Mon - November 12, 2007

WOOFS AND WHISPERS


Perchance to dream...


Illustration by Gimlet Rose
"Gimlet Rose, Gimlet Rose.
a small white dog with a big black nose."

I'm asleep on the kitchen bed, my favorite of all the beds in the house.
When I want to dream, I go there. In my crate I am alone, no spare room even for my thoughts. That's where I go to sleep.
But when my dreams call, I am on the kitchen bed. It's round and soft, directly beneath the stove.
I am Ingmar Bergman. I am Fellini. Hitchcock. On my bed I swirl like a djinni.
Hitchcock and his Sealyhams walk past me and are all yapping. They're looking past me, at something or someone just beyond a cloud.
It's Cary Grant. He's playing with George in "Bringing Up Baby." And now he's turned and there's Mr. Smith from "The Awful Truth." They look at me and wink. A small, rubber mouse falls from Mr. Smith's mouth and I realize I am dreaming. Mice are not rubber.
My dream has ended. I wake up on my wonderful, round kitchen bed.
There is my water dish in the corner, waiting for me... the treat jar is full of Sojos. I hear a voice from another room "Where is Gimlet?"
I've been away, walking with Ingmar Bergman, Fellini, Hitchcock and Cary Grant. I've been talking with George and his other character, Mr. Smith.
If only I'd seen Franklin Roosevelt and Fala in their car, I might have asked for a ride.
But there will be another time, when I go traveling on my wonderful, round kitchen bed.

Posted at 08:13 PM      

Sun - August 22, 2004

Expressions of disapproval


Munch's "The Scream" stolen;
Gimlet and rest of art world shaken


"The Bark" a tribute to Edvard Munch. Tempera and pastel on board. Gimlet Rose 2004.

Wipe that smile off your face, Mona Lisa. You could be next.
Edvard Munch's expressionist icon "The Scream" was stolen by armed robbers from an Oslo museum today. "The Madonna," another Munch work, was also taken.
Is nothing sacred?
And is nothing protected in Oslo? The robbers ripped the paintings off the walls .. which was easy, because the paintings were just attached to the wall by wires. Begging to be stolen, if you ask me. I'm a dog and I know something about begging.
Munch's fragile masterpiece (tempera and pastel on cardboard, folks) was inspired by the angst of the Fin de Siecle and his viewing of mummified corpses.
Maybe the title should be "Rictus." I don't know. It's not my call.
"The Bark" is my tribute to Munch and "The Scream." That's me in the lower left corner. Notice my new ChadsRags witch hat. While I am not caught in mid-air, the angst is palpable. The viewer can sense my inner bark.
"The Scream" was stolen once before, in 1994. Do we never learn?
Munch painted several versions of "The Scream" but we shouldn't be blithe about it. We need every one of them.
Time for a good bark.
--Gimlet

Posted at 11:28 AM      

Sun - May 9, 2004

HOLY ... TAIL!


A journey into the unknown starts with one paw...
The travels and travails of Candied the terrier are continued.


Illustration by Gimlet

Signs of the ... times. "Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinder is in the room."-- Winston Churchill.

Our friend Candied is as we left him ... still sitting at the Internet café munching on green beans.
Except that now he is hearing and seeing his old wire fox terrier friend Chad.
Chad is on the computer screen in front of him!
Candied is beside himself with joy. Chad has returned from the ... dead?
The devil you say!

And Chad always had a bit of the devil in him...
"Chad, my friend," barks Candied ... "How does it happen that you are appearing to me? Am I suffering delusions? Are you really there as you were in life?"
"I'm watching over everyone," yips Chad, very much in command and very much his old self. "It's just that now I watch from Beyond, and from the Ether... I'm ethereal, you might say."
"I'm in every bowl of beanie beans!"

Beanie Beans? Surely Chad means green beans... Candied gulps his down furiously and licks his bowl.

Candied has seen it all now ... He has traveled far and wide. Witnessed presidential adviser Rover (note we do not use "advisor" for Rover is no expert!) connive... Consoled Scottie Barney Bush as he buried his head in his paws in shame ... Candied has seen idiocy and greed in corporations, seen kind souls on this earth kicked and bruised.
But Candied has never seen into the .. Beyond through a bowl of green beans before.
He rather likes the idea of it all, though.
After all, he thinks, Why ever not? Why must we be resigned to some Afterlife with rules of entry and order, with either pearly gates, rainbow bridges or reincarnations? Why cannot the portal to the Afterlife be through a bowl of green beans? And why shouldn't his friend Chad appear from time to time?'
Why not?

Candied is at the Internet cafe, and he instant messages his and Chad's mutual friend and wire fox terrier Nigel.
"Nigel," he types "Would you be willing to post messaging sessions of you and Chad on your blog? Chad appearing to you from Beyond? You know he always loved to give you exclusive inerviews about ChadsRags."
Nigel's reply "You got it."

Ladies and gents, curs and madams, we bring you our friend, the wiliest philanthropic canine ever to add touché to crochet...
Chad.


Chad and Nigel settle in for a chat. Nigel sports a new ChadsRags hat.

Our hero Candied discovers it is best to eat your green beanies ... and open yourself up to the ... improbable but absolutely delightful. There will be ChadChats popping up here and now, then and there, and why not?

Nigel: Chad! What brings you here today?
Chad: Mother's Day! All you dogs and cats out there... be good to your mothers, if they have two legs or four. I have a special wish for my Mother. I want her to smell the roses, keep up with the crocheting and keep Miss Bunny occupied. I'm very busy over here, but never too busy for you. Just keep that bowl of beanie beans out for me.
Nigel: Wise words, Chad. I want to know all about what you're doing these days. You come back very soon and tell us. Meanwhile, I have to find some flowers and a card.

Posted at 12:38 AM      

Wed - May 5, 2004

Let's be candid


Dogs, green beans and what's next


Illustration by Gimlet

Signs of the ... times: White male middle-aged journaling dogs need not apply. So we must don a colorful coat and hope that the wild beast in us comes out.

This being the Age of Treason, our hero, a wire fox terrier by the name of Candied, is in the midst of his travels.
To and fro he wanders, searching for Weapons of Mass Distruction.
Of those, he uncovers none.
Candied, does, however, unearth some Mass Distractions...

He snouts out a presidential adviser named Rover who has acted against All Reason and with great Treason... Rover has given the name of a CIA (Canine Intelligence Agency) operative to a greedy newshound.
This is not a case of giving a poor dog a bone, my friends.
This is murderous treason. This is revenge of the nastiest and most seditious kind.
And this is something we must not endure.
Candied recalls how the pack went after the Clinton Dawg for his private and painful mistakes. Clinton was almost thrown out of the Dog Club for his wrongdoing ... which, though of a shameful private nature, paled... paled in comparison with throwing CIA operatives to wolves and creating the weapons myth.
Myth!
Because our hero Candied has a terrific snout and could find weaponry if such existed.
Is this not the best of all possible dog worlds? Looking for weapons that do not exist and ignoring high crimes right under our nosies?

But our hero has more travels ...
Off Candied goes in search of his sweet pal Chad . Candied would like some clothing for his journeys, and Chad operates a philanthropic clothing concern.
Candied discovers that Chad has died. Gone off to The Rainbow Bridge, he is told. This, Myth says, is where dogs go when they die. They prance and are healthy and are happy once they cross this bridge. Our hero is confused.
He has traveled far and wide, and he has never run across this bridge. Rather, he has seen that too many two-leggers rely upon this myth... and do not give their dogs the good life they deserve while in the full bloom of life.

This is not the case with his friend Chad.
Chad had a wonderful existence the last three years of his Mortal Life. Why then, would he be lured across a bridge?
This does not stand the test of reason.
Candied is hungry and goes in search of food and thought.
He finds a diary of one Jill at Mylakelandterrier .
He sits at this Internet café and orders a bowl of green beans.
Candied hears a voice. It is the voice of his late friend Chad.
Chad then flickers to life on the computer screen! Chad can speak! He can be seen! We love our green beans!
Candied is awash in joy and relief.
Is this not -- truly -- the best of all possible terrier worlds?

-- To be CONTINUED

Posted at 08:53 AM      

Sun - April 11, 2004

PUPPY DOG TALES


The lore of Spring.


Photo by Joe the Cat
An antique Easter Puppy figurine holds a red-faced Easter Bunny.
This is the little hare who took over our holiday.

This story is absolutely true.
A verity.
Spring's arrival has always been very important.It throws Old Man Winter out the door.
In Florida, where I live, it throws the tourists out the door.
We won't go into that.
Easter was not always the province of the Bunny. It was originally the territory of the Wire Fox Terrier.
Oh, yes.
Once upon a time, we were the cute little white creatures who heralded the arrival of Spring. We jumped and ran to each door in the village, town or city and barked of Winter's demise.
We had spots of colorful fur ... pink, lavender, blue, yellow ... every color you can think of. They looked so festive on our white furry selves.How people loved to see us running over the countryside, announcing Spring and giving bones to the children.
Then some kennel club men, with nothing better to do, came up with the standard for our breed.
Our spots must be black. Or brown.
I think this may have been in reaction to the Impressionist Art Movement . A few stuffed shirts in some dog club are threatened by color and then regulate it out of existence.
So, we wire fox terriers changed our spots.
Really, they were changed for us.
But Spring still needed to be announced every year. The first year that fox terriers had their new black spots, they still ran around barking about the end of Winter. They still gave the children bones.
But, without that color ... it wasn't the same.
Color is very important.
So, some prehistoric public relations flak for the nascent egg industry thought of having the colored egg symbolize Spring.
But eggs can't travel by themselves.
The wires, albeit with their new black and brown spots, tried delivering colored eggs one year.
It did not go well.
Broken eggs everywhere ... the wires had, naturally! tried to play catch with the eggs.
So, the hapless white bunny hopped into the picture.
A holiday was changed, perverted .. and not for the first time.
Probably not for the last.
But, at one time, the bark of the Easter Puppy announced Spring at the door.
We observe that tradition at my house. Along with the bunny version, because it wasn't their fault the holiday was twisted. Bunnies are silly little creatures, after all.
Enjoy the day however it arrives upon your doorstep.
--Gimlet Rose

Posted at 09:00 AM      

Mon - September 22, 2003

Some books have legs


Mr. Thurber serves up a fine dish.


A litter of perfectly healthy puppies raised on fried pancakes.

We noticed several books by James Thurber on our bookshelves.
We hadn't had a good Thurbering in a while, so we thought we'd indulge.
Thurber's Dogs. A retired library book ... we sniffed mildew ... but a First Printing, a 1955. Which, as you know, was a very good year.
Dogs of all breeds and dispositions, drawn crudely, but with the finest eye (Mr. Thurber only had one good eye, but he made the most of it) for character and inclination.
Puppies being served pancakes? We hope they were potato. Potato pancakes, latkes ... oh, one of our favorites! Warm ... cold ... with sour cream ... or ... with applesauce. Always served with hot sweet tea ... or champagne if the occasion is New Year's Eve.
We've tried sweet potato latkes ... good, but nothing compares to the classic.
Just like James Thurber.
Paper, pencil, ink, one good eye ... and a barrel of genius.
Artistic and literary genius.
The term "genius" is tossed around a lot these days. It's often confused with "successful."
Look it up, but not in a dictionary. Get a James Thurber story or anthology and just look at his drawings. Read a little of his work.
Genius.
Puppies being served pancakes.
Classic.
We're hungry.



Posted at 11:20 AM      

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