Mc LAUGHS

If only I'd used a Quo Vadis planner, I wouldn't have so many loose ends!

Mc LAUGHS

And how can we help you today?

Like Man

AT FIRST BLUSH I EMBRACED FACEBOOK in its entirety, believing that it was a brilliant networking system and an efficient way to get people writing the English language again. I soon realized, along with the Winklevoss twins, that I, too, have a bone to pick with Facebook.

In addition to casting aside many of his personal chums, Facebook founder Mark Zuckerburg has also cast aside the deferential Yes Man, replacing him with his updated counterpart, Like Man.

Most people are not really communicating as much on Facebook as I had originally thought. Many Facebook "friends" instead have become Like Men. A Like Man simply presses the Like button to approve the content of a post, which is supposed to suffice as a response .

The now-obsolete Yes Man was a person who agreed with everything that was said or done. He endorsed without criticism every opinion or proposal of an associate or superior. Look at Jim Carey, the quintessential Yes Man in the movie of that same name. Yes, Yes Man-Jim, you too have been replaced. I understand, however, that you are making a comeback in the upcoming movie, Like Man. Well, yes to that, man!

In addition to Like Man, the shopworn hydrogen-high Smiley superciliously floats around Facebook these days. Smiley frequently lands sideways alongside some pseudo-pithy communique like a spirited cheerleader inspiring happiness for both the writer and recipient of the post. Though overshadowed by Like Man, Smiley's grin is even wider now because he has been elevated to emoticon status. No matter how spare and small he might be, he is happy to have avoided the fate of his contemporary, Yes Man.

Here are some sample Facebook posts with Like Man's responses:

My grandmother just died a horrible, agonizing death and left her entire estate to my brother - LIKE :)

Japan is having a lot of trouble right now; people are breathing in radiation dust - LIKE :)

I found a delicious recipe on Goop using truffles excreted by endangered pigs - LIKE :)

I lost my entire life savings in the stock market and am now homeless and hungry - LIKE :)

I went blind applying copious amounts of mascara in a failed effort to look like Heidi Klum - LIKE :)

A dog bit me but the doctors think they might be able to reattach my finger so that maybe I'll be able to paint again someday - LIKE :)

Depingo never says WTF, but in this case, I'll make an exception–WTF! The above posts require attention, thought, compassion, empathy, insight, creativity, composition and grammar...not a mindless Like :)!

And forget about art posts! When I share a painting on Facebook in hopes of receiving constructive feedback, I mostly get Likes. I would rather get the ubiquitous, overused-within-an-inch-of-its-life "awesome," (a word I refuse to use or even acknowledge). That's how much I dislike Like.

And speaking of "awesome," what kind of button does Facebook have for Valley Girls? Is there a special one labeled "Like, Like?" Or do they have to press "Like" twice, followed by a question mark?

I conclude in Valley Girl speak. Like, man? I liked writing this post? It helped me to, like, vent? And I have a, like, question? about my, like, post? for Like Man? . . . . . .

Like? :)

Paint on,
Depingo

Shenanigans

TOP O' THE MORNING TO YOU! (Whew, made it by two minutes) Just want to wish you all a Happy St Paddy's Day.

May all your greens come true
And be of the right hue!

Paint green,
Depingo

Mc WORRIES

Bummer. Shredder's on the blink again!

Seven

 























THE NUMBER SEVEN HAS A HISTORY of being useful for mankind. The cognitive psychologist George Miller wrote a famous article in 1956 about our capacity for processing information. His thesis was that the amount of information or numbers which people can process and remember is often limited to seven, (plus or minus two.)
Of course, seven is not really a magic number. But it really does get around. Many things come in sevens: the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, Shakespeare's Seven Ages of Man, Seven up, the Seven Seas and the Seven Dwarfs. Seven is also probably the most popular number. Studies have shown that when asked to pick a number from one to ten, most people will pick Seven.

That's six examples of the ways that seven has been invoked over the ages. There are more, but I am stopping at six because I know from reading George Miller that our digital span is about 7 and I want  readers to be able to remember the most potent use for the number 7. I learned this some years ago from my boss, who used to remind me of it every day when he came back from his seven-mojito lunches. He would invite me into his office, where I would actually have to witness him ask God to grant him the power to get rid of a rival senior partner. He earnestly, if tipsily, prayed that if God did this one thing, he would never ask for anything else. My boss didn't want much–just to be able to dial his enemy's telephone number and when he answered, press the number seven to cause his instant death. By the way, I was being paid an extremely generous salary to listen to this. (I might add that this is why I do not like working for others.)
I wondered why my boss had picked seven to do his killing for him. I started doodling to see if I could understand his choice. I discovered that if I slant a 7 to the left, it looks like the scythe that the Grim Reaper slings over his shoulder. If I draw it upside down, the top could be the blade on a guillotine. If I draw it obliquely, its point could be used for piercing like a spear or arrow. A seven is indeed more frightening than the well-rounded 8 or 3, or 0 with cozy interior space .
I rooted for my boss for a while because I felt this would be a good power to have. With some direction from me, and the right telephone numbers, we could get rid of much of the evil in the world. But then I thought, I can't believe I'm doing this. And I am an enabler for even listening.
So, one day after one of my boss's repetitious afternoon rants, I calmly did my duty. I returned to my office, dialed his extension and then...pressed seven.
PS. If you don't like this post, please don't  seven me.

Mc MARCH

Twitter Haiku

DO THE TWAIKU - a rhyme, a dance a rant - it's new!

17 syllables + 140 characters - (not a few) - 4u

Grok?* No? Sorry. Boo hoo.

__________

*Wikipedea definition: Grok means to share the same reality or line of thinking with another physical or conceptual entity. Robert A. Heinlein coined the term in his best-selling 196l book Stranger in a Strange Land to mean to understand so thoroughly that the observer becomes a part of the observed - to merge, blend, intermarry, lose identity in group experience.

*Depingo's definition: Grok means, "Got it!" Geeks and techies use it all the time.

Grok on,
Depingo

Mc WORDS' WORTH

"Why do they call them briefs?"

Postcard from the Sea of Life - Villas by the See

WOW! WHAT A CRUISE!

I was impolite and I committed murder. Murder is one thing, but I still couldn't believe I actually said "Get the flock out of here!" to the marauding Sulu Beloix- even if they were going to eat me. To celebrate remaining alive, I was sipping a glass of wine on the deck of the Ergo when I got dizzy, fell, struck my head on its bow as if I were a bottle of champagne, and passed out. Depingo overboard!

Apparently I fell into the Sea of Life, because when I regained consciousness I was being towed at a decent clip by my faithful dog, Bella, who had jumped in and saved me. My yacht was nowhere in sight.

While floating through the refreshing, restorative azure waters, I figured out that my carnivorous "friend" Sulu must have doped my Sauvingnon Blanc with a dose of animal tranquilizer, so that I would be manageable when she and her flock carried me off to be their main course.

I was nowhere near the Ergo, nor could I even see it in the distance. Bella seemed to be towing me with a purpose in mind, though, and soon we came to a multifaceted jewel–a lush, sparkling barrier island with colorful villas right on the beach. I determined we were off the coast of Fort Lauderdale because the Ergo had been heading back to NYC when I took my swan-dive. Even so, it didn't look like any location in Florida I had ever seen before. In fact, it had the look of Tuscany. The villas were pretty, lyrically designed three-story-high dwellings right on the beach. There were none of the ubiquitous homely, white Floridian high-rises in sight.

Bella and I finally reached the sandy shore. I was happy to lose my sea legs and find my land legs still in good working order. The village had a curious name–Villas by the See. The apparent misspelling of the word "sea" struck me as an interesting play on words. I fell in love with the island and the villas instantly. I usually have trouble making up my mind about almost anything in life, but in this case, everything was crystal clear. I was certain that this was where I wanted to live for the rest of my life.

Bella and I went directly to the Villas by the See sales office. Within a few minutes I had a six-figure deposit wire-transferred from my bank in NYC to the developer and signed a contract which promised another hefty payment at the closing, which was scheduled for the next week. I was absolutely enchanted that I was going to live in this charming village. Bella was excited, too, because they allowed dogs. The home I bought was the lovliest of all the Villas, a penthouse right on the beach, overlooking the Atlantic and fully furnished with tasteful, unusual furniture. All I had to do was move in–no shopping or any such prosaic activity.

As I wrapped up the paperwork, I could see Captain Sum, who had finally caught up with me and Bella, anchoring off the beach. He knows me all too well, so he knew for sure what I was up to. But instead of being happy for me, he looked a little nervous, maybe even irritated. He told me that I should not make impulsive decisions. I told him we could talk about it as soon as I finished measuring the coral reef sofa. I wanted to make sure a painting of mine I had in mind to hang over it would fit.

Something strange happened as I was measuring that sofa. Every time I measured it, I got a different result. The sofa seemed to be measuring smaller and smaller. Was the coral reef shrinking? No, it couldn't be. I was probably hallucinating as an aftereffect of the header I had taken against the Ergo's bow. Then I noticed another peculiarity. The villa's marble floors were curling up, turning blue, forming waves and rapidly getting pulled into the sea by a powerful riptide. I had an excruciating headache by this time, couldn't concentrate and nothing was making any sense. I had had it! I ordered Captain Sum to measure the coral reef sofa, or at least what was left of it, for me.

Resigned, Captain Sum took out a tape measure and started measuring the sofa. He, too, couldn't get the same measurement twice. I also noticed he was now knee-deep in foamy turbulent water and was shivering. "Cold feet!," I thought, "Captain Sum has cold feet!" I was standing in the very same water and my lower appendages were foot loose and fancy free. Eventually the sofa got so small there was nothing left to measure. Then my new home, which I loved with a passion, and the entire village became blurry. They began to undulate as though I were viewing everything through a sheet of water. My beautiful villa was being chipped away by the lapping waters of the incoming tide as if it were no more than an oversized sand castle. In a matter of minutes, Captain Sum, Bella and I were left standing on a sparking, sandy island somewhere off the Florida coast with nothing on it at all, except that curious hand-painted sign, Villas by the See.

Captain Sum, with the I-told-you-so look in his eye that he frequently adopts in situations like this, led Bella back to the Ergo. I noticed a couple of circling sea fowl following him. "Cashpoor!, cashpoor!, cashpoor!," they squawked. I called to the Captain and asked him what the avian commotion was all about. " They're just taking cheep shots at me," he replied.

Before returning to the Ergo, I studied the sign for one last time. The cryptic name of the Villas suddenly became all too clear to me. I got it! I knew why they called it Villas by the See ...because

Now you see it, now you don't.

Paint on,
Depingo

Postcard from the Sea of Life - Still Life

MURDER IS NEVER EASY. Sometimes, however, it is justifiable. Let me tell you my side of the story.

I am sure you can imagine how upset I felt out on the Sea of Life when Hard Drive failed. I still had not fully recovered from almost having become Depingo stew for the culinary pleasure of the flesh-eating Sulu Beloix when Hard Drive became corrupt! I had already had enough near-death experiences to last a lifetime and didn't want to endure a corrupt Hard Drive or corrupt anybody around me. So I simply killed him.

That's right–shocking as this must sound, I murdered Hard Drive. Furthermore, I enjoyed it. Sadistically I removed him from his life support, Mac, spun him down, and sat there watching him. He struggled and sputtered until with a final mechanical...I would even go so far as to say comical... burp, he expired.

I am sure, dear readers, you will forgive me. It clearly was either he or I. I had to kill Hard Drive. Any court of law in the Sea of Life would find that it was self defense! I hated Hard Drive for becoming corrupt and I knew his slothful ineptitude would eventually kill me. There simply was no excuse for his bad behavior. Still, he had given me many years of faithful service before he went bad.

I didn't want a dead body on the yacht. So I gave Hard Drive a conflicted sentimental kiss, placed him in a toile-covered box, tied a bow around it and ordered Captain Sum to anchor The Ergo off the nearest island. My dog Bella, my cat Blossom and I disembarked with my Still Life (dead Hard Drive) and made our way to a tropical rain forest. Birds perched on a branch above us, chirping Chopin's Funeral March in birdsong. Blossom delivered a eulogy of sorts, saying that she had always enjoyed sleeping on top of Hard Drive when he had lived in Mac and thanking him for the warmth he had provided her during her frequent naps. Bella dug the grave, but had to be cautioned not to have too much fun digging. I placed a marker, a DVD, on the grave. After the interment we solemnly made our way back to The Ergo.

No hard drive feelings on my part. I hope Hard Drive's corrupt soul rests in peace.

Paint on,
Depingo

Art and the Hostile Takeover

I WAS VERY SORRY TO READ the obituary of Joseph H. Flom, Esq. in today's New York Times. I knew him professionally and worked with him on art projects for the firm with which we both were affiliated. To clarify that, he was a senior name partner and I was a midlevel employee.

Mr. Flom was a brilliant lawyer who perfected the hostile corporate takeover. But more important, he was an artist. That's how our paths crossed. He worked on the 35th floor of the building on the telephone masterminding billion-dollar deals, while I labored on the 42nd floor for what worked out to $45 an hour, drawing editorial illustrations and cartoons for the SASM&F Newsletter.

His obituary referred to the firm's "lawyers in thrall to Mr. Flom as they would try to decode his doodles." These doodles, which were amazingly controlled and complex, were always rendered on lined yellow legal pads in ballpoint pen. My drawings were done with a fancier pen, but they too started out on yellow legal pads because that was what was available. Remind anyone of the caves at Lascaux, where one of the cave dwellers discovered that various pigments could represent life? Even if not, I believe it supports my thesis that art and life are one–or fungible, as Mr. Flom would say.

Unlike his acolytes, I never had to think about decoding the hidden messages in Mr. Flom's doodles. I knew they were art the moment I saw them. I wanted to incorporate these beautiful "doodles" in my art, asked him for permission, and Mr. Flom agreed. Coincidentally, the drawing I recently chose for the header of Depingo Ergo Sum is one that incorporates one of his doodles under the baton. I chose it for its lyrical quality, which reminds me of music.

Goodbye, my doodling art friend. I enjoyed making art with you. I would like to make art with you again sometime–just not too soon.

Paint on,
Depingo

Postcard from the Sea of Life - Dancing with the Sulu Nebouxi

FLIGHTS OF FANCY! Went dancing with Sulu last night.

Sulu took me to meet her flock, the Sulu Nebouxi, who are beautiful and fascinating! They seemed very interested in me too, but said I was a little skinny. (I wondered why they cared.) They invited me to a dance that was to take place on their sacred grounds that evening. I asked about the dress code. They chirped, "Pretty dress." But they did mention that in order to dance with them, I had to eat all afternoon because they wanted to fatten me up. They also mentioned that I should rub olive oil all over my body.

When I came back for the dance, they were all very colorfully dressed and quite jolly. I frankly don't know why they bothered with the costumes, as their natural plumage is gorgeous. They were also sporting fanciful headdresses and masks with human features painted on them. They could never fool anyone with those masks though, because they had to poke holes in the middle, from which their long yellow beaks protruded.

To tell the truth, I felt kind of underdressed in my little blue Ralph Lauren. The dance they taught me was sort of like a line dance, only done in a circle around a cauldron just about the size of me. It was raised up on a bonfire, with boiling water and herbs in it. I danced around it with them for a bit. One of them put a few sprigs of rosemary in my hair, saying it went great with my outfit. Another kept offering me garlic to hold under my tongue, saying it was an excellent breath freshener. I drew the line at the garlic. I have standards for my breath!

They asked several times if I had remembered to rub the olive oil on my body. I said they were so nice to share their beauty secrets with me and that I felt really glowing. Just when everything got going and feathers were flying, one of them chirped, "Wait a minute–Depingo–she too thin to dance." The music stopped abruptly. The Sulu Nebouxi told me to go back to our yacht, eat as much as I could all the next day, do the oil rub again and return the next night for a continuation of the dance.

This was just a little weird for my taste. I didn't feel like stuffing myself; the olive oil had just about ruined my dress, and I didn't feel like dancing with them anymore. So the next night I stayed on the ship.

As soon as it got dark, I heard chirping. It kept getting louder and louder. I peeked out the porthole and couldn't believe my eyes. The Sulu Nebouxi–the entire flock–were descending on my yacht. I did what I had to do. I opened the porthole, leaned out, and putting all pleasantries aside, bellowed,

"Get the flock out of here."

Paint on,

Depingo

Postcard from the Sea of Life - Galapogos

GREAT TO BE ON THE SEA OF LIFE AGAIN. Helloooooo from the Galapogos Islands. The flora and fauna are exotic here, but also very friendly.

Miss you all and wish you were here. I've met a new friend– a little flighty, but a great guide. Her name is Sulu. We're having lots of fun island-hopping and seeing the sights. I guess you could call us birds of a feather. I invited Sulu back to the yacht for drinks. She was for the most part very polite, but I didn't like it when she stuck her long beak into her wine glass. Remember when we were kids and put our straws into the last remaining drops of our soda and sucked it up? (I always got sent from the table when I did that.) Remember that irritating sucking noise? When Sulu sucked up her wine with that long beak of hers, it sounded just like that!

Paint on,
Depingo

Mc SKETCHBOOK

I'M DRAWING MYSELF with a digital pen
I'm making it loose and flirty.
But I've got a yen for the pen of yore
when the ink splashes made me dirty.

Mc SKETCHBOOK- Ink Me, Baby

I'M DRAWING MYSELF with a digital pen
I'm making it loose and flirty.
But I've got a yen for the pen of yore
when ink splashes made me dirty.

Mc LAUGHS

All bags must be stowed in the overhead compartment.

Jingles is Very Fond of String Beans

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My grandfather, Poppa Bisgood, had just buried his wife, Dede, in the family cemetery. He loved Dede, as did we all. However, she was rather bossy and set in her ways. During their long marriage, she had never allowed Poppa to have a dog or drink alcohol in their house. Freed from these restrictions, on the way home from the cemetery Poppa bought a dog and a case of beer.

Poppa got two blue ribbons. The dog was a registered toy fox terrier from a long line of champions. The beer was Pabst Blue Ribbon. The puppy couldn't stop kissing Pappa on the way home, his identification tags making jingly noises every time he jumped up to kiss Poppa's face. Poppa named him Jingles and they bonded instantly. The case of beer?–that worked too.

Poppa was lame and could not go out of the house without assistance, nor did he wish to. So he and Jingles settled into Poppa's favorite easy chair in the shabbily comfortable 1840's Sag Harbor captain's house which Poppa had bought for $1 from his father many years before. Jingles was very good company for Poppa because he did not want to go out either, other than to take care of his canine business, which he conducted under the forsythia in the yard.

The two of them merrily wore a path from Poppa's chair through the dining room to the kitchen, where they dined on cheese and liverwurst (which Poppa washed down with a beer or two) for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. In addition to meals, several times a day they would rendezvous in the kitchen for a snack of cheese and crackers. The words "Come on my little cheese hound, it's time for our snack," were music to Jingles' ears. With that, the two of them would hobble and trot off to the kitchen. Jingles didn't care that he had given up a life of show-ring glamour and fame. It's not that he didn't like strutting. He liked strutting very much, so long as it was into the kitchen. Living with a fromageur was much more fun than being a show dog. He thought he was the luckiest dog in the world to have ended up with Poppa!

After a time, though, Jingles no longer looked the handsome champ he was born and bred to be. In fact, he more closely resembled a beach ball with legs than a dog. No matter–he was still highly regarded among breed fanciers because he had championship blood coursing through his little canine veins. One day, a breeder came to call. She wanted to borrow Jingles as a stud for her Juliette, who was in heat. She told Poppa that the black spot on Jingles' back was perfectly placed for the breed, even if it did look like an overblown black balloon on Jingles'enormous-sized rump. Poppa, a true romantic, told Jingles he would probably enjoy being a sire and to go with the nice lady. Even though Jingles hated leaving Poppa and the house, he obeyed and followed the breeder.

Much to the breeder's dismay, Jingles did not fall in love with Juliette-or if he did, it was an entirely platonic relationship. Despite the fact that Juliette was in heat, Jingles growled every time she got near him. Jingles only had eyes for Poppa and soon was returned home, where a large plate of liverwurst and cheese awaited him. To mollify any ruffled feelings the breeder and/or Juliette might have harbored, Poppa remarked about the unsuccessful romance, "I guess Jingles is just a natural-born bachelor."

Life went happily on for Poppa and Jingles. However, the family became increasingly concerned about the unhealthy life style Poppa had fallen into without Dede. And nobody could believe the girth on Jingles! We all started to visit and look after them whenever we could. One weekend my cousin Jack drove all the way to Sag Harbor from college to clean the house, wash Poppa's laundry and cook some nutritious meals. At dinner that night in the formal dining room, Jack was delighted to be getting some wholesome food into Poppa for a change. Poppa seemed to be doing a good job of cleaning his plate, too. Soon, though, Jack noticed that Poppa was surreptitiously slipping all of his food under the table to Jingles–chicken, salad, potatoes, and even the string beans. Tired and stressed from all the driving, housekeeping and cooking, Jack lost his temper and yelled at Poppa that he had driven 300 miles to make the food that Poppa was slipping to that canine basketball under the table. Poppa looked Jack directly in the eye, smiled politely, paused, and, in that manner and cadence that only the English can pull off, replied,

"Why ... Jingles is very fond of string beans."

Paint on,
Depingo

On my Doorstep

ON MY DOORSTEP I HAVE FOUND all sorts of things: a cat, freshly baked banana bread, flowers, dry cleaning and laundry, groceries, suitors and various parcels.

Imagine my surprise when I returned home recently and found two huge paintings (at left) I had done as a young artist propped up on either side of my front door, staring at me accusingly, imploring me to take them in. I hadn't seen or even thought about them for at least 30 years.

What was I up to at that time? They are large, colorful, acrylic paint-on-linen, figural paintings after Heinz Edelmann, the psychedelic pop artist who created the art for Yellow Submarine. One is an intricate tangle of a man, woman, bird and bicycle and the other is a sandy island in a rolling sea on a sunny day with sailboat, sunbather, umbrella, bubble-spewing whale and erupting mountain. Flying above, overseeing it all, is a large white bird.

Upon closer inspection I noticed decades of dirt and mystery spills on them. Both canvases were worn through to the stretchers at the corners, making them look even more like the abandoned orphans that indeed they were. I brought them into the house and immediately cleaned and restored them as well as I could..

As to what I was up to in my life, I had sold these two paintings, along with a triptych of girls, to a photographer friend, Benson, for his studio. This gave him what was at the time the largest collection of original Depingos in the world. I joked that I hoped he would take good care of my "children," especially "the girls." He replied that now that he had so many of my "children," he wanted me to start having his. He wasn't joking, either. I guess it was a proposal of sorts. I didn't mind his having my "children," but I didn't want to start having his, so we drifted apart.

Years later, when my daughter, Nicole, was going away to college, she saw photographs of "The Girls" that Benson had bought along with the two paintings shown here. She asked where "The Girls" were, because she loved them and wanted to use them to decorate her dorm room. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Very shortly thereafter, I ran into Benson, whom I hadn't seen for years, at an opening. Astoundingly, he whispered in my ear, "I think you want your girls back." I was stunned by the acuity of his mental telepathy because I had never said a word to him about them.. Of course, I said yes and Benson had them delivered to my apartment the next day. Nicole brought them to college, and later on to her first home. Today the girls hang in her office.

It's funny how paintings serve as visual memories of the phases of an artist's life. I don't know why Besnon returned these paintings after so many years. There was no note with them–just his card. I've tried to conjure up mystical reasons for the return but remain baffled. My only thought is that there are birds in both of the returned paintings and that Benson somehow gleaned from the preternatural ether surrounding us that I am having a solo show this year entitled Birds of a Feather. Maybe he thought they should flock together. Or, perhaps, more prosaically...

he is simply moving to a smaller studio.

Paint on,
Depingo

Mc SKETCHBOOK

I ADMIT TO HAVING BEEN A LITTLE OVERWHELMED when we first got Lulu. I had to sandwich her training and walks between shopping for and cooking dinner and painting. Apparently, Mr. Depingo noticed because one day he came home from work and said, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Depingo. I think you are doing a great job of taking care of Lulu and cooking and painting, but you are wearing yourself a little thin. So, I've hired a personal chef to cook dinners and a professional dog walker/trainer to take care of Lulu.

I am glad he did not hire someone to paint my paintings!

It all worked out fine. I usually went on Lulu's walks with her and her dog walker. Mr. Depingo thought that a bit eccentric, so please don't tell him that a couple of times I went shopping for fresh herbs with our chef.

Paint on,
Depingo