Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The greeter at my AA meeting tonight, a tall, slim beauty named Steph, was greeting folks at the door, not with the usual extended hand and "Hi, welcome," but by repeating, "200-to-90. 200-to-90." Electoral votes. That was at 7 o'clock. SEVEN O'CLOCK!
By 8 I was on my way to what was supposed to be an evening of watching election returns at the home of my friend Sonya's mother, Diane. It was to be a potluck. I was bringing NY-style, home-baked Black- and- White cookies (in honor of racial unity and Obama's heritage, and also because Sonya is, after me, the world's biggest Seinfeld fan. Or she was until Michael Richards had his onstage meltdown). Before I got there, my sister called from North Carolina and nearly split my eardrums, yelling "HE DID IT! WE WON!" I then nearly screamed myself hoarse, making and receiving calls from my sons. (My son Mike and his wife were going door-to-door in their apartment complex, offering champagne to anyone who answered.)
Hoarse and feeling sure my ears must be bleeding, I made it to Diane's home, where I was surprised to find myself the only white person in a group of ten or so friends and family. Nice people; I've been to their church, where they've made me very welcome in the past. Staunch Christians, they see though the Conservative usurpation of their faith, and repudiate Republian lies. The pride and excitement around the television were palpable, and when Obama finally made his speech, I cried like a baby. Hands rubbed my back, arms reached out to hug me, and everyone rushed to give me Kleenex. I heard some indulgent chuckling, too. Voices around me repeated in wonder, "A black man. President of the United States." I howled louder and soaked my tissues!
I know my Black friends have been waiting about 200 years for this night. I can't know what that feels like. I do know I feel like I've been waiting more than 40 years, at least. Tonight I feel that the promise of the 60s, when I was ten years old and innocent enough to believe in Camelot, that the world would always get better, that the times they were a changin' and this land really was made for you and me; that promise finally has a chance of being fulfilled.
Tonight I feel like I got my country back.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
And the international wrong.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
The scattergun attacks from the McCain campaign, the fabricating and flinging of charges and slanders that don't even pass the sniff test for "truthiness," also remind me of the few actual fights I've seen in real life, mostly in my childhood, when one overmatched and hysterical opponent, going down to ingnominious defeat, melts down in a windmilling frenzy of despair. It's a sad, sad sight.
The Republican party sold its soul a long, long time ago, when it began to court and then cosset the religious right and the fundamentalist conservatives. The return of their chickens to roost, while satisfying a sense of moral outrage held for many years, is a sad sight to see.
Who said Americans don't overthrow our governments violently? This overthrow looks pretty fucking violent to me. And a long time coming.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Whether this account is true or overblown, you may wish to avoid candies and food products containing powdered milk, especially for children who are so much more vulnerable than adults. Twenty million pounds of Chinese milk powder were imported into the US this year. Tens of thousands of Chinese infants were sickened and many died after consuming Chinese infant formula containing powdered milk, which was contaminated with toxic melamine. The US is the only importing country that has not recalled products containing Chinese milk powder. Watch the video for more details. Let your friends with children know so they can make informed decisions.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
'Cause I want my country back! And when Obama wins, I'm gonna get it back!
Tired tonight . . . but I look wonderful. I wish I had a webcam so you could see me. That must account for my tiredness. It takes a lot of effort to look this good! Ha!
Love you, Possums!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
So I've been neglecting the Love Laundry -- I am sorry.
Life has been pretty lifey lately, but today was great. I have had a crush on a certain mr. for several weeks now, and we've been running into each other at meetings pretty regularly (ok I've been "stalking" him), and chatting and laughing, and having a nice time. I think he likes me. I know I like him. So today, when he walked in and sat down right in front of me, I said, "Let me just ask you a question, just to get it out of the way. Do you have any interest in seeing me in a non-AA-meeting-related type of situation at all?"
He did! We exchanged numbers, and he invited me to breakfast!
So, girls, be bold. Go for it. You might get a free fried egg sandwich out of the deal!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
What I might do is volunteer to drive people without transportation to the polls. If I do, I'll let you know how that goes.
Let's make sure the Cadaverick and the Pit Bully are "Left Behind" on November 4!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
The “grit,” “spunk,” or whatever-you-want-to-call it that Sarah Palin’s
supporters seem to find so appealling puts me in mind of the gritty, spunky
women you see on any episode of C.O.P.S., who emerge from their doublewides as
their husbands are being arrested to hurl invective at the very police officers
whom they themselves called because the brute was abusing them.
All that’s missing are the hair curlers, the dangling cigarette, and the bra strap emerging from the sleeve of the muu-muu.
She and her ilk make me sick. And every PTA and youth sports league has
its Sarah Palin.
I almost forgot; there is one way I can relate. I, too, have experienced the shame of unwanted facial hair at times.
Friday, October 3, 2008
"Thank God!" his mother, Sherry Johnston, said Thursday. Bristol Palin, 17, and Levi Johnston, 18, haven't set a wedding date yet, but expect to welcome their first child together in December. "I was so afraid I was gonna end up with a grandson named Clawhammer or SnowCat!" said the presumptive grandmother.
Johnston had reason to fear. Names rumored to have been on the young couple's list (written on a paper napkin and retrieved from a dumpster outside the Wasilla Dairy Queen) included "Kegger," "Crush," and "Optimus Prime."
Asked what sort of names she would prefer, the grandmother-to-be fell back on a now-familar Alaskan rhetorical tic; "Oh, all of 'em!" she said, but when pressed, narrowed the list of acceptable names to include "Kyler . . . and Asheleigh. But none of this 'Trig' and 'Track' crap."
In a bizarre offshoot of this story, for a brief moment the rumor spread that the young couple were to be doubly blessed and were expecting twins. Names circulating for a set of twins included a pairing intended to honor both Bristol's mother and her superannuated "running mate:" Twinkly and Wrinkly.
The child-to-be is single, but definitely heterosexual.
Monday, September 29, 2008
"Those of us wielding cell phones, laptops, and credit cards fatten our digital
dossiers every day, simply by living. Take me. As I write on this spring
morning, Verizon, my cell phone company, can pin me down within several yards of
this café in New Jersey. Visa can testify that I'm well caffeinated, probably to
overcome the effects of the Portuguese wine I bought last night at 8:19. This
was just in time for watching a college basketball game, which, as TiVo might
know, I turned off after the first half. Security cameras capture time-stamped
images of me near every bank and convenience store. And don't get me started on
my Web wanderings. Those are already a matter of record for dozens of Internet
publishers and advertisers around the world."
Wow! I've often thought that in our headlong rush to embrace ever-expanding new technologies, we are doing something like this. Not being one of the "numerati," in fact, being barely numerate, my thinking didn't get much further than this.
But where it did get me was to a(n admittedly) fuzzy mental comparison between "us," with our heedless embrace of technology, and the fictional Will and Lyra, hero and heroine of the amazing His Dark Materials trilogy; Will and Lyra and their willing embrace of the miraculous and Subtle Knife, which, (spoiler alert), they learn, just before it's too late, "has intentions of its own." Which our hero and heroine did not intend.
With or without having read this sure-to-be-intriguing book by Mr. Baker, has anyone out there ever had similar thoughts about the way everything in our modern world, from cell phones to iPods to smart toilet seats, might have "intentions we do not intend?"
My live-in girlfriend of two years dumped me a couple of weeks ago, saying that she had never loved me.
Since the breakup I haven't been doing well. We had two cats, one that I had adopted and one that we adopted together. I finally found an apartment. I had been under the impression that I would be taking both cats.
The two cats are very close, and I've always been the primary caretaker for them. I have been the one who cleaned the litter box and took them to the vet.
When I went to the apartment to pack, my ex told me that she wouldn't let me take both cats.
She told me that if I took our cat she would feel bitter toward me and that we would never be able to have a relationship of any sort.
I was furious and upset. I cried and screamed, and my anger really scared me.
To be honest, I am still in love with her, and I don't want to do anything that I know will cause me to lose her forever.
But I'm also horrified at giving up my cat, and horrified to think of my other cat crying all day and all night and refusing to eat, the way he did the only other time I separated them and took him to a new place.
Now I'm incredibly sad and lonely.
It seems like a lot to lose. Should I give up? And how can I deal with my anger, frustration, and sense of loss. What can I do?
A: Are you a woman?
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Yesterday felt exactly like detoxing except for one big improvement; I wasn't rolling around on the bathroom floor groaning, "God, if you get me out of this one, I'll never do it again!" THAT is a big improvement. Yesterday, I was just randomly sick; I didn't 'do it to myself.'
I ventured out of my "den of ill health" to get a coffee this morning, and as is my wont of a Sunday, drove myself and it over to a pleasant neighborhood park where I planned to drink it, call my sister, and see if I could manage a smoke. On the way, I was thinking of a conversation I had with my friend Kathy yesterday.
"So many people admit they won't vote for Obama just because he's Black," she said with a sigh.
"Really?" I answered. I was genuinely surprised. (Perhaps illness had made me naive?)
"Oh, yes. They admit they'll never vote for a Black man."
I was stunned. Then disheartened. One thing I've noticed about illness and me is that it opens up all kinds of emotional channels. Everything is bigger; love, fear, sadness, anger. Only the emotions that take a lot of energy, like anger, don't seem to get a lot of play. So I wasn't terribly angered by Kathy's assertion, which, on reflection, I know must be true. But my sadness was overwhelming.
And sitting in the "coffee park" this morning, watching the sun come up, I was flooded with joy, thinking that yes, this is one of the reasons I WANT to vote for Obama. I want to push away with both hands the people and the sickness that will not vote for a Black man.
That's quite different for voting for someone just because he is Black. Having made the decision to vote for Obama long ago (ask my neighbors how long the Obama sign has been in my front window), I am glad to have discovered another reason why it feels so right.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I didn't sleep well, and I'm still a little weak and shaky. So I've cancelled all appointments and activities for today, and I'm going to veg out and watch dvds while I try to sleep.
I did post a little sum'in sum'in on Open Salon, if you care to peruse.
Sorry to hear the world is without the gorgeous and humanitarian Paul Newman this morning.
But I hear Obama gave as good as he got, without the Kerry condescencion or the Al Gore Eye Rolls.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Some people see the glass as half-full.
Some people see the glass as half-empty.
Which kind are you?
Me, I'm the kind that sees that the glass is too damn small!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Sales of a wine named Palin plummet in San Francisco
Tuesday September 23 2008
"As we've recently learned, real Americans, in the American heartland of America, eat moose and go snowmobiling. But in liberal San Francisco, out-of-touch left-wingers prefer to sip wine while discussing their love of terrorists and homosexuality. Or at least they did until they realised what they were drinking: at Yield Wine Bar in downtown San Francisco, sales of a once-popular organic red from Chile have plummeted in the last few weeks, because its name is Palin Syrah. "It was our bestselling wine before [the VP announcement]," owner Chris Tavelli laments. ("One Yield regular suggested that Tavelli amend the wine's tasting note to read 'moosemeat, salmon, hint of gunpowder'," reports the website Serious Eats.)"
"Pundits have long held that the distinction between "wine-track Democrats" and "beer-track Democrats" is a fundamental cultural cleavage in the US, and frankly, shunning Palin Syrah in appalled horror is typical elitist wine-track behaviour: do you think beer-track voters would shun Miller Lite just because someone called Miller was running for the Republicans? Of course not: they'd get on and drink it. Anyway, when McCain wins in November it will be necessary to consume very large amounts of alcohol constantly for four years, whatever the brand name, so you might as well start practicing now. [Serious Eats]" Copyright Guardian Newspapers Limited 2008
IN OTHER NEWS . . .
A reader from LeRoy, NY, writes to ask why Jenna Jameson's pregnancy with twins is newsworthy.
Well, it represents a scientific breakthrough. Until this moment, it was thought that sperm had to be deposited deep inside a woman's mysterious "lady parts" in order for fertilization to take place. Now we know this miracle of conception can happen just by having numerous anonymous partners simply do it on your face!
DAILY NEWS STAFF
Monday, September 22nd 2008, 5:51 PM
Former porn star Jenna Jameson will soon find herself in a new role - the mother of twins.
Jameson, 34, recently learned that she is expecting twins with her partner, Ultimate Fighting Champion Tito Ortiz, according to the gossip site PerezHilton.com. These will be their first children.
PHOTOS: HOLLYWOOD SEEING DOUBLE
"They're having twins," a friend of the superstar told the celebrity blogger. "Jenna and Tito just found out. They are beyond thrilled!"
Jameson gained fame in the 1990s as the self-proclaimed "Queen of Porn," having made more than 120 adult films before crossing into the mainstream movie industry.
She is the best-selling author of the 2005 autobiography, "How to Make Love Like a Porn Star."Jameson - who divorced from adult film studio owner Jay Grdina in 2006 and from porn star Brad Armstrong in 2001 — said she and Ortiz have no plans to get married.
"I think I'm gonna stay unmarried and just go for the babies!" Jameson told USmagazine.com last month. "I'm following in Angelina's footsteps!"
Jameson's publicist did not return calls for comment.
LET'S HOPE THE CRABS DON'T BITE THEM ON THE WAY OUT!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I almost forgot -- I get to bake cookies tomorrow for the We Care Spaghetti Dinner and Carnival on Saturday afternoon (Sept. 20)! (And if you're in Vegas, come by Reformation Lutheran Church at 6th and St. Louis between 2 -5 for an awesome spaghetti dinner and a fun carnival for the kids.) Tickets $7 per person, $15 per couple, and kids under 12 attend free. It's for a VERY worthy cause: raising funds for We Care, the oldest women's recovery home in Las Vegas, serving women trying to recover from alcohol and drug abuse! I didn't go through We Care, but We Care went through me, and I'm a member of Grateful Hearts, the organization that raises funds for this important institution.
I'm planning on making two kinds of cookies, both show-stoppers, if I say so myself:
Dreamsicles (as the name implies, these taste like an orange creamsicle in cookie form.)
S'mores (cookies that replicate the campfire experience without the burned fingers and marshmallow goo!
So, as you see, it's not all politicking, Spanish lessons, trips to Mexico and flirtations with the neighbors! I bake, too! Yeah, baby; I'm bringing grannie back!
Amy Rose's first birthday was Saturday. What a beauty! Nice to be with the family, and I mean inlaws, outlaws, black sheep, white hats, formers, futures, neocons, soccer moms, Born Agains and perfect 10s! What a group! It's great to be alive and in a big ole family!
Good news tonight; Liza emailed me to say the contract with Scholastic is in the mail! Woo-hoo! The advance will be very welcome in my dangerously depleted bank account! Since leaving Nevada Power, I have basically had a very expensive spring and summer vacation, and thank God that Matt has been doing well at the Revolution Bar at the Mirage, and is really pulling his weight financially at home, and then some.
He brought home a wireless router the other night AND hooked it up, so now he and I can both be online at the same time, and I don't have wires snaking all over the place.
I ran into my neighbor, Ali Pirouzhkar, yesterday. He's so cute! In a Middle-Eastern, Danny Thomas meets Groucho Marx kind of way. He was at the mailboxes, so I honked and rolled down my window. He had on a black shirt with blinding white collar and French cuffs, tucked into sharply creased, belted black slacks -- and that's his casual look, because on his head he had the cutest Gucci baseball cap! And of course his trademark GIGANTIC Michael-Caine-meets-Martin-Scorsese eyeglasses! He is so charming, when he came over to say hello, he put his hand through the car window, stroked me under the chin, and said, "Ah, yes, my neighbor. You are very beautiful lady!" Gotta love him! (Ali may not have much of an IMDB entry, but he has a Bacon Number of 2!)
Love and peace and bacon grease,
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Check your registration status! Every vote counts, especially now!
Find more videos like this on Nevada State Democratic Party
Saturday, September 13, 2008
This is not a children's poem, but it's something I've wanted to write ever since I realized that the woman I drive past every morning as I go to work is coming home from her night's work on the streets.
The mystery of you, walking out of the sun
Every day, as I move into it.
I think of all you have sold,
And all I have given away.
And I wouldn’t trade places.
You were beautiful in your way last night;
Now your tight shoes strain the swollen
Flesh of your feet. I can see clearly
How they hurt you. You, your skirt short and tight,
And your wig askew. Breasts big and hard,
Straining, too, the thin straps of your blouse.
As we pass each other, I look. Do you get
To keep your money? Who is it that beats you?
Do you want me to stop, and hold open the door of my car,
And say, come with me, and we’ll drive into the sun together?
You look down, and away, and the light changes, and I will drive on,
Into the day, thinking of you.
How you look; tired, disgusted, and old.
And there was a time,
When I would have traded places.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
-- Deepak Chopra, Huffington Post, 9/10/08
We need to get behind our man Obama now; this is his "Swift-Boating Moment." He can't take the high road like John Kerry did, but he can't lose control, either. He needs to respond with righteous anger to the lies and evil of his opponents. Palin has reenergized "the base" (funny how what the Republicans call their core supporters is also what Al Quaeda means, isn't it) of the Republican party. We have to get our energy high, too, and use it to change our history!
Display your Obama yard and window signs, and your bumper stickers and T-shirts. Wear your support on your sleeve. Do what you can to destroy the Bush/Cheney/McCain/Palin lie machine. And please, in the name of all that's good and holy, vote your conscience in November, and put our country on the right track again, before it's too late!
Pray for Obama and all who need it, please! (I have to remember that that means for my enemies too! Bummer!) Keep the faith, babies!
Love and Peace, out!
I do not want to be a nurse,
I do not want to be a purse,
I do not want to squeeze your zits,
Just want a friend with benefits.
I do not want to trim your nails,
Do not want you to trim my sails,
I did not say you were a louse,
I just don’t want you in my house!
“Can I wash your car for you?”
“I‘d rather that you just washed you.”
“Would you like it in the tub?”
“I’d rather have a nice foot rub.
“I wonder what you‘re like in bed?”
“I have a feeling you‘re half-dead”
“What do you want? I’m just a man!”
“And there’s the problem, Stan, or Dan.”
I do not want a Stan or Dan or
Any other kind of man
To sofa-surf and watch tv,
That’s just not fun, so leave me be!
I don’t want someone else’s gas,
Underneath my nose to pass,
When I’m all settled for the night,
Your “oven” needs a pilot light.
No golfer, dentist, private eye
For this position need apply,
No NASCAR Dad or CPA--
You guys can all just go away.
No aging rock stars,
Or guys who go to bed at ten,
(I’d rather have an anal probe.)
A mountain climbing baby-boomer?
I’d rather a malignant tumor,
A tattoo-parlor devotee?
I’d wish he would just go away,
A healthy, hale US Marine?
(Can think of nothing more obscene.)
A redneck from the deepest south?
(Threw up a little in my mouth.)
A hunter who can trap a bear?
Forget it, and get OFF my HAIR!
Stay tuned for the happy ending . . .
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER!
I can't imagine two "thinkers" more divergent than Deepak Chopra and Christopher Hitchens! Yet I'm digging them both! Far out!
Check it out:
This is TOO good not to post. It's by Christopher Hitchens. It's about Sarah Palin. You can read the entire essay on Slate.com.
"The most appalling thing I have unearthed so far is the answer that she gave to a questionnaire when she ran for governor in 2006. All candidates were asked "Are you offended by the phrase 'Under God' in the Pledge of Allegiance? Why or why not?" Her response was:
Not on your life. If it was good enough for the founding fathers [it's] good enough for me, and I'll fight in defense of our Pledge of Allegiance.
The very slight problem with this—because it would truly be awful if Gov. Palin didn't know that the pledge itself dates from only the late 19th century and that the unwonted insertion of the words "under God" was made in the mid-1950s—is that it is somehow funny. And it's also the sort of mistake that many people can imagine themselves making and thus forgive someone else for making."
Palin's questionnaire answer, by the way, is perfect, spot-on pageant-girl talk. And is she ever a Pageant Girl. About ten years ago I had a boss who ran the Las Vegas division of the Miss Nevada pageant, a feeder pageant for Miss America. She hornswoggled me into "volunteering" to help the girls with their answers to the "poise" questions, and boy, oh, boy, do I wish I'd had a Sarah Palin in the bunch. She really has that pageant girl style down! (Whereas most of the girls I did coach have probably been spit out of the bottom of the porn industry by now.)
I have to admit, I WAS proud when our Miss Las Vegas went on to become Miss Nevada, beating out contenders like Miss Battle Mountain and Miss Winnemucca, and then WON the bathing suit portion of the actual Miss America competition in a twelve-dollar yellow one-piece she got at Marshalls. She was a beautiful girl, a member of the Rockettes, who, against all our advice, insisted on singing as her talent. A song she wrote herself. For her father. She accompanied herself on the guitar. It was sad.
She should have listened to us and high-kicked her way into the Miss America title! Now SHE could be the pageant girl plucked from obscurity to serve as Vice President! I'm just sayin'!
(DISCLAIMER: The unidentified young woman mentioned above has absolutely no connection to the porn industry, and has parlayed her bathing-suit wearing success into a wholesome life as a married mom. She may even be a hockey mom, for all I know.)
Sarah Palin; the pageant girl!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
"My soul longs for your presence, Lord.When I turn my thoughts to you,I find peace and contentment."
I found that prayer online by typing "daily prayer" into my toolbar browser. I like it. Don't let prayer on the same page as the "F" word throw you. "In literature as in life," as my kindergarten boyfriend Paul Lynch used to say!
Busy day starting off for today. My first Pilates class at 10:30 this morning. Many people long to get in touch with their inner child. I will be attempting today to get in touch with my "inner abs." (They are very much "inner," but I have been assured they are there!) Ouch!
I'll get to Grateful Hearts a little late, but I really feel I should go. (Read: Guilt!) The Spaghetti Dinner and Carnival is coming up, and there will be a lot to plan for, which I can't in good conscience let other people shoulder.
Last meeting I went to, someone moved to make me Vice President (!) and the motion carried. It reminded me of high school, when, a month into my freshman year, I was voted president of my class. That lasted until my impeachment scant months later! When people meet me, I come across cute and smart and funny and full of sass (kind of like a certain Alaska Governor), but I'm not really vice presidential material. Which usually becomes evident within a brief period of time. But just in case the Grateful Hearts ladies were really serious, and they really want me to assume the mantle of responsibility, I'd better get over there today, even if I'm a little late!
Which means I'd better go now and do a bit of the housework I didn't do yesterday because I was at the Science of Screenwriting seminar from 10 to 4! It was surprisingly cool, and the instructor brought the house down when he read my script summary aloud (of course he did -- it was pretty hilarious. Too bad I was going for a moving drama! No, actually, it was MEANT to be funny.) I'll try scanning it later so you can see! Hint: it involves Sarah Palin!
"Gotta go, got a date with a ghost!"
Friday, September 5, 2008
I had a lot of fun there when I lived back east, and Pattie and I and our families had a cabana together. Those were the days, or in the words of Prymaat Conehead, "Memories. We will enjoy them."
OK, old white dude, you are running on the Republican ticket to replace the Republican lame duck, and you are talking about CHANGE? How do you get your balls that big?
And anyway, "change" is OUR thing. This is OUR change election.
And then there's this: The Sarah Palin Rap!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
From salon.com today: "Conservative commentator Robert Novak leapt to Palin's defense Tuesday, pointing out that 'what cannot be measured is the impact on voters of a new, attractive and well-spoken woman.' What a presidential race this will be -- a new, attractive and well-spoken woman in one camp and an "African-American who is articulate and bright and clean" in another. We ARE progressive here in America!"
What I think: I think I wouldn't make too much hay of this tempest in a teabag. There are w-a-a-a-a-y too many families in this country with a pregnant teenage girl in them, and not all of them will be able to separate liberal glee over the typical conservative sexual/social hypocrisy embodied in this situation from liberal mockery of their situation, period. So the beauty queen who would be Vice President will become a grannie at 44, and her grandchild will have an Uncle Trig who's only a year older than him- or herself. Sounds a lot like the family I came from. I don't think there's automatically anything mockable about it. And I don't think a lot of other people will, either.
We mock Sarah Palin at our peril. Easy, easy.
Still, this poster was delicious!
No, not me! It was the other gorgeous Helen:
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Scottish redheads 'more sexually attractive'
Scotland's high proportion of redheads may be due to them being more sexually attractive, a leading skin specialist says.
Despite long being the target of music-hall comedians south of the border, red hair could simply be the result of sexual selection, according to dermatology expert Professor Jonathan Rees.
The Edinburgh University professor, in his inaugural lecture at the institution's medical school, said a single gene carried by up to 40% of Scots was responsible for red hair.
The finding was part of a study into the link between skin colour and sun sensitivity which found that although not all of those who carried the abnormal melanocortin-1 receptor were redheads, they tended to be more sensitive to sunlight.
Prof Rees said: "Our work suggests that the first human redheads walked this earth 50,000 years ago and then spread throughout northern Europe.
"Why are there so many redheads in Scotland? We cannot be certain that chance did not play a role, but we also suggest that the very obvious selection people make for their sexual partners based on physical characteristics may be relevant."
Prof Rees said the difference between people's sensitivity to ultraviolet rays varied by up to 100 times depending on their skin colour.
He added that while doctors were increasingly warning patients of the risks of skin cancer, ultraviolet radiation was being used to treat an increasingly wide range of skin diseases.
He said: "Questions for the future include not only how can we improve our current treatment and minimise the toxicity of ultraviolet, but also how can we go on making clinical discoveries to benefit the 10 or 20% of the population who suffer from skin disease."
From "Why McCain can't stop saying, 'my friends,'" on Slate.com (article by By Paul Collins)
. . . "Perhaps that's why this Foghorn Leghorn-ish turn of phrase also finds popularity among conservative populists. Since its last major outing in 1989, the phrase's most notable public users have been Rush Limbaugh and Pat Buchanan, who deployed it six times in his 1992 RNC "culture war" speech. This was the hectoring strain of "my friendism" also favored by 1930s radio demagogue Father Charles Coughlin, and it's in these less nuanced uses that the phrase's dynamic becomes clearer: There's an implicit aggression originating in the singular form of the phrase. Generally, when someone not personally known to you addresses you as "my friend," the safe assumption to make is that he is not your friend. In the American vernacular, "my friend" precedes a punch in the face."
"What happened to change the phrase's status in our language after Eisenhower's 1956 speech? I have my own unprovable pet theory: It's because the following year saw The Music Man debut on Broadway. Ever since, the phrase has been irrevocably associated with old-timey con men in straw boaters: "My friends, you got trouble right here in River City!"
When McCain invokes "my friends," he's making an appeal to the old days—the really old days."
I of course saw a business opportunity: The Ramadan Spa -- for all your ritual cleansing needs. I think it could fill a niche!
Gotta go, more later.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Well, ok, so most people dress their best to give a presentation. But this was beyond best. The knife-edge pleats in his trouser legs were making me nervous, they were so sharp. And the thought occurred to me; he's got to be single.
Because only someone single, with only themselves and their own appearance to consider, could look that sharp! A married man might have had wrinkled trousers from holding his son or daughter on his lap, or masticated cookie smeared along his sleeve. The more I thought about this, the more I conceived the notion that family life is like a washer in a laundromat, where we bump and jostle against each other, and where love wears our sharp edges smooth and a little frayed. A laundromat that removes our starch, adds some interesting stains, and bleaches us until we're soft and worn, and we smell like love.
Nothing wrong with that.