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,