Tuesday, January 08, 2013


Footwear as architecture -- or perhaps as torture device?  I'm looking at the points on those antlers and wondering what happens if the wearer steps just the wrong way off a curb or when she attempts to climb a couple of steps -- does she get gored?  Perhaps these shoes aren't really for walking except in fairly small steps on level surfaces.  I remember in the 1950s some highly engineered French fashions became (in)famous because the wearers couldn't sit down in them for fear of ripping out the seams.  Maybe they're fantasy fashion, meant ultimately to sit on a pedestal in a museum's fashion exhibit, fascinating constructions of the "look but don't touch," and definitely don't wear, variety.


Offered without further comment because sometimes there are things that just leave one speechless:

Church Claims Stroking Horses “Cures” Homosexuality
by Jace Peeples,  1/2/2013  (excerpted from  gay.net)

We’ll never listen to the lyrics from Rawhide the same way ever again.  The Gay Star News reports that The Cowboy Church of Virginia is claiming that homosexuality can be cured by – wait for it – stroking horses.

The church’s pastor, Raymond Bell, believes Equine Assisted Psychotherapy (EAP) not only helps men to be more masculine, but it can actually make the gay in anyone giddy up and get gone.

Bell says, “The first common misconception is that homosexuality is genetic, or hereditary, or as some say ‘born this way.’ EAP can help any person who is living the homosexual lifestyle or involved in it in anyway.  Homosexuality is actually a type of addiction,” Bell claims.” It is not ‘curable’ as a disease because it is ‘choice driven’ by the person.”

Exactly how does EAP giddy up the gay away?  Bell explains he uses the horses in his church “to identify how a person got ‘involved in homosexuality to begin with. For example, because of rape, abandonment, lacking a male role model, abuse, and having low self-esteem.” He also believes gay teens can overcome homosexual urges by stroking horses.  (This gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘pony play.’)

Clearly Mr. Bell has never seen Brokeback Mountain and needs to be reminded “no one can talk to a horse of course that is, of course, unless that horse…”   


I had hoped that John Boehner would fail to be re-elected Speaker of the House of Representatives.  I'm fed to the teeth with his obstructionism and hostility.  The fact that he has clearly lost control of the lunatic, radical Tea Baggers (who scuttled his own proposal to avoid the "Fiscal Cliff") and that a dozen Republican Reps voted against his re-election, leaves him seriously reduced in influence.  He got re-elected by only five votes which would have been only two votes if three Republicans who originally abstained hadn't switched their votes at the last minute.  One of those changed votes was cast for Boehner, ironically, by Tea Party darling Michele Bachmann, who then proceeded to sponsor the 35th bill attempting to repeal "Obamacare" despite the failure of the previous 34.   Some people never learn.  Weather Boehner has learned anything remains to be seen.  Frankly I doubt it.


There some "rules" in the house about where Starr goes and where she does not.  And one place she does not go is onto the table in the kitchen's dining area.

Now, I have lived with cats for 40 years and I am under no illusions about who really runs the house.  My first cat, an extremely intelligent three-colored tabby named Cornface (because she looked like "indian corn"), was trained not to go into the under-counter kitchen cabinets.  To the best of my knowledge she never did, until one day I brought a manx kitten home with me.  Manx cats are the ones with no tails at all or just a small stump of tail.  The little one wasn't terribly intelligent but was all heart and very affectionate.  There was the ritual three days of hissing and spitting from the older cat, after which she settled down and took the kitten under her wing.

Shortly thereafter, I was sitting in the kitchen having lunch when the two cats came into the kitchen, the older leading the younger.  Cornface walked up to the first cabinet, hooked a claw under the edge of the door and popped it open.  She then turned around and looked at the little one as if to say, "do you understand what you've seen and how it's done?"  She then walked around the kitchen, the little one bouncing around happily after her, and opened every cabinet door in order.  When she was done, she looked up to make sure I understood I was not as much in control as I thought I was, and led the kitten out of the room. 

This year, my elder daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter came here for a couple of days at Christmas.  As they were on Salem, Oregon time they stayed up longer than Fritz and I.  On their last night here, Stephania happened into the kitchen and quickly pulled out her phone to take this piture:

Starr, occupying the geographical center of the table set for the next morning's breakfast.  It reminds me that once I go outside gardening or shopping, or when we go to bed, Starr simply takes over, goes where she wants, does whatever she wants and there's nothing whatever I can do about it.  Law of the jungle.  She's a cat and a very good one.  


Well, I guess I oughta get me a horse... Nah, I'll get me a pair of them shoes instead.
Mitchell, with the skull at the toe and the general overdecoration, you'd be the hit of some of those religious processions you take such great pictures of!
We see "Equus" this weekend, so I think we will be quite straight by Sunday night.
But hey - look at those cha cha heels !
I have those shoes, but I never wear them when I'm out riding, or stroking my horse...
But she's a pretty kitty.... ;-)
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