Client Number 9

I wrote this before Ms. Spitzer resigned yesterday. I really thought he would hang on for a few weeks. And I saw something a few minutes ago by minouye that covers this with a lot more humor, though he uses video (I would rather read the news).

For those of you who live under a rock, don't read this. It contains information that has been seen on newspapers, network news, heck, even YouTube. Everything is on YouTube, though, from balloon fetishes to Ron Paul commercials.

Here is the first few paragraphs that the Seattle Times led with:

When he was his state's attorney general, New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer once broke up a call-girl ring and locked up 18 people on corruption, money-laundering and prostitution charges. He ruthlessly investigated the pay packages of Wall Street executives and was so familiar with shady financial maneuvers that he rose to become the top racketeering prosecutor in Manhattan.

But in the end, it appears Spitzer may have been done in by the same behavior he built a career out of prosecuting. Investigators said he spent perhaps as much as $80,000 with a high-priced prostitution service over an extended period of time.

For those of you living under rocks, you can read the entire story. The Seattle Times story was the first one that came up on Google News; it may not be the most authoritative story out there.

Before the other day, I had not heard of Eliot Spitzer. New York is the third most populous state (I think: California, Texas, New York; maybe New York is two), and I had no idea he was governor. Of course, I am not an expensive call girl living in DC.

Here is what disturbs me about the story:

1. No formal charges have been made. It disturbs me for two reasons: (1) Normal citizens would have been charged by now, and (2) if no formal charges have been made, why even talk about this.
2. Buried somewhere is the fact that he is a money launderer. I know that sex sells, but this is the real big (time in jail) thing about what he did.
3. Silda Wall Spitzer, why the hell are you by your man's side. Skip the news conference and go on a binge. Stay in the room and drink to your heart's content. Now is the time, lady. Patti Page's hit (Stand By Your Man) does not apply here.
4. Most people don't get it. It is not that Eliot Spitzer was seeing a prostitute (across state lines, in violation of the federal Mann Act). It is that what he is doing is embarrassing, damaging to his career, and thus the perfect thing to blackmail the man with.

The last thing that bothers me (the potential blackmail thing) is the reason that people should resign. I don't know if he goes to jail if he can continue to serve as governor. Some would rather he be in jail; at least his wife knows who he is screwing.

I would love a job where I could say: I really don't want to deal with things at the office right now; things are getting too hot. I am going to chill with me and the family. Maybe Slida will wear the leather bodysuit I bought Kristen her ….

I really feel for Slida, though she probably knows who she married. Well, it is sometimes hard to feel bad for a Harvard-educated wife of a multi-millionaire. But there it is.

Most interesting factoid about the news: Spitzer is a super delegate who supports Hillary Clinton. Maybe that's why Slida was standing by her man after all.

Readers

When I first started blogging, I was very conscious about who was reading my tripe. Oh, look at that, someone with a Commodore 64 is viewing me with an unknown web-browser in Slovocia. Their ISP is, er, I can't pronounce it, and they clicked onto 20 different pages. They must love me.

And I would look and say, wow, I got 30 people reading me today. I knew them, and it was easy to know who they were, even when they made no comments. With a product like SiteMeter, it is really easy to do, even for the technologically disadvantaged. I even wrote a post, back in 1995, about the assumptions I would make about people who left me comments. You know, when I started out blogging, I was damn sweet. I seemed to care a lot about my blog – sort of like a new car owner who forces her husband to get out the turtle wax and polish her car. Do people even polish cars anymore?

Back to whatever I was writing about. Oh, yeah, I was writing about my readers. Where was I? SiteMeter.

Then, I noticed a comment one day from a blog I would frequent, saying, "Hey, there is someone from Savannah that reads me and apparently likes what I write." I never commented on his page, but I read it. I sometimes, believe it or not, don't have anything to say.

Well, that sort of freaked me out and I purchased some software that spoofs stuff. [Insert technical garbage here that people don't want to read.] It basically pretends my computer is in California or in other places because a series of numbers separated by periods. Yeah, that's as technical as I get.

So after purchasing said software, I also stopped looking at SiteMeter. I could tell, sometimes, even which building they were using the Internet from. I mean, it did not mean that they lived in the building, but at least they were jacking the signal. I decided my readers were entitled to their ananimity, too.

For a very short time, I became somewhat popular – I would get 30 or so comments per day, and it sort of freaked me out. I did not really want all of that attention. I would like to say that I started writing crappier posts on purpose. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. It is hard for me to tell. What I did not like was responding to the comments.

Comment: You said something really funny about squirrel poop today!

Leesa: Fuck you and don't come back.

Okay, anyone can write something funny to say about squirrel poop. It's just a nutty topic. But when you tell people to go away, most of them listen. The stalkers don't, but everyone else pretty much listens.

I have been trying to look for some good blogs lately, and I have not found any new ones that I look forward to reading. Part of it may be where I am at mentally.

But part of it is that there is part of the sub-culture of blogging, and there are very few women bloggers that I find interesting. Most are, well, for lack of a better term, bitchy. There are whole blogs which are written by women who are really mean. Edge-y, is what I think they are going after (no offense, Jef). I have better relationships with men – because men seem to be, in general, nicer than women. Anyway, to make up for this, I have gone out of my way to make blogger friends with women.

And it does not always work.

This blog entry was supposed to be about my readers, not me. Darn it, why can't I focus. Your loss I guess, I just have to write this. You are the one busy reading it. And there are a couple of readers who come here every day – and their blogs are written in other languages. Talk about amazing – I wish I could read blogs in other languages. And that requires work . . . so I don't see that happening any time soon.

Politics and Hurricane Katrina (Part 2 of 2)

Yesterday, I started writing about how one person had a great deal to do with the Hurricane Katrina tragedy. If you missed yesterday, shame on you. You will have to read Part One for any of this to make sense. Oh, how I hope this makes sense.

As I was writing, Buddy Roemer was elected, mostly because of Edwards ethically challenged character. Edwards dropped out of the 1987 race, and one columnist stated, "The only way Edwards can ever be reelected is to run against Adolph Hitler."

And as luck would have it (for Edwards, not for the people of Louisiana), an Adolph Hitler character ran in 1991.

For the 1991 election, Republicans and Democrats and every other flavor of politician ran together in the primary, and the two top vote-getters would face one another in the general election.

Incumbent Buddy Roemer and 3-time Governor Edwards were running neck and neck, with a third candidate trailing far behind. Buddy Roemer had switched parties, theorizing that he could take both the Republican vote and moderate conservatives as well.

Edwards was a crafty politician, and his staff dug up a quote about Roemer supporting Michael Dukakis over President Bush (he said, "Dan Quail made up my mind."). This did not sit well with conservatives.

When the ballots were counted in the primary, Edwards received 33.8% of the vote, the candidate who was running third in most polls received a surprising 31.7% of the vote, and incumbent Roemer received 26.5% of the vote and was eliminated from the race.

Edwards was prepared to run against his opponent, and it is reported that Edward's staff counseled Edwards to stop dating 20-year-olds. Some reports surfaced that his dates should be at least 25.

Some facts about Edward's opponent:

1. There was a 1989 photo of him shaking hands with the head of the American Nazi Party.
2. Even though Edwards was dating 20-year-olds, this man had been accused of dating at least one 17-year-old. Edwards said of his opponent that he "is not a womanizer. He is a little-girlizer."
3. He made several public anti-Semitic remarks (and said that the Holocaust was a hoax).
4. When asked about issues, he was usually caught off-guard. He, for example, could not name any of the top three employers in the state.
5. He had stated publicly that blacks were inferior to whites.

During the election, Edward's opponent renounced many of the things he had said previously.

Edwards won the election with about 61% of the vote. Buddy Roemer, when leaving office, said that Edwards "for twenty years created a hunger for integrity, was saved in the end by having a man run against him who has less integrity."

One of his first acts after moving back into the governor's mansion was to appoint Robert Harvey, to head the Orleans District levee board. Robert Harvey's qualification for this appointment: contributing $5,000 to Edwards campaign.

The headway that previous administrations had made about forcing the Army Corps of Engineers to built higher levees were forgotten. Over the next few years, the levee board was preoccupied with other priorities.

Oh, and the man who ran against Edwards – the man who was more crooked than a master crook? David Duke.

So you see, gentle reader, some could argue that David Duke, making it into the general election, is in part responsible for having levees that were not high enough to protect New Orleans. You see, Robert Harvey did not give $5,000 to the Duke campaign. And that (insert Paul Harvey pause) is the rest of the story.

Digg It

I have been playing around with Digg, and when I have a post that is "newsy", and believe me, most of my posts will not be newsy, I may Digg it. So if you think it is newsy too, then you can press on the Digg Button. On, and it seems like you need to join Digg in order to vote; so don't bother if you don't want to join Digg.

Politics and Hurricane Katrina (Part 1 of 2)

When I was in middle school, I can remember a lot of talk about Fidel Castro. The story that I remember most is that Fidel Castro was a minor league baseball player. I did not remember all the facts concerning the Bay of Pigs or the Cuban Missile Crisis (hence my poor Social Studies grades). And I just learned that the story is false.

That leads me to think about how other people have affected history by what they did or did not do. I want to tell you a story today, but I am not sure if I can maintain my one page blog rule.

If I asked a group of people to list the most corrupt states in the United States, one name would rise to the top. That state would be Louisiana.¹. And if you could list the most corrupt people in that state over the last twenty years, one name would also be set apart from the rest: Edwin Edwards. Edwin Edwards was first governor from 1972 to 1980, and in the state of Louisiana, you cannot run for a third term in a row. You can sit out one term and then run again, but you cannot be governor three terms in a row.

Huey P. Long, "the Kingfish", was an amazing politician, the model of the corrupt politician. My favorite quote of his: "One of these days the people of Louisiana are going to get good government - and they aren't going to like it." Edwards was more corrupt than the Kingfish. Oh, and Edwards has been in jail since October 2002. I guess that is better than being shot (Huey Long was shot – some say he was shot by one of his own bodyguards when his assailant, Carl Weiss, punched him).

Back to Edwin Edwards.

In his second term, he was positioning himself to take the office back. In Louisiana, a Republican has not been elected governor since the Civil War – that happened a lot in the South. Southern Democrats run the gambit – from conservative to liberal. So the fight is in the primary – once a Democrat won the primary, beating up the Republican was not a problem.

Edwin Edwards instituted a different type of voting, "patronage voting" or something like that. Basically, everybody runs in the same primary, and the top two vote-getters run in the general election. And you might think Edwin Edwards proposed this change in the election process to benefit the fine people of Louisiana. But since we are talking about politics, let's assume he did it to benefit himself. And knowing Edwards, perhaps this benefitted his pocketbook as well. So when Edwin Edwards left office in 1980, he was delighted when David Treen (the first Republican Governor of Louisiana) was elected over a very liberal Democrat.

Edwin Edwards won re-election in 1983, a couple of years after one of Edwards closest friends was indicted after an FBI sting. There were tapes that showed close ties between members of the Edwards administration and a New Orleans mob boss. Edwards was not indicted for his involvement.

Edwards, being Edwards, in his role of governor, went to trial for shaking down $1.9 million in bribes to secure hospital licenses. He was not convicted, but because of this and several other things, he was not re-elected in 1988.

Buddy Roemer was elected, mostly because of Edwards ethically challenged character. Edwards dropped out of the 1987 race, and one columnist stated, "The only way Edwards can ever be reelected is to run against Adolph Hitler."

Tomorrow, I will finish the story of how an Adolph Hitler placed Edwards in the governor's mansion one last time and how this may have made the devastation of Hurricane Katrina worse because of this election outcome.

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¹Louisiana has the reputation of being the most corrupt state, but in a recent study, here is how the most corrupt states ranked: (1) Mississippi, (2) North Dakota and (3) Louisiana. The only question I have is: North Dakota? Are you serious?

Random Friday #16

Typepad
I hate typepad. I have commented on several typepad blogs in the last week, and although the comments show up, they give me some sort of error, faking me out and causing me to yell at my computer. And I don't do curse words so I sound like a twelve-year-old girl from the 80s. Current twelve-year-old girls can curse.

Rules
Remember the rule to wait 30 minutes after eating before getting in a pool. I would watch the clock like a hawk when I was younger. I would be shivering in my one-piece, damp enough for the wind to make goose-pimples all over my arms. Well, I have eaten right before entering a pool twice in the last week (indoor pool) and you know what? I did not cramp up and die. I wonder what other rules are for parental amusement.

OCD Behavior in Blogger
I have been cleaning out my "draft" posts in blogger lately. Some of them, I have deleted. I mean, who wants to read why Gore will beat Bush because of Gore's stronghold in Florida, anyway? Or how Britney is really a good mother, and the press just has it all wrong. I am sure her family loves her (and will not involuntarily commit her to an institution). Or how Joe must be gay because he is (1) working in Human Resources, (2) is not married, and (3) writes really well. I had a little crush on Joe a long time ago, but he stopped taking my calls and filed a restraining order. Well, it turns out that Joe is not gay. He just uses the court system to file frivolous restraining orders. Well, I am not clearing out my colon, but I am clearing out my drafts.

Men's Shirts
Why are men's shirts so darned comfortable? I am talking about plaid Oxford-cloth Button Down shirts. I mean, I am sure there is a fettish somewhere about putting one of these bad boys on right out of the dryer, wearing nothing but panties, walking around the house . . . er, I did not type that. I think someone is hacking in my word processor.

Word Processor
Why does the phrase "word processor" sound so old? Does anyone remember WordStar? Oh, to have gone to college in the 80s. I doubt kids today would know the history of the word processor. I still remember putting things in the word processor and either having half of my document underlined or placing everythign in bold text because the ribbon on the machine was fading.

Blog Catalog Rating

I got my first rating at Blog Catalog. I probably joined Blog Catalog over a year ago; not sure why, actually, so it had to be a long time ago. Anyway, I got my first "review":

Great site blog with great contents. Please come and visit my blog too and leave me a comment.

Rated 10 of 10 and a review that looks like spam, I went to see some of his other comments. More than half of the blogs he rated got the following comment:

Your blog is one of my favorites thats why I really made a point of my busy time to post a comment.It is very informative with great contents. Keep on posting. I hope you can visit my blogs and also leave some comments. thanks.

Oh, and I kept his punctuation as well. Who does not include at least one space after a period?

I don't really get the Blog Catalog site. A couple of my blogging buddies are there (~Deb and Mike). But I still don't get it.

Graphic Novels
When I first heard the term "graphic novels", I figured it was a novel filled with violence and/or sex. Not that I hear the term often, but I still get that impression. I am a bibliophile, and so I have tripped on booksellers who specialize in graphic novels. Now, in my head, I insert the replacement words "comic books" when I hear "graphic novels."

Oh, and I looked them up on Wikipedia, and apparently there is no pure definition of graphic novel. Makes my replacement even more warranted. And the pic that was part of the article I places besides this. "It Rhymes with Lust" I wonder what they mean, when they place a buxom redhead on the cover. I am going with "trust."

Dummy Test
Have you seen those Dummy Test ads? The link will open the picture but not the dummy test itself. I think clicking on the dummy test should automatically make you one. I mean, if a test can egg you one to taking the test for dummies, I think that confirms that you are a dummy. Yeah, I took the test. Drats.

Happy Friday!

When Harry Met Leesa

One of my favorite movies is When Harry Met Sally. I have not seen it in years, but I still play scenes in my mind. And I even have, on rare occasions, seen some bloggers writing and thought, "Hmmm. He seems just like Harry. I hope he finds someone."

Sally Albright: Is Harry bringing anybody to the wedding?
Marie: I don't think so.
Sally Albright: Is he seeing anybody?
Marie: He was seeing this anthropologist, but...
Sally Albright: What's she look like?
Marie: Thin. Pretty. Big tits. Your basic nightmare.

Marie's line that punctuates the scene is classic girl talk. Women are so competitive – I still am. I have probably looked at the same number of woman's asses as my husband. Okay, maybe not, but I look at women's butts and think, "Bitch. She has a nice ass." Or, "My ass is better than her ass." And I don't like calling women bitches in my mind. Translation: I want to have the best ass in the room.

When I was in my mid-twenties, I could hold my own. Now that gravity has started yanking down my caboose, I try to avoid rooms full of bikini models, Victoria's Secrets shoppers and college co-eds.

Sally: When Joe and I started seeing each other, we wanted exactly the same thing. We wanted to live together, but we didn't want to get married because every time anyone we knew got married, it ruined their relationship. They practically never had sex again. It's true, it's one of the secrets that no one ever tells you. I would sit around with my girlfriends who have kids - and, actually, my one girlfriend who has kids, Alice - and she would complain about how she and Gary never did it anymore. She didn't even complain about it, now that I think about it. She just said it matter-of-factly. She said they were up all night, they were both exhausted all the time, the kids just took every sexual impulse they had out of them. And Joe and I used to talk about it, and we'd say we were so lucky we have this wonderful relationship; we can have sex on the kitchen floor and not worry about the kids walking in. We can fly off to Rome on a moment's notice. And then one day I was taking Alice's little girl for the afternoon because I'd promised to take her to the circus, and we were in the cab playing "I Spy" - I spy a mailbox, I spy a lamp-post - and she looked out the window and she saw this man and this woman with these two little kids. And the man had one of the little kids on his shoulders, and she said, "I spy a family." And I started to cry. You know, I just started crying. And I went home, and I said, "The thing is, Joe, we never do fly off to Rome on a moment's notice."
Harry: And the kitchen floor?
Sally: [sadly] Not once. It's this very cold, hard Mexican ceramic tile.

I remember this scene as well.

I have written about not having children a couple of times. Here is one post and I know there are others. I am just too busy to look for others right now.

I know this scene is about loving someone who wants other things. Someone who says that he wants one thing because that's what he wants with you. I privately prayed that Joe's thingie would fall off in the shower. Enough about me being a hateful bitch.

When my husband and I married, we wanted certain things. And children was way up there on the list. But things happen, and we can't have kids. We have gone round and round with adoption. The subject is still open, but we are not the perfect adoptive parents. We are getting "older". I have a girlfriend who is 35 and her adoption agency says she is on the cusp of being too old. Where does that leave my 39-year-old-chassis?

Okay, now I want to go see When Harry Met Sally. And I don't have to wait for the Blue Ray^® edition, either. [I started this post on 4/10/07 but only got the title and the quotes at that time.]

Election Prediction

Super Tuesday was yesterday – actually the day I am writing this blog entry. Super Tuesday, however, seems a lot less super since many of the states that normally participate in Super Tuesday moved up their primaries.

The primary doesn't matter though. It matters not. Sorry Ohio. Sorry Texas. It really doesn't matter who you vote for. Your vote doesn't count. Americans don't want to hear that. Americans want their votes to count. We hear it in high school, so it must be true, damnit¹.

Now, some years your vote counts more than other years – and it has to do with who is running. Not who is running on the Democratic or Republican ticket, but which spoiler is running. And the current spoiler's name is Ralph Nader.

While most liberal Americans blame hanging chads for one of W. Bush's victories, others blame Ralph Nader. Personally, I blame Al Gore, who blew off Nader after he became vice president. Nader wanted a meeting with Al Gore, but Gore was a little too busy, and it may have cost him the presidency. At the very least, it made Ralph Nader an enemy.

Now some believe that Nader did not cost Al Gore the election – some a lot more astute than I, that is. But I am a fear-monger, so hear me out. />²

Now I know what many of you are thinking: Ralph Nader's pinnicle of success was obtained in 1988 when he was singing "People in Your Neighborhood" with Bob McGrath Sesame Street episode. For me, he was a consumer advocate. And now, he also has aligned himself with environmental issues as well.

Who does someone who works on environment and consumer advocate non-profits want to rule the country? A Democrat who may work on solving these issues? Or a Republican who may not (and donations to said non-profits almost certainly increase given this fact)? Now, I am a believer in following the money. I get that from my fear-mongering media kit. Personally, I don't think there is much different from Dems and Reps as far as the environment is concerned. How many legislative efforts did we hear from Clinton with Gore as his right-hand VP man? I can't think of any. At least when Republicans (under the Reagan administration) threatened Alaska wildlife for pipelines, conservation was in the forefront of people's minds. Oh, and non-profits did more to purchase land to set aside for the future. They had more money to do things since environmentalists were rallying around these threats.³

Now, I am not saying Nader mattered on all of the elections he was in, but people who vote for Nader are more likely to vote for a Democratic than a Republican candidate.

Also, I have heard that if Obama is the nominee, perhaps Nader doesn't have much of a role, either, because he is getting non-voters to vote. He is not just cutting a piece of the voting pie; he is baking as well.

So maybe your vote is not lost. If that makes your head explode, Texas, Ohio, Rhode Island and some other little state, well, it may made a difference if you vote for Obama or against H. Clinton.

I am a woman and really want to see a woman president. But the right president.

My prediction is this: if Obama wins the Democrat nomination, it is even money between Obama and McCain. If H. Clinton wins, whoever the Republican nominates will be the next president. Personally, I think it is funny that most Republicans don't like McCain. Maybe that is a good endorsement for the man; I don't know.

But whatever happens, this election year is entertaining. Now what else do you hope for? Candidates that shoot straight? P-please. This is America and we don't vote for people who talk honestly to us.

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¹Is "damnit" a minor swear word? I hope so.

²Translation: this is total BS, a funny piece with kernels of truth interwoven.

³Yeah, I am an environmentalist who does not believe there is much difference between Republicans and Democrats on environmental issues. I am not talking rhetoric. I am talking action.

Family Crap Heirlooms

You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your family.

I don't know why I thought of that. It is not like I am thirteen again.

I have been looking at old photos lately, oh, and this is not a photo of my family. Yeah, there is Leesa, third on the left, second row, with the three kids at her feet. Am I the only one that sees children at the feet of someone and thinks of the family dog? Yeah, dogs and kids, at the feet, eating table scraps. Sorry.

I have a lot of old photos of people I have never met – people who have died 60 or more years ago. I say that I "love" these photos, but you know, if they get lost in a fire, how heart-broken will I be? I carry around the photos because I was given them to safeguard. Almost anyone who would have known these people are dead, and the living ones are not very lucid anyway. "Hey, grandpa, go easy on the Wild Turkey." And I always think to myself, "what the hell, he is 90-some-odd years old, what harm can it do?"

Then I look at other things that I cart around or keep in storage. Some of the items are great-grandparents-old-this-or-that. It had sentimental meaning for my great-grandparents or grandparents, but I never used the item. I would have been more sentimental over an old Donny and Marie Record Player. That reminds me of when I was a girl – not some old hair brush.

Of course, then my Catholic genes kick in and I start to feel guilty. "Sorry, Great Grandma Ida, I know you must have counted brush strokes – ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred – and it was especially meaningful for you to pass onto your children. But sooner or later it becomes stuff in a box, taken out ever other decade. Eventually someone will inherit it, and it might find its way to Ebay. Maybe.

Of course, I could buy an old Donny and Marie Record Player on Ebay if I act fast.

Sunday Nights

You know, I hated 60 Minutes when I was growing up. The tick-tick-tick reminded me that Monday morning was just one sleep away, and I normally would have to start working on homework that I should have done on Friday, or Saturday. I mean, Friday afternoon is so far removed from Monday that you really can't really concentrate on school work that early. Saturday is the perfect day. No school the next day, no real responsibilities. Saturday is the perfect day. Sunday was compulsory church – not that I did not like church, but you know, when you have to go, it can be a bit of a chore. By the time you get out of your church dress, it is almost lunchtime on Sunday. A good day, but not the best day.

60 Minutes, for me, was not really a show. It was a signal that the weekend was almost over. We all view the world in our own way, and I see the world in patterns. Seasons are important to me, and so are patterns of the week. Mondays felt one way, Friday another. Well, growing up, Friday always included eating fish. Catholics don't abstain from meat on all Fridays anymore, but when I was growing up, that's what our family practiced.

Back to Sunday nights.

In the fall and winter, my father would watch football. He would watch the afternoon game, that, as I recall, was from 4 PM to 7:00 PM. We normally would not eat around the television, but occasionally, if the game warranted it (overtime), perhaps he would bend the rule on Sunday night.

My dad did not always watch 60 Minutes. He would when his father was visiting, but not on his own. He would leave on the television on through the start of 60 Minutes. The ticking, and then turn it off.

At that point, on regular weekends, I would start worrying. Generally we would have dinner, and I would try and eat really quickly. Dinner was always a family affair, each day of the week, but on Sunday nights, I would excuse myself to "do my homework."

My mother would always ask, "Oh, Leesa, you have not finished your homework for the weekend." Well, sort of a question/statement than an actual question, but she would say this every Sunday night.

I don't have homework anymore, and, you know, my husband does not watch football games or 60 Minutes. So this is more of a memory than anything.

Is 60 Minutes still around? The clock has been ticking for years, and I wonder how many 60 Minutes fans have not outlasted the television program.

Random Friday #15

Wonderblog
The other day, I found out that Mr. Whipple, of Charmin fame, died. Well, he died in November, and I found out here. The name of the blog is Wonderful Wonderblog, and when I looked at some of the entries – a lot of them have to do with people who have died recently. He has four February entries, two of which are about people who have died (Steve Gerber and Shell Kepler). Okay, I don't have a clue who these two people are, but I find it strange that someone with wonderful in his blog name has three RIPs that I noticed.

On Children
Every two or three months, I go to the Caring Bridge site and look at people's personal sites. My last link to them was Ethan Hoffman, and I have not been on the sits in a while. Ethan died in October 2007. I did not know the parents, but I followed some of their struggles. They have a slideshow on another site. Don't visit if you don't want to sob. One of the sites I used to visit was for someone who lost her dad. She wrote encouraging things to the parent's families, so I tripped over her URL a lot. Well, she has a lot of haters, because I think, most believe she turned her site into a personal blog. These sites are supposed to be about families going through life-threatening illnesses (mostly cancers). And most of the sites are for children.

I find it interesting that there are haters on a site dedicated to offering comfort. One of the first children I saw on Caring Bridge was Olivia, and I wrote about it a long time ago.

James Blunt
James Blunt has a song called "Your Beautiful", and every time I hear it, I bawl. A couple of years ago, several Caring Bridge sites (including Olivia's) had some video to the song or the song playing in the background.

The other day, someone was bashing James Blunt, and I piped up, saying, "Oh, I like him."

The guy's retort: "All that proves is that you have a uterus."

I felt insulted. I tried to think of a comeback, but I couldn't.

Mad Dog Mengden
Someone sent me a YouTube video, and it is pretty funny. Molly Ivins is a journalist (or humorist), and although the video is professionally edited, it is hard to believe this subject.

I am not from Texas, but I learned two things about Texas law:

1. Owning six dildos is makes one a felon, but owning five dildos makes one a hobbyist.
2. The State of Texas made sodomy a crime. Originally the senators just wanted to make homosexual sodomy a crime, but because it would probably be considered unconstitutional because it was discriminatory, so they made all sodomy illegal.

Oh, and after I watched the video, it suggested this video that is more audio than video (a gag phone call). Funny as heck.



Time Off Together
Grant and ~Deb have been taking time away from blogging at the same time. It is sort of like watching two co-workers leave for lunch at about the same time. First thought is that they are sleeping together. By "first thought" I meant my first thought, not yours.

TV with the Sound Down
The other day I was watching television, and my hubbie called (he was still at work). I turned the television to mute and then answered it. I was watching NCIS, and when talking on the phone to my hubbie, I realized that you could watch NCIS and still get the full impact. Mark Harmon is a hottie. I am not sure what the show is about, but Mark Harmon is a hottie. I have heard from reliable sources (reading the headlines from rags while waiting in line at the grocery store) that Mark Harmon is sort of a difficult guy in real life. Well, guess I should consider the source, because he is a hottie. Did I mention that?

Medical Questions
I posted a long time ago about something related to colon cleansing, and I thought about it the other day. I googled it at work, and I got a lot of hits. I mean, a lot of hits. And it seems like everybody is cleaning out their colons. Makes me wonder if I am alone in not cleaning myself out. Guess I need to work on this.

Word Verification
For Asian Porn, click here.

Okay, now that Grant is gone, I have an idea. I heard Grant say recently that he doesn't get spam and his word verification is turned off. Please, everyone, including lurkers, go to Grant's blog and place some spam. Say something very spammy. Oh, and if you can't think of something spammy, go here.

I wanted to do somethign for this very special day, "Leap Year Day," but I could not think of anything fun to do.

The Holy Land

I saw the following commercial on YouTube a while back (March 19, 2007, to be exact).



For those of you who don't click on videos (or those who have videos blocked at work), the video is an ad for Israel and they are using sex to sell the idea of going to Israel. Now, I am not posting this just so that the guys and girls can see sexy women in video format. No, that's not the point.

Hey, there is a replay button on the player. Neat.

Wait a minute, what was I attempting to write? Oh, yeah, someone made a commercial using sex to sell the Holy Land. Can you imagine the pitch? I mean, I don't know what the Israel Chamber of Commerce looks like, but I imagine a bunch of Hassidic Jews, Muslim Shaman and friendly Catholic Nuns sitting around a conference table, listening to advertising firms pitching ideas.

Ad Man: "We all know that Israel is the cradle of religion."

Hassidic Jew: "Actually, Egypt is known as the cradle of religion."

Ad Man: "Yeah, I knew that. I mean Israel has a crapload of religious stuff."

Catholic Nun: "I am not sure we would categorize this as crapload."

Ad Man: "The point is that when people think of Israel, they either think of people praying or people blowing other people up."

Muslim Shaman: "And you want us to market that vacationers can get blown up when they visit?"

Ad Man: "No, actually, people know about religion. And they know about the danger involved."

Pause while everyone looks at the ad man.

Ad Man: "I just think having a commercial with a little tits and ass would attract people to the Holy Land. Gets their minds off of the danger, and supplement the religion."

At least that's what I imagine when I view the commercial. That and thinking I did not know you could show your boobs off in the beaches in Israel. Makes one want to go. Damn ad man.

Disjointed Views of Marriage

A long time ago, Prata made the following comment:

Marriage...the lemming race. *chuckles*

Seriously though, I've never viewed marriage as a necessity. Not that I wouldn't get married if I found someone that I wanted to be with that felt it was a necessary part of their ideal relationship outcome; however, I think I'd have to question why it was a necessity to them in the first place.

I believe you're mostly correct there Leesa. People get married to share things that are possibly very personal (good or bad) with someone that can identify and has a stake in these things. But, does marriage make you any more likely to have a stake in what happens to the significant other than say, a serious boyfriend/girlfriend? If someone commits to you, is marriage necessary to say that they have a stake in something?

I know you're not trying to make that point, I'm just asking your view I suppose. Does marriage outweigh a committed individual's actual stake in or commitment to a relationship?

Prata made the comments in March of 2006 and I wanted to answer them. I saved his comment, probably because it touched on something I wanted to write about at the time. I remember I was thinking a lot about my marriage.

In the same area I saved this message, I saved a fragment of a note I wrote a fellow blogger. Some of you may remember Muse. She started and blew up three or four blogs in a few years. Her penname, Muse, is quite common in the blogging world, and I don't think it has anything to do with the English rock band. It probably has more to do with the nine muses in Greek mythology¹:

• Calliope (the 'beautiful of speech'): chief of the muses and muse of epic or heroic poetry
  Clio (the 'glorious one'): muse of history
  
• Erato (the 'amorous one'): muse of love or erotic poetry, lyrics, and marriage songs
  
• Euterpe (the 'well-pleasing'): muse of music] and lyric poetry
  
• Melpomene (the 'chanting one'): muse of tragedy
  
• Polyhymnia or Polymnia (the '[singer] of many hymns'): muse of sacred song, oratory, lyric, singing and rhetoric
  
• Terpsichore (the '[one who] delights in dance'): muse of choral song and dance
  
• Thalia (the 'blossoming one'): muse of comedy and bucolic poetry
  
• Urania (the 'celestial one'): muse of astronomy

Anyway, here is part of the letter I wrote Musey:

When you wrote, "Nothing is worse then a woman who stops talking, because it means she's given up. Feigned complacency is all I have left. My fight is gone, I've let it go. My peace is restored without the aid of you. My life, my rules. Volunteer, not victim. My life is what I make it......Muse" I was truly touched.

And then when Melanie wrote the next few paragraphs, that is what I felt when reading what you wrote, though I would not have expressed it so eloquently.

I am fighting the same fight you are; trying to save my marriage. I am Catholic, and for better or worse, I really want things to work out with me and hubbie. And I have expressed on more than one occasion how I want things to work out between you and yours. Sometimes I feel like hubbie is not trying – but because of hormones or circumstances or whatever, things tend to change. So most of the time, hubbie is working with me on our marriage.

Muse, I don't know if this is the case for you and your love. Maybe he is more blasé with the whole thing. That's what it seems like to me. I have known women who settle – because of kids or things or reputation or whatever. If that were the case with me, I would not settle, and I actually don't believe my Church would want me to settle as well. If each partner is not "mutually supportive," then a Catholic marriage does not exist. I know, this part doesn't matter for you – just thinking out loud.

Recently I have had really depressing thoughts. But hubbie always picks me up, sometimes a little late, but always picks me up. I am not sure you have that. And when I want more than hubbie can give, he tries to give. He tries.

Musey, only you know what is best for you. It seems, however, that you are spent. Not sure you would make a good decision right now. You need rejuvenation to make sure your outlook is clear, so you can see what choices there are, let alone choosing the right one for you and your children. For me, it involved therapy and medication. For you, it might involve something else. While similar in ways, we are all different.

I have no answers – just want to give you some support, Musey!

Again, this was written in early 2006. Hubbie and I struggled through 2006, and things eventually got better. I lost touch with my friend Muse. Writing was cathartic for Muse, and I hope that she has peace in her life; that's why she drifted out of my life. I really hope that is the case.

I sometimes imagine her playing with her dog. Can't remember exactly what it looks like, but it doesn't matter. To run with a dog, throwing objects and letting the dog retrieve them. Dogs live to please people; that's part of their joy.

Whether you wear loose fitting clothing and dance with Apollo or run barefoot in the sand with a pet, sometimes getting away from the daily grind is what is called for. I don't know where this post is going.

Sometimes marriage is a lot like a post with no real point. You are just doing things that come natural, spending time with one another, trying to figure out why the heck you are living with the guy who snores and clips his toenails in bed. And part of you loves the fact that when you wake up in the morning and automatically make two eggs, you have someone to share breakfast with. When I was first married, I thought marriage was easy. I am not that naïve anymore. It just sometimes pisses me off when people look like marriage is easy.

Oh, and Prata chucked because I made a connection with people getting married and lemmings following each other off a cliff. Maybe this whole post could have been summed up in that piece of imagery.

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¹Taken from Wikipedia. It may not be right, but it is fairly immaterial to the posting.

Thoughtful Giving

Almost one year to the day, I wrote a post about princess sheets – about a compassionate story of how a nurse helped a dying child. This blog entry is about something similar.

I purposefully embedded an ad from St. Jude's. The tag line is "Madelyn is fighting cancer. Please help St. Jude save her life." I find this ad to be extremely manipulative. It is akin to someone saying, write me a check or the child dies. Now I have no problem with a non-profit organization asking for money. In Savannah, we have a children's hospital imbedded in Memorial Medical Center. Sick kids go there. And if they are really sick, they go to Atlanta. Atlanta's tag line, "Children need Children's."

I have heard many actors speak about the good work St. Jude is doing. My guess is that they give them cue cards, tell them what to say. Some of the actors may have even visited St. Jude's. I mean, one could visit St. Jude's and Graceland in the same day. Okay a little bit calloused.

Going back to St. Jude's. I really don't know much about the hospital itself. I have never been a patient there, nor have I known any patients who received care there. They are a research hospital, focusing their efforts on pediatric cancer research. Danny Thomas, I believe, started St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital, and his daughter Marlo Thomas continues to be its main spokesperson (and major contributor). I remember her for her "Free to Be . . . You and Me", a television special that I would listen to (on a record) when I was growing up. I don't remember the program, but I do remember listening to records instead of television.

I don't have a problem with St. Jude's as a hospital. My problem with them is with their ads. Some of the television ads (and movie theater ads) basically imply that if you don't give money to St. Jude's, some little girl (or boy) will die. And that is really not the case.

Timing
The ad shows a child with cancer, and with cancer, time is of the essence. If I give money to St. Jude's, the money does not get deposited to the research organization immediately and then a cure is found. Can you imagine a physician saying, "Well, I am 98% towards the cure to this cancer, but I am just going to kick back until I get that last $50 from Leesa." The implication is that the current child will die without support, and the child is already undergoing treatment – experimental treatment – at St. Jude's.

Government Grants
Like it or not, the Federal Government spends a lot of money on healthcare research. Part of me thinks we should personally supplement this, because of the idea that we would be getting at the root of the problem. Thousands are slashing at the leaves, when one attacks the root. But part of me thinks to myself, let the government handle this, and hope the healthcare research is not on enlarging the urethra on men who want to pee faster.

Compassion
St. Jude's is a cancer hospital, and for my money, I believe that more needs to be spent for compassion. I give money to our local children's hospital, and I know the money goes to local children. I am with Mother Theresa on giving locally. Or if I wanted to give to Atlanta, for instance, where they have children who receive bone marrow transplants, I know Atlanta's Children Hospital (technically called Children's Healthcare of Atlanta) sees Savannah's children as well. Yeah, I know that giving money to the children's hospital probably does not go into research, but it supports children who are on research protocols.

When I hear drives for local charities, the approach is more normally "Look at all of the good work we have done. Give us money to help us continue these efforts."

When I was growing up, I went around the block to gather money for the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon. Someone from the neighborhood would go down to the local TV station to deliver the money; we never went ourselves. I would watch the telethon for hours, as Jerry Lewis would beg the audience for one more dollar. Now, I gave money to the Muscular Dystrophy Association for a bunch of years, and I don't think the Federal Government was really putting much money into research at the time.

I am not saying that giving to MDA is good or bad. Part of me wants to give to a bunch of organizations. But you know what would be better, and something I have adopted? Concentrated giving makes more economic sense. If you give to one or two organizations, it makes the giving more efficient. If you give to 20 organizations, all twenty spend money on trying to get you to give more. If you give to two, the other eighteen can concentrate their efforts on others, and you will be able to concentrate giving to the two organizations.

Oh, and I give anonymously. I would like to say that I do so because of Bible scripture ("But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.", Mat 6:3). It isn't. Most organizations put out an annual report, and if you give more than a certain amount, your name is put in the report (unless you tell them that you want your donation to be anonymous). Some development people scan annual reports to get leads. If one gives to one organization, you know the person is a giver. So you ask. And, since I am concentrating efforts, I don't want to know. I might change my mind.

And you may have guessed, I am not giving to St. Jude's. Madelyn is a cutie pie and all, but I do give locally.

Walnuts and Split Rail

I saw this photo the other day, and it truly took my breath away. I know the image is small – click on the image to see it larger and on the Flickr site. I was toying with the idea of placing another image on this blog entry, but the cobblestone farmhouse has a more modern addition in the background which both ruins and makes the picture for me. Let me explain.

I love the look of stone. The farmhouse is magnificent, and the stonework is beautiful. There is an addition to the back that probably makes living in the house much more comfortable, but it detracts from the aesthetic beauty. The rambling creek in the front also adds to the beauty of the picture – a picture I really enjoy. But I wonder about the people who made the addition. Were they thinking of radiant heat, spacious interiors and a Jacuzzi in the master bath suite?

Back to the image I chose to borrow for this post. First, the only reason I know the trees are walnuts is because of the title of the photo. I would have guessed pecans. And I am saying pecan as a southern lady would say the word (pə kɑn instead of pi kæn). Walnuts always seemed like a more northern nut to me, though I would hazard to guess that we can grow walnuts in Georgia. Perhaps many of us just don't choose to grow walnuts.

Walnuts, Pecan trees and Oak trees have wonderful bark, and this picture beautifully shows the trees. I could get lost in the bark, wondering what insects call this their home. I like insects, though viewing them at a safe distance. Insects seem to have weird facts associated with them – that a cockroach can live for ten days after being decapitated, or that the Monarch butterfly can travel up to 17 miles per hour. I sometimes wonder if a man was sucked into a tornado and they clocked him at 80 miles per hour, does that mean that he is faster than a cheetah?

Oh, back to the photo.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live on a farm. Would I still be as fascinated with trees and stone buildings? I mean, if I lived on a farm, would I be writing of fascination with Kinko's and Starbucks? Split rail fences seem very romantic, but I wonder how practical they are – I mean, I would think that the wood would begin to rot fairly quickly, rain pooling along the rail during the rainy season.

Barns have a similar romantic notion. I mean, ever since I saw "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers", I wanted someone to construct a barn in my backyard. Well, not just anybody, but a bunch of handsome men that could dance and fight over me.

Interesting that when one sees a picture, many thoughts can enter one's mind. Perhaps that's why it is called art.

Blogthings

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convincing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Random Friday #14

Strange Thought of the Dead
I always thought, well, when I was a little girl, at least, that when you die, you can sort of float around on the earth and observe others. Not an original thought, but a thought I have. Well, it just occurred to me that I have not masturbated since my grandparents have died. These events are not causally related. So, if you can view the living after you have died, my grandparents have never seen me masturbate. Of course, now, they have read about it on my frickin' blog. Crap.

Writer's Strike
The Writer's Strike ended on February 13, and I did not find out until the eighteenth. My guess is that this will not affect me too much. Plus I need to listen to the news more often. There are some news stories I just don't want to miss - like when Fidel Castro is going to step down. I have been paying attention since the 80s, and it would be a darned shame if I missed that story. I mean, I remember when he got sick . . . .

A History of Evil
I saw a YouTube video called "A History of Evil", partly because I thought there may have been a cameo by Grant. Not that Grant is really evil. I like the narrator's voice. The credits say the narrator is Brenna Callinan. Not that Brenna Callinan is evil. Not sure what the point of this is.

The Real News
There is a "news" program on YouTube: The Real News. Pretty soon we will all be writing news for others to read. Blogs, I guess, are sort of like this. "Oh, look, Janie got a new nose ring." And she posted a video, showing the experience. Neat. Sure glad Aunt Gladys can view this.

Cursing
Some people think that when people refrain from cursing, it shows weakness. I think those people are just sad. I know what you were thinking – that I would say that it fucking pisses me off. Sorry to disappoint.

Peeing
My hubbie has started a new habit with peeing. He starts to flush the toilet before he finishes peeing. At first, I thought, "What the hey, he pees standing up. Why does he need to save another five seconds with the flushing thing?" Well, sometimes he mis-judges, and has to flush the toilet twice. For pee. I just tell him he is killing fish. It doesn't seem to shame him into giving up this new habit.

Drawing
I have a niece and nephew and both can draw better than me. I can drive a car and they can't, so it is not like they have eclipsed me yet, but it is only a matter of time.

What is Real
There is so much we don't know. For instance, some people say vaccines are harmless. Some people disagree. Some people think cigarette smoking is harmless (okay, that cigarette smoke does not cause cancer), some do not. We get all kinds of information and I can't figure any of it out. I think it is better to just give up. Instead of looking for what is real, I guess we are starting to look for what is reasonable.

A Mortgage By Any Other Name
I hear all these stories about banks tightening up lending, and I don't believe it. I got an offer to refinance my home up to a certain amount. I think the bank bought my information from my mortgage company (yeah, I really think they sell this information), but instead of saying I could borrow up to a certain amount (the junk mail almost always uses the original loan amount), they have a typo, inserting a "1" before the amount. Er, that extra digit represents a million dollars. Darned fineprint probably says something about not borrowing more than the house is worth. I am tempted to contact the company. My husband just wants to frame the junk mail. How pathetic are we?

Strange Places

Okay guys, I was cleaning out my "blog drafts" - I sometimes save half-of-a-thought in drafts and finish it later. Okay, over the past 18 months, I had about 20 partially written posts. The following entry is half-written, and I composed it in June 2007.x

I think I wanted to capture the feeling of waking up in a strange place, then hazily recount the events that led to being in a strange bed. It probably would have been light erotica, but I really don't recall the direction in which I was going.

I was not happy enough with the beginning to finish it, but the words were not complete crap either. This blog has been a strange place for the last six months for me; I apologize for that. I half-understand why people blow up their blogs, perhaps wanting to start from scratch or destroy the evidence.

Me, I am not going to do that. Blow things up. Seems too violent, and some people still access my older posts in Google and other search engines. Some of the advice is good (what not to say to someone who has lost a friend), and some of it is not so useful (which superhero I want to have sex with). Okay, I just read the what to say when someone died blog just now, and I think people are going to think that Google sucks now, because when they type in "what to say when someone dies", they get sort of a smart-ass response. Personally, I hope that karma is a lot of crap, or I am in big trouble.

For a bit of a more humorous story, check out yesterday's post. It is a childhood memory, somewhat humorous. Oh, and I can't help but notice that this introduction is longer than the blog entry.

When she awoke, the surroundings seemed strange. She was not in her dorm room; she was not at her parent's home; she was in someone else's dorm room.

At first, this shocked her. Not that she had forgotten exactly what had led to this moment, but that she half-expected to be in her own room.

Her clothes were strewn on the floor of the dorm room, and she was laying in bed alone, completely naked. Or was that completely nude? Naked seemed more appropriate, as this seemed to describe a bit of harshness in her waking up in strange surroundings.

Her first-time lover was across the room, in his bed no doubt.

The next sense was the smell of unclean sheets. Yes, the bed she occupied had sheets that were in desperate need of attention. Great, the dirty sheets were touching her all over, and now she definitely would call herself naked, not nude.

As she focused her eyes on the paint spackled ceiling, the events of the evening came into focus as well. She was dancing with a group of friends, and she remembers being asked to dance by a couple of guys. Not really her type, but they were buying her drinks. That sort of made them half-way acceptable. But "half-way acceptable" was a far cry from what one of them had become, her lover.

Coconuts and Pineapples

When I was growing up, there were relatively few fruits and vegetables in the supermarket. The lettuce was iceberg, the oranges were one or two varieties, and there were only a few kinds of apples as well. No jokes about me being there at the Garden of Eden. By the way, I promised myself I would never say, "in my day," and the longer I walk this Earth, the more I found myself drawn to that phrase.

Every once in a while, my father would bring home a fruit or vegetable foreign to me. The two I most remember are the coconut and pineapple.

Coconuts
My dad just tossed me a coconut, and said, "Can you open this for the family?"

Meekly, I asked, "How?"

"Not a clue," was my only hint.

I banged the coconut on the sink, and nothing happened. I banged it again, hoping for a different outcome, and nothing happened. Then I placed the coconut on the kitchen floor and banged it on the floor. Same outcome. I took a can of pees from the kitchen cupboard, not sure if I thought it would be the best hammer for the fruit, and I beat the coconut. Still nothing.

I ended up taking a screwdriver from the garage, and pounding the screwdriver into the coconut with a hammer. Oh, for those of you who may not know, this may not be the best way to open the coconut.

I was able to rescue most of the milk into a glass, and I mopped up the rest of the milk from the floor. Yes, I could tell that there was liquid inside, but between the can of peas and going back and forth for pounding tools, I forgot about the liquid inside.

I eventually opened the darned fruit, served the pieces that touched screwdriver to my brother (he did not care, though I don't think he was properly informed about the preparation techniques used), served some to me, and let my Mom serve the rest to the family.

My dad bought another one a few months later, and asked me to open it. I suggested that my brother open this one, and Dad concurred.

Brother asked Dad how to open the fruit, and he said, "Ask your sister."

My response, when asked: "Not a clue." And I handed him a can of baked beans.

Pineapples
Pineapples were another fruit that was a treat. I never used a screwdriver or can of peas to open this fruit. Instead, this then thirteen-year-old used a very large and sharp knife.

I remember placing my small hands around the handle, ensuring that no fingers were anywhere near the blade. Then I thought, interestingly enough, why the heck are my parents letting me use such a dangerous kitchen utensil at a tender age. I was pretty sure there was no life insurance involved, and if there was, my dad would have suggested using the knife on the coconut.

I cut the top of the pineapple off first, later planting it – the plant lasted several years and never made a tree. It looked like a big airplane plant with better leaves.

Then after 237 cuts to the rest of the pineapple and half-of-a-roll of paper towels, I extracted the fruit and the core. I told my brother the core of a pineapple was a hallucinogen, and he ate it that night. He ate so much of it that his throat started itching – a side effect of the hallucinogen, I suggested. For years, he thought he had a pineapple trip. Until he learned he just had a mean sister.

I wonder if people would eat more fruit if they had better experiences with them – instead of their mothers and fathers saying, "Eat your darned fruit and veggies." I just wish I had a good star fruit story.

The Grass Is Greener

Last week, I was exiting my local quickie stop as a woman was entering it. I noticed her not because I generally leer at women (~deb is an exception), but because she was wearing a shirt and no bra. White shirt, dark aureoles, no bra. Now, this woman was not big-chested. She reminded me of a friend who was a runner. I have a theory about runners. Women who like to run are generally flat-chested.

How the heck can you not know that people can see your nipples?

When I was younger, I wanted to be flatter. I developed young, so I guess I thought the "grass was always greener...." I always thought I could do more with less up there. I thought I could run faster, that I could be taken more seriously, that more men would stare at my eyes. I also thought I could increase my wardrobe options. Of course, dating a woman who wears the same dress size would increase my wardrobe as well. Well, just saying.

Then, the other day, The Peanut Queen tells us about a new bra that enables a woman to store wine in her own bra. Now, if you had small ta-tas, you could theoretically store more wine in your bra. Of course, at $29.95, the bras are probably less than supportive. Carrying an addition two pounds of boobage, though, might really look strange. I can imagine sloshing while walking. For me, if I am going to wear a wine bra, I am going to have enough wine to do some damage.

I have found popcorn in my bra before. If I was more flat chested, I don't think this would have ever been the case. Hey, I was in college, drunk, and watching art films with a bunch of friends. There are many reasons for having said popcorn in my bra. Don't judge me, man.

So basically, I have wanted to be flat-chested because:

1. I could run faster;
2. Men would look at my eyes;
3. I want to wear some wine bra that turns me from a woman into an alcoholic camel; and
4. I want to keep popcorn away from my boobs.

Maybe the grass looks greener, but it's only because of the horse poop used to fertilize it.

President's Day

Today is President's Day. When I was growing up, we seemed to look up to our president. Even when he was tripping down the tarmac. Yeah, Gerald Ford. I don't know much about him, but I know there was no blue dress in his presidency. He did pardon Tricky Dick, and he was the only president never elected¹ (four points on the history quiz for that one).

But if someone was invited to a Gerald Ford dinner, they would feel honored. With GW and Clinton, there are people who would spit on their face, and I don't think it is just because people are angrier and bolder than in the seventies and eighties. I remember, years later and before his death, when someone talked about Ronald Reagan. They said that he would never take his coat off in the Oval Office, out of respect to the office. In this “results always” world we now live in, lots of us could care less if the President wore flip flops and a tank top in the Oval Office, but part of me likes the fact that Ronald Reagan felt reverence for the office. Now, at the time, Reagan was not my favorite person – he ousted a Georgian from the White House, you know – but in time and when I grew older (I was but a teenager when he was in office), I grew to like him for what I learned about him. My parents were not real Reagan fans, and you know, many young people just parrot what their parents think.

When I was in elementary school, most of the boys and some of the girls wanted to be President. Not sure that is the case now-a-days. Personally, I would rather be Queen of North America – well, I would start out as Queen of the United States, and then in my bold first few years, invade Canada and Mexico. Well, it was my fantasy, not based in reality at all. Plus I figure most of these presidents are bought and paid for by big business, so I could not do much worse.

I guess that brings me back to my lament. I used to look up to presidents – Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Kennedy, and many others. Perhaps, though, it is what you learn and when you learn it. In forth grade, we did not know that Jefferson owned slaves. But in high school, we not only knew that Jefferson owned slaves, but he probably fathered a child by one. And I would not really want to look up to a man who abandoned a child of his just because it is not presidential.

I don’t know who will win the next presidential race, but the primaries are interesting. I have seen Hillary go from grand sorceress, expert in all things political, to someone who made many mistakes since South Carolina. She has gone from “woman with experience” to outsider and change-agent. Funny thing is that the Hillary supporters point to her experience in the White House. I guess Monica Lewinsky also has experience in the White House, but I am not sure Monica would make a good President. I guess I don’t like Hillary either, something that doesn’t seem particularly important, but you know, I think this lack of likability may keep her from the White House. Obama is extremely likable – so is Huckabee. I feel compelled to vote for Obama but I really don’t know too much of what he stands for. He is attractive, well-spoken and probably would keep his jacket on while in the Oval Office. With Hillary Clinton, I can just picture Huma Abedin’s bra hanging from a knob in the Lincoln bedroom. Perhaps we get the politicians we deserve because of the reasons we have for choosing them. Me, I want to just climb back in bed this morning. The next Super Tuesday (and the only one before this year) is tomorrow, huh? Looks like Hillary will be in the lead after Tuesday. If she did not have such a high bitch factor, I am sure many would not mind seeing her win with Huma Abedin by her side.

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¹Spiro Agnew ran as Richard Nixon's Vice President, and resigned for tax evasion. The IRS got Capone and Spiro Agnew. And Willie Nelson. They scare the crap out of me.

The Return of "Random Friday"

Haters
I have heard two people write or say, "I hate people who are not open-minded." I wonder if that is a close-minded notion, and thus the hater hates themselves and need some time with a shrink.

Strippers
When I was in college, I met someone who was a prostitute. I was drunk, the rest of my friends were drunk, and we found her on the street. No, we did not employ her. She sort of wanted to scoot us away because she was "on the clock". That was random – I wanted to tell you that I have started watching a blog by someone named Justine Sane. She is not a whore. She is a stripper – and my story would have been better if I met a stripper when in college. But I didn't. I find the real lives of strippers fascinating. Sad, but fascinating. Anyway, Justine was saying that strippers without weird piercings make more money because older men (men with money) don't like them. The words Justine used seemed like she is mentoring her young friend.

Can you imagine someone being a "Stripper Life Coach"?

Super Tuesday
I have heard a lot about Super Tuesday. Some say it was last Tuesday, some the Tuesday before, and some say it is next Tuesday. I am so confused. It was so much easier when voters in the Northeast told us who to vote for.

Arguments
Earlier in the week, I made a comment about a blog review. The review was short and crappy, and I just said that. There were three sites reviewed and each got a sentence. One site may have gotten two sentences. My comment was that people drop by and land on the last thing posted. Had I arrived on this site, I would not visit again because of the review that was barely a review. And then they attacked me personally, not my observation. I have known some pretty dumb people in my day, and you know, even not-so-smart people are right every once in a while. Imagine someone telling you, "Hey, your shirt is on fire." Instead of heeding the warning, you attack the person. "Hey, you are not a firefighter, you don't have the necessary skills to discern the difference between someone enveloped in flames, and someone with falling leaves on their body."

They attacked me, and then I said something else. Then some more attacks, and I decided I was bored with this already. I put these folks in the same boat as perpetual haters. Hanging around with them will cost you some karma, as well as contribute to non-fun drinking. I don't need it.

Smart Sex
When I was in college, everyone considered Harvard students the smartest. So when someone suggested I look at the blog "Sex and the Ivy", I figure I could learn a thing or two. What I learned was that even Harvard co-eds have sex, and some even write about it. Lena Chen, the author of the blog, self-describes her as "a blogger and freelance writer". I wonder what Drew Gilpin Faust, Harvard president, thinks of this. The link is to her public Harvard email address.

Wana-Be Reviewer
I half-want to join with a bunch of people and review blogs. Give positive as well as negative feedback. Then I settle back into reality and remember that I am actually pretty darned busy.

Bitchin' about V-Day
I tell my hubbie he doesn't need to buy me flowers (he did) on Valentine's Day. But I never mean it. Lucky for me, he knows I am a bit of a liar concerning flowers.

Have a wonderful weekend!

21st Century Love

I have seen a lot of blog entries about love lately, and one of the most beautiful passages about love I have ever heard is in the Bible. It also happens to be one of the most popular passages (1 Corinthians 13: Lines 4 through 7):

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

But it occurs to me that each generation has its backdrop to love. In the fifties, you had puddle skirts and letterman's jackets, in the sixties, there was mind-altering experiences, in the seventies, there was disco. You get the idea.

But this day in age, well, I am not sure I would be god date material. I don't know how to text at all, and I am not sure how sexy I would look typing my phone number into someone else's cell phone. I just don't have the finger skills.

Then there is the whole iPod thing. Not that I don't know how to use an iPod – I do. But my taste in music was never edgy. And let's face it, hot girls like edgy music. Plus I would not like someone looking at my selection of iPod stories. That is way too personal. I don't know. Something tells me that I wouldn't get into this 21^st Century Love.

When I was growing up, Valentine's Day was stressful. I mean, we had to give everyone in the class a Valentine's Card, and I never wanted guys to get the wrong idea. Now, I understand that sense it was required, only a moron would get the wrong impression of a card where Pepe Le Pew is grasping a cat, trying to plant a kiss. Or of the Necco candy hearts, with sayings like "Be Mine", "Hug Ya" and "Look Good." But when you are twelve, the world, though quite simple and innocent, seems a lot more complicated.

One Valentine's Day I remember vividly was when one of my friends did not get a card from every person. Someone skipped him. He had a cleft pallet, and some mean girl omitted him from her list. How cruel can we be?

Valentine's Day as I got older in school was even more stressful – when no one did not have to give you anything, and the darned student council upped the ante with carnations. Yeah, I know quite a few girls who counted the number of flowers she received. I always got a couple – which relieved me more than excited me. Sex and politics even in middle school. Well, not real sex, but you get the idea.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Refreshed

I was watching Kicesies Vlog the other day – okay, it was months ago – but she had this expression that I wore in the past several months. She talks about blue skies and green grass. And a reprieve.

That's sort of what I have been doing with this blog. Over the past few months, I have looked at relatively few blogs (have been too busy or perhaps not in the mood), but I have continued to write. Not for myself or for you, dear readers, but just writing because I did not want to finish my blog. I did not want to close the door.

I have not really been a good blogger, and for that, I am sorry. I have not kept up with my blog roll – two more have bitten the dust, so to speak. Cinderella – well, I knew about that one for a while – and someone else. I also want to tweak my blog, to make it easier for me to keep in contact with some bloggers. Not that I always comment, but my life is richer when I read.

I will also try to label my blog entries. Not that it matters to you, but it helps me to tend to my blog. Like I take the time to categorize the blog entry instead of just typing it out for twenty minutes.

Not much of a blog entry today. I just wanted to say that I feel refreshed, reenergized. Like when one stretches out (the reason for the picture). And I feel good today.

Erotica

I saw the ~Deb got reviewed the other day. I am not going to tell you the site, because I don't want to drive traffic their way. I don't think their reviews are helpful. They are sort of mean-spirited and juvenile.

Anyway, I was reviewed by them a long time ago. Twice actually. And reviewed by another site. Oh, the point is not that my site has been reviewed in the past. Focus, Leesa, focus. Where was I? The other site actually mentioned that the erotica on my site was disturbing. Erotica sometimes is supposed to be disturbing, I guess.

And it gives me a moment to pause. Is erotic all that bad? Madonna thinks it is okay, and I sort of use Madonna as my guidepost. Okay, that is a bit of a joke.



I don't write erotica all that often. It seems to be an outlet of sorts. I have been a very good girl for several years. Yeah for me. But I still have impure thoughts, impure urges. And my erotica is like gum to an ex-smoker. A crutch – perhaps, but it helps me not stray.

Now I am not someone else's guidepost. I hope I am not. I just want to write a little bit, and every once in a while, a post or two might help someone. That's probably why I still write even when I don't feel like it.

Some things are sinful, but I don't believe erotica has to be sinful. I mean, read the following:

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

The words may or may not be familiar with you. They are beautiful, they are erotic, and they can be found in the Bible.

I know my words are not worthy of the Bible. I am not saying that at all. What I am saying is that even the most holy texts contain erotica in them. Why can't some do nothing blog?

Random Friday on Monday

A long time ago, I said something like, I am going to start this random Friday post. And then I half-ass did it. Or is it, "I did it half-assed." Half-ass? You know, since I don't curse all that much, my sayings are sort of half-assed. Anyway, since I screwed the saying and the random Friday thing up, I think I will do a random Monday. A word processor and a Diet Dr. Pepper, and I am off.

Assumptions, Linearly
You know, I don't like a lot of what I write. When I write it. But if I look at what I write two years later, I think, "Holy crap. That doesn't suck all that much." And you know, in ten years, I am sure it is going to be some really great work. My writing is like wine. Unless it will turn to vinegar. That would really suck.

Because you know, you can't assume linear growth, because if you could, I would be forty-seven feet tall by now.

Writer's Strike
I know why the writer's strike is lasting so long. I am sure they are scanning blogs looking for material. Now they won't find any here, but I am sure they are piecing together material from blogs. They don't have to pay anyone, and you know, there material is sort of crappy anyway.

Life Lock
I saw this the other day from Life Lock (okay, I saw it on a blog, but looking it up on a site seems like work, and I loath work):

If your wallet is ever lost or stolen: We’re here to help! Just give us a call and a WalletLock Specialist will help you contact each affected credit card, bank or document issuing company, cancel those accounts and complete the paperwork and steps necessary to replace your lost documents*, including your credit/debit cards, driver’s license, social security card, insurance cards, checkbook – even travelers checks – at no additional cost.

What a wonderful service. Pretty soon con artists are going to enter the fray. Imagine having patsies send you their credit card numbers, insurance cards, checkbook info and the like. How easy would it be to steal an identity then? Yeah, I think like a crook.

Vampires
Someone said that they have a fear of vampires the other day, and I chuckled. I can be such a bitch (I edit my bitchiness out of my blog-writing). MS Word is great for that. Anyway, I told her if I had one fear, I would love to have a fear of vampires because vampires are not real.

PC
I sort of wish the Mac would have invented the PC. Control Alt Delete is so intuitive. Not. I get the Control-C for copy, and Control-V for paste (because the keys are next to one another). But so much more is confusing.

Lawyers verses Doctors
We have all heard funny things about doctors knowing more about sex than normal people. But we have not heard anything (I haven't, at least) about lawyers. I mean, that profession screws people over all of the time. Don't you think practice makes perfect. Also, if doctors are so good with the sex thing, why aren't there papers about the G-spot in the journals?

Happy Monday.

'Til Death Do Us Part (Maybe)

Part of me does not want to post today. I wrote a pretty decent¹ post yesterday, and knowing about blogging like I do, I know most people don't read more than one post deep. Well, unless the previous post is illustrated with full frontal nudity.

Plus, I have the crud. The crud that everyone seems to have now. I don't want to write.

I had a dream last night. I dreamt of my grandmother. I had a close relationship with my grandmother – she really was a special person. She lived a good, full life, dying in her mid-nineties. She was ready to die. All of my grandparents lived long lives, one of which even told me, nay, shocked me, when telling me once, "I am ready to die." I was young and idealistic, and did not really contemplate death until that day.

Well, my grandmother, after her death, started visiting me in my dreams.

The brain is a funny thing – made up of neurons soaking in organic liquid that gives us our thoughts – the "brain power" I am using to write this now is merely neurotransmitters – that's all science can prove. So I can't prove that my grandmother is visiting me from the grave. In fact, science can't help and my religion² can't either. Both are silent on the topic.

I chose to believe my grandmother visits me. She does so when I need answers. She talks in her own way, and sometimes she doesn't give me the answer I want to hear. Even if it is not really her, it gives me comfort. Perhaps the neurotransmitters in my brain are a little sweeter now that she has passed. And I don't even want to know what the Freudians would think of such a revelation.

Before a relative died, I was scared that all of this religion was wrong. That once you are laying in that pine box, you have made your last curtain call. You are no longer anything but food for whatever can penetrate that pine box. Personally, I hope they go after my neurotransmitters last.

I have a few more things to tell my grandmother.

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¹By pretty decent, I mean I made one decent point, referenced a couple of interesting YouTube people, and it only take twenty minutes to write.

²The Catholic Church used to believe in "speaking in tongues." You can see it in the second book of Acts (Acts 2:4-8). It can also be found in Mark, James and several other places in the Bible. The Catholic Church no longer acknowledges that people in this day in age can speak in tongues.

Discussing Religion

Prata brings up an interesting comment today, so instead of just responding in the comments section, I will devote a post to it. Okay, actually I have got nothing to write about again today, so this sort of acts as the filler.

I have discussed religion with lots of people, and you know, sometimes assumptions are made that are so full of crap. For instance, I assume that the person I am talking with knows about their own religion. And you know, that is not necessarily true.

I have heard others say, "Well, a neighbor of mine was Catholic, and he said . . . ." And it ends with a statement that is totally ridiculous. Like we don't really worship Jesus. I used to get mad at this, and then, after a while, I am just glad they did not torch the Catholic neighbors house.

But I do the same thing. There are a lot of Baptists in the area, and if I am talking to a Primitive Baptist, and they make a statement, I just take it on faith that they know what the hell they are talking about.¹ I don't go to their document of salvation and find out for myself. Partly because I am lazy, and it is easy for me just to poke holes in what they say, precisely because they sort of screwed something up. Generally, when you look at the doctrine up close, things seem a whole lot more plausible.

Catholics get razzed because priests can't marry and are supposed to be celibate. Did you know that Pope Silverius was the son of Pope Hormisdas? We are talking sixth century AD, so this was a long time ago. Well, I did not remember their names, but looked it up on Wikipedia. Still may not be right, but I have read and heard of a father-and-son pope. The Catholic Church did not always have this celibacy rule in effect.

Okay, there are some kooky rules for picking Pope, and I also sort of wonder why there have been so many Italian Popes. Pope Adrian VI, elected in 1522, was the only Dutch Pope, and last non-Italian to be elected pope until John Paul II in 1978. Now, it is hard for me to believe that the selection of a non-Italian Pope should only happen every 400 or so years.

The history of the Catholic Church – of many churches, really – can be really interesting.

I guess, my spastic point is to remember that just because someone belongs to a church, does not mean you should believe they know what that church really espouses. Oh, and you probably should not torch their house, even if they are wearing suits and giving out free Mormon Bibles.²

All of this religion got me to thinking about a recent – or not so recent – "Dictionary of Jack" video (song). JackDanyells, a really cute YouTuber, wrote and sang the original song, part of which is shown below:

The Ism Song
When it comes to religion
You can't go wrong
There's a million-billion isms
To help you find god
There's Taoism
Buddhism, Hinduism too,
And of course there's Judaism
For all the Jews.

omnism says religions are swell.
Atheism says there's no heaven or hell
Even Catholicism has its cross to bare
And there's always agnosticism
If you just don't care

Oh, and I have to imbed the video because he is so hot. I mean, because he is so insightful and clever.



Considering most of my audience is male, I guess I should imbed Hot for Words as well. If I was from another country and had implants and blond hair, I guess I would be her.



So much for me not having anything to say today.

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¹Yes, I purposefully placed the words "faith" and "hell" close to one another. Just because.

²I knew a friend who assumed the Mormon Bible was just another version of the King James Bible. Er, yeah, I have some really dumb friends.

Ash Wednesday

Okay, I was not going to post today. Today is Ash Wednesday, and it is a busy day for Catholics. We go to work, and at lunchtime, we go to Church, attending Mass and getting an ashen cross on our foreheads. Then back to work, and home. It sort of cuts the day short, and I don't really post on days when I have so much to do.

But I had an interesting experience today, and the experience just presented itself. When opportunity knocks . . . .

So after getting my ashes, I was motoring back towards my work. On the way, I passed a store that I had been meaning to visit in a few weeks. Being the good multi-tasker, I turned into their parking lot and entered the store quickly. Still on my lunch hour and late as all get out.

The store is, how shall I put it, a lingerie boutique. I start shopping, looking for something special. Not lingerie. Let's just call it, "cherry flavored." I grab the product – because I had run out nearly a month ago – and head to the cash register.

As I was getting out my credit card, the woman at the counter sort of snickers.

"Er," she starts, "I did not expect to see your type in the store today."

"My type," I respond, handing her my credit card, "whatever do you mean?"

"Religious," was the only response.

I was not offended – I saw this as a teaching moment. I tell her that religious does not mean sexless, and that I was buying it in preparation of Valentine's Day, for my husband. I further explained that St. Valentine was a Catholic saint. And I said something about him not being responsible for what happened in Chicago. When she did not get the reference, I thought perhaps I got the city wrong.

At least I was not buying a dildo.

Fat Tuesday

Mardi Gras is a wonderful day, a day I think should be celebrated throughout the United States and the world.

This is the time of year I wish I lived in New Orleans. I have visited New Orleans before, and I really love the culture, the decadence, the history. What I wouldn't miss the crime, the hurricanes, or many of the visitors.

Mardi gras comes from the Latin, meaning "flash a boob." Well, actually it comes from the French, meaning "fat Tuesday," but my Latin interpretation seems closer to the truth. Mardi gras was not always as brash, as full of boobs and booze, as it was in the past. Actually the booze was always part of mardi gras, but the booze has flowed freely in New Orleans since Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop first opened its doors.

We are moving into forty days of fasting and prayer, forty days of prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial, and mardi gras is sort of a buster shot of sin to tide one over the next 40 days.

The English call this day "Shrove Tuesday" or "Pancake Day". The English have a reputation of not being sexy. Let's examine this. Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans have really sexy mardi gras (or Carnival) celebrations, where they expose breasts. The English have "Pancake Day" where they eat pancakes. Breasts verses pancakes. You make the call.

Un-insightful Moment

I was walking from the restroom yesterday, and something occurred to me.

First, I have insightful thoughts at the weirdest moments. When I am brushing my teeth or hair, when I am in the shower, five minutes before I fall asleep. And all of these times are not good times to have insightful thoughts. I don't have a pen and paper handy. Oh, by the way, the thought on the way to the restroom was not one of these thoughts, but this other thought just occurred to me. You know, I would be totally screwed if I had multiple personalities vying for synapse function.

Upon exiting the restroom, I noticed the couch inside of the restroom. It reminded me that for men, going to the bathroom is just something to check off their lists of things to do – for women, it is more of an experience.

A few jobs ago, I had a desk where I could see the restroom, both men's and woman's. Men would walk in and out quickly, voiding their bladders, I would guess, and leaving. Occasionally a man would enter the restroom with something tucked under his arm for a more leisurely bathroom experience. Nothing says fine reading experience than experiencing a BM at the same time. <-- I really don't get pooping and reading at the same time. I love to read, and I have to poop. Not sure why men think these two events dovetail so nicely.

When I enter a bathroom that doesn't reek – and most women's restrooms are kept clean (probably because we don't pee on the floor) – I might start by doing my business in the stall. Sans reading material. One I wipe and flush (oh, and I don't know why men don't wipe after peeing), I make my way to the mirror.

I wash my hand thoroughly with warm water. This is my highlight in the restroom. I love warm water on my hands. I may soap my hands two or three times, probably more because of the OCD than anything, but I do enjoy warming my hands up while cleaning all of the germs off of them.

Then I check out my hair – and may make a few adjustments. When I was younger, I applied make-up most of the time. Now, I am not so vain. If there is someone else in the restroom, we may start a conversation. The whole experience may take ten minutes.

Some people have smoking breaks. I have a bathroom break. Where was I going with this - I haven't the slightest clue. Oh, well, got to scoot to the ladies' room. Ta.