Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Only In New York

Through hard work, perseverance, skill and intelligence I was born in the greatest city in the world. I am reminded of this fact any time I leave to visit some other, lesser city and try to order a simple meal. Go ahead, try!

Let's say you're in Dallas and it's breakfast time and you're in a hurry. First thing you notice is they ain't got no coffee carts in the street. How are you supposed to make it to work on time and have a delicious breakfast without a coffee cart every 5 feet or so? This is just the first failure of not-NY. You dash into an establishment that looks like it'll sell you a cup 'a Joe. You resign yourself to the fact that the cup probably won't have a scene of Greek mythology because, hey, this ain't New York City.

But at least you can get yourself an nice breakfast. "Lemme get a buttered roll and a regular coffee," you ask.  You get a blank stare. "Yo, a buttered roll? A regular coffee? You listenin'?" you ask politely. You are handed a non-Anthora cup of black shit with no cream or sugar. And no buttered roll. "Hey Pally, what the fuck is this shit? I'm inna hurry, here!" you state, all friendly-like. .Before you know it, you've got a sawed-off shotgun pointed at your face and you've got to leave the establishment with no cream or sugar in your regular coffee in a plain Styrofoam cup and no goddamned buttered hard roll because the sumbitches in Dallas ain't never heard of no buttered roll. This, my friends, is a fucking buttered roll:

Sometimes it has sesame seeds on top.

You find yourself in Los Angeles for lunch and you're fookin starving because that jerk in Dallas didn't know what a fucking buttered roll was. This not eating shit has made you hungry and pissed. You step into a pizzeria. Since you are not in New York, you know the pizza's gonna be for shit, so you order a beef patty with cheese.

"This is a pizzeria. We don't sell cheeseburgers," says the wise guy behind the counter.
"Well, good thing I didn't ask ya for no cheeseburger, ya putz. Can I get a Jamaican beef patty with some mozzarella on it?"
"Sir, if I may delicately point out to you: This is an Italian restaurant, not a Jamaican one." Since you can't argue with that logic, you ask for a slice. He asks if you want pineapple on it and you shoot him. Perfectly defensible, no court would convict you.

You're now stumbling around St. Louis, dizzy from lack of food and splattered with the blood of that crazy pineapple wielding Chicano. It is hot. You are drained and thirsty. You wander the streets looking for a pirag├╝ero. Good luck ya silly bitch, there ain't no pirag├╝eros in St. Louie. You crawl into a 7-11 and point piteously at the ice machine. "Piraqua. . ." you croak. The counter girl looks at you and then the ice machine and then at you. You think you see a glimmer of understanding in her eyes and she runs to the sno-cone and comes back, kneels by your prone figure. Weakly you raise your hand and slap that nonsense right out of hers.

"I said 'piragua', so it should be, you know, a piramide. A pyramid, bruta. Not no round-assed mound of crushed ice with purple bullshit on top. I need shaved ice in a triangle with brown tamarindo all over it. And try not to break the tip of the triangle when you pour the syrup on it!"

But since you were in St. Louis and you are a young black man, the cops came and shot you.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Old Westbury Gardens Garden

This entry was going to be the final Box With Pics entry but, um, I can't find the damned box. It should be on the bookshelf in my bedroom where I keep my 'working on' projects but it's not. It may have been knocked down by a cat or two and then batted under the bed. If that is the case it is lost forever because it is a battlefield under my bed and I am not brave enough for combat. Instead, here are the gardens at Old Westbury Gardens.

This was not actually in the gardens but in the "backyard" of the Phipps Mansion. I am of the opinion that they coulda hidden the obvious flower pot a bit better.

This is a bust of a Very Important Person. It has to be, seeing as how dramatically it has been framed and displayed. Since I never got close enough to see who this VIP is, I'm going to say it is Don Featherstone. Please read link in order to find out how very important he was to mankind.

Since this is a garden, we must take pictures of the beautiful flora. I'm sure the curators meant for this to be a focal point in the gardens.

And also, these guys should be prominently displayed.

All right, all right. I'll will show a picture of what the Gardens will approve of being Garden Worthy.

Lotso mushrooms. Can I help it if I think the mushrooms make such a pretty picture? The mushrooms are much more gardeny than this scary-assed display of Children of the Corn playhouse.

Fine, fine, FINE! Here's a picture of me leading you down the garden path.

How 'bout some flowers? Pretty Foxglove, Will kill you in an instant, don't even look at it too hard or your heart will stop Foxglove.

All right, ALL RIGHT! Here's a pretty plant that's just pretty and non-poisonous and ornamental and no tricks up my sleeve plain old garden plant: A water lily.

Apparently she touched the OMG POISONOUS Foxglove and lost her arm.

And we can all agree, this is a nice garden with another bust of the all important Mr. Featherstone.

You say I'm leading you down the garden path like that's a bad thing.

Here's a thatched cottage, helpfully labeled in case you didn't know what it is.

This is where the slaves lived. Or where the children played. Tomato, tomahto.

Fancy a dip in the pool? How about more naked ladies? Why not both?

Enough naked ladies. I want naked children molesting a goose.

Before the days of drive in movies and short stay motels, this is where the young ones came to fool around. For reals. There's a plaque here that says so.

I have tons more pictures of lovely landscapes and many, many pictures of flowers too. But I'm tired of uploading them. Here's the house one more time AND THAT'S IT!

80's romance guy lives in a house exactly like this one.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Old Westbury Gardens

There are things that must be done and I gotta do them. Usually, I have entries saved up to post when these trivial things interfere with the important things in life--like this here blog. Instead, I am going to the doctors so I don't die. My priorities are screwed, I know. To keep you all entertained, here are pictures I took last year at the Phipps Mansion at Old Westbury Gardens.

This is my idea of taking a picture of the front door of the mansion. Makes sense since, you know, I can fly.

This was not over the front door. This is on the mantel. But it looks as if it should be included over the front door, so let's pretend it is.

She is on the mantel and, holy shit, does she need a bikini wax!

When I hear Ricky Nelson's Garden Party, I think of a room like this. Which is all kinds of wrong because I'm not that old (yes, I am) and he was singing about a square garden on Madison Ave. Which, by the way, isn't square, isn't a garden and isn't on Madison Ave.

Let us retire to the palor that does not feature the naked ladies on the fireplace, sirrah.

Duck or eagle? You decide.

Let's go upstairs, shall we?

This looks exactly like a bed where extra nasty shit be going on.

And here is where you write all about the fifty shades of red.

And here is where Agatha Christie locks you up until you all die one by one in the closed room mystery called Ten Little Niggers. Seriously. That is the original name of her book And Then There Were None and the name it was published with in Britain. Which means that the American publishers of 1939 had more sense than the legislature of South Carolina.

Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?.

There are actual gardens at Old Westbury Gardens. Maybe I'll show ya'll those pictures tomorrow.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Box With Pic, Part Decoupage

Last we saw our box it looked like this:

Maybe I should leave it just like this. I think it's might pretty. But no, I have an idea in my head. My head, where I keep stuff no one should be a party to. Also where I keep box ideas that include decoupage. I like to decoupage with napkins. You can get really nice napkins with great designs on them. Here's a pack of napkins I purchased just because I loved the design.

Truth be told, I chose the colors to paint the box based on these napkins. Of course you can't see the real colors of the napkins because I took this picture in my dark, not well lit bedroom. A heads up-- a took many of the next pics in my dark, not well lit bedroom. Dark, not well lit bedrooms are great if you are old and fat and like to have sex but don't want to see all that old fat. Not so good for blog pictures. Just saying. . .

In order to get your decoupaged box not too wrinkled, you need to separate the layers like so

And then you have to decide exactly how it is you want to lay your decoupage on your box. Since I liked the paint job so much, I decided to let it show and placed the peeled napkins accordingly.

You can buy decoupage glue and spend far too much money or you can go to the 99 cent store and buy Elmer's glue and water it down. I like it a little thicker than half water, half glue. Put the glue on the box, lay the napkin on the glue and then use the sponge brush to gingerly brush more diluted glue over the top.

You can remove the excess paper after the glue dries slightly. It'll be easy to carefully tear off then. Painting diluted Elmer's over the paper will give it a nice finish, but I like my boxes extra glossy. So I spray painted gloss over the entire box.

The last step was taken because I just did not like all that extra paper hanging out over the edges of the box. To fix this I took a file to them. That worked fine.

The box is now decoupaged. P.S., the picture below is terrible but I don't feel like taking another. Really, the box is not as spotty and dirty as it appears. Or maybe it is but I'm not seeing it in real life because I don't want to. Whatever. Next is embellishment which may take a while and will most likely hurt me. A lot.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Another Box This Time With Pics, Part Paint

The last time I made a box, I neglected to say how I made the box. I got a complaint about that, confirming that at least one person has read at least one entry (Hi, Tracey!). So here is another box with all the steps included.

First step, find a box. Here's the one I found. Is it a box? It is made out of wood and you can put things in it. I'm calling it a box and to hell with what anybody else thinks.

What am I going to do with this box? Hmmmmm, what to do, what to do. . .?  What I do is stare at it for a few moments. Form an idea of what I want the finished product to look like and then try to get reality to conform to what is inside my head. This rarely works out well for me. Reality has a way of not caring at all about what I think. Still, I try. 

We are going to paint, decoupage and embellish. Second step: paint.

These are the colors I am using: Too much damned white, spinach, poop and brown mustard. The actual names on the tubes of paint are: White, sap green, burnt sienna and raw sienna. The reason why there is so much white is that I wanted to mix the tube of paint up, in case it separated. Since there is something seriously wrong with me, I did not close the tube of paint correctly and squirted a whole lot of white paint all over.

Blend these paints on the box like so:

 I used 4 sponge brushes, one for white, one for green, one for the two siennas one for blending it all together. Voila! Painted box.

80's romance girl cried over Baby Jessica

Friday, June 19, 2015

How 'Bout A Bunch of Videos of People Acting A Fool In The News?

The very first assholes I remember seeing on the news were Bubb Rubb and Lil Sis. Because we all need to our whistles to go Woo Woo!

And then there was Antoine Dodson, who later became a gay rights unactivist, and his sister extolling us all to hide our kids, our wives and our husbands because they're raping everybody up in here. I have the song on my iPod.

Then there was Miss Brown who rightly theorized that, when it comes to house fires, ain't nobody got time for that.

There is far too much color in these clips. We need to lighten things up a bit. Here is someone super white.

Here's George who, like Miss Brown, speaks truth to camera-- Reality hits you hard.

This has got to be the dudest interview ever.

No, wait, this gotta be the dudest interview ever.

And finally do not forget to strut that ass.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

This Is Not A Drug Den

I need a new mini-torch. Sure, I can continue to steal my son's when he isn't looking but I really need one of my own-- that crack's not gonna cook itself! Which is what I'm sure any cop who walks into my house would think if he saw all the discarded carcasses of dead mini-torches. Also, my son's torch is a real crack pipe torch in that you have to hold down the trigger to get the flame and I only have three hands.

Don't buy this torch:

It is a Stalwart 75-TZ6915 Hawk Self Igniting Refillable Butane Micro Torch with Ceramic Tip. I bought it because it, like me, is cheap. I may have paid about $12 for it. It was a terrible deal at half the price. I don't know what this company means when they say the word 'ceramic'. It must be some new kind of ceramic that is made of plastic. The first time I used it, the tip melted. Sure, I was torching up a storm but, if there's one thing I know about torches is that the goddamned tip should not melt.

This next torch worked well for two whole years and it was a pretty blue, see?

This Blazer Stingray Butane Torch cost $35 at the time I purchased it, but I had a gift card, so my cheap ass only paid $12 for it. Last summer I tried to light the charcoal chimney with it, as I had done countless times before, and it wouldn't light. It has butane in it, it clicks like it's gonna light. It just doesn't light. I'm sure there's a torch engineer out there who could figure out why the fucker won't light anymore but he ain't me.

Once I fire up all that crack I have to put it in something. How about poly bags. I've got over 1000 of them in different sizes. They are good for crack and weed and earrings and rings. Sure I mostly use it for jewelry but when the DEA raids this joint, they will call it drug paraphernalia.

As I am sure they will call my spice grinder. I have two of them. One that looks pretty but doesn't grind shit:

And my workhorse grinder that is especially good for herbs and big seedy things like cardamom and dried things like chili peppers.

It wasn't until after I purchased this that two people saw it in my kitchen and asked if I smoke a lot of weed. What does smoking weed have to do with making Grains of Paradise Pepper?

In conclusion, please don't bust down my door and shoot my cats, DEA. I have a reasonable explanation for everything.

P.S. this is my third hand:

80's romance girl is listening to Wham! and is unaware of George Michael's sexuality.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Ring Finished

Didn't need to sneak my son's torch as it was sitting on the dining room table all ready for the taking. So I took it. And blasted the proto-ring.

Next I dunked it in water. That's annealing. Heating and then quenching. Makes the metal malleable once again.

See all that pretty color? I like it. Off it comes!

It came off because I knew there was much more filing and sanding down to be done, which will remove the color unevenly. Also, more annealing may be necessary. Once you get passed the pretty rainbow, heating copper turns it an ugly old-penny brown.

Is it soft enough to bend around a mandrel? Just barely.

Had to anneal some more and use the mallet because it kept wanting to make corners instead of rounds. Does that make sense? It does in my head.

All that pounding for rounding did a few things. It smoothed out all of the fluting and most of the scalloping. It also made the ring all pointy and hurty again.

There was way more Dremel and hand filing action which I will not show boring pictures of since I didn't take boring pictures of more boring sanding and filing. Also no pictures of the ring getting re-painted with fire and quenched again. I do not find fire and quenching boring at all. But my camera did and showed its boredom by running down the batteries and not telling me about it. It let me click away all the while it was totally shut down. It even made clicky noises when I took shots, just to fool me. It's an Olympus camera and we all know what assholes those guys up there can be.

Here's a picture of the ring after its final quenching. All finished except for the sealing. You have to seal it or, just as easily as I rubbed off the color three steps ago, the color will rub off with wearing. I use spray clear coat or lacquer.

Here the ring is ready for spraying:

I am 70% unsatisfied. The good: it is the right size and the color is good. The bad: there is no fluting or scalloping. The ring did not turn out like I saw in my head. I will revisit the copper cuff ring and I will get the design I want. One day.