I did a post like this not long ago. I’ve got a bunch of interesting bits and pieces floating around that, hopefully, make for a worthwhile post.
A Lot of Plot for One Statue
This is the Hindu goddess Durga. I met her at The Rubin Museum of Art last week. Here, she defeats the wicked demigod Mahisah. Nepal. 13th Century.
Durga decapitates a buffalo and pulls Mahisah out by his hair (ouch). Before he can draw his sword, she stabs him in the chest with her varja (OUCH).
The Goddess’s 18 arms fan out showing her arsenal of weapons. All this violence is balanced by her calm expression. She’s pretty bad-ass.
This antagonized my feelings towards religion. Catholicism places women on a pedestal and then imprisons them a gilded cage. Their virginity is obsessed over. They’re not fit for the priesthood and are only offered servitude roles. Don’t get me started on how Muslims treat women.
Hindus make their women into WARRIOR GODDESSES who can kick a man’s ass when he’s being a wicked demigod.
Blue Sky + Gray Hair > Gray Sky + Blue Hair
I was lying in my hammock daydreaming about The Partridge Family. I remembered that in the Mad Magazine parody, Danny stole Laurie’s training bra, cut eye holes in it and used it as a bandit mask. I recalled the illustration of Danny wearing the bra on his head while Laurie complained to mom. I had a good retro laugh.
Earlier that morning, I was picking up a prescription for my daughter and when the pharmacist asked what her date of birth is, my mind went white.
C’mon, get happy.
With Apologies to Bob Dylan
Dear younger self:
The lyric in the second verse of the Top 40 chestnut Go All the Way by Cleveland pop sensation The Raspberries is not
Oh, I love her
as you and your young school chums once believed. Rather, it’s
Before her love
I was cruel and mean
Glad I finally got that sorted out. Took long enough.
A recent post by Samara about Lay, Lady, Lay reminded me that, for many years, I thought Bob Dylan’s most romantic ballad was actually written and performed by 70’s Lite FM staple Mac Davis, he of Baby, Don’t Get Hooked on Me fame. That means I thought the lyrics
Whatever colors you have
in your mind
I’ll show them to you and you’ll
see them shine
Girl, you’re a hot-blooded woman-child
And it’s warm where you’re touchin’ me
CAME FROM THE SAME PEN.
The Sound of One Hand Clapping
“Imagine you are alone in a room. The lights are down low, you’ve got some scented candles going. Soothing New Age tunes, nothing too druid-chanty, seep out of the hi-fi to gently massage your cerebral cortex. Feel good? Are you the best, most special person in the room right now? Yes. That’s the gift of being alone.”
The Noble Hustle: Poker, Beef Jerky, and Death
Look at these two magnificent posters for Broadway productions. Graphic design is a pretty great art form, even if it is primarily a vehicle for commerce.
This first one is by Paul Jeffery. It’s for the new David Mamet play starring Al Pacino. It reminds me of those cool travel posters from the 1950’s. Nice, dignified color palate. It says noting whatsoever about the play itself, but it conveys all the information needed to make you want to buy a ticket, namely,
It worked on me. I got a ticket. But those two old rattlesnakes, Mamet and Pacino, aren’t the sure bet they once were. They’re not exactly at the top of their game anymore. The evening can go either way.
This one is for a musical you can’t get a ticket to unless you’re extraordinarily wealthy. I don’t know who did the poster but the logo is genius. It has movement and beautiful stark contrasts. The top point of the star is implied. His buttons are a nice, subtle accent.
One rose for each year. A happy anniversary to my Bride. 16 years this past 9/11. Thanks, terrorists, for fucking up my anniversary. AND my town.
We didn’t celebrate for a few years after the attack. It didn’t feel right. But we decided to reclaim the day. We mean no disrespect to people who lost someone but it’s ours and we choose to celebrate it. 16 years now. 18, unofficially. The score is:
Annus Mirabilis: 18
Annus Horribilis: 0