American Fez

The Sun Has Got His Hat On

It is a great shame that artists rarely produce anthropomorphic representations of the Four Seasons these days. After all, who can guess what grotesque depictions some modern, radical Arcimboldo might create if inspired by the current mania for climate change awareness? I can only imagine Arcimboldo's quartet of formerly abundantly allegorical faces reduced to masks of mud and tears of sand from eyes of ice; fruits withered on the cheek and vegetables rotting behind each ear. Personally, I believe climate change has more to do with cycles of the sun than the burning of fossil fuels. My contemporary version of the Four Seasons, then, were I capable of painting such a thing, would probably show Phoebus giving winter, spring, summer and autumn a damn good whipping with his rays.

The Art of the Mouth

Spam email arrives this morning advertising teeth whitening 'pens'; not satisfied with merely whitewashing their own dentures with spearmint flavored bleach, self-concious smilers can now also perform precision trim work in those hard to reach places. 

How long will it be, one wonders, before the manufacturers of such products and their clients expand into fashion colors? Why remain content with white when technology provides the ability to individually paint each molar and incisor a gleaming shade of red, yellow, green or blue? Or even gold, perhaps, if you harbor pretentions of rap music superstardom. 

The Molluscan Condition

Slime after slime, the snail awakens on the wrong side of its shell, contemplating the salted path ahead.

At the Poodle Parlour

An early Spring walk through the pre-green woods; still a leafless landscape of vertical brown sticks, like strolling through the bristles of an old toothbrush. It rained overnight and the path is clogged with lumpy black mud that I leap across and sidestep, as if performing some primitive Wiccan dance. My dog doesn't care, however, she runs and rolls in all kinds of filth without a second thought. 

Dogs have been domesticated for as long as humans have, so it's somewhat surprising that they've never learned to avoid getting dirty, especially since our canine companions absolutely detest being bathed. In fact, a dog in a bath in only slightly less wriggly than a tub full of hyperventilating eels. Dogs apparently prefer the contortionist's trick of trying to lick themselves clean. Alas, rawhide stained saliva is not an acceptable substitute for good old soap, as anyone whose nose is frequently within close proximity to a dog can readily attest.

Consequently, the world of retail commerce has given us the Pet Spa; a combination of breeder's kennel and high street hair salon; the grey area in a dog owner's venn diagram where Vidal Sassoon meets Cesar Milan, a place where you wouldn't be surprised to learn that Garnier Fructis make a flea and tick shampoo. Still, it beats having your dog stink like Mother Nature's unwashed backside.