I Always Wear a Ball Gown and Heels To Admire the Toilet Paper

Irish Toilet Paper Digital ImageHow about you?
No shit.
Or at least they never mention it.

This is from WöM, a blending of an image of a ruined mansion from my Irish research trip for The Book of Beasts, and two advertisements that seemed to revolve around a common theme — which I won’t mention either. It seemed, in this case, logical to kill two target audiences with two products in one image. I enjoy the contrast of the fluffified women with the subject matter, which really does go better with plain stone and grass and ruined out-buildings.

I made the pink toilet paper even prettier by digitally adding a floral pattern from a circa-1973 graduation gown that resides in my vintage collection in the basement…

…the same gown which my husband wore on the night we all graduated from the 20th century and all the computers and electrical thingies in the world were supposed to explode and we had our own private party drinking pink champagne and dancing in the living room with the curtains open in order to freak out the fundamentalists having their own New-Years shin-dig in the church across the street. We tramped the block to the river-bank to see if the city would really go black, and offered a drink to the poor Sask-Power guy who was sitting in his van at midnight, waiting for the apocalypse.

My circa-1973 graduation gown was much nicer than his, of course.

And he claims not to remember any of this.

Using popular magazines as a source, I’ve reached the conclusion that, in the nineteen fifties, women also wore stilettos while vacuuming.

No shit.


Metamorphosis, Ovid:     translated by Mary M. Innes

Perhaps the reason to learn to read Latin. Ovid is a master of human and sensual detail. He cares how it feels to fly with wax and feather wings and then to fall.

It’s also illuminating on ancient patriarchal mentality; no wonder it took another 2500 year for stalking laws to come into place. I didn’t know Venus and the god/ess Nemesis him/herself hated those “hard-hearted,” “proud” and “cruel” women among us who run screaming from icky, parasitical, sicko men.

I’d say that’s an unfair advantage.

Stephen Hawking: A Life In Science, Michael White and John Gribbon:

Good condensation of the state of cosmology at the end of the 20th century and for putting all the different incomprehensibilities of physics in short form. I’m afraid every time I read “pop” physics, only a small part sticks in my head after I shut the book, because of its ultimate reality being completely at odds with my visible reality. I was a waitress when a “quark” only came in apple flavour and was a kind of German cheesecake.

I’m slowly forming hooks on the walls of my mind, places to hang things like quantum entanglement, Cantor’s infinities of infinite numbers, the theoretical multiverse and the tracker field in the variable speed of light theory – which is, wonderfully, exactly like a bathtub.


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