Politics & Paradise: What’s your vote?

*If you want to make a comment, please click on the title of the post…sorry. Don’t know why the comment button at the bottom of the post isn’t functional. I’ll get around to figuring it out after I’m done complaining.*

I’ve been biting my tongue about politics and the various campaigns for the presidency. It isn’t because I don’t have an opinion. Hell will freeze over before I am caught without an opinion, let alone one as important as how the next four to eight years of my life will be influenced. That’s right. When you really get down to business, it’s really all about me.

Just kidding.

But I have been circling my wagons, and keeping an eye on the situation. It’s quite challenging to watch debates like the one CNN aired last night when I was lovingly kneading what would turn out to be a fragrant braid of Finnish Pulla. Does Mitt Romney ever, EVER stop talking? And does he ever NOT have that smirk on his face? I can barely bring myself to listen to anything he says. And when I hear him, I don’t believe any of it.

Remember the old Charlie Brown cartoons on television? When the adults spoke, they sounded like, “Mwha-wah-wha-mwah-wah-ah…”. That would be Mitt for me, except his diatribe is more like, “blahblahblahblahdee-blahdee-blahhhhhhh. Chuckle.” Go ahead and plug your nose, grin like a silly ass and try it. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. His eyes are glittery, which can’t be good. And he’s accomplished at the “he said, she said” junior high school game which doesn’t look good on a man in his position. Wait. Dubyah’s good at it, too.

Ugh. It’s all so depressing. *this is the part where Chicken Little can be heard saying, “The sky is falling…the sky is falling…”*

Not too long ago, NPR was interviewing people about the Republican candidate they’d most likely vote for and why, and more than one woman in the “my age” bracket actually mentioned that at least he “looked presidential,” and that’s why they’d vote for him.

Excuse me?

Don’t you wonder about people who actually don’t have a problem saying things like that for a national audience? Okay, so ANY audience. Oh. My. Gawd.

Or my personal favorite comes from women who state that they vote the way their husbands vote. You know, so they won’t cancel each other out? Huh? They’re kidding, right? As much as one might think these voters could be compared to June Cleaver, I’d say June was a tough mother and most likely had Ward voting her way or else he’d be sleeping with the Beev. Yanno?

Continue reading “Politics & Paradise: What’s your vote?”

Yes, I’m awake.

Well, it’s been exactly a week since I had the rude awakening of taking my lovely cat, Blackitty, to the vet and having to leave him there. I can say I’m thankful for the passing of time. Very thankful.

Scouring through all the photographs I have of him and putting them together in a digital album that will be printed and bound was very theraputic. Having a gigantic image of him on my monitor also helps because I smile at his loveliness each time I sit down to write. I seem to have developed the practice of cybernose scratching with the mouse arrow which does humor me, but seems completely pathetic. If you’re thinking I’ve crossed over some line and am headed to the nut farm, you’ve probably right. But I’ll be just fine. I don’t have my head permanently buried in the sand…

I’m completely aware that some French guy scammed one of their largest banks to the tune of $7 billion.

And that Dubyah is desperately trying to keep the U.S. presence in Iraq for the next 10 years and wouldn’t that be just great to whomever moves in to clean up the complete mess he’s made of everything over the past seven grueling years.

And that the stock market has been completely nuts and that it is having quite the impact on world economics…

Or that there’s just something wrong with the idea that a young woman can be missing and the police investigating can immediately turn to the umpteen gazillion registered sex offenders who live in her area to find out if they had anything to do with it. *insert disgusted head shaking here*

That American Idol is back, and am I mistaken or is there a new and gentler Simon and much better auditions early on that the crap we were subjected to last year? Thanks to BeckEye of The Pop Eye, my up-to-the-minute source on all things Idol. And if you didn’t click on the American Idol link, you missed her wit — and Simon in undies.

Also, that Atonement, which the MoH and I saw a few weeks ago and were mesmerized by, has been nominated for quite a few Oscars, including best picture. And don’t I just not like film critics — the epitome of “those who can’t act, direct, or produce…criticize.” Can a movie ever really be as good as the book that inspired it? No.

That this famous blogger most likely had her trip to Paradise ruined since we were POUNDED with rain and even hail last night. I hear that even more is due tomorrow. Paradise is fickle like that. And dang. One-hundred seventy-seven comments on a post is amazing. Yah think? I might be able to muster…oh, about 5 if I write about the piece of orzo that just fell between the B and N on my keyboard. No. Wait. I already did that.

And finally, that our favorite hotel in Vegas is trying to burn down…

I’m going to be working in the basement of this blog over the next few days to a week (real WordPress upgrade, new header, page revisions, and theme…) so thanks ahead of time for your patience. And if you’re completely bored or can’t sleep at night, head on over to my little slice of foodland, because I’ll be pretty busy there over there trying to convince myself I love it as much as I do this one. As much as I know who I am as a cook, I struggle with the part of me that does the writing there. The photography learning curve is a 45 degree angle and my tongue hangs out routinely on that. The settings on the camera, the fact that most of the photos are taken at night, halogen, vs tungsten vs natural light…Jeez. I just want to make the stuff, okay? It is enjoyable, though, even if it’s as time consuming as it is.

I must be doing something right because I actually got my first two — yes, I said TWO — pieces of spam on my other site. In the same amount of time, this one has been hit by 4,318. I’ve also just received my first crappy comment over there. Now, I do have to confess that it had me going until I did a bit of research. The loser who posted the comment is the type of “blogger” (and I hesitate to use the word since I don’t think this particular brand of human can actually get credit for blogging…) who barfs and runs. You know the type. But in this case, the email address that accompanies the post came back immediately when I tried to use it, and the IP address was a dead end. So I looked around Whois, and found out that the whole thing was designed to lead me to a site where a domain was for sale. Whatever. Slime bag. Cockroach. Bottom dwelling mud sucker. I left the comment up and my response if you feel like getting worked up over people who do whatever they can to aggravate the rest of us to make a buck. For all I know, the scum is a neighbor and I’ll see him drive by with a shiny new car and plates similar to the ones I saw at the grocery store the other day that said LINK AD.

Sometimes, life isn’t as kind to the good guys, is it?

Anyhoo, have a swell weekend!

What to do on a Friday. Or not.

Since I officially have a J.O.B. now, I get to brag that I get Fridays off. And since I only work four hours a day the other four weekdays, clearly I’m not taxed here. Actually, I knew that it would be just enough time to throw off my blogging responsibilities. So thanks for your patience as I figure it out. Some of you are gifted in that area and manage to work and blog quite effectively. Show-offs. Or is it that you use that company computer? Only on breaks, right?

So what to do with this Friday and the weekend?

Grousse a bit about DubYah and the ridiculous “bail out” of the home mortgage catastrophe.

  • How nice that yet again, people who KNOWINGLY got themselves into a mess they can’t get out of get to keep their mess, but have someone else pay for it. Can I get in line for that, please? How can anyone not know that they can’t afford something? No. Way. And the lenders and agents who instigated the whole thing to pad their own wallets and then bail when things began to get soft need to be thrown in the slammer. Losers. They threw Martha in the slammer for something miniscule in comparison, and since this mortgage business is affecting the economy, uh, I’m thinking they need to round the crooks up. The whole “bail out” is a scam, anyway. Sort of along the lines of “Tastes Great! Less Filling.” Tastes great!  Less filling! Serve it up anyway, George. You go right ahead. What. Ever.

B*tch about a hike in our medical insurance because I had another birthday; its high cost must not have been quite high enough.

  • Mind you, we’ve only had the insurance since this past spring. If Blue Cross would give up sending stoopid statements on high quality shiny paper printed in lots of purdy colors (that just confirm we’re getting hosed monthly because there are only zeros on the statement), they could probably save a zillion dollars. Then they wouldn’t have to charge me the extra money that is just going out the window because we don’t use it. You can’t exactly USE medical insurance with a deductible that rivals the national debt. Welcome to the land of opportunity. The place where you purchase medical insurance just to prevent the loss of a home in the event of a serious medical condition. Wait. I could maybe swing a deal with the banking and mortgage crooks, then not have to pay. Sure.

Clearly, others understand this is the land of opportunity and the home of the brave.

  • After you rip everyone off, enjoying their hard-earned cash and credit (sans taxes, of course), why not ask for leniency because you want to turn your life around after you’ve had all this fun? *Can I borrow your spoon so I can stick it in my throat and gag?* If the judge believes these two free-loading ass*oles, I have a terrific chunk of land in Paradise that is a veritable rain forest with unlimited water and city politicians who aren’t liars.

Lest this all depress you, we can look forward to the colors the fashion industry has in store for us all next Spring. Um. I can’t wait. Spring ‘08 Colors The MoH just may be interested in a nice trouser in Snorkel Blue and a shirt with French Cuffs in Spring Crocus. Wait. On second thought, maybe one of Buckler’s designer swim suits. The gold lame.

And last but not least — I saw this standing in the grocery line a couple of days ago.

  • A suggestion or two? Tubal Ligation. Condoms. Birth control pills. Strategically positioned stitches. Lobotomy.

But it’s Friday. So I’m going to spruce up my casita and get ready for the weekend. There’s holiday shopping to be done, a tree to be chosen and to decorate, and maybe…just maybe…another performance of yours truly on ustream.tv this Sunday. Don’t hold your breath for it, though.

My follow through sucks right now.

But we’re healthy, damnit.

Teddy Bears and Food Chains

Could someone out there tell me what is wrong with people who have their heads so wrapped up in their religious identities that they can’t behave in a civilized fashion?  It would certainly help me at least begin to try to understand them. Or pretend to try and understand them.  Okay, so maybe not.

I’m not one to judge what people believe and why.  Really.  I notice and move on.  I may question it, think about it, maybe even worry about it or roll my eyes a few times. But that’s all. I completely understand that my purpose on this earth is to be a constructive human, and to raise productive humans.  I don’t point fingers, or get too caught up in others’ day-to-day drama. Blogging doesn’t count.

But once in a while, I wonder why there are people who are so consumed with their beliefs they aren’t satisfied until those beliefs are plastered everywhere forcing everyone else to see and know what they stand for — religiously.  I’m not talking about tree huggers here, okay?

I have trouble understanding when said people consumed with their religious beliefs (read men in Sudan and other places, but especially Sudan for this particular point) that they take to the streets calling for the execution of a woman who allowed her child to name a toy.

Surely this warrants an eye for an eye.  (I’m trying to understand here, okay?)

Surely, they have absolutely nothing better to do with their time after they’ve just finished worshiping than to crowd together acting like complete barbarians for the sake of a man who, if alive, would most likely be horrified to know that what he stood for has been so completely distorted.

When events such as this happen, I try to put myself in the position of the one so rudely offended.  I try to find a similar situation where I (or another as noble and understanding as myself, of course) might be equally offended.  Now the first example that comes to mind is the fact that many families from Spain (or countries that were invaded by Spain when it was obsessed with its religious beliefs and killing those who didn’t agree…) traditionally name their male offspring “Jesus.”  Say “Hay-soos” and you’ve got it.  I have heard someone question whether this is “okay” since fair-skinned individuals who are avid believers in Christianity would never name their male children Jesus.  Never.  But that’s a weak example, isn’t it?  Hmmmm…?  Okay, everyone…to the streets!  Such heinous disrespect!

Do they TRULY believe the British teacher should have to face imprisonment, 40 lashes, deportation, or as the learned masses demand — execution?  Really?  Why might the children not understand that this isn’t appropriate?  Might the families be falling down on their religious responsibilities to educate their children about all the truly important dogma they must adhere to in order to become crazed zealots by the time they’re old enough to join a crowd in the streets to call for revenge by violent means?

You know.

To even the score.

Sure.  That should take care of it.

I know somewhere, there’s a connection to the food chain.  Everything has a place on it.  I’m wondering what religious zealots’ place on the chain is.  What their purpose in life is.  Why entire countries and their governments have gotten it all so horribly wrong.

They must not have enough to read.  Not enough to stimulate their intellectual capacity.  Enough to encourage individuality and creativity.  Constructive inspiration.  Freedom.

It’s challenging for me to not acknowledge my intense reaction when I read about events such as this, or watch segments on the news.  My distaste is extreme, and familiar ability to tolerate missing.

I don’t want to understand their reaction.

I don’t feel like I should have to try.

I’m not comfortable with their actions…

…or them.

They’re dangerous.

Dear San Diego Union-Tribune:

As I drag my unwilling body over the scorching sand of the Sahara that is my carpet, I yet again position myself at my trusty desk and keyboard to put a checkmark in the box that denotes another NaBloPoMo done…

November 12, 2007

Dear Whomever Makes the Decision to Fold the San Diego Union-Tribune in a Particular Order:

I often take time on certain days of the week to notice which page is “up” as I sit down to read through the paper. Often when there has been a tragic occurrence, the main page is noticeably tucked behind something that someone at the paper has deemed less controversial, or more for the faint of heart. On Saturdays in general, the “Family” section is what I see when I pull the paper out of its plastic bag. At least I think that’s the routine. But when I do notice, I leaf through the rest of the paper to see what you may be trying to prevent me from seeing on first glance, as if I hadn’t already seen or heard about it on the Internet the previous day.

This past Saturday (and I’ve had to wait a couple of days to write about it because it upset me so much, it put quite a damper on my Saturday morning) you did have the “Family” section in full view. But as I scanned the page, I began to wonder what was really going on. Was it just some poor sap who follows directions, or was it by design that unsuspecting people would be forced to read with their morning coffee three articles that were anything but conducive to a relaxing morning. I don’t like being manipulated.

I’m not going to apologize for being less than enthused about reading these particular pieces. I’m not a wilting violet, and I have far too many opinions about too many things. But I will say that sometimes, I want to choose when I get worked up over something. And most often, it’s because I’m the type of person who immediately feels that I have some degree of responsibility for the problem, that I should be more involved in doing something about it, or that I’m being educated and then chastised about not doing anything to help the problem. I’m sure there are pills for this particular malady, but I don’t like taking pills.

I know that you’re not to blame for my idiosyncracies, nevertheless, they are what they are and I thought that it was time to let you know how I feel about all of this.

“Scratch that 7-year itch; it’s 5 now,” by Shelley Emling was another one of those articles that prove again that anyone can say anything with a set of statistics. Good thing to know as the MoH and I approach our 20th anniversary, that we’re past the scratching and itching stage of it all. But it’s an odd story to run on the “Family” page. I’m sure you’d call it objective reporting of the results of a study. I’ll call it pessimistic. Reporting, that is.

“Missed lead?” by Jane Clifford had me shaking my head with a “what’s next” attitude. Let’s take paranoia about lead in toys to the next level instead of paying attention to more serious issues about pollutants in water, the air, the ground, the materials our homes are built from, and the food we eat. Yes, I do think that just about covers it. Look quickly and you just may see Chicken Little scurrying around with her chicks, trying to keep them from kissing their dolls.

And speaking of food? Well, that’s the article that is to blame for this tirade, because although I only scanned the two previous articles, I read this one to the last grim line. Thanks, Luis Humberto Crosthwaite. Thanks very much for your well-written and informative “Hearts ache for children of the fields.” Thanks for reminding me that in Mexico, as in many impoverished countries in the world, families put their children to work at a very early age, even though it’s illegal. That many of those children die working in the fields handling produce that is shipped to this country.

Thanks very much for letting me know, “It’s sad to consider that our salad was picked by small hands.” Sad to the point of tears sad. Very.

What am I supposed to do about this? What can I do about it? Not eat lettuce? Boycott stores that sell produce from Mexico? Seriously. Sure, that would work. If someone actually organized the effort, and it was successful, how would it play out? The produce would not be sold, it would be left to rot in the fields, there would be less of a need for workers, so then the children wouldn’t have to pick produce. We could all get in bed at night and feel great that we did something to make a difference. Not. Sadly, what happens is then they don’t have work. The families aren’t paid. They have no food.

The families have to eat. They’ll try and find different work because they have to. And the children will be right beside them, working at something perhaps even more difficult than picking produce. There will be no sitting around waiting for a check in the mail. *Oops. Did I just say that? Shame on me.*>Should I call the Mexican government and inquire about why poverty and child labor exist in their country? Because that’s the real problem. Why they don’t seem to care? Or do anything about it? Sure. That would work.

Like it works in this country.

But I’m sure our child mortality rate isn’t as high.

So thanks for reminding me that I need to be thankful for what I have because perhaps I didn’t already realize it, and for letting me know that my lettuce may have been picked by a child who has died in the process.

But I’m not sad about it today like I was Saturday. I’m just very angry.


A Subscriber

Dear Whomever is in charge of Coastline spying…

Nine days and counting on NaBloPoMo…Yay! It’s Friday. The downside is that the weekend is when I have a tendency to drop a posting day. But not this month! I’m on it, pecking away, and fighting with my date stamp which is completely driving me nuts…

November 9, 2007

Mike McConnell

Director of National Intelligence

Washington, D.C.

Dear Sir:

Although I’m sure that you’ve been briefed about the recent discovery of yet another boat left on the shore in a neighboring beach community, I felt the need to share a few thoughts I’ve had with respect to the idea of security in our country. Since this is the second such occurrence in less than two months, the last of which took place not two miles from my home, I’d say there should be some eyebrows raised about what constitutes “safe.”

I’m not paranoid, but still.

  1. What difference does continuing to process everyone at the airport make if people can ride the surf packed in small boats in the dark and jump onto the shore to enter the country? Mind you, I’m not referring to the fact that they’re entering the country illegally. I’m suggesting that being able to enter in this fashion at all would be a problem. Where’s their security check-in processing and wand-style detector waving session?
  2. It’s just wonderful that so much of everyone’s time is spent “securing the border” with those more concerned about “illegals” coming to work in the country as it is needing to know who they are and if they’re someone to be concerned about. Are you having a bit of that “it’s not my job” difficulty between your departments? The Border Patrol doesn’t speak to the Coast Guard who isn’t expected to acknowledge the existence of ICE. I’m sure I left one out.
  3. Perhaps you are paying attention to the coastline, and you already knew who those people were that got out of those boats, and had decided that they were harmless. That you’d let the local authorities round them up at some point so people around here won’t get their panties in a wad because more undocumented people gained access to the land of opportunity. Yes, perhaps you knew.
  4. I would hope that because Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials have recognized that human smuggling using boats is a “seasonal phenomenon in San Diego, with smugglers trying to blend in with pleasure boat traffic during warmer months,” that they also acknowledge that not many boats are out in the dark, especially near shore. Well at least not boats without lights, and packed with people who all happen to be wearing black. Now, they could be New Yorkers lost on their way to a party in L.A. by way of the Panama Canal, but still.
  5. You might want to have some of your agents dress like drunks and lay on the rocks to keep an eye on things. Or, you could just pay the people who already do that. I haven’t seen any signs down at the shore that say “Will Spy for Booze,” but it’s only a matter of time if these boats keep pulling in.

Thanks for your time on this matter. I’m sure your departments or agencies, or whatever you call them will get this figured out and actually communicate on the matter.



p.s. You could probably call Arnold on this.

Douse ’em all!


Ah, moisture in the atmosphere. Nothing like a thick blanket of fog to dampen things and cool a few tempers. A bucket of cold water would most likely work better for some.

So here’s my list of recipients of the “Bucket of Cold Water in the Face” award for a flagrant display of ego during and after a catastrophe.

  • In a letter to the editor of the local paper, a woman from Imperial Beach (spitting distance to the Baja California border) for suggesting that “the power be shut down in the areas of high winds until they dissipate to the point that they pose little danger to the line.” Life is just so simple to some, isn’t it?
  • Our city attorney for suggesting that the entire city be evacuated to Yuma. Excuse me? Could someone — anyone — please oppose him in the next election. Please? He’s completely bonkers.
  • To the illustrious blow hard Rush Limbaugh for asking where all the “environmentalists wackos” are when the place is burning up and asking why they aren’t helping to fight the fires. What? Was he out of material that day? Oh, I forgot. He’s been out of material since Bill Clinton left office. Stupid me.
  • People who know their homes weren’t destroyed, but who were vociferously complaining that they couldn’t return to their own while their neighbors whose homes are in ashes keep their chins up, smile, and sift through what’s left of their belongings. Ugly Americans, indeed. Douse ’em again for just being a**holes. Okay, one more for the road. Losers.
  • Dub-yah’s motorcade and entourage for keeping people who had been told they could return to their homes sitting on the freeway for over four hours until he was done touring a burn area, and eating lunch at a fire command post. Sometimes, you just have to check your routines, right? Douse ’em good and then rub some mud on their faces.
  • Talk radio crazies who began stirring the pot about blame before the fires are out challenging why aircraft weren’t up in winds that exceeded 70 mph in some places dropping water and fire retardant. Skip the water on this one. Drop some fire retardant on their heads instead. Or give ’em a few pills to put them out of our misery.
  • A woman from Rancho Bernardo who felt that “the president picked a bad time to come.” Okay, so he could have waited a week, but Arnold was here for days, so Dub-yah had to be here, too, or he would have had egg on his face. Hmmm….No. Douse ‘er anyway for being self-centered.
  • To the woman who applied for food stamps because the power was out and the food in her refrigerator spoiled. How much food is that? And how big is that fridge? And how long does it take meat in a freezer to thaw out if no one opens the door?
  • To the media and their “helpful” public service advice with regard to the ash on our driveways and sidewalks: Don’t wash it off with the hose because it will end up in the water. (Um…has anyone noticed the large body of saltwater to the west? Do you actually think that it has remained remarkably free of ash to this point and that washing ash from our driveways will create a problem?) Oh, and absolutely don’t use leaf blowers. (Okay, so I agree with this simply because the make an annoying sound and do blow crap into the air — especially if someone hasn’t picked up after their dog.) Do use a broom. But sweep gently so the ash doesn’t go back into the air. By all means, do dispose of the ash in the garbage can. (Where it will go to the dump, get rained on sometime in the next century when it finally does rain, and then wash into the ocean.) Okay, so skip the water on this one. Just dump a truck-load of ash on her head. Or feed her to Rush Limbaugh for lunch.

And that concludes yet another day of ranting.