Napoleon of The Stump

It's amazing what I find around the house. Back in the late 50's and early 60's, Marx toys put out a set of the Presidents of the United States. I remember seeing them at the Acme and there always seemed to be a president somewhere in the house.


They Might Be Giants have a song about him on "Factory Showroom"

James K. Polk

In 1844, the Democrats were split
The three nominees for the presidential candidate
Were Martin Van Buren, a former president and an abolitionist
James Buchanan, a moderate
Louis Cass, a general and expansionist
From Nashville came a dark horse riding up
He was James K. Polk, Napoleon of the Stump

Austere, severe, he held few people dear
His oratory filled his foes with fear
The factions soon agreed
He's just the man we need
To bring about victory
Fulfill our manifest destiny
And annex the land the Mexicans command
And when the vote was cast the winner was
Mister James K. Polk, Napoleon of the Stump

In four short years he met his every goal
He seized the whole southwest from Mexico
Made sure the tarriffs fell
And made the English sell the Oregon territory
He built an independent treasury
Having done all this he sought no second term
But precious few have mourned the passing of
Mister James K. Polk, our eleventh president
Young Hickory, Napoleon of the Stump

Well that's fairly obvious...

Really, Really Good Coffee

The Last Legal High
I'm not a Starbucks fan. Not in the least. I find their coffee seems to have too much of a burnt flavor for me to enjoy it. The hubby and I are coffee drinkers. We sneer at decaf. We shun Folgers. We are..coffee snobs! So bopping around the net a few years back, I came across Raven's Brew Coffee. I loved the site and the artwork. So I took the risk and ordered their namesake brew. We were hooked. Having tried most of them, I think Dead Man's Reach and Wicked Wolf were my favorites. So the other day, The Boy was rather giggly about something. He pulled me into the kitchen and in a laughing whisper, told me to look in the fridge.

He pulls a bag of coffee out and laughing, tearing goes,"Mommy, look look, the goat has three wenises!"

The Infamous Goat

Oy, I'm not ready for this!

Our little mancub who is 7, is asking "those questions". And frankly, I'm scared witless. Kids know far too much, as in bad info, so I want to be aware, ever ready. Wrong! I find myself backpedaling. What he knows so far: That we all were once carried in a birth mother. That we live inside her and rely on her to nourish us and take good care of her body during it. That some babies are "cut out" of their moms. That all kids in a family don't have to be "birth/bio children" to be someone's baby.

He handled the whole birthmother thing well. Better than me.
We've talked about gay/bi/lesbian/trans not in detail but enough to know that it's not a choice it's just who they are and that's cool. Love who you love, you know?

But when we get to the whole concept of sex? Oy, I'm so not ready. I do have a book that Marc Brown illustrated with his wife, Laurie Krasny Brown as the writer/educator. It's called What's the Big Secret? And it's a lot of fun and it's warmly presented so the "ewww" factor should be nil. If I could only get the "noirve".

Found, while cleaning..

Found an old illustration piece. Of course the piece is called "Hoppy Easter." I know, gag.
It was 1986 for frigs sake.

Meet Back-up blog!

I am creating a back up blog over here as Friendster has lost their damn minds by putting ads in THE MIDDLE OF THE BLOG!

A studio uncovered...

My darling husband got the cleaning bug. In a big way. Our back room was supposed to be my "studio". Over the years, though, it's been an erstaz library and a collection of objet d’arts and objet trouvés. Also the Mac. And old computers.
It hasn't been a studio in a long time. But here's the thing. As much as I can't wait to start slapping paint on the canvas, I'm scared. Will I still be able to paint the way I did? Or will my faboo MS cause me to shake and misguide the brush. I know I'll have to work big. That will help, as I won't have to be all "ticky ticky" over the piece. I'm curious to hear other artists' POV on this. Especially if they have a disability.

"Be Splendid"

I got a little gift in the mail from author Marc Acito. Marc wrote the raucous book How I Paid for College : A Novel of Sex, Theft, Friendship & Musical Theater. The book is a must read if you were part of the drama/music/art clubs in high school. I have my book plate proudly displayed.

Welcome to March...Here's Your F'ing Snakes

And St. Pat's stuff is coming atcha. I have some St. Patrick's day stuff in one of my albums of a vintage nature. The image I have posted here is very similar to one that was in a mass card. The mass card was being caligraphied (or is it caliged?) in the office where I used to work. (I worked for a short time as a composite artist, but spent alot of time making things for the upper brass' girlfriends.)
You need to have some backstory or you really can't appreciate the thing in total. One of the cops, whom I'll call J, was a practical joker extraordinaire. Another, D was equally as inventive. But I digress.
Mass card
n. Roman Catholic Church.
A card sent to a bereaved person or family indicating that the sender has arranged for a Mass to be said in memory of the deceased.

A captain who's mother passed away was having her viewing so one of his men had a Mass Card to be filled out with nice script. It was a St. Patrick's Mass Card So J, who always used a bit of tracing paper to do a rough to get an idea for spacing. He fills it in. He had also drawn a little balloon with the caption, "Here's your fucking snakes!" on it. So things got a little busy and J had tucked the card away, with the slip of paper still inside.
The officer comes down, sees the card, thinks it's ready to go and takes it. J and D come back from lunch, the card is missing, and it has the drawing inside. So it was a big uh-oh moment. We waited. A week later the captain who's mom passed, comes down looking for J. Of course J is waiting to be chewed out. The captain said he and his wife were going through the cards, crying and getting down all over again. Till they get to "the card". He said they laughed themselves sick and couldn't stop. His mother had a twisted sense of humour and would have appreciated it.

I have other stories like this, believe me. I really should write that book.