And Now . . . Dudeism

Come join the slowest-growing religion in the world – Dudeism. An ancient philosophy that preaches non-preachiness, practices as little as possible, and above all, uh…lost my train of thought there. Anyway, if you’d like to find peace on earth and goodwill, man, we’ll help you get started. Right after a little nap.
First, you might want to
Get ordained as a Dudeist priest. There are over 100,000 worldwide.










I've already mentioned my infatuation with the Brothers Coen. And you may have noticed that I love a good bit of silliness.


So when I saw the above on line -- a religion based on The Dude of "The Big Lebowski"  -- I knew at once that it was pretty much just my cup of tea -- or my glass of White Russian, to be more faithful to the film.


And yes, I have been ordained. You may call me 'Mother Vicki'  or perhaps 'Your Ineffable
Randomness.'  


I stand ready to perform weddings or exorcisms.


(My apologies to those of you who aren't familiar with The Dude -- our regular programming will return soon.)

A Story . . .

So, like yesterday my pictures have nothing to do with the subject matter.  It's been snowing all day long and, while it's absolutely gorgeous, my eyes are ready for some flowers.

And I'm not yet done with yesterday's topic.

This story took place about thirty years ago. I'd taken my boys to Tampa to visit their grandparents and great grandparents. As we drove the long weary miles through South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, I discussed with the boys  (ages 3 and 8, as I recall)  what kind of behavior would be expected of them in suburban Tampa -- no running around naked, no peeing outside, yes ma'am and yes sir to their elders and then there were certain words not to use. . .

Now this was foolish on my part. The boys didn't use 'bad' language at that tender age. But I knew they'd heard it so I just wanted to make sure they understood the rules.

And they did.

One morning as the boys and I were having breakfast with my grandparents, the three year old, angelic little Justin, his spoonful of cereal half-way to his mouth, fixed me with a solemn gaze and and said, quite clearly, "We don't say 'shit.'

Euphemistic Language

Reader Wil started it. Her comment yesterday about not saying 'shit' because it was vulgar has led me to this post. (For reasons that should be obvious, my photos have nothing to do with today's natterings. )

So anyway, I got to thinking about some  of the euphemisms that are employed rather than offend anyone's ears with the fine old Anglo-Saxon 'shit.'

There's crap and poop and poo poo,

 Doo dahs, squat, and shhiz,

Dookie and doodie and doo doo

And who doesn't know Number Two?

Whatever its name 

Call it crud, caca, or poo,

Vulgar or not, it's all still the same
When it sticks to the sole of your shoe.

Isn't language fun?

I Wish I'd Written This . . .

"This way -- in here."

His urgency was apparent as he caught me in a firm grasp just above my elbow and guided me into the room -- his room. Then he shut the door and we were alone.

I could feel my heart beating faster as he approached me from behind.  His voice, low and reassuring, was gentle.

"Just relax," he murmured and, with no further warning, reached down. I felt his strong,  hands at my ankles, gently probing, moving upward along my calves  -- slowly, oh, so slowly.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn't care. His touch was so experienced, so sure.

When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder, and partly closed my eyes. 

My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm, full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply.

Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid them down my tingling spine and into my panties.

Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant.

 This, this is a man, I thought.  A man used to taking charge. . . a man who won't take`no' for an answer.  . . a man who will tell me what he wants . . . who will look into my soul and say . . .

"Okay, ma'am, all done."

My eyes snapped open. He was standing in front of me, smiling and holding out my purse. 

"You may board your flight now."

~~~~~~~~

This is one of those funny things that floats around the internet. I don't know who wrote it.  The photos aren't by me either but by Louisa Stokes and Unknown.

Anticipation . . .

What will the day bring?

How many yellow roses will bloom ?

When will the foxgloves open and . . .

Where will the cat go, now that she has the car keys?

  A very brief post as I really am in the final throes of UNDER THE SKIN, having promised to get  it to my editor by Monday.

Dogs That Would Drive

It's here!!

 The giant collection of photos (over 14,000) all taken at more or less the same moment is available for viewing. Click on the globe over there>>> at the top of the sidebar and be prepared to linger...

Only the lack of opposable thumbs . . .

...and advance planning can stop them ...

Can't resist a quick dog story.

On Monday, Justin and Claui and Claui's folks were up for pizza night. We were crowded into the kitchen, lending the cook moral support. The corner bench was full: Nancy (Claui's mom), Maggie (canine queen of the universe) with her head in my lap, and Justin next to me. William, the little small dog in the picture just above was at my feet, whining urgently.

"Justin," I said, "Would you let William out? -- I would but I have a dog in my lap."

"Come on, William," said Justin, getting up and going to the front door.

William took a look at Justin . . . and a look at the seat he'd just vacated, then jumped up on the bench and curled up, having gotten what he'd wanted in the first place.

Burnsville for Beginners

Okay, I have nothing to explain these three pictures except that I took them last week when I was in Burnsville to teach my class. 

I guess it was the influence of Merisi who takes such incredible pictures of buildings against the blue sky and posts them on her blog Vienna for Beginners.

Of course, she has Vienna as a subject . . . with the occasional detour to Venice. 

But I loved this series of pictures -- they have a creepy, surreal quality to them -- like an old sci-fi  or horror movie maybe.

And speaking of horror movies, I have a title for one. Bear with me here.


I was emailing the coordinator of an book festival to let him know that I'd have a new book out in September. . .  titled The Day of Small Thongs.

Fortunately I caught the error before hitting SEND but I've been amusing myself (remember, I'm easily amused) by imagining a story to go with that title.

It's set in Hollywood and the premise is that evil forces have a secret weapon -- a Super Duper Shrinking Ray that shrinks all the thong underwear in a fifty mile radius to a third of its original size. It happens all at once, at high noon, and bedlam ensues, not to mention widespread panic, pain, and general bewilderment. 


Angry mobs storm Victoria's Secret bearing torches and pitchforks and walking in a very strange way.  Emergency rooms are slammed with wild-eyed  . . .


Okay, that's enough for now. Got that out of my system. See you tomorrow.

I Wish You So Beautiful - A Flight of Fantasy

 
I was leaving a comment over at Willow's place on Monday when the comment just before mine caught my eye-- it was like a dip into Dada or a moment in the Theatre of the Absurd. I suggest reading it aloud. With feeling. And four part harmony if you have friends nearby. Here it is.

~~~

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I with my friends and brother wish this forum will so beautiful forever. That portal so well too.

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Mon Mar 15, 10:15:00 AM

~~~

I don't know; call me easily entertained but I just love the language -- probably the result of one of those on-line translators. Or maybe it was Yoda.

I immediately copied the comment -- mere seconds before Willow deleted it. Yeah, there was some stuff in the URL at the end (which I've altered) about that prescription drug that rhymes with Niagara.

But it kept me grinning through the rest of a dreary Monday morning. And I wish you so beautiful forever.

Ah, If Only . . .

I got this great card from my friend Josie -- whose daughter Gretchen just happens to be the talent behind  Roger That -- a source for delightfully silly, occasionally rude, often irreverent, and hopelessly weird greeting cards.

Maybe I'll send it to my editor as a suggested marketing plan . . . 

And now for something less silly. Over at HERE, WHERE I AM - a  blog by NC's past poet laureate -- Kay has been kind enough to post one of my efforts. Slip on over, have a look around, and enjoy one of the top thirty poetry blogs.