excells in shells

Lips v. Mouth

Dear Open-Mouthed and Willing Lipped,

This is a very compelling discussion of the meaning of words, which relates to some recent readings posted here at the Dodo.  It's got me thinking a lot about the *difference between lip and mouth.  Lips frame a mouth, but maybe not a message?  A word?  Voice is not lips, that seems sure.  Do you convince with your lips, your mouth, your mind?  Do you rule with your thoughts, your words, or your stern glance?  Shall woke women now use 'mouthstick' to avoid being doormats and wallflowers?








*Don't give me no lip.  Enough of your smart mouth.  Hmm. 





PS  This, on the history of the bottle cap opener.

Good Fortune

Dear Lady Luck,

The subject of my extreme good fortune has been spoken of on these pages many times, and my streak continues.  I am in the lucky acquaintance of a bevy of fabulous, charming, and creative women.  These are women that write their own scripts, make their own rules and worlds, and I can't tell you how terrific it is to be in the glow of their aureolae.   

Here is an example of their wonderfulness; a band; Arthur Watership.  Give it a listen; you'll be glad you did!

Sunday

Dear Devoted Radio Dodo Fans,

For you, for today, this song.  My DJ played it for me a few days ago.  Notice the accompaniment- so sophisticated!

Rambling

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goldfields time, again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All of it is yours and mine.

Dear Riders,

Here is your song for the day, in one and two versions.  I adore this galloping tune and the hammering, repeated lyrics.  It's perfection.  The chords are easy, so give it whirl on your rhythm guitar.









PS 
Yes, darlings, that is David Bowie la la la la la la la la-ing.

Clouds today.

What color is that?

Dear Friends,

You know I have this part-time gig talking and reading about Color for Art, which is sometimes called Color Theory.  The word 'theory' refers to an idea or system of ideas used to explain something.  It always likes to be next to another noun.  Here are some examples:  Doughnut Theory.  Ugly Sock Theory.  Miasma Theory.

Explaining things is nice; it's fine and dandy even, but just mucking around and messing about with materials seems to stick better with folks.  They sort of discover it on their own, and I think it means more to them that way.  It's just a theory, though.

We have a lot of mucking about with color time together and we have some nice music, slides, and maybe a film, and I hand out copied pages from things that pertain.  This Spring a lot of pages are coming from this fine book:  The Secret Lives of Color, by Kassia St. Clair.  It's a delightful little history of the known world in tidy little chunks.  It's a bit like Bill Bryson's books; especially Home.

You will be delighted by this book, and so will everyone you know- it really is perfect for any reader you can find.

Hard Pan Arches

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bars

Dear Makers & Bakers,

A few days a week I am gainfully employed, but I always bring my lunch, because I want to maximize the gainful part of earning money (so I can buy more shoes, skates and guitars).  Sometimes I forget my sad sack lunch and I go to the feed trough cafeteria and it is all right, in a stainless steel and good intentions way.  They sell things like grilled cheese sandwiches and plastic cups filled with cubes of melon and bags and bags of chips and cans of caffeine.  I have three times purchased their Caesar salad in a noisy, clear clamshell box with 110 croutons on it.  I have tried a few other things too, a gringo burrito (which is inexplicably and universally adored by other customers), a ham & cheese, a pulled pork sandwich.  What really looked good though, and I finally tried, after 2 years of considering it, is the Big Sur Bar. 

Well sir, it is good.  Really pretty darned good, and now I have had it three times.  Three times is adding up, so now I am trying to Make My Own.  I am inventing the recipe entirely, based on reading the ingredients.  The bar has a sort of a bland base, with whole, identifiable stuff stuck to the top: coconut, almonds, oats, chocolate chips, etc.  I decided it might be held on by honey, so I made mine with honey and lemon marmalade mixed into the top layer. 

It's only my first stab at it, and I am not ready to give a review of my results, but if you'd like to get going on eating one, and then trying to concoct your own copy, here is a link: https://bigsurbar.com/

Dear Mr. Frosty

Guiltless enjoyment.

Dear Harmonized,

Here's your song of the day....  I put another Lucius song on here somewhere, a while ago.  The thing about this cover is that it really lets you enjoy this song without the guilt and case of the nerves the original song induced. 

massive wardrobe of cowboy clothes...

Dear Girl Band Members,

I am thinking lately about Gillian Welch.  Looking at some of her songs on the internet, I couldn't help noticing that some listeners are a little confused, and they seem to have singled out What's His Name as the greater talent in their musical union.  Well, yes, he can play guitar, but it's all just facility and flourish: the soul of the sound resides in Ms. Welch.  He just rides her coat tails, but he's an affable fellow, so I don't mind if she wants to keep him around.

In listening to their songs, and after watching this video, I began another of my semi-regular searches for some really sharp Western duds with scads of embroidery; the kind that Gene or Roy would have worn.  I have wanted a suit like that since I first laid eyes on Dale Evans, when I was 8 years old or so.  There's a framed 8 x 10 glossy of Dale and Roy in the second bathroom- it's a nice room; the shower wall has a beautiful Neruda poem about a time- and water-rounded stone painted on it.

Anyway, while I was looking for the perfect singing cowboy shirt, I found Rockmount Ranch Wear.  See if you can live without some.











PS
I wrote this little bit of rumination half a moon cycle ago, and researchers at the Dodo have just brought my attention to this relevant essay.  Which reminds me of the co-incidence of my just begun Guerilla Girls manifesto shrine.  Things are being added to it regularly.  I put it in a very prominent place where I work sometimes, as what we like to call an 'instructor of art,' but my mentor would always say "a God-damned college professor." 

Make union with us.