Year: 2009
The SPU and Other Built-In Features of Dogs
Posted on January 23, 2009 in Dogs
The head hangs down. His little stub of a tail would droop, too, if it were not paralyzed.
The Two Presents
Posted on January 23, 2009 in Bipolar Disorder Stigma
It’s difficult for me to speak of things like the ectoplasmic coyotes that used to hop into my path in the past tense because I have been trained to be forever on watch and to be forever an educator.
Veni Vidi Doodahi
Posted on January 19, 2009 in Festivals
Boston Buddies @ the Doodah parade on 12seconds.tv
We drove up to Pasadena to join the Boston Buddies in the Doo Dah Parade ((The Doo Dah Parade, you should understand, is a reaction to the Rose Parade which is hideously expensive to participate in and bans anything controversial. The Doo Dah Parade slopes dramatically in the other direction: it costs only $10 per person to march in and the organizers allow anything as long as it is not downright pornographic or calling for violent revolution.)) . I think I have earned the right after all this to enjoy a stupor.
The first, most noticeable things after we stepped onto the parade route from the endless waiting in the staging area were the tortillas. Thousands of six inch wide tortillas littered the way from Holly and Raymond to the march’s end just shy of the [[Norton Simon Museum]]. Tortillas and marshmallows that we learned people threw at the marchers for no good reason except harmless wantoness.
The Boston Terriers ((Drake was none too happy that Lynn had agreed to walk a sweet-natured — but also very sexy in his eyes — pug named Maggie. He kept turning his head to my wife, his eyes begging for her customary affections, but she minded her charge. I think this may have sullened his mood: he hung his head, sniffing the ground disinterestedly until the parade began.)) who we marched with thought this one long banquet line, peppered with biscuits handed out by the Basset Hound owners who stomped through ahead of us. Drake stopped frequently to tear a hunk off a Mexican flatbreads. He’d turn his head to the side, lay it flat on the pavement, and then wrench his treat off with the aid of a paw. One of the other owners got so frustrated that she picked her dog up and carried him for the remainder of the march. My doggy felt quite full as we rounded the last turn. The fish and sweet potato biscuits that usually interested him received all of the notice of the Mardi Gras beads that people threw from a balcony ((Once, in front of a television cameraman, he blew his cue to catch one. When I gave him a second chance, he bobbled it. The cameraman turned away. So went his chance for fame.)) .
The perpetrators of the littering arrayed themselves in tiers, beginning with kids on the curb, grandparents in lawn chairs, and a miscellany of adults standing behind these. Plenty of people tried to lure the dogs to them with whistles, outstretched hands, candy, or pieces of the cornmeal frisbees that littered the street. I did not find these annoying: I brought Drake over for a little love and then moved on. What bothered me were the unauthorized performers who walked against the tide of the main attraction, almost tripping us or running into us. (Uncle Fester, I mean you, you bald, silver-headed — and I mean silver as in the metal, not white — lightbulb of a man!) There were also the photographers and the kids who thought by standing out about ten feet into the street they could get a privileged view. You couldn’t, of course, count on anyone to remain quiet in the presence of the dogs. As I attempted to put Drake through his routine, it was common for a bystander to whistle, call, or make clicking noises to attract either his or the attention of another dog.
We spent more time in hurry up and wait mode than we did actually treading Colorado Boulevard. As we humans stalled, our mouths semi-agape, our dogs puttered around our feet, longed for the cool alley where they had waited before the promenade, occasionally got in fights or engaged in the frenzied, athletic mating rituals which did no harm other than embarassment because everyone present was fixed. Ahead of us, other groups slowed things by doing their necessary routines. Roman gladiators led by Caeser slaughtered one another, a gigantic cat caught mice, drill teams went through their routines, bagpipers fingered fake bagpipes while a stereo blasted real bagpipe music, a man dressed as the Pope (with a white cross-emblazoned umbrella) waved from a tiny, white convertible, the statuesque female transvestite Erica Valentine (what great legs “she” has!) rode in a white school bus, invisible babies performed on a trapeze assembly built of plastic pipe, Frenchmen smoked, and a group of adamant cigar lovers sat in lounge chairs on the back of a flatbed truck the odor of their stogies lingering in the air for blocks.
The organizers, who originally placed us between a firetruck and the Frenchmen, sent us out behind a group of anti-scientologists and ahead of another group of dog owners supporting marrow transports who were constantly dashing from beneath the shadow of a large, gray flying saucer owned by the Raelians. The anti-Scientologists marched with Xenu, signs that proclaimed the names of victims of Scientology, and a wagon-borne volcano whose meaning I did not fathom. Rael’s flying saucer was accompanied by a coterie of aliens from various science-fiction movies and imaginations ((There is some splendid footage in one of the Doo Dah videos on You Tube showing them nearly losing control of it one year.)) .
At the end, the parade made a sharp right and concluded with no direction as to where to go for its participants. We sneaked out through an alley where the anti-Scientologists gathered with their volcano and Xenu for a group shot. Lynn handed Maggie the Honorary Boston Terrier to a volunteer and we waddled back to the parking garage where it took about twenty minutes to get out. Drake collapsed in the back seat and slept all the way, along the crests of the foothills and through a traffic jam in Santa Ana with more starts and stops than our march. Once home, he drank from his water dispenser for several glugs and fell onto his bed. I slept for three solid hours, from the late afternoon sun into the restful beginnings of the night.
Social Anxiety Jeans
Posted on January 15, 2009 in Anxiety Reflections Video
Social Anxiety Jeans on 12seconds.tv
Here’s the article where I picked up the information. I just love the expression on the macaque’s face.
No More Prozac or Ritalin Jokes
Posted on January 13, 2009 in Psychotropics Stigma
Having a mental illness ain’t for sissies.
The Nest
Posted on January 12, 2009 in Creatures Weather
Now that it is winter, I can see that a sparrow or a purple finch built a nest in the purple plum tree out in front of my condo.
The Twitter Dances
Posted on January 12, 2009 in Anxiety IRC/Chat Micro-blogging
Just as the winner of a sixty nine hour stint complained of the sensation of always having a man’s arm around her, so, too, do I get to feeling that I’m just not up for dealing with every remark that comes my way.
Book Review: Allegiance
Posted on January 11, 2009 in History Reading
Read this slowly for the details, savor the blunders, the blindness, and the prejudices that cleaved a nation.
A Yawner of an Earthquake
Posted on January 9, 2009 in Earthquakes
For thirty seconds, I heard it moving about the condo, but saw very little.
Emperor Norton Day
Posted on January 8, 2009 in Festivals
Happy Emperor Norton Day on 12seconds.tv
The video reveals that this is not my birthday as my Facebook followers already know.
If you haven’t made the connection, this blog is named after Joshua Norton. You can read more about him here.
The Invasion
Posted on January 5, 2009 in Hatred War
The masterstroke of late 20th century Right — which defines itself, in part, to be proactive meaning pro-War, — was to embrace Israel and set it against Palestine so that it could slough off blame for the Holocaust. “That was Nazi Germany” the corporatist arms dealer will say as he goes about his business of arming his clients beyond all reason and rhetorically attacking those who call their actions against civilian populations war crimes. Like the Fascist, the Neo-Conservative does not make a distinction between soldiers and noncombatants, at least not one that will change his tactics of using high-explosives against civilian neighborhoods. He will always call for violent retribution unhindered by rules of war because that, he claims, is what his enemies do.
Many Israelis — and many Americans for that matter — are not aware of the degree to which they have been co-opted. I would call the majority of them not jingoists at all, but decent people who want peace with their Palestinian neighbors. The present leadership has abrogated negotiations ((The Bush Administration has put no pressure on them to do otherwise and it has blocked Security Council resolutions to end the fighting.)) and told its citizenry that they must “preempt” the Palestinian threat. This does not assuage the other side ((Supporters of the Palestinian cause have increased their rhetoric against the very existence of the nation of Israel. This invasion lessens the security of Israel. What has anyone done to pursue other means of resolving the conflict? The United States has cheered on the warring and done nothing to check the expansion into the West Bank. It has the power to ameliorate the threat against Israel by diplomatic means, but it laughs at these.)) . They, too, have addicts to never-ending war among them though they are weaker. The arms merchants are happy, some feel safer, but children die.
Right now, our aim must be to stop this invasion and resume the peace process that has lain in suspension for eight years.
The military industrial complex which feeds off these tensions has extended its tendrils into places like the U.S. Congress where it waves the flag and invents powerful enemies to keep itself in business. We are stuck with it in our lives and there’s no clear way for us to disentangle ourselves. But we must try.
