Lola's Salon

Yo, dys.
Explanation 2a is a go!! If you refer to 1a or 1b then we have to meet.

Otherwise, I kack - 01001100111000101010011110001 - over.

Test transmission to Danon5 from:







Did the codes change in my absence, or is this 01001100111000101010011110001 sequence a microburst with your address and phone number?!

Lola: am back for a few days and DO hope to hear from writing project participants - assuming that's still on. Thanks to you and Blatham for yr msgs; hope you did receive my modest contribution via the N34_W118 e-mail address @yahoo.com - if not, pls advise and I'll re-send.

The Messopotamian Mess is progressing with no major surprises so far; btw, looked into the Iraq thread, which has by now deteriorated into an analysis of the Gordian knot. Dunno why we have to solve that problem all over again when Alexander the Great did it once before us - maybe those quoting Huntington should read their own posts more carefully <G>

Between Scorpion's treats and Dys's rose snacks, Lola is perplexed about what to ask Kathryn the cook to pick up at the grocery next. Pansies are always good in a salad.

Lola sits beside Dys, who is sitting on the sofa, still wearing his hard hat, in spite of the fact that he's sleeping soundly.

"The rose must have helped, I see," says Lola to HofT. "I'm going to just help Dys off with his hat, since he seems to have given up on coping. Here, Dys, put your feet on this little foot stool and rest your head on this pillow."

Turning to HofT, Lola suggests they go out for a quick walk in the park, leaving Dys to recuperate from whatever he was doing last night that caused him to sing Home on the Range. Scorpion considers coming along for a moment, but decides he's happier relaxing by the stables.

The weather is mild, a very nice 53 degrees and the sun is shining. Kids are running about on the little mounds near the corner of the park where the chess guys offer games to passers by. Across the street, the NYU students congregate and converse as they are on their way to classes.

"What do you hear about the writing project?" asks Lola as she and HofT stop for a minute to watch an unusually exciting chess game.

"I'd like to hear about it," says HofT as both women nod their heads in agreement.

HofT, never one to linger idly for long, heads back toward the house. Lola follows and suggests they check on an afternoon snack. Maybe Withers will be serving tea when they return.

(Cobalt has been "around" all along, though hard to spot since she's been occupying a prone position behind the burgundy leather full sized couch in the Salon. Yes, prone is a great place to be these days.)

Question to Lola and HofT - are they Shooting Pigeons in the Park?

Oh, the sun shine bright over ole Kentucky
over ole Kentucky on the derby day
they let him run, the let him run,
they let the big horse run
please Mr. Sweeny, i saw him on the T.V.
send him out to run in the colorado sun
and let him run, let him run
let the big horse run
let him run,let him run,
let him run, let hin run
i saw Citation, man o'war
never saw a horse like that before,
let him run, let him run,
let the big horse run.
spending his time in the fields with the ladies
he can't complain but let him run,
let him run, let him run,
let the big horse run,
one more time out on the track
saddle the wind
and get up on his back
let him run, let him run,
let the big horse run
let him run let him run
let him run let hin run
let me see the big horse run.
[size=7]let him run, let him run
let him run, let him run
let the big horse run, let him run[/size]

Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park...


Those birdies all try and hide
But they come out for popcorn that's coated in cyanide
As we're poisoning pigeons in the park!


(I can not remember who sang that song. Wish I did. A childhood friend played a record for me, probably from the 70s or early 80s. Anyone remember that song? Remember who sang it?)

Tom Leher

Spring is here, a suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is spring.
I do, don't you? "Course you do."
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes ev'ry Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
E'vry Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Ev'rything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety,
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment,
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will we quickenin'
With each drop of strych'nine
We feed to a pigeon.
(It just takes a smidgin!)
To poison a pigeon in the park.

teehee!


Thanks Dys!

Dys,

You are so full of knowledge. Is any of it good for practical use? Very nice songs.

Marycat,

Welcome to the salon. Have a seat here next to Dys. Never mind his yellow hard hat. I tried to take it from him, but he got violent, so I gave in.

Home Home on the Range
Where the deer and the antilope play
where seldom is heard
a discouraging word
and the skies are not cloudy all day

oh give me a home where the buffalo roam
(now, what's that next part?)

Thanks, Lola!

The hard hat doesn't bother me. We've all got unique modes of self-expression.

I've got Ginger Peach Tea from the Republic of Tea. Plenty to share with everybody. Yummy yummy yummy. Would you like a cup?

Home on the Range
Written By: Unknown
Copyright Unknown

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

How often at night when the heavens are bright
With the light from the glittering stars
Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed
If their glory exceeds that of ours

Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free
The breezes so balmy and light
That I would not exchange my home on the range
For all of the cities so bright

Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

Oh, I love those wild flow'rs in this dear land of ours
The curlew, I love to hear scream
And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks
That graze on the mountaintops green

Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

Marycat,

Thanks for the tea. It will just hit the spot right now. I hear you're moving to Austin. Nice town. Laid back and easy going, except of course for the Bushies.

And BillW. Thank you for that lovely song. Do you have another?
Clap Clap Clap

marycat, Are you really moving to Austin? Our son is there; we think he's going for his PhD at the University of Texas. c.ii.

"Happy Trails"
by Dale Evans

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Non, non, non - Dys, you can't possibly keel over unless you find and post for me the lyrics to Johnny Cash's "Cowboy Prayer" and a song by Kenny Rogers, "The Gambler" .... ".. you got to know when to hold them, when to fold them..."

And if you're still thinking of keeling over, pls be advised that I'm the proud owner of a giant pink powderpuff and will not hesitate to go tickle-tickle-tickle on any exposed surfaces of persons keeling over without showing cause <G>

The Gambler written by Don Schlitz;
On a warm summer's evenin' on a train bound for nowhere,
I met up with the gambler; we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a starin' out the window at the darkness
'Til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, "Son, I've made a life out of readin' people's faces,
And knowin' what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.
And if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice."

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, "If you're gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.

Ev'ry gambler knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
'Cause ev'ry hand's a winner and ev'ry hand's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

And when he'd finished speakin', he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.

Watch that powder puff, Dys. I'm laughing as I'm off to dinner. Dinner at the Atlantic Cafe on 3rd tonight. Anybody wanna come along?

Cowboys Prayer written by Badger Clark:
Lord, i've never lived where churches grow.
i love creation better as it stood
that day you finished it so long ago.
and looked upon your work and called it good.
i know that others find You in the light
that's sifted down through tinted window panes,
and yet I seem to feel You near tonight.
in this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

i thank you, Lord, that i am placed so well,
that you made my freedom so complete;
that I'm no slave to whistle, clock, or bell,
nor weak-eyed prisoner of wall and street.
just let me live my life as i've begun
and give me work that is open to the sky;
make me a pardner of the wind and sun,
and i won't ask a life that's soft or high.

let me be easy on the man that's down;
let me be square and generous with all.
i'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,
but never let them say i'm mean or small.
make me as big and open as the plains,
as honest as the horse between my knees,
clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,
free as the hawk that circles down the breeze.

forgive me, Lord, if sometimes i forget.
you know about the reasons that are hid.
you understand the things that gall and fret;
you know me better than my mother did.
just keep an eye on all that's done and said
and right me, sometimes, when i turn aside,
and guide me on the long, dim trail ahead
that stretches upward toward the Great Divide.

Lola, wait, I;'ll come along with you, but I need to welcome Marycat and tell her that the men here all have their own tool belts. Now, Marycat, watch as Dys keels over and keep an eye on HofT. This should bo gooood! Don't you just love his tool belt?

OK, Lola, ready to go! Hee hee hee.