Holy Kitty

Click on the title to purchase on ebay
                                       Sold

Kitty on Cat

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Original Music Fairy, Angel collage painting

Click on title to purchase this oringinal painting on ebay.

Corgi Dog collage painting

This painting is available on ebay












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Vintage style mermaid child and Persian Cat Collage Painting

 Acrylic, collage painting

This painting is sold

Fairy Child cuddling Persian cat Original painting collage

Acrylic, collage painting

This paintingis sold

Persian Kitty cat with butterfly original painting

Recently sold painting

Forest Fairy Collage painting

Fairy collage painting

Fairy in the Art Nouveau Tradition

Sold

Tuxedo cat with Sunflowers

sold painting

Mouse and Balloon ACEO

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Persian Tabby cat collage painting listed on ebay.

Cat watercolors painting listed and ebay: Persian cat with Humming bird and Trumpet vine.






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Persian Cat- Sold

Cat collage

Several cat paintings and a Bull Terrier. The first tow are a Tabby cat and a Persian cat collage painting. Listed and sold on ebay. The Bull Terrier was also sold on ebay as well as the Birman cat and Tabby collage painting.

All Sold

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Cat Fancy

The art of Ebay

It occurred to me today, as I was looking over some past blog postings, that I have never blogged about the art that is here. One of my reasons for starting this blog, was to post the paintings that I sell on line, on eBay. under the name : palangolini. Yet, it seems odd that I never mention them or eBay.

Ebay is a very interesting phenomenon. It is sort of like that hand held, electronic game of 20 questions. I think it is called 20Q. No matter what you are thinking of--even the obscure--the toy always gets the answer.

If you go to eBay, and do a search for just about anything, odds are you're going to find it. It is remarkable. One time I tried to think of something unebayable. Yet, I found in my search, that someone was, indeed, trying to unload a purple, rubber pig, circa 1969. Wow.

Art is a category unto itself on eBay. You can find a painting for $1.00 or $100.000. Yet, you are most likely to find something under $100.00. In fact probably close to 90% of art will fall into that range. This is great for buyers--not as good for sellers.

The fantasy art category (in which my art is often found) is a world of its own. It is filled with artists that have carved out a niche among the 10,000+ paintings that are for sale on any given day on eBay. Some of the favorite subject that loyal fantasy art lovers crave are Mermaids, fairies, unicorns, Pegasus (you get the idea). I always thought it would be nice to just combine them into one big painting--perhaps a mermaid with wings riding a Pegasus as he flies over a unicorn. Any eBay artist would appreciate its marketability.

One type of painting that is particularly popular is the ACEO, which stands for Art Card Edition Original. (They are 2.5" x 3.5") These are like trading cards, and are collected and traded. Check them out sometime. They are a fun item.

Fantasy art is well suited to the ACEO. Although, as an artist I find them difficult to paint without magnifying glasses.

The world of eBay art can be a rather cut throat environment, believe it or not. There are artists who actually contact other artists to complain that they are encroaching on there subject matter. One person emailed me to complain that I was painting a breed of dog that she painted. I guess she felt she had the monopoly on that breed. Yes, dogs doing cute human things is defiantly off limits, since she paints them. I guess she never saw "Dogs playing Poker." she might have sued.

Sometimes I can't shake the feeling, that fantasy art painters are probably frowned upon by some eBay artists. But, we do have staying power. As long as there is a Mermaid, Corgi dog, or Cat lover out there who seeks cute and colorful paintings, we will deliver. Now, go, my friends. Go to eBay and behold the many works of art that await you and your Pay Pal account.

Edwardian drama

I think most women who watched Oprah interview Elizibeth Edwards on Thursday, were probably thinking the same thing. Why? What was the purpose of the interview? Perhaps it was cathartic. But, why dredge up the muck?

Mrs Edwards has had a lot of misery in her life. No doubt. But, I can't help wonder what she was thinking in writing the book at all. It is entitled: "Resilience." But, the woman I watched and listened to, did not seem resilient. She seemed resigned. She was a little ticked off (as well she should). She appeared to be sad. It was like she had been painted into a corner and the only way out without getting her feet wet, was to line the floor with pages about herself. But, she has taken a rigid stance on certain things in order to tolerate them. It is only natural to feel that way. But, one of those things, is the child, that it is speculated, was born out of the affair of John Edwards and the woman Elizabeth did not want named in the interview. She said that the child had nothing to do with her. It has nothing to do with her life. Maybe, but she has something to do with John Edwards, if he is, indeed the father--and he is a part of her life. Her children might have a half sister. So, how does that work exactly?

An innocent child should not suffer because it was the result of lousy and selfish judgents of her parents. She has a right to know him. Mrs. Dole does not derserve more pain, but, it is what it is.

In the interview at the Edwards sprawling estate (30,000) square feet. (Who needs that much room-yikes) Oprah corners John Edwards in a hall way. It is an uncomfortable exchange. You can see him squirm, praying internally, for it to end. The guy is a weasal.

I don't know about you, but, when something humiliating happens to me, the last thing I want to do is, wait for it to die down, then, invite the entire world to my house to talk about it. If I had a terminal illness, I don't think I would want that as part of my legacy. But, people are different. Perhaps Elizabeth Dole, felt the need to speak her mind on the subject, while she was able, so no one could put words in her mouth later. I would not, maybe you would not--but, she did. Unfortunately, it is a sad fact, that, unlike people, interviews, once on film, live forever.

Dogs and Katz

Sometimes I read things that really get under my skin. Sometimes I read
things that bug me enough, that I actually feel the need to make my eyes and neck sore, by sitting in front of my LED computer screen typing with my tendonitis inflicted wrist and elbow. I hold the Chicago Tribune, and today's piece by Eric Zorn resposible for today's Fibromyalgia flare up.

The Tribs staff writter wrote about a new book entitled: Soul of a Dog. Apparantly, some bonehead wrote this book about how dogs are not capable of love.

I don't want to print the afore mentioned "bonehead," but, I think he has a lot of nerve stating this as a fact. Yes, accorinding to, (Oh, what the hell) John Katz, dogs are not happy to see you when they wag their tail or lick your face. No, these are just "Opportunisitc, maipulative behaviors." (Maybe he was thinking of teenagers instead of dogs.)

He also says that a dog's attatchment to you is (contrary to what we have always believed) "conditional." They really don't miss you when you're gone. And a dog's owner can be easily replaced by anyone who feeds and and scratches his head. (The dog's) So much for the notion of the "loyal companion ."

Thanks a lot Katz. Why don't you hunt down some preschoolers and tell them the Easter Bunny is a sham, while your at it.

Interestingly, this Katz actually owns dogs--and still he believes this. I guess he's done a lot of research and studies to back up these claims. But, I am wondering--how could he, or anyone, possibly know what or how a dog thinks? I mean, what was that dog, that recently ran into traffic on a busy highway to pull his injured buddy to safety, thinking? Google it. It is an amazing story. But, according to Katz, dogs don't have narrative minds or human qualties. I don't know many humans that will run in front of a car to save a pal. Do you?

Yes, dogs are different from humans--they live in the moment and don't hold grudges. But, I think this Katz has a hell of a lot of nerve to make assertions that mock the notions we hold about our canine companions. Dogs did not get the labels of loyal and loving for nothing.

What is the point in destroying our perceptions? I have not read this book, and am getting the information from Zorn, but I have to wonder why the book is entitled: "Soul of a dog." Katz doesn't seem to think dogs have much "soul"

It is true, that we humans tend to project our qualities on cute little animals. Every talking mouse cartoon, belies that, but, anyone who has looked into the eyes of his or her pooch, knows that Katz has it all wrong--all wrong. But, then, what do you expect from a guy named "Katz?"

Shy Corgi & Kitty and Crocus

Princess and the Pea Brain

If you have been on the web, or watched TV in the last couple of days, then you may have learned that people who are considered "homely" by societies standards, are not expected to posses the ability to sing. And apparently, it is okay for us to scorn them, unless they can prove us wrong-in which case, it is okay for us to weep with joy at our mistaken presumption.

That the hell? I am speaking, of course of Britian's Got Talent contestant, Susam Boyle, who wowed the skeptical judges with her nightingale like voice. I just don't get the connection between a persons appearance (whatever it is) and their voice. And, if Simon, and his other cronies think there is a connection, then they are not only shallow--but stupid. What annoys me, is that they keep talking about how "surprised" they were. They weren't expecting much out of the woman because, they found her to be unattractive, odd, and pathetic. But, because she could sing, she somehow redeemed herself in their eyes.? Interesting.

The other aggravating story dominating the news is muscle- head, Hulk Hogan's moronic statements about how he could have left his ex wife's house "like a crime scene" like OJ Simpson. Of course the lovely ladies on the The View, missed the boat again. They have a habit of misplacing their outrage. They were miffed that Hogan would use such "violent language." What about the families of Simpson's victims?

Does anyone really care about the sordid lives of the Hogan Family? Is anyone interested in Hogan's wife dating a fetus (he is 19). What is bad (but not surprising) is that Hogan does not have the native intelligence to not talk about an infamous murder case that outraged so many people. I am sure that the family of Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman, enjoy hearing about how Hogan "took the high road" and refrained from slitting his ex wife's throat. What a guy. Apparently, Hogan does not "know best."

Eckhart Tolle way

“When people show you who they are—believe them.”

Oprah has chanted this many times on her show. But, we got the memo over 1900 years ago from Greek philosopher Epictetus, who said that:

“People behave as they are.”

It has been said that there is nothing new under the sun. If you think about it, everything in blogs, magazines, newspapers , has been said before- only in a slightly different way, and by different people.

I looked at back issues of my favorite magazine, and found that each had almost the exact articles as the last. It seems we are always interested in "how to lose ten pounds" or "how to organize our clutter," no matter how many times we are intructed. We are slow learners. We need to be told over and over, how to live better.

Modern organizations did not come up with any new way to think or live. Does this sound familiar?

“ Only after you face up to the principle that some things are within our control and some things are not, can inner tranquility and outer effectiveness become possible.”

That sounds a lot like AA and Al-anon philosophy, doesn't it? Yet, it was also written close to 2000 years ago, and, many times after that by various sages. I'm sure there was a cave man being told by a tribal wise guy that if a Saber toothed tiger looks angry--it probably is. And if at first you don't bag that Mastadon--try, try again.

We look to our modern day icons as if they are beacons of light who can rescue us from the darkness of ignorance. But, their opinions are recycled. So, it seems that that we want the enlightenment to come from our own generation. It is easier to relate to Dr. Phil (I do give him a hard time) than Plato or Socrates. Does Dr. Phil really have anything new to say? He is just more relatable than a guy in a Toga. But, I bet Sacrates already knew that

"No matter how flat you make a pancake it still has two sides. "

He might have called it flatbread, instead. Dr. Phil bases all of his views on common sense. Nothing more-nothing less. Yet, we think he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Sometimes it seems like Oprah and Dr. Phil rule the world. It’s a frightening thought.

Oprah has had Eckhart Tolle , author of The new earth. Many times. I don't know why she finds him so fascinating. What does he have to say that we haven’t heard many times before or don't know intuitively?

"When something happens, the only thing in your power, is your attitude toward it.”

This is one of the cornerstones of Tolle’s teachings, but, again, this quote is not from Tolle, but from old Epictetus. Norman Vincent Peale said it in every one of his Positive thinking books, Yet, Oprah acts as if she just discovered the fountain of wisdom in Tolle. I find it condescending.

Where else can we find a plethora of enlightenment and prescriptions for living? The Bible (old and new testaments) had a few things to say about how to stay out of trouble- if we could just follow their advice. But, we, as humans, just can’t do it. So, it seems that we need the Oprahs, Dr. Phils, Tolles, and Deepak (Freaking) Chopras, to remind us once in a while. But, have they really improved on the information?

Most worth while messages have already been eloquently delivered. It is important not to give too much credit to the new messengers. Like junk mail, we need to sift through the self help gurus, aware, that there is not a whole lot of new thinking in them. They have books to sell us, of course. Then, we can file away what is worth keeping. But it is wise to remember—there really is nothing new under the sun. And I am sure that there were bloggers before me who said all of this better.

Doctor, we've had our Phil.

Well, If you had nothing to do, you might have read my blog a few days ago, where I predicted that Dr. Phil would be the first of the talk show Titans to interview Octomom, Nadya Suleman. I hate to blow my own horn but--how did I know? I have even surprised myself. I mean, it is obvious that for an hour long interview, either Oprah or Dr. Phil would claim her. But, given the fact that Oprah got Dr. Phil his start, how did she wind up getting second hand details from Nadya's father? (who oddly, has a different last name-Doud).

Did, Psychology student, Nadya feel an affinity for Dr. Phil? I do wonder. But, anyone who saw the interview had to be struck by what a motor mouth Nadya was. Given her inablility to control her desire for large numbers of children, it seems likely that she suffers from a form of obsessive compulsive disorder. It would go a long way to explain her preoccupation with having children and other patterns of thinking. I am not a doctor, but, Dr. Phil doesn't suggest this possibility. He told his audience that Nadya was "chatty." He said his only goal is his concern for the children. I am pretty sure that somewhere down the road, there will be a tie with some facility or commercial consideration.

I am sure he is concerned for the kids, as any normal person would be, but, why does he have to make two television episodes out of it? Does he really think that there hasn't been enough media coverage to her plight? Might someone who just got out of a coma two days ago, not know about it?

I especially loved the part of the interview, where Nadya's mother jokingly told Nadya to ask for a house. Nadya, chastised her and said they shouldn't ask for such things. Lord no. Don't ask. It is pretty much a done deal that someone will either donate a home, so they can get some advertising, or build one for the same reason. It is just too big an opportunity. Nadya is probably filtering through the offers right now. She is defiantly a piece of work.

Everything about this story is strange. Nadya's father told Oprah that his ex-wife is his best friend. Yet, he claims total ignorance of almost everything-including that his ex might lose her home. He said he has to go back to his country overseas, but is very mysterious about were that is. I can't get a handle on this family at all. I don't think her on camera interviews or squabbles with her mother are helping her image much. Not that it matters. One good thing may come out of this. The medical community might think twice before treating embryos like they are pumpkin seeds. The "What the hell--plant em all and see what grows." philosophy seems like a bad idea.

If Nadya wants a job, she should look into becoming spoke woman for Baby's R Us if they are still in business.

Warped View

I never watch the View. You know, the talk show that lets five women--each more annoying than the last, babble for and hour.
Whoopie, "the intellectual," Joy, the "loud mouth," Sherry Shepperd the "ditz" who didn't keven know that the earth was round (I am not making it up), Elizebeth Hasselbeck , the token "conservative," and of course--Barbara Walters, the "self promoter." But, I happened to have it on when I was doing some exercises. I could not belive what I was hearing. The ladies were appalled that the New York Post published cartoon showing police shooting a Chimpanzee (obviously the one that tried to kill his owner's friend this week)

They thought it was unfair to president Obama. Talk about totally missing the point. Whoopee and the gals are upset because it might hurt the president‘s feelings? They are indignant because the cartoonist was insensitive to racism? Where was the outrage for the actual victim herself? The woman had her face torn off. His owner tried to stab the animal to get it off of her. She said is was like stabbing herself, because the monkey was such a beloved part of her life. The victim is in critical condition at a hospital. None of the ladies were the slightest bit concerned about how she or her family might feel as a result of this cartoon being published.

I kept waiting for one of them to bring her up at all. They never did. They mentioned that the cartoon was too violent. It was not sensitive to the cause of stamping out racism. Really? That’s it? There is a dead Chimpanzee with blood oozing out in the cartoon-- A Chimp, that for some unknown reason, went berserk and tried to rip his owner's friend apart. She loved this animal. Her friend is now trying to survive and her family and friends are obviously beside themselves with worry and grief. But, they are outraged at the New York Post because the cartoon seemed insensitive to racism. The New York Post was not sensitive to anything or anyone ladies. It was a stupid cartoon and totally uncalled for on every level. And it wasn’t even what a cartoon is supposed to be--funny. What was funny about it?

Come on ladies, get in touch with the real world where everything is not about politics or President Obama. We peons out here in America, can decide what is outrageous and what isn’t. But, unfortunately, there are some who can’t think for themselves and actually look to you to tell them what is wrong with things.

New York Post--You should be ashamed of yourself. Freedom of speech is one thing--but, you have crossed every line of decency and good taste with that cartoon. And I am speaking as a human being and animal lover--not as someone with a political agenda to push. Ladies on The View--your view is askew.

Barney and Me

I miss my dog. I wonder how many people said that today. With the success of movies like Marley and me, and Hotel for Dogs, I am betting that it is a lot. I didn’t think I would be able to write about my dog. It seemed too soon—too sad. But, then I realized that I don’t have to talk about his death. His life in proportion to his death was so much more. I know I won’t shed any new light on the subject of animal love, but that is not enough to shut me up.

Everyone thinks that his or her dog is the best dog that ever slobbered. And it is true. We each have a unique bond with our dog that makes him or her best dog. We may not bring out the best in some people we know, but we make our dog happy as hell. And he brings out our best in return. How can you beat that deal?

I could meet ten dogs and think they were all great. The percentage of people from that same number would be quite low. They will have an agenda, some pretense—an angle. We’re people, after all—not dogs. I hate to insult us in this way, but it is true. Alas, if we could all get along by offering each other a raw hide chewy—wouldn’t it be a fine world? If people we meet would just shake their asses, we’d walk away happy too. I mean, if you like me --roll around in dead bird carcasses a little, will ya? Tell me how you feel man.

My dog Barney was sort of like Marley, but without the attitude. Don’t get me wrong. He could be immensely disgusting (like when he ate the kid’s diapers like they were filled with fillet mignon). And he could be shockingly destructive (like the time he chewed most of the door frames in the house. He suffered from the same fear of storms as Marley.) And he could be willful and undisciplined (like the time he jumped in a park lake to chase a duck). But, most of the time, he was just a sweet guy. A guy you’d like to hang out with.

He got increasingly grumpy in his old age, but that was because he did not feel well. And as a Fibromyalgia person-- I get that. I wish that I had known that he was sick. Of course, that is the worst part for us, and as feelings go, it’s about as bad as it gets.

But, I said I wasn’t going to talk about that. Now that I think about it, if you own or have owned a dog, there really isn’t anything I can say that you don’t already know. I just wanted to tell you a little bit about Barney and to say that I really miss him. And if we ever happen to meet—shake your ass a little. I’d appreciate it.

Eight is enough already

Nadya Suleman. Will someone give this woman a shoe to live in? Better yet, make it a knee high Ugg Boot. This could be accomplished through her web site, where the “octomom” allows you to make a donation. It is sort of akin to helping out a small, nation.

While nobody can be sure what Miss Suleman was thinking, the fact that she is Miss. Suleman, is very interesting. She decided to skip the part where the husband gets sick of all the chaos of raising kids and the lack of attention from the wife, and leaves. Who needs it, right? There are so many things wrong with this picture, that it could be one of those pages in Highlights magazine.

Of course there has been a lot of speculation and condemnation, and outrage, and shock, and disgust, and amazement voiced through the media. They love stuff like this--can’t get enough of it. It will probably set Nancy Grace up for an entire season. But, does it really matter? Would anything have deterred this woman from her obsession? Well, one thing definatly would have. Her idiot doctor could have said:

“Gee, I am sorry, Miss Suleman, I can’t, in good conscience, implant multiple embryos into you because you already have 6 children, no job, and live with your parents. Oh, and I see that you are having cosmetic procedures to look like Angelina Jolie” Hmmmmmmm.

No alarm bells went of for this guy? He is as nutty as she is. They managed to find each other in this big world. Wow.

I think,that instead of you and me, (the tax payers) picking up a lot of the bill that will come out of this whole thing--the good doctor should spring for part of it. After all--he has a job. I don’t think we will be seeing a whole lot of employment out of Nadya.

When your own mother comes out on T.V. and puts you down (and you are living with her) you have some problems.

While the majority of people are rather disgusted with her, we all feel bad for these kids--obviously. It is like being born into a Barnum and Bailey show . And, they are starting out life with a mother, who is not capable of making rational decisions, by any stretch of the imagination. She wouldn’t care about the truth if it was water and she were on fire.

I think that the best thing to do is to give her as little media exposure as possible- She has already had her 15 minutes. Then, some reliable social service (if there is one to be found) should check into who can actually take care of these kids. Psychological counseling is in order for Nadya before Dr. Phil gets his hands on her and feeds the media frenzy even more. Other than the media-the only one benefiting from this mess is the makers of Pampers.

Snapped cable

Do you own a cell phone? If you are breathing, I am sure you answered, “Yes. “ Today’s obsession with cell phones is the latest bump on the long, never ending, road of technology.

Back when I was growing up--Television was our drug of choice. It was the center of our universe. When I got home from grade school (and on into Junior High) my normal routine was to come home, plant my ass in the sofa, and hunker down until the news hour. I would be staring at a medium sized T.V. inside a Volkswagen sized wooden cabinet. I’d start with reruns of Gilligan’s Island, and then move ont o Get Smart, Petticoat Junction, and Please don’t eat the Daisies. My mom might come in around during Batman (circa: nutty Adam West) with some sustenance. I’d eat it right there. There would come a point, somewhere between Hawaii 5 O and Mannix, where, I might have had to turn my upper body slightly clockwise to turn on the light. That was when the day faded into night. I might feel like giving my numbed brain a work-out and switch to ZooM, for a few minutes. Then it was right back to the excitement of Medical Center with hunky Chad Everett. Ooolala.

Then, in the seventies, our world changed. We were no longer hostage to the three network channels + educational UHF. There were new horizons. Cable, let us into a portal to commercial free pleasures, we had only dared dream about. And, with the recent development of VHS, we could now record and watch them again and again. What a dream/nightmare.
Yes, there were only a handful of channels--HBO, Cinema and Nickelodeon, (which back then consisted of children’s variety shows) but, it was something new and exciting. How could we have foretold of the future of cable: Flavor of Love, Taxi Cab confessions, Beavis and Butthead? Did we have crystal ball to warn us of these atrocities? Did we know that there would someday be 100+ channels of nothing to watch, save a few? No, we had faith. We trusted that technology would take us to a better place. We rode shotgun all the way down that road and got let off here-- in Cable wasteland--which, by way is not commercial free at all, except for Turner Classic movies.

Television was king. Cellphones? We didn't need no stinkging cell phones. Now, we can't go to the bathroom without one attatched somewhere to our bodies. We are more obsessed with them , than any other technology to have dome down the pike. It used to be that when I was in the grocery store, I would step back a bit from a guy talking to himself. Now, I just assume he has a Blue tooth strapped to his ear. Technology has kind of helped me out there though. It has done for me what Cable T.v. never could. I don’t have a Blue Tooth-- but, tend to talk to myself when shopping. Thanks to technology people rarely take notice anymore.

Leave it to Beaver's friends.

There's somthing to be said about Eddie Haskell. He might have been a weasle--but at least he was a polite weasle. I realize that that might appear like a random statement, in light of my continued postponement of the mice story conclusion, but, just think about it. Eddie was always coming around the Beave's house, brown nosing Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver. And , they were fully away of his phony persona, yet, they could say nothing about it. They were helpless to put an end to the pretense. What could they do? They couldn't smack Eddie and tell him to knock it off. Although, back then, DCFS probably wouldn't have faulted them if they did. But, no, they had to smile and take it.

Every day when Walley would bring Ole' Eddie by--The Cleaver's knew the drill.

"Hi, Mr. Cleaver, Mrs Cleaver. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you Eddie." Mrs Cleaver would respond, in an unappreciative tone, slightly dripping of sarcasm.

Hey, I was right with you in wanting to throw Eddie up agains the wall and rubbing that smug smile off of his face, but, I will tell you this-- I would take ten Eddie Haskell's greetings to one greeting of the present generation. These days, when kid comes over to my house, I am lucky if I am even acknowledged, let alone greeted. And, it is almost a given that I will be addressed by my first name. Can you imagine Eddie calling Wally's mom, June? She was probably waiting for that, so she could call Ward in to throw him out. But, that day never came. And it never would, because kids back then were taught manners.

I don't know what happened to that concept. I have seen kids that I have known for 10 years, and who have been at my home, many times, walk right passed me on the sidewalk, without so much as a glint of recognition. It seems odd to me. Do I have invisible powers that I was not aware of?

I am sure that my own kids fall short in the manners department on many occasions. But, I know that they are not calling adults by their first name. So, I have succeeded on some small level. I think it would be nice, if we tried a little harder to get our kids to be polite as often as possible. Don't they say that manners are the lubricant of society? I am afraid that in the coming generations, society is going to be very dry indeed.

Jeepers, I wasn't trying to give you guys the business, I know the truth stinks. But, if we all try really hard to be more polite--think how keen it would be.

No Christian Bale out

Well, before I continue with the saga of the mice, I feel the need to weigh in on all of the celebrity hullabaloo currently flooding the T.V. Mind you this is just the perspective of a simple, gal from Nebraska, who is far removed from the glitz of Tinsel town. Yet, opinions--I have.

This Christian Bale thing--what’s that? I heard excerpts of his tirade, while I was driving in my car. I found it interesting that the Dark Knight could be so, for lack of a better term--rude. I mean, most British men might have handled the situation thusly:

“Oh, my, my dear chap, would you be so kind, as to not distract me on the set? Jolly good show, Govner” instead of:

"What the #*$! are you doing you #$*!ing ass*#*!"

Hmmmm, He’s a rather impatient fellow, isn’t he? He would be a lot of fun to stand behind at the post office or the DMV. I don’t ever remember hearing a recording of Cary Grant of Gary Cooper behaving that way. What happened to class? What used to be scandalous is now regarded as typical behavior. Flattering publicity--unflattering publicity--it's all good.

That got me to thinking about other people in the public eye that are elevated to beyond mortal status. Michael Phelps for example-- Here is a person who has just made a gazillion dollars in endorsements for being an uber athlete, who is stupid enough to let himself be photographed smoking Marijuana. It is bad enough that he actually feels the need to smoke it. I mean, I would think that all of the fame and mega millions would make a person content to the point that they would not need to alter their reality. But, No, he has to smoke it around other people who have photo capturing devices. I guess being a good athlete doesn’t necessarily make you smart.

Why does society feel the need to focus on these pseudo icons? Most Actors and athletes are spoiled, self centered, people, who really shouldn’t receive our attention. In fact, on Oprah’s show today, she had Jenny McCarthy plugging some new book about “women warriors“. She had to say the word “warriors” 50 times if she said it once. Then, after Jenny’s self indulgent spot, Oprah brought out a woman who had to have her arms and legs amputated after giving birth . While in the hospital, a Bacterial infection wreaked havoc throughout her body. Yet, she never gave up and returned home to her loving husband and family. This was a strong women who deserved our respect and compassion. Why did we need big mouth, Jenny McCarthy sitting next to her, telling us how she was a “warrior?” Because it tied into her book. Do we need to be lectured on who to admire by Jenny? It would have been much better, if Oprah had the inspirational woman on in her own right.

I have news for you Jenny--you are not a warrior. You are an (often vulgar) comedian/actress/playboy centerfold. Maybe you should look up the definition of warrior sometime. In fact, it would be nice if a lot of celebrities and celebrity news show looked up the meaning of words. “Amazing” is the new “awesome.” HLN’s Showbiz tonight uses the word “provocative” 5-10 times a show. Very few things are actually “amazing” or awesome. Oprah's inspiring guest was actually deserving of the word. But, not Jenny. She should have been on a differnet show.

And the last thing I want to say on the subject is how annoying it is to hear celebrities wine and cry about all of the publicity and paparazzi they have to contend with. Give me a break. It must be horrible to have people idolize you. It must be devastating to make 25 million dollars a movie and have to sign autographs and smile for photographs. Man, these poor, oppressed people. I wonder what they say when the cameras STOP following them.

What would be nice, is, if more people would lay their admiration at the feet of those who deserve it. I remember how much press Mother Theresa’s death garnered compared to Princess Diana. Diana was a likable person--but, she was no Mother Theresa. This warped way of idolizing stars won’t be changing any time soon--not with the internet and glut of celebrity show, and reality T.V. But, maybe some day, it will burn itself out enough that we can celebrate some real heroes like, generations before us did. I wonder....if Harriet Tubman were alive, and went on the Oprah show--would Tina Turner be in the seat next to her?

I'm a bad housekeeper and a bad mousekeeper

Just wanted to mention that I hit my other elbow on the corner of a cabinet today. So I have decided that I have some type of magnet in both elbows that attract the corners of objects. I’m glad that that mystery is solved.

Anyway, just a little info on the Deer mouse situation I described many bogs ago. After finding the chocolate coin foils in the basement suitcases, (refer to "micecapades) but not actually seeing any perpetrators, I started to suspect that the whole thing might be the work of the small people who live in my house and tend to do despicable things and then pretend that they didn’t.

So, I sort of forgot about the whole thing. Then, one day, many weeks later, my younger son claimed he had actually seen a little mouse run across the den floor. There were two other people there at the time (a larger son and even larger husband) who did not see the intruder. Was my son trying to throw me off his scent? Who knew?

A week later, the same kid yells that he has just seen the mouse again, and he ran under the refrigerator. (the mouse-not the kid) Well, I don’t want to bore you with the many unsubstantiated sightings, but they tended to be very similar. They took place in the kitchen/den, and the same imaginative boy was the only witness. I was skeptical. It had been over a year since the coin incident. Why would these little guys be upstairs all of a sudden? Why indeed.

Then, one evening, as I was alone, watching T.V. I heard a distinct munching sound from the kitchen, several feet behind me. There in the dim kitchen near the cabinet , (on the floor, of course) was a tiny black/grey mouse, going to town on a cheerio or something he found on the floor. (When I say you can eat off of my floors--I am not kidding.) With my recent shoulder injury, a mouse could probably find the all-you-can-eat buffet there. Needless to say my broom and I had not spent much time together over the previous months.

Oddly, I was not startled at all. I guess all of the previous inklings of the little guys presence prepared me for such a meeting. I thought him a little brazen though. I mean, to sit right there, in the open, and chow down in front of the house owner, is probably not in the “How to be a smart mouse” book of rules. When I got up, he had the presence of mind to scurry away. Not that I was going to hurt him--I just wanted to get a good look at the chocolate coin bandit. I tried to ferret him out, but he went behind the oven. A while latter, I could here him rattling around in the oven drawer, He or she, was a gutsy mouse. I knew no matter how cute it was, where there was one mouse there was more somewhere else.

Later, I'll tell you more about how and why they finally came upstairs after staying out of site, in the basement for so long . I found the whole experience very interesting and entertaining. Yet, sad and anxiety filled. If you love animals as much as I do--you are pretty much screwed in that situation.

Life's a trip

I am definitely going to get the Deer mice conclusion tomorrow. Trust me--it’s coming. And wackiness will ensue.

But, after just falling half way down my stairs, I got to wondering why these things keep happening to me. People have called me clumsy. I wish that I were clumsy, because that would be desirable improvement to what I am. I have, in the past year alone, broken my collar bone, fractured ribs, collapsed a lung, fractured a toe, whacked my elbow on a wall corner, requiring a cortisone injection, hit my head on the corner of the refrigerator door, slipped on the ice, tripped on the stairs, hit my hip on the corner of a half wall, choked on a pill, bit into a piece of plastic in a Subway sandwich, bit into a rock in a Burger King hamburger, hammered my finger, and the list continues. To sum it up--I hurt myself a lot.
I have tried to figure out why I am so prone to these injuries. I have pondered it. I have considered the following possibilities:

1. I am distracted.
2. I have kids
3. I have a middle ear problem.
4. I have kids.
5. There is too much stuff in my house.
6. There is too much stuff everywhere outside of my house.
7. I have kids.

But, aside from having kids, none of these things really explain it. I know there are people out there just like me. I know they have to put up with the slings and arrows of the “graceful” clique who tease and make fun. Those smug ones that walk in a straight line, never catch a toe on uneven sidewalks, or get a finger caught in a car door. The “coordinated” ones.

Then I got to thinking, I am prone because I am always moving? I don’t like to stay in one place too long. I feel lazy if I do. And, perhaps those people who never get hurt, spend a lot of time laying around. I don’t recall any of my injuries taking place in front of the T.V. eating Cheetos or taking a nap. Maybe the graceful are just slothful. Maybe, they don’t take the same risks as I or my fellow stumblers. Maybe they choose the safe routes when we take the less path less traveled. Maybe , just maybe we get hurt because we dare to venture.

Then again--we might just have really bad vision and are uncoordinated. But, I like to think we are special. Yes, we have fallen, choked, been sliced up, fractured, broken, skinned, scarred, bruised, contused, bumped, ended up with one "itis" or another--but, we are still here. We managed to trip and fall .... have live to fall again. That's right world--look out.

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Vagina mono blogs

I really want to finish my story about the Deer mice, but I keep getting side tracked by a new rant. As a woman with many questions about mid-life, I have been researching the changes our bodies will go through. One of the things I have learned is that, after menopause, and without estrogen replacement, a woman’s vagina may (now get this) atrophy. The hell, you say.

I just don’t understand how I could have gone in excess of 40 years and never have gotten wind of this information. How is it that nobody-- not a parent, not a teacher, not a doctor, nobody-- ever related this, or came right out and said, “Hey, by the way, you should know, that someday your vagina is going to atrophy.” Is it because I might have said, “Excuse me? Come again.? No way.”

“Way.” they would say.
“ But, how can that be?”
“Oh, it be.” they would assure me.

They might go on to add that it could become very dry and painful too. It will shorten and lose its elasticity. Well, that conversation never took place. So. I have to start wondering what else is going to happen that no one ever warned us about. What else? Is my ass going to fall off? My nipples turn to stone? What? Just how bad is this thing going to get?

It would have been nice to know about this a long time ago so I could have gotten all the use out of the thing before the end came-before the withering. I could have taken advantage of all the moisture before I had to dust my underwear.

Things do make a lot more sense now though. I used to wonder why old women didn’t seem to have much interest in sex. (not with me of course) It wasn’t because they didn’t want to have it--it was because there was a Rest In Peace marker over their vaginas.

Drug companies are ecstatic about our dilapidating mid-life bodies. Estrogen is the number two selling drug in America. It seems that a lot of women are not content to have atrophied vaginas or hot flashes for that matter. Even the threat of horomone side effects is not enough to make some suffer through the lousy consequences of aging. They refuse to mourn a dead vajayjay. Now that I think about it, maybe it would be better not to try to be so informed of things to come. Why mourne prematurely? I think I'll research the origins of chocolate.

Curiuos life?--not so much

I feel compelled to take a break from the Mice shenanigans to put in my two cents on the movie: The curious life of Benjamin Button. I don't get out to see many movies, so, it is dissapointing when one falls very short of its hype. I have not read any reviews on it, but I am sure that there are plenty of people with the same observations as I.

First of all, anyone who has see it, will notice obvious comparisons to Forest Gump. The oft repeated line: "You never know what's comin' for ya." Is strikingly similar to Gump's: "Life is like a box of Chocolates-you never know what you're gonna get." Is it not? In fact the whole movie is kind of like a recycled Forest Gump. Only this time, its a strange child man--man child dude instead of a slow, child-man who falls ass backward into everything.

A lot of the movie didn't make a lot of sense either. Why is Benjamin born a baby who is old, and becomes an old looking child, and then at the end of his life he becomes a baby who is actually a normal looking baby. To be consistent shouldn't he have died a full grown man who looks like a baby? C'mon. Did they go over budget on the freaky special effects?

Then, later in the movie, after Benjamin has a child with his love, and they are happy--he decides the best thing to do is to abandon them. This is for their own good. What the hell? His reasoning it that he will be too young to raise the kid, and his true love will be saddled with two kids. But, in reality, Benjamin, who at the time is the same age as her, (around 40) will have many years to raise this kid. In fact, he has over 20 years as an adult while she grows up. Why couldn't he raise her? In another inexplicable scene, the now, adult daughter is visiting with her old and dying mother in the hospital. She finds a picture of the mother in her dancing attire. And, says this: "Mom, you never talked about your dancing." Her mother owned a dancing studio, for God's sake. I found myself getting really anrgy at this point in the movie, as I had already invested a couple hours.

Another problem, that only serves to make an already too long, film drag, even more, is that there were too many extranious characters. Sure, they were supposed to be colorfull, but, guess what? They weren't. And they didn't really have much significance to anything. The woman at the hotel--the guy who came and took him out when he lived at the retirement home. The story at the beginning of the guy with the clock. Do they have to beat us over the head with symbolism? What was that all about? Who cares?

I kept waiting for a pay off. I kept waiting to feel something--but, I never did. There were plenty of opportunities for the makers of this film to touch the audience, but they were lost in an overblown score of heart tugging music and a parade of lifeless characters. What left me most curious about Benjamin button, is why I wasted 7 bucks to see it.

There-I feel better now. Not that I couldn't have gone on as long as the actuall movie about all that was wrong with it. But, will restrain myself. This whole blog entree has made want popcorn.

By the way all pictures on this blog, unless photos , are my artwork.

Micecapades

Okay, after a couple days to rest the ol' wrists, I can continue the strange, but true story of My house guests--the deer mice. A unruly clan that took up residence in my basement last winter after my son broke out a window and nobody bothered to officially fix it. The piece of cardboard deftly stuck in, did not seem a formidable barrier for the ingenious , yet adorable, Deer Mouse.

Of, course at the time, I was unaware that I had to protect from these invaders, as I have never seen one around. Yet, last, Xmas, as I went down into the basement, (where everything unusable ends up for eternity) I noticed that the two bags of Chocolate coins that I had stashed amid other hidden Christmas gifts, were mysteriously missing. All, but for one strange piece of empty gold foil shell, that remained to mock me. "What the hell?" I asked myself. surely this is not the work of my kids. They are crafty enough, to dispose of ALL evidence of such a crime. Having lived in our home for close to two decades, and never seeing anything more than an occasional spider. My blame did not readily fall on anyone in the rodent family. But, then, I saw it. The tiniest of all calling cards from my wee vermin visitors. If I hadn't squinted--I wouldn't have seen it. The size of a poppy seed--a mouse dropping. Egads!!! But, I could not be sure. I could not definitively accuse an entire species of animal. So, I forgot about the incident with a bemused shrug.

Almost a year later, I was cleaning out some old clothing from some suitcases (on the other side of the basement, mind you.) When I unzipped a large plaid one-- I could not believe my eyes. Behold!! Before me-the entire cache of gold coin foils. amid a shredded sweater. I scratched my head. My previous suspicions now seemed confirmed. Yet I questioned myself. "How in the hell did they get these coins into this zipped suitcase? How did they drag over 20, rather large coins such a distance? (The equivelant of me hauling an unweildly chocolate filled Tobaggen a mile.) How did they so expertly peel the foil off of the chocolate? What else had they destroyed?" Yet how could I be mad at creatures that obviously understood about the joys of chocolate? I felt a pang of endearment. But, just as fast, a shudder of what would happen if my husband ever found out about my newly discovered, fellow chocoholics. .

The hard way

It's not that I like doing things the hard way--it's just that I always do. I've read that our attitudes determine our fate. Our thoughts make us who we are. Well, I don't remember sitting down one day to think: "I want to be racked with pain every day" Or "I wish my husband were a workaholic." Or "Man, it would be nice if mice took over my house." Yet, these things seemed to materialize in my life.

The mice. Oh, the mice. Cute little white footed, mice. I find it odd that these creatures, who spend the majority of their time ferreting out any morsel of food and any makeshift shelter, can not be content to live in a large, plastic aquarium, with three square meals a day--wih such delicacies as apples smeared with peanut butter, and 12 grain bread.

But, alas--they are not. From day one, when I caught the first of the tribe, they have waged rodent war against me. I would like to go into detail, but, I am afraid my tendons are hurting too much. Perhaps tomarrow. At the risk of being crude--Fibromyalgia sucks.

Nowhere but up

This is my first entry into the blogging world. My name is Marie Turco-Moslemian. I am a woman who is challanged everyday with the insults of Fibromyalgia. As an artist, it is ironic. As, the thing that I most enjoy, causes the most pain. I still play little tricks on myself, trying to outsmart the pain. I usually lose. In fact, even sitting in front of the computer to write this blog, will, undoubtedly cause a very unpleasant reaction. The painting on the left is an example of some of my art. But, we need to laugh through the pain.

Anyone who faces daily, physical challenges, knows that sometimes you just have to say: "What the hell."

They say that those with Fibromyalgia have overly sensitive nervous systems, and are higly sensitve in general. I tend to agree. Sometimes our sensitvity is a crushing weight. In the last few months, my house has become a haven for some adorable Deer mice. I love, animals of any ilk. With the weather being brutally cold, the mice caught in the humane traps, can not be safely released outside. I will write more about the fate if my sweet, but troublesome visitors. But, it is safe to say, that I have once again gone overboard in my rescuing behavior. This seems to be a common denomiator with poeple with fibromyalgia. We become overly involved with everyone and everything. But, some of the nicest people you will ever meet have this affliction. I hope to write some musings with this blog and I hope you enjoy them.