EMPTY HANDS IN THE GETTY

The empty hands in the Getty Museum, or Getty Center, caught my eye more than the hands with cigarettes.

Can’t you see a coffin nail, maybe a Phillip Morris Commander, in this guy’s hand, tipping ashes into the skull?

The artist sees the whole picture and paints it; visitors see modern interpretations.

I see a missing Winston, half gone in drooping ash, sidestreaming away.

If you’re like me, and you’re probably not, you go to a museum to find something that captures your imagination, holds your attention.

With that in mind, you move from gallery to gallery faster than a label-reading scholar wannabe doing what they feel they should since it’s a museum packed with smart people writing informative labels.

Don’t miss a learning moment of public education, but there’s the time element.

I raced through permanent collection rooms of crucifixion gore, which is a given for the Renaissance, through the temporary exhibit of gay photography celebration, looking for that special something.

It turned out to be the building, but in the search I found these hands.

 

The Smoker’s Hand

Why would an artist leave out the cigarette, but include the cigarette grip?

I’m surprised they didn’t include the nicotine stains in this one.

 

 

This one is ready to walk a mile for a Camel, as if that’s the first thing you reach for after a long walk.

 

Water? Noooo.

Sweat rag? Noooo.

Oxygen mask? Noooo.

He wants that Camel, dammit.

Who is the most famous sports smoker today?

For his public ‘I don’t give a damn’ I call on John Daly the golfer.

Getty Images has a wall of him hitting it hard.

 

The Smoker’s Leg

 

Man 1: You want a heater?

Man 2: No, I’ve got a shaky leg.

Man 1: Could be smoker’s leg?

Man 2: Or smoker’s toe.

Man 1: Watch out for Buerger Disease.

Man 2: Why isn’t there a warning?

Man 1: It takes time. Lung cancer was thought to be a rarity doctor’s didn’t expect to see much of.

Man 2: So I shouldn’t worry?

Man 1: Your leg is withered and your toes curling.

Man 2: Looks bad. I nee a cigarette.

Man 1: Me too.

 

Turn Your Head And Cough Hand?

This hand needs a Lucky Strike.

I knew a guy, a patient in the VA, who was a lifelong Lucky man.

He smoked them as often as he could, then kept at it when it became a problem.

The problem was the hole in the front of his neck from cancer surgery.

He’d sit in bed with a lit Lucky, fit it into the aperture of his stoma, inhale, then exhale through his mouth.

After surgery he had to cut down while things healed up, but now he was smiling and looking a little high.

His routine was one cigarette before lunch, and one after, because of his health.

Lunch would come in on a bedside table.

He didn’t get the one that slid over his bed, but the side version, because half of every bite he took sprayed out onto his bed through the neck hole, the stoma.

Eat. Swallow. Gag. Repeat.

 

 

This is either an Old Gold hand, or the last lumpy finger you want to see for your regular prostate exam.

Either way, hang on tight.

 

 

In other words get a grip.

The things that get on your nerves are just that, and like most things of a similar sort, you can do without them.

The problem? You still need to so something, or not do something.

Weight problem: Eat less and convince yourself you’re not hungry. Avoid dropping into food aversion, which creates a new set of problems.

Addiction problems: Try developing an aversion to the addiction whether gambling, sex, drugs, or alcohol. When you get the urge to imbibe an addiction, make yourself nauseous.

Watch Clockwork Orange for instruction.

 

That Portland Baby Boomer Blogger Again?

Dear Friends, Readers, Scrollers, and the rest of you here on boomerpdx,

First, thank you for spending time here.

I try to keep it simple, an easy get in, get out.

The past few months I’ve seen more traffic from China than anyplace else in the life span of this blog.

Thousands upon thousands, which makes for a nice looking bar graph, but it’s probably bots.

I’m not complaining, but what about bots from other nations? Come on.

Now American traffic is picking up. Bots? Maybe.

What do you think when you read spam like this:

 

I’m often to blogging and i really appreciate your content. The article has actually peaks my interest. I am going to bookmark your site and preserve checking for brand spanking new information.

Hello there, You have performed a fantastic job. I will certainly digg it and personally recommend to my friends. I’m confident they will be benefited from this web site.

 

Very nice post. I just stumbled upon your weblog and wished to say that I have really enjoyed surfing around your blog posts. In any case I’ll be subscribing to your rss feed and I hope you write again very soon!

 

While this is not a confessional, or beacon of spiritual calling kind of blog, I think you can do better than this random spam from ‘beauty parlors’ and ‘hair design’ shops.

I’m not asking you to prove anything like desperate posters on twitter who feel invisible so they ask the void to say hello.

My readers know who they are, and that’s enough.

I know you don’t leave here with malice in your heart and hate in the brain, and if you do it was there before you got here.

If that’s the case, my hope is you have less after spending time together.

 

PS: If you feel a greater sense of uncertainty than usual, figure it out and fix it.

 

PSS: This world needs more people willing to take a good look around. Be a witness?

Yes, be a witness.

 

 

I’m not the bee’s knees, I’m not the seventh son
I’m not the Hoodoo man, I’m not the chosen one
I’m not the muddy water, sure nuff not the big fish
I’m just a witness
I’m not the egg head, I’m not the Einstein
I’m not the quickest bunny, I’m not the mastermind
I’m not nobody’s fool, sure nuff not the genius
I’m just a witness
Witness, nothin’ here to see
None of that was me