Total Rock Show

Last night I went to a total rock show at Terminal 5 where Wolfmother tore up the stage with their psychedelic hair rock. They are a true and total rock band. Their collective hair is wonderful. The Cosmic Egg is brilliant. I am transported back. In their Cosmic Egg of Rock. Take me away.

The only bad thing I have to mention, because I am rarely one to fully enjoy anything, is going to live shows when you are of small stature and people are smashing into you and they all talk too much and everyone is so god damned tall all of a sudden. I really can’t stand live shows anymore.  They make me feel like I am autistic. And like I am really far away from something I want to inhale and I can’t put a picture to what I hear and want to feel. It’s almost like a form of torture. But otherwise it was great. They are totally great oh my rockness.

The Transmission From the Cosmic Egg Episodes are much fun:

http://www.youtube.com/user/WolfmotherMusic

Guests

Well. It has been an interesting week having to take care of the kitten. Because of his poos, he has to be quarantined for about 7-10 days until we get him all better and introduce him to the other cats.  He does seem to be getting better though, which is good news. He is living in the guest room, which is quite small. I have been sleeping in there with him so he is not all alone at night.  Also I was home sick yesterday with a cold so I spent the whole day in there with him. We played and napped and I blew my nose and he did cute things. But boy am I tired of the guest room. I miss my bed and sleeping next to Sara. But you can’t have it all.

Figaro really needs to run. He runs 4 feet and slides on the floor and tumbles into somersaults but there is just not enough room. He is still absurdly small and I am a little worried about him in the big house, so many places to get caught between when you are smaller than a loaf of banana bread.

He is a really good boy. He goes poo in his litter box and covers it up, he does not mew at the door all day to get out, he just accepts that he is in the room and seems quite happy there. He eats what I feed him. He plays like a maniac but also leaves you alone if you want to nap or not play. I just need him to grow bigger. His ribs feel like toothpicks.

Anyhow. I will soon have to move out of kittenland and back into reality land of all the work I need to complete for the show. It opens February 11th, a date which is quickly approaching.

Here  is Little Fig yesterday sleeping on my legs.

 

 

 

 

 

Little Fig

Figaro is doing well. He is on medication for his tummy issues (extremely stinkous pudding style poos) and we are trying a new food. He is extremely playful as is his duty as a kitten. He seems very happy. He likes to lay on his back and have his tummy rubbed while he licks your hands and purrs. Although he is 8 weeks old, he is the size of a 4 week old, most likely due to his runtness and diarrhea. He eats like a Pig. Pigaro. He lays on you when you sleep and he sleeps too. You have to not roll over and squish his tininess.
He doesn’t love to be held yet, so I will have to work on that.

He was the last left in his litter. No one wanted him because he had a lot of poo stuck to his bum and he is smelly. Now he is my smelly poobum kitten and we will all nurse and love him well.

I still miss Hamlet a lot. I probably will for a long long time. Figaro doesn’t feel like a replacement, because the experience is so very different. I am also trying to spend a good amount of time with Billie, but she is kind of out of her mind. All these animals…I have to find time to go to the studio and make that art…

Hi

Name: Figaro

Alias’: Little Fig, Figlet, Figletini, Figgy.

Size: 4″ x 7″

Color: Spots

Location: Brooklyn Yo

Hobbies: Eat Play Poo Pee Lick Purr Sleep Jump Climb Mew

Holy atomic pile!

When I was little, I LOVE LOVE LOVED the Batman and Robin TV show. I can hear the narrator’s voice in my head like it was yesterday and see the Pow!!! Kwap!!!! Ka-blam!!!! signs popping up on the screen. I remember sitting in the renovated basement on the red painted cement floor, sitting right in front of the tv so as not to miss a second. I think it was on in the early afternoons, right when I got home from 1st grade. Those were the days.

Robin: Holy bill of rights, Batman! Holy atomic pile, Batman! Holy priceless collection of Etruscan snoods!

Batman: I never touch spirits. Have you some milk? I’ve just perfected an Electronic Hair Bat-Analyzer which may hold the key to this baffling question.

I have decided that due to my endless love for Robin’s suit / uniform/ outfit, I will eventually buy one and wear it every Halloween for the rest of my life.

Happy Halloweenie. It isn’t really a favorite holiday of mine but hat’s off to folks who get all crazy dressing up.

Seen

Today I was walking behind a bald man with two eyes tattooed onto the back of his head.

I don’t think he saw me though.

 

 

Ghosties

I had to call in sick today because of being under the weather. I am trying to be productive at home but my energy is limited. Anyhow, the reason I am posting is to share my exciting news. Hamlet was in my dream last night! He was totally and fully Hamlet, and he was a ghost kitty. He actually talked to me and also text messaged me (hilarious). He was helping me with things. He was invisible but I could see him off and on. He was also playing with and wrassling with a ghost kitten that looked like a wee tiger. It was understood by me and Hamlet that he was a ghost and visiting me. It was awesome.

It is possible my brain concocted all of this because the ghost book I just finished had an actual ghost kitty in it. I would be the first to admit that there may be a relationship there. But alas, it was so Hamlet, and it was so his personality when he was younger, and he was happy and communicating with me and I have decided that it was definitely him visiting me. And the book was perhaps fodder for me being open to it.

 

I have been on the fence about a new cat. Billie has stopped freaking out completely, now she is back to just freaking out mildly. I am doing work with her consistently that involves a lot of petting and chatting calmly. And I do prefer the house with two instead of three cats. But someone wrote to me about an 8 month old “sweet” tabby boy who needs a home…and I said I would come meet him, and that if he is healthy, relaxed, not high maintenance (like Billie) and likes to cuddle I will consider it. So here I am considering it. Only time will tell.

 

 

 

International!

Today I discovered that not only am I a wine

but I am a whole shop dedicated to tasty goods in Italy. I will go to their store in Italy and say, hello I am a Mazzalupo! Feed me!

http://www.fattoriamazzalupo.com/en/vini-c-6/brando-mazzalupo-2006-tuscan-wine-p-17

I found this while looking up relatives in Buenos Aires. Most of my relatives ended up there, and we haven’t been able to locate too many Mazzalupo’s in Italy where we came from. But alas, I am sure the Fattoria Mazzalupo will have not only delicious products but cousins galore!

Fattoria means farm, and Mazzalupo means wolf hunter, or well, bludgeoner if you want to be specific. Even though my name means wolf bludgeoner, I love wolves and would not bludgeon one unless totally provoked. Just saying.

Ghosties

So, as you know, I’ve been waiting for a visit from Hamlet and have not had one. I haven’t been remembering my dreams lately which can’t be helping. But I have really felt a heavy Phoebe presence, which is weird because she hasn’t really come around in a long while. I’m guessing she is checking in with me to make sure I am not all ruined by sadness over Hamlet. She is cute that way.

I have been putting a lot of energy into cat whispering Billie again. She has been particularly nervous lately not to mention her pooing and peeing in a plant. Last night I was reading in bed and she jumped up and I started to pet her, and I was talking with her telling her to chillax, and her eyes turned into saucers and she flew off the bed and out of the room. This happened twice. This morning, she got on the bed again and I started to pet and talk to her and she was fine then suddenly, her eyes turned into saucers again, as if I had turned into a monster and she ran off like lightening. At the time I was telling her that I hope she isn’t afraid that we would send her away, and that is not what happened to Hamlet, and she is safe with us. So here is what I am thinking. I think Hamlet might be haunting her. He was never thrilled by her interest in getting my love and he lived on the bed. So, three times she has been on the bed with me and suddenly freaked out and ran away. She is definitely struggling right now, the progress I had made with her seems to have reversed a bit and she is not really able to sit still with a human being for more than a few minutes. So maybe she is nervous about his absence and now to make it worse I think he might be messing with her. I see no other reason why suddenly her eyes turn into terrified saucers when I am petting and cat whispering her.

Hamlet, stop that.

I am reading a ghostie book right now, Her Fearful Symmetry, and I am loving it. I have ghosties on the mind.

http://www.blairpub.com/folklore/ghostcats.htm

Dependable

This afternoon I walked by a taxi driver who was getting ready to begin his shift. He was bending down into his front seat. I noticed his suspenders and how they held up his pants. I love suspenders. As I approached, I noticed his shirt was sort of up and his belly was somewhat exposed. It seemed like there was something thick there, underneath his checkered shirt, and I thought maybe it was one of those back braces people wear for lifting heavy things. But I was wrong. I got closer and thought Is it his underwear? But no it was not his underwear, as it was to my dismay, a gigantic diaper. And it looked as if it had been there for a long time.

And this is how cab drivers perhaps work for hours driving and do not pull over to pee.  Next time you are in a cab you can wonder to yourself  if your driver is wearing depends.

Changes

Every time I go into my bedroom this song by the Police comes into my head:

“The bed’s too big without you

Cold wind blows right thru’ my open door

I can’t sleep with your memory

Dreaming dreams of what used to be”

Ah, missing the cat. I am doing alright but when I go into my bedroom which was his kingdom, it hits me. I promise that am not going to blog on and on about missing my cat. But I do want to say that waking up in the morning just doesn’t have the same appeal. I miss waking up and saying “C’mere boy”, and watching him saunter over to me in his Slow-mo way and I would knock him down on the bed into a flat cat and we would cuddle and he would purr and try and lick my hair and I would say “Oh Hammy your breath is so smelly don’t stick it on my hair” and then I would eventually get up and he would stay on the bed watching me get ready and I would give him intermittent kisses throughout my morning ritual.

Now I have Billie, and after I shower she will run into the bedroom and hop on the bed and let me pet her and she will purr and drool and it is very cute but she will be gone in a flash. She is a highly anxious being. One quick move, one loud noise, anything that isn’t absolutely still and calm and she will tear off like feline lightening. You can’t hold her or pick her up, but if you are still like a statue she will sit on you and purr and drool.  She is the most nervous nellie ever. Everyone in the house wants me to cat whisper her. I have been working on her for 2 years and she has made some improvements, and I will keep at it because she is very adorable and now I have more space in my life for giving love to a high maintenance cat. Oh little Billie Bean.

I have been hoping for sightings of Hamlet out of the corner of my eye, like I had after Phoebe died. But he has not been around, nor has he come into my dreams yet. I am hoping he is just getting settled in his new digs and will check in soon. I keep thinking , Oh he went off to college. Because in a way that’s what happened, he has just moved on to a new learning experience.

And for the art, I have been working my arse off. I want my paintings to look different than they do. But they just kind of get made and then there they are. Honestly, I sit down there in the studio working all day and I think, I really should be volunteering with homeless kids or gay kids or stray animals instead of making these pictures. What am I doing with my life? What do I want from all of this artmaking? For years, it has been that I wanted to make stuff because I liked making stuff, and I started to get lucky enough that some people would give me money for the stuff I made, so I could then get rid of the stuff and buy myself new stuff like pants and gluten-free bread (which is really expensive) and more art supplies. The problem I keep running into though, is that I am constantly reminded that what I have is not enough. If I look at any art magazine or a website with a bunch of awesome artworks on it or an art blog, with the idea of just enjoying what I am looking at, I immediately want my work to be there too. Hanging it in a gallery and selling it suddenly isn’t enough. Thinking about what I am doing wrong comes to the forefront of my mind. Why don’t I have more press? What am I doing wrong? Is it in the execution? Is it the themes? Is it because there are just so damn many of us and you can’t have it all? Why haven’t I made limited edition prints of anything and put them on 20×200 or Etsy? What is my problem? Should I read that Law of Attraction book again?

And I think about what my problems are and then I find that all I can really do is go to work every day and make art about the problems I have.

I am 40 and I want to help people. I am tired of just trying to survive and make an okay life for myself. My life is already okay.It is time to make changes. I am not sure what that is going to entail yet, but I will keep you posted. I wish I knew how to write without using the word “I” so much.

Ode

Well, last night was the saddest night Sara and I have shared ever ever. Many tears were shed, sobs were sobbed, hugs were had, noses were blown, and Hamlet was our main topic of conversation all night. We spent some time remembering all of the things that made him so special, because he really was special. All he wanted to do was give love and be loved back. He was a quiet and gentle and calming presence. In my 18 years with him he never once scratched me, or hissed at me, or swiped at me. When he was distressed he actually cried, which I noticed when we had to put Phoebe down. He was searching the apartment for her for 2 days, mewing a high pitched meow, that I soon came to understand as his sign of distress. He would look at me pleadingly and meow and it was the saddest thing, but we got through the loss together. When it was cold he would get under the covers and spoon, and his purr on my pillow lulled me to sleep every night. My heart is broken.

Hamlet was such a trooper until the very end. He went peacefully, and I feel that his little spirit must have been relieved to be set free from his rickety vessel. There was no question that he was ready. He had been struggling so much since his stroke last weekend. I had never thought about an animal having a stroke before. But man, it has been such a rough week. His legs were weak and wobbly, and he had trouble getting up, walking, or climbing. He could not drink water from his bowl without submerging both his paws into it, then falling into his food dish. Apparently the neurological damage made it so it was like he was blind, so even though his eyes worked he could not process what he was seeing. But the saddest part, outside of the incontinence and the disorientation – walking in circles, getting stuck in tiny crevices with no ideas how to get back out- was that his personality was just gone. There was no Hamletness, no purring, no spirit in his eyes, and one of the most wonderful things about him was how he would squeeze my finger in his paw, like how babies squeeze your finger in their hand, he would do it with his paw. It was my favorite. No more of that. No meowing, just a rawr that was clearly a sign of misery and confusion. Also, he was still eating his wet food like a champ, so we were glad he was at least enjoying his fancy feast, but he no longer washed his little face afterwards. He didn’t know how to do basic things like using the litter box or drinking water. It was like he was a completely different creature. And I can only guess that Hamlet’s spirit was trapped inside this new discombobulated body, and he was so sad, and it was time to set him free. And that’s it really.

The number 18 corresponds to the Hebrew word for life, or “chai.” It seemed like a good number to let go at.

Anyhow, the house is so empty without him. I am wondering if the other cats notice yet, they don’t seem to, which in a way makes me mad at them but we’ll see. Going to bed without him was sobworthy, waking up without him was also sobworthy. The whole thing sucks. But the pain of the loss is worth getting through, because the having of all those years with him was the kind of thing that makes life livable.

L’chai-im