March 31, 2012 - March 24, 2012
. Mrs. CP is supposed to be the sensible one in
this household. Normally she is. Like when we go to Petsmart to spend
our weekly king's ransom on dogfood, catfood, birdseed, etc, she won't
let me even walk by the cats in the Pet Rescue booth. (I do anyway.)
But on Friday she called me to say she'd seen a cat at Petsmart she had
to have. We have four dogs and three cats, and the deerhound is still
just one year old, a handful more demanding than a human infant,
because he's one and one
hundred pounds of trouble. What can you say? "Sure."
We went and got him on Sunday. After all the calls. Cat rescue people are, well, anxious and hyper. They had it in mind that this new boy might be too much for us to manage. He's an "alpha male," they said. He might attack and maul our other cats because he's such a bad dude in the cat universe. Mrs. CP knew how to handle it, which is good because all my instincts were (as usual) wrong. I'd have told them that our Bengal Izzie could kick his ass with one hand tied behind her back, and our feral Mickey is so huge he could simply sit on an an "alpha male" and forget about him. Which doesn't even address the real issue, meaning Raebert, who continues to think cats are mysteriously mobile toys, still unaware that one tap of his gigantic paw can send a cat to the hospital. Izzie doesn't care because she's Izzie, friend of Psmith and becoming friend of Raebert...
Mrs. CP just told them she could take care of it. Adoption approved. So on Sunday I spent the longest eighteen hours of my life in the sixty minutes it took to complete the paperwork in that claustrophobic booth and get the new boy into the carrier and into the car. (Occasionally, even the most enlightened male understands why so many men tune all women out completely. Jesus. Do they NEVER shut up?) His foster mom was worried that the 50 miles we had to drive to get him home would be too much for him. He meowed exactly three times en route. I think he was as glad as I was to get out of that place where all those women, in an incredibly confined space, were talking over each other continuously like lunatics. Never been asked the same questions so many times with no comprehension or memory of the answers. Enough said.
Guess what. He is an alpha male. Alpha plus. He doesn't need to kick ass. His thing? He's completely unafraid. Mickey stalked him, Izzie did her scary, warbling danger voice, and Raebert did his "Wow, a new toy I can paw and boot around." What did this guy do? Nothing. No retreat. No threat displays. He just sat there, plainly saying, "I am Elliott." The perfect answer. Meaning he was utterly unimpressed by any possibility of harm.
And meaning that Mrs. CP knows what she's doing when she bonds with a cat in a nanosecond through a plexiglass window at Petsmart. She just knew. Instantaneously. Maybe I'll learn how to fully appreciate this women before I die, but it's going to take some time. A lot of time.
Some key facts about Elliott. He's supposedly an orange tabby. He isn't. Anyone can see he's a blond cat, just like his new daddy. He knows his name, which came with him, and he responds to it just like a dog, coming at a trot from wherever he is. There's a lot more to him than dignity. He likes to play with all the toys, he will sleep with his head on your hand, and he investigates absolutely everything with a kind of patient resolve.
Truth. I sat up with him all night the first night. He didn't want me to go to bed. He knew he was home at last, and his whole attitude was, "I've been waiting and waiting, and now here you are."
The missus and I are still getting used to his implacable calm. Raebert paws him and he simply bats lightly at the paws. Incredible because Raebert's affectionate pawings still hurt me.
I know I've talked a lot about dogs and cats here over the years. I've never suggested that Instapunk.com needed a mascot. But maybe Elliott should be our mascot. Did I mention that Elliott is slightly lame? A hind leg that might have been broken in the past. Who knows what rescues endure before they fall into human hands? But I put it to you: Isn't this guy the essence of us? Standing there, calm and observant, somehow immune to the onslaught. Too cool to get violent. Too confident of his own destiny to let temporal provocations get in the way of his enjoyment of life.
Well. No pressure. We don't really need a mascot at Instapunk.com. But I'm sure those of you who don't hate cats will extend a warm welcome to our newest boy. His name is Elliott.
. For the last half of her life, she became a
totem for gay men. But that's not how it began. She was an
extraordinary actress and a great great beauty. Mrs. CP urges you to
take another look at Raintree County
and A Place in the Sun
(Dreiser's American Tragedy).
No two ways about it. She was just
Whereas I remain enthralled by her promise in National Velvet.
No, nothing creepy about it. I'm old enough to see her in that movie as
a daughter -- and heartbroken to think that all her talent and beauty
would lead her to so much internationally celebrated unhappiness. Her
real husband was Mike Todd. He died in a plane crash. I don't
think she ever got over that. Why I prefer to forget about all the
soap operas with Richard Burton, Cleopatra,
infatuation, and so forth. It doesn't matter. She had violet eyes.
I also thought she was magnificent as Rebecca in Ivanhoe.
Oh well. She left her mark. She is immortal. She was a star. I hope she
has found peace.
again, mes amis. I am once again so
happy to meet you here, by invitation of the Punks. My good grief.
There is so many things in the world going on it is enough as to
make my head spin! In fact, the number of things that happen in the
events is so large, it is difficult to make the decision on which is
the best topic to start on. However, I know it is in the spirit of The
Punks to fight a challenge. Therefore, I accept and will do a good job.
So, sans plus adieu, I will
Anyfell Season in Review - I make a promise back in the preseasonings that I will follow this anyfell season all the way. And I keep this promise. Even though I do not write about it until now. This is because I must drink while I watch the anyfell, and while I drink I soon feel the bite of nostalgic and I go to the computer and start watching old clips of my Quebec Nordiques. But still I take a notes and can present a review to you so I do not break my promises.
So I think that the Green Way Packers win all of the Superbowls despite that I am still many confuse about how they get to that game. There is the university minor league of the anyfell, called I think the NAACP, and it has what they call the BCS system. They play about one thousand Superbowls for some reason instead of make only six or eight teams have the playoff, and all of this Superbowls are spread in a time of four months. In start there are twenty four games to play every day and the number is smaller and smaller until, in the month number four, they play this last game alone very late at night. I think it is only that I am Canadian so I do not have l'comprehension about this idea, but to me it seems if you have one thousand Superbowl games it will make the experience feel not as excite. Also the team they say is university champion of the NAACP is made cheap because they did not have to fight in a playoff and only are include in the champion bowl because Tony Kornholer and a computer vote for them. And yet I must make the defend for the hockey when a critics say the anyshell playoffs are too long?
But anyway, the anyfell playoffs start during the BCS superbowls until there is one last superbowl after the university superbowl championship bowl. So I do not make the confuse, I will call this last anyfell game the Big Superbowl. This game is won by the Green Way Packer man Rogers who makes a throw of the ball so good, even the man with all the pubic hair flowing from the helmet cannot stop him. And I think there is some of the irony because the Green Ways are from your state of Wisconsin which brings me to...
More strikings - Mes amis, I must be clean with you in this moment. I know so many of you do not like the hockey despite many of my effort to show you how good it is. That means you do not know a lot of news of the hockey and I must make la admission of misleading you. Long times ago I tell you the anyshell has LOCKOUT, NOT STRIKE. Well, I lie about this. Actually, we do have a strike during that time and it is cause by the anyshell union of the players. And every player, even moi, must make the participation in it, even if many player already is OK with their contract. The union says to us: "Le commissaire Gary Bettman is the devil. We must fight him and we win for you 20 million dollars U.S. and pensions for the tropical islands." Instead, I lose my job playing the hockey and never see even one of the million dollars U.S. And the only island I see is for two months when I live some with cousins in Ellesmere Island, where I catch the frost bites.
The problem always in our STRIKE is that the anyshell owners already have even more than 20 million dollars U.S. And they will keep their dollars even if the hockey season is missing. However, the players of the anyshell only will get the dollars U.S. if the season can be occur. And it is not very terror to say to Americans, "Give monies to us or we will take away the hockey!" It is maybe like when you say to a bad guy, "Stop being bad or Barack Obama will have many anger!" No body cares.
These thoughts are in my head when I hear about many other unions that make a protest against Wisconsin. They talk about many teacher and student to make a strike for la solidarité, but I think they are only enjoy to not be in the school. But also I have the curious of how many teachers have the job in Wisconsin and do not want to be in the unions but they do not have the choices? But one good thing comes from this. I mention before I am force to stop my job at the census, but still I am friends with my boss from there as he is so smart about how your government works. We are sad for the end of the census because, like my boss instruct me, the unemployments insurance we get is bad for it does not pay "the livable wage" (what he always names it), but one day he announce to me that we have a new job:
When I first get off the bus from union charter in Winconsin, I think I
have not the right clothes. But then my census boss (he is always so smart), he say to me that
my dress is not import, only the count of my body in the people. Also
think of my mask that it is the strong support of a teevee station
called PBS. They think I dress as a puppet named Homo,
it is le obvious
thing my mask is of Youppi.
like the most about this time in the protesting is the unions
pay for my work in Molson, and addition I get
for vicodin! I have such a gran
time it feels like the
vacation. What I like the worst is that two fat
girls in picture above are many arouse by my support of the PBS Homo
and follow me during this whole time. But there is not
enough Molson in all of this world! I can not believe!
And now the anyfell has a LOCKOUT, NOT STRIKE. I suppose because treasure rookies such as Jamarcass Russel do not make enough money for making zero contribution to team or the sport. HAHAHAHAHA!! Stupid anyfell. I hope all these players also lose the dental insurance. But for truth, I am jealous at the anyfell player union because I know they will get what they want because the fans of anyfell are always so happy to pay more money. I miss playing the hockey.
Other Current Events - Let us see. I think about talking of Libyia. Or Japan. Or maybe the new scandal of the U.S. soldier (who are all guilty with no question anywhere) treating people so badly. But I am already bored with the talk of current events. I want to talk about...
The Hockey - Did you know that the anyshell playoffs start soon? They start so soon. I can not wait. I go ahead now and give you my picks for awards:
Stanley Cup Champions: Montreal Canadians.
Hart Trophy (MVP): Tomas Plekanec (MON)
MVP For Girls: Sidney Mary Crosby (PIT)
Vezina Trophy: Carey Price (MON)
Conn Smythe Trophy: Brian Gionta (MON)
I can go on, but I think you are getting this picture. If you are not a fan of the Habs, you will be so sad during the anyshell playoffs because your team will LOSE. Even the InstaPunk Phylers, which I change my mind about.
Well I have been drinking many Molson while the writting of this post, so as I mention I now only wish to see old clips of my Nordiques. So until next time, my name is...
. All right. There really are times when I despair of the
conservative movement in American politics. I hate to say it, but
they're pushing me toward support of Sarah Palin.
The headline, I guess, is that beltway conservatives aren't comfortable with criticizing Obama for playing golf, doing televised segments on ESPN -- with elaborate whiteboard graphics -- about both the men's and women's college basketball "brackets," and then leaving the country for Rio with his mother-in-law in tow even as he puts U.S. troops in harm's way in Libya.
On the O'Reilly Factor, on-again off-again conservative newsman Bernie Goldberg denounced such criticism as "Obama bashing" and O'Reilly agreed. On the Brit Baer Report, Bill Kristol laughed off the whole subject and declared his satisfaction with the fact that Pitt's defeat made Obama's brackets go south (as far as Rio? We wonder.)
At Hotair, it was left to a minor Green Room poster to point out that the trip to Rio was more serious than a PR gaffe. After making Goldberg/Kristol type noises (first paragraph), Jazz Shaw actually detects something amiss (second paragraph):
Given that two U.S. pilots crashed in Libya overnight, and one may not
yet be completely safe, his concern is well founded.
Against this, I retain the image of Kristol blithely ha-ha-ing about golf and brackets in the midst of a monstrous federal budget crisis, a region-wide political meltdown in the mideast, an unprecedented disaster in Japan, and what may prove to be a third war in the mideast. Perhaps it bothers me more since I started reading Jack Cashill's Obama Deconstructed, a book that more or less proves Obama's two great autobiographies were written by the terrorist Bill Ayers. Cashill recounts that Bill Kristol's Weekly Standard rejected his initial article on the subject out of hand shortly before the November 2008 election. They'd already published a "critical" review, but thanks anyway, and we'll call you if we want you.
And another image of Kristol caught up in an ugly intra-party controversy regarding Haley Barbour, which he dismissed with a patronizing two-sentence response.
There's a pattern here. The beltway Republicans are still afraid to confront Obama directly about anything, lest they be tarred as racists. But they're more than willing, even eager, to trash those among their own who have. Palin, for example, is fair game, even in the context of the ongoing lefty abuse of her, exemplified thus:
The sad truth is, the beltway conservatives agree:
So. When attacked as she outrageously was after the Tucson shooting, she fights back. That means she's playing the "victim card"? Really? Bullshit. Underneath their lofty rhetoric, the Beltway impotents think Palin is, well, a dumb twat. Okay. Way better than a PW limp dick, eh?
Once again (hope I'm not falling into a rut), two thoughts.
One. The beltway conservatives are delusional. Failing to attack Obama head-on and hoping some mild-mannered moderate will suffice to defeat him is idiotic. On the same Brit Baer show where Kristol laughed off the brackets, conservatives discussed the prospects of a Tim Pawlenty candidacy without mentioning the one thing grass-roots conservatives really do know about him: he stood by and did nothing for months while Al Franken nakedly stole a U.S. Senate seat under his acquiline nose. No thanks, TPaw. Don't need you. Do they really think they can sell us another castrato who belatedly says the cautiously right things?
Two. When Reagan won in 1980, nobody but his fierce partisans thought he had a chance. He had three huge strikes against him. He was an actor and a lightweight (Eureka College. Sheesh.). He was old. He was extreme, almost a joke. The polls were against him all the way to Election Day.
Make no mistake. Obama may be a weak, hopelessly indecisive and incompetent president. But he knows how to campaign. Chicago style. Mean, ruthless, underhanded, and to the last vote. We need a warrior who can take all the dirty blows and still keep coming. Who's taken the most dirty blows in the last two years without faltering for even an instant? Sarah Palin. Dumb twat? Really?
Maybe. But she's our dumb twat. Too dumb to quit just because a bunch of arrogant pricks (of both sexes) hate her for no reason. And I'd rather follow her than a bunch of hyper-intellectual eunuchs who don't know that they're walking around with "Kick Me" signs pinned to the back of their Brooks Brothers suits. Keep your Romneys, Pawlentys, corny Huckabees, date-expired Gingriches, and promising juveniles like Rubio, Jindal, and Christie.
Let's go frankly and openly to war. Behind Palin. If nothing else, the view from behind Palin is the best view there is in politics.
P.S. Is it a coincidence or incredibly useful information that the president's NCAA men's bracket picked all the top seeds to win? I have this feeling it won't go that way in 2012.
Regarding Rio (and therefore topical):
I would sell everything I have for a car and a few hundred bucks. My bike was stolen by thugs. I don't actually have anything. Well, three Joan Miro lithos from the Ubu Roi, 1956. A bittersweet holding, now that I am faced with the prospects of having no allies, and no conceivable way out of this Midwest Freeholders Zone.
No way out. Trapped. With a bunch of stuff and rare and limited 'things' to accompany me down with the ship. A 1500 year old statue, a monument to Japanese Buddha. Where can it possibly take me now? The Captain-President is long gone. Is he a Punk, making some kind of mockery of Boomers? Is this the secret sign? For I surely need it now, a Sign that is. I need it badly, for the beans I stored require sunlight to activate. And I would love to have a spoon with a drop of gold upon it. For I should stick that spoon in every mouth that offered resistance, and surely they would be cured of resistance. For nothing cures ailments better than gold.
Unless you need to move really, really fast. Gold, being just slightly more voluminous than Uranium, though much less heavy, is still very heavy stuff. And you cannot run with gold.
And I cannot run. This, sadly, because I have a very small "capture crossection" for beans. I guess designing ones life around the philosophy that "less is more" is feasible up until the time one needs to drive quickly south. When one has no car, and is in fact economically insignificant, it becomes difficult.
I have a few books that I published no [on?] Amazon. I would sell the rights to them. I need a ticket for me (and my honey). Just as far south as I can get.
I don't know about any of you, but I've been in liquidation mode
before. The need to go elsewhere, get out from under, even if it means
shedding the objects held most dear.
Can't and therefore won't offer advice about the underlying causes.
Those are personal and beyond reproach from outside. But Helk is
obviously in pain, and a gang is better than nothing when information
and resources are required. So I'm putting up this post for all who are
disposed to contribute their part of the considerable research
capability the commenters at this site have to offer.
I don't know anything about 1500 year old Buddha statues, but maybe
someone else does. If you do, add your two cents. btw this is also the
place where Helk can fill in some of the missing links -- what books
have you written? how much do you know (or not) about electronic
publishing? are you from the midwest and fleeing? or marooned in the
midwest having been born elsewhere and missing home?
The more you can disclose, the more the IP community can offer. We
really do stretch from sea to shining sea, all the way from the
southern Atlantic coast of South Carolina to the northern Pacific coast
of Seattle, not to mention the gulf coast of Texas. We're everywhere.
What little I know. If you
want to be free, live cheap and not be bothered, South Carolina might
be your best bet. Or West Virginia, whose politics are liberal Democrat
but impossible to enforce because the state is so damn bankrupt.
I also looked up the Joan
lithographs from the Ubu Roi series. They're valuable but
probably not valuable enough on their own to finance a flight to
freedom. Each series was limited in number, but only a handful of each
series was signed. The unsigned seemed to be going for $3250 each, and
the signed for maybe double that. And that's at art house auction, which means you
can count on getting clipped for a hefty percentage going in and coming
out. Can't imagine what it would be like to have such pieces and
contemplate losing them. Yeah. I like Miro too.
I know we've had our differences. H. But mean as we may be, we also
have considerable good will here. Share more of your situation, more of
provenance of your possessions and writings, and it's my bet people
will sail in with information -- and empathy -- that might enable you
to navigate the despair and find a new, more hopeful course.
One good thing about the Internet, to which I can personally attest.
You are not nearly as alone, in any respect, as you think you are.
Helk. This is YOUR page. Do with it as you will.
IP commenters. Read and keep coming back here. One of us is down. We don't leave our own
behind. Now, do we?
P.S. Duh. Of course he meant "published on Amazon." Here are his books. Anyone have any ideas about how to promote or repackage these to give them new market life?