Jun 23 2010

Make that Friday. Or possibly Sunday.

Eastern phoebe chick

I am not bailing on Art Week. Not me, mang. But I must emerge from Denial Town to announce that its official commencement has to be postponed again. I am experiencing more events, circumstances, and — I’m serious — hooplas — than I had anticipated when I announced the original postponement. Did I say Saturday? Factor in the high probability that there will be outcomes, consequences, and aftermaths, all of which will require heedfulness at the very least, if not full-on activity, and we’re looking at Monday or even Wednesday before I’ll be able to maneuver a grateful keister back into the lime green recliner.

It’ll at least be sometime before August. Of 2011.

Meanwhile, enjoy one of the 2010 Eastern phoebe chicks from the Spinster HQ Motor Pool nest. They were flappin wings all day today, and packing bindles, and one of’em was singing “babe I gotta ramble”; they’ll be hitting the trail tomorrow, I guess.

UPDATE, 7AM: Only two out of four phoebes left. So it looks like I’ll be dealing with Empty Nest Syndrome on top of everything else!


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  1. Summerspeaker

    That’s quite a shot! How close were you to the bird? It looks ready to peck the camera.

  2. Jill

    I was 10 feet away. Baby birds in nests are some of my favorite subjects. They can’t fly away when they see my giant lens. Those birds are like sitting ducks.

  3. Ashley

    That bird is freaking CUTE.

    My main recent experience of dudely “art” is how effing assaultive Bebe ads are. I was walking to lunch with my dad on Father’s Day and this giant post-millenial Bettie Page glossy that was like six feet high on a bus stop just jumped out at us while we were trying to bond across gender lines, chucking cleavage and silk and artistic tones at us for a few brief seconds and then leaving us re-genderized right there on the street. It is really hard to just try and be normal with so many images of patriarchy lurking. Beauty, art, advertising. Mang, it’s all the same sometimes.

    Thanks for letting me randomly vent. Looking forward to the artly post.

  4. slythwolf

    That is a seriously disapproving chick.

  5. CrowMeris

    Here’s to wishing all outcomes, consequences, and aftermaths are in your favor. The consolation prize of the pissed phoebe is most welcome.

  6. Alexa

    Ashley, so true. I’m watching a reality show atm where the women and gay people in the house are ripping and turning the tables on these straight arrogant men. It’s so refreshing (I’ll fess up, it’s uk big brother). So you’ll have these cool women making these men literally cry.. Then the adverts will come on with doll-like women in fuck me/ hate me poses thrown at the screen as if from a canon. Sometimes you notice the lies so badly when presented with reality – or what could be reality.

    I hope other women notice the disparity between reality and all the lies sometimes. I hate how nobody cares even if they do. World is fucked up (and I’ll tell this wall here) :(

    I feel like every time an advert comes on, and it is every advert, we sink into ourselves, our ego depleted that little more. And it’s making me want to kill someone – my reaction is anger, not hopelessness. The feminist movement is missing its reaction. Anyone feel like raiding a lap dance club?

  7. speedbudget

    The phoebe says, “WTF, mang.”

    Fledgin ain’t easy.

  8. sargassosea

    There is something exceptionally heartwarming about a phoebe with a bit of the Edward G. Robinson thang going on. She just needs a tiny cigar poking out the side of her beak.

    And as if by coincidence:

    “I have not collected art. Art collected me. I never found paintings. They found me. I have never even owned a work of art. They owned me.” – Eddie G. Himself

  9. Earnest O'Nest

    If you make it tuesday you can say you always mean tuesday when you say monday.

    And then you can take friday to explain what hooplas are – so I know whether I should be envious about them.

  10. allhellsloose

    you looking at me?

  11. Earnest O'Nest

    If by chance you were looking at me then I can assure you I would not dare to look at you for fear of you breaking.

  12. sargassosea


    Phoebe #1:

    Twist, Twist, Twisty goodbye,
    Twist, Twist, Twisty don’t cry.
    The choo-choo train that takes me away from you,
    no words can tell how sad it makes me.
    Kiss me, Twisty, and then
    I’ll do it over again.
    Watch for the mail,
    I’ll never fail,
    if you don’t get a letter
    then you’ll know I’m in jail.
    Twist, Twist, Twisty don’t cry,
    Twist, Twist, Twisty goodbye!

  13. phio gistic

    Speaking of the impossibility of escaping the P for even a few moments, I was scanning the news this morning and saw an article at Time magazine.
    On Google news the title is
    “Eliot Spitzer: From Sex Client to CNN Rising Star”
    although once you get to the Time site, the actual title is “Who Do You Have to Sleep With to Get a CNN Show? Ask Eliot Spitzer!”
    The hypocritical, lying, criminal ex-gov of NYC, the one with “dangerous” sexual preferences, has been hired by CNN to star in a talk show this fall, opposite the unfortunate Kathleen Parker. And everyone is just peachy with his history, in fact the article speculates he was hired specifically -because- of his newly-won fame as a prostitute-using-and-prosecuting sleazebag.
    I had the poor judgement to follow a link from there to a movie review site that has, in addition to the Toy Story 3 reviews, a headline story titled “Eek! 13 Incestuous Movie Couples: Good Chemistry?” and I really just want to crawl back in my hole until tomorrow. Or next August.

    (http://tunedin.blogs.time.com/2010/06/23/who-do-you-have-to-sleep-with-to-get-a-cnn-show-ask-eliot-spitzer/?xid=rss-topstories if you really want to see it)

  14. Antoinette Niebieszczanski

    Mott the Hoopla was a glam-rock band from the early-to-mid ’70s. Hee.

    I dunno if we have phoebes around here, but there’s a peregrine nest nearby, and the hatchlings will soon be learning how to slaughter their own lunch.

  15. Tree

    If Art Week were on time it wouldn’t be Art Week. I learned that in Science Week.

  16. norbizness

    It is also possible for hooplas to accumulate to a depth of one’s knees; this phenomenon is usually accompanied by recriminations of irresponsibility.

  17. Comrade PhysioProf


  18. shallowwater

    While I await Art Week with baited breath, I will enjoy the heck out of your photograph in the interim. Birds are so interesting!

  19. yttik

    Here’s a toast to hoping the hoopla goes well.

    It is summer now, we could simply move right into camp week, maybe cruise down some ziplines, sit around the bonfire drinking wine?

  20. La Chica Lucy

    That chick – she seems to be radiating a “Bite Me, Chad” sorta vibe. What a great picture.

  21. Ma'Whis'Ki

    How about some performance art? We could form an Amazon Equestrian Unit– everyone carries a shield and a labrys, and we ride with realistically sculpted severed patriarchal heads (with technicolor dildos hanging out of their mouths) tied to the D-rings on the saddles. It could be a real parade-buster, and a welcome change of pace from the more usual fare of she-dude clone-cowboyettes wielding patriarchal-conqueror penis-flags.

    I call dibs on the heads of Sigmund Freud, Karl Jung, Pope Pius XII, and Henry Kissinger…

  22. speedbudget

    norbizness: That video! That song! Both used to drive me nuts! Thanks!

  23. Betsy

    My once-removed niece wrote a poem about a baby bird. It went like this:

    I saw a baby bird.
    It was fat
    In the nest.

  24. Jodie

    Empty Nest Syndrome: Ecstatic happiness as a result of finally having the living space all to yourself.

  25. Jezebella

    MaWhisKi, I think you’re being facetious, but I should tell you, Krewe du Vieux in New Orleans, the first walking parade of each Mardi Gras season, would be the perfect venue for your Equestrian Unit.

  26. slade

    I have four baby skunks under my patio. Well, there were four on Monday. Now it seems I’m down to only one. They are the cutest little things. They’re practically blind, but hear and smell better than you and me.

    If my last one comes back tonight, I will try to take a picture.

    I’ve read that they squirt only if absolutely necessary. And if I stand very still, I’ll just appear to be a tree. My cat enjoyed watching them frolic.

    I like these skunks so much more than my neighbors. I wonder if that would get me institutionalized if said to the ‘wrong’ person.

    I want to live in an animalarchy. lol.

  27. joy

    slade, skunks make amazing pets if you de-stink ’em. In my equitating days a woman-friend of mine had four of them who acted like a cross between cats and domestic pigs (if you’ve ever had the pleasure of being around a completely domestic pig).

    Also, love the idea of the Equitation Unit. I even have a horse I could use, and last I heard he was nigh on parade-desensitized.

  28. slade

    Joy: I imagine skunks would be great pets, but my cat is a one-woman cat.

    And I am all for that parade. Ma’Whis’Ki’ took some of the good heads.

  29. Ma'Whis'Ki


    I was only being partially facetious. I do not own a horse at present, but I enjoy riding very much (I took 5 years’-worth of lessons awhile back, and I love trail-riding). At age 60, I find I just don’t give a $h*t any more, and I would happily ride a horse festooned with papier-mache patriarch-heads and brightly-colored sex-toys in any parade you’d care to name just for the sheer Hel (Holla and Habondia) of it. We could call ourselves the Mary Daly Nemesis Unit (unless anyone else has a better name, and I would love to hear all other ideas!). I always make it a practice not to censor my daydreams, especially the outrageous ones, and this is one of the best I’ve had in awhile.


    There are still plenty of ‘dead-heads’ to go around– like Moses, Abraham, Richard Nixon, Jerry Falwell, Tiger Woods, O.J. Simpson, Paul Tillich (theologian by day and S&M porn-hound by night, according to his wife Hannah’s bio of him), Rollo May (existential psychologist and buddy of Paul Tillich, who tried to pressure Hannah Tillich to keep silent about Paul’s pecadilloes so ‘his memory would remain untarnished’), Hugh Hefner, Thomas Aquinas, Henry VIII, Aristotle, Charlemagne, Mohammad, Niccolo Machiavelli, Heinrich Himmler, Torquemada, the current pope (Bene*dick*, God’s Little Rottweiler) and the entire Board (bored?) of Directors of British Petroleum, just for starters…

  30. speedbudget

    Even better than Mardi Gras, we here in my humble town do a lampoon of the Mummers’ Parade every year. The rules are you can’t make your parade float until the morning of the parade, so I think our Amazon horse idea would come off pretty well with some quickly created papier-mache heads.

    I call dibs on Jesus.

  31. Ginjoint

    Animalarchy – LOVE this. Thanks, Slade!

  32. Jezebella

    Speedbudget, there is nothing better than Mardi Gras.

  33. Virginia S. Wood, Psy.D.

    dibs on Falwell and Simpson.

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