– Cat rubbed her face in ink.
– Supermarket cashier told me my wrapping paper “is REALLY cheap!! Even though it’s not the prettiest.”
– Old lady caressed the globes of my ass while I perused the bags of cut up vegetables and then shuffled grimly away

One fine sunny day, Godzilla stopped to admire a gem of French Neoclassical architecture, the Petit Trianon at Versailles.

A sensitive, suffering soul, Godzilla was fully conscious of the vast discrepancies in wealth that allowed this beautiful structure to be built. While he contemplated the weight of history and thought about its philosophical implications, a party of picnickers arrived.

“New friends!” thought Godzilla, but as usual, his friendly overtures were woefully misunderstood.

An epic battle ensued.

For a while things looked pretty hit or miss.

Eventually, though, Godzilla prevailed.

Vive la France.

There is a rule in movies: the Good Guys like Modern Art. It is subtle, just part of the sets. The good guys have a Picasso postcard taped into their locker at school or something like that.

There’s a valid historical reason for this. The WWII era Fascist governments in Europe – Franco’s Spain, Mussolini’s Italy, and Hitler’s Germany- all cracked down on anything avant garde and in the visual arts, those governments encouraged different kinds of traditional, Neoclassical revivals. The art varied in quality- but the politics were, of course, totally horrible.

And after WWII was over, abstract and avant garde art came, more or less, to symbolize freedom.

We went to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Sunday.

In the Weasley’s ramshackle cottage:

The Cubist painting on the wall behind the action. (Of course there’s no way the Weasley family could afford a real Picasso.)

And after the Ministry of Magic goes to the bad and starts persecuting innocent people, look at the scary Fascist-Neoclassical fountain they come up with, showing their victims squashed by the block of oppression:

Fairly appropriate since the central conflict of Voldemort vs Harry basically replicates the whole Nazis vs the Allies thing.

(Sorry the pictures aren’t the best. I had to steal them off the internet since they won’t let you take cameras into movie theaters.)

Mike reports from the Plaza America Premium Outlets (at the Mexican Border):

How are conditions out there, Mike?

Well, I don’t think they could be any worse. People are parked in the aisles 5 deep hoping for someone to leave, creating instant gridlock. Mall security has put up barriers so you can’t even get from parking lot to parking lot. I should have brought an audio book- I could have finished the whole thing. I also have to pee, increasing the misery.

After about six trips to various grocery stores- including the commissary on the Navy base and two different Trader Joe’s (hunting for Tofurkey), I think we have everything and can begin cooking.

My contributions this year will be desserts. A pumpkin tiramisu and an apple tart. Also the cranberry sauce, which this year will be in the shape of a fleur de lis.

Happy T-day!

Sunday afternoon walking to Trader Joes, me and Mike were stopped by a crack head. He was early twenties with wild eyes, long stringy hair, and no shirt. He was also moderately buzzed.

“HEY MAN WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG!” He goggled at me, hairy belly bouncing.

I looked down. The only thing wrong with my leg was the ace bandage wrapped around it to support my pulled muscle.

“Shark bite,” I told him.

“NO WAY MAN! REALLY?? YOU WANT TO SEE A SHARK BITE! I GOT A SHARK BITE RIGHT HERE!”

And he showed me. He opened his belt (“Oh, God!” I shouted), unbuttoned his trousers (“No, you don’t have to show me!” I cringed), revealing white cotton bikini cut briefs with a pattern of bright red cherries (I tried to look away but couldn’t), and torn across his thigh was the scar. Huge, puckered, pink and awful. A shark bite.

And this is why we should never tell lies.