Psychedellic and tie dye and freedom .. wow weren’t those the key phrases of a whole generation?

People talk about how we just broke free of all the restraints and let it all hang loose. We were a generation defining ourselves, questioning everything, embracing life, wanting more …

We were also so high that we couldn’t do much more than splatter colours … thank heavens someone gave it a name and called it art.

Ever wonder how my mind works that I come up with all this stuff?? Well … I have no idea BUT if you enjoy this Blog you might be interested in Bliss/Aria’s other blogs – find out more at Intertwingled. Join us on Facebook where there is even more.» View author and full post…

I spent most of the day painting. It has been awhile.

I am not sure why I have not painted in awhile but it was nice today to be able to just turn everything off, have some quiet time and get lost in the canvas and the colours.

I had forgotten how incredibly talented my fingers are. I think I was really underappreciated in Kindergarten.

I gave a teacher an apple once. I had no idea why but I I saw one of the Brady Bunch wingnuts do it and it worked so I figured I was so far down the hole, it couldn’t hurt. I put my best Marcia Brady outfit on, straightened my hair and gave it a go.

» View author and full post…

My brother, the Biffster who looked more like Alice than any of the Brady boys, and was never one to be outdone, observed this effort on my part and decided that he should ask the grandparental units if we could have the teacher over for dinner.

I kid you not.

He asked to have a teacher over to dinner. I think he might have thought that he was incredibly endearing in his farm clothes or something and that she would be so taken with his cuteness she would immediately give him great marks.

I could have saved him a lot of trouble and told him a few things…

… like the apple got me nowhere, why waste fried chicken?    Also he was not that cute in his farm clothes, I knew, I saw him every night. AND bad marks might seem like the end of the world but believe me …

I watched The Friendly Giant when I was little. We didn’t have the internet or an evolved Disney to give us all kinds of permeations of imagination and so our giants came to us via “children’s programming” that the execs at CBS sat down and thought about and produced – hence the ‘Friendly Giant,’ his friend ‘Jerome’ the giraffe, and ‘Rusty’ the Rooster. (pic here)

We were wrapped in it.

We were the children of the prairies and anything above playing with a stick and wheel was a big deal.

He had little tiny chairs and a fireplace for us to sit in while he read us stories. Oh, and he played a recorder. Talk about heavy production numbers.

I must admit most of the action took place in our minds.

My brothers mind was off roaming the castle fighting knights and slaying dragons. I was princessing in the gardens with princes on white horses esthetically placed strtegically around me.

We were a gentle gentle generation, yet to discover Pac Man and call waiting.

And then it all went to hell in a handbasket.

Proving once again that even Friendly Giants, and Magical talking giraffes, and roosters are useless in the fight against stupidity.

Had to get down to a Government Office first thing this morning and let me just say … when that happens you have to be up, shower and shaved and perfumed and coiffed well in advance of the opening hour.  I have to say that when your government can’t figure out what time their offices open … it does not leave one with an overall sense of “she’ll be right” when it comes to …. I don’t know … matters of life and death???

» View author and full post…

I find myself wrestling with a couple of questions …. was it an individual faux pas or a group effort?? Is it that someone doesn’t know how to read, to tell time ….or maybe how to type or use the internet??? Perhaps it was an epic group fail … everyone got lost on their way to the office or they could not figure out, between the dozen of them or so, how to unlock the front door.

Maybe when a group of people work together long enough in a government office all their IQ’s are lowered to a very low and equally unresponsive quantity (or lack thereof of lack … lots of lack … thereof …).

What do you say when someone working in that office smiles at you, after you have waited outside with a mob of 230 of your newest friends on account of you are bonded by the fact you can all clearly read, tell, time, work the internet and drive …

I like nature. When you grow up on a farm with grandparental units they tend to relate all life to nature. It makes it much easier to have difficult conversations which I suppose you have to give them credit for broaching tough subjects …

» View author and full post…

It’s just a little hard to have the most important conversations of your teenages years all related to farm animal activities.

I owe my self-esteem to the fond regard my grandparents had for bovines.

Like the conversation before my wedding was all about “had I noticed that male animals have a much stronger sex drive?” I did not know how to break it to my grandmother that I had never really thought to observe the sexual appetites (or lack thereof) of dairy cows. It was doubly hard when we had regular visits from the AI guy (Artificial Insemination). Now there is a guy that held quite the title huh?? Good thing he wasn’t invited to the wedding because I only ever knew him as “the AI Guy” … might have been tense trying to intro him to the inlaws.

Anyway they also pointed out how the male of the species was often the “prettiest.” (Strange that they were not more accepting of Gays.) I was shown the roosters, the male birds, (they skipped cattle on this one) and of course peacocks.

I am completely against wearing fur.

I mean if you got it off of road kill, that is a different matter all together.

Maybe what they could do is have roadkill certification.

That is where you flag down 3 passerbys and have them certify that 300 foxes were accidentally hit by some car and are indeed dead and unsaveable and you are going to skin them and use the fur to make yourself a coat. Take lots of pictures.

Then you skin them and wave down three more passerbyers and have them certify that they saw exactly 300 skinned furs and 300 skinned bodies that the furs appeared to come from lying on the side of the road where they were accidentally hit by some car. Take lots of pictures.

Then you take them to a seamstress who makes you a fur coat and certifies the date she got the furs and that she had exactly 300 and she made them into a fur coat for you to wear. Take lots of pictures.

» View author and full post…

Then you carry all of that paperwork and the scrapbook you made from all the pictures, with you when you wear your fur coat and show them to ketchup wielding protestors before they throw the ketchup.

It is actually going into Winter here in Australia but I refuse to hand over my body clock which is still devoutly intune with Canada.

Yesterday I saw a posting about a “pet” bird. It is a bird that lives in the wild here in Australia which of course means that someone, somewhere decided they should fly it across the ocean, probably clip its wings and put it in a bird cage to spend its life … oh of course except for the times when it gets to sit on its owner shoulder for a treat. I am pretty sure bird pee their pants when that happens ( I mean if they had pants which is a distinct possibility for a “kept” bird these days.)

» View author and full post…

I know if I was a bird I would feel really honoured that I had been chosen to be company for a human being because I am pretty sure all birds hatch and look at their moms and dads and all the birds flying around them and start thinking, “ok, ya nice stuff but what I was really hoping for was a cage and a human. Who needs to fly?? Look at those cows … they are perfectly happy not flying … they have nice big truck chauffers that pick them up like a party wagon and drive them places that must be such fun …

I like going to the beach. I like being at the beach. I just don’t like coming home from the beach.

Mainly because the beach insists on coming with you and no matter how hard you try you carry the sand with you. I also don’t like how hot the sand gets and how much there is of it between you and the car when it is time to go home … with the hours that have passed between when you got there and when you leave to go home.

And the Australians all walk along like they have genetically modified feet that are not burning … it is either that or there is some ritual involved with the drinking of copious amounts of beer, carrying on like a porkchop, and salt water that will one day be in some spiritual acts of the ancient next to fire walking.

I also don’t like the way I scream when I walk back to the car or the way I run. I have become accustomed to running prettily with my avatar and it is kind of a let down to look like a complete tool in real life.

  » View author and full post…

The only comfort is that I am so completely white and run so fast (at least in my mind) that I probably appear as just a blur or white light and most people think they just had some religious experience or something.