Black cat blues, take 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where is Humptulips?

"Humptulips, I hear you calling. Humptulips never sounded better. Humptulips sounds like it is Papeete, Tahiti, or the French Riviera. O Humptulips, shimmering pearl of the Mediterranean! I love thee, Humptulips, even though there is not one Dutch girl in thy whole domain."

Tom Robbins, Another Roadside Attraction

Genetic mysteries

I came from what is sometimes called a "musical family". We weren't exactly the von Trapps, but my father was choir leader of our church (putting on such ambitious productions as Handel's Messiah), and both parents were deeply involved in Gilbert and Sullivan light operas. My father played violin decently, though I don't think he ever left first position. My mother was so indoctrinated with musical expectation that she often expressed shame that she did not know how to play the piano. It somehow would have made everything so much better.

So when WE came along, of course, it was the same thing, except that the pressure was far worse. The expectation wasn't just competence or even excellence, but a world-class career. Joy had nothing to do with it. I'd say we had a moderate amount of talent. My sister had a warm mezzo voice which might have taken her to a career if she hadn't early-on wrecked her life. My brother Arthur was a talented flautist and guitarist, and also a schizophrenic, who ended up panhandling on the streets of Toronto (not to mention prostituting himself) before he died in a fire.

My brother Walt was the only one to actually apply his talent, teaching and playing oboe in an orchestra in the Okanagan. Not exactly the big time, and he had to supplement his income with being an accountant on the side (work he claimed to prefer). His two daughters ended up as professional string players, an interesting development (their mother being an orchestral musician).

Then there was me, so bad at the piano that my teacher came to my mother and said, "This child is unteachable". Since no one else in the family would touch the violin, I was "it" and was just dismal at it. It was only much later that I discovered or uncovered a voice that had been totally buried by my sister's histrionics. I was afraid to open my mouth before that.

(Strangely enough, at age 40, I had the mad desire to take another crack at the violin, and I did. I found a magnificent teacher and played for nine years, including a lot of public performing. What does this mean? I am not sure, but I wanted to take the instrument back and approach it on my own terms.) 


My kids came along early in my life, and not only did they show no signs of musical talent in any area, they were completely disdainful of it. I remember they called Pavarotti "Pavarotten". They excelled in sports - were champions, in fact, which baffled and surprised and delighted Bill and I. We were both hopeless klutzes and literally dropped the ball.

But then. . .

A lo-o-o-ng time later came my grandkids, and I sensed musicality in all of them right from the start. They have sung in choirs, played instruments in bands, and, most of all, danced - every kind of dance from ballet to jazz to tap to hip-hop, a discipline which demands being one with all types of music. All three grandgirls have excelled at it. Two of them are off in Vernon winning trophies at a competition even as we speak. (One grandgirl has no hearing on one side, demanding extreme listening skills and a focus that simply amazes me.)

And look at Ryan, adorable, his instrument a foot longer than he is! He caught his hand in the slide one day, an excruciating thing that demanded a trip to Emergency, but he went right back at it as soon as he was healed.

So what am I getting at? I was amazed at my kids and their ability to master any sport, the trophies crowding the bookshelves in their rooms. If any part of it was genetic, it must have been several generations back. But the music thing was there - at least on one side. Did it leap over the barrier, or is this just serendipity? I don't know, but it's gratifying to see .

And of course, it just hit me that dance requires athleticism as well as musical knowledge. The alchemy of genetics never ceases to amaze me.

Remember the Rolls-Royce guru?

A very long time ago, the family went on a vacation trip to Washington State. I wanted to see where Tom Robbins lived (and did) and poke around the tourist sights. It turned out to be dizzyingly beautiful country.

I knew I had kept a scrapbook, and that there were some crazy things in it - some of the weirdest postcards I've ever seen, and great stuff from the local newspapers. I remembered something particularly weird that I'd read in the LaConner paper. The memory of it was recently dredged up by a book I'm reading for at least the fourth time.

The article in the Channel Town Press, which I initially tried to take seriously, is about a fictional guru trying to set up shop with his Rolls-Royces and harem of wives/kids in LaConner. After a while I realized it was satire. I thought it was funny, especially Bag One's drawn-on beard (this was long before photoshop) and the Bag Dad Middle School.

It was years later that I reviewed a book for the Vancouver paper called The Promise of Paradise - a woman's intimate story of the perils of life with Rajneesh. This is the one that I keep reading over and over again. The one I'm reading right now.

Rajneesh, as in Bhagwan, the "Rolls-Royce Guru", built an incredibly wealthy worldwide empire which embodied all that is wrong with mass religion. Bhagwan's devotees had taken over a piece of land called Big Muddy Ranch near the small town of Antelope, Oregon. By the time this grotesque empire collapsed in a state of near-terrorism, the newly-created city of Rajneeshpuram was in an armed standoff with the citizens of Antelope. The erstwhile leader of the cult, a demented demigod named Sheela, was eventually charged with election fraud (rounding up homeless people to vote for sympathetic representation in local elections), poisoning hundreds of citizens, and a host of other crimes. By this time, Rajneeshpuram was being patrolled by armed guards dressed in camouflage. The utopia had become a police state. 

Thousands of people drank this particular flavour of Koolaid, in particular the author of The Promise of Paradise, Satya Bharti Franklin (given a new name, as per usual, when she joined the cult). Even as chaos and violence and death swirled around her, she kept writing about "waves of bliss" washing over her, and about how, in spite of everything (even abandoning her kids), her fourteen years with this self-righteous fucked-up power-tripping bastard had all been worth it.

I think LaConner must have felt the shock waves from this bizarre episode of cult aggression. It had all come too close for comfort, but they still had the good grace to joke about it. The piece was written only a couple of years after the meltdown became public knowledge. To quote Wikipedia: "The subsequent criminal investigation, the largest in Oregon history, confirmed that a secretive group had, unbeknownst to both government officials and nearly all Rajneeshpuram residents, engaged in a variety of criminal activities, including the attempted murder of Rajneesh's physician, wiretapping and bugging within the commune and within Rajneesh's home, poisonings of two public officials, and arson."

To me, this smacks of the "but we didn't know what was going on" claim of the German population after World War II. According to her detailed account based on private journals, Satya Bharti Franklin knew what was going on, and did not walk away from it. By then she felt a kind of paralysis which was widespread. Did they know what was going on? They knew enough.

I'm not sure why I keep reading about cults - oh, of course I do, they are bloody fascinating! These people did not question Sheela or Rajneesh or any of it, no matter how nasty or ludicrous the edicts became, but kept on humbly obeying. If they didn't, they weren't "surrendered" enough. Imagine an environment, a community, in which the ultimate goal is to surrender. To give up: personal freedom, sanity, decision-making, life. 

Anyway, I kept the Bag One clipping even before I knew anything at all about Bhagwan or Sheela or Satya Bharti Franklin, because I loved it. It was all part of the Washingtonian nuttiness I had come to cherish. 

But what of those throngs in red skirts, the faithful sanyassins who had given years of their lives (not to mention all their worldly goods) to this crazy creep? Did they just go on to some other prophet, tin god, addiction? How many of them joined Scientology? There must be a cult mind, and I must figure out what it is, because in spite of everything I have seen, it makes no sense to me at all.

The unexpected blessing of a cat

What is it about this cat? I think he came along at just the right time, when I was totally disillusioned with the collapse of my dream of being a "real" writer. It just didn't happen. It's not true that you have to "try, try again" and "failure doesn't exist" and all that. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that it didn't work out and try to be gracious about it. I had also just experienced terrible grief over the loss of my beloved baby lovebird Paco, whom I barely had a chance to enjoy before she died. 

Bentley was completely unexpected, and sometimes those are the best things. The things we hammer away at, the things we think we can't do without, turn out to be relatively unimportant. If it REALLY doesn't want to happen, well then, OK. It doesn't. I will try to admit defeat as graciously as I can.

Meanwhile, I have this cat to spend time with, to sprawl on my lap, to very patiently sit beside my bed to wait for treats. He is soft-spoken and loyal and protective of us, and - what? He is Bentley. What a gentleman he is! Most people I know don't have such good manners. 

World's cutest frog!

Stupid genius: the man who had to pee

The famous astronomer Tycho Brahe died from a burst bladder after refusing to relieve himself during a lavish aristocratic party

The peculiar death of the astronomer may still be a mystery. He was attending a banquet in Prague, reportedly hosted by a wealthy aristocratic family. After drinking too much during the party, he refused to go to the bathroom despite his physiological urges, thus rupturing his bladder.

Apparently, he kept holding in and could not get up from the table to relieve himself, carefully trying not to insult the wealthy family, since people that are present at the table must not get up before dinner is finished, as it is a breach of etiquette. Brahe’s bladder surely must have been of astronomical proportion before it burst, actively trying to appease courteous etiquette rather than surrendering to biological urges.

This would have been a noble display of moral courtesy if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain in his stomach. He could not urinate properly, felt constant writhing pain and kept trying to convince Kepler to adopt his planetary system to no avail. Tycho Brahe died in agony, eleven days later, on 24 October 1601, at the age of 54 and he wrote his own epitaph: “He lived like a sage and died like a fool.”

There have been speculations that the unfortunate astronomer has been poisoned with mercury, fueling rumors that Kepler was trying to kill him in an act of jealousy or spite. Some scientists that exhumed Brahe’s grave in 1901 tried to solve the mystery once and for all but failed as there was not enough evidence. Results show that mercury concentrations in his body were not even close to high, so it’s impossible that he was poisoned in this way.

Statue of Brahe and Kepler in Prague, Czech Republic.

Tycho’s hopeful planetary model was discredited, but his research and astronomical observations were an essential contribution to astronomy. He was primarily an empiricist who set new standards for precise and objective measurements, although he would flip his wig if he found out that the Earth orbits the Sun. If only he answered nature’s call, who knows if he would have renounced his erroneous planetary model, done even more crucial research, invented new measuring equipment, or kept throwing lavish parties.

(Far more interesting facts about Brahe)

In 1566 at the age of 20, he lost part of his nose in a duel with another Danish nobleman named Manderup Parsbjerg. The duel is said to have started over a disagreement about a mathematical formula. Because 16th century Denmark didn't have resources like the internet to figure out who was right, the only solution was to try to kill each other. For the rest of his life, Brahe wore a prosthetic nose. His fake nose was likely made of copper, although he probably also had gold and silver noses around for special occasions.

He lived in a castle, where he kept a rather unusual group of regular entertainers. He employed a little person called Jepp, who Brahe believed possessed psychic powers. Jepp was his court jester, and spent most dinners under the table. It's probably best not to speculate on just why Brahe preferred that arrangement. Then there was Brahe's elk, a tame beast that Brahe kept as a prized pet. The elk met a rather bizarre end, reportedly drinking a lot of beer while visiting a nobleman on Brahe's behalf, after which it fell down the stairs and died.

BLOGGER'S NOTES. Fake nose, drunk elk, lascivious dwarf: this must be the wonderful world of Tycho Brahe! All the bizarre crap surrounding his life is much more interesting than a rather sad career spent in Kepler's shadow.

But I had to include an excerpt from that amazing source of historic bullshit, The Vintage News. For some reason I am still on their shit list after a couple of years of bitter exile. I am not allowed to like a post, or comment or reply to a comment (though I'm still allowed to share - as if I'd want to, the way they treat me!) because of some unknown sin I have committed. Thus I am forced to read everyone else's comments, including those of a self-proclaimed neo-Nazi with guns, insignias and pictures of Hitler all over his home page.

Lovely!

Not only does The Vintage News do very well without using any researchers or fact-checkers, they can't write in English and give the impression of a very bad translation. It's entertaining, at least, if a little infuriating.

Of course, I had to find out if you actually can burst your bladder. Apparently it's rare unless your bladder is diseased and/or has received a violent trauma. Bursting it from crossing your legs is rare, because - and I found this particularly fascinating - the body just takes care of the problem, and it starts coming out all by itself! Clever of the body.

Didn't Kramer say that on Seinfeld once? I think so, but I have no idea in which episode.

amputation-of-the-nose-throughout-history


TYCHO BRAHE HAD NO NOSE.  HOW DID HE SMELL?  TERRIBLE.

Giant wool cat head: ready to wear!

A Giant, Creepy, Realistic Wearable Wool Cat Head

by Rebecca Escamilla at 8:18 pm on April 14, 2015



photo via Needle Felted Cats

Housetu Sato and his students at the Japan School of Wool Art created a giant, creepy, realistic needle-felted wool cat head that they can wear on their head.


photos via Cat Doll


image via Housetu Sato


photos via Cat Doll

via Kai-You, RocketNews24

Cat rescue: the Unknown Kitty

RUN!!. . . The creepiest place on earth

Sanzhi UFO houses

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Sanzhi UFO houses (Chinese: 三芝飛碟屋; pinyin: Sānzhī Fēidiéwū), also known as the Sanzhi pod houses or Sanzhi Pod City, were a set of abandoned and never completed pod-shaped buildings in Sanzhi District, New Taipei City, Taiwan. The buildings resembled Futuro houses, some examples of which can be found elsewhere in Taiwan. The site where the buildings were located was owned by Hung Kuo Group.

Construction and abandonment

The UFO houses were constructed beginning in 1978. They were intended as a vacation resort in a part of the northern coast adjacent to Tamsui, and were marketed towards U.S. military officers coming from their East Asian postings. However, the project was never completed in 1980 due to investment losses and several car accident deaths and suicides during construction, which is said to have been caused by the inauspicious act of bisecting the Chinese dragon sculpture located near the resort gates for widening the road to the buildings. Other stories indicated that the site was the former burial ground for Dutch soldiers.

The pod-like buildings became a minor tourist attraction due in part to their unusual architecture. The structures have since been subject of a film, used as a location by MTV for cinematography, photographed by people, and become a subject in online discussions, described as a ghost town or "ruins of the future". The houses are referred to in the title of a track on the experimental German pianist Hauschka's 2014 LP Abandoned City.

Demolition

The buildings were scheduled to be torn down in late 2008, despite an online petition to retain one of the structures as a museum. Demolition work on the site began on 29 December 2008, with plans to redevelop the site into a tourist attraction with hotels and beach facilities.

By 2010, all of the UFO houses had been demolished and the site was in the process of being converted to a commercial seaside resort and water-park.

Blogger's Blah Blah. This topic was so bizarre that it cried out for an equally bizarre treatment, so I began to make animations, some of which freaked me out so badly I found I couldn't use them. (Maybe I'll post outtakes later on. Or not. A director's cut?) 

I love making cars and buildings and other inanimate things come to life, and it's a cinch with architecture because of all the uniform surfaces. They don't even need to be square. The levels to these things - and by the holy, aren't they the worst-looking things you ever saw? No wonder people thought they were cursed - made it easy to make them flap and applaud and otherwise jump around. But God, it was tiring, and WEIRD. Just plain weird. 

This isn't the first time I encountered Pod City - I remember reading about it years ago. One of the photos was an aerial view that made me reel. It was like a host of evil mushrooms squatting and rotting on the ground.

There is a slight cheat here. The yellow structures in some of the gifs are likely Futuro houses, which I don't even want to get into. They look UFO-ish in the most classic My Favorite Martian sense, with evil portals all around them that stare like malevolent eyes. My God. There are some of them left in Taiwan, most of them rotting away, but the original Pod City has been demolished and is (supposedly!) no more. If this were the X Files, Scully and Mulder would be on it by now.

http://www.stopabductions.com/