Color Me Crusty

Maybe it has always been this way but am I the only one who sees the world through rose and green colored 3D glasses around the last quarter of the year? The truth is that as of late even orange and black Halloween is also getting flocked and being horned in on by rutting Rudolph and his deer friends. Thank goodness Valentine’s red letter day and the white, red n’ Independence blue have stayed true and somehow have avoided being elf-hijacked too.

Yes, apparently now Christmas is not just one day of the year but in fact extends its over-ripe aroma to all of Fall and hangs around a little too long like that last plate of dark-meat leftovers from Thanksgiving. No just because I set a few mousetraps in the attic around the gold garland and stored ornamental rainbow balls doesn’t mean I’m the pied piper of gripey Grinches at all. But honestly, what other holiday totally consumes white light to make life costlier, less productive and an even deeper black hole than it already is?

I don’t see Chanukah getting in my way too much, but  then again even if I were Jewish the wife would never allow a cold gassy giant like me to bounce around next to a bunch of lit candles in a tattered flannel t-shirt. Ol’ Cinco de Mayo and Groundhog’s day don’t ordinarily tax too much of my tiny brain twists either, though inexplicably now I am hungry for five pork sandwiches. The outlier eggy Easter tries to rudely intrude Spring with its funny bunnies, fuzzy ducks, and PEEPing treats too. But in the end with only a month of brown choco hype n’ hubbub to last, even a Winter wonderland whiner like me can frown, bear it, and stand fast.  

Actually I think most of my crusty Christmas recriminations have more to do with my personal geezer leanings rather than society’s oblivious overreach toward an overbearing holiday marketing niche. After all even this Scrooge still gets sucked up by Santa’s jolly jingle and rebuff of we - the far less jovial. It’s just when your hair and skin begins to turn pasty-white like Frosty’s filling, elderly life turns exceedingly telling. Especially so when you’re constantly reminded for months on end that you now need those colorful candy canes for walking rather than to eat as oh so sweet treats!

Guaca Talka

Despite the awful name for a dip which sounds more like something the cat coughed up rather than a delicacy, ‘Guacamole’ is a fav-flavor to savor around our scullery! Though I ordinarily have found it practical policy to avoid eating anything bean green and gooey, I guarantee I’ll never knock a tip-topa ‘guaca’. Yep you can keep your wimpy red dips n’ chips ‘cause as long as I can butter up my corny crunchers with the ‘cado, a festive and culturally sensitive ‘OLE!’ will always be my motto.

I know given my propensity to rebuff bunches of soft n’ brown bananas makes it hard to believe that avocados decorated in the same dark n’ dreary shade could ever make the cut. After all who wants a salad bowl full of creamy goo in full view which clearly looks chewed.  Happily between a twist of lemon and a dunk of the nut in the guck, the resulting electric green mashing stays table fresh and rather dashing. 

Oh sure life can get a bit better by soaking the green butter batter in a hot swig of salsa too. That spicy shot of verde is just the thing needed to unleash the wild side from my dumpy black ‘Avo’s personality and get my brain a humming. But beware of sucking up too much of this gut-bubbly mix before bedtime because if careless there will be a lot more than your ‘creative juices’ furiously flowing long on to the yawn of dawn.

So if you ‘HASS’ a little time and can find a few leftover Doritos crumbs in the couch, don’t forget to make more of an effort to know the oh-so-holy ‘Mole’ grail. Respect the lowly avocado because simply by shunning the sink, it can turn you green around the gills without having to work that nasty worm out of a bottle. Remember only true DIPS like me talk and hawk Guaca lots since it takes real guts to consume Kermit colored cuisine that looks EXACTLY the same prior, during, and AFTER consumption!

Forget gyms just EXERCISE!

Just because I don’t belong to a gym doesn’t mean I’m averse to exercise, it just means that in MY typical mental state I am not allowed to operate HEAVY machinery. No to stay fit, I want to get my ‘juice’ the old fashioned way by skulking back and forth between the refrigerator, recliner, and the litter box near the roach motel. I used to be in a lot better shape when I was young but once they invented zippers, TV remotes and the devil’s utensil – the ‘spork’, I got a little lazy and a tad flabby.

Oh sure since I type a lot and know my way around a can of aerosol cheese, you probably have guessed that I’m a world class athlete from wrists to fingerprints. Sadly it’s just the rest of my flesh that flaps and flags furiously in a stiff wind which makes me pause, not with concern, but to catch my breath. Apparently my wife worries about my cold, stiff, body too, since she routinely tells me where to ‘go’ to warm up, and she wants me to get off my coffin to increase my activity level and exercise routine.

Even during frigid times of the year I try to appease the spouse with a brisk walk together over the dark and cold Midwest tundra to Taco Bell for dinner. I don’t mind following carrots as long as they taste like tacos, and anyway you’ve never lived until you boot your way through recently thawed permafrost into a two inch layer of muddy ‘Mr. Ma-GOO’! Who needs a hot, expensive & sweaty gym when the great outdoors will suck off your shoes and offer-up 10 pound ankle anchors for free? After all bulky Hulks like me need all the help I can get, to lift and separate my Frankenstein gate, and enhance my already cartoon-creature image.

Like satanic thoughts, most of my daily fitness routine is thrust upon me involuntarily anyway, as I try to keep up with the stuff that makes trouble, breaks double, or takes a fall on top of my ‘un-loved’ Amityville shack. Inside this cavern, there is always a cold darkness stalking me, but that might be because I’m just ‘bats’ by pulling the shades and setting the thermostat too low? When it comes to graveYARD work I am taunted by millions of demon leaves and howling, windy, tree-things which need bunching, crunching, and perpetual decomposition. Now you can see I don’t really need to be banished to a gym to get in shape - I just need to be regularly EXORCISED!

Everybody ‘NOSE’ it’S NOT syrup

Rarely I wake up in the morning without a jump start from licking a 9 volt battery, but even then I don’t spring to life with limitless pink-bunny energy. Like most loony baboons, I ‘doo’ what I have to do, but little else so I won’t unduly embarrass myself in front of the troop and my homeless alley-mates. Of course I brush, blow, & baste like all good zombies, but I should not be expected to be witty, scratch-free, or even understand ‘Ghoul-ean algebra’ until at least 15 minutes after sunrise.

So the last thing I have energy for in the first of the morning, is to fend off a thick gelatinous ring of gooey ‘Food Boogies’ from the sticky snout of my syrup ‘ba-ba’! Oh don’t act so uppity - yeah I said it and how many times must I warn you not to read my tripe while eating anyway? I can’t help it if your gag reflex has not yet been battle-hardened to the horrors of a seeping head-wound from Aunt Jemima’s nasty noz-noggin.

Yes, around here, we seem to have a growing epidemic of coagulated condiments in that handy-dandy ‘flexi-squeeze’ packaging. I mean who doesn’t relish the fun in popping a top on a ‘gunkified’ ketchup bottle or fondling a dilated and crowning upside-down squirter, with a crusty mustard-pustule tip of Grey Poupon? The only thing worse for me then hanging those scabby ‘goo-cocoons’ over my burgers n’ brats is having to clean and blow-free their snotty little spouts into a wet-nap-wipey without weeping woefully.

I don’t know when those ‘easy to knife’ cavernous jars with lids suddenly became so out of fashion? My ‘wide-mouth’ still seems to be working just fine and has remained relatively paste-less and tasteless, even after shoving salsa pablum in and out of it for a half century now. Oh sure the sinuses suffer and that spicy stuff can make my rosy nose-y unruly and occasionally ‘run away’ by my flagrant use of abrasive Puff-less off-brand Kleenix. But never fear I’m a mystified ‘drip’ with a nasal irrigation plan ‘cause my nose knows just what it needs – an easy-squeezy sinus-schnozzle!

Stinko de MAYO

Oh don’t worry I’m not going to attack your precious Pinata’ holiday, which is only celebrated by the unholy union of alcoholic Americans and Mexican food joints anyway. Nor am I going to squeeze the OLE’ out of your Guacamole despite the fact that no matter how great the taste, it will always look like the spew-stew from a well exorcised and very envious cat. No this rant revolves around a condiment of another color and my genuine dislike of everybody else’s favorite ‘seagull sauce’ - plain o’ Mayo!

Yep, I know that certain lobes of the globe are in love with the tan-less Mayonnaise bread spread, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever know why? I thought in school the one thing we universally agree upon is that, it’s NOT a good idea to eat the paste. So what’s the rush every morning to call-up a dairy dollop of emulsified oil and egg to better butter our buns? I mean honestly nobody really ‘gums’ this goo do they - its only real job is just to be the ‘Elmer’s’ between the turkey and the toast right?

Hey don’t get me wrong I don’t play favorites. I rarely relish few relishes and only periodically will I pop for the Poupon to pique my passion. Yes I’ll head for the bread anytime especially when paired with a fresh roadkill & peppercorn roast, but why do these rubes want to lube my food so liberally anyway? Is this slop they serve-up so bad, that the only hope to savor its flavor is by Miracle or Whip, or maybe a heaping helping of both?

Whose the ‘yolker’ who decided that slathering my Chik-Fil-A ‘sammitch’ in a blanched blanket of wet & greasy ‘egg-toplasm’ is a good idea? Can’t you read my beak - “NO MO’ MAYO!” If chickens wanted lots of eggs surrounding them all of the time, don’t you think they’d cross the road and buy a carton of their own? Oh well I guess, like my writing and my whine, when it comes to food, I’ve just become a plain spoken and a DRY kinda’ guy. Too bad as I get older and older, my pants can’t say the same.

I’m one mixed up OLD DOG!

As I have gotten older I have started to worry that people will judge me when they find out that my DNA was hijacked by some sort of street dog. I am not completely sure what kind of dog yet, but I am fairly certain I’m a mangy, reincarnated ‘Chupacabra’ (goat sucker) mongrel mix instead of a high-brow fancy Purebred. Given the content of my usual blog posts and my propensity to eat, I am starting to lean towards some kind of rare BULLdog and CHOW mix.

Since I often curl up in some corner of the room for a nap, and I am unusually skilled with my hands at digging in the yard I have definite dog tendencies. I am constantly dog-breath challenged, prefer ‘collared’ shirts, and of all things I really enjoy canned hash. If you never have had the pleasure of eating this stuff, when you open the tin it looks and smells EXACTLY like dog food – YUM! But when it’s cooked up into a fattening crispy patty, my wife has to start shaking a can of pennies to scare me away from those delicious but caloric ‘Gains’ burgers.

I have mellowed and yellowed a bit as I have gotten older however. I don’t ‘bark’ orders as much as when I was young and rarely if ever, do I shred the Sunday paper before getting it INSIDE the house. Also, despite being raised by culturally challenged Appalachian wolves, I now have learned the joys of indoor plumbing. As long as there is the fragrantly musky scent of Pine Sol and Mountain DEW in the air to remind me of home, I’m happy!

I guess it’s true that I am more of an old loyal dog these days instead of a lean and mean junkyard scrapper. Apparently the wife has trained me well and has done an exceptional job at keeping a short leash on me. As a self-proclaimed ‘LAPtop’ dog I don’t mind it so much especially since being a ‘Setter’ is a job requirement for a blogger. I only wish someone could give me a few ‘Pointers’ on getting old though - since now, I am rapidly turning into a ‘GREYhound’!

A shuffle-challenged dip

Whenever our tribe has a little down time, they make some nachos and salsa and pull out a deck of cards. Now that would be fine if it was just ONE deck, but I kid you not, my daughter has 6 decks of cards with which to torture me. My sophistication in cards is limited to staring at the pretty patterns on the back of the cards, but beyond that, and the tasty bean dip, I am stumped.

Both my wife and daughter have limitless memories when it comes to advanced card games. All of their games seem to involve playing with stacks upon stacks of those stupid little waxy cards. These games all involve some type of sorting of multiple threes or twos or some other meaningless number. I was born in a day when Aces were king and only the Jokers were wild. What discriminatory ‘DECK raiser’ decided that today, the RED threes are the bees knees of card ‘deck-dom’, while the black threes are cast- offs?

My other issue with any large quantity of cards is holding them. I literally am the ONLY adult at the table who requires a special card gripping device to fan all those cards without playing 52 pick-up with myself. I can count just fine if I can actually see what’s in my hand. It’s just these fancy ‘Canasta based’ games have too many slick little cards to hold unless you are some kind of a card-shark octopus.

Oh and did I mention shuffling yet? Yes, that is where the real fun begins. You can imagine with 6 decks of cards, a whole card table of deck-hands are required to mix up the stack. So for someone who is first, more interested in stuffing my face with beans n’ salsa , and second, incapable of shuffling well anyway – I’m like Rainman on a first date. The family just gawks in disbelief, obviously aghast at my virtuoso performance. They think they are so superior just because they can chew gum and shuffle at the same time. But I ignore their rudeness because I am nothing if not well mannered. So whenever our gang plays cards in the future, I will continue to lean side to side, silently shuffling, flap-folding, cutting, and fanning - only next time I will just do it with the deck of cards and skip the dip!

NEVER go to the light

Right off the bat, I really want to know who started this popular sentiment that ‘going to the light’ is a good thing? What if a raging fire is making all of that light, did you ever think about that? Unless you are the Devil, I just do not think it is responsible parenting to tell your kids to walk into fire. As far as I can tell, every time I personally have undergone a police grilling or got near brightly lit and shiny stuff, it always has cost me one way or the other.

I mean look at jewelry stores. They are filled with fancy little hot lights and shiny shimmering stuff. I have to be buzzed into these places which are surrounded by bars and video security. I don’t know about you, but that feels like JAIL to me, not a luxurious and relaxing shopping experience. Even if I do make it out without physical pain, there still is that little matter of a pricey trinket or bauble I will have to pay off in a month. Just like Sterling Silver, $7.99 plus tax doesn’t grow on trees you know.

I think this notion of going towards the light was probably started by an antisocial ‘flim-flam’ gnat up to no good. Yeah, like some lame senior prank, that rogue bug spread the word that the closer one flies to the light the better your buggy-life will be. But just as Icarus of legend learned so deftly, even when over-confident and giddy bugs cozy up to those hot lights, they often get burned too.

So I think it is safe to say, regardless of what anyone tells you, NEVER go to the light. I know we’ve all been taught to see the glass half full and Pollyanna is perhaps the greatest movie of all time. But I must urge you to even avoid that tempting ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ philosophy. More often than not, once you make to the end, you’ll find just a bunch of lost illegal aliens with a really bright Maglite flashlight . . . and a lot of dead bugs stuck to it.

La Historia of May 5th

Traditionally this has always been an interesting day for me. My family has primarily used May 5th as an excuse to go out and enjoy a tasty Mexican meal together. We also liked the day because it doesn’t take lots of preparation or costly debt to enjoy the camaraderie and fun celebration. Basically Cinco de Mayo’s job is to fill the ‘excuse for fun’ void between the end of the school year and Easter with a little Mexican flavor.

The day’s origin in history was anything but fun however. Military units from Spain, Britain and primarily France invaded Mexico in January 1862. Mexico purposefully stopped paying interest payments on their mounting debt so the Europeans came to collect. Soon enough the Spanish and British broke ranks with the French and went home 4 months later. It had become obvious that France had designs on Mexico’s land and natural resources more than its interest in re-payment of debts.

The French had mounted an undefeated army since around 1810. So the 5th of May in 1862 found its way into the annals of history, when the Mexican army took a stand at Puebla, Mexico. The Mexicans soundly repelled the French invasion force of nearly 8000 - double the strength of the defenders. It did not last however as within a year, Mexico City fell and the French occupied their lands. Napoleon III had hoped to establish a Mexican Monarchy patterned after the French model, but beholden to France’s sphere of influence. Continuing guerilla warfare plagued the new government and once America’s Civil War had ended, the now United states turned its collective resources on blockading further French intervention per the long established Monroe Doctrine. Without direct support from France, the failed Monarchists were deposed, and by 1867 Benito Juarez was restored as President of Mexico.

The celebratory nature of the day has always seemed to ring more important with American restaurant owners than with the people of Mexico themselves. Yes, there is no better feeling of pride than being reminded yearly of your ancestors lack of financial responsibility and subsequent impetus for war. Remember to bring your wallet or purse today, if you intend to enjoy the music, good food, and camaraderie of Cinco de Mayo. The costly lessons of history are clear … PAY YOUR DEBTS – because some folks get a little ‘touchy’ when they don’t get paid on time.

AZ Immigration law – a WIN-WIN

I was not surprised that the Arizona immigration law passed a public vote. I was marginally surprised that the Governor signed the bill into law. The national media is aghast at the perceived insensitivities of Arizona, but they are not living there and do not face the daily burdens of border problems and unchecked illegal immigration. Despite the hub bub, this law has less to do with race and more to do with money – STATE money and services that are being drained during tough times.

I am not a fan of this new law ONLY because I think it puts already over-burdened law enforcement agencies in between an unbearable rock and an even harder hard place. The most troubling provision is that private citizens can pursue LEGAL action against law enforcement if there is a presumption that the new law is not being enforced. So the average Joe cop will be sued by every legal aid attorney for racial profiling, as soon as he attempts to ask a legal resident to produce papers and enforce the law. At the same time, if the same officer is NOT asking suspected illegal aliens for papers, legal residents may initiate legal action against him for NOT enforcing State mandated law.

As for Arizona’s desire to ENFORCE legal immigration across its border – since the Federal government has failed to control the problem, what should states like Arizona, California, and Texas do? These states are disproportionally affected by immigration issues as compared to most others. They have a flood of illegal immigrants whose kids attend schools and whose families use emergency local medical services. Most of us do not have a problem with LEGAL IMMIGRATION. My general feeling is, get in line and wait your turn along with the hundreds of thousands of others that have waited years for a chance to legally enter the country. Again this has NOTHING to do with race for 99% of us. Even if blond haired and blue eyed Swedes were flowing into the country illegally, Arizona and most Americans would complain and demand action from its government.

The real irony over all of this is that within 25 miles of the Southern border currently, law enforcement has had the right FOR YEARS by law to stop anyone WITHOUT CAUSE to confirm legal residency. Even my daughter, with blond hair and a Cardinal red car that conceals nothing, has been stopped in Texas for an immigration check. She did not lay an egg, nor was she offended at all. She was simply surprised and cooperative as most legal residents will be. I find it unhelpful that ‘outsiders’ have called for a boycott of Arizona’s businesses and tourism. This is patently unfair to ALL of the people of Arizona and any sovereign state trying to deal with tough local realities especially when put to a vote of the people.

The solution to all of this is simple enough – ENFORCE current law at the Federal level and new reactionary laws like Arizona’s will prove unnecessary and redundant. Until then or when Purgatory gets a lot colder, if you are in Arizona illegally, you may want to consider an address change. Try the Golden State first and join San Francisco’s proposed boycott on Arizona business. I think the legal residents of Arizona will appreciate your help in plugging up the burden on their cops and resources. And best of all, your illegal presence and valuable contributions will surely help California’s booming economy avoid bankruptcy right? Now that’s what I call a Win-Win deal!

A Flag of Character

With the Tea Party folks around, I have seen more and more of those Gadsden flags flying. You know the ones, with the bright yellow field, a coiled snake in the middle, and the motto “Don’t tread on me” at the bottom. I like this flag because it is simple and to the point. I think it says just about all that needs to be said, when you are pondering the repercussions of kicking sand in the face of anything with fangs (and with the constitution to use them).

Christopher Gadsden (Feb. 1724 – Sept. 1805) was a wealthy merchant, revolutionary soldier, patriot and later British prisoner from South Carolina. He was among the first to serve in the Continental Congress and for nearly a decade prior, had urged the American colonies to form a union and fight England’s taxation policies. Even among friends Gadsden was outspoken but highly principled, stood for what he believed and was relentless. His grandson and U.S. Diplomat James Gadsden was of similar personality and later aided U.S. Southern transcontinental railroad expansion. The final 30 million acre chunk of New Mexico and Arizona’s current border (“The Gadsden Purchase”), was acquired from Mexico’s infamous dictator Santa Anna in 1852, for about 33 cents an acre.

It is believed that Gadsden’s flag was an adaptation of some of America’s first Philadelphia based Marines and their drum corps. They had painted their bright yellow drums like a coiled snake and emblazoned them with the famous “Don’t Tread On Me” motto. Regardless of genus, Gadsden’s flag and the U.S. Marines early history of toughness, resolve, and patriotism have forever become intertwined. It was Gadsden’s vision, and a little later, that of a young America, whose collective character came to be symbolized to the world by that defiant and deadly rattlesnake who prefers to be left alone in peace unless provoked.

In general I like people to fly flags as it shows a little passion; so it goes to reason that the Tea Party participants can relate to Gadsden’s pluck and stalwart symbolism. I believe it is healthy and a time-honored tradition that Americans should stand up and speak out when feeling dismissed or “tread” upon. In 2001 I was amazed at the amount of U.S. flags that flew for many months after 9/11. Despite the tragic catalyst which spurred the outpouring of patriotism, most every street stood up and displayed flags with passion. So smile proudly, when you see Gadsden’s snake, Old Glory, or even your favorite college sport flag flapping stately in the breeze. Regardless of your politics or favorite sport, those are your fellow PASSIONATE patriots simply expressing their points of view freely. They are not merely holding flags as individuals, they are proudly UPHOLDING a united America’s greatest treasure – its true character.

El Hapless Jalepeno

I had a Mexican friend once that worked with me in California named Mariel. We watched out for each other and made sure our respective files, phone calls, and work got taken care of to keep our bosses and clients happy. This in turn ensured that we didn’t get fired and would each go home with a paycheck regularly which made our spouses happy too. I had gotten back early from lunch and had saved a small jalepeno from a salad. Since Mariel was nowhere to be found, I deftly used clear adhesive tape and strapped that little jalepeno right on to the speaking side of her phone receiver. I then retreated to my own office and shuffled paper while I waited for the show to begin.

I had alerted a couple of other office mates to my deed so when Mariel returned, we all tried to remain in earshot of her office but aloof so as not to create suspicion. It was a frustratingly slow process as the phone did not ring as quickly as I had expected, and at one point I toyed with the idea of calling her myself. But finally, the phone resumed its natural state in our firm and a call was buzzed back to Mariel’s office. To my surprise, she picked up the phone and I only heard the muffled normalcy of a one-sided phone conversation. You could see the disappointment on my workmate’s faces as they tired of the gag and went back to their offices. Clearly I had not thought this prank through.

What had gone wrong – did the pepper fall off the phone? Had Mariel, simply discovered the green lump and chucked it in the trash set on a far more childish prank in the planning stages for retaliation? No, as I peeked in around the office entry, I could see Mariel looking confused as she continued her conversation on the phone. She appeared to be searching for something below her desk and papers but was unaware of my presence. Suddenly she shrieked out with a stabbing soprano bark directly into the phone. I literally fell backwards myself worthy of a 4th Stooge, in genuine terror as this reaction was far beyond anything I had expected. After all, this was a highly serene and ‘professional’ office environment – how could one little aromatic jalepeno make such a stink?

Needless to say, I was relieved that Mariel had only been talking to her sister when she soon debriefed the curious staff as to her sudden outburst. I’m not sure most of our clients at the time would have appreciated working with a bunch of advisors afflicted with Tourette’s. As always Mariel was in good humor about the prank. She described that the whole time she was having the phone conversation she could smell the pungent spicy aroma of jalepeno but could not locate the source. Her sudden and vocal discovery was due to the slightly wet and cold- to- the- touch skin of the jalepeno had made inadvertent contact with her cheek . She thought a green slug or something had crawled up on her phone. No it was just me and my little ‘leftover’ jalepeno always ready to ‘spice up life’ and sometimes literally ‘right under your nose’!

In the EYE of the beholder

I tend to see art in things not ordinarily associated with museum finery. For the experts, artwork is so often relegated to one of two extremes - the works of age old Masters, or the follies of the insane. The latter, can also most often apply, to the purchasers of said objet d’ art, which have been randomly crafted by elephants, dogs, and various monkey-sized animals.

But for the rest of us, most art is simply defined as an expression of ‘like or dislike'. We really do not care who made it, the materials involved, or how much time it took to fashion. When I was younger, and had a child running free through the house, it became necessary to call an agency to hire a Nanny. After numerous required reviews and interviews, a caregiver named Yola came to assist in the day to day. Living in California, most folks who enter this profession are both of Mexican heritage and of the Catholic religion. So, in an effort to honor both Yola’s interest in religion and my own affinity for the arts, one night I stayed up late to make her a gift of religious significance.

No, I was not expert enough to work in clay nor did I have the steady hand required for colored pencils. Instead my medium of choice was 'Dryer Lint'. I would run small loads of darks, lights, and reds in the dryer to construct a rather varied pallete of earth tones for my project. Then with whetted fingers, I gently would push, prod ,and cajole the layers of matted lint into the recognizable form of Jesus’s head.

Amazingly the project did not take long, however the colors of lint mostly mixed together into a distinct shade of gray mud. Still I was proud of my creation as the head’s shape, facial hair, and crown of thorns were readily discernable and oddly attractive. The head was basically in two dimensions but had over a half inch of relief elevation so I used spray adhesive to bind the lint fibers together. Just for good measure, and to make it uniquely classy like myself, I topped it all off with an ever-so-light coating of spray-on glitter.

Needless to say, Yola loved the linty little head even more than I did. For nearly 8 years, Jesus in all his glittery glory greeted me ‘eye to eye’ whenever I ventured a knock at our Nanny’s door. You know, this really has got me thinking. I wonder what OTHER kinds of art the CAT can make using litter … and oh yeah - a bit of glitter?