Category: etc.

This is beautiful.

Order now. There are only 400 available.

We are now writing love letters to the dead Barbaro.

It started in the comments here, when I demanded that Brian pen a love letter to dearly departed Barbaro for his silly pun. What could I do? I can’t put the man in timeout, for God’s sake! So he gamely stepped up to the challenge. Now others are chiming in. Well, one’s not a love letter so much as some sort of, uh, business transaction.

See?

Dear Barbaro,

I am so sorry we never got to know each other, I’m sure you were a nice horse.

I shall think fondly of you as my daughter and I make magazine picture collages with our new Elmer’s glue stick.

Much Love!

Your almost dear friend,

Brian

**********

A horse is a horse
(of course, of course)
A horse is no angel face, of course
Unless of course
The name of the horse
Is the famous Barbaro!

We went to the source
And asked the horse
When he’d be back out on the course
He said, of course
Once his leg’s in force
He’ll be running to and fro!

“Maybe I’ll just go out to stud
Or frolic along and chew my cud
I’ll stamp and neigh
Make the kids say Hey!
It’s the famous Barbaro!”

But now that he’s gone
It’s sad of course
He really was kinda cool (for a horse)
But a horse he was
No more tears, because –
Barbaro wouldn’t want you to be so sad…

Nightfly

*********
Dear “Don,”

I was beginning to lose hope in your work, but now I can rest easy. No more mares rolling their eyes when I show up, no more gelding jokes or “second greatest horse in Philadelphia history,” no more whispers about being the Harding to Barbaro’s Kerrigan.

Payment is on its way, in the usual manner: third paddock from the door, under the feedbag. If the groomer’s there just tell him you’re looking for the john.

Sincerely,
Smarty Jones

(Also Nightfly, hahahahaha!)

**********

Dear Barbaro,

All of Philadelphia mourns your departure. How could we ever forget all the wonderful things you did, like when all those kids in comas at CHOP* awakened as the result of your triumphant win? Even Andy Reid’s sons couldn’t drive properly, what with all the tears in their eyes. Now that you’re gone, terrible, terrible, things are happening on our streets. We can only hope that all the studwork you did during your “recovery” will bring forth more magical horses like you to save our sorry, drug-laden, gun-violence ridden town.

Your hometown admirer,

Kate

*Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia for youse guys not from the area.

Yes, more magical horses, please!

Anyone else? You know it’s not good to keep your grief locked up inside, peeps.

and I likes me The Nightfly.

In honor of that angel face Barbaro’s recent passing, another look at my insane panda rage.

I was home alone on a Saturday when that happened, too.

Weird things

happen

when I’m alone.

Daniel Radcliffe, aka Harry Potter, is starring in Peter Shaffer’s Equus in London. He gets nekkid and parents are upset — because Harry Potter’s a role model, you see.

Parents, please. Calm thyselves. Are your little kids even going to see this play? I mean, they probably shouldn’t. It’s not for little kids; it’s for adults. And, by the way, why is HARRY POTTER, a fictional character, a role model for your kids? How about YOU being their role model? I mean, for instance. Or some other real live person? And if you’re gonna get all pissed off because he’s naked in the play — uhm — read the play. You might as well know everything. After all, wouldn’t want you to miss out on the full expression of your outrage that some actor playing a part is letting your little Timmy down.

“There is now, in my mouth, this sharp chain. And it never comes out.”

Man. I need to read this play again.

So Barbaro is dead. Okay. That’s sad. Whatever.

But I found myself howling with laughter last night when I heard a reporter on the news actually announce, in a reverent tone, “Barbaro had a last meal of grass.”

A last meal of grass? REALLY?? Who’da thunk it? A horse ate grass? No hamburgers for the condemned’s “last meal”? No blueberry pancakes? Grass? I am astonished! And did the condemned get to make a final statement before he bit the dust? Sheesh. Calm down, people. It’s a horse. Stop trying to make him human. Stop writing him love letters, like this:

“To my dearest Barbaro, rest in peace angel face. You are pain free now. You fought bravely. Now your spirit will run free. I will love you forever.”

I got that letter from this article.

Here’s another excerpt:

How many think Barbaro was heroic, or just doing what his human handlers wanted him to do? Or, had no choice what he was doing after being anesthetized? If we’re going to start looking upon horses as if they have human qualities, then shouldn’t we stop sticking a bit in their mouths, tying their tongues in place before races, gelding or loading them with steroids?

There is no question some people began to look upon this animal, though, as a creature with human qualities, but all indications are he went to his grave withholding comment about what he was trying to accomplish the last few months.

Hahaha. It’s a sad thing, yes, but keep it in perspective, people.

The Beanhouse, almost all cleaned out, so forlorn.

(Sorry for the pics — camera phone and bad use of lighting on the photographer’s part, ahem.)

I now own those hanging stained glass lights.

I need to pick up these big ol’ plants this weekend.

The patio, empty of furniture — uhm, because I bought that, too. But people are still showing up to sit, even in their own beach chairs. Makes my heart ache, the loneliness here. These are just three random people I watched from a distance. They were not together; they were just sitting, completely separate, at the place that used to be their place.

Because of the tiredness and insanity, remember.

Okay. I’m gonna give you a little somethin’-somethin’. Ready?

THE NAME OF THE WEE WEE-EST COFFEHOUSE IN THE WEST IS:

(Duhduh da DAAA!)

Boheme Coffee

(Pronounced “Bo-em,” but you all knew that, I’m sure. 😉 )

Remember that it’s the gay/hippie/but I-think-I’m-veddy-veddy cultured neighborhood, so I wanted something a little gay and hippie but veddy veddy cultured.

(Secretly, I still pine for Surly’s. That will be its name deep in my dark and cave-like heart.)

So … TA DAAAA! Or BLAH BLAAAAH! Or whatevvvvs!

So very very tired. Beanhouse closed yesterday. Moving day today. Bought whole damn store. Now crawling over bags of coffee and random tables. Can’t live in home anymore. Must go outside and find place to sleep. Now.

So very very tired and insane. Mostly insane.

More later.

Just look at pictures again.

The shame in this dog’s posture is killing me. There he is, just awaiting his doom. I think I love him.

From Cute Overload.

I cannot get past the cats’ expressions. I just CANNOT.

Also from Cute Overload.