Puppet's revolt

There's an excellent, short article about newspeak and framing at the Project for the OLD American Century, well worth a read if you're a conscious person, and especially if you're a writer.

Puppet theater - Mexico

George Lakoff wrote about framing in his book Don't Think of an Elephant. This is information the regressives have been using against us for a long time. If we want to get out from under their influence, it would help to look at how they pull the strings.

The Revolt Of The Puppets
Dedicated to C. J. Lovik "The Master Puppeteer"

Looked down upon my marionettes
with slumber in their eyes.
Saw them resting, lying still,
their silence no surprise,
Awaiting but my touch to bring
their footsteps to tomorrow,
Wanting for my hands to mold
the script they've got to follow.

Dressed in costumes finery,
jesters, queens and more,
I thought that they reminded me
of something seen before -
All the different sizes, shapes,
the colors, noses, smiles,
The capes, the cloaks and funny shirts
the peasants, princes, styles.

All so different, all the same,
singular in thought.
Belonging to that wooden thing
yes, fashioned by a block.
Ah! I stared, I looked at them,
I watched for quite some time
Thinking 'bout these wooden heads,
these marionettes of mine.
Then moving as by habit,
I picked up the wooden sticks
Held them in my well trained hands
a smile about my lips.
Pulled one string to another,
saw their footsteps fall.
Their rags, their robes a whirling
each and every, all.

I had now, awakened them,
awakened them from sleep.
Set the stage, the scenery
I made them laugh and weep.
I wrote my script, they gave it voice.
They made my words their home,
And you see they followed it
for they had none of their own.

And at home in sweet contentment
from the peasant to the queen.
They had nothing but their costumes,
their wood, their strings, the scene.
And tears fell for these little folks,
these tiny blocks of wood
Who acted out the parts they played
but never understood.
Never knew just why they spoke
the words that tumbled out,
never knew what made them do
the things they acted out.

And I the Puppeteer could see
and see too plainly still,
That these my precious little ones
would never get their fill.
Their fill of dancing and delight,
never tire of the string
Never tire of the theater,
me, or pretending everything.

It seemed they always would be mine
to control at will,
Destined to be the actors
of the master scriptor's skill.
Their wooden heads just pine blocks
to bend and bow for me,
And any other Puppeteer
who happened just like me.

And putting down the strings awhile
I fell into a sleep,
A sleep that seemed eternal,
fanciful and deep.
And it was while at slumber
wrapped in her throws, her calm
That I suddenly awakened,
to some witchcraft, some charm,
That left me dazed and wondering,
at the sight that lay ahead,
Left me somewhat puzzling
the things that time had said.

And looking 'bout the tiny room,
the theater, stage room floor,
I saw my puppets rising up
on their own unlike before.
They were moving unattended.
Their strings were held by someone
or something unseen by me,
Who didn't have to pull them
the puppets seemed to see,
As they played flute and drummer
and moved about the stage
Doing all the actions
of the dreamer and the age.
Following the measures
of a vision held within,
That at last had come to tell them
of their selves, their songs therein.

And playing their own music,
dancing their own step,
They filled me with a wonder,
enchanted me and yet -
The Puppeteer had fallen,
had lost his place in time.
Replaced by something breathing,
the living and their rhyme.

They were thinking, feeling
living entities, these folks
Turning in eternity
their sea, the words they spoke.
And they were they and I was I,
a puppeteer no more
Nothing like the prophet, prince,
that I had been before.
Perhaps self righteous, sometimes fool,
maybe one more than the other
An overseeing, puppet being,
wooden, plastered mother.

Enchantment came, a joy, a peace,
a beautiful new scene,
That had taken away sorrow
and made the real a dream.
And then all too soon it ended.
I awoke and looked once more,
Upon the marionettes, those tiny babes
asleep on the stage floor.

Indeed, they had revolted
either then or sometime when
But I can't ponder over it
I am what I have been
A Puppeteer, A Puppeteer,
to control their land.
To control their lives and paths
with but my touch, my hand.


~ Linda A. Copp

newspeak regressives framing language

Generals vs. Rumsfeld

2,376
17,469

Rumsfeld and Bush must go!
Cheney too!

So what if Bush endorses Rumsfeld and Cheney backs Bush? Naturally these bastards defend each other. It's their dirty daisy chain. Hitler backed Himmler. So what? They were equally evil.

Even Bush, who lives in a bubble, knows that if Rumsfeld goes down he himself is much more in danger of being held accountable for his crimes. Of course he's wants Rummy is on the stump, waving his hands around.

Naturally the mercenary Senate and Congress doesn't challenge the scum in the White House. Abramoff may be in jail but they are all still humping for a piece of the corporate war profiteer's pie.







rumsfeld bush generals current events

Second hand salvation

The Christians are celebrating their bloody, vampire "salvation" with special pomp again this Easter weekend. The old lady who runs the thrift store was completely nuts over it. She's always hopped up on who knows what anyway but today she was so jacked she was bellowing hello and Happy Easter in every direction like a crazed minister ejaculating blessings upon his flock. At one point she raved at the top of her voice to everyone and no one about the pure white robe she's wearing in the Easter pageant tomorrow. Now I'm all for freedom of and more importantly from religion but am always annoyed by this woman and her intrusive, fat-faced, presumptuous, evangelical, amphetamine smile, plus the prices there are way too high, sometimes more than new, but she can rock till she pops as far as I'm concerned. I found the 1990 "Paris Review Anthology" today for a buck, perfect condition.

Fatty Leland's moving day

When Mr. Lee checked in the kitchen this morning, there was (not so) Fatty Leland looking up at him. The Smart Mouse trap worked the first night. I bought it through the PETA website (search for "humane mouse trap). That is one big easy green door! As it turned out, Fatty Leland wasn't fat at all or afraid. He was tiny and curious. And cute. I have to admit it did briefly occur to me that perhaps it would be nice to keep him as a pet but only for a moment. So, though there may still be a fat Fatty Leland around somewhere, the news of the day is that Fatty Leland has joined the other Lelands out at the willow grove.

Whenever I take new mice to the river they scatter in a second, the only exception being one little fellow who jumped head first into the tiny water cup inside the trap. He butted it 3 or 4 times before realizing what the problem was. Fatty Leland on the other hand did not instantly flee when I opened the trap "Door of Freedom". He ambled out and explored his new world, after all ... mouse genius.

I always bring a pile of goodies when I leave off new mice, a little send-off feast. I suppose by now, given how many trips I've made, the Lelands must think I do a mouse Meals on Wheels.

If you watch carefully you can follow Fatty Leland at the end hopping away through the grass.

Tonight Fatty Leland

The smart mouse house Mr. Lee found at PETA arrived today, just what we need to catch Fatty Leland the mouse genius who, it seems, is too fat to squeeze into Tin Mouse Buffet.

Mouse report

I've taken 6 more mice out to the river in the last few days but Fatty Leland still runs free. Last night I caught him trying to open a box of ginger cake mix in the pantry. Our fingers/paws actually touched when I picked up the box but he got away. One of these days, Fatty Leland. One of these days!


Anyway, I took some photos when I was at the river. Goldie the dog was along. Her humans run a wedding chapel up at Lake Tahoe and all 3 of them are very genteel. Scrubbing around on the rocks and wading in the river with me was a wild adventure for her.

It's movie time

...but quickly...

here's a great, fun link Fall Down Six Times, get up seven. Hilarious worst case scenario, ridiculous best case scenario and 4 more wacky but oddly compelling points of view. Well worth a read.

Also a little reminder...with summer coming on don't forget your sun block.

Sun lover on Venice beach

95% moon

I just went to bed a few minutes ago then remembered that the small dish of peanuts I put out at twilight for the lovely young magpie was still sitting on the ground. I had to go out and put it away. I don't want to encourage the early birds. They are too noisy, too early. This particular magpie, on the other hand, came by in the evening a couple of days ago and happened upon a plate of French fries I'd put out late in the day. She managed to eat nearly all of them before night settled in. So she came back this evening. I was delighted and put the peanuts out after she left in hopes she'd make a second swoop but no. Perhaps she'll be back and next time I hope to have a treat waiting.

When I was out I noticed the 95% moon or so it looks from earth tonight. The bird park is bathed in its cool light. That word "bathed" gets used a lot by people describing Moon's effect. Sorry for the cliche but it is very accurate and at the moment I'm grateful for the obvious. Momentarily washed by it. Cleansed. Relieved of the world's stain. It's how I felt when I was outside and how I still feel back here, inside, looking at this blazing monitor, writing these words. Through the bare window at my left the light is currently obliterated but the 95% moon is out there. When I turn off the machine and my eyes grow accustom to the night again, I shall again see the world sleeping in that pale sliver glow. I need the night.

Leaks, lies and the body count

US Iraq body count to date

2350

The Bush legacy is like a bad, Hollywood movie. Too bad for us it's real.

They lied us into war.
Then they exposed and destroyed
US undercover operations
in the Middle East
just to protect their dirty secret.

cheney bush leak plamegate

The Leaking Bush

US Casualties to date: 2047
US Wounded to date: 17469
US National Debt as of Friday, April 7th at 19:08:51 hours GMT: $8,394,278,717,242.32

Forget about pointing the National Debt. It increases $27,067. 49 per second or $2.44 billion dollars a day. Before Bush, our budget was balanced.


When asked about US undercover agent Valerie Plame's identity being leaked to the press in a press conference on October 6, 2003, President Bush replied: "And, you know, there's a lot of leaking in Washington, D.C. It's a town famous for it.

And if this helps stop leaks, this investigation in finding the truth, it'll not only hold someone to account who should not have leaked -- and this is a serious charge, by the way. We're talking about a criminal action. But also hopefully we'll help send a clear signal we expect other leaks to stop as well."

So now that we know Bush is the "leaker", people are splitting the hairs of his latest lies. Does he or doesn't he have the right to lie, spy and absolve himself? In 2003 he signed a presidential mandate in which he conveniently gave himself special permission to do just that. Big surprise. But it's irrelevant. "Legal" or not, Bush ordered the outing of a US spy, an act of treason punishable by death during a time of war. And why, you might ask, did the President of the United States betray his own country? Money and power. His Administration perverted the panic of 911 to sell their long cherished, pre-911 desire to invade Iraq, grab its oil and resell it to us at an astronomical profit.

Bush lied about WMDs. He lied when he said Saddam Hussein had connections to Osama bin Laden and Al Queda. Remember Osama bin Laden, the chap behind the 911 attacks? He's the guy we should have gone after but, in a criminal abuse of power, Bush used the 911 panic to help the rich get richer selling war, murder and mayhem in the name of national security. And now, how ironic. Bush is the leaker he said he'd fire if he ever found out who leaked! It would appear Mr. Bush is having an identity crisis.

Anyway, these facts alone should be enough to impeach and imprison the bastard and his crooked cronies but once again our US Senators and Representatives, who we elected to protect our Constitution, will roll over and play dead. Talk about spin! It is beyond mind boggling. Bush and Company never change their strategy. Why should they? It works. They deny their crimes until they can't deny them any more, then they proudly flaunt them. Celebrate them. Turn them into virtues. Publicly anoint themselves with their lies as though they are God's own words and, above all else, these lying sacks of shit....never, never, never back down. Their pride is breath taking. It is interesting with this latest twist in Plamegate, to see Cheney turn on Bush doggie style, but it's just more political theatre static. Anyway, everybody knows that Cheney really runs the White House. Bush is just the pretty face, the down home, dyslexic, trust fund billionaire. He's stupid but cute so people cut him slack. Cheney, on the other hand, is brilliant but he's a drunken, ugly asshole. No big deal for him. He prefers the shadows.

Sadly, Americans are stupid with fear. This works for the sellouts in Washington because, so gripped, people refuse to recognize the fact that the President is not only leaking, but our glorious, titanic "Ship of State" is on the rocks.





bush republicans news plamegate
national debt

Alice in Hinterland

Alice Stuart is in town to do a concert at Comma Coffee in Carson City.. She was one of myfirst friends after leaving home and school. We happened to have the same landlord, the owner of a tiny, neighborhood grocery near the University of Washington. His store was on the corner and our minuscule apartments, opening directly onto the sidewalk, were on either side. We would have met eventually anyway as we knew a lot of the same people but being neighbors sped everything up.

Travus T. Hipp, Pat Arone, Alice Stuart

So much has happened since then. It would take a book to fill in the details so fast forward a few life times. Alice and I reconnected a few years ago at the Red Dog Reunion and then recently it occurred to me that she would fit right into Comma Coffee's Blues Concert Series so I passed her name along and tonight, finally, she's here.




Taj Mahal once said, "Alice cut the road that Bonnie Raitt traveled." She was briefly part of Frank Zappa's blues band when he was forming the Mothers of Invention and toured the US and Europe with Van Morrison, recorded with Jerry Garcia, Asleep at the Wheel, John Hammond, Dave Mason, Sonny Terry, Tower of Power, Bread, and played with Blues guys such as Lightning Hopkins, Jesse Fuller, Mississippi John Hurt, Albert King, and others.

Silver City, Nevada Cemetery

Yesterday Alice, her friend Pat Arone and I went up to Silver City and Virginia City to visit some old friends, including Travus T. Hipp and one of Alice's ex husbands, an excellent stain glass artist. On any summer day, Virginia City especially is a dreadful tourist trap but there the outlaw dream lives on in its own dusty time warp, lost in plain sight.

Fatty Leland, update 2

If you have been following the adventures of Fatty Leland, you may remember that a few days ago I laid out a scrumptious feast for him at the Hotel Nevada's Tin Mouse Buffet. Unfortunately either he's too fat, too smart or both. He nibbled the cheese polking through the windows but wouldn't or couldn't go in. A couple of days ago my daughter saw him dash out from under the stove and skidder across the floor, his big ass jack knifing behind him as he aimed himself for the pantry and slid into its darkness. He was later seen coming out of Jim Gavin's bar with one of the town drunks. As I hear it, they were hell bent on a joy ride but luckily the car was out of gas.

Last night, Mr. Lee saw Fatty running down the hall, headed either for our bedroom or the garage. Well, waddling down the hall. After Fatty started ransacking the kitchen my daughter and I put all the pantry food into containers that he can't gnaw through so he's on the move. No sightings yet today.



daily life

Spring breaks

My daughter visited this week just long enough for one Nevada buffet, some good heart to heart talks and a couple of days of snow boarding at Kirkwood, famous for its "steeps and deeps". I just took up skiing again this season after a long break so until her visit I've stayed on the intermediate and quasi black diamond runs. This was her first time on the slopes in a couple of years because of school but by day two we decided to try a real black diamond (black and double black being the most difficult regular terrain). Blue squares indicate intermediate runs and green circles are for the bunnies but Kirkwood also offers extreme skiing once a year in the Cirque. If you look on the map, it's the area hashed out by red lines. It's an insane mix of cliffs, rock out-croppings, powder fields and iced-over billy-goat lines. This weekend just happens to be the annual North American Freeskiing Championships so the Cirque was open and people were in it qualifying for the event.


It wasn't pretty but I made it down Zachary twice without falling and was then very willing to admit that I had no business being there. It is steep. Asia, on the other hand, was just fine so we decided that before going over to the backside for easier terrain and a chance to watch the qualifications, I would video her doing one last run down Zachary. I waited. No Asia. Then I noticed a dark figure sliding slowly towards me along the edge of the run .



I couldn't tell if it was her but started recording anyway. As the person drew closer I saw I was being waved off and quit recording. It was Asia. That fluky thing happened. She caught an edge at the top of the run, fell and halfway through her head over heels tumble, heard a loud snap. (X marks the spot on the map)

It was her wrist. She was very shaken and pale but too impatient to wait for help and rode her board down the hill, even managing to carve a few turns before falling a second time at the bottom. The medical team was fantastic, especially Chris, the on duty nurse. He's one of those wonderfully savvy guys who jokes, is light-hearted and puts people at ease while seemingly, effortlessly managing an emergency.


Her hand is so badly swollen, I swear the finger prints have disappeared. She can't work. She's been studying to be a sign language interpreter for the last 2 years and her practicum was supposed to begin on Monday. That's on hold. Plus it will cost thousands of dollars before the whole thing is over. I might be tempted to think this was incredibly bad luck but while she was in the medical unit they brought a young guy in who was unconscious, having difficulty breathing and had to be medevaced to a trauma unit. Very sobering and very sad. I hope he'll be okay but will probably never know. It certainly puts things in perspective though. Asia's tucked in, back home in Portland tonight, not quite in one piece but bones heal. They just need time.

Monday night at the movies

I made my first AVI file while I was in Tonopah this weekend. I was driving down the gutted, mined-out hill above town when I spotted a wonderful bush perched on the edge of road which was also the edge of the hill. It was rattling in the wind and, although it had been there for a long time, and I'm sure will be there for a long time to come, it seemed it might be torn up into the sky and swept off at any moment. I jumped out the car and recorded it and it wasn't until I was driving away that I realized that annoying key in the ignition warning had been bleeping away in the background the whole time. And the sound of the engine. Crap. And I shouldn't have used the zoom. The whole thing was about the stillness and the torturous wind. The zoom ruined it. Ah well. More to come.

Tonopah in spring

I just got back from a weekend in Tonopah, my favorite living ghost town and haven't had time to upload my photos yet and see what I got. Tomorrow. Everything tomorrow. But so it must be. Until then, here's one from last fall.

It was good to be in Nevada's outback. There were times along the road when I was the only human in a vast, wonderfully desolate earthscape. And Tonopah? As ever. It continues to be torn apart by the wind and blow away, piece by piece.

Pet passes

We're going skiing tomorrow. There's about a month and a half left of the season so we're squeezing in whatever we can. Odin is being very generous. He's still dumping impressive amounts of snow on the Sierra Nevadas so there's plenty of fresh powder for spring skiing. We're not the only ones enjoying it. A lot of dogs also have passes (to the cross country trails). If you want to see a happy dog, that's where you'll find them.

Kirkwood Pet Passes

The Wall, Kirkwood
Uh, no that's not me in the photo.

Fatty Leland
In the ongoing Mouse Tales, one fellow has gotten into the house. We're hoping it's not Fatty Leland. Anyway, the Hotel is in the kitchen tonight and it's overflowing with a scrumptious Nevada-style buffet. Now we must wait and see if anyone comes to the feast.

Spring Equinox

Earth link














Today is the Spring Equinox so early this morning I put some special treats out in the bird park to celebrate the day. I always fill the seed tubes at night and then the water bowls in the morning when the temperature begins to get above freezing. Generally I don't put extras out until mid-morning because the crows and magpies arrive first and hog everything in sight. However today I thought I'd risk it. No one was around but moments later they descended and gobbled everything. The damn party was over in about 5 minutes.


















No mice today. There's still one in the garage but he's so fat we don't think he can get in the door. Then again, maybe he is a she and maybe she is pregnant. Oh well. Come one. Come all. Happy Spring Equinox!












spring equinox spring

"This could be heaven or this could be hell"

Over the last couple of days I've relocated about 20 mice to a nice, dense thicket by the Carson river. They're actually kind of cute and I started thinking it would be nice to keep one or two as pets. I won't. The Tin Cat works really well but it's more like the Hotel California than a cat. You can check in but you can't check out.

Last thing I remember I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
Relax said the nightman. We are programmed to receive
You can check out anytime you like but you can never leave.
The Eagles

Except this is the Hotel Nevada and you can leave, but you can never return to the beginning.

Carson River new mouse house.

mice hotel

Mouse moving day

There's a mouse in the house, in fact several. They are in the garage and beginning to get into things so today I bought a humane live trap and filled it with goodies. There's all the makings for a get down mouse party; cheese, a little cup of peanut butter and a tiny bowl of water to wash it all down with. It's time for them to go.









I got the Tin Cat. I wish it were a little bigger but it will be okay for a short stay. Also, it's a bummer that it's still so cold out. I hope they do alright out in the wild. It's a hawk eat mouse world. I'd rather not do this at all. I've got nothing against mice. The way I see it, they have as much right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as the rest of us on this planet. I just prefer they enjoy themselves somewhere else.

I've only used a mouse trap once before, a long time ago, when I was in the Krsna Movement. I was living in a cabin on the farm commune in West Virginia. It was a very funky building with foam insulation. Sane people blow the foam inside the walls but here the brahmachari's, under order of the evil, crippled tyrant who ran the place, sprayed the insulation directly on the walls (to save time). It was a polyurethane cave. The walls were motley, bubbly, crusty and yellow from wood smoke. I moved into a tiny room already occupied by a mouse who crunched on the foam all night. I couldn't sleep so eventually, against my better judgment, I set a conventional trap and in the morning there was a tiny, little nose under the spring. I felt absolutely horrible. The Tin Cat, while probably not a fun place to find yourself, is at least something both the mouse and I can live with.

A giant blast of sun beams

Benjamin Zephaniah. I love this guy! When asked what he would eat if he was in a desert with no food in sight except a cow, he said: "I'd find out what the cow was eating and join it."

He's a Brit who prefers to simply call to himself an oral poet but with him that covers a lot of ground. All I can say is please treat yourself to one of his videos.

I just discovered him while reading an article on vegetarian ethics. He became vegetarian at the age of 11 and vegan at 13: "I was disgusted by the taste and texture, and the thought of having flesh and blood against my teeth," he said. "Think of the fierce energy concentrated in an acorn! You bury it in the ground, and it explodes into an oak! Bury a sheep, and nothing happens but decay."

His words explode like the acorn.




vegetarian rap poetry music entertainment

Doldrums, part 2

A few years ago I decided to take up reading again. It was one of the things I lost during my early bad years. Lately I've taken to cruising second hand stores in search of books that, for whatever reason, woo my mind even as it wanders and my eyes complain. I'm not picky but . . .

I just reviewed the latest batch I retrieved from the dimly lit shelves along my route, Elmore Leonard's "Get Shorty" - Joyce Carol Oates' "Expensive People" - Robert Ludlum's "Sigma Protocol" - Johathan Franzens' "Strong Motion" - a copy of New Directions #31, 1975 (a real treasure for 25 cents) with a nice piece by Gregory Corso (one of my favorite poets) but nothing, other than the New Directions which I currently keep with me to read as I go, caught my fancy. I know. Give a book what? one or two hundred pages before you decide? Sometimes I can do that but at the moment I really don't have the patience.

"Shorty" looked good but I put it down anyway. I liked the movie. What's not to love about Hollywood crime stories? However I just finished Ludlum's movie/book "Prometheus Deception" and haven't been able to bring myself to even crack his "Sigma Protocol". Obviously he writes these with Hollywood Blockbuster in mind. Fine, but on the page it's beyond preposterous. I can only take so much. "Protocol" and "Shorty" will have to wait until I'm in a different mood.


The birds loved the bananas I put out for them this morning. They really drilled em. It was the big event in the bird park today. Excellent. I have an entire bunch that refuses to ripen.

I took perverse delight purchasing the Franzen book. Karl (King) Wenclas and the rest of the gang at the ULA, (United Literary Alliance!) positively hate Franzen (and Rick Moody) and have made it part of their life's work to demolish the pedestals on which they (think) these guys stand, so naturally I had to buy it. Franzen perfected the opening paragraph but I have a sinking feeling it inadvertently outlines the book's own fall from wonder. Perhaps not, but I didn't get very far before the fog of distraction arose from the Straits of Boredom on my way to the Sea of Imagination. My beautiful pea green boat languished under limp sail and I abandoned the journey. Maybe later, Franzen. I still might read him if, for no other reason, than to see what all the fuss is about.

Which reminds me ... Patrick King, no relation to Karl other than he's another ULAer, asked me to send him a few poems for his next publication. Note to self: Do it, damn it!
"Expensive People" starts with the lines, "I was a child murderer. I don't mean child-murderer, though that's an idea. I mean child murderer, that is, a murderer who happens to be a child, or a child who happens to be a murder. You can take your choice." Could be interesting. Oates is supposed to be a good writer. I've always thought I would probably like her so I put that one on the short list. Just not today's. That left me with one last hope, Tom Wolfe's "I am Charlotte Simmons". It looked promising over a bowl of cereal this morning, especially when he indirectly made fun of himself on page six.

Marvel Meal Party

I've been hosting a Marvel Meal party in the bird park all week. Everybody has stopped by, even Minerva the crow who I haven't seen for nearly a year. And her friend.

birds vegetarian photos vegetarian bird suet

Winter doldrums

Here's a couple of photos I took along the side of the road a while ago. Secret worlds. Lovely in their own right, even blasted with highway grime.

Dinner for two

I spent most of the day updating my website, mostly tweaking layouts and background information like keywords and page descriptions but I did finally complete the Seagull French Fry Party page which was a project long overdue. This evening we went to dinner at a Chinese buffet that recently opened nearby. Where we live, things like that are a big event. There was a complete traffic jam around the steam tables as the Saturday night crowd jockeyed to get their fair share. We elbowed up to the trough, grabbed a helping and returned to our seat. Two fat clowns were sitting in the booth next to us gobbling up greasy mounds of noodles and flesh. I assume they had just come from work. I doubt their clown shoes, his baggy pants and huge, brightly colored, horizontal striped shirt and her bright red polka dot dress flouncing above dimpled knees on top of layers of starched, white netting and her plastic ruby red wig, and the white oval outline framing the pig-like features of her colorfully decorated face were every day attire. It was fascinating watching her shovel food in through her bright red, heart shaped lips. When they left, her little bow-shaped lips were still as sweetheart red as her red dress and her red, red plastic hair.

But the show didn't end with their exit. A worn down, 50s something, redneck couple immediately took their spot. They were wearing snazzy, matching yellow and black nylon wind breakers and wobbled off for the food like a couple of obese, excited honey bees. When they returned, I noticed that under his plastic baseball cap, what was left of his hair was bound in several places with rubber bands and hung down his back like a rat tail. The woman had long, yellow hair highlighted with bold, clown red streaks. Her industrial eye and lip lines, two-inch lavender nails, and pasty pancake make-up rivaled any B grade Kabuki actor ever to strut across the creaking stage.