Your Body Language Talks Better Than You Do

I watched an interesting History Channel program on body language tonight. The two "experts" who were making the presentation claim that 93% of human communication is through body language. At first I thought, "You guys are nuts!" But by the end of the program I thought, "Shit! Maybe they're right!"

They showed lots of real life examples of things people do with their hands, their shoulders, their eyes, their heads, the way they walk, and so on. Then they analysed the significance of those movements and it made a lot of sense.

The most amusing example was the film footage of Bill Clinton making his Monica denial. "I did not have sexual relations with that woman," he stated firmly. In the meantime, he was poking his index finger in the air in one direction, while his eyes were looking in the opposite direction. Apparently, if someone is telling the truth, his finger and his eyes are pointed in the same direction, preferably at his audience.
The saddest example was poor Richard Nixon during his infamous debate with John Kennedy, back in 1960. The camera focused on him wringing his hands, behind his back, while sweating profusely and looking unhappy. JFK, on the other hand was a perfect picture of self-confidence and poise. You didn't even have to listen to their words, in order to know who would make the better president.
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The "experts" (I wish I could remember their names, but...) talked about body language "coaches" and gave some before and after examples of their training. The most interesting to me was Hillary Clinton. It showed film footage of her, back in the early years of Bill's administration. In public presentations she often looked down, her shoulders slightly forward, and didn't look straight at the camera. Quite the shy lass. But she got some coaching, and look at her now. Standing straight, eyes forward, pointing her finger at various admirers, she is the picture of confidence and authority.
The hand-wringing discussion struck a chord with me. They called it something else, but of course I can't remember what. But essentially it was touching your hand with the other in order to calm and comfort yourself. I know for a fact that I am always fiddling with my hands when I am stressed or uncomfortable.



Of course, facial expressions are a dead giveaway too. They illustrated that with several amusing examples.



Can you imagine what Tony Blair is thinking at this moment?




If you could see my face at this moment, you would probably deduce that I am very sleepy, even if I were to swear I am not.

Maybe I Did, or Maybe I Didn't

Last night I attended a lecture by an author who supposedly knows what he's talking about, on the subject of "Writing the Memoir." I have the attention span of a autistic gnat, so I didn't get much out of it. But I do remember one line that he attributed to someone whose name I can't remember. It was something like, "Writing your memoir is easy. Just make it up as you go along." The lecturer disagreed with that advice, but I like it. After all, who can remember every single detail of every single event in his murky past? And who, upon reading what you have written, could reliably dispute your rendition? He or she may disagree, because, after all, we all take away our own impressions of any given event. But, unless he can produce a documentary video of the event, his word has no more weight than yours. Also, according to Mr. Memoir, it's acceptable to take more liberties with a memoir than an autobiography. So...I think I will discard my fantasies of someday writing my autobiography and replace them with fantasies of writing my memoirs.

Orrrrrr...I can just continue to wander around all day, moving items from spot A to spot B, picking leaves out of the flowerbed, arguing with myself about whether or not it's okay to eat the Peanut Butter Cups left over from Halloween, reading 50 different blogs, working the N.Y. Times crossword puzzles, fantasizing about cleaning out the bulging closets, drawers, attic and basement, and attempting to recover my lost youth.

A Highjacked Meme via Bill Stankus via Willow

The Truth, the Whole Truth, Induced by Self-Coercion

My uncle once: Was so drunk that he let me drive the car from L.A. to Arizona, even though I was only 14 and didn’t know how to drive.

Never in my life: Have I committed suicide.

When I was five: I was ready to quit Kindergarten after the first day, because I was so disgusted that I hadn’t been taught to read and to type.

High school was: Okay, except for Phys Ed, which was one long lesson in humiliation and shame.

I will never forget: The day I finally got the courage to jump out of a swing while it was in motion, on the high upward arc. I was 25 years old.

Once I met: John Wayne. I was 11 years old and was with my mother in a liquor store in Pomona, CA. She was buying cigarettes and chatting with the proprietor. I was perusing the rack of paperback novels, especially the ones with naughty pictures on the covers. John Wayne walked in and went to the counter. Mom and the shopkeeper were electrified. They started talking. I picked out the book with the naughtiest cover and took it to the counter. Without showing the book, I interrupted the adults and asked Mom if she would buy me the book. She said no. I started whining, and Mr. Movie Star said, “I’ll buy you a book. Which one do you want?” I placed the book on the counter and all three adults gasped. Mom said, “You can’t have that!” Mr. Movie Star grabbed his cigarettes and exited the store. We left shortly after. Mom was angry with me for the rest of the day.

Once at a bar: I was trying to act more sophisticated than I was and drank TWO WHOLE Guinness Stouts. I was so drunk that my friends confiscated my keys and drove me home.

By noon I’m usually: Up, showered, dressed and ready for a nap.

Last night: I thought briefly about setting the clocks back an hour, but wasn’t able to hold the thought long enough to actually do it.

If I only had: A heart, some courage and a brain, maybe I could be sympathetic, brave and smart.

Next time I go to church: I will tell the congregation to go home, because god is dead.

What worries me most: No attempt at humor here. I worry most about the possibility of World War.

You’ll know I’m lying when: I say I’m not worried.

What I miss most about the 80’s is: Being able to dance for hours on end. To illustrate how totally “hip” I was…my absolutely favorite dance was the Polish Hop (a particularly vigorous form of Polka).

If I were a character in Shakespeare: I’d be fictitious and talk funny.

A better name for me would be: Esmeralda

I have a hard time understanding: Particle physics.

If I ever go back to school: Please kidnap me and lock me up until I come back to my senses!

You know I like you if: I tell you more about myself than you want to know.

Take my advice, never: Walk down a dark alley at night, while you’re naked and drunk.

My ideal breakfast is: Fresh blueberry muffins and hot cocoa, served to me in bed, by a guy who looks like Rocky I, wearing his “wife-beater” t-shirt.

If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: Carry a gun.

Why won’t people: Stop blowing each other up!

The world could do without: Talk radio.

I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: Shake hands with Dick Cheney.

My favorite blonds are: Fat and homely.

If I do anything well, it’s: Bitch and moan.

And, by the way: I saw what you were doing last night.

Sounds Good..... But.....

Well, I watched the Obama Show. It was good - well executed, well produced and directed. He looked great, sounded great, made a lot of big promises. But, except for the $10 billion a month to be saved by getting out of Iraq, I didn't hear anything about how all of this largesse is to be paid for. On the contrary, he promised a tax reduction for everyone earning less than $200,000 per year. That's most of us. Implied, of course, though I didn't hear him actually say it in this particular ad, is that he will raise taxes on those earning more than $200k. I'm too lazy to do the research and the math, but I doubt that he could raise taxes on the relatively wealthy enough to pay for more than a small part of his lofty promises.

So, where does that leave us, if he gets elected (and I hope he does, as it's better than the alternative)? Answer: It will leave us deeper in debt, borrowing even more from foreign countries to finance our profligate spending. How long can that go on? No one knows, because it's all new territory. We've never had such a huge national debt. And there seems to be no plan to try to reduce it. Instead, we have Santa Obamaclaus with his big sack of goodies, handing them out to all the smiling, wide-eyed, admiring "children."

I just hope his elves don't go on strike.

And The Subject Is...

Okay, the economy is sick and I'm sick of the economy. Let's talk about something else.



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Politics? Hell no! I'm sick of politics.
Well, that pretty much leaves sex. I'm not sick of sex. I love sex. Sex soothes. Sex satisfies. I could go get the dictionary and find some more "s" words to continue in that vein, but I'm not that ambitious. It's Friday night. I'm tired. But I'm not tired of sex. Sex in the sunshine. Sex in the sauna. It's all good. Not that I'm obsessed with sex!
Solitary sex is okay, but not as much fun as shared sex, which can be stunning. Sex is stimulating. Sex is scintillating. But sometimes sex is too short, which can make me sorrowful. So I go elsewhere to seek satisfaction. Not really. I just wanted to use three s-words in one sentence.












Sex in the summer. Sex in the spring. Not so much in the winter. Winter is coming, but I'm not.

So ends my sordid saga.

Apparently, many newspapers refused to print this most excellent cartoon by Berkeley Breathed. He explained their reluctance thus: "Fear doesn't so much rule the wood pulp news industry. More like pee-on-themselves existential terror."

And there you have it, in a buttshell.

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Salon.com recently interviewed Berkeley Breathed about his life after ending his Opus cartoon on November 2. One question was:

Your children's books seem to appeal to your gentler, Charles Schulz side. But how -- without Opus -- will you exercise your Michael Moore side?

BB: I'll be on my couch Sunday mornings screaming at Brokaw and Stephanopoulos to call out the blathering bastards on their stupid fucking talking points and pin the dancing, lying, spinning Tasmanian Weasels down about something, ANYTHING for Christ Bloody Sake THE COUNTRY IS GETTING STEERED INTO CHAOS AND INSOLVENCY AND WAR BY ITS UNREAD UNINFORMED DULLARD SHEEP CONSTITUENCIES AND YOU JUST LET THE CANDIDATE SAY ONE MORE TIME WITHOUT OBJECTION THAT HE'S GOING TO CUT TAXES WHILE HE CALLS FOR FREE 24 KARAT GOLD FRANKFURTERS TO BE INSERTED INTO EVERY AMERICAN'S ASS JUST BECAUSE BUTT BULLION POLLS WELL.

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Has anyone, anywhere, described our current American political scene as well as this?

A Thing By Any Other Name

I have great difficulty in determining what is truly important. I can be very self-centered, and judge importance in terms of how the thing or event affects me, and those whom I love. While I know abstractly that global warming, the credit crisis, rising unemployment and the duplicity of politicians are much more important than my photographs of my children and grandchildren and those few remaining pieces of depression glass that I managed to salvage from the wreckage of my mother's life, I'm pretty sure that I would shed more tears over the loss of those photos and cups than I would over the failure of another bank or brokerage house. (I am also pretty sure that the previous sentence was way too long.)
I will illustrate my lack of sense of perspective with a small example of a recent Z-Meltdown. I had a glass statuette of a three-headed, winged dragon that I prized. It sat on a special stand in front of the window in our living room. It had no great monetary value, but it sparkled in the sunlight and pleased me every time I looked at it. And then, one fateful day, Hubby reached across it to open the blinds and KNOCKED IT OFF THE TABLE AND IT SHATTERED INTO TOO MANY PIECES TO REASSEMBLE (he had broken it before, but into only two pieces, which he was able to mend). I screeched and swore and cried like someone had been killed in front of my eyes. Hubby was defensive and I was unforgiving. We were both unhappy for the rest of the day. Then, at some point, I realized that the glass dragon was just a FUCKING THING, but my husband was the man I love and treasure and need more than any mere object. I apologized, we snuggled, and all was well. I will try hard to remember this example, and save my hysterics for something truly important, like a speeding comet heading straight for Wall Street. OH SHIT!

It's About Time

I have 36 minutes to kill before the "debate" between The Moosehunter and the Bloviator begins. That's 36 minutes of precious time, that could be spent wisely or wasted. Thinking about that makes me think of "time," in general. What is time, anyway? If we didn't use it, would we still have it later? If we waste it, will there be less of it for someone else? If we use it wisely, will be less old when our time is up? How do we "spend" our limited stockpile of time? I can't speak for rest of you, but here are some broad categories of my own time usage:

1. Things I do to survive, some being pleasant (eating) and some not (cooking).

2. Things I do just for fun (playing).

3. Things I do that aren't fun in the doing (working), but have fun results (getting paid).

4. Things I do that are fun in the doing and have fun results (gardening). (Fooled you, huh?)

5. Things I do that are fun, but are bad for me (eating too much chocolate).

6. Things I do that are not fun, but are good for me (sit-ups).

7. Thinking about things that I would do if I had more money.

8. Thinking about things that I would do if I had more time.

9. Thinking about things that I would do if I were older.

10. Thinking about things that I would do if I were younger.

11. Thinking about things I should have done, but now it's too late.

12. Thinking about things I shouldn't have done, but now it's too late.

13. Dreaming up implausible ideas to make unpleasant times go faster and pleasant times go slower.

Hmmm...I still have 15 minutes before the debacle, so I'll work on number 13. Maybe I could invent some kind of "anesthetic" that I could take before performing an unpleasant task. Something that would not impair performance, but would make the chore totally painless and, when finished, be forever banished from my conscious memory. For example, I used to think that I wanted to write a book. But after discovering that writing a book is very hard work and would take a very long time, I realized that what I really want is to have written a book! Then I could just rest on my laurels, rake in the royalties, and retire at my prime. All I have to do is discover some way of putting myself into a state of suspended animation, operating on automatic pilot while the book writes itself. When I wake up, the nanuscript will be all ready to send to the publisher (who has, in the meantime, given me a hefty advance in anticipation of the brilliant tome).

But before I figure out how to induce this "working-trance" state, I think I should devote some time to part 2 of number 13. How to make pleasant times go slower. That will require some consultation with hubby...

Oops! It's time!

BAILOUT DEFEAT!

Well, it's all over but the crying. The House listened to the American people for a change, and voted down the bailout plan. The most interesting aspect of this, politically speaking, is that there was bipartisan support AND bipartisan opposition to the proposal.

For the past week, I have been listening to right-wing blowhards claim that the whole sub-prime mess is the fault of political correctness and government pressure on lenders to grant mortgage loans to minorities. In my opinion, that is FUCKING STOOPID! PCness and encouragement to loan to minorities has been around for a long time, but this disaster is the result of reckless greed on the part of realtors, mortgage lenders and brokers, and on up the line. As real estate prices balooned, lending requirements softened, because regular citizens couldn't pay those inflated prices without "help" from the lenders (which consisted of all kinds of complicated finagling which most of the borrowers didn't understand, although they shouldn't have signed the deal if they didn't understand it and I have NO PATIENCE with people who do such stupid things), then the loans were "bundled" and kicked higher up, with someone getting his cut at every step of the way, until the BUBBLE BURST, AS ALL BUBBLES MUST, and everything came crashing down.

Many liberals opposed the bailout because it looks to them like the government would be asking Joe Sixpack to bail out the fat cats who had gambled and lost. "Oh poor babies! They got boo-boos. Let's kiss it and make it well." (I got those words, loosely paraphrased, from one of my favorite liberal bloggers, politits.) Many non-liberals, including many Republicans, agreed with those thoughts and both camps bombarded their representatives with calls and e-mails instructing them to vote a big fat NO on the bailout.

I have a feeling that many people in business and banking were in favor of the bill, because of the possible (probable?) financial mayhem that may (will?) follow. Today's stock market participants sure weren't happy with the defeat (sell, baby, sell). All we can do now is wait and see what happens next.

As for me...

Fingers in Ears, Eyes Closed, La-la-la

Must...keep...mind...off...bailout...

Keep busy, keep busy...work out extra hard at gym (I have 12 1/2 inch biceps. Can any of you ladies top that?) Clean house...nah...rake yard, front and back - YEah! Prune berry bushes...pain from thorns keeps my mind off of... la-la-la... Walk to market, buy 2 lbs of coffee because it's two for the price of one, get home and try to make a pot of coffee, because my energy is flagging, but discover that the coffee is WHOLE BEANS, NOT GROUND! SHIT!!! Try to grind coffee in blender, take lid off to see how it's going, coffee powder spews all over kitchen counter. Make pot of coffee from partially ground coffee beans, drink bitter brew, start cooking dinner, the news comes on the radio...NO, NO, MUST NOT LISTEN! LA-LA-LA! Congress will decide whether to bail out Wall Street to the tune of 700 billion smackers and they have to hurry, because it's time for their vacation! NO, NO, MUST NOT THINK ABOUT IT! Wash dishes, talk to neighbor...she asks what I think about the "stupid-ass bailout." Run! Get back in the house. LA-LA-LA!

Wishy-Washy

When you wish upon a star

It won't get you very far.

So give it up already!

Oh no! I can't! Wishing comes naturally to me. It's the only thing I do effortlessly, without having to force myself. I am tireless, creative and ambitious in my wishing. I can do it while I'm washing dishes (I wish I had a dishwasher, preferably a handsome muscley, naked male dishwasher), driving to the market (I wish my groceries would be delivered straight to my kitchen, preferably by a handsome, muscley naked man), working out at the gym (I wish I still belonged to that gym which was frequented by muscley, partially naked men), hiking in the woods (I wish I would come upon Pan, leaning back against a tree, playing his pipes), and while dreaming (I wish I could have sexy dreams without feeling guilty).

Oh yes! I will! It's a waste of time. It's a distraction from constructive thoughts and actions. Wishing will NOT make it so. Not even if you get the big piece of the wishbone,

not even if you blow out all the candles on your birthday cake in one breath,

not even if you promise god you'll be good foreverafter, if he just grants

that one wish, not even if you find a magic lamp and rub it just right.

Your wishes will not be fulfilled unless you take that genie by the horns and make it happen all by yourself.

So...how will I do it? Let's take one wish at a time.

1. I wish I were pretty.

Get plastic surgery!

2. I wish I were rich.

Redefine "rich."

3. I wish there were peace on earth.

Hm. Next!

4. I wish someone would dust all my shelves full of bric-a-brac.

Grab a goddamn dustcloth and get busy!!!

5. I wish I could get some of my short stories published.

Good grief! Pull one of those "writers' market" books off the bookshelf, find an address, type a goddamn cover letter, enclose your goddamn story, address an envelope, apply a stamp and stick it in the mailbox! Sheesh!

6. I wish I weren't afraid of failure.

Pretend you're afraid of success, instead.

7. I wish I could stop wishing.

I give up. You're hopeless.

That Goddamned Lipstick!

Okay, it was a cute joke the first time Palin uttered the now tired joke, "What's the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? Lipstick!" But now, the horrifying follow-up to that joke may bring down the Obama campaign, if enough people get caught up in the firestorm that the right-wing talk show idiots are trying to stoke.

Do you know what I'm referring to? Recently, Obama was speaking to a gathering of his fans, and said that McCain, in spite of claiming to be a reformer, was actually not much different from Bush. Then he dropped this little bomb: "You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig." Now I am pretty darned sure that he was just making his own little joke, by trotting out the word "lipstick" in the context of an old adage. He was referring to McCain and his policies.

But now the right-wingnut talk show hosts have started a relentless tirade, claiming that Obama was CALLING SARAH PALIN A PIG! That preposterous claim is gathering steam like the proverbial runaway freight train. How can they and the people who listen to them possibly believe something so improbable? Actually, I don't think Limbaugh-Hannity-Savage really believe it, but they know their listeners will. Have they no shame? It just goes to show that you can put lipstick on a wingnut, but he's still a wingnut. Make that a "fucking idiot wingnut asshole." Grrrrrr!

Ignorance is a Sin and I Have Sinned!

I confess. I was swayed by Sarah Palin's style and confidence. I thought I could see some cracks forming in the glass ceiling. But now, after reading countless exposes on various liberal blogs, I have become educated about her inadequacies. Now I can go back to knowing that I will not see a woman in the oval office in my lifetime. There are countless women who are qualified to be President of the U.S. But they would be savaged by the opposition for reasons that no man would be subjected to. Look what Hillary Clinton went through.

I'll vote for Obama, because I think he'll make a better President than would McCain. And who knows? Maybe someday one of his daughters might be nominated for the highest or second-highest office in the land. If so, I hope she'll have more experience in governing than any human being on the planet, an absolutely spotless past and present, and nerves of steel.

Several More Words for the Democrats

Get Obama to dump Boring Biden and find a beautiful, fiery, articulate WOMAN with some EXECUTIVE experience, even if it's only as President of a goddamn HOCKEY CLUB!

And if that won't fly, at least find a speaker as entertaining as Rudy Guilliani to address some rallies. Otherwise, Obama's campaign is going to sink like a stone. A heavy, grey, self-righteous, bloviating stone.

Four Words for the Democrat Party

Sorry guys, we're fucked.

Color Me Confused

Is he black? Is he white? The answer, my friends, is a big YES to both questions. 50% of his genes come from a black father, and 50% of his genes come from a white mother. So why does everyone refer to Barack Obama as "black?" And what the hell difference does it make anyway? If I had to assign a color to him, I would say he's a pleasant shade of brown. But I'm pretty darned sure that skin color has absolutely nothing to do with a person's ability to govern our nation. It's the brain that counts! Human brains are essentially all the same color, but their quality varies greatly. I'm going to judge a person's ability to govern by the things he says and does, not what he looks like. My top priorities are that he be highly intelligent, well-educated, up-to-date on world events and conditions, well-spoken, even-tempered, tactful, healthy, non-aggressive and reasonably compassionate. I don't know either of our presumptive presidential candidates personally, so it's difficult to be completely confident of my judgement. But I'm pretty sure that the skinny, young, white/black guy satisfies more of my criteria than the pudgy, old white/pink guy.

My Comments on the Reefer Comments

Forge said: "I personally don't and never have used the stuff, but I have no problem with it being legalized. The same rules that apply to alcohol should apply to drug use and we can move on with our lives. Now I don't believe it is JUST a plant. It's a plant that makes you do wacky things and effects your mind, but that is your choice."

MZ: And alcohol isn't just a liquid. It's a liquid that makes you do wacky things and affects your mind.

Bill Stankus said (in part):
"You can't talk about MJ as a weed or a window sill crop as if it existed all by itself- in fact, it is connected to all sorts of people - some are probably OK and just after making a few dollars but there are others - characters you don't want within 5 miles of where you live. I'm referring to oddball users and the distribution people. Would legalization change that? I don't know."

MZ: The "distribution people" are the ones that I wouldn't want in my neighborhood, but Bill, they'll be GONE once MJ is legalized. As for the "oddball users," I'm much more averse to drunks than to pot smokers.

Bill: "If you compare MJ to the prohibition era - there is a fact that should be known. Prior to prohibition there was an ungodly annual consumption of booze and beer. Honky tonks and saloons were everywhere and minors were not stopped at the doors. Drunken abuse of women was common and drunkards at work were a real problem."

MZ: Sorry, Bill, but except for the minors being stopped at the doors, this sounds just like America today. Have you ever attended an Al-Anon meeting?

Bill: "One more thing, saying something is human nature or laws should be changed because it is commonly done is a spurious argument. Just because the neighbors do something doesn't make it acceptable or right."

MZ: Of course! I didn't mean to imply that "laws should be changed because it is commonly done." Murder, rape, stealing and drunk driving are commonly done, and I am not suggesting that laws against those acts, WHICH ARE CLEARLY HARMFUL TO OTHERS, should be changed. And laws against those acts probably do have a deterrant affect. It is certainly clear to most citizens that those acts are intrinsically wrong. But laws against individual behavior that does not necessarily harm others will be resented and ignored. There is no more reason to attempt to ban pot than there was to attempt to ban alcohol, and there is no more chance of being successful in that attempt.

Bill: "By that logic, today we would all be tobacco users as was so common in the late 1940s and through the 1960s."

MZ: Tobacco use has declined because of gradually increasing awareness of the negative effect on health and because it is less socially acceptable, not because it was outlawed.

Bill: "Still, go ahead and legalize it and apply the same rules and regs regarding cigarette use."

MZ: Hooray! We agree!

Liquid said: I'll inhale and hold my breath waiting.....I swear....I will!

MZ: Um, maybe that's not a good idea...

Utah savage said: "... if you put the drug in the hands of the corps, there goes the narco-trafficker, off to find a new job. And couldn't we put all the crooks and liars and just plain criminals from the Bush admin, in one of those jails when we empty it of harmless pot smokers?"

MZ: YES! What a brilliant idea!

Reefer Referendum?

Today I was listening to a conservative, but amusing, local radio talk show. The subject was Ron Paul's and Barney Frank's bill to decriminalize small (under 100 grams) amounts of marijuana. The host of the program was in favor of it, as were 95% of the people who called in to express their opinions. I was amazed and DELIGHTED! I have always supported legalization of drugs, especially marijuana. It makes no sense whatever, in my opinion, to try to forbid use of drugs, any more than it did to forbid use of alcohol. A significant percentage of humans want to get high and they WILL get high, whether it's legal or not. PERIOD! END OF DISCUSSION! Regulate the use of drugs, as we do for alcohol (age limits and NO DUI), but don't make it illegal, which results only in filling the jails with great numbers of non-violent offenders.

I am hoping that the proposal to add a tax to the legal sales of MJ will spark the interest of some legislators who might otherwise be on the fence on this issue.

I am posting an article on this subject I found on the Internet:

Barney Frank and Ron Paul offer bill decriminalizing marijuana use
Published on July 30th, 2008
Posted by Eideard in Politics, crime

The U.S. should stop arresting responsible marijuana users, Rep. Barney Frank said today, announcing a proposal to end federal penalties for Americans carrying fewer than 100 grams, almost a quarter-pound, of the substance.
Current laws targeting marijuana users place undue burdens on law enforcement resources, punish ill Americans whose doctors have prescribed the substance and unfairly affect African-Americans, said Frank, flanked by legislators and representatives from advocacy groups.
“The vast amount of human activity ought to be none of the government’s business,” Frank said during a Capitol Hill news conference. “I don’t think it is the government’s business to tell you how to spend your leisure time…”
Allen St. Pierre, spokesman for the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, likened Frank’s proposal — co-sponsored by Rep. Ron Paul, R-Texas — to current laws dealing with alcohol consumption. Alcohol use is permitted, and the government focuses its law enforcement efforts on those who abuse alcohol or drive under its influence, he said.
“We do not arrest and jail responsible alcohol drinkers,” he said.

And here is some background on Ron Paul's long-standing support for reform:

"On the issue of drugs, we have spent nearly five hundred billion dollars on the War on Drugs, since the 1970s. Total failure. Some day, we have to admit it. Today, we have the federal government going into states that have legal medical marijuana, arresting people--undermining state laws--arresting people who use marijuana when they're dying with cancer and AIDS, and it's done with, as a compassionate conservative. And it doesn't work. " Source: 2007 GOP Values Voter Presidential Debate Sep 17, 2007

"For the first 140 years of our history, we had essentially no federal war on drugs, and far fewer problems with drug addiction and related crimes as a consequence. In the past 30 years, even with the hundreds of millions of dollars spent on the drug war, little good has come of it. We have vacillated from efforts to stop the drugs at the source to severely punishing the users, yet nothing has improved.
The drug war encourages violence. Government violence against nonviolent users is notorious and has led to the unnecessary prison overpopulation. Innocent taxpayers are forced to pay for all this so-called justice. Our drug eradication project (using spraying) around the world, from Colombia to Afghanistan, breeds resentment because normal crops and good land can be severely damaged. Local populations perceive that the efforts and the profiteering remain somehow beneficial to our own agenda in these various countries. "
Source: House speech, in Foreign Policy of Freedom, p.159-160 Oct 25, 2001

I wish I could summon up even a tiny bit of optimism about the possibility of this bill being passed, but alas, I cannot.

Sigh. It's just plant, people. A plant that makes you feel good. What's bad?

Oh, sure! But can they play football?

(Is it just me, or is their a similarity between these two pictures?)

I watched the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics and I was awestruck. The performances were creative, perfectly choreographed and flawlessly executed. Can you imagine that many of us Americans putting in so much intensive practice and cooperating so selflessly with one another, while getting no individual attention at all?

I had an unpleasant flashback to America's contribution to the arts, back at the 2004 Super Bowl...





No wonder they're kicking our asses in industry and commerce! My advice to the Western world: LEARN TO SPEAK CHINESE! You're going to need it.

Ants in My Pants and Everywhere Else!

Our kitchen has been invaded with ants! This has been going on for about two weeks and my patience and empathy (oh, the poor little things are just trying to survive, like everyone else) have been exhausted. At first, it was just some scouts, looking around the kitchen counter for any stray tidbits.

I tried to deter them with some kind of repellent traps, and made a valiant attempt to keep the "stray tidbits" to a minimum. Yeah...right. They seemed to be attracted to the repellent traps and neither hubby nor I are real good about wiping up every single crumb that may hit the sink or counter. Gradually, the scouts called in the main troops and we have been confronted with long lines of the little buggers, leading from the kitchen window to the counter, the stove and the pantry.

Yesterday, the line led to a plastic pint container of honey in the pantry. They managed to wedge themselves between the lid and the rim, in a solid mass of nasty, squirmy, little brown creatures. I showed them no mercy! I grabbed the container and held it under the faucet until I had dislodged and drowned every one of them. Then I took a sponge and obliterated the entire army of them. And...for the first time, I agreed to let hubby bring out the RAID can. We had a few glorious hours of antlessness, but this morning they were back, though not in full invasion mode. Once again, I attacked them with the sponge, but apparently some of them had developed a new survival strategy, namely...taking up residence on the enemy. I was not immediately aware of my uninvited guests. After cleaning the kitchen I left the house to go the gym. As I stood talking to my trainer, Sally, I felt a tickle on my belly. I scratched it and felt another, and another! With Sally looking at me incredulously, I lifted my shirt and saw several goddamned ants crawling on me.

Sally laughed and offered to spray me with Raid, but I declined, opting instead to go home, shower, and develop a new strategy.

So far, I have considered and rejected the following ideas:

1. Burn the house down.
2. Saturate the entire house and grounds with insecticide.
3. Learn to love the little devils.

I would welcome any suggestions from my dear friends in the Blogosphere.