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Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Sidewalk Picasso

I’m always dismayed when I hear stories of creativity be squashed by stupidity.

It seems a Denver neighborhood association called Innovations and Courtyard Traditions has temporarily banned children, specifically a three year old girl, from making chalk drawings on the sidewalk. They issued a statement saying the little girl’s drawings of flowers and hearts are distracting and offensive blights on their community.  


What the hell is the flower-hating and heart-hating Innovations and Courtyard Traditions smoking? What kind of boring uncreative people live there? 

I bet you they don’t allow people to walk on the grass in their community.

I bet you they want everyone’s house to look exactly the same so no one house stands out amongst the rest.

I bet you the neighbors secretly get together and have key parties.

It’s chalk, people, and when it rains it’ll wash away! 

If chalk flowers and chalk hearts on a sidewalk are offensive then I think we as a society have taken a wrong turn on the avenue of neighborly love, art, beauty, and kindness.

Get over yourselves people and be grateful you’ve got a sidewalk Picasso in your neighborhood.  It could be much worse. You could have me living there...

And if I were living in that neighborhood I would take my colorful chalk and draw a big bold beautiful gesture aimed right at the naysayers. 


Then I’d promptly sell my house and get away from that unhealthy, creativity stomping, sterile, boring community and move to place where chalk is acceptable, where children draw chalk flowers and chalk hearts up and down the street, and where chalk is loved for all its chalkiness. 

Thursday, June 21, 2012

America’s Sweethearts: John and Rielle

John Edwards and Rielle Hunter... don't they look perfect together? 

John’s got an overblown ego and no conscience.

Rielle looks like she’s been tapped by every sailor in port.

John cheated on his devoted dying wife with Rielle; his mistress; his tramp.

Rielle knew he was married and knew his wife was dying of cancer yet she lifted her skirt and gave him full access to her veejay.

John didn’t use a condom because he was John Edwards.

Rielle didn’t use contraception because John Edwards was in her.

John’s dying wife had to go through public humiliation while she battled cancer to stay alive.

Rielle didn’t care. She was too busy having John Edwards injected orgasms and enjoying campaign money and perks.

John’s wife died and had to leave her treasured children with a lying, cheating, pig of a non-man.

Rielle wrote a classy book and in it she called John’s dead wife a “witch on wheels.”

John and Rielle are still together.

Love songs will someday be written about John and Rielle.... America’s Sweethearts.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Texting Act II

Saturday night my friend and I decided it’d be a night of theatre instead of cinema. We wanted to see a live performance with real actors on a stage with an audience watching attentively.

Just before the production began there was the unfortunate-but-necessary announcement to shut down all devices such as cell phones, ipads, vibrators, etc. I promptly put my iphone on silent and slid it in my pants for safekeeping. I didn’t select vibrate because I just knew if I got a call while it was in my pants I might suffer an uncontrollable deep premature moan right there in row C seat 7. 

As the lights came up for intermission the woman on my right asked me if the play was over. What?!? My gentlemanly manner suppressed derisive laughter and I politely told her there was an Act II after intermission.  She looked dumbfounded. She might have been stylish but there obviously wasn’t much in terms of brain cells underneath her overly sprayed hair and overly made-up face.

When I got back to my seat after intermission she was on her phone.  “I’m losing you. What? I’m at some play. Can’t hear you.  Text me!”

The lights dimmed for Act II. She slid her phone inside her purse.

Every few moments she would open her purse and the little light from her cell phone would glow distracting myself and others around her.  She’d read her latest text and feverishly text back then slide the phone back into her purse.

It happened again and again and again.  

I wanted to grab her phone and break it, but my gentlemanly manners told me not to.

I wish I had her cell phone number because I would’ve pulled mine out of my pants and sent her the following text:

I don’t think she would’ve cared.

At the end of the play she stayed in her seat continuing to text. I wonder if she even knew the play was over.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

The Red Clipboard

Someone recently sent me an email about a group get together where people bring a prized possession and take turns telling the group why they chose that possession and what it means to them.

This got me thinking... what is one of my prized possessions? It took a matter of seconds to reach across my desk and grasp my red clipboard.  A red clipboard with a lighter red map of the United States on it.


I have loved it since the day I received it. It was a birthday gift from my parents when I was in fourth grade. What provoked me to want a clipboard I haven’t a clue, but I’m sure glad I got it.

When I was in the fourth grade it was before hip hop, before grunge, before rap, before new wave, and just prior to disco.  In other words, I’ve had the red clipboard with the lighter red map of the United States for a long, long time.

It’s still in good shape. Sure there’s a a little wear and some rust on the clip, but the map is still there and unlike the Soviet Union, the map of the United States hasn’t changed.  Right?

Being somewhat geographically inept I can always look at my clipboard and see where I am.  I live on the west coast and my family’s on the east coast. When I’m planning a trip east and fantasize making it a road trip I can trace with my finger the states I’d want to pass through, pass over, or pass under to get to the east. I always conclude it’s too far to drive and opt for a plane.

So why the red clipboard? Simply because I love it, and it always reminds me of who gave it to me. Sure they’ve given me many other things over the years, including life, yet I keep coming back to the red clipboard.

With my red clipboard I never feel lost.

Thursday, June 07, 2012

She Bit the Bicep

I really think I should stop reading the crazy news stories that seem to appear on my computer screen whenever I log on to the Internet.  They peer out at me taunting me haunting me and daring me to click on the story to submerse myself into the craziness of people.

I usually laugh out loud, but then I’m overcome with sadness knowing that the story really happened and that people really do behave badly. But then in a second thought they make me realize my life isn’t as bad as I sometimes think it is. 

At least I’m not biting someone in the bicep...

This latest crazy story happened in New Haven when a woman named Lowpel Davis was caught shoplifting a wig and other beauty items from the Sassy Beauty Supply shop.  Her criminal act was caught on surveillance camera. She fled the scene and the store owner pursued her.

The confrontation didn’t end with her apologizing and handing over the wig and beauty supplies. It took a dark turn into Mike Tyson territory. 

Davis got physical and attacked the store owner and bit him in the bicep. Like a feral cat  her teeth tore a chunk of flesh from his bicep. Did she swallow it? No. Did she spit it out to the ground? No.  She spit his bloody flesh in his face.

Needless to say police were called and when they arrived Davis turned her anger on them cursing and kicking. She was eventually handcuffed and throw in a police car where she tried kicking out the window.

She did this because she wanted a wig.  Not food.  A wig and beauty supplies.

If she stole from a grocery store I could somehow understand her desperation for food.  Hunger drives people to do whatever it takes to be fed, but then I saw her mug shot.

Poor thing... with that mop of unkempt hair and pasty complexion and surly expression... well... she definitely needs beauty enhancements, but it doesn’t condone stealing and biting a bicep and tearing out a chunk of flesh.

If she asked maybe the store had a layaway plan or... maybe she could’ve asked to work for free and receive the wig and beauty supplies in lieu of payment or... maybe she could have just combed her own hair, washed her face, and changed her criminal attitude.

Her prison bunkmate better not piss her off.