Good night! I know that flowers are the genitalia of the plant world, but come on! With its heart shaped 'tongue', its lower petals, coyly crossed, looking as if they're wearing thigh high garter stockings pulled up to plump little buttocks - Georgia O'Keefe only wishes she could paint something so suggestive.Good night! I know that flowers are the genitalia of the plant world, but come on! With its heart shaped 'tongue', its lower petals, coyly crossed, looking as if they're wearing thigh high garter stockings pulled up to plump little buttocks - Georgia O'Keefe only wishes she could paint something so suggestive.
I got a call the other day from a man who wanted a local mannequin manufacturer. When I could find no evidence of the company he angrily disputed my spelling of mannequin, insisting the word was spelled "manican." I told him that there was no company with either spelling and he seemed crestfallen. He then asked for the closest manufacturer. He wasn't interested in used mannequins, or mannequin stores. Only a manufactuer would do.
I got a call the other day from a man who wanted a local mannequin manufacturer. When I could find no evidence of the company he angrily disputed my spelling of mannequin, insisting the word was spelled "manican." I told him that there was no company with either spelling and he seemed crestfallen. He then asked for the closest manufacturer. He wasn't interested in used mannequins, or mannequin stores. Only a manufactuer would do.
A patron called and wanted to know the details of Adam Walsh's disappearance and murder. As my colleague read her an account, the patron began emitting these huge, choking sobs . A patron called and wanted to know the details of Adam Walsh's disappearance and murder. As my colleague read her an account, the patron began emitting these huge, choking sobs . "For decades, and at great personal risk, Vollmann has made a calling and a career of mixing with people whom most of us avoid and of listening, at length, to the unheard, whom he typically, and appropriately, pays to speak to him."This is especially true while he was researching The Royal Family and Whores for Gloria. He immersed himself in San Francisco's Tenderloin, went native and smoked crack and paid prostitutes to have sex with him. And not just once but many, many, many times, just to be sure what if felt like so he could write with the authenticity of experience. What selfless dedication to his craft!
"For decades, and at great personal risk, Vollmann has made a calling and a career of mixing with people whom most of us avoid and of listening, at length, to the unheard, whom he typically, and appropriately, pays to speak to him."This is especially true while he was researching The Royal Family and Whores for Gloria. He immersed himself in San Francisco's Tenderloin, went native and smoked crack and paid prostitutes to have sex with him. And not just once but many, many, many times, just to be sure what if felt like so he could write with the authenticity of experience. What selfless dedication to his craft!
Poor, poor Spoon was not invited to the little girl next door’s party. She spent the day sighing heavily as she watched the little dressed up girls run around the yard and eat cake.
I had a similar problem with some oven mitts E’s mother gave us for Christmas last year. They were yellow and black, the exact same color combination of yellowjackets, a particularly vicious, territorial species of wasps that infested my home town. (One of the high school’s mascot was even named the Yellowjackets). We hung the mitts up next to the stove and every time I walked by and caught that flash of yellow and black the primitive part of my brain would scream, “DANGER, AGONY, STINGING, RUN” and I would jump out of my skin. They were great mitts but they upset me so much we finally had to give them away.
Poor, poor Spoon was not invited to the little girl next door’s party. She spent the day sighing heavily as she watched the little dressed up girls run around the yard and eat cake.I had a similar problem with some oven mitts E’s mother gave us for Christmas last year. They were yellow and black, the exact same color combination of yellowjackets, a particularly vicious, territorial species of wasps that infested my home town. (One of the high school’s mascot was even named the Yellowjackets). We hung the mitts up next to the stove and every time I walked by and caught that flash of yellow and black the primitive part of my brain would scream, “DANGER, AGONY, STINGING, RUN” and I would jump out of my skin. They were great mitts but they upset me so much we finally had to give them away.
I know I am breaking a cardinal rule of blogging by updating my blog so pathetically infrequently. I am continuing to suffer from post partu...
