Patooey

So when I was well enough to attend many activities last weekend, I was having walkabouts around town. I had wandered up to the Book Festival last Saturday am. It was oddly not really my thing. I got better energy off the Kerrytown one last year. But I wanted to pop up to see my friend playing Indian music at one of the stalls (I think it was the U-M international center or something similar). He failed to mention it was a “for kids” performance but whatever, it was cute.

On the way back I did some downtown erranding. One thing I am in search of is a Rosie the Riveter coffee mug for Nigel as I have, stupidly yet accidentally, broken his. Naturally, I also had to hit a couple of used bookstores. Dawn Treader was less than helpful. UBU was more than helpful.

But the thing that left a really lasting impression ‘shudder’ was when walking west on E. Liberty a pungent waft of patchouli began assailing me. I looked around, no one was even close. I focused on the wind, it was out of the west. Which indicated that the likely culprit was the woman with two children, walking towards me but still almost half a block away. Sure enough as we approached each other it just got stronger and stronger.

Here’s the thing about patooey. It is not parfum, it is not cologne and it is most definitely not, by a long stretch, an “essential” oil. It’s primary use? In hot countries with little refrigeration it is used to anoint the dead because it is one of the few things that can somewhat cover the stench of rotting flesh. Why would you put something more pungent than a corpse on your body and think you looked good in it?
Oh, I suppose I have to acknowledge that it can be used in the base notes of other Parfum. But that ratio is like, one drop to a vat, of other stuff. Stuff that actually smells good.

Patooey is one of the most rank things man has ever devised. I am going to put it right up there with the sludge pit at the water treatment facility. I was going to compare it to napalm but OK, it is slightly less offensive than things that actually kill people. In the sense that wishing you were dead is still somewhat better than being dead.

Stop wearing Patooey!
This becomes NOT a matter of freedom of choice. Yes, you probably could legally wear a dead otter around your neck but would you want to deal with the social consequences of that decision? And just when does it become a legal issue if you are causing others, many others, to gag and vomit?

Just as the majority should not oppress the minority, neither should the minority oppress the majority. And in this case you oppress both the majority and that minority who have environmental allergies who should not have to keep over a half a block distance from you to not be attacked by by your fumerage.

Lady, if not for our sake, do it for the children.

Cold turkey, will sure give you the runs

If there is one thing I’ve learned in my checkered, chessed, and parcheesi’d past, it’s to step down, over cold turkey, whenever possible.
Now for some people (court ordered, boneheads, recalcitrant) or in some circumstances (Jail, rehab, de-tox) or with some substances (me & tobacco so far) it’s not likely to work.
But cold turkey is for that brand of people who say things like “Go ahead, punch me as hard as you can, right in my stomach”. And I guess if you’re just a flat out pain freak it might even be fun.
But my step down program has always worked (other than tobacco) every time I’ve needed it to and it’s relatively painless. It’s based on halves and doubles. Either cut the dose in half each time or double the time between or if you really need to be macho, both.

I used to think withdrawal was meritorious in that it would make one think thrice about picking up. But then I used to enjoy a bit of pain as well. And the reality of pain is one of our most fleeting memories. (Thank you brain chemistry for that at least.) I am so over that bit. And I have also learned that if one is determined to pick up, nothing is likely to stand in the way, other than a bullet ot something of that ilk.
People who are in that headspace don’t call their sponsors. That is one of the big ass problems of 12 stepping.

I mention all this because I will be off the caffeine by Monday. I started at the level of one cup tea, one cup coffee on Weds. Thurs. I had one cup tea. Fri. 1/2 a teabag. Today 1/4. Tomorrow a few grains. So far, no debilitating headache. Sweet.

So if I can painlessly get off it, compared to the pretty severe pain it causes me, I’m ahead in the game. Of course when the memory of the pain it gives me has fleeted, I could easily forget to not pick up..... Cuz coffee, tea and chocolates are such sweet poizens.

“Chills run up and down my spine”

O’ man! I am sitting here trying to write a ten page research paper on “Miracles, revelation and the nature of personal reality”, MLA style, for my Philosophy of Religion class.
I actually have had the TV off all day, as there was not one, single, thing worth turning it on for (since I missed Soul Train) today! So I thought I would run a little music on the iTunes since I’m working on the computer anyway. Well, the best thing on my iTunes right now is the Swim Club Radio comp I made for ya’ll. On it goes, and now I can’t concentrate on David Hume’s arguments “Against Miracles” for nothing!

I fricking love this comp!!!

I must think I’m a bloody genius. It makes the hair raise up on my arms to hear it, because every song on it, I love down to the very roots of my toenails.

So because I am being torturously slow with it anywise, because I’m trying to flippin’ graduate and maintain my GPA simultaneously here! I’m going to give you a couple of mischievous hints:
It starts with The Avengers Theme, it ends with Salt Of The Earth. The in-between is cuts from the likes of Nina Simone, X-ray Spex, Afrika Bambaata, John Lydon, Nilsson, The Vogues and Flirt.
Does that wet your whistle?

I need to give some serious time to the ones from you’all that are new to me as well... I can’t wait to really learn something new (as soon as I’m done learning all this other new stuff for grades.)

Edit: I had to switch to Chopin Nocturnes to be able to get any work done

Diamanda Galas says:

“My voice is an instrument of inspiration to my friends, and a tool of torture to my enemies.”

I’ve been carrying that around in my music notebook for almost 20 years now. I thought I’d share.

So this is how it’s just gonna be...

So tired, the store job kicks my ass. When I first started it kicked my ass also. Then I started getting stronger and stronger. I got some decent shoes. I started getting some muscles and stamina. I did better and better as the years went by. Then I had a couple surgeries the first of of which went kinda wrong, the next of which went really wrong. The horribly expensive shoes wore out. Now if I do a four hour shift I have to sleep 3 hours.

On Mondays, cuz I’m a homework slacker, I get off work then play drums until I’m really, really tired and usually quite frustrated. Then go to drum class. Then I can crash for awhile. While I tell myself its for just a quick, rejuvenating nap it invariably turns into a long stupefying nap, then I spend the rest of the day being a schlub.

This last month adds to the stultifying mix, extreme tension in my home life. The result is the house is dirty, the energy levels are all fucked up, and it doesn’t seem worth it to get up and do a damn thing. However something has to change the energy, I can no longer sit and stew. (I am so good at stewing, I meant what I said about grudge holding.)

So while I didn’t go about solving the problem the super high road way, I also didn’t take the lowliest low road. I, at least, addressed an individual face to face for the 15 seconds requisite and decided to skip the “preserve the friendship” part. I got some support for that approach from a few people who said if I didn’t want the friendship to just go ahead and remove the pain source.
Done.
Its not like I had zero interest in the friendship, but when alcoholism is the factor, what’s the point?
This is something like the 10th friendship of some significance that has terminated in the last 10 years or so, where I trace the real source of the problem to addiction. Not mine, someone else's. If we went back farther in time, the numbers would grow exponentially.

It’s just getting so very old. But when there is little or no return for your energy, so little actual dialogue, just boozy, stale monologues repeated over and over while someone breathes alcohol in your face what's left anyway? It won’t change until it changes and that's nothing you can control at all, so rather be done.

This whole giving your whole life to a THING is freaking me out. You just hand over everything you are, could be and will do, to an inanimate object. What the hell is that? I’m not saying I haven’t had my skirmishes with such slavery, but I seem to have a finely tuned sense of personal freedom. When a stupid thing starts requiring my very core self and values, I turn and run. I don’t care how much fun it’s promising. I don’t care if its a substance or a job or a relationship.

The other part that's bugging me, is the age of these people. I can see how in your twenties you haven’t figured it out yet, but the people involved are in their thirties, forties and fifties. One of them had already done over 20 years in prison as payment and just took another twenty to pay for just a couple months of getting high. Yet it’s his primary relationship and he’ll apparently never, ever, put anyone or anything ahead of it. It, an inanimate object, a thing.

I can’t think of a goofy, cheery, twist to end this on, everything about this is so annoying. I suppose the the best I can do is mention that at least I’m mostly over the furious and into the sad.

"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.