Dead? Nah, it’s just early March in Central Ohio.
Early March in Ohio is about the same as late February. It’s cold. It’s windy. There is at least one form of precipitation happening at any given time. The season of Snowbooger Grey lingers on. Sometimes it lingers on until May.
So I figure I’ll go back to some of my favorite art (yes, photography is an art) and dig into some postmortem scans. I don’t know why I find 100 + year old pictures of dead people fascinating, except maybe to underscore that death is a constant and to remember that one’s time above ground is short, unless of course, you’re at the BMV.
“Lifetone” Embalming Fluid- for keeping stiffs fresher longer!
Someday, if I am ever free to determine my own décor, without having to worry about things getting ruined, broken or permeated with cigarette stink and dust, I would furnish my entire house in bizarre ephemera and trinkets that have a macabre twist- like the kinds of stuff featured on the show Oddities. The only problem with that (other than Jerry is as messy and destructive as a horde of hogs, so valuables have to be kept out of his reach) is that stuff is generally expensive if you don’t procure it in strange places like yard sales and flea markets and such.
I probably should go with Jerry more often when he goes to estate sales and yard sales and auctions but I really don’t have the attention span. I’m looking for completely different stuff than he is. He generally looks for redneck crap (lawn mowers, tools, beer-related ephemera, camping and fishing stuff, and occasionally firearms) to resell, while I look for the cool antique conversational items that are a bit harder to find.
For a generation of people who were prone to maudlin sentiment, I find it interesting that some Victorian era greeting cards were just plain emotionless. Maybe it’s like today, where you save the formal cards for obscure relatives and business connections with whom you wish to remain cordial, but not necessarily friendly.
Translation: I like you less than Neal Schon, but more than the Quaker Oat Box Guy.
The nice thing about this card is that I could pretty much say that about anyone who hasn’t gone out of his or her way to piss me off. I could design my own Victorian cards.
This is nice and neutral, but it begs the question:
Upon which list do you appear?
I’ve never really been the greeting card type. I like cards if they’re funny, and if they are relevant to the one getting the card. I don’t do maudlin sentiment well though, and I tend to be a bit of a wise ass if given the opportunity.
If they can walk on two legs, then they can carry AR15s. Just sayin’.
It’s bad that I’m this bored. However, it’s good that I am entertaining myself in a quasi-constructive way. The guys I work with really don’t like it when I put their faces on fat bikers, hippos, or even bimbos with really big boobs in bikinis. The bad thing is with the rise of both the easily concealed digital camera and WalMart, there is no end to just plain awful pics.
Some fashion statements are better left unsaid.
Tonight I have to drop Jezebel off to be spayed and declawed. I am always somewhat ambivalent about declawing cats, but Jezebel has a rather destructive habit of scratching on the door frames instead of the scratching post (F.B. also has claws, but she’s older, very sedate, lets me clip her claws, and actually uses the post.) Jezebel also gets caught in the curtains and on the furniture, and even though she will take medication without going spaz, she will not allow me to clip her claws. Isabel was a curtain climber when she was little as well as she had a rather disturbing habit of climbing people so she could ride around on your shoulder. Fanny almost destroyed one end of a chair arm, and almost gave me a really nasty cat bite when I tried to trim her claws, before she was old enough to be declawed. Cat bites are serious business. The only thing worse than being bitten by a house cat is being bitten by an AIDS or hepatitis infected human. Cats have bacteria in their saliva that can literally infect your blood and eat your flesh.
Jezebel won’t be contributing to the feral cat overpopulation issue.
Some cats can learn to use the post and/or deal with having their claws clipped. I have had a few cats who I didn’t need to declaw, and I don’t do it capriciously, because I know it’s not a fun surgery. But if a cat is strictly indoors, and it’s an issue of declawing vs. the cat being homeless, I’ll go with declawing. I know. Mean cat mom, I know, but it would be more cruel for Jerry to catch her going to town on a door frame and drop kick her across the house. When he’s five sheets to the wind I wouldn’t put anything past his drunk ass. The plus side to declawing, if there is one, is that our vet is a very good surgeon and she has always done a fantastic job on declaws. I still hate doing it.
Creepy. Not a good retouch job on the eyes at all.
Of course, I don’t even care for open casket funerals. The idea of old-hen relatives of the deceased filing by the coffin and making commentary is rather distasteful to me. I still remember my relatives’ commentary when Aunt Ellen died. “Doesn’t Ellen look lovely?”
Ellen did NOT look lovely. She looked pretty damned dead. She was so orange she looked like she passed out at the Oompa Loompa Prom. And she had to be dead to be wearing all that day-glo orange lipstick. She was a Pentecostal, which means she wasn’t allowed to wear makeup, but she did have to wear dresses when in public.
When I die, I hope Steve-o honors my wishes and has me cremated, but he has the same sick sense of humor I do. He will probably have me taxidermied and use me for a coffee table.
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