Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Poo Pie

It's lets get dirty time in the political cycle. The Republicans are calling Obama names: Socialist, Communist, Liberal... Oh the horror! I just saw a clip of a campaign stop for McCain with him saying "Obama wants to take your slice of the pie and give it to someone else". Boo! Hiss! Boo! "I want to grow the pie." Grow the Pie? You dumb old fart, you think pie grows? Ask any woman in small town America, the real America, the America of real Americans who are like you, how to grow a pie and she will bust up laughing. A pie gets made. And before a pie gets made someone has to earn the money to buy the ingredients, which probably entails a shopping trip, which requires gas for the car, assuming that the Repo-man hasn't already repo'ed it. But once all the ingredients are assembled, someone with a certain skill in pie making will have to put that pie together, bake it in an oven, using either electricity or gas to heat it. Then that pie will disappear faster than it could ever be put together. Turn your back for an instant and that pie will disappear into the mouths of all pie lovers in close proximity to that freshly baked pie. But I think that MCCain and Palin are assembling a poo pie, and it does seem to be growing. John Sydney doesn't like to lose, though he ought to be used to it by now. But since it all seems to be slipping away, he and his Killa from Wasilla are getting ready for some poo-pie flinging. Duck!!! Incoming!

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow

This is another of the perfectly timed and thoughtful gifts I have received from Ghost. Always left like a lovely bouquet of wild flowers in my comments thread. I have to say I am new to my love of Amy Winehouse, but if Amy Winehouse survives, she might look and sound just like me. No, I don't have a smidgen of her talent, but I do have the same deep register and ragged quality of the vocal chords, and I love her material. I certainly worked hard at self-destruction, but against all odds, here I am an old woman. This is an old classic, but Amy Winehouse's version is the best I've ever heard. Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.


I'm probably the least popular woman in Salt Lake City. I won't go anywhere that doesn't involve foraging for food or second hand clothes. I won't go to girlfriend's houses unless they live three houses away. Even with my friend who lives three houses away, when I do follow her home it's because she wants me to read an article in the paper or see her geranium. He husband thinks I'm vulgar, and I have to agree with him, I am vulgar. So I stay home alone with my vulgar self.

But today, ten minutes after I woke up at 11:30, Melea came over for her day-off morning jolt of espresso and hot organic milk, and a bit of sugar. It is our "morning" ritual that we watch the news and drink coffee and smoke. While this was happening, another friend dropped by and she too joined the coffee drinking and smoking. This has gone on all day, and now I've missed half of the first part of Hardball.

I haven't gone anywhere in the blogs except Dcup's and even there I couldn't post a comment. Has she blocked me or something? I sent her an email telling her of this catastrophe and she emailed me back with her phone number. Another friend drops by, and now I'm not only wired on coffee, I'm stoned and low blood-sugar. I wolf down some Cheerios and call her. And now I am the friend that dropped by right in the middle of her evening with her family. I heard Cupcake's voice today. I'm completely in love with Dcup's family, especially Dcup herself. I am her much older sister. Oh how lovely it is to fantasize the family you always dreamed of.

So now that I have talked with Dcup, my day has been both productive and enjoyable. Life's good when you have friends who don't mind that you're vulgar.