Celebrating Palin's resignation

photo by linchbell

And now...
Keyboard Cat will play her off...


Ps. Send your old shoes to the new George W. Bush library.

Sarah Palin Keyboard Cat

Who gives a fuck?

Asia reminded us about it and JudyBlueSky replied, "I want the icon. I NEED the icon. I AM the icon."

Indeed.

Perhaps I am just being academic but, in case you missed the conversation, I think Mr. Smiley Face's sign said, "WHO GIVES A FUCK?" rather than "WHO GIVES A SHIT?"

But you know how it is. Where once people may have viewed it with a less than passing glance, now that it is lost, this tiny gif is legend, like The One Ring Which Rules Them All. To find it would require battle with titanic forces, in this case, Inertia. Don't laugh. Inertia is responsible, or not responsible, for more of history than exists.

So, you may wonder, why did I lose the Mr. Smiley Face "WHO GIVES A SHIT/FUCK?" icon in the first place? Simple, and here's the moral of the story, I failed to back my icon file up before switching to a new hard drive. However, and this is the good part, the little punk is buried in my blog somewhere but locating it would require an episodic, page by page search. I gave it a quick try but lost heart even though I am looking for a diversion from that inventory of poems I inflicted on myself now that Baby Thea's box is in the mail.

So...to sweeten the pot, I am offering a reward to anyone who manages to unearth the damn thing. It is, after all, very tiny and, on it's own, not worth the effort, so if you find it, I will send you a prize, exactly what TBA. Here's a clue. It's probably with posts that are about two years old. Okay. Now, I've gotta get back to work. At the moment, I am tortured by that horrible feeling I get when squandering irreplaceable time. I set out today, after all, to get a poetry submission in the mail before five.

Baby T's tees

.So, I finished six tees for Baby Thea. I'd love to post the drawings but Her Self must see them first. I am mailing the box today. One, in particular, came out a bit weird but I'm sending it anyway. That's how it is with, ahem, works in progress. Well, I suppose they're all a bit weird, or at least not ordinary baby fashion.

Inventory update

To tell you the truth, my poetry inventory is not going so well. It has... well... for the moment... stalled out... and been replaced by the production of Baby T ts. Awhile ago, back before Baby Thea was born, her mama requested a silkscreened version of this blackbird on a onesie. Onesies are clothes sized 0 to 3 months, baby clothes in other words. While I am extremely flattered she liked the drawing enough to request it, I haven't gotten around to getting it silkscreened yet. I don't know how it will be received but I decided to draw directly on the garment instead. Silkscreening is costly but I can see doing it for a bag or a bib, something that will be in use for a while, but Baby Thea will outgrow a onesie in a minute.

Secondly, and here's where artistic considerations come in. Everyone has reproductions but how many people wear clothes that are themselves one-of-a-kind works of art? Seems to me Baby Thea deserves no less. (Kimberlee, your baby too, if you're interested) So, I decided to give it a whirl. I picked up six onsies at the second hand store. What's to lose? I did one drawing yesterday. It may be too strange but there's no going back once the pen touches the cloth. This is the bird that emerged from the ink. Too odd for a baby? Maybe. I've got five more onsies to go. Meanwhile, my fault alone, the writing inventory languishes, the folders stacked and set to the side. I will get back to it. Really.

"Remember: 75% goes in the shredder. At the advice of an actual editor, not the one living in my head, I'm going through the old manuscript with a firm and unsentimental hand. I have 100 pages to go. Whack whack. Does a body good. Don't flinch." JudyBlueSky's comment. She's right, of course, but she's working on a prose draft. If I whack whacked 75% of this file, there'd be about five pages. In my defense I must say, for every page that has made it this far, 75 were whack whacked before the ink dried. Poetry is a brutal craft.

Inventory time

The time has come for me to inventory my written work, especially the poetry and, to that end, I recently printed out what I have, for years, been filing away. This is why I am currently sitting here in my favorite chair, cup of coffee nearby, writing this blog post. I need to give myself a pep talk.

Poetic license only goes so far, if you are serious about writing well. Likewise, this "body of work" idea can remain amorphous only so long before it becomes, well, pointless. Personally, I have a high tolerance for ambiguity. Granted it's a bit messy, but it also allows me to overestimate exactly how much and what I have done. The downside, of course, is that ambiguity sours in an especially nasty manner. And for me it has. So, it's time to open the box, see what's actually what and, more importantly perhaps, what is not. Face the demons. Crap.

Man with a hat

The truth about writers

Hilarious editorial from last Sunday's LA Times. At least for me it is oh so true.

The truth about writers by J. Robert Lennon

Baby Thea's ride

Local news at 6:41 AM

Fat-bellied bird barely
lifting from the dirt
takes a wiggling worm
to the nest.

Daily Thea 06.25.09

Got this photo in the mail today, my Daily Thea. I'm so hooked on this little girl. I can't wait hold her again. My god! She's growing up so fast. But we have to hunker down for the rest of this month. That trip to Portland wasn't free. M. Lee is researching the possibility of getting a truck and trailer. That way we could park in Baby Thea's driveway instead of being in an expensive hotel across town.

~mother and grub~

And I am so wowed by what a great mother my daughter is. She is THE VERY BEST! It just doesn't get any better than this.

Summer's first day

Happy Summer Solstice.

¡Viva la Vegolución!

"The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall." —Che Guevara

Here's a bit of good news for animals and animal lovers alike. Che Guevara's granddaughter Lydia Guevara, herself a vegetarian, posed in New York the other day for PETA's first campaign promoting vegetarianism in South America. It will be launched first in Argentina, where Che Guevara was born, and then internationally. The poster will debut in October in magazines and posters. My 19-year-old grandson loved the Che tshirt we brought back for him from Guatemala last fall. Think he'll like a Lydia poster for his birthday this fall?

New (old) poems

A while ago I promised to post those two poems (Skin Trade and Pele) that I recently published in Skidrow Penthouse. I finally did it. They are at my new poetry blog Anna Sadhorse.

Bye- bye baby, bye-bye...

Our eaglet has flown the nest. Unfortunately, I missed it but greencashew did not and was kind enough to post the Big Event on YouTube, along with a video of her return to the nest 48 minutes later.


Sooner Bald Eagle fledges 06/16/09 6am


She also made a nifty time lapse history of our lovely bird-child beginning back when she was a wobbly little tuck and ends with her doing a a little poop squirt while wiggling to get under her mama. Parents of newborns, you know about that. In this particular slice-of-eagle-life you may wonder why greencashew included so many less than stellar images of the surrounding area. My guess is to establish emotionally the patience involved in tending the nest. With that in mind, and helped along by a a rather emotive sound track, I am moved to near tears every time I watch it. I'm easy.



And if that's not enough eaglie goodness for you, greencashew also posted a ton more of our Sutton Girl, including one of a parent swallowing a rat whole.

And if you still want more, greencashew has more. She also documented other fledglings this spring. Just a warning. If you do go to her personal YouTube page, be prepared for an eye-blasting background loop of lightening in an evening sky, a snazzy little clip greencashew recorded from her front porch. It hurts.

And, by the way, you can still see our little fledgling live on the Sutton Center eaglecam as she continues to hang around the lake. According to their latest entry, she's a little fatty, baby fat that is, so not eating every day. Typically, the parents feed the hell out the babies to get them off to a good start and it seems hers did. So there you have it. Off to a good start. Yay!

your way begins on the other side

become the sky

take an axe to the prison wall,

escape

walk out like someone

suddenly born into color

do it now.


~Rumi~

Local news at 7:31

I've been rummaging around over at the wayback machine this morning. Great place. Anyway, they cached this page from my website years ago, before I nuked it and then lost the backup files. Always, always backup anything you want to keep! I still do not, so there you have it. However, thanks to them, Sweet Lorraine's wonderful silver polishing tip lives on. May she rest in peace. Handy, as my silver is in need of polishing and lately I've been lamenting the loss of her recipe.



If you have trouble getting the polish out of the cracks of your silver jewelry here's a handy trick I learned from my friend Lorraine, who always wore gobs of silver and turquoise jewelry. She was a very cool lady who knew how to do things the easy way. It works. It really does.


Ingredients:
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 sheet of aluminum foil
1 quart water

Add dry ingredients to 1 quart boiling water.
Submerge foil in water.
Drop silver onto foil.
Tarnish will immediately disappear.
Remove silver from water.
Place on drying cloth.
Allow to dry.
To enhance affect, gently rub silver but it's not necessary.
It will come out of the water shiny as new.

Baby updates

Baby Thea is now 16 days old. YIKES! I wish I were there, at her house, holding her. The best I get these days is video cam phone calls which are delightful but I WANT TO HOLD HER! Oh well. I'll have to get used to it. Besides, half the time all you can see of her are her little feet curling up towards her mama's chin. That little girl has the appetite of a lumberjack but her mama keeps up so everybody is happy.

The eaglet I've been following is also growing up fast. She's totally changed. It's interesting watching her explore her wings. She practices flying by lifting herself from one side of the nest to the other. Her wings are gigantic. She also spends a lot of time contemplating the world from the edge of nest. It won't be long.

Flections

I have been in deep Baby Thea withdrawal since leaving Portland. It's awful. She is growing up too fast and too far away. In four minutes she will be a full 10 days old! I want to reach right though this miserable computer screen, lift her out of the photo, into my arms and cuddle up a cascade of smiles.



We are working our way back home but at the moment are in Southern Oregon celebrating my other granddaughter's graduation from high school. Things were different when she was born. It's very painful to recall but I didn't participate much in her birth or early years so spending time with her is especially sweet.

Funny how life turns. I hate to admit what an idiot I was but I once considered almost everything "maya". What else have I totally scrambled? At least I finally turned the corner and see life as an exquisite, fragile gift rather than a "sentence" to be "endured".

Baby Girl Nelson

I know you guys have been waiting for photos of The Babeh and I'm sorry to be so slow posting any. I can be painfully private sometimes, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with her Mama first. Of course, it's fine. In fact, Baby Thea now has her own personal Flickr account, so if you'd like to see more photos of her you can find them at Baby Girl Nelson. Isn't she beautiful? I am totally smitten.

There is a baby!

YAY!!! Whew!

Local news at 10:11

No baby yet. Twenty-three hours and counting. It's been a long day.

Eagle cam update

That baby eagle I posted about a month ago (to the day) is now hopping around the nest, trying out her wings. If you want to see her again before she flies off, better go now. She's pretty cool.

Local news at 8:44

I've been busy lately. Lots going on and it hasn't slowed down yet. I just wanted to check and refresh the page but, at the moment, don't have time for more than this quick note. Number one, we are now in the single digit countdown waiting for the baby. Mr. Lee and I have reserved a room in Portland starting next Sunday. I hope she waits till then but babies are on their own time. My friend here, whose due date was the 21st, had her baby yesterday so there you have it. It could be any moment. I just hope, if she comes "early", that we arrive before she does.

Other than that, my complimentary issue of Skidrow Penthouse #10 arrived the other day. I'd completely forgotten I submitted poems to them so it was a pleasant surprise. Now that they are published, I will post them at my other blog when I get the time. And I spent the weekend at a Parelli workshop in Reno this weekend. I don't have a horse and I doubt I ever will have a horse but I got a super saver ticket through the HSUS and couldn't pass it up. I've always wanted to sit in on one of these sessions. Parelli is the real deal. Like their tshit says, "Change horses can believe in." Okay. More later. Gotta go.

Oh. And I testified at a sub-committee hearing on the Senate Bill 132, the Anti-Tethering Bill. In the final vote, it passed 32 to 8. Now it goes on to our infamous Governor Jim Gibbons for signing. He'll probably sign it. As one of the Legislators pointed out, Gibbons dog gets better treatment than his wife. Nevada. Gotta love it. We are the last state in the Union to make dog and cock fighting illegal, that is, if the bill before the Legislature passed this session. Anyway, I'll post my testimony later as well. It was really fun.

Happy Bad Mother's Day

So the day's almost over. Sue me. It's Bad Mother's Day. Watdayawant? Anyway, for those of us who were not always, ummmmm ... shall we say ... the best of mothers, Happy Bad Mother's day. I have a lot to be grateful for today because, in spite of everything, my children not only survived me, but grew up to be wonderful human beings. I am very proud of them. Kids are like that, you know. Resilient. And love is like that. Resourceful. It finds a way.

So, to celebrate what's left of the day, here are a few photos of bad parents. If you're down in the dumps, perhaps you'll find someone here you can feel superior to. Good luck.
< br>

Protect Seals update

Wonderful news for baby seals in Canada. The European Union has officially banned the trade of Canadian seal products. This is historic. It has been a huge battle for many years but finally smart, sane, compassionate, persistent citizens defeated the industry's army of scummy lobbyists defending this barbaric trade. This is the beginning of the end of Canada's cruel commercial seal hunt. I am extremely grateful to everyone involved, whether they are mere petition signers like myself or front line fighters on the ice, at the Humane Society International and in the courts. This is victory we can all celebrate. Don't know about Canada's seal trade? Learn about it here.

Tic

The deadline for the newsletter I edit is a week off and I have spent my morning slogging through a bog of niggling details. It is time to revisit one of my all-time favorite video Superstars. I love this guy!

TIC

Friends

A photo from the neighborhood...

Baby T

Uncle Monkey, Baby T, Sweet William, Ugly Bear

Today Uncle Monkey proudly introduced Baby T to the troupe here at the Invisible Theatre. Everyone made a huge fuss over her. They were smitten.

Taliban Lite, as seen at Walmart

What is it about COPS and donuts?


It's a drag being so obsessive. I had no intention of doing it but I spent hours today cleaning up the blur in this fucking photograph. Otherwise, I didn't change it at all. The COP is as she was...at Walmart, or Wallowmart as I like to call it. Anyway, if you want a copy to enhance your bathroom, garage or whatever, there's a larger version at flickr. I don't know this woman personally but she is the kind of people who give me the deep creeps, whatever "god" they worship. Talk about mark of the beast.


Taliban Evangelical Christianity Walmart Mark of the Beast 666 salvation creep

Leonard Cohen live in London

"I was 60 years old, just a kid with a crazy dream"
(Live In London screenshot)

Just passing this along. Some nice music here.

One week only. Leonard Cohen: Live in London

Investigate torture

If the Justice Department gives the Bush Administration a pass on torture, they will be responsible finalizing civilization's return to the Dark Ages.


Ask Attorney General Holder to investigate

torture memos

After images 1

Jupiter's influence

Magpie's secret peanut

The 7 O'clock Magpie has a secret peanut stash. I'm sure it's her. She comes in the evening at dusk and in the morning before it's light, before everyone else, just like last year and the year before that. At the beginning of the day, she grabs all the peanuts and tucks them around the park for later. I don't think she always remembers where she put them because I find them from time to time. And she drops by at night for a final look around, and yes, I put a few goodies out for her. How can I not?

The other morning, I saw her rummaging in the gravel around the trailer, picking pieces up, moving them around. The way she was digging, I thought she was searching for peanut chips. When I went out later, I discovered she had built a SECRET PEANUT STASH. Shsssssss... don't tell anyone.



Here's a link to a video of her I made a couple of years ago. WARNING: It's hard core Bird Park. The magpie doesn't even make her appearance until half way though. A lone crow plays support. Scratchy background music by Low. 7 O'clock Magpie

Hawk & Sparrow

Warning: hard core Bird Park. No car crashes. No steamy sex scenes. No mind numbing violence. No rhyme. No reason. Well, the lyrics are rhymed.

"For every prayer there is an equal and opposite prayer."
~ Animal Life
Music: "Saturday Sun" by Nick Drake

No. This unlucky little fellow is not the bird in the header.

Hairy and Bela

Hairy and Bela, Return

After spending centuries cloistered in an astral monastery, during which time he got a few things straightened out, Hairy returns, reconciles with Bela, and is accepted into the troupe at the Invisible Theatre.

Faded views

In answer to my daughter's question, no, I didn't visit any of the graveyards in Tonopah this trip, although the town itself is haunted and melancholy as any. I didn't have time to do any more than show a friend, new to the place, a bit of the downtown.

Salvadore was still there, and still doing his fine fade
from the world. I kind of spooked her when I pulled his
photo out from between the stones but I had to check in
on him. He's one of my current favorite time lapse windows
on the past.

She had a $5000 dollar camera with a $3000 lens.
As you might imagine, her photo of this room is better than mine.

Sleepy spring in Tonopah.

Tonopah never forgets.

Roadside distractions

 A couple of photos from my recent trip to Tonopah.


Still standing. Still for sale.

Opening late 2006

Lovely, downtown Tonopah

Local news at 8:24

How's your day going? It's 8:23 AM and I am already overwhelmed. Ah well. This too shall pass.

Window in the sea

Road to Tonopah

Just got back from my bi-annual Tonopah, 12th in row. Here's a few photos from the trip down. Nevada's a strange place.

Stolen for Fashion

Royce on Fashion




Stolen for Fashion
I dare you to watch it all the way to the end.
I did and it made me cry. Have you got the guts
to have a heart? Open your eyes and see.


"Stolen for Fashion"—Learn More at PETA.org.

Words in the dark 3.15

The floor of my mind is littered with crumpled, scribbled out, scrawled and often illegible words, some strung together, some adrift on their own. They are like leaves running before the wind and the next time I look they are spindly sprouts growing in the fetid dark. At other times they appear to be like bugs skittering by and I shudder. Or they are annoying the way sharp rocks are to bare feet or threatening like broken glass. Some of them are frivolous like photos in a collage, interesting only in relationship to something else, or provocative like the preview of a film and some are merely blobs of paint that didn't make it to the canvas, perhaps the best part, but dried and beyond recall. I hear them mumbling and whispering. I kick my way through them, sweep some aside, pick others up and place them under the light for a closer look. Observed they change. They have strange magnetic properties that do not obey the rules. They erratically change poles, attracting then repelling one another. Some are lurkers, suspect, shifty and resistant.

Local news at 9:13

I begin this post at 9:06 yet, if you noticed the title, the deadline is 9:13. The question, will I meet it? I say no. I say yes. Bets are down. I win.


Then again, I lose. I corrected a misspelling at 10:38 and fiddled with the placement of sentence for two more minutes.

Elmo n Ricky

Life can be pretty bleak when you stare it in the eye. Who knows? Maybe I'm just bulldozing through the last muddy patch before enlightenment. Whatever. I've gotta lighten up. My kids have been telling me for years. They outta know. It wasn't easy for them being raised by a proto-punk mom. Recently, after one particularly dark post, my daughter demanded I write her a happy kitten poem. (It's on the list, darlin', but I have to work up to it.) The point is, everyone agrees, even me. Must _*_ lighten _*_ up. So I've added a new category to the list, mirth, or some word to that effect. Whatever describes Elmo's attitude.

I have done posts that are, in some way, humorous but they're not labeled and these days I need ready to go upbeat humor, not the schadenfreude gallows black ironic variety which I'm generally fond of. I love Ricky Gervais but, like me, he tends toward dark. Elmo must lead the way because, as he says, it's time to "get it back"...


Elmo and Ricky

Snow day crow day

Scenes from the Bird Park this morning.

There was tasty peanut butter oatmeal. Good for a snow day.

The Darkling Thrush

It's cold and gloomy outside and the world at large seems fallen to rack and ruin, so this morning I warmed my hands around this poem.

The Darkling Thrush
by Thomas Hardy


I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

courtesy poets.org

Order of the morning

Drawing by Rachel Hoffman


Just after dawn, a squadron of magpies shoot up from the eastern sector of the sky, clear the stern peak of Dick's house, wings out in stunning formation and descend into the Bird Park, a black and white flash swirl touch down running breakfast grab, then are gone again in minutes. I like to think they wake up with the Bird Park on their minds, that it is first in the order of the morning. A bit later, two magpie return for seconds. I suspect they are the original 7 o'clock magpie and her friend. Generally, after the mob leaves, I tuck a few extra goodies in strategic out of the way places. They know where to look. But that's it. You may remember my neighbor Dwayne said he saw magpies eating quail babies. He ought to know. His giant, weeping Indian willow houses families. Must protect the babies so I had to revoke the magpie/crow all day pass. It's morning peanuts then they gotta go.

Soon after they leave, the starlings arrive. Then the pigeons. Then the sparrows and finches. The mild-mannered, yellow-breasted sparrows hit the yellow thistle seed sack in Quail Town over by Old Man Hills. They can pack a sack 15 deep without ruffling a feather. Share and share alike. However, fights are always breaking out among the finches in the main sector. They go for the sunflower seeds and, although there's plenty for all, constantly disagree over who eats where. They even argue standing knee deep in the very cool seed trough hanging from the fence. Trough. It's a trough of seeds. No one guy can cover the whole thing still they stop eating to run each other off.

There are the individual finches who come at off times to nibble and gaze over the park like genteel patron frequenting sidewalk cafes in the Champs Elysées afternoon. They are among my favorites and remind me of the little Buddha Bird who came here for a couple of summers. Just watching them, I feel peaceful. They enjoy the place as it's meant to be, a time out from hard scrabble, a haven of food and water, peace and quiet. Of course, even here there are predators but that's the irony of eden, isn't it? The occasional cat does appear, mainly Dwayne's drinking buddy, Clarence the Bastard, who is far too feeble to do more than reminisce. And the hawk. There is a hawk although, for the most part, he is stealth and, but for the strike, unobtrusive. Plus, he focuses mainly on Dwayne's.

Finally, last to arrival, the quail. They start the day at Dwayne's but hop up then down the fence later in the morning. They prefer almost anything to flying. They come after things are rolling, after the finch and sparrows have littered the ground with sunflower seed crumbs. Recently, at the urging of M. Lee, I started putting chick scratch out for the quail, in secret places of course, mainly Old Man Hills and under the lilac bushes, one of their favorite haunts in summer. I don't want the pigeons catching on so it has to be on the downlow. Don't get me wrong. I still love the pigeons. Did I already mention that they are members of the dove family? In good standing. Birds of peace. But...well, they are kind of huge in this small neighborhood and, not everyone shares my enlightened view, so nothing special for them although the little birds spill enough for everybody. And the pigeons dearly love cold tubbing so I make sure that there is water in the baths.

I'm trying out a tasty peanut replacement for the magpies, bite size dog treats. I'm running out of peanuts, thanks to the greedy asshole Stewart Parnell. His cue, Charlie the Town Crier showed up. The loudmouth. First crow of the winter. I'd know him anywhere, cigar dangling from his beak, wearing the Unrestricted Press Pass I immediately regretted a day after issuing it. He had plenty to say about Parnell, none of it good. Ever hear a crow swear? Oh and this year, a pair of robins joined us, probably down from Tahoe. I love robins. Two. Seems robins, once the unflappable auguries of spring, are also suffering under the boot of human sprawl and growing scarce so I'm delighted they are here.


But about the peanuts. Since the greedy idiot criminal asshole Stewart Parnell, president of Peanut Corp., and his morally bankrupt idiot drone plant manager, Sammy Lightsey, choose profit over honor and integrity, and ordered their salmonella infected nuts, "turned loose" on America, I can't find whole peanuts at a decent price anywhere! These unscrupulous dingbats, at the urging of company executives, even begged the USDA for permission to continue shipping peanuts after salmonella was discovered. People and animals died and they want "business as usual?" Now, my supply of safe peanuts for the magpies is dangerously low. In fact, it is very nearly gone. WTF, Stewart!?! I hate that guy. Money is NOT the bottom line, Stewaaaaart. And I can't find any my peanut butter Kashi TLC bars anywhere. WTdoubleF!?

Anyway, top o' the mornin or afternoon or whatever time of day it is to ya.


Stewart Parnell Sammy Lightsey Peanut Corp. salmonella outbreak

Dance of the Dolphins

Warning: embedded autostart music*. Sorry. Can't disable it but I like the video but am posting it anyway.

As we enjoy a collective sigh of relief that at least three of the dolphins stranded in Newfoundland made it safely back to sea thanks to the help of the kind, brave townfolk of Seal Cove, here's that short (famous) clip of a dolphin sporting with bubbles. If you sent an email on their behalf, thank you.

So. Sit back and enjoy 01:06 minutes of this delightful underwater ballet.

Dolphins at play


Ps. Yes. I realize these dolphins are in a prison and, of course, that's a dreadful thing to do to any creature but for a minute, one minute and six seconds to be exact, I just want to believe that this dolphin is actually enjoying herself just as she would in the wild because she has wisely made peace with her situation. And after all, it is better than being trapped under ice.

*The music is "No One is Alone" from "Into the Woods" by John Williams; The Boston Pops Orchestra. From the Album Music of the Night: Pops on Broadway 1990 CD.

stranded dolphins Newfoundland dolphins dolphins playing

Dolphins rescued, Newfoundland

Three of the five dolphins stranded off the coast of Seal Cove, Newfoundland were rescued yesterday by a brave group of townsmen in a speedboat and survival suits. Whether the other two survived, scared off by their initial approach, is unknown. The men rocked the boat back and forth against the ice, breaking it apart and working a small path 250 metres long into the enclosure where the three remaining dolphins circled around them.



Mayor Winston May said the remaining three realized what was going on and quickly became very happy and friendly.

"Two got out through the channel, but the little guy was too tired," said Brandon Banks, 16, who leapt into the icy water to keep him from drowning.

The dolphin wrapped his fins around Banks and rested his head on his shoulder. It was then Banks slipped a harness around him.

"I kept him up with my legs, keep his head up from under the water", he said.

He tied the rope to the boat and the boat slowly towed the dolphin through the ice. Once they hit open water, he caught his second wind. They freed him from the rope, and the dolphin swam off.

"He was just getting his energy back, and he was swimming around," Mr. Banks said. "It was pretty good seeing him go off free like that, in the open water."

"The dolphin just kind of attached to Brandon and wrapped his flippers around him, more or less like a friend or a mate," the Mayor told The Canadian Press. Mr. May called it "a real nice ending."

Full story here.
Photo by Norma Miller for Canwest News Service, as published in National Post.

HELP STOP CANADA'S CRUEL SEAL HUNT!

stranded dolphins Brandon Banks Newfoundland dolphins

CEO roast

Democracy is a participatory sport. Here's a delightful clip from last week's grilling of Wall Street CEOs. At the end of the day, Congress included Sen. Chris Dodd's amendment limiting executive pay in the stimulus bill. It passed on Friday.




Video via MoveOn, narrated by Rachel Maddow.

Local news at 9:19

Humane Lobby Day was a blast but way too much went on to describe right now other than to say it was pure theater. The Senate and Legislature are in session and there is business_to_be_done. The actors are playing many parts: politician, lobbyist, staff, director, audience, page, stage hand, choir, and chorus, simultaneously in different plays, in different acts and rehearsals, overlapping lines and scenes and sets on numerous stages, in green rooms and cafes, and under it all, the constant, clandestine backstage whispers which everyone strains to hear. Then there was us. The animal people.

Nevada at night

I retired my other blog, Synesis, at least for the time being, and am in the process of moving some of the material to a new blog I've been fiddling with for a while. It's a place for my poetry. It doesn't fit here. And maybe a little flash fiction or a drawing here or there. If you're interested, it's here... Anna Sadhorse.