Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
STANLEY DIED
RIP, hairless rat wonder
Stanley died
for days – for at
least one week we
knew death was coming whether
instant or laborious the result
is the same the last hug is
always the saddest – his plump
body gone bony his limbs
limpid, weak – he seemed
weary, resolved not afraid of
death coming as if he knew
he was going to heaven – because
all pets, they all go to
heaven.
-Ryn Gargulinski, 10/15/08
Stanley died
for days – for at
least one week we
knew death was coming whether
instant or laborious the result
is the same the last hug is
always the saddest – his plump
body gone bony his limbs
limpid, weak – he seemed
weary, resolved not afraid of
death coming as if he knew
he was going to heaven – because
all pets, they all go to
heaven.
-Ryn Gargulinski, 10/15/08
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Sunday, August 12, 2007
THINGS I LEARNED ON SUMMER VACATION in MICHIGAN:
By Ryn Gargulinski
The first part of my 2007 summer vacation took me to Michigan, both the streets of Detroit and the cozy home in Troy. It was wonderful to see the folks, especially since they bought me a surprise gift, a horrible clown jack-in-the-box that didn't work. We were able to get him to pop out with much shaking and banging and made a fine photo spread. Other things I learned include:
In Detroit, Michigan
Downtown:
It’s not all burnt-down shells of buildings, although quite a few still exist. Pockets of coolness creep about in the revamped Detroit Science Center (complete with dead bodies on display and a large-scale rendition of the Mackinac Bridge), massive strips of tasty Mexican restaurants and a whole block dedicated to an art project with polka dot houses and mannequin parts propped in sculpturistic displays.
At the Detroit Science Center dead bodies exhibit:
The human is one awesome machine. Because of the soft music, muted atmosphere and lack of bodily fluids, the exhibit of dissected, bisected and otherwise chopped up bodies was not gross at all. Signs even explained how the “previous owners” of the bodies knew they would end up propped in museums for people to marvel at. Mom did say one of them smelled a little, so we just avoided that one.
Some of the coolest included a chopped up woman clutching a briefcase waiting for the bus, a seated skeleton in an “attitude” pose and an exhibit comprised only of the body’s blood vessels. The latter resembled a 1970s disco suit.
It was somewhat disconcerting to see two of the info cards with major misspellings, something especially frowned upon at a science museum. I don’t recall the first typo, but the other was describing some arm bones and listed one as “ELLBOW.”
At Belle Isle, Detroit’s island where dad used to play baseball and mom used to walk 7 miles to watch (uphill, in the snow):
Belle Isle, too, would also be a grand place to hang out on the actually clean banks of the Detroit River. Ironically, the day we picked to visit it was a day massive flatbed trucks hauling concrete barriers were making the round to set up for the upcoming Grand Prix event. My nap beneath the shady tree never came, nor did mom’s attempt to rest in the car when she was ousted by the rude flatbeds spewing diesel fumes. She also nearly puked from the excessive lighter fluid someone strew near the sign that said “No barbecues.” Master of acceptance that he is, dad took it in stride and relaxed on a bench to finish his crossword.
In Troy, Michigan
At the family barbecue:
Despite horrid rumors of the modern day family, not all of them are dysfunctional. At least not all the time. The Gargulinski clan members who came to mom’s scrumptious cookout were on their best behavior, even while smearing cupcake frosting all over their faces and grinding Goldfish cracker crumbs into the wooden deck. This included both children and adults. My cousins’ kids are even more adorable than I remember, especially since some weren’t even born yet the last time I visited.
At my parent’s roomy, comfy home (with newly-painted family room paneling that made my parents sore for days):
A flashback to my childhood home of Troy also gave me a chance to see suburbia gets less boring as you get older and don’t care as much if you sit around and do nothing. For a teen, that’s torture. For someone escaping the world for a summer vacay, it’s bliss. I especially enjoyed the very loud crickets that raked evening eardrums, the backyard creek, making dead gerbil Chad a new headstone and having the neighbors stop by to tell my parents how wonderful I looked.
Wandering suburban streets:
Leave it to suburbia to make even the fire hydrants look cute. The biggest changes I saw were a massive increase in housing values, a massive increase in fines if you run over a road worker and a massive influx of Chinese culture. Some of the signs were bilingual. Those of Arab descent have always heavily populated Detroit and are also moving into the suburbs. As is the case everywhere, many prejudices still exist. A prime example was two Arab women in CVS Pharmacy complaining about how much they hated the Mexicans.
The first part of my 2007 summer vacation took me to Michigan, both the streets of Detroit and the cozy home in Troy. It was wonderful to see the folks, especially since they bought me a surprise gift, a horrible clown jack-in-the-box that didn't work. We were able to get him to pop out with much shaking and banging and made a fine photo spread. Other things I learned include:
In Detroit, Michigan
Downtown:
It’s not all burnt-down shells of buildings, although quite a few still exist. Pockets of coolness creep about in the revamped Detroit Science Center (complete with dead bodies on display and a large-scale rendition of the Mackinac Bridge), massive strips of tasty Mexican restaurants and a whole block dedicated to an art project with polka dot houses and mannequin parts propped in sculpturistic displays.
At the Detroit Science Center dead bodies exhibit:
The human is one awesome machine. Because of the soft music, muted atmosphere and lack of bodily fluids, the exhibit of dissected, bisected and otherwise chopped up bodies was not gross at all. Signs even explained how the “previous owners” of the bodies knew they would end up propped in museums for people to marvel at. Mom did say one of them smelled a little, so we just avoided that one.
Some of the coolest included a chopped up woman clutching a briefcase waiting for the bus, a seated skeleton in an “attitude” pose and an exhibit comprised only of the body’s blood vessels. The latter resembled a 1970s disco suit.
It was somewhat disconcerting to see two of the info cards with major misspellings, something especially frowned upon at a science museum. I don’t recall the first typo, but the other was describing some arm bones and listed one as “ELLBOW.”
At Belle Isle, Detroit’s island where dad used to play baseball and mom used to walk 7 miles to watch (uphill, in the snow):
Belle Isle, too, would also be a grand place to hang out on the actually clean banks of the Detroit River. Ironically, the day we picked to visit it was a day massive flatbed trucks hauling concrete barriers were making the round to set up for the upcoming Grand Prix event. My nap beneath the shady tree never came, nor did mom’s attempt to rest in the car when she was ousted by the rude flatbeds spewing diesel fumes. She also nearly puked from the excessive lighter fluid someone strew near the sign that said “No barbecues.” Master of acceptance that he is, dad took it in stride and relaxed on a bench to finish his crossword.
In Troy, Michigan
At the family barbecue:
Despite horrid rumors of the modern day family, not all of them are dysfunctional. At least not all the time. The Gargulinski clan members who came to mom’s scrumptious cookout were on their best behavior, even while smearing cupcake frosting all over their faces and grinding Goldfish cracker crumbs into the wooden deck. This included both children and adults. My cousins’ kids are even more adorable than I remember, especially since some weren’t even born yet the last time I visited.
At my parent’s roomy, comfy home (with newly-painted family room paneling that made my parents sore for days):
A flashback to my childhood home of Troy also gave me a chance to see suburbia gets less boring as you get older and don’t care as much if you sit around and do nothing. For a teen, that’s torture. For someone escaping the world for a summer vacay, it’s bliss. I especially enjoyed the very loud crickets that raked evening eardrums, the backyard creek, making dead gerbil Chad a new headstone and having the neighbors stop by to tell my parents how wonderful I looked.
Wandering suburban streets:
Leave it to suburbia to make even the fire hydrants look cute. The biggest changes I saw were a massive increase in housing values, a massive increase in fines if you run over a road worker and a massive influx of Chinese culture. Some of the signs were bilingual. Those of Arab descent have always heavily populated Detroit and are also moving into the suburbs. As is the case everywhere, many prejudices still exist. A prime example was two Arab women in CVS Pharmacy complaining about how much they hated the Mexicans.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Voodoo Testimonial
A trio of satisfied LUCKY VOODOO DOLL owners display their dolls near their Oregon abode. Molly (far left) included a testimonial:
I did attach some pics of myself, my mother, and my grandmother...all withour voo doo ladies. I have mine in her own little vase and some plumage. She loves it. Thought you'd like to see!!
I did attach some pics of myself, my mother, and my grandmother...all withour voo doo ladies. I have mine in her own little vase and some plumage. She loves it. Thought you'd like to see!!
To order your own LUCKY VOODOO DOLL
handcrafted with love by Ryn Gargulinski,
e-mail ryngargulinski@hotmail.com.
*
Prices start at $25 for those that have been lying around waiting for you and $30+ for custom orders. See more at http://www.ryngargulinski.com/.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Rental Review: Harold and Maude
By Ryn Gargulinski
Anyone who thinks it’s gross if a 20-something dude who looks 13 were to fall in love with and marry an 80-year-old gal is right.
It is.
Unless it’s Harold and Maude.
This movie not only erases society’s baseless initial shock and repulsion at such a match, but it opens the doors to examine other societal “rights” and “wrongs” that all of a sudden seem ridiculous. Like why is it OK when Anna Nicole takes on an 80-year-old lover but disgusting to some when Harold does the same thing? Why is it disgusting at all when love transcends everything, even death?
This entertaining and wholly kitschy 70s flick also opens other doors with more questions and varied interpretation. Is Maude a real person or just a figment of much needed love for Harold’s imagination? Does Harold really die during one of his “suicides?” Is Harold alive in the first place? Is Maude? Is he really only 13?
These and many other inquiries, like how the heck Harold could weld a really cool mini-hearse out of a Jaguar in less than two hours, prey on our minds.
They make us think. They awaken our senses. They make us look at love, maybe even experience it. Heck, one of my friends said he'd marry Maude in a second (but alas, Ruth "Maude" Gordon died in 1985). (Bud Cort, who played Harold, simply got all obscure like child actors even though he wasn't a child but just looked like one.)
This is not your average sit-and-absorb-things-like-a-fat-blob-eating-popcorn movies. Nor is it annoyingly philosophical, yet it does tend to preach.
I won’t ruin the film by either revealing the ending or telling you what Maude likes to preach about. But I will say you won’t mind sitting in the pew.
Highlight: Opening scene that leaves Harold hanging himself from a rafter and his subsequent string of suicides.
Lowlight: Imagining life with a mother like Harold has.
Rating (1-10): 80,888
Anyone who thinks it’s gross if a 20-something dude who looks 13 were to fall in love with and marry an 80-year-old gal is right.
It is.
Unless it’s Harold and Maude.
This movie not only erases society’s baseless initial shock and repulsion at such a match, but it opens the doors to examine other societal “rights” and “wrongs” that all of a sudden seem ridiculous. Like why is it OK when Anna Nicole takes on an 80-year-old lover but disgusting to some when Harold does the same thing? Why is it disgusting at all when love transcends everything, even death?
This entertaining and wholly kitschy 70s flick also opens other doors with more questions and varied interpretation. Is Maude a real person or just a figment of much needed love for Harold’s imagination? Does Harold really die during one of his “suicides?” Is Harold alive in the first place? Is Maude? Is he really only 13?
These and many other inquiries, like how the heck Harold could weld a really cool mini-hearse out of a Jaguar in less than two hours, prey on our minds.
They make us think. They awaken our senses. They make us look at love, maybe even experience it. Heck, one of my friends said he'd marry Maude in a second (but alas, Ruth "Maude" Gordon died in 1985). (Bud Cort, who played Harold, simply got all obscure like child actors even though he wasn't a child but just looked like one.)
This is not your average sit-and-absorb-things-like-a-fat-blob-eating-popcorn movies. Nor is it annoyingly philosophical, yet it does tend to preach.
I won’t ruin the film by either revealing the ending or telling you what Maude likes to preach about. But I will say you won’t mind sitting in the pew.
Highlight: Opening scene that leaves Harold hanging himself from a rafter and his subsequent string of suicides.
Lowlight: Imagining life with a mother like Harold has.
Rating (1-10): 80,888
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Rental Review: Rumor Has It
By Ryn Gargulinski
A parody of Pasadena mixed with a parody of love, this movie is amusing albeit superficial.
One also gets distracted, as I did, trying to figure out if Jennifer Aniston’s screenmate in this film is the Vince or Vance guy that she ran to after Brad and who ended up dumping her anyway.
Technically, one could read the box. But that would take all the fun out of the wondering that gets one through the silly parts of the flick, of which there are quite a few.
Highlight: The dumb blond undertones.
Lowlight: The spineless ending.
Rating (1-10): 4.57
A parody of Pasadena mixed with a parody of love, this movie is amusing albeit superficial.
One also gets distracted, as I did, trying to figure out if Jennifer Aniston’s screenmate in this film is the Vince or Vance guy that she ran to after Brad and who ended up dumping her anyway.
Technically, one could read the box. But that would take all the fun out of the wondering that gets one through the silly parts of the flick, of which there are quite a few.
Highlight: The dumb blond undertones.
Lowlight: The spineless ending.
Rating (1-10): 4.57
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