The Visible Human

The Visible Corpse
I just watche the most fascinating documentary. I really like documentaries and cartoons. And Action movies. And Romances. And Musicals.

Wait. I'm distracted.

So. The Visible Corpse is a documentary about a Texas Death Row inmate who elected to give his body to science and it became the slides for the Visible Human, a virtual reality demo tht details every system and portion of the human body.

The docs who worked on this guy were pretty funny. Wait, that's not accurate. They weren't working on him, they were working on his frozen cadaver. First they chopped it into four 20 inch sections, then they shaved 1 mm portions and filmed each portion to create the virtual reality presentation.

Interspersed with the video of the slicing, dicing and grinding were interviews with the family of the guy who donated his body. They told about his crime, his childhood, how they felt when they learned what had happened to his corpse...they even interviewed the Death Row Chaplain who administered his last rites and helped him arrange to have his body donated. It was informative.

This morning I watched a documentary on Prison Medicine. I'll reserve comment on that because what I want to say involves euthanasia. I'll just leave it at: The Spartans weren't too far off in how they dealt with babies. But I'm no expert and I'm intolerant about some things, such as child molestation and sexual assault.

Today I'm determined to take it easy. I've been rip-roaring and moving around entirely too much lately. SO, I'm on bed rest, otherwise I'll screw myself six ways to sunday.

A friend gave me a hilarious photo of Michael Vick being chased by a pit bull...I had to post it because it makes me laugh so hard.

Hoping everyone has a Happy Wednesday!

Life is a Lemon - I Want My Money Back

Err.

I don't mean that. I'm listening to Meatloaf and that's what he's singing. If it was sung straight-out this song would be depressing, but it's not because he's rocking it so freaking hard. Grinding guitars, soaring background vocals, he's hashing and biting the lyrics...amazing really.

Today I went out shopping (pronounced chop-ping). It was fun. My sister did all my thinking for me. It's a good life when other people do your thinking for you. I realize I like having other people think about the details or sticky points in life for me. I like being on the passenger side but still going where I want, I like ending up with cute clothes but only being responsible for paying at the register, not actually deciding if they are cute. I like learning how to cook by eating good food and getting told the instructions half-a-million times so I have to brain dead not to remember. I like coming home and finding the place rearranged by someone with an eye for detail and design.

It's a great life.

Other things I have decided today: Golf is not a sport. it's not even all that aerobic an activity. But it's fun.
Horses are pretty funny.
I don't mind working. I kinda like work. But I like glamour and intelligence and humor in the workplace. My current employment is a wee bit lacking in the three important qualities. I'll improve that before I leave.
My dad is very, very, very cool.
Advertisers are uber-smart. And people generally get worn to a nub by all the lies that are put out in advertising.
I'd like to meet the people who write CSI. They are super smart and very well researched. I WISH.

that's all for now folks!

Chanel is so Punk Rock

Ah, back home. And Sleepless. I've totally thrown my tried-and-tested method for defeating jet lag out the door and now I'm suffering for my infidelities. 5 am EST and I'm wide-wide-wide awake.

At least i have plenty of interesting stuff to think about. Such as, Sam Cooke Live at the Copa, The mystery why strange men's underwear keeps showing up in my dryer and who are the guys that do the Rice Crispies character voices? Plenty on my mind.

I'm also thinking about that Pacific island where i spent the last week. it was incredibly beautiful. I'd ike to buy an island. I'd been thinking Caribbean islands, but I'm getting sold on the Pacific side of things (once again).

I'm also throwing a massive appreciation party for Label Whores and Semi-conspicous consumers. I marvelled at the savvy and daring of the Japanese tourists on the island. Oh, i just was covered up in D&G, Chanel, Gaultier, Manolo, and many offshoot indie labels. The girls staggered and stalked around in 4-inch heels, it was a real show of will, sheer determination to be taller than the other girlsin the group. The guys. Well, they were mostly cute, sometimes sexy and always dead stylish. This one girl clomped past me in some 5-inch Gucci wedges, all creme and gold, and a chanel dress and I just wanted to clap! Her manfriend trailed behind her, heavy laden with bags. Fabulous.

And I found a new label to appreciate: Christian somebody or another doing Ed Hardy Tattoo designs. Since I'm over my tattoo phase (all about the fake tattoos from here on out!) I'm pretty frothy about tattoo-inspired clothing. I've always appreciated biker fashion sensibility and Ed Hardy designs satisfy those cravings for a full-sleeve or shirt bodywork without the pain, recovery or weeks under the needle. My fave design right now is a hoodie (or tank or whatever you want) with a skull and heart and ribbon that reads "Love Kills Slowly." It's smattered with Rhinestones. Bedazzler Beware!

Finally, forget the cocktail rings or signature ladies suits - Chanel has some serious punk vibes running right now. it's that Karl Lagerfeld, i tell you, the wily german has brought black leather everything into the House that Coco Built! I've been watching the black over-the-knee stiletto for a few years (and loving every moment) but a dip into the the Chanel boutique (okay, two in two days) brought me enlightenment (cue angels singing). Chanel accessories go so well with Ed Hardy stuff. They go well with nearly anything, but I'm so inclined to start wearing a hoop in one ear, a double-c key earring in the other, wrap leather on my wrists and put on those glorious boots over some fishnets! Top it all with that Love Kills Slowly tank and a skirt held together by oversized baby nappy fasteners...would I ascend directly to heaven or would st. peter want to chat me up first?

Well, i'm feeling a bit noddish finally. Dear reader, you've probably fallen out or scratched away your corneas to get away from my blathering. Fashion is a passion!

Blue Hawaii

Ohhhhhhhhh.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Whhhhhhhhooooooaaaaaaaaaaaa.

BRAIN FREEEEEEEEEEZEEEEEE!!!!!

So, I'm slurping on a Blue Hawaii shaved ice treat. It tastes the way really good tanning oil smells, all coconut-ey and sweet and yummy. It's so cold, I keep going into brain freeze and yelling and flailing around a bit, then returning to my regularly scheduled activity of stuffing my face with ice. It's a hard life, I tell ya.

And speaking of tanning oil. I want some really expensive tanning oil. I want to be brown and glorious like the girls walking the street on the island. I keep going to stores where they sell tanning oil then I hit an existential crisis. First, the price is prohibitive ( I can be cheap about the funniest things). Then, I really hit the snag - do I REALLY need tanning oil? This is like arguing with myself over surgery, as though the problem will resolve itself somehow. Yes, i need tanning oil. I am melanin-challenged, i don't tan so much as burn into a burnt orange color that falls off revealing pink tender new skin. I need tanning oil.

But then I get all conflicted, like WHY do I need tanning oil? Do I really want to be that brown, sure it looks fantastic on everyone else, but what if I'm the exception? And what if I don't get that brown, what if it's like throwing a pat of butter on myself and basting in a broiler, faster advance of sunburn, no sexy tan. And finally, how redundant is it for a person of color to suntan? Is that not mildly hypocritical? I keep thinking of a poem, maybe by Lucille Clifton, but possibly someone else, talking about black people tanning in an effort to be more accepted and assimilated by white people in America. It always strikes me as terribly ironic and twisted and my politics get convoluted, then I get a headache, take one last sniff of the suntan oil and walk away slowly. I throw back some folorn looks as a I walk away too.

I guess I need the suntan oil. And I saw a sea turtle today. It was maybe 20 feet away from me, in the water, just doing its sea turtle thing. Mostly floating, flapping about a bit, floating some more, taking in some air, going back under water, floating, floating, floating. it was HUGE. It was beautiful and peaceful and I wished it well. It's a dangerous world out there for turtles, what with turtle soup being a cross-cultural favorite. And YES, turtle soup was the second thing I thought about after thinking "Crush!" from Finding Nemo.

G'day Mates!

Alooooohaaaa Everyone!

Live from Somewhere!!!!

(big sigh). I'm here. Somewhere. On vacation. It's perfect. It's great. I'm relieved. I'm having a good time and I'm not bleeding from anywhere I don't expect to be bleeding from.

The air is soft, so soft, it's a lover's kiss all day long. And the sun is so wonderful and warm and welcoming. I did manage to get a sunburn today, but I was outside all day long, wandering around, hitting golfballs, chirping at birds, being thoroughly silly. It was wonderful.

Now I'm back at the place where I sleep and I'm quite sleepy, but I have NEW TECHNOLOGY so I'm up anyway, burning the midnight oil trying to figure out how to get my pics off of the new camera and onto my laptop so they can be sent to other people. I broke down and bought my 3rd new digitral camera. This is major and involves me admitting I will never find the 2nd new digital camera, which was lost in the last move and will never repair the 1st new digital camera, which was my favorite, since it got heat stroke in an unnamed Caribbean island or something like that.

the new camera is fresh. My sideview mirror pic shows the new camera about 2 hours after it was purchased. it's part of the family.

I have a new obsession: Sharks. I just love Shark week on Discovery Channel. I've watched all manner of marine biologists learn to send sharks (even great whites! I've renamed them White Bellies, I'm convinced they are just misunderstood!) into catatonic states of peaceful restfulness by rubbing their snouts. I don't really care too much about the disclaimers, i want to jump in a cage out in the Pacific (it's only a few meters away at that) and start rubbing snouts. That swimming with Dolphins is for wusses, i wanna swim with sharks in the worst way.

I can't this trip, though, I'm bleeding and i think that would cancel all the goodwill my many-toothed friends might have. I'm thinking of Dory with a nosebleed in Finding Nemo here. And i don't move that fast even on a good day.

I did have a moment of chagrin with Discovery channel because they kept showing dangerous shark-interaction behavior and never showed anyone getting their bodies torn apart. They intimated it would happen, but they never came through on the promise. Well, finally late last night they showed someone - one of their hosts - getting his leg torn asunder by a 'playful' shark. It 'playfully' took a nip at his very well-developed calf (apparently sharks are like horses and donkeys, they play with their teeth and they play hard) and once Tiburon (my nickname for Sharks of note) ripped a bit of the flesh and drew blood, it was on and poppin'.

The guy, a host for some Shark documentary who was super cool even at that point, got whipped around a bit on camera (many bubbles) and described how he had to lift up his leg to get it out of Tiburon's mouth. Then, they gave me the money shot. They showed the poor guy getting carried out of the water with shreds of flesh hanging where his knee, calf and achilles tendon used to be. When I say shreds, i want the reader of this humble blog to envision strings of flesh - say something like those beaded curtains that were so popular in the 70s. Tatters of flesh. Blood everywhere.

It was amazing. I appreciated the honesty of the coverage.

Well, I don't have any juicy gossip or news to share. I'm alive and thankful of it. Gonna turn on the tv and see if any more shark week coverage exists seeing as it's late Sunday night.

Mahalo

Tell Her Tonight

Hmmmm. So it's not that Myspace hates my browsers, it's that Myspace isn't all that Mac-Compatible! Quelle horreur! Dios Mio!

Oh well. I'm preparing to take a mini-vacae. Something other than spending quality time in a hospital ward. I'm excited. In long-standing 'leaving town' tradition, I've also decided to catch up on all the projects I've been neglecting for the past few weeks.

It helps that I finally feel okay, too. I digress.

So, it's officially dark as hell outside and I've gotten motivated to draw up contracts, termination letters, pack bags, call the airport for a wheelchair (and a subsequent seat upgrade that wasn't available with my mileage, being a cripple RAWKS!), and devise staffing schedules, schedule interviews for soon-to-be hiring...the list goes on.

In my downtime I write my blog, read a couple of books, watch a little goss-oriented t.v., and cook yet another finenTasty dinner.

I know i've said it before, but whatever your shortcomings there exists technology to fix them! I can't believe my excellent luck. I just throw some meat and veggies on the infusion cooker and *voila* a meal is prepared - healthy, delicious, mildly exotic. There have been clean plates every night this week. It is tremendously gratifying. I've not even changed my poor cooking habits - I still forget the food is on and get distracted online or whatever. The difference is, the food doesn't burn to hell.

Oh, and I made this vegan ravioli florentine, tossed with a wee bit of olive oil - FABULOUS!!!!
   

In other news, I have this juicy tidbit on the saga of Bobby Womack and Sam Cooke:

It was bad enough that Bobby Womack (Sam Cooke's protege) married Cooke's widow (Barbara) three months after his death 'But' what Womack reveals in his new autobiography, "Midnight Mover," is even more disturbing. During the marriage, Womack was creeping into his stepdaughter's (Linda's) room at night and having sex with her until Barbara caught him and held a gun against his head.  She told him to get the fu** out of her house.  Womack ran to the garage, Barbara followed and shot at him, the bullet grazed his scalp.  This is the reason for their divorce in 1970.  Linda would marry Bobby's brother and she would never speak to her mother again.

Okay! If that isn't crazy, I don't know what crazy is. That's cRaZY! And, so, in honor of all that, I present more vids from Mr. Soul and something random that makes me feel good. Enjoy and eat well!



and the Original by Dylan: