...time to pretend I'm strong enough to drag my tired hiney down to Project Share to cook for Food Not Bombs today.
I went to the Mothers Acting Up parade yesterday. IT was pitiful. They didn't even TRY to promote it within the community. I think only about 20 adults marched. At the park, about half a dozen progressive causes set up tables.
There were no signs or banners, explaining why we were walking around, downtown, dressed in silly hats and pushing strollers.
It made no sense to passers by.
I asked an organizer for the left over cake for FNB. She says she lives only 3 blocks away and will bring it this morning, but I'm not holding my breath.
I have a slow leak in my front tube. I don't have an alan wrench large enough to loosen the bolt and remove the tire. So, I just stopped and pumped up the tire a lot on my way home.
As I started to drive home, I realized I was at 12th and Mountain. The Pueblo Center smoke shop is only a few blocks north, so I wrote a check for a carton.
Someone's loaning me some money on Monday, so I can put the amount in my bank. Makes me nervous, though...
But I need to work on my stories this week, and a long ride up there for smokes is a big deal. So, it's done.
I went home a different way this time. Because it was only about 5 pm on a Saturday, I thought Central Ave, old Route 66, might not be so crowded. And it wasn't.
Normally, I avoid Central.
I found a dumpster in the street. A bar is remodelling. I found pour spouts, the kind that plug into bottles like corks. I've always wanted some, for soy sauce, bbq sauce, etc.
I also found a HUGE piece of styrofoam, slightly longer than the dog carrier on my trailer and just as wide, painted day-glow orange. I don't know how to describe the shape, but I call it my fish bobber. It really looks like some sort of giant fishing tackle.
So, I redid my trailer, when I got home. I'll HAVE to take a picture and post it! No WAY I can describe it!
I watched part of "Hannibal" last night: what a waste of film, location and good actors! And the child abuse at the end is completely out of character with Dr. Lecter. It was unforgiveable!
I loved "Silence of the Lambs." I understood Dr. Lecter, completely. I may not have understood WHY he ended up as he was: the specific trauma(s) that turned him into a predatory, cannabalistic executioner. But I understood that he'd reached the conclusion that some particularly corrupt people deserved to die. And I understood his medical/culinary "creativity."
This wasn't Lecter; this was a cheap imitation. Tony Hopkins should have turned it down.
Too bad: Florence is the PERFECT setting for Lecter! Talk about a cannibalistic, elitist, judgmental history! Ah, well....
So, the tv version was perfect for me, and I'm glad I only checked in an hour after it started. I didn't need to see the whole thing, and I avoided the graphic violence.
I think it's in poor taste ...pardon the pun... to show such a movie during the Iraqi prisoner scandal. It merely confirms international suspicions that Americans are sick, twisted sadists. Not just Lecter: almost everybody in the movie was perverted. And Lecter perverts a child. Inexcuseable.
It made me realize, however, how little American films explore historically significant locations. I loved hearing about and seeing Florence!
Bottom line: Osa's at my elbow, taking minibreaks from her brats. I found a 3rd kitten...it's REALLY dark in that drawer! So, she has a white, a black and a grey. I think they're all long haired, like she.
I'll sell two for ten dollars, each. That will pay to have her spayed. She's my last, "fertile" cat, until the remaining kitten grows.
By then, I should be writing news stories regularly enough that neutering won't be such a financial problem.
I tried to keep her from getting pregnant, honest. I've managed twice. I guess that means she's TWO years old, not a year. I skipped a year in my memory, but started counting last night and figured it out.
Mugwart's getting so old, he won't be around much longer. He's almost 20. He's very healthy, don't get me wrong. But he's falling apart: bad eyes, missing teeth, creeky...just like me.
The others are relatively young: Chaco's the oldest, maybe 8; Miss Thing's about 5. Osa and Ivan are her kittens; they're 2.
It's a pretty morning; I've got my girl at my elbow; the scooter's outrageous; food's cooked and more is coming; freezer's full.
I can't complain. Well, maybe I could, but what good would it really do?
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