Showing posts with label fiscal cliff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiscal cliff. Show all posts

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Steampunking Art

If you've read back through my stuff, you know that I have, for years now, been on the lookout for a vintage mourning locket that was my mother's.  It had been a gift to her from the wife of her father's (my grandfather's) business partner back in Hallstead, Pennsylvania.  It was a large (around two-plus inches long by over an inch wide) gold or pinchbeck (I don't know which) mourning locket with deep scrolling and a large, rectangular black stone--I believe obsidian, but maybe not, maybe onyx.  It was not jet, and it was almost certainly not glass.  I know those things.  The inside was missing the glass, and was an uneven, pale enamel blue.  The chain was incredibly muscular and substantial, a brilliantly heavy box-link chain that was obviously meant to be with the locket.  My mother gave it to me on my wedding day, and, as far as I can tell, the husband of that day stole it when we split up in Provo, Utah a year later.  It's been 28 years since I've seen that locket, and I'm still looking for it.  It means more to me than I can adequately explain.

What does that have to do with Steampunk?

Everything.

You see, I know folks who are completely taken, captivated even, by the whole steampunk thing.  And hey, that's fine, have fun, it's harmless, it's creative, and if it takes your imagination to new heights, that's wonderful.

What isn't so wonderful is how some steampunk folks have taken to snapping up vintage jewelry and tearing it to bits for their own "reimagined" art.  This destroys me, it tears ME to bits.  I can imagine someone taking that amazing, beautiful locket for which I have searched years and tearing the stone off, replacing it with some dippy beetle made out of soldered coathanger and a Heineken bottle cap or some other such thing.  And it makes me almost crazy with preemptive grief.

I've heard the cry, "It's ART!" but I disagree.  It's "art" like me breaking into the Louvre with a can of spray paint and "reimagining"  Da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks is art.  The locket itself is art.  To deface it would be vandalism.  If you want to pull apart jewelry and watches and recreate other, new, steampunk-y things, then please, please buy cheap, knock-off jewelry from Burlington Coat Factory and Walmart.  But please don't go to antique shops and vintage stores and snap up treasures for the purpose of defacing them!  If it's the "old" look you're after, it's no big deal to distress metals to make them look vintage.

Please!

And enough of that.  Been thinking about the whole "fiscal cliff" deal and how it doesn't really fix much on the sequestration front because all they did was kick the can down the road by a couple of months.  So we don't really even get to relax much.  We're just caught in the idiot waiting and worrying game again.  Or still.  Thanks, guys.

My son's Christmas card from his Aunt finally came yesterday.  Open and no money.  Yes, she actually put CASH in the card.  So now we're torn.  Do we tell her the card came opened with no cash, or do we just let it go and give him the cash out of our own pocket?  I don't know, but I can't help but feel just a tad pissed off here.  Who puts cash in a card these days?  Why would anyone do that?  My mom also sent a card, and it showed up the same day, also opened.  But she had included a check, not cash, and the check was still there.

Grrr.

Going shopping tonight.  Going to work very hard to keep it cheap AND to load up on fruits and veggies instead of crappy snacks.  It's time to rein this in before my blood sugar becomes a real issue again.

Speaking of real issues--going into week three without seeing any lice.  We're pretty sure we know who they're coming off of, and there's not really anything we can do.  It's another boy in Hapkido, really unkempt, seems mentally troubled, perhaps autistic?  Bad body odor, really greasy hair.  No, I don't believe any of those things give you lice--case in point, my kid with the clean hair and the fresh-smelling armpits.  But this boy has problems with being touched, and the only time we find lice on MY boy is after he's been paired for sparring with the boy I'm talking about.  And he is FOREVER scratching at his head.  I'm thinking he has a wowser infestation and won't let anyone in close enough to see or do anything about it.  So we'll just keep doing what we're doing--when my boy comes home, he rinses his hair, and then I thoroughly lice comb him and blow his hair out to fry the bastards.  I don't see another option that doesn't damage the studio owner (and he's a nice man) or cause that disturbed boy harm, and I'm not looking to have him thrown out or whatever.  So we lice comb.  Now that we're aware of the problem and the likely source, we should be able to stay on top of it.

And before anyone says anything about me being mean by saying I think the boy is likely autistic?  My boy stopped talking right after his first birthday.  And he stayed non-verbal for over a year.  At the same time, he began developing odd repetitive tics and took to screaming and hitting himself whenever anyone sang or whistled.  We spent years working with him to get him past the spectacular Asperger's gig he had going on.  And there are still issues, though most are so dramatically improved that the average person dealing with him doesn't notice.  So I'm not being mean, I absolutely sympathize with the boy and his parents.  So much so that I'll put up with my boy being exposed to lice up to three times a week.

And, finally?  Bad paneling!  Bad!




I really do think the lighter ones offend me the most.  Nothing like a little "blond" paneling to make my fingernails itch.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Fiscal Cliff, Indian Rape Victims, Saudi Clerics, and Mold

So here we are.  New Year's Eve eve.  The GOP house has refused to come to work until today.  Because I don't matter to them.

Really, that's what it is.  They don't give two squirts about me. 

My family stands to lose around six to seven hundred dollars a month if those idjits don't get their collective act together.  That is a devastating hit.  Like a "can't recover from that" hit.  But they're so busy politicking for their rich friends and their "corporation people" (because corporations are, after all, people, remember?) that they'll let me and mine sink rather than make those rich folks pay a bigger percentage than I do. 

Yes, that does make me hate them.  Being held hostage by bought politicians inspires that in me.

Found an amazing, astounding house in Alexandria.  If we were bought politicians or "corporation people," we could afford it without blinking.  But we're not, so it will never be anything more than a silly dream.  But it's lovely.  Here it is.   It would put hubby so close to work!  Hey, what's 3.8 million between friends, right?  Now all I need is a friend who feels the same way!

Terribly windy out, and very cold.  We're trying to save some money on the heat bill, but it's all I can do to resist cranking that furnace up.  I am ice cold, and that wind is working its way in through those windows and doors, doubled and insulated though they are.  It's just that strong a wind.

Woke up crying last night.  Can't remember the dream, though.  Had later dreams about swimming in this awful, dark pond with my ex-husband and a bunch of other Arabs.  The women had the most amazing bathing suits, but I was just in jeans and a t-shirt.  Hmm. 

Speaking of Arabs, did you hear the one about the Saudi clerics threatening to pray for awful illnesses and such if the government doesn't stop its attempt to allow women more rights?  Ew.  Just ew.  Talk about cheapening your faith and turning it into a bad joke.  I have no problem with Arabs (was married to an Arab for almost nine years), and I have no problem with Islam (or at least no more problem with it than with any other religion), but I have a problem with oppressive fanaticism regardless of the faith that spawns it. 

And speaking of oppressive fanaticism, how about those new Israeli housing settlements in Palestine?  Nice, huh?  No, no attempt to cause another blow up there, I'm sure.  They're the GOOD guys, remember?  Because, as we all know, the good guys take land, exile natives, and institute apartheid policies, and all the while they enjoy our support because--well, because they're the GOOD guys!  Duh!  Pretty sure the Bible telling us so helps with that. 

And last, but certainly not least, can India maybe, finally decide that women are worth lifting up, worth saving?  Because I gotta tell you, for a country that tries to forward itself as some sort of enlightened, technically advanced place, it sure does treat its women like dirt.  Think it might be that whole oppressive religion thing?  Maybe?  Just a little bit?  Hey, India?  Grow the heck up.

Wow.  That turned into a bit of a rant.  Wasn't intended.  I'm cold, and I want to go to Costco then go back to sleep. 

And here's some really crappy paneling with a story: 





Okay, first off, this is NOT how the room in question looks now.  But this is how it looked way back when.  See, my dad decided to create a bedroom for my sister down in our mostly unfinished basement.  Instead of painted walls, he found some truly awful paneling (which, I admit, I thought was purely beautiful when I was SEVEN) of the wallpaper veneer variety, and coupled it with the most atrocious, gawdawful bright red shag carpet.  Not just any shag carpet, this stuff came in 18 inch squares with adhesive backing.  Which he promptly stuck to the very nice clay tile floor already in place.  It was mind-numbingly awful.  Over the years, the basement flooded--not deep, devastating floods, but rather an inch here, two inches there.  Enough to really soak the stick-on shag and the wallpaper-over-pressboard paneling. Over the years, the stick-on-shag took on a horrendous smell, and the paneling began to disintegrate slowly from the bottom up.

Mold.

Yes, the fancy black stuff you hear about so much in the news.  Slowly eating its way through the paneling until the bottom six inches or so was just gone in some spots.  The carpet was so horrifying we tried to pull it up (38 years after it went in!), but years of damp and mold left it coming up in tiny, half-inch chunks with the adhesive doing what adhesive does--adhering.  Persistence only caused small shards of the original clay tile to come up, still stuck to the shag.  We wound up having to use a pavement scraper to take it all up, clay tile and all.  We wouldn't have bothered, but the MUSHROOMS growing up out of my Mom's basement floor in that room was just more than we could bear. 

I think this experience is what has given me such an aversion to bad paneling.  I don't hate ALL paneling.  Heck, I love a good example of Judge's paneling or other wainscoting.   But the cheap, comes in sheets, pre-fab, and especially wallpaper-veneered varieties?  I can smell the mold and see the ugly--they're indelibly stamped in my poor head. 


Not our mold, just a representative of the species.