Sunday, March 15, 2020
TRUMP GETS RESULTS OF VIRUS TEST FROM HIS DOCTOR
DOC-- Mr President your test results are back
TMP-- Putz, I never took the test...we just told everyone I did
DOC -- Actually, you did take the test. Pence thought it was important. So we swabbed your nose and throat when you were asleep.
TMP -- Fucking traitor. He's done.
DOC -- Mr. President, the test came back positive.
TMP -- I think what you mean is, you're postive the test came back negative.
DOC -- No, the test was positive.
TMP -- Dr. Dope, listen to me. I'm never wrong. I'm TRUMP. Remember when you said I was the healthiest seventy-year-old on the planet?
DOC -- Yes, you threatened to send me to Guantanemo.
TMP -- Okay, we have to make a small change.
DOC -- It's too serious. I'm not going to lie.
TMP -- It's not a LIE. It's like a game.
DOC -- What??
TMP -- Positive is eight letters. And, so is Negative. So, it's like a word game.
You just take out P-O-S-I and swap in N-E-G-A. I didn't know Positive and Negative were both eight letters. Ivanka told me.
DOC -- You're asking a doctor to lie.
TMP -- I never ask. I'm TRUMP.
DOC -- So, I'm going to be telling the world your test was . . .
TMP -- BEAUTIFUL. It was a BEAUTIFUL test, BEAUTIFUL results. Perfect.
DOC -- You could pass this on. You belong in quarantine. I'm standing here talking to you in a Hazmat suit. Thousands of people could be infected, all coming from you.
TMP -- Only two numbers matter. The Stock Market and my golf score. Tell them to set up a meeting with Pelosi this morning.
DOC -- You could give her the virus.
TMP -- Breaks my heart.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Off to CMCA 2018 Biennial Competition
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| Red Haired Boy with Green Plastic Nose. 19 x 15 inches. Pastel plus plastic plus tape. $700 |
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| Depressed Man. 30 x 24 inches. Pastel on paper. $1300 framed. |
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| Downtown Minneapolis Before Prince Died. 30 x 24 inches. Pastel on paper. $1300 framed. |
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| It Was Just Too Painful to Keep Silent. 19 x 16 inches. Oilstick on wood. $700 |
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| Angels Suddenly Appear Out of Nowhere. 19 x 17 inches. Pastel on paper. $600 |
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| Prozac and Depression Go to War. 17 x 16 inches. Pastel on paper. $550 |
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| I Am Dog Man. 25 x 19 inches. Pastel on paper, collage. $750 |
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| Face of a Migraine Headache. 17 x 15 inches. Pastel on paper. $550 |
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| Escape From Depression for 2 Hours, 19 Minutes. 24 x 18 inches. Pastel on paper. $650 |
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| Life Running in Circles. 9 x 20 inches total. Oilstick on canvas. $700 |
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Excerpt from my novel in progress about depression, tentatively called "All the King's Men"
As I
made my way deeper into The Noonday Demon, I came to a place where the learned
Andrew Solomon and I had a slightly different perspective. It’s his belief that “the
opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality.” It’s easy to see why he
arrives at his conclusion when sitting up in bed is tantamount to climbing
Everest. What’s lost to depression is gone forever. You don’t get to double down in hopes of regaining it. The
loss of vitality, especially over a long period of time, frequently leads to
the loss of hope. With the will to live right
on its heels. This is especially true when major depression is Treatment
Resistant and repels everything you throw at it in effort to slow it down, if
not eviscerate it.
For
me, nothing was more depleting, defeating, deadening and heartbreaking than the loss of my Emotional Arc. That 180 degree
span that runs from the mountaintops of joy to the dark dungeon of despair is forever
eradicated and replaced with an arc that runs from 3 degrees to, if you’re truly
lucky, 45. Four seasons become One. They
are not compressed into One, because that would suggest there are vestiges of
all the seasons in lesser amounts. Never
again will you embrace the soothing warmth
of a Summer sun, the smile that seems to come as if by request, with a gentle
Spring rain, or the stunning poetry found in the changing colors of Fall leaves.
For you, one season lives on INSIDE your heart and mind. You won’t be needing
skis, sled, boots or mittens as you live minute to minute enduring the killing cold
and endless brutality of the one season that remains. The Siberian Winter that
is now your life.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
End of year message from Lori and Jeff
(written by Jeff, so don’t blame Lori, aka Lady Sweetness)
I have strong feelings about everything. Yes, that includes tofu, email, and having my 1-ply toilet paper roll over, not under. For the record, 52% of Americans now use some form of Wet Ones. Much as I have great affection and even LOVE for some of those folks reading this, the truth is I hate getting these Novellas at year end telling me what went on during the year… when the people sending them have stayed out of touch for a year. It’s akin to watching Episode 43 of Game of Thrones with no insight into what came before it. Anaxamander just turned three and is wearing clothes for a boy age 5. Great. Who the hell is Anaxamander? We didn’t know you had another child, especially one named after a Greek tile pattern. And the dog, named Ficus got so excited seeing the new pony we got for Bridget (who is THAT?) peed on the pony and now they are enemies. Okay, that makes me sad, but I will get over it. Fletch got a promotion and is now the Head of Lettuce at our local market. He is happy but resents the Head of Cabbage who makes 33 cents an hour more. Speak up Fletch! Then we read that a couple having a new child battled for months over the new name and the child is now 2 years old and called Baby Flossensteiner. I like it. Moving on and I’m sure you can’t wait, these tales from out of nowhere appear in our mailbox without stopping. My response upon opening them and seeing the length and depth of info communicated is to feel my AFIB racing and the need to reach for another Xanax and search for a bookmark. Hemingway wrote shorter books than this. I wish I were kidding but my sense of humor has vanished over night along with my false teeth. Okay—chord change. Most importantly, Lori was diagnosed with melanoma, had surgery in June and Thank God (I do pray nightly) is now free of Cancer. Frequent check-ups needed for a year plus ongoing observation at home. She still works at Primo and loves it and loves them—her other family. Our 42 year old daughter Zoe gave birth to a boy, Sydney, who is as beautiful as his mom. His dad, Rupert, looks like young Omar Sharif so this is one good looking kid. It seems he has my big eyes and full bottom lip, but I plan to ask for them back. Igby our dog who is 13 or 14 just marches on despite being deaf, almost blind and has no sense of smell, but still signals to me when I need a shower. My Uber Dark Depression is now 41 years old—nuff said. Lori has great affection for everyone receiving this and a Big Love for so many of you. I like a handful of you and Love 5 or 6 of you but sincerely pray for All of you every night. Focus on your health and try to tap into your spiritual side (I had to rent one). My Biggest Gripe from a list of 94 is that we communicate with one another as if it were the 12th century. Texting and email is one step removed from writing a message on a piece of paper, putting it in the talon of a bird and sending it on its way. The human voice is a unique instrument. Not hearing a person’s voice or looking them in the eye is bad for the brain and the soul. More than my opinion, it’s neurologic fact. You don’t have to talk to Me, but give it a try with those you care about. Make the most of every day and accept that Life is a continuous series of gains and losses. When it comes to Loss, what I say to Lori is this:
IF IT ISN’T ALIVE, IT DOESN’T MATTER.
(IT DOESN'T)
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