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.

Party Time!

What this country needs is a good THIRD PARTY. A third party with a candidate who will put some ZEST into this listless presidential campaign. Otherwise, there is a considerable danger of the electorate falling into a stupor, listening to same-old, same-old flip-flopping, mud-slinging, gaffes and retractions, and perhaps forgetting to even go to the polls on November 4. Well,leave it to Madam Z to remedy the situation. Let me introduce you to my choice for Captain of our Ship of State, ZEKE!
(Reprinted from my post in Six Sentences.)

Zeke had been raised as a Republican, but as soon as he was old enough to get a hard-on, he knew that that uptight, sex-fearing, no-partying party was not for him, but he didn’t care much for the Democrats either, since they were all about political correctness and worrying about poor people and boring stuff like that.

So, Zeke decided to start his own political party – the Z-Party; a party that liked to PARTY!

He’d need a new party animal – no lame-ass donkey or fat-ass elephant – the Z-Party’s mascot would be a Zebra, male, of course, and he would be hung like a horse.

Now for the party platform… Zeke scratched his chin and looked up at the sky, smiling, as he pictured himself as President of the new, improved nation.

He had been elected in a landslide, after he told the voters that “Anything goes in the Z-Party, well, almost anything…no murder, of course, and no non-consensual anything, homosexuality is fine, heterosexuality, bestiality, drink whatever you want, smoke whatever you want…hell’s bells, DO whatever you want, as long as you observe the Golden Rule.

Yeah, that’s the only law we need in the Z-party – “Don’t do unto others what you don’t want them to do unto you…or something like that; I’ll work out the details later,” he told the cheering throngs.

He's got my vote!

Rush to Oblivion

I must be getting better, because I'm getting REALLY IRRITATED with right wing hyperbole. I listened to Rush Limbarf for about an hour yesterday, while I was cooking dinner. He is such a bag of noxious gas. All he can do is rant about how dumb and phony and inarticulate and wrong, wrong, wrong Obama is. To prove his case, he had his lackeys piece together a series of "uh... uh... uhs" gleaned from an interview Obama gave. What nerve! After the world being forced to listen to the inane meanderings of Gum Wad Bush for the past 7 years! I have listened to Obama speak in person (at a rally here) and many times on television. He gives every indication of being intelligent, well-educated, calm, honest and is very articulate.

Limbarf said nothing about McCodger, positive or otherwise, just constant negatives about Obama. I listened again today, but could only stomach about 15 minutes of exactly the same diatribe. I remember hearing him about three weeks ago, when he continually slipped in the name "Osama" instead of "Obama." How desperate can the man get? I can only hope that his sycophants will tire of the same rant, day after day, and tune him out.

Being sick has changed my perspective on life. I feel my mortality. My world has contracted. I'm having a hard time being interested in anything outside of my skin. I don't give a damn about politics, global warming, dead penguins, gas prices, burst bubbles, the-utter-stupidity-of-using-corn-to-produce-ethanol, or the mold in my bathtub.

I do have a renewed appreciation for Hubby, though. He has been tender, solicitous and caring through the whole episode. I'm feeling better, just thinking about how fortunate I am.

NEW SUBJECT: The Dark Knight... Have any of you seen it yet? They would have to pay me all the receipts from opening night to make me watch it. Life is grim enough, without being transported into a terrifying, violent, creepy place like Gotham City.

I'd rather laugh than cry. Maybe I could rent an old "Laurel and Hardy" movie...

I know. Long time, no post. That's because I have been in the HOSPITAL since last Tuesday night. Apparently, I provided dinner for a tick infected with Lyme Disease, and it rewarded me with lots and lots of nasty viruses which made me sicker than I've ever been! (Than I can remember, anyway. But every time I get sick, I think it's the worst ever, so who knows.)

Anyway, I'm home now, attempting to get back in the saddle, and will no doubt think of some totally SCINTILLATING material for my next post. But this is the best I can do tonight.

Murder...It's Harder Than You Think!

Utah Savage has invited me to submit, for a magazine she's starting, a story about murdering a man. I jumped on it, thinking "Oh boy, I can get imaginary revenge on at least one of the S.O.B.s who has wronged me." But golly! I'm having a hell of a time actually doing the deed. I can think of, and enjoy fantasizing about torturing them and making them beg for mercy, but I can't get into snuffing them, even fictionally. Geez, I don't even hate Bush and Cheney enough to kill them!

Okay, I'm going to go off and really concentrate on all the reasons at least one of the fuckwads from my shady past deserves to die.

Oy Gevalt! The Heat! The Humidity!

I am dripping with sweat. I feel like I am suspended inside the lid of a cooking pot, but I’m just sitting at my computer in my den, where the temperature is 95 degrees, and the humidity is hovering at about 90%. I hate humidity. I hate heat. I especially hate heat when it’s accompanied by humidity, and vice versa. Why am I being punished like this? Maybe I’m in Hell, and just don’t remember dying. One thing for sure is that if I’m not dead yet, I will be soon, if it doesn’t cool off in here. That may be a slight exaggeration. I should have said that I’d soon wish for death if it doesn’t cool off in here. But then, if it turns out that I’m not dead yet, and therefore not in Hell, if I were to die now, and go to Hell, chances are that it would be even hotter there; probably more humid too. That may not be true, though, because if it were any more humid than it is in this room, it would have to be raining, and I don’t think it rains in Hell. If it did, it might put out the fires, and what kind of Hell would that be, with no fire? It would be hellaciously steamy for a while, though. That would be dreadful, but eventually the steam would condense, and there would be puddles, and then lakes and rivers. The River Styx would overflow its banks. Then the mystified, damned souls might drown, but since they’re already dead, that shouldn’t be a problem. Eventually, as the water receded, plants would grow, and in a few short millennia, the whole place would look like a tropical forest. There would be exotic flowers, colorful parrots, and luscious fruit hanging from low branches…

Wait a minute. This is starting to sound more like Heaven than Hell, or maybe the Garden of Eden.

I doubt if an apple tree could grow in that kind of climate, though. However, that would be a good thing. If there were no apple tree to tempt Eve, then the wrath of God would not be visited upon this new territory, and maybe there wouldn’t be a need for Hell.

Now that I’ve thought this whole thing through, I see that the heat and humidity in here might not be so bad, after all. Maybe an orchid will spring from the puddle of sweat forming on my chair. The cold lemonade I am about to drink will taste extra good. And all I really have to do to feel better, is to think of how I felt six months ago, when I was sitting here shivering, with ice-cold hands and feet, cursing winter, and wishing for summer.

I was just now reading DCup's post about vaginas and how we are made to think that they "should" look a certain way. It reminded me of this short story (true and autobiographical) I wrote recently. Here it is...

Hanging Out

Whenever my family visited Grandma Willis’ house, I chose to hang out with Grandma and Mom instead of my younger sisters and assorted cousins. Apparently, my status as the oldest grandchild made this scenario acceptable. I usually sat quietly, with my mouth shut and my ears wide open, as Mom and Grandma talked and laughed. Their stories were much more interesting than anything my peer group had to say.

One day, when I was about eleven years old, the conversation turned to the subject of masturbation, a word that was new to me. I had no idea what they were talking about, but it sounded naughty, so I paid attention. Then Mom started telling G. about something my Dad had told her, which involved me. He told her that he had seen me taking a bath and had noticed that my inner labia protruded. That indicated to him that I masturbated, and he was shocked and horrified. Mom, of course, thought that idea was not only preposterous, but also very funny. Zelda would never do anything like that! So she and Grandma were laughing about how silly and amusing it was that Daddy would think that about me. Of course, I laughed along with them, since I wanted to seem like one of the girls. Then I asked Mom, “What does ‘masturbate’ mean?”

She turned to me, with a slight frown, and said, “It means to play with yourself.”

At that point, I must have turned bright red, and her frown grew fearsome as she said, “You don’t, do you?”

“No, no, never, uh-uh.” I felt like my face was going to melt off of my skull.

Grandma kept quiet as Mom continued to give me the evil eye, but with no more to go on, she changed the subject and pretty soon we were all laughing again, about something else my funny Daddy had said or done.

Racism, What's It Good For?

Part III

My ethnic background is 1/2 Norwegian, 1/4 English, 1/8 Heinz 57 and 1/8 Cherokee. When I was a teenager, I thought it was so cool to be part "Indian" that I told people that I was half Norwegian and half Indian. I don't know if anyone believed me, but I enjoyed my little ruse and it laid the foundation for a few fabrications later in my life.

The year I was 29, I was working part-time at night in the "cash cage" (back office where the money was kept) in a K-Mart in Salt Lake City. My shift was 5 pm to 9 pm, and I was the only person in the office, except for the night manager, who would pop in to visit with me rather more often than he should have. He was a chubby, randy young guy who enjoyed getting me riled up with his pro-war, conservative politics and stupid racist remarks, among other subjects. He had discovered early on that I did not like it when he would use words like ni**er, coon, and other disparaging terms for blacks. The more I objected, the more fun he had using them. One night, I was at my wits end with him, and I suddenly got a brilliant idea! Here's what I said:

"Dick, you know I hate it when you talk like that. Now I'm going to tell you why. But first you have to promise me that you'll never tell anyone. Nobody outside of my family knows this about me."

Dick became appropriately quiet and serious. "No, I won't tell. Honest!"

"Okay, here goes." I took a deep breath. "My mother is half black and half Indian."

Dick's eyes opened wide. After a short pause, he said, in a completly calm voice, "Oh! What kind of Indian?"

"Cherokee."

"That's interesting! Actually, you do look a little Indian. The cheekbones or something."

Long silence....

"I'm sorry about the way I talked. Don't worry. It's our little secret."

-----------------------------------------------------------

And you know what? He never used the "bad words" around me again. And he never told "our little secret" to anyone in the store.

Racism, What is it Good For?

Part II

Wow! Doesn't that sound formal! My opinions are so profound, they must be divided into PARTS! Maybe I should stop now. Nah...

When I was a child in California, back in the 'fifties, racial prejudice was rampant and open. There was no such thing as "political correctness." The shit just flew. I was fortunate to have parents who may have had some prejudices, but they weren't necessarily negative, and they definitely weren't hostile. My dad worked in the steel mill, alongside men of many different ethnic backgrounds, including "colored." He was friends with at least one black man that I remember, mainly because of the following incident. Dad brought Charlie home for dinner one evening. My little sister, Judy, was two years old and very cute and engaging. As Daddy and Charlie were sitting at the table talking, Judy was standing nearby and staring at Charlie. Charlie started talking to her and she was all smiles. He picked her up and sat her on his lap. She reached up to his face and wiped her hand across his cheek, and then looked at her palm. At first, the adults wondered what she was doing. Then she did it again, and looked puzzled when there was nothing on her palm. Then everyone burst out laughing, realizing that she thought the color on his brown cheek was painted on! There was no animosity on the part of anyone involved. It was just funny and innocent.

My mother also had black friends now and then, depending where we lived. Most neighborhoods were segregated, but the lines of demarcation were sometimes fuzzy, so we occasionally had black and Mexican neighbors. I remember one "colored" friend of Mom's that I am grateful to. My sisters and I had contracted a lively case of pinworms. Maybell gave Mom a recipe for a thick, dark syrup containing lots of garlic. We were given a few doses of that syrup and Voila! Pinworms were history.

The only thing that bothers me now is remembering that both parents and their families used the "N-word" freely. They didn't call colored people ni**ers, but they used the term sometimes. The only things I remember right now is their term for Brazil nuts - "ni**er toes" and the child's verse, "Eeny, meeny, miny moe. Catch a ni**er by the toe, etc." Remember that, any of you other geezers out there? I know there were lots of other references, but I can't remember them. When I had my children, Brazil nuts were only called Brazil nuts and I changed the second line of "eeny meeny" to "catch a tiger by the toe." The kids were teenagers before they heard the original verse.

Hell's bells. I guess there's going to have to be a Part III. I'm too sleepy to finish now.

Racism, What's It Good For?

I was inspired to tackle this subject after reading an interesting post on the subject, by dcup on June 13. She confessed to having been raised in a mildly racist atmosphere, and has since rejected that influence and is stridently anti-racist today. I’m not sure if the word “racism” is the correct one to use in my post, since the technical definition of racism is “a doctrine of racial superiority,” according to my Merriam-Webster Scrabble Players Dictionary (the only one I can find, right now). I think that most of us think of racism as a dislike (or hatred) of people of other races. It is also used interchangeably (and inappropriately) with “prejudice.”

(An aside…I was looking for “prejudice” in the dictionary and accidentally saw the word “priapism, a persistent erection of the penis.” Now I’m all distracted.)

Okay, back to business. “Prejudice” is the act of judging beforehand. I think that prejudice is a natural and very common human trait. We tend to have a feeling that people who look different from us probably are different from us. Then, depending on various experiences, and teaching from family and friends, negative or POSITIVE connotations may take hold in our psyches. Everyone knows that “white men can’t jump” and “blacks have rhythm,” along with countless other generalizations.

I also believe that most people of various races tend to associate more with people of their particular color than with others. I always think of the term, “birds of a feather flock together,” when I observe this. The white ducks in our pond tend to hang out with the other white ducks, instead of the grey and green mallard ducks, who hang out with other mallards. I don’t think they are racists. When I was a freshman in a California college, I lived in the dorms. My roommate, Carol, was a black girl, very, very smart, with perfect deportment. We became close friends. When we were together, she spoke perfect English (much better than my mid-west tainted dialect) and was always discreet and genteel. But when she wanted to relax and let it all hang out, she visited with several other black girls. She told me it felt good to be able to "talk broad" (kind of a southern dialect) and not be self-conscious. She took me with her once, and I felt uncomfortable, just because the atmosphere was so different from what I was used to.

Okay, I have a lot more to say, but ah'm tahred! I'll continue tomorrow.

Twenty hours from now I'll be in Pensacola! My best friend, Kerry, has lived there for the past 10 years. I've only visited her once, about four years ago, and she's visited me twice, so it's my turn. I hope the skies will be friendly...

The Blues Made Me Happy!

Hubby and I just got back from an outdoor concert. The weather was perfect and the music was red hot and blue! The star was Big Jack Johnson, still dishing out the soul music at age 67! He was accompanied by the Corn Likkers, a bunch of hard-rocking old white guys who seemed to worship B.J. All of us in the audience were pretty darned captivated by him as well. He just leaned back in his chair and made that gee-tar moan. I loved watching his face. He had this easy, relaxed smile that made me feel that he was as entertained by us, as we were by him. Hubby and I danced our socks off...literally! Shoes and socks were discarded after the first song. We were dancing on the lawn, and it felt good to have my bare toes digging into the grass.

It was also fun to observe some of the other dancers. There were all ages, from babies to some really OLD people (even older than me!). My favorite in the "old" category was a tall, slender woman who must have been at least 75 or 80. She had BRILLIANT RED-ORANGE hair that was positively stunning! And she was dancing like it was 1950! Shaking her booty and having a good ol' time. It made me feel good to see someone who wasn't about to let her age get in the way of enjoying herself. I'm always fussing about how awful it is to be getting old and thinking I should just wear a sack over my head. And here was this lady, old enough to be my mother, who didn't give a good god-damn if everyone in that whole audience saw her wrinkles. Yay! Rock on, grandma!

I also enjoyed observing some of the young people, particularly some of the young MEN, and ESPECIALLY a CERTAIN young man. He had been sitting on the sidelines of the dance area, his whole body convulsing to the rhythm of the music, but seemingly reluctant to stand up and dance. Then along came another young guy, tall and gangly and dancing spastically, with a big, happy grin on his face. Apparently, he was a friend of the first guy, because he made his way over to him and persuaded him to get up and DANCE! I'm telling you...when that kid got up from his crouched position, it was like an explosion of testosterone! He jumped and stomped and jabbed his arms up and down, his eyes were glazed and the muscles in his arms and shoulders were flexing...it was electrifying! It had a positively visceral effect on me. I had to lead hubby over to the side, because I didn't want anyone to know what a DIRTY OL' LADY I am.

Anyway, a good time was had by all, and after two hours of non-stop R & B, including two encores, they packed up their band and we revelers all wandered back to our cars. My brain is still pulsing to the beat.