It's not often you see a guy that green have the blues that bad

That title really has little to do with the content of this post. It's just one of the best one liners in Muppet history that for some reason pops into my head whenever I'm feeling down. Today's entry is possibly lame and kind of a bummer, but once again I feel compelled. I got some sad news. A friend's dog has been diagnosed with thyroid cancer. The over all prognosis and course of action is still up in the air, but these things never end well for our fuzzy counterparts. Stupid cancer. Of course my mind couldn't help but drift to Rosie, the first dog I had as an adult. What follows is a "Note" that I posted on Facebook on August 3rd of this year. Seems appropriate.

"I've found something fantastic! Something I wish I knew about some years ago, and which I now feel compelled to share.

Most people who know me well, know how much I love my dogs, Bing and Wembley. I am the first to admit that at times it borders on obnoxious – rivaling those insufferable parents who share every intimate detail about their children with an almost smug air of self-satisfaction. I can be that way about my dogs, and most people who know me well accommodate me. On a more bittersweet note, most people who know me well, know how hard it was when Jake and I had to let their predecessor, Rosie, go. She was and continues to be the best dog/companion/furry friend I’ve ever known. When she couldn’t eat without choking, and we discovered the mass on her tongue and the devastating weight loss that was hidden behind her seasonal shedding habits , we knew something was wrong. Even though surgery was done to remove the mass, our worst fears were confirmed when the biopsy of the taken tissue brought that awful word – malignant – into our everyday lexicon. It was cancer. Melanoma to be exact. Sure she was just a dog, but she was my dog. She was my friend. When we found each other (and yes that’s apt phrasing - we came together through a series of coincidences and happenstance), I was in a rough and transitional period in my life. Having her to spend my days with and having her to care for gave me a much needed respite from my woes.  It was us against the world. Me and my monkey. We lived in a one bedroom third floor apartment barely suitable for a person let alone one with a dog, but we made it work. Rosie came into my life before Jake even, and I’ve often credited her with helping us get together. There was the day she got out of the yard, and Jake vowed to make it his mission to help me get her back – which we did. Then later there was that day at the river where we spent so much time laughing at her antics, where Jake and I strengthened the bond we’d been developing. It was shortly thereafter that our relationship took the next step into what it is today, and I’ve always thanked Rosie for that time.  

Roughly five months after the initial mass was removed and the diagnosis made, the tumors grew back and overtook Rosie’s throat and face, seemingly overnight. We had to put her to sleep.

Now, I’m not writing this as a melancholy reminder of what was, but rather as an effort to get something out there. I know I lured you in with the promise of dog-lover knowledge sharing. When we finally had to say goodbye to her, I searched the internet for non-profit groups or organizations geared towards canine cancer research and treatment. I found virtually nothing. I even emailed one group in particular about volunteering or starting a chapter in my area or organizing a fundraising event. I got no human answer - only an automated message saying that my inquiry had been received and that someone would be contacting me shortly. That was May of 2009, and I’m still waiting on that email. Needless to say, I gave up, disheartened, and still reeling from the loss of my best buddy. What started as a perhaps overzealous and ambitious reaction to Rosie’s absence, faded quickly as the resources seemed to simply not exist.

That is until today. Shared on Facebook by Ring Dog Rescue – a Richmond rescue group devoted to Bully breeds - I found this article from the Huffington Post which offers kinship with this ordeal. This guy says it all, and with all the sappy sentimentality that every dog owner revels in and which inevitably gives rise to such utter ridiculousness as a market for “I heart my Grand Dogs” stickers (which I have definitely considered giving my parents). He reminds us that dogs are the kids that some us never have and the friend you share an unconditional love with – something not many people find with other people. He writes as well with a purpose - to draw attention to the Riedel & Cody Fund. As their website purports, this group provides “support, resources and treatment funding for people whose pets have cancer.” What a great freaking idea! I really needed this back in 2009, and I want to share it now so that anyone else out there who is or has dealt with this most unique kind of love and loss can see that there is something out there. I mean, it’s the internet for crying out loud! There should be something.

As much as Bing and Wembley are my sweet little guys, and I do love them so, there will never be another like Rosie. Writing this note, over two years after she died, I’m getting weepy. There’s just something about your first dog. Something that leaves an indelible mark on you and changes the way you look at the world. That’s a bit grand I know, but then again, so was Rosie."

UPDATE: Sometime in March or April of 2012, I was told that my friend's pooch had made almost a full recovery. The outlook is good. Yay dogs!

It's hard out there for a pimp

Jealousy, for all its negative connotations, is a natural and often inevitable human reaction to circumstances. It is only when we refuse to recognize its existence and influence over our perceptions that it creates destruction. The wisest of men are not those who have never envied, but rather those who have embraced it and turned its darkness into accomplishment.

Everybody calm down, please stop shouting!

I never intended for this blog to become solely political. I’ll return to poorly rendered paintings and rambles about home decorating soon. Hell, one day I'll maybe even write something about food. It’s just that the state of my country and my little place in it has been on my mind a lot lately - and who can blame me really? Seldom has there been a time in my life when the political spectrum has been so polarized and broken, and when I’ve found myself and my generation so instrumental to the conversation. We’ve been dubbed the “Spoiled” and “Do Nothing” generation for years now, but in light of what has happened to our country, my peers have taken up the idea of collective action against a perceived injustice. Unfortunately, as with movements past, they are being met with brick-wallish and often cruel opposition.

Occupy Portland 11/17/11 - Source: AlterNet

It’s one thing to disagree with the Occupy movement. It’s one thing to laughably joke that they are all hipsters in Gap clothes with ipads complaining that someone took away their silver spoons. It’s another thing all together to falsely and purposely denigrate them in the news media, to perpetuate stereotypes instead of reporting the facts. It's one thing as well to vilify the police. All police. This benefits no one, and makes the physical violence that we've been seeing seem almost sane (almost). It's ok now for the cops to assault their (mostly) peaceful protests - protests, which for all intents and purposes, are their American born right to hold. It's ok  now to scream humiliating epithets at the men in blue. So many images of violence against the protesters are flooding the air waves and the internet (mostly the internet). While the media blackout has ceased, there still is little “fair and balanced” reporting on the major cable news networks. But such is our times, and this is not going to change. Evolution strikes again. Regardless of your political or social predilections, images like these should turn your stomach. Activism in the digital age once again brings to light the power of photography. It's this picture in particular that really got me to wanting to write this little essay.

An 84 year old protestor is pepper-sprayed at a raid on Occupy Seattle

I feel so much for the police, don’t get me wrong. I can’t imagine what it must be like to stare into a sea of angry yelling faces armed only with pepper spray, a stick, and a plastic shield, knowing that at any moment, even a small slight or miscommunication could thoroughly change the emotional climate and cause the whole situation to erupt into a fuming violent riot. I can’t help but think it’s gone too far though. We as human beings, have a responsibility to make it known that there is a line in these situations and that it absolutely must not be crossed – neither by the protestors nor by the police. Otherwise we all lose!

NYC 11/17/11 - Source: ABC News

Haters gonna hate. It’s true that the 53%ers or the 1%ers or the “Elites” as I’ve heard them called, will likely never come around fully to the Occupy. Same is probably true for the 99%ers. The ire that’s building and the cries of the disenchanted masses is only going to grow. The only hope of success lies in sheer numbers and voting boxes. I just don’t sense an end to this momentum. It doesn’t seem possible that snow and lack of bathrooms can stop thousands of people from speaking out and organizing against what they see as a colossal failure of the country they love and respect. And yes, most of them do love America. They just miss it. Their sense of disillusionment in a democracy which they put so much faith in is undeniably palpable. Labeling them all as anarchists and commies is a low blow, and we all know that. It's playground name calling and has no place in intelligent discussion. Saying that people who want jobs are looking for a “hand out” is beyond incomprehensible to me. Since when is wanting to exchange your time, intelligence, and labor for compensation considered a handout? Ah, but I digress.

Occupy Portland 11/17/11 - Source: AlterNet

My original intent in writing this was mostly to express my profound disappointment with the actions of those that have caused the web to be inundated with images such as these. Any movement, any group, will have a certain element of fringe participants – radical fundamentalists, uninformed hangers-on, and those simply lonely and wishing to belong to something, anything. This holds true for all of humanity, and can be applied to both the police and the protestors. Not all cops are a Tony Baloney, and not all protestors defecate in public. Not all police officers yank young girls by the hair, and not all Occupiers are naked and high. To judge any group by its outliers is anathema to understanding simple group dynamics. It’s just not logical, and all it’s going to do in this situation is cause more divisive violence, more name calling, and less solutions to the obvious problems. The civil rights movement had the Black Panthers. The hippies had the New Left. And cops have the 1990’s LAPD. Every single group has a bad element (or one perceived by outsiders to be so). It’s human nature. Get used to it.

Everybody calm down, please stop shouting. This is a refrain from a song by one of my new favorite bands (I urge you to click that link and check the song out, if for no other reason than to get a little more into my head). They sing it with such pleading conviction, that it circles in my head each time I read a new article about this seemingly never ending tableau of American on American hatred. All of which I see as spurred on by the country’s lack of togetherness and understanding of each other. I’m not talking Peace-Train-hold-hands-one-love kind of understanding. I mean simply overlooking your preconceived notions, and taking the time to learn and to actually think about what is going on. Use that giant mass of tissue inside your melon for once. Have empathy. Shut up and listen when others are talking. You’ll probably learn something. Ignorance to a subject, person, or gathering of persons is never a good thing. Ignorance and stereotypes lead to hatred, and hatred leads to violence. These are things we know to be true. Hatred. Such an ugly word. Even when speaking it aloud, your mouth contorts into a hideous little mask of revulsion – like you smelled week old garbage stuffed inside a two week old dead squirrel. So please, I implore you - everybody calm down, please stop shouting. To the protestors I say - only yell "Shame" at the cops when they step out of line and not just for doing their job which includes protecting you. And officers, lay off the old ladies and little girls. Everybody calm down, please stop shouting. I know it’s idealistic to hope for an end to hatred, but can’t we at least strive as a country to stop being so driven by it?


Important Note: All photographs and music contained in this post are copyrighted materials by the artist and/or establishment and are not in any way my property. I am merely a vessel.

Here's to the dreamers

Occupy Raleigh Kick Off Rally 10/15/11

According to Wikipedia: "The American Dream is a national ethos of the United States in which freedom includes a promise of the possibility of prosperity and success...regardless of social class or circumstances of birth. The idea of the American Dream is rooted in the United States Declaration of Independence which proclaims that 'all men are created equal' and that they are 'endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights' including 'Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.' "

I like this concise portraiture of what it means to Americans to feel successful. It reminds us that our aspirations are rooted in the very nascence of our country and its ambitions for its people. There are varying versions of the dream, but it comes from the same place, the same sentiment that we're all in this thing together. For me, it seems that all I’ve ever hoped for was a comfortable house, a family of whatever kind I choose, and simple happiness. That's my "American Dream." I’ve hoped to live in a land where all people of all walks of life are given equal opportunities to better themselves and their loved ones. I’ve hoped to be able to help people, and to surround myself with people who care about me enough to help me if needed. I’ve hoped to be able to continue to learn and to discover all that the world around me has to offer – the good and the bad. Sometimes though, I don’t know how much more I want to learn about the bad. Especially when it comes to what I see as the new concept of American exceptionalism and success.

Seen on Facebook: “Dear 1%. Thank you for inspiring us 99%er’s to live the American dream and giving us something to aspire to.” 

I don’t know if this statement was made in jest, but it didn’t come across that way to me. This made me profoundly sad. This statement, offered by one of my peers, seems to read as if the now named 1% are the ones who’ve attained the elusive Dream we’ve all been taught to hold dear to our hearts. That this ephemeral notion of “making it” of “success” is predicated on making bazillions while others struggle. Yes, I do admit that many of the wealthy are good people who worked very hard and came from nothing to get where they are, and yes, I do contend that not every rich person is a corporate whoremonger. Yet I refuse to believe that such immense inequality of wealth is what the Founding Fathers had in mind when they set this whole Ferris wheel in motion. I refuse to accept that Thomas Jefferson envisioned a world like ours - a society, so staunch in its adherence to its own superiority, that it would sit idly by while it's wealth becomes so unevenly divided as to foster a climate that would drive thousands of citizens across the nation to take to the streets in bipartisan protest. 

Occupy Raleigh Kick Off Rally 10/15/11
  

Our new America and we as the new Americans have been tasked with a responsibility our predecessors failed to accommodate for. When they dreamt up the grand ideal of prosperity that we should all attain to, they didn’t count on the culture shift that enabled the Gordon Gekkos to reach idolism. Who knew that one day the filthy rich, the business men in monkey suits, the Corporations with a capital C - who have long been the archetypal bad guys of cinematic lore - would be the ones we “aspire to” become?  How did it come to this? How did we come to this? And who do we have to fuck to make it go back to the way it was meant to be?

Perhaps planning for the inclusion of greed and its inevitable destructive forces should have been a part of this America Dream concept. Perhaps it’s me who’s failing to see the bigger picture here. Putting the likes of Washington, Adams, and the others up on this pedestal only to point out their failed intentions might be the hindrance to my overall sense of happy wellbeing.  Yet when I see that the Herman Cains, the David Kochs, the CEOs in power ties – when I see that they have become the motivators of political policy, I want to pull the plug on this whole thing and call the experiment an epic failure! 

America is supposed to be and often still is a beautiful, cultural, prosperous, and fair nation – one of the greatest examples of collective progress the modern world has ever seen. No one here makes it on their own. We as citizens are supposed to hold up our fellow Americans and be held up by them in return so that we can continue to lift each other over adversity because we know, deep down some of us still know, that without the many, the few are…well just that. Few. Inconsequential. Worthless and alone.

Oogey Boogey

As a child in the 80's with an extremely overactive imagination (and an impassioned fear of the dark), I was actually terrified at night that Gadhafi was hiding in the shadows in my room. I sometimes forget that singular  part of the word "Boogeyman" that makes it the most frightening - "man." Man, who despite our attempts at aggrandizing, is most certainly mortal.

Get back...get back to where you once belonged

So after consulting my colleagues, I've been given the moral go-ahead to use (for compositional purposes only) non-professional snap shots taken by strangers and posted to their public Facebook profiles. The general consensus being that if you don't want your pics used by other people, don't post them on the internet on a public free-to-use forum. FB privacy settings are not that hard to grasp, despite the complaints of the masses. This being said, I took a simple picture of a girl with her bike, something about which stirred in me a sense of urban calm, and transferred it into another attempt at regaining my artistic chops. Here's what I've got so far:

24" x 30" - a bit ambitious perhaps

It's terribly flat, and I haven't decided how far to take the realism. I know there are problems, and it's a test of my fortitude everyday to look at something I'm not crazy about, and try my damnedest to transform it into a piece of pride. I'm trying to get back into acrylics for the first time in years, and the transition has been tougher than I anticipated. Add to that my lackluster showing this past decade or so, and you have a recipe for a slow-moving-possibly-going-to-end-badly journey of the will.

We'll have to wait and see.

New Car or tatoo....?

The werebunny

So, this is just a preliminary sketch...but you get the idea. 

Or should I save the money and buy a car?

Then I could leave the house.

And maybe buy a bunny...

Slow Go

It's been slow. My plans tonight to drink wine and finish the painting of the bathing beauties was taken down hard by some over-spiced undercooked ribs. Damn pork. Damn excuses. Damn weak stomach. I wanted so badly to be bohemianly inspired to float through the house in scarves, dangly earrings, and barefoot. Perhaps with a bit of purple paint smudged across my nose because I'm so inspired that I don't care about the mess. I wanted to make a yellow spot the sun. To not make a pipe. This is not a pipe. Oh well oh well. There's always tomorrow.

Imagine This?

My humble set up

There may actually be some real art on here soon. I've made leaps and bounds in preparing myself to pick up the pace, or brush as it were, and start the painting. The easel has been brought in from the garage and voided of it's spider webs and other insect carcasses. New paint and brushes are soon to be purchased, and the subjects are a plenty.
    

Seeing the hugely prolific nature of the VMFA's Picasso exhibit this past weekend has really spurred me on to stop wasting time and quit making excuses. One Pablo wisdom gem I picked up at the show - never put off until tomorrow that which you are not willing to leave unfinished when you die - or something like that.
   

That also hit a little close to home since someone I know died this year. Not a good friend, but rather a friend of a friend who's company I always enjoyed. She was only twenty nine and spent the last four years of her life fighting cancer with a ferocity and determinism I've never seen paralleled.
   
I'm not saying that I'm doing this in her name, nor am I intending to make this a memorial entry, but it's just got me to thinking.
    

What exactly am I waiting for?

Yeah, that about sums it up.

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter." e.e. cummings

*All photographs are the property of www.underbellyartandfood.com

New Dream Job: Detective Novelist?

Hmmm...can I take my love of forming sentences, my desire to be my own boss, and my super melodrama writing style and combine them to make a new career? My detective would need a great name. A noun name. Something like Officer Benjamin Locker or Special FBI Agent Tempest Jones.

Ha! I love it already.

New Dream Job: Pet photographer?

Step One: Learn about lighting

Step Two: Stop taking pictures of the dog. It's nearly impossible to take a bad picture of him, and thus creates a false sense of ability as evidenced by this lackluster picture of the cat.

My Favorite Things: Part One - Oprah Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

In direct response to my last depressing entry (sorry devoted fans), I'm going to start a series of posts devoted to the happier things in life of which I will call "My Favorite Things." Today's emphasis is on things. Soon I will bring in the joys of married life and dog parenthood, but for now I focus solely on the aesthetic and things which led me to that path. Here goes:

My encyclopedia of houseplants. Old with a bent up spine and a somewhat off-putting indistinguishable smell, this thrift store gem has gotten me through many a brown leaf tip and over-watering crisis. 

The coolest mug I've ever seen gifted to be by the mighty MoFo. It may have never held coffee, but it's given birth to the biggest philodendron I own and remains one of my most treasured gifts.

Last, but certainly not least, the infamous Bottle Bunny. No more shall my lighters be torn up on the bottom from popping bottle tops or my guests force to dig in a drawer full of pizza cutters and micro-planes only to find some novelty bottle opener shaped like a human arm bone. I love you Bottle Bunny. You are my good pal.

D-I-Why am I here?

Lamp Graveyard

So, I have a problem. I never seem to be able to find a lamp I like. I know, it's a horrible problem. Someone should do something to stop this tragedy from continuing. I mean look at these poor lamps - rejected and doomed to waste away the best years of their lives wrapped in plastic in the attic. Like little corpses I'm hiding from the neighbors. I had to draw the line somewhere, but I also needed light in the living room.

A New Hope

None of these rejects would work. So to make a long boring story short, I bought two more lamps. Plain white and silver lamps. I had to promise myself that these lamps would be the last. They were simple, bright, and on sale. This madness had to stop. With much anticipation, I brought them home and immediately assembled them. To my utter dismay, they still aren't right. Yep, I said it. I contemplated taking them back, but decided I needed instead to take matters into my own crafty hands. I need these lamps to finally pull together the mismatched collection of pieces I have in that room. This mission must not fail! I have decided that if I can't find the right lamps, then I shall make them. Thus, I have decided to cover the new shades with the fabric of my choice Martha Stewart style. 

Here's the fabric I bought. I love it. I have never felt this way about a fabric before, and wonder if my joy borders on inappropriate. I had a bad dream the other day that the fabric arrived in the mail, and I had bought the wrong print. Instead of bunnies, it was covered in retro line drawings of little business men in suits. Some of the business men had rabbit heads. This is the stuff of my nightmares now. Someone help me.

Bird Brained

I like this pic and am thinking about getting it printed and framed and hanging it in my living room. I took it at my parents' house this Christmas after the biggest snow fall Virginia Beach has seen since the 80's. My mom's backyard is a treasure trove of random statuary, shrubbery, and wildlife. I wandered through the yard (or "the forest" as my niece and nephew used to refer to it when they were but tiny toddlers exploring a half acre plot of land that seemed endless to them) snapping all kinds of frames of snow resting on dried out leaves or stuck to holiday decorations. There was no lack of subject matter there, but I liked this little guy the best - even over the Tonka trucks buried in snow that I thought could be some kind of deep metaphor for some kind of deep thought I hadn't come up with yet.
So here again I have yet another photo to frame. And yet again still, a photo of a bird. My question is this: if there are crazy cat ladies, can there be crazy bird ladies too? Even if the birds are only in "art" form? I have statues, knick knacks, paintings, and photos of birds all over. Even on me. I don't have a single room in Little Blue that isn't adorned in some way with birdies. My home is an artistic aviary. I guess a more apt question would be: when is too much really too much?

Down Time

         
With the advent of a new year comes one of my least favorite chores: taking down the Christmas stuff. The house always seems so plain Jane once all the festoons are removed and the decor goes back to the not - quite - there - yet rustic/contemporary charm I'm trying to create here.  My environment is very important to me, always has been. I try to surround myself with loads of  fun yet aesthetically pleasing accoutrement in order to combat those feelings of boredom and staid complacence. Maybe I should have been a decorator. That's not to say that I think I'm so fabulous at it that people will want me to dictate their surroundings, but rather it sounds like a fun job for me. Especially after moving into this 1982 time capsule house. I've now grown quite fond of painting and sanding and hanging and redoing. In fact, my husband is in the other room repairing a sink poorly installed by the previous owners. A note to anyone who might be reading this: don't be an a-hole homeowner who can't admit they can't fix something and try to fix it anyway. Bad karma. But I digress...the Christmas decorations must come down today!
         

No matter how much I love them, no matter how much nicer I think the house, or as we affectionately refer to it, Little Blue, looks donned in it's gay apparel, I should move on. Christmas is gone again for another three hundred and some odd days. However the time marches on, as it were, and the holiday season gets closer and closer each time, despite the fact that it always seems to conclude faster and faster. Now it's time to hang up the Santa hat, go back to work, and wait for another reason to be merry. There's always the blooming and rebirth of Spring to look forward to, but let's not get into that again. There's Valentine's Day, which as much as I'm still gaga for my husband, we don't put too much stock into anymore. St. Patrick's Day? I do love beer, and green is my favorite color. I guess I could spin that old yarn about how everyday is a holiday and how every moment is precious, but seriously folks. Let's not delude ourselves for the sake of the kiddies and self-help gurus. There's no song called "Jingle All The Way To Wednesday" and trash day doesn't have a picturesquely jolly  and fur trimmed mascot who gives people stuff. Although come to think of it, maybe it should.