Archive for the ‘Holidays’ Category

Well, nobody’s perfect

May 1, 2025

🐇 🐇 🐇 rabbit rabbit rabbit for the first of May, and hordes of aroused bunnies are streaming in the streets, aggressively singing “L’Internationale”

Meanwhile, I had a wonderful dream last night, starring — a dream first — my grand-child Opal Armstrong Zwicky, who in real life is just about to graduate from the University of Pittsburgh. In the dream,  Opal and another young woman wrote a zany hit musical show in both English and Spanish. During the flurry of production, I met the grandfather of Opal’s collaborator, a charming man with whom I developed a friendship. My clothing, in the dream as in real life, clearly conveys that I’m gay, so this man, not wanting to be leading me on, admitted, gently, “You know, I’m straight” — to which I replied, quoting one of the great films of all time, “Well, nobody’s perfect” — a line I use frequently in my postings, after I celebrate some good friend, woman or man, whose nature runs contrary to tight gender norms, explaining that they’re straight, but, well, nobody’s perfect.

The movie is Some Like It Hot, and it’s a French farce given a distinctly American twist, with mobsters and eccentric millionaires. I am astonished to see that I haven’t ever written it up on this blog. But now its day has come. It seems to afford no place for the Industrial Workers of the World, but, well, you can’t have everything.

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Valentine Marx redistributes

April 27, 2025

❀ ❀  In the great pile of things on my work table, a silly Valentine’s Day card from Ann Burlingham (from back in February, as is calendrically appropriate), a Guttersnipe Press card (“purveyors of fine, anti-social media since 2012”) showing a little-known member of the Marx family, Karl’s love child Valentine Marx, with an amatory reshaping of his father’s dictum on the redistribution of wealth, From each according to his ability; to each according to his needs:


Give me all your love, as Whitesnake said it in 1987 (official music video here)

 

Throw them a string of opals!

March 4, 2025

My grandchild Opal Eleanor Armstrong Zwicky was born 3/4/04, so they’re 21 years old today, 3/4/25 — the final legal hurdle to adulthood in my country  — and, wonderful coincidence, today is Mardi Gras (Shrove Tuesday, Fat Tuesday, the last day of Carnival, etc.), so we should be tossing them a string of opals. I suggest something along these lines:


(#1) A blue Australian opal necklace (with an electroformed copper chain), jewelry by Anaika from Etsy (US$50)

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Valentine birthdays

February 20, 2025

I have long noted the happy coincidence of Valentine’s Day and my daughter Elizabeth Daingerfield Zwicky’s birthday (for me, stirring memories of Boston Lying-in Hospital — now part of Brigham and Women’s Hospital — in 1965), but this morning  I got a Facebook posting on one of the websites devoted to memorializing the astrophysicist Fritz Zwicky and his work, somewhat delayed in transit, celebrating FZ’s birthday, on VDay in 1898! Let’s just call it Zwicky Birthday.

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The poetic groundsow

February 2, 2025

Links from Wayles Browne (a regular visitor to this blog from far above Cayuga’s waters), attached to my Ancho Rabbit posting from yesterday, which I will now expand into a posting for Groundhog Day (2/2):

The BBC reports on Groundhog Day: it’s six more weeks of winter.

And of linguistic interest: a Pennsylvania Dutch poem about the groundhog and his, or rather her, day [the BBC report “How the Pennsylvania Dutch created Groundhog Day”; in PaDu, it’s die Grundsau ‘the groundsow’] (as read by Cornell’s old grad student Mark Louden).

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Hats off to the vampires!

January 19, 2025

For yesterday, 1/18, in Bizarro, the 6th and I suppose last Waynoratu Nosferamanteau:


The male nosferatu (holding a wineglass of what is presumably blood, and chatting with his young female companion at some sort of vampiric meet-and-greet) seems to be wearing a Canadian toque (= tuque), with pom-pom, to warm his head during the cold dark nights in his coffin (yes, it’s very silly) (if you’re puzzled by the odd symbols in the cartoon — Wayno says there are 4 in this strip — see this Page)

The nosferamanteau is Nosferatoque = Nosferatu + toque. As for the hat, from NOAD:

noun toque: [a] a woman’s small hat, typically having a narrow, closely turned-up brim. [b] historical a small cap or bonnet having a narrow brim or no brim. [c] Canadian a close-fitting knitted hat, often with a tassel or pom-pom on the crown. [variant of tuque] [d] a tall white hat with a full pouched crown, worn by chefs.

(The heart tattoo with A B O in it, for the blood types A B AB and O, is a nice touch.)

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That’s a lotta axolotl

January 5, 2025

🎁 🎁 🎁 three presents for 1/5, the 12th day of Christmas, Epiphany Eve (I am Melchior, King of Persia, an old graybeard bearing gold), as I struggle with the afflictions of my body (plus some extras, like ten days of near-deafness) and with a long litany of Things Gone Wrong, including the roof rats that have been eating away a wooden door on my patio (it’s winter, and they got cold and hungry, and seem to have imagined that things would be better inside my storage closet) and a prescription drug service whose erratic and incomprehensibly shifting software has consumed significant chunks of four of my days as I tried to get some prescriptions refilled on-line for mail delivery — I tell you this to explain that my absence from posting has been neither thoughtless indolence (stretched out on a plushy sofa while snacking on chocolate truffles) nor yet another near-death episode (with ambulances, emergency rooms, and surgeries), but just the confluence of a high level of everyday medical awfulness and the howling devils of daily life (les choses sont contre nous, et les bĂȘtes aussi)

So let’s talk about axolotls. This from an elfshelfism that came my way back in December on Facebook, which I failed to save, but then it turns out to have surfaced in a posting on Threads on 12/13 — these things get passed around from hand to hand, like jokes and nursery rhymes — by charlesrathmann, who wrote

Elf on a shelf. eh? I give you:

(#1)

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Alaskan prime

January 1, 2025

🐇 🐇 🐇 three rabbits to inaugurate the month January and the year 2025

From Chris Waigl on Facebook yesterday. One fact that you need to know about CW is that she lives in Fairbanks AK (further facts, about CW and about Alaska, will become relevant as we go on):

Soft-spoken barista in a medium-loud cafĂ©, as heard by me: … and would you like salmon on top of your cappuccino?

The barista said cinnamon, CW heard salmon. Phonologically similar, but from two different conceptual worlds. Why would CW even have entertained the possibility that the barista was offering salmon?

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From my e-mail: two male nudes

December 31, 2024

🐅 🐅 🐅 tiger tiger tiger for ultimate December; it’s New Year’s Eve, so tomorrow’s rabbits will accompany the enfant terrible 2025, while my end-of-the-year e-mail brings me two male nudes, of very different resonances, to ride the wild tigers of 2024 off

First, on the soc-motss private group on Facebook on 12/26, for Hanukkah, a piece of digital art by Vadim Temkin that’s a playful sexual tease, like the Warwick Rowers calendar photos. Then, a male nude sculpture, in the Western tradition of heroic statuary, exhibited very publicly (in a prominent location on a college campus).

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Melchior

December 30, 2024

The 12 days of Christmas click by as we advance to Twelfth Night — Epiphany Eve — and then on 1/6 to Epiphany itself, the day of the Three Magi, or Three Kings, conventionally each the king of a distant land, each with a characteristic appearance, each with a name, and each with his gift for the Christ Child in Bethlehem. In one tradition, Melchior (alongside Caspar / Kaspar and Balthazar) is King of Persia, the oldest of the kings (a graybeard), and the giver of gold (rather than frankincense or myrrh).

The thing is, I am Arnold Melchior Zwicky, son of Arnold Melchior Zwicky and grandson of Melchior Arnold Zwicky, the last of whom, oh yes, had brothers named Kaspar and Balthazar. I have the name, the age and the gray beard, but lack the kingdom and the gold. Yet for a brief period in January each year, I am Melchior as well as Arnold, I am resplendent, I am a king.

For this period, I rise above the fact that in my country all three parts of my name are seen as strange and foreign, none more than Melchior (for the rest of the year, when I have to clarify my middle initial, I say “M as in Michael”, leading many people to think that my middle name is in fact Michael, so they could call me Mike). Only this year did it occur to me that I should add Michael / Mike to my alter ego’s name Alexander / Alex Adams: ALEXANDER MICHAEL ADAMS, the weighty A. M. Adams, the amiable Alex “Mike” Adams, hookup name Alex, just Alex.

Now, two things. First , an alternative view of the royal Melchior, from a 2022 posting in which he’s depicted as, wow, not only young and virile but also as the (mythic) king of France. And then another 2022 posting that starts out being about okapis and somehow ends up with “M as in musk ox” for my middle initial (plus “O as in okapi” for the O of ARNOLD).

Meanwhile, Epiphany is coming and my royal robes need fluffing.

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