Whew!
This relaxing whilst vacating is hard ass work. A bitch has been getting my hermit on big time, so my ass has not been feeding off of the news the way I usually do. However, I have followed the news of the death of former President Gerald Ford at the age of 93.
A bitch is a Watergate addict. I was born in 1973...in February in the fantabulously frozen city of Minneapolis (shiver). I have long suspected that my mother watched a lot of Watergate-based news while hibernating that winter, because I have forever been fascinated by that moment in history.
Anyhoo...
For all the drama and disgust surrounding the Nixon administration's willful disregard of the Constitution...the breaking and entering, illegal wiretapping, obstruction of justice, destruction of evidence, conspiracy upon crazy assed conspiracy and a dash of violating patient doctor privacy law for taste...cough...for all that Nixon was shady President Ford appeared all the more decent.
But Shark-fu! What about that pardon?
Hush, a bitch is getting to that.
Mercy!
I have long pondered the pardon of Richard M. Nixon. On one hand, it shut the door on Watergate and allowed the nation to move forward in a time when it greatly needed to move the fuck forward. One can not look at that pardon without looking at the muck it emerged from.
Mmmhmm...nasty!
On the other hand, the pardon cut off a proper if painful exploration of the depth and complexity of the river of shit that was Watergate. Is it any wonder folks keep testing those uncharted waters? I have often thought Nixon needed to be dragged before the very legal system he attempted to subvert and tried and punished like the common criminal he was.
Sigh.
Now, more than ever (wink for all y'all who get that one), a bitch has to wonder if the Executive didn't need to be checked hard in 1974...drained of some serious power...all windows thrown open and lights turned on in every single room.
What I do know is that former President Ford served this nation in a time of great need. He stepped up to take on the Vice Presidency after the resignation of a certain corrupt as hell Agnew and then the Presidency after the resignation of a disgraced Nixon.
Somehow, he provided a bridge between the reality of boorish corruption in practice and the unlimited potential that is a government of the people, by the people and for the people.
Now, more than ever, this child born in the winter of Watergate finds comfort in that.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
What a way to make a livin...
A bitch caught the Kennedy Center Honors on the telly last night.
I will confess...pause...I was intrigued by the drama swirling around the...ummm, vocal malfunction....cough...of a certain Jessica Simpson, who was supposed to perform 9 to 5 in honor of Dolly Parton.
A bitch is human after all (wink).
But I would have watched anyway because they were honoring some amazing people who have advanced the arts while managing to entertain and educate in the process.
Oh, and this bitch adores Dolly Parton.
What?
Shit, she's fabulous! A true pioneer in music, a woman who has led by example by taking control of her career and her art. I've seen Dolly Parton perform live many times and she is always on, always professional and always a joy.
Lawd, what a contrast to...ummm...ouch, right? Well, mayhap some people should have been taking notes instead of requesting cue cards?
Just a thought.
Anyhoo, the Kennedy Center Honors was a well edited show. All references to Jessica Simpson were removed...erased in true Stalin-esque style. It never was, I tell you! She never fucked up and flubbed the words to a song that earned Dolly Parton an Academy Award nomination...all because of the magic of television.
And don't we have technology to blame for the dawn of the Simpson Age of non-performance performance anyway?
Blink.
Shit, if it weren't for the gossip that leaked a bitch would have been unaware that Jessica Simpson had ever been slated to perform. Ummm, except for the fact that 9 to 5 was missing...and it was beyond weird that the song that earned Dolly Parton an Academy Award nomination was not sung. Sorry kids, but that was glaring and obvious no matter how smooth the editing or full of absolute pleasure-based joy the multitudes of celebri-crowd shots.
Lawd, what the fuck were the producers thinking? The Kennedy Center Honors is for the honorees and the audience gets the joy of watching them be honored.
Right?
Pause.
Which brings me back to Dolly Parton and her dignity in the face of Ms. Simpson's vocal malfunction. Dolly looked like she was having the time of her life. I sincerely hope she was, but if she wasn't she sure as hell executed a fabulous performance.
All smiles and charming laughter. The show must go on and a professional knows that going in.
You hear that Jessica?
Sigh.
Somehow this entire episode serves to demonstrate the achievement that is fantabulous live performance...and the skill required to make it look easy and sound great.
Hey, mayhap they should let Dolly produce the show next year?
Or would that be too much like right?
I will confess...pause...I was intrigued by the drama swirling around the...ummm, vocal malfunction....cough...of a certain Jessica Simpson, who was supposed to perform 9 to 5 in honor of Dolly Parton.
A bitch is human after all (wink).
But I would have watched anyway because they were honoring some amazing people who have advanced the arts while managing to entertain and educate in the process.
Oh, and this bitch adores Dolly Parton.
What?
Shit, she's fabulous! A true pioneer in music, a woman who has led by example by taking control of her career and her art. I've seen Dolly Parton perform live many times and she is always on, always professional and always a joy.
Lawd, what a contrast to...ummm...ouch, right? Well, mayhap some people should have been taking notes instead of requesting cue cards?
Just a thought.
Anyhoo, the Kennedy Center Honors was a well edited show. All references to Jessica Simpson were removed...erased in true Stalin-esque style. It never was, I tell you! She never fucked up and flubbed the words to a song that earned Dolly Parton an Academy Award nomination...all because of the magic of television.
And don't we have technology to blame for the dawn of the Simpson Age of non-performance performance anyway?
Blink.
Shit, if it weren't for the gossip that leaked a bitch would have been unaware that Jessica Simpson had ever been slated to perform. Ummm, except for the fact that 9 to 5 was missing...and it was beyond weird that the song that earned Dolly Parton an Academy Award nomination was not sung. Sorry kids, but that was glaring and obvious no matter how smooth the editing or full of absolute pleasure-based joy the multitudes of celebri-crowd shots.
Lawd, what the fuck were the producers thinking? The Kennedy Center Honors is for the honorees and the audience gets the joy of watching them be honored.
Right?
Pause.
Which brings me back to Dolly Parton and her dignity in the face of Ms. Simpson's vocal malfunction. Dolly looked like she was having the time of her life. I sincerely hope she was, but if she wasn't she sure as hell executed a fabulous performance.
All smiles and charming laughter. The show must go on and a professional knows that going in.
You hear that Jessica?
Sigh.
Somehow this entire episode serves to demonstrate the achievement that is fantabulous live performance...and the skill required to make it look easy and sound great.
Hey, mayhap they should let Dolly produce the show next year?
Or would that be too much like right?
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Say it loud...
I grew up listening to James Brown when he was already a legend.
He was The Godfather of Soul and such a powerfully understood image that Eddie Murphy's skit on Saturday Night Live needed no explanation as it pay tribute to the hardest working man in music through the
language of laughter.
It is James Brown that I think of now, having learned of his death Christmas day. I'm thinking of the man who gave his sweat, human and raw while somehow brilliant even in the embrace of his flaws.
I remember the words that raw voice of soul sang out to me.
Now we demand a chance to do things for ourself
We're tired of beatin' our head against the wall
And workin' for someone else
The thrill of hearing them and the almost tragic shock that came with it, so rare was the language of empowerment.
We're people, we're just like the birds and the bees
We'd rather die on our feet
Than be livin' on our knees
The music of James Brown didn't ask, it demanded.
Made you rise up from your seat, didn't it?
Say it loud,
I'm black and I'm proud
Soul Brother Number One...
He was The Godfather of Soul and such a powerfully understood image that Eddie Murphy's skit on Saturday Night Live needed no explanation as it pay tribute to the hardest working man in music through the
language of laughter.It is James Brown that I think of now, having learned of his death Christmas day. I'm thinking of the man who gave his sweat, human and raw while somehow brilliant even in the embrace of his flaws.
I remember the words that raw voice of soul sang out to me.
Now we demand a chance to do things for ourself
We're tired of beatin' our head against the wall
And workin' for someone else
The thrill of hearing them and the almost tragic shock that came with it, so rare was the language of empowerment.
We're people, we're just like the birds and the bees
We'd rather die on our feet
Than be livin' on our knees
The music of James Brown didn't ask, it demanded.
Made you rise up from your seat, didn't it?
Say it loud,
I'm black and I'm proud
Soul Brother Number One...
Friday, December 22, 2006
Santa Bitch follow-up...
Next week is a vacation from work for this bitch.
Gasp.
Mercy, when is the last time I had a full week including weekends off from work?
Blink.
Lawd, no wonder a bitch is feeling frayed at the edges!
I’m going to take the opportunity to tackle some posts that my ass hasn’t had the time or energy to dive into. Oh, and work on my book too, which I’ve been avoiding after the most recent downpour of writing because the sudden onset of ideas kind of freaked me out post drought.
Shit, I know that doesn't make sense but a bitch never claimed to be right in the head.
Anyhoo…
Yesterday this bitch played Santa Bitch and delivered toys and books to the shelter.
The chil’ren where beyond excited, which they expressed through loud as hell screams, spinning in circles and then dropping to the ground and the tossing out of random comments along the lines of “Do you eat glue? My momma told me not to…but I still do it.”
Whew!
As the boxes were unloaded from Miss SisterGirl Cabrio into the entrance hallway I noticed one of the mothers in the main room reading to her infant daughter while rocking in a chair.
That slow steady rock in rhythm with the soft lilt of her voice managed to stand out despite the riot going down.
"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."
I watched as that baby’s eyes locked on her mother’s face…intent and serious, as if her mother was reading from the Book of Knowledge rather than 'Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Moore.
The heavy security door closed with a hard clank and the baby’s gaze faltered. I couldn’t help but resent that sound for disturbing them even though that door means the difference between violence and peace.
The rocking continued as I moved boxes into the room and settled them beneath the massive tree.
As I completed the task I stepped back slowly…that sweet baby’s eyes were closing. She was fighting it, but the combination of a full stomach, a comfy blanket and all that rocking would be too much for anyone, much less her infant self. Those serious eyes finally closed as her mother finished the poem.
"He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle."
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
They continued to rock…mother and child…as the book was set aside and the noise that had seemed so loud when I first walked in the door faded away.
As I left them I thought of the gift waiting beneath the tree and the gift they had already been given in each other.
Sigh.
And then I went in search of the trouble the quiet was masking, because there ain’t no way in hell four loud and hyper toddlers all fell asleep at the exact same time.
Uh, uh…no way in hell!
Who knew they could do that much damage so fast?
Finger painting Santa Claus on the counter tops...Lawd give me strength (wink)!
Toodles.
Gasp.
Mercy, when is the last time I had a full week including weekends off from work?
Blink.
Lawd, no wonder a bitch is feeling frayed at the edges!
I’m going to take the opportunity to tackle some posts that my ass hasn’t had the time or energy to dive into. Oh, and work on my book too, which I’ve been avoiding after the most recent downpour of writing because the sudden onset of ideas kind of freaked me out post drought.
Shit, I know that doesn't make sense but a bitch never claimed to be right in the head.
Anyhoo…
Yesterday this bitch played Santa Bitch and delivered toys and books to the shelter.
The chil’ren where beyond excited, which they expressed through loud as hell screams, spinning in circles and then dropping to the ground and the tossing out of random comments along the lines of “Do you eat glue? My momma told me not to…but I still do it.”
Whew!
As the boxes were unloaded from Miss SisterGirl Cabrio into the entrance hallway I noticed one of the mothers in the main room reading to her infant daughter while rocking in a chair.
That slow steady rock in rhythm with the soft lilt of her voice managed to stand out despite the riot going down.
"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."
I watched as that baby’s eyes locked on her mother’s face…intent and serious, as if her mother was reading from the Book of Knowledge rather than 'Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Moore.
The heavy security door closed with a hard clank and the baby’s gaze faltered. I couldn’t help but resent that sound for disturbing them even though that door means the difference between violence and peace.
The rocking continued as I moved boxes into the room and settled them beneath the massive tree.
As I completed the task I stepped back slowly…that sweet baby’s eyes were closing. She was fighting it, but the combination of a full stomach, a comfy blanket and all that rocking would be too much for anyone, much less her infant self. Those serious eyes finally closed as her mother finished the poem.
"He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle."
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
They continued to rock…mother and child…as the book was set aside and the noise that had seemed so loud when I first walked in the door faded away.
As I left them I thought of the gift waiting beneath the tree and the gift they had already been given in each other.
Sigh.
And then I went in search of the trouble the quiet was masking, because there ain’t no way in hell four loud and hyper toddlers all fell asleep at the exact same time.
Uh, uh…no way in hell!
Who knew they could do that much damage so fast?
Finger painting Santa Claus on the counter tops...Lawd give me strength (wink)!
Toodles.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Bitchfirmations for the holidays…
This bitch is in typical holiday stress mode. I have to run out and play Santa Bitch this afternoon to a bunch of wild and loud chil'ren…finalize my holiday list of necessary things…and hit the book store for my I’m not leaving this house or having human contact for 24 hours post holiday hermitization.
Whew!
All of this would be much more doable if this bitch weren’t burnt the fuck out from a very long and emotional year!
I know just what I need!
Bitchfirmations for the holidays...
When confronted with a holiday gathering that is politically necessary but an emotional beating. (Un-bondable in-laws, folks that you’re tired of looking at, sorta-friends of your mate who work your nerve and make you question your mates sanity because they don’t work their nerve…shit like that).
Cease fretting, woman! That line between your brows needs to disappear...right this minute...NOW!
Resolve to rise above and be the better person by getting your Powell Doctrine on and planning an exit strategy.
Blink.
Mmhmm, RSVP with a 'we have another thing to go to but of course we’d love to drop by' qualifier. Make sure everyone driving in the car is on board with the strategy. Enter the gathering, note any notable things, nurse a vodka cran whilst munching on munchables (this is key, because it occupies the mouth and will prevent any scene causing public acts of verbal honesty). Circle the room twice and then leave.
That mission is as good as accomplished!
When stressing over holiday to-dos and expectations…
If it can’t get done it can’t get done! Get a hold of yourself…this is a holiday not a fully funded with objectives and anticipated outcomes followed by 'oh shit, my career is on the line' project.
Take a deep breath…exhale…and reclaim your festivitude!
Look at you, with your bad self...you deserve some motherfucking joy too!
So claim it…and if someone wants cookies that you don’t want to or have time to bake tell that someone to bake them their own damn self!
When lamenting the ghosts of relationships past…
Shit, some relationships needed to get gone...or have you forgotten how they ended up on the curb in the first place?
Girl, please.
Celebrate the family you have and the family you have been blessed to build.
Shit, your life overfloweth with fantabulous people.
Enjoy them, for the love of all that is holy (wink)!
In Conclusion...
This bitch is setting my holiday mood with the music of Cheryl Lynn…
Ooh, your love's for real now
You know that your love is my love
My love is your love
Our love is here to stay
What you find-ah
What you feel now
What you know-a
To be real
Ahh, gotcha dancing didn’t I?
Whew!
All of this would be much more doable if this bitch weren’t burnt the fuck out from a very long and emotional year!
I know just what I need!
Bitchfirmations for the holidays...
When confronted with a holiday gathering that is politically necessary but an emotional beating. (Un-bondable in-laws, folks that you’re tired of looking at, sorta-friends of your mate who work your nerve and make you question your mates sanity because they don’t work their nerve…shit like that).
Cease fretting, woman! That line between your brows needs to disappear...right this minute...NOW!
Resolve to rise above and be the better person by getting your Powell Doctrine on and planning an exit strategy.
Blink.
Mmhmm, RSVP with a 'we have another thing to go to but of course we’d love to drop by' qualifier. Make sure everyone driving in the car is on board with the strategy. Enter the gathering, note any notable things, nurse a vodka cran whilst munching on munchables (this is key, because it occupies the mouth and will prevent any scene causing public acts of verbal honesty). Circle the room twice and then leave.
That mission is as good as accomplished!
When stressing over holiday to-dos and expectations…
If it can’t get done it can’t get done! Get a hold of yourself…this is a holiday not a fully funded with objectives and anticipated outcomes followed by 'oh shit, my career is on the line' project.
Take a deep breath…exhale…and reclaim your festivitude!
Look at you, with your bad self...you deserve some motherfucking joy too!
So claim it…and if someone wants cookies that you don’t want to or have time to bake tell that someone to bake them their own damn self!
When lamenting the ghosts of relationships past…
Shit, some relationships needed to get gone...or have you forgotten how they ended up on the curb in the first place?
Girl, please.
Celebrate the family you have and the family you have been blessed to build.
Shit, your life overfloweth with fantabulous people.
Enjoy them, for the love of all that is holy (wink)!
In Conclusion...
This bitch is setting my holiday mood with the music of Cheryl Lynn…
Ooh, your love's for real now
You know that your love is my love
My love is your love
Our love is here to stay
What you find-ah
What you feel now
What you know-a
To be real
Ahh, gotcha dancing didn’t I?
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
A quizzical regarding sex...
If premarital sex is normal...
Pause.
…so most Americans get their groove on before marriage (assuming that this research factors in lesbians and gays even though marriage isn’t an option…but sex is, so…hmmm)…
Frown.
…then why do we have a sex education program tailored to the rare sexless before man on woman sanctified matrimony securing soul?
Blink.
It makes no sense…like putting the cart before the horse, trickle down economics or Brittney Spears.
Mayhap the problem here is that most Americans don’t know that most Americans get it on before marriage!
Blink.
But all those folks fucking pre-marriage have to know…and most of Americans are doing that so most Americans should know, right?
So who the hell doesn’t know?
Cough.
Well, this is alarming! Just imagine this percentage applied to something else…most Americans drive drunk, for example. Would our public policy people (Lawd, say that ten times fast) debate the need for seatbelts and comprehensive driver’s education in the face of those numbers?
Shit, knowing them this bitch won't take that bet.
Anyhoo…fuck it (wink)…three cheers for our new national pastime!
Who the hell is going to break it to baseball?
Pause.
…so most Americans get their groove on before marriage (assuming that this research factors in lesbians and gays even though marriage isn’t an option…but sex is, so…hmmm)…
Frown.
…then why do we have a sex education program tailored to the rare sexless before man on woman sanctified matrimony securing soul?
Blink.
It makes no sense…like putting the cart before the horse, trickle down economics or Brittney Spears.
Mayhap the problem here is that most Americans don’t know that most Americans get it on before marriage!
Blink.
But all those folks fucking pre-marriage have to know…and most of Americans are doing that so most Americans should know, right?
So who the hell doesn’t know?
Cough.Well, this is alarming! Just imagine this percentage applied to something else…most Americans drive drunk, for example. Would our public policy people (Lawd, say that ten times fast) debate the need for seatbelts and comprehensive driver’s education in the face of those numbers?
Shit, knowing them this bitch won't take that bet.
Anyhoo…fuck it (wink)…three cheers for our new national pastime!
Who the hell is going to break it to baseball?
Pondering the Sooooooooul Patrol...
This bitch was listening to NPR the other day and a certain Donna Brazile was commenting about Senator Obama’s chances in 2008. Donna Brazile of the 
Gore 2004 Braziles gave good talk…she always does…and seemed optimistic (gasp) about Obama’s ability to transcend the issue of race.
Now, this bitch is on record that I have no intention of analyzing an individual before they announce…or go on record with a platform…or go on record against someone else’s platform positions. However, this radio piece got a bitch thinking.
According to Donna, Senator Obama will face the unique challenge of the Soul Patrol...you know, that group of Civil Rights activists who emerge whenever there is a viable black candidate for anything to hold that individual accountable to the legacy.
Yeah, them.
Ahem.
This bitch has some shit to say, so let’s jump right on in.
Some movements talk of evolutionary waves…of the pioneers, the soldiers and the inheritors of the cause. It is a challenge to balance honoring the past with empowering the future. As the daughter of Civil Rights parents I know that challenge rather well. My parents grew up in the 1940s and 1950s, joined the grassroots movements of the 1960s and struggle to harvest the fruits of that labor in the 1970s and 80s.
My father often looked at me in bewilderment as I walked through doors he had attempted to kick down in his youth…and with compassion as I faced the bigotry he bore the scars of and so wanted to shield me from.
The Soul Patrol reminds me of a bewildered parent struggling to understand its child and reluctant to hand over an inheritance to that stranger born to them.
Catch that knee! A bitch is aware that not all Civil Rights pioneers are barricaded in that tower built to protect the dream…but the South Patrol sure as shit is.
Donna B. is right about the Soul Patrol…they are as predictable as the sunrise and they are a tricky group to handle. Dismiss them and risk alienating those crucial black voters who still follow them…embrace them too hard and risk the label of issue candidate rather than viable Presidential contender.
A bitch sees the anticipation of the Soul Patrol as a good thing. A proper challenge, if you like…much like JFK facing the bigotry of his Irish and Catholic heritage. Senator Obama’s handling of the Soul Patrol will be a way for him to demonstrate his ability to execute diplomacy and balance the needs of some against the wishes of others.
Just think of how many political challenges manifest in much the same way.
To tackle the complexity of the diverse black agenda and come out on the other end whole is the ultimate challenge for a candidate of color. Bitch about it…fight against it…it will still be there. Makes more sense to deal with it, if you ask me. It would be refreshing to see a candidate demonstrate leadership in how they address it rather than political rhythm by dancing around it.
The same can be said of Hillary and the issue of feminist expectations and several others and the issue of religious obligations.
Senator Obama has presented America with the audacity of hope and, in doing so, with the notion that more unites us as Americans than divides us.
If he runs (wink) can there be any doubt that his candidacy will be a test of that for us all?
Pause.
And the Soooooooooooooooul Patrol (a wink and a nod to Brother Cornelius) for sure…
Gore 2004 Braziles gave good talk…she always does…and seemed optimistic (gasp) about Obama’s ability to transcend the issue of race.Now, this bitch is on record that I have no intention of analyzing an individual before they announce…or go on record with a platform…or go on record against someone else’s platform positions. However, this radio piece got a bitch thinking.
According to Donna, Senator Obama will face the unique challenge of the Soul Patrol...you know, that group of Civil Rights activists who emerge whenever there is a viable black candidate for anything to hold that individual accountable to the legacy.
Yeah, them.
Ahem.
This bitch has some shit to say, so let’s jump right on in.
Some movements talk of evolutionary waves…of the pioneers, the soldiers and the inheritors of the cause. It is a challenge to balance honoring the past with empowering the future. As the daughter of Civil Rights parents I know that challenge rather well. My parents grew up in the 1940s and 1950s, joined the grassroots movements of the 1960s and struggle to harvest the fruits of that labor in the 1970s and 80s.
My father often looked at me in bewilderment as I walked through doors he had attempted to kick down in his youth…and with compassion as I faced the bigotry he bore the scars of and so wanted to shield me from.
The Soul Patrol reminds me of a bewildered parent struggling to understand its child and reluctant to hand over an inheritance to that stranger born to them.
Catch that knee! A bitch is aware that not all Civil Rights pioneers are barricaded in that tower built to protect the dream…but the South Patrol sure as shit is.
Donna B. is right about the Soul Patrol…they are as predictable as the sunrise and they are a tricky group to handle. Dismiss them and risk alienating those crucial black voters who still follow them…embrace them too hard and risk the label of issue candidate rather than viable Presidential contender.
A bitch sees the anticipation of the Soul Patrol as a good thing. A proper challenge, if you like…much like JFK facing the bigotry of his Irish and Catholic heritage. Senator Obama’s handling of the Soul Patrol will be a way for him to demonstrate his ability to execute diplomacy and balance the needs of some against the wishes of others.
Just think of how many political challenges manifest in much the same way.
To tackle the complexity of the diverse black agenda and come out on the other end whole is the ultimate challenge for a candidate of color. Bitch about it…fight against it…it will still be there. Makes more sense to deal with it, if you ask me. It would be refreshing to see a candidate demonstrate leadership in how they address it rather than political rhythm by dancing around it.
The same can be said of Hillary and the issue of feminist expectations and several others and the issue of religious obligations.
Senator Obama has presented America with the audacity of hope and, in doing so, with the notion that more unites us as Americans than divides us.
If he runs (wink) can there be any doubt that his candidacy will be a test of that for us all?
Pause.
And the Soooooooooooooooul Patrol (a wink and a nod to Brother Cornelius) for sure…
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
The retirement of Karen Foss...
One of the things I love about St. Louis is that so little changes. I grew up here…eating frozen yogurt, inhaling White Castle burgers, visiting the many attractions at Forest Park and listening to Cardinal’s baseball on the radio ‘cause they called the game better (wink).
Last night it was announced that Karen Foss will retire from KSDK. Since 1979 she has been a part of the KSDK family and a part of my St. Louis routine.
She retires after a 27 years on the air…after blazing a trail for women in news through hard work and accuracy.
Go on with your bad self, Ms. Foss…
Played...
This bitch has a wicked headache, so if I seem a bit raw…oh, well fuck it.
Jumping right on in…
The Donald just announced the fate of a certain Miss USA.
She will not be fired.
Duh.
Who the hell fires a Hot Mess Walking at the peak of a please mention my floundering pageant-based show as many times as you can so we can get some ratings next year frenzy ?
Not The Donald, that’s for fucking sure!
Tara Conner is now a household name...bless her soul (wink).
Mission accomplished!
Ummm, quick question…do the flowers and sash go to Ms. Conner or Mr. Trump?
A bitch has endured days of ‘will this shit hurt or help Miss USAs career?’ and ‘are beauty queens role models?’ speculation.
The coverage feeds a hungry beast…a public ravenous and panting with lust for more drama and a press ignoring all logic and reason to give it to them. Oh, give us our spectacle so that we can feel better than someone, smarter than someone, superior to those fools who 'didn’t play the game right' or 'got caught fucking up' and never mind that the game is rigged to give us just
enough junk to stay hungry but never enough to satiate.
The sad reality is that in the era of humiliation television there is value in being a Hot Mess Walking. Which is why Ms. Conner, playing the small town innocent seduced by the wicked girl on girl kissing big drinking ways of the city (gasp and cover your chil'ren's eyes), got a second chance and Mr. Trump, triumphantly reborn as Caesar sparing the life of a combatant to the satisfaction of the masses, got some much needed scandal-based publicity for his pageant property and own bad hair style sporting self.
Sigh.
The press?
Shit.
Y'all got old school played, for real...
Jumping right on in…
The Donald just announced the fate of a certain Miss USA.
She will not be fired.
Duh.
Who the hell fires a Hot Mess Walking at the peak of a please mention my floundering pageant-based show as many times as you can so we can get some ratings next year frenzy ?
Not The Donald, that’s for fucking sure!
Tara Conner is now a household name...bless her soul (wink).
Mission accomplished!
Ummm, quick question…do the flowers and sash go to Ms. Conner or Mr. Trump?
A bitch has endured days of ‘will this shit hurt or help Miss USAs career?’ and ‘are beauty queens role models?’ speculation.
The coverage feeds a hungry beast…a public ravenous and panting with lust for more drama and a press ignoring all logic and reason to give it to them. Oh, give us our spectacle so that we can feel better than someone, smarter than someone, superior to those fools who 'didn’t play the game right' or 'got caught fucking up' and never mind that the game is rigged to give us just
enough junk to stay hungry but never enough to satiate.The sad reality is that in the era of humiliation television there is value in being a Hot Mess Walking. Which is why Ms. Conner, playing the small town innocent seduced by the wicked girl on girl kissing big drinking ways of the city (gasp and cover your chil'ren's eyes), got a second chance and Mr. Trump, triumphantly reborn as Caesar sparing the life of a combatant to the satisfaction of the masses, got some much needed scandal-based publicity for his pageant property and own bad hair style sporting self.
Sigh.
The press?
Shit.
Y'all got old school played, for real...
Monday, December 18, 2006
A fuss...
Now a bitch is not one to fuss at y’all.
What?
Jesus!
Okay, not one to fuss very often (wink)…but this post is a full on tragic news inspired fuss.
Fucking deal with it.
Please, please…double please…change the batteries in your smoke detectors when you fall or spring on the daylight savings schedule.
And please, please…are you listening to me, damnit?
Cough.
Get your ass a Carbon Monoxide Detector in your home…get one…just get one…do it!
Did you hear me?
Do it!
Here endeth the fuss.
Boxes...
This bitch has made peace with Miss SisterGirl Cabrio. She received a new battery while this bitch received the bill.
Ugh!
Anyhoo…
A bitch got a jump and headed over to the local we sell batteries store to get Miss SisterGirl Cabrio the motherfucking new battery she clearly wasn’t going to overlook needing. I fretted on the drive over because I wasn’t certain it was the battery…and what if the car stopped in the middle of Kingshighway and this bitch became that asshole blocking traffic in the middle of Kingshighway!
Mercy!
By the time I made it to the we sell batteries store a bitch had worked myself up into a state. Fearing some illogical drama…the we sell batteries store being completely out of batteries, for example…my ass hopped out of the car and decided to leave it running while I went inside to confirm that the we sell batteries store did indeed have batteries to sell.
What?
Fuck it, a bitch never claimed to be right in the head (wink).
I kept an eye on my car, which was parked in the deserted parking lot, as the attendant confirmed that they did indeed have my battery in stock.
And why the hell do Volkswagens have to be so motherfucking finicky about all manner of shit anyway?
Ugh!
Anyhoo, a car pulled up as I was finishing the paperwork and I turned to note a woman of a certain age come into the building.
“You ought to be ashamed leaving that baby in that car!”
I turned around to see who the hell she was speaking to, because this bitch doesn't have any babies and certainly didn't have any in my car.
“If I was a thief I would have taken that car and your baby with it!” she continued, her judgment filled eyes holding me captive against the counter.
“Ma’am, I don’t have a baby and there certainly isn’t a baby in my car.” I replied slowly just in case the woman was insane.
Her eyes narrowed with doubt, so I led her back outside to look into the car and confirm that the object in the backseat was a box and not an infant.
Flushing with embarrassment the woman rambled out an apology as we re-entered the store.
But I was quick to brush her apologies aside. A bitch has read too many tales of babies being left in cars to be annoyed by a fellow human trying to prevent such a story on her watch.
As I drove back home I couldn’t help but wonder at the things we leave unsaid out of misplaced politeness or fear of getting involved…the things we soften that should be left painful and sharp…and the things we dismiss because of who is saying them rather than take note of what is being said.
And oh, what a wicked trick it is to convincing yourself its all just a pile of boxes.
What a wicked trick indeed...
Ugh!
Anyhoo…
A bitch got a jump and headed over to the local we sell batteries store to get Miss SisterGirl Cabrio the motherfucking new battery she clearly wasn’t going to overlook needing. I fretted on the drive over because I wasn’t certain it was the battery…and what if the car stopped in the middle of Kingshighway and this bitch became that asshole blocking traffic in the middle of Kingshighway!
Mercy!
By the time I made it to the we sell batteries store a bitch had worked myself up into a state. Fearing some illogical drama…the we sell batteries store being completely out of batteries, for example…my ass hopped out of the car and decided to leave it running while I went inside to confirm that the we sell batteries store did indeed have batteries to sell.
What?
Fuck it, a bitch never claimed to be right in the head (wink).
I kept an eye on my car, which was parked in the deserted parking lot, as the attendant confirmed that they did indeed have my battery in stock.
And why the hell do Volkswagens have to be so motherfucking finicky about all manner of shit anyway?
Ugh!
Anyhoo, a car pulled up as I was finishing the paperwork and I turned to note a woman of a certain age come into the building.
“You ought to be ashamed leaving that baby in that car!”
I turned around to see who the hell she was speaking to, because this bitch doesn't have any babies and certainly didn't have any in my car.
“If I was a thief I would have taken that car and your baby with it!” she continued, her judgment filled eyes holding me captive against the counter.
“Ma’am, I don’t have a baby and there certainly isn’t a baby in my car.” I replied slowly just in case the woman was insane.
Her eyes narrowed with doubt, so I led her back outside to look into the car and confirm that the object in the backseat was a box and not an infant.
Flushing with embarrassment the woman rambled out an apology as we re-entered the store.
But I was quick to brush her apologies aside. A bitch has read too many tales of babies being left in cars to be annoyed by a fellow human trying to prevent such a story on her watch.
As I drove back home I couldn’t help but wonder at the things we leave unsaid out of misplaced politeness or fear of getting involved…the things we soften that should be left painful and sharp…and the things we dismiss because of who is saying them rather than take note of what is being said.
And oh, what a wicked trick it is to convincing yourself its all just a pile of boxes.
What a wicked trick indeed...
Friday, December 15, 2006
Debauch preparedness…
A bitch just glanced at my calendar and noticed that the next two weeks will include a lot of…well, debaucherous devilment (wink).
ABB’s Revised Pre-Debauch Check List
Hot outfit?
Check!
Signature MAC Underworld Lipstick?
Do you dare doubt a bitch?
Shit.
Check!
Underwear?
Blink.
What?
Shit, this bitch tries to learn from the drama of others. They may not stay on (wink), but a bitch is going to leave the house wearing my drawers!
Ahem.
Where was I? Oh, yes!
Underwear?
Check!
Cab Fare and/or designated driver/couch to crash upon?
Come on now.
Check!
Be safe whilst being naughty, chil’ren, and this bitch will see you if I see you…
ABB’s Revised Pre-Debauch Check List
Hot outfit?
Check!
Signature MAC Underworld Lipstick?
Do you dare doubt a bitch?
Shit.
Check!
Underwear?
Blink.
What?
Shit, this bitch tries to learn from the drama of others. They may not stay on (wink), but a bitch is going to leave the house wearing my drawers!
Ahem.
Where was I? Oh, yes!
Underwear?
Check!
Cab Fare and/or designated driver/couch to crash upon?
Come on now.
Check!
Be safe whilst being naughty, chil’ren, and this bitch will see you if I see you…
Happy Hanukkah...
Happy Hanukkah, y’all!
Get your dreidel on (wink) and may your holiday be blessed with peace, happiness and joy!
A Friday pondering...
A bitch was on the tennis team in high school. I wanted to be the next Althea Gibson (wink)! Each year the team had a tournament to decide who played which position at which rank. I was to 
play the girl currently ranked above me and was beyond excited about it. The opportunity meant the difference between Varsity and Junior Varsity…and this competitive bitch was all about wearing the big V on my jacket.
Before the match I noticed my opponent looking illish. She was fighting a stomach bug and really looked worn out. She didn’t look like she would last more than a few games and I fretted over what I would do if she asked to reschedule. Do I press and demand that we play even though she was clearly ill? I wanted to win, right? But did I want to win like that?
That damned honorable competitor bullshit was fucking with me…big time!
If she had asked I would have honored her request and rescheduled. She didn’t, most likely for the same reason I would have agreed if she had. She lost the match…but she finished, a victory of its own.
My friends all went crazy over my apparent big win and were annoyed that I wasn’t giddy over improving my rank.
“What’s wrong with you?” they asked. “You won!”
“No. She lost.”
And that’s not the same thing....not the same thing at all.
Looking back I am amazed at how many of my then friends were fine with the she lost so I win thing. Some of them even congratulated me on how lucky I was because my opponent didn’t have her “A” game.
Blink.
Okay, they didn’t put it that way…a bitch is too old for those Tiger saying to have been in the mix.
Anyhoo…
It’s sad, isn’t it, to think of ourselves that way... with our hidden insecurities desperately seeking leverage in the competitions of life because we fear loosing a match that, in reality, will not really be won that way.
Sigh.
As my Grandmere used to say, nothing really changes but the date…
play the girl currently ranked above me and was beyond excited about it. The opportunity meant the difference between Varsity and Junior Varsity…and this competitive bitch was all about wearing the big V on my jacket. Before the match I noticed my opponent looking illish. She was fighting a stomach bug and really looked worn out. She didn’t look like she would last more than a few games and I fretted over what I would do if she asked to reschedule. Do I press and demand that we play even though she was clearly ill? I wanted to win, right? But did I want to win like that?
That damned honorable competitor bullshit was fucking with me…big time!
If she had asked I would have honored her request and rescheduled. She didn’t, most likely for the same reason I would have agreed if she had. She lost the match…but she finished, a victory of its own.
My friends all went crazy over my apparent big win and were annoyed that I wasn’t giddy over improving my rank.
“What’s wrong with you?” they asked. “You won!”
“No. She lost.”
And that’s not the same thing....not the same thing at all.
Looking back I am amazed at how many of my then friends were fine with the she lost so I win thing. Some of them even congratulated me on how lucky I was because my opponent didn’t have her “A” game.
Blink.
Okay, they didn’t put it that way…a bitch is too old for those Tiger saying to have been in the mix.
Anyhoo…
It’s sad, isn’t it, to think of ourselves that way... with our hidden insecurities desperately seeking leverage in the competitions of life because we fear loosing a match that, in reality, will not really be won that way.
Sigh.
As my Grandmere used to say, nothing really changes but the date…
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Self correction and order creation...
A bitch needs to do a wee bit of self correction.
I have been stressing out over random shit...and second guessing myself about shit I really have no business second guessing myself about.
Oh, and my recent neglect of Ms SisterGirl Cabrio has come back to haunt me. That car told me to fuck off this morning when her battery went dead as a motherfucker.
Is there no loyalty?
Shit.
And to top it off, this bitch has gotten behind on my holiday preparedness as a result of all the stressfulness and car avoidance.
Heaven to hell and back again!
This shit stops now.
A bitch is pausing today to indulge in some inner-bitch correction and serious order creation.
Toodles until tomorrow...
I have been stressing out over random shit...and second guessing myself about shit I really have no business second guessing myself about.
Oh, and my recent neglect of Ms SisterGirl Cabrio has come back to haunt me. That car told me to fuck off this morning when her battery went dead as a motherfucker.
Is there no loyalty?
Shit.
And to top it off, this bitch has gotten behind on my holiday preparedness as a result of all the stressfulness and car avoidance.
Heaven to hell and back again!
This shit stops now.
A bitch is pausing today to indulge in some inner-bitch correction and serious order creation.
Toodles until tomorrow...
Untitled...
My prayers go out to Senator Johnson, who suffered a brain hemorrhage yesterday, and his family.
The balance of life trumps the balance of power every time.
May the Divine One’s will be done in this…
The balance of life trumps the balance of power every time.
May the Divine One’s will be done in this…
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Fun with Vanity Fair...
Last night a bitch and C-Money had a laugh festival and we owe it all to Mr. Christopher Hitchens and the editors of Vanity Fair!
You know a bitch loves you like a pain, Graydon (wink).
The new issue of Vanity Fair arrived (late as hell and what the fuck is up with that?) and C-Money flipped through it after dinner. We were each comfortably tucked into our couch-based areas when C-Money, loud as hell from her side of the room, yelled out…
"Christopher Hitchens has written some shit titled Why Women Aren’t Funny!”
This bitch sulkishly tossed back…"Mmmhmmm…I read about it already. Look, I’m feeling illish and don’t wanna hear it right now. Hitchens makes me nauseous on a good day.”
Pause.
“Oh, hell no! You’ve got to listen to this shit!” C-Money snorted with a laugh.
“No! I told you I don’t feel…”
“Shut the fuck up! Hitchens may have lost his motherfucking mind! Listen…"
Pause.
And then it started…a trickle that became an uncontrollable festival of laughter the likes of which we haven’t shared in forever and a day. A bitch laughed so hard I had to run to the bathroom…my sides hurt….the dawgs started to howl in solidarity.
C-Money, barely able to speak beyond her giggles, continued…
C-Money, having collected herself, shook her head at the page as if it were Hitchens himself…"Good God man, push away from the Scotch and pull it together."
Mercy!
The Sisters Bitch toasted Hitch (we’re not close, but he just looks like something Hitchified to me) and his fear of placenta and female rejection!
Sigh.
Christ, did that motherfucker actually quote Kipling?
Classic!
You know a bitch loves you like a pain, Graydon (wink).
The new issue of Vanity Fair arrived (late as hell and what the fuck is up with that?) and C-Money flipped through it after dinner. We were each comfortably tucked into our couch-based areas when C-Money, loud as hell from her side of the room, yelled out…
"Christopher Hitchens has written some shit titled Why Women Aren’t Funny!”
This bitch sulkishly tossed back…"Mmmhmmm…I read about it already. Look, I’m feeling illish and don’t wanna hear it right now. Hitchens makes me nauseous on a good day.”
Pause.
“Oh, hell no! You’ve got to listen to this shit!” C-Money snorted with a laugh.
“No! I told you I don’t feel…”
“Shut the fuck up! Hitchens may have lost his motherfucking mind! Listen…"
“As every father knows, the placenta is made up of brain cells, which
migrate southward during pregnancy and take the sense of humor along with them.
And when the bundle is finally delivered, the funny side is not always
immediately back in view. Is there anything so utterly lacking in humor as a
mother discussing her new child?” Hitchens/Vanity Fair
Pause.
And then it started…a trickle that became an uncontrollable festival of laughter the likes of which we haven’t shared in forever and a day. A bitch laughed so hard I had to run to the bathroom…my sides hurt….the dawgs started to howl in solidarity.
C-Money, barely able to speak beyond her giggles, continued…
"There are more terrible female comedians than there are terrible male"Ooh, oh shit! No, no, no wait…" she laughed out
comedians,” Hitchens/Vanity Fair
“but there are some impressive ladies out there.” Hitchens/Vanity FairShe gasped some more and then went on.
“Most of them, though, when you come to review the situation, are hefty or dykey“Christ Jesus!” I wailed and convulsed with laughter. “Stop already! I can’t breathe.” I gasped and wiped my eyes.
or Jewish, or some combo of the three.” Hitchens/Vanity Fair
C-Money, having collected herself, shook her head at the page as if it were Hitchens himself…"Good God man, push away from the Scotch and pull it together."
Mercy!
The Sisters Bitch toasted Hitch (we’re not close, but he just looks like something Hitchified to me) and his fear of placenta and female rejection!
Sigh.
Christ, did that motherfucker actually quote Kipling?
Classic!
Aretha - The Musical!
A bitch adores Aretha Franklin, so my ass was beyond excited to hear that her autobiography Aretha: From These Roots is being turned into a musical which will tour America.
Hell yes!
Best part?
Aretha Franklin...mmmhmmm, the diva herself...is holding auditions to pick…well, herself.
Blink.
I heard that!
Shit, it is her life.
Go on with your bad self, Ms. Franklin!
Hell yes!
Best part?
Aretha Franklin...mmmhmmm, the diva herself...is holding auditions to pick…well, herself.
Blink.
I heard that!
Shit, it is her life.
Go on with your bad self, Ms. Franklin!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
There goes the mascara...
An envelope arrived today with holiday cheer for my mentee!
A certain Anonymous sent gift cards for food, Build-A-Bear based joy and Target.
This bitch is beyond touched.
Shit, there goes the mascara!
Pause...repair damage...continue...
Thank you Anonymous for making this a very special holiday for an amazing young woman and for reminding me that I do not walk this walk alone.
This bitch will pass your holiday wishes and gifts on to my mentee...who is going to be blown away by this unexpected holiday blessing!
A certain Anonymous sent gift cards for food, Build-A-Bear based joy and Target.
This bitch is beyond touched.
Shit, there goes the mascara!
Pause...repair damage...continue...
Thank you Anonymous for making this a very special holiday for an amazing young woman and for reminding me that I do not walk this walk alone.
This bitch will pass your holiday wishes and gifts on to my mentee...who is going to be blown away by this unexpected holiday blessing!
Monday, December 11, 2006
Craving Tang While Writing Blog Post = (CTWWBP)...
I was slightly illish this weekend and took to my bed Saturday, but I did rally for Brother Rob Thurman’s fantabulous cookie decorating party…and trust that a bitch was glad I did!
Re-cap - Cookie Party’s Fantastical Festitude…
A yummified vodka-based punch so good this bitch wanted to smack somebody
(thanks to the Play Husband for the brew)…festive holiday music and a properly faux tree-based tribute to the season’s pagan origins, which was constructed and decorated by none other than Brother Rob…hours of Master Level Bitchitude (rated M for Mature)…and all the sugar-based frosting a bitch could take!
Happy, happy, happy and joy followed by joy and then another joy!
Moving forward…
This news item caught my attention this morning. It seems that there is an IM gap between grown folks and teens.
Confession - a bitch can’t get into the whole IM thing and has decided that, like baby-doll dresses, it may not be this bitch’s cup of tea (wink).
Anyhoo…
Teens not understanding grown folks and grown folks not understanding teens is as predictable as bullshit, but the “teens can’t imagine living without instant messaging” part did grab a bitch’s attention.
Oh, to be young and in heat over the current newish thing again!
ABB's moment of fond remembrance…
This bitch couldn’t imagine life without Tang…Pop-Rocks…remote control, Atari and Mandarin Orange Slice…mmmmm, Slice…ummm, oh…Commodore 64 computers, tape cassettes, my Walk-Man, clear mascara and roller skates.
Sigh.
Anyhoo, this bitch is certain that English will survive the IM-ification of youth-based communication.
Fuck it, modern English is just old as hell slang anyway.
What concerns me more than the current adoration of messaging is the fact that people don’t talk anymore.
Have you noticed it too?
Last night I attended a party with grown folks who sat around and talked…and it felt new to me, like Corn Flakes when you haven’t had them in forever and a day.
Wait, there’s more!
Brother Rob told me about the party face to face…human to human…using full sentences!
Mmhmm, for real.
Whilst frosting one of my signature afro snowperson cookies (wink), I even overhead one guest tell another guest that she had spoken to…spoken to, children!...so and so and that she would be arriving late.
No frantically messaged abbreviations were sent and, Lawd have mercy, so and so managed to walk in the door a little bit late as had been related.
Gasp!
I left having shared, listened and laughed...if that’s old school then a bitch is staying old school for life.
Pause.
Or at least until I figure out how to view messages on my phone (which is a complete pain in the ass, for the record) and by then the next newish “I can’t imagine life without it” thing will have debuted to torture grown folks and make teens feel precious.
Meanwhile, a bitch is left with a multitudes of unread messages and a bizarre craving for Tang flavored Pop Rocks…
Re-cap - Cookie Party’s Fantastical Festitude…
A yummified vodka-based punch so good this bitch wanted to smack somebody
(thanks to the Play Husband for the brew)…festive holiday music and a properly faux tree-based tribute to the season’s pagan origins, which was constructed and decorated by none other than Brother Rob…hours of Master Level Bitchitude (rated M for Mature)…and all the sugar-based frosting a bitch could take!Happy, happy, happy and joy followed by joy and then another joy!
Moving forward…
This news item caught my attention this morning. It seems that there is an IM gap between grown folks and teens.
Confession - a bitch can’t get into the whole IM thing and has decided that, like baby-doll dresses, it may not be this bitch’s cup of tea (wink).
Anyhoo…
Teens not understanding grown folks and grown folks not understanding teens is as predictable as bullshit, but the “teens can’t imagine living without instant messaging” part did grab a bitch’s attention.
Oh, to be young and in heat over the current newish thing again!
ABB's moment of fond remembrance…
This bitch couldn’t imagine life without Tang…Pop-Rocks…remote control, Atari and Mandarin Orange Slice…mmmmm, Slice…ummm, oh…Commodore 64 computers, tape cassettes, my Walk-Man, clear mascara and roller skates.
Sigh.
Anyhoo, this bitch is certain that English will survive the IM-ification of youth-based communication.
Fuck it, modern English is just old as hell slang anyway.
What concerns me more than the current adoration of messaging is the fact that people don’t talk anymore.
Have you noticed it too?
Last night I attended a party with grown folks who sat around and talked…and it felt new to me, like Corn Flakes when you haven’t had them in forever and a day.
Wait, there’s more!
Brother Rob told me about the party face to face…human to human…using full sentences!
Mmhmm, for real.
Whilst frosting one of my signature afro snowperson cookies (wink), I even overhead one guest tell another guest that she had spoken to…spoken to, children!...so and so and that she would be arriving late.
No frantically messaged abbreviations were sent and, Lawd have mercy, so and so managed to walk in the door a little bit late as had been related.
Gasp!
I left having shared, listened and laughed...if that’s old school then a bitch is staying old school for life.
Pause.
Or at least until I figure out how to view messages on my phone (which is a complete pain in the ass, for the record) and by then the next newish “I can’t imagine life without it” thing will have debuted to torture grown folks and make teens feel precious.
Meanwhile, a bitch is left with a multitudes of unread messages and a bizarre craving for Tang flavored Pop Rocks…
Friday, December 08, 2006
A pondering on autism...
A bitch is always concerned when folks take on autism as a cause. As the younger sister of an autistic adult, I have spent my entire life listening to people define what is clearly defined for me and mine.
They almost always get it fucking wrong, take it negative and make life with an autistic seem like a never ending hell.
Enter Patricia Heaton of the confused but gleeful to step into all manner of social issues Heatons, who is all over the press on behalf of a group called Cure Autism Now.
Ugh!
See, this bitch isn’t exactly sure when autism became the cause du jour. C-Money and I have been busy as hell trying to stay on top of my brother’s needs as his guardians. At some point America woke up to the spectrum of autism and celebrity involvement soon followed.
Fuck it, most of the attention has been for the good and a bitch doesn’t have to reference Rain Man anymore (wink).
But if I have to suffer through another celebrity interview featuring a tearful sorta-star crying over autism I’m going to puke!
I’ve never known a world without autism in it and my life isn’t a non-stop sob fest. It ain’t always easy, but daaaaaammmnn…it ain't all that.
Give me fucking break!
No…for real…give it a break, for the love of all that is celebritized and therefore instantly relevant.
My brother is 36 years old. He is profoundly autistic, has a vocabulary of less than 100 words and is a pretty cool dude. He has friends…his sisters get on his nerves…he enjoys French fries and rides on the MetroLink.
Do I wish they could find the cause of autism?
Yes, but not because the sight of my brother makes me cringe with pain and sorrow.
Chill the fuck out, Patricia Heaton! Wipe your sanctified eyes, because me and mine don’t need your tears.
What I need is a fully funded community based program for profoundly autistic adults with transportation included....and some motherfucking dental coverage for him too.
Blink.
Anyhoo...
I came to terms with a different kind of normal years ago and when people ask me for advice because they have an autistic in their life I tell them to do just that. Re-define normal, because life is worthy of living rather than forever lamenting a condition that isn’t a punishment from a vengeful Gawd.
I applaud Congress for passing the Combating Autism Act.
Way to accomplish something (wink)!
Declare war on autism, Congress, and a bitch will support you...to a point and with caution, since most of y’all don’t have the sense you were born with.
But mind that you don’t declare war on autistics...that you don’t stigmatize the individual as you try to bring attention to the syndrome.
Oh, and could someone toss Patricia Heaton a career-based bone before she fucks up autism advocacy the way she tried to fuck up stem cell research and the Schiavo situation?
Lawd, give me strength…
They almost always get it fucking wrong, take it negative and make life with an autistic seem like a never ending hell.
Enter Patricia Heaton of the confused but gleeful to step into all manner of social issues Heatons, who is all over the press on behalf of a group called Cure Autism Now.
Ugh!
See, this bitch isn’t exactly sure when autism became the cause du jour. C-Money and I have been busy as hell trying to stay on top of my brother’s needs as his guardians. At some point America woke up to the spectrum of autism and celebrity involvement soon followed.
Fuck it, most of the attention has been for the good and a bitch doesn’t have to reference Rain Man anymore (wink).
But if I have to suffer through another celebrity interview featuring a tearful sorta-star crying over autism I’m going to puke!
I’ve never known a world without autism in it and my life isn’t a non-stop sob fest. It ain’t always easy, but daaaaaammmnn…it ain't all that.
Give me fucking break!
No…for real…give it a break, for the love of all that is celebritized and therefore instantly relevant.
My brother is 36 years old. He is profoundly autistic, has a vocabulary of less than 100 words and is a pretty cool dude. He has friends…his sisters get on his nerves…he enjoys French fries and rides on the MetroLink.
Do I wish they could find the cause of autism?
Yes, but not because the sight of my brother makes me cringe with pain and sorrow.
Chill the fuck out, Patricia Heaton! Wipe your sanctified eyes, because me and mine don’t need your tears.
What I need is a fully funded community based program for profoundly autistic adults with transportation included....and some motherfucking dental coverage for him too.
Blink.
Anyhoo...
I came to terms with a different kind of normal years ago and when people ask me for advice because they have an autistic in their life I tell them to do just that. Re-define normal, because life is worthy of living rather than forever lamenting a condition that isn’t a punishment from a vengeful Gawd.
I applaud Congress for passing the Combating Autism Act.
Way to accomplish something (wink)!
Declare war on autism, Congress, and a bitch will support you...to a point and with caution, since most of y’all don’t have the sense you were born with.
But mind that you don’t declare war on autistics...that you don’t stigmatize the individual as you try to bring attention to the syndrome.
Oh, and could someone toss Patricia Heaton a career-based bone before she fucks up autism advocacy the way she tried to fuck up stem cell research and the Schiavo situation?
Lawd, give me strength…
Stuck up a tree...
When this bitch was a wee bitch I loved to climb willow trees. My mother was forever telling me to be careful…just be careful up there. My father kept it real by telling me that one day I might get up a tree and not know how to get back down. Dad’s opinion confused the hell out of me, but a bitch was too prideful to ask him to explain and too eager to climb to pause long enough to reflect on that shit.
One beautiful Saturday it happened.
Up the tree I went…way up, higher than ever before until I was closer to the sky than the ground.
And then I looked down and froze.
My heart raced…my hands grew damp…and I suddenly had to pee like a racehorse!
Mercy!
I couldn’t move and I was too embarrassed to call for help. My pride was in the balance and the thought of my mother’s smug expression in the face of this climbing drama was too much to suffer.
So I stayed…up that fucking tree…fearing a pee-based incident…for around an hour.
Finally my father came around back and called my name.
Shit!
As I debated whether to respond he called my name again with greater urgency…you know, the way parent’s call your name when they fear you’ve been snatched.
Fuck it, I either confess or pee myself and then confess…there was no way I was getting down by myself and my bladder was fixing to explode.
“I’m up here!” I reluctantly called back.
“What the hell are you doing up in that tree this long?” he hollered, strolling towards the huge willow.
Pause.
“I’m stuck.” I tossed down at him in disgust.
“Thought so.” He tossed up with a wink.
Up Dad came and down we went. I sprinted from his arms into the house…down the hall and to the toilet, where relief for my bladder was finally found.
Slowly...post-pee...I returned outside and met my father’s laughing gaze. In true 6 year old fashion, my embarrassment manifested itself in a snot-infused sobbing session
“Well, I hope you learned your lesson.” Dad stated as he mopped up my face.
“Not to climb trees?” I said, having given the matter no thought whatsoever and just wanting to get this entire episode behind me.
“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, girl. You climbed the tree and couldn’t get back down. Now think. Is there a lesson in that?”
Was there ever!
Don’t climb a tree without a plan to get back down...unless you’re prepared to be there for a spell while you figure out the getting down part...if you figure it out at all.
Being wrong after having not listened to someone who was right fucking sucks, but a bitch never got stuck in that motherfucking tree again.
Gawd save us from the fool willing to languish amid those willowing limbs and pee himself rather than suffer the truth on solid ground…
One beautiful Saturday it happened.
Up the tree I went…way up, higher than ever before until I was closer to the sky than the ground.
And then I looked down and froze.
My heart raced…my hands grew damp…and I suddenly had to pee like a racehorse!
Mercy!
I couldn’t move and I was too embarrassed to call for help. My pride was in the balance and the thought of my mother’s smug expression in the face of this climbing drama was too much to suffer.
So I stayed…up that fucking tree…fearing a pee-based incident…for around an hour.
Finally my father came around back and called my name.
Shit!
As I debated whether to respond he called my name again with greater urgency…you know, the way parent’s call your name when they fear you’ve been snatched.
Fuck it, I either confess or pee myself and then confess…there was no way I was getting down by myself and my bladder was fixing to explode.
“I’m up here!” I reluctantly called back.
“What the hell are you doing up in that tree this long?” he hollered, strolling towards the huge willow.
Pause.
“I’m stuck.” I tossed down at him in disgust.
“Thought so.” He tossed up with a wink.
Up Dad came and down we went. I sprinted from his arms into the house…down the hall and to the toilet, where relief for my bladder was finally found.
Slowly...post-pee...I returned outside and met my father’s laughing gaze. In true 6 year old fashion, my embarrassment manifested itself in a snot-infused sobbing session
“Well, I hope you learned your lesson.” Dad stated as he mopped up my face.
“Not to climb trees?” I said, having given the matter no thought whatsoever and just wanting to get this entire episode behind me.
“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, girl. You climbed the tree and couldn’t get back down. Now think. Is there a lesson in that?”
Was there ever!
Don’t climb a tree without a plan to get back down...unless you’re prepared to be there for a spell while you figure out the getting down part...if you figure it out at all.
Being wrong after having not listened to someone who was right fucking sucks, but a bitch never got stuck in that motherfucking tree again.
Gawd save us from the fool willing to languish amid those willowing limbs and pee himself rather than suffer the truth on solid ground…
Thursday, December 07, 2006
The 28th Carnival of Feminists!
A certain Ginger has the 28th Carnival of Feminists up!
Keep that fist held high and your afro fierce...
A Gathering for Paws and Reflect
Join this bitch in a celebration of the release of Paws and Reflect, which contains stories by my friend Jeffrey and his partner Michael!
Where – Van Goghz Martini Bar @ 3200 Shenandoah
When – December 14th from 7pm until whenever
Why – Because getting published is worthy of celebration, damn it!
Paws and Reflect is available at Left Bank Books in the Central West End.
Where – Van Goghz Martini Bar @ 3200 Shenandoah
When – December 14th from 7pm until whenever
Why – Because getting published is worthy of celebration, damn it!
Paws and Reflect is available at Left Bank Books in the Central West End.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
A bun in the oven...
A certain Mary Cheney and her partner Heather Poe are expecting their first child.
Congratulations to Mary and Heather...
...and their lawyers, who will be called in to rustle up some parental rights for Heather since Mary's Republican peeps don't wanna hear nothin about lesbians birthin no babies!
As for Janice Crouse of the anti-reality Concerned Women for America who called Mary Cheney's pregnancy "inconscionable"...tisk followed by task!
A bitch is....well, concerned by the anti-family message Ms. Crouse is sending out to the young people (wink).
Lawd, a bitch loves it when policy smacks up against the ass of reality...
Congratulations to Mary and Heather...
...and their lawyers, who will be called in to rustle up some parental rights for Heather since Mary's Republican peeps don't wanna hear nothin about lesbians birthin no babies!
As for Janice Crouse of the anti-reality Concerned Women for America who called Mary Cheney's pregnancy "inconscionable"...tisk followed by task!
A bitch is....well, concerned by the anti-family message Ms. Crouse is sending out to the young people (wink).
Lawd, a bitch loves it when policy smacks up against the ass of reality...
Get found...
Years ago, a bitch decided to step out of my comfort zone and volunteer at a local women's shelter. I was a member of a women's group that facilitated community projects, including life skills and women's health classes at a local shelter.
I will never forget my first class…walking into the shelter full of fear and assumptions only to find a home, however temporary, full of noise and families. What began as an experiment quickly grew into my passion. The women are teen mothers, many had been thrown out of their homes and too many had been abused physically and mentally. Although my life had been radically different, I saw myself in these women…the need, the hope and the fear of a life just beginning.
I had never witnessed feminism in action in my community, working through me and yet still empowering me, until I began working at the shelter. Theory was replaced by reality, rose-colored glasses got new lenses and bullshit was hosed down to reveal the world as it is for many of my sisters. The struggle was made clear to me…my own and my fellow sisters…and we were united through our oppression.
It was and remains one of the most profound experiences of my life and I was determined to share it by any means necessary.
So, I worked up a partnership with one of the local St. Louis financial shops. Women would volunteer through my classes by teaching financial management and basic budgeting. Most of the residents had never managed their own finances and I saw this as a great opportunity for them. But I also knew that this was an opportunity for the women who would teach the classes as well.
I showed up on a random Tuesday, excited and eager to get started. Things broke out as usual…the children went with the designated sitters and the mothers went to class. The woman teaching was brilliant. I had met Tracey before…she was from the county, very successful and a mother of three. She seemed stunned by the personal stories casually related in class.
"My momma had me at 15 and I had my baby at 14, so nobody ever told me about checking accounts or stuff like that. No one I know has one."
"If my man takes my baby's social security number to get the gas turned on what is I to do? Say something? Yeah, right…and get the back of his hand."
Tracey faltered and I almost stepped in, but she recovered nicely.
After class, I joined her to play with the kids and we gathered them up to read a quick story.
As we left, Tracey turned to me with tears in her eyes.
"There are so many families here? How many…how many shelters are there like this?" she asked.
A bitch replied, "I don’t know, but the waiting list for this shelter has 300 women on it."
She shook her head and exited the building.
A bitch honestly didn't expect to see her again, but she came back…and kept coming back. The women warmed to her and she to them, so her class quickly became one of the most popular.
As the term came to an end, she took me aside.
"Thank you."
"For what?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "Shit, thank you for helping us out so much."
"No. No, you don't understand what these classes have meant to me. I was scared. I'm ashamed to say it, but I was scared to these women. I've learned a lot…so much. So, thank you and I'll see you next year."
Theory had been applied through the simple act of my sisters in the struggle teaching and learning from each other. I was inspired, empowered and fired up because Tracey was and I could see that the women she taught were too.
When people ask me why I became a feminist I tell them feminism found me.
Step outside your comfort zone and apply some of that theory.
Get active and get found.
I will never forget my first class…walking into the shelter full of fear and assumptions only to find a home, however temporary, full of noise and families. What began as an experiment quickly grew into my passion. The women are teen mothers, many had been thrown out of their homes and too many had been abused physically and mentally. Although my life had been radically different, I saw myself in these women…the need, the hope and the fear of a life just beginning.
I had never witnessed feminism in action in my community, working through me and yet still empowering me, until I began working at the shelter. Theory was replaced by reality, rose-colored glasses got new lenses and bullshit was hosed down to reveal the world as it is for many of my sisters. The struggle was made clear to me…my own and my fellow sisters…and we were united through our oppression.
It was and remains one of the most profound experiences of my life and I was determined to share it by any means necessary.
So, I worked up a partnership with one of the local St. Louis financial shops. Women would volunteer through my classes by teaching financial management and basic budgeting. Most of the residents had never managed their own finances and I saw this as a great opportunity for them. But I also knew that this was an opportunity for the women who would teach the classes as well.
I showed up on a random Tuesday, excited and eager to get started. Things broke out as usual…the children went with the designated sitters and the mothers went to class. The woman teaching was brilliant. I had met Tracey before…she was from the county, very successful and a mother of three. She seemed stunned by the personal stories casually related in class.
"My momma had me at 15 and I had my baby at 14, so nobody ever told me about checking accounts or stuff like that. No one I know has one."
"If my man takes my baby's social security number to get the gas turned on what is I to do? Say something? Yeah, right…and get the back of his hand."
Tracey faltered and I almost stepped in, but she recovered nicely.
After class, I joined her to play with the kids and we gathered them up to read a quick story.
As we left, Tracey turned to me with tears in her eyes.
"There are so many families here? How many…how many shelters are there like this?" she asked.
A bitch replied, "I don’t know, but the waiting list for this shelter has 300 women on it."
She shook her head and exited the building.
A bitch honestly didn't expect to see her again, but she came back…and kept coming back. The women warmed to her and she to them, so her class quickly became one of the most popular.
As the term came to an end, she took me aside.
"Thank you."
"For what?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "Shit, thank you for helping us out so much."
"No. No, you don't understand what these classes have meant to me. I was scared. I'm ashamed to say it, but I was scared to these women. I've learned a lot…so much. So, thank you and I'll see you next year."
Theory had been applied through the simple act of my sisters in the struggle teaching and learning from each other. I was inspired, empowered and fired up because Tracey was and I could see that the women she taught were too.
When people ask me why I became a feminist I tell them feminism found me.
Step outside your comfort zone and apply some of that theory.
Get active and get found.
Well, shit...
Let's jump right on in, shall we?
Today this bitch is pondering the coverage of the Gates Confirmation and the Iraq Study Group report.
Yesterday, CNN gave us Breaking News – Gates says we’re not winning the Iraq war!
What the fuck? Not only did CNN break in with that shit as if man had landed on the moon, they then followed up with hour after hour on what Gates saying that shit means.
A bitch would like to think CNN’s dumbing up of the news is in response to the intellectual capacity of the masses, but the reporter I watched yesterday seemed confused as hell. A frown was affixed to his face…he pursed his lips and paced his questions to convey…ummm…well, how serious he was about uncovering something, hell anything in the 30 minutes with multiple commercial breaks segment he’d managed to carve out for his dumb assed self in primetime.
“What does Gates saying we’re not winning mean?” He asked the retired general of the moment. “Does this signify that Gates is his own man and will speak truth to power?”
From heaven to hell and back again on the red eye, are you fucking kidding me?
Fast forward to today and CNN's brilliant announcement Iraq Study Group: Change Iraq Strategy Now.
Give us a gasp followed by an “oh my”, chil'ren!
The ISG calls the situation in Iraq “grave and deteriorating”.
For the love of vodka, how the hell is that the story? Isn’t reporting how obvious those announcements are part of the analysis…part of understanding just how detached the West Wing is and has been from reality…shit, part of understanding how we got here and how we will get out…how we can avoid this shit in the future?
I suppose a bitch should be thankful to the Iraq Study Group for stating the obvious in small words.
But the news is not that the situation is grave and the Iraqi government is hanging on by a thread…no, the news is the view over my shoulder…a look at what was and what now is the party line and what that shit means.
Somehow imminent danger and WMD morphed into fighting Al Qaeda there rather than here. That shit was re-branded as building a strong and vibrant democracy to serve as an shining example to the Islamic world that was sure to inspire a wave of freedom loving change in the region…but was eventually re-launched as fighting an unanticipated insurgency being fueled by Al Qaeda only to shape-shift into fighting an unanticipated insurgency being fueled by Iran and/or Syria with a dash or two of an emerging civil war and growing sectarian violence thrown in.
But wait…there’s more!
That shit was unpacked and re-gifted to the masses as 'support for our troops or support for our nation’s enemies' just in time for the mid-term election only to reconstitute itself today in the Iraq Study Group’s report as something along the lines of…
America needs to unite with our global allies and make new friends in the region to support a diplomatic effort to help Iraq achieve long-term security with political reconciliation, thus prevent regional destabilization that would ultimately threaten our national security.
Fade to black as a bitch clutches a tattered copy of The Powell Doctrine to her chest and pushes away from her desk while whispering "FUBAR" like Charles Foster Kane gasped Rosebud...
Today this bitch is pondering the coverage of the Gates Confirmation and the Iraq Study Group report.
Yesterday, CNN gave us Breaking News – Gates says we’re not winning the Iraq war!
What the fuck? Not only did CNN break in with that shit as if man had landed on the moon, they then followed up with hour after hour on what Gates saying that shit means.
A bitch would like to think CNN’s dumbing up of the news is in response to the intellectual capacity of the masses, but the reporter I watched yesterday seemed confused as hell. A frown was affixed to his face…he pursed his lips and paced his questions to convey…ummm…well, how serious he was about uncovering something, hell anything in the 30 minutes with multiple commercial breaks segment he’d managed to carve out for his dumb assed self in primetime.
“What does Gates saying we’re not winning mean?” He asked the retired general of the moment. “Does this signify that Gates is his own man and will speak truth to power?”
From heaven to hell and back again on the red eye, are you fucking kidding me?
Fast forward to today and CNN's brilliant announcement Iraq Study Group: Change Iraq Strategy Now.
Give us a gasp followed by an “oh my”, chil'ren!
The ISG calls the situation in Iraq “grave and deteriorating”.
For the love of vodka, how the hell is that the story? Isn’t reporting how obvious those announcements are part of the analysis…part of understanding just how detached the West Wing is and has been from reality…shit, part of understanding how we got here and how we will get out…how we can avoid this shit in the future?
I suppose a bitch should be thankful to the Iraq Study Group for stating the obvious in small words.
But the news is not that the situation is grave and the Iraqi government is hanging on by a thread…no, the news is the view over my shoulder…a look at what was and what now is the party line and what that shit means.
Somehow imminent danger and WMD morphed into fighting Al Qaeda there rather than here. That shit was re-branded as building a strong and vibrant democracy to serve as an shining example to the Islamic world that was sure to inspire a wave of freedom loving change in the region…but was eventually re-launched as fighting an unanticipated insurgency being fueled by Al Qaeda only to shape-shift into fighting an unanticipated insurgency being fueled by Iran and/or Syria with a dash or two of an emerging civil war and growing sectarian violence thrown in.
But wait…there’s more!
That shit was unpacked and re-gifted to the masses as 'support for our troops or support for our nation’s enemies' just in time for the mid-term election only to reconstitute itself today in the Iraq Study Group’s report as something along the lines of…
America needs to unite with our global allies and make new friends in the region to support a diplomatic effort to help Iraq achieve long-term security with political reconciliation, thus prevent regional destabilization that would ultimately threaten our national security.
Fade to black as a bitch clutches a tattered copy of The Powell Doctrine to her chest and pushes away from her desk while whispering "FUBAR" like Charles Foster Kane gasped Rosebud...
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A cold to remember…
A bitch caught the news this morning and it gave me pause.
Thousands of my fellow Missourians were without power after last week’s storm and thousands still are. The temperatures dropped well below freezing. Several people lost their lives to the cold…to accidental poisonings as a result of home generator accidents…to car accidents and other storm tragedies.
As the power is slowly being restored, the news gave account after account of the physical and emotional distress being out of power in the frigid cold has on an individual.
The fact is that being cold, constantly hustling to stay warm and survive…the fear and physical pain of freezing temperatures are the norm for many people. The homeless and the poor often face the cold of night…those same conditions that drove us to whine and keen as if suffering the relentless terrors of hell are reality for thousands in every community.
This was indeed a cold to remember, so let’s all remember it even after the heat comes back on.
Get to know what agencies are working to end homelessness in your community and please support the work that they do.
Places for People, Doorways and Haven of Grace are just a few of the organizations working with the diverse homeless population in St. Louis.
Sigh.
This has been weighing on my mind…and this is my motherfucking blog (wink)…so a bitch wanted to share my thoughts.
Stay warm in mind, body and soul…
Thousands of my fellow Missourians were without power after last week’s storm and thousands still are. The temperatures dropped well below freezing. Several people lost their lives to the cold…to accidental poisonings as a result of home generator accidents…to car accidents and other storm tragedies.
As the power is slowly being restored, the news gave account after account of the physical and emotional distress being out of power in the frigid cold has on an individual.
The fact is that being cold, constantly hustling to stay warm and survive…the fear and physical pain of freezing temperatures are the norm for many people. The homeless and the poor often face the cold of night…those same conditions that drove us to whine and keen as if suffering the relentless terrors of hell are reality for thousands in every community.
This was indeed a cold to remember, so let’s all remember it even after the heat comes back on.
Get to know what agencies are working to end homelessness in your community and please support the work that they do.
Places for People, Doorways and Haven of Grace are just a few of the organizations working with the diverse homeless population in St. Louis.
Sigh.
This has been weighing on my mind…and this is my motherfucking blog (wink)…so a bitch wanted to share my thoughts.
Stay warm in mind, body and soul…
Monday, December 04, 2006
Pre-pondering 2008...
Alright y’all, a bitch is tired as hell of all the “is she going to run?” and “will he put his hat in?” crazy talk going on right now. That shit encourages the type of political spin infused frenzy that got us stuck with the head asshole in charge we are currently stuck with!
People need to pause, for the love of all that’s holy, and breathe a bit.
Come on now...let’s everybody calm the fuck down before someone pisses all over themselves.
This bitch is going to take as much time considering candidates as my ass spends considering any major long term commitment. If the current administration has taught me anything, it’s that 8 years can be long as hell!
My concern is that pundits and the masses are going to be looking at dumb ass shit or looking at important shit from a dumb ass perspective when assessing candidates..and we really can’t afford that.
For example…
Likeability
A good leader of a diverse population is going to have to piss everyone off a bit and have to be cool with it. This bitch wants to understand the president…wants to see that, even though I disagree, her or his notions aren’t insane or based in fear-mongering bigotry.
A bitch looks for a touch of asshole in leaders. Not Rumsfeldian assholia, mind you...that much asshole is dangerous as hell…but just enough asshole to say words like “no” and “are you out of your damned mind?” when necessary.
See, this bitch has long speculated that many of my fellow Americans voted for Scooter B. in 2000 because he seemed the type of person they’d like to share a beer with.
Now that most of those voters have realized that Scooter B. is that guy at the pub…you know, the one who seems kind of cool until you find out he lifted your wallet, spent all your money, tapes your phone calls, wrecked your car into your neighbor’s house and then kicked your dog…yeah, thaaaaat guy...now that most voters have realized that shit, they need to apply what they have learned.
Shit, my ass is taking notes and a bitch doesn’t even drink beer (wink).
Trust
A bitch isn't one to trust easily.
Next?
Intelligence
Ooooh! This is a huge issue for me.
My ass was watching PBS and they had a documentary on about Senator Robert Kennedy and I was struck by his presence, his ability to change and acknowledge that change happened…and his wicked smart grasp of all manner of shit.
It struck me that presidents used to represent a level of intelligence (hell, even the appearance of intelligence) that walked out the door with Reagan…flickered back for a bit with Clinton…and then was washed away with industrial strength bleach when Scooter B’s dumb ass came on board.
Oh, some knavish troll is sure to comment that Scooter B. went to Yale…cough…and Harvard Business School (ask C-Money for her thoughts of HBS grads if you want a good laugh) but anyone who has danced on the Ivy or Baby Ivy dance floor knows that legacy goes a long way, baby.
Don’t let that shit impress you. As my father used to say, money walks and bullshit talks.
Anyhoo, now that we have a chance to go at this shit again let’s look for someone who has demonstrated some intellectual capacity! Someone who knows where countries are on a map, who can tell you how the United Nations came to be, who quotes from the Constitution every now and then and who can give us some visionary speeches once a year.
Lawd knows this bitch has had enough of watching our front guy on the world stage as he makes an ass of himself whilst trying to sound decisive only to end up coming across like the dumb ass out of touch ignorant as hell blue blooded son of privilege that he is.
Sigh.
People just don’t care about knowing shit anymore, but that’s another post.
Anyhoo, where was I?
We’ve got a long way to go before November 2008 and this bitch plans to sit back and watch as people talk themselves out of the job. There’s plenty of time left before my ass has to pick my horse…
People need to pause, for the love of all that’s holy, and breathe a bit.
Come on now...let’s everybody calm the fuck down before someone pisses all over themselves.
This bitch is going to take as much time considering candidates as my ass spends considering any major long term commitment. If the current administration has taught me anything, it’s that 8 years can be long as hell!
My concern is that pundits and the masses are going to be looking at dumb ass shit or looking at important shit from a dumb ass perspective when assessing candidates..and we really can’t afford that.
For example…
Likeability
A good leader of a diverse population is going to have to piss everyone off a bit and have to be cool with it. This bitch wants to understand the president…wants to see that, even though I disagree, her or his notions aren’t insane or based in fear-mongering bigotry.
A bitch looks for a touch of asshole in leaders. Not Rumsfeldian assholia, mind you...that much asshole is dangerous as hell…but just enough asshole to say words like “no” and “are you out of your damned mind?” when necessary.
See, this bitch has long speculated that many of my fellow Americans voted for Scooter B. in 2000 because he seemed the type of person they’d like to share a beer with.
Now that most of those voters have realized that Scooter B. is that guy at the pub…you know, the one who seems kind of cool until you find out he lifted your wallet, spent all your money, tapes your phone calls, wrecked your car into your neighbor’s house and then kicked your dog…yeah, thaaaaat guy...now that most voters have realized that shit, they need to apply what they have learned.
Shit, my ass is taking notes and a bitch doesn’t even drink beer (wink).
Trust
A bitch isn't one to trust easily.
Next?
Intelligence
Ooooh! This is a huge issue for me.
My ass was watching PBS and they had a documentary on about Senator Robert Kennedy and I was struck by his presence, his ability to change and acknowledge that change happened…and his wicked smart grasp of all manner of shit.
It struck me that presidents used to represent a level of intelligence (hell, even the appearance of intelligence) that walked out the door with Reagan…flickered back for a bit with Clinton…and then was washed away with industrial strength bleach when Scooter B’s dumb ass came on board.
Oh, some knavish troll is sure to comment that Scooter B. went to Yale…cough…and Harvard Business School (ask C-Money for her thoughts of HBS grads if you want a good laugh) but anyone who has danced on the Ivy or Baby Ivy dance floor knows that legacy goes a long way, baby.
Don’t let that shit impress you. As my father used to say, money walks and bullshit talks.
Anyhoo, now that we have a chance to go at this shit again let’s look for someone who has demonstrated some intellectual capacity! Someone who knows where countries are on a map, who can tell you how the United Nations came to be, who quotes from the Constitution every now and then and who can give us some visionary speeches once a year.
Lawd knows this bitch has had enough of watching our front guy on the world stage as he makes an ass of himself whilst trying to sound decisive only to end up coming across like the dumb ass out of touch ignorant as hell blue blooded son of privilege that he is.
Sigh.
People just don’t care about knowing shit anymore, but that’s another post.
Anyhoo, where was I?
We’ve got a long way to go before November 2008 and this bitch plans to sit back and watch as people talk themselves out of the job. There’s plenty of time left before my ass has to pick my horse…
A random pondering...
Oh, the weather outside is frightful. 
If our fireplaces were operational, the fire might be delightful.
Since the bitter wind continues to blow…
Its fucking cold, bloody cold...cold as a motherfucker!
Ugh.
This bitch drove to work this morning thankful for the heat in our home…thank you, oh Gawd of electrical randomocity…and beyond grateful that my ass doesn’t work for the electric company.
Shall we begin?
This bitch is still trying to get a handle on the political poisoning drama swirling about.
I’m fascinated with the recent poisonings…botched poisonings…fucked up from the floor up poisonings…and (gasp) the possibility that Russia may or may not be behind them. Gasp again! If one more reporter mouths off about the spy thriller angle in this recent poisoning scandal, this bitch is going to reach into the television set and smack some sense into that fool.
This shit would make a lousy book, people! Just look at how sloppy this overt wanna be covert action was. Lawd, some asshole was dropping radioactive matter all over the place! She or he probably poisoned themselves in the process, so they should just look for the dead person who glows in the dark and lacks an alibi.
Mercy.
This bitch may never take a leak on a plane again! Come back glowing all about my…ummm…well, that’s just not the kind of shit this bitch wants to attempt to explain to my doctor.
Whew!
Anyhoo, the news is making this incident and the possible links to the Russian government seem shocking and that’s working my nerves. Poisoning is not shocking. Fucked up poisoning that leaves evidence all over the place…well, that’s shocking. But poisonings as a method of
political retribution? Nope…not shocking at all.
Is a bitch loosing my mind or wasn’t there a high profile poisoning in the Ukraine? And wasn’t that shit linked to Russia?
While we’re at it, what the fuck are we going to do about it if we prove it was Russia anyway?
Invade?
Pause.
Uh oh…never mind…a bitch doesn’t want to put that historically proven dumb ass idea into anyone’s head.
Anyhoo…
Isn’t Ann Coulter on record in favor of poisoning officials who get on her rancid ass nerves?
Aha!
Follow the smell of rotting flesh, press-like people.
Oh, and be sure to check Coulter’s passport…
If our fireplaces were operational, the fire might be delightful.
Since the bitter wind continues to blow…
Its fucking cold, bloody cold...cold as a motherfucker!
Ugh.
This bitch drove to work this morning thankful for the heat in our home…thank you, oh Gawd of electrical randomocity…and beyond grateful that my ass doesn’t work for the electric company.
Shall we begin?
This bitch is still trying to get a handle on the political poisoning drama swirling about.
I’m fascinated with the recent poisonings…botched poisonings…fucked up from the floor up poisonings…and (gasp) the possibility that Russia may or may not be behind them. Gasp again! If one more reporter mouths off about the spy thriller angle in this recent poisoning scandal, this bitch is going to reach into the television set and smack some sense into that fool.
This shit would make a lousy book, people! Just look at how sloppy this overt wanna be covert action was. Lawd, some asshole was dropping radioactive matter all over the place! She or he probably poisoned themselves in the process, so they should just look for the dead person who glows in the dark and lacks an alibi.
Mercy.
This bitch may never take a leak on a plane again! Come back glowing all about my…ummm…well, that’s just not the kind of shit this bitch wants to attempt to explain to my doctor.
Whew!
Anyhoo, the news is making this incident and the possible links to the Russian government seem shocking and that’s working my nerves. Poisoning is not shocking. Fucked up poisoning that leaves evidence all over the place…well, that’s shocking. But poisonings as a method of
political retribution? Nope…not shocking at all. Is a bitch loosing my mind or wasn’t there a high profile poisoning in the Ukraine? And wasn’t that shit linked to Russia?
While we’re at it, what the fuck are we going to do about it if we prove it was Russia anyway?
Invade?
Pause.
Uh oh…never mind…a bitch doesn’t want to put that historically proven dumb ass idea into anyone’s head.
Anyhoo…
Isn’t Ann Coulter on record in favor of poisoning officials who get on her rancid ass nerves?
Aha!
Follow the smell of rotting flesh, press-like people.
Oh, and be sure to check Coulter’s passport…
Friday, December 01, 2006
Yeah, that one...
And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.
Aeschylus
For JCM, the Magnificent Maggie D. and in remembrance of Sean.
Did you dance?
And when you danced, did you dance really hard?
Yeah, but did you laugh?
And when you laughed was it without caution or reserve?
Did you smile that smile?
You know the one...yeah, that one.
Oh, did you love?
Did you love with abandon and were you loved in return?
Yes.
Oh, yes you did.
Mmmm....yes.
Oh yes, you were loved.
Behind the numbers...within the statistics of HIV/AIDS...there are people.
People who have danced...hard.
Who have laughed without caution...from the gut until their sides hurt.
Who smiled that smile.
You know the one?
Yeah, that one.
May those who have passed on be blessed until we meet again.
And may those living wth HIV/AIDS dance that dance, laugh that laugh...
Smile that smile.
Yeah that one.
Aeschylus
For JCM, the Magnificent Maggie D. and in remembrance of Sean.
Did you dance?
And when you danced, did you dance really hard?
Yeah, but did you laugh?
And when you laughed was it without caution or reserve?
Did you smile that smile?
You know the one...yeah, that one.
Oh, did you love?
Did you love with abandon and were you loved in return?
Yes.
Oh, yes you did.
Mmmm....yes.
Oh yes, you were loved.
Behind the numbers...within the statistics of HIV/AIDS...there are people.
People who have danced...hard.
Who have laughed without caution...from the gut until their sides hurt.
Who smiled that smile.
You know the one?
Yeah, that one.
May those who have passed on be blessed until we meet again.
And may those living wth HIV/AIDS dance that dance, laugh that laugh...
Smile that smile.
Yeah that one.
Light to Unite...
My brother in vodka, Absolut Billy, sent this bitch information about Bristol-Myers Squibb and their Light to Unite campaign.
Bristol-Myers Squibb will donate money for every unique lighting of the candle...and the site has some nice education features too.
Thanks for passing this on to me Absolut Billy...a bitch hopes y'all will take a moment to visit the site and light the candle this World AIDS Day.
Bristol-Myers Squibb will donate money for every unique lighting of the candle...and the site has some nice education features too.
Thanks for passing this on to me Absolut Billy...a bitch hopes y'all will take a moment to visit the site and light the candle this World AIDS Day.
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