The Sad New Life of George Zimmerman

The Sad New Life of George Zimmerman

He feels put upon because he has sit on unpopular beaches wearing a fake Fidel Castro beard. It itches, but he is afraid of scratching, afraid of the paparazzi, afraid of having to run down a black and white street being pursed by his fans like the Beatles in the 60’s. He lifts the hair from his face for a moment to sip a green drink and says, “I always knew I’d be famous just like John Wayne. I’m sure he was also a master of disguises.”

Happy Birthday Nancy Wilson

Happy Birthday to Nancy Wilson.

Here is a great video of Nancy playing the acoustic intro to Crazy on You: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whXeb7Ohfkk

Picnic People

I'm suspicious of the smell of someone else's lunch in an office. The odor is hard to identify. Usually smells burnt. I'm always surprised if I see the source of the smell because it's never the food I thought it was going to be. Perhaps there is something about the smell of an office that gets into microwaveable food. The whole thing turns my stomach. However, I must admit that when people have given me some of their homemade lunch to try, I have been pleasantly surprised! Once I smelled the generic burnt odor and it turned out to be skinless chicken with delicious herbs, and the chicken wasn't dry (the problem I have had with cooking chicken).

I guess its just weird seeing homemade food out of its normal kitchen setting and popping up in the office kitchen. The one exception to this is the homemade party platter. You expect to see some kind of platter in the office.

I'm just not organized enough to bring food with me anywhere. This is a personal failing. Not that I'm that anxious to bring party platters or lunch, but I would like to be the person who could produce a picnic from a basket. That would be nice. Victorian. In 2012, "picnics" are usually pot-luck affairs with covered dishes spread out on a portable table with fold-out legs. The dishes look like criminals in a line-up, each one not happy to be stared out, judged.

I want to be the kind of person who can make a picnic with nice breakable dishes and glasses, wine, silverware. Under a tree, private, not for everyone's eyes. I don't know what it takes to be a picnic person. Is it a skill you are born with or can it be taught?

Cattle Women

Feb- 26 "Virginia officials backed off last week from requiring vaginal ultrasounds before abortions, but state legislators are still expected to pass a bill that mandates abdominal ultrasounds and adds other significant requirements for women seeking abortions.
In recent years, this common diagnostic tool has taken a greater role in abortion-related legislation. Seven states require ultrasounds before abortions. Twenty states regulate some aspect of ultrasound exams, including requiring abortion providers to give women the option to view the image or listen to the fetal heartbeat if an ultrasound is performed." http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/virginia-ultrasound-bill-joins-other-states-measures/2012/02/24/gIQAervUcR_story.html

The War on Women started in 2010. The year right-wing republicans took power in many state houses. Since the republicans swept into local power, anti-women legislation has gone up 20% all over the country.

There is nothing complicated about access to abortion and birth control. It is a choice of simple alternatives: either you believe women are livestock and should be out in the field, or you don't believe women are livestock. I don't believe women are livestock. I think they are human beings. But if you take away their right to control their own bodies, they are livestock.

Let's go over this once more. Here is a photo of women:

Here is a photo of livestock women:

Poem Constructed from Viagra spam

She is out to twelve mon cher highly seen. She goes gingerly downhill.
Smile mon cher
smile exiles, table his legends,
and obey
the great plot he has construted.
He was out, terminating. Mon cher said an age, not a personal navigator,
makes the centre dragon twist.
Already there was too much used viagra in her.
Three americans, 140 – towels,
looking out the windows
they all took dizzy, and years went too, back as far as maps. Under foreign control
mon cher had guns, not nerve crack.  Twenty made mon cher a perpetual pair.
Who would it be? Who was to live? They raced rarely, but pitting outranked soliders
against sister was mean. It watched here know.  Mon cher take off the triumphant harness –
it could creak your back, and time could erase the shrubs off your empty face.
From the scheming, I was the international passport for another cher.
He was seating the tourists for two thousand a couple. He can't stop
the development over this city. "It worked out," he told his cher.
"The cat decompression is like losing the inside of an empire."
He wiped the viagra off mon cher and had his own space,
weeping and trusting her so. Rulers have said only three thin muffled words.
Later at the financial idea, everything slid down good.