Weekly Darfur Reminder to My Friends.

Today is a lazy day but I am working; I have a few of them, lazy but working kind of days, and I don�t get to write as often as I like. I also do have somewhat of a real life although it is much less frantic now compared to the school year. I�m at work now scrolling around blog land, and I hope to write something this evening, or not, so later folks. OH On that note I found some very creative sites today and hope I can remember them. There are some creative, smart and interesting people out there, despite the fact that there seem to be a number of blogs that feel it is their duty to point out otherwise. Carry on. Please check out the weekly post at the Coalition For Darfur. Conflicting Priorities

Lobster, skinny dipping and That's All Folks.

This weekend was one of those weekends where at the spur of the moment something comes up and you end up taking off with your gay friend Matt to a house on the coast of Maine. The reason for this it you want to dive naked into the cold water, you want to read The Interpretation of Cultures while the cool ocean breezes throw sand against your face and eyes, and you want to see some paintings done by an almost eighty year old man, a man you met not long ago, a man that does some very surreal paintings of very real situations and despite the surrealism his paintings are such that you know immediately what the picture represents and what he is trying to convey. (You meaning you alone, or you and everyone else in the world who knows) Matt, for those of you that have not read past entries and have no desire to do so, is a guy I met at a dreaded country club dinner earlier this summer; we have become friends, which just goes to show that you can't judge a country club dinner by it's cover. Not a whole lot else except to say except we had a great Lobster dinner as the people renting the house across the inlet for the summer invited us to their feast. The women there were quite hot on Matt ; I wasn't going to burst their bubble, ( no bubble burster I). I just wanted the lobster. I also got to talk with some guy who had supposedly been the mayor of some city in Georgia that I won�t mention here. We got into a small disagreement on the existence of God and the whole Jesus thing but other than that I don�t think I offended too many people. That man can hold his vodka though but he wasn't calling me sweetheart at the end of the evening and although I would usually look at this as a good thing in this case I am still not sure. He was actually pretty interesting. All in all a nice mind clearing weekend. Thanks to those that let me know my blog template had some how gotten messed up. I was on a dial- up this weekend and I added a link last night and Poof I was gone. It happens that way I hear. Poof and your gone. Take note.

Because I do like to know when I'm delirious.

preface: This is not a story.

We follow no rules here.

Is there Anybody Out There?

Is there anybody out there?

Is there anybody out there?

I have, as often happens, been distracted by other things such as work, teaching art classes, (hey teacher leave those kids alone yea), and fighting to free public broadcasting from neoconic control. (Don�t worry about that word being in the dictionary it will be soon) pop culture: Then of course I had to do some research on Scientology. I have researched it some in past years as my curiosity always gets the better of me. I have had just about enough of Tom Cruise; his agenda is more lethal to us than the agenda of most psychiatrists. I find it hard to believe that he actually believes that by doing some reading he knows that the homeless schizophrenic, the one that lives in the subway not far from where I reside most of the year, is better off without her meds. Tom you are an idiot; she is homeless to begin with because they closed all the state facilities and she no longer has anyone to make sure she gets her much needed medications; you know the ones that help deter THE CHEMICAL REACTION IN HER BRAIN THAT PROMPTED HER TO HAVE SEX WITH CHARILIE MANSON AND GOD.

politics: Some of you are aware I originally, at least for the middle school and high school years of my life, resided in Maryland in the sub suburbs of Baltimore and Washington D.C. The county I lived in was a Republican county in a Democratic state, our congressman for my whole life, and probably forever was Roscoe Bartlett. I remember writing him in high school with certain concerns and also writing him on several occasions when I wanted him to support certain bills. Anyway the man is a billion years old but I am going to give him props, or maybe a picture of me topless diving off a sailboat,( naw props as he is still a Republican); he was one of fifteen Republicans that voted in favor of the medical marijuana bill, one of the Republicans who was voting sans a real agenda and voting due to the facts of the situation. I guess though that having a PhD in Human Physiology he is at least more likely to be guided by science than by a political agenda or emotion and at his age, it probably really doesn�t matter to him any longer he may not even remember which side he is on. So anyway yea to Roscoe, he is eighty something years old I think. He is also sponsor of the Pro-Life, Pro-Embryonic Stem Cell Research Bill, H.R. 2574 it is not perfect but I believe he is doing the best he can to satisfy the pro lifers while still trying to get what we really need and that is a stem cell bill that is at least somewhat useful.

sex : To those that stated they liked drummers I can only say I prefer string men as guys who likes to beat on things, even good things, don�t do it for me. I figure if they can play a string instrument they are bound to have some advantages over the average klutz fingered male.

religion: Billy Graham�s last hurrah and I say����.AMEN.

Life as I live it: And he sings into the phone line

Ooooh, I need a dirty woman.

Ooooh, I need a dirty girl.

She raises her hand but of course he can�t see.

What I Really Wanna Know, My Baby. What I Really Want To Say, I Can't Define.

She was eighteen, what did she know. She thought she knew it all of course. She was bright and beautiful, or at least her family and her friends had always told her so. The bright part was never debatable, but the beauty part was of course. She has a crooked mouth and crooked eyebrow,(genetic as it seems many in her family were blessed as such); the eyebrow and lip on one side are slightly higher and more delineated than the other often times making her look at if she is smirking, when indeed she is not. She had always been thought of, except by the closest of her friends, as somewhat emotionless, even cold at times.She was not given to gossip or idle chatter and appeared not to care one way or the other about the daily goings on of people around her, yet she possessed an exceptional curiosity as to what really made people tick and was not at all reticent in her inquiries to the facts of a persons life. It was the little things she cared less about; things like the weather, local gossip, premenstrual symptoms. Failure was never an option. She headed off to college. Her basic needs: food, water, sleep and time to pursue her academic interests. Being extremely focused, as losing focus for even a day or two had dire consequences, (it happened once or twice that first year), she honed in on the only things that mattered to her; at least at the time, academics, social causes and the city. The city and what it had to offer were her life, she made it so; the city was what she wanted, the people, and the sheer diverse humanity of it. The rest could wait, would have to wait. She however, had a living situation which was not ideal under any circumstance. She needed quiet and time alone, time to study and time to sleep. Instead she was subject to being constantly jarred awake in the middle of the night by the noisy and animalistic sounds of the roommate and roommates boyfriend making love on the bed not six feet from her, or drunken conversations at three in the morning when said roommate would come home and want to discuss her evening. This would probably not have been that significant had she had anything in common with the roommate or if she had gotten to know the roommate a little better before the onset of such goings on but as it was she had only been there a week when this began and it did nothing to endear the roommate to her. One night after entering her room to find that it was again, (and perpetually), mating season she left to aimlessly wander and heard music coming from somewhere down the hall. She ventured down the hall to the room from which the music was coming and poked her head in the door; it was open. The Violin Man stopped playing and asked her in. She told him she was homeless and he replied, �we are all homeless�. Not a comforting thought but at this time at least she had a place to sit, and as it turned out that night, to sleep. Not to mention his room was much larger than hers and looked like a palace and he was sans roommate at this time. This is how she met and began her friendship with The Violin Man; that is what she calls him to this day at least on certain occasions. The Violin Man was actually a film student and political science major with eyes to die for and a butt worth kissing, who happened to play the violin among other things.She digresses as she often does. That third grade teacher teacher was so wrong about her never being off task, she lives off task. As luck would have it The Violin Man�s roommate had taken up residence in the apartment of his older lover and he was rarely present except to pick up mail. This was pure luck for her as this allowed her , after becoming fast friends with him , to have a haven of sorts to retreat to when necessary, a place to go when things were too noisy, too uncomfortable just plain miserable or when she had a headache and did not want to smell nail polish or Obsession. She got used to him very quickly and spent countless hours in his room with or without him present. They had no classes together but they studied together often, they ate together, went to concerts together and in general supported each other. They were two disinterested parties able to bounce ideas off of each other which in turn elicited new ideas. The friendship as platonic had been implied from the inception. The best part of this, for her, was that The Violin Man had a girlfriend in Boston and was not likely, or so she assumed, to want anything from her but friendship; she knew anything but friendship would cut severely into her plans and her past experience told her to avoid such energy sucking situations at all costs, at least for a few years until it was pretty clear that the goals previously set were going to be met without difficulty. She remembers later on after their relationship had solidified, and she thought the status quo would remain as such, the panic she felt when he dumped his girlfriend. She does not panic easily, she had snowboarded in the Rockies and the Andes, had flown all over the world, fallen off moving vehicles and broken ribs, ran in the park at night alone, but panic she did. She wanted the friendship, there was no doubt, she felt she would die without it however, she wanted nothing more or even a chance thereof. She decided on a course of action that to this day still perplexes even her; She wrote up a contract, a contract which in a foolish na�ve way stated that they would always be friends and support each other, through whatever bullshit was going on in school and in life. This contract also stated that they would remain platonic friends only as familiarity ( implying intimacy) breeds contempt , and relationships of any other kind were too life sucking for people on a one way track to whatever the fuck she thought they were on their way too. Of course he looked at her funny. Did he censure her? Did he say �go fuck yourself you stupid imbecilic bitch� .... no�he signed the contract. She thinks they toasted with some kind of crappy green tea but she can�t remember. Violin Man told her that he thought he was a symbolic representation of all that she chose to avoid in an effort to keep things uncluttered. He knows this as her basic photographic propensity is for black and white and to him this explains how her mind likes to perceive things. She often wonders what she symbolically represents to the Violin Man. That part of the story ends a year ago. There may be more and then again there may be less. Less is however the new more....... and this is good for people who like to live uncluttered lives.

I love men who play instruments I just can't write about them today.

I realize I promised the, Why I love men who play instruments but can�t seem to let them play mine, post; please pardon me on this because I am still thinking about exactly how to proceed with that subject. I have volumes of notes, and first drafts; I come off looking like either a raving arrogant bitch, or a stupid little twit in all of them, so I am putting the subject in hold until another time, a time I can make myself look really good; it�s my blog and if I can tell the truth and still look good so much the better for me. The problem is that sometimes it takes days to compose a post where I tell the truth and still look good. Pet Peeve of the week: I see very little outrage over the fact the media is going crazy, and I mean practically salivating, over two stories this past week. The stories being the high school graduate missing in Aruba, and Tom Cruise and that girl (Katie Holmes). I apologize here but I did not even know who she was until this week. I did see one reference to this phenomenon in the blogesphere today, but only one. The media coverage of the high school girl and Cruise is not justifiable in anyway, at least in my opinion. I don�t care if Tom and Katie "complement" each other. and I don�t know why anyone cares. He is old, pushes scientology down the throats of the masses, is short, and looked better before he had braces. I don�t have a whole lot of feelings either way about the high school girl in Alabama. It�s sad of course. but why is it that when an upper middle class white girl goes missing on the decadent island of Aruba,( it is not exactly decadent but for high school students it is a free for all), the whole world goes crazy? Or should I say the whole upper middle class white media world. Too close to home maybe? It is not like there aren�t more than a few African American or even Hispanic girls, or children even, that have disappeared with no outcry whatsoever. Not to be redundant, but there is Africa and the starving children and raped women to be concerned about. No, we are outraged over an upper class white girl who happened to be out at a bar, and who happened to have left , by what appears to be her own volition, with a few guys to go party on a beach. Obviously something happened and yes it is sad and scary. If it were me my parents would have my picture plastered over every form of media available,( maybe even those nude pictures that were taken on the island of Puerto Rico after my senior year of high school), but why is it we can only feel this outrage when it happens to someone who is just like us? Why can�t we feel outrage at every injustice or every tragedy or every abomination that is occurring in the world? This all makes me angry yet I understand. The tragedies in the world are much too large and too many for us to be able to truly comprehend, and empathize and still function. It would overwhelm us. Weak as we are here, our biggest concerns being Pepsi or Coke, we are just not prepared. We file it away in the back of our minds; I don�t blame anyone. I dream though, I dream that one morning I come downstairs and turn on any, even one, of the news channels and have the lead story be about something besides a forty something man and his twenty something fianc�e. Now for the mail bag segment: This is the segment of my show my blog, where I answer the mail sent by - real cowards- real nasty people, or secretive types who may or may not even have a blog or journal or whatever you want to call it. You know the people that do not comment but send obscene, very inquisitive or kind of nasty emails. Answers to some of the nicer email questions: 1. I know my comments are on the top. I am not a webmaster; I can barely do a template. I used a template from maystar designs and replaced the pictures, the colors and the sizes and changed the sidebar, and that took me FOREVER. Please don�t ask me to try to fix the comments. I would end up with no template if I even attempt to mess with that thing again. God Bless people who can code templates though. 2. I know my links are not alphabetized. I like spontaneity. Honestly I want to but it takes too much time. 3. Yes, I am bad about answering comments. Do I really have to? I read them all. 4. You have asked me twice in comments and twice in email. This away message , I use once in awhile now thanks to your insane emails, might answer your questions. ["Is that your ass on that icon�? "Of course you fucking idiot whose ass did you think it would be."] 5. No picture of me because my beauty , I am often told, is actually painful on the eyes. I was hoping to go sailing tomorrow and to be able to sunbathe in the nude on the deck. I do not think the weather is going to cooperate so please keep your fingers crossed for me. I need to get rid of a few of these little lines left over from last weekend. Take a moment: The Future of Darfur

Tucker Carlson, Pinching Nipples and Darfur.

Let me remind you that this is my blog and I do not have to stay focused. I have no stories I feel like telling. I spent the weekend at the Newport film festival with my best friend from school, it was great. We spent the weekend on a sailboat in the harbor, sleeping on it etc. It belongs to a family friend of his and it had several cabins and it was really nice; after catching some risqu� film shorts on Sunday morning we went sailing and I came home exhausted. We didn't actually sail it ourselves and it did have an engine. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I am a sailor of any kind. I am working and teaching an art class so that is keeping me busy. My car was in an accident, I was not driving. That is all on that for now. I�m trying to finish The Lucifer Principle. I was trolling through some other blogs and saw one which referenced Tucker Carlson; it was interesting because late last night I was watching the repeat of his earlier show and was thinking the same thoughts as were presented in this blog. I am a fairly liberal democrat born and bred of fairly liberal democrats and some of the stuff he says makes perfect sense to me. Should I be concerned that somehow my political ideology is changing? Should I be happy that I have enough sense to actually realize that this whole party system, this whole left or right thing, is all a fallacy, and that in the end we must take pieces from every part and find what we truly believe in? Michael Jackson: No comment; after all Darfur is still there so let�s (please) stop worrying about Michael , his minions and their coup d�etat. "Let us not worry about Michael??" The people, (and that silly blonde from Court TV), cry; �this will prevent all the children that are being molested from coming forth. This is a travesty.� Bull. It was a shame, he is a sick pervert and maybe he will get some help, but we have genocides occurring,, women being raped and beaten, children starving and unable to get basic healthcare. That is the travesty. Oh.. " they are not our people" you say. Go to hell! Of course they are. I also want to mention, to the guy who was writing that little piece of what he thought was erotica, �and I pinched her nipple hard� is not erotica. It is a statement which invokes, at the very least, a wince. Then again, I would expect no more from someone with an " I love Ann Coulter" banner on their site. I promise something more titillating next time like: Why I love men who play instruments but can�t seem to let them play mine.

One Hand in My Pocket and the Other on my Credit Card.

I want it noted that I will be purchasing Alanis Morissette�s unplugged version of Jagged Little Pill despite the fact that originally it will be sold exclusively via Starbucks stores. Why, you will ask, I know you will. So I will tell you. I personally don�t care that as artists get older they get somewhat wise to the fact that they have to make money and provide for their future existence, and going slightly commercial via Starbucks, and *cough*, ( I have a hard time with this one), Gap commercials does not bother me much. People get older, they change, and the angst they once felt goes away, or at least fades into the distance as they learn to deal with and overcome their past and get on with it; at least I hope so. It seems to happen to everyone, or at least a large number of the adult population eventually. I was only maybe ten when this CD came out however it was around for quite a long time, and I remember purchasing it in maybe eighth or ninth grade. I remember the day clearly, and this may be part of the reason I am going to purchase the acoustic version ,this, and face it despite the whining, the angst , the anger, and the bile it is a damn good CD. Most guys despise it when they really listen to the lyrics but that very fact adds to the charm of it in a way. Don�t you agree? I digress so let us proceed. So there I was, age thirteen or fourteen, fresh from some music store or another at the mall with three friends in tow, another girl and two guys sitting in the back of my mothers Volvo Station Wagon (get the picture). I show my mother what I had purchased, and she, having heard Alanis on the radio, pops it into the CD player. We are driving along merrily chit chatting, all singing. I am not sure if I knew the words or had ever heard the non-edited version of the CD at least that I can remember. Somewhere at about �would she go down on you in a theatre� my mother�s hands tightened on the steering wheel and I see her looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Nothing yet though, all is calm, but then, god of course, it had to happen the dreaded words �Are you thinking of me when you fuck her�. Well that did it. She looks at me and said directly to me, in a rather loud voice for her as she tends to be very soft spoken,� have you heard these lyrics before�, or� did you hear those words� ,or something like that to which I replied �no�. I am not sure if this was true or not but I really wanted to hear them now in full, without her sitting there yelling and my friends in the back trying to disappear into the crack of the seat. She then turns around to my friends in the back seat, yea no mercy on me here or on them for that matter, and she asks them if they had ever heard those lyrics before, as if they were somehow guilty by the mere fact that up until that point they had been sitting merrily in the back singing the words. They of course purported to not know or had never really listened to or never really heard the lyrics. Of course they are all sitting there in semi shock as my mother is semi freaking out, and they all say they never pay attention to the lyrics (this may indeed have been the case to be honest but as with me you can be sure they wanted to hear them now). Simultaneous to all of this she is taking out the CD and telling me to pack it up we are going to bring it back. So she drops all my friends off at their respective homes, they get out of the car, not looking her in the eye, and with very serious �we are good kids and are shocked and bothered by this� looks on their faces they all wander off into their respective abodes. My mother then drags me back to the mall and the music store where I had purchased the CD. She brings it to the counter and tells the guy she wants to return it, he says� no it is open and used�. Well, this ticks her off because she is still in a mini fury over the fact that there were such words with all their connotations on a CD that her daughter had access to. She looks at the guy and says "this is a CD that should not be sold to children this age�. The man, he was probably all of twenty at the most, said something to the affect of �there is no rating system here and the CD can be purchased and it was and it can�t be returned�. She then says to the guy in a rather loud voice "have you listened to the words on this CD? They are disgusting". He really didn�t say too much in response to that, turned sort of red; he was obviously getting embarrassed but still almost appeared to be laughing. I was just afraid my mother was going to start singing the lyrics or something n front of the whole of Sam Goody or whatever the place was at the time. He just looks at her as she says again �those words should not be purchased by children this age and you are going to take this back�. He did of course more to shut her up than anything else I am sure, but the whole process was quite humiliating. We then left after she had a few more words with the manager and he suggested she have me purchase CD�S at Wal-Mart from now on because they would be edited. This, to women who had never set foot in one in her life right; she then tells me I am never to purchase music there again and she is gong to go through my CD collection when we get home. There was, I am sure, more that occurred subsequent to this but that is the meat of it. One lesson: never to play a new CD in parent�s car. We live we learn. That is however one of the reasons why this CD sticks in my mind and why I will purchase the acoustic version next week. That and well, (listening to the original version right now, as of course I did purchase the CD again, sometime later maybe at a more appropriate age of say sixteen or something, and still have it on my media player), as I listen to it I sometime wish that I could actually care about someone enough so that I would feel some of that angst and agony when they left. I mean I am not saying that it would feel good but I imagine the passion/love that would come before would have to be significant, to provoke the writing of such songs. As of this writing the leaving has always been the least painful part of the whole process for me. I want it the other way. Afterall: You love you learn You cry you learn You lose you learn You bleed you learn You scream you learn Right????

Not So OK Cupid.

I am slightly aggravated that I received an email today from OK CUPID. Now one very significant fact here is that I never signed up for this, (I can find my own men thank you,or boy � men, see post below). So this email had a link, I clicked on the stupid thing and when I clicked the link it took me to an account to which I was automatically logged in. I had a profile already set up stating my age and where I was from and my birthday. This account was started on the twenty-third of May ,or at least that is what it says. It also listed my sexuality as straight but did not have my aim or a photo. Either a friend is messing with me, which would not be likely, an enemy is messing with me, not too likely but remotely possible, or some stupid spam robot is messing with me and this pisses me off. The info on this profile could easily be obtained from either of three places on the internet but the very interesting thing is the password that was used to sign me in is the password I use all the time for things accounts from email to banking. I hardly think those sites need the business anyway there are plenty of random people willing to sign up , post their picture, and even demean themselves to a rating system.You know the kind where you always give the least attractive person a ten because you feel sorry for them and you give the beautiful people a low score to bring them down a peg or two just out of spite. Maybe not out of spite but because you�re ten times better looking and would never lower yourself to that. You on the other hand prefer to take nude photos of yourself and send them to really special people only, not post them all over the internet of god sake. So as I go off to change the password on every account I have anywhere on the internet I leave you with this warning� Oh never mind fear is often more acute when one does not know exactly what to be afraid of. Random end of the day thoughts: So when the jurors arrive in their van tomorrow do you think they will be wearing their very best clothes? A basic anthropology course should be required before one can graduate from high school. I don�t mean social studies people. . Backstreet Boys Tour US who cares? They were bad before and they will be worse now only older. I just want my name out of cupid�s reach. Howard Dean: Someone put a muzzle on him please. Reading: The Lucifer Principle Hotel Rwanda is now on pay per view for those that have not gotten their lazy asses out to see it prior to now.

Newport Film, Dangerous Liasons and Sluts

A few things, I promise only a few. The Newport Film Festival is underway and I was lucky to be able to go today with a friend and waste a few hours. We went to a docu in progress thing, (really more for filmmakers), this particular one was about some Italian immigrant anarchist in the twenties but the process of the documentary are interesting. Also got to see The Beauty Academy of Kabul missed seeing Shake Hands with the Devil but I have seen it before. We spent some time later on seeing a bunch of film shorts one of which my friend�s friend had made so it was overall a good time and much needed rest from this mundane life here. Not only that but I swear I saw John Malkovich although I am not really sure. Those who know me, no one here of course which is good because I of course do not want your opinion of me to be influenced by this fact, know of my rather unhealthy obsession with John Malkovich; weird really as the only films of his I have ever viewed were Dangerous Liaisons, On Being John Malkovich and some film he was in with Kevin Bacon of which the name escapes me at the moment. Not to mention that he is one of the ugliest men I have ever seen at least atheistically and his roles are often that of the cruel, evil sadistic psychopath. What does this say about me? Nothing of course it is merely the young girl falling for the ugly evil bad guy thing and I am sure I will eventually outgrow it. Sadly I have sick perverted dreams of him at least once a month or so. I figure it is the cramps bringing them on so they are more like nightmares really. I have to lean to my life for posts and being that my life lately Is not that exciting and I don�t want to post a rhetorical on �LIFE AS SEEN THROUGH MY PERFECTLY GORGEOUS BROWN EYES� I am going to post a complaint, simply a complaint about men or maybe I won�t call them men I will call them boy-men; a friend of mine used to call her boyfriend that , (a boy-man),and that kind of fits the age group I am talking about here. From the journal of a boy-man in response to some random questions one plays with when one is bored: Questions was What can you do to win my heart and the one of the answers this guy gave is don�t be a slut. Well excuse me huh. It seems to me that guys seem to like to throw that word around in some kind of �I am the judge way� when in fact the word the really applies to girls who wouldn�t come within ten feet of them even if their pockets were lined like Billy Gate's and their dick was as big say as that of Liam Neeson or Bruce Willis or David Letterman (yes Letterman) or David Duchovny,Tommy Lee Jones, Lyle Lovett,(yes t�is true), Kiefer Sutherland or Sean Penn . Don�t say I don�t do my research. The point is that it is a bit self righteous for boy- men to use that term and the case for using is usually never valid. Pet peeve of mine. Sorry Have to go take a phone call from my best friend now. I so rarely get to talk to her and I do so love and miss her. She is such a ���������..you guessed it�����.SLUT.

You Asked for It

I have been tagged by Jack. Now let's be honest, what the heck does that mean? I started this blog so as not to be tagged or required to post random inanities about myself, ( or take quizzes, or post lists as a matter of fact but that didn't stop me did it). I have another journal for that kind of stuff and have since I was in high school; with an arcane group but still. This was an escape where I had no friends, and it was good; I liked it that way. OK enough of that. As Bette Midler says: You Got to Have Friends. I am going to do my tagging duty here. I worked again today and as previously mentioned it is taking more of my time than I would like so this makes it easy. Not like MoJo or EW who can crank out their stuff with a certain amount of frequency, creativity, and angst. I will probably give you more than you asked for though so you better read the damn stuff. 1. Total volume of files on my computer � Jesu - I have no idea how to even find out... oh, I think I got it. 28.7 GB 2. Last CD I bought - Bought? As opposed to borrowed, copied and ripped? Beck - Guero 3. Song playing right now on my computer and in my ears loud and clear. The Decemberist - Ask - Live Smith Cover 4) 5 songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me - �Listen to a lot � list changes with my mood but here you go. Listen to a lot and mean a lot separate lists because quite frankly when you tag me you get more than you want or at least exactly what you asked for. Listen to a lot: (could mean lately or always ) 1. Debaser: My favorite Pixies song mainly because of it's indirect inference to un chien Andalusia the best freaky/bizarre film short ( 17 minutes) of all time and if you haven't seen it you should; Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali�s work in case you are not familiar with it. When I first saw it, thanks to a friend of mine at MICA, there was not much written on it except in fairly esoteric film publications but within the last couple of years all sorts of nouveau cool publications have written on it as if they discovered it. You used to be able to view it in its entirety online now you have to pay for it. 2. God Save the Queen - The Sex Pistols - What can I say? I love the Sex Pistols 3. Dream Life of Rand McNally - Mraz - Java Joes- The only way to listen to him as his studio stuff does suck and he is so much better than that live. If you haven't heard this Java Joes version you have to at least make an attempt to; with Toca Rivera on percussion you can't go wrong with this one, take my word for it. 4. Mr Brightside - The Killers - How can you not love those lyrics? Song keeps me awake while driving. 5. Sitting,Waiting,Wishing - Jack Johnson- Because, quite simply, I love lying back putting my legs up and just listening to Jack Johnson. There are so many things you can do to his music; inclusive of but not limited to, lighting a joint ( fake one of course), and just kicking back, ( if you're into that kind of thing), having real slow sex, ( again if you're into that kind of thing). You get the picture though I am sure; you're all pretty smart I can tell. Mean Something: 1. Flight Test - Flaming Lips A little pop for them but this CD was sent to me by my old boyfriend in twelfth grade with a note saying" the first song sweety , the first song" . Nostalgic to say the least as the whole situation was one where he for some reason thought I was with someone else and wasn't it was just the time had come....still I love this whole CD so I am grateful to him for sending it to me. 2. Run for Your Life - The Beatles - This song means something to me for the same reason and for the same boyfriend. He sent me this song first online initially after the break - up. I laugh now but damn at the time I found it quite annoying. 3. Flower - Liz Phair - For those of you who aren't familiar with this little gem it's alternate title is "Blow Job Queen". In ninth grade we used to sing this at slumber parties. Yes mom and dad this is what your honor roll, potential national merit scholar, student government officer, star athlete, cheerleader, multiple award winning daughters are listening too. Make no mistake on this one. This song therefore holds a place dear to my heart. It is also kind of catchy and you got to love the lyrics; Right? 4. Mony Mony- Tommy James and the Shondelles - First song I ever danced with anyone in public to. 5. Truly Madly Deeply - First slow dance with male in public place. Guy was actually my best friend then and remains one of my best friends to this day. Thanks G. 5) Five people I'm passing this to: Damned if I know.

Get Hard - Go Blind: Who Cares, and other Harmful Fairytales

This is not about Viagra so please don�t leave. I am not quite sure why everyone on the internet has to blog about the fact that Viagra is now noted to potentially cause blindness. Honestly, every other blog on the internet is noting this, as now is this one for that matter; is this that big a surprise to anyone? I mean something that causes such a rush of blood to a certain part of the body is bound to take away blood from another part of the body and in this case the eyes get the short end of the stick so to speak. I don�t know why I am even posting this but I find all those Viagra posts annoying. I don�t care one way or the other, not my problem. I was looking through a whole bunch of boxes today, as my parents are clearing out one house and moving things slowly here, there are boxes of things that only a very vivid imagination could conjure up. I found some really great old books that my mother had saved. These books are great due to the illustrations actually, but they were old fairy tales, volumes of them and even the illustrations looked quite scary. Mother Goose and the Grimm brother�s kind of stuff. I was looking through them and I have to admit I am glad I wasn�t brought up on this stuff. It is no wonder that my parents, and the rest of their generation, are so overly fearful and overprotective of their offspring. Just imagine being brought up on stories where some old lady who lives in the woods (witch) shoves children into ovens, ( and she looks frighteningly ugly too), or where there are wolves in the forest waiting to eat you, or even where there are little men waiting to steel your first born. This is all quite frightening. I mean this: from The Wilful Child by the brothers Grimm. Once upon a time there was a child who was willful, and would not do what her mother wished. For this reason God had no pleasure in her, and let her become ill, and no doctor could do her any good, and in a short time she lay on her death-bed. When she had been lowered into her grave, and the earth was spread over her, all at once her arm came out again, and stretched upwards, and when they had put it in and spread fresh earth over it, it was all to no purpose, for the arm always came out again. Then the mother herself was obliged to go to the grave, and strike the arm with a rod, and when she had done that, it was drawn in, and then at last the child had rest beneath the ground.

I mean can you believe this stuff.

Then there is all that Mother Goose; we know there was no Mother Goose but over time there were a ton of stories and rhymes attributed to that name . These storeis and rhymes were also not pleasant. Cinderella was based on one as was Thumbelina most of these stories have their own sick characteristics I am afraid and caused obvious damage to the psyche of the yuppie generation. Nothing was ever good enough one was always the poor step child and always trying to be better. So having been brought up believing that people were eaten my wolves or baked in ovens or never good enough always wanting to have the glass slipper and marry the prince I can�t blame them for their psychological proclivities. I have to tell you these old illustrations are really nice though. I�m thankful that I was brought up on Eric Carle and Shel Silverstein; I mean how much damage can a book full of awesome colorful animal pictures and poems by the likes of John Gardner and D.H. Lawrence be. These books were in the boxes as well. This is the stuff that I was brought up on. From Eric Carle's Animals Animals The Lizard The Lizard is a timid thing That cannot dance or fly or sing He hunts for bugs beneath the floor And longs to be a dinosaur John Gardner See, no potential perpetrators of fear here. Or mind you this; one of my favorite Silverstein poems. They've Put a Brassiere On a Camel

They've put a brassiere on a camel, She wasn't dressed proper, you know. They've put a brassiere on a camel, So that her humps wouldn't show. And they're making other respectable plans, They're even even insisting the pigs should wear pants, They'll dress up the ducks if we give them the chance Since they've put a brassiere on a camel. They've put a brassiere on a camel, They claim she's more decent that way. They've put a brassiere on a camel, The camel had nothing to say. They squeezed her into it, i'll never know how, They say that she looks more respectable now, Lord knows what they've got in mind for the cow, Since they've put a brassiere on a camel.

Shel Silverstein . This is just plain funny even to a five year old so yeah for my no free and clear from messed up head syndrome Y gen. Some may say this is debatable and they may be correct, but at least our problems are our own; they don�t come from some sad sick fairy tales we were fed as children. They don�t come from MTV either, although that can be pretty frightening, we had those yuppie parents remember, and they were constantly telling us that stuff was crap and none of it was real and we did understand that much anyway. Found a few other weird things in the boxes like my old report cards. Yeah I loved this teacher. ------ seems to manage her time wisely and is never off task, something that is remarkable in a second grader. She does seem to ask a lot of questions more so than the average second grader. I am all for curiosity however and have never believed it killed anything not even the cat. She does do a lot of drawing when I am speaking which in and of itself is not a problem but she uses a lot of the schools paper and when the time comes for her writing assignment she always has to ask for more. If possible, in order to allow her to continue her artistic pursuits during class time, I am requesting that you send in a stack of loose leaf non college ruled paper as well as some plain white paper so as to mitigate this situation. Well as I now have a job I must retire early. This working stuff really is not all it is cracked up to be. I hope I never have to do it for a living.

Yes, my comments are messed up so they go at the top. I am doing the best I can.(sure)