Image via Wikipedia

I watched the Gonzo documentary before going to bed so naturally I dreamed of Hunter Thompson. He was with me at a party with all the young dudes as the David Bowie song goes.

I convinced these young men that Hunter was alive and well and within these 4 walls. They all got up to talk to him like teen girls with the Beatles in 1964.

I learned from the documentary that he had a sweet side which you can see in the way he touches his chin in an episode of To Tell the Truth. Both of his wives said he had a vicious side, like when he screams at one of them to find his g–damn medicine.

I also learned that Ralph Steadman, Hunter’s illustrator, is not a crazy person. I mistakenly thought so based on his work as you can see here:

image via signatureillustration.org

He appears normal and well-spoken, like a nice gentleman you pass in the supermarket as shown here:

Image via Wikipedia

In the film Hunter said he typed the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Great Gatsby) over and over just to get the flow. Did it work for him? Obviously.

So to get over the dreaded writers block that possessed me over the holidays I’ll do what Hunter did with the Gatsby.

Instead of writing I rewrite.

I checked out classics from the library by authors like Bradbury, Faulkner, Conan Doyle, and Fenimore Cooper. What a way to feel like the author to retype their words, to see what they saw and what made them get it all down on paper. You don’t get that by just copy/pasting.

So because of Hunter sneaking into my dreams I remembered the most vital part of writing: rewriting. I’m ready for more trips into the subconscious as long as the Steadman drawings stay at home.

I used the "Flower" option. I think it worked!

I’ve had this Kodak EasyShare C182 camera for ages but never appreciated it.  Today, when I had to reformat a memory card, I discovered many options I did not know.

So I’m crossing off “New Camera” off my Christmas List.

Who knows what great shots lurk in the hearts of Kodak cameras? Only The Shadow knows!

The "Portrait" option for my boys, Shadow and Fluffy

This flower was grown (bought) from Michaels.

Another "flower" option shot.

As a teen, I fell in love with you.  I visited you with friends to buy the trendiest of clothes with my meager wages.  I got Orange Julius though I didn’t know what was so great about it.  I walked by girls (and boys) getting their ears pierced since it was the eighties. I snatched up every pair of parachute pants paying full price because getting spotted in K-mart was worse than leprosy.

Then in the nineties something smart happened.  You became the place  for The Intellectual.  Electronic stores invaded, major book stores opened for the now mature shopper who no longer needed hair scrunchies and leg warmers.

One could sample music through headphones while sitting around other people like a music bar. Game and puzzle stores laid out chess games for passers-by to play.

You bore toy stores stepped up from the usual Barbies and fake flipping barking dogs.  You sold science experiment kits and (gasp) art supplies.

If an artist or scientist suffered at an impasse, a trip to your glittery cages and “mall air” cured what ailed us with a salted soft pretzel, of course.  Like when we eat ice cream while suffering sore throats.

Then the recession of ‘Aught 8 rolled in.  Electronic devices blew up with books, music, movies and games that nobody had to touch except for touch pads.  Book stores dropped you and set themselves up outside your parameters with no weary shoppers to wander in.  Hot potatoes be damned.

Today, if we want to open a book we must do so whilst standing because big name book stores no longer offer comfy chairs to relax and browse. We must buy the magazine we want to look at along with a drink otherwise we can’t sit at the tables.

But face it, we get magazines solely to read in the bathtub because we can’t risk dropping our iPads in the water, unless you have a bowl of rice and a heat source handy to dry it out.

There’s hardly nothing left to touch before we buy.  The only place left in your vast expanse for The Intellectual is the overly sterile Apple store. There’s nothing colorful to feast on except the casings for their devices.

All that’s left now, Dear Shopping Mall, are stores with clothes, shoes, shoes, clothes, clothes, jewelry, and shoes.  And you know the sad part?  Nobody’s in those stores.  High-heeled Lady Gaga shoes sit on stands, shining their rhinestones and leopard and cheetah prints, lonely and soon to be forgotten in 2 months when they are shamefully out of date.

I shouldn’t complain, Shopping Mall.  I’m typing this on a software program that provides me with links, articles and pictures to accompany me which is pretty nifty.  I just wish something nifty was left over in your glass-windowed hallowed halls.

Sincerely,

The Average Intellectual Shopper

Image via Wikipedia

Jerry Seinfeld coined a term on Twitter called  ”Enterplaining.” It’s complaining and entertaining at the same time.  Adam Carolla has perfected Enterplaining.  On his podcast, he has a segment called “What can’t Adam complain about?” He’s complained about everything from the lifting of prohibition to his bathrobe belts.

However, in real life, someone who constantly complains is draining. But in entertainment, it’s as funny as all get out. Since I don’t get my complaints out verbally (most of the time), I’ll note them here and hopefully you find them enterplaining:

• Playground parents obsessed with cleanliness.  If you’re so clean, don’t bother bringing your kids to the park. One mother looked horrified when my barefooted daughter stepped on her blanket.  If you don’t want your kids to play with others, play with the your kid in your own backyard.
• People who don’t like dogs.  I don’t have an example, I just don’t know how someone could not love a dog unless one mauled them when they were young. Then I’ll give them a pass.
• Whenever I put a schedule together, I get upset when life messes it up. I know life happens when you’re making other plans, and I don’t know if John Lennon or John Chancellor said that but c’mon! Let something go right at least some of the time.
• Not knowing what to throw out.  The stuff I do throw out I regret soon after. When we moved, I tossed everything I wrote since college. Granted it wasn’t all Hemingway but every poem and journal got chucked. I also got rid of children’s books that my older daughter grew out of, but my younger one still enjoys. She’s almost 8 and still likes to read from picture books. Bad mom.
• People who swim backwards in a crowded pool without looking behind,  I know you’ve perfected your back stroke and you like to float, but the bruises on my legs from people slamming into me aren’t going away soon, okay?
• Driving through gas station lots. Today 3 cars in a row pulled out in front of me like I wore a cloak of invisibility.  Just because I’m driving slow doesn’t mean I’m not here.
• Books with REALLY LONG acknowledgements, forwards and introductions. Nobody reads the thank yous except for kith and kin and if you forget someone they never forgive you.  Remember when Julia Roberts thanked everyone who worked on the movie Erin Brockovich except Erin Brockovich? Make like an Oscar acceptance speech and keep it short.
• I also don’t need friends writing your forwards telling us how great you are. The can use it for your eulogy. Lastly, work your introductions into the body of your book because I read at night and I don’t want to fall asleep before the good stuff.  Capiche?
• Finally, people who complain too much.  Save it for reality television.

Image via Wikipedia

In Russia, girls in bikinis are washing cars to raise money for Vladimir Putin. What a dedicated group of young women who put their own needs aside to raise money for their shirtless leader?

That got me thinking: how can we as Americans bond together to raise money for our ailing economy?

I’m not sure if there are American bikini-clad girls willing to wash cars to stimulate the economy.  If they do they want a Bravo reality show out of it.

So I think we should fall back on the tried-and-true way of fundraising: selling loads and loads of sugary sweets.  It was wildly successful in my day.  When I was on my pom pon squad in high school, we carried around boxes of M&Ms with our books and sold them in the hallways. Between breakfast and lunch, teens couldn’t resist shelling out a buck for a box of the non-melting candy.

But we can’t do that anymore because schools have banned selling sugar during the school day.  They’ve gone all nutritious on us.  So has Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid.  He’s all like, “I gotta take care of my pomegranate trees,” which is so lame because he’d rather take care of these annoying nutritious treats than figure out how we’re going to get out of debt.

way too healthy (via flickr)

So we can’t sell sweets anymore in school but Washington D.C. has nothing to do with education so I say let interns walk around the White House selling M&Ms every day around 10a.m..

That’s when stomachs are grumbling and they can’t wait for their Satan Sandwich with a side of Satan Fries for lunch.

Let’s sell everything that’s been banned in schools because of sugar content:  bake sales, boxes of toffee, even Girl Scout Cookies! Imagine every February, the girls in their spiffy uniforms traveling from door to door in the Capitol building instead of sitting in front of a grocery stores or risking their lives selling Samoas®, Thin Mints, Do-Si-Dos™, Trefoils, Lemon Chalet Cremes™ and Tagalongs® by the side of the road.

now you're talkin'! (via flickr)

How about a pie-eating contest?  Don’t forget to invite Barney Frank.  What a sight to behold!

Let’s go through the hallways with the candy trolley from the train to Hogwarts and be sure to stock a lot of Pixie Sticks.  Can you imagine President Obama leaning back in his chair pouring one into his mouth?  He might share one with John Boehner but he might have to wait 24 hours before Boehner accepts the invitation.

I wonder what Vice President Biden would do with all that sugar?

He’d probably act like a kindergartener after a birthday party in class:  ”Mr. President, Mr. President, Mr. President!  When’s recess?  Is it time to play with Legos now?  how about Tinker Toys?  Lincoln Logs?”

“Not now, Joey,” the President says. “Not ’till you’ve finished balancing the budget.  You can now remove the pencils you’ve thrown into the debt ceiling.”

Image via Wikipedia

Today, August 4, is my parents’ 55th anniversary.  They got married in a Hernando, Mississippi courthouse in 1956 after knowing each other for only 10 days.  55 years later, my dad writes this to his life-long partner:

Ode to My Wife Uva Nell Lassiter-Fortney

by Robert Fortney

A hammer and saw you cannot use

A shirt without buttons you avoid like the flu

For you a road map is shade

but as a Mother you take a back seat to none.

You care for your family and house like they are royalty.

Then you act like we deserve it.

Of course we don’t.

But MOTHERING is something you do.

You cook, clean, pet and soothe our hurts and fears away.

Most of all you love us one and all.

So you are already in the Mother’s Hall of Fame

and at age 76 you have not quit yet!

And as your partner through these years,

I count it an honor and privilege to grow old with you.

As it was in our vows,

“‘Til death do us part,”

I LOVE YOU UVA NELL,

Bob

Image via Wikipedia

bikini girls

With charcoal pencils and sketch pad, I choose two bikini girls because their curves have such chiaroscuro.

Their legs shine and their backbones hide in darkness away from the sun.

A man with an Irish brogue approaches to talk to them.  I wonder if they’re interested, because if I was that young and hot I’d be.  He and his friend both wear casts on their arms; a bar fight gone wrong?

The girls smile but no real laughs. He must think they are the first Americans not impressed with his accent. Or they just don’t understand him.

image via flickr

vintage couple

They emerge from an H.G. Wells novel and sit next to us.  He wears navy blue shorts and half boots half shoes; so not into flip-flops.

“His hair was perfect,” as Warren Zevon sang — shaved in the back with a duck tail in front, highlighted with white Ray Bans.

His girlfriend is a pin-up with Betty Page bangs, auburn-dyed hair in a bun.  Black and white vertical stripes cover her top and black covers hips and bottom like suits did back then.

Neither venture in the water, why would they mess up their great looks while the sun shines on the sea like a place setting on a glass table?

image via flickr

image via flickr

motel smell

It seeps must like ghosts out the windows worn down with peeling paint. Maybe 50 years ago it was a nice stop for families who wanted a spot for their beach vacation.  A few more steps and the odor gives way to smoke and meat grilling.

cherries and cheeseburgers

I taste the cherries I brought; my maroon treats my only snack as I smell grills whipping me with cheeseburger aromas.

image via flickr

jigsaw beach

Little pink/orange houses with triangle roofs line up on the coast like Lego’s. With all the rainbow beach umbrellas this scene looks like a perfect jigsaw puzzle.

image via flickr

image via flickr

thunder waves

The surf sounds like heavy approaching Midwest thunderstorms that rarely arrive out here; my only reference to the sound where grass beaches accessorize lakes.

rocky beach

With my boogie board I walk out to the crest of a wave and turn around to fly towards the rocky shore.  I walk over stones like hot coals wondering if I’ll ever find smooth spot, and I do.

Image via Wikipedia

I was in the mood for an artist’s date yesterday and in true form, I planned nothing ahead except for bring with me a free movie pass I won in a raffle.

Without checking to see what was playing, I went to the theater to see what movie was starting next.  One couple bought tickets to Midnight in Paris.  I’m not a movie goer so I’m not familiar with anything on the silver screen that doesn’t involve Harry Potter. The couple said it was a Woody Allen film.  I’ve loved his movies for many years but got creeped out with him marrying Mia Farrow’s daughter, but I thought I’ll give it a shot.

And what a shot it was.  We hear but not see Owen Wilson as Gil Pender talking to his fiancée (Rachel McAdams) about how tired he is of being a hollywood hack and how he wants to live in Paris to write a novel but she wants to stay in Malibu. They are in France on business with her parents so they take in the sights.

Gil goes for a walk at midnight and on a whim he gets picked up in a cab from the 1920s with some partygoers. At the party he meets Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, while Cole Porter entertains on the piano.  The Fitzgeralds take Gil to a bar where they meet Hemingway then see Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates) where he gives her his novel to critique.  By the way, Picasso is with Stein analyzing a painting I swear looks like something my 7-year-old concocted, but hey, it’s Picasso.

Other artists from the 1920s make appearances such as Adrian Brody as Salvador Dali.  I never knew Dali could be so sexy and crazy at the same time especially since he only spoke of rhinoceroses.

This is the kind of movie I’d write.  Or it would at least be in my dream journal.  It was like walking through all of my lit and art courses in college.  If this movie existed back then, I’d have straight A’s, no problem.  We want to see the people we study come to life.

After the movie I felt inspired as an artist so on a whim I walked to Michael’s.  I still felt like I was in the movie as I walked by an Italian restaurant as a street performer sang, “It’s a wonderful night for a moon dance.”  I walked straight to the artist supplies and saw sketchbooks on sale, so I picked one up with some charcoal pencils.  I plan on using these at the beach today like Reginald Marsh as he sketched by the ocean.

What a terrific unplanned artist’s date’ it’s something we all need to unblock our creativity.  I give this movie a rating of all the stars Vincent Van Gogh ever painted.

Image via Wikipedia

July 12 is my dad’s 79th birthday.  To celebrate it, I’m posting a poem he sent me to edit.  Here is what he asked me to do:

Dear Terri,

Now is the time to pay me back for the cost of your education.  See what you can do.

Love, Dad

The Tie, Unbound and Binding: a Tribute to Ray “Buddy” and Joyce Underhill

The life span of a man is like a vapor

you see it then it vanishes

They met as schoolmates

the only date either had was with each other

married young

Unlike the other young people of that impoverished area

who fled up north to big cities bright lights and such.

They chose to stay “home” and Farm the lands

they started small but hard work and long days of “can ’til can’t”

they worked the land

and made a living for themselves and their two boys.

They were married 48 years but

time and toil took its toll.

His body just wore out

Doctor’s offices, Hospital stays, procedures, pills and such

Finally the doctors said

We have done all we can do.

So they set down to gather as was their way and made their final plans.

When they agreed on all the details, he added

No neck tie

I never wore one in life so why in death?

Very softly she said,

I think You are so Handsome. I want people to see why I fell in love with you

when we were just kids.

So he agreed if it made her happy.

That’s what love is: giving yourself away to someone you love.

When the time came She delivered the suit and shirt and yes, the tie

to the funeral director who knew what to do

That night the family had a private viewing

As she approached the casket, she viewed the man she held and loved for many years

tears and memories flowed like a river.

When She first saw him or should I say heard his big booming voice

he could not speak softly.

She admitted to herself, “I like him.”

It was hard those first years

they lived with his widowed mother, “Miss Orlene.”

They had barely more than the clothes on their backs

but farmers they were.

The first crop barely paid for the seed they planted

But as years roll, on larger fields they plowed and yields grew too

They bought more and bigger machinery and the two boys born of their union came on board now.  There was four in the crewand they grew.

Soon without applying they were inducted into a select club known as BIG FARMERS.

For recreation they could have gone on a cruise or visited distance lands but tractor pulls and Weekends at the Wrangler camp close to home suited them fine.

With the marriage of their two sons came a grandson to spoil to their hearts’ content

they were never seen without him by their side.

While she dwelt on these memories

She gently reached into the casket, untied the tie and slid it around his neck and unbuttoned the collar of her man.

Love means giving to the other what will make them happy even if you differ.  This is the tie, unbound and binding.

Copyright Robert Fortney June 11, 2011