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Flashback Friday

I'm sure I've posted this before, but it struck me, as I was flipping through the album pages, how much this is really me.  The place is unknown to me, but I was in college.  And drinking.  But what is it?  Its certainly not apple juice or water.  There was about three decades I never touched either beverage.

So, drink in hand.  Check.  Back to wall, all the better to watch my flank.  Check.  Playing audience to someone.  Check.  Watching,  shrinking, thinking.  Check. Check. Check.

When do we become ourselves?  Is it an event or a process?  Is it on-going or static?  Evolving or set-in-stone?  Are we what we are at birth and strive to find that ultimate, or are we a blank slate (tabula rasa) and events write themselves on that slate?  

As usual the questions are easier to formulate than the answers, although I think I know.  I'll get to that in just a second, but more on the picture above.   Notice the ring on my right hand with the black stone?  That is my high school ring …
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A Piece of My Mind

I'm not an artist but I play one at home.  I never took any classes in school so the various forms and styles through the centuries are  unknown to me.  But I know what I like.  From the Masters I tend to like the dark style of Carvaggio, and more recently Hopper and the Wyeths.

I recently came across, in one of my many art related sites, a painting that on the surface is one of many of the age: florid, religious, and with nude people.  Alexandre Cabernel, a modern French artist of the old school, painted Fallen Angel in 1848.  




As readily see that it has all the trappings of a typical piece of this era, and many eras before it.  A naked person, wings, and angels flying about.   From the looks of things this is Lucifer, why paint about any other fallen angel, huh?  Lucifer, if you remember your Bible and Quran, is banished from Heaven for refusing to bow down to human beings.  He seems to have landed on rocks and thorns with clothed angels fluttering above him, as if to mock him.   …

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Tuesday Tidbits

Your weekly warning that maybe you will get pissed by stuff posted here.  The faint of heart or straight ballot voters are hereby notified that there may be provocative material ahead.
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"Control Your Kids - Not Our Guns"  Saw this on a car last week.  Like the kid flipping us off.  And on a similar note, I see Starbucks and McDonalds are leading a national effort to ban plastic straws.  Don't worry, though, assault rifles are still good to go.
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Nice rusty old delivery van in front of a restaurant in St. Pete.


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Ever notice in Westerns the guy walks into a bar and orders a whiskey?  He reaches into his vest pocket to grab a coin and its always just the right amount.  No change, never two coins, its always just a coin.


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Found at the beach.  Hmmm. 

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Local Wal-Mart provided an interesting pic - surely the highlight of my visit.  Poor truck driver misjudged the entrance and got hung-up on the walkway girding.  I hate it when that happe…

4th Of July In Largo

Good thing we all went to Largo Park to see the fireworks this year. We used to go St. Pete's Vinoy Park but since we've been in this god-forsaken part of this god-forsaken state we've been going to Largo.  Heard the next morning that the vendor for the pyrotechnics for the past 10 years was late getting set up so St. Pete had to cancel.  Bummer for all those people lined up along the sea wall waiting and waiting.  The company was canned the next day and I'll bet there were some people let go, too.  Anyway, we saw ours, he wrote possessively.    






I didn't ask this guy to stop a second while I took a picture of his leg with the Bird sign on it.  I could have, too, because he might be the last guy on earth I take in a brawl - small, and wiry.  Besides, no one wants to be in a fight and possibly lose to an old guy, anyway.  I don't get people who want to use their skin for off-color stuff.  Just me, but reminds me of the Vice tombstone in Oquawka - it's there …

Flashback Friday

A really lousy photo of my mother with her father.  What is she, about 7 or 8 here?  She and her dad, Leonard or more commonly known as Dick, used to have burping contests when they drank soda.  Her yelling to us boys to not do it had little heft after we learned that little nugget. 

Dick was a hell of a great guy.  Marj also adored her Uncle.  She was surrounded by a loving, doting family.   

She was an only child and admits to being spoiled.  She married Herb and was spoiled further, I think.  I like that. 

Oh, and Marj, sleep well.  I have continued your special contests with your great-granddaughters.  They're pretty good, too.

A Piece Of My Mind

This year is the 50th anniversary of the first heart transplant.  Dr. Christiaan Barnard of South Africa successfully placed a donor heart into Louis Washkansky.  Twenty-eight year old Denise Darvall was struck by a car and her family, without hesitation, offered the organ for transplantation.  Sadly, the amount of drugs to keep Mr. Washkansky from rejecting the heart also weakened his immune system, and poor Louis died 18 days later to pneumonia.   But his new heart beat to the end.

The world kind of flipped out.  Besides the usual religious zealots who claimed Barnard was playing Frankenstein, everyone kind of gasped in awe.  I was pretty young but remember how big a deal it was.

Today there are 3500 heart transplant operations every year and the lifespan of those lucky enough to procure a heart is around 15 years.  

Fast forward to a couple months ago.  The first penis and scrotum operation was performed at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.  Now is the time to snicker and make your…