Rosenbush Cafe

Closed when gas was still under a dollar

When I was a child there was a service station opened at this location off U.S. 11 S, Knoxville, Alabama. After years of changing oil companies it finally went the way of extinction. So many businesses gone for ever after Interstate 59 opened in the early seventies. We once stopped here for ethyl, the gas of the day.

Traveling anytime has become far more risky and unsatisfying over the years. From those quaint drives in the country in the forties and fifties through today with massive vehicles blocking the view of scenery and other drivers, there can be no mistaking that leisurely days are long gone. I was born November 21, 1953 at nearly midnight, making me a Scorpio on the cusp of Sagittarius.

My first memory of an automobile was my parents blue 1954 Dodge. With plastic covered seats that were literally hell on the bottom of a wet bathing suited child. In fact, it was no better with dry shorts. The sun nicely heated and not so nicely sun burned your legs behind the knees. Ouch! Thinking about it still sears my flesh. It was large and always smelled musty. There were no seat belts on the horizon for me until the mid 1960s. The Dodge was also responsible for my left and right index fingers becoming slightly bent outwards from the day in 1955 when I was not paying attention to where my hands were any more than my mother when she SLAMMED the passenger door on them. In those days, a glass of ice water was the old world remedy. Gladly, medical technology has advanced where ice water is better left to the parched throat. Excuse me while I sip some now. Gulp, aaah, much better.
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Editor’s Note: Rated M For Mature Audiences the following column deals with adult subject matter including drugs, subversion, graphic violence and strong sexual content.

by Tippy Van Helsing

When Henry asked me to pen this column he only had one edict: write about whatever you want as long as it pertains to dadaism. We agreed that since I’d experimented with existentialist, nilhism, astral projection and mind expansive chemicals in the late 1960s and 70s I could incorporate it all with my love of that great art form, dada. The anti artist in my was thrilled. In the 1970s, when Henry and I met, we made an agreement that since both of us aspired to become writers whomever succeeded first would help the other. I went away and became more interested in screenwriting than my novel, Summer is Melting. Henry, too, went a different direction from short stories to novelizations of them, but without success.

Thanks to his partner, Natalia, for inspiring him to bring Rosenbush Cafe to the worldwide audience it may one day reach. Henry’s idea is pure dada. Breaking rules as to what you do with an art form, and clearly blogs and websites have become the 21st Century equivalent, is how original dadists succeeded. In my next entry, I’ll explored to dada movement, but for now some deconstructive ideas.
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The 79th Academy Awards will be held at the Kodak Theatre, Los Angeles, February 25th. And the nominees are:
Full story from BBC:

BBC: Oscar Noms

Best Picture
Babel
The Departed
Letters From Iwo Jima
Little Miss Sunshine
The Queen
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Part 1 of 3: OSS a.k.a., Organic Surreptitious Surveillance

I am an observant cat. You think you can identify with me before I, you?

Observant cats discern what your next move is before you make it. We observe and follow you quietly, cautiously and without the expensive electronic surveillance and counter espionage devices of the CIA, MI-6, FBI, INTERPOL, MOSSAD, and others, but no CATs (Counter-Intelligent Animal Techniques). By no means have felines cornered the market on stealthy skills but we do have enough practice to instruct offspring in Organic Surreptitious Surveillance. “We’re CATs and that’s the bats.” Or leader on the East Coast is Sir Furless from Dunkirk, New York.

Our surveillance techniques have improved since our ancestral saber toothed tiger first came on the scene during the Cenozoic Period and had to contend with all manner of creatures. Our lionage (lineage) covers the history of this planet and we proudly improve with each new generation be it feral Calico or domesticated Blue Shell Tortie.

A feral cat’s life involves survival more than a human might consider. Like your homeless we can live anywhere and appreciate the challenge of turning a dilapidated duplex into a cat house. It matters not whether there is electricity. Factually, we prefer the run down to the posh.
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Henny relaxes after astral projecting

Henny Ben (”Sus”) Tassus takes a well deserved nap after the Simone Affair ended Monday afternoon. Henny reports the temperamental Simone sat by food and water dishes and their poo boxes. “It has set felinity back seventy four cat years,” he told reporter Jovian Bressler “I’ve had a good meal and relieved the inner Hen. A quick journey to Catatonia and I’m fresh as ever. I’ll get my chance with Cat See on temperament typing for felines worldwide. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m behind on my napping sked, baby.”

We have since learned that after “Eating like a horse and pooing like one” all weekend Simone is suffering from the loose equivalence of normal. Talk about instaneous karma!

Keirsey Temperament Sorter