Well, hello, all you semi-tumescent firecracks rebels. Just waiting to start blowing up your back yards, annoying our elderly people, our PST vets (and that can be scary), scaring our dogs and cats, and some of the children who are, by nature, very sensitive, and have been worried for weeks about North Korea and its nuclear abilities. I have no real understanding of how this all happened to become part of the lore of July 4, but I'm sure the NRA had a lot to do with it. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the Fourth of July. I love the small town parades, and the intensity on the faces of the young men scheduled to become part of the insanity of the middle east and now, the far east. I feel like a patriot, and I have always held this country in the highest regard, especially our military. Not the leaders, necessarily, but certainly the ordinary member, serving his or her country and doing a damn good job. But I have to show support for the populist groups in the Country who want to stop the Dover Casket Express. Like everything else, the military is suddenly slightly out of control, what with resignations and firings/demotions. So I'm right there on the front line, screaming freedom platitudes and waving a flag. For me. For you. For all of us. To try and show some solidarity that will keep us out of the bloodsucking contractors like Haliburton, for starters. And yeah, I'm a tree hugger (you don't know the half of it) and I berate people for littering (yes, right in their fact), and I'm abrasive and antagonistic, and I don't really give a big red rat's ass about other people's opinions of me.
Let's look at the Media. Michael Jackson, having had the amazing timing of dropping dead just when the REAL news couldn't get any worse, and so the Media has been on a 24/7 feeding frenzy. But. And this is a real big but. Who's paying any attention to the US Destroyer or whatever it is that is shadowing the North Korea ship that's playing patsy in the China Sea. And then of course, Farrah had to die virtually at the same time, and now listen, I AM SORRY FOR THESE DEATHS. But if they are what is being used to divert attention from the things that could very well kill some of us, I take umbrage with being entertained over being warned, or at least kept informed. The war department has to love it. They've got the field to themselves. While the rest of the country puts on the Hair Shirt for MJ.
What have we become? What legacy will we leave?
Michael Jackson, styrofoam and plastic bags. Oh, and don't forget the disposal diapers.
It's NOT a better world, young people. And you better pay some attention, or you'll slide over the edge with the rest of old gomer lemmings. And all they have to do to make it happen is announce the noon buffet.
He was a very sad, very conflicted young/old man. His pain was so obvious, and his sadness never left his eyes. Rest in peace, Michael. Jackie, Sam, Marvin are all there waiting for you.
Blessed be.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Gran Marnier Meanderings
As in Alice, things get curiouser and curiouser.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Cheney punch out with the rest of the losers? Every time I turn on TV, there he is, looking for all the world like a crazed religious fanatic, his reptilian eyes reflecting his snake-oil salesman messages of failure of the Democrats, and reiterating the squeaky-clean innocence of Dubbya, except ... except ... he believes the President was informed and made the final decision. Of COURSE he did, what ELSE what would he say in the coreographed dance to save his stupid ass from any sort of investigation about torture. "George knew what was going on." Not to necessarily save George from any open investigation, once must consider who we are talking about. Yeah, the one who was struck dumb for at least 7 minutes after being told of the 911 airliner suicide bombers who had struck the World Trade Center AND the Pentagon. It seemed to me that the number 1 item on the Secret Service shopping list was do make Dubbya disappear.
Dubbya's a coward, along with all his other not-so-endearing personality traits. We know them all. He is for all the world a 1950's Hollywood western character actor, going to rid the town of its baddies. Or the Middle East. He'll just have to have a bigger posse, and bigger guns.
Ride on, Wyatt. But the Middle East is way bigger than the OK Corral. Doesn't matter. You won't have anything to do with the actual battle. You'll just sit in Washington and hold press conferences (complete with tears) about losses in the Middle East.
But I digress ... why all of a sudden is Cheyne out there like some kind of war-mongering cheerleader, still trying to change the mind of a country who went Democratic for Barack. He's starting to sound (and with as much credibility as) a medicated schizo who truly believes we are doomed UNLESS ... unless ... we throw in with the Republicans, because after all Linda Cheney, the PREVIOUS Vice President's wife, believes that Mr. Obama is sympathetic to terrorists. What planet does this stupid person give as a forwarding address.
Worst of all, why is she given any air time by the media? When have you sold enough blue air, when do you decide that much of this is too much, and maybe shouldn't be given air time. My god. Cheney looses, and is in denial of it. He makes lots of noises that sould like he's still in charge.
Mr. Cheney: Do us all a favor and fulful the prophecies of many of your doctors. Just ... die. They we can truly start from ground level with the influences of a man whose clothes, says a friend of mine, smell of burning witches. I believe your hand would gladly throw the torch on the piled kindling.
Ah, America. You cannot really love your enemies. They will kill you, and justifiy it.
Blessed be.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Cheney punch out with the rest of the losers? Every time I turn on TV, there he is, looking for all the world like a crazed religious fanatic, his reptilian eyes reflecting his snake-oil salesman messages of failure of the Democrats, and reiterating the squeaky-clean innocence of Dubbya, except ... except ... he believes the President was informed and made the final decision. Of COURSE he did, what ELSE what would he say in the coreographed dance to save his stupid ass from any sort of investigation about torture. "George knew what was going on." Not to necessarily save George from any open investigation, once must consider who we are talking about. Yeah, the one who was struck dumb for at least 7 minutes after being told of the 911 airliner suicide bombers who had struck the World Trade Center AND the Pentagon. It seemed to me that the number 1 item on the Secret Service shopping list was do make Dubbya disappear.
Dubbya's a coward, along with all his other not-so-endearing personality traits. We know them all. He is for all the world a 1950's Hollywood western character actor, going to rid the town of its baddies. Or the Middle East. He'll just have to have a bigger posse, and bigger guns.
Ride on, Wyatt. But the Middle East is way bigger than the OK Corral. Doesn't matter. You won't have anything to do with the actual battle. You'll just sit in Washington and hold press conferences (complete with tears) about losses in the Middle East.
But I digress ... why all of a sudden is Cheyne out there like some kind of war-mongering cheerleader, still trying to change the mind of a country who went Democratic for Barack. He's starting to sound (and with as much credibility as) a medicated schizo who truly believes we are doomed UNLESS ... unless ... we throw in with the Republicans, because after all Linda Cheney, the PREVIOUS Vice President's wife, believes that Mr. Obama is sympathetic to terrorists. What planet does this stupid person give as a forwarding address.
Worst of all, why is she given any air time by the media? When have you sold enough blue air, when do you decide that much of this is too much, and maybe shouldn't be given air time. My god. Cheney looses, and is in denial of it. He makes lots of noises that sould like he's still in charge.
Mr. Cheney: Do us all a favor and fulful the prophecies of many of your doctors. Just ... die. They we can truly start from ground level with the influences of a man whose clothes, says a friend of mine, smell of burning witches. I believe your hand would gladly throw the torch on the piled kindling.
Ah, America. You cannot really love your enemies. They will kill you, and justifiy it.
Blessed be.
Friday, May 1, 2009
OKAY, 100 DAYS. SO WHAT?
President Obama has survived his first 100 days, and I do not say that lightly. First there were the nasty remarks about his dog, and his travel to Venezuela and his shaking hands and accepting a book from Chavez. And when all else was lost they picked on Michelle, saying she was showing way too much upper arm. Why? Because they are strong, and toned, and make them look like the overindulged weenies that they are. My god. This family (yes, the family) has been duly and honestly (for a change) elected as our First Family. I expected criticism, but something of a far more intellectual bent. Silly me.
Now there’s a fuss about Obamas being stingy with their girls’ school auction: what’s all the fuss? Perhaps they want to make the point that it is the gift that counts, not the price of the gift. No one points the finger at the good Christians who palm the collection plate on Sundays, and afterwards drop dollars at the 7-11 for the great gonna-be lottery ticket. (I’m gonna win, I’m gonna be rich, I’m gonna be happy.)
What would John Leonard say about the first 100 days? I just finished his collection of essays on various subjects. I’m sorry he is gone from us. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30425056/ .
He is the last genuine truth teller. John Leonard is who I want my writing to be, when it (and I) grow up.
Read him. If you can find him. The public library system in the hotbed of knee-jerk Republicanism where I live has none of his work. None. Of course, they’re too busy sweeping little pink things out from under their beds and flashing their red necks at every opportunity. But John Leonard is one of our greatest shamans, a truth-teller, who shifts the shapes of bigotry and oppression (can you say Kristallnacht?) into the things we should truly fear, not the things the media assures us are going to carry us away in the dark of night. The glass you hear breaking is the heart of truth, not the windows of the world.
Which brings me to what I really want to talk about.
Racism and bigotry.
Today I received yet another hate-mongering e-mail thinly disguised as being “funny”. It wasn’t. It was a message of subdued hate with a very obvious racial foundation. I received it from a list of people who I’ve known since elementary school for a large part, and the rest from high school. I’m really glad I wasn’t paying attention in school, if this is what they were taught and what they learned. Now, take into consideration that the town in question (where I grew up, I might ad) is the last bastion of Republican supremacy, and is, thankfully, shrinking fast. Even Arlen Specter has bailed out. This was a nasty, scurrilous message that made me so angry only a stroke would have made me feel better. Written by, and forwarded to a great many people I have known for a very long time. The fact that they have made it to their middle sixties, still obsessed with the totally insane things they think they know about our President and tout as truth, scares me. They have not, in 60 years, discovered the fact that we are all in this together. Oh, except anyone who’s educated and black. That’s got to be trouble. Never mind the gangstas on the street corners. This highly educated lawyer, who has dedicated his life to helping the little guy, is being run over roughshod buy the likes of Newt Gingrich, of dubious reputation, and Rush Limbaugh, who is a junkie. Yes, he is. No matter if he never takes another pill (yeah, fat chance of that) he’s still a junkie.
It appalls me, rips me to my center core, that these Republicans would DARE to use these tactics against the one person who is, in fact, our last great white hope. The white being us, and he will save us. I am sure of that. So your puerile tactics of nasty school yard blasphemies shows you to be what you are. Racists. It’s not about his dog, or his wife’s lovely upper arms, or the stimulus bill or anything other than he’s black. Shame on you. Shame on you for sabotaging our last great hope at making it out of this mess in one piece. And if that means he has to shake Chavez’s hand and accept a book from him, all that amounts to is that the world is aware that we finally have a president who can read. And hold the book in the right position.
This is the most truly patriotic president who has set his house in order since probably Roosevelt. His situation is much the same, as well. And like Roosevelt, he brooks no foolishness. He’s got a plan, and pity the poor fool who tries to deter him from that. Unlike poor George, who could be sidetracked by a bourbon rocks and perhaps a horse. Although he didn’t seem to ride that well. But one does what one can when intellect is low on the totem pole. Face it, George was dumber than a box of rocks. And he was a puppet whose strings were pulled by Cheney and Rumsfield and James Baker and all the “good ol’ boys” that his daddy expected to protect him. Even his father knew he couldn’t do the job, so he made sure his big friends were there to do it for him. And what has it gotten us? Well, much like Vietnam, we have huge casualties, lots of young widows and orphans and a world that hates us. And for 8 years this was status quo. What the hell was the matter with the rest of us? France has overthrown governments for raising the price of flour and wine.
So. In sum. Stop it. Grow up, if you can. Start behaving like reasonable human beings, and see if you can’t bring your ingrained racism under some kind of control, for the good of everyone. Hate begets hate. And there’s no reason to hate this man. Unless, of course, redneck avengers of the great Confederacy, you cannot give up the fight.
Well. Give it up. You lost. And you will never win this way. Stop being such self-centered bigots and consider your country instead. You’ll survive it. Maybe you’ll even learn something. And, oh, by the way. Give up your assault weapons. And quit trying to bullshit us into believing you use them for hunting.
You sadden me and also sicken me, I’m not sure which is predominant. I know that most of you have never stepped outside the cozy little box of your life in the town in which you grew up. I have. And I have been allowed a close look into the black society, the family structures, the respect for their elders and their love for children. These are people who are descended from princes of tribes that were around a helluva long time before the smartass Europeans decided they needed to be taken away in chains for no other reason than they would make good slaves and provided great income for their captors. And they have been kept submissive to the point of poverty for 400 years, with the exception of the few who managed to escape.
Barack was lucky. He had a mother and grandmother who loved him, and they set him free with all the strength and intellect he would ever need to deal with this predominately uni-brow society. What is it you hate so much about him? That he’s smarter than you? Or that you believe your daughters will seek out a black man for their lifetime companion. You could do worse. You could find Ted Nugent as your son-in-law. Fully loaded.
Get over yourselves. You are outdated, outvoted, and outnumbered. Go away and leave the thinking, feeling, sensitive people in peace. And that includes our president.
For shame. Your bully pulpit reeks of evil and hate. And I pity you.
Now there’s a fuss about Obamas being stingy with their girls’ school auction: what’s all the fuss? Perhaps they want to make the point that it is the gift that counts, not the price of the gift. No one points the finger at the good Christians who palm the collection plate on Sundays, and afterwards drop dollars at the 7-11 for the great gonna-be lottery ticket. (I’m gonna win, I’m gonna be rich, I’m gonna be happy.)
What would John Leonard say about the first 100 days? I just finished his collection of essays on various subjects. I’m sorry he is gone from us. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30425056/ .
He is the last genuine truth teller. John Leonard is who I want my writing to be, when it (and I) grow up.
Read him. If you can find him. The public library system in the hotbed of knee-jerk Republicanism where I live has none of his work. None. Of course, they’re too busy sweeping little pink things out from under their beds and flashing their red necks at every opportunity. But John Leonard is one of our greatest shamans, a truth-teller, who shifts the shapes of bigotry and oppression (can you say Kristallnacht?) into the things we should truly fear, not the things the media assures us are going to carry us away in the dark of night. The glass you hear breaking is the heart of truth, not the windows of the world.
Which brings me to what I really want to talk about.
Racism and bigotry.
Today I received yet another hate-mongering e-mail thinly disguised as being “funny”. It wasn’t. It was a message of subdued hate with a very obvious racial foundation. I received it from a list of people who I’ve known since elementary school for a large part, and the rest from high school. I’m really glad I wasn’t paying attention in school, if this is what they were taught and what they learned. Now, take into consideration that the town in question (where I grew up, I might ad) is the last bastion of Republican supremacy, and is, thankfully, shrinking fast. Even Arlen Specter has bailed out. This was a nasty, scurrilous message that made me so angry only a stroke would have made me feel better. Written by, and forwarded to a great many people I have known for a very long time. The fact that they have made it to their middle sixties, still obsessed with the totally insane things they think they know about our President and tout as truth, scares me. They have not, in 60 years, discovered the fact that we are all in this together. Oh, except anyone who’s educated and black. That’s got to be trouble. Never mind the gangstas on the street corners. This highly educated lawyer, who has dedicated his life to helping the little guy, is being run over roughshod buy the likes of Newt Gingrich, of dubious reputation, and Rush Limbaugh, who is a junkie. Yes, he is. No matter if he never takes another pill (yeah, fat chance of that) he’s still a junkie.
It appalls me, rips me to my center core, that these Republicans would DARE to use these tactics against the one person who is, in fact, our last great white hope. The white being us, and he will save us. I am sure of that. So your puerile tactics of nasty school yard blasphemies shows you to be what you are. Racists. It’s not about his dog, or his wife’s lovely upper arms, or the stimulus bill or anything other than he’s black. Shame on you. Shame on you for sabotaging our last great hope at making it out of this mess in one piece. And if that means he has to shake Chavez’s hand and accept a book from him, all that amounts to is that the world is aware that we finally have a president who can read. And hold the book in the right position.
This is the most truly patriotic president who has set his house in order since probably Roosevelt. His situation is much the same, as well. And like Roosevelt, he brooks no foolishness. He’s got a plan, and pity the poor fool who tries to deter him from that. Unlike poor George, who could be sidetracked by a bourbon rocks and perhaps a horse. Although he didn’t seem to ride that well. But one does what one can when intellect is low on the totem pole. Face it, George was dumber than a box of rocks. And he was a puppet whose strings were pulled by Cheney and Rumsfield and James Baker and all the “good ol’ boys” that his daddy expected to protect him. Even his father knew he couldn’t do the job, so he made sure his big friends were there to do it for him. And what has it gotten us? Well, much like Vietnam, we have huge casualties, lots of young widows and orphans and a world that hates us. And for 8 years this was status quo. What the hell was the matter with the rest of us? France has overthrown governments for raising the price of flour and wine.
So. In sum. Stop it. Grow up, if you can. Start behaving like reasonable human beings, and see if you can’t bring your ingrained racism under some kind of control, for the good of everyone. Hate begets hate. And there’s no reason to hate this man. Unless, of course, redneck avengers of the great Confederacy, you cannot give up the fight.
Well. Give it up. You lost. And you will never win this way. Stop being such self-centered bigots and consider your country instead. You’ll survive it. Maybe you’ll even learn something. And, oh, by the way. Give up your assault weapons. And quit trying to bullshit us into believing you use them for hunting.
You sadden me and also sicken me, I’m not sure which is predominant. I know that most of you have never stepped outside the cozy little box of your life in the town in which you grew up. I have. And I have been allowed a close look into the black society, the family structures, the respect for their elders and their love for children. These are people who are descended from princes of tribes that were around a helluva long time before the smartass Europeans decided they needed to be taken away in chains for no other reason than they would make good slaves and provided great income for their captors. And they have been kept submissive to the point of poverty for 400 years, with the exception of the few who managed to escape.
Barack was lucky. He had a mother and grandmother who loved him, and they set him free with all the strength and intellect he would ever need to deal with this predominately uni-brow society. What is it you hate so much about him? That he’s smarter than you? Or that you believe your daughters will seek out a black man for their lifetime companion. You could do worse. You could find Ted Nugent as your son-in-law. Fully loaded.
Get over yourselves. You are outdated, outvoted, and outnumbered. Go away and leave the thinking, feeling, sensitive people in peace. And that includes our president.
For shame. Your bully pulpit reeks of evil and hate. And I pity you.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
MUSINGS AND WANDERINGS ...
Well, glory be, she's ba-a-a-a-a-ack! Suppress the groans, thank you.
My head is filled with Puccini after last nite's Met performance (taped) of Madame Butterfly. Thanks to my bestest buddy, I got to see it. Wow. Just ... wow. Now I need to go to NY and see the real thing. It's on my Bucket List.
I just watched "Tapeheads" with Tim Robbins and John Cusak. From 1988. It's like The Blues Brothers Meet The Monkees or something. If you haven't seen it, you have to. And the music is just wonderful, and there are lots of cameo appearances, and it rocks. And if you're 25 or under, forget it. You wouldn't understand it anyway.
Did any of you catch any news video of Edward Liddy, He Of AIG? Reading his hate e-mail to the Senate committee (like he and his family ought to be strangled with piano wire, so, the problem is?) and getting redder and redder by the second. I thought he'd blow up like an old MTV video, one of the early punk ones. A friend of mine has been grumbling ... heads on stakes, heads on stakes ... for weeks, and by damned if I don't agree with her. And did you see, they ARE out in the street just like I've been saying they ought to be. The media loves it. And so does the military, takes the heat off them while they go about the business of chasing ghosts and killing children ... sometimes as remotely as thousands of miles away from target. The. Button. The one we feared as children of the '50s, duck-'n-cover kids, more excited at first than frightened, but finally, frightened of everything. Except for the bullies. They rose to the top of whatever dung heap they were occupying at any given time. Running Wall Street with their male offspring waiting in the wings. A great deal of us finally said, yo, it's not happening, and even if it does, we can't control it, so don't bogart that weed, Slick, and don't the Doobies play wicked good and we became, in our great outing of truth, afraid of nothing. Fearless. Amazingly stupidly fearless. And lived to tell about it, at least until we are at the end of our tether, an IV hung tantalizing away from our reach, leading to a button that does nothing. THAT's The Button. The real Button. The only one that counts, after all. Phew. I hate when that happens.
That's what fucking Cusack and Robbins always do to me, even when they're funny (which they always are in some horrible black way).
This new quilt is consuming me. Every once in awhile I get inspiration that takes over my life for weeks. I've had just a terrible time getting the colors to come together, and went through lots of throw-away combinations. But I finally got it. I wish I'd get my goddamn camera (that I got cheap on eBay) so I can actually take pictures of it. It's still basic enough to do a story board of it for a proposed magazine article that I plan to submit. What they hell, they like old ladies. They think of us as ... "quaint".
And I'd kill for a Perc for my right arm and shoulder. Applique, applique, make me a cripple.
I'm starting a part-time job in a couple of weeks. Sit down. Yes. Now. I'm going to be a Cave Tour Guide at a local cave. I hadn't planned on going underground quite this soon, but the tips are apparently really good, and I can sling bullshit to tourists with the best of them. You know, when in doubt, lie. They never know. Hey, I learned that from our past President (and many of the current Congress). Anyway, it will keep me out of the house a couple of days a week, and I'm actually really anxious to start.
It will look great on my resume, doncha think? Topless Dancer. Truck Driver. Quilt Artist. Cave Guide. References on Request.
Blessed be. Especially all you priests in the topless bars. Yeah, you were so busted.
My head is filled with Puccini after last nite's Met performance (taped) of Madame Butterfly. Thanks to my bestest buddy, I got to see it. Wow. Just ... wow. Now I need to go to NY and see the real thing. It's on my Bucket List.
I just watched "Tapeheads" with Tim Robbins and John Cusak. From 1988. It's like The Blues Brothers Meet The Monkees or something. If you haven't seen it, you have to. And the music is just wonderful, and there are lots of cameo appearances, and it rocks. And if you're 25 or under, forget it. You wouldn't understand it anyway.
Did any of you catch any news video of Edward Liddy, He Of AIG? Reading his hate e-mail to the Senate committee (like he and his family ought to be strangled with piano wire, so, the problem is?) and getting redder and redder by the second. I thought he'd blow up like an old MTV video, one of the early punk ones. A friend of mine has been grumbling ... heads on stakes, heads on stakes ... for weeks, and by damned if I don't agree with her. And did you see, they ARE out in the street just like I've been saying they ought to be. The media loves it. And so does the military, takes the heat off them while they go about the business of chasing ghosts and killing children ... sometimes as remotely as thousands of miles away from target. The. Button. The one we feared as children of the '50s, duck-'n-cover kids, more excited at first than frightened, but finally, frightened of everything. Except for the bullies. They rose to the top of whatever dung heap they were occupying at any given time. Running Wall Street with their male offspring waiting in the wings. A great deal of us finally said, yo, it's not happening, and even if it does, we can't control it, so don't bogart that weed, Slick, and don't the Doobies play wicked good and we became, in our great outing of truth, afraid of nothing. Fearless. Amazingly stupidly fearless. And lived to tell about it, at least until we are at the end of our tether, an IV hung tantalizing away from our reach, leading to a button that does nothing. THAT's The Button. The real Button. The only one that counts, after all. Phew. I hate when that happens.
That's what fucking Cusack and Robbins always do to me, even when they're funny (which they always are in some horrible black way).
This new quilt is consuming me. Every once in awhile I get inspiration that takes over my life for weeks. I've had just a terrible time getting the colors to come together, and went through lots of throw-away combinations. But I finally got it. I wish I'd get my goddamn camera (that I got cheap on eBay) so I can actually take pictures of it. It's still basic enough to do a story board of it for a proposed magazine article that I plan to submit. What they hell, they like old ladies. They think of us as ... "quaint".
And I'd kill for a Perc for my right arm and shoulder. Applique, applique, make me a cripple.
I'm starting a part-time job in a couple of weeks. Sit down. Yes. Now. I'm going to be a Cave Tour Guide at a local cave. I hadn't planned on going underground quite this soon, but the tips are apparently really good, and I can sling bullshit to tourists with the best of them. You know, when in doubt, lie. They never know. Hey, I learned that from our past President (and many of the current Congress). Anyway, it will keep me out of the house a couple of days a week, and I'm actually really anxious to start.
It will look great on my resume, doncha think? Topless Dancer. Truck Driver. Quilt Artist. Cave Guide. References on Request.
Blessed be. Especially all you priests in the topless bars. Yeah, you were so busted.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Rumors of My Death ....
... are, as were Twain's, exaggerated. I'm just not very dependable in my dotage. If you don't know, look it up. I spent a lifetime of being the dependable one, the one that could always be counted on for everything, anything, the impossible only took a little longer ... and now I look back and I realize what a complete waste of energy all that was. No one ever said thank you for anything extra, and if you weren't careful, it showed up on your review as a new responsibility. For which you will get no extra credit, even if it was your idea. And now no one cares if I can type 95 wpm with a 98% accuracy, or that I know the difference between Requests for Production and Interrogatories. Or the different rules between different levels of court regarding the preparation of the documents. The Superior Court actually wants any staples used to be covered with a tape so as not to allow one of the great Jurists to prick a finger. We would hope they would not finger pricks, either, theirs or anyone elses. Hey, it just needs reminding. Do you not read the great rag "The Patriot"? They seem to take great and limitless pleasure in the sex crimes, especially when it concerns people of note. And trust me, Dauphin County in general has more than the average person of note, and over the years, more than one has displayed rather odd personal behaviors that inevitably involve kinky sex and at best, blackmail. At worst, public humiliation and resignations.
Well, THAT was a semantic roller-coaster ride, now wasn't it. Dang. I hate when I do that. Well. A little help from my herbal friends. I am sooooo into holistics and nature. No harm, no foul. And mind your own business.
So, it's been two weeks, and our President has been through one gauntlet after another, and seems to maintain his class and his cool and his over-all control. I couldn't do it, that's for certain. I'dve been waiving around an Uzi WAY before this. Hey, Nixon said it a long time ago: "Nothing the president does is against the law." Well, alrighty, then. If I were President, it would be really fun to watch. From a distance.
Because two weeks of the full-blown partisan bullshit of maneuvers, reconnaissance, paybacks and payoffs, I watched the Republicants (that's right, ...cants, courtesy of my friend Juliet, she's a brilliant wordsmith) drop back, regroup, and charge right to the front with all the same crap they've been slinging around for the last 8 years. My god. The country is dissolving around us, businesses are failing, people are homeless, jobs are G-O-N-E, even waitress jobs. Even my old standby, never-fail job ... truck stop waitress. Gone. And now they're non smoking restaurants. Ain't that just MY luck. All that air I breathed for all those years ... whatever. File it under SCW for Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda.
And so, what I (and what I believe my President) have had to realize these past two weeks is they took their rally cry from Rush Limbaugh, obviously, who wants him to fail. Wants him to fail. Isn't that some form of anti-Americanism or something? If he wants the President to fail, then he obviously doesn't care (or has hopes that it will) if the Country fails. He's got his $21 million dollar contract so he doesn't care. Uh. Rush. You're really fucking dumb, ya know? But you scare me, because there are so many hundreds of thousands of people out there who are just as fucking dumb as you are, and they are your fans. And they breed. Constantly. You're worried about illegal immegration. Hah. Take a ride South to any farm community and you'll see what I mean. It's the white trailer park boys with the Confederate Flag strung across the tailgates of their pickups. It's the blatant racism. It's mean and it's evil and it's really really dangerous to be part of. And these are people whose families go back to the early 1700's in most cases. In the South, some earlier. First settlement early. And these folk are Republicans. And Christians. And about as pig-headed and mean as a people can be. And they love their Rush.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch ....
Nothing is getting done. Nothing. Yeah, I know, the bill passed and is awaiting signature. Thus begins another saga of government not having a clue what to do, and a shit load of money to do it with. Every lobbyist in Washington is having a joint orgasm. Not to mention the money-folk. More money, and we can do whatever we want ...
You know, they could have taken that 890 Billion or whatever the hell it was, give every American citizen (note ... CITIZEN) a million dollars, tax free, cash. To do whatever the hell we want with it. And to every non-citizen, a promise of a million dollars upon completion of their application and acceptance for citizenship. For everyone that comes from now on. I guarantee you that the country's economy would go into rocket mode within 24 hours. Because the middle class, all us blue-collar, ring-around-the-collar folks, who have paid into this debacle for all of our working lives, could pay off all our debts, buy a house, two cars, and put in a pool, and we STILL would have money left. Who's running that show, anyway? Probably some Wall Street guy who is trying to figure out where the funnel is, and how to direct it into his pocket.
Meanwhile, it's trying to figure out whether to do my anti-depressant meds or my sleep meds, because suddenly and without warning (of course) they were both taken out of the Formulary for my Blue Cross insurance, even though the AMA just listed Lexapro and Lunesta as the two best drugs for depresson and insomnia in Seniors) and I now have to pay full price. Which I can't. The two of them would run me almost $200.00 a month. Thank you, Blue Cross. You have just made my life a considerably more of a burden.
And we wonder why, when we read in the paper of two Seniors, usually in their late 70s or early 80s, go out in the garage and sit in the car with the windows closed and the vacuum cleaner hose in the exhaust pipe, and they are found holding hands, with smiles on their faces. What do you think drove them to that, we ask among ourselves. Isn't it obvious? Life did. Society did. And probably, their health did, because they couldn't afford their meds. At least they had control over the last great decision of their lives together.
Blessed be.
Well, THAT was a semantic roller-coaster ride, now wasn't it. Dang. I hate when I do that. Well. A little help from my herbal friends. I am sooooo into holistics and nature. No harm, no foul. And mind your own business.
So, it's been two weeks, and our President has been through one gauntlet after another, and seems to maintain his class and his cool and his over-all control. I couldn't do it, that's for certain. I'dve been waiving around an Uzi WAY before this. Hey, Nixon said it a long time ago: "Nothing the president does is against the law." Well, alrighty, then. If I were President, it would be really fun to watch. From a distance.
Because two weeks of the full-blown partisan bullshit of maneuvers, reconnaissance, paybacks and payoffs, I watched the Republicants (that's right, ...cants, courtesy of my friend Juliet, she's a brilliant wordsmith) drop back, regroup, and charge right to the front with all the same crap they've been slinging around for the last 8 years. My god. The country is dissolving around us, businesses are failing, people are homeless, jobs are G-O-N-E, even waitress jobs. Even my old standby, never-fail job ... truck stop waitress. Gone. And now they're non smoking restaurants. Ain't that just MY luck. All that air I breathed for all those years ... whatever. File it under SCW for Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda.
And so, what I (and what I believe my President) have had to realize these past two weeks is they took their rally cry from Rush Limbaugh, obviously, who wants him to fail. Wants him to fail. Isn't that some form of anti-Americanism or something? If he wants the President to fail, then he obviously doesn't care (or has hopes that it will) if the Country fails. He's got his $21 million dollar contract so he doesn't care. Uh. Rush. You're really fucking dumb, ya know? But you scare me, because there are so many hundreds of thousands of people out there who are just as fucking dumb as you are, and they are your fans. And they breed. Constantly. You're worried about illegal immegration. Hah. Take a ride South to any farm community and you'll see what I mean. It's the white trailer park boys with the Confederate Flag strung across the tailgates of their pickups. It's the blatant racism. It's mean and it's evil and it's really really dangerous to be part of. And these are people whose families go back to the early 1700's in most cases. In the South, some earlier. First settlement early. And these folk are Republicans. And Christians. And about as pig-headed and mean as a people can be. And they love their Rush.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch ....
Nothing is getting done. Nothing. Yeah, I know, the bill passed and is awaiting signature. Thus begins another saga of government not having a clue what to do, and a shit load of money to do it with. Every lobbyist in Washington is having a joint orgasm. Not to mention the money-folk. More money, and we can do whatever we want ...
You know, they could have taken that 890 Billion or whatever the hell it was, give every American citizen (note ... CITIZEN) a million dollars, tax free, cash. To do whatever the hell we want with it. And to every non-citizen, a promise of a million dollars upon completion of their application and acceptance for citizenship. For everyone that comes from now on. I guarantee you that the country's economy would go into rocket mode within 24 hours. Because the middle class, all us blue-collar, ring-around-the-collar folks, who have paid into this debacle for all of our working lives, could pay off all our debts, buy a house, two cars, and put in a pool, and we STILL would have money left. Who's running that show, anyway? Probably some Wall Street guy who is trying to figure out where the funnel is, and how to direct it into his pocket.
Meanwhile, it's trying to figure out whether to do my anti-depressant meds or my sleep meds, because suddenly and without warning (of course) they were both taken out of the Formulary for my Blue Cross insurance, even though the AMA just listed Lexapro and Lunesta as the two best drugs for depresson and insomnia in Seniors) and I now have to pay full price. Which I can't. The two of them would run me almost $200.00 a month. Thank you, Blue Cross. You have just made my life a considerably more of a burden.
And we wonder why, when we read in the paper of two Seniors, usually in their late 70s or early 80s, go out in the garage and sit in the car with the windows closed and the vacuum cleaner hose in the exhaust pipe, and they are found holding hands, with smiles on their faces. What do you think drove them to that, we ask among ourselves. Isn't it obvious? Life did. Society did. And probably, their health did, because they couldn't afford their meds. At least they had control over the last great decision of their lives together.
Blessed be.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Hill? What hill? I din't see no friggin' hill, man.
I just took a baby quilt off the frame, and finished the entire binding this evening. And I can hardly see the screen. I am getting to the point where I can no longer deny that my eye doc is right, I've got cataracts, and will probably have a year before I will require surgery. And that was six months ago. Well, time just flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?
And driving at night has become really dicey. Especially if it's raining. Or foggy. Now I know why all the gomers lean over their steering wheels. It's because they can't SEE! Isn't that comforting? And now I am one. I have met the enemy, and she is me. Sorry, Pogo, give my regards to Walt, the line just begged to be used.
1963. Two years out of high school. College dropout. Working for Nationwide Insurance as a file clerk. They hadn't put in central air, yet. I made $48 a week before taxes. Wowie. I had long before made application with the federal government for a Clerk-Typist GS-3 position at the then-Olmsted Air Force Base. Every girl who could type tried to get a job there. So I got called for an interview. And I was accepted for the job, pending a security clearance at Secret level. The clearance was expected to take no more than two or three weeks. Twelve weeks into the investigation, I was contacted by the Office of Special Investigation of the U.S. Air Force. They said they needed to talk to me, and that they would send a car for me. I refused the car. They insisted. I balked. I won. I drove myself to the "interview" which consisted of a Major and a Captain from OSI, as well as a court stenographer, and some suit who did not identify himself. (Note that I was not offered an attorney, nor was I accompanied by a parent or legal guardian, because even though I was 19, in Pennsylvania then, you had to be 21 to be an adult. Period.) I reported at 0800, and was held in a wooden barracks building with only a fan, seated in a straight back wooden chair seated at an ugly military-issue conference table across from the men, with the steno at my left. I was, what, 19 years old? Born in 1943. And they ask me questions such as,
"Do you have any knowledge of your grandfather, Spero Evanoff, having attended a rally of the Communist party at the Farm Show arena in 1935?"
"I wasn't born until 1943," I answered.
"Just answer the question!" the Major barked.
"I thought I did," I said mildly. "But no, I have no such knowledge."
And they continued in this vein, asking me all sorts of questions about all sorts of things, most of which I had no knowledge of in any manner. But. They tied my grandfather to me, in all manner of innocent things, and made their case. J. Edgar hated the pinkos, yes he did. And I guess someone told the Feds that my grandfather, Spero Evanoff, barber, kept issues of "The Daily Worker" in his barbershop. And for that reason he was investigated. I don't know the outcome of that investigation, but I know he was not deported, so ... they found someone else to pick on. But. When the opportunity arose, and although I was totally ignorant of any of this information about my grandfather (who was, unfortunately, deceased and could not come to my aid), they had absolutely no qualms about trying to hang some sort of anti-american issue on my blood relation to a known socialist who had left-wing literature in his shop, and who spent Sundays in Steelton with the Macedonians. Certainly no good could have come from that, eh? They did manage to deport a northern italian friend of his, Vincente, on unknown grounds.
So it appeared that the "interview" bore no evil fruit, for some weeks afterwards, I was notified that I was accepted for employment in another position, that did not require a Secret clearance. That my clearance had been "suspended." There is no bigger albatross to hang around your neck than a "suspended clearance." It just doesn't look good.
So to the folks who don't believe this country has been on the fringes of becoming a police state with shades of military autocracy, wake up. Wake up to all the cameras, and the technology that tells police where shots are being fired at the moment they are. Bill Gates is the Patron Saint of Po-leece. He has given them the ability to find, label, release, recapture, or just fuck around with just about anyone they want to. My next project is to take advantage of the existing law that gives me the right to know what is in my 4 inch thick dossier. What the HELL could they have found to write about someone who had only been on this earth for 19 years, and most of that, she was a little kid.
Sure you can trust the government. Just ask any indian or whale. Or the Katrina survivors. Or the Ivan survivors.
But you know what? It's going to change, it's already changing, and I am so glad I lived to see it, at least this much of it. For the first time in my life, I believe this country is headed up and in the right direction. The day of the Used Car Salesmen Boehner types is pretty much over, except for that 20% that keep hanging on to Dubbya. They've all attached themselves to Boehner, so now at least we can know who to watch. Sneaky bastards. All of them. And usually in the name of their god. Like their god approves of their behavior. Well. Glad he's THEIR god. No god of mine. Fer sure.
Blessed be.
And driving at night has become really dicey. Especially if it's raining. Or foggy. Now I know why all the gomers lean over their steering wheels. It's because they can't SEE! Isn't that comforting? And now I am one. I have met the enemy, and she is me. Sorry, Pogo, give my regards to Walt, the line just begged to be used.
Twenty-oh nine. Two thousand nine. Two Oh Oh Nine. Wasn't it just 1963?
1963. Two years out of high school. College dropout. Working for Nationwide Insurance as a file clerk. They hadn't put in central air, yet. I made $48 a week before taxes. Wowie. I had long before made application with the federal government for a Clerk-Typist GS-3 position at the then-Olmsted Air Force Base. Every girl who could type tried to get a job there. So I got called for an interview. And I was accepted for the job, pending a security clearance at Secret level. The clearance was expected to take no more than two or three weeks. Twelve weeks into the investigation, I was contacted by the Office of Special Investigation of the U.S. Air Force. They said they needed to talk to me, and that they would send a car for me. I refused the car. They insisted. I balked. I won. I drove myself to the "interview" which consisted of a Major and a Captain from OSI, as well as a court stenographer, and some suit who did not identify himself. (Note that I was not offered an attorney, nor was I accompanied by a parent or legal guardian, because even though I was 19, in Pennsylvania then, you had to be 21 to be an adult. Period.) I reported at 0800, and was held in a wooden barracks building with only a fan, seated in a straight back wooden chair seated at an ugly military-issue conference table across from the men, with the steno at my left. I was, what, 19 years old? Born in 1943. And they ask me questions such as,
"Do you have any knowledge of your grandfather, Spero Evanoff, having attended a rally of the Communist party at the Farm Show arena in 1935?"
"I wasn't born until 1943," I answered.
"Just answer the question!" the Major barked.
"I thought I did," I said mildly. "But no, I have no such knowledge."
And they continued in this vein, asking me all sorts of questions about all sorts of things, most of which I had no knowledge of in any manner. But. They tied my grandfather to me, in all manner of innocent things, and made their case. J. Edgar hated the pinkos, yes he did. And I guess someone told the Feds that my grandfather, Spero Evanoff, barber, kept issues of "The Daily Worker" in his barbershop. And for that reason he was investigated. I don't know the outcome of that investigation, but I know he was not deported, so ... they found someone else to pick on. But. When the opportunity arose, and although I was totally ignorant of any of this information about my grandfather (who was, unfortunately, deceased and could not come to my aid), they had absolutely no qualms about trying to hang some sort of anti-american issue on my blood relation to a known socialist who had left-wing literature in his shop, and who spent Sundays in Steelton with the Macedonians. Certainly no good could have come from that, eh? They did manage to deport a northern italian friend of his, Vincente, on unknown grounds.
So it appeared that the "interview" bore no evil fruit, for some weeks afterwards, I was notified that I was accepted for employment in another position, that did not require a Secret clearance. That my clearance had been "suspended." There is no bigger albatross to hang around your neck than a "suspended clearance." It just doesn't look good.
So to the folks who don't believe this country has been on the fringes of becoming a police state with shades of military autocracy, wake up. Wake up to all the cameras, and the technology that tells police where shots are being fired at the moment they are. Bill Gates is the Patron Saint of Po-leece. He has given them the ability to find, label, release, recapture, or just fuck around with just about anyone they want to. My next project is to take advantage of the existing law that gives me the right to know what is in my 4 inch thick dossier. What the HELL could they have found to write about someone who had only been on this earth for 19 years, and most of that, she was a little kid.
Sure you can trust the government. Just ask any indian or whale. Or the Katrina survivors. Or the Ivan survivors.
But you know what? It's going to change, it's already changing, and I am so glad I lived to see it, at least this much of it. For the first time in my life, I believe this country is headed up and in the right direction. The day of the Used Car Salesmen Boehner types is pretty much over, except for that 20% that keep hanging on to Dubbya. They've all attached themselves to Boehner, so now at least we can know who to watch. Sneaky bastards. All of them. And usually in the name of their god. Like their god approves of their behavior. Well. Glad he's THEIR god. No god of mine. Fer sure.
Blessed be.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Can We Please Stop With The Paranoia?
Okay. Let me ask the question that surely, surely someone else in the universe has asked her/him/itself ... has any other newly elected president of these United States ever had the day-to-day (and in some cases, hour-by-hour) scrutiny that this man has had? We hardly knew Dubbya was in town (and mostly, in truth, he wasn't, he was at the ranch, trying to do a crash course in Prez 101). Actually, we paid little attention to him until 9/11, and then we paid a LOT of attention, and we all saw different things. In fairness, he was exactly what Hollywood would have cast in the movie ... the quintessential John Wayne type, square jaw set, brow grim, who was surely going to save us. Uh. No. Hey, he's a cheerleader, but he ain't the sharpest tool in the war department box. In any event, to the original question, the answer is no. And since he simply assumed the second four, it was seamless anyway. And before him, who? Billy. Billy, who spent the first week schmoozing and getting everyone to love him, me included, Billy, who personifies the old Waylon Jennings lyric ... "ladies love outlaws like babies love stray dogs ..." And before that, George The Elder, who I could stand just barely more than his language challenged offspring ... so I, and half the country, ignored him, too, just keeping half and ear for Roe v. Wade conversations so we could be forewarned, because the Old Man was a drum beater, he was ...
So. Does no one else find it totally invasive and worst and prohibitive at best, to follow the man 24/7 and run a tote board in the news room of his To Do List, and then score his performance? We get less information that that about the two wars we are waging, and the two wars we would like to wage. You figure them out. Pick two. Any two. Hey, he's busy, let'm alone! He's only been there, what, 6 days???
I would like to make a cyber-plea to the intelligent, thinking, voting communities out there to take particular heed of what is going on here. Just who is checking on whom? And why has the media become the minute-by-minute machine that vomits all its detritis out there in living color and .... gawd .... HiDef, the technology that spares nothing, including pimples and nose hair.
L-E-T H-I-M B-R-E-A-T-H-E, for chrissakes. Give him room to stretch out and gain purchase before you all try and mow him down to size. Yes, that's what I said, because that's what about 20% of you think. The same 20% that still thinks Dubbya did a good job. The same 20% that are surely related to career (retired) military and colonials going back 300 years. Your people were slave owners, even if you don't know it. It's in your genes. You poor deluded souls, I hope you have guaranteed retirement, and are getting close. Otherwise, you're gonna be in the Down The Drain Club with the rest of us. Give him the credit he sorely deserves for even being able to function in this horrific economic environment, and he has made good decisions in good speed. And now we'll see just who have the biggest balls in Congress, won't we? And won't we be surprised? Maybe not. I'm still smiling about the reversal of the Executive Order against federal funding for birth control clinics, here AND in Europe, and making sure that the clinics that operate worldwide for the protection of women and their reproductive health, and thinking that I truly would walk into fire for this man. Glad that the young women of today (who no nothing of the horrors of my generation and before) will continue to have reproductive autonomy of their own bodies, and hard choices will at least be safe choices. Oh, that's another thing, but for another time. I'm too tired to take on the Fundies right now. Even anarchists have to sleep.
Blessed be.
So. Does no one else find it totally invasive and worst and prohibitive at best, to follow the man 24/7 and run a tote board in the news room of his To Do List, and then score his performance? We get less information that that about the two wars we are waging, and the two wars we would like to wage. You figure them out. Pick two. Any two. Hey, he's busy, let'm alone! He's only been there, what, 6 days???
I would like to make a cyber-plea to the intelligent, thinking, voting communities out there to take particular heed of what is going on here. Just who is checking on whom? And why has the media become the minute-by-minute machine that vomits all its detritis out there in living color and .... gawd .... HiDef, the technology that spares nothing, including pimples and nose hair.
L-E-T H-I-M B-R-E-A-T-H-E, for chrissakes. Give him room to stretch out and gain purchase before you all try and mow him down to size. Yes, that's what I said, because that's what about 20% of you think. The same 20% that still thinks Dubbya did a good job. The same 20% that are surely related to career (retired) military and colonials going back 300 years. Your people were slave owners, even if you don't know it. It's in your genes. You poor deluded souls, I hope you have guaranteed retirement, and are getting close. Otherwise, you're gonna be in the Down The Drain Club with the rest of us. Give him the credit he sorely deserves for even being able to function in this horrific economic environment, and he has made good decisions in good speed. And now we'll see just who have the biggest balls in Congress, won't we? And won't we be surprised? Maybe not. I'm still smiling about the reversal of the Executive Order against federal funding for birth control clinics, here AND in Europe, and making sure that the clinics that operate worldwide for the protection of women and their reproductive health, and thinking that I truly would walk into fire for this man. Glad that the young women of today (who no nothing of the horrors of my generation and before) will continue to have reproductive autonomy of their own bodies, and hard choices will at least be safe choices. Oh, that's another thing, but for another time. I'm too tired to take on the Fundies right now. Even anarchists have to sleep.
Blessed be.
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