#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE – LETTER “C” AND “D” - CATS!!!! AND A DOG

I'm cheating here. I should have posted letter “C” on Friday, but I had a little run-in with the SSA and then the IRS over this whole “incentive check” nonsense, and after sitting on hold, listening to horrible hold music and being hung up on by two different alphabet agencies in these here Untied (sic) States, I was in no mood to write or think about #a-to-z-challenge. Quarantining is bad enough and then, trying to deal with our Federal Gubmint for ANYTHING, just raises my blood pressure. But, I REALLY want to finish this challenge this year AND I digress.

At last count, in my household, we have four cats, one dog and three birds. The cats don't really seem to know what the birds are, as the cats weren't raised by their mothers and never learned to hunt. They do like to watch them fly around in their cages. We have two finches and a cockatiel. The finches finch around, making that little beeping noise, and the cockatiel has a variety of sounds that she lets loose on the regular. It sounds like a zoo in here. The cats are more likely to eat the birdseed that I scatter on the floor, when I'm feeding the birds, for some reason.

Ripley, wallowing on my bed, after I spent twenty minutes making it. 

When we first brought the two kittens in the house, we already had Ripley, our husky-hound mix. Two things about Ripley, besides the fact that he's an absolute sweetheart of a dog and is really easy with the kittens. First, being part husky, he loves to run, and if there's an open door anywhere in the house, he will run. RUN and will not come back until he's good and ready. This wouldn't be a problem, except someone put some buckshot in him once. He came limping home. We got him healed up, and we thought that would cure him, but nope. He still loves to run. Luckily, we're good at keeping him fenced up. The other thing is, he yodels.

I believe I read somewhere that dogs are only capable of ten types of sounds. Well, you sure wouldn't know it by Ripley. He'll be outside on his lead, yodeling, in just about every key. He's doing dog karaoke and hollering to his imaginary friends out there in the forest that abuts our land. It's hilarious.

Eddie was barely two months old when we brought him home, as a foster. We ended up keeping him. We're kinda like the "Hotel California". You can come here, but you never leave. 

Anyway, when we first introduced each kitten to Ripley, they all had pretty much the same reaction. Puff up, dance sideways, and hiss. I don't know about you all, but tiny kittens getting all fierce is the funniest thing ever. Poor Eddie, or Eddifer, as I call him, when I'm not calling him “son”; he was so brand-new when we brought him home – he was a foster – that he couldn't figure out how to un-puff himself. He danced backward into his little kitty house and circled around about three times, before he got it all figured out. For about two weeks, he was scared of Ripley. Of all my cats, he is the least adventurous and the one most likely to be found under the bed at the introduction of ANYTHING new, including toys.

Glenn Wallace – named by my husband, after my late father – is the smartest and most adventurous, and he loves any new-fangled thing that comes his way. We got this ridiculous toy that is battery-operated, and it writhes around on the floor and sparkles and snaps, and Glenn loves it! He also loves the Chitter toy, that makes a chittering sound when played with, unlike Eddie, who just ran under the bed when these toys were first introduced. Eddie doesn't hide so much any more from them, but he just sort of tolerates them.

Glenn, sleeping. He always looks like he's come in after a really rough night at the bar. He's also the longest cat I've ever seen. He has long legs and whiskers. I'm devoting the letter "G" to him and will have a lot more to say later. Just revel in the length of this animal!

Allie, or KittenMcGrabbyPaws is probably the funniest with her balls and tiny painting spool. She has these little wool balls, and she will fling them around, or bring them to me and have me throw them for her. It's so funny when she brings it back. I don't know if it's possible, but she always carries the ball on the right side of her mouth, so if that's a thing with cats – left-mouthed, or right-mouthed – it's the first time I've ever observed it. My old Russian Blue, Trotsky would play fetch, but as I recall he was ambidextrous, when it came to carrying shit around in his mouth; tin foil, wool balls, whatever we were playing.

The other thing with Allie, or any of the kittens and Misty is when they play with the spool, they make one HELL of a racket! It sounds like they're playing hockey; the wool in the spool gets caught in their claws, and they fling the spool around. It hits the wall, cabinets, and floor and it sounds just like a hockey game. All we lack is a fight.

My doofy husband, whom I adore completely, took this Alexa picture of Allie when we were out to dinner one night. "I wonder what the kids are doing?", he asked. Apparently, they were re-enacting "The Lion King".

The dog and the cats all get along; Ripley has discovered that he cannot go leaping about on the furniture, and he can't play “The Floor Is Lava”, but he's good for a cuddle! Letter “E” coming up; no more calls to the IRS or the SSA. It is what it is.

One last thing, I'm going to be posting a special post for a self-published author, a friend of mine, Andy Toppin, Jr., whose book “Rowan's Chronicle, Volume 1” is on Amazon. He's really a good friend and a special person. I love this book, and hope you all will enjoy reading about him! I'm enjoying this #a-to-z-challenge. I hope you all are too!

#ATOZCHALLENGE 2017 – LETTER “D” - DOPE

Today's letter, “D” for dope, can be taken literally as well as figuratively. Dope is something that is so very prevalent on the streets in and around Nebraska Avenue, and yes, the people who indulge ARE dopes. The drugs of choice vary and run the gamut from marijuana to a legal concoction called “spice”, which is manufactured and sold over the counter. The reason it's legal, is that when the FDA analyzes the current witches' brew that is making the rounds, the chemists will change just one molecule and voila! The drug then becomes “legal” again.

courtesy:addictions.com     

Our drug dealers are a lot slicker with the handoff. A customer will come up, the dealer will say, "Just a second" and head off to the east, to a house where the drugs are kept. He never keeps a supply on his person, so he can't be busted for intent to sell.

This has a two-fold effect. First, the drug is becoming so adulterated that people are just losing their minds when they smoke this shit. I was standing at the bus stop one day, and one user, a tiny woman, fixated on me and came jittering over to me, like something out of the “Walking Dead”. I acted before I would let her get anywhere near me; I took my cane and pole-axed her in her sternum and she went down like a pile of bricks that had lost its support. She kind of laid there for a minute, then got up and, having forgotten about me, tottered off in another direction. It really does make people lose their minds.

courtesy:spiceaddictions.org     

"Spice" or synthetic marijuana, has been altered so many times, that it no longer resembles the milder form of the original drug it was supposed to mimic. It has horrific side effects, including causing hallucinations, tremors, dementia, and paranoia.

The other problem is that because it is so adulterated, it encourages this kind of behavior in people and the police are up to their ears in arresting people for all sorts of criminal behavior that has arisen from the use of this drug. Along with spice, people are still out there smoking crack, shooting up heroin, and smoking marijuana, which seems quaint, now, in terms of what I've seen on the street.

Once, I was coming home and there was an idiot who was just lying flat out on the pavement on his face. I walked up to him and hollered, really loud, “ARE YOU ALIVE? WAKE THE HELL UP AND GET OFF THIS GODDAMNED PAVEMENT! THIS IS NO PLACE TO TAKE A NAP!” One eye opened, and fixed on me, and the dude slowly dragged himself to a sitting position. Someone else had already called an ambulance. They came and took his vitals, and deemed him fit to stay out on the streets. I scolded him, and told him to go and sleep it off, but not on Nebraska Avenue! Really. Once, another dolt was nodded out at the bus stop, and I poked him really hard with my cane and told him to get the hell out of the bus stop; he could barely comprehend what I was saying.

It's a never-ending battle, out here on the Avenue and what people don't understand, is that even though I'm partially-sighted, I do see all of the drug deals going down and know who is responsible for the flow of drugs and the chain of command. At one time, I remember seeing three drug dealers standing together talking and thinking “How in the hell does anyone make a profit, if they're all dealing? Do they sell to one another?” Beats me how it works, but they stay in business.

courtesy:hypebeast.com     

This cat is typical of the type of "customer" that frequents the various drug dealers that ply their trade on the Avenue. Every so often, one of them keels over dead, but generally, I just have to yell them awake.

The police do what they can, but in Florida, it is illegal to take pictures of or record people doing these things, or making transactions, without their consent. So, a civilian's hands are tied and we are left to surveil through the cameras in various businesses around the area. We've had mixed success in that regard, but we've managed to at least, keep them off of OUR street. As long as they stay out on Nebraska, I don't care what they do, unless I'm on the Avenue. If I'm on the Avenue, they don't like to see me coming, because they know I'll raise hell, and NO SLEEPING ON THE GODDAMNED SIDEWALK!  

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2015 – LETTER “D” - CLAUDE DEBUSSY, IMPRESSIONISTIC COMPOSER

I first must apologize; this is two days late. I will be publishing my letter “E” concurrently with this, but it could not be helped. Google decided to be, well, Google, and although, I have repeatedly tried to rid myself of the 2-step verification process, I have been unable to. I also failed to place any ”safeguards” in place, i. e., using the Google Authenticator, which I much prefer, and then I went and lost my phone. My alternative was to wait five days, while Google went to the spa and dyed it's hair and got a manicure, but the hell with that noise. I found my phone finally and all is well. Anyway on to Claude.

Achille-Claude Debussy, along with Maurice Ravel were probably the most prominent figures of Impressionistic music, in the late 1800s through the early 1900s, a movement that had its beginnings in France and pretty much ran its course there, as well. Debussy himself did not like the term applied to his writing, as he felt it too restrictive and in going over the body of his work, it is understandable.

Young Claude Debussy, rockin' that Moe Howard haircut.

As a child, my very first memories are from an old 33 1/3 record my parents had, called “Ports of Call” (probably every family in that era had this record) that was recorded by Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra, or that “Great Violin in the Sky” as I've heard the orchestra referred to, due to the lush playing in the string sections. This record was a delight! It included such pieces as “La Valse” by Maurice Ravel, “Espańa” by Chabrier and the orchestral version of “Claire de Lune” be Debussy.

This is just a beautiful interpretation of "Claire de Lune"

“Claire de Lune” was by far my most favorite piece at the time (I was about 5) with it's dreamy parallel chords, suspensions and whole tone or pentatonic scales – although I didn't know WHY I liked it so much at the time. All that I knew was that it took me to another place and that place was soft and magical. Debussy's use of the pentatonic scale and unprepared modulations which would be used to such greater effect later on, were just so much different than anything I had heard before, and by ages 4, 5, and 6, I'd heard plenty. My folks were always dragging home new vinyl because every week at the grocery store, if you spent over 25.00 for the week's groceries, you got to pick out a new classical record. Since we had to eat, we were rapidly building a good, solid classical librarly, along with all of the Sarah Vaughan, Billy Eckstein and Dorsey Brothers, my father bought for like .88 cents each.

Even if you don't read music, you can note how closely the notes are bunched together, as they progress downward. The result is a "harmonic melody" in Debussy's words.

Anyway, “Ports of Call” was a record you could lose yourself in, but the “Clair de Lune” was the best. Later on, in my college daze, we had the opportunity to play his “Nocturnes”, with it's rousing middle movement – some have said it was written during his “Wagner period” – and that was a great deal of fun to play. “Nuages” (“Clouds”) uses veiled harmonies and textures, with many of the closed parallel chords mentioned earlier. “Fetes” is exuberant and is the most programmatic of the three; at one point it sounds as if a caravan or a carnival is far off, and then, either the listener or the the caravan comes closer and closer still, before fading off into the distance The tempo jumps between 2 and 3 and the hemiola is just fine! “Sirènes” employs a female choir and whole tones. It is unearthly and of the heavens.

This is another gorgeous interpretion of "Nocturnes". "Fetes" really tears it up. I'm not going to post "La Mer" as it is rather long.

Probably the biggest piece of his that I have had experience of is “La Mer” (“The Sea”) and it is more in the style of a symphonic form, with the first movement theme repeating in the final and third movement, although the middle movement, “Jeux de vagues” works much less directly from the first and has more variety of color. Both Debussy and Ravel were world-class orchestrators, although Ravel is generally thought to be much better at it.

The only other experience that I have had with Debussy was when I was touring with the rock group Styx. Dennis DeYoung's father was a member of the O.S.S. during World War II and was one of the first people to make it into occupied France and Paris. He, too, was a piano player, and an artist. I have known other artists and composers (Eugene Kurtz, for one) who were members of the O.S.S who were recruited specifically for their knowledge of artworks, manuscripts, writings and other artifacts that the Nazis had stolen from the occupied countries and hoarded in Germany, or had hidden away in the occupied territory. The elder Mr. DeYoung located several manuscripts written by Chopin and Debussy and these were catalogued and returned to the owner-countries, or to their private collectors after World War II.

Dennis De Young - "Claire de Lune" and "Don't Let It End"

The beginning of the song “Don' Let It End” that the younger Mr. DeYoung wrote and dedicated to his wife is the opening of “Claire de Lune”. It is beautifully done and easy to see why he did so, given the connection with his father. Debussy is a delight to listen to and play; I'm so glad to share my impressions of him with you, today.

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2014, LETTER “D” RODNEY DANGERFIELD

RODNEY DANGERFIELD

 

Rodney Dangerfield, American stand-up comedian, born Jacob Rodney Cohen, born November 22, 1921, died October 5, 2004.

I approached Dangerfield with some trepidation for a few reasons. The first being, that not everyone cares for stand-up comedy, and the second being that Dangerfield built his whole career around being the guy who gets no respect. Then, I read about his early life and thought, “This is perfect. This guy had a sense of humor about himself from the day he was born. Game on!” So, let me summarize his early life per Wikipedia.

"I tell ya, when I was a kid, all I knew was rejection. My yo-yo, it never came back!

Rodney was the son of Jewish parents, born in Suffolk County, Long Island, New York. His father, Phil Roy, was a vaudevillian performer and his ancestors hailed from Hungary. His father was never home and Rodney would see him only once or twice a year.

After their father abandoned the family, his mother moved him and his sister to Kew Gardens, Queens and he attended and graduated from Richmond High School in 1939. To support himself and his family he took jobs selling newspapers, for which he would receive a dollar; he was also delivering groceries and selling ice cream at the beach.

"I worked in a pet store and people kept asking how big I'd get."

When he was 15, he began to write for stand-up comedians and began to perform himself under the name of Jack Roy at the age of 20. He struggled for several years, at one point, performing as a singing waiter, until he was fired. He also worked as an acrobatic performing diver (all that's missing is the juggling – my words) before giving up show business to take a job selling aluminum siding to support his wife and family. He later said that he was so little known then, that “at the time I quit, I was the only one who knew I had quit!”

I could not keep a straight face while I wrote this; it's just too damned funny! Apparently, he understood the more ironic side of the biz and kept on going. He spoke of one night club that he worked in that was so far out in the sticks or the boondocks, that his act was reviewed in the magazine, “Field and Stream”. But along the way, he was deftly working his persona of the “guy who gets no respect” and coming up with brilliant one-liners.

"I come from a stupid family. During the Civil War, my great uncle fought for the west."

Along the way, he came up with the name Rodney Dangerfield which is also an amazing story. The name had originally been used as a name of a fake cowboy by none other than Jack Benny, another hilarious comedian (who played the violin!) on his radio program in 1941 and then was later used as a pseudonym by Ricky Nelson on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriett. The Benny character also received little, or no respect on Benny's show, thus served as a great inspiration to Dangerfield in building his own character. Jack Benny himself, visited Dangerfield backstage after one of his performances and commended him on developing such a wonderful comedic style and character. Dangerfield, however, kept his legal name, Jack Roy. He did however, once, during a question-and-answer session during his No Respect tour, joke that his real name was Percy Sweetwater.

After working in relative obscurity for several years, Dangerfield was asked to step in as a last-minute replacement on March 5, 1967 on the Ed Sullivan show and he stole the show. Dangerfield went from there to headlining shows in Las Vegas and appearing regularly on the Dean Martin Show, as well as the Tonight Show, with Johnny Carson, where he appeared a total of 35 times. In 1969, Dangerfield went into business with longtime friend Anthoney Bevacqua to build Dangerfield's comedy club, which then became a showcase and jumping off point for hot, young talent. Dangerfield now also had a venue to perform in without having to travel and was able to help younger talent get a start.

For a guy who “got no respect” he was well-liked and admired. His comedy album, No Respect, won a Grammy. One of his TV specials featured a musical number titled “Rappin' Rodney”.

A seeming anachronism, as the one-liner seems to be pretty much passé, I found several of his jokes to be screamingly funny, as I researched this article. I think that truly funny material withstands time and culture and place, as I hope you'll see by some of the examples. There are entire websites devoted to his one-liners and jokes. I hope you'll find time to read them and “give him some respect”.

BLOGGING CHALLENGE FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “D”

DEPRESSION AND

"PARKINSON'S DISEASE OR NON-PARKINSON'S DISEASE, THAT IS THE QUESTION"

NOTE: April is a busy month for lots of folks. It starts off well, with April Fool's Day, which I personally celebrate every day; sometimes several times a day, or an hour, if I'm having a good run. As well as this fine Challenge, Blogging from A to Z for April of 2013, April is also Parkinson's Disease Awareness month. I have Parkinson's Disease. Or not. That is the question. Stick around long enough and you will all find out the answer to the worst-kept secret since the H-Bomb recipe was sold to the USSR, back in the 50s and since this is my blog on Thursdays, I will be posting my posts here and at P.A.N.D.A. Even if you don't know anyone with Parkinson's Disease or any type of movement disorder, or you are not a caregiver for anyone, or are dealing with any type of chronic illness, you might want to browse this site. The men and women and this community are brave and wonderful, hopeful and funny people. They are my battery mates. Now, back to our Challenge here at A-to-Z!

I could be coy and state that here we have a multitude of “D” words, but today is Thursday, day 4 of the A-to-Z April Challenge and it is also Parkinson's Disease Awareness Month. I blog on most Thursdays for the P.A.N.D.A. Organization, which is a wonderful group that provides support to folks with Parkinson's, or PD, or their caregivers. Most people associate this movement disorder with Michael J. Fox, who has young onset PD, or Muhammad Ali, who may or may not have acquired PD or Parkinsonism during is delayed career after his boxing license was re-instated. Like so many neuro-muscular with all of the inherent symptomology and untangling of the physical and mental aspects, it is hard to pinpoint any one specific cause for these conditions. My PD or not-PD is not yours and vice versa. It's hard to quantify and eludes labeling.

My friend, YumaBev (Twitter @YumaBev and Parkinson's Humor) is a HUGE advocate for PD. She sings "I don't need no rockin' chair, 'cause I'm rockin' on my own!"

I am currently among the undiagnosed and non-medicated for that,  and my story is not unique, although my manifestations of the disease or condition or visitation, for the more celestially and whimsically inclined are unique to me, as are my outlooks and reactions to the whole shebang. I have had a whale of a journey to get here, just right here, right now, typing this to you A-to-Z-ers and P.A.N.D.A. Folks. I guess we all have these sorts of stories where we come in after the intermission and are trying to get caught up.

You haven't missed all that much. Just know that people with neuro-muscular disorders of any stripe, I find, tend to suffer from depression and black it is when it hits. There is of course, the usual raging debate, about whether or not this really exists. It does and it is ferocious in its callous disregard for a person's progress. Pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps is not an answer. More often than not, the etiology is biochemical, as I found when I had a psychotic break after not sleeping for a month and woke up a month later in a mental ward with tremors and a patchy short-term memory. The fun was only beginning.

Testing for PD doesn't exist and I, in the course of the past year, with careful observation of myself, reading, conversation with other Parkinson's Disease patients, memories of my life and my family life (I am an only child, no offspring and both parents deceased) can conclude that my mother suffered from PD or PD-like symptoms as well, though she was never diagnosed to my knowledge. After the committal to the mental ward, the psychiatrist, who concluded that I was absolutely no harm to anyone or myself, but was bipolar and prescribed accordingly and sent me on my way, also noted, that this was the least troublesome committal he'd ever dealt with; bipolarity is part of the Parkinson's. I think one of the reasons for that is I am in my late 50s, although I had exhibited symptoms for years.

I probably have more of the mental issues than physical; I do have tremors and they have really been troublesome of late. I can't play my viola without it sounding like a machine gun. ViolaFury is definitely not pleased. This brings out the not really happy part of me. This is not good. I will have to think nice thoughts or take a time out... from humanity. Just kidding. But, it really points to something that I mentioned briefly in my Beethoven post. Pissed much?

I don't do this well; by the time we're here, hostages have been taken and Haz-Mat is on the scene... Just kidding.

Mad? ViolaFury is my nom de guerre for a reason. She puts on her boxing gloves when she needs them. She may need them. I believe I mentioned the Roman empire and Emperors during their Triumphs in Ancient Rome; in a not very well-written way, I was trying to allude to their mortality and how they were reminded of it by slaves during the triumphs. Beethoven, in his way, did that to Bonaparte in his 3rd symphony. We all do that, while perversely "facing the tiger." I can put up with the spastic typing and not being able to comb my hair or wear make up. That's minor stuff.

But if I can't play Wolf? I can't play my gorgeous Guidantus viola, built in 1837, only 10 years after Beethoven died, to his (the viola's) full potential and play as I am able to play? I put on my Roman boxing gloves. They used to be made out of leather, with metal studs added and were called cestus, to inflict greater damage. I am a boxing fan; a HUGE boxing fan. I may have to dig those bad boys out of storage, and strap 'em on, to take on PD or non-PD, that is the question, because "nobody puts Wolf in the corner." Metaphorically, of course, but for real? I wish, in my little brawler heart.

Wolf and I, playing William Walton's Viola Concerto in a windstorm. The rainstorm pictures didn't work so well. Wolf doesn't like water.

In all seriousness, this is fine. I'd much rather have this facing me than the horrible black sorrow of depression, the fear that all of life is ending and the mourning over the horrific cruelties we inflict on one another with so little thought, or worse, with so much planning and intention to do the greatest harm and evil possible. If life is to have any meaning it needs to be fought for and won hard. Every single day is a celebration, an ode to happiness, joy, a will to express ourselves the best that we are able to and to love one another freely and without reservation.

If I didn't have the challenges I have had previous to this moment, I would have nothing to say or express, nothing to sing or play or write about. This is my song and this is also what my Parkinson's Awareness has given me.