My Name is Pookie

My name is Pookie McNoodles.

It’s a name that keeps me remembering to look on the bright side of life when I’m low, which isn’t exactly rare. It’s a reminder that nothing should be taken too seriously in this big cosmic carnival. It’s me clowning for me when there’s no one else to make me laugh. It’s a cloak of protection my real name no longer gives me.

And should you feel that there is nothing left to life and all that you touch withers before you, and then you remember this name, how can you help but to feel touched by the multitude of small absurdities woven into every minute of every day? How can a smile not tug the corners of your lips? Continue reading

Why Didn’t I Get a Robot?

This morning I woke up in a good mood and thought, “I’ve a hankerin’ to doodle.”  When I logged on to facebook, I was notified of a friend’s birthday. Opportunity!   So I doodled.  And I posted.  Shortly after, I received a chat message:  “Boo!  Why didn’t I get a robot?”  Followed by a winking smiley, as if to say, “Just kidding!”  But not.  Because I know you and I know you’re not winking and smiling and saying, “Just kidding!”  I know you’re feeling petulant and legitimately questioning why you aren’t special enough to warrant a personal birthday doodle.  So, even though I don’t owe you fuck-all of an explanation, I thought I’d clear some things up in regard to the rules of engagement with a pookie.   Continue reading

Past Lives, Part I of…who knows?

I’m going through my very, very old email to purge some of the stuff I don’t need anymore, and I have the distinct feeling I’m looking in on someone else’s life. This particular post is just about past jobs.  There’s so much more to the old email story, but I have to start with what doesn’t get me all emotional and fired up, because I ain’t got time for no existential crisis.  Continue reading

I need a vacation.

Gal pal Heather and I are starting a business.   It’s exciting stuff.  Good stuff.  Then I delve into LLCs and taxes and contracts, and I want to destroy everyone.  We have three business meetings tomorrow with potential new clients for fairly large projects.  I think that means this is the right path.

But I don’t want to tell you what it is yet.  We need to stay under the radar just in case we need to purchase illicit enriched uranium to power our super-awesome website-to-be.  We’re hoping to eventually convert the site into a time machine, and I’m sorry, but you can’t fuel a time machine with trash.  You shouldn’t believe everything Hollywood tells you. Anyway, I hear it’s important to keep a low profile in these situations.   I’m sure that just landed me on some kind of government watch list, by the way.  Which is fine, because apparently saying “pork” and “exercise” also triggers red flags in snooping software.  I never had a chance, people.

Speaking of snooping, how ’bout that Snowden?  And don’t forget Anonymous hacker, Deric Lostutter, who exposed the Stuebenville rapists (and could spend more time in jail for the hacking than they will for the rape…what). I don’t know what individuals can do to back these guys up, but it’s our turn to watch out for them since they risked everything to drop some truth on us.

constitutionOoh, side note:  In quick search for a link to Edward Snowden, stumbled across a band called Snowden that I think I like.  They must be freaking out at their recent site traffic increase.  Jackpot, dudes.  You lucky bastards.  Speaking of bands, this is some other business I’ve been into lately.  (That’s me an’ the bestie in Brooklyn, makin’ some demo tracks for future development.)

Tytron is finally back on the art horse; he has now delivered several of his large pieces for publishing and gallery sales and is busy working on a couple huge new abstract pieces.  We have his (and our collaborative) small encaustic pieces up now.  The shop isn’t active, but the galleries work on the product pages.

I don’t have much to say today, despite being completely overwhelmed with thoughts and feels, but I thought I’d pop in for a hello.  I’m pretty sure that comes across fairly clearly as I vomit my random thoughts into existence on this page.  I need a throttling mechanism for my brain.

In lieu of a real blog entry, I’ll leave you with this scenario:

You know how, in some office environments, people bring their dogs to work?  Now, imagine you’re employed by a large corporation and everyone brings their cats to work.  If you want to get really freaked out, imagine all the cats are triple the size of normal cats, but just as cuddly and psychotic.  Now imagine they have wings and they want the delicious tacos you just brought back to your cubicle for lunch.  And they have laser beam eyes. How the hell are you supposed to protect your tacos from the deadly (but adorable) giant flying cats?  HOW?

That shiz has been keeping me up at night, y’all.

Here’s to you, conspiracy theorists

I’d like to begin with a disclaimer:  I’m really sick right now; feverish, chilled, nauseated, slightly confused and in general, feeling like hammered dog shit.  Maybe that’s good, because the fever is destroying my filter.  This post will contain a lot of profanity and complete honesty.  I’m mad and fed up and delirious beyond the point of giving a shit.  Consider yourself warned. Continue reading

An Indomitable Spirit

Photo credit twitter user David Almacy @almacy

DC flags at half-mast in remembrance of Boston Marathon victims – Photo credit twitter user David Almacy @almacy

I’ve been watching videos of the Boston Marathon explosions.  I wasn’t on a morbid mission to watch destruction repeatedly; I was looking for reactions from the runners.  At the end of such an arduous run (I have heard), a runner may have so internalized their pain and is so singularly focused on reaching the finish line that a great deal of external stimulus in that moment can simply fall away.

I wanted to know:  Did the people who were inches from the finish line falter?  Did they turn, startled, to see the event happening behind them?

Those who were on the threshold of finishing, finished.  Most didn’t jump or startle, so intent were they on the task-at-hand.

The thing that struck me most, however, were the others, the ones nearest the blast, closing that small distance to the end, obviously deep in concentration, some clearly laboring, barely jogging, just making it in.

When the bomb erupted the world into chaos alongside them, these people ran.  I mean, really picked it up, sprinting to safety.

We humans have a greater depth of heart and soul than we give ourselves credit for.  These runners, for instance, have trained and trained and trained, and as they wearily headed into the finish line, giving it that last little bit, were suddenly confronted with mortal danger.  That’s the moment the miracle happened, and they ran.

You can say this is a scientific process by which an adrenaline spike is released into the bloodstream to create phantom fumes where there was nothing.  A preservation of life technique only utilized to ensure survival at a most critical, tiny moment in time.

What I see is resilience.  I see wonders and miracles.  It’s a testament to that secret wellspring of strength that allows us to accomplish acts of beauty and wonder.  Because, within that same adrenaline spike moment that said, unconditionally and without thought, “RUN!” the people who scattered almost immediately reentered the smoking mess to help their fellows.

There is something beautiful in that which no act of terror can destroy.  We, as humans, will always tend to be better than the few who would hurt us and attempt to turn us against each other.  Not online, not on paper, maybe, but in real-life moments of humanity, we cannot be broken.  Our love for one another, our sense of decency, our very humanity cannot be blown to pieces.  It cannot be removed surgically, nor can it be tortured away.

We’ll prevail.  We’ll get through this Very Bad Time like we always do when savage acts are perpetrated by a minority in a feeble attempt to break our spirit.  We’ll do it with a mixture of empathy and, perhaps, anger, but we’ll do it together.

And that is Something.