"Nice Things:

Recent comment on FaceBook: 

"When you work 2 jobs AND go to school you deserve to reward yourself with nice things, because you have EARNED them, no-one can take that from you!!!"
One response: 
" I wish I had that mentality. Nice things tend to make me feel guilty."

The Great George Carlin

MY reaction:

George Carlin said:
"Surround yourself with what you love , whether it’s family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge."

In the immortal words of drag star and world supermodel RuPaul, "Gurl, you don't have to tell me twice!"

I shared this philosophy decades ago, but there ain't nothin' like having the power of one of my favorite people - George Carlin - blowing a hurricane-force wind under my feeble, struggling wings!

(Note:  Just out of curiosity, I just counted the things that George said we should surround ourselves with, and I have 6 of the 7.  Not a bad average, if I do say so myself!)

Good God, I'm glad that I don't have that complex! (Nice things making me feel guilty.) If I did, I would need the entire range of resources from Dr. Freud, Dr. Phil, Oprah Winfrey and Jesus to cure me, because I do, indeed, like "nice things!"

Growing up, the people that share my gene pool tried to tell me that I wasn't worthy of nice things, I had no talent or skills, nor did they instill the value of taking care of one's appearance or possessions.

(Hindsight being 20 / 20, and having a few decades of age on me, I now realize that jealousy and laziness on their part is, indeed, more insidious than any cancer, especially considering the fact that they are jealous of a disabled person. The laziness is another show, entirely.)

I told them to rot in the self-inflicted Hell that they are currently STILL rotting in, and I plodded on, in a *forward* direction.

1) Even though I definitely do not live in a 'Ladue house', I have a Ladue address. I live 8 miles from St. Louis' city center, in the suburb of Ladue, which is the wealthiest zip code per capita in the state of Missouri.

2) I *neva, eva* leave the house looking less than I do in my profile pic.

I don't care about religion or personal beliefs. Nobody has ever come back to tell you 'what it's like on the other side.' This life ain't no dress rehearsal, baby. Live it like it is your last - because it probably is. I have picture proof (and not of myself!) of the fact that "regret" is, indeed, a bitter pill to swallow.

Since we are on the subject of final farwells, this, my friends, is the result of 'liking nice things':

This is the grave of Rudolf Nureyev, a legendary ballet star.  He was an avid collector of beautiful carpets and antique textiles.  His grave features a tomb draped in a mosaic of an oriental carpet.  This 'carpet' is actually an intricate tile-work mosaic, in phenomenally matching colors to a faded 'Oriental' rug.  This, my friends - is HOW YOU DO IT!
 

For other close-up photos of this fantastic monument, click here:
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=pv&GRid=4047&PIpi=130208

(Now the question picques my interest:  I wonder which carpet pattern the craftsmen / artists used for this mosiac tile masterpiece?)
- Michael

Getting A Ticket to the Freak Show

Escaped Family, Been there, done that!

I love George Carlin.  I second his motion, and I will add this amendment:

My general philosophy is this:

Since America - and most Americans - are from a HUGE melting pot of cultures, then why not take advantage of that face, and enjoy as many other cultures as it is humanly possible to explore?

IN NO WAY would I want, just as one quick example, an Asian Indian (from India) to muddle, mix or or otherwise generalize their customs or culture, including art, clothing, food, religion, etc with any other culture. Anybody that has ever experienced Hindu (or other Indian) culture with an open mind would be the first to admit that any 'watering down' or mixing this culture would be a great loss to this world. The beauty lies in a purity that took place literally thousands of years before the first European ever set foot on the land that would later become The United States of American.

The same can be said for many other world cultures, including but definitely not limited to: Chinese, Japanese, Mongolian, Moroccan, etc.... etc... etc...

So..... Since we are all 'mutts', then take advantage of that 'muttness' by sampling the entire world. If somebody (Hindu, just as one example!) is bound to their culture by ancient tradition and ties, and they will never even temporarily break those binds to sample the rest of the world, then it would be in our best interest to NOT let their sacrifice be in vain.

Now - go forth and SAMPLE! (And much in the same manner as visiting a National Park, etc, "Take only memories... and leave only footprints."

Well.... let me amend that rule: "Take only genuine hand-made souvenirs that were made by natives of that land that were made possibly for sale but NOT for the tourist trade."

(People that buy souvenirs in Paris, for example, that were "Made in China" or people that are visiting Beijing that buy souvenirs that were "Made in the USA" should burst into flames!)

- Michael

"Michael, you MIGHT want to Come here to me! This is Conrad. I'm just a bird!"

"Michael, you MIGHT want to Come here to me!  This is Conrad.  I'm just a bird!"

Every morning of my long-suffering life, Conrad, my 18 yr. old African Grey parrot yells:

"Michael, Come here to me!" repeatedly and until I feed him, and preferably and specifically, when I feed him scrambled eggs.

This morning, I gave Conrad fresh fruits, including strawberries, blueberries, banana and cereal.  He looked at it with the most disgusted look that a parrot can muster, and wouldn't touch his breakfast.

The minute I walked out of the living room, I heard food hitting the floor.... the LIVING ROOM floor, not the floor of his cage. He was hurling the offending food out of his cage and onto the floor.

I immediately went back to his cage, picked up the food off the living room floor, and put it on a saucer on the floor of his cage. (Once the food is THAT low, he won't throw it out of his cage.)

He looked at Denver, our 6 yr. old Black Lab / Sher Pei, who was minding his own business and happily eating his breakfast, and said,
"Denver, you're just a whore!  
Conrad does change his begging routine up a bit.

This morning, I heard  "Michael, you MIGHT want to Come here to me!  This is Conrad.  I'm just a bird!" until I got our 3 dogs fed (2 require specially prepared food with medication), and got more of my pressing morning routine out of way before turning my attention to him.

I can bear witness to the fact that Conrad is about two steps from being cut back to a specially prepared food that I make him until he gets over his latest "I will eat ONLY scrambled eggs and peanuts"  fit.

I know there are day care centers for children....  There are day care centers for handicapped folk, and there are day care centers for the elderly.  I know that in St. Louis, I can board his bird ass while on vacation, if necessary, but why isn't there a bird day care?

Occasionally, I would like a break from this feathered Napoleon!
(Conrad's last name really is Bonaparte - and for good reason!  :)

- Michael 

"I need the beans! Pass me the Musical Beans!"

When one goes shopping for perfume or cologne, and the shopper has sampled 'one too many fragrances", to reset the snoot,  s/he sniffs coffee beans before continuing to sample more fragrance options. 

For several years, I have used Patsy Cline's "Walkin' After Midnight" as my "musical beans".
  
As is common for most musicians who have memorized sheet music, or has played a song by ear many, MANY times, we memorize 'chunks' of music, rather than specific and individual notes.

If you stop a musician in the middle of such a 'chunk', and ask him the question "What notes are you playing?", or "What chord is that?", there is a really good chance that he won't be able to give you a correct answer without first involving an overload of thought and concentration, and most likely, he will have to go back and play through that section of the music a few times while watching his hands before he can give you a correct answer.  

With the "chunking" process in mind, if I play, say, a Scott Joplin rag that I have had mostly memorized for several years, and I trip over a section, I'll go back and play it again.  There is a really good chance that during the second - or third - or fourth! pass, I'll trip in the same spot.  I will fumble the exact same spot in the music.
You must understand:

The day before I have this 'tripping session', I most likely played through the 'sticky spot' in the same music without incident.   The FOLLOWING day, I will most likely play the same piece - without additional effort.

The explanation is relatively simple, in the fact that the 'bridge' in this particular spot in my memory needs a bit of repair and maintenance. 

Having never had music lessons, I had to find a solution for this problem:
"PASS THE MUSICAL BEANS"

I will often yell out to Mark while I am practicing piano, "I need the beans! Pass me the Musical Beans!", then I will play a totally unrelated song - usually a couple minutes of "Walkin' After Midnight" in a juiced-up, improvisational boogie version that I devised myself... THEN.... I will go back to the particular section of the current Scott Joplin (or other) song that is giving me problems.  

With a near 100 % success rate, after I have 'sniffed my musical beans!', I will breeze right through the troublesome section of the current song that I am working on.    If I'm still having problems - which is rare, at this point - I will 'take another whiff of the musical beans', which usually solves the problem.Kinda like this.... (This me me playing my most common 'Musical Beans'...with very short facial hair!):

Thank you, Patsy Cline, Alan Block and Donn Hecht (the writers!) for my "musical beans!"

- Michael

"Michael, come here to me! This is Conrad!"

I know one thing is certain:

This morning (and every other morning, as far as that goes), if the little creep doesn't stop yelling at me, "Michael, come here to me!  This is Conrad!" because he wants to eat scrambled eggs and *only* scrambled eggs for breakfast, I'm going to pluck every one of his little feathers out with tiny tweezers, and stick his bald birdie ass outside and head-first in a snow drift!

(Just a couple days ago, Mark commented, "Isn't that the reason that his birth mother sold him to you, in the first place?"  Actually, there were 2 reasons that she sold Conrad to me:

Reason #1 being that she had a human baby a year and a half prior to the day I bought Conrad.  He demanded to be fed scrambled eggs every morning BEFORE she ever even *thought* of giving her human son his first bottle of the day.  Conrad knew HE was her first son, and he demanded to be fed first.  He would pitch such a physical and verbal bitch-fit if she took the time to feed her human son first, that she came to realize that Conrad demanded more of her time than she could devote to him.

Reason #2) being that his human mother was getting a divorce.

I got him as the result of Conrad being a spoiled baby AND as the result of a divorce.

Another side story:

When we were selling out house in Cahokia, IL , about 8 years ago, a young beautiful female Realtor showed up at our doorstep.  Before he allowed her to take a step into our home, Mark put his hand up, straight in front of him, as if to momentarily stop her, and he warned her, "I apologize to you RIGHT NOW for anything that *Michael's* parrot, Conrad, might say to you!"

Conrad's cage sat in the great room of that house, the first room that guest step into when they walk through the door. The Realtor looked around that room, and then she walked into the kitchen, just out of Conrad's sight.

With an extremely disgusted, sour tone in his voice, Conrad asks of her, "Where you goin' now, you fuckin' whore!"

I thought I'd die, right then and there.

The Realtor just laughed, and walked on through the house.

Where did Conrad get such colorful language, you ask?  You must know that in general, African Greys hate 'mindless mimicry'.  It bores them to extents that are beyond the average person's knowledge and general observations.  When Greys speak to PEOPLE, they know exactly what they are saying, and why they are saying it.  Greys know that people use human language to communicate with each other, and thusly, they must follow suit.

Remember - I got Conrad from a divorcing family.  The woman that  hand-raised him, feeding him with a syringe before his eyes were even open, was 'stepping out' (read: cheating) on her husband.  And her husband was aware of her extracurricular activity.  And so did Conrad.  Every time his 'mother' left the house, her husband would say to her, "Where you going now, you fucking whore?"  Thusly, Conrad learns:  When a woman leaves the house, or leaves the room, this is what we say!   

African Greys have the entire mental capacity of a 4 yr. old child, ranging from the same IQ, the same emotions, reasoning, and every other cognitive function - with one exception:  Greys are well known to be much bigger worriers than any care-free 4 yr. old child that I have ever seen. 
Combine with having such a huge worrying complex AND being natural klutzes, there is a lot of 'feather shakin' going on!"

Just last night, as he was falling asleep for the evening, he lost his balance and fell off his perch (not at all an uncommon occurrence!)  As soon as he was brave enough to get back on his feet - still on the bottom of the cage - he lowers his head as close to the bottom of the cage as he can get it, and starts shaking like a leaf.  For much the same reason as it is not a good idea to take softly to a dog that is scared of storms, there is a very fine line between making sure Conrad is truly OK, and not injured, and NOT rewarding him for being psychotic.   In the case of the dog-storm thing, the dog thinks, "Oh!  If I act like a damned fool during these loud events, then daddy / mommy will talk sweetly to me and reward me for this behavior, so I really, REALLY need to act like a damned fool during EVERY storm!"  all-in-all, not a good idea!

So.... Conrad continues to verbally complain because I won't give him scrambled eggs all day.  
I give him a snack that I know he loves:  cheese puffs (corn curls??)  In short order, just yesterday, he quickly ate every single puff in the handful that I gave him.  Today, however, is another story, altogether.  Two seconds after I turn my back, he takes the cheese puffs, one by one, and throws them angrily through the bars of his cage,  to our Shar Pei / Black Lab, Denver, who knows this routine well, and Denver knows exactly where to stand in direct relation to Conrad's cage, so he can catch each cheese puff as Conrad hurls it purposefully in his direction.   Or ... to pour more salt on the wound, Conrad will pick up the 'suddenly offending food' in his bill, carefully climb to the bottom of his cage, and hand Denver his little treat from his bill, through the bars of his cage, and directly to this 100 lb. dog's waiting huge mouth!

If Conrad keeps up his antics today, I think when Mark comes home from work this evening, he will see Conrad's frozen feet mysteriously sticking up out of a snow drift, and when Mark tugs on his little birdie feets, instead of sticking in his thumb, and pulling out a plumb, he will pull out a birdie-cicle!

- Michael

Take one down, Pass it around, 89,000 times!

You got that right.  A **LOT** of this common image "doesn't make sense".

If I see that image one more time, I think I am going to shit myself blind.

My intent is not to battle the pot issue. My purpose IS to provide accurate and enlightening information, and in the form of these facts:

Fact #1: I'm a nurse, and I was the valedictorian of my college class with a 103% (no, not a typo). In fact, since the computers wouldn't take a score greater than 100%, I made the college print out my transcripts, I then had the College president **hand write** in the "103%", and he signed the paper, himself. Legally, I have to stick with a 4.0 GPA our of 4.0.

One with the business at hand:

Anna Nichole Smith:
It was reported that 8 of the 11 drugs found in Smith's system were prescribed to Howard Stern - not Anna (Indicating an illegal use). When combined with a high dose of choral hydrate (and if you know what I'm talking about, 'nough said!), it killed her out-right.
Summary: Illegal use of prescription drugs not prescribed to her.

Michael Jackson:
If you know *anything AT ALL* about Propofol, you will know that it's use outside an operating suite almost always indicates an illegal use. It also indicates *GROSS* negligence on the part of "Dr." Conrad Murray, and a court case against him proved him to be an embarrassment to the entire medical community. Propofol has no indications for use outside the operating room environment, and is NOT available at a common drug store. The Propofol that was found in Michael Jackson's system was both obtained illegally and administered illegally. If you look into the doses of the other 'legal', more common medications that were wound in Michael Jackson's system, you will probably find gross negligence there, as well.

Amy Winehouse:
Her blood alcohol level was more than five times the legal drink-drive limit. According to the coroner, "The unintended consequences of such potentially fatal levels was her sudden death.
C'mon, Amy! REALLY?
A glass or 2 of wine? Go ahead, you deserve it!
I don't think a single glass of wine - or even TWO - ever killed anybody!
Drinking the contents of the whole damned liquor store store? Probably not a good idea. It's a 'bit' too late for YOU, but those surviving around you can use this as a prime opportunity to learn about the consequences of a very bad decision.

Whitney Houston:
I quote:
"On March 22, 2012, the Los Angeles County coroner's office reported the cause of Houston's death was drowning and the "effects of atherosclerotic heart disease and COCAINE use. The office stated the amount of cocaine found in Houston's body indicated that she used the substance shortly before her death. Toxicology results revealed additional drugs in her system: Benadryl, Xanax, marijuana and Flexeril.[251] The manner of death was listed as an "accident".
I really don't think I have a single soul left 'on board' with me, but I firmly believe that Whitney's use was **FAR** beyond 'recreational', and did you, dear reader, catch the "Cocaine" in that last statement?
Oh, OK! (:::WHEW!:::) I thought it was just my imagination! You can't imagine how relieved I am to find out that it was not my imagination - but it was more liberating than that. It was the FACTs

The moral of this saga: NONE of these people died by ingesting NORMAL, and for the most part - LEGAL - levels of *anything*.

There you have it.
I did my homework.
No go froth....er...forth....and do your own!

Love and peace to ya'all.

- Michael

Everybody say CHEE-Z-Z-Z-Z-Y!

To catch you up, dear reader, a comment concerning this photo was made on a very popular social media:

Commentator:  "Green dress. Third from the end in the back. Her face is everything!"

One response to this comment:
"Bright flashes emphasize the difference in color on stage. Plus the lighting on stage was not the brightest, so many of the entertainers painted accordingly show highlight and shadow."

I say, "True, dat, lady boy!"    :)

Because I do tend to look like Satan's Little Sister, just for a brief moment, I will play Devil's advocate and say that it is difficult to tell from the comment whether the poster was pointing out the general look on "3rd from the end in the back"'s face, or whether the comment was based on the MAKE UP on her face.

That difference notwithstanding, I do have to quote RuPaul in saying, "We're born naked. Everything else is drag."

Over 20 yrs ago (!!), I was a size 0 - 2.
I didn't weigh over 100 lbs until I turned 30.

I had - and I still have - high cheek bones, bright blue eyes and SMOOTH skin.  (I still get regular comments like, "OH, I love your theatrical color contacts!"  I kindly thank the observant person, and tell them that I am not wearing color contacts.)

I was skinny, young and cute. Now, I'm fat, old - and still cute! :)

I look exactly like I do in my profile pic when I am going shopping on a Wednesday morning as I do when I go out to a bar on a Saturday night. Today, I do an entirely different form of drag as I did 20 years ago.

Having experience in both drag / stage make-up AND photography, I can vouch for the fact that using a flash in photography, in general and without well-staged ambient lighting is like the "Hoochie Mamma" of photography. Whether or not the subject of the photography is human or a still life, etc, is unimportant.  The results are the same.

I often compare the use of an unprepared, general quick flash as the "Hoochie Mamma" of photography because it creates rude, loud, and garish glares and shadows, and washes out anything that is unfortunate enough to come into contact with it.   A perfect example of my point is "3rd from the end in the back".  In the light for which she intended, her make-up is most likely flawless.

Just once in my life, I would like to see a 'group drag shot' taken in the proper lighting for which it was originally intended, and without the aftermath of a a hideously washed-out and glaring general flash.  Using a flash while photographing a drag queen(s) totally ruins the illusion of the art of female impersonation (and does it's fair share of damage to any other non-drag queen subject!)

- Michael