1. Five names you go by:
A. Piglet
B. Judy, Judy, Judy
C. Peg
D. Margaret
E. That savage bitch!!!
2. Three things you are wearing right now:
A. black thong
B. black lace bustier
C. steel toed construction boots, if they come in black.
Oh, this is supposed to be about what I'm really wearing? How boring. I have on 7 articles of clothing, all grey. I slept in this get-up last night, have worn it all day, and will sleep in it again tonight. Would you like a description of the food stains?
3. Two things you want very badly at the moment:
A. A few million dollars so I could bail out my friends
B. Pie
4. Three people who will probably fill this out:
A. Gail
B. LeeAnn
C. Linda (No pressure, whenever you feel like it, and it won't hurt anyone's feelings if you're not up to it or are too busy. I didn't get to be called That Savage Bitch without developing a callused hide. I can handle rejection. Unless Phillip is the one rejecting me. That I could not handle).
5. Two things you did last night:
A. Shredded my mother's paper life
B. Shredded my sordid past
6. Two things you ate today:
A. Ham
B. eggs
7. Two people you last talked to on the phone:
A. They'd have to kill me if I told you their names
8. Two things you are going to do tomorrow:
A. Go to the doctor to have my clotting factor tested
B. Grocery shop
9. Two longest car rides:
A. From New York to Salt Lake
B. Five minutes in a car going anywhere with my mother
10. Two of your favorite beverages:
A. A home-made latte
B. Earl Grey Tea, with sugar and milk
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I'm Drowning in Paper
I had to pay, or more accurately partially pay my property taxes yesterday. But since I am never able to pay my property taxes all at one time, every year I ask for information about tax relief. Every year I get the form that tells me what documentation I need for application for tax relief, and the dates during which it is possible to apply for tax relief. And every year I forget the dates, can't understand the instructions, and/or find and gather the necessary documentation for tax relief. I blame bipolar disorder and the drugs I take for it for this befuddlement regarding the whole mess. But this year by god, I'm going to find a way to get what I qualify for and desperately need. And this year for the first time you could actually apply for tax relief at the same time you pay your taxes, or in my case partially pay my taxes.
Utah State employees have gone on a four day work week. This is groovy for so many reasons, but hard to remember when you put off until the last possible moment doing something that must be done by the end of the month. In years past that would have been Friday. But Friday was the fifth day of the week, so no state employees working to take your property taxes.
So Monday, we, the desperate and harried taxpayers, head for tax offices, grim faced and desperate looking, every one of us. There was a lot of grumbling about the overvaluation of property in a time of deflating actual value. We are all squeezed and it shows. And there are long, slow moving lines. And it's a work day for almost everybody in line. Then there is the line for those of us seeking a reduction in property taxes because we're old and/or ill and living on fixed incomes, which lose a little buying power every month.
But like a Thanksgiving miracle, this year they were actually taking requests for tax relief. But this was the last day, and they closed at five. It was 2:15. By the time I got home it was 2:45. I opened the drawer of my file cabinet that holds the sort of documentation and nearly weep at the stuffed file folders. I grab the one supposedly containing bank statements and instead of the hour or so I imagined it would take me, the second batch of statements contained the one statement I needed. I had to write a "hardship letter." That was easy. And so I raced back to the Tax Office with my papers, planning to fill out their lengthy form while waiting for the next available grief counselor. It was 4:00. There was no line. I signed in and was immediately taken back to a very sweet woman's desk. I say she was sweet because she actually did all the filling out of the form for me. All I had to do was sign it. Done. Now I wait for the ruling. But I'm fairly certain I will qualify for tax relief.
And the best part of all of this was that I asked her how she felt about the presidential election. I know, it's not exactly the smartest thing to do, but have I ever claimed to be particularly smart? Turns out she was a Hillary supporter, who did indeed vote for Barack. I started crying. It is only kindness, generosity and warmth that can reduce me to tears.
Now I'm actually tackling the task of cleaning out my file cabinet. I am giving the paper shredder a real work out. And the one file I'm happiest to shred is the one containing all of my mother's medical records and bank statements. We''re talking about fifty pounds of paper.
Utah State employees have gone on a four day work week. This is groovy for so many reasons, but hard to remember when you put off until the last possible moment doing something that must be done by the end of the month. In years past that would have been Friday. But Friday was the fifth day of the week, so no state employees working to take your property taxes.
So Monday, we, the desperate and harried taxpayers, head for tax offices, grim faced and desperate looking, every one of us. There was a lot of grumbling about the overvaluation of property in a time of deflating actual value. We are all squeezed and it shows. And there are long, slow moving lines. And it's a work day for almost everybody in line. Then there is the line for those of us seeking a reduction in property taxes because we're old and/or ill and living on fixed incomes, which lose a little buying power every month.
But like a Thanksgiving miracle, this year they were actually taking requests for tax relief. But this was the last day, and they closed at five. It was 2:15. By the time I got home it was 2:45. I opened the drawer of my file cabinet that holds the sort of documentation and nearly weep at the stuffed file folders. I grab the one supposedly containing bank statements and instead of the hour or so I imagined it would take me, the second batch of statements contained the one statement I needed. I had to write a "hardship letter." That was easy. And so I raced back to the Tax Office with my papers, planning to fill out their lengthy form while waiting for the next available grief counselor. It was 4:00. There was no line. I signed in and was immediately taken back to a very sweet woman's desk. I say she was sweet because she actually did all the filling out of the form for me. All I had to do was sign it. Done. Now I wait for the ruling. But I'm fairly certain I will qualify for tax relief.
And the best part of all of this was that I asked her how she felt about the presidential election. I know, it's not exactly the smartest thing to do, but have I ever claimed to be particularly smart? Turns out she was a Hillary supporter, who did indeed vote for Barack. I started crying. It is only kindness, generosity and warmth that can reduce me to tears.
Now I'm actually tackling the task of cleaning out my file cabinet. I am giving the paper shredder a real work out. And the one file I'm happiest to shred is the one containing all of my mother's medical records and bank statements. We''re talking about fifty pounds of paper.
Monday, December 1, 2008
David Gregory to get Russert's Job on Meet the Press
Linked to the title is an LATimes piece. I have mixed feelings about the Meet the Press Job. I'm hoping it means he gives up 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. I am not fond of Gregory at all. I liked him in the White House Press Corps because he seemed to annoy Bush and whomever had the job of Press Secretary, but I hated him hosting a show in prime time, five nights a week.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Quiet Privatizing of Medicare
I have linked the information on this topic to the title. The quiet privatization of Medicare is very carefully spelled out in the linked article. But I want to tell you how this effects a disabled person receiving Medicare parts A B and D.
For an American with a disability that eventually makes working impossible, the process of applying for State Disability Benefits is arduous, expensive and slow--very very slow. It took two years for my application to work its way through the Byzantine bureaucracy that is the disability maze. Their policy is to deny benefits on all first applications. Six months after my first application, I got my first denial. And, in the end, the only way to make it successfully through this process requires a disability attorney, but nobody tells you this ever at any point in the process. Yes, Dorothy, they do require an attorney to accept your application, and even then a judge can say, "Sorry, I'm not feeling the love today, and so, fuck you and the attorney you walked in with, waited hours with, and besides that I hate the look on your pathetic face anyway. Try again next year." It is humiliating, demeaning, and expensive. By the time you do get through the process successfully, you are bankrupt anyway. I sold my mother's antique furniture to stay afloat at the end, just to be able to eat and pay utilities.
My attorney was very skilled. And it was my lucky day that the judge seeing my case was filling in for the usual judge, who was out of town. The judge who saw my case lived in Las Vegas. I think it was his experience with crazies even worse than I that made him compassionate toward me. And once you do make it through that part of the process, you must then deal with your local Medicare and Medicaid offices. There you will face long lines and, once you get to the little window, you find the real obstructionists at the heart of any bureaucracy. They do not tell you over the phone what documentation you will need. But once you get to the little window, you will no doubt be missing one small bit of crucial documentation.
So, finally, two and a half years after my first application for Social Security Disability, I'm in the system and have received my first piddling little check. I have my Medicare Card. I have been referred to Valley Mental Health, and I have a good Psychiatrist. I've been tested and placed in a group of other women with bipolar disorder. And for several years that was as complicated as it got. But not so fast. We now have a new wrinkle in the Medicare system and guess what, you fine upstanding tax payers? Congress has quietly been doling out contracts to private insurance companies to give you less for more. And not only do they give the hapless senior or disabled person less service for more money and add another layer of bureaucracy on top of the one that has existed for a very long time, they also charge you guys a bit more because they are in the business of making money.
So, about four months ago, I got a packet in the mail about medicare coverage. This packet claimed it marked a change in the way medicare would be provided and that my account would now be covered by a plan called Evercare. I do not do well with reading the small print, but I should have called Medicare to check it out. This was the first salvo in the privatizing of Medicare. It duplicates what Medicare does, adds a new layer of bureaucracy, an enormous amount of paper--all very high quality glossy lists of this and that to confuse the elderly and disabled who often have a bit of trouble dealing with one layer of bureaucracy, let alone layer upon layer. It's smoke and mirrors. And it isn't continuous coverage. So when I go to my doctor's office with my new "medicare" card that now says Evercare, and the doctor's office makes a note of that, I start getting bills that have not been partially paid by medicare, and when I call Evercare, after going through phone mail hell, I get some jackass who tells me that on the billing date I was covered by traditional medicare. "Yessss? So you aren't medicare?" "Yes, we're your new medicare provider." "Well, I liked my old medicare provider better." "Just tell your doctor's office to bill medicare this time. Then they can bill us next time, and you'll be covered then."
What the Fuck? Is this what is meant by a ponzi scheme? I called medicare and asked why I was no longer on traditional medicare, and was told that I could indeed keep my traditional medicare, pay less and get more coverage. That it was the Bush administration's early work with a republican majority in the House and Senate to gradually, quietly privatize medicare. Holy mother of god! Just the paperwork alone must have cost millions. You should see the five pounds of booklets and formularies, and drug coverage, and exclusions, and networks, and favored hospitals, and on and on just to switch from what worked perfectly to what did not work at all.
The nice young woman at medicare spent almost an hour on the phone with me finding the best possible medicare part D drug package for me by having me give her a list of all my drugs and then checking them with all the insurance company options and found that Eatna covered all my drugs, even the diazipam and triazilam, drugs not covered by my old part D carrier. So next time you hear someone talking shit about the government bureaucracy making you have to see their doctors and how you'll get terrible care, tell them to talk to me. Bureaucracy is bureaucracy whether it's run by the government or a private, for-profit corporation with K Street lobbyists.
For an American with a disability that eventually makes working impossible, the process of applying for State Disability Benefits is arduous, expensive and slow--very very slow. It took two years for my application to work its way through the Byzantine bureaucracy that is the disability maze. Their policy is to deny benefits on all first applications. Six months after my first application, I got my first denial. And, in the end, the only way to make it successfully through this process requires a disability attorney, but nobody tells you this ever at any point in the process. Yes, Dorothy, they do require an attorney to accept your application, and even then a judge can say, "Sorry, I'm not feeling the love today, and so, fuck you and the attorney you walked in with, waited hours with, and besides that I hate the look on your pathetic face anyway. Try again next year." It is humiliating, demeaning, and expensive. By the time you do get through the process successfully, you are bankrupt anyway. I sold my mother's antique furniture to stay afloat at the end, just to be able to eat and pay utilities.
My attorney was very skilled. And it was my lucky day that the judge seeing my case was filling in for the usual judge, who was out of town. The judge who saw my case lived in Las Vegas. I think it was his experience with crazies even worse than I that made him compassionate toward me. And once you do make it through that part of the process, you must then deal with your local Medicare and Medicaid offices. There you will face long lines and, once you get to the little window, you find the real obstructionists at the heart of any bureaucracy. They do not tell you over the phone what documentation you will need. But once you get to the little window, you will no doubt be missing one small bit of crucial documentation.
So, finally, two and a half years after my first application for Social Security Disability, I'm in the system and have received my first piddling little check. I have my Medicare Card. I have been referred to Valley Mental Health, and I have a good Psychiatrist. I've been tested and placed in a group of other women with bipolar disorder. And for several years that was as complicated as it got. But not so fast. We now have a new wrinkle in the Medicare system and guess what, you fine upstanding tax payers? Congress has quietly been doling out contracts to private insurance companies to give you less for more. And not only do they give the hapless senior or disabled person less service for more money and add another layer of bureaucracy on top of the one that has existed for a very long time, they also charge you guys a bit more because they are in the business of making money.
So, about four months ago, I got a packet in the mail about medicare coverage. This packet claimed it marked a change in the way medicare would be provided and that my account would now be covered by a plan called Evercare. I do not do well with reading the small print, but I should have called Medicare to check it out. This was the first salvo in the privatizing of Medicare. It duplicates what Medicare does, adds a new layer of bureaucracy, an enormous amount of paper--all very high quality glossy lists of this and that to confuse the elderly and disabled who often have a bit of trouble dealing with one layer of bureaucracy, let alone layer upon layer. It's smoke and mirrors. And it isn't continuous coverage. So when I go to my doctor's office with my new "medicare" card that now says Evercare, and the doctor's office makes a note of that, I start getting bills that have not been partially paid by medicare, and when I call Evercare, after going through phone mail hell, I get some jackass who tells me that on the billing date I was covered by traditional medicare. "Yessss? So you aren't medicare?" "Yes, we're your new medicare provider." "Well, I liked my old medicare provider better." "Just tell your doctor's office to bill medicare this time. Then they can bill us next time, and you'll be covered then."
What the Fuck? Is this what is meant by a ponzi scheme? I called medicare and asked why I was no longer on traditional medicare, and was told that I could indeed keep my traditional medicare, pay less and get more coverage. That it was the Bush administration's early work with a republican majority in the House and Senate to gradually, quietly privatize medicare. Holy mother of god! Just the paperwork alone must have cost millions. You should see the five pounds of booklets and formularies, and drug coverage, and exclusions, and networks, and favored hospitals, and on and on just to switch from what worked perfectly to what did not work at all.
The nice young woman at medicare spent almost an hour on the phone with me finding the best possible medicare part D drug package for me by having me give her a list of all my drugs and then checking them with all the insurance company options and found that Eatna covered all my drugs, even the diazipam and triazilam, drugs not covered by my old part D carrier. So next time you hear someone talking shit about the government bureaucracy making you have to see their doctors and how you'll get terrible care, tell them to talk to me. Bureaucracy is bureaucracy whether it's run by the government or a private, for-profit corporation with K Street lobbyists.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
I'm Turning Into a Virtual Slut
If I had any dignity at all, I'd stop now. But I'm deep in the weeds of my own delusion. Ahhh. The guilty pleasure of inappropriate behavior. I keep thinking of lines from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. And find myself blushing that I identify with a character that a boy, only twenty two, created long ago. But truth be told, I also Identified with Aschenbach, Thomas Mann's character from Death in Venice. Only now, at the other end of my life, can I know I feel something akin to the longing, the foolishness one will engage in to follow the sound of a voice, or the very young man who moves so beautifully you blush to feel your lust and know you are invisible now at last. Only here in my words do I exist. You have real lives. Jobs you need to keep, families to feed, husbands, wives, lovers, children. I have friends who have lives, too. But aside from the occasional visit from a female friend or two, and the weekday matinee movie date with Nick, I have no life. A strange old dog and I share a small but comfy space. I'm crazy enough to be disabled, but not too crazy to live on my own. And though I am difficult, the people who love me, love me well and for a long, long time.
But still I am a fierce bitch now and then. Since I'm crazy and have been long enough to know one when I see one, I have a friend who is approaching her fifties and really needs some therapy. She is claiming to be too busy to squeeze it in, too poor. But she's also one of the most extravagantly generous women I know, and I've known her a long time. Extravagant with her time, loading herself with social obligations and wants that must be met, yet repeats a terribly dysfunctional dynamic of the same attraction to just the same kind of wrong man. She has plenty of time for the wrong man. Really the wrong man. Three wrong men in her past and one in her present. See what I mean about being difficult? Would you want me in your real life? I have high standards for everyone. Yet I am something of a cyber slut. I have no real life in which to misbehave, so I misbehave here and hope it's harmless fun. However if I were acting like this in the real world, I'd be making an appointment to talk it out with my therapist. I'd be seeing my shrink to get a med check. Anytime I'm having too much fun, I think I might just be crazy instead.
I knew this guy was dangerous in a sweet and seemingly harmless way, but I only noticed him when he was commenting on other people's blogs. And he lives "abroad" shall we say. There is no chance in hell I'm ever going to meet him, or so I hope. Because not only is he too young, he really is the wrong kind of man for me.
Recently Randal (who lives in Cincinnati (or so he says) and not abroad, (not to say I don't adore him, but he's married with children and I don't go there, so shut up), wrote about his fondness for the Baroque Italian composers and snowy weather. I'd have to go back to Randals to look to tell you the composers name, and it's late and I'm lazy. Vivaldi was a favorite of mine, and I didn't look much farther, but I did live in Italy in the mid 1060's and I was modeling in Milan, hanging out with famous artists and the world seemed to want to be my oyster, but I didn't believe I deserved it. So, other than the Italian bassist, who was so poor he didn't have his own apartment, the men I spent time with were very well off. And eventually I ran like hell. Happiness for me? No. Not in the cards. My crazy mother wanted me to come home. She needed me.
Well, she's dead now so I can finally live my own life. And I don't really like to travel anymore. Once train travel was replaced with flying sardine cans, and then they retired the old luxury liners with cruise ships, I stopped liking to travel. I lost my sense of adventure once they started strip searching me at the airport.
Anyway, to get back to my infatuations. I knew he was potential trouble. But now I find myself stalking his site. But he isn't my first virtual crush. My first crush was Scarlet Blue. I was very sad when she dismantled her site. And now and then I find her at Fairlane's place, and notice I'm a little jealous she talks to him but not to me. Oh well, love seldom runs smooth.
I've had a thing for the Unconventional Conventionist who is a sweet and snarky peach and nothing at all like the Progressive Traditionalist who is a troll, and a pompous ass as well. No UC pierced my heart one day by letting me know he was reading my novel and had left me a musical message of a very personal sort on a certain chapter. It was sweet, lovely UC sitting at this baby grand piano playing the Whippenpoof Song of the notorious Skull and Bones fraternity.
What can I say, my daddy taught it to me. And in the chapter called Body Warmth, little eight or nine year old Judy is doing dinner dishes as she warbles the Whippenpoof song. The very real, real time, virtual man, UC, was there in my novel, at the bottom of the page, playing accompaniment to my little reedy voice as I sang the lyrics. That my dears is nothing short of magic. And it both ripped me asunder, and healed me as well. So, UC isn't really a crush at all. I really love him. I love him like a... There are no words.
But there are other virtual men I have had the occasional crush on. I now have two crushes going on simultaneously. Only two you say? Well, Dr. Ziaus has Germaine, Mathman has Dcup. Probably the rest of the men and women I have lusted after had mates of their own as well, not even imaginary mates, but real flesh and blood mates. I trust Randal's claim that he is married. Besides, he doesn't ever flirt with me, and he does flirt. Oh yes he does. Just not with me. But there are bloggers who may not really be flirting who leave such provocative comments I find my heart going pitty patter at the thought of them. Take Fairlane for instance. I ran across Fairlane at Scarlet's and then of course followed him home. (She was probably posting there.) But I found Fairlane very interesting. He is one of the funniest bloggers around. Thoughtful and smart as well. So I kept going back like a bad habit I couldn't quite break. Then every once in a while, Fairlane would visit me and commit what amounts to a virtual hit and run. He would leave a comment like "Well what about Sartre!" Like I was some dumb shit and had completely left out the main ingredient. When what I was posting about had nothing to do with the Existentialists or the early twentieth century or... What the Fuck! And I would obsess like mad trying to solve that riddle. Pure nonsense. Not exactly a crush--more like fear and insecurity.
But now I loves me some Tengrain. And I'm hungry as well. But I only have white bread. How sad.
Oh yeah, there's Kelso and his nuts. I'm overly fond of him too. He's so easy. All you have to do with Kelso is smile and nod and say, Ummmhummm? And he'll go on and on like a top sent spinning. So very satisfying.
But still I am a fierce bitch now and then. Since I'm crazy and have been long enough to know one when I see one, I have a friend who is approaching her fifties and really needs some therapy. She is claiming to be too busy to squeeze it in, too poor. But she's also one of the most extravagantly generous women I know, and I've known her a long time. Extravagant with her time, loading herself with social obligations and wants that must be met, yet repeats a terribly dysfunctional dynamic of the same attraction to just the same kind of wrong man. She has plenty of time for the wrong man. Really the wrong man. Three wrong men in her past and one in her present. See what I mean about being difficult? Would you want me in your real life? I have high standards for everyone. Yet I am something of a cyber slut. I have no real life in which to misbehave, so I misbehave here and hope it's harmless fun. However if I were acting like this in the real world, I'd be making an appointment to talk it out with my therapist. I'd be seeing my shrink to get a med check. Anytime I'm having too much fun, I think I might just be crazy instead.
I knew this guy was dangerous in a sweet and seemingly harmless way, but I only noticed him when he was commenting on other people's blogs. And he lives "abroad" shall we say. There is no chance in hell I'm ever going to meet him, or so I hope. Because not only is he too young, he really is the wrong kind of man for me.
Recently Randal (who lives in Cincinnati (or so he says) and not abroad, (not to say I don't adore him, but he's married with children and I don't go there, so shut up), wrote about his fondness for the Baroque Italian composers and snowy weather. I'd have to go back to Randals to look to tell you the composers name, and it's late and I'm lazy. Vivaldi was a favorite of mine, and I didn't look much farther, but I did live in Italy in the mid 1060's and I was modeling in Milan, hanging out with famous artists and the world seemed to want to be my oyster, but I didn't believe I deserved it. So, other than the Italian bassist, who was so poor he didn't have his own apartment, the men I spent time with were very well off. And eventually I ran like hell. Happiness for me? No. Not in the cards. My crazy mother wanted me to come home. She needed me.
Well, she's dead now so I can finally live my own life. And I don't really like to travel anymore. Once train travel was replaced with flying sardine cans, and then they retired the old luxury liners with cruise ships, I stopped liking to travel. I lost my sense of adventure once they started strip searching me at the airport.
Anyway, to get back to my infatuations. I knew he was potential trouble. But now I find myself stalking his site. But he isn't my first virtual crush. My first crush was Scarlet Blue. I was very sad when she dismantled her site. And now and then I find her at Fairlane's place, and notice I'm a little jealous she talks to him but not to me. Oh well, love seldom runs smooth.
I've had a thing for the Unconventional Conventionist who is a sweet and snarky peach and nothing at all like the Progressive Traditionalist who is a troll, and a pompous ass as well. No UC pierced my heart one day by letting me know he was reading my novel and had left me a musical message of a very personal sort on a certain chapter. It was sweet, lovely UC sitting at this baby grand piano playing the Whippenpoof Song of the notorious Skull and Bones fraternity.
What can I say, my daddy taught it to me. And in the chapter called Body Warmth, little eight or nine year old Judy is doing dinner dishes as she warbles the Whippenpoof song. The very real, real time, virtual man, UC, was there in my novel, at the bottom of the page, playing accompaniment to my little reedy voice as I sang the lyrics. That my dears is nothing short of magic. And it both ripped me asunder, and healed me as well. So, UC isn't really a crush at all. I really love him. I love him like a... There are no words.
But there are other virtual men I have had the occasional crush on. I now have two crushes going on simultaneously. Only two you say? Well, Dr. Ziaus has Germaine, Mathman has Dcup. Probably the rest of the men and women I have lusted after had mates of their own as well, not even imaginary mates, but real flesh and blood mates. I trust Randal's claim that he is married. Besides, he doesn't ever flirt with me, and he does flirt. Oh yes he does. Just not with me. But there are bloggers who may not really be flirting who leave such provocative comments I find my heart going pitty patter at the thought of them. Take Fairlane for instance. I ran across Fairlane at Scarlet's and then of course followed him home. (She was probably posting there.) But I found Fairlane very interesting. He is one of the funniest bloggers around. Thoughtful and smart as well. So I kept going back like a bad habit I couldn't quite break. Then every once in a while, Fairlane would visit me and commit what amounts to a virtual hit and run. He would leave a comment like "Well what about Sartre!" Like I was some dumb shit and had completely left out the main ingredient. When what I was posting about had nothing to do with the Existentialists or the early twentieth century or... What the Fuck! And I would obsess like mad trying to solve that riddle. Pure nonsense. Not exactly a crush--more like fear and insecurity.
But now I loves me some Tengrain. And I'm hungry as well. But I only have white bread. How sad.
Oh yeah, there's Kelso and his nuts. I'm overly fond of him too. He's so easy. All you have to do with Kelso is smile and nod and say, Ummmhummm? And he'll go on and on like a top sent spinning. So very satisfying.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Heart Mandala for the Bloggers With the Open Hearts
Susan, she of the Crow with the beautiful voice, and the two sites, Phantsythat, and Adventures Ink is a talented artist, and not just with the words, though there is no denying her talents there. She is a visual artist too. Randal asked for a new painting from her and she painted a Heart Mandala. I studied Buddhism and had an old hippie friend who made several of those fashionable trips to India in the 60's along with the Beatles and every other musical type with an eye to a trend. One of my friends in that category came home with a guru and some Indian friends and she and her partner opened a little shop in Brentwood called Sat Purush, where they sold beautiful handmade Indian clothes for men and women with means, and some very fancy concert get-ups for the big name rockers. A friend of hers came back from India with a side trip through Tangiers and brought back one suitcase full of hashish and another full of Bedouin wedding dresses. I got one of the dresses and smoked my fair share of the hash. None of this is very Buddhist, more like some amalgamation of Krishna consciousness and Buddhism with a little hippie hashish thrown in along with the beautiful Bedouin dresses. And out of all of this, the hash smuggler--a life long painter, began to paint Mandalas. Extravagantly beautiful Mandalas. The lower chakras were her specialty. Nuff said.
But Susan has painted a Heart Mandala, and if anyone needed an opening of the heart it is I. Susan must have sensed this to address my heart's need for opening, and so Randal, the Boarder Explorer and I were the first recipients of this lovely art to become a new Award. I do not remember if there were instructions or suggestions for the passing of this award, but I believe that this award needs to be passed to those whose hearts have been wounded and yet manage to remain open and honest about their wounds and the ways they work on healing. Or perhaps it is the bloggers with hearts so open they can read your heart and know what you need and are only too happy to ask for your address to send it to you. Imagine all the trust in that?
At any rate the first blogger I wish to award this Heart Mandala is SaoirseDaily2 for her incredible generosity of heart. If you've missed the earring post, go back and look. If you missed yesterday's Jenna Mamnina clip. Well, you're hopeless, keep up.
Next to Liberality who gave me my first Award ever in my entire life, ever, and I had only been blogging a short while. Well, it thrilled me no end. I had so little skill it took weeks to get it home and "Link?" What is this link of which you speak? It only took me six or eight months to give her credit for the gift. That takes a lot of patience on her part. But I give this to her because... Well, she knows why.
And to Linda Sama The Ageless Hippie Chick who gave me The Rebel Grrrl Award. Now that goes right to my badass image of myself. Pretty funny when you think how old I am. But Linda IS
a Buddhist and she does indeed collect Mandalas. Who better to get one than one who loves them so. Besides that she teaches Yoga and could probably teach me how to open mine.
And to Dcup whose hearts as big as her cup size, and as open as her mind. I love you dear. Have you figured it out yet, that my heart belongs to Dcup, no matter my deep and heartfelt flirtation with Tengrain, and Kelso and his nuts, and Fairlane, who never even noticed, and yes, Dcup even Mathman.
And to D.K. Read, because with hair that red, her heart is shining right through her hair. Can anyone deny it? Because when Stella doesn't take the silly Anonymous commenters on, DK does. My fierce protectors.
And to Stella who posted the very first comment on my blog and then told me I reminded her of Dorothy Parker. What better reason could there be?
This comes with no strings attached. No rules that I know of. So hang on to your heart or pass it around. It's your heart after all. The only thing I ask is that you post your Mandala on your sidebar and link it back to Susan.
Jenna Mammina
Ms Saoirse Daily2 sends not only handmade earrings I'm now calling my "Lobe Jewels" just precisely because it does sound a tiny bit nasty, and I'm that kind of woman, but she sent me a CD. Now, I have to confess something and I know it makes me sound like an asshole to admit this, but I have a hard time visiting sites where there is music playing the moment the site pops up. Often my speakers are turned up too loud because I might have been listening to my favorite Diana Krall last night and now, I'm just not expecting music I didn't chose, to come blaring at me from anyone's peaceful space but mine (which might not be exactly peaceful, but has my own soundtrack playing, if anythings playing at all). This might mean I'm a snob, or closed to the tastes of others, and that could be true. I wouldn't argue with you if you said that about me. But it's more that I feel oddly assaulted by waves of sound not of my choosing. Again, those words--"of my choosing." There are many of you who have turned me on to music I didn't know existed, and now that I do, I spend at least 99cents a week buying music you led me to. So it isn't just that I hate new stuff, but I do hate most of what you guys have playing on your sites like it was goddamned elevator music. Sorry, I had to say it. But what you like and wish to listen to is very personal. If I post a music clip and you cruise right past it without a pretense of a listen, I completely understand. I do the same thing. I may say something like, "Lovely music. So what did you think about the stampede at WallMart at FIVE FUCKIN' AM this morning?"
Ms Saoirse is the loveliest of women. She is talented and generous too. Why after giving me gifts must she listen for a moment to what I have to say about the music playing at her place? Because it explains the time it took me to open the CD cover and slip that baby into the slot and crank up the volume. And what I heard brought tears to my eyes from almost the opening notes, but all through the whole CD did I weep. Because Ms Saoirse has been paying close attention to my taste, and she has the magic of the true gift giver--she gives, not from her own desire, but for mine, or yours, or to whomever she gives. So, I can't tell you how much I love this gift of terrific new jazz, now I will be pulling up the YouTube clips almost everyday to not only listen to, but to watch as well. If you don't like it, put your fingers in your ears and go lalalalallala as loud as you can, but I'll be here either dancing or singing along, or crying, because it's just all so damn poignant and touching, and it swings.
Eugene Fodor Used to Play Paganini In My Backyard
This was the Eugene Fodor I knew. His fiance was a student of my husband's in the mid to late 1970's. I remember entertaining them in our tiny apartment in the Cherry Creek section of Denver. She was a small, voluptuous, dark haired beauty and she and I hit it off immediately. I was not so sure about Eugene. He was more politically conservative than she, and if I remember correctly, an ardent gun enthusiast. And when we met them, he was already a virtuoso concert violinist, world famous, and with a certain rock star following of lovesick young women. So I watched him for signs of arrogance, but what I saw instead was inexperience with anything other than his doting mother and his ambitious father whose talent was not so great, but a fierce desire for his sons to have what he could not. Eugene was a boy who grew up on a large ranch with an older brother who was also a talented violinist. Eugene was both a young genius and a strutting cowboy. And then it came so early, this star stature. Underneath that wattage was a sweet, generous, romantic young man with great good looks, a bit of a rough edge and a monster talent.
We were invited to the family ranch for an engagement party. It was a Spanish style event with a Mariachi band. And a short time later we were invited to the wedding. They moved to New York and I remember working on a painting in a new medium to send to them for a wedding present a few months later.
Shortly after that we moved to Missouri, where my husband got a teaching job at one of the lovely State Universities. We used to see Eugene play now and then on Johnny Carson.
They wrote letters, called occasionally, and then we got a call that they were playing in a concert in another Missouri City and wanted to come stay with us the night and day before the concert and that we would be their guests for the event. We were both delighted and worried. I more worried than my husband. Eugene's wife, my friend, whose name I can no longer recall I'm embarrassed to say, was very pregnant with twins. I worried that the bed in the guest room wasn't big enough or comfortable enough. But they were both so sweet. We had a lovely afternoon. Fixed dinner at home. We ate simply, at their request. And when she went to bed, he wandered into the backyard and played. So under a cool autumn sky full of stars on the edge of the Ozarks, we listened to perhaps the worlds most famous Paganini virtuoso play Paginini. It was the most magical, transcendent musical moment of my life.
And again, late the next afternoon, he wandered the backyard and played for at least an hour. Then the black limousine came to pick us up for the two hour ride to the concert hall. When we got out of the limousine, hordes of girls began screaming. Eugene signed some autographs and then we were herded into his dressing room. We had champaign, caviar, cheeses, fruit. And then we were taken to the first box in the balcony to look down on the stage. Before he began playing he blew his wife a kiss, and people rose from their seats to look up at us, she looked around and smiled and then the concert began.
I had never been a fan of classical music. I grew up with jazz. Oh I'd certainly heard plenty of classical music. My dad's mother loved it. But not until high school had I gone to concerts or listened to classical music of my own accord, until I heard Rachmaninoff's Isle of the Dead did I find something other than Jazz that really moved me. Then I discovered Stravinski's Petrushka, and The Rite of Spring. And then Vivaldi, and so it went. Yet still, I did not like Beethoven, or Motzart, or Wagner, especially not Wagner. Then later found Bach and that was the sweet spot, classically speaking.
After the concert in an unnamed city in Missouri, there was a reception. As we walked into the room, a wave of applause swept over us, Eugene's wife grabbed me by the hand, asked me to come with her, approached the nearest matron in a flowered dress, and asked her where the ladies room was, all the while tightly clutching my hand to her ample bosom. She dragged me to the crowded ladies and then, just inside the door to the packed room, put a hand to either side of my face and pulled mine to hers and planted a juicy kiss on my startled lips. And the room went silent for just a moment as most of the waiting women held their breath. Then my hugely pregnant friend spoke in her rich musical contralto and asked to cut in line, as her husband was waiting for her, and because she was so very preggers, she needed to pee so very badly. And we walked into the first available stall together, since she still held my hand. Once inside, she opened her little evening bag and pulled a tiny silver vial out, unscrewed the lid, dipped in her little finger and scooped out a nail full of coke. She snorted rather noisily, then giggled and kissed me again. She had me backed against the wall, leaning into me slightly as she bent back and scooped another nail full. She whispered, don't breathe or you'll blow it all around. Then she snorted another. She said, close your eyes and hold your breath. I did. She said, "breathe" and I sucked air in through my nose along with a powerful hit of coke. And again. Then she pulled a joint from her purse and hiked her skirt and sat on the toilet. I whispered, "Do you think this is wise in here?" Never mind, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" She lit it, and we giggled through a joint while the ladies room emptied.
That is my last memory of them other than a birth announcement and a couple of letters. His career was in full swing, and she was hanging around with the guys in Divo and going to all the hot clubs and parites. I heard she was studying Opera Singning. Then silence.
Then we heard they'd divorced. Then we divorced. I moved back to Salt Lake and then First Love/Last Love and I started living together. Then one night we saw something on TV about Eugene Fodor's arrest in the Hamptons for a break-in and a drug bust. And then nothing after that. Such genius and the demons that sometimes accompany extraordinary gifts. And today, while listening to Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg I thought of Eugene.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Sarah Palin: Poet Lauretate
Julian Gough celebrates a new voice in poetry, Sarah Palin:
And the relevance to me
With that issue,
As we spoke
About Africa and some
Of the countries
There that were
Kind of the people succumbing
To the dictators
And the corruption
Of some collapsed governments
On the Continent,
The relevance
Was Alaska’s.
via Andrew Sullivan
"I no longer recognize marriage"
Tom Ackerman
I no longer recognize marriage. It’s a new thing I’m trying.Turns out it’s fun.
Yesterday I called a woman’s spouse her boyfriend.
She says, correcting me, “He’s my husband,”
“Oh,” I say, “I no longer recognize marriage.”
For Tengrain: Leda and the Swan, by William Butler Yeats
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By his dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
How can anybody, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins, engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
Literature Network » William Butler Yeats » Leda And The Swan
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By his dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
How can anybody, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins, engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
Literature Network » William Butler Yeats » Leda And The Swan
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Things You Pick Up at Politits
I dropped by Dcup's and found this delightful meme/notmeme
Other Names Meme:
1. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names): Jean Brian
2. NASCAR NAME: (first name of your mother’s dad, father’s dad): Linton Ralph
3. STAR WARS NAME: (the first 2 letters of your last name, first 4 letters of your first name): Pepegg
4. DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal): Red Dog
5. SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you live): Evan Salt Lake
6. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite color, favorite alcoholic drink, optionally add “THE” to the beginning): Black Old Fashion
7. FLY NAME: (first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name): Peon
8. GANGSTA NAME: (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite cookie): Chocolate Peanutbutter
9. ROCK STAR NAME: (current pet’s name, current street name): Cyrus Lincoln
10. PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on): Tippy Lincoln
And to follow Dcup's lead, I won't tag anyone, unless they comment. Then you're in the game.
I did think her answers were hilarious, while mine seem rather ordinary. I always liked the alliteration of my name, but it cramps the style when creating a Star Wars Name. Sounds like a stutterer. And was there ever a less Fly name than Peon?
Other Names Meme:
1. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names): Jean Brian
2. NASCAR NAME: (first name of your mother’s dad, father’s dad): Linton Ralph
3. STAR WARS NAME: (the first 2 letters of your last name, first 4 letters of your first name): Pepegg
4. DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal): Red Dog
5. SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you live): Evan Salt Lake
6. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd favorite color, favorite alcoholic drink, optionally add “THE” to the beginning): Black Old Fashion
7. FLY NAME: (first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name): Peon
8. GANGSTA NAME: (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite cookie): Chocolate Peanutbutter
9. ROCK STAR NAME: (current pet’s name, current street name): Cyrus Lincoln
10. PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on): Tippy Lincoln
And to follow Dcup's lead, I won't tag anyone, unless they comment. Then you're in the game.
I did think her answers were hilarious, while mine seem rather ordinary. I always liked the alliteration of my name, but it cramps the style when creating a Star Wars Name. Sounds like a stutterer. And was there ever a less Fly name than Peon?
Stella Speaks in Response to a Comment at My Place
Red, let a native Californian school ya, even though a Red Rasputin is a cocktail.
Proposition 8 was purposely written in a deceptive manner, especially in the initial draft. Many people thought if they voted Yes on 8, they supported same-sex marriage. The ads were utter prevarication.
The original ballot language read: "[Prop 8] Amends the California Constitution to provide that only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California."
The election official's change, however, gives the legislation a more straightforward read:
"[Prop 8] Changes California Constitution to eliminate right of same-sex couples to marry. Provides that only a marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California. Fiscal Impact: Over the next few years, potential revenue loss, mainly sales taxes, totaling in the several tens of millions of dollars, to state and local governments. In the long run, likely little fiscal impact to state and local governments."
Red, note the convoluted language. The only fiscal impact is that companies and the government that insures heterosexual families would be required to insure same-sex families. Where this "tens of millions" came in, I do not know, especially when the end of the proposition states "likely little fiscal impact." Huh?
"The Proposition 8 ballot was created in opposition to amend the constitution and overturn the 2000 Proposition 22. Prop 22 was an initiative to prevent same-sex marriages from being recognized by the State of California. The measure was defeated by a wide margin of 61.4% to 38.6%. Oppositionists tried to fight this decision in the California Supreme Court and the decision was upheld in May 15, 2008 and same-sex marriages were finally allowed in California."
Your logic is flawed, Red. I find the comment you selected bordering on bigotry. Your quote is from one minister at one church: hardly a consensus on African-American voters.
Please take your question back to the Mormon Church and the Knights of Columbus who violate separation of church and state. These organizations, along with right-wing Christian fundamentalists, such as the Christian Coalition, poured millions of dollars into passing this proposition—most of these organizations are not in California and don't belong in our politics.
Furthermore, , "Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger said Sunday he will not join legislative Democrats in a court fight against Proposition 8 despite his opposition to the same-sex marriage ban, but he believes the courts ultimately should and will allow such marriages in California.".
Sadly, Attorney General Jerry Brown, has his hands tied to defend the laws of the State of California. He has stated he wants to ensure that same-sex marriages that occurred between May 15 and November 3. But, that's another story.
Proposition 8 was purposely written in a deceptive manner, especially in the initial draft. Many people thought if they voted Yes on 8, they supported same-sex marriage. The ads were utter prevarication.
The original ballot language read: "[Prop 8] Amends the California Constitution to provide that only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California."
The election official's change, however, gives the legislation a more straightforward read:
"[Prop 8] Changes California Constitution to eliminate right of same-sex couples to marry. Provides that only a marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California. Fiscal Impact: Over the next few years, potential revenue loss, mainly sales taxes, totaling in the several tens of millions of dollars, to state and local governments. In the long run, likely little fiscal impact to state and local governments."
Red, note the convoluted language. The only fiscal impact is that companies and the government that insures heterosexual families would be required to insure same-sex families. Where this "tens of millions" came in, I do not know, especially when the end of the proposition states "likely little fiscal impact." Huh?
"The Proposition 8 ballot was created in opposition to amend the constitution and overturn the 2000 Proposition 22. Prop 22 was an initiative to prevent same-sex marriages from being recognized by the State of California. The measure was defeated by a wide margin of 61.4% to 38.6%. Oppositionists tried to fight this decision in the California Supreme Court and the decision was upheld in May 15, 2008 and same-sex marriages were finally allowed in California."
Your logic is flawed, Red. I find the comment you selected bordering on bigotry. Your quote is from one minister at one church: hardly a consensus on African-American voters.
Please take your question back to the Mormon Church and the Knights of Columbus who violate separation of church and state. These organizations, along with right-wing Christian fundamentalists, such as the Christian Coalition, poured millions of dollars into passing this proposition—most of these organizations are not in California and don't belong in our politics.
Furthermore, , "Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger said Sunday he will not join legislative Democrats in a court fight against Proposition 8 despite his opposition to the same-sex marriage ban, but he believes the courts ultimately should and will allow such marriages in California.".
Sadly, Attorney General Jerry Brown, has his hands tied to defend the laws of the State of California. He has stated he wants to ensure that same-sex marriages that occurred between May 15 and November 3. But, that's another story.
Ms L. at SaoirseDaily2, Sends Earrings to Civilize the Savage Beast in Me
There are two more pair, and I will soon be modeling them for you. I tried to photograph all three pair on a dark green velvet scarf, but my hands shake due to bipolar meds. I would need a tripod to take a photo that isn't blurred at such close range, so I am forced to let my computer do the work for me. It is interesting to me what the direction and source of light does to the color of flesh.
Ms. L of SaoirseDaily2 fame is a very talented jewelry maker and does a great job choosing the right earrings for a particular woman. I have been wearing this pair all afternoon. My hair is a fairly simple bob and an earring that doesn't dangle a bit is invisible.
Thank you Saoirse darling. I love my new earnings and will step up my wardrobe so I can justify the lovely bit of glamour hanging from my earlobes. You are a dear. And I just might be a bit less savage, looking so civilized.
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Mormons and Proposition 8
The Washington Post is reporting on the Mormon Church's support for Proposition 8. Don't forget about this violation of The Constitution. And that this is a very rich Church with a very small central governing group, ruled by one wise old "white man" chosen by god, and his twelve apostles or elders, all of whom are also white men. Did I say rich white men? I should have.
Women with ambition in the Mormon Church are relegated to The Relief Society. Men rule, women serve. And everybody in the church pays tithing. So come all ye saints is a way to enrich the church. If you are poor and live in a country where you are oppressed or have very little chance for improving your situation and the nicely dress duo of clean cut, sweet faced, well behaved, young men knock on the door of your hovel offering not only eternal salvation, but the possibility of immigration to the US of A, what would you do? Utah has very few restrictions for immigration. Utah will expedite the visas for converts. And once here they will help you find housing, a job, and the tight embrace of the church.
Mormons also run "charities" where we donate, and they sell. And in these hard times, they just raised their prices for the stuff they get for free but sell back to us. They own vast swaths of downtown real estate. They build enormous Temples all over the world, and send out an army of young men (only recently have they allowed young women to join in the conversion brigade). Please pay attention to what this fundamentalist, right wing, wealthy, and well connected Church is doing. This is a church with great organizational skills. They are the only financial backing Mitt Romney would need to finance his next bid for the presidency. They run Utah and are making inroads in the national government.
D.K. Raed said...
"They run Utah" ... and most of Idaho, a heckova lot of Nevada, northern Arizona, and western Colorado -- all part of the original "Deseret Territory".
Thanks for putting this up UT. As I shopped in Costco today, surrounded by polyg women, I always wonder why they are so eager to obey. The Relief Society -- don't get me started, it's a relief to not be a part of that zombiette society. It's enough to make me swerve the car a little too close to the curb as I pass those clean-cut white-shirted young men bicylcing around town.
People think they are so nice & mannerly, but I live near Mountain Meadows Massacre, so I can never forget they are capable of extreme violence, if so ordered by that "old white prophet guy".
Women with ambition in the Mormon Church are relegated to The Relief Society. Men rule, women serve. And everybody in the church pays tithing. So come all ye saints is a way to enrich the church. If you are poor and live in a country where you are oppressed or have very little chance for improving your situation and the nicely dress duo of clean cut, sweet faced, well behaved, young men knock on the door of your hovel offering not only eternal salvation, but the possibility of immigration to the US of A, what would you do? Utah has very few restrictions for immigration. Utah will expedite the visas for converts. And once here they will help you find housing, a job, and the tight embrace of the church.
Mormons also run "charities" where we donate, and they sell. And in these hard times, they just raised their prices for the stuff they get for free but sell back to us. They own vast swaths of downtown real estate. They build enormous Temples all over the world, and send out an army of young men (only recently have they allowed young women to join in the conversion brigade). Please pay attention to what this fundamentalist, right wing, wealthy, and well connected Church is doing. This is a church with great organizational skills. They are the only financial backing Mitt Romney would need to finance his next bid for the presidency. They run Utah and are making inroads in the national government.
D.K. Raed said...
"They run Utah" ... and most of Idaho, a heckova lot of Nevada, northern Arizona, and western Colorado -- all part of the original "Deseret Territory".
Thanks for putting this up UT. As I shopped in Costco today, surrounded by polyg women, I always wonder why they are so eager to obey. The Relief Society -- don't get me started, it's a relief to not be a part of that zombiette society. It's enough to make me swerve the car a little too close to the curb as I pass those clean-cut white-shirted young men bicylcing around town.
People think they are so nice & mannerly, but I live near Mountain Meadows Massacre, so I can never forget they are capable of extreme violence, if so ordered by that "old white prophet guy".
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Art for Art's Sake
I've been longing for some new art. I've grown used to the pieces hanging on my walls and hardly give them a glance anymore. I've also lamented the mostly rather primitive works of art that we give one another when we want to pay homage to our favorite bloggers. Susan at Phantsythat is a remarkable artist and talented writer. And it seems Randal asked her for a painting. It amazes me that those with extraordinary artistic gifts so seldom see themselves as the enormous talents they in fact are. Prior to this, the prettiest award being passed around was the Marie Antoinette award given to me and others by Liquid Illusion. My first award was the E for Excellent award and I treasure it, then I got the Rebel Grrrl award, and that thrilled me because it was finally acknowledged, and celebrated. Halleluia!
I'm a woman who never won anything prior to blogging. So now I love the awards. I can't get enough of them. I was amazed that in this particular time of economic peril anyone would think Marie "let them eat cake" Antoinette was a fitting award, but she is pretty, you've got to give her that. And it does make one think of the French Revolution and the quite literal toppling of a corrupt regime. Which of course makes me think of the guillotine. What a lovely word for such a fierce and fatal final execution. And there sits Madame Defarge, on a stool, knitting as the heads roll off the block and into a basket at her feet. I, being somewhat old, no longer lovely, and rather bloody-minded at this point in our nation's history, feel rather more Madame Defarge-like and would like to see some rough justice for the rulers who brought us to our knees, forced some of us to lose our homes and cars and livelihood. I'm wanting to see the Bush administration, the entire pack of liars and thieves beheaded, and I would sit smiling as I knit and watch the heads roll. Oh yes I would. Am I nice? No, not so much. Did I ever claim to be? Where is my sense of forgiveness? Killed long ago.
"But didn't you say you don't believe in capital punishment?" Well, yes I did say that. But that's because so many people on death row were not rich enough to hire world class legal teams to defend them. And the "justice" system is filled with republican justices appointed by republican regimes, and the prisons are now so often privately owned and operated and are crying "poor me, I need more prisoners to justify the hefty profits I make running these mighty fine prisons you pretty much gave me"--like the ones in Texas that are owned by the Chenneys and looked over by the likes of Alberto "I don't recall" Gonzales. It must have been some mighty horrific conditions and abuses of power that prodded a Texas grand jury to charge both Dick Chenney and Alberto Gonzales. Remember that Texas is the state George Bush governed and calls home. Now that takes balls, Texas. Good on ya. I'm not so embarrassed to have been born there now, if only for a moment or two. Oh how I'd like to see those two heads roll. Let's open another bottle of wine and toast that thought.
Anyway, to get back to art. Susan has painted a Heart Mandala and is giving it as a blogger award. And Randal Graves and the Boarder Explorer and I are three of it's first recipients. There will no doubt be more. And maybe this will open my heart chakra a little. But forgiveness for those criminal bastards will be a little harder to accomplish. Nothing less than a War Crimes Trial will do. Maybe I do have a trip left in me. Lets all meet up at the Hague when the time comes. And to celebrate after the convictions, I say we spend at least a couple of days in Amsterdam.
A Fine Romance
If you haven't read the notes on my last musical Sunday post please do so now. This is a continuing sloppy saga of fatally flawed infatuation.
I've Got to See You Again
Is it possible to fall in love with someone you've never met, whose voice you've never heard, whose only words are typed upon a page, who lives in another country, who scares you a little? Maybe love isn't the right word, maybe it's only flirtation, or the time of night he speaks to you through the lines on a page, like the words in a dream, when you know that it's real and not real at all.
Bill Evans, piano, Chuck Israels, Bass, Larry Bunker, Drums
This was the year I sailed for Italy.
Thanks anonymous for the suggestion, which surprised me. Weren't you the one who said, It's much like the music of Richard Wagner's not as bad as it sounds? I would rather listen to cats fucking than anything by Wagner. Wagner is torture. Bill Evans is sublime. Shall we continue this conversation?
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