Category: The Muse

Random Sarcasm Generator

You know, when I was growing up, my mom always told me, “boys don’t like girls with smart mouths.”

Luckily, mom was wrong.

Plenty of boys liked me just like I am….most notably, The Good Man. (And yes, TGM, can show me a thing or two about being a smart ass).

So, feeling especially cranky today and still wiped out creatively from the latest round of the Tweet Me a Story contest, today, I’m going to continue to rely on a creative crutch.

Using the random blog idea generator from yesterday, here we go.

Random Ideas: The smart ass edition:

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Depends on where I’m looking.

Define faith.

While on an airplane, that moment just after you hear “whump” but right before the pilot says, “everything’s all right folks.”

10 things I’m pessimistic about

*sigh* I don’t even think I could make it through three much less a list of ten….why even try?

Why do you feel you need to change?

Because I have sand in my shorts. I can *definitely* feel that. : tug :

Something that I enjoy doing for a friend…

Pointing and laughing.

10 things I learned at school *not* on the curriculum

My mother reads this blog. I can’t tell you that…..

Plus, I streamlined most of my brain cells with the assistance of beer, so it’s not like I can remember anything I learned anyway.

What was the question?

If you could follow someone around for one day (unseen), who would it be and why?

The police cleared me of those charges. I don’t have to answer that.

Injustice in the world makes me feel…

Like the plotline to a bad superhero movie (take your pick, there has been so many in recent years).

Why should I be responsible?

I dunno. Wanna go get a beer?

10 things I believe in

I believe…I’ll have a beer. Not sure I can get in 10, who’s with me? (I’m looking at you, Emmett)

Do you feel underappreciated?

Only by the ungrateful.

I am going to make tomorrow different by…

Isn’t tomorrow, by definition, different from today?

How have you changed recently?

Back to that sand in my shorts….

You know….I could do this all day…..

More blogtastic random fun

Well, the dearth of good ideas continues.

So instead of a random word today, I found a random blog topic generator.

Ok, so here’s my assignment: “When I’m on top of the world…”

Well. So. Yeah.

Ok, here we go, a trickle of an idea, like rain on a dry riverbed.

Yep, here we go.

A memory.

When I was a kid, my folks owned land in Cuba, New Mexico. If you don’t know where that is, go toward Jemez, and keep going.

The piece of land was rather undeveloped, up in the mountains, bumpy washed out dirt roads that required four wheel drive to get there. But get there we did.

Lots of camping in that Apache Pop Up Trailer I’ve spoken of before on these pages.

Good stuff. Cold fried chicken and marshmallows toasted over a piñon wood fire. Very pretty and truly the beauty of the mountains of New Mexico.

Inevitably, we’d go hiking, plucking small cactus balls off pants legs the whole way. We’d do our best to hike to the very top of a pretty decent sized hill, then we’d sit on the ground and rest, eating gorp (for you young uns, that’s what they used to call trail mix).

Being a brat, I’d always pick out the M&M’s and raisins and leave the rest.

My mom, dad, brother, sister and I would sit and take in the view of the valley floor below, feel the wind across the sweaty brow, eat the gorp, and then, being the goofball I’m so proud to be, I’d usually begin a rousing chorus of…

Wait for it…

I’m on the
top of the world looking
down on creation
And the only explanation I can fiiiiiiiiind
Is the love that I’ve found
ever since you’ve been around
Your love’s put me at the top of the world

(How much do I love The Carpenters?)

So, when I’m on top of the world……I sing. Badly.

There you have it!

(had to recycle that image. I love it so.)



Image is of Latvian mezzo-soprano Elina Garanca and a pretty extensive web search could not net me the attribution on this photo. I found photos from that same event on the European Commission page which allows for the use of photos with attribution.



The Password is:

Passion.

Ok, so today I found myself without a good idea for a blog entry.

Sure, I’ve been thinking a lot about the NewMexiKen post that said, essentially, that 5% of the active blogs out there have not actually been updated in the past 120 days.

That the vast majority of the time, people tend to start a blog and then abandon it.

So when I started this crazy thing on the suggestion of The Good Man, I made myself promise I’d keep up with it, and if I didn’t, I’d shut ‘er down.

Now, two years and over 600 posts later, I’m still doin’ it. And I’ll let you in on a secret…I like it. A lot.

Sometimes I read a post I wrote and I’m *diggin’* it. Of course, the ones I think are rock star posts are the ones that gain zero comments. Such is life.

Those times where I’m in the flow, where I’m making it work…yeah, I feel the passion, sure.

But this week I’m having a failure of ideas. It happens. It will pass. This is something I’ve learned. Let it go, it will return.

Today, I’m just not in the zone. So searching for inspiration, I decided I would hit a random word generator, take the first word it gave me, and make that the basis for a post.

So I did. (In case you need a random word for yourself, you can grab one here)

The first word I got was passion.

I cringed, I winced, I wanted to go back and grab another word, but then…that would be cheating.

So…passion.

A blog post about passion.

A Google search yielded the expected…couples therapy, some sex toys, and way too many entries about a Mel Gibson movie I never saw (and won’t).

So I went over to images, and found the one at the end of this post.

And there you have it. It ties in both passion and blogging.

How tidy. THAT appeals to my OCD!

And that’s how you keep that blog passion burning. Boom, baby!

Cartoon found at gapingvoid.com (good stuff, I recommend!)

That’s improbable!

While getting ready for work this morning, The Feline was busting my chops. She likes to do this, especially when I’m tired and groggy at oh-dark-thirty in the morning.

Sometimes I humor the animal (or, er, myself) and have a “conversation.” It goes something like this:
_______________

Feline: Meow!

Me: What’s that you say?

Feline: Meow!

Me: Constantinople? Really?

Feline: Meeeow!

Me: Met at the bazaar? You know, they don’t even call it Constantinople any more. You’re so old fashioned.

Feline: Meow!
_______________

That is but one example.

So this morning, The Feline and I engaged in another of our lengthy conversations. Here’s the rough transcript:

_______________

Feline: MEOW!

Me: Had a bad dream, huh? Sorry to hear it.

Feline: Meow

Me: Maybe you should try cutting the kibble ration and sleeping less?

Feline: Meow!

Me: That’s interesting. You know they say a dream about eating fish means many conflicting things. Could be attachment issues.

Feline: Meow!
_______________

It was then that I thought to myself, “Hey, I could do that whole Pet Psychic routine. This is easy!”

Why did my brain drift over to “Pet Psychic?”

I’ll tell you why.

Recently, I pitched a literary agent about my latest work. Last week, I got feedback from the agent. He said (in not so many words) that a main plot point of my story wasn’t entirely plausible.

I found that odd, since that plot point was something that had actually happened in my life (“write what you know!”).

But ok, I took his very professional feedback to heart (maybe too much to heart, if you were to ask The Good Man).

With that in mind, I went to the library to check out items in the “new fiction” section to see what IS plausible enough to get published these days.

That’s where I found this gem.

“Pet psychic, radio host, four-time widow, and dedicated rescuer of distressed animals, Mary Catherine rushes in to help a turtle stranded in a house, only to stumble over a body. With the rescued turtle as the only witness, MC works with the initially skeptical police to discover the real murderer.”

Unh huh. So a pet psychic getting the eyewitness account from a turtle IS plausible enough to be published?

Ooookaaay.

And the clincher from the book jacket:

“Includes recipes for pet treats!”

Well there you have it.

The Feline remains non-plussed.

Sunday with Frida

The Good Man and I had a chance to be up in San Francisco this weekend. The occasion was a visit to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

Since June they have had an exhibition of Frida Kahlo‘s art.

I have been a fan of Frida for a while now. Her work so heavily influences any female artist, especially anyone interested in Latino art, and so for me, it was vital I attend this show.

I came in, as we all do, with one set of expectations, that I’m not sure for were met.

But I’ll be thinking about this exhibition for a while.

While at the library the day before we went to the show, I saw a book on the “new fiction” shelf called “Frida’s Bed.” It is one author’s fictional account of Frida’s last thoughts before she died.

So that’s also coloring my view, I suppose.

About the exhibit, however… First and foremost, it was CROWDED. We’re into the waning weeks of the show and I think I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so packed, but I was wrong.

At more than fifty years after her death, Frida is as popular as ever. Moreso, it would seem.

The people were stacked up to see her work, which was both heartening and annoying.

Heartening because many young women were there, and seeing that it’s ok to express your pain, your rage, your upset is important. It doesn’t make you less of a woman. Frida gave good pain, I’ll say that. Sometimes it’s hard to look at her work, it’s emotional and physical pain is so plainly laid OUT there. I admire that, to be honest.

The show was equally annoying because it was damn near impossible to spend any time with the paintings. The queues were insane, and the best you could do was a Chevy Chase “Vacation” style nod at the Grand Canyon, then move on.

This frustrated the heck out of me, because what’s fascinating about Frida’s paintings isn’t what’s apparently obvious, it’s what she’s hidden in the small spaces.

She has secret jokes, or darker images, that she places in her work. Sort of passive aggressive, actually. Both TGM and I had trouble spending the time we needed with each piece, instead shuttled through quickly as the crowd surged behind us.

Many of the paintings were much smaller than I’d imagined them to be. Then again, the famous “Two Fridas” was MUCH larger than I expected, taking up most of one wall.

I took all of it in, thinking I would come out massively inspired to go and paint and release my inner demons. Instead, the story told in all those frames reminded me of a difficult time in my life and a difficult relationship. To say I find parallels between the troubled relationship between Frida and Diego Rivera is to undersell it a bit, but that’s close enough for explanation’s sake, I suppose.

And being far less brave than Frida, I’m unwilling to dissect it here, publicly.

That said, as we came to the end of the exhibit, I ended up in a bit of a dark mood. That was from the remembering. Ultimately, I was also happier and held the hand of TGM a bit tighter. He is a life raft, a parachute, water wings and all other really good metaphors I can’t think of right now for someone who rescued me from the abyss, and gave my life meaning again.

With that in mind, I brought up the question to TGM over lunch…does “art” always have to be sad?

Can I paint a canvas that expresses my joy, the peace in my life now, the exquisite love I have and still be taken seriously as an artist?

I’ve never bought into the fact that misery was a pre-requisite.

Maybe art really is what you say it is…

Anyhow, one way or another, Frida’s work moved me greatly. It will be with me for a long time.