BECAUSE I AM A QUEEN

The pictures in this post have nothing to do with what I am writing about. I am just using my favourite pix from the first year to divide up all my random thoughts.

MY FAVOURITE PICTURE FROM MY FIRST YEAR OF BLOGGING.

I've been listening to India Arie. "Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don't/Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won't...I'm not the average girl from your video/And I ain't built like a supermodel/But I learned to love myself unconditionally/Because I am a queen/I'm not the average girl from your video/My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes..."

I have been trying to learn what India seems to know intrinsically.

ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAVOURITES FROM THE LAST YEAR.

I have also been listening to Nina Simone. Especially SINNERMAN. I can not find her perfect version of Leonard Cohen's SUZANNE on CD.

If someone is going to ask you to choose, it will always be between Good time and good girl Ella, tragic bad girl Billie, or wicked but musically wed Sarah. (I choose Sarah and her perfect musicianship; but it is a close second for Billie. )

Nina is never included. She is not a good girl, but she is true and honest. She is tragic, but she is not a bad girl. She is the seductress. She is the Siren. She is the wisewoman that lives at the edge of the forest. She is the friend to giants and freaks and spirits in the night. She is jazz, gospel, folk, blues, country, and soul.

When I hear her I hear the music my mother listened to, Modern America Folk music and the folk music of Great Britain. But I also hear my grandmother's Mahalia Jackson records.

Like alot of artists, I don't think Nina ever found the right producers. Some artists, like Prince, can produce their own songs, but most can't. No Doubt's ROCK STEADY and Stevie Nicks TROUBLE IN SHANGRI LA prove that the right producers, and probably there needs to be more than one, can take the artist to a whole new level.

(I am not talking here about "artists" like Brittany Spears, who need a team of producers and engineers just to get a record with some "music" on it. For the most part popular music-- even with talented singers and musicians like Beyonce, or even diva Whitney Houston-- belongs to the labels and the work label producers do in the studio to give a voice or good looking girl a hit record.)

THIS WAS MY AVATAR FOR AWHILE. I REALLY LOVE THIS LITTLE MONKEY.

Before I heard TROUBLE IN SHANGRI LA I thought I was a "sort of" fan of Fleetwood Mac. After hearing SHANGRI LA I realized I was a huge Stevie Nicks fan and that Fleewood Mac just watered her down.

I don't care for Sheryl Crow as an artist, but she did an amazing job of producing a good number of those songs, and every Stevie Nicks fan owes her a big Thanks!

TO RUN LIKE A CHILD THROUGH THE FLOWERS.


TO WALK IN PERFECT LIGHT

This Friday is my twenty one year anniversary of living Los Angeles. Can you believe that I am 40? Thank goddess I am a witch. We get younger the more years that pass.

TOODLE ON!!!

DPF PSA

I was talking to my Mom this morning about my grandfather, who died about six months after I'd moved out here. His birthday is the 23rd and my 21st anniversary of living in Los Angeles is September 1st.

"You should see these letters he wrote Nonny," my Mom told me. "He was once a vibrant, healthy, sane man." (My grandfather is where my mother inherited her manic depression.)

"He was obsessed with sex, though," she added. "Obsessed!"

"You know, Mom, all men are, that is just how it is," I told her. "Really, life would be so much easier for all the genders if we just realized that. All men have an inner dpf. It's not something they are doing to women on purpose. "

"DPF?"

"Dirty pig fucker."

"Oh-- oh TOODLER!" (Okay, she actually said my real name.) "Stop that!" She shrieked. "Ewww!"

She was laughing. But she does come from that Baby Boomer generation, that, even with the Hippies and Beatniks and Glitter Rock, is still really uptight about sex. Everything is supposed to be flowers and Swan Lake and stuff. Even hot monkey love is verboten, dirty pig fucking is illegal. Thank the Goddess I was born after the sexual revolution.

So then I told her about Nitwit's post

"So all of those slutty clothes were actually a Public Service?"

"See how many men's lives I've saved! I'm cutting the neckline on all of the shirts! My breasts are heroes!"

"Scottish H. Toodler!!!" But she said it really weakly, and she was laughing.

TOODLE ON!!!

DO YOU BELONG?

Photo link

Happy Bloomsday to all Joyceans, Dubliners, and Dubliners at heart!

A nice link about Bloomsday:
http://www.irishabroad.com/Culture/Literature/writers/bloomsday/

A nice little article about Joyce's grandson, Stephen Joyce:
http://www.newyorker.com/fact/content/articles/060619fa_fact

I don't have time to track down the exact quote (and I admit to reading Joyce the way I read Woolf, skimming it and then trying to figure it out from the Cliff Notes explanations) but "Do you belong" is from ULYSSES. In one of the narratives it is the recognition that "Do-you-belong" said rather quickly sounds like "Dublin" when on the tongue of a Dubliner (even if he happens to be abroad, as Joyce was when he wrote ULYSSES).

The Irish people, including Dubliners, that I have known here do not know what I am talking about when I say "Happy Bloomsday" to them on June 16th. I still have to begin the explanation with "James Joyce wrote this book..." and then they remember the annual event back home. One of these years I hope to be at the Bloomsday Faire in Dublin on this day.

"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race!"

Or, as we Toodlers like to say:

TOODLE ON!!!

CRAPPETITE

I invented a new word: crappetite. I have an appetite for crap. I should send it to that contest whatever newspaper has every year. Does anyhow know which paper it is?

Anyhow, my crappetite has been in full swing this weekend. I have been eating pizza, fried foods, etc. My stomach is paying for it.

I had a mini-meltdown this weekend. It was like I felt imprisoned in my life. I wanted to pack up a little kerchief and take my walking stick out on the wide road, hop a freight and ...just disappear... except the strong suspicion that I would just find more of the same a few boxcars down the line.

I have learned that when some aspect of your life becomes particularly confining it is by necessity about to transform, because you have outgrown it. I compare this to the once cozy and nurturing cocoon of the caterpillar that becomes a death trap that the chrysalis must escape. But this was more, every single thing in the world just sucked and I hated everything.

I ended up doing nothing Saturday and Sunday and finally on Sunday afternoon I just went to bed. I got up to water the yard and do some other things that have to be done everyday, then I went back to bed. I still wasn't back to myself this morning, but I was better. And I exhausted myself in the yard today. Hopefully I will feel better tomorrow.
Happy Belated Memorial Day and THANKS to all the vet's and all the troops that have ever served this country!!!

TOODLE ON!!!

SCREAMING LORD SUTCH: MAY HE LIVE AGAIN!!!

Screaming Lord Sutch performing.

Brits are always surprised that I know who Screaming Lord Sutch was. More surprised than if I spout a few (Scots) Gaelic phrases at them. More surprised than if I profess to knowing that he died on Bloomsday, an obscure Irish celebration of James Joyce' ULYSSES held every year in Dublin. (I hope to attend one year.)

To my ABSOLUTE HORROR I recieved an email from Sam (Life in the Nightmare) saying that HE did not know who Screaming Lord Sutch was! This is a travesty of epic proportions.

Are the schools no longer teaching? Has that sceptred isle of kings and princes forgotten one of it's own true and noble sons so quickly? Will it next be "Who is Shakespeare? Who is Burns? And this Yeats fellow, what's he about?" Has Arthur too, and the Matter of Britain, been so easily discarded? Is the Peerage to be disbanded?

In these troubled times, with leaders like the International Bozo Brothers (Bush and Blair), we need, if not the Lord himself, his Screaming spirit more than ever!!!

Here is a wee morsel to whet your appetite. I took this and the pic from Wikipedia. (I hope they don't sue me!)

During the 60s, Screaming Lord Sutch was known for his horror themed stage show, as well as for usually dressing like Jack the Ripper. Accompanied by his band, The Savages, he often started the show by coming out of a big black coffin. Other stage props included knives and daggers, skulls, and "bodies". He released many horror themed singles during the early-mid 60s, the most popular and well known of which is "Jack the Ripper".

He founded the Official Monster Raving Loony Party in 1983 and fought the Bermondsey byelection. In his career he contested over 40 elections, rarely threatening the major party candidates, but often getting a respectable number of votes. His first attempt to enter Parliament was in 1963, when he contested the byelection in Stratford-upon-Avon caused by the resignation of John Profumo. He was an easily recognisable figure at election counts due to his flamboyant clothes. It was shortly after he polled several hundred votes in Margaret Thatcher's Finchley constituency in 1983 that the deposit paid by candidates was raised from £150 to £500. This did little to deter the legendarily deposit-losing Lord Sutch, who increased the number of rock concerts he performed per year to pay for his mock political campaigns.

Despite his seemingly light-hearted antics, in actuality Screaming Lord Sutch suffered from bipolar disorder and ended up committing suicide by hanging on June 16, 1999, following the death of his mother the previous year.

TOODLE ON, LORD SUTCH!!! MAY YOUR SPIRIT LIVE ON!!!

WHAT THE BLOG DO WE KNOW?

Why do you blog? Why? When you have so many other things to do and your blogging"buddies" are people you have never met? People who do not steer the events of your day to day life except in comments that (in my case, usually) don't come until long after you have posted?

BECAUSE YOU MUST!

I have been hearing (and reading) from so many people that there is general level of disatisfaction in day to day life. Usually it's "the usual": jobs, love, traffic, the grind, not doing what one is "supposed" to be doing. And for bloggers it seems all of us have been dropping off, or restricting the amount of time we spend on it, or simply questioning the whys and hows and whens of why and how and when we blog.

We are living in a time of transformation that is so great it can only be compared to several other times in history: the Hundred Years War through to the Protestant Reformation, the fall of the Roman Empire, the invention of fire and the wheel.

Seriously.

Our world is exponentially different than that of 1906. We have so many new technologies that new relationships and ways of being our being created so fast that we haven't even had time to adjust. We move fast, eat fast, learn fast, hear news fast, get entertained fast, talk fast, think fast.

Do you think that if any adult person (say over 25 years of age) that died before 1935 time travelled to the present they would be able to adapt and survive? I don't.

And there is no hiding and no privacy. With a little footwork and a hundred dollars we can find out almost everything about nearly anybody...

Except what is in their heart and in their mind.

While on the one hand their are numerous examples of the internet helping criminals and predators, there are many ways in which the internet is making the world a better, safer, more tolerant and open place. Blogging and bloggers are a HUGE part of that positive transformation.

We are fostering a global dialogue. We are exposing the bones of our lives and the life-blood of our hearts. It does not matter if you are (see if you can "name the blog or blogger")a soldier in Iraq, a SAHM, a "crazy cat lady", insane Okie, gay daddy, stoner Aussie, student/photographer/political ranter/surrealist, aspiring writer (no, not me, the one England), redneck grandmother, new mom/crazy chick (hehe, sorry Turtle), record collector and archivist, artist, yogi/prison nurse, newlywed comedic writer/bassett hound owner, new business owner, Desi Kentucky dental student, etc... (Did I miss anyone?)

It doesn't matter who you are, or how exciting or boring your life is, or how much money you have or don't have, or whether you like your job or hate it, or where you live and if you like it there or hate it there, or if you like Bush (I pity you) or if you think Bush is an idiot (because he is), or ANYTHING!

All that matters is that you are taking part in the collective conversation. You are examining yourself and your world. That is all that is important. I have to remind myself (ALOT) that a writer (or artist of any kind) is only responsible for making their work available. (Blogging, thankfully, does not require alot of money spent in postage and copying!) We are not responsible for how many people read it or how many people that read it like it. Only for making our work available.

And their are as many blogs as their are people. While I think blogs about celebrities are boring, there are alot of them. There are alot of right wing political blogs. I don't normally read those either. But I am glad they are out there.

In the blogosphere we really show what we want to show. While there is certainly dishonesty (especially in the downside--the Internet as used by predators)I think that startling honesty is more the norm. Most of us want to be known and we want to connect. Whether through humour or what we like and dislike, or through deeper discussions of "taboo" subjects like politics and religion, we want to expose ourselves.

And, ironically, I think this is the antidote to our loss of privacy and insulation from the other 599,999,999 people on the planet.

Greater self-awareness.

Take part in collective dialogue. Let your views be made available. We are bombarded all day long by what other people think: the news, the radio dj's, co-workers, advertisements, family members. Take a minute whenever you can and record a few of your thoughts. Record the ones you most want to give. Share what you most want to share.

Take a moment to give shape to the world.

TOODLE ON!!!

ALL FOOLS DAY

"If I were the President
If I were queen for a day
I'd give the ugly people
All the money
I'd re-write the Book of Love
I'd make it funny..."
--Laurie Anderson, MY EYES

My first official April Fools prank was this morning when my friend Enigma called.

"Did you hear Bush is resigning from office?"

"What?" Enigma was clearly confused. "No way."

"April Fools! But wouldn't it be great?"

I suppose if I were really serious about my campaign to turn All Fools into All Dreams Day, I would be dressed like a princess right now. (Any excuse to wear a tiara!)

Tonight is Rocky Horror Picture Show night!!! I hope I can find my squirt gun!!!

Oh-- and CHECK THIS OUT!!!

IF I WERE QUEEN OF THE WORLD:

There would be one day a week when no one watched television.

All tampons and pads and feminine products-- including ibuprofen and evening primrose oil, red clover, etc-- would be free and available to all women.

All birth control would be free and available to every person that was capable of reproducing.

Medical care would be free.

Prescription drugs would be free. Pharmacuetical companies would be non-profit research organizations.

Marijuana would be legal, but regulated.

Our main priority globally would be health. All wars would cease in order for proper food and nutrition to be distributed. This would be most painful for countries like the U.S., since we would all be going through intense sugar and meat withdrawals. However, the relief in solving world hunger would be so great, and we would all be benefitting from a more healthy culture, this would magically work out. Alice Waters and Vandana Shiva would be in charge of the details.

Most people would have a little backyard vegetable garden or community plot.

Today would be a day of parades like Mardi Gras, except not so Dionysion. More family friendly. Like Rio Carnival at Disneyland or something. Or more like those crazy artist parades in 1920's Paris. A day where adults could dress up in costumes and behave in a silly manner, without society completely falling apart or so decadent that kids couldn't participate.

There would be more celebration and Feast days like Mardi Gras, more like All Dreams Day. With community parades and big celebrations. On these days the elephant would dress like the donkey, the walrus like the carpenter, etc. Walking in someone else's shoes for a few minutes.

Dialogue would be very important in my dream world. There would be a culture of self-examination, with self-responsibility being primary. A recognition that we all think our beliefs are "right". Once a year we would confront that part of ourselves culturally.

Our global motto would be Acceptance whenever possible, and at the least, tolerance and understanding.

Ecological health would be very important to us as well, even if it meant downscaling in some areas of our lives. Knowing that we were ensuring the planet's future accomodation of our species.

High School's would teach Sexual Education with a serious eye towards really being informative and dealing with some seriously ignored issues: masturbation, self-control, relationship issues, self-worth issues (especially for girls). My curriculum would also include financial instructions like how to balance a checkbook and learning to track reciepts and do your own taxes, and invest for retirement-- even if you only have a job at McDonalds.

Harville Hendrix would design a curriculum for people who were planning to marry (gay or straight) and that would be a course you completed before you got married.

There would be no advertising on the television or the radio.

Blogging and reading books and comics would be alot more popular. There would be no reality television. People would be more interested in You Tube and blogfrogging and more interaction with other people "in reality". More creative interaction and more arts.

There would be no racism.

Everyone would dress more colorfully and everyday life would be more festive. Whimsy would run rampant in the streets.

Streetlights would be shut off during spectacular celestial activity, and there would be more public transportation. People would walk more.

Everyone would WANT to vote.

There would be more religions and people would practice more than one religion. Learning other religions would be the same as learning another language. Religion would no longer be a reason to go to war.

We would begin to find solutions to crime. But I couldn't think of any ideas on how. Perhaps there is a dreamer out there who could.

"And oo my eyes
They're looking all around;
And oo my feet
I'm upside down..."
--ibid.

TOODLE ON!!!

PS-- Since Jackiesue has decreed that all my wishes come true and we now live in a perfect world, I am going to add Digital Cowgirl's fantasy to my list, hehe...I'll be a bit busy...

ARTIFACTICITY TOODLE: DIGITAL COWGIRL

Opening ceremonies
Fabulosity Toodle (acceptance speech)
Hootanahollernanny Toodle (acceptance speech)
Fotosurreallic Toodle (acceptance speech)
Babsilicious Toodle (acceptance speech)
The Toodles: Better Than The Oscars
Romantihofficity Toodle
Collectimusikane-san Toodle

WHY ARE WE IN THIS HANDBASKET

One of the many things I love about Digital Cowgirl is her Net or Blog "handle". I imagine an aerial view of a swift riding Cowgirl, rounding up fingers instead of cows. What will those digits yield after she has herded them up and corralled them around a pen or a camera or some other artistic instrument? A new piece of jewelry? One of those little bronze plaques?

Whenever I read her blog, I have the suspicion that she is getting far more satisfaction, joy, insights, and creative juice out of each day than the rest of us. She seems to never lack for adventures, even in her own backyard. Also, I just like anyone who admits to shedding a tear during competetive ice dancing.

It is with great honour I bestow the Artifacticity Toodle on Digital Cowgirl and Why Are We In This Handbasket! May she ride the range of the blogosphere for many years to come!!!

NAM JUNE PAIK CONGRATULATES DIGITAL COWGIRL ON HER TOODLE!!!

ROMANTIHOFFICITY TOODLE: CONFESSIONS OF A DUMB WHITE GUY

Opening ceremonies
Fabulosity Toodle (acceptance speech)
Hootanahollernanny Toodle (acceptance speech)
Fotosurreallic Toodle (acceptance speech)
Babsilicious Toodle (acceptance speech)

THE HOFF WISHES HE WAS AS SAUVE AS MR SHIFE.

CONFESSIONS OF A DUMB WHITE GUY

Top Ten Reasons Why Mr. Shife Must Win The Romantihofficity Toodle!

10. His blog is educational.

9. He has spectacular visions.

8. His penis can speak for itself (himself?).

7. His wish list is waaay more awesome than mine!

6. He is humorous even when he is being serious.

5. He is a better movie reviewer than Roger Ebert.

4. He is not afraid to ask the tough questions.

3. Quincy (aka The Fat Basset Hound) rules! (I couldn't locate the posts with photos.)

2. He is an incredibly romantic, good-looking dude with the most awesome (beautiful, patient, funny, etc) Mrs, and they are going to have the cutest kids ever!

1. He has single-handedly brought back The Hoff... and here, and here, and here, and here... dang, this dude is obessessed!

Mr. Shife always makes me laugh! I think that if there were more Mr. Shife's the world would be a better, MUCH funnier (and funner), place to live!!!! I do hope, and I am sure many in the blogosphere will agree, that one day Mr. Shife's only job will be to blog for us everyday!

It is with great honour that I hereby bestow the Romantihofficity Toodle on Mr. Shife!!! May the laffs continue for more many more years to come!!!


THE HOFF TRIES TO MAKE A BACKSTAGE CONNECTION AT THE TOODLES

THE CAST OF ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT CONGRATULATES MR SHIFE ON HIS TOODLE!

THE TOODLES: BETTER THAN THE OSCARS

Opening ceremonies
Fabulosity Toodle (acceptance speech)
Hootanahollernanny Toodle (acceptance speech)
Fotosurreallic Toodle (acceptance speech)
Babsilicious Toodle (acceptance speech)

THE TOODLES ARE BETTER THAN THE OSCARS OR ANY OTHER AWARDS SHOW

Why, you may ask? First of all, because the Toodles are imaginary, everyone can attend: the dead and the living, celebrity and non-celebrity, the famous, the infamous, the not even remotely famous, and the fictitious.

TOODLE USHERETTES HAVE MORE FUN THAN ACADEMY AWARD USHERS

I admit, the hardest part of the Toodles is coming up with the titles of the awards themselves. I am considering abandoning the reverse chronology of the awards in favour of "I have a name for this person's award so they are next." And don't forget, folks, we accept all bribes.

Rocky left a comment on the Babsilicious Toodle that I, the Toodler, am a great writer surrounded by idiots who do not recognize my talent. Alas, she speaks the truth. Because she is so obviously brilliant, of remarkably high intelligence and exceptional insight, I simply must award her the special SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPEALIDOCIOUS TOODLE CERTIFICATE, recognizing these aforementioned traits in her character. Congratulations Ms. Rocky!!!

The second most difficult part of the Toodles is describing the audience reaction. Thanks to all of the wonderful responses--- here a special shout out to A Positive Pessimist-- I am having a shopping bag of Victoria's Secret undies delivered to you in the third row-- I have decided to forego the audience reaction descriptions for the remainder of the Toodles.


TOODLE ON!!!

BABSILICIOUS TOODLE: HOW TO GO INSANE

HOW TO GO INSANE

What can I say about Ms. Babs? I first knew her as Sooner's "Stepford Babs" in the epic Monkey saga. It was not until after "meeting" her at Sooner's Bar and Grill that I realized she was the recipient of one of the first posts I ever read: on MENTAL EXCREMENTS, "Thank you for being you." I encourage to read this wonderful post, as it says everything that I am going to try to say about tonight's Toodle recipient.

I lurked on Babs blog for a long time before posting comments. She is so involved with her blogosphere, so central a connection to so many people and unfailing support for those that struggle with the same demons that she does (she suffers from clinically diagnosed bi-polar disorder), but she is also an outspoken lady who does not back down from conflict. She speaks her mind. I admit to being a tad intimidated.

For someone who eschews our consumer culture she does have a wide variety of interests and insights. Her enthusiasm for NASCAR, gardening, music, politics, reading, and of course, fighting mental illness, have turned me onto to a lot of things that I would not have inquired about on my own. (That I know the names Sadler and Kensath is a remarkable achievement in and of itself!)

Babs, to me, is like the mysterious lady who lives by herself at the edge of the wood. If her life were a television show I think it would be like CHARMED or BUFFY, where she is fighting these demons that others cannot see. She is guarding the perimeter of our unseen lives, and I do believe that one day she will triumph. Triumph in a way that none of us can foresee, but that will benefit us all. I fully expect to see her on Larry King, or one of these CNN talk shows: "Well, Larry, it hit me on night when I couldn't marshmallow-- that's what I called sleeping on my blog to avoid the Google sleep ads--" [laughter from the audience] "And it was such a tremendous breakthrough that I realized I had to spread the news, so I immediately summoned the cockroach army in Plano--" [more laughter from the knowing members of the audience] ...

Yes, that's right, in addition to being a wise woman and a crusader, she has a truly insane sense of humour, recently grossing us all out-- er, I mean, making us all laugh-- with her imaginary (or are they???) army of cockroaches. With them she will take over the world and rid us of stupid people, obnoxious neighbours and telemarketers, Dubya--oh, wait, I already said stupid people-- and, well, you get the idea.

It is with great honour that I hereby bestow the Babsilicious Toodle on Blogville Mental Asylum's Head head case, Ms. Babs!!!

(deafening applause, whistle's, shouts of "bravo bravo", the orchestra is playing "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow." A STANDING OVATION!!!!)

ANTONIO BANDERAS CONGRATULATES BABS ON HER TOODLE!

Matt Kensath and Elliot Sadler send their regrets that they could not attend the ceremony, due to their NASCAR obligations.

FOTOSURREALIC TOODLE: LIFE IN THE NIGHTMARE

THE RETURN OF THE TOODLES!!!

I have moved the previous two awards and the opening ceremonies up as to keep all the awards together. Scroll down the page, or follow these links:
Opening ceremonies
Fabulosity Toodle (acceptance speech)
Hootanahollernanny Toodle (acceptance speech)

LIFE IN THE NIGHTMARE

Life in the Nightmare is blog about politics, about music, about photographs of Stockport, Manchester, but mostly, for me, it is the blog of a brilliant young artist. An artist and a young man that I am glad to know is in the world. I flatter myself that Sam, the author of "LIFE...", is much like I was when I when I was young, but I think Sam will go much further than I ever did. He is able to see so much beauty around him and often his eye creates beauty where another would be hard pressed to find anything to look at all.

He teases that I am "addicted" to his photos, but truly I am addicted to the lens of Sam's eye-- to seeing the world through his hopeful, honest, discerning visions-- whether through the images from a camera, or his intense interest in the world: photography, music, politics, foreign languages and the cultures of other countries, ciphers and archaic alphabets, and-- lucky for those blessed with his kind and insightful comments--blogging and bloggers. A comment from Sam is always more than you expected, always encouraging and often humorous.

Sam most inspires me, ironically, when he is ranting misery about the state of the world and our "leaders" and politics. That there is a young man of the "next" generation who feels so deeply the injustices of our world and who sees so clearly where there is wrong and where we are going astray, well, that encourages me. Thank goodness there is someone like Sam in the world!

It is with great honour and hope for our planet's future that I hereby bestow the Fotosurrealic Toodle to Life in the Nightmare's Sam!

("Bravo bravo" shouts the crowd! Flashbulbs are popping as the papparazzi try to get a shot of the infamous and reknowned Sam, the artist, the photographer's photographer. Girls are throwing all sorts of embarrassing items on the stage: lingerie, Dali postcards with phone numbers scribbled on the back, written in strange cyphers hoping to get the handsome artiste's attention. The applause continuous to swell until the walls of the auditorium begin to shake!!!)


Richard D. James congratulates Sam on his Toodle!!!

HOOTANAHOLLERNANNY TOODLE: YELLOWDOG GRANNY

The Toodles continues with the presentation of the second award.
(Opening Ceremonies, First Award)

YELLOW DOG GRANNY

Yellowdog Granny has lived through many adventures and incarnations. She might be sober now, but I imagine her past life as being able to outdrink, outcurse, and out armwrestle pirates and Hell's Angels. She's been an outlaw and a housewife; she's had spicy affairs and been on the lam; she is a bookworm; she is a blogging political activist wielding her razor sharp tongue to champion the underdog. And she is mother and grandmother, of course.

She is like a character in a book or a movie. I believe Granny could staredown John Wayne in a high noon stand-off. I fully expect Yellowdog Granny to get involved in some intrigue or grand affair and have Sally Field portray her in the movie version. Her delightful reports of life in West, Texas remind me of a character in one of my favourite books, FRIED GREEN TOMATOES, and soothe my soul in these troubled times. The fact that she is from Texas and fervently anti-Bush only further increases my respect for her and my hope for our country. If I am not this awesome in twenty years, smack my ass and feed me some Dublin Dr Pepper and Bluebell Ice Cream.

I hereby bestow the Hootanahollernanny Toodle to the Hot Damnedest Rockin' Granny in Texas, The United States of America, and the whole world!!!

Fuck me til I get to West, Texas!

(The applause and shouting is deafening! The audience is searching for a glimpse of the reclusive granny! Amidst the showering of bouquets and the clapping of hands you can hear the murmuring: "What will she say? When will she appear? Will some of her magic reach me, here in the 22nd row?")


RANDOLPH SCOTT CONGRATULATES MS JACKIESUE ON HER TOODLE AWARD!!!

TOODLE ON!!!

FABULOSITY TOODLE: BRITE YELLOW GUN

I wanted to begin with a history of blogging and give the first Toodle to Turtlelinni, and then Mental Excrements, etc and so on, in chronological order. That might have seemed like the right thing to do, but we at The Toodles are known to make certain exceptions.

Our philosophy is "if you flatter us by hyping our awards ceremony on your own blog, you WILL be rewarded...first...." (We also accept cash and spa gift certificates. )

Well, that, and the Fabulosity Toodle really should come first.

BRITE YELLOW GUN

"He's got style/ he's got grace/ he's got fabulosity/ all over the place."

I cannot even begin to tell you how fabulous Brite Yellow Gun is. I can tell you that he is an inspiration to me.

An openly gay man, in a long term relationship, living in the American South, with four adopted children from foster care. What a beautiful, courageous, simply FABULOUS individual!

Whenever I feel like I am alone in society and not sure where I belong, I think about Gun and how he created such a wonderful life, even though to this day our society refuses to recognize his heart as "legitimate." Gun does not need to rant about the unfairness of his lack of wifely rights, his life is a testament to how important it is to have equal rights for all families!

In addition to all of the above, he is ultra-cool, in my book! Gun may not share my taste in men (which only raises my opinion of him), but we both love John Waters films, camp and kitsch, the unusual, glam-rock and punk-rock, The Fabulous, and all acts and representations of Fabulosity!

I hereby bestow the Fabulosity Toodle and Tiara to the Most Fabulous of them all: Brite Yellow Gun!!!

{thunderous applause; a standing ovation; dozens of bouquets thrown on the stage; Johnny Depp is teary; Rupert Everett is shouting "bravo! bravo!")


CONGRATULATIONS, BRITE YELLOW GUN!!! WE LOVE YOU AND APPLAUD YOU!!! THANK YOU FOR SHARING YOUR LIFE WITH US!!!

THE TOODLES OPENING CEREMONY

THE RED CARPET ARRIVALS BEGIN...



EVERYONE LOOKS FABULOUS!!!
VIGGO MORTENSEN SHOWING HOW MANY TOODLES HE HAS RECEIVED

Well, the excitement is almost unbearable! I've been told that Pamela Anderson has fainted with anticipation, and Leonardo DiCaprio has been hyperventilating into a paper bag in the men's room for the last ten minutes.

As in all past years the TOODLES are very protected; not just with security guards and alarm systems, but also with top-secret spells and special magicks. No one knows the outcome except the Toodler, and she is often unavailable for comment both preceding and following the ceremonies.

Without further adieu ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the TOODLES!!!

TOODLE ON!!! ( * )( * )

Each TOODLE will be posted seperately.

A PERFECT DAY

[Despite many promises and false starts and stops, THE TOODLES will return on Monday. I have set aside this weekend to honour my grandmother and my recently deceased aunt's birthdays.]


This would have been my grandmother's 93rd birthday. Everyone that knew her fully expected her to be alive well into her nineties, but she used to always say "I hope I die in my sleep, peacefully, with no foreknowledge or warning." Four days before her 82nd birthday she did just that.

I had talked to her just a few days earlier. I was her "Scottish granddaughter" for a number of reasons, mostly ironic (I am very physically affectionate, always hugging people, and Scots are for the most part very stoic), but also because I was the only one that was really interested in our family history. In our last phone conversation she had reported her latest findings, somewhat sheepishly. We weren't, in fact, related to the Royal Stewarts. No, it seems that there were many "immigrant aristocrats" on the boats to Canada in the mid-1800's, and her grandmother had been one of them.

We laughed together, that we were not the last Jacobites, the last relations to Queen Mary and Bonnie Prince Charlie. I hung up, promising to call her for her birthday, and telling her again how much I had enjoyed visiting over Christmas. A strange visit, my hostile uncle and his wife absent for the first time in many holidays, and in their place my aunt and cousin, whom I had not seen since I was eleven, when we had gone to visit them at their Christian commune in Oregon.

My grandmother's work required attendence at a yearly conference in different cities around the U.S. She would usually take me or my sister with her, alternating to be fair. The one who was left behind would often end up staying with a family friend or foster family, because my mother was very severely manic-depressive when we were little. So, it was always preferable to go with Nonny. However, that summer, the conference was in Oregon, very near my aunt's small town. My grandmother decided to take the airfare money and use it for gas, and all of us-- me, my sister and my mother-- drove across the country.

My grandmother had planned plenty of time for us to make visits and detours. We stopped in Yellowstone and a number of other places, including all of the crazy musuems and mutant farm animal zoo's we passed. My mother was in good spirits and acted normal for most of the trip. Even more thrilling for my sister and me, she allowed us to eat whatever we wanted at Denny's, McDonald's, etc! White bread! French fries! Normal people food. We were even allowed to drink sodas!

And there was an uncommon moratorium on the screaming, fighting, blaming, and yelling that was a daily melody in our family life. We were too busy soaking up the scenery and delighting in discovery.

That summer was the swansong for my childhood. I wouldn't start my period until later that year, just around the time I started sixth grade, but I already had a C cup and fuller breasts than mother or grandmother. And though there had been no vacanies yet, I knew that we would be moving out of my grandmother's house soon, and into some publicly assisted housing in a different part of the city, far from all things familiar.

By the end of that year, in that new neighbourhood, I would be smoking cigarettes and pot, and drinking. I would know hallucinogens, speed, and methaqualone before the next summer. By October of that year I would be the target of a sixteen year old drug dealer who had become my boyfriend so that he could be the first to pop my cherry when I turned twelve. (He had principles after all. He waited until the weekend after my twelfth birthday to have sex with me.)

But on that trip I was still just an awkward, boy-crazy, eleven year old girl. Because it would have been "my" summer to go with my grandmother, before the conference was over, my sister and mother took the Greyhound to my Aunt's, and my grandmother and I were left with a free day to explore Portland and then drive down the coast together (we only took the "scenic routes" that summer).

Despite all of the anger and fighting, my grandmother was an amazing person. She was also the only stability in my life, right up until her death. I loved spending time with her and being the focus of her (benevolent) attention. We had plenty of time that sunny June morning to stop at any antique store or market that we passed. When we passed a "pick your own cherries" orchard around lunch time we agreed to stop without word between us. The orchard had regular black and red cherries and a kind I had never heard of-- a yellow kind that was very sweet. We picked bucketfuls and drove down the coast spitting out pits into a paper cup, thrilled with our discovery and anticipating the delight we would be able to pass on to my sister and mother. No cherries in the history of the world have been more enjoyed than the ones that we picked that morning.

I had never seen the ocean before and I was awed by its' beauty and power. We had been looking for a spot to pull over and eat our sandwiches. We drove past a crowded beach and noticed that everyone was standing and pointing out to sea. My grandmother stopped the car and before we could even get out I saw what everyone was looking at: Dolphins! A pod, not too far from shore, leaping and twisting and flashing silver in the sun!

I remember I was so excited I could hardly breathe! I was jumping up and down with excitement and shouting and pointing. Nonny's face was shining with same miracle as mine and she took my small hand in her large one-- knotty with bones and roped with veins, covered in brown spots from the sun and roughness from gardening; I miss her hands more than anything else-- and I calmed down, and we both just watched, hand in hand, at the miracle God had given us for our beautiful afternoon together, until the silver dancers disappeared into the endless horizon.

A perfect day.

Happy Birthday, Nonny!!! I love you and I miss you! Thank you for everything you gave me!!!

HAPPY V.D.

On Valentine's Day every year I call my mom and we both try to say, before the other one has a chance, "HAPPY VD!!" Because we are the kind of people that think that kind of humour is funny.

So yes, it is genetic, and not contagious...

Here is my Valentine's Day tribute to all the men I have loved before, those who make me dreamy (or give me the "blush 'n gush" as I like to describe that sensation akin to the male woody), and those men whom I occasionally entertain certain naughty thoughts about.

THE MOST PERFECT MAN EVER

THERE REALLY IS A SECRET CULT OF MRS LLOYD DOBBLERS. WE, I MEAN THEY, BELIEVE THAT THERE REALLY IS A LLOYD DOBBLER, AND THAT SOMEDAY WE WILL FIND HIM... I MEAN THEY WILL FIND HIM... THEY... NOT ME... AHEM...

CINEMA AND CELEBRITY REPRESENTATIONS OF MEN I HAVE LOVED
MY CURRENT RELATIONSHIP RESEMBLES THIS PHOTOGRAPH

MY LAST RELATIONSHIP BEFORE THIS ONE, REPRESENTED IN THIS PHOTO AS BOTH AS THE CHARACTER JOXER AND THE ACTOR TED RAIMI.
MY LONGEST RELATIONSHIP: 5 YEARS. (I CHEATED ON HIM SO MUCH! THAT'S WHAT I DID BACK THEN. THAT IS THE KIND OF PERSON I WAS.) I SOMETIMES MISS TALKING TO HIM, ESPECIALLY ABOUT MY WRITING. HOWEVER, HE IS STILL A POLITICAL ACTIVIST AND I AM NOT. I DO NOT HOLD THOSE BELIEFS AT ALL ANYMORE. I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM IN ALMOST FOURTEEN YEARS.

THIS IS WHAT MY POET BOYFRIEND WRATH LOOKED LIKE, EXCEPT DARKER SKINNED. I THINK WRATH WAS ONE OF MY TRUE LOVES.

+
+

EQUALS THE REASON I MOVED TO CALIFORNIA
KIND OF A COMBINATION OF THESE THREE MEN. HE IS STILL MY OLDEST AND CLOSEST FRIEND, EVEN THOUGH WE DO NOT SEE EACH OTHER THAT MUCH ANYMORE. WE WERE ONLY TOGETHER ROMANTICALLY FOR A YEAR OR SO, BUT WE HAD A SEX THING GOING ON FOR A LONG, LONG TIME. WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SUCH CLOSE FRIENDS, THAT REALLY, HE IS MY LONGEST RELATIONSHIP AND ALSO THE ONE I HAVE OFTEN REGRETTED. (I DON'T PINE FOR HIM OR CARRY A TORCH, BUT I HAVE SOME REGRETS.)


CINEMA CRUSH
IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, GO AHEAD AND LAUGH, BILLY JACK WAS MY FIRST CRUSH WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. PARTLY THE FATHER FIXATION AND ALSO THE BEGINNING OF A LIFE LONG LOVE FOR MARTIAL ARTS MOVIES.

ARES, ON XENA, WAS ABOUT AS CLOSE AS I EVER CAME TO WANTING TO STALK SOMEONE

THE ACTOR WHO PLAYED ARES, KEVIN SMITH DIED TRAGICALLY AFTER XENA ENDED. I THINK I FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT HIM THAT STRAIGHT MEN FEEL ABOUT ANGELINA JOLIE.

MEN I LIKE TO THINK ABOUT
YOU ALREADY KNOW ABOUT HIM

THIS IS MY CURRENT CRUSH! I REALLY ADMIRE HIM AND LOVE LISTENING TO HIS SHOW, BUT IF I AM GOING TO ENTERTAIN ANY FANTASIES I LIKE THIS UNCHARACTERISTIC LOOK. THE BIKER AND THE PUNK, COMBINED!!!

I HAVE A HUGE CRUSH ON THIS ACTOR, GERARD BUTLER, BOTH HIS LOOKS AND WHAT I KNOW ABOUT HIS LIFE.

I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HEATH LEDGER BUT I THINK HE IS REALLY SEXY.

I LOVE VAL KILMER AND I LOVE DOC HOLLIDAY! WHOSE YOUR HUCKLEBERRY???

I DO LOVE BILLY CONNOLLY, BUT IT IS THE CHARACTER OF HUGHIE IN STILL CRAZY THAT REALLY ROCKS MY WORLD. I LOVE THE SCENE WHERE HE IS IN BED WITH THE GROUPIE, SHAKING ALL OF THAT HAIR AROUND UNDER THE SHEETS... OH MY, I FEEL A THRILL JUST THINKING ABOUT IT!!!

Happy V.D.!!!!

Sorry... I love saying that...hehehe... HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!

UNTIL NEXT TIME, TOODLE ON!!!

THE POETRY OF CHEESE AND OTHER RECIPES FOR LIFE

"Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."
G. K. Chesterton

Today I contributed one of those weird searches that turn up in people's stat counters.
"Chesterton + get a handle on his hedgehog". I also tried just "Chesterton + hedgehog" and did these under images first and then websites.

I was looking for an illustration by Chesterton of a very portly man (maybe a self-portrait), a respectable English gentleman, carrying a large hedgehog instead of a briefcase. I believe it is called "Modern Man Tries to get a handle on his Hedgehog." Alas, I searched to no avail. But I did find a page of great Chesterton quotes and another on-line source about him.

What an interesting man. Like Blake he was both writer and painter, and a mystic, but Chesterton was not a rebel-- he converted to Catholicism (not a big leap from the Anglican Church)-- and apparently he was also a murderer, although I need to read a bit more about that. I wish I could have found that painting, because it aptly illustrates how I feel today.

I don't feel like I am getting any better at the right "recipe for a day". The right mixture of long-term and short-term goals. The proper amounts of both poetics and cheese. Of rest and labour. And how to do each thing fully and completely. Sometimes I get so scattered thinking about all the stuff I need to do, should be doing, forgot to do, etc. I miss half the stuff that is ACTUALLY happening!

And it doesn't help that I am feeling a little depressed this morning about the world, and our society, and hearing The Clash and Madness and Zeppelin in commercials. I suppose in the days of old artists had to devote their works to the Royals and rich to support themselves, but somehow that doesn't seem as cheap as Jimmy Page selling an SUV.

Also, I saw a story that the gap between rich and poor is broadening, and it made me think of an interview with Thom Hartmann I read in The Sun. He talks about how the Bush/Rove dicatorship (okay, he didn't actually say "Bush/Rove dictatorship")wants us all to go back to the economics of Dickens novels. Where there are alot of poor and a small, wealthy elite that controls everything. ("Hey, lots of free labour from the Workhouses!" etc.)

UNTIL NEXT TIME, TOODLE ON!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RABBIE

ROBERT BURNS BIO

ROBERT BURNS POETRY ON-LINE

Almost everyone knows AULD LANG SYNE, and some might know MY LUV IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE, or if you read J.D. Salinger you know COMING THROUGH THE RYE. Maybe you know SCOTS WHA HAE, or the epic TAM O'SHANTER.

But may favourite song was on my mom's Jean Redpath album, about Bonnie Prince Charlie. I always loved that he uses an old children's fairy rhyme as the last line ("up yon heathery mountain and down yon scroggy glen we dare not go a milking for fear of little men").

I will have to tell you the story some day, about my "boat aristocracy" lineage to the Stewarts. You will laugh. But when I was a little girl I often dreamt of being a Scottish Princess.



Charlie, He's My Darling
1794

'Twas on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
That Charlie came to our town,
The young Chevalier.

Chorus-
An' Charlie, he's my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie, he's my darling,
The young Chevalier.

As he was walking up the street,
The city for to view,
O there he spied a bonnie lass
The window looking through,
An' Charlie, &c.

Sae light's he jumped up the stair,
And tirl'd at the pin;
And wha sae ready as hersel'
To let the laddie in.
An' Charlie, &c.

He set his Jenny on his knee,
All in his Highland dress;
For brawly weel he ken'd the way
To please a bonnie lass.
An' Charlie, &c.

It's up yon heathery mountain,
An' down yon scroggie glen,
We dare na gang a milking,
For Charlie and his men,
An' Charlie, &c.

(Twirled at the pin is twirling his kilt. "Brawly weel he ken'd the way" means he really knew how to please a lady. Which, actually, seems very true of Burns himself, and not the Jacobite Prince. Burns was very bawdy and had a reputation as a ladies man.)

UNTIL NEXT TIME, TOODLE ON!!!