Archive for June, 2011

Faux News……..

June 17, 2011

                                                         Faux News.  Pastels and ink by Susan Owen

The house still smells like smoke.

I suppose it is my fault, when it comes down to it.  I am an avid watcher of Rachael Maddow and have been  joyously  awaiting the return of Keith Olbermann and the Countdown show on Current tv.  The kids didn’t seem to pay attention most of the time since they are customarily in Skosh’s room either listening to unintelligible music, playing games on the computer or endlessly snacking.  Since the advent of the babyvamps, I cannot count the pounds of tomatoes I have gone through, and even Heather seems to have developed a taste for the odd beakful of bologna…go figure.   Three days ago, however, the sounds from the kid cave seemed different on many levels.

What music there was coming from skosh’s room was in brief spurts and sounded wrong somehow, rather like something one would hear at a parade for the ku klux klan, and there was a lot of alternate shrieking,, howling and mumbling.  I could hear a few comments from the young ones but nothing I could make out…however, as the time wore on and the mumbling raised in volume, I could hear a few words now and then from the flatscreen, such as ‘Jesus’, ‘kill’, ‘army of god’, ‘outrage’, and my all time favorite, “liberals!!” This latter word spoken much as a viking would howl “kreegah!!” or something of that nature.  Hmmmm.

The kids began to mutter imprecations and from what I could gather from their tone, they were becoming restless.  in the world of Skosh, restless does not bode well.  I was on my way to his room to see for myself what mischief was afoot when the whole back of the house erupted in chaos.  There was a loud uncontrolled hissing from the babyvamps such as I have never heard, especially from the twins, Tad and Vlad, since they are the older of the lot and their voices are changing which makes for an interesting tonality.  Heather was peeping in shrill outrage, in counterpoint to the higher notes of Neckers and his brother Neil, who was clearly so upset that for once he forgot he was not a rooster and reverted to very angry hummingbird status.  I hurried my pace but didn’t reach the door in time and there was a wall-shaking roar and the entire door caught on fire.

What fresh hell is this, he knows better than to…I thought as I raced for the nearest extinguisher.  It took about half an hour to extinguish the door and about half of his room. Naturally the flatscreen was untouched by damage but his “How to train your dragon”. “Eragon” “Smaug” and “Jabberwock” posters are waaaay history.  Calming the cru down was even harder than taming the smoldering ruins, but eventually I got the story out of them.

I didn’t have the heart to ground Skosh for singeing even though he knows it is totally and at all times verboten, because in truth this was a breach I could understand full well.  It seems that the kids decided to see how the other half rants, and had been watching Faux News.  As the afternoon wore on and the lunacy escalated, so did heir tempers at the outlandish silliness of show after show but they managed to hold their tempers in until the very end when from what i can gather, there was a 10 minute interview with Blareah Failin.  ten minutes…apparently, as long as she can appear even remotely sane in public…but it was enough to flip the kids over into full-on outrage mode.  Skosh said he couldn’t help it, it just got away from him, and he’d never do it again and Heather said totally fer sure, like…ewwww….Mina was in a corner terrorizing  an heirloom tomato and snarling sotto voce about “feminissssssss revolution”.   Neckers and Neil decided they were thirsty after all that smoke and were heavily into the nectar, hopefully non-fermented, but who can tell….and Tad and Vald were piling their unruly, heavy hair on top of their heads,donning pairs of my glasses, and laughing..”nudge, nudge” said Tad, while Vlad responded with “WANK….WANK!!”  and Skosh announced that he might just take a little flight to the studios of Faux news and show them just exactly what the meaning of ‘flame wars’ really is. I know better than to reprimand him until he settles down since I tried it once.  Ow. hot. Ow.

All in all, it could have turned out worse.  Tonight we will all settle in with a few hours of Hetty Wainthropp mysteries on dvd and some parmesan popcorn. Oh, yes…and chips with marinara dip, And for the rest of the night, all is forgiven.  we shall no more speak of this.  But I swear, young man, if you EVER,  and I mean, EV….Ow. Hot.

Posted by Susan. Shop Galerie Yggdrill  where you will find many items that smell slightly of smoke.


Milady’s chair…….

June 3, 2011

Gee, that was fun.

I believe I have mentioned more than once that Heather, Skosh’s girlfriend, was a pathetic, messy, lonely little chirpster, totally devoid of style and not much in the personality department before she met Skosh and his friends and began to bloom under their loving tutelage.  The reason for this sad state of affairs was Heather’s treatment, or lack of it, at the wings of her mother, a stylish matron with a penchant for social-climbing, haute couture, and martini-heavy afternoon ‘teas’ with like-minded harridans, teas that customarily lasted well into the evening and sometimes longer.  on the rare occasion that Heather did receive any attention from her mother, it was almost always negative.  Heather had no sense of self-worth and had no idea that she would ever have even one friend, much less as many as she now has.

Heather spends most of her time at our home now, to the shared delight of both Heather and her alleged mother, who no longer has to explain to her cronies how it was that she came to be related to such a ‘terrible disappointment’ as her daughter.  However, at one point when we were planning a three day (possibly four if we felt the urge) trip to Dragoworld, Heather’s mother decided to do a little mothering and find out exactly who her daughter was hanging with and just exactly what a good for nothing bunch we obviously were and required my presence at her stately home for a ‘nice little chat’ as she put it, before she would allow Heather to accompany us. so.  off we went, heather bringing up the rear and I, wearing a faux Chanel suit and enough Shalimar to peel paint, bravely in the lead.

We wisely decided not to allow Skosh to tag along.

We were seen into the drawing room and the old family retainer announced our presence.  Within a short half hour, Mrs. Pinfeather made her appearance, swanning down the spiral staircase like a cross between Bette davis and a feather boa, and offered me a limp wing in greeting.  I opted not to kiss it and contented myself with a quick shake of the wingtip.  she bade us sit down, please, sit, rang for tea (uh oh) and glared at Heather’s new beak piercing with a ladylike shudder.  when the tea service arrived we were offered a cup each, only two cups on the tray as mrs. p. already had her own cup sitting on her tiny side table. Uh huh….

It began easily enough with a round of questions as to what do I do for a living, “an artist, ahh.  I seeee.  no, I mean, what do you  REALLY do?”, and other queries in that vein. She then proceeded to still more questions about the location of my home, “ahh. I seee…I believe I drove past that um, area once…mmm…”  but as the afternoon wore on and more tea was consumed by the good lady,  the questions grew  less to the point of our visit.   Mrs. P. relaxed a little too visibly and began to speak of the grandeur of Heather’s upbringing and her own exalted status in the community.

“Forr exshample, this ssshhh…ermm..CHHAIRR upon which i” she began. “it onesh belonged to the shhh..erm..Shhhah of Irang.  He gave it to me on the occashhion of my reshent vishhit to his lovely (HIC) parrdon home.  He washh delighted by my interpretashhhion of a ballad I ushed to shing when I wash with the New Yark..York Phlaparmonic.  I shall give you an ideear of my former gander…I wash alwayshh hoping that Heather might have inherited sshome of my giftsh but..alashh…” another glare at Heather, rather more bleary this time.  Heather ducked behind my Chanel jacket and wished fervently that she were anywhere but where she was.

At this point things got a lot more interesting.  Mrs. Pinfeather stood up on her ‘sshair’, a dainty if somewhat wobbly backless affair, and began to belt out a tuneless but really loud version of “Won’t you come home, Bill Bailey”.  Things might have worked out better for the redoubtable Mrs.P. had not the chair decided at that point to go south, and the great lady was dumped unceremoniously to the deep lush carpet, where she promptly passed out cold.

Heather and I chose that moment to make our graceful exit, legs and wings leaping and flapping out the front door withall speed lest our hostess should awaken before we were safely away.

In the car on the way home I turned to heather and said, “gee, I think that went well, don’t you?”  To which heather replied, “Oyeah.  for real. I’m all packed”.  “When were we leaving for dragoworld again….and would it be at all possible to stay a week?”

We may throw caution to the winds and do just that.  I hope the chair can be repaired..It may just be needed again in the very near future. Posted by Susan.  Visit Galerie Yggdrasil and see all our offerings (burnt and otherwise).