Puss On Earth

 

 

Have a wonderful holiday season. The blog returns January 2, 2007.

Meow for World Peace, Joy and Understanding. Love. Rest. See. Hear.

Spending Money in a Big City

My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, Adam, and I went on a binge today. We decided to rip out our old kitchen (Oh, how we’ve suffered) and put in customized cabinets (necessary, always) and all new appliances (most of the old ones are leaking water and oil).

The excitement is ludicrous.

First stop was a few miles south of downtown. This enormous cabinet place. They make beautiful custom cabinets for a price that is half most other places. All we had to do was get our asses there. Almost a full industrial city block of buildings sawing wood into future Trader Joe’s sundries holders, for the people.

Then, north up Alameda, through downtown, through Chinatown, up San Fernando Road to the Sears in Glendale to go appliance wild. Say what you want about Glendale---the whole city is worth the appliance department at Sears. One guy did the fridge. One woman did the washer/dryer. One fresh Armenienne did the stove, dishwasher and garbage disposal. Everyone was very friendly. And there was the big sale. Plus, we don’t have to pay anything until February of 2008. That’s a lot of free meals.

After ordering all this stuff and feeling elated with the purchases...all we got to go home with was the garbage disposal. It sits in the garage.

Walking the dog tonight and feeling the endorphins still pulsing, I heard the usual rustle at the corner near the opening of the storm drain. It was one of the friendly neighborhood raccoons who lives in the drain. He (or she) often pokes up to say hello when I’m with Louise. Raccoons, no matter how annoying, are very cute.

Lucky for Los Angeles. Lucky for the new kitchen stuff. Lucky for Louise and the raccoon.

I can’t wait to grind garbage in the bowels of my new sink.

Disney Hall--A Treat

Finally, we went to Disney Hall.

That Gehry is a true genius. The place is beautiful.

The front display pipes of the organ are at crazy angles. They look like huge cartoon tube worms.

The acoustics are so amazing that someone rustling his program from ten seats over and three rows down, sounded like he was right next to me. Spooky, really.

I have never been inside a room with this kind of sound. I loved it. Hearing such clear tones gave me that incredible brain clarity that fast, intricate music can give you. Lines you all up. You feel so smart, like you just ate two tunas.

The organ concert was Christmas and populist. At times silly and at times pretty great. I preferred the more modern, brave, dissonant pieces. A strange new introduction to Joy to the World by Craig Phillips and a funky variation on the eighteenth century French Noel by Dupre were my favorites. I really need to go back and hear a concert of Hungarian Twentieth Century composers. I love the modern Easterns.

Though not an amazing night of music, the beauty of the organ and of the concert hall---in soft wood and curving lines everywhere and the entire building---it was so worth the traffic snarl to get there. (If I had time, I would have taken the red line to Pershing Square.)

And the outside of the curvy, wavy nutty thing, way up high, has an aerial walkway between the curves. It’s like walking through a titanium cavern with occasional openings and wonderful views in the middle of Los Angeles.

I have never been in any building like this. I have never heard sounds like I heard sound inside this.

That wife-of-a-mouse-man really did something amazing. And soon---they're building an entire new downtown below it. Let's see how that turns out.

Fusion

Religions are absorbed. All the time.
They change. All the time.

Isn’t it time for a big change? One world religion? Just start paring them all down. Keep the best parts. Like a restaurant that serves the greatest foods of the world. (Mole from Mexico. Crepes from Brittany. Dumplings from China. Beer from Munich.)

Add it all up. Everyone feasts. Together. Same table situation.

Then, let it keep paring down. Keep focusing on eating the tasty things and let God creep out of the situation.

And all that is left is a bunch of people, eating. A spiritual food court.

The evolution of religious thought, heading in the following direction, is my vote:

Many fairy tales with many Gods. (Formed not long after consciousness/speech...the Cromagnon years)
Many distinct fairy tales with one God each. Each fairy tale, vain and hungry for supremacy. (Where we are right now and have been for two-thousand years)
One fairy tale with one God. (Maybe Bill Clinton can pull this off?)
One fairy tale with a diminishing God but a strong code of positive behavior. (Five-hundred years from now?)
One fairy tale with a strong code of positive behavior. (Soon after that)
A strong code of positive behavior. Worldwide. (By the year 3000)

And there we’ll be. Facing each other. As mysterious little mammals, embracing the mystery of life, taking good care of our big home, together at last as a species.

And death, well, it will be accepted as a simple end to all the good living. Sayonara.

December 12, 1974

I went to the mall today for Christmas shopping. What a rip off! I bought mommy a jeanie lamp incense burner, daddy a plaque that says “Never trust a man that doesn’t drink.” Sally a Capricorn band, and Greg a flash light. In a store called “Mexico” in town I got Wendy a blue pig, Chris an onyx frog and Nanny this clay pot. The TV specials were on tonight for x-mas.


What a rip off! Is diary code for shoplifting. I remember stealing most of the things in the store in town, Mexico. It was a gift shop filled with Mexicrap. It smelled good.
I remember by sister’s Capricorn band---it was a bracelet, leather, with the word and the goat embossed. I still have a red version of Wendy’s blue pig. Wendy and Chris were my closest friends. Chris was a year older. Wendy was two years older.
I loved the Christmas specials.

Carbon Mine

Simple Math. Seems to me the only way to go is simple math.

And complete equality.

Let’s do the Buckminster Fuller thing---and have everyone start out with the exact same amount of resources, but in this case, it’s not money, but Carbon Allowance.

This could be very interesting.

So, each child is allotted 100 carbon credits per year. For personal use.
Each adult, at eighteen, is allotted 1000 carbon credits per year. For business use.

Credits can be sold, traded, used, stored, donated, etc.

What a great market it would be!

Now, what is a carbon credit worth?

I don’t know. But taking into consideration:

1) Total carbon on earth
2) The amount of carbon fixable by a leafy, full grown tree
3) The amount of carbon used in any given action (driving, raising cattle, flying, etc.)
4) What percentage of the total carbon on earth a particular country is entitled to---again, through bargaining within a carbon market based world.
5) How quickly carbon can be fixed by other sources
6) Anything else that has to do with the lifecycle of a carbon molecule.

One can come up with what a carbon credit is worth. The trick is, the credits used per person per year both personally and professionally all added together, must not exceed the rate that carbon is returned, fixed into living things. Of course, one can increase the amount of things that can fix carbon...which could lead to more trading.

It’s just math. And though there is much chaos on earth, we have managed to manage water. So why not waste?

There’s a huge game in all this. It can be thrilling. Have a baby, plant twenty trees.
Hate driving? And flying? Sell your carbon credits to someone who likes those activities!
Corporate welfare can spring up by buying out personal carbon credits every year.

Importantly, everyone must be allotted the same amount of credits to begin with each year. Basing the credits on total population and fixable carbon rates makes it a usable system—the gold standard.

For true regulation, one must measure. And it has to be a little bit of a challenge to keep our busy monkey minds interested.

Carbon—control it. Master it. Or it will choke us to death.

War Profiteer

George W. Bush should be put in prison.

All this? And then everyone just goes home?

There is no call for his part in this? Everyone puts it on Rumsfeld? Cheney?

Where is the accountability?

December 7, 1974

Mom and dad went to a cocktail partie at 5:00. It's 10:15 now and they just came home. Mommy was sicker than a fucking dog. I think she's drunk.

TITS!

I decided, since winter is coming, that I needed to join the gym, again.

I hate the gym. They play rap music. The machines are dirty. I wonder if there is staph in the ducts.

But, the rain will come and I won't be able to do five mile walks outside. And the family-friends plan means I only have to pay nineteen bucks each month. Nothing really. One visit and a one Yoga class a month, I'm even.

But this is the thing---there's all these televisions playing videos. Now, I do recognize some of the girls---Lindsey and Jennifer. But man--they aren't kidding. It really is all about sex.

Not that I'm a prude. But like, if everyone is showing their stomach and wearing colorful dancer bras--doesn't it get a little dull?

I have to say, I've never been into soft porn. And, I'm really not into it in public. But ultimately, I guess these girls (and boys) really want to shake their shit and people really want to watch it.

Wild. I find it so dull. I would rather watch polka dancing. In fact, tonight I did. Our good friend Bradford gets high and watches Lawrence Welk. He has them all Tivoed. Friends, if you get a chance, you just have to. It's hilarious. And I wasn't even high. So joyful. And all that accordion music!

Ah. The innocence.

Rebecca Waring Sells It

Congratulations are in order for Rebecca Waring, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner-Sister-in-Law, for two big things.

One, she submitted work into a Maryland Art show and this painting won first prize in the Oil and Acrylic category.

And two---It promptly sold for One-Thousand bucks!

Isn't life sweet?

Congratulations. What a joyful day it is.

Do what you want or a reasonable version of it. There's nothing else.

Paranoid Nut

At a birthday party last night for a good friend, we had the pleasure to meet Claire. A nut.

At first I was intrigued, like I am by all nuts. She was direct. Chatty. Ready to tell me whatever was on her mind. A journalist and political commentator, at first she seemed very informed and professional.

I mentioned Ebay and Claire went off on how Ebay collects information about me and how Americans need to rise up. The government has no right to invade our privacy like that.

She then went on and on about the internet, credit cards, banks, etc. I agreed with her. But the emphatic nature of it eventually lead to Claire telling me that she truly felt we are living in a fascist state. No irony. No seeing the moderate side. She meant it. She also did not seem to be someone who was open to any reasoning since she seemed to have a hard time believing in anything other than the thoughts in her head.

At one point, making a joke about how ready I was for something new in my life, I said, “We don’t know what we are going to do next. Maybe go to Nepal?”
Claire told me why it was not a good time to go to Nepal. Above all, the weather this time of year. The commercialized cities. The bad government. I even explained to her that I was just making a joke. And she continued about the problem with Nepal. Odd duck.

She was either heavily medicated or had a mild form of autism. She told us she was a journalist, but left her latest job because she was having trouble with them. I asked her, “What is your outlet? Where can I hear you?”

She vaguely mentioned a podcast. So, I imagine she is doing her “show” or her “column” from her home. (No judgment there...)
So, I figured she was just this wacky type, like me, sending out opinions and blurbs on the internet to a small audience. But oddly, she had an intern. An assistant, who was there at the birthday mix, too. A young woman. This was her first “cocktail party.” She wasn’t drinking because she was too young. And, it appeared to me she was the driver for the night.

Such an odd relationship. This young woman hitching her wagon to this wacky, older loon. The assistant was cute. She had a little purple hair action growing out. She seemed sort of normal. But I think the hair was the tip of some odd iceberg. I didn’t get to talk to her too much. But, she did seem disaffected by her short past. Who knows!

The interesting thing about Claire, like many nuts, is that she was very intelligent. And she did say something I found very fascinating. “You and I are nice people. We think everyone else is that way. We don’t think there is evil out there. But there is. Both families that Bush comes from, the mother’s side and the father’s side, have been involved in war profiteering since the middle of the nineteenth century.”

From the mouths of nuts---comes the truth. I like meeting these kinds of nuts.