Thursday, May 31, 2007

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

"Otto Titsling"


"This next story is a true story.
It concerns two of my favorite subjects:
industrial theft . . . and-a t-ts!
Mmm, what a combo! This is the story . . .
The inventor of the modern foundation garment
that we women wear today was a German scientist
and opera lover by the name of Otto Titsling!
This is a true story.
His name was Otto Titsling.
What happened to Otto Titsling shouldn't happen to a schnauzer.
It's a very sad story. I feel I have to share it with you."

Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.

One night at the opera he saw an Aida
who's t-ts were so big they would often impede her.
Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
done in by the weight of those terrible t-ts.

Oh, my god! There she blows!
Aerodynamically this bitch was a mess.
Otto eyeballed the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
and he suddenly felt the fire of inspiration
flood his soul. He knew what he had to do!
He ran back to his workshop
where he futzed and futzed and futzed.

For Otto Titsling had found his quest:
to lift and mold the female breast;
to point the small ones to the sky;
to keep the big ones high and dry!

Every night he'd sweat and snort
searching for the right support.
He tried some string and paper clips.
Hey! He even tried his own two lips!

Well, he stitched and he slaved
and he slaved and he stitched
until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.
Yes! He had invented the worlds first
over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. Hooray!

Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
down the street to the diva's house
bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
But, after many initial misgivings,
she finally did.
And the sigh of relief that issued forth
from the diva's mouth
was so loud that it was mistaken by some
to be the early onset of the Siroccan Winds
which would often roll through the Schwarzwald
with a vengeance!

But little did Otto know,
at the moment of his greatest triumph,
lurking under the diva's bed
was none other than the very worst
of the French patent thieves,
Philippe DeBrassiere.
And Phil was watching the scene
with a great deal of interest!

Later that night, while our Brun Hilda slept,
into the wardrobe Philippe softly crept.
He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
'til he found Otto's titsling and he ran out the door.

Crying, "Oh, my god! What joy! What bliss!
I'm gonna make me a million from this!
Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
I can have all the goods manufactured in Taiwan."

"Oh, thank you!"

The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?

"Ohhh! Thank you!"


Hattip: Siege.

Sailing to Byzantium


THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

William Butler Yeats

Monday, May 28, 2007

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Saturday, May 26, 2007

From jc's Dad

How fitting on this Memorial Day....I received this in an email from jc's father - I'm sure others of you have as well.

Judy's "real" obituary will appear in Saturday's Lafayette, Louisiana Daily Advertiser frontpage

The one which you saw from the Murray, Kentucky Ledger and Times contained only the minimal information required to be placed by the local funeral home. Please share this information with her friends on the blog.

If for some reason it does not appear in the May 26th edition, check succeeding issues until you see it.

Best regards,
Jerry Cadoret

Judy Lynne Cadoret

MURRAY, Ky. - Judy Lynne Cadoret, 50, passed away May 13, 2007 at her family's home in Murray, Ky. after an extended period of declining health.

Judy was born March 20, 1957 in Rutland, Vt. to Warren J. (Jerry) Cadoret Jr. and the late Ramona (Mona) Cook Cadoret. The family traveled extensively, and Judy's childhood was spent in Louisiana as well as Colombia, South America and the Republic of South Africa .

She graduated in 1974 from Buras High School (Buras, La.) where she was editor of her high school yearbook. In 1978, she graduated Magna Cum Laude from Nicholls State University (Thibodaux, La.) where she had also worked as a Coach and Trainer for the Women's Athletic Team. Judy then returned to Buras High School as a Teacher (Art, Industrial Arts/Woodworking, and Health & PE) and was also Head Coach for the girls' basketball and softball teams and Assistant Coach to the girls' volleyball and track teams.

Four years later, in 1982, she moved to Lafayette, La. where her love of teaching continued and she found an outlet by helping her friends and neighbors improve their computer skills. There, she attended the University of Southwestern Louisiana where, in 1987, she acquired her second Bachelor's degree, again graduating Magna Cum Laude. At the time of her death, she had also partially completed her Master's Degree at the same university. Judy resided in Lafayette for 24 years. There she had been employed in the City Prosecutor's office as a Paralegal and later worked in the law office of Doucet-Speer as a Paralegal and Bookkeeper. She also held a Notary Public commission. Judy became a master of the computer and, in mid-1998, she formed a home-based computer services, transcription, and record-keeping business, which she maintained until 2006.

Judy was a sensitive soul who possessed a deep love of animals (especially her kitties, Xena and Gabby). She was also a champion of equality and individual rights who despised any form of racial or gender prejudice. Though preferring to stay out of the spotlight, she was politically active in promoting her beliefs through her graphic design work for candidates of like mind. She was a dedicated "blogger" and enjoyed debating political issues on the internet.

Judy was an accomplished artist

Friday, May 25, 2007

Happy Towel Day

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical
value - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you - daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.


Thursday, May 24, 2007

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Monday, May 21, 2007

Sunday, May 20, 2007



Something deeply kind
as rain is kind
and bright
like sun sparkling on
running water

Constant, like the love
of robins for each other
for the fledgling
As strong as a hawk's wing
is strong
meeting the edge of air

As brave as parenting:
what's loved can always
be lost
Quick as laughter
Tender as song

and loving friend
I'm sorrowful
you are gone
The simple pain
of breathing in a world
where you are not

Yet choose, yes choice,
to see you free
and riding wild and clear
Wholly yourself, spark among
spark, along the ringing marges
of the nebulae

waiting for us
to come home

Friday, May 18, 2007

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Saturday, May 12, 2007

May 12, 2007 at 08:45 PM MDT Tonight I was just sitting and Talking with Austin, our soon-to-be 8 year old. I could tell he was thinking. He said "do people buy stuff on tv?" I said "yeah." He said "maybe I could create a drug called Zonzula." I kind of had an idea of where he was going with this, but I asked anyway, "What would it do." With the hint of a smile he said "cure cancer." You know what? It wouldn't surprise me if he was the one who figured it all out!



Thursday, May 10, 2007

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


The first in 65 years
without you in it.

Bracketed for me
the tender black silhouettes
of trees against early and late
Soft spring air

I dreamed you in the middle


Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Lost in the Forgetmenots tonight
A night I never imagined

A night without you in it.
Somewhere, real, in the world.

Drowning in the blue of their little faces
In memory that begins to hurt
refuses solace

And I want, forgive me, to pry
my eyes loose of the memories
my fingers from around the neck
of your soul

If you once were not
Not one thing I could have imagined
Why now that you are not
Can I not just let you fly
free of me, my longing?



I want to write you and tell you
how the peepers sound tonight
how their glorious sexifying
makes me want to be in your arms

To tell you of the stars
so bright you'd be amazed
I want to wait for the sweet
Honey, I'm home

To hear your voice
to make plans
to laugh and dream
I just want you.


This was a favorite of Edwin's -- he sent it to me early in our courtship.


The Lama of the Crystal Monastery appears to be a very happy man, and
yet I wonder how he feels about his isolation in the silences of
Tskang, which he has not left in eight years now and, because of his
legs, may never leave again. Since Jang-bu seems uncomfortable with the
Lama or with himself or perhaps with us, I tell him not to inquire on
this point if it seems to him impertinent, but after a moment Jang-bu
does so. And this holy man of great directness and simplicity, big
white teeth shining, laughs out loud in an infectious way at Jang-bu’s
question. Indicating his twisted legs without a trace of self-pity or
bitterness, as if they belonged to all of us, he casts his arms wide to
the sky and the snow mountains, the high sun and dancing sheep, and
cries, “Of course I am happy here! It’s wonderful! ESPECIALLY when I
have no choice!”

In its wholehearted acceptance of what is, this is just what Soen
Roshi might have said: I feel as if he had struck me in the chest. I
thank him, bow, go softly down the mountain: under my parka, the prayer
flag glows. Butter tea and wind pictures, the Crystal Mountain, and
blue sheep dancing on the snow - it’s quite enough!
Have you seen the snow Leopard?
No! Isn't that wonderful?

Peter Matthiessen - “The Snow Leopard”


Any day I knew you
took a breath

Any evening I knew you'd
be home

Any morning I woke
with you in my bed

Any time my body
touched yours

Any second our
eyes met

Every time our
minds sang together

Monday, May 07, 2007

Mysteries of Nature


The gibbous moon keeps watch
spring frost

The beast, blood full of flowers
lounges in bower birds nests

Violets protest, the fern unfurls
its fronds; iris buds fatten

Peepers batten down, naked and wet
There is hope yet: find that girl, find that girl

Heart, out of season, out of reason,
out of hope. Hoping nevertheless, yes?

Sunday, May 06, 2007


First greeting of the first violets
Followed by the elder full of bloom
and the honeysuckle foaming along
the hedgerows.

The pale luminescent green of the new dogwood,
flutters in the understorey
the dark translucence of the Redbud, greening.

The first crop of lion's teeth all blowsy
and fields gone gold with wild mustard

Mayapple poking up its charming green umbrellas
the flower you'll never find without hunting for it

All the apples but the eldest in full bloom
the old lady always waits

Spring has made it through another
winter. Go. Do likewise.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Cinco de Mayo

In the United States, Cinco de Mayo has taken on a significance beyond its significance in Mexico.[4] Commercial interests in the United States have capitalized on the celebration advertising Mexican products and services with an emphasis on beverages, foods, and music.[5] The date is perhaps best recognized in the United States as a date to celebrate the culture and experiences of Americans of Mexican descent, much like St. Patrick's Day, Oktoberfest, or Chinese New Year are used to celebrate those of Irish, German, and Chinese descent, respectively. As a result, the holiday is observed by many Americans regardless of ethnic origins, particularly in cities and states where there is a large population of Mexican origin. Although it is no more an officially-recognized holiday than St. Patrick's Day, many cities with large populations of Mexican origin honor the day as a symbolic representation of Mexican pride and as a representation of a culture that blends both Mexican and American roots. Celebrations tend to draw both from traditional Mexican symbols, such as the Virgin de Guadalupe, as well as prominent figures of Mexican descent in the United States, such as César Chávez.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Into the air, Junior Birdmen!!

WASHINGTON, May 2–And you thought he was still “the decider.”

President Bush coined a new nickname for himself — ‘’the commander guy” — on Wednesday, as he criticized Congressional Democrats in a speech to the annual gathering of the Associated General Contractors of America, a construction industry trade group.

The man who last year proclaimed “I’m the decider,’’ in response to a question about whether he would fire Donald Rumsfeld as defense secretary, came up with this latest moniker in explaining why he vetoed an Iraq war spending bill that dictated a timeline for troops to withdraw from Iraq.

“The question is, ‘Who ought to make that decision, the Congress or the commanders?,’’ Mr. Bush said. “As you know, my position is clear – I’m the commander guy.”

For the rest: clicky

Hattip to Renee ♥s

Happy Third Birthday, Tanner!!

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

A funny story

This morning, reading one of my favorite blogs (see link next story down), I checked the comments, which led me to the closing of Utah's Republican convention (where I suspect my youngest brother was present). I decided to post the excerpt below. Then went looking for an illustration. I googled "crazy elephants" and on the first page, the picture from the book Why Mommy is a Democrat came up. Which wouldn't be unusual, except that it was the picture Julie had used for her blog entry. And had nothing to do with the comment I followed. Her entry was about her library training. . . .

Some days, the Universe is a very odd place to be. . . . Can anyone say "synchronicity"?

Some days, you're just glad you left the place while you were still young. . .


Sunday, April 29, 2007
Convention ends with Satan and immigrants

Utah County Republicans ended their convention on Saturday by debating Satan's influence on illegal immigrants.

The group was unable to take official action because not enough members stuck around long enough to vote, despite the pleadings of party officials. The convention was held at Canyon View Junior High School.

Don Larsen, chairman of legislative District 65 for the Utah County Republican Party, had submitted a resolution warning that Satan's minions want to eliminate national borders and do away with sovereignty.

In a speech at the convention, Larsen told those gathered that illegal immigrants "hate American people" and "are determined to destroy this country, and there is nothing they won't do."

Illegal aliens are in control of the media, and working in tandem with Democrats, are trying to "destroy Christian America" and replace it with "a godless new world order -- and that is not extremism, that is fact," Larsen said.

At the end of his speech, Larsen began to cry, saying illegal immigrants were trying to bring about the destruction of the U.S. "by self invasion."

Republican officials then allowed speakers to defend and refute the resolution. One speaker, who was identified as "Joe," said illegal immigrants were Marxist and under the influence of the devil. Another, who declined to give her name to the Daily Herald, said illegal immigrants should not be allowed because "they are not going to become Republicans and stop flying the flag upside down. ... If they want to be Americans, they should learn to speak English and fly their flag like we do."

Senator Howard Stephenson, R-Draper, spoke against the resolution, saying Larsen, whom he called a "true patriot and a close friend," was embarrassing the Republican Party.

Read the rest here.

Hattip to Julie's blog.

This gives me hope, kiddles!


Even in the land of the reddest of the red, the littles are rebelling. . . .

Tuesday, May 01, 2007