andrew's phone picks up radio stations from Jamaica. Things were jumping. My knees are wrecked. Harold brought exotic fruit drinks and, because he's a master-fisherman and cook, fish stew and seafood calzone-type sandwiches. His goal? To open a restaurant. I'm flying back here when that happens! So I'm making new business cards for them 

F.D.R. Construction~from soup to nuts

Don't wait for the cards: Call them now: 617-319-9546

Call even if you don't need any work done. Seriously

Alls I have left to say is: No lo puedo creer.

Greedy Chinese and Americans Desecrate Mayan Artifact for Mundane Use

Yes, you've heard it all before. the overseas sweatshops, the exporting of American jobs to far-flung lands, the plundering of the resources of third world nations, but this one takes the cake. Working back from what we've got, it appears that a Chinese company that makes art boards and sells the product under the name of "Alvin"( not the shriekingly obnoxious Christmas chipmunk) and markets to unsuspecting artists in the states, has done the utterly unthinkable. If we didn't have photographic proof you just would not believe it. The Alvin art board, designed as a drawing support or for other art projects uses a simple clip at the top to secure the paper. the "clip" in this case is a piece of ancient Mayan art. The metal masks, used by the Mayans to contact the spirit world in their traditional religious rites, have been shamelessly plundered and attached to the pressed board for use as a paper clip. Ironically I spent some time this weekend looking at samples of Haitian metal art, otherwise I might have missed this grotesque travesty.

Iced Coffee Season 2012

Some people are telling me to shut up and enjoy the weather. Okay, so there are a couple of things wrong with that. One is that I never, ever enjoy it being 90 degrees--that's just me. Two is that there is no contradiction between enjoying the weather and knowing that the planet is about to catch fire and burn every living thing off the surface of it...real soon.

So anyway, I opened Iced Coffee Season in March. Just now catching up on this sorely neglected blog thing. By 'catching up' I mean that I read some old posts this morning and cackled at my own stuff. Sad.

Then I started reading my dog's blog www.airedalecrimespree.blogspot.com and cackled some more. Everyone knows I'm avoiding creating the hyperlinks in the newsletter. True, because it says so on Facebook. I'm going to go make a large poster now.

I Don't Even Have the Title to This Property and...

Today I received a notification from my bank detailing recent online payments made by me. I always open these, for some reason, even though I check my account almost daily. Let's see if we can imagine the look on my face when I learned that I paid my mortgage--to Chase Mortgage, the company who held the mortgage until July of '10 when I refinanced with another company.

Could Chase somehow return that money to my bank account in time for me to pay my actualy mortgage? Certainly not. I am now embroiled in a letter writing campaign that threatens to eclipse the volume of letters between Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell, although these particular letters will not be of such a felicitous nature. All manner of printouts and information is to be included along with certain phrases which must be written exactly as told to me by the minimum wage employee(s)--I called twice, looking for a different answer--and the envelope must be addressed just so. And then sent on to Columbus Ohio where, when it finally arrives, researchers will attempt to locate the money. Meanwhile I cannot pay my actual mortgage until this is sorted. Color me homeless in 6 months or less.

Oh My!

That cop, the one in the last blog post. It's a cow, not a sheep! Nothing is what it seems anymore. Not even a little.

No Need for Anyone to Be Unemployed

In it's great wisdom the City of Cambridge has seen fit to re-do the civil service exam for the Police Academy in order to widen the potential for diversity. Here we see a picture of the very first ovine officer sheepishly cautioning---a chicken? Apparently these cloven-hooved coppers will be clip-clopping around town, grazing around the parks.The wooly wardens of the peace will be bleating at various violators of the law and bleating at parking meters.

Last But Not Least Post-Christmas Neighborhood Tragedy

This one broke my heart. Santa beheaded and exsanguinated!! The blood-draining apparently extended even to his traditional red hat. And the bloodless head nailed to a house in East Cambridge! I ask you: what kind of monsters are out there? Sure, there are many holiday-haters, humbugs and hard core non-celebraters of the admittedly commercialized and crass holiday of Christmas. But to behead the jolly man so beloved by children everywhere seems a bit much. If you look closely (and I don''t recommend it) you will notice a tinge of red here and there, especially around the lips, the tip of the famous nose alongside of which he lay his finger.(that doesn't sound so good, put that way) as well as two dots on his merry cheeks. (also doesn't sound so good) Perhaps the savaged Santa, upon leaving the Windsor Tap, was in the middle of a high-spirited "Ho Ho Ho" when the axe fell, leaving his lips puckered and pursed, thereby saving a pale pink memento of his well-know rosy smile.

It's hard to know if we should expect Santa next December or not. There's the depressingly deflated version of the present-packing paragon, on Hampshire Street, languishing under a drain pipe. And then there's the fascinatingly fixated version of the right jolly old elf in his sleigh ready to take off over and over again. But the bloodless head! I seriously doubt a return of the toy-toting sleigh-man. I can't go on capturing these gruesome sights on film. I'm beginning to suffer from unending nightmares which is why I'm posting this at an ungodly hour. Better to get it out of my system than to fall into a dream-tortured sleep that decidedly does not feature visions of sugar plum fairies dancing in my head. Farewell to this topic.

Sadly, there are other hard-to-beleive-neighborhood-sights for me to report on in the future. As soon as I'm able to walk around town with my camera I will be back with the stories the major media dare not cover.

Nativity Figures' Exodus to New World

I received many outraged phone calls about the creche creatures trapped forever in a glass case on Hampshire Street. Apparently some fearless freedom fighter must have facilitated an escape for the holy fugitives.They got only as far as Elm Street. The first photo shows them in situ. Sorry to point out that there is blatant evidence of torture. Look at the electrical devices still stuck in their backs. And what's up with Mary's eyebrows? Their new homeland is not very secure, if you ask me, as they are right out in plain view of the dreaded 'House on Hampshire" from whence they fled. Looks like they 'followed the drinking (and eating) gourd as they are quite a bit larger now. The tireless and tenacious modern day Harriet Tubman made sure that the token Black Wiseman made it along with the suspiciously Ayrian Christmas crowd. Hell, even the animals are all white.(is that a duck on the left?) There is much speculation about how the escape was engineered. Some think it was on this bicycle. If so, it only got them to the corner of Hampshire and Elm. After lashing the bike to a post, the nervous nativity group must have jogged a few door down and are standing out in the open. Hope this blog post doesn't give away their location to their former captors.