Nine Little Words

Build A Wall

Lock Her Up

Drain the Swamp

Nine little words brayed repeatedly by the President-Elect while campaigning.  Nine little words chanted by the Trump disciples.  Over and over and over.  What do these nine little words have in common?  Other than they are monosyllabic (short, easy) words?  Any guesses?  They are meaningless.  All meaningless. 

I’m pretty much glad that six of those words have no meaning.  Build a wall – useless and expensive.  Lock her up – imagine the resources that would take.  Also useless and expensive.  Drain the swamp – Trump is busy filling the swamp.  Perhaps he meant to drain the brackish water from the swamp so we could clearly see the mass of writhing reptiles.

These nine little words swarmed around the heads of the Trump disciples like torpid mosquitoes.  Somewhat bothersome, but not worth the effort to swat away.  Actually energizing to many.  Often invigorating.  Easy to say.  Fun to chant.  “I’ll vote for that,” many said.  “Trump rallies are fun,” they stated.  “We’ll put Trump in the White House with these fine ideas,” they swore.

Nine little words.  Three massive wishes.  These three wishes will never be granted by the Trump genie.  What now, Trump supporters?  With the tarnishing brass lamp lying at your feet, useless, what will you do?  Gloat?  Seems to still be happening by the viral videos I see of shouting Trump voters?  Sneer?  Sneering at Liberals is all-consuming fun.  Hate?  Ongoing.   Those are three more little words.  Gloat, sneer, hate.  Actually, not so little.

What is left for us all now?  Watching the rapid dismantling of our country.  Removal of health care for those who could lose everything with one major illness.   Gutting of free education.  Removal of any regulations that could keep your water safe and your air clean.  Why would any of these things be beneficial to our country?  Did any Trump voters actually stop to think about this?  Do any research?  Think about the future of their children and grandchildren? 

No thinking involved.  Just chanting.  The repetition of those nine little words.

What were once Perverts are now Addicts

Used to be, men that wanted to show their private parts to ladies donned a trench coat and roamed the evening streets looking for victims.  A bit of pre-planning was done, no doubt, to pinpoint the optimal location for privacy and largest pool of victims. The only thing separating Anthony Weiner from the stereotypical trench coat wearing perv is the inability to plan ahead.  There’s no skulking in the shadows for him.  Drop pants.  Take photo.  Press send.

Self-called “sexperts” are calling Weiner’s proclivity for snap and send a sexting addiction.  I’m assuming most people who think there is such a thing as a sexting addiction feel this term is a handful of notches above the term “mental illness.”  Is flashing women an addiction?  I don’t think so.  Hopefully some experts will weigh in on this labeling.  Regardless of what you call it, this man needs help from a doctor.  The compulsion to repeatedly expose one’s gentials to others is a mental illness.  Weiner says he has sought help for his condition.  He claims he has received help from his wife.

Enter stage right the schlumping Huma.  Supporting.  Smiling.  Speaking out on her husband’s behalf.  She’s sticking with it all so she can keep her family together.  She’s certainly free to do such a thing.  Perhaps she’s sticking until she feels better about a decision to no longer stick.  She seems as if she’s a deep thinker rather than a rash decision maker.  However, how sad would it be to see down the road, Huma explaining to her adult son how she felt it was best to be an enabler (she may use the term “supportive”)?  How it was better to let her husband do as he pleased and repeatedly humiliate her in public and private.  She may say in 16 years, “And now, Jordan, you have learned so much from your dad, go out in the world and show everyone what you have learned.  Don’t forget to charge your cell phone.  There are lots of young ladies waiting to hear from you.”

Recently, I’ve read several articles on Huma.  What we seem to admire most about this woman we have labeled “strength.”  Had this situation be reversed, Huma sexting and Anthony supporting, we would not be saying Weiner was strong.  No sireeee.  What seems to pass for strength for political wives these days is to withstand shit storms without an umbrella.  Strength seems to mean getting sucker punched in public and keeping your head up.

Had Weiner been able to keep it in his pants, unphotographed, he would have gone far.  For all I know, he still might.  But first, dude, back it up a little.  Drop out of the mayoral race.  Don’t force people to vote for a liar.  Get help.  Real help from someone with a certificate on the wall with seals, and signatures and all that stuff.  Stop talking about you for one damn minute.  Apologize to your wife.  In public.  Turn in your cell phone and check yourself in somewhere.  Give us a call (without photo) when you are well, in control of yourself, and ready to act like a man, a husband and a father.

Mad

Rick Perry will never end abortions in Texas.

Never.

He may end legal and safe abortions.

He will most definitely increase the death rate of women who will attempt "back alley" abortions.

He will most definitely increase the suicide rate among women, especially young women and girls.

He will not safeguard women's health in any way.

He has completely mislead himself and those that believe in him by calling himself pro-life.  Pro-life does not include women butchered by illegal abortions and babies found in dumpsters.

Rick Perry will NEVER end abortions in Texas.

No one will end abortions anywhere.

Can't we hang the pope hat next to the KKK hood and keep that closet door closed!

It seems that, lately, we are all promoting ourselves to “constitutional lawyer.” We all claim to know exactly what our founding fathers meant when penning the Constitution. The vast majority of who are weighing in on the U.S. Constitution have no formal education or training to do so. But this seems to be stopping nobody.

So, now I’m hopping on the “I’m a constitutional lawyer” bandwagon. Let’s discuss that Freedom of Religion thing. Why? It’s just a little bitty bit of the first amendment to the U. S. Constitution. A mere 16 words applying to religion in this country. Want to see it? Here it goes:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

I don’t see that it has anything to do with contraception, the good (or not-so-good) folks working down there at the Blue Shield offices, or requiring a European Catholic man to lead our wayward statesmen.

Seems to temporarily-self-appointed-constitutional-lawyer me, that the first amendment states that the government cannot pick one church to rule us all. In law speak that’s the “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion” part. The second part, “or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” seems to say that if you want to pick a religion to believe in or if you want to just stay home and say your evening prayers you’re welcome to do so.

That’s it!

But it seems as if the Catholic Church has done a bit of over-interpretation.

If we’re all going to be forced to fall in with the Catholic Church, then why the hell did our ancestors come to this country in the first place? Are we going to let all of that hard work (of our ancestors) disintegrate under the iron hand of the Catholic Church?

After centuries of fear of control by other countries, are we now going to let the Pope dictate how our country is run? We are letting a man who is not a citizen of this country rule approximately 68 million of our people. This man is not our elected leader. Do these 68 million Americans think the Pope is a congressman living in a suburb outside of Detroit?

THE LAND OF THE FREE is being eaten by a “holy” man in a ridiculous hat.

Ladies and Gentlemen, no one in this country has the right to tell you not to use contraception. NO ONE. No group, entity, faction, denomination, flock or cluster has the right to tell you not to use contraception.

I’ve been a regular voter for 30 years. Not once have I seen the Pope on any ballot. Never. Nor has anyone else in the country. But way too many of us are voting for him one way or another. Are these people forgetting that their ancestors came to this country to enjoy individual liberty? And now they are going to sign over these liberties and those of their offspring to the Pope?

Freedom of religion means that an individual can believe in God, Jesus Christ, trees, mother nature, aliens, and themselves. Or not. If an individual wants to dedicate his or her life to a church, fine. If they do not wish to use birth control, I will not attempt to take away their freedom to procreate until their eyes bleed, or to abstain until their eyes bleed even more. However, I will NOT stand to have them group together in the millions (or more if we include the rest of the world) and get their business up in my bedroom or my uterus.

The Catholic Church does not have the right to control my reproductive parts. The Catholic Church does not have the right to control the reproductive parts of its members. If the members of the Catholic Church choose to be sheep then I cannot stop them. I do, however, refuse to become part of that flock. I will not be governed by them.

Oh, yes! It's Another Birth Control Tirade

Looks like President Obama has poked the conservative bear. And you know what happens when you poke a bear. They tend to maul you without asking why you were poking them in the first place.

The religion/birth control war seems to be on. The Catholic leaders have got their skirts in a bunch and Midge McConnell is once again doing his impersonation of a pearl-clutching old woman. “Say,” the conservatives screech, “Let’s do whatever we can to take down Obama, even if that means screwing over millions upon millions of women and girls.

Not only does the Catholic Church want to exempt itself from participating in women’s preventive health care, they want control over the women themselves. I can’t accuse the Catholic Church of kidnapping women and making them join the faith against their will. But I can accuse them of misleading their followers. But that is another loooonnnnnnnnnggg story, and I’m here to bitch about the birth control thing and the control of men over the whole damn world. A simple and brief topic, right? Here’s some semi-random thoughts:

A. The Catholic Church in the United States wants freedom of religion. Yet, this “freedom” removes freedoms from their members. The members are to follow the Church’s teachings. This greatly inhibits the members from thinking for themselves. And who runs this church? Google it. Look at the list of male bishops.

B. The human species has not yet evolved to the point that we no longer need organized religion. Most of us seem to want guidance and instruction. Yet, somehow, too many of us have chosen to have our guidance and instruction created and distributed by men. Yes, ladies, while you were huddled down by the river washing clothes and chasing babies and children, the men starting making rules and we’ve stuck by these rules until very recently.

C. Most of the murder and rape in the world is committed by men. I’m willing to bet, without looking up the statistics, that most of the domestic violence in this country is committed by men. Yes, I know in a bar fight, I’m likely to lose to a man, but to go beyond this physical inequality to across-the-board inequality through archaic laws and religious oppression is detrimental to every individual in this country (even men). Yes, I'll let you open the door for me, but I'm NOT going be forced to gestate the offspring from a rapist.

D. Believe it or not, the same man who thinks you need to accept your broken gift from God if you are raped and get pregnant, could possibly be the next president. And furthermore, according to the ever-persistent Santorum, you better not do a damn thing to prevent that pregnancy. So ladies, if you’re walking home from work one evening, you better just be prepared to be raped and give birth. Frankly, you better not be walking by yourself. You know, the more Santorum thinks about it, you best not be out without an escort and a burqa. And what are you doing working outside the home, anyway?

Until recently, I have not been one to promote discrimination. But I’m going to become more discriminating on whom I vote for. Will I in the future base my vote on a candidate’s religion? As my daughter’s Magic 8 Ball states: Outlook good. I will not knowingly support a person or organization that encourages or merely tolerations the oppression of women.

I voted for Senator Casey in Pennsylvania. Now, when it’s time to stand up for the women of the state of Pennsylvania, he turns tail and hides behinds the skirts of his bishop. Shame on you Senator Casey. Shame on any man in this country (and yes, the world, but that’s another post) who is unable to stand up for the rights of over 50% of the citizens of this country.

Oh, and by the way, thank you to the men who are standing up for the women in this country.

Isn't it too early in the year to rant? Hell no!

I haven't written here in a while, what with all of those holidays. And then along came Rick Santorum. I can't write when I think about him. I can do very little with Santorum on my mind.

Yesterday, I found it extremely difficult to pee when I was thinking of him. I had to turn my thoughts to puppies and llamas in order to clear my bladder. I'm NOT making this up.

And today I read that Santorum is calling Romney's religion a dangerous cult. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black. And we know how Santorum likes to use the word "black."

I've got to purge this Republican primary from my mind or else go completely crazy.

In my thinking, government should be there to avoid chaos, collect taxes for infrastructure and generally do what is best for the majority of the people. Why the hell are those vying for the Republican nomination doing everything in their power to create and maintain chaos, avoid taxation and do what is best for themselves, everyone else be damned? What a ridiculous side show!

I'm just seething at the thought that this beady-eyed man thinks he or others like him have any right to get within 50 yards of my vagina or the vaginas of the millions and millions of women and girls in this country and dictate what they do or don't do. I truly wish aliens would abduct Santorum, probe him thoroughly against his will, impregnate him and force him to produce the product of Santorum and alien DNA even if it would likely kill him.

Forget the economy, forget foreign affairs, forget war, forget poverty, forget disease, forget education, let's concentrate completely on homosexuality and everyone's sister's reproductive organs. This is the way to make progress, right?

The Dark, Dark Valley

So, every pundit, fan, and fool with a laptop (I place myself in this last category) has put in their two cents worth on the horrible mess at Penn State University.

To put it simply, heinous crimes were committed, they were covered up, and anyone and everyone involved needs to be fired and tried for their crimes.

State College, PA, is not an easy place in which to live right now. The damage to Penn State University and anyone connected to it (read: everyone in town and within an unknown radius) will be felt indefinitely. Our town has been opened up to the world and all are pouring their wrath upon the guilty and innocent.

My husband, at a conference in Denver this week, was asked if he weren't embarrassed to be from Penn State. He stated that the crimes were horrible, but no, he was not ashamed to represent Penn State. He is NOT involved with the football program, however.

This is my town, and it is pretty much full of good people, even though a commenter on an on-line news article stated that State College is a sick town. Easy to say when you live far away. I would have to say that State College does have some sick people in it. As do other places in this world.

Our newspaper's editorial page is filled each day with letters concerned with the victims and demanding those responsible pay for what they did to these children, whether they committed the acts themselves or covered up for others. I have yet to see a letter or hear a comment supporting Sandusky or Paterno over the children that were raped or molested. There are some that feel that too much blame has been placed on the wrong people, but hopefully time will sort this out. The vast majority here in State College are aghast and sickened.

I've read many articles and editorial lately. Perhaps too many. I do want to know what public opinion is, yet I'm getting somewhat tired of those attempting to form public opinion to their own opinion. I'm tired of their cherry-picking of an individual's comments and their implication that my entire town agrees.

Here is a recent editorial from the Rag Blog and my reply, which refers to several statements from the author:

I wholeheartedly agree that anyone involved in this scandal be relieved of their jobs and prosecuted for any and all crimes.

I do not believe that those nine words of one football fan should be used to paint the entire school and town black with one stroke. Yes, there are several football fanatics and plenty of misguided students out there. Daily I dodge these students on their bikes as they pull out into traffic with their "headphones" on. They too often drink themselves to death. General stupidity abounds with the 18-22 year-old-crowd. They do need some instruction in moral code and empathy. If the color of T-shirt is important to convey empathy, then I can recall a time several years ago when the stadium was filled with maroon and orange after the shooting at Virginia Tech.

Living among this horror, within rock throwing distance of some of the victims and accused, I can assure you that the majority of people are on the side of the victims and not the perpetrators or those who cover up for them. We are shocked and, momentarily, disbelieving, when we realize our friends and neighbors and leaders are part of this. The wounds are instantaneous and the healing long coming, if at all. Please forgive us if we give up our illusions and way of life more slowly than others demand.

There is no excuse for anyone abusing Mr. Matko in any way. There is no excuse for anyone abusing a peaceful demonstrator in an Occupy Wall Street protest. I don't think that someone acting like an ass is just something that happens in State College.

The moral cancer of this university needs to be cut out immediately. And then the school needs to be let to stand. Yes, State College is the home of Sandusky and Paterno and the others, it is also the home of some of the brightest minds in this country getting up each day to educate the brightest minds of the future.

Hey Paleface

Bigoted jackass, central Pennsylvania

It’s taken me a few days to get around to writing this. I’ve been dreading even thinking about this again, but here goes.

Each Wednesday afternoon, I take my daughter downtown for her ballet lesson. Then, for an hour, I loiter in the public library. Sometimes I peruse the new books, but usually, I bring a few things I need to catch up on. Like a good little writer, I always have a notebook and pen with me. Unlike a good little writer, I rarely put what I have in my notebook onto my blog. Each week, I encounter some type of strangeness at the library, and I always tell myself I will blog about it when I get home. There are thousands of stories in the library (excluding the ones in books), and sometimes there are so many choices of characters, that I can’t settle on one to write about. Until now.

I had seen this guy once before, as he almost ran me and my daughter down while leaving the library. This day he settled into a chair in front of me and I could see his backside in all of its glory.

Today, the asshole arrives wearing a red T-shirt. The same one he wore the last time I saw him. He sits down at a computer station, pulls out a plastic bag and spits into it. He carries with him a great variety of things: a large jar of juice, tote bag, extra clothing, and a Confederate flag. And the shirt – well I don’t know what is written on the front, but the back reads, in large white letters, “KEEP AMERICA WHITE.” He wears a baseball cap covered with buttons. One button is for Penn State, which is crossed out with a handmade red “X.” A Confederate flag button, several others than I do not wish to get close enough to read, and, naturally, one with a swastika. He completes the outfit with camouflage pants, a wardrobe staple of society outsiders.

So, here in the public library, is a walking potential hate crime. My entire body shakes just being near this person. I wonder just what the hell this intolerant bastard is looking up on the computer. How to make explosives. How to tie a noose. Checking his Google stats on his popularity among white supremacists. I’m guessing that this man has been on earth for at least forty years. I cannot believe that someone who would carry their hatred on their sleeve (and tote bag and hat and . . .), would not have committed a hate crime in all of those years. Someone has no doubt suffered at the hands of this man. I’m suffering just by looking at the back of his hateful body.

Hands trembling, I took a photo. I expected him to turn around and eat me upon hearing the iPhone cute photo-taking noise. I packed to leave unscathed. It was time to pick up my Chinese daughter from ballet. I’m just assuming he wouldn’t appreciate a bit of yellow mixed into his filthy whiteness. I’m glad that my daughter was not here to see this. Would it have been a hate crime to beat him with my umbrella? I so wanted to borrow a Sharpie marker from the librarian, write “Keep America Free from Asshole Bigots” on my own shirt, stand in front of him and clear my throat. However, I don’t think I could have managed that without throwing up. And I would have so loved to decorate his racist face and shirt with my lunch.

There’s always next time, I guess. And with a conveniently located public library, I’m sure that time won’t be too far off.

Oh, Hell No!

Sometimes, when I get bored, I Google my name.

Or if I really want to know what people are saying about me.

Regardless.

I was bored and curious so I Googled and discovered that a member of the Tea Party has my name.

The horror!!

I'm off to bathe and exfoliate and brush and floss and possibly treat myself for lice.

Brother Can You Spare a Dime*

*Or how about just 9 cents (for every dollar)

Yesterday morning, I went to the computer to see the news of the day. The hubby had apparently been up earlier and pulled up an article on GOP presidential candidate Herman Cain’s 9-9-9 plan. One would think that this would just be 666 upside down, but no, it’s much much much worse.

This oh-so-simple plan changes the corporate tax rate from 35% to 9%, swaps out the six-tier personal income tax system for a flat rate of 9% and creates a 9% national sales tax.

So who’s going to be paying for this country? Ah, the wealthy like to say that the country was built on their backs. They feel so responsible for the general prosperity of this country. Up until now. Since corporate heads and the wealthy (yeah, they’re pretty much the same) are going to be let off of the hook for putting gobs of money into the tax system for schools, police, roads, defense and all of that other expensive, government-provided stuff, who will have to pay for most of this? The working poor. And the working middle-class who are sliding their way downhill and landing on top of those working poor. Since the wealthiest 1% of Americans control 42% of this country’s financial wealth, each individual in that lower 99% will be doing most of the grunt work.

Those lowest on the working totem pole are paying 10% of their personal income in taxes. I guess there will be a bit of savings if that goes down to 9%. Think of what all of that extra money will buy. Perhaps these people will now be able to afford health insurance if their employer does not provide it. Yeah, I know. I was just making a joke. Now, if there is a nine percent national sales tax instead of personal income tax, any extra bucks are going to be snatched out of the hands of our poorest people. Herman Cain understands this. He knows that these people will be responsible for their own-decision making. He states his plan will be helping them out tremendously. Hey, you poor folks need a winter coat. That’s a good decision. Go on and buy one for every member of your family. And now, give the government an extra 9%. You don’t HAVE to buy those coats you know. Cain’s plan is here to help you responsibly make decisions. If you decide you don’t have the money, don’t spend the money. Ain’t Cain great? Cain thinks this plan will give Americans more freedom. What do you think?

What I did not see addressed in the 9-9-9 plan was what effect the national sales tax will have on individual state taxes. Will this replace the state taxes? I don’t think that’s what the states want. Each state varies in taxation on food and clothing. Will we be paying a national sales tax for these subsistence items? And what about those additional city taxes? Will these be eliminated or just tacked onto the national sales tax? How much are we going to be paying for each purchase in taxes?

Our country sees taxation as a crime. Our tax system has even been compared to slavery. Herman Cain, an African-American, has stated that our tax code is the 21^st century version of slavery. Does this make anyone other than me afraid of a hemorrhage? What the hell? Does this man know what slavery is? Didn’t any of his ancestors pass down some stories? My dictionary states that a slave is: a person who is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them, or a person who works very hard without proper remuneration or appreciation. It looks like definition two fits Cain’s 9-9-9 plan. Definition number 1 seems to be a perfect fit for one who is free to fuck over thousands of employees and purchase yachts and diamonds and designer clothing and mansions. Right?

It seems that those days (years actually) of the great depression have been forgotten, much like the proper definitions for slavery. Yep, some of you have heard of that depression when people lost their homes and money and jobs and other such insignificant items. Actually, there are millions upon millions of Americans that are struggling with that now, right under the noses of those who will do anything to avoid paying their taxes. The greatest tax burden is borne by those on the bottom of the financial ladder. The poor and middle class are paying the greatest amount for others in similar situations. The taxes levied on the lowest paid individuals are going to pay for the education, police, roads, public transportation, food stamps, social services, etc. for other individual in the same financial boat. In other words, “Brother, can you spare a dime.”

Under Cain’s plan, it’s not only the poorest people that are asking for a little financial help from others, but the wealthiest in this country are asking the poorest, “brother, can you spare a dime.”*

*Actually, that just nine cents (for every dollar) under Cain’s plan.

Here are the lyrics from that good, 0ld-timey depression-era song:

They used to tell me I was building a dream
And so I followed the mob
When there was earth to plow or guns to bear
I was always there right on the job

They used to tell me I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead
Why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run
Made it race against time
Once I built a railroad, now it's done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime
Once I built a tower, now it's done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell
Full of that Yankee-Doodly-dum
Half a million boots went sloggin' through Hell
And I was the kid with the drum

Say, don't you remember, they called me "Al"
It was "Al" all the time
Why don't you remember, I'm your pal
Say buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, ah gee we looked swell
Full of that Yankee-Doodly-dum
Half a million boots went sloggin' through Hell
And I was the kid with the drum

Oh, say, don't you remember, they called me "Al"
It was "Al" all the time
Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal
Buddy, can you spare a dime?

E.Y Harburg and Jay Gorney

Inspiration is Relative

A review of Barry Dixon’s new home design book, Inspirations.

I am a huge fan of home décor books. Perhaps I could be classified as obsessive. I rarely implement any of the ideas shown, either from lack of time, courage or funds. It is not often that I review books, but this time I feel I must speak (write), even though only my blog friends will ever read these words. This review is a bit strongly worded for Amazon.com.

Out of five stars, I award this book three. How could that be for such a lovely coffee table book? Well, in this tome chock full of props (also called accessories) such a book would not show up on one of the perfectly orchestrated coffee tables dotted throughout the book. Little of real life is depicted in these pages. However, the book is full of thick pages, large clear photos and details on where the moneyed set can purchase the accoutrements of luxury living.

Before purchasing the book, I did view a few pages through Amazon, but did not get into the “meat” of the book until it arrived. When I talk about meat here, it is as if I was looking though one of the manse’s many French doors, watching a couple with lovely, possessionless children eat filet mignon in the expanse of their 30-foot-long dining room while standing out in the rain eating a bologna sandwich filched from a dumpster.

Some of the “family” homes shown in the pages are quite a curiosity for someone that has a family of their own. One in particular really makes me shake my head and laugh sadly. The claim is that the home is designed for a growing family. Somehow that makes me think of young children. I could be wrong. Perhaps the residents are just growing more portly. Before extensive renovations, the home had been described as stately. That encourages me to think that it might of had a surplus of square footage. Well, I’m an idiot then, because the house required the addition of a two-level living room and two new wings. The original living room, no doubt bigger than my original (and only) living room is now an intimate reception room. The original dining room (in a bow to modesty?) remained intact, although, one can dine in a new supper room. Perhaps there are separate rooms for breakfast and lunch and, why the hell not, a late night snack. I suppose if one were to feel peckish while reading, they could have a tray brought into the two-story library. In the evening the master and mistress of the house can retire to their own studies, dressing rooms and bathrooms before traveling on to the master bedroom. When it is time for the family to gather together, they can do so in the informal family quarters in the southern wing of the home.

And so on.

If that home is not to your liking, you can read about the Charlotte Chateau. This home, in the narrative, is described as a castle. Mr. Dixon worked with a local architect (after the first architect was canned) in adjusting the scale of the rooms “in an effort to make them smaller and more inviting.” Why the hell these rooms weren’t made smaller and more inviting to begin with is not explained. Maybe it pleases the owner to know that the footprint of the average American home can fit inside the master bath. And my thinking is that if you have to add a niche to the bedroom to create a focal point, then the room must be too damn large. In my home (and so many others), the bed IS the focal point. In my “master” bedroom, the bed IS the room.

Imagine a world where the sharing of a bathroom is out of the question, even among married couples. Hell, aside from the sharing of a richly draped colossal bed, hubby and wife have plenty of room to roam and never have to cross paths. Children (invisible I suppose) can range about like antelope on the savannah. Plenty of room, just don’t leave out one toy, book, shoe or drawing. One kitchen stove costs more than a lifetime of motor vehicles for an average family. And I don’t think I need to mention the colossal size of the kitchen. But I did. Ah, the joy and beauty (and complete fucking uselessness) of a foyer that could house 3 or 4 extended third-world families.

And then there is the family residing in one of Washington, D.C.’s ritzier suburbs. The owner’s house was just too modestly scaled and, well, the decision was made to scrap that house and start anew. With, of course, yet another kitchen that would put the Hogwarts’ dining hall on the same level as a lower-east-side-tenement kitchen. Naturally, his and her master baths and dressing rooms (with fireplaces) are mandatory. As is the series of guest suites. Yep, plural.

There is one relatively modest abode – a Chicago apartment “in a downtown Michigan Avenue high-rise with sweeping views of the city and Lake Michigan.” Actually, this is a second home , so once inside any restrictions on real estate are covered up with silk draperies and hand painted-wallpapers. I still would not be able to afford a sconce or decorative pillow in this dwelling. Not even for my first (and only) home.

And I have to pass along the most ridiculous decorating tip ever: “Upholster kitchen walls and ceilings with fabrics and textures to absorb street noise and make the room more inviting.” That idea is as practical as the purchase of a fur-lined pot.


At this book’s completion, I am not left with the desire to tear down my modest home and build a mansion with rooms assigned for each moment’s task. I no longer have the desire to upgrade my sheets, hang a painting or clean out my kitchen drawers (although such mundane things were not mentioned in this book). At the end, I just found myself chanting, “tax the rich tax the rich tax the rich.”

Don't Put it On Me

I'm not usually one to pay much attention to what big woohoos that go on in the entertainment world. Either I'm slow to catch on or I just don't give a damn. Sometimes both.

But this time, I'm really irritated and nauseous, so I have to share.

Unless you're me or live under a rock, you've heard about the most disgusting marriage of the decade. Yep, 51-year-old actor marries 16-year-old chick. Normally, I would just think to myself, "whatever" (done in the eye-rolling sarcastic manner of a 16-year-old). But, for the love of Pete, I'm apoplectic.

Wanna watch! Go on . . .

Hopefully you've finished retching.

I only heard about this two days ago. I'm lucky to have been spared so far. Generally, I'm thinking about Libya, poverty in Africa, our failing school system, Michelle Bachmann, etc. Nowthis damn thing has taken over. Several scalding showers and eye washes have not helped in the least.

At first, I laughed. I saw a couple of videos of this girl and I just busted out laughing. I thought her plastic self was just too funny. And she does these REALLY bizarre things with her lips. If you haven't watched the video yet, please, you have to.

AND she has a music video. Classic!

Yes, it seems she really is 16. There are some disbelievers. I know, she does look like a 30-year old smokin' and boozin' not-so-good-hearted hooker. But the birthers have spoken and a birth certificate has been shown.

After I had an evening of belly-shaking laughter, slowly the weight of her situation came down on me. She really is a kid. She does possess the social skills of a 16-year-old girl (albeit one that hangs out by the back door of the boys' locker room). She didn't acquire her attitude, mannerisms, personality, and ability to make really dirty-nasty faces on her own. These things she learned. And from whom? Her parents. Hell, they are the ones that married her off to this man. Excuse me, I have the dry heaves.

So, why? Why would this man wish to marry such a girl? Pardon me for stealing a bit from Seinfeld, but I'm wondering what team he really plays for. Is she a molded petroleum-by-product working as a beard? Just sayin'! There's a little blip on my gaydar every time I hear him speak. But, that's beside the point. Why would this girl's parents sign her over, push her onto, give her up to, let her go to, hook her up with this lizard? Hurl.

I can see only one reason. Need a clue? Green paper stamped with the faces of various presidents. Ah, yes, the "reality" show people have apparently come knocking. And they are frothing at the mouth while doing the math. Probably a bit easier for him to do the math, since she is not finishing her high school career. I'm sure he's wanting the money, and no doubt she's wanting the money, but I'm sure her parents are looking forward to an early retirement and all that comes with the sloth of easy money.

I'm thinking that I lived a pretty normal childhood. My parents were a little(?) sheltering. They encouraged logical thinking, empathy, responsibility, honesty and other apparently useless shit. This girl's parents were teaching her something else entirely. And when she was done with learning, they affixed her to this pimp. Or are the parents the pimps? Dang! Its the battle of the pimps and this poor misled girl is the one caught in the middle.

So, now I'm done laughing at her and I'm into the pity. She's apparently never known the security of being raised by responsible parents. She couldn't have been given the ability to create confidence in herself. Let's face it, she didn't come out of the womb this way. But here she is now, as far from being a normal 16-year-old girl as she can possibly be. Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Stodden. You've created a plastic chick that will unfortunately become the poster child of "itness" for all young girls out there today.

No Courtney, I'm NOT going to put it on you. I'm going to put it on the man and woman that raised you.

What they have done, in my mind, borders on the criminal. They have given you no respect for who you truly are (were). And after watching these videos, I know that (except for the tweens out there who are having confidence issues) you will receive no respect from those around you. Your parents have taken that from you. You may become wealthy, but not from talent, skill, or an intelligent, well-developed mind. Those who come into contact with you will take advantage of you. They are laughing at you, and they will continue to laugh at you until your spurt of fame is over. Your parents have made you completely vulnerable to the leeches of the world.

What's next for you and the hubby? I'm praying (not something I am accustomed to doing) that one or both of you are sterile. PLEASE! NO OFFSPRING!

Girl, beware of the drinking, the drugs, the sicknesses that are out there waiting for what is left of you. I hear that the Amy Winehouse exit door is quite easy to push open.

Palace of Pain

Penn State's own Death Star. No, the photo does NOT reveal all of the ugly.

The photo is unable to convey the vastness. The grounds in front are huge. There is room for another such building on the grounds. It is high-maintenance field of grass.

The newest building on the Pennsylvania State University campus has just been revealed!!!

Good God.

When did architecture stop being an art and become a competition?

When was it determined that a building no longer needed to fit the site or the surrounding architecture?

Who said that architecture today must be the fabricated equivalent of the middle finger?

Ah, the gilded world of the celebrity architect! What joy to draw fantastical structures on mammoth sheets of paper! What bliss to ignore all but oneself! What unimaginable heaven it must be to throw bricks and concrete and glass and metal into one huge pot and have it dumped upon a stretch of ground somewhere, anywhere!

These architects cannot imagine the faces of horror of those who must frequently enter or merely view the structure. They’ve signed off on the blueprints and they are off to desecrate another plot of land with their piles of bricks and cement and etc. Theirs is only to dream and draw. Fuck those who must live in the wake of their con(des)truction. Ooooh,. That was a nasty word. Fitting, though. If at least fifty percent of the viewing public does not utter that word at first glance, then the celebrity architect has not done his or her job.

Alas, no one wishes to build like the ancient Romans these days. Or, at the very least, the pre-war apartment-building architects that shaped New York and other great American cities. No. Today every damn building must make a statement. And each statement must be different from the statement on the adjoining plot of land. With each new building, we must hear the echoes of the architect’s chest pounding.

What we’re experiencing on the Penn State campus is an outright cacophony of colossal architectural piles.

And the newest has just been revealed. The Millennium Science Complex. For months and months, the construction had been hidden behind fences. And then, last week, there it was. Gleaming and raw. My screams could be heard well over the visual noise of this new building.

There is where one would go to experience pain. Tortuous pain. There can be no pleasure in this structure. This is the building of screeching metal, blows to the head and rivers of body fluids. This is where one would go to receive a gravel and glass enema, to remove limbs without anesthesia and bring the partially dead to be ground into pastes and animal feed. This is the place for general maltreatment.

Ah, even though a ruin, the Parthenon has aged well. The streets of Paris are lined with venerable, ivory edifices. Oxford teems with antique arched doorways. Such places are only improved by time. Such a future cannot be possible for the Millennium Science Complex. I imagine it will wane like a multi-million-dollar cereal box in the sun.

There is no room for age built into the celebrity architects’ creations. They are built for the now. The wow. Then it is onto the next wow and to hell with what they have left behind.

Now, if you’ve got an elderly aunt to dispose of or a redundant limb or a desire to fill your innards with shards of glass and rock, you know where to go to have your needs fulfilled: Penn State’s newest palace of pain.

Explanation of Benefits

Benefits?!? Holy crap that's a funny way of putting it!!!

Call it a medical bill. Call it robbery.

Backstory?

O.K.

Back in March, I took my daughter to our large and ever-growing, ever-merging health building, center, complex, death star, for her annual physical. Ears, good. Eyes, good. Weight, good. Everything just dandy. Except for a small splinter in her foot. Been bugging her for a couple of days. I figured it needed to come out before we took our trip to Barcelona. I knew extensive walking was going to be a large part of the trip and I was worried that continuous picking at the splinter on our part was going to be detrimental to her walking. So, I logically worked it out that if we were going to be at the doctor's office anyway, we could just have them remove it.

The main part of the exam completed, the doctor went to fetch a pair of tweezers. The fetching and removing of tweezers, gauzes and disinfectant from sanitary pouches took about 45 seconds. The actual removal happened so quickly that I would like to have seen an instant replay. Let's say it took about 3 seconds. Fast, efficient and pain free. Until . . .

Yesterday, the bill, entitled EXPLANATION OF BENEFITS was mailed to us. Two entries under Services Provided category. #1 - Preventative Medical Care - $225.00. O.K. Not cheap, but the kiddo was thoroughly looked over. #2 - Foreign Body Removal - $639.00. WTF? We're not talking about the cost of having the body of a foreign person removed (and buried). We're talking about a tiny splinter and less than 60 seconds of medical time.

Sure, sure, our "benefits" paid for some of this. Not nearly enough. But frankly, the question here is, how the hell can this cost $639.00??!!??!!

I'm guessing the whole point of these costs is to rip off as many people as possible in the short term and deter them from returning to their doctor in the future for any medical issue short of death.

Jeez, what is that strange lump?
Could that sharp pain be something important?
How much blood is too much blood?
Is that finger (or other appendage) really crucial?

These are questions we will have to ask for ourselves. To include a physician on the decision making is just going to cost too much.

Is this what the Mafia is into now? Screw drugs and prostitution! There's more money to be made in the "healthcare industry."

Dear Donald Trump,

I understand that you are thinking of running for president on the Republican ticket in 2012.

You are wealthy and have interesting hair, so that does give you a leg up. And that reality televison show stuff -- that does get your name and face out there in front of a great deal of voters. You could probably afford to buy the presidency. But being able to buy one's way in doesn't mean you have the qualifications to run the country.

Indeed, your name is at the top of the list of Republicans vying for the presidency. However, when the roster reads much like the list of clowns for the Ringling Bros. Circus, being at the top is not necessarily a good thing.

I received my first piece of mail (solicitation) from the Obama campaign yesterday. I do receive a great deal of this type of mail: cancer prevention, Multiple Sclerosis Foundation, Doctors without Borders, the local food bank, etc. I don't always give (good heavens, no, not when I receive something every other week). I'm sure to get more solicitations from Obama and his people. And by golly, I'm gonna donate. I think that each time I see your face on the television or online, I'm gonna fill out a check. Each time the words "birth certificate" fall out of your crusty lips, another 10 dollars goes to the Obama campaign.

For the love of Pete, stick with what you know. Numbingly awful reality television. Your merry-go-round of model wives. Counting money. Do not present me with the nightmare of Bozo the clown, with a female sidekick of lunacy for vice president (selected for popularity in the case that your money can't actually purchase the presidency), striding into the oval office hell-bent on taking away the rights of women, the lower and middle classes, those who want to work without huge physical and mental risk, children who want a decent education, etc. Well, essentially anyone who is not male, white, and wealthy.

King Trump. Think about it. I just did. That's ten more dollars for President Obama.

Yes, that does make your ass look big

Oh, that hot new trend of wearing shorts over tights!

Not good. Unless you are shaped (or rather, not shaped) like the twiglet shown above.

A weekend in New York City will turn up hundreds upon hundreds of "fashionistas" dressed in these chunky shorts (light) over tights (dark). Hmmmmmmm.

Fashion facts: Light colors make items appear larger. Dark colors make items appear smaller.

Unless you are a runway model, do not attempt this look. Unless you are a practicing anorexic, do not attempt this look. Unless you are under 25 and fall into one of the above categories, do not attempt this look.

Are you over 25? Are you over 95 pounds? Are you under 5'10"?

If you've answered yes to any of the above questions, then yes, your ass looks big in those shorts.

Hey, Nobody Interviewed me for this video

I don't think I could have added anything else. This sums it all up.



It's not my goal to be overtly political on this blog. I'm usually so into housewifery instead, but I cannot be held back this time.


And while I'm feeling outraged. How about that fire department in bumf*ck Tennessee that let a family's house burn down because they hadn't paid a fee ahead of time? What? Is the mob now operating down in bumf*ck Tennessee?

Good thing I wasn't there to be interviewed for this video. I guess I would have been too busy toting buckets of water, and afterward, kicking some crotch.



I'm just having myself an angry Wednesday morning. However not as angry a day as the Bumf*ck Tennessee (former) homeowner is having.

Excuse me, I'm off to have a brain hemorrhage.

Packing Mule

Me, September 10, 2010

Friday morning, the family climbed into the politically-incorrect SUV and drove on down to Richmond, VA, to visit close friends. I should say, the hubby, child and dog climbed in. Here's what I did to prepare for this trip.

Laundry in preparation of travel.
Located 3 bathing suits (pool on premises, wheeeee)
Set up cat's things for cat sitter - all food (dry and wet) with accompanying bowls and plates, medicine, notes for each item.
Packed my suitcase.
Packed daughter's suitcase.
Packed daughter's sleeping bag and pillow.
Made sure hubby had packed allergy meds, wallet, gps.
Packed all meds and creams and shampoos for special needs (except for hubby's - his job, he just gets questioned about it).
Packed road snacks.
Packed dog items for kennel (food, blanket, toys, meds -- we're a bunch of sickos apparently).
Packed CDs for road listening pleasure.
Packed daughter's toys and books and stuffed animals in her backpack.
Pack sunscreen and sunglasses.
Watered plants.
Made sure that birds and squirrels would be fed in our absence.

Then, an hour down the road, someone had the gall to ask ME if I had packed their swim goggles. I said, "No. I did not." Someone said, "Mama forgot my swim goggles." I said, "No, I did not forget your swim goggles. You did. Your daddy did. But I DID NOT." Hubby says, "We all forgot your swim goggles." I recited the list above, and once again stated, "I did NOT forget your goggles.

Shit. Is it because I have tits and ovaries that I'm supposed to remember to pack all the above, including the damn swim goggles? I think not.

Next time, I'm putting my stuff in (and dog's I guess), and I'm climbing in and putting on my CD and screw the rest of 'em. They can wear soiled undies and sneeze from allergies and itch because they have the wrong shampoo and have nothing to read or write with and no stuffed animals and no wallet and nothing to eat but McDonalds (wait, the hubby did prepare sandwiches) no pillows no sunglasses burn from lack of sunscreen. And no freakin' swim goggles.

Packing mule is on strike.

Today's Patriotism - Stupidity on Parade

I’m guessing that because yesterday was Labor Day in the U.S., that there was a parade somewhere. And parading will be folks that glorify in the stupidity that is rampant in this country. Somewhere, signs will be held aloft stating one’s believe in the Tea Party group. Others will insult our President, possibly calling him a Muslim or scribbled with a lightly veiled racist comment, quite possibly misspelled. When Americans gather to celebrate our country on national holidays, the voices of the ignorant ring out the loudest.

Why is it that Americans are encouraged, or even coerced, into equating patriotism with ignorance? The less we learn about or question our government, the more patriotic we become in the eyes of the flag-waving public.

Don’t believe me? Remember in the last presidential election, those who did their research on the candidates and wanted to ask them questions were called intellectuals in voices tinged with disgust. And the candidates themselves? Those who were educated and employed a varied vocabulary were also called intellectuals in voices filled with disgust and then equated with communists.

We are so quick to poke fun at other countries and laugh about their methods of mind control. In North Korea, loud speakers praise the Great Leader and countrymen are expected to believe every word. Many countries (attempt to) ban all media from outside sources and to trust their leader and their God at any cost.

We label those here who question their government as treasonous or communistic. We are quick to believe anything we hear in 20-second “news” reports without bothering to know or care who owns the news station. We sit in front of our televisions watching reality shows while eating genetically modified foods without knowing or caring how this food arrived on the non-recyclable, microwavable plastic tray in front of us. Our reading material is Us and People magazines. Our books, if we have any, are “self-help” books written by televangelists. If we are “connected”, we are embedding cute animal videos on Facebook.

I am fortunate to live in a Democracy. I don’t have to worship a Great Leader. I still don’t have to wear a Burqa. I have the freedom to write this blog. I have a brain and it has great capacity (less as I age, however). I am fortunate along with more than 300,000,000 people. We will, however, find ourselves much less fortunate in the near future if we shirk our duties as citizens. It is our duty to learn and contribute (not just financially) to our country, not just sit in our overstuffed recliners and let corporate government feed us soft drinks and Twinkies.

We’re not doing ourselves or our country any good by remaining complacent, ignorant, and running up our flags of patriotic stupidity on every national holiday.

Side of the Road Sighting

He was scary-looking. He was far from clean. If I had been walking, I would have changed over to the other side of the street. Bad enough. Then I read his clothing.

His black T-shirt was emblazoned with white letters, large enough to read from a comfortable(?) distance.

I F*CK DEAD PEOPLE (the asterisk is inserted by me).

He was mighty close to the street.

Perhaps I should have quickly slapped on a bumper sticker that read:

I RUN THE F*CK OVER PEOPLE I BELIEVE HAVE RECENTLY KILLED OR RAPED OR MUTILATED A LIVING THING. I ALSO RUN THE F*CK OVER PEOPLE I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE ARE ON THEIR WAY TO KILL OR RAPE OR MUTILATE A LIVING THING.

Perhaps he picked this shirt out of a garbage bin. Could be that he cannot afford to purchase clothing. If I had nothing, and could not speak or read the English language, I still would be quite reluctant to wear this. If this were the case, wouldn't a sane person turn the shirt inside out so no one could read it?

Perhaps next time I will swerve and take out a nasty t-shirt wearing perv to save the life of an innocent person or people.