Overheard At The Water Fountain
“You’ve got all the negative prejudice of a man too sure of what is right in a world that’s all wrong,” she told him.
“Then I can leave you alone, right?”
“That’s right,” she said, and threw her pencil at him.
Doris Day: "The really frightening thing about middle age is that you know you'll grow out of it."
Kill Gmail, Google, Blogger, Beta
I am having a damnable time getting Gmail to accept my tried and true username/password, so it may or may not continue to resist me today! I don't think I've spaced it out, and I even keep the password in the computer and on paper, but swell Gmail doesn't like those, either. I think Google is going to be the ruination of the planet, if Microsoft doesn't beat them to it! This Googleized bastard, Blogger, sometimes refuses my password in the same way, over and over again! I can't prove what causes it, but I know it didn't start until about the time of Blogger Beta! So far, Beta has done everything but murder babies in their crib. I hope they all get thrown in jail and sodomized! So there!
Hubert H. Humphrey: "The right to be heard does not automatically include the right to be taken seriously."
I have an artist’s foul mood, I guess. That’s what I blame the crazy part of me on, anyway. When I see a woman who’s really made a mark in business, I’m very much impressed because she’s doing something I couldn’t do! But then, I don’t want to, either! If she were an artist I’d know her somewhat.
Of course, men have done business for long centuries and I am not going to worry about praise for them any more. When Bill Gates first started having success, I gave him some credit for being so young. But it was the young innovator that impressed me so much, not the young businessman. He ain’t young any more, and I don’t entirely admire the middle-aged businessman. Maybe he’s doing as well as can be expected. Save that for another day! But the curvy or clever businesswomen fascinate me. Martha Stewart fascinates me, though maybe not as much as a female poet would fascinate me. That’s one thing I like the blogs for; they’ve allowed lots of women to write, and many of them write poetry. I like to see that, whether it’s very professional or just to decorate the blog. Poems are more essential than other writings. They show a more essential part of us, a part where everything is shaped and cultivated and pared down. The desire to craft it carefully and to make the words sing for someone "out there" is sometimes a very great one! Such impetus and imagination should not be suppressed or thrown aside.
Love you all, ladies!
Okay, okay, I like you, too, gents—at least the ones with any brains!
What's the best paradigm in your life or in you? Or do you have one? I'll answer it, too, but later. If 3 or 4 of you should find that you're not dead or gagged and bound, let me know. Otherwise, I understand. You're lazy.
I guess I do this rather than drink whiskey or beer or smoke pot. I miss smoking pot, though; I bet my tastebuds would wake up a little! Would abnormality lead to normality? I don't guess I know any reliable dealers any more after 20 years and more of being Clean. There's nothing wrong with pot except that there's alway government officials who detest it. They never die, the sons of bitches! I wonder if they drink formaldehyde to stay fresh while they're deteriorating inside?
sycophant \SIK-uh-fuhnt\, noun:
A person who seeks favor by flattering people of wealth or influence; a parasite; a toady.
I've known a few in my life, less often have been one myself, but no one's immune.
We'll ride you in the Car-car. You can do the driving, even though your legs are too short. I'll ride beside you and push the pedals once in a while. Maybe we'll find you a tall block of wood that we can tie on your right foot! We'll use your belt. We'll listen to Beatles CD's as we go, especially the White Album with "Helter Skelter" and we won't give a damn if we crash! What can we lose that we wouldn't lose later anyway? No regret, no regret, don't think about it or get your feet wet with that drip you've got!
People on the Internet may think you're funny or they may just look at you funny. This may be more than most people want to know, but I came to be a little acquainted with one young woman who concluded that I had "stalked" her since I seemed to know her email at her private college or whatever it was. I felt like I'd just been slapped hard on the snout with a rolled newspaper. I told her and maybe she believed it, that the Blogger Help Group (which is where I encountered her) lets any of us write another person on the site directly and they sent it on with the sender never having seen any email address. I call it a blind email. My young lovely had concluded that I'd worked hard at my stalking all on account of not knowing that. I guess she thought I was hot for her body. Could be, but not in the Slob fashion that she apparently viewed it! Then I cursed her, and that didn't help anything. She wanted nothing further to do with the stalker and I wanted nothing to do with the stupid girl (which I guess she wasn't, not really, if she'd given herself a chance).
I hate that. But things go to blazes on the Internet sometimes much faster than they do elsewhere!
"Why of course the people don't want war... It is the leaders...who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along...all you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country." Hermann Goering
I've loved these last two books (see sidebar) I've read. Actually I'm not quite through with Crusoe, but I love it already. I loved it after the first 2 pages! If I read it in my youth, I don't recall it, though the general story is known to all via movies and TV, I think. It's a greatly interesting book to a sod like me, who can't be pleased with car crashes (been there, done that) and grisly killings by the pound (ditto). I'd forgotten (if I knew) all the trials and tribulations poor Robinson Crusoe endured before he ever came to the deserted Island where he had to spent so many years alone. I won't detail it, since some fraction of a per cent of you out there might decide to read it. You guys have probably forgotten it, so go ahead, read it again!
The Horse Whisperer was also pretty primo. I read it pretty quickly and really hated to put it down when it was over. Go for it if you run across it.
Sue Murphy: "Did you ever walk into a room and forget why you walked in? I think that's how dogs spend their lives."
(Overheard On The Go)
I went to the convenience store where I usually buy gas the other day, but it kept saying my card was unreadable and to go see the attendant inside! So I did that. I wondered aloud if my card was too scratched up (it didn't appear to be). The nice young lady said it might even be the fault of the machine needing to be cleaned. She turned on the pump and I ran some gas and went back inside to sign the Visa card.
While waiting in line, I overheard a drunk old man talking out loud to himself. Actually, he may only have been 5 or 6 years older than me, but I'm pretty old myself. At any rate he was talking aloud about a recent crime in which two cousins had decided to punish a crippled man who was behind in his rent. The cripple was renting from somebody's mother. Anyway, they went too far, and left the man for dead after they beat him. They'd thrown his prosthetic legs into the creek below and threw the man down the steep bank. The old man in the store was talking about how the injured man spent 8 or 10 hours crawling up the bank far enough for the highway patrol to see him when they passed. But the injured man died at the hospital. The drunk was outraged and couldn't stop talking about what he'd do to those young men. The law had them in custody already, of course, for they were very stupid. The kind of young men that you see on TV and you just KNOW they're stupid. Not to mention the stupid things they'd done!
"I'd cut off their fuckin' heads!" the drunk old man said.
I signed my Visa card ticket and left the store wondering what street he lived on.
I can't write a daily post any more. At least, not a post of any consequence. I can blather. I can squeak. And squeal. And protest that there is oxygen! I also protest that there is fire. Whose idea was that? Okay, warmth in winter, we need it for that. You think it was a byproduct that we began cooking meat and potatoes with it? Animals eat it raw, why shouldn't we? If we had no fire, that's how we'd eat it. Sushi has a name that's not revealing. We could just as well call raw hamberger Plutzy!
"Oh, Mommie, Let's have some plutzy sandwiches tonight!"
"If Daddy doesn't eat all the plutzy during the first commercial, Bambi!"
Daddy is such a pig.
Is that hostile enough? Perverted, too. But life is strange. Why shouldn't it be perverted, too? There's no one sensible left awake except you and me. And I'm not so sure about you. Sounds like I'm referring to some sort of intimacy, doesn't it? That's not what I mean. I don't mean that anywhere on my upper seven levels of consciousness. Maybe on the 8th level, but I'm not there yet. I know it's wrong to dream so much about Christmas and the other holidays. We don't seem to have an intelligent God, since he allows these things, but maybe we do. Maybe it's just that God is NOT laughing WITH us! But I'm alright; the instant I get outside I'll believe in God again. Maybe not in the good will of Man, though.
I wonder when we'll wake up about all this ethnicity and hatred? If I was a Negro or an Arab in this country, I'd know to be nervous. Why? Because white men have swollen heads and will find some reason to mistrust you. We know we're better. How can you find your way around that? I know I haven't. In 58 years, I've seldom had a foreign or colored friend. I've met lots of them, I've SEEN even more on TV, but I don't know them. I couldn't base a trust OR a mistrust on their behavior. The few I've known were about 20 years ago. I live with and around all these crazy white people now just like me. There's no escape. I wonder if I need to? I don't think I've ever met a person from Arkansas. Not even Bill Clinton, I didn't meet him, either. I must be one of the few!
Who talks to me on Internet? All kinds of foreigners and some Negroes. I think the Negroes are both women and both writers. Not famous, but not bad, either. Maybe I should give their links, but I don't think I will at the moment, since I'm in the middle of this pity fest. It's right, but it doesn't seem right at the moment. Besides, they might give me such a smack! Onward thru the fog, folks!
You know, I forget that a good per centage of people in this world not only don't know who Lillian Hellman is, some of them probably don't know who the much more famous Liz may be! Goosh gosh, I might as well go back to bed and sleep ten hours. It's not good for me, but what is?
Elizabeth Taylor: "I've only slept with men I've been married to. How many women can make that claim?"
Lillian Hellman: "Elizabeth's never been in a supermarket, in any kind of market. She's never in her life stood on line to use a public phone- a public anything. It's like deprivation. Elizabeth's a true innocent. Every time she gets laid, she gets married. Nobody ever told her you can do it and stay single."
Tickle, tickle, who’s got the pickle? Is it large enough? Will it come out of the jar intact? Will it go back in if it has to? I would hate to see it break in half, I thought.
That’s when Meriam broke it in half. Men all over the dining room reacted to the sound for a nano second, then went on eating despite the fact that Meriam was somewhat noisily sucking on the rounded end of the pickle. I guess she found it delicious, but she didn't take a bite. I tried to pretend I wasn’t really with her, but it didn’t work very well when she kept asking me if I wanted some of her pickle! At long last, she dropped it on the floor and asked the waiter if he’d be so kind as to pick it up and dispose of it for her. The young man blushed and did as she asked, using a cloth napkin to retrieve it with.
He didn’t ask her if she wanted another one. I didn't, either.
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DEAR SIDEBAR JUNKIES: Have I been eccentric enough lately? Lord knows I try. I'd hate to be accused of being too kind. |
