Eternal vigilance, etc.

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
A box seat for 'Is Lardship.
A box seat for ‘Is Lardship.

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (Lord Commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) is taking his duties very seriously indeed as we gird for the dawn of the New World Ordure.

You will notice, for example, his steely gaze. Resolute, is it not?

Also, and too, the crumpled papers with which he has surrounded the Turkenbunker. No jackbooted Trumpetista can approach his position without causing them to rattle. Fear, fire, foes! Awake!

Finally, observe the collected Tolkien in the bookshelf. Instant access to comprehensive advice as regards the arts of war and magic!

We all may sleep a little easier tonight.

Life is but a dream

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
Life is but a dream; it's what you make it.
Life is but a dream; it’s what you make it.

Those last few moments of sleep before the bathroom light snaps on and a cat jumps on you are prime dreamtime.

So I’m drinking beer with Tom Waits and while we sip we’re wandering around his cabin, which is more of a shack, really, and with a decidedly M.C. Escherish tilt to it, and I’m apparently staying the night ’cause Tom rasps, “You know where the mattress is, right?”

And I ask where Kathleen is, and he says she’s dealing them off the arm downtown at some hipster hash house, and he wonders what that’s like, because every time he and the band are trying to wrap up a track it seems they get hungry and need a bite to carry on but even getting a simple sandwich from this posh beanery is a pain in the ass because the chef is always short some effete ingredient.

“Sorry, can’t finish your sandwich without my artisanal mayonnaise,” I quip, and we both have a good laugh about that and then the bathroom light snaps on and the Turk jumps on me.

And none of this has anything to do with the fact that the Electoral College votes today and with a little mercy, a lot of balls and a metric shit-ton of educated, far-sighted patriotism they could save us all from ourselves and deny Sir Donald of Orange his dubiously acquired electoral majority.

This would dump the whole hot mess into the fat lap of Congress. And the House would select some garden-variety-nightmare Republican to be president, and just maybe — maybe! — given the popular vote, the Senate would pick some run-of-the-mill Democrat to be vice president.

But being a presidential elector in these circumstances must feel a lot like being the maid at the Motel 666 in Federalist 68 Hell. We get to shit the bed and she has to wash the sheets?

No, thanks, honey, she purrs. I’d rather make a sandwich for Tom Waits. I know what kind of mayo he likes, and I hear there’s some beer left.

Life is but a dream. Hail, Beelzebozo.

 

Fire one! Fire two!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments
The light does amazing things around here in the afternoons, particularly if some weather is rolling in.
The light does amazing things around here in the afternoons, particularly if some weather is rolling in.

The Fire Tree was on guard late yesterday afternoon as I walked The Boo, Herself being unavailable for dog duty (heh).

Behold the recovery interval.
Behold the recovery interval.

I should have been paying more attention to The Boo than to the late-day light and what it did to the neighborhood foliage. He was all fired up his own bad self and got away from me on a descent; the old fella is seized by periodic bouts of enthusiasm, and once he finds his stride he goes pretty good, especially on a downhill.

I didn’t catch the little bastard until just before Comanche, slapping one shoe on the leash and bringing him up short of St. Peter’s Gate. He’d never have made the corner at that speed and your average Duke City motorist makes the electorate look focused.

With camera in pocket and leash firmly in hand we ran all the way back to El Rancho Pendejo, where I had a fine chicken noodle soup in the early stages of production for a Saturday release.

And a good thing it is that we got some exercise yesterday, too, because right now it’s snowing. In other words, it’s a great day for a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a nap.