Potty Mouth

I am become more and more convinced that the driving force in all societies pretty much boils down to who cleans the toilets and why. And as far as I can see most of modern culture has been a concerted effort by white men to yell “not it!” I used to think social order was pretty much driven by access to pussy but this theory has a correlation in that prime pussy is rarely found in the company of janitors.

Since it has been increasingly difficult to force minorities, women and subjugated cultures to do the deed I’ve noticed a new trend, which is to train “the mentally deficient” into this position. While on the one hand I think it’s great to provide job training for the developmentally disabled or persons with severe mental illnesses, I have issues with assuming that the scut work of society is the perfect niche from which they can can contribute. It’s a bit too “Brave New World” to feel really comfortable.

No one wants to be the “it” in this situation. So in the vein of “if they can put a man on the moon...”
If they can invent a self cleaning oven, why can’t they invent a self cleaning toilet?

I'm a jelly do-nut

I saw the “Do-re-mi train station” video. I started to cry uncontrollably. I am such a puss.

Bleu Moonday, how I hate bleu Moonday

I want to propose a new national holiday. Something to the effect of “whoopee for space day”. I’m thinking July 29th, as that was the day that Eisenhower signed the National Aeronautics and Space Act which established NASA. There are many other notable days related to space stuff. Lots of things occurred in various Aprils. As well as that on May 5 1961 Alan Shepard became the first American in space. But we already have bunches of holidays around that time of year and not nearly enough in July/August. So, maybe set it up for the last Friday in July. Then it could also be linked to July 20th, when in 1969 we landed on the moon. As well as July of 1975 when the Apollo-Soyuz test project was launched, and July 25, when in 1984 Svetlana Savitskaya was the first woman to perform an EVA (Extravehicular Activity or space walk).

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not at all one of those let’s fuck over this planet and then escape to space people. In fact I’m generally a bit pissed about the whole let’s shove a big metal machine into the inviting, dark, folds of space and/or shoot for the moon weird, hard to ignore, phallic symbolism of it all. Especially the idea of taking and plopping that energy onto the belly of my girl Luna, who I prefer as a thing of mystery and some kind of cool, yin, purity.

So then why would I encourage them in those activities at all you ask? Well, because I have to admit it is pretty awe-inspiring these things they do. And really, if we were to pull back a little, out of our business as usual in the 21st century modality, what is going on out there is nigh unto miraculous. If only we were to view this from any other perspective removed from the jade of the last 50 years. Say it’s 1908 instead of 2008. It would be terrifying, miraculous, or possibly an affront to God. Think about it now. Something we almost never even stop to think of, in going about the course of our everyday living is that, so are 10 or 20 or so people out there way beyond our perception and normal range of thought. Living in space. That is just, so, weird.

Additionally, I have this hope that much like every other stupid holiday, the marketers would freak out and start bombarding us with space stuff beginning a couple months ahead of it, that most TV stations would dig out all kinds of squidly sci-fi stuff to run all month long and that we could get away with dressing up all futuristic and/or space retro that whole week.

Oh My Freakin’ God

That Duggar woman is having her 18th child.
Lady, it’s a VAGINA not a clown car.

From lowest to highest denominator

Or why I really am kind of a snoot.
I totally need cheezeburgers in my life. Even when (as been happening more often lately) I am not so very interested in the meat eating rituals, a charcoal grilled cheezeburger or Blimpy or Kosmo burger will totally do it for me.
Also there is a dish served at many super yupscale, French/Italian, restaurants pairing some superlative cut of beef, like tenderloin, with gorgonzola. Yummy. Something about the stinkiness of bleu with blood red meat is just fine.

Which brings us to nachos. Nachos, too, are swell. I have long maintained that this is the reason for cattle mutilations, crop circles and alien visitation in general. Meat, corn, cheeze = Nachos. We’ve got em and the universe wants them. I think Daniel Pinkwater would back me up on this. The question of the meat on the nachos is one of quality though. Many, many, times they must remain a lacto-ovo vegetarian production as at 98% of restaurants, I just won’t touch their meat.

But other than these extremes, the idea of putting cheeze on meat is just weird. (See the commercial for Campbell's cheesy chicken and rice casserole.) Almost barbaric. It’s sort of like the idea of drinking kumiss. Which I suppose is technically not that different from drinking Bailey’s. But these new, flavoured, Bailey’s, such as Chocolate mint and caramel, are purely cretinous. And a chocolatini is not a fuggin’ martini you silly calf.

PS I believe this post wins the prize for the most words ever I had to teach my spellcheck.

"Don't stand so close to me"

“I live off you, you live off me
and the whole world lives off of everyone
ya really gotta be exploited
ya really gotta be exploited
by somebody, by somebody, by somebody,
La la la la”

Poly Styrene


Lately I’ve been infuriated. This is not exactly an unknown condition in my life. I mean I live with roommates. I own a house. I have some really annoying health problems causing me to become somewhat disabled. And the politic shenanigans going on, I can’t even begin to speak about or my head will pop, just freakin’ pop.

But right at this moment I’m on about exploited children. OK, lets face it, I was an exploited child. I’m not going into detail here at this time, I don’t know you well enough yet. I will probably talk more about my own experiences at some point but let me say this, at least my own parents didn’t sell me down the river.

I’m talking about so called child & preteen modeling. This can be some sick ass shit. Don’t think there’s a problem?
http://childsupermodels.com/
(Warning - not work safe and in my eyes, truly obscene.)
Now tell me there’s no problem. A 13 year old is not supposed to be photographed with her/ his ass hanging out and the hand down the pants. Not to mention, I’m told by Mark Maynard, http://markmaynard.com, that one of the ways some pageants make extra money is by selling all day passes to “amateur” photographers.

Where is the parent? Probably behind this 100%. They will say “But they want to do it”. Well they’re children, what do they know from exploitation? What did I know?

Talk about your slippery slopes. And that my friends, is why I’m so incensed, I FULLY realize that there are children who are in stolen into, and sold into, bondage and slavery in brothels and are in the hands of sexual predators at this moment. I am quite aware that small living beings are being bought and sold in this country as we speak. And that compared to little Tiffany or Vanessa up there, their lives are ceaseless torment as sexual slaves. But I defy anyone to tell me that parading children in such a fashion in such a venue as “child supermodels”, is not directly contributing to the per view of children as sexual OBJECTS which is wrong, wrong, wrong.

I don’t actually believe in evil but that is as close to that edge as it gets. The idea that any parent is making one dime off this, is infuriating. Especially in light of the stupid shit people are willing to put their lives on hold to champion or denounce. You can all insert here your own version of something useless, non-constructive or idiotic you’ve seen on TV in the past 6 months or more. I’ll give the example of, furor over Janet Jackson’s (a full grown woman, purported to be in full command of her faculties) nipple. The gianormous red herring factor at the very least.

But lest you think that I, a full grown woman, am in full command of my own faculties, let me state for the record, that I also find NASCAR to be completely obscene.

"It’s a thin line between love and hate"

“She opens up the door and lets you in,
never once asks where you‘ve been”

Here’s the thing about me and caffeine.
In the early 80’s I was, among other things, a serious tweaker. I have noticed this trend, ecto-morphs who use tend to become Junkies, meso-morphs who use tend to become tweakers. Cerebretonics seem to be fair game to all kinds of things but frequently it turns out to be sex.

Why did I become a tweaker? Well, I always suspect it was due in large part to my relationship to caffeine. I adore caffeine. I am highly allergic to caffeine. To this day I have not been able to kick caffeine right out of my life. Imagine my dismay when in ‘93 I went to visit my dying Grandmother in Seattle, and found a cappuccino machine in a Burger King. This was my first foreboding of the caffeine culture soon to reach across the country and now the world. It feels very much the same as being a nondrinker in this alcohol fueled culture. (Which is, for the most part, also one of my struggles).

So, given that I needed to work 3 jobs and party incessantly, and that caffeine compromises my immune system and severely aggravates one of my genetic illnesses, what other recourse did I think I had at the time?
Needless to say it was another in a series of really bad ideas.
I had no idea at the time that crank is the very devil, that one only has to smell it to know that it comes straight from the pit and that putting something in your body that looks, smells and tastes exactly like you scraped it off the bottom of the cat box is inestimably stupid. But it wasn’t caffeine, and it was so much stronger! How exciting was that?

I did gain one, single, boon from it, in an indirect manner, I met Uncle Bunny because of it.
I was sent to him by my friends who said to me;
“Stella, darlin’, you’re psychotic, and we think you should go talk to this guy who can help you. Tell him what idiot shit you’re up to and he’ll sell you some supplements to counteract that and you’ll feel and behave ever so much better.”
They were right.

I probably can’t get away with saying what he suggested, and what worked for me or the FDA will arrest me or something. But once I was assisted to stop being psychotic, I realized that caffeine, for all it’s problems was at least a known toxin. So I gave up the other and never went back. However, it didn’t end there, as I discovered that among other things my metabolism was now supremely fucked. It takes years to recover from that stuff. I still have some issues and its been what, over 20 years now.

So given those extremes I have decided that known toxins are generally the better choice. Like sugar. I happen to be a chocoholic diabetic. How pathetic is that? Its the caffeine thing again also, only in chocolate its the double whammy. When I work at the store, I stand right next to a huge stack of super-fudgy, chocolate-chocolate chip brownies, some of which I’ve found to weigh over a half pound, made at the restaurant by the fantastic baker. And, they just reek of chocolate. It’s like being madly in love with a married man, that you have to see socially, who doesn’t love you, but who occasionally uses you for sex.

But, in my distrust of Nutra-sweet, Splenda, other chem-sweets and chemicals, at least I know where I stand when I go back for more chocolate and tea. I’m making that perfect cup of properly brewed, black tea with milk, with my eyes wide open.
Someday I'll get what I want out of this relationship, someday it won’t hurt like this.
Then there’s tobacco.....