"Cut to the Chase" Greeting Cards

by Karen Kay Remus
Copyright 2010
All Rights Reserved by the Artist*

Please note: the following greeting cards are printed in black ink, in Times Roman font, on white cardstock, without any decoration whatsoever.

Birthday Card Series (for ages 39 & up)

#1
Outside of card: What's Older than Dirt?
Inside of card: YOU!**

#2
Outside: On this Special Day...
Inside: You Are F*cking ANCIENT

#3
Outside: Happy Birthday!
Inside: You G*ddam Ancient M*ther F*cker


General Greeting Series

#1
Outside: I Hate You!
Inside: (blank)

#2
Outside: I Love You!
Inside: (insert porn photo of self)

#3
Outside: After all these Years...
Inside: You still suck

#4
Outside: (blank)
Inside: GO F*CK YOURSELF!

*If you try to rip me off, believe me: either I or my boy, William Shatner, WILL come after you (with phasers NOT on "stun").

**Just sent this one to older brother. Awaiting reaction.

Bad Names for Health Care Institutions

1. Yankee Dental
2. Yikes Institute
3. Probes, Slaughter, Payne, & Gore
4. Blast Masters Procto Palace
5. Jiffy Spine
6. Bubba Guts Gastroplasty
7. Jimmy Crack Bones Chiropractic
8. Eyeballz R Us (or ...'Z Us)
9. Direct to Morgue
10. Gizzard Fix
11. Whack Job Day Surgery
12. Staples

What's in a Name?

In my last post, I mentioned Caster Semenya, who, for those of you even less informed about sports than I am (if that's possible), is an astonishingly fast, young, female runner, accused of being a man and therefore, possibly stripped of her right to compete.

My heart goes out to her, because she was born the way she is, she was born to run, and yet she is being subjected to public scrutiny and possibly being barred from doing the one thing at which she excels most. Can't there simply be a human league for non-contact sports? Or was that just a bad '80s band?

And here's another question: does anyone besides me notice an ironic connection between her name and her predicament? I mean, woe to the male athlete named Hyster Ovaria.

99.9% Me and .1% William Shatner

I don't know who said it first, but a particularly wise gem of writing advice that's always stuck with me is: "write what you know." This adage greatly appeals to me, not only because writing what you know will yield your most passionate result, but because I am lazy and don't want to research things that don't interest me.

For example, I am mainly driven to write comedic memoirs, because they really happened, I naturally see things from a humorous perspective, and I don't want to invest one nanosecond of precious time digging into some phenomenon deemed "important" by the masses, but about which I couldn't give a rat's filthy, pointy-tailed, hiney. Like sports, for example. I know I'm going out on a limb here and risking the wrath of sports fans, but I really don't give a flying, flaming f*ck about sports unless: 1) there's something interesting about a particular athlete, as in the case of Caster Semenya, 2) a close relative is involved (my niece = volleyball star), 3) it's beautiful and artistic to watch once a year, like Olympic figure skating, or 4) William Shatner is involved, which brings me to the real topic of this post: What the HELL is this blog about, anyway?

As stated in the subtitle of my blog, it's 99.9% about me and .1% about William Shatner. That's because I write what I know. All I know about William Shatner is based on his old TV & film performances, the fact that I posed for a photo with him once in 1987 at the Grand Rapids MI "Autorama," stuff I've read by and about him in various "Star Trek" memoirs, little news snippets I've seen and heard over the years, and his "Negotiator" performances in PriceLine commercials. That is to say: Not Much.

By contrast, I know more about me than anyone--that is, from my perspective. Here's a little poem to illustrate the point...

My life: I hold a PhD
Schooled in every facet
If I gave a test on me
Only I could pass it

(And no one else would care,
so what would be the point?)

When I first started this blog, I felt as if its title locked me into writing about William Shatner, but you know what? Here's what: I appreciate The William, and he's always served as a symbol of strength, success, amusement, and extreme drama in my life, but I know very little about him. Me on the other hand--I've been connected with intimately for what will be 46 years this July. You'd think in all that time, I'd know what I wanted to be when I grew up, or at least what this blog was about, but all I know right now is that I'm really tired and must go to bed.

Off of the Couch and onto the Wall

On May 22nd, 2010, I posted a photo of my IKEA Lillberg sofa, upon which I had painted 3 Van Gogh reproductions. What I did not post, was that I had also submitted the photo to IKEA, along with a proposal to create designs for them in the same vein. IKEA has since sent me a very gracious rejection letter--frankly, I was surprised that they acknowleged my effort at all--and I have since mounted the paintings on stretcher bars and hung them on our bedroom wall (pictured above). I also bought new slipcovers from IKEA, so that our couch is once again comfortable. As noted in my earlier post, sitting against dried, impasto, acrylic paint is darned unpleasant. Duh.

New, Improved, Question of the Day

What's gooey and sings, "My Way?"

A. Frank Snotra
B. Elvis Pusly
C. Sid Viscous
D. All of the above

If you answered "D," you're correct!

If you're aware of any other stars who've covered, "My Way," please let me know, and I'll add them to the list (with appropriate name alterations).

Question of the Day

What's green, runny, and sings, "My Way?"

"The Right Prescription" A Short Work of Fiction by Karen Kay Remus

Dr. Myra Puddles was a successful young American vascular surgeon. She was so involved in her booming practice that she had no time for a social life, and her family was always giving her grief about it. "You work so hard and make so much money, but you never allow yourself time to enjoy it," said her mother, her sister, her aunt, her cousin, and her 10-year-old learning-disabled niece.

Myra was 38 years old and had yet to find true love. She had very high standards and no time to date, so she had never married or even been in a serious relationship before. Her family gave her grief about this also. "You should get out more, find a nice man, and settle down," said her mother, her sister, her aunt, and her cousin. The niece couldn't have cared less on this score, and figured it was none of her business, anyway.

So one night, after an exhausting work week, and an an even more exhausting cumulative dose of nagging by various family members, the good doctor made a decision: to take that bike tour in Ireland she'd been dreaming about for years. The next day she arranged to take two weeks of vacation--her first ever--and fly to Ireland.

As she mounted her bicycle on the first day of the 100-mile tour of Irish countryside, she was overwhelmed with a feeling of joy and freedom that she had never before experienced. "There's so much more to life than vascular surgery!" She practically screamed out loud.

Michael, the bike tour leader, was drop-dead gorgeous, fit as a fiddle, and barely comprehensible, as he delivered the tour spiel in his heavy Irish brogue. "Could you repeat that please?" Myra asked a total of 19 times during the first day's 20 mile ride. She almost asked a 20th time, but stopped short when she replayed his remark in her head and realized that she had understood. She also realized that she was in love.

To make a long story short, Michael fell in love with Myra and asked for her hand in marriage on the last day of the bike tour. They were married in Ireland and moved back to the US, where Myra resumed her surgical practice, and Michael worked as a rocket scientist by day and folk singer by night. They were high on love and knew they would be for the rest of their lives. Everyone was ecstatic, including Myra's family, who were inspired to get lives of their own and stop nagging her.

However, after a few months of Myra's marriage and return to the US, her once thriving surgical practice completely dried up. No one could figure it out. But you know what? She didn't care, because for the first time in her life, she was truly happy. She also discovered a knack for Irish singer/songwriter management and lived happily ever after.

That concludes the story of retired vascular surgeon, Dr. Puddles-O'Blood.