💥Back Yard Bear: Our Fence has been CRASHED!💥

Such excitement in the back yard yesterday, and it was all CAUGHT ON TAPE! This young bear wandered into the back yard, knocked down a bird feeder, then flopped down and munched contentedly on sunflower seeds for 20 minutes or so, while we panicked and called the conservation people. We saw no break in the fence, so we didn't know how he got in or how he'd get out. But finally, after opening the gate (the sound spooked him) and banging on a pot, he leaped up the tall fence as nimbly as a cat, and wandered back and forth on the top of it before wandering away. Now we know bears can get in with no trouble at all, and I won't be able to refill the bird feeder for a while. Or not ever!

"Ah, the French" - Orson Welles REMIX

I just rediscovered this work of GENIUS while putting together some crude animations with Orson Welles doing commercial outtakes. I seem to be doing an Orson Welles series now, though I never intended to and now wonder if I should stop. BUT NOT BEFORE THIS. It is genius. 

💗Beautiful, Beautiful Bentley: my gorgeous, sleepy cat!💗

Bentley has been with us now for seven years, and we can't imagine our lives without him. He is a dignified cat, rarely meows or makes a fuss, but rules in an imperious way, striking magnificent poses (i. e. his British Museum pose, modelling the famous Egyptian bastet sculpture which inspired worship in ancient times). He divides his loyalties evenly between us, but it is always along certain lines which never vary. He sleeps very contentedly on Bill's lap in the Lazy Boy, but his routine with me is different. As I lie reading in bed (something comfortably boring to help me get to sleep), he will steal into the room, jump up, and stare at me with those uncanny eyes for the longest time, before gingerly reaching out a paw to touch me. Then another touch, then a little harder one, then he stretches his paw way up and spreads his toes - the signal for me to give him his treats. Then when he has had a nice face-wash, he settles himself between my ankles, turning around and around and plunking himself down. When I turn out the lights, I often have to turf him off or at least get him to move over a bit. We often think he understands everything we say, to the point we are tempted to spell things out as you would do with a toddler. But he is wise beyond his years, expending his energies only to leap up to the bird feeders installed on our windowpanes. He IS a cat, after all. And a cat's a cat, for a' that. 

This is the tribute to Bentley I posted not long after we brought him home. Hard to believe it's been so many years! 

When my beloved lovebird Paco died just a short time ago, it was agonizing. She only lived 100 days, and was an absolute delight. I should have spent many years with her. I knew I couldn't get another bird, because if that happened again -

We didn't even have cats on our minds. Oh all right, we did, because my daughter had just adopted Mia, a darling little tabby who stole everybody's heart. I noticed how the whole atmosphere in the house had changed, as if it had been flooded with sunshine.

At one point in my anger and grief over Paco, I said to Bill, "I can't get another bird, I just can't. We might as well go get a cat." This was a reference to the "no more cats" rule we had made after the death of Murphy, the 17-year-old catriarch of the family, in 2007.

Bill especially felt that we'd be too old by the time the cat reached that age, if it ever did. But he said something surprising that changed everything. "We could get a cat." I hadn't meant it literally, but suddenly our thinking began to change. And as we all know, that changes everything.

We decided we would "start the process of looking for a cat". Not rush into anything, of course. We weren't even supposed to be getting another pet at this stage. It was too soon, far too soon, wasn't it? But I began to look into it, research adoption web sites.  My first experience was with a Vancouver kitten rescue agency called VOKRA. I looked at one cat, a very lovely cat indeed, and as soon as I reached out to pet her, she tore a chunk out of me. We both went home from that "viewing" with bloody scratches.

I think sometimes certain organizations are just too idealistic about whether a cat is truly adoptable or not. That one wasn't.

So we decided to try the SPCA, where most people go. I had been looking on the web site for a while, and saw this snagglepuss-like baby cougar, and just HAD to go see him. Right now. He was in Maple Ridge, so it didn't take too long.

It was just one of those things. He was housed in an enclosure about the size of a large walk-in closet, much more amenable than a cage, but still kind of cramped for a cat. When he saw me he jumped down, ran towards me and wound himself around my leg. I immediately picked him up and held him. He relaxed into my arms. He had a soft, plushy coat, and was purring gently.

"This is the cat," I said to Bill. "Are you sure?" "There are no other cats. This is the one."

It has only been a few days, yet it seems longer, and not because time is dragging. It's another thing entirely. This little guy, about a year old, has an incredible history. Someone found him outside, mangled and bleeding. He had been mauled by a dog and had bite-marks on his shoulders. And yet, he is a sweet and gentle cat who loves to be held. So far his worst habit is drinking out of the toilet.

He has substantial gaps in his coat where the dog bit and probably shook him. They might or they might not fill in with fur, but if they don't, they'll only remind me of his valor in facing down a nasty old dog, and (even more remarkably) not becoming nasty himself.

My daughter-in-law Crystal has a way of summing things up. "After he flew down from heaven, that's where his wings broke off," she said.  Amen to that.

Meghan Markle: The New Face of DIOR

Don't let the Dior hit you on the way out.

🌞A Chocolate Pigeon in the Park🌞

Though I have been unable to locate my Big Fat Brown Duck for weeks now, this lovely chocolate-brown pigeon showed up on the shores of Lake Lafarge. There's always something interesting going on in Birdland.

💥MAGIC KITTY Casts a Spell!💥

🐱SLEEPY BOI: Bentley takes a nap🐱

💗The Troll Doll Channel: MAGICAL Trolls on a Carousel!💗

I customized these two trollies for Erica and Lauren, and gifted them after their dance recital. Erica will be getting Trollina, the first troll in my collection, as a grad present.

Did I ever see myself doing this? Well, yes. For years and years, I knitted blankets and made stuffed animals and dolls for the grandkids. To see their renewed interest via my channel was unexpected, but delightful. I'm nearly at 16,000 subscribers now, and over 10 million views (most of them for one VERY dumb video, but never mind).

Snowing in JUNE?? WHITE STUFF is falling from the sky!

I had thought that the drifting fluff from the cottonwood trees was setting off my allergies. The media had articles about it everywhere, with people claiming to be suffering horribly from it, but in the fine print it said that cottonwood fluff does not set off seasonal allergies. It's grass pollen, and with six-foot-tall grass everywhere with ripe seed pods nodding in the breeze, I am about to pack it in with getting any sort of relief. I have gone through SIX different antihistamines, and nothing has happened. Now an air purifier whispers softly in the background, level as a chinook wind in Alberta (and I ought to know, having lived there for several years). But so far, that hasn't helped either. At least it cools off the room a bit with the air circulation. That's something, but I don't know what. Meantime, hope you enjoy this as much as the geese enjoyed eating the fluff!

Animals With Autotune

Funny as hell! This made my day.

Tina Turner - River Deep, Mountain High (1966 Phil Spector version)

A tribute to the magnificent Tina Turner. Her head was often bloodied, but unbowed. This song gives me the chills! It was her first solo single, a bold move which did not include her abusive husband Ike. This song was pioneering in that it featured the the famous Phil Spector "wall of sound", which produces ghostly echoes of the instruments and chorus. This was a way to create a stereo sound on tiny little transistor radios. The echoes were recorded, then re-recorded again and again to produce an almost impressionistic effect, a little like being underwater. And oh that voice. THAT VOICE.

Ducks on a Glassy Lake

A glorious spring day on Lake Lafarge.

MEGHAN at the GALA! (Creepy Old Men)

 

Meghan and Harry at the Ms. Foundation Awards. It`s bizarre enough that MM gets an award for feminism, but here we see a couple of old white guys in suits with their hands all over her body. To touch a woman's body like that, particularly on bare skin, is just a bit - what? Out of line? They seem to be shepherding or herding her along, or else they just want to sneak a feel. The bottom hand is perilously close to a bum-feel. But MM seems relaxed, as if she is used to this kind of attention. Perhaps she has met these elderly gents before, in some other setting? Note that they are both wearing wedding rings.

"Fatuous, irrelevant, and no sense of purpose": it must be MEGHAN MARKLE!

Fatuous, irrelevant and no sense of purpose - what a fitting backdrop Manhattan's 'Women of Vision' made for the vapid La Markle herself! Fellow guest MAUREEN CALLAHAN's sparkling account of Meghan's word-salad gala appearance

By Maureen Callahan For DailyMail.Com

She so badly wants to be the Queen of Hearts.

But, as she arrived on Tuesday night, making her grand entrance in Midtown Manhattan, sauntering past that rental-car backdrop, it was more like the Queen of Hertz.

Of course, as the world is now all too aware, Meghan Markle capped off winning a meaningless award with what we’re told was a ‘near catastrophic’, ‘two-hour’ car chase through the streets of Manhattan.

Yes, according to a spokesperson, Meghan, along with hapless Harry and mom Doria, were the subjects of a wild, impassioned hunt by the paparazzi.

Some sympathetic commentators have already made the gruesome comparisons to Princess Diana’s tragic final fate.

But to echo the statements made by New York City’s own mayor Eric Adams and the police department: Perhaps it didn’t quite happen the way it was painted.

Recollections may vary.

Of course, as the world is now all too aware, she capped off winning a meaningless award with what we’re told was a ‘near catastrophic’, ‘two-hour’ car chase through the streets of Manhattan.

Naturally, their mouthpiece Omid Scobie is whining that no one from the Palace has yet reached out.

Wonder why?

One also wonders what Gloria Steinem, the 89-year-old feminist icon who chose to honor Meghan as a ‘Woman of Vision’ at Tuesday night’s Ms. Foundation Gala, must be thinking now.

After all, the car ‘chase’ debacle soon stole all the thunder from her event, which I was lucky enough to witness first-hand.

Now, it was hardly the red carpet one might expect. Hardly the pomp and circumstance of, say, a coronation.

Yet Meghan forged ahead as she always does, as if this were her crowning moment, sheathed in gold as if to symbolize a crown.

Or an Oscar statuette.

Same difference, really, if your only goal is fame. That’s our Meghan, none too subtle as ever, literally going for the gold as Harry and Doria took their positions three steps behind.

Harry may be a prince of the blood, but never forget — Meghan is The Star. Her Norma Desmond-ing is among the great spectacles of our modern age.

And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost.

Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery.

It was a bizarre night.

Upon entering the Zeigfeld Ballroom, guests were asked whether they were ‘VIP’ — seems even feminist movements have their echelons — and turfed to the lobby.

My $1,500 entry-level ticket got me a hard seat with a front-row view of coat check.

After ten minutes, circumstances having changed inexplicably, the riff-raff were allowed up to the second floor.

Here were two open bars serving top-shelf liquor and the shock of post-pandemic dress code slovenliness. One unkempt guest was wearing sparkly Birkenstock sandals and a black stretchy minidress under a pink puffer jacket.

These were the VIPs?

The only recognizable person I saw was Peloton instructor Ally Love, and that’s saying something. Where were the stars? Where were the notables of the movement? The Malalas? The Fondas? The Beyoncés?

Perhaps no one was meant to outshine Meghan. Only one feminist icon was going to enter via rental car office!

Down in the ballroom, the plated salads on our banquet tables were ready waiting for us – dry, unsightly, stringy greens that resembled nothing so much as regurgitated hairballs.

Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan.

Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say.

If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled.

It says something when a table of size-6 women tear into their heavily glazed steak and buttery mashed potatoes with abandon.

Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing.

Verbiage and word salad that were content-free, except when speaking on her favorite subject: herself.

Here, in real time, we observed Meghan’s inability to read a room. She thanked the ‘other honorees’ without naming them.

‘Congratulations,’ she said, ‘and frankly, well deserved.’

It was all so smug and supercilious, this glorified podcaster telling these boots-on-the-ground activists — no matter what one thinks of their politics — that they had, in fact, earned their place on the same stage as the great Meghan Markle.

The night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing.

Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan. Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say.

That ‘frankly’ was so typical. It was meant to redound to Meghan’s benefit, as the lone wolf daring to speak the unspeakable.

There was the cringe-inducing humblebrag, calling her new friend Gloria ‘Glo’.

It brought to mind the forced intimacy of meeting Kate Middleton barefoot and insisting that the pair share lip gloss.

It's 'Glo' to Meghan, but Meghan is 'Duchess' to us.

‘We all bear witness,’ Meghan continued of her fellow honorees, ‘to you standing in elegance and the power of your strength.’

Huh?

This crowd was not convinced. This crowd was checking their watches. There were trains to catch, children to kiss goodnight. Alas, we were stuck with the vapidity of La Markle.

Her speech didn’t even deliver fresh content! She repeated the story, as told on her podcast, of poor little Meghan coming home from school to her TV dinner, cat collars and copies of Ms. Magazine strewn about courtesy of her mother — even though it’s well-documented that her father primarily raised her.

‘Having these pages in our home,’ she went on, ‘. . . signaled to me that there was so much more than the dolled-up covers and those images that you would see on the grocery store covers. It signaled to me that substance mattered.’

Says the former D-list actress and former briefcase game-show girl who used her looks to get ahead. Who has posed for those very same magazine covers.

This crowd was not convinced. This crowd was checking their watches. There were trains to catch, children to kiss goodnight. Alas, we were stuck with the vapidity of La Markle.

This warmed-over speech, less heated than our steaks, was Meghan’s greatest hits:

‘Change is just one action away.’

‘You can be the visionary of your own life.’

‘Daily acts of service, in kindness, in advocacy, in grace and in fairness.’

‘The imprints that were forged in my mind — I can now connect the dots in a much better way to understand how I became a young feminist and evolved into a grown activist.’

A feminist who, let us not forget, has publicly demonized her famous sister-in-law — ‘Waity Katie’ to Oprah and an audience of millions.

Kate made me cry! WAAAGH!

In truth, Meghan's a self-identified 'grown activist' who has done nothing. The pontification, her sing-song-y cadence as she luxuriated in her own praise, was as insufferable as it was revealing.

‘Ms.’ she said, ‘was formative in [my] cocooning. It piqued my curiosity, and it became the chrysalis for the woman that I would become and that I am today.’

Right: The woman who vilified the institution headed-up by Queen Elizabeth II in her final years. The woman who heavily alleged institutional racism until her husband finally backed away from that terrible smear.

A woman with no substance and no accomplishments as a feminist. A woman who is still trying to one-up the royals, even from a car-park adjacent ballroom with no red carpet.

Meghan is the personification of Ms. as an organization that has lost its way.

Indeed, most of the night was spent advocating not for women but for trans rights and Critical Race Theory.

‘Abortion is racist,’ we were told.

Beware the ‘the white supremacist patriarchal system.’

Yes, even the Ms. Foundation – established for biological women out of a deep, and enduring, necessity – has been subsumed by men who identify as women.

How fitting then that the night was overshadowed by a grasping phony whose empty platitudes on stage failed to make headlines, whose spokesperson told a wild story of a high-stakes car chase.

Pity Meghan, but recognize her strength. Admire her, but never laugh at her. And never, ever question her veracity.

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

Creepy 1961 Computer Sings DAISY (HAL'S song from 2001)!

This is completely ridiculous, which is why I needed to share it with you today, dear readers. This video is responsible for my YouTube channel blowing sky-high after nine or ten years of very slim views. Views aren't why I do it, of course, but it amuses me to see a single, rather lame and thrown-together video garner nearly TEN MILLION views. 

It must be stuck in the algorithm or whatever, though I haven't the foggiest what an algorithm even is. It's just a thing that does stuff. I get a lot of angry comments on this, angry because the rubber robot and the soundtrack are from TWO DIFFERENT SOURCES, meaning it's "fake". Fake?? The whole idea was to put together sound and picture from two different videos to see what it would look and sound like. But every day I get at least one "hey guys, this is completely fake, it's clickbait, it's not real, it's - " etc. etc.

So I guess everyone expects the Motormouth robot to be in perfect sync with the sound (made by an IBM computer in 1961 - the first singing robot, and the inspiration for HAL's swan song in the movie 2001). A lot of people are assuming the robot was MADE in 2001, or that I am violating the sacred laws of science or something, but the upshot of it is I am now at over 15,500 subscribers after languishing at a few hundred for years and years. 

My views are way up, and a few other videos have almost randomly received huge views, but none in the millions like this one. Meantime, the videos I spend a lot of time on are virtually ignored. For fun, I've made a whole series of Motormouth videos with different soundtracks, but for some reason this is the only one getting angry comments about being ripped off by clickbait. "Hey guys, don't you know this is totally fake?" 

But today I received the Comment de la Comment, the ultimate in stream-of-consciousness which I am still trying to comprehend. But it's beautiful in its incomprehensibility, if somewhat repetitive - perhaps reflecting how time folds in on itself (see Albert Einstein). It is LITERATURE, and I will never see its like again - which is probably a good thing.

JustPinky

1 hour ago

I'm currently crying so hard right now. This is seriously the most beautiful, well put together story ever. I can't believe how magical it was 1:12. That part truly made me shed a tear. And especially at 6:34 that part was just so truly heart touching words can not describe the series of emotions I felt. I absolutely loved the climax it had insanelv excellent detail. Oh and we can't forget the conclusion. The conclusion was the greatest and saddest conclusion I have ever seen better than any of the books I have read. Thank you so much for creating this absolute masterpiece. This is essentially the most important masterpiece of film history. It is a tragedy that this, it can't be called a film. but a transcendent emotional experience, will be inaccessible for most. It beautifully encapsulates the human struggle to its basics; suffering, pleasure, faith, despair. It connects with the characters within the viewers, individuals suppressed within our own subconscious. It stays vibrant, fresh, and revolutionizes the art of storytelling and filmmaking while making a damn of statement on what it means to be human. Entertaining, gripping, and simply exhilarating. This might be the most impactful piece of art I've come across in my life, and I'm definitely coming back to it in the near future to study it more deeply. this is an absolute masterpiece, I was brought to tears listening to this and seeing the bacon go whirly swirly in a circle countless times. it absolutely moved my soul, and 1 don't think I can ever be the same. this bacon has changed my entire mental state, I am now at peace with who I am and what I will be doing later in my life. i have forgiven all my enemies and now I am a man of a pacifist life. I will move on gotta move on, as the song says. the bacon is so inspirational, it shares it vast wisdom with all of us, and we are all so lucky that it would bestow it's great words with us. we are all children on bacon. hail bacon. hail bacon. The spinning bacon, rotating in one direction with this music... This made me tear up. How could such a bacon do such a thing? I'm struck by awe by this masterpiece. Especially when the bacon spins, showing its lightly salt covered tan skin. I can hear the crunch just from here, and so as the beautiful sound of the bacon scraping the dark, smooth velvet floor. The flavor, music and everything can be heard, tasted, seen and felt from a screen. You can really hear the breaths between the music artist, empathizing her love for this rotating bacon. Truly what I call modern art. This was the most legendary performance by any piece of bacon I have ever watched. The acting was top tier and very life changing. This is one of the greatest work from a piece of bacon I have ever seen especially on 57:42.1 am currently crying so hard right now. This is seriously the most beautiful, well put together story ever. I can't believe how magical it was at 1:12. That part truly made me shed a tear. And especially at 6:34 that part was just so truly heart touching words can not describe the series of emotions I felt. I absolutely loved the climax it had insanely excellent detail. Oh and we can't forget the conclusion. The conclusion was the greatest and saddest conclusion I have ever seen better than any of the books I have read. Thank you so much for creating this absolute masterpiece. This is essentially the most important masterpiece of film history. It is a tragedy that this, it can't be called a film, but a transcendent emotional experience, will be inaccessible for most. It beautifully encapsulates the human struggle to its basics; suffering, pleasure, faith, despair. It connects with the characters within the viewers, individuals suppressed within our own subconscious. It stays vibrant, fresh, and revolutionizes the art of storytelling and filmmaking while making a damn of statement on what it means to be human. Entertaining, gripping, and simply exhilarating. This might be the most impactful piece of art l've come across in my life, and I'm definitely coming back to it in the near future to study it more deeply. this is an absolute masterpiece, I was brought to tears listening to this and seeing the bacon go whirly swirly in a circle countless times. Tt absolutely moved my soul, and i don't think I can ever be the same. this bacon has changed my entire mental state, I am now at peace with who I am and what I will be doing later in my life. i have forgiven all my enemies and now I am a man of a pacifist life. I will move on, gotta move on, as the song says. the bacon is so inspirational, it shares it vast wisdom with all of us, and we are all so lucky that it would bestow it's great words with us. we are all children on bacon. hail bacon. hail bacon. The spinning bacon, rotating in one direction with this music... This made me tear up. How could such a piece of bacon do such a thing? I'm struck by awe by this masterpiece. Especially when the bacon spins, showing its lightly salt covered tan skin. I can hear the crunch just from here.

The Troll Doll Channel: A CLOCKWORK TROLL (or five!)

A demonstration of my FIVE new wind-up trolls! I couldn't get them all going at once, but I got close. My second childhood is so much more enjoyable than my first.

Prince Harry: Burning bridges, pulling faces

MAUREEN CALLAHAN: Meghan - and America - could have been at the heart of this joyous spectacle. But the Duchess of Narcissism burned her bridges… and you could hear the glassware crashing in Montecito

What a lost opportunity for the United States.

Had Harry and Meghan the grace to accept largesse and privilege, they would have played a key role at the coronation of King Charles III and Queen Consort Camilla.

Surely they would have been front-row.

Surely they would have had a place on the balcony.

And surely U.S. would have been represented in Great Britain as never before — as part of the monarchy! Never underestimate how awed we Americans are by British pomp and circumstance, the history that dwarfs our own, the displays of military might and national pride.

The coronation matters to us, too.

Saturday’s ceremony also offered a reassuring display of familial unity, doubtless forged in the crucible of Harry and Meghan’s repeated betrayals.

Surely they would have been front-row. Surely they would have had a place on the balcony. And surely they would have played a unique, central role in this most special of occasions. 

To watch Charles’s coronation was to be reminded of his kindness towards Meghan at her wedding, of him walking her halfway up the aisle, literally guiding her through her first major royal ceremony. There was a callback to that today, Harry and Meghan’s wedding gospel choir singing ‘Alleluia (O Sing Praises)’ in Westminster Abbey.

It seemed a graceful olive branch, though one likely to be swatted away.

That tends to happen when one's default setting is grievance. Doubtless we’ll be hearing from Montecito soon about cultural appropriation or some such nonsense.

If only Harry and Meghan had the maturity to see what had been right in front of them.

The regret today on Harry’s face, the sheer discomfort as he was made to walk into Westminster Abbey alone, taking a seat in the third row — same as the disgraced Prince Andrew — was all too palpable.

And well and truly deserved.

Pursing his lips, taking an inordinate interest in reading the program, watching Camilla — who we know Harry despises — take her place in history was all too satisfying.

Clearly, he never learned a simple truism: You get what you give.

When he wasn’t obscured by Princess Anne’s red-feathered hat — shades of Meghan blocked by the candlestick at Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral, cheers to the Palace Brain Trust! — Harry looked towards William, Kate and their three children (the backs of their heads, anyway) with what seemed like a mixture of longing and regret.

Oh, for him to be with them on the front row.

The regret today on Harry’s face, the sheer discomfort as he was made to walk into Westminster Abbey alone, taking a seat in the third row — same as the disgraced Prince Andrew — was all too palpable.

When he wasn’t obscured by Princess Anne’s red-feathered hat, Harry looked towards William, Kate and their three children (the backs of their heads, anyway) with what seemed like a mixture of longing and regret.

To be the rascally uncle to his youngest rascally nephew. To be in full military regalia rather than a plain black suit — Dior, but still — shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother, the future king, cheered on by nations of millions.

Alas, it’s all commercial flights and commoners now.

All that lost status. All that supercilious lecturing about ‘unconscious bias’ and institutional racism, and to what end? What greater good?

And here was King Charles, taking the unprecedented step of including leaders from multiple faiths: Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Sihk.

Here is a new King whose ceremony stressed humility, kindness, service and compassion.

One can hear the glassware crashing in Montecito.

Compassion has always been Meghan's line, hasn’t it? Kindness. Service. Recall, if you will, her clapback to the Queen, insulting the monarch's lifetime of duty with that petty public statement: 'Service is universal.'

Meghan Markle always has to have the last word. Until today.

The Royal Family sent her a devastating message without saying a thing.

No amount of money from Netflix or Spotify, no amount of party invites from Ellen DeGeneres or dubious humanitarian award ceremonies could ever compare to the power Harry and Meghan would have had as working royals.

All that lost status. All that supercilious lecturing about ‘unconscious bias’ and institutional racism, and to what end? What greater good?

No amount of money from Netflix or Spotify, no amount of party invites from Ellen DeGeneres or dubious humanitarian award ceremonies could ever compare to the power Harry and Meghan would have had as working royals.

Meghan’s biracial heritage and Harry’s ability to connect would not only have further modernized the monarchy but underscored the special relationship between the United States and Great Britain.

And they burned it all down. Is it any coincidence that Jill Biden, First Lady of the United States, was seated so far back at the coronation? That Joe Biden, who has expressed public support for the Sussexes, opted not to attend? To snub the new king?

Harry and Meghan, burning the bridges they purport to build.

So much for taking down the monarchy. They barely even sideswiped it.

Spontaneous applause erupted outside Buckingham Palace the moment Charles was crowned King.

As for the notion that Meghan didn’t want to be there — please. We all read the reports of the back-and-forth between Buckingham Palace and Montecito, the demands the couple were making in exchange for their presence. Who really believes that Meghan Markle choose to miss such a historically significant event for a fourth birthday party?

Think of the ways to monetize this most supreme of royal occassions! Content is king, and it looks like we have a second podcast season to fill.

But it seems that someone didn’t get what she wanted. And, quite likely, Meghan wanted to avoid a repeat of last time — a greeting of hearty boos.

Meanwhile Catherine, Princess of Wales, looked impeccably regal in her McQueen gown, dazzling headpiece and the late Princess Diana’s earrings – daughter Charlotte adorable in a miniaturized version of the same look.

The actress in Meghan must have been dying. The costuming, the pageantry — the fealty on display!

Meanwhile Catherine, Princess of Wales, looked impeccably regal in her McQueen gown, dazzling headpiece and the late Princess Diana’s earrings – daughter Charlotte adorable in a miniaturized version of the same look.

The actress in Meghan must have been dying. The costuming, the pageantry — the fealty on display! (Pictured: The Prince and Princess of Wales with Charlotte and Louise at the coronation).

The sheer stagecraft and statecraft. The anointing of Kate as Diana’s successor. Frostbitten todgers, Elizabeth Arden cream and sex next to a box of Diana’s hair be damned!

Hope spilling to Oprah was worth it.

To see the thousands of Britons lining the streets in the rain, camped out for days, cheering on their new King and Queen as four thousand troops marched through the streets was to wonder: Do Harry and Meghan get it now?

Sorry — that’s a rhetorical question. They’re likely too narcissistic to ever get it. The rest of us do, though.

How grievously they miscalculated. How silly Harry was to think he could insult his closest family members in his Netflix series and sundry interviews and his book — and then think they'd welcome him back.

This is the father he fantasized about bombing with a jet. There were so many jaw-dropping revelations in Harry's memoir that it's hard to remember them all, but this one has stuck with me: In a bizarre passage praising his father's work ethic — 'his own work was also a kind of religion' — and detailing his pride in sharing a love of piloting with Charles, he writes, in the same breath, of wanting to blow him up.

It reads: 'He drove off. As he went down the track I told the Typhoon [aircraft]: New target. Gray Audi. Headed southeast from my position down track...

'The Typhoon tracked Pa, did a low pass straight over him, almost shattering the windows of his Audi.

'But ultimately spared him. On my orders.'

A joke, clearly. But revealing, possibly.

Is it any coincidence that Jill Biden, First Lady of the United States, was seated so far back at the coronation? That Joe Biden, who has expressed public support for the Sussexes, opted not to attend? To snub the new king?

Harry was left to stand outside in the rain while nearly every other senior member of his family took pride of place on the balcony, and he got in his little black car and headed straight to Heathrow, where he was seen smiling for the cameras.

It’s amazing Charles included Harry or even wanted him there at all.

At ceremony’s end, Harry was left to stand outside in the rain while nearly every other senior member of his family climbed into a horse-drawn carriage, led through the streets to their cheering subjects, taking pride of place on the balcony as he got in his little black car and headed straight to Heathrow, where he was seen smiling for the cameras.

See? Harry’s happy! Never been happier, in fact.

And we the people — Brits and Americans — were never so happy to see the back of him.

😣Prince Harry at the Coronation: MAKING FACES!😳

Harry shows his true colours. Many people say he is 12 years old, but I'd say closer to three.

Ballad in Plain D: the sin of love's false security

I once loved a girl, her skin it was bronze
With the innocence of a lamb, she was gentle like a fawn
I courted her proudly but now she is gone
Gone as the season she's taken

In a young summer's youth, I stole her away
From her mother and sister, though close did they stay
Each one of them suffering from the failures of their day
With strings of guilt they tried hard to guide us

Of the two sisters, I loved the young
With sensitive instincts, she was the creative one
The constant scrapegoat, she was easily undone
By the jealousy of others around her

For her parasite sister, I had no respect
Bound by her boredom, her pride to protect
Countless visions of the other she'd reflect
As a crutch for her scenes and her society

Myself, for what I did, I cannot be excused
The changes I was going through can't even be used
For the lies that I told her in hopes not to lose
The could-be dream-lover of my lifetime

With unseen consciousness, I possessed in my grip
A magnificent mantelpiece, though its heart being chipped
Noticing not that I'd already slipped
To the sin of love's false security

From silhouetted anger to manufactured peace
Answers of emptiness, voice vacancies
'Till the tombstones of damage read me no questions but, "Please
What's wrong and what's exactly the matter?"

And so it did happen like it could have been foreseen
The timeless explosion of fantasy's dream
At the peak of the night, the king and the queen
Tumbled all down into pieces

"The tragic figure", her sister did shout
"Leave her alone, god damn you, get out!"
And I in my armor, turning about
And nailing her in the ruins of her pettiness

Beneath a bare light bulb the plaster did pound
Her sister and I in a screaming battleground
And she in between, the victim of sound
Soon shattered as a child to the shadows

All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight
I gagged in contradiction, tears blinding my sight
My mind it was mangled, I ran into the night
Leaving all of love's ashes behind me

The wind knocks my window, the room it is wet
The words to say I'm sorry, I haven't found yet
I think of her often and hope whoever she's met
Will be fully aware of how precious she is

Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me
"How good, how good does it feel to be free?"
And I answer them most mysteriously
"Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?"

This song has a history with me. Way back in the mid-'60s, I would listen to Dylan with my brother Arthur (5 years older than me, already in university, and he'd bring a little weed when he came home to visit). For some reason we had just fastened on to the Another Side of Bob Dylan album, having failed to bond with his first (though the next one, The Freewheeling Bob Dylan, was getting closer). 

Another Side was loaded with gems, not the least of which is the blazing glory of Chimes of Freedom. But Ballad in Plain D was the one we both loved. We would smoke up when the parents were at choir practice and listen to this song almost obsessively, mostly because it seemed to be a very rare glimpse of the inner Dylan. He was for the most part pretty defended by his own brilliance, with his slashing, crashing, flashing imagery protecting the hypersensitive soul within. 

We had all sorts of conjecture about this song: who was it about, anyway? (We know nothing of Suze Rotolo at the time, though her picture was right there on the cover of Freewheeling). Arthur seemed to think it was the same girl from Spanish Harlem Incident ("your pearly eyes so fast and slashin'/And your flashin' diamond teeth"). The fact that "her skin it was bronze" seemed to point that way, though I was later to realize Suze was more blonde-ish. 

But whoever it was about, this was a romantic obsession of Byronic proportions, a grand drama of love and destruction played out beneath a bare light bulb with plaster from the walls sifting down. It was just so naked, so flat-out ("her sister and I in a screaming battle-ground"), so near-violent, with poor Suze (though we didn't know it was Suze) cowering in the shadows. 

Her mother and sister were the villains of the piece, the ones who ruined everything and finally sundered their romance. They seemed to come straight out of a bad fairy tale, with Suze an innocent Cinderella-figure in the thrall of this heartless wickedness.  The ending, with Dylan blinded with tears and running into the night, was heartbreaking, but also completely unlike the folk hipster we knew and loved. So vulnerable, so devastated! To have lost "the could-be dream lover of my lifetime" due to other people's narrowness and cruelty.

And the denouement, with Dylan lying on the bed in a dark room with tree branches knocking on the window and rain coming in. "Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?" More than vivid, this song grabs you by the guts and pulls you right in. I don't know why so many people don't like it. I believe Dylan, a man of conscience who is truly remorseful when he hurts anyone, regrets demonizing Suze's family this way, when surely, his own behaviour was what triggered the split.

But I wouldn't figure that out until much later, when I read several Dylan biographies and put the pieces of his life together I still weaken and read another one every now and then, though most of them are pretty terrible. The only one I really like is Down the Highway by Howard Sounes, the most vilified and hated of all Dylan biographies because it contains some highly personal details which seem to sully the great master's reputation. 

My brother's denouement is much sadder. Arthur lived on the streets of Toronto for several years, coping with severe mental illness before dying in a fire in 1980. I wasn't able to listen to Dylan for ten years, until caving in and buying Desire ("Your pleasure knows no limits, your voice is like a meadowlark/But your heart is like an ocean, mysterious and dark"). I was back on again.

Then came another long dry period, and realizing YouTube wasn't gonna post any Dylan - you had to try to find bootlegs by someone called Elston Gunn. This changed a few years ago, and we hit the jackpot with his entire life's work right there in front of us, for free. And like everyone else, I felt like Rough and Rowdy Ways was what enabled me to survive the pandemic. I'd sit there very late at night and listen to it and listen to it and cry my guts out.

Best of all, he is as faithful to his genius now as when he escaped middle America and sought his fortune in the Village. When you go on the official Dylan YouTube channel now, his tour itinerary appears in the description, where and when, and how to get tickets. To quote one of his own songs, Minstrel Boy: he's still on that road.

   

FOREVER CHOO-CHOO (Act Two!)

 

😺The Cat on my Desk (Beautiful Bentley!)😺

Beatiful Bentley doesn't have to do anything at all.

The Troll Doll Channel: 😀Unboxing of MUSICAL MARCHING TROLLS!🎵

A troll extravaganza! And these trolls MOVE. They walk, they play instruments, they drive around in cars and ride horses, and all you have to do is wind them up.

The Troll Doll Channel: A lovely surprise!

This was such a nice surprise! At my grandkids' dance competition, Celina, one of Erica's teachers, came bustling up to me to thank me for the personalized troll I gave her. So, the next day I gave her another one! I honestly have to start doing more giveways, as I am running out of space. But nothing gives me more joy than sharing my hobby with others, whether through videos or more direct means. Celina takes her troll, Esmeralda, wherever she goes. I hope she likes the new troll just as much!

💥BRILLIANT BLACKBIRDS on Burnaby Lake💥

The blackbirds are back! Actually, they've never been away, but that day they were "biting" as never before, devouring seeds which they shelled in a split-second. We also saw gorgeous pintails, as well as teal, coots, mallards, wood ducks, and the inevitable honking, aggressive Canada geese. My backyard birds are a constant source of wonder, and Bentley has taken to watching them from the window, leaping up every once in a while as the house finches fight over the window feeder. The finches have taken over the yard, and there are so many of them at the feeders (mostly females) that we have to assume it's nesting time and they need the food for their young. Our big old cedar tree is a kind of highrise for bird species and fat (pregnant and nursing) squirrels. We've even seen a mama squirrel flattening herself down on a cement block to keep her supposedly-weaned babies from nursing. All this has been here all the time, and I never saw it. Makes me wonder about other things I don't see.

The Man in the Arena

This quote is one of those rare statements that becomes more and more true as my life wears on. How many people do you know who carp at and criticize others for what they are too cowardly to even try to do themselves? I think Teddy Roosevelt kicks ass, though of course I don't like everything he ever did. Though he went to Africa and killed big game, it was in a time when none of those animals were endangered. In fact, he was an avid conservationist who founded the first American national park, the legendary Yellowstone. He also gave a name to that staple of childhood soft toys, the Teddy bear. Not many men have ever been so fierce, or so cuddly, at the same time.

Bob Dylan - Up to Me (with lyrics)

Everything went from bad to worse, money never changed a thing
Death kept followin', trackin' us down, at least I heard your bluebird sing
Now somebody's got to show their hand, time is an enemy
I know you're long gone
I guess it must be up to me

If I'd thought about it I never would've done it, I guess I would've let it slide
If I'd pay attention to what others were thinkin', the heart inside me would've died
Well, I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity
Someone had to reach for the risin' star
I guess it was up to me

Oh, the Union Central is pullin' out, the orchids are in bloom
I've only got me one good shirt left and it smells of stale perfume
In 14 months I've only smiled once and I didn't do it consciously
Somebody's got to find your trail
I guess it must be up to me

It was like a revelation when you betrayed me with your touch
I'd just about convinced myself, nothin' had changed that much
The old Rounder in the iron mask, he slipped me the master key
Somebody had to unlock your heart
He said it was up to me

Now, I watched you slowly disappear down into the officer's club
I would've followed you in the door but I didn't have a ticket stub
So I waited all night 'til the break of day, hopin' one of us could get free
Ho, when the dawn came over the river bridge
I knew it was up to me

The only decent thing I did when I worked as a postal clerk
Was to haul your picture down off the wall near the cage where I used to work
Was I a fool or not to protect your real identity?
You looked a little burned out, my friend
I thought it might be up to me

I met somebody face to face, I had to remove my hat
She's everything I need and love but I can't be swayed by that
It frightens me, the awful truth of how sweet life can be
But she ain't gonna make a move
I guess it must be up to me

Now, we heard the Sermon on the Mount and I knew it was too complex
It didn't amount to anything more than what the broken glass reflects
When you bite off more than you can chew, you got to pay the penalty
Somebody's got to tell the tale
I guess it must be up to me

Dupree came in pimpin' tonight to the Thunderbird Cafe
Crystal wanted to talk to him, I had to look the other way
Now, I just can't rest without you, love, I need your company
But you ain't a-gonna cross the line
I guess it must be up to me

There's a note left in the bottle, you can give it to Estelle
She's the one you been wonderin' about, but there's really nothin' much to tell
We both heard voices for a while, now the rest is history
Somebody's got to cry some tears
I guess it must be up to me

So go on, boys, and play your hands, life is a pantomime
The ringleaders from the county seat say you don't have all that much time
And the girl with me behind the shades, she ain't my property
One of us has got to hit the road
I guess it must be up to me

If we never meet again, baby, remember me
How my lone guitar played sweet for you that old-time melody
And the harmonica around my neck, I blew it for you, free
No one else could play that tune
You know it was up to me

😁Slinky Walks Down the Stairs! (vintage video)😁

💙How to be hopeful in trying times💙

🌻HAPPY EASTER! Adorable newborn goats!🌞

This is the best thing I've ever seen. Within minutes, these tiny kids are on their wobbly legs while Mama Goat licks them. Happy Easter, everyone!

👽😳The Troll Doll Channel: THE ALIENS HAVE LANDED!😳👽

I have always loved the creepy Art Bell "Area 51" phone call, in which a frantic caller describes an impending global catastrophe at the hands of extraterrestrial beings who are "not what they seem". Though this call was later apparently debunked as a hoax by the caller himself, numerous people claim it wasn't the same person and that this was yet another coverup. I have to admit, it sounds pretty convincing, but it might be nothing more than a man's paranoid breakdown after being put on medical leave. We will never know now, but it was an honor for my troll to re-enact this historically creepy recording.

Clock scene Metropolis 1927 HD

Horsemen from Hell: Murnau's Faust

 

The hideous horsemen from hell. From Murnau's Faust, the movie of my dreams.

1899 "Luna Waltz" Played On Mira 18 1/2 inch Concert Grand Console Music...

Speaking of carousels. . . this music box is the charm.

Carousel Waltz (Richard Rodgers, 1945)

I have always loved the Carousel Waltz, and sifted through YouTube to try to find a good version. I found several - and then this one, and I wondered what piece of music I was listening to. It COULDN'T be the same one! It was like wandering around in a very familiar setting - a circus, maybe, or a carnival - but seeing everything startlingly new, the veils ripped away, as if I were hearing it all for the very first time. 

It's just the way the musicians attack the piece, the way they don't pussyfoot around but just dive right in. And make no mistake, this IS circus music, dark, sometimes dissonant, with thumping bass drums and blasting tubas, dreamily romantic (OH THOSE VIOLAS!), with sparkly carnival effects charmingly reproduced by crisp percussion and those big bald men blowing tiny little piccolos. 

This is a glorious piece of music which has beckoned and pulled me in again, after too long away from music, too much distraction, too many things pulling me in different directions. This is so perfect and encompasses so much, with a glittering cinematic quality and a kind of primal sophistication. And the tempo couldn't be more perfect - bad tempi being my all-time-worst pet peeve in music. For that, you must thank the conductor - and this is without a doubt some of the most glorious conducting I've ever heard. The musicians play this with focus, joy and gusto, but also with the requisite fierceness that is all a part of a beloved musical which, for a popular Broadway show, is exceptionally dark.

And because I just thought of it, here's another favorite piece I keep coming back to - another dance in 3/4 time, Khatchaturian's magnificent Masquerade Waltz, (sometimes called Dark Waltz), with the same primal, inscrutable melancholy lurking under a great bumptious cymbal-crashing piece of circus music. Call it My Armenian Cousin.

Meghan Markle, Fashion Disaster!