Jenni's Moved

Jenni's Noodle House moved to a new location at W. Alabama and Shepherd. It still has the same food, but the atmosphere is not as eclectic as it was when it was on Hutchins, near downtown.

No flamingos, and no boas in sight. Marilyn got the Art Car Curry and I got the Lemongrass Beef Bun. Both dishes were very good, and the manager on duty was really helpful and friendly.

I thought these pictures were pretty funny. The poses the women are in are ridiculous, but I can't help myself, I like them.

I think this drawing is of a woman addicted to bun, but I could be wrong...

Yearbook Inscription

Marilyn's best friend from high school, Luellen, came over tonight and while they were perusing old yearbooks, they found an inscription that I had made in Marilyn's junior yearbook in 1987. It is as follows:

Dear FARTHEAD,

I hope your next

(and hopefully last)

year of high school

is terrific (not like

the sad, pathetic

years you've spent in

Cy-Fair, so far). I love

you very much and

hope soon you'll have

a date, or at least

something to do on

Friday nights besides

chewing your toenails.

Please try to understand,

I love you the way

you are, but that

little habit of yours

is not only unsightly,

but it's downright

unhygienic. The thought

of you with athlete's foot all

over your lips, cheeks &

gums pains me so.

I feel that it's time to

ask you for a favor - could

you please remove your

booger collection

from the bathroom wall.

I know you don't think

it's noticeable, but those

really are two different

shades of green. It's time

to close this now with

one final word of

advise from your

big sister. Never,

never, trust someone

who tells you to

kiss a cigarette lighter

in a car.

All My Love,

Wally

I don't remember writing this note - but I know I must have been laughing my ass off thinking of all of her friends seeing this huge inscription written across the front pages of her year book. Twenty years later, I still think it's pretty funny, and luckily, so does she.

Halloween

Mike and Bill's Halloween House by Finijo

For the last few years, we have gone to Bill and Mike's for trick or treating. The neighborhood is festive and all the neighbors turn out on the street for a big party with great decorations, food, and tons of candy for the kiddies.

Midnight Cowboy by Finijo

This is the first kid we saw tonight who made an impression. He had the whole block oohing and aahing and tomorrow he will likely be the talk of the neighborhood. His dad is standing behind him and his comment was, "If I could get away with just wearing a vest, I would." Good for Dad and Son - the kid has got big brass ones.

Alex and Connor Cutting Up by Finijo

Alex was a demon reaper and Connor was the demented wolf from Little Red Riding Hood. They both got lots of candy, but even better than that, they had a blast scaring the bejesus out of the little kids who passed by.

Wolf Con by Finijo

Connor crouched down and completely covered himself with his Renaissance Festival cape. When children walked closer to examine the dark lump at the end of the driveway, he burst out at them and sent several of them screaming into the street. Not really the safest way to frighten children, but definitely effective.

Alex Demon by Finijo

Alex is really growing up fast. His voice is changing and he's become more serious, but that didn't stop him from hamming it up tonight. I think his picture turned out really scary.

Snake Charmer Angel by Finijo

This darling little girl walked the neighborhood with her pet snake. While I did not touch it, I did face my fears as much as I could deal with tonight by getting pretty close to her to take the picture. As much as they freak me out, I felt sorry for the little guy being jostled all over the neighborhood as a fashion accessory for a trick or treating tween.

Hairless Bobo by Finijo

The dressed up dogs were on parade tonight. This is Bobo, the hairless rat terrier. I was told by the owner that they became a recognized breed in 2004 and that they are genetically engineered. He touted Bobo's assets as being, no shedding and no fleas, but he added, "You do have to put sunscreen on them in the summer." Hairless rat terriers also come in the miniature Bobo size (5 lbs.) and the jumbo size at a whopping 10 pounds.

Oreo by Finijo

Mike's neighbor's dog, Oreo, was pretty cute in his Halloween bandanna, and the pumpkin dog below, was just adorable. I can't remember a Halloween where more dogs were trotted out in costume.

My Favorite Gargoyle

There is a crooked little house on Dunlavy at Indiana

where the most wonderful gargoyle resides.

Connor named him Beliath years ago,

before he could pronounce Goliath, and he

sits high atop the house as a sentry against evil.

I've wanted to get out of my car
many times over the years and snap a few shots,
but never seemed to have time - until last Sunday.

Now I can mark Beliath off of my To Do List.

College Memorial Park Cemetery

College Memorial Park Cemetery Entrance by Finijo

I met Anj for lunch today in the Heights. We talked for about three hours, then she had to get back to Eric and the kids. I had my camera with me, so I went looking for an interesting place to take some pictures. While driving down W. Dallas, I ran across College Memorial Park Cemetery.

Baby by Finijo

Maybe because it was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the traffic was light both in and out of the cemetery. I was alone except for one homeless person, who scurried off as soon as he heard me enter the cemetery and one dog walker who was coming in as I was leaving. I couldn't believe that someone would let their dog use a cemetery as a toilet, but I guess green space is hard to find in the city.

Life and Death by Finijo

I thought it was strange to see a military headstone in a civilian cemetery, but then it occurred to me that it may have been a racial issue, since Memorial College Park is an African American cemetery that dates back to the late 1800's. It's somehow fitting that the tree has embraced the headstone after sharing the same ground since 1968. Richard Smith served in WWI.

Rock of Ages by Finijo

I thought the pairing of these two stones was interesting. I don't think they started out together, but now one broken stone rests on the larger, stronger stone, as if it is somehow meant to have the support.

Hand Scratched by Finijo

This headstone is so white compared to the other stones I saw, but the engraving is hand scratched into the stone, without dates or other information. It almost looks like graffiti, but there is nothing on the other side, so it must have been put there to mark Alonzo Fennell's final resting place.

Backyard Cemetery by Finijo

This house backs directly up to the cemetery. The homeowners can see the headstones from their windows, but they never put up a fence to distance themselves from the dead. They seem to be taunting the cemetery's inhabitants with their vibrant orange paint and patch of deep purple flowers.

New Development by Finijo

The neatly laid out graves of the Price family must have rattled and hummed while the luxury townhouses were being built. Hazel Price Jackson, was born in 1900, but it looks like she never made it to her spot in the family plot. Below, there is a sky blue townhouse with a fountain on its deck, and rather than shutting out the dead, they seem to be extending their yard out into the cemetery with a fence that you can see through. It's interesting to see how differently people deal with the dead.

Blue Townhouse by Finijo

The cemetery is almost unnoticeable as you drive down the street, but once your inside, it feels like the city evaporates. I found it surprisingly tranquil, even though it seems like the city is crushing in on all sides. For much of the time I was in the cemetery, a small orange and black butterfly seemed to be following me as walked through the paths and the underbrush. The overwhelming feeling I had during my brief visit was that of impermanence. The impermanence of the cemetery, because it seemed like it could disappear as quickly as the city disappeared when I entered its boundaries, but also the impermanence of us all.

Ramen Connoisseur

Arowana

I learned something new tonight from my nephew, Connor. It is not unusual for me to learn something new from him. He teaches me all kinds of things about bugs and wildlife that I never knew. One of the funniest things he taught me was in a fish store a few years ago. He pointed to a fish and loudly exclaimed, "That's an arawana fish. They carry their eggs in their mouths." I did not hear him say arawana, I actually heard the word marijuana and became very embarrassed that this child of about 8 years old was yelling the word in the middle of a fish store. I tried repeatedly to correct him, but he got louder and louder, insisting on the name of the fish. I think when I became embarrassed, my ears blushed and filled with blood, because I just kept hearing MARIJUANA! MARIJUANA! MARIJUANA! Finally, a salesperson came over and put me out of my misery, when he said, "He's right, that is an a-row-ana fish." Finally, I heard the correct pronunciation - I've never been so embarrassed and proud at the same time.

A few months ago, Connor asked if we could get some ramen, because a cartoon character he likes eats only ramen. It's cheap, so I bought him one in every flavor. He tried each and every one of them, finally determining that there is only one flavor worth eating - chicken vegetable. Tonight I asked Con if he would mind if I ate some of his ramen. His response seemed odd to me - he said, "Which one?" Knowing that we have only one kind in the house, I replied, "Chicken vegetable, goofus. What's the problem? You still have three left, and I'll buy some more for you when I go to the store." He said, "Yeah, but I only have one Maruchan left." He then schooled me on ramen. Apparently, there is a difference between ramen made by Nissin and ramen made by Maruchan - and according to Connor, Maruchan is the king of ramen. Now I know.

The Tao of Psychology

I bought and read this book many years ago, but re-reading God's Debris brought it to mind again. I was a little surprised as I re-read The Tao of Psychology: Synchronicity and the Self at how many ideas were shared in God's Debris, and also, how much I have been feeling the message of this book during the last few months.

Synchronicity describes the meaningful connection between seemingly unrelated events. It can be described as meaningful coincidence, but it cannot be explained by cause and effect. The meaning attributed to the event by a person is what differentiates it from a coincidence. When we keep our eyes open to the synchronicity around us, opportunities present themselves where they might have otherwise have been missed. Synchronicity is not describing supernatural occurrences, but rather a connectedness with the world around us. I believe that synchronistic events happen around us all the time, but they are only noticeable when we are open to seeing the connections. In the book, it is compared to people who remember their dreams when they wake. Studies have shown that people generally dream six to eight times every night. Some people remember their dreams each night, while others remember a few and some don't remember any of their dreams. Variations in personality and levels of inner turmoil can impact a persons ability to recognize synchronistic events, much as they can impact a person's ability to remember their dreams. While synchronicity can be useful, when it is one of the many tools we use to interact with the world, it can also be problematic if it leads us to use "magical thinking" to the exclusion of logic and common sense. We need balance between the logical and the intuitive parts of our mind.

I think the following quote from the book sums up what I like the most about synchronicity:

"If we personally realize that synchronicity is at work in our lives, we feel connected, rather than isolated and estranged from others; we feel ourselves part of the divine, dynamic, interrelated universe. Synchronistic events offer us perceptions that may be useful in our psychological and spiritual growth and may reveal to us, through intuitive knowledge, that our lives have meaning."

God's Debris

I read this book a couple of years ago at Steve's insistence. I thought it was fascinating, but didn't really put much thought into it after discussing it with Steve. I think he was a little disappointed that I didn't become more involved in the thought experiment aspect to it. Recently, I was reminded of the book when I watched Waking Life, so I decided to re-read God's Debris. I think I really needed to re-read it, in the same way I needed to re-watch Waking Life (which I have) to get more from it.

The story is about a man who works for a delivery company and one day makes a delivery to the home of a man (The Avatar), who literally knows everything there is to know in the universe. Scott Adams (the creator of Dilbert) wrote this book as a "thought experiment" and stated the book will "make your brain spin around inside your skull." He challenged the readers of this book to find the flaws in the thinking of the Avatar, whose explanations of reality and of God are based on the assumption that the simplest answer is usually the correct answer.

I won't post any spoilers, but many of his theories do make my brain spin in my skull. I really liked the chapters on Genuine Belief, Holy Lands, Relationships and Affirmations. Those chapters weren't necessarily brain spinners, but they made me think. I think I should read this book every couple of years, just to keep my mind limber and to keep myself from falling into a pattern of rigid thought.

Strange Dream

I woke up this morning in the middle of an odd, but vivid dream. What I can remember is as follows:

I am walking through a cemetery barefooted in a white cotton nightgown in the Autumn, during the gloaming. I know, how else would you walk through a cemetery on a chilly evening? In the dream, have the feeling the cemetery is in Galveston, but it looks like it could be a cemetery in Virginia.

As I'm walking, the ground/atmosphere around me starts to quake. The effect in the dream is like a Japanese horror film (think Ju-on) with shaky cam, light flashes, and frames skipping. Suddenly, it feels like something unseen has grabbed me around the waist and is pulling me backwards into a pit that is still forming even as I am being pulled into it. I am facing up and reaching out to nothing as I am very quickly engulfed by the pit. I was afraid while it was happening, but I don't think I cried out. As dreams go, this was not the most fearful I have been. After I go under, it's quiet for a moment, then I see myself emerge in the distance from the dusk. I am dressed in slacks and a blouse now, and I'm walking with a man who is middle aged and looks like a detective from a British TV show. He's tall and thin, and wears a black trench coat and matching hat. We are looking for the me in the nightgown who has disappeared. The me that is searching is not afraid, but I am concerned for the me that has disappeared, and I am feeling a sense of urgency in my quest. I know I have a limited amount of time to save myself. As we walk along, not speaking, we pass a large monument of a man on a horse. The the horse is up on his hind legs and I think the rider of the horse has a saber, so it looks like a Civil War monument. The pedestal is as tall as I am and the horse and rider are life sized, so the monument is very large. I notice something at the base of the monument that makes me go back, but the man with me continues walking. I start to pull at the grass which moves easily to reveal loose soil. Then I start using my hands to dig in the soft earth, revealing a large root system, but there are no trees near the monument. I call for the man to come back and help me as I start pulling at the roots, unearthing them more easily that I thought I could. As the man is returning, I continue to dig and pull, all the while, I am wondering how long I can survive underground. Then I realize I am dreaming and I start to think about changing the construct of the dream to ensure my survival. At this point, the man is approaching me and he is about fifteen feet from where I am struggling to dig myself out, I can see him enter the frame and I am viewing the scene from a detached perspective behind him as he walks towards me. I am now sure that I have survived, but I know I need to keep digging. As the man approaches me, I wake up from the dream.

I don't think I remember ever having a dream with two of me. I've had many dreams where I was someone else or I morphed into someone else , but inside, I knew it was me. Having myself in two distinct personas is something I will have to ponder...

He Bite Me Two Times...

Marilyn showed me this video yesterday and I fell out. I'm still lauging about it, even as I post this. It's a little long, but completely worth it. I think it's from a show about animals behaving badly. I have to say that if happy bit me even once the way he bit his owner - Happy would be looking for a new home. The owner...well lets just say she is wrong on so many levels, I don't know where to begin.

Broken

Broken Phoenix by Finijo

Some say there is beauty in imperfection. Upon that premise, I state that I believe this is the most beautiful broken window ever to exist. When the pane cracked, it was like a phoenix coming out of the ashes. During a particularly fabulous wind storm, we opened the sealed windows in our dorm. Opening windows was strictly verboten, for fear of a student taking a drunken dive out of the window. All was well until I left the room and then re-entered, causing a vacuum that sucked the window violently shut. My roommate and I freaked out, because it was so loud and all of the glass flew out into the courtyard twelve stories below. We were relieved that there was nobody standing below in the courtyard, which was probably due to the vortex swirling below in the windstorm. At the time, I was on the Arts floor in Jester I, so when word got out about the window, I ended up with every artist on the floor in my room sketching the window, including me. A few hours later, when the repairman came, I lied like a dog and swore that the window was never open. I was sure I couldn't afford the repair bill and knew I couldn't face the folks, if the bill got sent directly to them. Either he didn't care, or he was sleep walking through his job, because he never asked why the glass didn't end up all over the room. Anyway, I do believe in the beauty of imperfection. Before the storm came it was just a window to the world, but after it shattered, for a brief time, it was a work of art.

Existential Quotes for the Day

Melancholy by Giorgio de Chirico

First quote:

Good art wounds as well as delights. It must, because our defenses against the truth are wound so tightly around us. But as art chips away at our defenses, it also opens us to healing potentialities that transcend intellectual games and ego-preserving strategies.

- Rollo May, 1985, My Quest for Beauty

Second quote:

Evil, in this system of ethics, is that which tears apart, shuts out the other person, raises barriers, sets people against each other.

-Rollo May, 1985, My Quest for Beauty

The Psychobox

My friend, Dawn, gave me The Psychobox a year or so ago. I thought it was a game at first, but it turns out that it is a box of cards that reflect different aspects of experimental psychology.

Inkblot Test

The card reads, "Inkblots have long been regarded as suggestive prompts to projective fantasies." Developed by the Swiss psychiatrist, Hermann Rorschach, the test is supposed to gauge responses to "ten symmetrical inkblots, created by a vertical fold, and presented on printed cards." I've always thought of this test as a kind of divination, like having your palm or your runes read, but psychologists still use it. The problem I have with this test is that its value is dependent on the skill of the person who is subjectively determining the results. I just don't have enough blind trust to be able to accept this test as being completely valid. Those who practice the art of Rorschach testing would disagree with my assessment.

The Perceptual Rigidity Test

The card describes this test as follows:

To perform this test you should make a mask by cutting an aperture the size of the individual images into the center of a sheet of paper. This can be maneuvered to cover all the pictures but one at any time, starting at the tip left or bottom right. The person performing the task should describe what is sen as each subsequent picture is revealed and all the others (including those seen so far) are masked. The ideas behind the original test were developed by an American-sponsored international group of social psychologists in the mid-1940's, at the end of a world war fought against Nazism and fascism. They were interested in defining those traits in personality that led to political authoritarianism: extreme 'rigidity' correlated, they thought, with the need for security and a faith in hierarchies.

I think what I like best about The Psychobox is learning the history behind the different tests. The cards are an interesting, educational diversion.

The Essence of Triangularity

The Essence of Triangularity by John Martin

The picture above was done by a young man of about 18. I described to him how much I disliked Math, but thought my Algebra instructor was amazing, because she was so enthusiastic. The instructor's passion for her job made me want to understand what she was talking about. She once uttered the phrase, "the essence of triangularity," and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. John took that phrase and drew it out for me as we sat in the middle of the most tedious History lecture ever spoken aloud. I thought he may end up going into architecture or engineering, but instead, I see him from time to time on the news, doing his job as the spokesman for the Harris County Sheriff's Office.

I thought of that idea drawn out more than 20 years ago, as I've ruminated over another idea that has been running through my head for a while now. The idea I am stuck on has to do with the convergence of art with mental illness and with psychology. The way the three interconnect and flow one from the other. The chicken/egg question is, does mental illness help an artist create - or is art the torture that becomes the catalyst for mental illness. Psychology, not being a hard science, is almost an art form when applied skillfully. Also, many psychological tests use artistic expression and the subjective judgement of the clinician to unlock the secrets of the subconscious mind; just as art is often used as therapy to help express the inexpressible. I don't have any theories about this idea. It's still just a thought swimming around in my skull, taunting me with the interconnectedness of everything, but leaving me hanging on the cusp of nothing.

Bayou City Art Festival

Literatree by Jay Long

Marilyn and I went to the Bayou City Art Festival today. We managed to get there in time to see all the booths and get out before the rain started. The day was overcast, but that's the best weather for a festival. I miss the old Westheimer Art Festival. The atmosphere is more slick and professional than the old days. There are pros and cons to this. It seems like the artists are charging a lot more for their work - which is good for them, but it prices most of us out of any purchases we might have made. Another good thing is that there are wash stands outside of the port-o-potties. The general vibe is less Bohemian than it used to be, also - no more Urban Animals skating through the festival and no more pets.

Dreaming Child by Jay Long

We bought these two prints today. The artist is Jay Long from Austin. I first noticed his work a few years ago when the Bayou City Arts Festival featured one of his paintings on the postcard the sent out to announce the event. There were other artists that caught our fancy, including Kavan Geary's wonderfully illuminated photographs and Barbara Woods hand painted silk and ceramic lamps.