Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
It is the story of my birth, as told to me by my father.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Monday, December 07, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Okay - that's good - a zombie was dead first, and now he's undead. But then, what about those emergency room cases, where a guy is brought in on a gurney and his heart has stopped, and the doctor puts one of those shocker things on his chest and the guy's heart starts beating again and he's okay. Is he going to be a zombie for the rest of his life?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 06, 2009
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Bill Stankus commented on my last entry before I left for Italy, "Be sure to slug the first pickpocket you see in Venice."
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
As an example of futility, I just now attempted to insert a picture of a photo of "The Sombrero Galaxy" taken by the Hubble telescope. Do you see the photo? No? Neither do I. I did manage to copy the text under the photo, which reads as follows:
"The Sombrero Galaxy - 28 million light years from Earth - was voted the best picture taken by the Hubble telescope. The dimensions of the galaxy, officially called M104, are as spectacular as its appearance It has 800 billion suns and is 50,000 light years across."
Just picture this really cool photo of a zillion stars pressed into a ring of exploding light.
Now think about the puny earth...just an insignificant speck out there in the Milky Way somewhere. The Milky Way is just one of zillions of galaxies floating around in infinite space. And yet! We think we are so important! And goddamn it, we are important! To ourselves, anyway...and what else matters to ourselves but ourselves?
These profound thoughts have occurred to me not only while looking at photos of outer space, but while looking at my kitchen counter. Okay, you're thinking, Madam Z has officially gone off her wobbly rocker. Wait! I'll explain! You see, my kitchen counter is besieged by ants. Small, brown ants that persist in monitering my kitchen, watching for interesting bits of food that would go unnoticed by humans but are, evidently, highly desirable to my six-legged nemeses. Several times each day, I swoop down on the indefatigable critters, wiping them up with a wet sponge and washing them down the drain. When I do this, I feel guilty. I anthropomorphise them. The poor little things try to defend themselves. They run, panicky, this way and that, as the sponge approaches. Some of them rear up on their tiny hind legs, in a defensive posture. Every darned one of them wants to go on living! Just as humans would, if they were being rounded up by a giant, sponge-wielding Martian on the streets of New York City.
I've forgotten just what my point was, but I think it had something to do with Dr. Hubble inventing galaxies. Or maybe I was wondering whether ants on Mars would rather eat bread crumbs or space dust. Or was it this revelation?
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Three months ago, I stopped taking anti-depressants. (I had been taking various SSRIs for the past eight years.) After a couple weeks of diciness, I settled down and thought, hey! I've got it licked! I'm just fine-and-dandy-peachy-keen! I don't need no stinking drugs. But now I'm having doubts. Over the past week or so, I have been feeling increasingly anxious and demoralized. All day today I have been on edge, feeling as though something dreadful is going to happen, any minute. What tiny bit of rationality I have left is telling me that is nonsense. There is nothing any scarier happening today than there is on any other day, at least not that I know of. So why this nameless dread? Am I insane? Or is it physical...a mere chemical imbalance in my fevered brain? If it's a chemical imbalance, maybe I should go back on medication. Okay, the SSRI's crushed my libido, which is the main reason I decided to stop taking them. But anxiety is not exactly a big turn-on, either. If I don't feel better by Monday, I will call my doctor.
There! I said it! It's in writing! I will not renege.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Does it matter what gender or color I am?
If a hungry black bear finds me, in spite of not having heard my screams, will he eat me, regardless of my color and gender?
What if a hungry white bear finds me?
Will he be more discriminating?
If I climb a tree to escape the bear, will the tree fall, even if I make no sound?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
YEAH-FUCKING-RIGHT! GRRRRRRRRRR! For once in my life, I allowed myself to be a teensy bit optimistic, and what do I get? Crushed like a goddamned bug!
Excuse me while I go sulk.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Ben commented on my last post, with this powerful rebuttal:
"Different names for different ceremonies sets a very dangerous precedent for inequality. As children we're exposed to all sorts of stories, fairy tales and promises that one day we will fall in love and get married. To then discover that you will never get married, just 'civilly partnered' or 'unioned', just because you are incapable of being attracted to a certain type of person, already makes you feel as if you're not quite part of the human race. A rose by any other name, on this occasion, smells a little token.
I think the real crux is that it really doesn't affect anyone other than the people getting married/partnered/unioned - whatever the name or euphemism. I think that's why the placard-waving masses voting for Prop 8 come across as so unpleasant. What right do such people have to dictate how other people should love each other, and what therefore constitutes a valid expression of that bond?
The most offensive suggestion of all remains that gay men and women should be happy they can "marry" at all now, and thus by extension near-servile for no longer being imprisoned, beaten and murdered. In many parts of the world, they still are."
I have to admit, he has succeeded in making me change my mind. This sentence is particularly moving: "To then discover that you will never get married, just 'civilly partnered' or 'unioned', just because you are incapable of being attracted to a certain type of person, already makes you feel as if you're not quite part of the human race."
Okay guys, get married. As Ben, Lisa, Bill, and DistributorCap all said, it doesn't affect the rest of us, so what's the big deal? And as for a same-sex marriage not fitting the dictionary definition of "marriage," definitions change with time. After all, the word "gay" used to mean "filled with or inspiring mirth..."
Friday, April 10, 2009
While I am a registered Independent, I do tend to be liberal on most social issues. I'm pro-choice, pro-birth-control and pro-sex-ed in the schools. I favor legalization of marijuana. I'm anti-attempts-to-shove-religion-down-my-throat, but the Golden Rule rocks. I'm comfortable with people of other races. I have no problem with gays, lesbians and trans-gender people. "Live and let live" is my motto.
But...and y'all knew there was going to be a "but" in here...I simply cannot understand the fanatical drive by many gays and liberals to try to legalize gay "marriage!" I can understand and am supportive of the wish of same-sex couples to legalize their unions. It is desirable, spiritually and legally, to have their relationship officially recognized. But why insist on calling the union a "marriage?" My Funk & Wagnalls Dictionary defines marriage as "a compact entered into by a man and a woman, based on mutual regard, to live together as husband and wife until separated by death." That's the definition, like it or not! I can call my shoes "gloves," but they're not going to fit on my hands. I can call a red light "green," but if I try to drive through it, I'll have problems. So why not compromise and call the union between a man and a man or a woman and a woman something else? What's wrong with the term, "civil union?" Why insist on using the word "marriage?" I believe that much of the general public's opposition would fade away, if we could compromise on that one point. If you don't like "civil union," think of something else. Invent a new word! New words are added to our lexicon all the time. Call it a "garriage" for gay men and a "larriage" for lesbian women. I'm being silly with those suggestions, of course. But I'm not kidding about the idea of creating a new term for same-sex unions.
What do you think?
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
As for the regrets, I am playing with the idea of developing some sort of ritual that will help me purge myself of them, once and for all. Maybe I could write them down on post-it notes, one per page, and then ball up the page, one at a time, and burn them. Or flush them down the toilet, one whole flush for each note. I'll need a mental acknowledgement and reinforcement of the act. Perhaps a spoken affirmation of the purge and the resulting freedom from guilt - a little mantra I can recite with each flush or flame.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Can someone please explain to me why we are taught that masturbation is "wrong?" It feels good. It doesn't hurt anyone. You can't get pregnant doing it. You can't get venereal disease from doing it. You don't have to take a shower first, if you don't want to. No one has to be "in the mood" but you. What's not to like?
But no! We are made to feel guilty and ashamed of doing it. When I was a child, I "knew" that I was a verrrrry bad girl for "playing with myself." I don't remember now how this knowledge was imparted to me, but it was intense. I continued to think this as I grew older. When I started dating, the "dates" always ended up with a wild necking session in the back seat of the boyfriend's car. For the first couple of years, I managed to avoid "going all the way," but the necking always got me so hot and bothered that when I got home and went to bed I could not sleep until Mr. Hand did his dirty work. Then I would be flooded with guilt and promise myself I would never do it again. But then, Saturday night, the drive-in movie, and my resolve would go up in smoke. When I got married the first time, my husband had no clue (and very little interest) how to satisfy me, so I was still on my own. But again...shame followed every episode of self gratification.
Fortunately, I finally outgrew that curse. Renouncing religion helped a lot. Embracing logic helped even more. I remember asking myself, "What on earth is wrong with it? Who does it hurt? How can it be bad to make yourself feel good?" And then it occurred to me that there may be some evolutionary reason for the human arm to be just the right length to easily place one's hand on one's genitals! Ahhhhhhh...!
And oh, how I would like to place my hand on this cowboy's genitals...
Mind you, I'm not recommending "rubbin' the nubbin" or "rockin' the cock" in public! And I have a long way to go before I'd be able to write a post like Captain Smack's "Interesting things I have done to my penis" or write a story like Phillip Roth's "Portnoy's Complaint," where he describes in excruciating detail what he did with some raw calf liver, but this post is a start.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
We had a good time discussing how we detested our jobs, how frustrated we were with our lives and...you guessed it...our sex lives. One day, the subject concerned the female orgasm, or lack thereof. Jill said, "I've never had an orgasm with my husband. If I don't do it myself, it just doesn't happen." Jan claimed that, "Oh, my husband is a wonderful lover. I come every time." We all looked at her, in surprise. I said, "Really?" She blushed. "Well, almost every time." Julie said, "Well, your husband probably knows something about foreplay. My husband's idea of foreplay is to let me look at his boner for a few seconds before jumping me." We all laughed. Then, sweet, slow, little Jeannie, who had been quiet until then, chimed in. "Some women don't even know what an organism is!" Somehow, we all managed to stifle our giggles and I resisted the urge to say something like, "I think most of us know that 'an organism' is a living being..." Instead, we all muttered things like, "Yeah, that's right, poor dears," and then it was time to go back to work.
Ten years later, I fell under the spell of Pan-man. His exquisite lovemaking made me realize that, until then, *I* had not known what an orgasm could be. He was an organism like no other.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
So...I had to tidy up. First...I hung my shell art that I made a couple of years ago. These two pieces have been moldering away in the basement, but now they are prominently displayed. I think they are pretty. I can't draw or paint, but boy can I glue!
Then, the shadow box in the kitchen. It took almost a half-hour, by the time I finished fussing with them. Everything had to be just right!
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
According to certain blowhards who spew their nonsense over the radio waves for three hours a day (that's three hours for each blowhard, one after another, from noon until midnight), five days a week, our feckless country is heading, full-tilt, toward SOCIALISM, maybe even FASCISM! These dire predictions are based on the actions of the evil BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA in his first six weeks in the hot seat. (The fattest of the blowhards has taken to including President Obama's middle name in his references to him, as though Obama had chosen that name himself.)
Apparently, neither of the afternoon blowhards has access to a dictionary, or they might not be so cavalier in their accusations. I, however, have my trusty 1947 Funk and Wagnalls New College Standard Dictionary (inherited from my father) by my side, and I will share with you the official definitions of "socialism" and "fascism."
Socialism: A theory of political and economic organization advocating public collective ownership of the means of production, public collective management of all industries, and production for need and use instead of profit.
Fascism: Any authoritarian, anti-democratic, anti-socialistic (emphasis is mine) system of government in which economic control by the state, militaristic nationalism, propaganda, and the crushing of opposition by means of secret police emphasize the supremacy of the state over the individual.
Okay, let's start with socialism. Call me naive, but I'm pretty darned sure that Obama has no ideological fantasies of the government owning and managing all production and industries. I think he's just trying to shovel cash their (banks and auto manufacturers) way, hoping to shore them up until they can dig themselves out of the hole they're in. And to keep it from looking like an out-and-out handout (like the crazyass TARP fiasco, which OBAMA HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH), the government is taking part ownership in the businesses. I'm not sure this is all a great idea, but my thirty-year-old Bachelor's Degree in Economics does not qualify me to second-guess the "experts."
Now, fascism. The blowhard who throws this term around sounds as though he thinks fascism is an extreme form of socialism! I believe that Communism is the more appropriate term for an extreme form of socialism and I would like to remind him that in WWII the Communist Russians were fighting, tooth and nail, against the Fascist Nazis! And that is the least of the problem with using that vile word in connection with Obama's fledgling government. Look at the definition again, Mr. Big Fat Idiot, and tell me what part of it you can honestly say you believe applies to our democratically elected, knocking-himself-out-trying-to-unify-us President.
Unlike some blowhards, I don't want President Obama to fail. I want him to succeed, because if he succeeds, we all succeed. Even if I don't agree with everything he's doing, I respect him and his team and am willing to concede that they know more than I do about the dire straits we seem to be in. To those who oppose the actions of the administration, I say fine! We're a democracy. Let's hear your plan! Don't just stir the pot of discontent and rebellion if you don't have any ideas of your own, other than constantly invoking the memory of that senile old fart, Ronald Reagan.