Whatever Happened To…

tree

 

Good day, folks. I bet you’re saying to yourself, “Totsy’s only here today on account of being bored and whatnot.” Well, you’ve pretty much hit the nail dead center on the head. You may also be asking yourself, “Did Totsy ever get her laptop back or will I have to buy her a new one?” Your last question may be, “What the heck happened to Beatrice’s comics? Who does she think she is, giving us a teaser and taking away the tickle?” Well, I appreciate your passion and all. My sympathies and heart go out to you.

To address your first question, or rather, assumption, I am somewhat bored. To explain my brief absence and to sum up the answers to your inquiries, I was working in the studio as a co-lead to a Katy Perry song but after about 10 seconds or so, they called off the deal, asked me to leave. When I refused, I ended up in the hospital with a large imprint on my bottom in the shape of a shoe. I’m so utterly confused  why this all happened and not knowing has me off kilter and whatnot. Know what I mean? Such a request has been a real head-scratcher but I aim to get some answers to my whys and whatnots. You feel me?

And yeah, I got my laptop back recently. I’ll resume with Beatrice on Sunday.

The Dark Side of Artists

Around the MoonLast week, I saw the Jean Michel Basquiat movie. Andy Warhol was in it and in it, he died (from a botched surgical procedure). It never showed Basquiat’s tragic end but there was a blurb at the end that let viewers know how he transitioned. Though, you pretty much got to see how he’d end up by watching his extracurricular activities.

Always a heavy drinker, Jackson Pollock was in a car accident with his mistress and that’s how he transitioned. Mark Rothko led a life in deep depression and shortly after reuniting with his estranged wife, he slashed his wrists after drugging himself, or vice versa. Of course, you all know Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear. Around 2007, there was an article, and I can’t remember where I came upon it, but it was said to be likely that Van Gogh had autism. I don’t believe that. I simply believe he was depressed from being a struggling artist.

Anyway, I did a few paintings along the style of Frank Stella, like the one above. As I placed each one on my kitchen table, the thought came to me that I should do my place mats in this style. None of the four pieces I did are the same and I rather like that since variety is one of my favorite flavors. I’ll show them to you when I’m all done. It’s a little sad that lay folk give little or no thought to artistic contributions.

I hope you folks have enriched your homes with original works that are meaningful to you. Probably the lives of these men folk and art mean more to me than you but I wanted to share anyway since it’s my blog and all.

In the meantime, I think I can use this computer to commence with Sincerely, Beatrice. We’ll see.

 

We’re All Controlled by Devices

devices

Being that I’m without my main source of accessing the internet, I thought I’d let you know that I’m feeling rather reflective, and I reckon, a tad resentful. While I’m at it, just throw some haterade in the mix too. Maybe the Amish are on to something by living in an analog world after all.

You see folks, we’ve become the robots that used to get built in science labs. I know you were fearful clones would come and snatch your job, man, date your daughter or whatever else you hold so dear to your heart but I, folks, think you should be fearful of your dependency on devices. Just think. You’re now a part of the largest segment of the world’s population who’s controlled by a piece of equipment that cost anywhere from 29.95 to 999.00. You’re also teaching your children to be dependent and undermining the value of social skills necessary to interact with a real human.

In the palm of your hands, you hold a device that accesses you entry to any place in the world. And if you’re that bored mid-lifer, you may be prone to forget your spouse and kids to meet that hot thing at your local coffee shop after a few picture exchanges . Or wherever. You’re grown, so you know where I’m going with this.

You experience anxiety, hot flashes and all manner of side effects if you’re not attached to a device. Your day is just different. Kinda surreal, to be accurate. When the tech department can’t fix that disposable device after it’s gone haywire from overuse, it sends you into a rage and you’re emotionally drained after you’ve frightened the unlucky agent who happened to clock in at your critical hour to do his job.

You’re the android you never thought possible. You’re the true machines (built by Steve Jobs) and overnight campers who don’t brush your teeth come morning time when the newest iPhone hits the market.

Man, I miss my Toshiba.

Mixed Emotions

Mixed Emotions

I’m having technical issues, folks. My laptop’s been admitted to Computer Community Hospital, so this is serious. My other laptop, I had to order a battery for, so a friend let me borrow  this one. With all that filling your ear and whatnot, that means I have to pause on Sincerely, Beatrice ’cause I don’t have the same software for laying out the comics or for enhancing my photos. It was hard enough to post this. Just so you know, I didn’t borrow the computer to blog. I work using the computer, so this is kinda a necessity.

In the meantime, I don’t have a whole heck of a lot to say. I was, however, feeling a little Pollocky (Jackson Pollock, that is) over the weekend in painting this piece for someone.

Once Upon My Abaya

Google Image

Google Image

Good gawdy mighty, folks! It’s hot down south. How hot, asks the chorus. It’s hotter than deacons looking down women folks bosom, okay? How hot again, sang the chorus. It’s so hot, it’s hot, alright? I’m gonna hide myself in this here house and be a bat. You know, come out at night. I’m careful too, considering I have a cousin dealing with skin cancer. It’s been a rough patch for him and he’s only 24, around there somewhere.

I was thinking maybe I should slip my abaya on but I don’t know how well I could pull off being a Muslim here. Not that I’m gonna be praying to Allah five times a day and whatnot. I won’t do that. I just need to hide myself from the rays. And I’mma tell you folks, when I went over to Saudi coupla years ago to work, I didn’t know much about nothing. The first time I wore that abaya, all I had underneath was my undies. I’m serious.

You see, the fabric, eventhough it’s black, is real thin. Like a thin polyester nightgown. Oh, I was real cool underneath. I was so wrong in wearing it though ’cause I was s’pose to have clothes on underneath. I was chilling under there like a natural born popsicle, okay? Then, a strange thing happened to me at the airport.

My first landing place was Riyadh, okay? I just had on a long skirt and my arms covered. Hey, far as I knew, I fell within the dress code. Then, the driver took me shopping for my abaya. I bought two. Well, not knowing I was supposed to be clothed under there, I get my behind to the airport and in the midst of handling my luggage and all, the darn thing goes to unsnapping so damn fast. I was like, whooooaaaa, what’s going on here? And why’s this just happening to me? Folks, it was almost a strip show up in that airport, alright?

I tell you what. While I went and learned a whole lot, I don’t miss it. I had a hellified time getting outta there. I don’t wanna go no place where I need an exit visa to get out, okay? I’m all about that get up and go, you feel me? Shooooot…Anyhow, I may just put on my abaya to ward off the heat. Did I mention on my way back, one was ripped as I was going down the escalator? I’m telling you, that escalator tried to rip the clothes off my backside, you hear me? Good thing I had clothes on underneath, huh.

 

 

The Art of Randomness

All the Way Home2I had some technical issues making this image, so I had to make extreme modifications. I hope you can appreciate that but if you don’t, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.

You see, I worked on this visual a few days ago and my frustration with it prompted me to clean my room. It’s so immaculate, you can eat off the dresser and you’d probably enjoy ’cause it’s rather pretty. Speaking of rooms, if you recall, and you probably don’t if you don’t think about me that way, which is fine, but I said I was decorating this year. If I tell you all I bought was a valance to hang in the kitchen window for all my grand notions of decorating, I’d be ashamed…Folks, I’m ashamed. I have multiple excuses to offer but I won’t give any. To be real honest, I don’t even feel like talking about it but I felt obligated on some level since going with this visual.

Being as such, I owe you an apology for talking about nothing strongly related to world affairs, the health crisis or how hard Sherry Shephard’s trying to sell her wig line on The View. If you’re like me, I do like some level of consistency and I’m rightly bothered that Friday brings day 4 of a wig change-up on her head this week. I don’t know about you but there are times when I do sweat the small stuff, even if it has absolutely nothing to do with me. I know I’m not alone in my grievances ’cause if I was, we wouldn’t have as many talk shows as we do.

Far as I’m concerned, there was no better talk show that aired than Phil Donahue. Maybe there’s something about me and Phils. I do like Dr. Oz too and used to watch him faithfully but he started giving me anxiety. You see, I get excited calmly, if that makes any sense, and I couldn’t take all his hyperactivity. I know he’s passionate and all but damn. I don’t wear anxiety well at all but I don’t wanna talk about that either ’cause it may excite me and I don’t feel much like being that either.