WELCOME TO HOLA! — HOMINID OVERVIEW OF LOST ARTS

The horrors of the late 21st century were — as we all know — at the root of the collapse of hominids as Earth’s dominant species. It is a cautionary tale for every species — two, four, six, or eight-legged.

Insults to Earth had accumulated over many centuries. It would be unfair — and inaccurate — to lay the entire blame for the disaster on earth’s twenty-first century humans. Nonetheless, it is equally impossible to excuse their failure to take measures that could have short-circuited the holocaust. To this day, their silence in the face of their demise is impenetrable to us, the remaining species of our planet.

what the frackThe final breach of the planet’s integrity was the corporate sponsorship of “fracking.” Cracking the earth’s core caused major instability everywhere it was practiced. History tells of the violent earthquakes which destroyed entire regions. The loss of North America’s West Coast and the formation of the Kansas seacoast are permanent reminders.

One of our most popular exhibits is a virtual trip through the submerged cities of San Francisco and Los Angeles. If you are interested in this tour, please sign up at the Activities desk in the lobby. Participation is by appointment only.

The birth of active and highly destructive volcanoes was another direct result of fracking. Newly born volcanoes burst from the ground in regions like New England and the Midwest. The desolation of cities and farmland, the concomitant poisoning of aquifers, wholesale elimination of other species, the demise of bees and other pollinators resulted in global defoliation and total crop failure.

Most noteworthy, the loss of the life-giving Amazon rain forests made it impossible for humankind to make a comeback as a species. I know there are those among you — especially our canine citizens — who mourn the loss of humans. We share your pain. We believe other cross-species relationships will fill that gap. Apes, monkeys, elephants and other creatures stand ready to help you through this difficult time.

Some progress has been achieved by reinventing tennis balls. Please note the big green ball bins located throughout this building. You are free to grab as many balls as you can carry in your jaws and are welcome keep them as souvenirs on your departure.

Despite the evidence before their eyes, human beings remained absorbed by their petty concerns. Hooked to devices and mobile gadgets, they ignored the world around them until the world was no longer there.

These artifacts from the peak of human inventiveness are a poignant reminder of what can happen to a dominant civilization. The banning of electronic communication (2074 and afterward) was insufficient to restore human culture. Even the replacement of internal combustion engines with vehicles powered by sun, wind –and in the case of dirigibles, hot air — were not nearly enough.

Too little, too late. How sad the community of nations failed to act in coördination until the glaciers had already eliminated so much that can never be restored.

We at the Hominid Overview of Lost Arts (HOLA) work to uncover remnants of human civilization wherever it lies buried. Whether under the glacial plains of Europe and North America or in the rubble pits of the Indian Subcontinent, our army of archeologists is ever-busy. Someday, we hope to understand the entirety of the calamity.

Welcome to our exhibit. Please remove your shoes at the door. Our rugs are soft and comfortable. Sound boosting equipment is available free from the Courtesy Desk.

Please remember your company manners. Rude, annoying, loud, or obnoxious individuals will be forcibly ejected without warning.

Thank you, and welcome to HOLA!


From the Collection of the Artist – A hundred years from now, a major museum is running an exhibition on life and culture as it was during our current historical period. You’re asked to write an introduction for the show’s brochure. What will it say?

I HAVE A HAMMER, I HAVE A BELL, I HAVE A SONG TO SING

If I had a hammer … I’d fix the broken pickets on my front gate and hang a few new pictures. I’d definitely be a folk singer. A photographer and a writer, too.

I’d have a tambourine. Shake, shake, shake it. I’d care for my own plumbing. I’d be me. But I’d have a hammer.

I never wanted to be anything or anyone else. Sometimes, my lack of ambition makes me sad. I should have wanted something more, an upgraded me. A healthier, wealthier, wiser me. Closer to perfect.

Too late. I’m version 1.0. Next revision date scheduled for …


If I Had a Hammer: The Daily Prompt

TEN REASONS I DON’T COMMENT ON YOUR BLOG

Recently, I’ve had to be away from the computer more than usual. Winter is over. Stuff needs doing and frankly, I’ve got a bad case of cabin fever. Thus my email, the daily deluge of notifications, comments, advertising, and occasionally actual messages from friends, doth overflow. To the point of finding it necessary to delete a lot of notifications from fellow bloggers of new posts.

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It was hard for me to do it. I’m compulsive about reading and commenting, or at the least “Liking” the blogs I follow. It went against the grain to delete so many notifications.

I tried to catch up with myself, but kept falling farther behind until I had no choice. Unless I’m going to spend all day everyday in front of the computer, I can’t handle the traffic.

72-Computer-in-use_01It got me thinking about why I comment on some blogs and not others. Following are the top ten reasons I don’t comment on your blog:

1) You get dozens of comments and put the oldest ones on top. If I have to scroll past two dozen comments before I can comment, you don’t need me.

2) You’re a photographer. I’m a photographer. I feel comfortable pointing out I can love your pictures, but not have anything to say about them.

3) I liked your post, but I’m late to the dance. Everyone has already said it. If I have nothing to add, I’m won’t comment. If you allow “Likes,” I’ll leave one.

4) I hated your post, but I like you. If I have nothing nice to say, I won’t say anything. I try not to be over-critical because it is in my nature to be over-critical. I consider it a character flaw.

5) If you post one picture per post 12 times a day, consider two posts with six pictures each. It’s not personal. I get buried by notifications, and comments. I follow as many blogs as I can, but if you post that often, you become spam.

6) If I’ve been following you for months and you never visit my site, I’ll stop following you. Eventually. It’s insulting. I don’t expect you to read every word I write, but if you never visit, you are going to lose me.

7) You write about one topic. Only one. All the time. It is your passion, but there are other things which matter to me. I can’t read on the same subject every day, even if I agree.

8) You’ve got a problem. Your blog is where you let your feelings be known. First, I will be sympathetic. Then I’ll try to help. Eventually, I’ll give up. You are free to complain. I’m free to not listen. At some point, you have to move on. See number 7.

9) You’ve had a “sense-of-humorectomy.” You used to be funny, but now you’re an angry ranter. I have a limited capacity for rage. Even my own. I get mad, but I get over it. After I stop being angry, I find my drama funny. If you can’t get past your rage, I’ll get over you. Sorry.

10) More than half your posts are reblogs. I follow you because I like you. We all reblog some stuff but if that’s your primary material, you won’t hear from me.

I love comments and dialogue, but I think it’s a mistake to demand comments from every visitor. Personally, I think we should take our “Likes” and be grateful. It means people are reading and visiting. I don’t expect everyone to comment on everything, though I appreciate an occasional word so I know someone is there.

Now you know. In case you were wondering.

I’VE GOT NOTHING AGAINST GOD

Some of us don’t have a news service per se running on our device, computer, tablet, telephone, whatever. I am one of those people. It took a long time for me to me to untether from the constant background chatter of news and breathless headlines. Especially difficult having a husband who was one of those guys who stood in front of the camera announcing the latest calamity, crises, act of God, murder-du-jour, scandal, whatever.

He too has largely detached from the constant barrage of what passes for news in 2015. Instead of rejecting all news, he has redefined it. Baseball is news. Movies, books, plays, and television shows are news. The rest is noise. When elections roll around, we begin to follow the political news. And we vote. Even in local elections.

Otherwise, news is one more way the world raises our blood pressure and ruins a good night’s sleep.

But wait! I pop in and out of Facebook, so that is my news. So in the spirit of the prompt of the day, here’s the third headline from my Facebook feed:

got nothing against God

I don’t think I have much to add to the sentiment. I didn’t post it myself, so don’t go weird on me. You asked, I delivered.

Take it for what it’s worth. Ponder it. Consider the underlying meaning. Whether or not it fits your idea of reality, your relationship with the religious element in the politics of the region in which you live.

Get back to me on that. My work here is finished.


Ripped from the Headlines

Click to whatever website you visit most frequently to get news. Find the third headline on the page. Make sure that headline is in your post.

DANGEROUS UMBRELLAS AND NATHAN’S HOT DOGS

Once upon a time, my father had a business partner. I don’t remember his name, but he was a big, bluff Russian who used to come over the house and make gallons of cabbage soup. He must have thought there were a lot more of us than there were, because my mother couldn’t figure out how to store so much soup, even though we had a full size standing deep freezer in the basement and a huge fridge in the kitchen.

He and my father would go into the kitchen and produce these gallons of soup and laugh a lot. We all had to eat it for weeks until we were sure we were turning into little cabbages.

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Bob (or whatever his name was) was accident prone and an enthusiastic teller of stories, most of them about his own misadventures.

“So I was at the beach, at Coney Island” he says, almost shouting because he never said anything except very loud. “Very sunny. Blue sky. A nice day to take my mother to the beach, let her relax in the sun by the water. She is just settling down with her chair. And she asks me if I’ll set up the umbrella for her. I mean, she didn’t have to ask. I always do it, but she always asks anyway, like if she doesn’t ask I won’t do it. I took her to Coney Island, what did she think, I’m going to leave her to cook in the sun?”

We all nodded dutifully. Because he was my father’s partner and we were kids, so what else was there to do?

“It’s a big umbrella. With stripes. Red and yellow. I got it myself, on sale. Umbrellas are expensive and this was a good sturdy one and I paid bupkas for it. If you ever need an umbrella …” and he paused to remember what he was going to say. “Anyway, this was one of the good ones, with a heavy pole so it would stay put.”

We nodded some more. Our job. To nod. Look very interested.

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“I opened the umbrella and had to find the right place to put it because, you know, if it’s in the wrong place, the shade isn’t going to be where you want it. So I walked around a bit until I found just the right place. Then I took the pole and a jammed it into the sand as hard as I could and it went pretty deep. Seemed good and solid.”

We were still nodding. I must have been — maybe 10? — and had been taught to be polite, no matter what, to grown-ups. We did not call adults by their first name. I think my teeth would have cracked if I had tried or my tongue would have stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“What with everything looking okay and my mother settling down in her chair with a book, she looked happy. So I figured it would be a good time to get something to eat and I told her I would go get us some hot dogs — and something to drink. She said that was good, tell them to leave the mustard off because — she’s always reminding me but I know, I know — she doesn’t like mustard.

“I walked all the way over to Nathan’s — pretty long walk, all the way at the end of the boardwalk — because they have the best hot dogs” at which I was nodding with enthusiasm because Nathan’s does have the best hot dogs, “And fries. I got five, two for her — no mustard — and three for me. I was hungry,” and he paused to pat his substantial belly, “I started walking back. I could see where to go — I could see our striped umbrella all the way from the boardwalk.”

Nod, nod, nod.Nathans at Coney Island

“The weather suddenly began to change.  Suddenly. Big clouds coming in from the ocean. And getting windy. This was all happening fast while I was out getting the dogs. Funny how weather changes so fast at the beach, you know? So now, I’m almost there when up comes a big puff of wind. That umbrella pulls right out of the sand and flies at me. Whacks me over the head. Boom. I thought my head was gonna come off.

“I dropped the food and fell over. Like a rock I fell and just lay there. My whole brain was like scrambled eggs. They had to come and take me to the hospital. I was completely compost for TWO DAYS! Two days! Compost!”

Be careful of flying umbrellas at the beach. They will turn you into compost. That’s not good, especially when your hands are full of hot dogs.

GUILTY OF SUNGLASSES

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When the snow melts after a long winter, all kinds of stuff shows up. Dog toys and the flower pots I meant to throw away but didn’t get to it before the first blizzard. A hat and a single glove. The other snow shovel and a missing broom. It also signaled the reappearance of our 2002 yellow Pontiac Sunbird that disappeared at the end of January.

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After all the aggravation and expense of replacing my missing sunglasses, they were in the glove compartment of the yellow car. Garry said he thought they were in the car. I was so utterly convinced I’d looked for (and not found) them before the first blizzard, I bought a new pair.

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During the past ten days, it has often rained. The snow finally melted allowing Garry to get into the car to look around. And, there were my sunglasses. The beloved sunglasses I’ve had forever, or nearly forever.

My favorite sunglasses were in the glove box the whole time.

yellow car emerging from snow

Now, I own two pairs of sunglasses. I know it’s okay to own two pair of prescription eyeglasses. I have two pair of computer glasses, two pair of regular distance glasses. I don’t think they are a luxury.

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I have two pair of prescription sunglasses, and I feel like a criminal. Guilty about spending the money, as if I’d bought a frivolous, expensive item I don’t need.

I’ve been poor too long.

THE OLD SWITCHEROO

So today’s prompt asks “If you could switch blogs with any blogger for a week, with whom would you switch and why?” Unless I get airfare and a vacation to go with it, the answer is, I wouldn’t switch because I can’t see any reason why I’d want to. Or why anyone would want to.

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These days, I don’t find my own skin particularly comfortable or well-fitting. I have no interest in slipping into someone else’s — unless there’s some other payoff. Like a trip to Switzerland, India or Colorado.

I’m having a “Huh?” moment. Why would anyone want to swap blogs? I might want to swap lives for a short time just to see how it felt to live in their universe.

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But switch blogs? Blogs aren’t us, just stuff we post on the Internet.

Maybe I’m just dense today. I’ll have some more coffee. See if it clears the cobwebs. So many silly questions, so little time.