For Mr. Peenee

 Wow that last post, huh?  What a trip!  You probably think my ass was high.  Nope.  I'm going to get right on that, though.  

Kleek heer to heer da plangent tones ob Babymaaaaaaaaaaan:

babyman "High like a fly" - YouTube

   

OK.  Here's what happened. I had a post in mind, and to me at that time it seemed only moderately scary and like something I could treat lightly.  So I went on a search around the Internet for my ex-husband's picture, found a recent one, and scared the living shit out of myself over the period of a day.

My ex-husband was not a wonderful guy. He did crimes. He did bad crimes.  Thing was, the guy was all charm. He had everybody snowed.  

Plus, he looked like Troye Sivan:

No, I do not exaggerate.    

...and between the charm and the angelic features nobody believed that he could possibly be guilty of anything.  

He was.  

He was guilty of a lot of things in fact.  One of those things was attempted murder. Of me.  Which sucked.

I ended up in the emergency room.  By the time they found me a bed in a womens' shelter, the police had already questioned my ex-husband once; and they were still on his trail when his mommy snuck him out of the country. While he was on a bicycle tour of Europe, then, I was back in Seattle with no money, a newborn baby on my hip, moving through a succession of battered womens shelters until I found a studio apartment that accepted AFDC tenants.  Every now and then over the next year I'd get a visit from the police asking me if I was ab-so-lute-ly certain-sure, really-fo-feely sure, now, that I wasn't just hiding him. *

Why all the police interest?  

You see, he was under suspicion in the Green River murders.* 

Yup.

So when I found a recent picture of him online I was taken aback.  There he was, and he not only didn't look much the worse for wear, he looked like a kindly little old gnome. 

I am, however, stoked as hell that he's 1. Sixty  and 2. Balding.

And that's what I get when I try and do a damn theme month.** 

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* Note:  He wasn't guilty of the Green River Murders.

**The last time the police visited me I told them that if I ever saw my ex-husband again I'd be the one they'd be arresting because I'd stick a pair of scissors through the little bastards throat. And I might have been really classy about it and called them ten stacks of motherfuckers and shouted and thrown shoes, and slammed the door on them and a host of other impolitic things like that. 

Hey, they quit bothering me. 

 I ask you, though. Was I hiding him. 

 

The Somewhat Wild

This picture is here only because it beats the hell out of the only other picture on this post - and I'd rather look at ICP, thanks.  OO by the way, here:  Insane Clown Posse Gathering sued after legless Juggalo crashes golf cart into man (yahoo.com)

Because stupidity this stupid should scare people.

(posted around 3: P.M.

______________________________________

(Original intro text posted around 1: P.M., 10-12-23)

(New intro plus photo posted around 10- 8- 33)

(re-posted around 6:20 P.M., 10-14 - 2023)

I have given myself a bit longer than ordinary to think this post out.  Should I transgress, or should I maintain the privacy of a certain individual?

Fuck 'im.

(posted around 2:30 P.M.)

(posted around 4:30 P.M.)   

This ain't him.

ORIGINAL TEXT

      

 

See, I thought better yet again.  Although his true-ass picture was up at 9:00 A.M. and remained that way until I deleted it and the accompanying text e.g.  5:30 P.M. this day of our Lord 10/14/23. 

Good sense prevails - if not often, yet true.

_________________________________________________________________________

(For those of you who might have seen the original post... I absolutely love that he's balding.)

(6: 5 P.M.   For those of you who want to see the original post - let it be known in the comments!)

(I stopped being able to keep track a few days ago.)

          

 

 

Welcome to October: The Mild

        

1. The Light Eater

I loved the cartoon Johnny Quest when I was young.  Of course this was a 'boys' cartoon. As soon as the theme music began playing my parents would begin urging me to go outside and play and "quit watchin' boys stuff, that ain't fa' you." Oh but let me hasten to correct your asses. It was as far as I was concerned.  

So I had to hide my tears of terror when this goddamn thing crawled across the TV screen:

This thing can go die right now. I hate this thing. No. Ack. I'm hiding. Ew.

I mean, go here and watch:   Scariest JONNY QUEST episode? #jonnyquest #animation #invisiblemonster... | TikTok

It must have been the combination of the ominous backing music and the single eyeball, or it's overall ghostly appearance, but that one episode of Johnny Quest gave me nightmares for years. I just now watched that clip play through and be damned if I didn't get the chills again.  NOT BANDIT!  NOOOOOOO!

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2. It's a jawline, Myrtle, not the Berlin Wall

I adore Kelly Osbourne. I do.  But I do not adore her makeup artist.

No no no no no no no.  No no.  Nothing creeps me out like seeing someone whose face and neck are not the same color.   It is HORRIBLE.

Why does this bother me so?

Remember when I told you that my family were caretakers of a cemetery? Because of that fact, and because my parents were themselves quite old, I've been to a metric shit-ton of funerals in my life, most of them between the ages of 6 - 12. All of them for very elderly people. And....

You fill in the blank.  I'll give you a hint. It's....

  

Now that everyone is famous for fifteen minutes you see this horrible offence on the faces of the living, and if you have a Fahrenheit 451-sized television like we do, it's always a shock. All the pores, all the blemishes, all the bad, bad decisions.  Particularly in 80's TV shows. Go check and see if I'm not right! It's like they hired makeup artists from the days of black and white to save money or something. 

Go here for more atrocities!  Or just to read my favorite title (#25)

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3. The History Chef.  

Mmmmm. Chips and Mayo!

    

History Chef has a very informative show. I've watched it for awhile - on my laptop. 

History Chef works hard for his followers. He has a pleasant voice and good content. And I was happy. Until one day I found him while doing an idle search on my Fahrenheit 451 TV. "Well my goodness! There's his sassy cheffy fanny!" I rejoiced (or words to that effect) and tuned in.

Only to discover that History Chef is a red battlefield of cracked, flaking, oozing eczema. 

I have a John Cleese T-Shirt

In musical response to a recent post by Jon, here's Robbie Neville looking freshly fucked on Top of the Pops:

You think you're the only one who can C'est la Vie honey? I can C'est La Vie with the best of them.   

 

You know what I see?  I see the love child of Marc Bolan and Peter Frampton here.  OOO, or maybe a Peter Burns 'before' picture?

"Oh my God his poor hair", I thought, upon seeing this for the first time in years. "I bet he's bald now."

 

Speaking of hair donors, remember when the young man below vvv was the sole property of Sir Elton? 

If only Mr. Vanelli had remained in this electropop-bounce groove. Let's give Mr. Vanelli another chance, shall we?

...OK in good conscience I should provide a Warning for the following:

....nah. Suffer.   

 If only this poor melody didn't have lyrics.

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OK enough of that.  If you've read this far you deserve a fucking medal a heads up about Things To Come.

 

YOU ARE WARNED     

It being October, and Halloween on it's way, I am declaring Tlacaxipehualiztli here at STEVE.

-OK maybe not that extreme. But possibly just that disturbing. 

I'll start out mild. I'll try and keep it light.

 

But don't count on it bitcheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees.

(UPDATED) S.W.A.T. Team Meatball #1!!

 Holy crap, folks, I GOT THE SQUIRREL!

This really happened just the way I'm going to tell it. 

As it turns out, hate steadies the arm. 

I can't hit the broad side of a barn and never could.  I mean, don't rob me because I'll wound you in the foot (as long as you're standing within a meter of me) and nobody wants that. But I hit this...

 

...little bastard three times, tracking him as he scampered along the fence out back.  I REALLY DID!!!

The first time I hit him he just looked at me and kept scampering. 

The second time I hit him he slowed his scamper and looked at me again.

The third time I hit him he had stopped and was sitting up. He watched me struggle with the slide, watched me take aim, and watched as the pellet floated over, hit him square in the chest, stuck in his fur for a moment and then fell out.  

UPDATE Then he scampered away.  I'll bet he was pissed.

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I read this:

Check it out. Compiled by Mary Ann Piccard. Hm?  Coincidence? American spelling perhaps?      

And it was extremely good!  Even extraordinary, given the complexity of some of these recipes.  A lot of fan-love went into this, but blessedly, not the kind of basement-dwelling fanaticism that Trekkies were known for back then.  

OK FINE then and now. 

To continue.

Because this book ranges from $50.00 to $444.00 per vintage paper copy - and let me pause here to say WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!?!???   

... I read it online at The Internet Archives. G'head, hit the link! It should go right to the book. Or maybe not if you're Jon.  Jon, I don't know what my links have against you but let's hope for the best. 

Anyway.  I plan to cook some of these recipes - and I'll post the results!!!

Hell yeah Star Trek Recipes!         

thilingan maH. taHjaj. !!!!!!!!!      

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I just posted a review on a popular book site, and spent the rest of the evening congratulation myself on how awesome it was. And yeah, it was that good.  But then I went back over my previous reviews, and....

There's books that you just shouldn't review, like say, The Old Testament.  

Which I reviewed.

Honestly what is wrong with me.

_____________________________

 I GOT THE SQUIRREL AGAIN OMG!!!

The squirrel was sitting in my potted oregano preparing to send medium flying all over Hells half acre when I eased the patio door open. The squirrel paused, sat up, and watched me rack the slide. He watched me take careful aim at his little squirrely self.  Then he decided that now was not the time to be dipshitting around with my potted plants and ambled away. 

I sent a plastic pellet lancing toward his retreating form and hit the grass a milimeter behind his little squirrely heels. Made him jump FO SHO.

Hell yeah.     

All Class All Day Long

The Biker is a surprisingly sentimental guy, particularly when you consider how he was brought up (near the Arctic Circle, ran traplines, shot moose, climbed mountains, rode along with the 81. You know, Alaskan shit.)  

An average American man living an unassuming life      

Another thing that always surprises me is how RIGHT he gets it.  I am not somebody anyone wants to try and buy for, but the Biker always nails it.

 Remember this?  He bought me this. "It looked like something you'd like," is what he said. I love this thing. I've had it since 1989!

This fantastic still from the movie 'The Day The Earth Stood Still'. Just on a whim. "You've seen the movie forty times," he shrugged.  It went right up on my bedroom wall.  I love this picture. Klaatu barada nicto!

This amazing silver rock that looks like a metal rock from a robot world.  I love this rock. I've been carrying it around for 30 years. It is the coolest rock ever.

This UTTERLY ASTOUNDING 3-D printed Spock Buddha! I cried, people! 

And then... 

...then there's this most recent gift.

"Oh damn she's trippin' now," says a horrified Internet!

           

 - NO!  HAHAHAHAHA!  Only kidding!  See the barely visible little orange dealie on the barrel? That's there to let the world know that this isn't a real gun!  This is an airsoft gun!  It shoots little plastic pellets!

...except it's not even halfway legal to own because of the level of detail.  

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I said, once I'd opened the package.

"You said you didn't like the squirrel," he said.

"Some crackhead is going to see me sneaking around in the shrubs with this thing and kill me," I exclaimed. "What the fuck. This little orange dealie is ridiculous. I could break it off with the side of my thumb. I think that's the point, in fact. This is too real looking.  I'm gonna get dead."

No talk of not using it, of course, because I really hate that squirrel.  Not enough to kill it, but definitely enough to try and hit it with a plastic pellet. 

"I'm going to spray paint this thing orange," I decided.

"Nobody's going to care," he sighed.  

"No, not if it was you, but it's me.  Sure as shit, somebody will call the cops on the old lady in the armadillo t-shirt waving around a gun, and there I'll be in an armadillo t-shirt with this thing and I'LL GET HAULED IN MAN."

Meanwhile I am forbidden to spray paint the airsoft gun. Why? Because the person who's used it nonstop since it arrived doesn't want me to 'ruin' it.

So yeah. Four out of five. 

There Are More Tears Wept Over Answered Prayers...

 Oh, Ms. Scarlet. 

Ms. Scarlet. Recent polaroid.      

You dear woman.  You made the mistake of wanting to know more about my study projects.

Oh sweetheart....

My early curiosity was sparked by my grandmother and her friends, who yarned the Summers through over jelly glasses of home-made hard cider under the apple trees, telling each other stories of the way things used to be.  I used to run at large among them, and little pitchers have big ears. I could get away with maybe two questions before I was sent off to 'Go play now', so I learned early on to keep my fat yap shut and just listen and mull it all over later.  It began my lifelong love of what's disparagingly called Microhistory - which is the history of the average person.  

All events begin at the middle, kids.

1. Leonardo Da Vinci

I have been in love with DaVinci since I was 13 and saw an exhibit of his designs when it was touring the world.  It was this one. You can turn off the sound and skip ahead to the display models. That's what lit the spark.

Enjoy this southbound view of a northbound Francesco Melzi.    

The fascination was instant, obsessive, and has lasted until this day. The proof is that in searching for the picture above, I was stalled for three days reading about all the recent breakthroughs made in the study of DaVinci and his work.  I spent ten hours in front of the screen and didn't even notice the time go by.

My DaVinci project was my first big, organized 'formal' project; and the study of his life, work and times has lead me on a wonderful tour through the most surprising byways. Everything from flood control to controlling decomposition in a warm climate, from making gesso sottile to designing the world's longest bridge. Along the road I learned how to read Italian, (kinda) was introduced to the famous male prostitutes of Olde Florence...learned how to make cantarella...and you never know when those skills will come in handy. Particularly the cantarella.

This lead to

2. Albrecht Durer and the Northern Renaissance. Well, basically The Renaissance and how inspiration and learning was transmitted back and forth across Europe from the 1300's to 1519. 

And Albrecht Durer. 

Because Albrecht Durer. He breaks my heart.

3, 4, 5.   Oregon History/Portland History/Milwaukie History. 

 Sadly not a joke.     

Every word the truth. 

       

Home of the largest dogwood tree in North America, under which my ass used to get high after a hard day at school.   

...and here it is. This is a cornus nuttalii, folks. Common Dogwood. They don't get any taller than say nine feet.  But this one?  There's a two-story house at the far bottom right of this photo for scale.  We in Milwaukie were all very proud of this glorious tree. 

       

Being my home state, its principal city, and my hometown. Why?  Because my family were original pioneer settlers, and my immediate family used to be the caretakers of the Pioneer Cemetery in Milwaukie. We had the records that helped people locate the graves of their predecessors, and the people who came to our house to consult them told us many interesting stories of the lives and times of their dead, which to little grade school FirstNations was riveting stuff because I was a super weird kid. Much of that early history is history that my father's family helped make. Time and time again I come across the names of relatives, people I've met, places I knew, and the confirmations of stories my grandmother told. And it is absolutely wonderful to me. 

7. Folktales, monsters, ghosts and UFOS and how boojum tales begin and change over time.  

Slenderman is one that really caught my fancy.  I've got this fuckers' NUMBER. Mix Beetlejuice with Jack Skellington and add a whole lotta puberty with access to the internet and Slenderman is what you get. You're welcome.    

My mom got me into this shit without realizing it.  At first I was drug along in the wake of her obsession with all things supernatural, and then I was drug along in the wake of her obsession with all things...more acceptably supernatural. By which I mean Christianity.  I never told her that her angle on those things and mine were wildly divergent, of course. This isn't something that I'm obsessed with (any more) but I do follow it, and have been since the 1970's.

7. Bog Bodies and ancient preserved dead people.  

Kind of...dead, sure, but he seems content.    

I am your source for all things Tollund Man and Utzi.  I actually cried when they found that poor frozen dude, thinking of him all alone up there on the mountaintop for centuries. It still gets to me. From baby mammoths to Ancient Egypt, if it was once a living thing and is now all dried out and crunchy, or leathery and maybe slippery, or gooey, I am THERE.

7.  Old cookbooks, appliances, and kitchen design. 

It all started with the gift of one battered glass measuring cup.

Still got the fucker too.      

This, somehow, gave rise to a kind of frightening obsession with all things Vintage Cooking and Kitchens.

 I was steadily filling my house with everything from old appliances to eggbeaters back in the late 1980s, when we were selling at swap meets. Most prominently I had vintage Foley cooking utensils all displayed on my kitchen walls.  Well over sixty different objects as I recall.  Then I finished collecting the entire Foley catalogue of kitchen gadgets and interest waned. Now I'm back in black and ready to rock, and currently reading-

-The Star Trek Cooking Manual, 1978  (It's fanlore-canon!)
-A Bachelors Cupboard, Containing Crumbs Culled From The Cupboards Of the Great Unwedded
-The Cult Of The Chafing Dish
-The Fireless Cookbook, 1869
-Country Commune Cooking, 1972
-West Oakland Soul Food Cookbook, 1963
-The Web Foot Cookbook, Portland, 1885
-...and, um...five more that I just bought online. 

All at the same time.  And this works for me quite nicely. It's how I approach all my projects.

You see, most people think like this:

A flow chart. If/then, yes/no. Nice. Linear. Logical.

This is how I think:

 

A tumbleweed tornado.  Chaotic, peripatetic, eventually ends up tangled together in a solid mass and catches on fire.      

And I like my tumbleweed tornado. Everything travels along wherever it will, and it all makes unforeseen connections and ends up in fascinating places until finally it becomes a giant shitpile of learning. 

That catches on fire.

So there ya go.  I am a wild and wacky party hero.  Woo baby.

Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno bids you buon giorno.