Rain, Art, and a Witch or Two

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Yuck.

Today was the first rains of the rainy season, winter is well and truly on us.  I slogged over to my cafe and was busy staring blankly into space when my reverie was interrupted by the Lady next to me complaining to her friend about Californians who complain about the weather.  I understand a double complaint is sort of like a double negative, but that’s what was going on; I’m just reporting the indignation.

I considered her points (she had several of them.  I can’t remember what they were, but there were lots of them) as she nattered on, and, being a fair minded fellow, I decided “Fuck you bitch.”  I know we live in a dessert and should be grateful for every drop that falls and the weather here is constantly beautiful, but if I want to complain, I will.  I just won’t do it here in this post.  For once.

Instead, let us turn our attention to a very amusing and charming artist I stumbled upon.  He is, of course, Japanese.  His name is Kensuke Koike.  This is one of my favorite of his many little video compositions,  bowling

Sorry, I can’t figure out how to paste in a link to Instagram that includes some kind of thumbnail.  I find Instagram uncooperative in general.  But I like Koike’s work, it’s visually witty.  This is his website

Lastly, for no reason I can think of, I am reminded of a recurring drama I would have with visitors during my time in New Orleans.  Guests would blow into town and often demand to go see the tomb of a famous voodoo priestess/witch named Marie Laveau.  Laveau was a historical person and like most of those in New Orleans, her story is murky, but her status as a souvenir icon is absolutely sterling.  Part of the murky story is that the tomb referred to as hers and which everyone visits is generally discounted by the cemetery historians (because New Orleans has them) as housing the remains of somebody else entirely.  Not that that ever stops tourists from dropping by there.  They apparently leave chicken bones as some kind of offering.  Since Mme. Laveau is not in residence, one wonders what kind of luck they have with that.  Also, is leaving the trash from your lunch at Popeye’s ever a good offering for anything?

So, people would want to see the tomb and I would resolutely refuse.  My logic was twofold: either it was a fake, in which case why would they want to traipse all the way over to the cemeteries to see a fraud?  Or else it wasn’t fake, in which case what the fuck are you doing fucking around with a real witch’s grave?  Moron.

Genuine naked guys,

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Grab a cold one.

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You know how fond I am of short muscley mens.

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Smack that and see if it jiggles.  Report back.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

11 responses »

  1. Speaking of witches you might find this amusing.

    Toil & Trouble
    by Augusten Burroughs

    From the number one New York Times bestselling author comes another stunning memoir that is tender, touching…and just a little spooky.

    “Here’s a partial list of things I don’t believe in: God. The Devil. Heaven. Hell. Bigfoot. Ancient Aliens. Past lives. Life after death. Vampires. Zombies. Reiki. Homeopathy. Rolfing. Reflexology. Note that ‘witches’ and ‘witchcraft’ are absent from this list. The thing is, I wouldn’t believe in them, and I would privately ridicule any idiot who did, except for one thing: I am a witch.”

    For as long as Augusten Burroughs could remember, he knew things he shouldn’t have known. He manifested things that shouldn’t have come to pass. And he told exactly no one about this, save one person: his mother. His mother reassured him that it was all perfectly normal, that he was descended from a long line of witches, going back to the days of the early American colonies. And that this family tree was filled with witches. It was a bond that he and his mother shared–until the day she left him in the care of her psychiatrist to be raised in his family (but that’s a whole other story). After that, Augusten was on his own. On his own to navigate the world of this tricky power; on his own to either use or misuse this gift.

    From the hilarious to the terrifying, Toil & Trouble is a chronicle of one man’s journey to understand himself, to reconcile the powers he can wield with things with which he is helpless. There are very few things that are coincidences, as you will learn in Toil & Trouble. Ghosts are real, trees can want to kill you, beavers are the spawn of Satan, houses are alive, and in the end, love is the most powerful magic of all. (less)

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  2. Of course one can complain about the weather, especially inconvenient weather. The lady has obviously never been through a blizzard. Snow may be pretty, but I’m sure the lady would complain about the weather if she had snow up to her butt.

    Speaking of butts, nice butt chops on your last model. I need to visit my local witch to see if she can conjure that up for me.

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      • Go ahead. It’s perfect for describing such situations as heavy rain at an outdoor concert. However, it might not be strong enough to describe, say, the weather in Roland Emmerlich movies or “Sharknado 12″…;)

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    • I had a friend who, as a member of Save Our Cemeteries (not a joke, a real, highly respected organization,) led tours of St. Louis No. 1 cemetery, the oldest one in New Orleans. He said the experts (New Orleans has cemetery experts cause, you know, New Orleans) did indeed agree on where she was laid to rest. He offered several times to show me the grave. I declined.

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