Eating American Horses

Now people want a  national mandate about the export of horses.  Every county, at least in Northern Illinois, has its group of justice warriors that are rescuing starved and abandoned horses on private estates and farms. How old are the jokes about the glue factory?

A friend contributed to a charity that was trying to save the many burros running wild out west. They called to tell her the truck arrived in Chicago with her burro and please come pick it up. She lived in a city bungalow with her parents.

And what do they do when the wild mustang herds overgrow?  They have round ups and slaughter. They also do this with buffalo herds, for instance, in Custer State Park. (Maybe National Park.)

This is a perceptual problem. Cows are actually more intelligent than horses and much more interested in bonding with humans. We don't ride cows and we don't eat horses. Why is that? A food chain is a food chain. Does a spider get sad if a ladybug gets caught in his web instead of a housefly or a mosquito?

Automated Censorship

And if nobody raised a fuss?  These "standards" that facebook has to label something as "hate speech" are not singled out by a single person leafing through posts. It is most likely an algorithm that automatically picks out words.
We need to know what about the Declaration was singled out for this classification because that algorithm is already in place and that is censorship. Automated censorship. Guilty until proven innocent. So this is just a hint of what is to come. These things are already in place.  They are sorry?  What do you suppose was already suppressed that we never knew about?  Stuff facebook doesn't want us to know about.

A New Story for Today, Friday, 4/13/2018

So. All of you that thought Obama care was such a good idea, that thought it was SO great that he "helped" the people who couldn't afford the program he forced them into, it seems the "help" he gave you, that you now have to pay back, is a far worse financial burden than the penalty would have been.  You can let go of your ankles now and stand up. Trump says you don't have to pay back the assistance next year.

Want to buy an extended warranty on this used car I am selling you?

Today's Story, April 11, 2018

Today's story. April 11, 2018

So I wanted my favorite chicken and dumplings for my birthday dinner. That was Monday. But everyone was busy. My husband "liked" a wish from another person. That was his contribution to my birthday celebration. So on the way back from errands I bought a quonset pizza. Tuesday Fran came by with two cards and a bag of truffles. She made the kids call and say Happy Birthday. I actually got a greeting from each of my brothers.

Fran is terribly busy, doing clinicals to finish her masters and also working. But it is getting old. I am not supposed to drive. I have no license. ( Thanks, Lisa.) And have crippling agoraphobia. I have been picking up Delaney after school and bringing her here. I hit a car in the school parking lot. Fuck it. I didn't own it. So Lou picked her up two days and tomorrow. He is losing it completely.

Today I made the soup. Delaney ate two bowls. The dumplings were fluffy.  Succés foú.  So I go to clean up. Fran came in and had a small bowl. She doesn't even like it but thought she had to. But needed to be home for paper. So I try to make space in the fridge for pot. I am sick of recontainering everything with elaborate and expensive elán like some must do and leave the various detritus for the negro slave to clean up.

I first pick up a small carton of apple sauce. It had exploded. It was stuck. Everything on the shelf was stuck hard. This did not happen ten minutes ago. Hard stuck. Days. No one mentions. So I unstick. Wash some containers; throw much away. Take shelf and wash. Replacing shelf, knock over bowl of left over waffle batter. Fills next shelf. I remove objects, wash batter off them.  Sop up puddle of batter.  Remove shelf to wash. Notice batter filled crisper. Remove crisper to wash. Throw away tube of ground turkey that says use or freeze by March 17, 2017.  Throw much away. Fucking olives. Fucking pickles. Sparkling crisper now contains one can frosting, one package hummus, one package new tortillas.

Last year's birthday was horrible. This year's was equally bad but lasted three days. I had to cancel dental appointment Tuesday because I had panic attack which sends my blood pressure into a mini Buckingham fountain that spurts out the top of my head. Tuesday night, heavily doped, took Delaney to first grade open house. You know. Where you go in the door that is at the opposite end of the horseshoe shaped building where the classroom is located so your hip is screaming and you have these tiny chairs. So when "someone" got home from work and gave me two reefer gummies, I took them both. Zowie.

Problem Solved

1.  Google the word taqiiya.
      Never mind.  I will do it for you.


 "Taqiyya is an Islamic juridical term whose shifting meaning relates to when a Muslim is allowed, under Sharia law, to lie. A concept whose meaning has varied significantly among Islamic sects, scholars, countries, and political regimes, it nevertheless is one of the key terms used by recent anti-Muslim polemicists. 

"Muslim scholars teach that Muslims should generally be truthful to each other, unless the purpose of lying is to "smooth over differences."

There are two forms of lying to non-believers that are permitted under certain circumstances, taqiyya and kitman. These circumstances are typically those that advance the cause of Islam - in some cases by gaining the trust of non-believers in order to draw out their vulnerability and defeat them." 

2.  Watch the movie "Thirteen Hours".

They do not even delve into the part where Ambassador Stevens is cattle prodded in the genitals. But I will refresh your memory.

Warning: Horrible image follows so don't look at it if you are squeamish.  Some say it is fake. Let us pray that be true.

3.  Google taqiyyah.

4.  Stop being charitable toward muslims.  Why do you expect them to know what Christian Charity even is?

5.  Do something.The world is laughing at us like we are dancing monkeys on a stick.

6.  Stop letting yourself be a dancing monkey on a stick'

By the way, you can apply for a FOID card on line.

Further:  I am an islamophobe.

BOOM!

“I don’t think they’re gaining strength,” Obama responded. “What is true is that from the start, our goal has been first to contain and we have contained them. They have not gained ground in Iraq, and in Syria they’ll come in, they’ll leave, but you don’t see this systemic march by ISIL across the terrain.”

Obama said this to George Stephanopoulos Friday morning.  Was it delusion, stupidity, a trigger?  ISIS is pouring across the world. We have ISIS training camps in Illinois and no one does anything about it. How can he possibly believe we have contained them? And, if he doesn't know it or believe it, it is one more nationally broadcast lie to America. What happened in Paris can happen here at any minute. Think about that every time you walk in the door of a mall or a theater. The only difference will be someone in the crowd of US citizens will be armed.

Harrassment By Any Other Name

When I was in college, I was a member of a much ridiculed minority. One consisting of only two percent of the world's population. At my institution the percentage was even lower. As a matter of fact, I only recall 3 other members of this minority in all my years spent there. I was constantly being approached by people remarking on my condition. I went to the Dean, Lamping was his name.  He was dating a grade school class mate of mine, but they broke up. I better leave her name out of this. Anyway, I asked for a "safe place" where those of us sharing this condition  could congregate without being "hit on". That is what they called it in those times. You were being "hit on" or "hawked", not harrassed. So when I made my request the dean said, "Bag ass, Red."

SEE WHAT YOU ARE SAYING?

The Spectrum of Bitterness -- part four

"The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in '68 and he told me. . . "

                                                                           Joni Mitchell

Last night I spent about three hours on a three -way, (don't get your hopes up. . .) cell phone, voice and text message discussion.  A person close to me called.  They were in distress half-way across the country from me.  I spoke and texted with all three members of this debacle, until my wi-fi finally said, "Fuck this." and gave up the ghost.

Among other things, I was told pieces of family history that a person had told another person that were part enhancement, part disremembering , and part hog wash.  I dealt with tears, lies, condemnations, praise, laughter, pleading, drunkenness and despair. This morning I was texted that every thing was hunky dory and they were going to experiment with one of the pieces of advice (Not the one where I said shut the fuck up) and see how that worked out.

I responded, since they were all in search of emotional peace of some sort and none of them had a handy firearm, that the texter should tell one certain member of the triad that I find it very difficult to text while my tears are pouring over the keyboard. I pretty much felt like I was run over by a truck.

It isn't like this same horrible blood-letting drama hasn't unfolded on at least three other ocasions, word for word. No. This was all new, fresh wounds and never before experienced pain and anguish.   Remind me to press record call the next time it happens.

One of the persons, near and dear to me, is very well known to react, or should I say 'lose her shit' over specific issues that this unnamed person does not care to deal with at that moment, which is 99% of the moments in that person's life.  So I am hoping that some of these people will soon learn not to rock that boat, or pull the tail of that tiger, or poke that hornet's nest. Of course I admonished one and all that it would be very difficult work to even reach 50/50 compromises on these hot button issues and they all agreed that they would whole-heartedly make that effort. Again.

I am thinking of ordering a t-shirt that says, "I am not Ann Landers."  but no one knows who that is anymore.  I am a rather socially solitary person and I cannot figure out how I end up in the middle of these things.  After each one of these crises has passed, if I dare say, "So, how's it going" or "So, what's new?" I usually get the "Go away, you meddlesome bitch" sneer.

My brothers were feuding for a good many years.  I felt like a frigging ping-pong ball.  They actually, were they to accept an inquiry, could neither of them remember what the feud was about. The demise of our beloved father caused them to put the conflict aside and be "brothers" again. This, of course, since I am not only the middle child, but also an ignorant female whose life experience with dealing with  aging and dying parents and rest home bills, etc. counts for naught, means the ping- pong table was folded up and put in the crawl space, and this ping-pong ball was immediately relegated to a dusty corner of the "high, high" shelf. And, since I have had many a year to develop certain scars and calouses, I just don't give a shit.  I am just me.

It isn't even reality.  Everything that I experience takes place only in my brain, a beautiful garden where I am very content.  Lots of weeds, but I know how to get rid of them. I am quite capable of generating a colorful alternate history. (Which any of you that wish to, can delve into.  Google me. Cherry pick from the reality and the fiction. Whatever suits you.)

"No man is an island."  That's baloney.  I am an island and if you are on it, be it ever so briefly, it is because I allowed it.

And Richard died, so I don't have to deal with that anymore either.

PATRIOTISM

To night I went to the most glorious fireworks display at Great Lakes Naval Station.  The xanax kept me from having a panic attack because I genuinely  believed that ISIS could launch an RPG into the crowd from some cabin cruiser off shore, where many gather in their boats to watch the show.

But at each surge of emotion, each patriotic song, crying  when Toby Keith says "we'll put a boot in their ass" (he would, we could, we should) I  thought "Why are people  trying so hard to fuck up our Nation from inside and out?

And let me add, there were far fewer people there this year. Maybe fear, maybe apathy, maybe more haters. But there were plenty of people there that would stand up next  to you and fight for our country's values. Of course I would. I have nothing to lose.

PHOTO ATTRIBUTION:  www.twincities.com

Maybe The Last One

Tomorrow, celebrate our wonderful Nation's  birthday, joyfully and safely.

United we stand. Divided we fall

Update

Hope this announcement does not offend any one or trifle with their feelings, but it is serious and important to me which is why I keep forgetting to mention it.

At my last doctor appointment my doctor upgraded me from bipolar disorder to dysthymic condition.  This means I am not crazy anymore. Just a little sad.

Loss of Innocence

I had a friend with a daughter that was born with a very rare syndrome. She was very charming, cute, friendly and, of course, naïve. He worried so what would become of her after his death. Her death preceded his, so he was always able to protect her, as was her brother.

I am sickened by this Josh Duggar hullabaloo. Not by what Josh did. I grew up on the west side of Chicago and I well remember what games 8 and 9 year olds played. No details, folks, but yesterday I did not fall off the turnip truck.

What sickens me are the comments. People are getting their heads lopped off in Syria, and all these  people can talk about is who "diddled" (that word is used over and over) who. These are people who slept dorm style. Nineteen kids. Girls at one end of the upstairs, boys at the other. Not even separate  cabins like at summer camp, where fooling around went  on like crazy. I was on a Catholic religious retreat and we all climbed out the window every night.

The commentors wax on about what else someone might have done, or who may have done something to who.  It honestly sounds like they are getting "aroused" by it. And they definitely are playing one-up-manship.

I am disgusted that there  is pin point focus  on this. According to what I have read, everyone in the world was supposed to be a virgin in thought, word, and action  until an appointed official spoke certain words. And according to those same people, to a man/woman, they were.

I am not praising hypocrisy or deceit. I do know what little kids can come up with in their  curiosity. And , according to someone close to me it was the little girl that taught the game. On the block where I lived for many years, it was also a girl that instigated it. And, believe me, every little boy then tried to get others to play. One boy,  a few years older than I, even said, "You don't have to be afraid of me."

Examine your conscience. Make your own moral peace within your self, and stop feeding this titillating crap to the masses.

Store bottled water.

RAPE AS TROPE

I am privileged. I have never found myself in a rapeable situation. But, more importantly, I have never allowed myself to be in that kind of situation. And let me tell you, I have been in  some doozies. Like stopping random people on the south side of the City of Chicago, near 24th and Rockwell actually, asking them how to shift gears on a manual volkswagen cuz my boyfriend is passed out drunk.

Here is the thing. A certain well-known blogger and author did a column on rape being used unnecessarily as a plot device. This is stupid. Rape is not a plot device. If it is in the story it is to authenticate the historical period. It is not a trope. It is a reality. And to avoid talking about it is disingenuous. So maybe it wasn't used as a plot device. Maybe it was a somewhat strained attempt to introduce a reality into the story. Or, we could have people saying, "Gee, that was a swell story. It is nice that people didn't rape or even know what it was in those times."

And how profound is this?  "Truth in fiction is about authenticity."  What the fuck does that mean? Since we are trying to redefine everything else in our culture, at least semantically, are we going to redefine "fiction"or "truth" and/or "authenticity". I mean,  I have seriously wasted my whole long life if, all along, I have been looking for truth and authenticity in my  fiction reading. Fuck you, Raggedy Ann.

Comments closed, Chuck? You're not the boss of my comments.

MOB ACTION: a misdemeanor arrestable offense

This just happened in the last few hours in a rough area of a city that will not be named. Tell me, honestly, from your gut and heart, without any politically  correct  bull shit, do you have to ask the race of these people?  The situation is, of this moment, unresolved, and several similar incidents occur regularly, many times each week.  Who was in danger?  Who was at fault?  If you are not in the trenches, don't comment on the war. 

All times are approximate. Conveyed verbally to me. Not my personal experience.

Patient was brought to ICU room 119 at 2000 after code blue on floor. Patient coded at 2016. Pulse returned, and family members were allowed to bedside two at a time. Patient coded again at 2050. While staff were running code, patient family members were congregating at the doorway of the room, yelling at staff to "Do something!". Security was called for crowd control purposes. Patient expired at approximately 2105. ER Dr. went to family waiting room, where approximately 30 family members were waiting at request of security. When ER doctor informed the crowd that family member had passed away, all of the family members began screaming and charging through the waiting room doors. Security officer was attempting to restrain them all from charging into the ICU, but there were too many of them pushing him and screaming. They pushed past him, scratching his arms and drawing blood in the process. Code grey was called at 2108. One more security officer arrived to room 119 in response to code grey. One security officer was standing in the doorway of the room, attempting to prevent them all from running into the room at the same time. Several staff members attempted to explain that the family needed to remain calm and they would all be allowed to see the patient in an orderly fashion. At least five family members were shoving the security officer in the room's doorway, and screaming that they were going to "Beat the shit outta y'all". I attempted to call the nursing supervisor (who had NOT been present at either of the code blues or the code grey) and after four failed attempts to reach the supervisor's portable phone, I called the operator and asked her to page the supervisor overhead at approx 2114. She offered to call the supervisor's portable phone, and I told her I had already done that several times, to no avail. She then said that she would page her. After three minutes of not hearing an overhead page, I called the operator back and asked her to please "overhead" page the supervisor, in the event that this was an emergency situation. At that time, she overhead (e.g.:  by PA system) paged the supervisor. During this time, every single one of the patient's family members was standing in the hallway of the unit, wailing and screaming multiple obscenities. All the other patients on the unit were disturbed. Other patient family members were afraid to walk down the hallway to exit the unit. Several staff members, including myself, were taken away from providing care for their respective patients. When the nursing supervisor arrived, I told her that this group of family members was overpowering security and the situation was continually escalating, instead of calming down. She informed me she was going to call the CNO, because "her husband is a cop, and maybe he can do something under the radar". Then she left the immediate area.

At this time, I decided the only option to ensure the safety of the staff (nurses and security) was to call (redacted) Police. I called 911 and explained the situation to them and requested their presence.  

(Further remarks on resolution in comments.  Your opinions are requested and respected.)

a sign. . .

Good one.

It's a Matter of Taste and Personal Dignity

First disclaimer:  if you haven't noticed yet, I am a bitter old crone.

I don't blog much anymore. But I have gone through dry spells before. Lately, something just keeps me from that keyboard. And as for my fiction, I have notebooks of three or four works in progress. Just can't get it onto the machine. Think I know why. Think I am warming up. I am just not caught up in the excitement of the process anymore. I show spikes in readership that have no relationship to my activity. I get royalties for sales that don't show up in any analytics. How am I supposed to know what works? There is no explanation for having 183 blog hits one day and 52 the next when I haven't even posted of late. I know. Something showed up in someone's comments, or on some google entry. But I am tired of floundering around like a beached fish searching for the right water hole.

I read a lot about trad pub versus e pub. These are two schools of mind that have nothing in common. One is playing football, the other is ice skating, but they think they are doing the same thing cuz they both are "sportsing".

I always wanted to put my two cents in, but lately 2 out of 3 comments I make, I erase instead of submitting. How my public must be suffering!

Today, on an agent's blog, something struck me. She is really nice and helpful and seems kind. (Some are such sharks.) The commentors were having a healthy back and forth about making changes in your work to please some agent or editor or publisher. Can't do it. If you don't like my style, oh, well.  I am very fond of it. So I wrote this comment and erased it without submitting. I could only think of a not too decorous kind of an analogy. Here, my page, my editing, I can let it roll.

A pimp tells his stable they need to wear shorter skirts. Business is slow. The newest member of the family takes this to heart and complies. Unbeknownst to her, the guy in the little black BMW is cruising, looking for his favorite fetish  -  a cute little chick in a kilt and argyles.

 No point in trying to please "the customer". Maybe there is a general trend or style that appeals to more, but if that's not your style, you have to wait for the customer who likes your style. So go out there and get 'em with your argyle sox and plaid skirt. At least you will find someone who appreciates you.

Photo attribution:  Acid Cow.com

He's dead. . .

Where is the nearest riot we can join? Oh, we're not?  We don't do that stuff?  Why not?

pic. . .

My Hungry Ego

So, some time tomorrow I will roll over 220,000 hits on my blog.  I should give a prize.

That's okay, folks. I realize I am totally bragging and I am the only one who it is fun for, or even cares. Little enough to do that with nowadays. Go back to your life now.


ADDENDUM: IT HAPPENED TODAY!