Archive for August, 2007

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Saturday, August 11th, 2007


My Mom, (May God rest her soul) had one of the best ethereal attitudes ever; also, this did not go unnoticed

Wednesday, August 8th, 2007

One of the problems of having an unusual historical background, as many military brats and/or (as in my case)”Space Kids” did, is the necessity for being discrete, which is learned from experience, as well as taught and repeatedly reminded by one’s parents to keep your little smart-assed mouth shut on many sensitive subjects; many having to do with my father’s work as a research scientist in the Air Force, not that this sort of thing was openly discussed in our home. But I do remember my Dad talking on the phone, using code words for certain aspects of his work , etc. that I or anyone else were not supposed to “get.” I got to where I did “get” them, but knew to ignore this and in general (no pun intended) feared repercussions from my parents enough, to say nothing of the powers that were, in those days, to obey this objective. I mean, how many times do you have to watch an Atlas Missile explode due to some predicted mistake in the trajectory, or whatever, with the pieces raining down like massive schrapnel, some times near enough over the beach where my brother and I played, to scare the merde out of two 9 and 11 year old kids, but to also and with out question, instill the absolute serious need for discipline and following orders?

Of course, for those who keep up with the Space Program (and believe me this is REAL…don’t be taken in by nay-Sayers or conspiracy-theory-types claiming the moon walk was at a TV studio. We were there to witness the sequential reality of this progression. Just because you are too young or don’t know anyone involved in the real deal when this occurred, don’t be fooled into that trap of the non-believer. It took wonderfully dedicated, hardworking, knowledgeable people working together, to make the improbable happen–and not only those directly involved, but with the cooperation of those good peoples’ families as well. We learned to act as a co-operative team in order to protect and participate as much as we could to protect my father’s career and national security, even us little “military brats.”

One aspect of all this was the constant security checks on various important players by the FBI, which was to be expected, especially during those cold war times of the 50’s and 60’s. For example, as my parents were determined to get my brother and me in the best possible public schools in the area where my father was stationed, we some times lived off base. It was not uncommon for our neighbors to be questioned as to both their and our activities by el Feds, and indeed this was some times quite an amusing activity for us. I am remembering my mother’s wonderfully authoritative attitude, and astonishing ridiculous outfit during one of these FBI visitations. She and I were home, doing house work (believe it or not sometimes I helped), and at that time she had a very chic “poodle cut” hair-do, that was quite difficult to maintain. As she was trying to protect her hair, she regularly did what she remembered seeing her parents’ maid do in similar situations: mainly; this involved wearing one’s shabbiest clothes and old underpants over the hair-do, to keep her hair out of her face, and protected from household chemicals. We were in the middle of some serious house cleaning, she in that outfit (complete with the underpants on the head- and this time rubber gloves) when the door bell rang. I am remembering this being mid-morning, and her being highly annoyed at this intrusion into her time.

So she got off her knees and straightened her posture and puts on her typical superior, yet calm facial expression only used for those times when she was really pissed off at being interrupted, or totally annoyed by some idiocy impeding her progress, and went to answer the door, as the caller was persistent in ringing the door bell multiple times. She opened the door to an obvious FBI agent. Said FBI agent having not expected such a reception from the lady of the house, stood silent with his mouth partially open, speechless at this unexpected continence before him. Instantly realizing the situation, my mother very cordially asks, in a very upper classed manner in spite of her ‘get-up’, under pants and all, ” Good Morning, how can I help you?” After a few empty measures the agent, remembered his purpose and continued with his interview with my mother as she gave very dignified answers to his inquiry. This lasted a few minutes after which, Mom shut the door and gave me a look meaning, ” how dare he interrupt me”(this look including the raising of one eye brow and out take of breath in a huff) and she went back to work. I remember being unable to control my laughter, which she joined in on only having broken character then, when I pointed to her unique headgear. We actually ended up howling with laughter on the newly clean floor.

I always wondered what that FBI agent wrote about us in that interview. And this story continues to this day, some 50 years later, to be one of my favorite memories of my Mother.

Maybe that’s how the “X-files” got started?

Keep smiling, as ever,

Kay Buena

Dropping the Big One on Hiroshima and progress

Monday, August 6th, 2007

Today is the 67th anniversary of  dropping the big one on Hiroshima.  Whatever your view on that incident, this did pull the plug on WWII, which we must not forget when viewing all these sad and sorry stories in today’s news reports regarding this achievement.  Perspectives, people, are needed  when we come upon these occasions where the ‘greater good’ is neglected, in the press’s presentation of such happenings.  “Cause and Effect” can be a complex issue; but for those of us who have visited Pearl Harbor’s still existing memorial (where lay the battleship Arizona sunk there containing it’s crew in a watery grave,) we do not waste the day in regret or remorse.  In fact it has been my policy, as a ‘military brat’, to celebrate such occasions by doing something useful and symbolic.  I clean out all the cat boxes (whether they need it or not) on national holidays and private celebrations such as today.  Every one has his or her perspective, and opinion on this: but in truth: ‘you are what you do’, even the cats of the household here.  Let us not forget our own brave military service men who fought, and who many died in the Pacific campaign, as well as in Europe in the 1940’s. But for their efforts and sacrifice, we could be all working in a Toyota factory, or worse, instead of sitting around reading these dumb-shit blogs. 

     Speaking of Bombs, both Kay Buena and her technical advisor and programmer (and husband), Charles Sauer, did try once again to record on our new digital equipment, with no success.  ‘Could be a commie Plot. but the whole weekend was, indeed a most frustrating experience.  Hopefully today, as I work on the snoop Dogg portrait, I will have better luck.

Good luck to all on this day of contemplative enigmas.  Keep busy and hopefully they will pass.

Excuse the Procrastation, blame it on ———–?

Friday, August 3rd, 2007

I have promised to have 2 new songs on the site (which is something I can do rather nicely–that is sing and play the piano  upon occasion) however in order to get these songs recorded, Charles Sauer (said husband and chief technical manager of Kay has to code the software, and /or stick his finger in the electric outlet a  few times, in order to make his new digital gizmo work.  Frankly, this seems extreme to me, when we have a perfectly good and seemingly capable (?) multi- track analog (?) set-up here that is just a few years old, hanging out-gathering dust on the shelf; but this is NOT the latest technology, ergo:It wouldn’t be prudent to go there, and use it. Naturally, if he were to be consulted on this issue, there is some detailed and long explanation to counter this suggestion (such as ‘it dont work”.)

     I bought a 25$ cassette tape recorder from Radio Shack.  It’s a little bigger than a deck of cards. Well, yeah , sure it doesn’t quite pick up the majesty of that big Steinway Grand piano, and my singing sounds a little like lou Rawls, but I’m not sure that this is a bad thing. But I couldn’t figure out how to transfer those recording here, if my life depended on it.   Anyway, most of the songs that I’m playing are one’s recorded back in the 1920’s and 1930’s, when digital recording wasn’t happening.  My father had a copy of Vernon Dalhart’s “Prisoner’s Song”/ (B-side) “Wreck of the OLE ’97,” ( for which any real country music fan, with a knowledge of it’s historical significance, would offer up his or her limbs. ) This record he played in the 1920’s on one of those wind up record players that were available back then…my guess is the sound quality of that was good enough for me, as my Dad (to this day and he’s 87 years old) still plays one hell of a good guitar and sings better than ever.  He learned allot of  his material off of such a machine, and yet  his own performances are  not impaired in anyway. Sometime’s, if you can’t hear ever little specific note, or sound that goes on, it is a ‘far, far better thing’, and a decent presentation, in my somewhat impatient opinion, however—what do I know? Nada. 

      And as far as the digital pictures of new works of Ort*  that I promised to instantaneously appearing here, on this web site;(“*Art”-a translation from Texan is sometimes indicated as wise),  I’m just too disconcerted and idiotic to remember to do stuff like that, as those of you who might have some experience in what “housewife”guilt and insular, internal fears can do–such as leave one frozen in inertia, so that these artistic things, though important to me at this time, tend to take their place at the end of the line. I’ve really no good excuse, however, one good thing about having grown children in one’s house hold,( as we do now) is every thing that is forgotten, or goofed up, or broken can be blamed on them. It’s like we have an implyed immunity from all blame, ’cause they are such obvious slugs, here in the Sauerosa.  It’s their fault in some way, no question about it.  They are fixing to move to their own apartment soon, so, we better use that one, while the offer’s still good.  They didn’t get it done, as per usual, those irresponsible, ner’do wells.  But I did play the songs: “You Talk Too Much”  and “Shine on Harvest Moon” for my PeeWeeHerman Doll, and he was still smiling when it was over.  Maybe I can still get that going, unless my inflammatory comment about Charles’ inability to “get off his ass”, was the true reason the recording wasn’t done. That’s quite possible.   Perhaps, as a matter of political savvy, I should refuse to co-operate anytime soon, just to trump that rump.   It’s never a good plan to appear impatient or enthusiastic to a Computer Scientist, they aren’t used to it, finding that behavior suspicious.  What they really want is what they get from this machine, what ever that is– I have no idea; but what ever it is  precludes all else, and is probably done in the manner and consecutive order of his command.  Actually anything missing from here, is probably just Karmic, so you won’t come back and check it out.   Yeah, I know no on gives a flying —-about this exclusion anyway, however, feed back is always appreciated.      

     And the song of the Day today, Friday August 3,2007 is a Hank Williams tune,:  “You Gonna Change or I’m a Gonna Leave.” What was I doing before I spent way too much time on this?  Oh, yeah…problem with me is a sheer fire short term memory loss, but I wish I could forget some of those things that happened a while back too, not that my long term memory is all that good–it’s too bad you can’t “dis-remember” what you want to, but  remember the good stuff in  minute detail.

What’s your excuse?

 Kay Buena (AKA ) Miss Remember, C————-line Sauer