Strange Days.

I woke this morning with a pressure in my ear that reminded me of the ear infections of my youth. Thinking it impossible to degrade this way while on antibiotics, I decided it was probably just an air bubble trapped behind a blocked Eustachian tube. The idea of dragging my haggard, pajama-ed self to the pharmacy seemed equally impossible, so I started looking online for home solutions to remove ear congestion.

Oh you dubious online content, you! How scientific that I should hop on one foot (naturally, the same foot as the affected ear) until the offending pocket of air breaks loose. And how strange that you alternately recommend a steam treatment, as long as it’s not a steamed sweet potato (for example), as it might burn my flesh. My hazy, confused mind thought on this long. Why? Why a sweet potato?

Things got weirder for me, as I ventured on to browse the Museum of Bad Art, where this painting joined the sweet potato at the top of my what the hell? list.

Commentary from the site: "The flesh tones bring to mind the top shelf liqueurs of a border bistro. With an astonishing emphasis on facial bone structure, the artist flirts with caricature and captures features of Mama's face which remind us of a Presidential candidate. The upright marionettish pose of the babe hints that the early bond between mother and child is as formal as it is familiar. Good old fashioned parental respect is at the center of this celebration of color and contour."

Up next, new belly dance music filled my ears, one still slightly cloudy, as I delved into the retro funk, magic stylings of Omar Khorshid (and his guitar).

The music is fantastic, but what of this mustachioed sultan who is either about to pull a scimitar from behind her leg or break into the hustle? And who knew Kate Moss was this old? Don't let their shenanigans dissuade you: give it a listen.