(To all my cat friends)

My sister Rebecca and my nephews have cats, 3 of them, like me, and a Razzy Girl and, actually, my brother Nick has a couple as well so we’re just a regular ol’ cat crazy clan (not crazy cat ladies all just yet though). But one of Beck’s gang is a newbie, a kitten, Arthur, and like most kittens he’s funny, fast, a dick, lovable, destructive, a mush, maddening, curious, cocky and a little crazed … I know this because I get the updates with the accompanying pictures.

Anyway, Beck texted me the other day of how, while working from home, she got up from her chair for a mere moment only to have Arthur appear out of nowhere and commandeer it via some sort of cat version of eminent domain. He apparently exhibits, like any cat worth its salt, the instinctual habits of all cats, in this case, grabbing your now warm seat the moment you get up. He probably can also ONLY sit in front of the keyboard or the monitor while you’re trying to work on the PC, or directly in front of your Tab while you’re attempting to watch Netflix, the second you come home he doubtless happily greets you by going to poop, or he can somehow, though tiny that he is relative to his humans, have you sleeping on one sliver of the bed in the morning while he is stretched and gloried out over rest, or he knows the exact moment that you’ve scooped and refreshed the kitty litter to then, like a bottle of fine champagne on a new ship’s bow, christen it.

So, Beck texted me the picture of Arthur in his newly pilfered spot, though how can ya not love such a brazen scoundrel? But the first line of her text “I shuffled my feet and lost my seat” was a nice rhyme I thought, so I filled it out for her, just a fun little ode to her adorable chair thief.

Prince Arthur’s New (stolen) Throne

I shuffled my feet and then gave up my seat

For just a moment I stood as sly fur snatched it good

It’s Prince Arthur by name use or lose be his game

For a comfy found norm where an ass made it warm

So, lose out now you have but great thanks for the grab

It’s been annexed he snores

Go find a new yours

Oh, and … Pthhthppptt!!!

Over a year and half ago I started writing new lyrics and singing them out, in my little studio and then editing in my own little world (don’t ask, it involves cats and quiet, and more quiet after that, probably not your thing), Beatles tunes, for some reason these songs and this band the perfect conduit of my frustrations and angers over the state that we’re in, have been in for far too long, parodies of the great pretender who reminds us of everything we would never want to be, well, at least some of us. The others? I’ll leave that up to them … there are some you just can’t help.

I eventually put together an “album’s” worth of them, The Orange Album, while also penning, “singing” some non-Beatles tunes (this one here, a version of Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al”, is one of my best and most spot on) all in an effort to gain some measure of sanity in these anything but sane times.

Now, I’m no singer. I mean I can hold a tune, know the vocal ups and downs, the right inflections in the right spots but I’m certainly not going to be fronting a band or putting out an actual album any time soon. I do though, find myself enjoying the shit out of making the attempt.

So when a best of friend, Rick Cross, messaged me and another pal some lyrics he had written to “Eleanor Rigby” (I know, the Beatles … whodathunk?), possibly my favorite Beatles tune (internal arguments and fave fab four song fist fights to ensue) and one of the first tunes that I considered parodying I thought, let’s give it another whirl. (I had abandoned the initial thought as I could never hit the “Ahhh’s”)

But now, with the hard part done, the lyrics, courtesy of Rick and his own frustrations and angers mirroring mine, it was just a matter of seeing if I could hit the “Ahhh’s” this time.

I think I might have just nailed ’em.

Cheers Rick,

Well done … the “ahhh’s” thank you.

Karen’s Been Triggered

Ahhh, look at all the hateful people

Ahhh, look at these ungrateful people

.

Karen’s been triggered

Pickets outside of a church where a gay wedding’s been

This love is a sin

Waits at her stylist in an angry red face mask that matches her MAGA hat’s tinge

Where to begin?

.

All the frightened people

Why do they hide their eyes?

All the angry people

While our republic dies

.

President Donnie

Face slack and ugly and troll-like and ready to sneer

Mindless drones cheer

Look at him preening

Feckless old monster, his mantra is greed, hate and fear

Let’s end his career

.

All the selfish people

Who teaches them this stuff?

All the stubborn people

How many dead’s enough?

.

Ahhh, look at all the hateful people

Ahhh, look at these ungrateful people

.

Karen’s still triggered

Gasping for air on machines in a hospital hall

Why won’t her god call?

President Donnie

Shrugs and ignores digging up 80,000 new graves

It’s money he craves

.

All the coughing people (Ah, look at all the hateful people)

Was Easter service nice?

All the toxic people (Ah, look at these ungrateful people)

Who’ll make no sacrifice…

(Facebook Memories popped up this picture over the weekend of me and The JG, the son of my ex, Maria, from 11 years ago – I’ll give ya credit Facebook, sometimes you hit the mark)

Wow. 11 years ago. This one almost made me cry from the melancholy with its surprise just now. Gots be careful when stuff like this pops up, or at least have a few tissues on hand. A me and the JG and a picture that just speaks Steve in what was a then new Bucco’s cap. Vanity is certainly not my thing, my 18 dollar clippers from Walgreens and what they do now will attest to that, but even I have to say that I look alright in this one. Young almost, even at the 44 that I was then. And JG? The perfect snap of youth and a so fond time remembered. Those eyes. Plus I’m at a ballpark watching my Buccos with a smile in the sun. Can’t get more Steve than that.

(This is a bit about baseball and JJ and I’s trips to the park from a few years ago)

Facebook 05-07-20:

Well the Justice Dept again moves further and further away from the independent investigative power it is intended to be but instead becomes more entrenched as nothing more than just another tool of Trump enforcing his belief that he has the “absolute right” to control it to, for further instance, protect more loyalists while continuing to investigate enemies. It is also more proof that William “The Low” Barr is nothing more than a shill and a hack, a hired partisan gun and legal bodyguard for shielding Trump from the consequences of his actions, protecting his obvious corruption and assisting in the long term goal of revising history #Autocracy style.

Facebook 05-08-20:

So there was a comment on my last post here (quickly deleted for some reason), the one about the glaring obviousness of the Department of Justice no longer being an independent body, intended to be immune from politicization, but now, instead, just the clear personal law of Donald Trump courtesy of William “The Low” Barr, the fraud who has sold out his entire office and damaged its credibility, almost beyond repair, simply to adhere to Trump’s will and assist in some long sought revisionism. The comment said (I saw it on my phone before it was deleted) that though I was a nice guy I had blinders on and, paraphrasing here, laying the blame for the reason of these blinders at the feet of a dishonest and lying press I think was the gist. Who doesn’t love some good parroting huh?

In this era of the #TrumpDumbDown it doesn’t matter what kind of valid case you may present. If it deviates from the State News narrative it will always end up being fake with the press to blame, not the corrupt con man who has told more lies in three plus years than the entire population of most prisons. But that’s just authoritarianism 101, textbook, not any kind of science, rocket or not.

Now I have nothing against parrots, I’m a fan of fur and feather alike, plus actual parrots come from really picturesque, tropical locales I’m envious of and it’s almost a cool parlor game to show off your bird’s mimicking skills, but I know that there is no talking to some other breeds of parrots from far less enviable places, so it’s best not to bother, well, except to bother for a quick moment as you point out such.

No, we’ll just have to let the almost unprecedented actions of The Low Barr, first in the Stone case and now Flynn, speak for themselves and take with a Gibraltar sized grain of salt the arrogant mocking hubris of an explanation like … (the action was taken to) “restore confidence in the system [and show] there is only one standard of justice.” (only one standard … cough … cough … gasp … sorry … breath … only one standard … give me a sec … choking on my beer)

Apparently William, who seems to be a rather buttoned up serious sort, has the ability on occasion to let his guard down, drink the spiked Kool Aid, throw on an orange lampshade and make a funny all while keeping a straight face (well except for mentioning “winning” with a smirk). Nicely done Sir Low, nicely done.

Hey, credit where it’s due right?

(Great piece from the Atlantic on this by the way … thanks for bringing it to my attention Richard Scroggs)

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/05/attack-fundamental-principle-justice/611395/?utm_term=2020-05-08T16%25253A10%25253A34&utm_content=edit-promo&utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=the-atlantic&fbclid=IwAR1fNdNkNPWgYaulgu-ZwktnznJb3lYuu2YmXKF3v5Qp8SJCFXEDefkJL9c

When I got home a couple of evenings ago I saw another member of the cast of “Cat On A Cold Tile Roof”, Sunny, rehearsing, until I so rudely interrupted her, which she staringly, glaringly pointed out, just before she turned with a dramatic flourish, paused and then walked away (oh, she’s good).

This new take on the classic play, which has absolutely nothing to do with the source material (though when pretty boy Maine Coon, Penny, meows one of his longer meows you can almost imagine he’s saying “Tennessee” … or maybe it’s “when feeds me” … or it could just be “meow”) has been a huge critical success … universally yawned at, layed on and scratched around by almost every cat publication under the napping sun, even some dog magazines, though I think most of those reviews are just being sarcastic, well, as sarcastic as dogs can get (not really their strong suit, they’re more dad jokes and slapstick).

After rehearsals were done for the day though I did get a visit from a couple of other cast members, including Handsome, who, from seeing how good looking he is, you might assume is one of the stars of the show but he is not. He’s just the humble prop cat, but he knows everyone’s lines, every character’s motivation, even helps the stars stay on page when necessary. Team player. You never know, maybe he’ll get “noticed” one of these days and it’ll turn into one of those truly magic stage stories … he just has to stop trying to hipmotize people.

And there’s Millie, who wanted to practice her “pop up head” before checking the strength of the audience partition, like the chicken wire in Blues Brothers, for it’s ability to keep the rabble out during show times.

You’re all good Millie. You can trust us. And if we do throw anything it’ll be cat food cans not beer bottles.

Now on with the the show.

Finally home and done for a Friday and the weekend. Got a beach chair out and I’m sittin’ back under a UV lamp in silly little goggles with my toes in the sand (improvising with Kitty Litter – hey, it’s clean and I own a broom – so shut it) and I’ve got my Lysol Martini simply poured in a chilled glass, not shaken or stirred (don’t want to disturb any possible medicinal properties). Time to completely distance again.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Earlier in the week I had decided or maybe resigned myself to going shopping again this weekend even, throughout the week, asking my phone to add to my shopping list (No, I don’t say “hey google” first by the way … it’s just a “hey” … my phone and I are on an intimate though no names basis. Makes it much easier to leave, clothes in hand, in the mornings).

What do you want to add?

Soap

Ok, I added soap, anything else?

Toothpaste

Ok, I added toothpaste, anything else?

Deodorant

Sure, I added deodorant, anything else?

New underwear

Ok … wait … is there something I should know?

But then I realized that I didn’t really need to go out again for the shopping. I was good. I had enough of the make Steve not stinky/bad breathy stuff for now (though for just who I couldn’t really tell ya. Maybe just a personal thing, I haven’t devolved completely just yet). I also had enough of the feed the girls and feed the Steve stuff (and enough of the what eventually follows stuff, human and fur alike) to make it through another weekend.

A couple of weeks ago some really good friends, knowing my anxieties (I just may overthink that I’m in a worrisome category but I ain’t playin’) helped me stay out of the store by picking me up a few things on their own trips to the market, one of which was a frozen bag of something, which, after defrosting turned out to be some nice seasoned taco meat another of which was just simple caring.

So what do I do with this I thought? I could just do the defrost and throw it on a plate. But wait …

My sister and brother had bought me, for Christmas, a really nice Farberware counter top, two burner hot plate that I hadn’t used yet (my place has my convection oven and my microwave but no stove). So now I could break out a pan, yes I do have pots and pans, but wait …

Some of what my friends had picked up for me included pasta, something I haven’t cooked in years, but with my unused Farberware I could now boil up some of it and maybe even fry up that taco meat and just throw in on top, but wait …

One of these friends had surprised me with some groceries after I got out of my hospital stay three years ago. It included a jar of Marinara sauce. Three years, I know, but it’s in a jar right? Now we’re gettin’ somewhere, but wait …

Celie, here, another good friend, picked me up a loaf of bread for my tuna sandwiches and I already had some butter. The perfect side.

Now that was a meal. Apparently it takes a village to feed a Frankenberry.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The roads have, obviously, been quiet for so long. I clock now how long it takes me to get to Route 9 from the top of this driveway’s long hill. It’s a game. No speeding of course, that would be cheating, but just what the latest days time out to be. Latest record? 8 minutes. On the normal, in a normal, when the world went about it’s normal the best I ever did was 15 minutes. Only 7 minutes difference you say? That’s kinda huge, at least for a guy who is still trying to figure out what all this means while keeping his head down and clocking driving games.

There’s a new small plot of construction on my way in, after a right where I hop off Route 9, escaping the numb of that road and it’s never ending traffic lights, just instead getting to the quiet of my welcome back road way and that small spot passed that has just recently been razed. Maybe ya just might find some art. Thanks guy with that eye.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Came home earlier, after a stop at Stewarts, cursing those that had the same idea as me as I sat with BB in the parking lot for the longest time waiting for them to leave. I just wanted ice cream, and some cheese but they were enough for me to wait. When I did go in my face was covered, my hands were gloved, I shallow breathed and ran out of that place as quickly as possible after my get. (Meet BB by the way)

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Been forcing myself to take a walkaround, however easy/lazy it may to not. But once I start the down the driveway and go up and around the back way an easy/lazy doesn’t happen and I’m so glad for it. Breath. I’ve got some some friends waiting. Well, friends with a few handfuls of pellets. I’m Ok with buying friendship.

The cover art for the debut album from Suburban Bovines “Cows And The Horses They Rode In On” (below). The aloof one on the right is the bass player.

Toons. I don’t check in with him as I should, which is a my bad, but I can’t help but connect him with SWEETS as they started together and that hurts. Sorry Toons, it’s not you. Sigh.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I have a thing for seltzer water, an incessant need to be stocked up, even more than beer, but not wanting to go to store, I remembered that Park Beverage in my old digs of Hyde Park carried them, the other couple of distributors I hit don’t, it would be an easier in and out than a grocery I thought. So I went my old route, a couple of exits past my last two year’s new normal, three years of such before then, eventually past the Culinary Institute but past now some newly, somewhat cleared hills, just after Marist.

Wow.

I’ve always been fascinated by what may seem to be an armageddon’s leavings seeing what was a once surely vibrant compound of buildings and purpose and thinking of the peoples that inhabited them

But now, in stark ghosted relief as I drive by? Where did you all go? Mister mister in the big house, who were you? Who were they?

I know this is silliness. They’re just old buildings that need to be torn down, but there are still echoes reaching.

After my latest walk, around the round of the homes, up top here, with no real history other than the current, which is still good by the way, a beginning, I get stuck in my head. I look down at my spot and then come across a pretty with a bit of a quizzical look who decides to follow me for a moment.

Days

(The first part of this is something I wrote earlier in the week, Monday the 13th, but I knew wasn’t finished so thus …)

No, driving into work this morning didn’t seem like I was living some sort of bad, though all too real movie.

It’s been overly windy for days but it really kicked in last night screaming around and shaking my second floor windows and walls like a pissed off giant trying to get me to fall out on top of our tall hill and it hasn’t subsided today, making BB dance and sway back and forth on the ride while just trying our damndest to stay straight, buffeting him with apparent ill intended windy glee. The sky’s are dark and ominous with intermittent rain and my daily takes me along the Hudson which was really in a mood, with endless roiling ripples of small angry white swells that you could practically hear yelling back and forth at each other at each snap of their breaks.

The roads were littered with the debris from trees or with actual trees that have just given up their roots, or snapped in half or decided to relax their standing tall and instead just lean on power lines like a one too many regular needing the bar for support. There were roads that were closed including one that forced me and BB to detour down another that was a bit remote so, thus, around even more debris. I could hear occasional sirens in the distance, I even passed a lonely funeral earlier, just those who had a job to do, a hearse, a backhoe and a poor soul and, no, I’m not going to speculate nor mention the tear. I just can’t.

Just a surreal start to the week in surreal times and it hasn’t really let up. Even now I sit in my little studio at work on generator power as the wind’s giants continue to work their shakedown business … freakin’ giants …

(to be continued)

… freakin’ giants. A good friend asked me, after reading this quick take on the shakedown and the surreal start to the week, if I had tamed my giants while noting that she and I must have similar ones as hers and mine are conspiring against us. “Mine clubbed me with their blunt weapons all night last night” she said. “Nature took it’s course” I said back “and tamed the physical ones, her ones … the others? Still tossing me around, same as you”.

After this past ominous Monday to start the week the skies lightened on Tuesday, the wind died down, the screamed whipping attempts to shake me from place onto my tall hill alone like some simple Ken toy bounced, tossed from a life sized dollhouse stopped, and the giants found me newly resolute though a bit shaky. BB and I’s ride wasn’t as iffy on this Tuesday, lesser winds had done what needs be done to make the roads seem, seem clearer, more normal I guess, a ride now like any other for the moment, the Hudson had calmed, its angry small white capped swell snap breaks not necessary at the moment, they had already made their point, there were no funerals to pass this Tuesday at least, thankfully, at least not the ones I could see. But that is what the giants depend on, a semblance, a hope that today might just be the one that you wish signals change or, at least, doesn’t seem as bad. But those fuckers, they just wait don’t they? Hovering. Bullies that hope for you to let down your guard, maybe they’re not waiting for me around that corner that I tip toe up to as silently as I can I think, oh, but they’re waiting. I know they are.

Tomorrow will be two weeks since my last time spotted in a place with peoples, a shopping need, a more than that just one guy at the Mobil, behind a newly built/added plexiglass screen, a more than just that one guy or girl I thank for the curbside who I give a quick hello to from my elbow, or from behind my mask, blocking any little cough that just might be a signal, a more than just the few folks left at the station for now.

But this shit resets doesn’t it? Any time you stray away from the straight there and straight back, mask or not, gloves or not, quick or not, holding your breath or not, this shit resets.

Is this overly dramatic? Of course it is. It’s what we do, or what I do anyway right now. Is this drama warranted? Well you tell me, take a count, and add places like Florida, their dumb uniquely, sadly, orangely, all theirs. Is the drama warranted?

But I’m still keeping my head down and up, up and down. Finger to the wind.

Seems, giants, you and I could be at an impasse. You’re bigguns, you’re more than me, too often, and I understand that, invading my sleep and even my wake-ed days, but less on occasion now which I’m thankful for. I’m moving while staying put, at least for the weekends. I understand the reset, the fear of it, but conversations I have back and forth, upside down and sideways, rightside, leftside, otherside, intentional long winded words with my sister or good friends, words to distract with an any them, any other than you and your bully tactics, makes me feel better. I take deep breaths, check my forehead, go for walks around a wished normal world about the back way and the expensive houses that sit on this, their also, hill. I used to wonder while I walk what people in these expensive houses think of the cows, the horses down the way are a given, a joy to see for them I’m sure, but what of the cows up here when I catch back up with them at the end of the down the driveway and up walk around through the neighborhood loop? What do they think of the cows? Let’s call the first album from Suburban Bovines “Cows And The Horses They Rode In On”.

You’re giants, misgiven thoughts, fears, a lack of sleep, an attempt at control … you’re in my head, maybe always will be at this point, a pain in the ass, noggin, but you don’t own me just yet.

And any idea of group anytime soon has passed by the way, in case you were hoping, and I’m Ok with that, waaaay before this, good with that. Gotcha there. Anti social was already a skill.

Giants you stomp, it’s what you do, you big footed bastards you, walk all over us. You’re loud and insistent, invasive, obnoxious and noxious but maybe we have an understanding now. I’ve put it down.

Here

I know you

We know you

No, driving into work this morning didn’t seem like I was living some sort of bad, though all too real movie.

It’s been extra windy for days but it really kicked in last night screaming around and shaking my second floor windows and walls like a pissed off giant trying to get me to fall out on top of our tall hill and it hasn’t subsided today, making BB dance and sway back and forth on the ride while just trying our damndest to stay straight, buffeting him with apparent ill intended windy glee. The sky’s are dark and ominous with intermittent rain and my daily takes me along the Hudson which was really in a mood, with endless roiling ripples of small angry white swells that you could practically hear yelling back and forth, up and down at each snap of their breaks.

The roads were littered with the debris from trees or with actual trees that have just given up their roots, or snapped in half or decided to relax their standing tall and instead just lean on power lines like a one too many regular needing the bar for support. There were roads that were closed including one that forced me and BB to detour down another that was a bit remote so, thus, around even more debris, I could hear sirens occasionally in the distance, I even passed a lonely funeral earlier, just a few folks, a hearse, a backhoe and a poor soul and, no, I’m not going to speculate nor mention the tear. I just can’t.

Just a surreal start to the week in surreal times and it hasn’t really let up. Even now I sit in my little studio at work on generator power as the wind continues to work its shakedown business … freakin’ giants …

(to be continued)

Cat On A Cold Tile Roof starring Honey “Boo” Bob Tail

“Moving yet indifferent performance! Even my allergic roommate teared up” – Cat Fancy

“Left me with gunk in my eyes” – Catster

“Great new production minus all the human trappings, drama (cough … cough … cough … Ackkkkk …. spit …) and uncomfortable subtext” – Modern Cat

“Hey!!! Litter box here!!!! Little privacy??!!” – Cat’s Mind

Performances randomly at the Wiltse Manor on the Hill Theatre … surprise cast changes … like good ol’ neighbors just dropping by to say meow … right outside your window it seems!

“Almost feels like the cast is walking, no running on your head” – Mousebreath

“4 paws up … wait … 4 paws up? … belly rub time!!!” … whoa, hold on … slanted … rolling off the roof …” – Total Cat