Archive for November, 2012

November 18, 2012

Please understand I am always on the side of an endangered species. I mean, if the Komoda Dragon were to get on the list, I’d like to establish at least one perfect spot on earth where they coud live and be happy. No pair ever dying, a small family always open to viewing and visitors. Still, how many of the creatures do we need anyway?’

We need lots more elephants and penguins and polar bears and we must create hundreds of perfect foster homes in which they will be happy  until we can send them  back to their natural habitat.

But amygdalytes?  Ah, there’s the rub. If we could go into the past, would we want to keep Neanderthals from going extinct? I think we’d probably want them to evolve- not like the elephant and the penguin and the polar bear who should remain exactly as nature created them- but as a new and more handsome species.

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to go through life looking like a lady Neanderthal. And I certainly wouldn’t want to go to bed with one. Imagine having to give birth to one.

If there are any alive and reading this, please don’t take offense.I just prefer a more elegant profile.

I would like to digress for a moment and assure my readers that I know-just as they do-not all amygdalytes are males. Let us for a moment  consider the very curious female of the species. With their over active beliefs churning and burning and spinning like a clockwork  orange we might consider keeping one-or two-on a remote island something like the island on which we keep the Komodo family.

They, of course, can never be stored together.  Amygdalyets are fearful enough without being brought in contact with the real thing.

Understand, I’m not suggesting genocide- or anything like that- just selective non breeding. I don’t think they liked sex too much, anyhow. I remember one of them telling me  God said, in Judge Rutherford’s version of the Book, that her husband could caresses her breasts and she wasn’t fond of that. Her husband had never seen her nude. She dressed and undressed in a walk in closet. Considering everything, he was probably better off.

Many female amygdalytes  that ‘jump the fence’-escape from the books and their Gods- often go off on a little green men or a lizard brain tangent. Which, though a fascinating fantasy, gets a little trying with the telling.

We don’t yet know if one is born with an enlarged amygdala or one is created.  We can think of the yoga practitioner who thinks standing on her head opens the lotus-the pituitary gland, the seat of the soul-at the top of the head. Maybe we could teach them to stand on their heads and measure before and after?  I am not of scientific bent but this could be interesting.

I think one of the easiest solutions for the old gray-faced patriarchs, with those two dollar hair cuts, would be a required medical procedure: the amygdalectomy. Kind of like a pre frontal lobotomy only in the rear. I can think of another surgical procedure but I’ll leave that to your imagination.

I must be honest here-honesty being the best policy-I would not miss them. I would wish them a fond farewell just as I did the raptured guys last year. What say you?


November 17, 2012

An ancient pagan holiday, the shortest day of the year-the Winter Solstice- is the time of the year when the Sun God is born to the Mother Goddess. Observers of the night sky knew it was a time when the sun-which began its journey north and the days grew short, the nights long- seems to stand still on the horizon. For three days it moves neither north nor south, but on  the third day it  begins  its journey south and the days grow longer. If winters here can spring be far behind?

For shepherds and those who were observers of the night sky-they’d been studying it for thousands of years and could predict it- it was a natural, normal, seasonal event. For leaders-especially religious leaders- it was considered a holy event. For the people it was  a time of boisterous partying. Many myths, wonderful stories and traditions found root here.

Christmas trees? Believe it or not the Yule tree represented the phallus. The spirit of fertility. Did you know gifts under the tree actually symbolize semen springing from the phallus?

No religion could erase such a celebration so those selling religion just changed the story a bit and along came a mama, a papa, a baby and three wise men. Toss in some cows and sheep,  an angel or two and a star in east and away we go..

Eventually Christmas became a wondrous capitalistic sending spree. Buy. Buy. Buy. Spend. Spend. Spend.  Dollar signs dripped like semen from the tree.

Fast forward 2012. Did you know you can buy an artificial Golden Splendor Decor Kit and a 9 foot artificial Hemlock for $4,189 dollars ($4189.00) plus shipping from the Holiday by Design Front Gate Catalog? Some phallus…

…and remember semen dripping ? You can buy five oversize boxes, a 14 inch Round Green box (10 inches in diameter, 15 pounds), a 16 inch Square blue (12 inches wide by 13 1/2 inches deep, nine pounds), a 21 inch Round Red (14 inches in diameter, 9 pounds), a 24 inch Tapered aid (11 1/2 inches square, 9 pounds), and a 31 inch White (17 inches wide by 13 inches deep) for One thousand four hundred and thirty-five dollars ($1435.00) plus shipping.

We’ve all heard about pussy galore but this surely takes the cake and breaks the record.


Cheap Chardonnay and the Wrought Iron Jail
November 15, 2012

A very inexpensive Chardonnay, Clos Du Bois-sometimes sold for under ten dollars ($10.00) a bottle at Costco on Kauai and for which I paid thirty dollars ($30.00) at Sundance-  is a nice table wine, I think.

But what do I know? I’m not a connoisseur.

Actually I ike Sutter Home, a cheap Chardonnay-sometimes two bottles for ten dollars ($10.00) at our very own Big Save in metropolitan Koloa-is my favorite. When my rich friends come calling I dress it up in a fine red linen napkin hiding the label.

My rich friends rave.

Hey, I know nothing tastes worse than warm Chardonnay, so it’s chilled and kept in a hand hammered copper champagne bucket with stand- two hundred and seventy- nine dollars ($279.00) and two hundred and thirty-nine dollars ($239.00). Sutter Home, like Clos Du Bois, also has a dimple on the bottom which my rich friends say is very good. I think you don’t need to uncork a white wine to let it breath- or something- but I’m not sure.  I open it with a personalized-available-prestige wine opener, two hundred and ninety nine-dollar ($299.00). All this stuff from  the exclusive Front Gate catalog.

i wonder what my rich friends, I entertain a lot of oil me , would think if I retrieved it from the beautifully hand crafted wrought iron wine jail-six hundred and ninety-nine dollars ($699.00)- from the same November catalog.

I’ll bet they’d be impressed but I’ll also bet it wouldn’t taste any better.

This antique look wine rack, showcased on my ancient wrought iron table from the Philippines- one thousand pesos (1,000 pesos)- with sofa, two chairs and two side tables and lighted splendidly by the copper fire pit-three hundred and ninety-five dollars ($395.00) also from this catalog. I have to keep it lit and watch it like a hawk to see that one of my oil rich friends doesn’t  get light-fingered and haul it off.

The fire, snapping crackling red and gold with an occasional blue flame, smells like wine-weathered smoke from well-aged oak. The perfect oak logs are stored in a heavy gauge log rack-two hundred and thirty-nine dollar ($239.00)- are neatly stacked above ground.

The estate rack, by the way, holds a 1/4 cord of the stuff I have shipped in by air from oak country. We feed the stuff several times to the fire when the party’s getting a glow on and singing fills the air.

As the fire dies and the embers glow and my rich oil friends vanish into the woodwork, I wonder why Paul Tarvin, founder of Front Gate, sends catalogs like this to poor peasants like me.

I also count the silver.

November 14, 2012

I am moved and delighted today to express a sincere wonderment of the magnificent human spirit. Not only in America but also around the world.

What we have done at home in the reelection of President Obama is a victory for the human race. We spoke out as a people-to the party of the people-and we spoke out loud and clear with reason and intelligence. We silenced the party  of the rich and the powerful and the religious fanatics. We identified them. We exposed them. We forced them to face their silly faces and made fools of them.

Good for us.

The people of the world-especially the women in America-are demanding an end to the madness of endless wars for profit, bigotry, racism, intolerance,and patriarchal lunacy in the form of ancient religious beliefs that should play little- if any- role in the 21st century, We grew up.

We told the rich and powerful-the leaders of the most powerful nation on earth-that they are people, too. All of us are human beings. First.

As a peasant on Kauai-lucky me-I live in the greatest country, the greatest state, on the greatest island in the world. Let the world watch Kauai. We are a microcosm. We are the future. We are speaking out against over-development. We are against GMO’s. We are speaking out against the destruction of our public lands and parks We are going green.

We join hands and hearts in the house cleaning process that will allow our home-our planet-to prevail. We’ll keep the air fresh, the water clean and plentiful, the food nourishing, interesting and plentiful. We say yes to tax dollars  that benefit kids-their heath, their education, their happiness, their future. We say yes to tax dollars helping the poor and the helpless needy, to venerable seniors and those whose lives have been disrupted by disasters of any dimension. Natural, domestic or foreign.

We say yes to money spent on social needs

We say no to money spent killing and maiming innocent humans whatever their race, nationality or religion. We say no to sacrificing our brave young men and women on the ugly fields of battle.

I say: if the killing machine-wherever it might be-wants to play war games do so in virtual reality. If the navies of the world want to play war games let them do it in the bathtub. Think of the whales and dolphins that would save

I say, “Drink a toast to life and living things. Let the rest of them drink to money.”

Peace and love Bettejo Dux

November 10, 2012

“Do you like being Bettejo,” one of my favorite people on Kauai asked me. A living treasure, a gifted director, he read THE SCAM and praised it highly. You can read his praise on the back cover if you  check it out on Amazon. Go to Kauai humor.

“Yes,” I said and it’s true, I’ve loved being Bettejo. Her rants, her raves, her ups,  her   downs are second nature to my now. Like breathing out and breathing in…

Wonder if GBS would have liked me?

“Is she Karen, the narrator of The Scam?” Our very own KIMO  asked me.

“Well it’s a first novel, so there is a resemblance.”

“Karen is very witty,” the island treasure said and I walked with both feet off the ground for a week.

One of my favorite author friends on Kauai-so gifted, so great-made this profound remark, “Writing  a book is ike playing gawd,” and it’s true. A writer creates some human beings, sets the scene-where, when, what, plots some plot- and puts pen to paper and writes the first sentence.

Pen to paper? What’re you talking about? We don’t write books on paper anymore. We type letters on a key board and watch them pop up on a scree. A chapter can be written in a day. Spell checked in an hour.

Too sad.

Like most writers my age we began with a pencil and scribbled words on long yellow legal. We scratched and swore and wrote some more. Words words words. Over and over. Then punched these words into a clunky typewriter.

I think one of the reasons I fell in love with Bill was: he came with a rickety, stickety old portable he took with him to Cal.

It took me a week to write a chapter and THE SCAM  was written in the zone. It wrote itself, I just sat back and took dictation. I remember the day when a character popped in unannounced-Gypsy Jake, I’d never seen him before- and he turned out to be one of the most important characters in the book. Famous writers often tell the same story. The writer is no longer creating the story, the story is creating her. So much for gawd.

I think there is nothing more fun than owning a creative mind and I thank whatever gawds there be-if there are any-for giving me one’a’dem.

…and here we are: back to a mythical figure aiding a struggling writer in a little piece of a fictitious world she calls her own.

And thus- with gawd firmly established in the picture, somehow I aways manage to squeeze ‘him’ in, I’ll add in response to the first question, “Do you like being Bettejo?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to be her for all eternity. One lifetime is enough.” Guess that’s what makes me different.

By th way I like to write dialog best. Maybe I should talk this over with gawd. If he’s young and cute, and likes to imbibe, I’ll invite him in for a Chardonnay and some crackers and asks him.

“Do you like being gawd?”

And then, dear reader, I’ll ask you, “Do you like being you?”