Byzantine Grits

Yet another personality profile.

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 03:39:44 GMT

My capacity for self-regard unimpaired by year-end carousing, the results as follows:

My Personality


Neuroticism	4
Extraversion	48
Openness to Experience	64
Agreeableness	30
Conscientiousness	41

You very rarely feel depressed and are usually in a good frame of mind, however you do not experience strong, irresistible cravings and consequently do not find yourself tempted to overindulge. You are a calm person who is considered almost fearless by some. You rarely get angry and it takes a lot to make you angry. You very rarely feel depressed and are usually in a good frame of mind. You do not feel nervous in social situations, and have a good impression of what others think of you. You are poised, confident, and clear-thinking when stressed. People generally perceive you as distant and reserved, and you do not usually reach out to others. You are a moderately imaginative person who enjoys a good balance between the real world and fantasy. You love beauty, both in art and in nature. Sometimes you become easily involved and absorbed in artistic and natural events. Familiar routines are good, but sometimes you like to spice up your life with a bit of adventure or activity. As a person who is open-minded to new and unusual ideas, you love to play with and think about ideas. You also like to debate intellectual issues and often enjoy riddles, puzzles and brain teasers. You like the security of tradition, but sometimes have a desire to bend the rules and challenge conventional thinking. You mostly assume that people are honest and fair, however you are wary and hold back from trusting people completely. You believe that a certain amount of deception in social relationships is necessary. You are guarded in new relationships and less willing to openly reveal the whole truth about yourself. You will help others if they are in need. You are willing to take credit for good things that you do but you don't often talk yourself up much. You are mostly a compassionate person, however you prefer to make objective judgments when possible. You are moderately confident that you can achieve the goals you set yourself. Mostly you work towards achieving your best, although in some areas you are content just to get the job done. You have strong will-power and are able to overcome your reluctance to begin tasks. You are able to stay on track despite distractions. You will think about alternatives and consequences but make up your mind fairly quicklyYou are guarded in new relationships and less willing to openly reveal the whole truth about yourself. You are not an overly cautious person. You will think about alternatives and consequences but make up your mind fairly quickly.

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Dream states...

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 21:30:46 GMT

The hoodoo looking at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror has an old man's ass, a little flabby but tobacco brown and shaking just now with his wheezing laughter- he was looking for me, and found my reflection after only a few minutes of peering into the cracked glass surface, lit by an asthmatic yellow light dangling from a chain. He slowly brings himself upright, turning and walking slowly through the dark rooms of peeling purple wallpaper onto a screen porch, while I find myself drawn behind him from the other side of the mirror, bobbling along a little like a child's kite being pulled along the ground by a weak and petulant wind...

He sits cross legged on the cracked and weathered boards, looking into an old tin tub filled with green water, as clear as emeralds and smelling a little of the swamp somewhere outside this house. I am sitting on the other side of the water from him, watching his yellowed eyes glow and his seamed face crack with mirth at my predicament. The night around us is lit only by a kerosene lantern on a nail behind me, and the millions of fireflies filling the darkness beyond the lamp's halo.

Reaching forward suddenly, he snatches my hand and holds it palm up above the water. I understand that I must hold absolutely still, letting him guide me as he places a white glittering pillow holding a tiny green frog in my grasp, and lowers my hand slowly into the water. The pillow dissolves into a swirl of small stars, as the miniature frog relaxes and allows itself to submerge, looking up at each of us in turn. The old man clucks a little, and rescues the frog, placing it behind him. He gestures at me to extend my hand again, and turns my hand over, palm down. Placing another frog-bearing pillow on the back of my hand, he releases me. I understand that it is my choice to walk away or to allow my hand to drop into the water. I slowly submerge my hand, watching the pellucid waters creep up and bear the pillow up, the tiny frog completely dry and unaffected by my decision.

I look up and see that the hoodoo has left us, and with his departure the tub and the lantern vanish as well. I'm standing in the midst of dozens of fat , steadily burning beeswax candles, taller than I am and filling the space and warming the air with fragrant curls of sacred fumes. My amphibian companion has been joined by thousands of peepers, whose chorus appears to be a rather subdued "St. Louis Blues" in a solemn and dirge-like mode. The most delicious smell, redolent of clove, cherries, and frangipani is coming from a majolica plate of honeycomb, and I find my mouth watering, an irresistible longing causing me to hold the golden liquid-dripping to my lips and taking the smallest possible taste.

My head is filled with a golden light, and I feel my spirit lifting inside me as the wings of a thousand white birds inside a vaulted dome. My body dissolves into the smokeless haze of the candles, and a voice says, "Oh, I like this child, yes, I do like her...she is my good hand, guard her well"...

Much Adieu About Nossing

Sun, 21 Oct 2007 01:48:30 GMT

Of all the things I've said goodbye to in recent years, my feet were the most difficult. Well, I saw them today. Yoga and portion control are apparently bringing things into my life once believed to have vanished forever. Hmmm, perhaps I should consider the possibility of sex with someone other than my shadow, talented and amusing incubus tho' it be...

It's not so much that I miss sex with real people as much as I'm not sure I remember it all that well...as I've mentioned once or twice before, if I had known that was going to be the last time I had my toes curled, I would have paid more attention...

Elmer Noss lives across the street from me. Or would, if he wasn't largely made up of ectoplasm and a complex dream life. He visits several times a week, creeping in under the covers and making himself generally useful, allowing me to wake up in tangled sheets and a smile on more mornings than not. As a firm believer in leaving well enough alone, he is the one remnant of a largely successful therapeutic relationship that I have retained; if you're going to choose a demon to keep, the well-endowed useful sort is the one to consider, trust me on this.

Still, I've come to the conclusion over the last few years that it is better to have hips and knees than not, and thus have begun becoming less- with the result that I am receiving the sort of attention these days that I had gratefully gone without for some time. I am slowly realizing that this attention is not altogether unpleasant. Hence the decision to say goodbye to Noss.

I'll be having a little exorcism this evening, although I'm wondering- just because your partner is imaginary doesn't mean you can't enjoy break-up sex, does it?

Message In A Bottle #56

Mon, 28 Mar 2005 17:52:11 GMT

Cher Dick;

Back in harness, snuffling along amiably as long as I don't actually have to talk to anyone- I don't need blinders, my sinuses are doing an admirable job of narrowing my world view down to this little square screen. There was an animal on a children's show named the Snuffaloughagus. I am so there.

It's the 13th, cher pêcheur- only two days and counting! Are your zippers greased? I envision a little tornado of clothes being shucked in every direction as the calendar pages whisk off the pad à la Frank Capra. Congratulations on your imminent pantlessness- it couldn't happen to a nicer libertine.

I realize that your vacation will find you hithering and thithering about the balmy gulf, with scarcely a moment to sit down and type- but drop me a line now and then, when the mood takes you. Perhaps a vicarious adventure or two; I really likes those, I does.

Here's one for you- I was about 23:

"We had drunk up all the leftover Spanish plonk from the chas cru and had resolved to go into St. Emilion to get some beer and relax from a hard week on the vintage. The Dutch boys were our bankers, and after the first six litre bottles of beer informed us that we were going to have to go back to the chateau- we were broke. We proceeded to get out the guitars and busk through the centre of town, collecting centimes from amused passers-by and shopkeepers who devoutly wished us elsewhere than tramping up their place of business. Piers and the Devil took our booty and returned with an enormous quantity of ouzo, as we had mysteriously run the town out of beer. Being a card-carrying member of the Ouzo Drinker's Society (unable by the oaths I swore to refuse ouzo), I hastily swore in the rest of the posse. There are two, only two, memories I leave with you, as they are the only two memories I have:

Arm-in-arm, monkey-walking past the Police Nationale who had blocked off the town in preparation for a speech to the Bordelaise vinyard owners by Giscard D'Estaign (why there was no beer), singing "Chanson d'amour, yata-data-da..." and getting my butt pinched by a cutie with a sub-machine gun, and

Straddling a French pissoir with two hands on rope grips on either wall, leaning backwards while trying not to fall in, falling in, stripping and being hosed off in the back courtyard of the bôite, much to the amusement of my future husband. We held a funeral on the roadside for my clothes, conducted in French, Welsh and Dutch, and I returned to the chateau only somewhat chastened, dressed in a horse blanket we had from the overseer of the chateau next door, and singing rude Welsh songs. Madame headed us off at les casernes, and removed me from the grasp of my friends. The only thing I remember her saying, as she gave me yet another cold shower and covered me with delousing powder (a good thing, too- that horse blanket was crawling) was (with enormous Gallic scorn), "Charmant, ma petite. Simplement charmant..." Many months later, Lyn identified this moment as the moment he knew we were going to be married..."

Yep, I'm a keeper...

Looking forward to reports of great frivolity and huge amusement. I remain-

La Belle Dame Sans Souci,
The Tempest in Your Teacup,
Veteran of Foreign Bars (it tastes just like jack belly jeans!) and
Your Really Good Friend- No Shit, There We Were...

Ta Laura Kate

Message In A Bottle #30

Tue, 01 Mar 2005 18:50:41 GMT

Dearest Singer of Train Songs;

To quote my favorite lyricist, the late and much lamented Dave Carter, "...and the angels in heaven are all cowboy singers."

I loved your song, not just for the sentiment but for the wonderful images and phrasing, as well. The "broken window for a mouth" and the chills when the songs and the music fit the moment- and Hank Sr. did that as well or better than any.

See, I knew this about you. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.

If you call and miss me, leave a number where I can call you back- I'm looking forward to hearing your voice, dearest.

Have an essentially fabulous day, mon brav'- I remain

The Sibyl of Wide Horizons,
Heroine of the Highball Express,
Chanteuse of the Purple Page and
Genial Genie of the Lava-Lamp

Your friend and constant admirer, Laura Kate

Down to Posey's with L&J

Wed, 12 Jan 2005 16:02:14 GMT

"...have I told you guys in the last fifteen minutes how glad I am you're here?...no?...OK, I'm really glad you're here..." Up for breakfast with the Welsh Contingent at a leisurely 11:30AM in the VI. Explorations of the mysteries of grits, which while fluffy and as tasty as grits ever are, simply did not make the cutoff for culinary adventurism with the W.C. Never mind.

A bit of a dogleg through Our Fair City to share with my visitors one of our proudest architectural features/mighty erections. Driving west on Apalachee Parkway, the Capital in all its tumnescent glory appears, its great balls, er, domes, gleaming whitely in the distance. Immense merriment ensued. Altogether gratifying sight gag, thank you Florida State Legislature.

Down to Posey's, where the sun appeared and the sky blued and the pelicans were-a swoopin'. Lyn graced us with some very nice harp riffs and the oysters were sweet and fresh. About two-dozen topless beauties down the hatch, shells tossed on the river bank below the shady, breezy deck, ice-cold beers and obliging and friendly fisher-folk calling to us and waving from the river. A skip around the Marina, playing on the swings in the shipyard and a short sojourn in the Riverside Cafe for one more before we headed back to town.

Reconnoitering 'round the grocers, we loaded ourselves up with a) the quick (deli for sandwiches, fruit for HEALTH) and b) the dead (lovely steaks and fresh shrimp)in sustenance. Back at the ranch, we were sweetly sustained by Lyn treating Jacquie and m'self to fresh shrimp sauteéd to perfection, which were simply too perfect to follow with anything but contentment. More cocktails and a movie, Jacquie crashing hard during the last 30 minutes of "Mystery Men." Lyn and LK wound down the night with yet another cocktail, some of the birthday stash, and a dip in the hot tub for old times sake...late to bed and early to rise, oh my...

"...have I mentioned in the last fifteen minutes how glad I am..."

Timing

Mon, 03 Jan 2005 13:15:21 GMT

Talked to my favorite crazy boy for a couple of hours last night, and promised to send him some especially warm dreams. Wonder if he's received them in the same happy-tumbly-rumpled-bumpy spirit they were generated in?

Heavily featured: soft featherbed, light-as-a-feather covers, the scents of cinnamon and patchouli, lots of tangled-up legs and hair, long slow deepnesses and thousands of whispers against warm and loving flesh...

And all in a green and silver flying RV (mostly wall-to-wall bed) chauffeured most discretely by a 30-year-old Artie Shaw, parked by the Gulf, naked and slippery, magically not feeling our age and laying in each others' arms watching red and violet and mostly golden clouds at sunset through a bay window, listening to Artie and the boys (where did they come from?) playing "Dancing In the Dark"...

That was the really cool part... shortly later, the toilet backed up and we were surrounded by a crowd of striking plumbers who kept yelling "Free Bird!!!"

We could do a lot worse...

Canopy Road Blues

Thu, 30 Dec 2004 19:40:04 GMT

Apropos of nothing in particular, here's what I've been singing in the car lately...

Canopy Road Blues
©2004 Laura Kate Barrett

Why don't you come on down to Tally,
Tell me what is on your mind-
Worst man I ever had in Tally,
beat the devil out of any other nine...

Well I had him on the Trolley,
Then I lost him on the train-
When I found him in the alley,
He did not even know my name-

Why don't you come on down to Tally...

He think she some kinda highbrow,
Cause of them shiny satin clothes-
But while he's sayin' "Mornin' honey"
You know her back door's slammin' closed-

Why don't you come on down to Tally...

Little reefer keeps me happy,
Little whisky keeps me sweet-
Little kissin' makes me hungry
For that man on up the street-

Why don't you come on down to Tally...

My teacher cussed and left me,
My preacher cussed and left me-
I ain't good lookin', baby,
But my lovin's so sweet and kind-

Why don't you come on down to Tally...

Got a gold tooth on the top,
Got some sugar on the side-
Leave me broke and blue in Tally,
And I'll still be satisfied-

Why don't you come on down to Tally...