Molly Goatwax

Avert your sightless gaze

Huge signs and and bus side advertising can not be ignored in Las Vegas. When we summered there last year, the graphics for an exhibition, Body Worlds violated my purview every day. Although I admire the display's intent to illustrate the intricate workings of the human structure, I'd rather take my instruction from Da Vinci or the original Gray's Anatomy. I am an artist, after all. And a traveling show of actual plasticized dead human bodies splayed and posed for effect creeps me out. It's bad enough to see an image of the vacant stare of bright green eyes transplanted in a deceased Asian person's face on the side of the bus, or now that it's been in Baltimore, my local news website. And Yahoo. I'm not going to go see the artifacts in the same room. Which brings me to my latest aversion, the advertising featuring Lance Armstrong with that same intense zombie look inescapably all over the webs. I feel distinctly unsettled and mildly threatened. Whatever he's selling, I don't want it.

Breaking through

I could not get by the sign-in page of my blogging host for a couple of days, with no explanation. They probably didn't want me to repeat such an alliterative atrocity as "malodorous miasma" in posting.

glimmers

It was pleasant to receive an early check from my commercial gallery, fotopopART, although the amount does not impress. The industrial strength spray germ/virus/mildew/mold killer from the dollar store seems to have allayed the malodorous miasma lately emanating from our cellar. My sinuses stopped weeping shortly after application. This healing overtook my body as swiftly as a miracle. The dog upstairs has been quieter today and the highly strung television actor next door switched his concerns to some tidying needed in our trash can area. I took care of that right after I fed the younger daughter an easy pigs in blankets* and baked sweet potato supper. The recent introduction of another product that has effected a profound change in our family life, breathing strips for the sleeping nose, brings a surcease from snoring. Wow. Hubby and I are both snoozing in peaceful quiet. With the mold vanquished, it ought to be even better. Now I need to be retrained for tandem napping...

* Half hot dogs baked in tubed crescent roll dough, still cheaper than hamburgers.

Speaking of which...

Mr. Beetz went fishing today and brought home a seventeen inch rainbow trout. Here he is taking its portrait with his cell phone as I take his with mine, before he eats it. It looks like it may taste good with mushrooms and wild rice. I will remind you that the spots on our hundred year old oak floor are plugs in the holes through which the dental chairs' plumbing ran.

the bummer blossoms

My month has not been the happiest, it's true. I don't really like to use this space to complain, as it gets abysmally boring for other people to read of one's personal woes, but I'm hearing some thunder and we haven't quite finished drying the basement from the last storm. This damp has afforded the allergens a perfect environment to proliferate and riot in my sinuses. On top of that, our tenant's dog barks incessantly, twanging my headache like ukulele strings. The barking is so persistent that the neighbors have threatened to take legal action. I can't even water my verbenas without the sleep deprived actor next door getting all dramatic on me. That's exponentially more annoying than the noise and no balm for my delicate self-esteem. It makes me lonely for a cigarette. I know that this too, will pass, but it is a tribulation. If the Quakers hadn't hammered it out of me, I'd be cussing up the storm moving in.

A thousand dead worms

In the days of yore, Mr. Beetz went fishing at any opportunity that presented itself. He strove to be prepared at every instant and always kept his poles and tackle handy. At times the bait stayed too long in the trunk of his black car in the summer sun. Sometimes it smelled too bad to actually open the trunk to clean, so he'd drive around with decaying worms or cut up octopus for months. At least no one bothered him for rides. I was reminded of this odor, but slightly, as we are still drying out our basement from flooding two days ago. Between the mold and the lingering memory of all the babies' end product (that seems a common reaction to flashing lights) playing my nostrils, I am just about to cut off my nose to spite my face.

Oh

I have lately been distracted by melancholy and ennui. Most of my recent attempts at socialization and employment are not netting positive results. I feel like a jerk. Now I must try to sop up some of the water that flooded the basement.

Warning

Do not go swimming at the Round Falls.

Less than the price of a tow or two

After fortifying myself with camper coffee, I determined this morning that the flat tire's valve stem had a rip in its base where it joined the tire. A ring of oil and gas resistant sealant was applied around it and let cure for a few hours, in the heat. Oh, the heat. Although it was more oppressive yesterday, the heat had a robust presence as I applied the air compressor and was amazed to find that the tire held its pressure. I hopped into the car, quick, and gingerly drove it to Ike's, on 29th street. On arrival, the tire was a bit low, not flat, and had a bubble in the sealant around the stem. Ike fixed that and prized a nail from a rear tire and plugged it, as well. All for 30 bucks, and he never loses my custom valve stem caps, neither. Although he is too polite to ask directly, I know he wonders why I have so many flat tires as he asks again if they are fixing up a lot of houses in my neighborhood.

Bummer, continued

The coffee pot has gone ka-blooey. Time to deploy the camping dripolator. I am now dreading the arrival of today's mail.