drollgirl

Empathy

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Mon, 25 Sep 2017 22:14:00 +0000

I read this (written by Robert M. Sapolsky) yesterday and found it interesting. And depressing. Enjoy. :)

What humans and prairie voles have in common — a tendency to divide the world into Us and Them

Sometimes, even the most inspirational among us share some disheartening traits with other animals.

Humans have a remarkable capacity for empathy and compassion. We help strangers a continent away, donate anonymously, bequeath money to help people who will be born after our deaths. We can even choose to make the ultimate sacrifice in helping others — just think of the West African nurses who died fighting Ebola. These admirable traits owe little to Sunday morning sermons, the rule of law or pillows embroidered with the Golden Rule. Instead, they’re how we’re wired; we see the rudiments in other species. Such behaviors are rooted in our common ancestry.

Among chimps, for example, suppose some low-ranking member of a troop is mauled by an alpha-male. Afterward, the innocent bystander is more likely than usual to be groomed by other group members. But such “consolation” behavior isn’t generic — if the pummeled loser wasn’t a hapless victim, and instead was the fool who started the fight, no extra grooming for him.

Even rodents exhibit the building blocks of empathy. If a mouse observes another mouse in pain, its own pain threshold lowers. If a prairie vole has been stressed, it is more likely to be groomed. Rats will “work” (that is, repeatedly press a lever) to release another rat from a tightly enclosed space, and will even forgo a reward (chocolate!) in the process.

Wow, a lot like humans. And just as in humans, empathy tends to come with a catch.

Chimps console innocent victims only in their own group. A vole grooms a distressed individual only if it is his or her mate; a stressed stranger is out of luck. Pain thresholds lower in mice only if the mouse in pain is a mouse they know. Rats work to free another rat only if the latter is a cage mate or a rat of their genetic strain (roughly equivalent to breed in dogs). In other words, these species divide the world into Us and Them, and care much more about the former than the latter.

So do we. When people watch a video of a hand being poked with a sharp needle, they have an “isomorphic sensorimotor” response, unconsciously clenching their own hands, with sensory neurons activating as if they were experiencing the poke. But this doesn't happen as much if the hand being poked is of another skin color.

In another study, researchers feigned an injury at a soccer stadium during a game — they were more likely to be helped if wearing home team regalia. Subjects considering the plight of an AIDS patient activate the anterior cingulate, a brain region implicated in feeling empathy — but only if the patient was infected with HIV from a blood transfusion, rather than from drug use. We come with implicit categories influencing whose plight moves us.

What’s demoralizing is when we see this play out in the behavior of moral giants.

Consider John Newton, a theologian who late in life became central to the banning of slavery in the British Empire. Remarkably, as a young man, Newton was the captain of a slave ship. When he had a religious epiphany (something he celebrated in the hymn he penned, “Amazing Grace”), he traded his captain’s role for the ministry. But there’s an inconvenient pause in Newton’s journey from slaver to abolitionist. As a newly minted preacher caring for the poor of London, he invested in and profited from the slave trade. Apparently, it wasn’t immediately obvious that everyone deserved God’s grace equally.

Then there’s Zenji Abe, who lead a squadron of Japanese planes that attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941. Years later, as an old man, Abe came to a memorial service in Hawaii, to apologize to elderly American survivors. Yet Abe had also participated in the Japanese invasion of China and the Rape of Nanking; there is no evidence that he ever apologized for that. Apparently, some types of ex-enemies count more than others.

And there’s Woodrow Wilson who, after the end of World War I, championed self-determination and human rights for subjugated European minorities. Yet Wilson’s legacy is tainted with racism. As president of Princeton University, he labored to reduce the number of African Americans admitted; as president of the United States, he instituted or reinforced segregationist laws. Moreover, he repeatedly invaded Latin American countries, overthrowing popularly supported governments to install puppets. Apparently, self-determination and civil rights applied only to people of some skin colors.

Which brings us to a current example. Consider Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel Peace Prize winner who spent 15 years under house arrest in Myanmar for nonviolently opposing its military dictatorship. Now, “Mother Suu” is the de facto leader of Myanmar. The news has been filled with reports of the ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya, the Muslim minority in Myanmar, following attacks by Rohingyan insurgents on government border posts. There has been a bloodbath of killings and rapes; Rohingya villages have been burned to the ground by the military and Buddhist mobs. Four hundred thousand Rohingya have fled into Bangladesh under the direst of circumstances.

And the response of Suu Kyi, who is a member of the country’s Buddhist aristocracy? At first, a yawning silence. Finally, on Tuesday, she addressed the crisis publicly. She praised her marauding military for its supposed restraint in pursing “terrorists,” aligning herself with some of the same generals who imprisoned her. She denied the long-standing persecution of the Rohingya and the scorched-earth campaign against them. She called for investigations into “what the real problems are” behind the exodus of the 400,000.

And thus Suu Kyi, a prisoner of conscience who suffered deeply to help free her people, shows that only some citizens of Myanmar count as “her people.” Or even as people.

Of course, humans and other animals aren’t identical in how they extend empathy to only the right kinds of sufferers. When a rat fails to aid an unfamiliar rat in need, it could offer an easy explanation — “that rat smells weird.” But when humans do it, we gussy up savage indifference with rationalization, denial, distortion and lies.

Ah, the progress we’ve made.

Stanford University neuroscientist Robert M. Sapolsky is the author, most recently, of “Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst.”

What to say about this. I think we can rise above our instincts, no? I think some of us are already more evolved than others, but we can all try harder, no? Parents have to [OR ARE SUPPOSED TO] shape their wretched ID kids into decent human beings, and that is no small task. We all have to fight bad impulses -- some of us more than others. I used to ask my dearly departed friend Mike every year what his New Year's resolutions were. He said, "Same as it is every year -- to be a better person." Word.

Zzzzzt Zzzzzt

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Thu, 24 Aug 2017 20:18:00 +0000

I read this article a while back, and I have re-read it repeatedly and shared it with more than a few people. And I felt the need to read it AGAIN today, so I guess I'll share it here for you too. :)

The Initiation of Heterosexual Behavior in a Homosexual Male

In 1954, James Olds and Peter Milner of McGill University discovered that the septal region is the feel-good center of the brain. Electrical stimulation of it produces sensations of intense pleasure and sexual arousal. They demonstrated their discovery by inserting wires into a rat's brain and then showing that when the rat figured out it could self-stimulate itself by pressing a lever, it would maniacally bang on that lever up to two-thousand times an hour.

In 1970, Robert Heath of Tulane University dreamed up a far more novel application of Olds and Milner's discovery. Heath decided to test whether repeated stimulation of the septal region could transform a homosexual man into a heterosexual.

Heath referred to his homosexual subject as patient B-19. He inserted Teflon-insulated electrodes into the septal region of B-19's brain and then gave B-19 carefully controlled amounts of stimulation in experimental sessions. Soon the young man was reporting increased stirrings of sexual motivation. Heath then rigged up a device to allow B-19 to self-stimulate himself. It was like letting a chocoholic loose in a candy shop. B-19 quickly became obsessed with the pleasure button. In one three-hour session he pressed it 1500 times until, as Heath noted, "he was experiencing an almost overwhelming euphoria and elation and had to be disconnected."

By this stage of the experiment B-19's libido was so jacked up that Heath decided to proceed with the final stage in which B-19 would be introduced to a sexually-willing female partner. With permission from the state attorney general, Heath arranged for a twenty-one-year-old female prostitute to visit the lab, and he placed her in a room with B-19. For an hour B-19 did nothing, but then the prostitute took the initiative and a successful sexual encounter between the two occurred. Heath considered this a positive result.

Little is known of B-19's later fate. Heath reported that the young man drifted back into a life of homosexual prostitution, but that he also had an affair with a married woman. Heath optimistically decided that this showed the treatment was at least partially successful. However, Heath never did try to convert any more homosexuals.

Beyond the obvious horror of this experiment, it all makes me think about social media, the love/need for likes, the love/need for attention, validation, affirmation, comments, direct messages, engagement, etc. And how if it brings pleasure, we need MORE. More. More. More! Zzzzzt. Zzzzzt. I'm also reading (well, listening to the audio book) The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business by Charles Duhigg, which I am finding both interesting and irritating. I like learning about the human condition, why we are they way we are and why we do what we do, but it is also frustrating and irritating to learn how PREDICTABLE and formulaic we can be, and what we need to be happy and to derive pleasure. Humph.

Corey Arnold

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Thu, 17 Aug 2017 23:47:00 +0000

Sometimes it's nice to see how the other half lives ~~and to scurry away from the previous blog post~~! Below you will find pretty freaking fab photos by Corey Arnold, an artist/photographer/fisherman based in Portland, Oregon. Love them!

About the artist:

Corey Arnold is a fine art photographer based in Portland, Oregon. His work examines man’s relationship with the natural world including animals, food production, and environmental issues. Since 2002, he has photographed his life at sea working as a Bering Sea Crab fisherman and documented his summers captaining a sockeye salmon fishing boat in Alaska. In the off-season he continues to explore the world’s commercial fisheries in an ongoing project entitled Fish-Work.

His photographs have been exhibited worldwide and published in Harpers, The New Yorker, New York Times LENS, Art Ltd, Rolling Stone, Time, Outside, National Geographic, Mare and The Paris Review, among others. Corey has published two books of photography by Nazraeli Press including Fish-Work: The Bering Sea, and Fishing with My Dad.

source for images and bio

This post is reminding me that I have never gone fishing (literally speaking). I think I'll pass on this particular style of fishing, but it would be fun to try the more lazy/leisurely/dockside type of fishing. Soon -- I'm on some weird kick lately to get out and about and see new people, places and things. You know...get more out of life. Why not. :)

Fuck It

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Mon, 14 Aug 2017 21:57:00 +0000

Helen Mirren in Caligula

A while back I heard that stories that resonate the most with audiences are those in which the teller exposes his/her own shame or humiliation.

This is probably my most shameful and humiliating story to date, but whatever. It is also the most hilarious/horrifying dating story that I've had in a while, and I think I have an audience of ONE at this point, so FUCK IT, I'm going to go ahead and tell it.

So, I'm single. The on-line dating thing is...well, I don't know how to describe it. It can be really fun. Really entertaining. And sometimes really disappointing.

Mostly I get interest from dudes in their 20s and 30s that like the chubtastic/curvy ladies. Uh, I'm 47. That isn't gonna fly, as I don't just want sex, and that is pretty much all they want. I'll admit that more than one has tempted me. I have almost almost almost taken up one or two on their offers, but in the end I refrained.

Lately most of those in my age group that are interested in me just haven't seem quite right -- either not enough personality, not interesting enough, or something was either a bit off or way off. But there was one dude recently that really seemed like a good possibility. Right age, local, tall enough, pretty cute, and he had one of the best dating profiles that I have ever read -- he put effort into it and didn't just phone it in, and it wasn't just a bunch of typical boring, cliche crap. AND he was interested in me. Winner!!! So we texted back and forth and that was great. And we talked on the phone and he had me laughing so hard (I'm a sucker for any dude that is fun, funny and good in bed, and he was already rocking it in two out of three categories). We talked and talked one Saturday afternoon, and he had one of the best stories that I have ever heard, and finally he asked if I wanted to meet that night. I said YES. He was about an hour's drive away, and it was already about 8:30 at night. It's always tough to figure out where to meet -- bars are too noisy, it was too late for dinner, a park late at night seemed like a horrible idea, etc. So I was in FUCK IT MODE (always problematic for me. ALWAYS. Foreshadowing!!!!), and I said, "You can just come to my place. If you try anything, I'll fucking kill you." This made him laugh, but I think he took me seriously.

So about an hour later I heard him pull up on his motorcycle (it's like I have dog-ears -- I hear it all). He sent me a text and asked if I wanted to step outside, check him out, check out his bike, and make sure I was comfortable with him. I went outside. He pretty much looked like his pics (win), but he was NOT 5'11", but I didn't call him out on that. I thought his bike was not at all cool -- totally meh -- but whatever. So he seemed ok with me/my appearance, which was a relief. And we went inside. And, the conversation was good. And, well, I didn't plan for anything to happen (maybe I did subconsciously????), but he was so cute, so funny, and a little touching and a little kissing felt so good, and of course we ended up in bed. And we didn't use a condom, as neither of us had one on hand. I know, I know. But I'm human. And idiotic. And I just wasn't thinking clearly. At all!!! Go ahead and judge me. Sigh.

The sex was pretty, pretty good. Ok, it was really good. Mmmmmmhmmmmm. And both parties seemed very happy. But about 4 seconds after it was over he said: "You'd be great in a threesome! I have some lesbian friends that would LOVE you. And I have a standing invitation to an orgy that is held once a month. Are you game????"

OMFG. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well my mind exploded as I heard all of this -- I just had sex without a condom with a dude that GOES TO MOTHERFUCKING ORGIES.

Needless to say, my next stop was at the Hollywood Free Clinic for a round of STD testing. It's a small clinic. The receptionist desk is near the room full of patients, and it is hard to keep the talk on the down-low. So the receptionist asked what I was in for. I tried to say very quietly STD TESTING. Of course it felt like everyone heard. They probably did. They were all probably there for the same thing. The receptionist was a total sweetie -- he patted my hand and told me whatever I had, if I had anything, would be treatable. He asked if I had any symptoms, to which I said, "Racing heart, shame and paranoia." He blinked and asked if I had any other symptoms. Lol.

So anywhoo, those are the highlights/lowlights of my stupid experience. I could give 19 million more details, but I just can't. My panic has faded and it appears the patient will live. And now I have a zillion condoms stuffed in my purse and at my house for the next gent that (hopefully) comes along and doesn't require participation in MOTHERFUCKING ORGIES!!!!! :)

P.S. Truth be told, I have wondered more than once since this event....Could I do a threesome? An orgy? Should I????? I am not sure at what point my judgment left the building.

47!

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Sun, 30 Jul 2017 07:01:00 +0000

47! Y-I-K-E-S!

I considered buying an AK-47 and recording a video of me shooting things up for my 47th birthday, but seeing as I have never shot any kind of gun, it seemed a bit extreme. A tad excessive. Perhaps I have a tiny bit more wisdom in my old age? Perhaps. :)

P.S. This image is an homage to Roy Lichtenstein's 1963 lithograph entitled "Crak!" :)

Don't Come Knocking / Kick-Ass Cinematography

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Wed, 26 Jul 2017 18:22:00 +0000

Long, long ago at an unpretentious budget college far, far away, I was an art major with a focus on painting and drawing. I can't remember exactly how instructors taught composition -- I feel like people either "get" composition or they don't. But looking at examples of GOOD composition (or bad composition) can be very informative.

If you have any interest in seeing ABSOLUTELY KILLER, KICK-ASS CINEMATOGRAPHY AND COMPOSITION, check out the movie Don't Come Knocking. Some of the shots are SO GOOD -- they just made me gasp. Just perfect. The colors, the lighting, the composition -- absolutely flawless. Spot on.

I found these stills from the movie on-line. They give you an idea of what the movie looks like -- but it all flows better when you watch the film. I'd kill...wellllll, maybe just maim...to see this movie on the big screen. Anywhoo, here are some examples....

I don't know if credit for all of this gloriousness goes to the director, Wim Wenders, or to the cinematographer, Franz Lustig. I give credit to both. Just a beautiful, beautiful film. I have to be a jerk and say it isn't the best movie ever (the lead and two supporting actors are perfect, one or two actors totally overdid it, and one was a complete misfire for me), but it is one gorgeous film to look at. Enjoy!

Anna Zemánková

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Fri, 07 Jul 2017 19:39:00 +0000

I recently had the pleasure of seeing the Anna Zemánková exhibition at The Good Luck Gallery. I had never heard of this artist, but after seeing a few images in a gallery announcement, I was compelled to go see the works in person. They are lovely. Quiet and bold, strange and alien, they are embellished, exaggerated, otherworldly floral-like creations made from crayon, ink and pastel. Some of her works -- my favorites -- also include fabric, beading and embroidery. They truly are a wonder to see.

The exhibition at the The Good Luck Gallery runs trough July 9, 2017. If you have a chance to see the exhibition this weekend, DO IT. If you can't make it, somehow remember her name and try to see the works in person someday. They are magical.

Please note, all of these works are NOT in the above-mentioned exhibition. I have scoured as many sources as I could to get a better feel for her works, and pretty much just put them here for my viewing pleasure. :] Yep, I'm obsessed! Just fab!

About the artist:

“I am growing flowers that are not grown anywhere else,” said Anna Zemánková in describing her artwork. Throughout her often troubled life Zemánková cultivated a unique personal botany in crayon, ink and oil pastel, creating her own singular realm of emotionally-charged lyrical abstraction.

Zemánková was born in Moravia (today part of the Czech Republic) in 1908. She worked as a dental technician before marrying a military officer and subsequently dedicated herself to raising four children, one of whom, her first-born son, died in infancy - a tragedy that Zemánková never completely recovered from.

It wasn’t until Zemánková was in her early fifties that she started drawing. One of her sons, a sculptor, provided her with materials and encouraged her to produce art as an antidote for the persistent melancholy that afflicted her. During the pre-dawn hours, while the rest of the world slept, Zemánková listened to classical music and drew anomalous biomorphic forms that quivered and pulsated with a life of their own; stamens that rippled like electrical currents; tendrils that twined, spiraled and unfolded into otherworldly blossoms. These subtle and delicately-hewn drawings exude a powerful presence.

In the absence of gallery shows, Zemánková held “open house” exhibitions every few years, and her work came to the attention of Jean Dubuffet who included several of her pieces in the Collection de l’Art Brut Lausanne, the world’s most notable collection of Outsider Art.

Although her subject matter remained much the same, a number of different phases – marked by her adoption of new mediums, including collage, embroidery, and bead-work – define Zemánková’s artistic career. She was a restless, questing spirit who kept working even after both of her legs were amputated due to severe diabetes.

In 1979, Zemánková achieved significant recognition when she was featured alongside Henry Darger, Martín Ramírez and others in the groundbreaking group show at London’s Hayward Gallery that was the first major exhibition to give art world exposure to self-taught visionary artists. More recently, eighteen of Zemánková’s works were included in the seminal 2013 Venice Biennale, organized by Masimilliano Gioni, director of New Museum, NY—the first time in the venerable contemporary art exhibition’s 118 year history that the work of Outsider artists was represented.

Thirty years after her death, interest in Zemánková has never been greater. Shows of her work will be up this summer at the Collection de l’Art Brut Lausanne and the Cavin-Morris Gallery in New York, while at the Good Luck Gallery in Los Angeles we are delighted to be presenting the first ever solo exhibit of Zemánková’s art in California, where her rarely-seen beaded and embroidered works will be shown, as well as many collages and drawings.

source for text above

Mojave, California

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Tue, 16 May 2017 18:15:00 +0000

A while back my little sister told me that I might want to visit Mojave, California. She knows I get so bored and restless and that I love to get away and see new places. So I finally took her advice and drove out there. It's about 90 miles north of Los Angeles proper -- way, way, way out in the boonies where there are few people and traffic is pretty much non-existent. It is quiet, stark, scenic, and kind of bleak. But it was fun to wander around, feel tiny in a big landscape, and take these pics.

While in Mojave, I kept hoping (worrying?) that I'd run into a gang of tweakers that might let me take their photos if I gave them enough money to buy an 8-ball (yes, I know that term -- long ago I messed around with the second/ or third? tackiest drug of all, but those days are way behind me). Anywhoo, no such luck. I saw some down-and-out types at a gas station, but no obvious tweakers. But maybe that's for the best? Probably.

Many decades ago, my parents were heading out on their honeymoon. They spent the first night in Oakland, California, and then headed south on their way to the Grand Canyon. After about 7 hours of driving, my mom said they needed to find someplace to stay for the night. They ended up stopping in Mojave, Ca. Not exactly romantic! HA! My mom said it was roasting hot, the air conditioning didn't work, and my dad somehow got locked out of the motel room while wearing nothing but his underwear, and he had to crawl around banging on windows until my mom let him back in the room. Or something like that? Ridic.

My parents currently live in my idea of a suburban nightmare neighborhood, on Mojave Way. My mom says it is incredible how often people mispronounce the word "Mojave", calling it MOW-JAVE. HELLO?!?!?!??! Born in a barn??????

Hmmm. What else can I say here? Not much, really. Nothing new or exciting that I'd care to share. The last year or so has had many ups and downs [yesterday was the anniversary of one of my worst experiences in life -- UGH -- I am so happy to have the year behind me so that I can hopefully get over it and just fucking MOVE ON already], but isn't that true for almost everyone in existence? Every time I get into "woe is me" mode, I think about Syrian refugees and I shut my pie hole. I feel like i am constantly RECALIBRATING lately. Just re-adjusting to life, to circumstances, to expectations, etc. If that makes sense? But don't we all have to do that constantly? Maybe I am just more conscious of it now.

A friend who is going through really tough times recently had some words of wisdom for me (courtesy of her recently passed father): stop rowing the boat and just see where it goes. Of course I immediately pictured a boat moving precipitously towards a waterfall, LOL, but that's just me. It is interesting advice, and I'll take it under consideration. :)

Deedee Cheriel: When Brown Chicks Take Over The World

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Sat, 25 Mar 2017 00:24:00 +0000

Ahhhhh. A new exhibition of Deedee Cheriel's works are featured at KP Projects through April 1, 2017.

I just love her art. I think I love anything that transports me to a new reality, or to a new experience beyond the ho-hum predictability and banality of everyday life, even if it only happens briefly. This applies to visual and intellectual experiences, and I guess all other types of experiences too. I suppose I'm always looking for more/more/more interesting thoughts and perspectives and things to see. Not that I don't want to be reality-based. And sometimes one can find comfort in predictability, but sometimes I just get so bored and I love to feast on the new and unexpected. Then again when I am exposed to lots of new things I quickly get over-stimulated and way too excited and I CANNOT SETTLE DOWN -- like a pinball machine on overload. Lol. You can't win with me. Lord, I'm babbling and probably making no sense. Anywhoo, here are my favorite works in this latest exhibition. I want to make the pink one MINE. So fab!!!!

About the artist....

Nalini ‘Deedee’ Cheriel is a visual artist who started out creating record covers and T-shirts for the Oregon music scene in the early ‘90s. Born in the hippie town of Eugene, Oregon, she began her own band and record label at the age of 19. Influenced by the popular DIY culture of that time, she played in several all-girl bands (Juned, Adickdid, The Teenangels, The Hindi Guns) and co-created the semi-autobiographical film Down and Out with the Dolls. This artist has lived and studied abroad: Honduras, Chile, England, Portugal, Spain and her native India.

Now residing in Los Angeles, Cheriel’s work explores narratives that recognize the urgency and conflict in our continuing attempts to connect to the world. With influences derived from such opposites as East Indian temple imagery, punk rock, and her Pacific Northwest natural environment, her images are indications of how we try to connect ourselves to others and how these satirical and heroic efforts are episodes of compassion and discomfort. Bold elements drawn from landscapes -both urban and natural- and pop culture suggest the ability to find commonalities and relationships between ourselves and our surroundings that inevitably confirm our greater humanity and quest towards love.

Here is a link to her store, which has some affordable stuff. Yay! I bought one of her prints several years ago, and I just love it!

HORROR FACTOR ELEVEN / INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Tue, 07 Feb 2017 21:31:00 +0000

I was just nomming on my lunch while reading a bit of news on-line when I read this article. OMFG!!!!!!

The 42-year-old Indian woman was in deep slumber last Tuesday night until she awoke around midnight to a “tingling, crawling sensation” in her right nostril.

At first, the woman, a domestic worker named Selvi, brushed the feeling off, assuming she might be catching a cold, the Times of India reported. But she soon felt something move.

She spent the rest of the night in discomfort, waiting for the sun to rise so she could go to the hospital.

“I could not explain the feeling but I was sure it was some insect,” she told the New Indian Express. “Whenever it moved, it gave me a burning sensation in my eyes.”

As dawn arrived, with her son-in-law in tow, the woman visited the clinic closest to her home in Injambakkam, in the south Indian state of Tamil Nadu.

She was soon referred to a second hospital, where doctors suspected she might be suffering from a nasal growth. At a third hospital, doctors recommended a scan, and told her the discomfort may be coming from “a foreign body that seemed to be mobile,” the Times of India reported.

Finally, in her fourth doctor visit — at Stanley Medical College Hospital — doctors used an endoscope to find the culprit: a blob with a pair of antennae.

“It was a full grown cockroach,” M.N. Shankar, the head of the ear, nose and throat department, told the Times of India. “It was alive. And it didn’t seem to want to come out.”

The insect was sitting in the skull base, between the eyes and close to the brain, Shankar said.

Doctors first tried to use a suction device to remove the cockroach, but the insect clung to the tissues. After a 45-minute process, using suction and forceps, doctors were able to extract the bug, still alive.

Because of the critter’s location, doctors had to first drag it to a place from which it could be extracted. It had been lodged inside for about 12 hours, the Times of India reported.

Doctors placed the insect in a container, its wing spread and its legs moving rapidly.

“If left inside, it would have died before long and the patient would have developed infection, which would have spread to the brain,” Shankar added.

Shankar said this was the “first such case” he has seen in his three decades of practice, the New India Express reported. In the past, the hospital’s ENT department has removed a leach, houseflies, and maggots from patients’ nasal cavities.

“But not a cockroach, said S Muthuchitra, one of the doctors, “especially not one this large.”

This is by no means the first time a cockroach has crawled and nestled into a human body. A 1994 story in The Washington Post described a similar local case involving a one-inch cockroach that crawled into a George Washington University graduate student’s ear.

Shannelle Armstrong, the student, woke up screaming before dawn with a piercing pain in her left ear. She was taken by ambulance to the emergency room, where doctors flushed out the live cockroach.

One ear specialist quoted in the story said hospital doctors are sometimes called upon to remove different kinds of bugs from patients’ ears, especially in the summer. In urban areas, he said, roaches are the most common.

The graduate student’s medical report added the following advice: “Consider sleeping with hat on.”

SCREAM! CACKLE! THE HORROR!!!!

Side note: I recently re-read Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis. It really is an outstanding read!

Tapir Time

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Tue, 17 Jan 2017 23:09:00 +0000

I subscribed to National Geographic about a year ago, and I am finally finally FINALLY slogging through past editions. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy them. I feel the need to read every single article, so it takes time. They are invariably interesting. Informative. Often times depressing. But they are well written, they address important issues of our times, and they have amazing photographs. Rarely do they make me laugh, but this particular article in the October 2016 edition made me cackle:

If it is too hard to read from the image above, here is a transcript:

Tapirs Are Surprisingly Well Endowed

Their genitalia is “ungainly” but evolved that way for a reason.

By Patricia Edmonds

Perissodactyla, roughly translated, means “odd number of toes.” It’s the order of mammals that includes rhinos (three toes), horses (one hoofed toe), and tapirs (three toes in back and four toes in front).

Extra toes are an evolutionary advantage that helps barrel-bodied tapirs with weight bearing and traction. Another adaptive trait that male rhinos, horses, and tapirs share: They’re “extremely well endowed,” says tapir expert Michele Stancer, director of animal care at Utah’s Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City.

An aroused tapir’s manhood is so “large and ungainly,” Stancer says, “I actually have seen the male step on it and scream.” Maneuvering the organ into mating position involves many swings and misses. And yet, she says, the male “had to evolve to that size and shape to get where it needs to go” in the female’s lengthy genital tract to inseminate her. Another evolutionary adaptation: large flaps near the end of the penis that Stancer says “make a seal inside the female” so that tapirs can successfully breed underwater as well as on land.

Tapirs’ sex lives start when they’re about two years old and can last into their 20s. If all goes well in a tapir tryst, the female likely will bear a single infant (or, very rarely, twins) 13 months later.

BAH! I think I read this article 3 times, and then unfortunately I felt the need to poke around a bit and get a visual.

Warning: Proceed with caution and only press play if you are certain you can handle it. You won't be able to unsee this!!

The Crying Game

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Mon, 16 Jan 2017 18:45:00 +0000

Well Happy New Year to anybody that bothers to check this blog anymore!

I was listening to the radio the other day and some deejay said that the average woman cries 60 times a year, and the average man cries 6 times a year. Hmmm. We are sixteen days into this year, and I think I have already cried 3 times (new year, possible new dude that I am ridiculously excited/nervous about, so that means new issues plus old hang ups from my last relationship DEBACLE, but it's all good and we will see what happens). LOL! Whatever. If you need a good cry, go for it. Why not.

I found this article on-line which elaborates on the crying thing:

As stereotypes go, it is one of the oldest. But women do shed a tear more often than men, a study shows.

The researchers said hormonal differences between the sexes could be to blame, but social conditioning plays a part too.

Women well up between 30 and 64 times a year, while men shed a tear between six and 17 times per year, the study found.

And when women cry, it is also for longer than men. Researchers found women’s tears last for six minutes on average, while for men, they last for between two and three minutes.

The study was carried out by Professor Ad Vingerhoets, a clinical psychologist at Tilburg University in the Netherlands and author of the book, Why Only Humans Weep: Unravelling the Mysteries of Tears.

He spoke to more than 5,000 people in 37 countries and asked them questions about their emotional responses.

Among men, 66 percent of participants cried for less than five minutes and 24 percent cried for between six and 15 minutes.

With women, however, 43 percent cried for less than five minutes but more cried for between six and 15 minutes – 38 percent.

Also, more than twice as many women cry for between 16 and 30 minutes: 11 percent versus 5 percent of men.

The findings also showed women cried twice as often as men for between 31 minutes and an hour, as well as for 60 minutes plus.

Professor Vingerhoets said the differences in the sexes ‘could perhaps be explained to a large extent by the fact that women more often watch tearjerkers and read sentimental literature’.

The findings suggest men should be more understanding next time they watch a romantic film with their partners. Professor Vingerhoets said at the sight of a woman crying, men ‘often feel irritation and tend to ignore the crier’.

However, it’s not just women that cry at the movies. According to Esquire magazine, the films that make men cry include The Shawshank Redemption, Saving Private Ryan and surprisingly Babe, a comedy drama about a talking pig.

Previous studies showed tears contain prolactin, a hormone produced by the pituitary gland associated with emotion.

Women have higher levels of this than men, which could explain why they cry more often.

And because men have bigger tear ducts in their eyes, it takes more for them to well up and for the tears to spill over.

Thoughts on this? I have never bothered to CHART how many times a year I cry, nor have I bothered to track the duration of each cry, and I think it varies quite a bit. Mostly I just wonder how the above-referenced data was collected and verified (Did participants agree to time themselves on each occasion that they cried?! Was their crying monitored? Verified? If they were monitored, did that inhibit or encourage the process? Yawn to all of my questions.), but I'll let my irritating questions go for now because who really cares.

In ridiculous news, my cat Simba has this new thing -- when I am sitting on the couch he likes to climb on my chest and lay his head on my shoulder while I pet him and pet him and pet him. It's like having a 15 pound furry baby to hug and love on. And if you need a good cry, he is willing to soak it all up while you do it, as long as you keep petting him. WHAT A DREAMBOAT HE IS!

America's Top Spelling Mistakes

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Fri, 09 Dec 2016 20:02:00 +0000

I heard a report on NPR the other day about how Google crunched data from its search engine to put together this map that shows which spellings people search for the most frequently in each state. Several of the terms appear more than once, such as “desert,” “cancelled,” and “vacuum.”

I find it surprising that some of these words are so difficult for others to spell. Cousin? Niece? Attitude? GRAY? ?!?!??!?!?!

Then again I have to admit that DESERT vs. DESSERT has tripped me up more than once, but hopefully the visual below will cement that distinction in my head once and for all.

Do you judge people harshly when they misspell words? Do you think proper spelling is a sign of intelligence? And that misspellings show a lack of intelligence, or a lack of education?

I will admit that it drives me crazy when things are misspelled. Or when people are crappy writers. Texting, typing on tiny keyboards, and the joys of auto-correct are to blame for some of these issues. At least partially. But I do appreciate it when someone spells things correctly and when they write well.

Then again it is wildly entertaining to see misspellings.

My sister recently received a letter at work in which the writer threatened to report them to the "Better Business Burro". AHAHHAHAHAHAH!!! I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!!!

One of my favorite misspellings was courtesy of an ex. We were emailing and I asked him how work was going. He replied that working with his new boss was "pure torcher". HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! LOVE THAT!!!!

One other doozy came for a resume and cover letter that I received long ago when I worked in Human Resources. We were recruiting for a new head of PR. This chick sent in her resume with a cover letter. She seemed like the perfect candidate. Absolutely perfect. Until I noted that she listed she was an expert in "pubic relations". LOL!

Are You Lost in the World Like Me / Animation by Steve Cutts

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Fri, 04 Nov 2016 18:59:00 +0000

Just saw a clip of this via @lalunajade on instagram and thought it was an interesting/horrifying commentary on present times....

Dia de los Muertos at Hollywood Forever Cemetery

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Wed, 02 Nov 2016 18:42:00 +0000

Dia de los Muertos at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery is pretty much my favorite day of the year to take pics! I posted a few of these on instagram already (@drollgirl and @ohyespleaseandthankyou), but here are bigger, juicier pics.

@tinytoyland

@luisprojects / Mariachi Samurai

So the whole death thing. Sigh. It's pretty harsh, but someone recently told me that if there were no death, life wouldn't have much meaning. So there's that. I guess knowing there is an end makes us treasure what we have while we have it. Or at least we should! And it's a good thing to celebrate those that we have lost.

I don't want to make this into a huge downer post, but I recently received word that my uncle Neil had been hospitalized. He had suffered a few falls in recent history and they were checking him out when they determined that he had stage 4 cancer. This news just came out of nowhere. Neil wasn't a huge fan of doctors and didn't frequent them often. I remember at one point he had some kind of bump on his forehead that was bugging him. Instead of going to a doctor to have it checked out, he took a buckskin knife to it and carved it out on his own. Just taking care of business. Lol. What a nut. Needless to say, after his wife found out what he did, she took him to the emergency room where they patched him up and told him to NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.

So this crap news about having stage 4 cancer was extremely difficult for Neil, his wife, his kids and his family members to hear. Just totally shocking. The doctors said Neil probably had 4 months to live, and that he should get his affairs in order and decide if any kind of treatment should be pursued. Calls were flying back and forth amongst family members -- what do we do, do we try chemo, do we get second or third opinions, should the one family member with a PhD start researching this type of cancer and treatment or study options, what do we DO????? Everyone was in a tizzy and there were no good answers. Unfortunately at one point my aunt called my dad to get his opinion on treatment options, and my dad said, "Well he is going to die anyway, so I don't see the point of trying chemotherapy." UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Maybe my dad had a valid point, but there had to be a more sensitive way of delivering that news. But everyone was just so distraught and didn't know what to say or think or do.

Neil was near death while my sister and I were on vacation. We were having the best time ever, and randomly I would think of Neil and his family, and that while we were out having a grand old time, Neil and family were crying, depressed, and trying to plan and prepare for his end. I felt so guilty for their pain, and for my pleasure. Just awful.

After receiving word that my uncle had passed away, I went online to read his obituary, which said:

Neil XXXXX was born on August 16, 1939 and passed away on Sunday, October 9, 2016.

Neil was a resident of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma at the time of his passing.

He was married to Patricia XXXXX.

That's it. WHAT THE FUCK. Can you imagine living 77 years and that is ALL that is written about you?! Not that summing up his life in a few paragraphs would have totally encapsulated him as a person, but it sure would've been better than what he got! So depressing.

Then again it is impossible to sum up someone that you loved in a few sentences, so maybe people just opt out of that whole formal obituary thing and honor their loved ones in their own way.

Well anywhoo, cheers to a great uncle that was loved and cherished, and to all those that we have loved and lost.

Paris, Texas / Talk Talk

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Wed, 26 Oct 2016 00:40:00 +0000

from Paris, Texas

Not that it matters, but I wrote this a few months back and for some reason or another didn't bother to publish it until now....

Have you ever seen the movie Paris, Texas? It is a strange movie, and I just loved it. The cinematography is outstanding. The acting is spot on. The story line is engaging. And, yep, it made me cry, but sometimes I am a sucker (particularly lately!) and just ready to release the waterworks. Side note: my theory is that tears are poison, and it's best to let 'em flow as needed before they turn into something worse!!

Harry Dean Stanton is the main character. For about the first 20 minutes of the movie he refuses to talk. I get this. Sometime I feel talking is overrated. It is so much work. So noisy. So much effort.

Sometimes I am a lazy communicator -- I just don't always have the energy. I like to think of myself as a word economist (LOL!), but that might be an overinflated description.

Example? I am not a morning person. It takes me a while to warm up and get ready to talk. The first person that I see on workday mornings is perfectly polite and always says "Good morning!" to me. I can't bring myself to utter that many syllables at 8:30am. I just can't. So I respond with a "hello" or "hi", or a hand wave and a smile. He doesn't seem to mind.

The other weekend I didn't really talk at all. Maybe a word or two to the cats, but that's about it. It was interesting. It was ok. Just sort of lost in my own quiet world. Being a freak, I made it my goal not to talk at ALL for the entire weekend. I was buying groceries late that Sunday afternoon when the cashier said hello and asked me how I was doing. I smiled. But that really wasn't good enough and he waited for more. So I told him I was fine, and that ended my not-talking streak for the weekend.

Perhaps this lack of interest in talking is hereditary. In her late 70s or maybe it was her early 80s, my paternal Grandma pretty much opted out of talking on the phone. My parents would call long distance, and my grandpa would talk to them. My grandma wouldn't. She begged off. She refused. Not because she was mad or angry -- I think she just couldn't muster up the energy to blab on the phone. She would send letters, but she wouldn't get on the phone.

My parents are starting to take the same tactic. They are not big on phone calls, and would rather email or text. I feel the same. Talking is so much work. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I can't SHUT UP, but this is usually when something great or exciting has happened, or I have a really good story to tell. Or when I've had an excessive amount of caffeine.

My co-worker has a 5-year old daughter named Olivia. Olivia is friends with a set of twins that sound interesting. These twins have selective mutism -- so they only speak in whispers. They whisper quietly when they are calm; they whisper loudly when they are upset. But they only communicate in whispers. This whispering takes place at home, at school, and when playing. Always. I think this is rather fascinating, and I wish I could see them in action and find out WHY they do this. The whispering twins' parents are not worried about their kids -- they figure this is just a phase that they are going through, and that they are fine since they are fully functional and able to communicate. Note: one of the parents is a therapist (not sure if that is good or bad!).

Which brings me to dating. And talking. The getting to know each other phase can be rather tedious. I feel like some people are really excited to talk about themselves. Me? Not so much. Getting to know people takes a lot of time and effort. Part of me wants to just hit the highlights on a sandwich board and point to the answers when questions are asked. How lazy is that?!

from Paris, Texas

Sort of off topic, but wondering if you talk about EVERYTHING with your significant other (or your insignificant other? lol). Do you lay it all out there, or hold some back? Do you pretty much reveal all of your deep, dark secrets and shameful admissions? Are you all in, or do you keep some things private? I'm just curious.

Existential Dread

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Thu, 29 Sep 2016 20:02:00 +0000

art by
Neil Wax

Do you live your life DREADING certain activities? It feels like I always have something I am fretting about or dreading. It is annoying. Yesterday I had to attend a meeting that had me so nervous. I considered calling in sick, but couldn't since I head out on vacation in a bit and it just wouldn't have gone over well. So instead I dreaded this damn meeting all week. Said meeting finally took place and it really wasn't THAT bad.

I'm heading out-of-state on vacation soon, and I'll be staying with two people that I HAVE NEVER EVEN MET. I am trying not to freak out about it, but what if they take an instant dislike to me?!?!?!? EEEEE. That could be awkward, and to be honest this happens more than I would like. I can USUALLY overcome it and turn someone around, but not always. But hopefully things are fine and we hit it off. But the DREAD is definitely in the background and I am TRYING to get a grip and tamp it down.

While obsessing about dread yesterday, I found this article on-line. I've read it repeatedly. WEIRD. Bizarre. And rather fascinating, if you care to read it:

Experiencing Existential Dread? Tylenol May Do the Trick

Thinking about death can cause us to feel a sort of existential angst that isn’t attributable to a specific source. Now, new research suggests that acetaminophen, an over-the-counter pain medication, may help to reduce this existential pain.

The research is published in Psychological Science, a journal of the Association for Psychological Science.

According to lead researcher Daniel Randles and colleagues at the University of British Columbia in Canada, the new findings suggest that Tylenol may have more profound psychological effects than previously thought:

“Pain extends beyond tissue damage and hurt feelings, and includes the distress and existential angst we feel when we’re uncertain or have just experienced something surreal. Regardless of the kind of pain, taking Tylenol seems to inhibit the brain signal that says something is wrong.”

Randles and colleagues knew from previous research that when the richness, order, and meaning in life is threatened — with thoughts of death, for instance — people tend to reassert their basic values as a coping mechanism.

The researchers also knew that both physical and social pain — like bumping your head or being ostracized from friends — can be alleviated with acetaminophen. Randles and colleagues speculated that the existentialist suffering we face with thoughts of death might involve similar brain processes. If so, they asked, would it be possible to reduce that suffering with a simple pain medicine?

The researchers had participants take either Tylenol brand acetaminophen or a sugar pill placebo in a double-blind study. One group of participants was asked to write about what would happen to their body after they die, and the control group was asked to write about having dental pain, an unpleasant but not existentially distressing thought.

All the participants were then asked to read an arrest report about a prostitute, and to set the amount for bail.

Just as expected, the control group that wrote about dental pain — who weren’t made to feel an existentialist threat — gave relatively low bail amounts, only about $300. They didn’t feel the need to assert their values.

On the other hand, the participants who wrote about their own death and were given a sugar pill gave over $400 for bail, in line with previous studies. They responded to the threat on life’s meaning and order by affirming their basic values, perhaps as a coping mechanism.

But, the participants in this group who took Tylenol were not nearly as harsh in setting bail. These results suggest that their existential suffering was ‘treated’ by the headache drug.

A second study confirmed these results using video clips. People who watched a surreal video by director David Lynch and took the sugar pill judged a group of rioters following a hockey game most harshly, while those who watched the video and took Tylenol were more lenient.

The study demonstrates that existentialist dread is not limited to thinking about death, but might generalize to any scenario that is confusing or surprising — such as an unsettling movie.

“We’re still taken aback that we’ve found that a drug used primarily to alleviate headaches can also make people numb to the worry of thinking about their deaths, or to the uneasiness of watching a surrealist film,” says Randles.

The researchers believe that these studies may have implications for clinical interventions down the road.

“For people who suffer from chronic anxiety, or are overly sensitive to uncertainty, this work may shed some light on what is happening and how their symptoms could be reduced,” Randles concludes.

###

In addition to Randles, co-authors on this research include Steven Heine and Nathan Santos of the University of British Columbia.

This research was supported by a grant and doctoral fellowship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council.

For more information about this study, please contact: Daniel Randles at danielrandles@psych.ubc.ca and Steven Heine at heine@psych.ubc.ca.

Needless to say, I'll be bringing a lot of TYLENOL on my trip! :)

Zun Lee

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Wed, 28 Sep 2016 21:02:00 +0000

I recently saw a photo by Zun Lee (the first one pictured below), and just loved it. I then zipped over to his website to see more. I thought it would be a quick visit, but I was there a l-o-n-g time admiring his beautiful shots. His work features none of the slick, coiffed, carefully composed portraits, selfies and ads of "beautiful" people that we are inundated with every day. He manages to capture the character, personality and individuality of his subjects -- urban Americana at it's best. Here are some of my favorites:

Zun Lee

About the artist:

Zun Lee is an award-winning Canadian photographer, physician and educator. He was born and raised in Germany and has also lived in Atlanta, Philadelphia and Chicago. He currently resides in Toronto.

Lee has been globally recognized as one of the top emerging visual storytellers to watch. His focus on the importance of quotidian Black life has led to publications in the New York Times, Slate, Wall Street Journal, TIME, The New Yorker, Huffington Post, MSNBC, Washington Post, Forbes, and Hyperallergic.

For his project Father Figure, Lee places the topic of black father absence stereotypes into a broader context of pathologized black masculinity. The resulting monograph, produced by acclaimed publisher Ceiba Foto, has won several major international awards. Lee worked on repeated assignments in Ferguson, Missouri in the fall of 2014, where he engaged the local community to produce a more nuanced narrative of resistance. His latest project FadeResistance interrogates a gap in the contemporary history of black visual representation through an archive of found Polaroids of African American families. He was awarded a Magnum Foundation Fellowship in 2015.

Lee has shown his work in solo and group exhibits in New York City, Washington DC, Toronto, Paris, Perpignan, Orlando and Los Angeles. He has spoken publicly at New York University, Nathan Cummings Foundation, University of Chicago, Photoville Brooklyn, Ryerson University, University of Toronto, Annenberg Space for Photography, International Center of Photography, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and Recyclart Brussels.

Selected honors and awards include: Magnum Foundation Fellow (2015), Photo District NewsPhoto Annual Winner (2015), LOOK3 Educator (2015), Paris Photo/Aperture Photobook AwardsShortlist (2014), Photo District News’ 30 New and Emerging Photographers to Watch (2014).

text above found here

Leyly Matine-Daftary

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Thu, 01 Sep 2016 22:55:00 +0000

I recently saw an image of a Leyley Matine-Daftary painting, and I was intrigued. It was such a beautiful, simple, crisp and clean work that I started hunting around to research a bit more about this artist that I had never heard of before. I found the images below, and I just love them. They remind me a bit of some of Picasso's work, plus a touch of Alex Katz, with maybe a dash of Jonas Wood. Her works are so beautiful, simple, clean and clear, but with a bit of whimsy. It's like she reduced all of the complications of the subject matter, and presented their essence in a thoughtfully condensed manner. I think they are perfect.

LEYLY MATINE-DAFTARY

A significant figure in the artistic history of the Middle East, Leyly Matine-Daftary was amongst the few artists who changed the historically stolid dictates of traditionalism prevalent in the region. In addition to establishing a personal style of modernism, she helped promulgate the movement, now so firmly evident in Iran and in the Arab world, which produced a great number of exceptional and internationally renowned female artists.

Leyly Matine-Daftary was born in Tehran, Iran, on January 18, 1937. After completing her elementary education in Tehran, she attended Cheltenham Ladies College and continued her education at the Slade School of Fine Arts in London, from which she received a degree in Fine Arts. She returned to Tehran in the late 1950s and began a career as a professional artist and also as an educator, becoming a lecturer on sculpture and sculpting at the Fine Arts Faculty of Tehran University. In 1961 she married Kaveh Farman-Farmaian with whom she had two children, Kamran and Mansureh.

Matine-Daftary was at the forefront of the arts in the Middle East, with great involvement in the Tehran Biennials - the genesis of the current direction of contemporary arts in the region – and in the Shiraz Arts Festival, for which Matine-Daftary created the public aesthetic through her iconic design of posters, costumes and various attendant identifying material.

Her quiet brand of warm grace made her one of the most liked and admired personalities in the regions’ art world, highlighting her belief that nobility was a product of integrity and dignity and not simply an exigency of birth. That even though Matine-Daftary was always at the heart of Iran’s social, political and cultural elite. The daughter of a Prime Minister and of a formidable aristocrat, and a granddaughter of a legendary Prime Minister who graced the cover of Time Magazine on three separate occasions including its Man of the Year issue, Matine–Daftary possessed the genuine humility of the truly noble.

After a two year battle with brain cancer, she passed away in Paris on April 17, 2007.

Leyly Matine-Daftary’s legacy of modernism and minimalism will continue to be one of the most significant influences in the development of the contemporary arts in the Middle East.

source

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Wed, 10 Aug 2016 21:45:00 +0000

It's probably too soon for me to try and date again, but I recently joined a dating website. It is kind of fun and exciting and terrifying to meet new gents and see if I can find a keeper.

I'm of the curvy / chubtastic / BBW variety, so I have to draw from the rather small ~~cess~~pool of interested fellas. There are a few men out there that like 'em chubby, and so far the process has been interesting.....even moderately encouraging. There appear to be more than a few fish in the sea, and some are interested in me. Phew! But so far most gents that like my pics and profile are far, far away in other states and other countries, and that is kind of annoying. But it is also kind of a relief -- harmless flirting with next to no chance of ever actually meeting is in some ways AOK.

One interested guy that was pretty much WRONG WRONG WRONG, but local and awfully persistent, asked me out and we agreed to meet on a Saturday night. I felt like I might as well go out with him -- it had been about 5 years since I had been on a date with a new dude, so I figured that it would be good for me to just get one under my belt [not literally].

This date happened rather suddenly and I didn't have a chance to buy any pepper spray to tuck away in my purse in case he was a creep or worse. I briefly considered bringing a steak knife with me, but really didn't want to take the chance of slicing open my handbag [or my hand] if I had it in there. So I did the next best thing: I gave my sister his contact info, and told her that if I was found dead HE DID IT, and to make sure that he got the electric chair for killing me.

So anyway, I drove out to our agreed upon location and found him. I was a little jittery and nervous, but not tooooooo nervous. When we saw each other he rushed towards me and as I smiled and said hello, he just grabbed me and kissed me full on the mouth. WHO DOES THAT?!!!!! We just met! GAH! To top it all off, the kiss was just awful! Terrible! I don't even know how to describe it except to say that as it was happening I thought: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!? HAVE YOU EVER DONE THIS BEFORE?!?!?!?!?

He also couldn't stop touching me. It was like he was petting a dog or something. UGH!!!! But the kissing was the worst.

Please note that the conversation wasn't all that either -- we just had zero connection, IMO. Zero.

He kissed me again after dinner and asked if I would like to drive out to the beach with him ~~so that he could kill me~~. I politely declined, thanked him for dinner, told him it was very nice meeting him and talking to him, and said we should call it a night. So again he grabbed me and was all over me and the kissing was just GAG-INDUCING. At one point my thought was A LLAMA WOULD KISS BETTER THAN YOU. Shudder. HURL! Just so bad. I finally had to push him away from me as I said OKAY OKAY. THAT'S ENOUGH.

Later that evening he sent me a text, and asked if I'd like to see him the following night. I thanked him again for the nice evening, but told him I just didn't feel a spark between us [a true statement, albeit an understatement].

This bad kissing experience also made me think about Matt Dillon. Many, many years ago I heard that Matt Dillon hired a kissing coach to show him how to have good on-screen kissing scenes. I wonder if kissing coaches accept clients other than famous actors? If so, I have a referral!!!!

Needless to say, my search for a new dude continues -- hopefully one that can kiss properly. :]

Danny Lyon

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Fri, 05 Aug 2016 00:25:00 +0000

Have you ever seen Danny Lyon's photos? I recently received an email announcement about a Danny Lyon Message to the Future exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York. The exhibition runs through September 25, 2016. If you have a chance to see it, you must (I SURE WISH I COULD!!!!). I think his photos are mesmerizing. Just glorious and captivating. Lyon manages to put his subjects at ease, and captures their essence in an effortless, elegant and revealing way. Just fabulous.

About the artist...

One of the most original and influential documentary photographers of the post-war generation, Danny Lyon forged a new style of documentary photography, described in literary circles as "New Journalism," an unconventional, personal form of documentary in which the photographer immersed himself in his subject’s world.

A graduate of the University of Chicago, Lyon began his career in 1962 as the staff photographer for the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), covering and participating in Civil Rights marches. His first important project was published as The Bikeriders (1967), and was based on four years spent on the road as a member of a motorcycle club known as the Chicago Outlaws, from 1963-1967. Lyon described the series as "an attempt to record and glorify the life of the American bikerider," whose golden years were receding as the sixties drew to a close. In 1971, Lyon published his best known work, Conversations with the Dead, which features photographs of six Texas prisons made over a period of fourteen-months, from 1967 to 1968. To make “a picture of imprisonment as distressing as I knew it to be in reality," Lyon juxtaposed his images with texts taken from prison records, interviews, inmates’ writings, (particularly the letters of Billy McCune, a convicted rapist), and even fiction.

Having established new models for both documentary photography and the photography book, Danny Lyon went on to become an influential documentary filmmaker, winning numerous grants and awards in both fields. Over the course of his career, he has published more than 20 books of photography and exhibited his photographs widely. Lyon’s work has been the subject of two recent retrospective exhibitions, Danny Lyon: Montage, Film, and Still Photography (2007-2008), at the Whitney Museum of American Art; and This World Is Not My Home: Danny Lyon Photographs (2012), at The Menil Collection. Danny Lyon’s work is in the permanent collections of The Museum of Modern Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Whitney Museum of American Art, the Art Institute of Chicago, American Museum of Art, Smithsonian Institute, the J. Paul Getty Museum and many other public institutions.

photos pictured above were found here and here

46

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Sat, 30 Jul 2016 07:01:00 +0000

Well guess who turns 46 today. GULP. Happy Birthday to me. :)

Niki de Saint Phalle's Queen Califia's Magical Circle

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Wed, 15 Jun 2016 23:55:00 +0000

If you are ever planning a trip to the Escondido, California area, get yourself over to Niki de Saint Phalle's Queen Califia's Magical Circle (DANG, that is a mouthful). It is AMAZING! It really is MAGICAL! It is so fun and so incredible to see in person, and definitely a crowd-pleaser. Kids absolutely love it and get to touch and climb all over everything, and adults of all ages were smiling and taking pictures non-stop. It's pretty much a fun place for anyone to visit. And it is free. And it is located in a gigantic park, so bring a picnic, a dog, a bike, a friend -- bring it all.

Here are a few pics I took while visiting over the weekend.

HA! Sorry. HAD to include this pic, because I am klassy like that. And so is he.

Note: this snake in the grass isn't part of the sculpture garden,

but it is in Kit Carson Park nearby, and it is pretty freaking fabulous

More info about this sculpture garden, as seen here...

Queen Califia's Magical Circle is the only American sculpture garden and the last major international project created by Niki de Saint Phalle (born France, 1930-2002). Inspired by California's mythic, historic and cultural roots, the garden consists of nine large-scale sculptures, a circular "snake wall" and maze entryway, sculpturally integrated bench seating, and native shrubs and trees planted within the interior plaza and along the outer perimeter. The garden bears the brilliant, unique mosaic ornamentation that is an unmistakable part of Saint Phalle's later work.

Queen Califia's Magical Circle is situated within a 12-acre natural habitat in the Iris Sankey Arboretum in Kit Carson Park on a parcel of land donated by the City of Escondido. The park's entrance is located five minutes from I-15 (Via Rancho Parkway Exit) at the corner of Bear Valley Parkway and Mary Lane.

The sculpture garden's key architectural features are an undulating circular wall measuring 400 feet in length (with varying heights from 4 to 9 feet) that surrounds the garden. Monumental playful serpents, decorated in colorfully patterned mosaics, slither along the top of the wall, their curved bodies forming a pattern of solids and voids that allows visitors to see landscape vistas beyond the garden. The "snake wall" opens into a maze whose walls and floors are covered with black, white, and mirrored tiles. Once through the maze, visitors enter into the central courtyard.

There are nine freestanding sculptures in the garden. The imposing mosaic sculpture of Queen Califia standing on the back of a five-legged eagle commands the center of the garden. Eight large totemic sculptures surround Queen Califia. They are covered with symbols and forms freely drawn from Native American, Pre-Columbian, and Mexican art as well as the artist's own fantastic imagery.

Visiting times are extremely limited, so please consult the website before you plan your trip.

Niki de Saint Phalle's Queen Califia's Magical Circle

Located in the Iris Sankey Arboretum

Kit Carson Park

3333 Bear Valley Parkway

Escondido, CA 92025

www.queencalifia.org

Do Ho Suh

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Fri, 10 Jun 2016 18:27:00 +0000

I recently had the pleasure of seeing the Do Ho Suh exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego.

The works are absolutely incredible to see in person. The main gallery contains a full-scale replica of the artist's New York City apartment. The entire replication is made out of beautiful translucent colored fabric. It is meticulously sewn together and has a bright, quiet, delicate and ethereal quality. I was lucky enough to wander through this exhibition all on my own, and it was quite an experience. Gorgeous. Thoughtful. Interesting. It makes one think about their own home, about materials and construction, and all of the things in our own dwellings that we whiz past daily without a thought.

Here are a few pics I took at the exhibition:

Here is information from the MCASD website about the Do Ho Suh exhibition:

This solo exhibition by artist Do Ho Suh features work ranging from large-scale architectural installations and sculptures, to works on paper and video. Operating within a distinctly twenty-first century global mode, Suh crafts evocative works that reflect ideas of home, identity, and personal space.

In his work, Suh draws on his personal experiences growing up in Seoul, South Korea, studying art in the U.S., and moving homes several times over the course of his life. He now lives a global and “nomadic” existence, with homes in New York, London, and Seoul. Inspired by his personal history and biography, the artist’s sculptures and installations reveal a range of powerful themes, including notions of public versus private space, global identity, memory, and displacement. At the same time, Suh’s works strike viewers with their delicate monumentality, subtle beauty, and intricate construction techniques.

This exhibition will transform MCASD Downtown’s Jacobs Building into a maze-like installation that replicates the artist’s apartment spaces from a single building in New York City. Created in luminous swaths of translucent fabric, the ghostly rooms and hallways are mysteriously supported by a subtle stainless steel armature. Three combined installations—Apartment A, 348 West 22nd Street, New York, NY 10011, USA (2011–2012); Corridor and Staircase, 348 West 22nd Street New York, NY 10011, USA (2011–2012); and Unit 2, 348 West 22nd Street, New York, NY 10011, USA (2014)—encourage the public to pass through the ephemeral, dreamlike representation of the artist’s personal history. Rendered in blocks of translucent color, the fabric walls at once conceal and reveal the details articulated within. A long, salmon-colored corridor connects to a bright red stairway suspended from the ceiling. A veil of blue walls contains a kitchen, bathroom, and living spaces with details including window moldings and interior fixtures. In Unit 2, the artist’s latest and final work in the series, yellow walls describe additional rooms, which the artist added to his New York apartment and that served alternately as his studio space and living quarters.

In contrast to this bright, airy space, the artist’s Specimen Series(2013) is installed in illuminated vitrines in a darkened gallery. These sculptures replicate appliances and fixtures in exacting detail and, like the larger installations, are constructed entirely out of polyester fabric over a stainless steel framework. For instance, in Specimen Series: Stove, Apartment A, 348 West 22nd Street, APT. New York, NY 10011(2013), elements such as the stove top burners and control knobs are rendered with meticulous realism. At the same time, the ghostly translucency of the blue fabric comprising the sculpture lends a delicate, otherworldly air to what would otherwise be a heavy cast iron fixture.

The exhibition will also include a selection of works on paper, rendered in thread, watercolor, and pencil, as well as videos and a model from Suh’s 2012 work Secret Garden.

Do Ho Suh isorganized by The Contemporary Austin with additional support by Lehmann Maupin, New York and Hong Kong. Funding for the San Diego presentation is made possible by generous lead underwriting by Joan and Irwin Jacobs. Additional support has been provided by Matt and Nancy Browar. Institutional support of MCASD is provided by the City of San Diego Commission for Arts and Culture and the County of San Diego Community Enhancement Fund.

This Do Ho Suh exhibition will remain on display through July 4, 2016 if you are in the area and have a chance to see it. Note: there are also many drawings in the exhibition that are very beautiful and interesting. I wasn't able to properly photograph them, so you will have to try and see them in-person if you want to know what they look like. :)

Here are a few more images of his work that I found on-line. I love this artist!!!!!

The Carriage House

noreply@blogger.com (drollgirl) — Tue, 07 Jun 2016 23:06:00 +0000

Last week I took a mini-break down to San Diego, and I stayed in this adorable Carriage House. I found this beautiful home long, long ago when daydreaming about vacations and browsing through VRBO rental options. The recent ending of my long-term relationship had me itching to get away, and I ended up booking this place at the very last minute (2 days before Memorial Day weekend started -- I could not believe my luck that it was available!!!). It was SO CUTE! Absolutely adorable! So much character, and so many fabulous details. Pics below for your enjoyment.

fresh flowers were waiting for me as soon as I opened the door! Squeal!

I LOVE ALL OF THE DETAILS!

All of the horsey things!

All of the beautiful wood and tile! Scream!

This bed was SO COMFORTABLE! And the pillows? 14 million times better than my own.

Plenty of room for two in the big bed, but given my recently SINGLE status,

I got so sprawl diagonally in it and had plenty of room to spare.

The official description of this lovely little Carriage House, courtesy of VRBO.com:

Make your vacation unforgettable by staying in a spacious, newly remodeled historic Carriage House located in the most desirable area of San Diego, the historic Mission Hills District.

Originally built in 1913 as a building for the horse carriage and caretakers family, this wonderfully inviting home was remodeled by a local architect/design team to include the finest of luxury modern living while capturing the artistic detail using period antiques and custom artwork. This spacious one bedroom/one bath home is perfect for artists, writers, world travelers or anyone who appreciates a home that is itself a living work of art. All of the amenities have been carefully planned and selected for your comfort. Features in this home include a king sized signature HEAVENLY BED and HEAVENLY PILLOWS purchased directly from the Westin, hardwood floors, exquisite linens, gorgeous raised mahogany wood beam ceilings, French doors, restored antique decorative doors, soothing water feature, custom lighting imported from Morocco, flat screen TVs, mood lighting, WIFI, Internet Ready Blue Ray player which allows you to access your personal HuluPlus or Netflix account, IPOD docking station, custom walk-in closet, an additional sitting room with incredibly comfortable chairs for reading or watching TV, separate laundry area with washer/dryer, central heat/air conditioning, and professionally designed landscaping including organic herbs for cooking. The kitchen is set-up for anyone who loves to cook including heavy-duty cooper pots and pans, basic spices, gas stove, microwave, and dishwasher. The large outdoor deck is completely private and has lighting on timers with an outdoor gas BBQ grill, accentuating it as a wonderful space for outdoor dining all year round.

But the best part of all is, the owners of The Carriage House are passionate about helping horses and believe in respecting the circle of life for the horses that once lived on the property therefore 10% of all proceeds will be donated to non-profit horse rescues. YAY!!!

THINGS TO DO:

Choose from some of the best restaurants in town, less than one mile away.

Walk three blocks to The Mission Hills Nursery, the oldest plant nursery in San Diego established in 1910.

Take a five-minute cab ride to Old Town for authentic Mexican food.

Stay in and read or watch TV in bed to the peaceful sound of the water feature or the silence of the majestic old trees.

Join the famous Mission Hills Garden Walk and meet new people while getting a first hand tour of this architecturally unique and affluent neighborhood.

Open the numerous windows and doors in the sunroom to create a feeling of being outdoors yet inside reading or watching TV.

Enjoy a glass of wine or beer at the English pub table or dine outdoors on the spacious deck under the stars.

Venture just four miles away to the famous downtown Gaslamp district where you will find entertainment, theater, live music, movies, shopping, and internationally acclaimed restaurants

Walk just a few block for morning coffee at the local bakery/coffee shop and stop to shop for gifts, get a massage, take a yoga class or pick up some food items at the neighborhood market on your way home.

Throw the beach towels in the car (supplied) and drive ten miles to the beach. At the end of the day you get to come home to a spotlessly clean quite house away from the crowds.

And of course, don’t miss the opportunity for food, music, and local produce at the Mission Hills Farmer’s Market every Wednesday. Experience local San Diego.

If you are interested in renting this lovely lovely lovely little home, you can find it at VRBO.com, Listing #412455. I wholeheartedly recommend it and would love to visit again soon.