But It's a Dry Heat

Archive for May, 2012

My Little Pony Goes Crazy

The sign says it all.

Horses are big dangerous and destructive animals. Why girls go horse crazy is beyond me. (Ahem. There’s a joke in there about men…moving on….)

This is the Wonder Horse’s second liability sign. The first, made of plastic, was destroyed in a few weeks, reduced to a collection of white shards in the sand. The best he can manage with this metal version is to bend it. Metal, you see, makes the most delightful racket when struck with hooves. Especially, at two in the morning. Oy.

Friday morning: I’m fumbling with the faucet in the shower. Outside, a horse neighs, the sound coming through the skylight in the bathroom. The Wonder Horse has heard activity in Chez Kirby. “The two legs are up. Time to feed the horse.” He neighs again.

“You’re not the boss of me,” I mutter and get in the shower.

Forty minutes later, I’m out the door and headed for the paddock. A thick pall of dusty tan hangs in the air, sand kicked up by hooves. The Wonder Horse has worked himself up into a right lather. He sproinging around the paddock in that big bouncy deer-like trot that’s beauty in motion but is absolutely impossible to ride.

I go back in the house to get the camera and he shrieks equine obscenities at me. Back outside, I stop and take a picture of my loony horse. Recognizing the black thing and its significance–“she’s going to fiddle with the fucking thing and not feed me!”–he comes unglued.

He gallops back and forth, skidding to a stop at the gate, spraying sand in all directions. When that doesn’t work, he lets out a couple more angry neighs and throws a tantrum. He’s a whirling dervish,  leaping in the air, bucking and spinning. The long black tail lashes with a snap, he kicks a hind leg, and tosses his head. All this punctuated by rumbling horsy mutters and snorts.

Finally, I relent and head for the barn. Hooves clop angrily under the little porch; the metal feeders rattle as he shoves them with his nose. “Empty! Fix! Now!” I take my time, and he lets out a long, ratting snort. He’s like that really rude customer in a restaurant who expects the food to arrive the instant it’s ordered. Well, except that once the food arrives, he’s happy. He’d never, ever send it back.

I still, however, wouldn’t expect a tip.

Click images for larger version.

But It’s a Dry Heat

Fun with Fire

And I didn’t set myself on fire once.

Not even my shoelaces.

Not-so-spontaneous combustion being an occupational hazard of being an artist who works in metal. Welder, plasma torch, grinders, all spiting sparks and fiery bits of metal. Combine that with my spectacular propensity for stupidity, and you’ve got a recipe for flaming artist. And not in a homosexual way, not that there’s anything wrong with that. We at Casa de Kirby being supporters of marriage equality and all that.

 

 

This weekend is the first Art in the Park. Corrales, NM at the lovely La Entrada Park. It runs from 10 am to 4 pm. Entrance is free and there will be activities for the kids, food, music and loads of great artists. Please stop by if you are in the Albuquerque area. I’ll have a few copies of The Music of Chaos on hand as well.

See ya there!

Pitch Black

I’ve never much liked Superman.

Although Smallville did a decent job of injecting the man of steel with a touch of humanity, the character as a whole is overburdened by his squeaky clean, unambiguous morality.

I like my heroes to struggle with their call to action. I want them to come kicking and screaming into the light. Don’t give me Mr. Saintly who saves the day because it’s the right thing to do. Give me a guy who saves Earth because it’s got the best pizza in the universe and, oh, yeah, his friends, all two of them, happen to call the little blue rock home.

Which is why Pitch Black is one of my favorite movies. Not only is the hero as dark as the movie’s title, but the supporting cast also has a furious case of flexible ethics.

Riddick (Vin Diesel), the film’s hero, is about as “anti” as an anti-hero can get. He’s spent so many years incarcerated in the (more…)

Wheel of Dreams

Okay. So this is a cheat; in the interest of getting the blog fired up after a few weeks of hiatus. I’m still writing. And writing. And writing. And somehow, the effort of doing the “maintain an online presence” thing lost its shine.

Anyway, a few days ago, my muse runs off, refuses to take my calls, and generally acts like an asshole. He does that–the bastard. (Yes, muse is a he. “That’s Mr. Muse, to you, ” he snipes.) In order to entice him back, I pulled a few of my keepers from the bookshelf. One, Emma Bull’s, War for the Oaks, which never fails to inspire. Next to it, I found Wheel of Dreams by Salinda Tyson, which is the topic of today’s post.

The cheating part is because most of this is a review I posted at Goodreads several months ago. But Wheel of Dreams is one of the best romantic fantasy novels I’ve ever read. Sadly, it’s the only book the author ever wrote and I think it slid into obscurity about five minutes after it was published. Maybe it was the uglier than the back end of a garbage truck cover that doomed it, but Wheel of Dreams definitely make a case for don’t judge a book by its cover.

I read Wheel of Dreams several years ago. I remember being (more…)