What The Hell Is He Talking About?

____________________________________________________________________________________

As a human being it hurt. Most things in life,
you can compartmentalize, but this was
everywhere, we couldn't shake it.

I've known the man who said that since the days when he had teammates 
named Moochie, Maurice, Malik and Bruno.

That was almost ten years ago when victories for his team 
happened on a weekly basis.

That would have been great news if Jamal Crawford 
was a professional football player. 

Football teams play only once a week but for every New York Knick victory 
that Crawford was a part of, there were two defeats alongside of it.

But  Jamal Crawford is a professional basketball player.

  




















In 2014, he has teammates named  Paul, Blake, and De Andre. 
The man who signs his multi-million dollar paycheck is Sterling 
but his name might as well be Mud. 

Donald Sterling is an eighty year-old billionaire. He owns (or owned)
more real estate in Beverly Hills than any other human on earth.

Donald Sterling also owns the Los Angeles Clippers,
the team Jamal Crawford plays for.

The octogenarian has owned the team for thirty-three years.
No individual has owned a professional American 
basketball team longer than Donald Sterling
has owned the Los Angeles Clippers.

This year, the eighty year-old man is paying a team salary of $73 million.
There re only twelve players on the team. Nine and one-half of them 
are African-American. Two and one half  of them are Caucasian. 

The current salaries of  the two best players–Chris Paul and Blake Griffin–
total more than $35 million.

Dating back more than two centuries,  the total salaries 
of every President of the United States is less than
$35 million.

Thomas Jefferson notwithstanding, if any of those presidents had 
half the intelligence of Chris Paul, the United States would be 
thoroughly loved by every other nation on earth.

Blake Griffin is a one man highlight reel and is capable of making
people say "Who was Kobe Bryant?"

If I were gay, I would have posters of Blake Griffin over my bed.*

Like the current President of the United States, Mr. Griffin is half-Caucasian. 

Judging by the quality of Blake Griffin's Kia commercials,
I think he could help President Obama with a truly effective
national education policy. 

Chris Paul looks like one of the nicest people you could ever meet
but, on the basketball court, there is no greater thief.
No one is better at stealing the ball from the enemy team.

Griffin and Paul are worth every penny the eighty year-old man pays them.

However, a recent conversation of Mr. Sterling's was tape-recorded
without his permission. 

Whoever recorded the eighty year-old man commit a crime in the process.    

In that conversation, Donald Sterling  said things that were 
the cultural equivalent of an earthquake devastating 
everything between Los Angeles and New York.

Compared to Blake Griffin and Chris Paul, Jamal Crawford
is paid chicken feed.

His salary for the current season is a shade more than $5 million.

In 2001, his first year in the NBA, Crawford played for the Chicago Bulls.
The team won fifteen games for the entire season, which lasts five months.

In 2012, his first season with the Los Angeles Clippers, Jamal's team 
won sixteen games in the month of December. 

In his second season with the team, I am hoping and hoping and hoping
that the Los Angeles Clippers win just four games in June
against  Lebron James and the Miami Heat.

Because of what came out of the  mouth of Donald Sterling in that
taped conversation between an eighty-year-old billionaire
and his super-hot thirty year-old lover, virtually all
professional basketball fans are hoping for
the same thing .

LET'S GO, CLIPPERS...

WE ARE ONE!!!!
 
____________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
The poster over my bed is a life-size portrait of my eighty-one year-old Grandfather.

He says the craziest things, some of which cannot be repeated in mixed company.
But all we do is laugh.

Grandpa is a big Clipper fan.
His favorite Clipper is Joe Dimaggio, the Hall of Fame Yankee Clipper.

My octogenarian Grandfather swears that Chris Paul
is Joe Dimaggio's nephew.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Trumpeting The Hummingbird's Salad Bar

____________________________________________________________________________________

Clusters of trumpet-shaped flowers 
burst from the tips of its leafy branches. 

The spectacular red corolla unit of petals
attracts, and provides nectar 
for hummingbirds. 

The Spanish name trompetilla 
means "little trumpet." 

It refers to the 
corolla’s shape.




© Photo:
Long Beach, CA
4/29/14







Hyperlink courtesy of Mrs. CarPeoupon receiving
Mr. CarPeo's first photograph taken since his return
from that unforgettable fortnight in upstate New York.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Today's Daily Knights

____________________________________________________________________________________

If your pockets run deep
and you can afford to pay

You can get a knight
the Sotheby way

BUT

If your pockets run dry
like he, she, or me

Then  Art Daily's photos
are–affordably–
look & see 



From the John Woodman Higgins Armory Collection

© artdaily.org
____________________________________________________________________________________

A Love Note From...

____________________________________________________________________________________

Eugene Nation...

You

 mist

 me

 into

 condensation


© Paul Oliverio

Eugene, Oregon 
3/11/12

____________________________________________________________________________________

Spaghetti Trees

____________________________________________________________________________________

Just add meatballs.






© Photo:
Eugene, Oregon
2012

____________________________________________________________________________________

The Midnight Pitcher

____________________________________________________________________________________

But what team does
he pitch for?

OR

Is he a she?

One thing
is certain:

This pitcher
is juiced.






© Photo:
Long Beach
2011

____________________________________________________________________________________

The Cloud Director

____________________________________________________________________________________

But do the clouds
actually read
the directions?




© Paul Oliverio
Hazeburg, VA
2005

____________________________________________________________________________________

From John Oliver To Jasper Johns

____________________________________________________________________________________

We now go...

Through the looking glass

&

Through the calendar.

Taking us back an
April fortnight,

Returning to the KMA:

Katonah Museum of Art





The featured exhibit was Jasper Johns & John Lund: Masters in the Print Studio

Untitled, 1998

Mr. & Mrs. CarPeo
arrived just in time
for a docent tour. 

Shrinky Dink 3, 2011

The docent was
very articulate.




There were
a dozen people
in her tour.

One of them
had something
to say about
every piece

But it wasn't me.

I said just enough
to get the docent
interested in post-
tour conversation
about this, that,
and the other
thing.

Flag on Orange, 1998

Jasper Johns has
famously painted
American Flags

&

Numbers.

But only one
Bushbaby and
only one tour
member knew
what a bushbaby is.

That was Mrs. CarPeo.
She knows her monkeys.                                                                 

Bushbaby, 2004

____________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
The next Jasper Johns page is here.

John Oliver appears on the previous page.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Oliverio Promoting Oliver

____________________________________________________________________________________

 John Oliver
 gets his
 own show
 on HBO.


 Starting tonight
 at 11PM EST:

 Last Week Tonight

  The show will be a half-hour, but a legit half-hour — no commercials. 

  That will allow for longer pieces. Mr. Oliver was still unsure whether 

  the format would routinely include a guest

“I like the idea of carving out my own space, rather than having 

  to step into some difficult shoes,” he said.

  He had the shoe experience during Jon Stewart’s sabbatical 

  from anchoring “The Daily Show,” a role that had vaulted 

  the host to the status of champion of truth-telling about

  the news and media.

  The experience turned into far more fun than Mr. Oliver anticipated, 

  though it began with exactly the level of terror he had feared. 

“There are about seven seconds when that music plays at the top 

  of the show, seven seconds for your heart to burst out of your chest,” 

  he recalled. “I sat there thinking: ‘Is this visible? Can you see a heart 

  in a chest? No, that’s a cartoon.’ ”

  Nobody noticed. Instead they saw how much wit and spirit Mr. Oliver 

  brought to the assignment. 

  Reviews bordered on rapturous.

____________________________________________________________________________________

An Inverted Stack Of Chairs

____________________________________________________________________________________

But

all

you

see

is

the

legs.





© Photo:
Long Beach
2012
____________________________________________________________________________________

Monkeys Waiting For Godot

____________________________________________________________________________________

The monkeys and
their adoptive mothers
love Samuel Beckett.



____________________________________________________________________________________

My Uncle & The Monsignor-Maker

____________________________________________________________________________________

This was the moment
Father Oliverio became
Monsignor Oliverio.

But my Uncle–
since his ordination
in 1957–will always be
"Father Frank" to me.

As of today, however,
the man known as
Pope John Paul II
is now...

Saint John Paul II 
____________________________________________________________________________________

Rest In Peace, Gabo

____________________________________________________________________________________

Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1927-2014)

I do not believe in God
but I am afraid of him.










The Nobel Prize-winning novelist died this month but I think
his fear of God will prove worthless.

God will probably ask Gabo to autograph  one of his novels.
Maybe ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE
or LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA,
from whence comes the quote.
____________________________________________________________________________________

How To Serve Tea To A Cat

____________________________________________________________________________________

Object
Meret Oppenheim
1936
____________________________________________________________________________________

Art Daily Photo OF The Day

____________________________________________________________________________________

Danish happening and performance artist Uwe Max Jensen walks naked with a bucket
on his head in front of the statue of The Little Mermaid in Copenhagen, Denmark
during a performance to mark the 50th anniversary of the beheading
of The Little Mermaid.

The small bronze skinned sculpture of Hans Christian Andersen's fairytale
which sits on a rock in the Copenhagen harbour in Churchill Park
has been several time vandalized and each time restored.
Fifty years after its first beheading on April 25, 1964
the statue is still a Danish icon.

AFP PHOTO/ THOMAS LEKFELDT

© artdaily.org
____________________________________________________________________________________

Published Twenty-nine Years After His Death

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Dearly Beloved

By F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

my Beauty Boy - reading Plato so divine! O, dark, oh fair, colored golf champion of Chicago.


Over the rails he goes at night, steward of the club car, and afterwards in the dim smoke by the one light and the smell of stale spittoons, writing west to the Rosecrucian Brotherhood. Seeking ever.

O Beauty Boy here is your girl, not one to soar like you, but a clean swift serpent who will travel as fast on land and look toward you in the sky.

Lilymary loved him, oft invited him and they were married in St. Jarvis' church in North Englewood. For years they bettered themselves, running along the tread-mill of their reach, becoming only a little older and no better than before. He was loaned the Communist Manifesto by the wife of the advertising manager of a Chicago Daily but for preference give him Plato - the Phaedo and the Apologia, or else the Rosecrucian Brotherhood of Sacramento, California, which burned in his ears as the rails clicked past Alton, Springfield Burlington in the dark.

Bronze lovers, never never canst thou have thy bronze child - or so it seemed for years. Then the clock struck, the gong rang and Dr. Edwin Burch of South Michigan Avenue agreed to handle the whole thing for $200. They looked so nice–so delicately nice, neither of them over hurting the other and graciously expert in the avoidance. Beauty Boy took fine care of her in her pregnancy–paid his sister to watch with her while he did double work on the road and served for caterers in the city; and one day the bronze baby was born.

O Beauty Boy, Lilymary said, here is your beauty boy. She lay in a four bed ward in the hospital with the wives of a prize fighter, an undertaker and a doctor. Beauty Boy's face was so twisted with radiance; his teeth shining so in his smile and his eyes so kind that it seemed that nothing and nothing could ever.

Beauty Boy sad beside her bed when she slept and read Thoreau's Walden for the third time. Then the nurse told him he must leave. He went on the road that night and in Alton going to mail her a letter for a passenger he slipped under the moving train and his leg was off above the knee.

Beauty Boy lay in the hospital and a year passed. Lilymary went back to work again cooking. Things were tough, there was even trouble about his workman's compensation, but he found lines in his books that helped them along for awhile when all the human beings seemed away.

The little baby flourished but he was not beautiful like his parents; not as they had expected in those golden dreams. They had only spare-time love to give the child so the sister more and more and more took care of him. For they wanted to get back where they were, they wanted Beauty Boy's leg to grow again so it would all be like it was before. So that he could find delight in his books again and Lilymary could find delight in hoping for a little baby.

Some years passed. They were so far back on the treadmill that they would never catch up. Beauty Boy was a night-watchman now but he had six operations on his stump and each new artificial limb gave him constant pain. Lilymary worked fairly steadily as a cook. Now they had become just ordinary people. Even the sister had long since forgotten that Beauty Boy was formerly colored golf champion of Chicago. Once in cleaning the closet she threw out all his books–the Apologia and the Phaedo of Plate, and the Thoreau and the Emerson and all the leaflets and correspondence with the Rosecrucian Brotherhood. He didn't find out for a long time that they were gone. And then he just stared at the place where they had been and said "Say, man...say man."

For things change and get so different that we can hardly recognize them and it seems that only our names remain the same. It seemed wrong for them still to call each other Beauty Boy and Lilymary long after the delight was over.

Some years later they both died in an influenza epidemic and went to heaven. They thought it was going to be all right then–indeed things began to happen in exactly the way that they had been told as children. Beauty Boy's leg grew again and he became golf champion of all heaven, both white and black, and drove the ball powerfully from cloud to cloud through the blue fairway. Lilymary's breasts became young and firm, she was respected among the other angels, and her pride in Beauty Boy became as it had been before.

In the evening they sat and tried to remember what it was they missed. It was not this books, for here everyone knew all those things by heart, and it was not the little boy for he had never really been one of them. They couldn't remember so after a puzzled time they would give up trying, and talk about how nice the other one was, of how fine a score Beauty Boy would make tomorrow.

So things go.


_____________________________________________________________________________________

Footnotes
DEARLY BELOVED was copyrighted by the author's daughter in 1969.


In 1974, it was anthologized in BITS OF PARADISE   Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald  
with a note: "Probably written in 1940."

It is the only Fitzgerald story where the central characters are Afro-Americans.


Scott Fitzgerald died on December 21, 1940.

But someone painted a famous portrait of him in 1935.
You can see it  here.  

_____________________________________________________________________________________

More From The Oliverio Archives

____________________________________________________________________________________

 Neither Oar ©      

 A man fell asleep on a riverbank contemplating the ways to get to the other side.
 He was a man of strong beliefs, some of which had not changed since last Tuesday.

 Suddenly a  gust of Eastern Wind blew directly across the river.
 A rowboat magically appeared on the shore. He climbed in.
 One oar was white and the other oar was black.
 He paddled in  a  curved arc. 

 The first oar churned the water on its side of the rowboat and it became whitewater.
 The black oar created blackwater.

 The man who had fallen asleep on the riverbank continued paddling in a perfectly curved
 and calm  arc, dividing the discolored water infinitely in half.
 He safely reached the other  side of the river.

 The wind reversed direction and now  blew west. The magical rowboat disappeared.

"No problem,"  thought the man in the face of a Western Wind.
"I'll just walk back across the water."  Its color was now clear blue.
 It was a snap decision.
 It was a strong belief.

 The man who fell asleep on the riverbank suddenly awoke. The dream disappeared. 
 The man stood up on his feet and a philosophical thought flew into his brain:
"Between any two points, the shortest distance can be imaginary."


____________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
Originally written in 1999, NEITHER OAR is the copyrighted property
of The Lewis Carroll School of Logic.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Philosophy Posters w/CarPeo Commentary

____________________________________________________________________________________

Mrs. CarPeo–being  a fan of fubiz.com–
has inspired another GoodFather page. 

The following images are from a set
of posters designed by Genis Carreras.

Each one is a geometric representation
of a type of philosophy.

But it would not
take very much
to knock Free Will
out of balance.

Does Nihilism
X- out everything
or does Nihilism
multiply everything together?

In the philosophy
of Absurdism,
all things are
enclosed in a
question mark.

Altruism is
sooooo
very
nice!

Nothing could be
more equal than
Egalatarianism.
____________________________________________________________________________________

From The Oliverio Archives...

____________________________________________________________________________________

A Normal Working Man ©

Elbas Tardo  lived  in the village of Enmityville.  He began each day by punching out
his alarm clock and sneering at an innocent bowl of Rice Krispies.

Upon departing for work, he would remind his wife, Ageta, to water the poison ivy
and she would wish him a happy flat tire.

He owned and operated the Tardo School of Speech Therapy which was based
on  the  philosophy  of  intimidation. Parents of prospective students
with  speech impediments were told "I'll make 'em talk."

At  the  end of  the work  day,  Elbas  returned  to the tranquil chaos of home
where his own children would kiss him for $1.00 and praise him for two dollars.
If he'd give them five dollars, they would lock themselves in their bedroom and keep quiet.

Ageta  Tardo  was  health-conscious  and every dinner  included a vegetable salad
dressed with her own recipe of vinegar and motor oil.

After dinner,  Elbas indulged in his  favorite TV sport of  shooting rubber darts
at Steven Colbert.

Upon retiring for the evening, Ageta would get into their bed and Elbas would crawl
underneath it to catch any burglars in the act.

This he did with no success because he would immediately fall asleep
which can only be expected of a normal working man.


____________________________________________________________________________________
Footnotes
Originally written in 1999, A NORMAL WORKING MAN is the copyrighted property
of The Lewis Carroll School of Logic.

However,  all names have been updated very recently,  much to the delight of Mrs. CarPeo.
____________________________________________________________________________________

You & Me & Ogden Nash

____________________________________________________________________________________

What is life? Life is stepping down a step or sitting in a chair.
And it isn’t there.

Life is not having been told that the man has just waxed the floor.
 
Life is pulling doors marked PUSH and pushing doors marked PULL 
and not noticing notices which say PLEASE USE OTHER DOOR.
 
It is when you diagnose a sore throat as an unprepared geography lesson
and send your child weeping to school only to be returned an hour
later covered with spots that are indubitable genuine...

Ogden Nash
You And Me And P.B. Shelley

Ogden Nash

____________________________________________________________________________________

Abandoned & Saddened Irony From Fubiz.net

____________________________________________________________________________________

Graditude to fubiz.net for a photo essay entitled
Abandoned Shopping Centers Photography.

The photographs were taken by Seph Lawes.

____________________________________________________________________________________

An Apology For A Question Mark

____________________________________________________________________________________

 For her recurring 39th birthday, Mrs. CarPeo
 was begifted with a "new" camera.

 Upon his return to the Left Coast, Mr. CarPeo
 opened an email that consisted of no more
 than what you see below.

 But Mr. C's first reaction–after having spent
 quality time with Mrs. C's treasure trove
 of typographic memorabilia–was that
 she, with her immeasurable talents,
 took the picture of
 a question mark.

 Oopsy Daisy

 Facts intervened:


"Paul, all I did was clip
  a photo from the internet.
  It was taken by a photographer
  named  Jay Pegg McSomebody."

  Mr. & Mrs. CarPeo hereby apologize to
  Mr. or Ms. McSomebody for our collective
  inability–despite considerable google searching–to determine his/her real name.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Here Is The KMA

____________________________________________________________________________________

Mr. & Mrs. CarPeo visited the Katonah Museum of Art 
for three hours on a Thursday.

Memory #142857 was the last photograph taken there
by Mr. C while Mrs. C sat in the car.

His occasionally elephantine ego morphed
that photograph into a Goodbye Katonah
GoodFather of Math page.
 


 
This photograph of  Paul Chaleff's colossal clay sculptures
 is from the KMA website.

The main exhibit
of the KMA
is featured here.








____________________________________________________________________________________

Pure EGO

____________________________________________________________________________________

liverio was here.



____________________________________________________________________________________

Two Hands, One Yellow, In Need Of A Ball

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Hi, sythia,
Haven't seen ya,
Since fall
Let's play ball...                                                                  

____________________________________________________________________________________

Spring Has Sprung

____________________________________________________________________________________

Forsythia
bursts upon
the scene

Formerly
colored by
evergreen

Ever mellow
Old piney
fellow–

Mr. Green–says
Hello Yellow


____________________________________________________________________________________

Attack of The Aluminumti???

____________________________________________________________________________________

A woman looks at a work of art by British artist Lynn Chadwick entitled 'Beast Alerted' (R) and 'Lion I' (L) as part of a Royal Academy exhibition in central London on April 14, 2014. AFP PHOTO / BEN STANSALL.

More Information: http://artdaily.com/news/69508/Royal-Academy-of-Arts-exhibits-courtyard-installation-od-sculpture-by-Lynn-Chadwick-RA#.U1FuLscQI7A[/url]
Copyright © artdaily.org

Invasion co-ordinated by Lynn Chadwick
____________________________________________________________________________________

So Many Guglielmi Triangles

______________________________________________________________________________________

O. Louis Guglielmi    Subway Exit, 1946

 

her neck
extended with curiosity
about
the brave new world
above
the subterrain

the brave new world
Uptown or Down?

her wardrobe
plaited and harlequined
extended

her son
secured and enchanted
the color he sees
is the color he wears

for  two people
true beauty is
the absence of
other people

so many triangles
______________________________________________________________________________________

Sometimes...

____________________________________________________________________________________

                                                                  

Sometimes
Shady D

is seduced
by serenity

 by masking
 an extra

 recital of
 a mantra

 rhymes with
"Let it be"

 begins with
 Hail Mary

 ...
 ...
 ....

 doesn't end
 until the 10th 
 Amen





 ____________________________________________________________________________________
Footnote
This page is dedicated to Mrs. Di CarPeo, a/k/a, Mrs. CarPeo.
 ____________________________________________________________________________________

Classic & Ancient Stones w/Harpsichord

____________________________________________________________________________________


A wall
20 feet tall...I did find

Made of stone
a rolling wall...was it

100 feet long–
a simple song
came to mind

But I had to sit...





I'm just sitting
on a fence
you can say
I got no sense

Trying to make
up my mind
Really it's too
hard a bind 

So I'm sittin
on a fence

All of my friends 
at school grew up
and settled down

And they mortgaged 
up their lives

One thing
not said too much,
but I think it's true

They just get married 
cause there's nothing 
else to do, so...

I'm just sittin' on a fence
You can say i got no sense
Trying to make up my mind
Really it's so hard to find
So I'm sittin on a fence

Rolling Stones
Sitting on a Fence
(1968)
____________________________________________________________________________________

Beyond The Stone

____________________________________________________________________________________

For humans
The warmth of the stone
Cannot be perceived
 

But in another
Perception
In beyond
It moves.
In eons













Poem by Mrs. CarPeo
Photos by Mr. CarPeo
(Milan, Italy, 2008)
(Katonah, NY, 2014)

____________________________________________________________________________________

From Me To She via Jimi

____________________________________________________________________________________

Waterfall
Nothing can harm me at all

My worries seem so very small
With my waterfall

I can see
My rainbow calling me
Through the misty breeze
Of my waterfall

Some people say
Daydreaming's for all the
Lazy minded fools
With nothin' else to do

So let them laugh, laugh at me
So just as long as I have you
To see me through
I've got nothing to lose
Long as I have you

Waterfall
Don't ever change your ways
Fall with me for a million days
Oh, my waterfall

Jimi Hendrix

May This Be Love




The next page featuring Jimi Hendrix' music is here.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Quoting J. D. (From The White Album)

____________________________________________________________________________________

Joan Didion

We tell ourselves stories in order to live... 

We interpret what we see,
select the most workable
of the multiple choices.

We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images,
by the “ideas” with which we have learned
to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria
which is our actual experience.

____________________________________________________________________________________

The Last Living California Raisin...

____________________________________________________________________________________

BEVERLY HILLS, CA—
Beebop, the percussionist
and last surviving member
of the 1980s R&B supergroup
The California Raisins, died
Thursday following a lengthy
battle with prostate cancer,
multiple sources confirmed
this morning...

©



____________________________________________________________________________________

Poem Written When He Was Twenty-One

____________________________________________________________________________________

CLAY FEET
Clear in the morning I can see them sometimes:
Men, gods and ghosts, slim girls and graces —
Then the light grows, noon burns, and soon there come times
When I see but the pale and ravaged places
Their glory long ago adorned. —And seeing
My whole soul falters as an invalid
Too often cheered. Did something in their being
Of worth go from them when my ideal did?

Men, gods and ghosts, cast down by that young damning,
You have no answer; I but heard you say,
“Why, we are weak. We failed a bit in shamming.”
— So I am free! Will freedom always weigh
So much around my heart? For your defection,
Break! You who had me in your keeping, break! Fall
From that great height to this great imperfection!
Yet I must weep. —Yet can I hate you all?
F. Scott Fitzgerald
(1917)

The next Fitzgerald page is here.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Another Shadow D. CarPeo Photo

____________________________________________________________________________________

From Mr. CarPeo

To   Mrs. CarPeo






____________________________________________________________________________________