Those of you who know me personally know that I am about as girl as it gets. Almost everyone I know grew up camping with family on vacation or they grew to love camping as a young adult. Well, sorry, I think you're nuts. Trust me I know it's me. I get the nature thing. Nature is beautiful and wondrous, full of awe and things that can kill you. On the other hand a nice hotel is scary but less likely to give you that bacteria that makes your intestines swell to the size of a basketball. Not making this up. I know someone this happened to. We won't discuss what happened to someones testicles. Not my story to tell.
I love to walk through nature, hike a little, drive through nature, take a good, long, look-see at the magnificent vistas. They are not here in Texas so those of you who camp here.....you might want to see a doctor. It is hot and not that pretty in much of Texas. There is also humidity that would kill a southern belle. Houston is a steam vent from hell I am pretty sure.
We have a coast in Texas that I actually love. I don't get in the water as it stinks like dead things. But the hotels have real nice pools. I have seen both the Pacific and Atlantic coasts. I have seen both northern Cali and southern Cali. I have seen the Pacific in Alaska and Hawaii. Now THAT is some pretty water and dramatic coastlines. The Atlantic looked like water. To be fair I have only seen it from one spot. I have seen the Caribbean, gorgeous. South Padre is pretty. Malachite Beach, very nice. Still the water smells dead to me. Maybe it's oil?
In all these places when day is done and evening is nigh I want a room service menu and a hot bath. I can't imagine getting to camp, cooking dinner and crawling into a dirty sleeping bag after several days of stinking. This is why we have civilization. What used to pass for civilization. Civil is pretty much gone now.
When I drive or ride across any section of the nation I marvel at what the settlers faced. They didn't have roads or radios. No Cracker Barrels and not many Inns past a certain point of the trek. No Sonics to stop for a diet coke. They weren't even sure where water was. No flush toliets anywhere. I often wonder how I would have made it from the east coast to anywhere. The answer is of course I wouldn't have. I would have been killed or sold to the highest bidder or any bidder.
I would not have been a good companion on the Oregon Trail. Nope, I would have been the first one on the fire pit at Donner Pass. "Let's eat her first, she whines". I would not have been a good companion across The Hudson River. I've seen The Hudson. Big ass river. The Tappanzee Bridge is scary enough to drive across much less traverse the river. Yes, I would still be a Yankee.
Of course many people headed out from what was the edge of the nation. Many came here from Tennessee and Kentucky to avoid debt and legal issues. Why would anyone stop in Texas? After the first summer would you not move? I would. I would be on the first whatever out of here. I would head to "cool", wherever that might have been and lived there. My little cabin door would have a sign that read, "gone to find air".
Can you even imagine being a pioneer here on the prairie? A farm wife? I would be in prison day three or four after killing my husband for bringing me here. "Mama, go to the well and fetch the water for making the gruel today." "No". Bang...the end. I don't do well in heat. Can't see me in eighteen yards of skirt and stockings and bloomers outside fetching water more than once. No, once would have been enough to know that fetching wasn't my strong suit.
School teacher. Maybe. Probably not. I don't really think I could have kept all those clothes on. Seriously, what were women thinking? Not sure they would let you teach in your bloomers and a cammie. Pretty sure you can't even do that today. That only leaves prostitute or madam. I would have to be the madam as I don't like that many men. I like them but not THAT way. I would have doled out the customers to the ladies and chatted with Marshall Dylan at the bar. I would not have dressed up though. They would have referred to me as Madam Kimono.
My Native American name would have been, "Crying Ass Pain".
Southern Belles. My mama always fancied herself a belle. We let her as she had the pout thing down. I would have killed myself day one of the first summer of being a southern belle.
"Child, let's lace you in your corset before we put on the petticoats and the hoops and the skirts."
"Step away from me, I am the mad woman you can keep in the root cellar. I will never wear those clothes. Have you been outside?"
"That's why you carry a parasol".
"No, the parasol is to stab people with who try to get me to wear all these clothes."
Those women must have fainted every day. No wonder they had fainting couches. Hello?, take off some clothes! Don't lace your rib cage together. Insane. Thank heaven stilettos hadn't been crammed on women's feet yet. Those women would have fainted anchored in place by their heels. They would have fried to death in little rows.
Come October I will love Texas again. I will love it all the way through til the dog days of next summer. Those days start in May some years. Texas will be wonderful and beautiful and then one day everything will broil and I will hate this place. I start every summer reminding myself that I am not 20 or 30. I am not even 40 and now closer to 60 than 50. Short shorts, sleeveless or halter topped anything...let's just say the public should be spared. However, instead of giving in and wearing old lady clothes, slacks and sensible blouses that cover most of the flesh or long dresses and long skirts with a whatever I just don't leave the house.
It is so much better. It's too hot to eat. It's too hot to think. It's too hot to live much longer.
Please autumn, get here early this year. I promise I will go outside and marvel. I promise I will appreciate every single colored leaf. I will embrace that first cold north wind.
I will not, however, be camping. Unless I win an RV. A big one. With television and a nice bathroom. Or a cabin. A nice one. Maybe a pool on some acerage. In the mountains. With no bugs. And a chef. Nice music system or a live band.
Queen Wussy,
LBB
Monday, August 29, 2011
RAMBLING. Let's Just Call It What It Is. :)
Sunday is my favorite day of the week. A big, fat newspaper and CBS Sunday Morning with Charles Osgood. When I started watching this Sunday morning program Charles Kuralt was the host. I loved the sound of his voice. He looked like a bit like the Michelin man and his voice was amazing. He could, and did, make anything interesting. RIP Charles Kuralt. Charlie Osgood has now become the voice I hear after the opening trumpet. The show is still great. Like 60 Minutes without the venom.
I noticed this morning that, of course, the news everywhere was all about Irene. Major hurricane. Really, a minor hurricane all and all. I'm sure that if you rode her out it was plenty hurricane one way or the other. NYC Mayor Bloomberg was all over the news talking about the precautions NYC was taking. New Jersey Governor Chris Christie must have had a hard time keeping up with all his interviews.
Then it hit me. They are politicking. I can see keeping the locals informed, but the nation? When they talk about The Battery in New York I assume they mean something about the Bat Signal. I personally thought the cast of Jersey Shore should have reported on the storm. From the eye. And perhaps been the sad part of the story. Stupidity swept to sea....
The sad truth is no one wants another Katrina. At least not attached to their name. Obviously no one wants another Katrina but I mean no one wants to be the elected official where the big one hits. Those of us in Texas have been surviving one of the worst summers on record. The national news isn't here asking us how hot we feel. They don't stand in the blazing sun to demonstrate it's power. I would have taken some of the rain from Irene. The wind you can keep on the east coast.
This last week was bizarre. Earthquake and hurricane in Washington D.C. Why is Congress NEVER there when a natural disaster hits? Representative Cantor, Virginia, Bane-R Toadie, apparently couldn't wait to tell the people of Virginia that any federal relief money would be offset by spending cuts. There you go. Never show empathy for those injured and/or suffering. That is a sign if weakness. He flew in from Israel to check on his district and stated that the people of Virginia obviously need more earthquake insurance. Wonder whose pocket he is in?
SO, let's review insurance in general. Home owners is mandatory as long as your lender holds the title. Automobile insurance is mandatory in every state I know of. Flood insurance and apparently earthquake insurance is a good plan. Health insurance is socialism. Got it. It makes perfect sense. Property, important. You, not.
Then came Irene. I think maybe Mother Earth, Father Time and/or The Creator of the Universe might be upset. Not about people being gay as Pat Robertson said this week. Gay people cause all these problems with The Lord. Those people in Pompeii must have really been sexually open. I think it's us. We suck. Have you noticed? Not all of us, just the majority. Maybe not the majority, that could be a slight an exaggeration.
Maybe it is just me but it makes me ill everyday to realize how cheap life is. A human life is worthless. Collateral damage. Drive bys, gang wars, family squabbles, armed robbery gone wrong or just because. At least once a week in the Metroplex someone dies on the freeway system from hell. A trucker goes to fast, dumps a load, crushes a car, drunk driver going the wrong way, selfish driver thinks the road is theirs, gotta send that text or chat on the phone.
Just this week Dallas County saw a father kidnap his children and wife. He drown two of the children. We had the lovely couple who deprived their 10 year old son of water, he died too. The two year old left in the car in Irving. Also dead. There were other shootings and deaths and accidents but those few are the ones that stick out.
What else. Wall Street had GAINS and LOSSES. I thought that was called instability. Bernake asked that Congress insist there be hiring. Ben, no one will hire until Obama is out of office. It's an evil plan. Paranoid? Unfortunately, no. The GOP and the banks and the BIG Corps will not move until they have their own puppet in the White House. Oh, Ben, please. You have been around a long time. Nice try but we are doomed until 2013. THEN the rich will be getting even richer as there will be no regulation and the Supreme Court will make a decision that no company can ever be sued for any reason ever. The middle class will be taxed to death and the poor will disappear. "Are there no work houses? Are there no prisons?" E.Scrooge.
Dick Cheney wrote a book. He says, "heads in Washington will explode". You already made mine burst, Mr. Cheney. No offense. I hope your book is the first in history to sell zero copies. Go soak your head. Let us know how that feels. I was wondering if you actually cackle? You sure look like you would.
It's a beautiful nation. We are about to lose it to either our own stupidity or disaster. Man made or natural or both. If that doesn't get us some nut job with a gun, a grudge, a cause, a jihad will take us out. We've made our nation so safe. Our citizens are not people they are numbers. I love sentences like, "only 23 people died". Only? It used to take a village. That was cool. Apparently all we have left are the village idiots. And we keep electing them.
Sad all the way around.
LBB
I noticed this morning that, of course, the news everywhere was all about Irene. Major hurricane. Really, a minor hurricane all and all. I'm sure that if you rode her out it was plenty hurricane one way or the other. NYC Mayor Bloomberg was all over the news talking about the precautions NYC was taking. New Jersey Governor Chris Christie must have had a hard time keeping up with all his interviews.
Then it hit me. They are politicking. I can see keeping the locals informed, but the nation? When they talk about The Battery in New York I assume they mean something about the Bat Signal. I personally thought the cast of Jersey Shore should have reported on the storm. From the eye. And perhaps been the sad part of the story. Stupidity swept to sea....
The sad truth is no one wants another Katrina. At least not attached to their name. Obviously no one wants another Katrina but I mean no one wants to be the elected official where the big one hits. Those of us in Texas have been surviving one of the worst summers on record. The national news isn't here asking us how hot we feel. They don't stand in the blazing sun to demonstrate it's power. I would have taken some of the rain from Irene. The wind you can keep on the east coast.
This last week was bizarre. Earthquake and hurricane in Washington D.C. Why is Congress NEVER there when a natural disaster hits? Representative Cantor, Virginia, Bane-R Toadie, apparently couldn't wait to tell the people of Virginia that any federal relief money would be offset by spending cuts. There you go. Never show empathy for those injured and/or suffering. That is a sign if weakness. He flew in from Israel to check on his district and stated that the people of Virginia obviously need more earthquake insurance. Wonder whose pocket he is in?
SO, let's review insurance in general. Home owners is mandatory as long as your lender holds the title. Automobile insurance is mandatory in every state I know of. Flood insurance and apparently earthquake insurance is a good plan. Health insurance is socialism. Got it. It makes perfect sense. Property, important. You, not.
Then came Irene. I think maybe Mother Earth, Father Time and/or The Creator of the Universe might be upset. Not about people being gay as Pat Robertson said this week. Gay people cause all these problems with The Lord. Those people in Pompeii must have really been sexually open. I think it's us. We suck. Have you noticed? Not all of us, just the majority. Maybe not the majority, that could be a slight an exaggeration.
Maybe it is just me but it makes me ill everyday to realize how cheap life is. A human life is worthless. Collateral damage. Drive bys, gang wars, family squabbles, armed robbery gone wrong or just because. At least once a week in the Metroplex someone dies on the freeway system from hell. A trucker goes to fast, dumps a load, crushes a car, drunk driver going the wrong way, selfish driver thinks the road is theirs, gotta send that text or chat on the phone.
Just this week Dallas County saw a father kidnap his children and wife. He drown two of the children. We had the lovely couple who deprived their 10 year old son of water, he died too. The two year old left in the car in Irving. Also dead. There were other shootings and deaths and accidents but those few are the ones that stick out.
What else. Wall Street had GAINS and LOSSES. I thought that was called instability. Bernake asked that Congress insist there be hiring. Ben, no one will hire until Obama is out of office. It's an evil plan. Paranoid? Unfortunately, no. The GOP and the banks and the BIG Corps will not move until they have their own puppet in the White House. Oh, Ben, please. You have been around a long time. Nice try but we are doomed until 2013. THEN the rich will be getting even richer as there will be no regulation and the Supreme Court will make a decision that no company can ever be sued for any reason ever. The middle class will be taxed to death and the poor will disappear. "Are there no work houses? Are there no prisons?" E.Scrooge.
Dick Cheney wrote a book. He says, "heads in Washington will explode". You already made mine burst, Mr. Cheney. No offense. I hope your book is the first in history to sell zero copies. Go soak your head. Let us know how that feels. I was wondering if you actually cackle? You sure look like you would.
It's a beautiful nation. We are about to lose it to either our own stupidity or disaster. Man made or natural or both. If that doesn't get us some nut job with a gun, a grudge, a cause, a jihad will take us out. We've made our nation so safe. Our citizens are not people they are numbers. I love sentences like, "only 23 people died". Only? It used to take a village. That was cool. Apparently all we have left are the village idiots. And we keep electing them.
Sad all the way around.
LBB
Friday, August 26, 2011
MAY WE HAVE A CURE FOR STUPID?
Stunned every single day. We are going to die from stupid. Our own or someone else's. Stupidity never rests is normally what I call these mini-rants, however, we need a cure. I am pleading to whatever community to save us from ourselves and each other.
Pat Robertson once again has stated that God, The Alpha and The Omega, Creator of the Universe, King of Kings, is upset that we have gay people. This anger causes earthquakes. Yes indeed. Damn the gay people for raining hell on us for being what they are. Thank heaven for us that we have Pat to show us the way. The way to be stupid. Let's see mankind has been around for.....ever. Gay people have been here for.....ever. So, I see his point, clearly. God has been angry forever about the gay people that were created in his own image according to what I've read. We, that would be mortals, were created in His image. Maybe we should just go with that. He can sort all that out later about whether or not His mortals are flawed and in what ways.
Marriage is between a man and a woman. So is a divorce. I've had three. I am thinking let's just eliminate marriage as anything legal. It's a spiritual commitment so let's not bring in the law or the government. SOLVED. So easy. Everyone marry whoever you want or how many you want how often you want. Government, butt out.
The abortion question. Let's make sperm illegal. If you carry it you are suspect. If an unclaimed child is born around you, your DNA will be tested to ensure your own up to your responsibility. This solves the unborn children questions. Who will care for them? Baby daddies. Mothers have done enough. Abortion? Though I don't believe it is a birth control method, will soon be illegal because everyone is concerned about the unborn. Except the men who helped create them. Enough already. Get ready dads, here they come! Solved.
Wars. Nope. Sick of that. We will do the best four out of seven something. Like sports. Winner takes whatever they were after to begin with. Loser can demand a rematch in two years. OK. That's easy and much shorter.
There is a Republican Congressman from Second District Florida, Steve Southerland, who doesn't like his job. His $174,000 a year, with perks is not that much. He claims if you break it down to "by the hour" it is reasonable. The health care is not that good and he won't be vested for his pension for five years. WOW. I feel bad for him. OH, and he says they, Congressmen, get shot at. So do those soldiers deployed in the mid east everyday. So do citizens, stupid, every day people die at the hands of other citizens. You had security detail for your town hall meeting. Paranoid? Our health care sucks too. Although, he is not a D.C. "lifer", he is running for re election. Whiners should not apply, dude.
Rick Perry, Governor Hair, second dumbest man to ever be governor of Texas. W is first dumbest. He can't keep up with his own rants. He wanted to secede from the union cause we don't need the federal government or their money. Now her wants to run said country. Stupid. Shouldn't even be allowed. What a blowhard, and not in a good way. He can't keep up with the gay marriage question but he believes that children should be taught both creation and a little evolution, just to point out how ludicris it is.
There is a cure for everything. A pill, a surgery, an aide, a device. PLEASE, may we have one for stupid? I am starting to favor lobotomies for a certain segment of the world. That is probably wrong so if one of you pharmcos could come up with a little something to cure stupid? Of course that would cut into your profits once we learn we don't need all those products you currently sell. Some of them are live saving. Thank you. Some of them, well, it seems aspirin is still the miracle cure for so many things. Your products sometimes are miracles and then, oops, sometimes they might kill you.
Pharmcos, create the cure for stupid, then take them. I will willingly pay for some people to get a lifetime supply.
You're Welcome,
Lillybell Blues
Pat Robertson once again has stated that God, The Alpha and The Omega, Creator of the Universe, King of Kings, is upset that we have gay people. This anger causes earthquakes. Yes indeed. Damn the gay people for raining hell on us for being what they are. Thank heaven for us that we have Pat to show us the way. The way to be stupid. Let's see mankind has been around for.....ever. Gay people have been here for.....ever. So, I see his point, clearly. God has been angry forever about the gay people that were created in his own image according to what I've read. We, that would be mortals, were created in His image. Maybe we should just go with that. He can sort all that out later about whether or not His mortals are flawed and in what ways.
Marriage is between a man and a woman. So is a divorce. I've had three. I am thinking let's just eliminate marriage as anything legal. It's a spiritual commitment so let's not bring in the law or the government. SOLVED. So easy. Everyone marry whoever you want or how many you want how often you want. Government, butt out.
The abortion question. Let's make sperm illegal. If you carry it you are suspect. If an unclaimed child is born around you, your DNA will be tested to ensure your own up to your responsibility. This solves the unborn children questions. Who will care for them? Baby daddies. Mothers have done enough. Abortion? Though I don't believe it is a birth control method, will soon be illegal because everyone is concerned about the unborn. Except the men who helped create them. Enough already. Get ready dads, here they come! Solved.
Wars. Nope. Sick of that. We will do the best four out of seven something. Like sports. Winner takes whatever they were after to begin with. Loser can demand a rematch in two years. OK. That's easy and much shorter.
There is a Republican Congressman from Second District Florida, Steve Southerland, who doesn't like his job. His $174,000 a year, with perks is not that much. He claims if you break it down to "by the hour" it is reasonable. The health care is not that good and he won't be vested for his pension for five years. WOW. I feel bad for him. OH, and he says they, Congressmen, get shot at. So do those soldiers deployed in the mid east everyday. So do citizens, stupid, every day people die at the hands of other citizens. You had security detail for your town hall meeting. Paranoid? Our health care sucks too. Although, he is not a D.C. "lifer", he is running for re election. Whiners should not apply, dude.
Rick Perry, Governor Hair, second dumbest man to ever be governor of Texas. W is first dumbest. He can't keep up with his own rants. He wanted to secede from the union cause we don't need the federal government or their money. Now her wants to run said country. Stupid. Shouldn't even be allowed. What a blowhard, and not in a good way. He can't keep up with the gay marriage question but he believes that children should be taught both creation and a little evolution, just to point out how ludicris it is.
There is a cure for everything. A pill, a surgery, an aide, a device. PLEASE, may we have one for stupid? I am starting to favor lobotomies for a certain segment of the world. That is probably wrong so if one of you pharmcos could come up with a little something to cure stupid? Of course that would cut into your profits once we learn we don't need all those products you currently sell. Some of them are live saving. Thank you. Some of them, well, it seems aspirin is still the miracle cure for so many things. Your products sometimes are miracles and then, oops, sometimes they might kill you.
Pharmcos, create the cure for stupid, then take them. I will willingly pay for some people to get a lifetime supply.
You're Welcome,
Lillybell Blues
Thursday, August 25, 2011
WHY ARE WE CRAZY?
Crazy. Everywhere I look. Everything I hear. A few things I merely think. OK, here I go.
People are dying by the bucket load in Africa. Relief agencies cannot get aide through without rebels or thugs stealing all the goods. They apparently get very little help through to the starving, however, every news organization on earth can get teams of people there to film the suffering. That's crazy. Try putting the food on the planes and helicopters that bring the news people. Have you noticed this story is only covered on a slow news day? Dying people go to the bottom of the list if there has been a sighting of Casey Anthony.
There is a hurricane a comin'. What happens? All the news outlets send people to stand in the blowing wind and rain and talk about how dangerous it is. Same with a flood. "Here I am hip deep in rushing water, Gumby, this is dangerous....do not do this." We believe you. We get that it is dangerous. Gale force winds and flooding rain should be avoided. Mother Nature is not to be toyed with or tempted. If you are as jaded as I am you believe The Weather Channel secretly hopes some one is seriously injured or killed on the job and on camera. By the way, all that blowing and rain looks pretty much the same from hurricane to hurricane so just use some stock footage. We won't know the difference.
In Texas we have "weather watchers". These are people who drive around, find wall clouds and hopefully a funnel or two form. They contact the local weather channel and tell them what they see. "We have rotation, it's on the ground....coming this way. I am filming with my cell phone". "Good, send us that! Try not to die", (before you hit send). Of course the local channels send their crews out to describe the rain, hail, sleet, snow, ice, tornadoes, drought, heat and to prove driving conditions are bad. If it can kill you we want it on film. Me personally, I am good with a verbal description.
Yesterday Steve Jobs announced he was stepping down. As he himself stated, he stepped down when he could no longer do his job. He has cancer. It is obvious that he is leaving for health reasons. This morning the news was about how his stepping down was....not sad, it was going to be hard on the market. I swear they said that investors would be watching the market and they expected Apple shares to drop today. Sorry you are dying. We are worried about price per share.
In this nation every single day someone kills a loved one or lures someone away to be killed. How do they decide which ones to make national news? The most salacious of course. If a pretty, blond, white woman is missing this is news. Big news. If she has done something like have an affair, or her husband/boyfriend, lesbian lover has had an affair, it is worthy of an hour long special. What happened to Pretty Blond? She went to an island with a stranger and now she is missing, presumed dead. The "person of interest" is always on the news. They look concerned and worried about themselves. They are stunned that people think they would kill their wife/girlfriend/hottie when, after all, they were merely the last one to see her. And there is that huge insurance policy. OR it was an unusual situation where she dies or goes missing while the husband/boyfriend/lover is out in the middle of the night to run to the ATM, eat a burger or go camping. The entire family and set of friends get on the TeeVee and talk about every single detail and angle. "She is so full of life and she just trusts people too easily". "She was a trollop who deserved whatever happened her, she practically had a Coin Star in her bedroom". Doesn't find the women. Doesn't do anything except makes us drool a little. Why?
Who decides what gets "studied"? Yesterday's big news was released about working women. Not parents. Women. Why? Because. The study involved married, working moms and I guess non working moms because the women who stayed home had more depression. Really? I have worked and not. I have never had kids. I am lucky that I do not have to work. I can assure you it does not depress me in the least. Working on the other hand made me insane. Now life can still make me depressed. I have very sick parents and I am the only child on site. I take care of three people's lives, four counting the husband, though he is pretty self sufficient. It can be difficult and sad. However, working for a corporation was like being in a cage all day locked up with complainers and braggarts. At least I can curl up and want to die at home if I need to. That is freeing. So you working women dealing with all that guilt about your career and your children I am glad you aren't depressed. It's because you don't have time.
CRIME: I do not understand how we handle crime in this country. I understand the foundation of a trial by a jury of your peers. I understand innocent until proven guilty. I do not understand why having cameras everywhere prevents crime. NO, it records crime. That is very different. I don't understand why all the laws protect the accused. I don't understand how anyone caught in the act can even be given the option to plead not guilty. They arrested you in the act of _________. You are guilty. Sorry daddy/mommy was mean. Mine was just irritating. Then, we support these people for the rest of their lives or the duration of their sentence. Lawyers get rich. The innocent get convicted or the guilty go free in some cases. We need a new system. This one cannot be fixed.
American Idol. I say this as someone who has been a singer forever. I was born with some song on my mind. I am not a great singer, I never have been. I am a great harmony singer. I am willing to bet that in a four mile square area I can find a better singer than anyone on American Idol. Except maybe Jennifer Hudson, who as I understand it didn't win. None of the "winners" have had anything but minimal success. They interpret songs. It ain't that hard. Yet the nation is captivated. It's crap people. I'm sorry, it is. You want to see talent? Watch The Sing Off. Acapella groups from around the country, actually other countries participate, in competition. These people have talent that will amaze you. I don't care that it's geek, or gleek. It isn't show choir. It's incredible talent. If you can stomach the host and the judges you will be entertained.
The Bachelor/Bachelorette. Why?
Any program where someone is "alone". No, they aren't. They have a camera crew and probably lighting people, a producer maybe. Alone can't be recorded from three angles.
People who put their lives on television. Hoarders, weird sex preferences and practices, 27 children, multiple wives. Ew. Please save us from all of your whatever it is. One "star" of these shows doesn't want to use her last name. She let cameras in her house to show how disturbing her life is and record constantly but don't use her last name. Alright then. That is completely reasonable.
What is crazy about all of this? We support it. In some cases we crave it. Or we shake our heads about it and go about our little lives like we are the center of our own universe. We are. Let's clean up the galaxy a bit. Let's raise the bar for everyone. America has been dumbed down culturally and academically. Don't give me that look. Any society that reveres people for their foolish, outrageous behavior and puts them on a pedestal for bad behavior is in decline.
Or if you are reading this,
Lillybell Blues
People are dying by the bucket load in Africa. Relief agencies cannot get aide through without rebels or thugs stealing all the goods. They apparently get very little help through to the starving, however, every news organization on earth can get teams of people there to film the suffering. That's crazy. Try putting the food on the planes and helicopters that bring the news people. Have you noticed this story is only covered on a slow news day? Dying people go to the bottom of the list if there has been a sighting of Casey Anthony.
There is a hurricane a comin'. What happens? All the news outlets send people to stand in the blowing wind and rain and talk about how dangerous it is. Same with a flood. "Here I am hip deep in rushing water, Gumby, this is dangerous....do not do this." We believe you. We get that it is dangerous. Gale force winds and flooding rain should be avoided. Mother Nature is not to be toyed with or tempted. If you are as jaded as I am you believe The Weather Channel secretly hopes some one is seriously injured or killed on the job and on camera. By the way, all that blowing and rain looks pretty much the same from hurricane to hurricane so just use some stock footage. We won't know the difference.
In Texas we have "weather watchers". These are people who drive around, find wall clouds and hopefully a funnel or two form. They contact the local weather channel and tell them what they see. "We have rotation, it's on the ground....coming this way. I am filming with my cell phone". "Good, send us that! Try not to die", (before you hit send). Of course the local channels send their crews out to describe the rain, hail, sleet, snow, ice, tornadoes, drought, heat and to prove driving conditions are bad. If it can kill you we want it on film. Me personally, I am good with a verbal description.
Yesterday Steve Jobs announced he was stepping down. As he himself stated, he stepped down when he could no longer do his job. He has cancer. It is obvious that he is leaving for health reasons. This morning the news was about how his stepping down was....not sad, it was going to be hard on the market. I swear they said that investors would be watching the market and they expected Apple shares to drop today. Sorry you are dying. We are worried about price per share.
In this nation every single day someone kills a loved one or lures someone away to be killed. How do they decide which ones to make national news? The most salacious of course. If a pretty, blond, white woman is missing this is news. Big news. If she has done something like have an affair, or her husband/boyfriend, lesbian lover has had an affair, it is worthy of an hour long special. What happened to Pretty Blond? She went to an island with a stranger and now she is missing, presumed dead. The "person of interest" is always on the news. They look concerned and worried about themselves. They are stunned that people think they would kill their wife/girlfriend/hottie when, after all, they were merely the last one to see her. And there is that huge insurance policy. OR it was an unusual situation where she dies or goes missing while the husband/boyfriend/lover is out in the middle of the night to run to the ATM, eat a burger or go camping. The entire family and set of friends get on the TeeVee and talk about every single detail and angle. "She is so full of life and she just trusts people too easily". "She was a trollop who deserved whatever happened her, she practically had a Coin Star in her bedroom". Doesn't find the women. Doesn't do anything except makes us drool a little. Why?
Who decides what gets "studied"? Yesterday's big news was released about working women. Not parents. Women. Why? Because. The study involved married, working moms and I guess non working moms because the women who stayed home had more depression. Really? I have worked and not. I have never had kids. I am lucky that I do not have to work. I can assure you it does not depress me in the least. Working on the other hand made me insane. Now life can still make me depressed. I have very sick parents and I am the only child on site. I take care of three people's lives, four counting the husband, though he is pretty self sufficient. It can be difficult and sad. However, working for a corporation was like being in a cage all day locked up with complainers and braggarts. At least I can curl up and want to die at home if I need to. That is freeing. So you working women dealing with all that guilt about your career and your children I am glad you aren't depressed. It's because you don't have time.
CRIME: I do not understand how we handle crime in this country. I understand the foundation of a trial by a jury of your peers. I understand innocent until proven guilty. I do not understand why having cameras everywhere prevents crime. NO, it records crime. That is very different. I don't understand why all the laws protect the accused. I don't understand how anyone caught in the act can even be given the option to plead not guilty. They arrested you in the act of _________. You are guilty. Sorry daddy/mommy was mean. Mine was just irritating. Then, we support these people for the rest of their lives or the duration of their sentence. Lawyers get rich. The innocent get convicted or the guilty go free in some cases. We need a new system. This one cannot be fixed.
American Idol. I say this as someone who has been a singer forever. I was born with some song on my mind. I am not a great singer, I never have been. I am a great harmony singer. I am willing to bet that in a four mile square area I can find a better singer than anyone on American Idol. Except maybe Jennifer Hudson, who as I understand it didn't win. None of the "winners" have had anything but minimal success. They interpret songs. It ain't that hard. Yet the nation is captivated. It's crap people. I'm sorry, it is. You want to see talent? Watch The Sing Off. Acapella groups from around the country, actually other countries participate, in competition. These people have talent that will amaze you. I don't care that it's geek, or gleek. It isn't show choir. It's incredible talent. If you can stomach the host and the judges you will be entertained.
The Bachelor/Bachelorette. Why?
Any program where someone is "alone". No, they aren't. They have a camera crew and probably lighting people, a producer maybe. Alone can't be recorded from three angles.
People who put their lives on television. Hoarders, weird sex preferences and practices, 27 children, multiple wives. Ew. Please save us from all of your whatever it is. One "star" of these shows doesn't want to use her last name. She let cameras in her house to show how disturbing her life is and record constantly but don't use her last name. Alright then. That is completely reasonable.
What is crazy about all of this? We support it. In some cases we crave it. Or we shake our heads about it and go about our little lives like we are the center of our own universe. We are. Let's clean up the galaxy a bit. Let's raise the bar for everyone. America has been dumbed down culturally and academically. Don't give me that look. Any society that reveres people for their foolish, outrageous behavior and puts them on a pedestal for bad behavior is in decline.
Or if you are reading this,
Lillybell Blues
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
L.A., HOLLYWOOD, DISNEYLAND, FOREST LAWN, LAS VEGAS
L.A., Hollywood, Disneyland, Forest Lawn. Dad pointed them all out as we went driving by on a freeway. WHAT?
"Aren't we stopping anywhere?" I asked dumbfounded and suffering from whiplash as I tried to take in a sight of anything. "No, we really don't time." We need to get to Las Vegas and then up to Utah tomorrow". This was news to me. No one had actually said we were stopping in L.A. but what on earth is the point of driving through and seeing NOTHING? None. No point at all.
That was the L.A. part of my trip. Then to Vegas where people under 21 couldn't even walk on the casino floor. The trip sucked. The whole stupid trip, except for the very, very cool ranch in Tucson. The rest of it was an exercise in misery. MISERY. I was quiet. No point in being angry with dad in the car. I would just get the angry eyes in the mirror lecture. Stupid parents, stupid bridge, stupid dad's family. I didn't care if we ever got to Utah. Grrrrr.
The drive from L.A. to Vegas is some form of punishment no matter what. It is some ugly territory. Purgatory before Sin City. There might be naked people in Vegas. I had no idea what to expect but I assumed I was going to be blindfolded at some point. This was going to be so grown up. We finally hit the strip. WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS.
Everything was so over the top I was in mouth open heaven. This was still afternoon, it wasn't even dark and I couldn't believe what I saw. I started watching all the people. There were gamblers and drunks and whores there. I knew that. I had never seen any of those things that I knew of. I learned later that I had indeed seen drunks, not gamblers or whores. Not cheap ones anyway.
We stayed somewhere on the strip but I don't remember where. I know we went to Caesar's Palace. We might have stayed there but I cannot see my dad spending that kind of money on anything. When we walked into Caesar's I was stunned and amazed. And followed by security. They were very serious about 21. I was barely 14. You were not allowed inside the casino areas. Period. Couldn't even walk through or look very long.
Brother and I were going to be taken to a dinner show then we were to stay in the hotel room where one or both of us could be killed by strangers or die at the hands of one another. Mom and dad were going to gamble. Dinner and a show. The Supremes were there. Diana Ross and The Supremes. I could do that and everything was even. No Disneyland, no Hollywood, no fun. Diana Ross could change all that.
We went to see Danny Kaye. That was fun but no Diana Ross. Brother refused to go. He was always the smart one. Although I did eat my first twice baked potato the rest of the food was ho hum. After dinner and Danny Kaye, who was really entertaining, I was taken to the room. Mom and dad went gambling. Dad lost. Mom won eighty dollars. That was a small fortune.
The next morning we headed to Utah. I wasn't feeling very well. Kind of tired and feverish but nothing specific. I was cranky I remember that. I also learned how to mix a martini for my dad in the backseat while he was driving. Different times, perfectly legal. We were not stopping until we reached Brigham City.
I felt crummy by the time we got there. "Stretchy", my mom called it. That low grade fever, blah discomfort. I didn't say anything. I liked going to a doctor not quite as much as having wild animals tear my flesh. I didn't want to go to a strange doctor in a strange city. Nope. I would suffer. Unfortunately for everyone, I did not suffer in silence. I whined loudly and constantly. Mother finally told me I looked feverish. I begged her to wait until we got home to take me a doctor IF I still needed to go see him. She agreed.
I thought the agreement was that she would be quiet about my being ill until we got home and I would be bitchy. That wasn't her plan. Her plan was to tell dad and worry that I had some horrible deadly desert born illness. Then follow me around asking me how I felt constantly.
I don't remember too much else about the Murphy's that visit. We went to the family bar, Murph's Inn, now owned by my dad's sister Doris and her husband Bert. Aunt Doris made the world's best cheeseburgers on the grill in that little hole in the wall. She was also a pool hustler of sorts. The back of the bar where the pool tables were located displayed every naked centerfold in the world best I could tell. This was this first time I had been allowed back there. This was so different from Calhoun. Beer and boobs. And neatly covered nether worldly parts of women. Mom, dad brother, me Uncle Bert, Aunt Doris and 500 naked women. This was was nastier than Vegas.
This one day made my entire vacation, along with the Ranch in Tucson. Aunt Doris gave me an old Olympia Beer sign. Electric with a waterfall and a beer mug that bubbled when the light was on. I was the coolest kid in Fort Worth. Still have the beer sign, still works, still love it.
This was 1967. The Summer of Love. I had my beer sign. We were heading home to Fort Worth after two grueling weeks. I still felt crummy. I mixed martinis for my dad through the days home. I complained and whined about being hot and cold. Hungry and not. Sleepy and not. I got the rear view mirror lectures about not being the only person in the car and the please keep my misery to myself.
There is no place like home. I was so glad to see my room. Sleep in my bed. Go to my doctor. Faint dead away in his office while my fever climbed to 103. I had mono. It took a few days to find out. Mother acted like I should be somehow embarrassed. She was mortified.
Two more vacations with my parents that I remember until I was 40 years old. One to Utah, One to Calhoun.
In 1993 I went to Connecticut to visit my brother's family with my mom and dad. I was newly retired, anxious to see my niece and nephew and did not want my dad driving all that way by himself. Mother driving was out of the question.
Time to see if traveling with your parents as an adult was different. Time to see if the family dynamics were still the same as when were kids.
It is wonderful in some ways, being with your family on vacation. It also leads one to want to kill people.
Your family.
"Aren't we stopping anywhere?" I asked dumbfounded and suffering from whiplash as I tried to take in a sight of anything. "No, we really don't time." We need to get to Las Vegas and then up to Utah tomorrow". This was news to me. No one had actually said we were stopping in L.A. but what on earth is the point of driving through and seeing NOTHING? None. No point at all.
That was the L.A. part of my trip. Then to Vegas where people under 21 couldn't even walk on the casino floor. The trip sucked. The whole stupid trip, except for the very, very cool ranch in Tucson. The rest of it was an exercise in misery. MISERY. I was quiet. No point in being angry with dad in the car. I would just get the angry eyes in the mirror lecture. Stupid parents, stupid bridge, stupid dad's family. I didn't care if we ever got to Utah. Grrrrr.
The drive from L.A. to Vegas is some form of punishment no matter what. It is some ugly territory. Purgatory before Sin City. There might be naked people in Vegas. I had no idea what to expect but I assumed I was going to be blindfolded at some point. This was going to be so grown up. We finally hit the strip. WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS.
Everything was so over the top I was in mouth open heaven. This was still afternoon, it wasn't even dark and I couldn't believe what I saw. I started watching all the people. There were gamblers and drunks and whores there. I knew that. I had never seen any of those things that I knew of. I learned later that I had indeed seen drunks, not gamblers or whores. Not cheap ones anyway.
We stayed somewhere on the strip but I don't remember where. I know we went to Caesar's Palace. We might have stayed there but I cannot see my dad spending that kind of money on anything. When we walked into Caesar's I was stunned and amazed. And followed by security. They were very serious about 21. I was barely 14. You were not allowed inside the casino areas. Period. Couldn't even walk through or look very long.
Brother and I were going to be taken to a dinner show then we were to stay in the hotel room where one or both of us could be killed by strangers or die at the hands of one another. Mom and dad were going to gamble. Dinner and a show. The Supremes were there. Diana Ross and The Supremes. I could do that and everything was even. No Disneyland, no Hollywood, no fun. Diana Ross could change all that.
We went to see Danny Kaye. That was fun but no Diana Ross. Brother refused to go. He was always the smart one. Although I did eat my first twice baked potato the rest of the food was ho hum. After dinner and Danny Kaye, who was really entertaining, I was taken to the room. Mom and dad went gambling. Dad lost. Mom won eighty dollars. That was a small fortune.
The next morning we headed to Utah. I wasn't feeling very well. Kind of tired and feverish but nothing specific. I was cranky I remember that. I also learned how to mix a martini for my dad in the backseat while he was driving. Different times, perfectly legal. We were not stopping until we reached Brigham City.
I felt crummy by the time we got there. "Stretchy", my mom called it. That low grade fever, blah discomfort. I didn't say anything. I liked going to a doctor not quite as much as having wild animals tear my flesh. I didn't want to go to a strange doctor in a strange city. Nope. I would suffer. Unfortunately for everyone, I did not suffer in silence. I whined loudly and constantly. Mother finally told me I looked feverish. I begged her to wait until we got home to take me a doctor IF I still needed to go see him. She agreed.
I thought the agreement was that she would be quiet about my being ill until we got home and I would be bitchy. That wasn't her plan. Her plan was to tell dad and worry that I had some horrible deadly desert born illness. Then follow me around asking me how I felt constantly.
I don't remember too much else about the Murphy's that visit. We went to the family bar, Murph's Inn, now owned by my dad's sister Doris and her husband Bert. Aunt Doris made the world's best cheeseburgers on the grill in that little hole in the wall. She was also a pool hustler of sorts. The back of the bar where the pool tables were located displayed every naked centerfold in the world best I could tell. This was this first time I had been allowed back there. This was so different from Calhoun. Beer and boobs. And neatly covered nether worldly parts of women. Mom, dad brother, me Uncle Bert, Aunt Doris and 500 naked women. This was was nastier than Vegas.
This one day made my entire vacation, along with the Ranch in Tucson. Aunt Doris gave me an old Olympia Beer sign. Electric with a waterfall and a beer mug that bubbled when the light was on. I was the coolest kid in Fort Worth. Still have the beer sign, still works, still love it.
This was 1967. The Summer of Love. I had my beer sign. We were heading home to Fort Worth after two grueling weeks. I still felt crummy. I mixed martinis for my dad through the days home. I complained and whined about being hot and cold. Hungry and not. Sleepy and not. I got the rear view mirror lectures about not being the only person in the car and the please keep my misery to myself.
There is no place like home. I was so glad to see my room. Sleep in my bed. Go to my doctor. Faint dead away in his office while my fever climbed to 103. I had mono. It took a few days to find out. Mother acted like I should be somehow embarrassed. She was mortified.
Two more vacations with my parents that I remember until I was 40 years old. One to Utah, One to Calhoun.
In 1993 I went to Connecticut to visit my brother's family with my mom and dad. I was newly retired, anxious to see my niece and nephew and did not want my dad driving all that way by himself. Mother driving was out of the question.
Time to see if traveling with your parents as an adult was different. Time to see if the family dynamics were still the same as when were kids.
It is wonderful in some ways, being with your family on vacation. It also leads one to want to kill people.
Your family.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
SAN DIEGO
My grandmother Murphy used to visit us once every few years. She took the train from Salt Lake to Fort Worth. Then she decided she would fly. We drove to Love Field in Dallas to pick her up and she announced, "Well, helldamn, that wasn't so bad...I might fly again". Miss Forrest must have rolled in her grave. She had met my dad's family early in their marriage. I believe the Murphys thought the Leachmans were snooty and the Leachmans thought the Murphys were heathens. Grand dad Murphy owned a BAR. That must have made Miss Forrest sweat just being in the same town.
The trip Grandmother Murphy flew to visit she had just been to San Diego on the train. She went to see Max and his "new" wife. This was news to me. Max had been married to Ruth for as long as I had heard of them. FAMILY SECRETS! Apparently Uncle Max had married a lovely woman in San Diego when he was still in the Navy. They had a baby girl who died shortly after her brith. The marriage didn't survive. Uncle Max married Ruth, many years older, more than 10 years older, and raised her two sons from her first husband, also dead. Grandmother called them and announced she was coming to visit.
Apparently one afternoon Grandmother called a cab to pick her up at Max's house. She was going to have a visit with Max's first wife. They had apparently stayed in touch and Grandmother really liked her. When the cab brought her back to Max's house grandmother's luggage was packed and on the front porch. Ruth kicked her out. Grandmother never wanted to see her again.
This should be fun! Wonder if we would get kicked out too. Don't mention the first wife....got it. We crossed the state line. We were in California! It looked like a desert. Where is the Pacific? Beaches? Cool cars and surf boards. "When we get to the coast, Linda. California is like every other state until you get to the edge of the continent." I muttered something under my breath. My dad gave me the look in the rear view mirror. I hated that. Getting a lecture from angry eyes in a mirror.
Dad always wanted me to straighten up, be quiet, stop talking, quit complaining, stop asking to change the radio station, etc. The days of the cow game were long gone. I wanted him to think of something FUN to do along the road. I wanted to stop at every single tourist trap. No, not going to happen. Miles, gotta get miles behind us. All through either New Mexico or Arizona or both were huge billboards, "THE THING...come see it". "Is it from outer space?" "Is it HUMAN?"
"Dad, can we stop and see the THING?". "No, takes too long to stop. It's just something silly anyway".
"Dad, can we stop at the next Stuckey's?". "No, too expensive, they don't have gas, no green stamps, don't need that candy and junk".
"Dad, can we see the grand canyon?" Eyes in the mirror, "do you even know where that is?" "No since I have never been anywhere but Calhoun and Brigham City." "It is in Arizona, we are in California." "Yes, but we were in Arizona".
"HUSH".
Whatever. I could out pout anyone. I pouted. California was ugly and stupid. We stopped at a service station. Still ugly. Not at all happy with dad. Then again I should be nice. I wanted my day in L.A. It was going to be the coolest day of my life!
By the time we got to Uncle Max and Aunt Ruth's I was the sweet, little daughter. Polite and nice and bored.
I wasn't sure what to expect. Uncle Max and Dad said hello. Max and mom obviously really liked each other. She thought of him as dad's little brother. I thought of him as a Coroner. Brother and I made some polite conversation then Uncle Max gave us sage advice. "Never ride on a motorcycle, that is really hard to clean up. We just call that goo". And, "never ride in the passenger seat in a VW bug. That is the crispy critter seat".
So far this was fun. Very vivid images. Goo and crispy critters. Lord, could I please have a relative in the FUN business? Someone who entertains children for a living or knows the Beatles?
Then there was Aunt Ruth. She was tiny. She couldn't have weighed 80 pounds. She looked pinched all the time. She acted like Uncle Max was her daddy. He cut her meat for her. In public. Really. She was charming and I could not imagine her kicking my grandmother out of her house. Nor could I see my grandmother not telling her off. Maybe she did and I just don't know that part of the story. She reminded me of a Troll Doll or as we called them Dam Dolls. Coroner and a Troll Doll. Creepy.
Day one in San Diego. The bridge table was already set. The grown ups were going to play bridge. The kids were going to do nothing. Great.
Uncle Max kept saying, "I think we can get in another rubber". I assumed that meant something I didn't want to know about or after a rubber we were going to DO something. We did. We had dinner. Little chickens as my dad called them. Cornish game hens. Why? That is a lot of work for very little food. Stupid. I was bored to death.
Day two. Bridge. All day. I wanted to go to L.A. I began to complain to either parent when I could catch one alone. Mom was starting to cave. She didn't love bridge like my dad. "We will do something fun tomorrow". Thank heaven. L.A. tomorrow. That's all there was to do that was fun.
NO. Sea World. This was when they had an aquarium and Shamu. Then Point Loama Light House. Right on the coast. Beautiful. "Who wants to climb the stairs to the top of the lighthouse?" Dad, Max, Brother, Me. I was having some fun at last. Then we got closer to the top of the light house on the spiral stairs that circled up the inside of the structure. The risers are steep and the treads short when you get to the top. Then you step out and see the Pacific Ocean at your feet. Rolling toward you. You can't see the ground, just the rolling ocean.
I learned about vertigo. I had it. Plastered against the wall of the lighthouse I was going nowhere, ever. I couldn't move. Everything was spinning. The ocean waves made the entire earth seem like it was moving under me. GET ME DOWN! Dad and Max talked to me forever about just backing down to the first step. NO. CAN'T MOVE. REALLY. Dad finally sent Max with Brother and he said to me. "I can't leave you here. Turn around, hold the wall. Slowly step here. Just a few little steps and then we will be on the big steps and you can lean against the wall the entire way". I looked at Dad. He wasn't mad. He was worried. He could tell I was not being difficult. I was paralyzed.
He told me later, years later, that he had no idea my eyes could be so big or my face so pale. He was afraid I would faint and he would have to carry me down that staircase. Still can't do tall places unless I am surrounded by a building.
We were leaving San Diego the next day. We were going directly to L.A. then to Las Vegas! Finally fun and decadence. I couldn't wait.
There is just no end to disappointment sometimes.
The trip Grandmother Murphy flew to visit she had just been to San Diego on the train. She went to see Max and his "new" wife. This was news to me. Max had been married to Ruth for as long as I had heard of them. FAMILY SECRETS! Apparently Uncle Max had married a lovely woman in San Diego when he was still in the Navy. They had a baby girl who died shortly after her brith. The marriage didn't survive. Uncle Max married Ruth, many years older, more than 10 years older, and raised her two sons from her first husband, also dead. Grandmother called them and announced she was coming to visit.
Apparently one afternoon Grandmother called a cab to pick her up at Max's house. She was going to have a visit with Max's first wife. They had apparently stayed in touch and Grandmother really liked her. When the cab brought her back to Max's house grandmother's luggage was packed and on the front porch. Ruth kicked her out. Grandmother never wanted to see her again.
This should be fun! Wonder if we would get kicked out too. Don't mention the first wife....got it. We crossed the state line. We were in California! It looked like a desert. Where is the Pacific? Beaches? Cool cars and surf boards. "When we get to the coast, Linda. California is like every other state until you get to the edge of the continent." I muttered something under my breath. My dad gave me the look in the rear view mirror. I hated that. Getting a lecture from angry eyes in a mirror.
Dad always wanted me to straighten up, be quiet, stop talking, quit complaining, stop asking to change the radio station, etc. The days of the cow game were long gone. I wanted him to think of something FUN to do along the road. I wanted to stop at every single tourist trap. No, not going to happen. Miles, gotta get miles behind us. All through either New Mexico or Arizona or both were huge billboards, "THE THING...come see it". "Is it from outer space?" "Is it HUMAN?"
"Dad, can we stop and see the THING?". "No, takes too long to stop. It's just something silly anyway".
"Dad, can we stop at the next Stuckey's?". "No, too expensive, they don't have gas, no green stamps, don't need that candy and junk".
"Dad, can we see the grand canyon?" Eyes in the mirror, "do you even know where that is?" "No since I have never been anywhere but Calhoun and Brigham City." "It is in Arizona, we are in California." "Yes, but we were in Arizona".
"HUSH".
Whatever. I could out pout anyone. I pouted. California was ugly and stupid. We stopped at a service station. Still ugly. Not at all happy with dad. Then again I should be nice. I wanted my day in L.A. It was going to be the coolest day of my life!
By the time we got to Uncle Max and Aunt Ruth's I was the sweet, little daughter. Polite and nice and bored.
I wasn't sure what to expect. Uncle Max and Dad said hello. Max and mom obviously really liked each other. She thought of him as dad's little brother. I thought of him as a Coroner. Brother and I made some polite conversation then Uncle Max gave us sage advice. "Never ride on a motorcycle, that is really hard to clean up. We just call that goo". And, "never ride in the passenger seat in a VW bug. That is the crispy critter seat".
So far this was fun. Very vivid images. Goo and crispy critters. Lord, could I please have a relative in the FUN business? Someone who entertains children for a living or knows the Beatles?
Then there was Aunt Ruth. She was tiny. She couldn't have weighed 80 pounds. She looked pinched all the time. She acted like Uncle Max was her daddy. He cut her meat for her. In public. Really. She was charming and I could not imagine her kicking my grandmother out of her house. Nor could I see my grandmother not telling her off. Maybe she did and I just don't know that part of the story. She reminded me of a Troll Doll or as we called them Dam Dolls. Coroner and a Troll Doll. Creepy.
Day one in San Diego. The bridge table was already set. The grown ups were going to play bridge. The kids were going to do nothing. Great.
Uncle Max kept saying, "I think we can get in another rubber". I assumed that meant something I didn't want to know about or after a rubber we were going to DO something. We did. We had dinner. Little chickens as my dad called them. Cornish game hens. Why? That is a lot of work for very little food. Stupid. I was bored to death.
Day two. Bridge. All day. I wanted to go to L.A. I began to complain to either parent when I could catch one alone. Mom was starting to cave. She didn't love bridge like my dad. "We will do something fun tomorrow". Thank heaven. L.A. tomorrow. That's all there was to do that was fun.
NO. Sea World. This was when they had an aquarium and Shamu. Then Point Loama Light House. Right on the coast. Beautiful. "Who wants to climb the stairs to the top of the lighthouse?" Dad, Max, Brother, Me. I was having some fun at last. Then we got closer to the top of the light house on the spiral stairs that circled up the inside of the structure. The risers are steep and the treads short when you get to the top. Then you step out and see the Pacific Ocean at your feet. Rolling toward you. You can't see the ground, just the rolling ocean.
I learned about vertigo. I had it. Plastered against the wall of the lighthouse I was going nowhere, ever. I couldn't move. Everything was spinning. The ocean waves made the entire earth seem like it was moving under me. GET ME DOWN! Dad and Max talked to me forever about just backing down to the first step. NO. CAN'T MOVE. REALLY. Dad finally sent Max with Brother and he said to me. "I can't leave you here. Turn around, hold the wall. Slowly step here. Just a few little steps and then we will be on the big steps and you can lean against the wall the entire way". I looked at Dad. He wasn't mad. He was worried. He could tell I was not being difficult. I was paralyzed.
He told me later, years later, that he had no idea my eyes could be so big or my face so pale. He was afraid I would faint and he would have to carry me down that staircase. Still can't do tall places unless I am surrounded by a building.
We were leaving San Diego the next day. We were going directly to L.A. then to Las Vegas! Finally fun and decadence. I couldn't wait.
There is just no end to disappointment sometimes.
EARTHQUAKE IN D.C. never when you need one
Dear Creator of the Universe, Maker of Heaven and Earth, Spirit of all the Earth, Spirits of Saints and Loved Ones, Gods and Goddesses,
Why couldn't the earthquake hit D.C. when Congress was in session? It was the perfect time to make a statement from the universe that Congress needs to be shaken up. It isn't that I think I know better or more than you Deities but really, it would have been GREAT to see that building full of nay sayers and complainers shaking. Watching people who know what God wants trying to figure out what to do. OH, so disappointed.
I feel certain Bane-R would have cried. I mean first. I am sure many of them would cry thinking that their time had come. It would be like my favorite scene from Almost Famous when the band thinks they are not going to survive in the airplane and they confess their most personal secrets and sins. THEN the plane survives and oops, it is all out there. Every one knows everything. That changes things completely.
Can you see every representative pleading with God to forgive them for taking money for that and sleeping with them and lying about this and cheating on that? Then the earth settles and everything has been recorded on CSPAN. Oh, please. How did we not get this opportunity?
That entire Obama being Muslim or Christian could have been resolved at that moment. Was he calling for God or Allah? See, when you think you are dying RIGHT NOW, you don't have time to process anything. You just let it all out. Whatever that may be.
We have all had those slow motion moments when you know you are dead. That car coming straight at you, the plane plunging 1,000 feet in turbulence, slamming on the brakes when you realize you are the only one moving and those little red lights are brake lights. Those moments where your heart leaps to your throat and everything is S L O W and nano-seconds become an eternity. I would have so loved to see our leaders then. We would have known who is really a leader, who is a crier and who is a bed wetter.
Driving through the Metroplex or as I call it, "the drivers test from hell", I had a, "what is that in the road?", moment a while back. No room to move, no lane open. Suddenly I could see what "it" was. "It" was a rack off of a pick up that carries ladders. Big, square, metal and pointy. That 15 seconds lasted forever. A man in a big van next to me realized at the same time what "it" was and that I was going to be skewered. He pulled to the shoulder and gave me enough room to live. Thank you, sir. I, by the way, am a screamer not a crier or bed wetter. I was most assuredly begging God for many things very loudly. I was sorry for every single thing and really pissed at the same time.
Divine Ones, next time could the timing be just a little better? Please? I don't often beg, however, I do make exceptions. I will give up chocolate for a year, (not the hot, drinkable kind, the eating, yummy kind), if we could please have another 6.0 in D.C. while Congress is there in the building, holding the nation hostage about something. I don't want to see anyone hurt or anything just scared straight to the truth. OH, a citizen's _ _ _ dream.
Do consider the above request, please?
Lillybell Blues
Why couldn't the earthquake hit D.C. when Congress was in session? It was the perfect time to make a statement from the universe that Congress needs to be shaken up. It isn't that I think I know better or more than you Deities but really, it would have been GREAT to see that building full of nay sayers and complainers shaking. Watching people who know what God wants trying to figure out what to do. OH, so disappointed.
I feel certain Bane-R would have cried. I mean first. I am sure many of them would cry thinking that their time had come. It would be like my favorite scene from Almost Famous when the band thinks they are not going to survive in the airplane and they confess their most personal secrets and sins. THEN the plane survives and oops, it is all out there. Every one knows everything. That changes things completely.
Can you see every representative pleading with God to forgive them for taking money for that and sleeping with them and lying about this and cheating on that? Then the earth settles and everything has been recorded on CSPAN. Oh, please. How did we not get this opportunity?
That entire Obama being Muslim or Christian could have been resolved at that moment. Was he calling for God or Allah? See, when you think you are dying RIGHT NOW, you don't have time to process anything. You just let it all out. Whatever that may be.
We have all had those slow motion moments when you know you are dead. That car coming straight at you, the plane plunging 1,000 feet in turbulence, slamming on the brakes when you realize you are the only one moving and those little red lights are brake lights. Those moments where your heart leaps to your throat and everything is S L O W and nano-seconds become an eternity. I would have so loved to see our leaders then. We would have known who is really a leader, who is a crier and who is a bed wetter.
Driving through the Metroplex or as I call it, "the drivers test from hell", I had a, "what is that in the road?", moment a while back. No room to move, no lane open. Suddenly I could see what "it" was. "It" was a rack off of a pick up that carries ladders. Big, square, metal and pointy. That 15 seconds lasted forever. A man in a big van next to me realized at the same time what "it" was and that I was going to be skewered. He pulled to the shoulder and gave me enough room to live. Thank you, sir. I, by the way, am a screamer not a crier or bed wetter. I was most assuredly begging God for many things very loudly. I was sorry for every single thing and really pissed at the same time.
Divine Ones, next time could the timing be just a little better? Please? I don't often beg, however, I do make exceptions. I will give up chocolate for a year, (not the hot, drinkable kind, the eating, yummy kind), if we could please have another 6.0 in D.C. while Congress is there in the building, holding the nation hostage about something. I don't want to see anyone hurt or anything just scared straight to the truth. OH, a citizen's _ _ _ dream.
Do consider the above request, please?
Lillybell Blues
Monday, August 22, 2011
I'll Have Another Beer and A 3X Mirror
This one's for you, Shaneequa!
When I posted "John Travolta Is Fat" my friend commented that I should write a piece about men who don't have mirrors. I thought about it and gave her a call.
"I don't understand", I said, "I've known men who could only be pulled away from their own reflection by a naked woman carrying a platter of freshly grilled meat". She explained her perspective which I must say was brilliant. "No," she said, "you know, men that look like the butt end of a camel who think they need to date Barbie?" "Oh, now I see. Give some time to contemplate this subject."
And contemplate I did. I blame alcohol for this phenomenon.
I saw a single panel cartoon that was a drawing of a bar with a sign outside, "Happy hour 3-5. Pontificating hour 5-8." read the caption. If you have ever spent several hours in a bar you know truer words were never written. However, I would add "Thinking You're a Stud Hour 8-12", "I Can't See You Anyway, Let's Go To My Place Hour, 12-2".
I have a unique view of bars. I have spent hundreds of hours in bars and yet I don't drink much. Two cocktails and I am witty. Three cocktails and I am spinning. Four cocktails and I am vomiting. Not fun for me or the other patrons in the bar. I spent years singing in bars with a view of patrons as they went from sober, to tipsy to linking arms and singing "Love the One You're With". I have seen drunk women slither down the bar on their bellies. I have seen drunk men applaud this behavior and fall down from laughing at the show.
My biggest exposure to bars comes from being an alcoholic target. I have dated and married men who thought if you did not spend several hours in your corner pub every day you are missing out on the true meaning of life. So, yay, I would sit at the bar, have my two drinks and observe the regulars. In one particular local watering hole the "gentlemen" regulars would sit on one side of the bar and comment on every female that walked in. "I'd hit that", said the man whose girth makes it appear as if he has velociraptor arms about a 22 year old Barbie. "Cankles" said the regular with four teeth on the next stool about Barbie's frirend, Heavier Barbie. "Skanky" said yet a third man with what might have been a moustache but I think it was nose hair, "I don't do fat". They all nod in agreement. "I don't do ugly either less I'm desperate". Oh that's funny. They laughed and laughed.
I saw one of the regulars talking several times with an attractive older woman. They would talk just between themselves and giggle a bit. He would always walk her to her car and then return. I asked him one evening, "Is Mature Barbie your girlfriend?" Swallowing his 27th beer he looked at me horrified. "She's old!", he said emphatically. "Excuse me", I said, "I just thought I picked up some chemistry but maybe my lack of estrogen has my radar off". "I don't date women older than 42". This dude must have been sixty.
My theory is that the distilling process of alcohol creates a chemical that interacts with testosterone and inflates the male ego. After several drinks this interaction causes the male ego to become so huge that the male sees himself as Brad Pitt or George Clooney. Or even Justin Beiber for that matter. This syndrome can only be cured by sobriety and you know that ain't happening.
Here is my proposal. Men should receive a mirror with every third drink. The more he drinks the higher the magnification of the mirror. Three drinks, 1X, six drinks 2X, nine drinks 3X, etc. This way, Barbie, when an old geezer is annoying you in a bar you can just pick up his mirror and shame him.
I know what you regulars are thinking, "bitch". No, honey, "Menopause Barbie", don't make me mad.
You're welcome,
Lillybellblues
When I posted "John Travolta Is Fat" my friend commented that I should write a piece about men who don't have mirrors. I thought about it and gave her a call.
"I don't understand", I said, "I've known men who could only be pulled away from their own reflection by a naked woman carrying a platter of freshly grilled meat". She explained her perspective which I must say was brilliant. "No," she said, "you know, men that look like the butt end of a camel who think they need to date Barbie?" "Oh, now I see. Give some time to contemplate this subject."
And contemplate I did. I blame alcohol for this phenomenon.
I saw a single panel cartoon that was a drawing of a bar with a sign outside, "Happy hour 3-5. Pontificating hour 5-8." read the caption. If you have ever spent several hours in a bar you know truer words were never written. However, I would add "Thinking You're a Stud Hour 8-12", "I Can't See You Anyway, Let's Go To My Place Hour, 12-2".
I have a unique view of bars. I have spent hundreds of hours in bars and yet I don't drink much. Two cocktails and I am witty. Three cocktails and I am spinning. Four cocktails and I am vomiting. Not fun for me or the other patrons in the bar. I spent years singing in bars with a view of patrons as they went from sober, to tipsy to linking arms and singing "Love the One You're With". I have seen drunk women slither down the bar on their bellies. I have seen drunk men applaud this behavior and fall down from laughing at the show.
My biggest exposure to bars comes from being an alcoholic target. I have dated and married men who thought if you did not spend several hours in your corner pub every day you are missing out on the true meaning of life. So, yay, I would sit at the bar, have my two drinks and observe the regulars. In one particular local watering hole the "gentlemen" regulars would sit on one side of the bar and comment on every female that walked in. "I'd hit that", said the man whose girth makes it appear as if he has velociraptor arms about a 22 year old Barbie. "Cankles" said the regular with four teeth on the next stool about Barbie's frirend, Heavier Barbie. "Skanky" said yet a third man with what might have been a moustache but I think it was nose hair, "I don't do fat". They all nod in agreement. "I don't do ugly either less I'm desperate". Oh that's funny. They laughed and laughed.
I saw one of the regulars talking several times with an attractive older woman. They would talk just between themselves and giggle a bit. He would always walk her to her car and then return. I asked him one evening, "Is Mature Barbie your girlfriend?" Swallowing his 27th beer he looked at me horrified. "She's old!", he said emphatically. "Excuse me", I said, "I just thought I picked up some chemistry but maybe my lack of estrogen has my radar off". "I don't date women older than 42". This dude must have been sixty.
My theory is that the distilling process of alcohol creates a chemical that interacts with testosterone and inflates the male ego. After several drinks this interaction causes the male ego to become so huge that the male sees himself as Brad Pitt or George Clooney. Or even Justin Beiber for that matter. This syndrome can only be cured by sobriety and you know that ain't happening.
Here is my proposal. Men should receive a mirror with every third drink. The more he drinks the higher the magnification of the mirror. Three drinks, 1X, six drinks 2X, nine drinks 3X, etc. This way, Barbie, when an old geezer is annoying you in a bar you can just pick up his mirror and shame him.
I know what you regulars are thinking, "bitch". No, honey, "Menopause Barbie", don't make me mad.
You're welcome,
Lillybellblues
Friday, August 19, 2011
DAYTIME TeeVee....THANK GOD FOR FOR ELLEN
January 31, 1993. The last official day I was on a payroll. Bye work, bye benefits, bye 5 weeks vacation. I was going to be a lady of leisure. I was going to be a housewife as soon as my fiance was beaten to death in court by his never gonna quit wife. Longest divorce ever. I was officially on 5 weeks vacation and I had all my 401K money. I was financially equipped, I just wasn't really sure what to do. Every one I knew worked. Hmm. What to do? Sleep late! Never happened. Read the paper. YES! Everyday. Nice. Watch the TODAY SHOW. Loved them. After that? I was lost.
Then I found Martha Stewart. I knew Martha already from some PBS specials but watching her make millions of dollars teaching people, mainly women, how to bake cookies, make beds with perfect corners, do laundry and create every craft project on earth was great. BRILLIANT! Martha was teaching the first generation of women raised in day care centers and feminists who wouldn't stoop to woman's work, how to do it! All of it. Basic cooking techniques to fancy, tres chic dinners. Cleaning, gardening, sewing, menu planning and table setting.
CRAFTS! Martha knew every trick in the book. Holidays. She had at least 5,823 projects for every single one. All you needed was a glue gun and a completely stocked craft room to complete any of her projects. They were beautiful. And her Halloween crafts...the best. Best ghosts ever.
She taught you how to organize. The woman has made billions by being your perfect mother. Or your annoying mother-in-law. And creating lines of every product you need in a house didn't hurt. Smart, smart cookie.
One day I was watching Martha. She was at the ship yard. She was going to cover everything you need to know about outfitting your yacht. I don't think that worrying about a yacht will ever be an issue for me. Now What?
The old standby Oprah. I, like most of America, think she is an amazing woman. I also think she lost her way a bit as she became the most powerful woman on earth. One day Oprah was airing a show about "my" musical, The Color Purple. Meet, "my", cast. Meet my "lighting people", Maybe not the lighting people, but Oprah made it quite clear, this was "MY" production. Wonder what was Alice Walker was thinking? Can't see anyone taking claim for "my" Romeo and Juliet.
Then Oprah had the gurus of everything. Love, money, diets, exercise, medical doctor, whatever Dr. Phil is other than obnoxious. I got rather sick of Oprah. Still admire her greatly but I feel she bowed out when she should have. (My Fox New friends assure me she left her show because Obama embarrassed her and ruined her ratings. Fair and balanced....right, far right). Oprah left because she has more money than some countries and can do whatever she wants.
I was an ABC soap fan when I was younger. All My Children, One Life To Live, General Hospital. I had grown into adulthood with Erica Kane. Then other ABC fans of different soaps insisted the other two were better. I taped all of them on VHS tapes during the work week and spent Saturday mornings fast forwarding through the tapes to get the important plot twists. Most of soap opera dialogue is bringing the audience up to date on the action. example:
Karma: you mean Steven still does not know that his baby was stolen from the hospital by Evan?
Casher: No, Karma, the whole town has decided to keep the secret. We replaced the baby with another one conveniently left on the doorstop of the witch who lives outside of town. A stranger just left it on the doorstep.
Karma: The witch who is really Venus' mother and just lives as a witch hoping that she can set Venus' spirit free?
Casher: Yes. Since Venus was thrown off that bridge by her alternate personality and the body never recovered, she just hasn't been the same multi-millionaire business magnate. She lives anonymously as a witch. But a kind, good witch. Although the police think she killed those two kids.
OK, the only scenes you really need to watch are: Any scene where any character/characters get in a car. There will be an accident. If a character turns on a TV in the scene, there is breaking news effecting the entire town. Any scene where the evil character is alone. Introduction of an entirely new character. If the new character immediately meets a regular character of the opposite sex and they hate each other, they will be getting married eventually. The only other important scenes are the obvious ones: the climax of whatever storyline, watching the bad guy get his/hers. When a main character is wrongfully incarcerated. The discovery of the unknown twin and when presumed dead people return from the dead.
Now Oprah is gone. The ABC soaps are cancelled except General Hospital for whatever reason. It is really boring. So, I decided I would watch AMC and OLTL to see how it all ends after 40 years. What do you do?
Since I don't follow closely I just get impressions. So far on AMC, there are two Ericas, Dead Dixie is back. Dead Greenlee is back. Crazy Janet is there somehow. I have seen dead Leo but I can't tell if he is a vision or really undead and Kendall's latest dead husband is back. WOW. If they bring back the ACTORS who actually are dead, I will freak.
On OLTL everyone with multiple personalities is being taken over by all their alters. There are 2 babies born of twin sisters who didn't know they were twins until they were adults. No one knows for sure who is the father of either baby. Dead Todd is back to haunt the second dead Todd. WOW. Dead Tea, or was she just gone? whatever, she's there and she doesn't know which Todd is which and neither does the other ex wife Blair and the bevy of children don't know which dad is dad. They, the Todds, are both killers and at least one of them a rapist but those kids love either one of them. Oh, and he is one of the richest men on the east coast from something. Well one of them is...I don't know.
SO, now what? The networks are planning some great new programs. There is, The Chew, I am not kidding, on ABC. The Today Show will probably be an 8 hour program soon. There are going to be make-over and interior design shows! And Dr. Oz will still talk about poop. Dr. Phil will still be on to be annoying. Other than that I think it is one long commercial. No there must be a Kardashian somewhere and maybe The Real Housewives of Muleshoe.
Then there is Ellen. The funniest woman, tied with Tina Fey, on earth. Thank heaven she will be on. That means, one hour of the now 4 hour Today Show. MUSIC ALL DAY, then Ellen. If Ellen doesn't make you laugh at least once during her show you have a sense of humor problem. Dr. Phil can fix that. Or Dr. Oz can make you poop.
Thanks daytime programming. You have finally bored me to death. Maybe I will finally get all those craft projects done, Martha.
LBB
Then I found Martha Stewart. I knew Martha already from some PBS specials but watching her make millions of dollars teaching people, mainly women, how to bake cookies, make beds with perfect corners, do laundry and create every craft project on earth was great. BRILLIANT! Martha was teaching the first generation of women raised in day care centers and feminists who wouldn't stoop to woman's work, how to do it! All of it. Basic cooking techniques to fancy, tres chic dinners. Cleaning, gardening, sewing, menu planning and table setting.
CRAFTS! Martha knew every trick in the book. Holidays. She had at least 5,823 projects for every single one. All you needed was a glue gun and a completely stocked craft room to complete any of her projects. They were beautiful. And her Halloween crafts...the best. Best ghosts ever.
She taught you how to organize. The woman has made billions by being your perfect mother. Or your annoying mother-in-law. And creating lines of every product you need in a house didn't hurt. Smart, smart cookie.
One day I was watching Martha. She was at the ship yard. She was going to cover everything you need to know about outfitting your yacht. I don't think that worrying about a yacht will ever be an issue for me. Now What?
The old standby Oprah. I, like most of America, think she is an amazing woman. I also think she lost her way a bit as she became the most powerful woman on earth. One day Oprah was airing a show about "my" musical, The Color Purple. Meet, "my", cast. Meet my "lighting people", Maybe not the lighting people, but Oprah made it quite clear, this was "MY" production. Wonder what was Alice Walker was thinking? Can't see anyone taking claim for "my" Romeo and Juliet.
Then Oprah had the gurus of everything. Love, money, diets, exercise, medical doctor, whatever Dr. Phil is other than obnoxious. I got rather sick of Oprah. Still admire her greatly but I feel she bowed out when she should have. (My Fox New friends assure me she left her show because Obama embarrassed her and ruined her ratings. Fair and balanced....right, far right). Oprah left because she has more money than some countries and can do whatever she wants.
I was an ABC soap fan when I was younger. All My Children, One Life To Live, General Hospital. I had grown into adulthood with Erica Kane. Then other ABC fans of different soaps insisted the other two were better. I taped all of them on VHS tapes during the work week and spent Saturday mornings fast forwarding through the tapes to get the important plot twists. Most of soap opera dialogue is bringing the audience up to date on the action. example:
Karma: you mean Steven still does not know that his baby was stolen from the hospital by Evan?
Casher: No, Karma, the whole town has decided to keep the secret. We replaced the baby with another one conveniently left on the doorstop of the witch who lives outside of town. A stranger just left it on the doorstep.
Karma: The witch who is really Venus' mother and just lives as a witch hoping that she can set Venus' spirit free?
Casher: Yes. Since Venus was thrown off that bridge by her alternate personality and the body never recovered, she just hasn't been the same multi-millionaire business magnate. She lives anonymously as a witch. But a kind, good witch. Although the police think she killed those two kids.
OK, the only scenes you really need to watch are: Any scene where any character/characters get in a car. There will be an accident. If a character turns on a TV in the scene, there is breaking news effecting the entire town. Any scene where the evil character is alone. Introduction of an entirely new character. If the new character immediately meets a regular character of the opposite sex and they hate each other, they will be getting married eventually. The only other important scenes are the obvious ones: the climax of whatever storyline, watching the bad guy get his/hers. When a main character is wrongfully incarcerated. The discovery of the unknown twin and when presumed dead people return from the dead.
Now Oprah is gone. The ABC soaps are cancelled except General Hospital for whatever reason. It is really boring. So, I decided I would watch AMC and OLTL to see how it all ends after 40 years. What do you do?
Since I don't follow closely I just get impressions. So far on AMC, there are two Ericas, Dead Dixie is back. Dead Greenlee is back. Crazy Janet is there somehow. I have seen dead Leo but I can't tell if he is a vision or really undead and Kendall's latest dead husband is back. WOW. If they bring back the ACTORS who actually are dead, I will freak.
On OLTL everyone with multiple personalities is being taken over by all their alters. There are 2 babies born of twin sisters who didn't know they were twins until they were adults. No one knows for sure who is the father of either baby. Dead Todd is back to haunt the second dead Todd. WOW. Dead Tea, or was she just gone? whatever, she's there and she doesn't know which Todd is which and neither does the other ex wife Blair and the bevy of children don't know which dad is dad. They, the Todds, are both killers and at least one of them a rapist but those kids love either one of them. Oh, and he is one of the richest men on the east coast from something. Well one of them is...I don't know.
SO, now what? The networks are planning some great new programs. There is, The Chew, I am not kidding, on ABC. The Today Show will probably be an 8 hour program soon. There are going to be make-over and interior design shows! And Dr. Oz will still talk about poop. Dr. Phil will still be on to be annoying. Other than that I think it is one long commercial. No there must be a Kardashian somewhere and maybe The Real Housewives of Muleshoe.
Then there is Ellen. The funniest woman, tied with Tina Fey, on earth. Thank heaven she will be on. That means, one hour of the now 4 hour Today Show. MUSIC ALL DAY, then Ellen. If Ellen doesn't make you laugh at least once during her show you have a sense of humor problem. Dr. Phil can fix that. Or Dr. Oz can make you poop.
Thanks daytime programming. You have finally bored me to death. Maybe I will finally get all those craft projects done, Martha.
LBB
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A PEEK INTO THE FUTURE
This is pissed off. Please do not read unless you appreciate sarcasm wrapped in snarky, dripping with venom.
I started having an interest in politics when JFK was president. We had a defined enemy. THE COMMIE. They were everywhere and they were coming to make us be Commies too and poison our minds. OR nuke us to oblivion. This was a "simple time" in America. Except for the rampant racism, blacks being degraded and referred to as niggers. Sorry, still hate that word. Women were housewives and mommies and had no opinions. They were there to dress the set and raise the kids. Be nice, be polite, respect your man, respect your elders. Be pretty....do it now. Be smart but not too smart, you don't want to intimidate your man. Smile, you look much prettier when you smile.
I met a man when I was an impressionable girl. He loved Bobby Kennedy. Bobby was already gone by the time I met this man. We spent hours talking about Bobby's vision. How he would have saved the country. How we, the younger generation, had to make ourselves heard. We didn't want to die in Viet Nam. We didn't want to do what the government said because they were wrong. He was the most articulate human I ever met. Mesmerizing. Left wing almost to radical.
Thirty five years later I had a conversation with him. He had worked on the Bob Dole campaign. He thought W. was brilliant, "a very smart man". Ronald Reagan was his HERO. I heard Bobby Kennedy roll in his grave. WHAT? How much Kool-Aid had this dude had? How did this happen? FOX NEWS!
Then I realized it was happening to everyone. From Peace and Love to I HATE MEXICANS AND NIGGERS! What? What is this "new" movement? The Tea Party! No, people this is the Klan and every nasty prejudice my parent's generation ever had. It all comes from FOX NEWS. I swear they have something subliminal in their broadcasts that makes people puppets to their "fair and balanced" right wing rhetoric ala Rupert Murdock.
AMERICAN RULE UNDER THE TEA PARTY
Woman president, pretty of course, good Christian. Meaning evangelical. Against women's rights even though she is president. She wants your uterus to be just like hers. Congress mostly GOP but a few dems to have someone to blame things on. This will be accomplished by the GOP drawing every district to resemble what we have in Texas. Every single minority in 3 districts. Close enough. President Tea will immediately insult have the world by explaining to them they need to except Jesus Christ as their saviour or they will roast for all eternity in hell. Then we will all pray.
All naked artwork in the country will be covered in some way. Either clothing painted on OR some type of drape to hid the naughty parts. All performance art will have to be approved by the Committee for Good Taste. After approval, everyone will pray.
We will have to burn some books. OK, most of them. Not the Bible. It will be the school text book. If it isn't in there, we don't need to know it. All evidence of Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon man, dinosaurs, etc. will be destroyed because that would be confusing. No questions about evolution will be answered. Everyone pray.
There will be no Hispanics. Instead of trying to figure out who is legal and who isn't all brown skinned people will be bussed to the border, the southern one. A huge fence patroled 24/7 by the military will already be in place. Citizens will all be issued weapons, just in case. Everyone rejoice!
White people will get the best jobs. We have forgotten all about Manifest Destiny. We Anglo Saxons are better than everyone. Why? Because we said so. Sorry, it was in the history books until we burned them. OH, in that Old Testament where God says the Jews are His chosen people, he meant until the birth of Jesus, so....you Hebrews might want to consider changing cause we would hate to burn your synagogues and those Torahs, but we will. Why? Because we are white people. Pure as the driven snow. Amen!
Without Hispanics here the black people can have all the jobs involving manual labor and being subservient! Whew, finally, just like pre civil war times when we white people were so happy. Gosh, I hope they sing in the fields...I always thought those songs were beautiful. Lemonade will always be served on the veranda by a large black woman happy to be called Mammy. Thank you, God, all rightfully returned to their place.
What to do with the Asians now that all the railroads are built? NAILS! We all can have a personal manicurist! Well, white people of course. No point in having nice nails to do manual labor. That's a waste.
Tobacco, outta here. Ew, it smells and it might kill someone else. Not like a gun, when you shoot someone they deserve it. Double Amen!
Drinking. YES. For the men, all you want! Feel free to grope all the women while you are drunk cause that is a great excuse. Ladies...boys will be boys. They are going to hump anything with a vagina...they can't help it. Ya'll keep your knees together though unless you plan on a baby coming in 9 months. SEX is NOT fun for women unless they are of that ilk. Praise Jesus!
Gay people. We won't have those. Just make the right choice! We are blessed, Lord.
No ideas. That never works. Stop being progressive when this world is so perfect for white people with money? Dont' rock our boat. Free thought is gone. And God smiled.
Try not to whine about being sick or not having health care. That really brings us down. It is so sad to see those pictures of you covered in filth and flies and dying. Please, we have to eat. Die quietly and in a dark place. Especially you children, my heaven, that's so unpleasant. Jesus wept. He doesn't like seeing that either.
Please if you aren't, you know, right...far right, please, find somewhere else to live. Something more like what Jefferson had in mind. WHAT A SOCIALIST! Freedom and liberty, that is for white rich people. Pursuit of happiness is having the right God. Do it our way. The jails are sooooo full of subversives already!
Thanks,
The Tea Party
I started having an interest in politics when JFK was president. We had a defined enemy. THE COMMIE. They were everywhere and they were coming to make us be Commies too and poison our minds. OR nuke us to oblivion. This was a "simple time" in America. Except for the rampant racism, blacks being degraded and referred to as niggers. Sorry, still hate that word. Women were housewives and mommies and had no opinions. They were there to dress the set and raise the kids. Be nice, be polite, respect your man, respect your elders. Be pretty....do it now. Be smart but not too smart, you don't want to intimidate your man. Smile, you look much prettier when you smile.
I met a man when I was an impressionable girl. He loved Bobby Kennedy. Bobby was already gone by the time I met this man. We spent hours talking about Bobby's vision. How he would have saved the country. How we, the younger generation, had to make ourselves heard. We didn't want to die in Viet Nam. We didn't want to do what the government said because they were wrong. He was the most articulate human I ever met. Mesmerizing. Left wing almost to radical.
Thirty five years later I had a conversation with him. He had worked on the Bob Dole campaign. He thought W. was brilliant, "a very smart man". Ronald Reagan was his HERO. I heard Bobby Kennedy roll in his grave. WHAT? How much Kool-Aid had this dude had? How did this happen? FOX NEWS!
Then I realized it was happening to everyone. From Peace and Love to I HATE MEXICANS AND NIGGERS! What? What is this "new" movement? The Tea Party! No, people this is the Klan and every nasty prejudice my parent's generation ever had. It all comes from FOX NEWS. I swear they have something subliminal in their broadcasts that makes people puppets to their "fair and balanced" right wing rhetoric ala Rupert Murdock.
AMERICAN RULE UNDER THE TEA PARTY
Woman president, pretty of course, good Christian. Meaning evangelical. Against women's rights even though she is president. She wants your uterus to be just like hers. Congress mostly GOP but a few dems to have someone to blame things on. This will be accomplished by the GOP drawing every district to resemble what we have in Texas. Every single minority in 3 districts. Close enough. President Tea will immediately insult have the world by explaining to them they need to except Jesus Christ as their saviour or they will roast for all eternity in hell. Then we will all pray.
All naked artwork in the country will be covered in some way. Either clothing painted on OR some type of drape to hid the naughty parts. All performance art will have to be approved by the Committee for Good Taste. After approval, everyone will pray.
We will have to burn some books. OK, most of them. Not the Bible. It will be the school text book. If it isn't in there, we don't need to know it. All evidence of Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon man, dinosaurs, etc. will be destroyed because that would be confusing. No questions about evolution will be answered. Everyone pray.
There will be no Hispanics. Instead of trying to figure out who is legal and who isn't all brown skinned people will be bussed to the border, the southern one. A huge fence patroled 24/7 by the military will already be in place. Citizens will all be issued weapons, just in case. Everyone rejoice!
White people will get the best jobs. We have forgotten all about Manifest Destiny. We Anglo Saxons are better than everyone. Why? Because we said so. Sorry, it was in the history books until we burned them. OH, in that Old Testament where God says the Jews are His chosen people, he meant until the birth of Jesus, so....you Hebrews might want to consider changing cause we would hate to burn your synagogues and those Torahs, but we will. Why? Because we are white people. Pure as the driven snow. Amen!
Without Hispanics here the black people can have all the jobs involving manual labor and being subservient! Whew, finally, just like pre civil war times when we white people were so happy. Gosh, I hope they sing in the fields...I always thought those songs were beautiful. Lemonade will always be served on the veranda by a large black woman happy to be called Mammy. Thank you, God, all rightfully returned to their place.
What to do with the Asians now that all the railroads are built? NAILS! We all can have a personal manicurist! Well, white people of course. No point in having nice nails to do manual labor. That's a waste.
Tobacco, outta here. Ew, it smells and it might kill someone else. Not like a gun, when you shoot someone they deserve it. Double Amen!
Drinking. YES. For the men, all you want! Feel free to grope all the women while you are drunk cause that is a great excuse. Ladies...boys will be boys. They are going to hump anything with a vagina...they can't help it. Ya'll keep your knees together though unless you plan on a baby coming in 9 months. SEX is NOT fun for women unless they are of that ilk. Praise Jesus!
Gay people. We won't have those. Just make the right choice! We are blessed, Lord.
No ideas. That never works. Stop being progressive when this world is so perfect for white people with money? Dont' rock our boat. Free thought is gone. And God smiled.
Try not to whine about being sick or not having health care. That really brings us down. It is so sad to see those pictures of you covered in filth and flies and dying. Please, we have to eat. Die quietly and in a dark place. Especially you children, my heaven, that's so unpleasant. Jesus wept. He doesn't like seeing that either.
Please if you aren't, you know, right...far right, please, find somewhere else to live. Something more like what Jefferson had in mind. WHAT A SOCIALIST! Freedom and liberty, that is for white rich people. Pursuit of happiness is having the right God. Do it our way. The jails are sooooo full of subversives already!
Thanks,
The Tea Party
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
CALIFORNIA! Finally
I remember a few trips back to Calhoun while Gramma was sick. Mother went by herself once or twice. I remember seeing her in the hospital. I so wish I hadn't. My first experience with losing a loved one was not pleasant. She was shrunken. Almost skin and veins, not much hair. I couldn't equate that body with Miss Forrest. It had none of her dignity. I missed her and she wasn't even gone yet.
Soon though, we got the call from Uncle Ham. Those middle of the night calls, you know it is bad. "Snooks", he said when mom answered the phone, "your mama is gone. You need to get home. I will meet you at the train or you and Murph find a flight and I will pick you up. Snooks, we lost her. What will we do?"
It was decided that brother and I would not go to the funeral. I don't think mother could handle death and children. I wish now I had been there. Seen that little church full of people who loved her. But it was not to be. I worried about Grand dad. I couldn't even picture him alone in Gramma's house.
I didn't know then that widowers in a small town are the most popular people on earth.
The next big vacation just for fun was going to include CALIFORNIA. Southern California. San Diego to be exact. That is close to L.A., Hollywood and Disneyland. Oh yes, the dream vacation!
My dad's youngest brother lived in San Diego. He was the County Coroner. Yeah, my family and dead people. Weird, isn't it? The plan was to drive to Tucson and spend the night with my mother's college roommate and her family on their ranch. YUCK. This must have been day two of the trip. Although my dad was always mileage obsessed I don't think he would drive all the way to Tuscon in one day.
However, day two I started my whine about NOT wanting to have to hang out with mom and dad's friends on a stupid ranch. We were going to have dinner there. I was convinced dinner would be nothing but foods I hated, that was most things. That the ranch would be lame and stupid and what kind of name is Lefty anyway. That was Betty's husband's name, Lefty. I was thinking mobster or killer. Dad said basically, "shut up. This is what we are doing."
We got to Tucson and had to find a pay phone, call Betty and Lefty, tell them we were there and get directions to the ranch. Mercy, this was going to be some tin lean to in the desert that they call a ranch because they have a cow. We got directions to where they would meet us and lead us to their ranch. They were obviously killers, luring us out to the desert so we would never be found. Thank God our house was really clean. I couldn't believe my mother was not freaking out. She was excited.
We met Betty and Lefty at some fork in the road. We followed them forever through scrub brush and huge rocks that rose from the desert floor. Buzzards circled in the sky, the only sign of life and, of course, death. Yeah, this was going to be so boring and nasty.
Finally, we got to a gate. A very large gate. It had some words in Spanish Across the top in scrolled metal. WOW. Then we were on the driveway. A mile or so to the house. All I saw was a huge freestanding rock. Then I realized the house was there on the rock. Built up on brick arches. HUGE windows faced three directions. The house was amazing and HUGE. I was now a bit more interested in being in this palace.
We parked the car and walked up lots of steps. Then in the door. Seems like there were more steps and then THE ROOM. I had never seen anything like it. It was huge, I can't even describe how big. It was the living area. The kitchen was in the middle of the space. There were cabinets on the floor and an awning like effect over the kitchen to define it but not obstruct the view. The view went on forever. All glass, floor to ceiling on three sides. The interior wall was the rock. Carved, wired, lighted, full of books, television, stereo, stuff. It was unbelievable.
There were seating areas, like a lobby. Soft overstuffed everything. It was like something from a movie. Design like you dream about but can't imagine standing in. WHOA, I was blown away. I wanted to be adopted. There was some polite adult conversation. I think mom and dad were trying not to look stunned. I couldn't help myself. I had my mouth open every time I moved my eyes. These guys were rich. Filthy, stinking, rolling in it rich. Had to be. Lefty. Whatever, I didn't care if we were slaughtered and buried at this point.
Betty asked if we wanted a tour of the house. DUH. They had twin sons who were spending the night out on the ranch with the hands. OK. Brother and I could share their room and bath. WHAT? They have their own attached bath. So moving in. Or we could sleep on one of the sofas. Can we do both?
Fabulous guest room and bath for mom and dad. The rock making the interior wall. Then the master bedroom and bath. The bedroom was bigger than any bedroom I could imagine. Huge furniture, huge wardrobes, no closets. It was wow. The windows, no curtains in the house at all, had a view of earth.
The master bathroom had a huge sunken tub. The rock came into the tub and a waterfall trickled down the rock and operated with a faucet.....oh, please, don't you want a daughter? Also in the bathroom, one of Al Capone's slot machines from Chicago in the 20s. Uh huh. Mafia Princess. I could do that, maybe. Maybe Lefty was just a mafia book keeper. Not a killer or order-er of hits.
Dinner time. I was right about that. Yucky meatloaf and spinach and thank heaven potatoes. Dessert filled me up, no problem. At dusk we all went out to sit on the narrow deck that faced west to watch the sunset. OK, I can do that. The we each got a bowl of peanuts in the shell. The cats were coming. CATS? Pumas? Bobcats? NO. Ring tail cats is what they called them. I have no idea what they were but they looked like lemurs. They would parade on the railing of the deck and pause. Take a peanut then move on. There were families of them. That was all we needed for entertainment. That and the stars. I had no idea there were that many stars in all the galaxy much less just right there, on this fabulous ranch. In a palace. This was my idea of outdoor living.
Brother and I slept on sofas, at least I did. I have no idea what he did really. I looked at the stars until I couldn't keep my eyes open. We were leaving early in the morning.
Next stop San Diego. OH, I had talked and talked about all the things I wanted to see and do in CALIFORNIA! All in and around L.A. My mom and dad were very non committal. I was expecting a real tour of all things cool and Hollywood and Disneyland related. San Diego, that was probably OK, but the action was in L.A. I was going there.
First I had to meet Aunt Ruth and Uncle Max. They had not been to a Murphy family reunion when I was there that I remembered. Maybe Max once, but I don't really know. They were strangers to me. He, being a coroner, I expected to be a little creepy. She was not welcome by my Grandmother Murphy in Utah. This should be interesting.
Interesting doesn't even come close.
Soon though, we got the call from Uncle Ham. Those middle of the night calls, you know it is bad. "Snooks", he said when mom answered the phone, "your mama is gone. You need to get home. I will meet you at the train or you and Murph find a flight and I will pick you up. Snooks, we lost her. What will we do?"
It was decided that brother and I would not go to the funeral. I don't think mother could handle death and children. I wish now I had been there. Seen that little church full of people who loved her. But it was not to be. I worried about Grand dad. I couldn't even picture him alone in Gramma's house.
I didn't know then that widowers in a small town are the most popular people on earth.
The next big vacation just for fun was going to include CALIFORNIA. Southern California. San Diego to be exact. That is close to L.A., Hollywood and Disneyland. Oh yes, the dream vacation!
My dad's youngest brother lived in San Diego. He was the County Coroner. Yeah, my family and dead people. Weird, isn't it? The plan was to drive to Tucson and spend the night with my mother's college roommate and her family on their ranch. YUCK. This must have been day two of the trip. Although my dad was always mileage obsessed I don't think he would drive all the way to Tuscon in one day.
However, day two I started my whine about NOT wanting to have to hang out with mom and dad's friends on a stupid ranch. We were going to have dinner there. I was convinced dinner would be nothing but foods I hated, that was most things. That the ranch would be lame and stupid and what kind of name is Lefty anyway. That was Betty's husband's name, Lefty. I was thinking mobster or killer. Dad said basically, "shut up. This is what we are doing."
We got to Tucson and had to find a pay phone, call Betty and Lefty, tell them we were there and get directions to the ranch. Mercy, this was going to be some tin lean to in the desert that they call a ranch because they have a cow. We got directions to where they would meet us and lead us to their ranch. They were obviously killers, luring us out to the desert so we would never be found. Thank God our house was really clean. I couldn't believe my mother was not freaking out. She was excited.
We met Betty and Lefty at some fork in the road. We followed them forever through scrub brush and huge rocks that rose from the desert floor. Buzzards circled in the sky, the only sign of life and, of course, death. Yeah, this was going to be so boring and nasty.
Finally, we got to a gate. A very large gate. It had some words in Spanish Across the top in scrolled metal. WOW. Then we were on the driveway. A mile or so to the house. All I saw was a huge freestanding rock. Then I realized the house was there on the rock. Built up on brick arches. HUGE windows faced three directions. The house was amazing and HUGE. I was now a bit more interested in being in this palace.
We parked the car and walked up lots of steps. Then in the door. Seems like there were more steps and then THE ROOM. I had never seen anything like it. It was huge, I can't even describe how big. It was the living area. The kitchen was in the middle of the space. There were cabinets on the floor and an awning like effect over the kitchen to define it but not obstruct the view. The view went on forever. All glass, floor to ceiling on three sides. The interior wall was the rock. Carved, wired, lighted, full of books, television, stereo, stuff. It was unbelievable.
There were seating areas, like a lobby. Soft overstuffed everything. It was like something from a movie. Design like you dream about but can't imagine standing in. WHOA, I was blown away. I wanted to be adopted. There was some polite adult conversation. I think mom and dad were trying not to look stunned. I couldn't help myself. I had my mouth open every time I moved my eyes. These guys were rich. Filthy, stinking, rolling in it rich. Had to be. Lefty. Whatever, I didn't care if we were slaughtered and buried at this point.
Betty asked if we wanted a tour of the house. DUH. They had twin sons who were spending the night out on the ranch with the hands. OK. Brother and I could share their room and bath. WHAT? They have their own attached bath. So moving in. Or we could sleep on one of the sofas. Can we do both?
Fabulous guest room and bath for mom and dad. The rock making the interior wall. Then the master bedroom and bath. The bedroom was bigger than any bedroom I could imagine. Huge furniture, huge wardrobes, no closets. It was wow. The windows, no curtains in the house at all, had a view of earth.
The master bathroom had a huge sunken tub. The rock came into the tub and a waterfall trickled down the rock and operated with a faucet.....oh, please, don't you want a daughter? Also in the bathroom, one of Al Capone's slot machines from Chicago in the 20s. Uh huh. Mafia Princess. I could do that, maybe. Maybe Lefty was just a mafia book keeper. Not a killer or order-er of hits.
Dinner time. I was right about that. Yucky meatloaf and spinach and thank heaven potatoes. Dessert filled me up, no problem. At dusk we all went out to sit on the narrow deck that faced west to watch the sunset. OK, I can do that. The we each got a bowl of peanuts in the shell. The cats were coming. CATS? Pumas? Bobcats? NO. Ring tail cats is what they called them. I have no idea what they were but they looked like lemurs. They would parade on the railing of the deck and pause. Take a peanut then move on. There were families of them. That was all we needed for entertainment. That and the stars. I had no idea there were that many stars in all the galaxy much less just right there, on this fabulous ranch. In a palace. This was my idea of outdoor living.
Brother and I slept on sofas, at least I did. I have no idea what he did really. I looked at the stars until I couldn't keep my eyes open. We were leaving early in the morning.
Next stop San Diego. OH, I had talked and talked about all the things I wanted to see and do in CALIFORNIA! All in and around L.A. My mom and dad were very non committal. I was expecting a real tour of all things cool and Hollywood and Disneyland related. San Diego, that was probably OK, but the action was in L.A. I was going there.
First I had to meet Aunt Ruth and Uncle Max. They had not been to a Murphy family reunion when I was there that I remembered. Maybe Max once, but I don't really know. They were strangers to me. He, being a coroner, I expected to be a little creepy. She was not welcome by my Grandmother Murphy in Utah. This should be interesting.
Interesting doesn't even come close.
Monday, August 15, 2011
STUPIDITY NEVER RESTS part 2
Where to begin. OK, let's get this out of the way. I know I have written about this before but why is network TV determined to develop programming about when men were men and women were stupid? Hi, welcome to the Playboy Club. What? Do they still even have those anywhere? Let's see, all the women will be stunningly beautiful, almost naked, some will have that heart of gold which makes up for the lack of brain. There will be the real smart, unbelievably gorgeous girl who is a Bunny to get her degree in molecular biology. There will be the man that sleeps with all the Bunnies. There will be the Bunny who really loves him. Yeah, speaking as a woman. I will be watching something else.
Not to be outdone ABC has developed a program called PANAM about Stewardesses! OH GOODIE. I can only imagine this gem. "Pillow fight in Brussels, girls?" "Can't wait", giggle. Pilots being macho, macho men. Girls being so happy to get that flight with the cute pilot! Deep. Maybe one of the girls will save a baby on a flight. Bet it happens.
Viagra, Cialis, whatever penis drug. Thank you so much. Nothing like dinner with a reminder in the background that men can take a pill to get it up. Is there anyone in the world who does not know this? Is it necessary every dinner time to remind America that a look, a special touch can turn into something? I want to see one of these commercials from a woman's perspective.
Woman: Tonight at dinner I accidentally touched my husband's hand. I didn't mean to. That old coot ran immediately to the medicine cabinet to take that damn pill. Really? Again? We have been married 47 years. FINALLY didn't have to put up with his clumsy love making and semi hard hoo hoo. NOW it's hard as a rock and he is still clumsy. Please can you manufacture a reverse pill? Have you seen my husband naked? He hasn't seen his penis in years and now he thinks it's a trophy. HELP ME!!!
Politicians. Time to hear more B.S. in fourteen months than we have heard in four years. "I will change the tone in Washington". "I have a plan to restore jobs in America". "I will restore PRIDE in this nation". "I have more experience than anyone else". "I am for the common man". "No new taxes". "We must preserve our natural resources". "Going to balance the budget". "Going to work across the aisle". Yeah, none of that will happen. We will lick it up like cream though. I love that now the candidates will have million dollar, fortified buses to campaign in and so will the secret service. I feel certain these are gas guzzlers and we paid for them. YAY! Hope they are comfortable.
Cooking Contests on TeeVee. OK, stop it. The food network used to be an interesting and fun way to learn new recipes and things to cook. Techniques and use of implements like grills and pressure cookers, mandolins. Things you don't use every day. Now it is nothing but ridiculous contest. Cupcake Wars. Cake Wars. Grilling Wars. Sugar Design Wars. The Next Food Network Star Wars, (couldn't help it). Dinner Impossible. Throw Down with Bobby Flay. And the eat all the ________, in one sitting. STOP IT. Cook or shut up.
Make overs. Please. Why? What is the country's obsession with this? Before and After. OOOH, that is amazing! Trust me, if you go to a professional hair and make up artist you are going to look different. If someone gives you nice clothes, you will look different too. OOOH, not that big a deal. AND the next time I hear a "fashion consultant" say that "animal prints are in this year", I will find them and scratch their eyes out. Isn't that every year?
Designers on TV. All kinds of designers. Fashion. Home. Garden. Car. Motorcycle. Look, a beautiful ________in only 30 minutes. No. You can't even lay out everything you need in 30 minutes. Feathers look lovely in your hair. Birds don't think so. We trick your ride. Say what? Please leave my ride alone. We design and build bikes. We only know a few words though. Most of our dialogue is "bleep".
SURVIVING THE WILD. Drink your own urine or that of a friend if you are ever lost in a desert. NO, that is not going to be my first concern. SHADE, mofo, that will my concern. And a cell phone signal. Hi, somehow got lost in the desert on foot, can you come get me? How to ward off bears. Stay away from them? Just a guess.
Why aren't we all young and beautiful and thin? We should be. There are products on the market to take away everything. Wrinkles, gone. Split ends, gone. Pimples, gone. Gray hair, gone. Cellulite, gone. Pantie lines, gone. Rolls of fat, gone. Spanx for you from toes to ears. Squeeze it all in. Now men can have Spanx too. Varicose veins, gone. One million plans to lose weight along with "a sensible diet and exercise". DUH.
Smart water. Excuse me? Vitamin water. Say what? Tiny flavor packs to put in your water. DRINK THE WATER. Pretty much perfect on it's own. Flavorless, unless you have nasty water, hydrating, cold, it's really good for you all by itself. Smart water. Is the water smart? Does it make you smart? Is that not defeated when you pay more for the water to be smart? Smart Water. Stupid Drinker. So don't get that.
Razor blades. How many blades does it take to get a close shave? First is was one, then two. Then three that vibrate. Soon we will have razors with 17 blades that spin and dance the lambada on your face. Shaving cream. Cream for men, cream for women. Isn't all the same stuff, different can? Reminds of the 70s when men coiffed their hair and used hair spray just for men. WHAT? Hair is hair, spray is spray??? Was there testosterone in there?
Now it is hair color. Women have theirs. Men have color, Just For Men. Why? Same chemicals. Same application process. Isn't it really just hair color?
I feel certain Stupidity part 3 can't be far behind.
LBB
Not to be outdone ABC has developed a program called PANAM about Stewardesses! OH GOODIE. I can only imagine this gem. "Pillow fight in Brussels, girls?" "Can't wait", giggle. Pilots being macho, macho men. Girls being so happy to get that flight with the cute pilot! Deep. Maybe one of the girls will save a baby on a flight. Bet it happens.
Viagra, Cialis, whatever penis drug. Thank you so much. Nothing like dinner with a reminder in the background that men can take a pill to get it up. Is there anyone in the world who does not know this? Is it necessary every dinner time to remind America that a look, a special touch can turn into something? I want to see one of these commercials from a woman's perspective.
Woman: Tonight at dinner I accidentally touched my husband's hand. I didn't mean to. That old coot ran immediately to the medicine cabinet to take that damn pill. Really? Again? We have been married 47 years. FINALLY didn't have to put up with his clumsy love making and semi hard hoo hoo. NOW it's hard as a rock and he is still clumsy. Please can you manufacture a reverse pill? Have you seen my husband naked? He hasn't seen his penis in years and now he thinks it's a trophy. HELP ME!!!
Politicians. Time to hear more B.S. in fourteen months than we have heard in four years. "I will change the tone in Washington". "I have a plan to restore jobs in America". "I will restore PRIDE in this nation". "I have more experience than anyone else". "I am for the common man". "No new taxes". "We must preserve our natural resources". "Going to balance the budget". "Going to work across the aisle". Yeah, none of that will happen. We will lick it up like cream though. I love that now the candidates will have million dollar, fortified buses to campaign in and so will the secret service. I feel certain these are gas guzzlers and we paid for them. YAY! Hope they are comfortable.
Cooking Contests on TeeVee. OK, stop it. The food network used to be an interesting and fun way to learn new recipes and things to cook. Techniques and use of implements like grills and pressure cookers, mandolins. Things you don't use every day. Now it is nothing but ridiculous contest. Cupcake Wars. Cake Wars. Grilling Wars. Sugar Design Wars. The Next Food Network Star Wars, (couldn't help it). Dinner Impossible. Throw Down with Bobby Flay. And the eat all the ________, in one sitting. STOP IT. Cook or shut up.
Make overs. Please. Why? What is the country's obsession with this? Before and After. OOOH, that is amazing! Trust me, if you go to a professional hair and make up artist you are going to look different. If someone gives you nice clothes, you will look different too. OOOH, not that big a deal. AND the next time I hear a "fashion consultant" say that "animal prints are in this year", I will find them and scratch their eyes out. Isn't that every year?
Designers on TV. All kinds of designers. Fashion. Home. Garden. Car. Motorcycle. Look, a beautiful ________in only 30 minutes. No. You can't even lay out everything you need in 30 minutes. Feathers look lovely in your hair. Birds don't think so. We trick your ride. Say what? Please leave my ride alone. We design and build bikes. We only know a few words though. Most of our dialogue is "bleep".
SURVIVING THE WILD. Drink your own urine or that of a friend if you are ever lost in a desert. NO, that is not going to be my first concern. SHADE, mofo, that will my concern. And a cell phone signal. Hi, somehow got lost in the desert on foot, can you come get me? How to ward off bears. Stay away from them? Just a guess.
Why aren't we all young and beautiful and thin? We should be. There are products on the market to take away everything. Wrinkles, gone. Split ends, gone. Pimples, gone. Gray hair, gone. Cellulite, gone. Pantie lines, gone. Rolls of fat, gone. Spanx for you from toes to ears. Squeeze it all in. Now men can have Spanx too. Varicose veins, gone. One million plans to lose weight along with "a sensible diet and exercise". DUH.
Smart water. Excuse me? Vitamin water. Say what? Tiny flavor packs to put in your water. DRINK THE WATER. Pretty much perfect on it's own. Flavorless, unless you have nasty water, hydrating, cold, it's really good for you all by itself. Smart water. Is the water smart? Does it make you smart? Is that not defeated when you pay more for the water to be smart? Smart Water. Stupid Drinker. So don't get that.
Razor blades. How many blades does it take to get a close shave? First is was one, then two. Then three that vibrate. Soon we will have razors with 17 blades that spin and dance the lambada on your face. Shaving cream. Cream for men, cream for women. Isn't all the same stuff, different can? Reminds of the 70s when men coiffed their hair and used hair spray just for men. WHAT? Hair is hair, spray is spray??? Was there testosterone in there?
Now it is hair color. Women have theirs. Men have color, Just For Men. Why? Same chemicals. Same application process. Isn't it really just hair color?
I feel certain Stupidity part 3 can't be far behind.
LBB
PRESENTS, FINALLY!
I didn't think Gramma would ever finish cooking breakfast. Who had breakfast on Christmas morning anyway? It had obviously some time since the Leachman's had young children around on Christmas morning.
We sat in the dinning room rushing through breakfast. I was rushing everyone else was lolly gagging. HURRY. Santa has been here, the tree is just on the other side of that door. The swinging french door with the sheer panel curtain on it. I could make out stuff under the tree but not enough to make out what was what. No Patty Playpal. I could tell that. She was huge, almost my size. Pretty sure I would see a box that big. This was Christmas though. My parents never disappointed men on Christmas. Mother always said I would be happy with an empty box if it was wrapped. True.
Finally, we were allowed in to the sitting room with the tree. Gramma suggested brother and I check the mantel in the parlor. There were stockings there! We didn't have stockings at home. We got paper sacks on Christmas Eve that we could color and write messages to Santa on. Christmas morning our sacks were full of candy. YAY! No toys or cool stuff, candy.
I couldn't believe it! Santa brought us stocking full of stuff. An orange in the toe. Delicious beautifully wrapped special chocolates, better than yeast. Little toys and do dads. It was the most amazing moment. SANTA IS REAL!
To the tree! There she was. Patty Playpal standing behind the tree. OH, too much. I was happy. Stocking full of cool stuff and the best doll in the world. PLUS, I had the puzzle from last night!. This was too much. I must have been so good. There were other gifts. Clothes and socks and little things, a couple of board games.
Then Miss Forrest handed me a square box. Couldn't figure out what could be in this very light, perfectly square box. Too big for grown up jewelry, too small for any kind of game. I opened the box and there was an entire, handmade wardrobe for my Barbies. Gramma and the ladies of her church guild and made Barbie clothes for all their kids and grand kids. There must have been 10 outfits. I was speechless. This is why Gramma was amazing. She knew that would be special and show how much she loved me all in one little box.
I don't remember our trip home. It must have been very uneventful. I remember that Christmas was the last time I saw Gramma while she was healthy. She already had cancer. We didn't know. I don't think she knew either.
I treasure the memory of that Christmas. The snow, the church, the continuing belief in Santa. But mostly I remember being with her. Watching her cook the Christmas feast. I remember how amazing it felt to sit in the kitchen with her. Warm from the stove and oven. Snow everywhere. It was my best Christmas. The one I think of when I go to the childhood memory bank.
Thanks mom and dad for going. Forging through the blizzard so I can hold this memory forever.
Miss Forrest, you rocked.
We sat in the dinning room rushing through breakfast. I was rushing everyone else was lolly gagging. HURRY. Santa has been here, the tree is just on the other side of that door. The swinging french door with the sheer panel curtain on it. I could make out stuff under the tree but not enough to make out what was what. No Patty Playpal. I could tell that. She was huge, almost my size. Pretty sure I would see a box that big. This was Christmas though. My parents never disappointed men on Christmas. Mother always said I would be happy with an empty box if it was wrapped. True.
Finally, we were allowed in to the sitting room with the tree. Gramma suggested brother and I check the mantel in the parlor. There were stockings there! We didn't have stockings at home. We got paper sacks on Christmas Eve that we could color and write messages to Santa on. Christmas morning our sacks were full of candy. YAY! No toys or cool stuff, candy.
I couldn't believe it! Santa brought us stocking full of stuff. An orange in the toe. Delicious beautifully wrapped special chocolates, better than yeast. Little toys and do dads. It was the most amazing moment. SANTA IS REAL!
To the tree! There she was. Patty Playpal standing behind the tree. OH, too much. I was happy. Stocking full of cool stuff and the best doll in the world. PLUS, I had the puzzle from last night!. This was too much. I must have been so good. There were other gifts. Clothes and socks and little things, a couple of board games.
Then Miss Forrest handed me a square box. Couldn't figure out what could be in this very light, perfectly square box. Too big for grown up jewelry, too small for any kind of game. I opened the box and there was an entire, handmade wardrobe for my Barbies. Gramma and the ladies of her church guild and made Barbie clothes for all their kids and grand kids. There must have been 10 outfits. I was speechless. This is why Gramma was amazing. She knew that would be special and show how much she loved me all in one little box.
I don't remember our trip home. It must have been very uneventful. I remember that Christmas was the last time I saw Gramma while she was healthy. She already had cancer. We didn't know. I don't think she knew either.
I treasure the memory of that Christmas. The snow, the church, the continuing belief in Santa. But mostly I remember being with her. Watching her cook the Christmas feast. I remember how amazing it felt to sit in the kitchen with her. Warm from the stove and oven. Snow everywhere. It was my best Christmas. The one I think of when I go to the childhood memory bank.
Thanks mom and dad for going. Forging through the blizzard so I can hold this memory forever.
Miss Forrest, you rocked.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
IS TEN THE NEW AGE OF CONSENT?
The current issue of French Vogue features 10 year old model or models. All tarted up and ready to be sold to the highest bidder as a virgin? Will the next issue feature 10 year old boys, shirtless and sucking a peppermint stick?
Remember when Jon Benet was murdered? Such a beautiful little girl. Especially in hair and make up. Dancing and shaking her little body to be a beauty queen. She was how old, 6? Suddenly little girls in pageants were everywhere. All over TeeVee. Tiaras and Toddlers. Will there be Child Prostitution Ring reality TeeVee show? Are girls destined to be sex objects from birth? Will little boys be strutted out as underwear models?
How did this generation get here? I am stunned everyday that the generation I grew up with went radical in ways I never imagined. In young womanhood we all supported the ERA. We wanted equal rights, equal pay. We wanted to be seen as more than tits and ass. Look good, don't open your mouth that was our mother's generation.
Not my generation of women. We opened our mouths and our bodies like that would set us free. It didn't. It made many of us single mothers. Those men/boys just weren't ready to be dads. Poor them. We wanted our daughters to be smart, educated, business capable. We wanted them to have the respect of their peers, male and female. We wanted our daughters to be respected for their abilities.
Then something happened and now little girls look like what my grand mother would call strumpets. I see groups of little girls out with mommy getting their nails done. Their bodies barely covered. Butt cheeks hanging out of shorts. Make up on girls younger than 10.
High school girls have babies like it is getting a puppy. I have seen mobs of high school girls with their strollers at the mall. When I was in high school pregnancy was the worst thing that could happen to you. In many places you got kicked out of school. Now there are schools with parenting classes for the young mothers in the school. WHAT?
Women in movies and on television engage in sex with each other like it is common place. Madonna, who apparently thinks sexuality is her invention, Bimbo Spears and Christina Almost Naked, all exchanged a little tongue on an MTV awards show. Really? Hey, ladies, do we want to kiss one another that badly? Speaking for myself, and I love some of you, hell no. Do you think straight men would stand up on TV and french kiss for the shock or the thrill? NO. They have self respect. And they would be heckled for being idiots.
Not we women, we lick and shake anything on TV, videos, movies. Women having sex with women is comedy, it's drama, it's common place. Men having sex with men ala Brokeback Mountain made men pucker. Some wanted to see the movie, sorta, others wouldn't DARE watch "fag" sex.
Recently at a club with live music I saw the saddest things. Women my age, that's old, dancing the hoochie coo by themselves to impress band members young enough to be their children. Young women grinding on one another while making sure they were getting lots of attention and old men masturbating at certain tables I think. MAYBE NOT. It was hedonistic. Hetero couples all but conceived on the dance floor. Um, get a room? Get a car? Get out of my line of vision. Women took pictures of themselves with their cell phones on the dance floor to prove they looked stupid. I was not shocked. I was sickened. Ladies....f*ing GROW UP.
Ladies, if like me you have close personal male friends, you know that they think nothing is greater than women being easy, stupid, wild and willing. They talk about it all the time. Graphically. I know things about some women I really wish I had never heard. I know men who still talk about the chicks they nailed in high school and the lovely names they still call them. These men are 60ish. I have heard men say, "once you nail 'em they're yours whenever you want 'em." I wish that wasn't true. It is. We have all done that, "thanks for calling right at bedtime, of course, come on by". HE LOVES ME! I have known women who would drive many, many miles in the middle of the night because they got the call. HE LOVED THEM.
I have a close personal male friend who has plans. Plan A is the current "girlfriend". Plan B is the girl he is schmoozing for when he tires of Plan A. Plan C is the one he always keeps dangling, just in case. And Plan D is his ex-wife. "How disgusting", most of you are thinking. I hope. However, at least he is honest with himself about what he is doing. He makes no excuses for this behavior. "All men do it, they just aren't as honest as I am about it".
OK, we are adults. If we want to behave like we are still figuring out where babies come from, OK. These children they are painting and posing should have adult parents. But no, one of the little tart's mothers in the French Vogue issue said she was, "surprised the jewelry her daughter wore was worth hundreds of thousands Euros". She said it in French I am sure and sneered at the questioner.
Pretty soon baby girls will be made up and dressed like baby tarts before they are put on display in the hospital. Diapers will be form fitting. Baby girls will wear pasties like old time strippers. Baby boys will be dressed in butt less chaps and some sort of cod piece.
Ew,
Lillybell Blues
Remember when Jon Benet was murdered? Such a beautiful little girl. Especially in hair and make up. Dancing and shaking her little body to be a beauty queen. She was how old, 6? Suddenly little girls in pageants were everywhere. All over TeeVee. Tiaras and Toddlers. Will there be Child Prostitution Ring reality TeeVee show? Are girls destined to be sex objects from birth? Will little boys be strutted out as underwear models?
How did this generation get here? I am stunned everyday that the generation I grew up with went radical in ways I never imagined. In young womanhood we all supported the ERA. We wanted equal rights, equal pay. We wanted to be seen as more than tits and ass. Look good, don't open your mouth that was our mother's generation.
Not my generation of women. We opened our mouths and our bodies like that would set us free. It didn't. It made many of us single mothers. Those men/boys just weren't ready to be dads. Poor them. We wanted our daughters to be smart, educated, business capable. We wanted them to have the respect of their peers, male and female. We wanted our daughters to be respected for their abilities.
Then something happened and now little girls look like what my grand mother would call strumpets. I see groups of little girls out with mommy getting their nails done. Their bodies barely covered. Butt cheeks hanging out of shorts. Make up on girls younger than 10.
High school girls have babies like it is getting a puppy. I have seen mobs of high school girls with their strollers at the mall. When I was in high school pregnancy was the worst thing that could happen to you. In many places you got kicked out of school. Now there are schools with parenting classes for the young mothers in the school. WHAT?
Women in movies and on television engage in sex with each other like it is common place. Madonna, who apparently thinks sexuality is her invention, Bimbo Spears and Christina Almost Naked, all exchanged a little tongue on an MTV awards show. Really? Hey, ladies, do we want to kiss one another that badly? Speaking for myself, and I love some of you, hell no. Do you think straight men would stand up on TV and french kiss for the shock or the thrill? NO. They have self respect. And they would be heckled for being idiots.
Not we women, we lick and shake anything on TV, videos, movies. Women having sex with women is comedy, it's drama, it's common place. Men having sex with men ala Brokeback Mountain made men pucker. Some wanted to see the movie, sorta, others wouldn't DARE watch "fag" sex.
Recently at a club with live music I saw the saddest things. Women my age, that's old, dancing the hoochie coo by themselves to impress band members young enough to be their children. Young women grinding on one another while making sure they were getting lots of attention and old men masturbating at certain tables I think. MAYBE NOT. It was hedonistic. Hetero couples all but conceived on the dance floor. Um, get a room? Get a car? Get out of my line of vision. Women took pictures of themselves with their cell phones on the dance floor to prove they looked stupid. I was not shocked. I was sickened. Ladies....f*ing GROW UP.
Ladies, if like me you have close personal male friends, you know that they think nothing is greater than women being easy, stupid, wild and willing. They talk about it all the time. Graphically. I know things about some women I really wish I had never heard. I know men who still talk about the chicks they nailed in high school and the lovely names they still call them. These men are 60ish. I have heard men say, "once you nail 'em they're yours whenever you want 'em." I wish that wasn't true. It is. We have all done that, "thanks for calling right at bedtime, of course, come on by". HE LOVES ME! I have known women who would drive many, many miles in the middle of the night because they got the call. HE LOVED THEM.
I have a close personal male friend who has plans. Plan A is the current "girlfriend". Plan B is the girl he is schmoozing for when he tires of Plan A. Plan C is the one he always keeps dangling, just in case. And Plan D is his ex-wife. "How disgusting", most of you are thinking. I hope. However, at least he is honest with himself about what he is doing. He makes no excuses for this behavior. "All men do it, they just aren't as honest as I am about it".
OK, we are adults. If we want to behave like we are still figuring out where babies come from, OK. These children they are painting and posing should have adult parents. But no, one of the little tart's mothers in the French Vogue issue said she was, "surprised the jewelry her daughter wore was worth hundreds of thousands Euros". She said it in French I am sure and sneered at the questioner.
Pretty soon baby girls will be made up and dressed like baby tarts before they are put on display in the hospital. Diapers will be form fitting. Baby girls will wear pasties like old time strippers. Baby boys will be dressed in butt less chaps and some sort of cod piece.
Ew,
Lillybell Blues
WE ARE NERO
I am not old enough to remember ancient Rome. Maybe in a past life, who really knows? While American History and I get along pretty well, I don't know that much about Rome except it crashed and burned. It lost it's status in the ancient world. The story goes that Emperor Nero fiddled while Rome burned. I don't think he actually played a stringed instrument while the city burned. I believe that is what you call metaphor.
We are all playing a fiddle. La-di-da, the country is broke, la-di-da, our leaders are all ego maniacal, unreasonable talking heads, la-di-da, the middle class is disappearing. La-di-da, we are basically owned by another country. La-di-da, here we go again, election year. La-di-da, I will vote my party. La-di-da, oh, it's too much trouble to vote.
Then suddenly everyone is angry because D.C. does nothing. They are all tied to special interest and the party base. DAMN IT, they should change themselves, we say. Why can't they get anything done? It is because we let them get away with doing nothing. We love to complain, (hello, Queen Complainer), but we sit on our sofas and whine to the television.
We, the people, that Mr. Jefferson spoke of, we need to demand better. We, the people, should demand the old, "government of the people, by the people, for the people", right now. Before another election cycle. Otherwise we are going to be here in 2 years for the mid-terms, and two after that for the BIG election, the Presidential election. Same people in Congress. Whatever party in the White House. People complaining.
If we all lift our voices. Not for one single candidate or party. Not frothing at the mouth about the other guys. If we lift our voices to say, "we want the system changed", if we all wrote our representatives and demanded change, if we called their offices, something might happen. What if we demanded a national referendum on term limits? WE, the people, decide. You elected officials are limited in the numbers of terms and years you may serve.
It costs BILLIONS of dollars in total to campaign. That is ridiculous. A nation in debt can raise private funds in the hundreds of millions per candidate in the big elections. Citizens pay thousands of dollars for Fund Raising Dinners. Poor people eat in soup kitchens. Private jets and HUGE "buses", rock stars call this luxury RV traveling, to meet the people. Tell them what they want to hear. Grab that photo op. Talk about saving natural resources and how we shouldn't have to pay such high prices at the pump. Then they hop back in their gas guzzlers, smiling and drive to the next stump.
I know I am a one note screamer this election cycle. TERM LIMITS. We have to stand up and demand them. If not we will be that nation people read about in history. The citizens who fiddled while the government burned the nation to the ground.
As a body, Congress has proven over and over that they cannot accomplish anything. The same old dogs with the same old tricks making no progress. They have POWER and relationships with lobbyists. Not how I want my government run. I want my government to care about me. To care about the people. To actually let us enjoy the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Not to make the wealthy wealthier, not to make it easier for Corporate America to line their coffers and fire workers so wall street is happier with the bottom line. That is the territory of people with money.
The very poor among us, who qualify, can survive with various government programs. We pay for that. Big business passes all their higher operating costs on to us. We are the middle class. We won't be here much longer. We pay a higher percentage of taxes, we qualify for no government programs other than the ones we have paid in to for our entire working lives, we support society up and down the ladder. We get squat.
The middle class, that is the status my parents wanted to achieve, was supposed to be Cleaver territory. Nice house, two cars, a dog. Dad worked, mom stayed home. The kids played outside and did homework.
Then to achieve middle class status dad and mom had to work. Day care became a staple, raising the costs for the middle class. Kids began being raised in an institutional setting and mommy and daddy make up for that by enrolling their kids in every conceivable sport and activity. That costs money too, making the kids happy.
College was what my parents saved for. Now you figure out how to borrow the money for your middle class children. They get an education and lots of debt. This won't last much longer as one of the parents in a middle class family loses their job. The are no jobs available for college grads. There goes higher education for the middle class. At this point the job market is so bad many kids have a degree, debt and no income. Bad formula.
We are a dying breed, the middle class. Everything is getting so expensive. You want to own a home? Good luck on merely getting a mortgage. Then pray that nothing ever goes wrong with your house. I know. Just spent more money on a bathroom than my car. Wasn't expecting that slab leak, the jackhammers, the rebuild. Oops, just didn't have $35,000 in my savings account. Damn, back in debt.
I was looking forward, again, this year to a vacation. Just wasn't in the budget. We don't go in debt to have fun. Maybe we should. I know people who count their credit cards as money. I learned a long time ago, that doesn't work. Congress is on their five week recess. We pay for that. And their health care. And their pensions for life. Did we vote for that? Was that ever on a ballot? Did we give them the OK to vote themselves raises?
Jefferson himself was not a fan of totalitarian government. Even he thought the government should be overturned every 20 years. But we have allowed professional politicians, not public servants. They believe they are better than and above the laws and rules that apply to citizens. Hello? everything-gate, corruption, naked penis pictures, drunken behavior, money in representatives home freezers, cover ups, page molesting, intern humping. THESE ARE LEADERS? No, these are morons.
Let's try, please? Demand better. Hold our leaders responsible and demand they are limited to no more than 2 terms per office. 20 years total government service. Then, thank you! Here is a nice severance package and you too can live on medicare and social security. Like citizens as intended.
I hear an entire string section warming up. Please care more than Nero.
Yes, I know, I've been told!
LBB
We are all playing a fiddle. La-di-da, the country is broke, la-di-da, our leaders are all ego maniacal, unreasonable talking heads, la-di-da, the middle class is disappearing. La-di-da, we are basically owned by another country. La-di-da, here we go again, election year. La-di-da, I will vote my party. La-di-da, oh, it's too much trouble to vote.
Then suddenly everyone is angry because D.C. does nothing. They are all tied to special interest and the party base. DAMN IT, they should change themselves, we say. Why can't they get anything done? It is because we let them get away with doing nothing. We love to complain, (hello, Queen Complainer), but we sit on our sofas and whine to the television.
We, the people, that Mr. Jefferson spoke of, we need to demand better. We, the people, should demand the old, "government of the people, by the people, for the people", right now. Before another election cycle. Otherwise we are going to be here in 2 years for the mid-terms, and two after that for the BIG election, the Presidential election. Same people in Congress. Whatever party in the White House. People complaining.
If we all lift our voices. Not for one single candidate or party. Not frothing at the mouth about the other guys. If we lift our voices to say, "we want the system changed", if we all wrote our representatives and demanded change, if we called their offices, something might happen. What if we demanded a national referendum on term limits? WE, the people, decide. You elected officials are limited in the numbers of terms and years you may serve.
It costs BILLIONS of dollars in total to campaign. That is ridiculous. A nation in debt can raise private funds in the hundreds of millions per candidate in the big elections. Citizens pay thousands of dollars for Fund Raising Dinners. Poor people eat in soup kitchens. Private jets and HUGE "buses", rock stars call this luxury RV traveling, to meet the people. Tell them what they want to hear. Grab that photo op. Talk about saving natural resources and how we shouldn't have to pay such high prices at the pump. Then they hop back in their gas guzzlers, smiling and drive to the next stump.
I know I am a one note screamer this election cycle. TERM LIMITS. We have to stand up and demand them. If not we will be that nation people read about in history. The citizens who fiddled while the government burned the nation to the ground.
As a body, Congress has proven over and over that they cannot accomplish anything. The same old dogs with the same old tricks making no progress. They have POWER and relationships with lobbyists. Not how I want my government run. I want my government to care about me. To care about the people. To actually let us enjoy the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Not to make the wealthy wealthier, not to make it easier for Corporate America to line their coffers and fire workers so wall street is happier with the bottom line. That is the territory of people with money.
The very poor among us, who qualify, can survive with various government programs. We pay for that. Big business passes all their higher operating costs on to us. We are the middle class. We won't be here much longer. We pay a higher percentage of taxes, we qualify for no government programs other than the ones we have paid in to for our entire working lives, we support society up and down the ladder. We get squat.
The middle class, that is the status my parents wanted to achieve, was supposed to be Cleaver territory. Nice house, two cars, a dog. Dad worked, mom stayed home. The kids played outside and did homework.
Then to achieve middle class status dad and mom had to work. Day care became a staple, raising the costs for the middle class. Kids began being raised in an institutional setting and mommy and daddy make up for that by enrolling their kids in every conceivable sport and activity. That costs money too, making the kids happy.
College was what my parents saved for. Now you figure out how to borrow the money for your middle class children. They get an education and lots of debt. This won't last much longer as one of the parents in a middle class family loses their job. The are no jobs available for college grads. There goes higher education for the middle class. At this point the job market is so bad many kids have a degree, debt and no income. Bad formula.
We are a dying breed, the middle class. Everything is getting so expensive. You want to own a home? Good luck on merely getting a mortgage. Then pray that nothing ever goes wrong with your house. I know. Just spent more money on a bathroom than my car. Wasn't expecting that slab leak, the jackhammers, the rebuild. Oops, just didn't have $35,000 in my savings account. Damn, back in debt.
I was looking forward, again, this year to a vacation. Just wasn't in the budget. We don't go in debt to have fun. Maybe we should. I know people who count their credit cards as money. I learned a long time ago, that doesn't work. Congress is on their five week recess. We pay for that. And their health care. And their pensions for life. Did we vote for that? Was that ever on a ballot? Did we give them the OK to vote themselves raises?
Jefferson himself was not a fan of totalitarian government. Even he thought the government should be overturned every 20 years. But we have allowed professional politicians, not public servants. They believe they are better than and above the laws and rules that apply to citizens. Hello? everything-gate, corruption, naked penis pictures, drunken behavior, money in representatives home freezers, cover ups, page molesting, intern humping. THESE ARE LEADERS? No, these are morons.
Let's try, please? Demand better. Hold our leaders responsible and demand they are limited to no more than 2 terms per office. 20 years total government service. Then, thank you! Here is a nice severance package and you too can live on medicare and social security. Like citizens as intended.
I hear an entire string section warming up. Please care more than Nero.
Yes, I know, I've been told!
LBB
Saturday, August 13, 2011
HERE WE GO AGAIN, ANOTHER ELECTION CYCLE
It is that time in America where we get to exercise our right. Used to be that meant voting. Now it means we can be hateful by following the example of the hopeful candidates. There are already billboards up across the nation with President Obama's picture with the question, DID YOU VOTE FOR OBAMA? EMBARRASSED YET?
Not as embarrassed as I am to come from a nation where this is political discourse.
I am embarrassed that what should be a very serious intellectual discussion is on a childish "am not, are too" level. Lots of pointing and saying how bad "THEY" are. Vote for me, I have pretty hair. Vote for me, my husband can cure your gay relatives. Vote for me, I only got kicked out of D.C. once. Vote for me, I have better hair than that guy. But of course the bottom line is: OBAMA IS EVIL. HE HAS DONE NOTHING EXCEPT MAKE MISTAKES.
Remember when he was a Muslim? Remember when he wasn't born in America? You know why all this is happening? Shhhh. He's Black. I know. That sounds ludicrous. The Tea Party is really just racism released from the closet in my opinion. They dislike minorities, which they are quickly becoming. They want to cut all social programs unless it effects them. They wrap themselves in false patriotism. Think Palin. God, guns, MONEY!
Some white men HATE losing their grip on everything. Just imagine if a black woman ran for president. The racist, misogynists among us wouldn't know what to hate the most.
I have a conservative male friend. He spent an evening explaining to me that the world was fine until women got the right to vote. Women are too emotional and, though he didn't want to sound sexist, women really ruined the political process. You didn't sound sexist. You sounded, I can't think of a word for that....stupid?
Before it is too late let's change the process in America. Debates only. No ads. Not in print, not on TV. No phone calls. No polls. Nothing negative. Run on your record. If you have not held elected office before you have no record so give us outline of your ideas and background.
No party spokes people. No fund raising. You won't need it with a debate only forum. There should be many debates. REAL debates, not sound bite opportunities. If you have never seen a debate go to your local college and see how it's done.
NO ONE MENTIONS GOD. No kissing babies. No pancake breakfasts. No photo ops with children or veterans. No dogs. No happy family photos. We aren't electing your family.
No mention of fashion. The First Lady, the candidates wives and the candidates themselves. Shut up, don't care who they are wearing.
As an incumbent I expect the President to run the country. He can participate in all the debates but really, do the job. Senators or Congressmen you too. Do your job. Debate. Then we will decide whether or not we want to vote for you.
OK, here is the kicker. VOTE. If you do not you will pay a big ass fine. Decide, should I go have a say in my government or pay a BIG ASS fine? Up to you.
You're Welcome,
Lillybell Blues
Not as embarrassed as I am to come from a nation where this is political discourse.
I am embarrassed that what should be a very serious intellectual discussion is on a childish "am not, are too" level. Lots of pointing and saying how bad "THEY" are. Vote for me, I have pretty hair. Vote for me, my husband can cure your gay relatives. Vote for me, I only got kicked out of D.C. once. Vote for me, I have better hair than that guy. But of course the bottom line is: OBAMA IS EVIL. HE HAS DONE NOTHING EXCEPT MAKE MISTAKES.
Remember when he was a Muslim? Remember when he wasn't born in America? You know why all this is happening? Shhhh. He's Black. I know. That sounds ludicrous. The Tea Party is really just racism released from the closet in my opinion. They dislike minorities, which they are quickly becoming. They want to cut all social programs unless it effects them. They wrap themselves in false patriotism. Think Palin. God, guns, MONEY!
Some white men HATE losing their grip on everything. Just imagine if a black woman ran for president. The racist, misogynists among us wouldn't know what to hate the most.
I have a conservative male friend. He spent an evening explaining to me that the world was fine until women got the right to vote. Women are too emotional and, though he didn't want to sound sexist, women really ruined the political process. You didn't sound sexist. You sounded, I can't think of a word for that....stupid?
Before it is too late let's change the process in America. Debates only. No ads. Not in print, not on TV. No phone calls. No polls. Nothing negative. Run on your record. If you have not held elected office before you have no record so give us outline of your ideas and background.
No party spokes people. No fund raising. You won't need it with a debate only forum. There should be many debates. REAL debates, not sound bite opportunities. If you have never seen a debate go to your local college and see how it's done.
NO ONE MENTIONS GOD. No kissing babies. No pancake breakfasts. No photo ops with children or veterans. No dogs. No happy family photos. We aren't electing your family.
No mention of fashion. The First Lady, the candidates wives and the candidates themselves. Shut up, don't care who they are wearing.
As an incumbent I expect the President to run the country. He can participate in all the debates but really, do the job. Senators or Congressmen you too. Do your job. Debate. Then we will decide whether or not we want to vote for you.
OK, here is the kicker. VOTE. If you do not you will pay a big ass fine. Decide, should I go have a say in my government or pay a BIG ASS fine? Up to you.
You're Welcome,
Lillybell Blues
Friday, August 12, 2011
THINGS I DO NOT GET
This morning I heard the sad story of a young woman who disappeared in Aruba. NOT Natalee Holloway. Another pretty blond. Apparently she had met a man 30 years her senior on Match.com, met him in Aruba and told her boyfriend she was going to Florida. Her friends and family were explaining how much she loved life but may have been too trusting with people. They were flashing pictures of this beautiful girl. Professional shots that say, "Hi, I'm a hottie". While everyone, including Natalee Holloway's mother was quoted about how sad this is I almost called Matt Lauer to say..."if you are stupid enough to travel to a foreign country to meet a man you do not know you have invited potential murder".
Much like I question the reasoning of parents who allow their children to travel to a foreign country where alcohol is served to 18 year olds to celebrate high school graduation. Sorry, I don't mean to sound cold but what are you thinking? At the least there will be drunken revelry. Sex is a given and 18 year olds, especially girls, do not know how to tell an older, handsome, charming person to "kiss off". Even if there is simply an accident your child is in a foreign country and needs mommy and/or daddy. What if they need surgery? You want to be trying to book a flight while some doctor you have never spoken to is cutting on your child?
Destination Weddings. WHAT? "I know let's get married in a foreign country on a beach. That will be romantic". OR "let's get married in Europe, that will be a lifetime memory". Your guests are thinking, no, don't think I will be traveling around the world to watch your romantic wedding. Attendants are thinking, holy crap, how am I supposed to afford that?
My stepson was a groomsmen in a destination wedding. A beautiful chateau in Paris, France. His wife couldn't go because there was not enough room for that many guests. She stayed home, he flew to Paris for a weekend. The wedding was beautiful. It would have been beautiful here too. America has some lovely beaches and churches and historic buildings for weddings. OR better still. Just get married. It's a joining to two people for life. It's not a fairy tale. Besides, those first weddings....short. Well, many of them.
Oprah. I love her. I don't understand why everyone on earth follows her advice. She has every people skill. You can feel her pain, she can feel yours. She does not take crap, I like that. She unleashed Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz on the world. I haven't forgiven her for that yet. Here is my point. Oprah has a weight problem. She talked about it for 25 years on the air. She had chefs and life style coaches and work out buddies. She lost weight, she gained weight. People wrote books about helpin' Oprah lose weight, exercise, eat right. They were best sellers. Oprah is still over weight. Obviously none of the things she promoted worked in the long term. Wouldn't that make her, well, easily taken by some one's B.S.?
I blame Oprah for people thinking we have relationships with food. NO, we don't. We eat food. It is fuel. The rest of that babble is personal issues. I'm sad, I eat. That's not a relationship. That is an escape. I'm happy, I eat. That is not a relationship, that is a celebration. PLEASE! People over eat because food is good, they make poor decisions too often and all we have to move in America is our fingers.
Here is a hint. When you sit down, if your stomach hangs between your knees, you need the salad with no dressing. Not the burger and fries with gravy and extra mayo. See? I didn't write a book. I have no relationship with food. Those of you who know me are shaking your head going, "she has always been thin". NO, 180 ain't thin and I hit that once. I didn't need anyone to say, HOLY SHIT. I did that. I didn't need a book or a coach. I needed to eat less and exercise more.
I must upgrade! This is a gadget junkie's mantra. Apple started this....gotta pay more for the NEW one. It has apps that burp! It is 4G! It has two screens! It is faster! It is more expensive to replace when I drop it over and over. The iPhone is too small, get a iPad. USE BOTH. Have an iPill, take two. Chill. How much information do you really need at your finger tips every minute? Can you not wait to hear the score? See the stats? Take a picture of your privates? See the headlines? Check the movie schedules? Apple has more cash reserves than the government. Um, can you hold on to that phone until it breaks?
Rich people get free stuff. They get complimentary everything. Why? Why do they fill up bags of very expensive items for the Academy Award nominees and entourages? They don't need that stuff AND they can afford to buy whatever the hell they want. Here, John Travolta, have a twenty-five hundred dollar watch. How's that compound with all the jets and private runway? Here Brad and Angelina, surely you have room in one of your homes for a little trinket from Cartier. Hey, George Clooney, you look like you need a free week at the finest suite in Vegas. That villa at Lake Como, Italy must be so lonely. The one in Hollywood is kinda big and sad, isn't it?
People tell me I am a socialist. I hear it a lot. I certainly don't think of myself that way. Socialist has a nasty, fascist, WWII connotation. Sorry, I don't get why we live in a nation where people are millionaires because they can play a game or rap a stupid rhyme about bitches and hos or emote on film and our hard working people are suffering financially. Children go hungry, restaurants throw out half eaten plates of food hourly. People don't have jobs and the richest among use get endorsement deals on top of the millions they make. I think people should have basic care and needs. If that is socialism, I guess I proudly wear the title.
I was thinking about the loaves and fishes story from the sermon on the mount. Jesus was a socialist too. He fed everyone with the resources he had. Not the lucky, not the few, not the rich, not the connected. So, though I do not get it. Jesus and I, we are socialists.
WOW, that was an eye opener.
LBB
Much like I question the reasoning of parents who allow their children to travel to a foreign country where alcohol is served to 18 year olds to celebrate high school graduation. Sorry, I don't mean to sound cold but what are you thinking? At the least there will be drunken revelry. Sex is a given and 18 year olds, especially girls, do not know how to tell an older, handsome, charming person to "kiss off". Even if there is simply an accident your child is in a foreign country and needs mommy and/or daddy. What if they need surgery? You want to be trying to book a flight while some doctor you have never spoken to is cutting on your child?
Destination Weddings. WHAT? "I know let's get married in a foreign country on a beach. That will be romantic". OR "let's get married in Europe, that will be a lifetime memory". Your guests are thinking, no, don't think I will be traveling around the world to watch your romantic wedding. Attendants are thinking, holy crap, how am I supposed to afford that?
My stepson was a groomsmen in a destination wedding. A beautiful chateau in Paris, France. His wife couldn't go because there was not enough room for that many guests. She stayed home, he flew to Paris for a weekend. The wedding was beautiful. It would have been beautiful here too. America has some lovely beaches and churches and historic buildings for weddings. OR better still. Just get married. It's a joining to two people for life. It's not a fairy tale. Besides, those first weddings....short. Well, many of them.
Oprah. I love her. I don't understand why everyone on earth follows her advice. She has every people skill. You can feel her pain, she can feel yours. She does not take crap, I like that. She unleashed Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz on the world. I haven't forgiven her for that yet. Here is my point. Oprah has a weight problem. She talked about it for 25 years on the air. She had chefs and life style coaches and work out buddies. She lost weight, she gained weight. People wrote books about helpin' Oprah lose weight, exercise, eat right. They were best sellers. Oprah is still over weight. Obviously none of the things she promoted worked in the long term. Wouldn't that make her, well, easily taken by some one's B.S.?
I blame Oprah for people thinking we have relationships with food. NO, we don't. We eat food. It is fuel. The rest of that babble is personal issues. I'm sad, I eat. That's not a relationship. That is an escape. I'm happy, I eat. That is not a relationship, that is a celebration. PLEASE! People over eat because food is good, they make poor decisions too often and all we have to move in America is our fingers.
Here is a hint. When you sit down, if your stomach hangs between your knees, you need the salad with no dressing. Not the burger and fries with gravy and extra mayo. See? I didn't write a book. I have no relationship with food. Those of you who know me are shaking your head going, "she has always been thin". NO, 180 ain't thin and I hit that once. I didn't need anyone to say, HOLY SHIT. I did that. I didn't need a book or a coach. I needed to eat less and exercise more.
I must upgrade! This is a gadget junkie's mantra. Apple started this....gotta pay more for the NEW one. It has apps that burp! It is 4G! It has two screens! It is faster! It is more expensive to replace when I drop it over and over. The iPhone is too small, get a iPad. USE BOTH. Have an iPill, take two. Chill. How much information do you really need at your finger tips every minute? Can you not wait to hear the score? See the stats? Take a picture of your privates? See the headlines? Check the movie schedules? Apple has more cash reserves than the government. Um, can you hold on to that phone until it breaks?
Rich people get free stuff. They get complimentary everything. Why? Why do they fill up bags of very expensive items for the Academy Award nominees and entourages? They don't need that stuff AND they can afford to buy whatever the hell they want. Here, John Travolta, have a twenty-five hundred dollar watch. How's that compound with all the jets and private runway? Here Brad and Angelina, surely you have room in one of your homes for a little trinket from Cartier. Hey, George Clooney, you look like you need a free week at the finest suite in Vegas. That villa at Lake Como, Italy must be so lonely. The one in Hollywood is kinda big and sad, isn't it?
People tell me I am a socialist. I hear it a lot. I certainly don't think of myself that way. Socialist has a nasty, fascist, WWII connotation. Sorry, I don't get why we live in a nation where people are millionaires because they can play a game or rap a stupid rhyme about bitches and hos or emote on film and our hard working people are suffering financially. Children go hungry, restaurants throw out half eaten plates of food hourly. People don't have jobs and the richest among use get endorsement deals on top of the millions they make. I think people should have basic care and needs. If that is socialism, I guess I proudly wear the title.
I was thinking about the loaves and fishes story from the sermon on the mount. Jesus was a socialist too. He fed everyone with the resources he had. Not the lucky, not the few, not the rich, not the connected. So, though I do not get it. Jesus and I, we are socialists.
WOW, that was an eye opener.
LBB
CALHOUN CHRISTMAS EVE, CHURCH AND ALL
We were supposed to grab a bite and then go to church. I could barely speak must less chew and swallow. We had driven through all of that for this? Aluminum tree, no presents, no fully decorated house? No childhood vision of Christmas dreams come true? I concentrated on not crying. Dad looked very serious when he said "no tears".
Gramma suggested we walk to church. Of course Miss Forrest and Mr. Hardy had long, warm coats and rubbers as my grandmother called those boots that covered your shoes. They were impossible to put on or take off. Dad said we would all just go in our car since it wasn't snowed in. Piling in the car I noticed lights everywhere. Spots of light. People were indeed walking to church lighting the way with flashlights and a few candles. The snow wasn't falling now but it glistened like fairy dust and glitter. Not quite exciting enough to pull me out of the pout I was in but it was so small town, so surreal.
There are two churches in Calhoun as I recall. The Methodist Church where we went and The Not Methodist Church where everyone else went. Gramma's church is small and beautiful. It too still stands. My parents married there. It has simple wooden pews. A modest pulpit and a wooden board on the wall with the names and numbers of the hymns to be sung. Two fresh evergreens were on the altar, unadorned. The light was low. You could see the windows were stained glass but could not make out the religious scenes and symbols. It was quiet. No choir. A piano sat on the altar between the trees.
A lady who could have been Aunt Bea played and the congregation sang, "Joy To The Word". The minister, much younger than the one at home, stood at the pulpit. He told the simple story of a young couple of the road, afraid, waiting for the birth of her baby. Trying to find shelter and finding no room. Cowering in a lowly stable her time came and the baby was born. A young boy who would grow up and change the world with love and understanding. That was it. We sang a few more carols. Then this young minister sat on the floor of the altar. He held up a big book. The Night Before Christmas. He began to read. I knew this story like I knew the story of Bethlehem. This was awesome though. He was going to talk about Santa...in church! The minister reached the part of the story where..."out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter..."
"HO, HO, HO", from the back of the church. SANTA WAS HERE! He had a big pack on his back full of gifts. Oh Boy! Then it dawned on me these were for the children of the church and brother and I were probably not included. But we were. Santa called us all one by one to the altar to receive one gift from HIM. The man. Santa. WOW. I got a jigsaw puzzle. It had my name on it. I was thrilled.
At the end of the service we sang Silent Night lighting candles we had each been given. The lights in the church went out and only the glow of candles showed the way out. I do not think I have ever felt closer to God.
The congregation began their walks home and we drove the few blocks back to Gramma's. That ugly tree was still there but I didn't really care. I had things to look for and I was starting a campaign to sleep on the settee in the living room by the fireplace.
That sleeping arrangement was not going to happen. Gramma simply said no. She had that power over me. You didn't argue with Miss Forrest. I began cleverly looking everywhere. I didn't really want to find presents I wanted to find things like wrapping paper, ribbon, candy, gift tags. Things that would prove gifts under the tree were from Santa and not from Gramma's dinning room. I nonchalantly went through the kitchen. I found the Fig Newtons my grand dad's favorite, yuck. I spotted something wrapped in silver foil on the top shelf of the pantry. CANDY, had to be. I managed to pull one of the shiny squares down. I opened it. It was rather gray and smelled slightly like feet. I decided it must be very special grown up candy. I took a big bite. Yeast tastes awful. Just in case you ever get confused as I did, do not eat it.
I looked in closets and under beds. In nooks and crannies. Drawers. The only place I didn't look was the basement. No way. Only a murderer would hide something down there.
Finally bedtime was announced. Christmas Eve bedtime, a little later than usual because we weren't getting any sleep. I got the family up around 4 a.m. most Christmas mornings. I don't remember having that, too excited too sleep, in Calhoun. I remember being in my bed on the side porch and watching the lights glisten on the snow. Peaceful, clean, gorgeous. It was so much better to look at the world heavy with snow than to drive through it. Everything had a different shape, trees hung almost to the ground with the heavy snow. Bird baths and decorative things in yards looked like shapless mounds of glistening white. Perfect Christmas Eve.
It was morning before I knew it. Time to run to the tree!
No, time for Miss Forrest to make Christmas breakfast.
Oh come on! I had another hour to wait to see if Santa was real.
Gramma suggested we walk to church. Of course Miss Forrest and Mr. Hardy had long, warm coats and rubbers as my grandmother called those boots that covered your shoes. They were impossible to put on or take off. Dad said we would all just go in our car since it wasn't snowed in. Piling in the car I noticed lights everywhere. Spots of light. People were indeed walking to church lighting the way with flashlights and a few candles. The snow wasn't falling now but it glistened like fairy dust and glitter. Not quite exciting enough to pull me out of the pout I was in but it was so small town, so surreal.
There are two churches in Calhoun as I recall. The Methodist Church where we went and The Not Methodist Church where everyone else went. Gramma's church is small and beautiful. It too still stands. My parents married there. It has simple wooden pews. A modest pulpit and a wooden board on the wall with the names and numbers of the hymns to be sung. Two fresh evergreens were on the altar, unadorned. The light was low. You could see the windows were stained glass but could not make out the religious scenes and symbols. It was quiet. No choir. A piano sat on the altar between the trees.
A lady who could have been Aunt Bea played and the congregation sang, "Joy To The Word". The minister, much younger than the one at home, stood at the pulpit. He told the simple story of a young couple of the road, afraid, waiting for the birth of her baby. Trying to find shelter and finding no room. Cowering in a lowly stable her time came and the baby was born. A young boy who would grow up and change the world with love and understanding. That was it. We sang a few more carols. Then this young minister sat on the floor of the altar. He held up a big book. The Night Before Christmas. He began to read. I knew this story like I knew the story of Bethlehem. This was awesome though. He was going to talk about Santa...in church! The minister reached the part of the story where..."out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter..."
"HO, HO, HO", from the back of the church. SANTA WAS HERE! He had a big pack on his back full of gifts. Oh Boy! Then it dawned on me these were for the children of the church and brother and I were probably not included. But we were. Santa called us all one by one to the altar to receive one gift from HIM. The man. Santa. WOW. I got a jigsaw puzzle. It had my name on it. I was thrilled.
At the end of the service we sang Silent Night lighting candles we had each been given. The lights in the church went out and only the glow of candles showed the way out. I do not think I have ever felt closer to God.
The congregation began their walks home and we drove the few blocks back to Gramma's. That ugly tree was still there but I didn't really care. I had things to look for and I was starting a campaign to sleep on the settee in the living room by the fireplace.
That sleeping arrangement was not going to happen. Gramma simply said no. She had that power over me. You didn't argue with Miss Forrest. I began cleverly looking everywhere. I didn't really want to find presents I wanted to find things like wrapping paper, ribbon, candy, gift tags. Things that would prove gifts under the tree were from Santa and not from Gramma's dinning room. I nonchalantly went through the kitchen. I found the Fig Newtons my grand dad's favorite, yuck. I spotted something wrapped in silver foil on the top shelf of the pantry. CANDY, had to be. I managed to pull one of the shiny squares down. I opened it. It was rather gray and smelled slightly like feet. I decided it must be very special grown up candy. I took a big bite. Yeast tastes awful. Just in case you ever get confused as I did, do not eat it.
I looked in closets and under beds. In nooks and crannies. Drawers. The only place I didn't look was the basement. No way. Only a murderer would hide something down there.
Finally bedtime was announced. Christmas Eve bedtime, a little later than usual because we weren't getting any sleep. I got the family up around 4 a.m. most Christmas mornings. I don't remember having that, too excited too sleep, in Calhoun. I remember being in my bed on the side porch and watching the lights glisten on the snow. Peaceful, clean, gorgeous. It was so much better to look at the world heavy with snow than to drive through it. Everything had a different shape, trees hung almost to the ground with the heavy snow. Bird baths and decorative things in yards looked like shapless mounds of glistening white. Perfect Christmas Eve.
It was morning before I knew it. Time to run to the tree!
No, time for Miss Forrest to make Christmas breakfast.
Oh come on! I had another hour to wait to see if Santa was real.
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