Molly Goatwax

Empty house

The eight year old is at the beach for the week, and Hubby has been sunning himself by a pool in Las Vegas. While it's nice to have the house to myself, the cat has been pacing, searching the rooms for his kid and crying. So I turned on the T.V. and set it to the channel that shows large wild cats bringing down prey in the hunt. All lions and tigers, all the time, bugs, birds and fish, too... Homer settled down to watch. I know it's mildly extravagant in the electricity department, but it's better than being kept awake by his lonely meows. Poor Homer.

say it loud say it proud

This crab sculpture emblazened with the city flag's markings stands a few steps from my office building's door on Mt. Vernon place at Charles Street. And like the rabbits I see in my yard, it makes me hungry.

Goat Chaos

A large, 200 pound goat went on a rampage in South Carolina last week, shattering windows, causing other property damage and threatening a second family before animal control officials shot it. I hope the victims are having goat for dinner tonight.

Goat Hair Brushes

You know, for two dollars and fifty cents at the art school's supply store, I couldn't resist. Besides, it's time to start cranking up the valentine production. This (next) year, a documentary will be made.

Maybe I really am an Artist

Although tee-shirt sales have been spotty (two last week), I was quite heartened by selling a more substantial artwork to a member of the drinking public last night. It doesn't hurt to have a credit card machine handy, either.

It happened near Mulberry Street

On my lunch time stroll down Charles Street, I see more art in a few blocks than I saw all winter in the soulless office park in the suburbs. Today I also saw fading helium balloons tied to grates, grills, trash cans and parking meters. The safety guide I asked at Mulberry Street surmised that they were left over from the weekend's celebrations, but I think the Shriners put them up for their second parade yesterday. I also saw a woman sit on some church steps watching a passer-bay try to re-attach the wheel that fell off her mobility scooter. People with and without cell phone pods in their ears talked to themselves. There were a lot of Red Sox fans checking out the sights before tonight's game, because it was explained to me, it is cheaper for them to see them play Baltimore here than it is in Boston. But, the image that remains from the day was the sight of a clutch of purposeful young women in stilettos and stylish black suits emerging from a closed-off construction site, pink hard hats in hand. It was all so very orderly. I can't imagine bombs disrupting such a pleasant afternoon.

Hmmmm

London wins the bid for the Olympics and shortly after has the rush hour commute bombed by terrorists. Don't you think this is too coincidental?

Can't complain

I have, over the weekend, been frustrated by Typepad's bog-downs and unfound servers. Judging by my visitor decline, aided by the holiday, so have many. Or maybe it's boredom. To which I say: if you're bored, thank your lucky stars and count your blessings. With all the horrible things that happen to people and the news feeds giving us detailed accounts, well...there's worse states of being than bored. Go weed your garden or get a jump on the laundry. Which reminds me...

Let me count the ways

Last evening as Hubby and I were climbing up the front steps on our return from an unspectacular dinner at a resteraunt named for a teddy beer, we heard several explosions. After a loud series of  close-by bangs, Hubby clutched his chest, grunted and fell on the lawn. Oh! I fell over too, giggling. "Was I being wrong-minded?", he asked, when I told him how wicked it was in light of recent events. This from the guy who, when I showed him an awfully winsome plush toy baby seal at the Salvation Army, immediately grabbed a wiffle ball bat and began clubbing it.

Whoops....

I owe Dr. Bartender my most sincere apologies. Not only has he previously slung drinks in a commercial setting, he was professionally trained by a national chain. Sorry, professor.