Tag Archives: flaming lips

let them brush your rock ‘n roll hair

The mister, who knows my love of Wayne Coyne and knows that if Mr. Coyne showed up on our doorstep with a sour cream and onion corn ring and proposed to me he would be relegated to has-been status in my romantic world pointed me to the NY Times article about my dream Valentino and his sublimely kooky life.  Swoon.

Click the pic to get to the article.

In other news I dreamt of a very persistent scorpion last night.

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Filed under pop

the fish are jumping and the cotton is high

So yesterday was a little more than a little surreal given that it started with putting to bed a two-day long semantic argument with a wholesaler (which I think I won) then a surprise drop-in from a dear friend from London.  Much time was spent on the front porch, catching up, drinking beer & taking photographs of peonies inspired by these lovely works by Kari Herer:


Hers – courtesy of her etsy store which you should check out and buy some stuff from.

My not-nearly-as-moody-or-arty peonies.

The daughter gave me shit for snipping a couple (only 2!) on the basis that they ‘better left in nature.’  Screw that; they’re my peonies and it’s my prerogative.

And an obligatory (still in nature) ant pic because ants love peonies and I love all things buggy.

The surrealities came when we were visited by a door-to-door star salesman (which I could try to explain but it would get long and sordid and I’d rather just leave that up to your imaginations – we did buy stars, though, it has to be said) and Wayne Coyne’s doppleganger walked by.

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Filed under artgasms, domestics, yay! I win!