Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Ladies and Gentlemen. May I have your attention please? You can pick up your mirror immediately following this announcement.

Here’s the thing about the mirror: it doesn’t work if you just had sex. Something about your essence trumps its magic, so make an appointment with the mirror and if you had sex just before your appointment, break it - the mirror won’t care. But don’t go anthropomorphizing the mirror because it hates that. And never say, “Mirror mirror on the wall.” It has a dark sense of humor and could crack or worse, shatter, and you could end up in the hospital. But most of all, whatever you do, don’t turn it on when you’ve been drinking. The mirror can drink you under the table - believe me.

           

Despite advertisements that the mirror will grant riches and the celebrity of your fantasies, it’s not true.  The mirror will shut down if there is any request for fame and fortune. If you are a celebrity, please do not use the mirror. It does not understand the difference between who you are and people who want to be who you are. We expect this problem will be solved soon.

           

Before you turn on the mirror have the answers to your security questions available: your pet’s name, your favorite color, and where you want to be in five years. When you see yourself in the mirror, be sure it is a clear image. If there are any ghostlike movements, you may have to start over. Just select “escape” and begin again. If the image is still wavy on the third attempt it will shut down and you will have to wait forty-eight hours. The most common reason for blurry images is insincerity.

Do not ask the mirror more than one question. Do not use compound sentences that are really two questions. And do not make statements. Believe me, the mirror is not interested in your opinion.

 If the mirror shuts down for no apparent reason, do not call the Ministry of Mirrors - you probably did something to piss it off. Read the manual and try again. However, if the mirror laughs at you, call the Ministry, but only between nine and five. Be prepared to wait due to high volume. Once the mirror laughs at you, you can no longer use it until it is reprogrammed. If the mirror tries to coax you into asking it another question, do not answer, it has a sick sense of humor and is using you for its own amusement. Believe me.

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame says Yes to Disco!

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame says yes to Disco.
And it says no to Joan Jett?
At least Joan Jett wrote her own songs.

Perhaps Katy Perry, whose only talent is deep cleavage, will be inducted following her "woman of the year" award in music because her acceptance speech opened with, "I am not a feminist."

When I was growing up, popular predictable music was called bubble gum because only kids liked it and they would grow out of it, like their taste for sugary gum. Why do adults now like it? Is it because they are afraid of art? because there's nothing to think about, nothing to give beyond what is already there? Test Bieber and Perry against Patti Smith, Springsteen, Dylan, Cohen, Hynde, Robinson, Lennon, Costello, McLachlan, Waits, Chapman, Young,.....et al. These artists are creating art instead of drama and contrived statements that gets them their publicity fix in media.

Do Not Call Dangerous Diane's PSA

The do not call registry is a government service. Visiting folks in Florida, the phone rings about ten times a day. Caller ID is not enough, and scammers call claiming to be this agency, offering to register your number.
2 ways to register your number:

go to: donotcall.gov and fill out form.
Or,
From the phone you want to register call 888-382-12222.

Every action causes a reaction!
Go for it!
FYI: copied from public site:
The National Do Not Call Registry gives you an opportunity to limit the telemarketing calls you receive. Once you register your phone number, telemarketers covered by the National Do Not Call Registry have up to 31 days from the date you register to stop calling you.

Things I can do without: Leggings. Especially on women.

I have yet to see anyone who looked good in leggings . . . especially women in white hair who walk around the neighborhood where my parents live in Florida.
One exception:  Ron Reagan:  independent political commentator & atheist.

Add caption

Why don't We care about privacy anymore

Today I read in the BBC news that attractive photos of women are being copied from various sources (FB, photo accounts) and used in porn sites and twitter accounts and that more parents and teachers are stealing images of attractive girls for phony FB accounts to get friended by their children and students, so they can spy on them!!

On NPR radio the other day the outgoing president of the FCC said the government is aware of the importance of social media (ha ha) and will use FB to inform users of actions to take in emergencies.   During Storm Sandy, I had no heat or electricity and my cell phone did not work for a week. How would FB help in this case?

Is anyone surprised that Verizon has applied for a patent for a device in future TV's that will detect watchers' emotions?  If you are watching a movie, you will see an ad for popcorn; if you are getting cozy with someone, you will see an ad for condoms. What would be the ad for two women holding hands? "Buy one pair of shoes and get the second one half off?

When I was thirteen I received a diary for xmas. It had a lock, which I lost. My father made me a new one. It never occurred to me that he could make another lock and open my diary. I wasn't given the gift to be spied on. I was given the diary with the understanding it was mine. Private. I knew my father would not make that lock.

Not everyone keeps a diary but apparently every teen has a FB page. The results for marketers and advertisers are clear. The consequences are pretty scary.

I have not had and never will have a FB account. It is Big Brother. It will sell you to advertisers for it's own profits and it will sell you to the government as well.  Join me!

Any takers? Tea party members?

dangerous diane scam. dangerous diane is not on face book

A facebook post entitled:  dangerous diane scam.
This is bizarre. I can't always google my name to see who is using it - there are too many listings but this one is a bit disturbing.

I am not in Spain. I am not stranded. I am not asking for money.
I am not even on facebook, an advertising device to obtain personal information to sell to marketers.

But if you want to send me money, you can always make a comment here about why you want to send me money and I will consider your offer. Being unemployed (not by choice) for the first time in my entire life, all donations will be considered.

A little research revealed that this facebook page was posted by Casey of Ch 2 news in Utah.

President's Diary 9-11-21 WHAT IF?

What if.....
The President of the USA was just another Reality TV Show.

The President's Diary

(Books are So Yesterday)

Monday September 11, 2021. 

Today I had to do a commemorating thing for the 20th anniversary of 911, but I didn’t have to go to Ground Zero. Thank god. New York is full of highfalutin weirdoes who want to take me to the ballet or talk about education. Just the word education is so yesterday. I gave a speech in the Oval Office about freedoms – without a teleprompter, thank you. I wore my red dress with the blue and white trim.  It matched the flag. I got a lot of compliments from the staff.

I met a new secret service agent at the after party after the press conference last night. He looks like Justin Bieber, only younger. I invited him to run my eight miles with me this morning. He is so cute. He showed me his six-pack and I winked at him. (I’m so bad.) The run cleared my head - too many daiquiris last night.

The renovations are finally done. A lot of stuff they said I couldn’t touch.  Are they kidding me? I’m the President. Please! Anyhow, I didn’t care because the trophy rooms are perfect. The gold and silver trophies and all the rhinestones in the tiaras are so beautiful and sparkly they hurt your eyes. The gold is not real, of course, but it looks real and that is better than the real thing. Sugar Baby’s trophies are on display in her own trophy room. Now all those people who come for the tour won’t be asking me the same question over and over: “Which trophies are Sugar Baby’s?” Only six years old and Sugar Baby has already won thousands of trophies, just like her mother. She is not only beautiful – even more so since her highlights – she is smart.  She said when she grows up she wants to be Miss America and the President!  (How cute is that?)

Afternoon tea (Ha Ha) was spent with the girls from my jewelry-making class. They loved the champagne and double chocolate cake - made with real cane sugar, thank you. They were a little nervous with the cameras but it’s routine for me after growing up in my mother’s “All American Scrap Making Reality TV Show”.  The champagne went straight to my head! I told the girls that I dropped my towel one morning when I came out of the shower to give the secret service in the control room something to wake up with.  (They really laughed at that one.)

Before the girls left Sugar Baby performed her Marilyn Monroe routine and sang “Happy Birthday Mr. President.” (So cute). I’m sewing an Elvis outfit to prove that I am not sexualizing her. Even saying the word sex with pageants makes me ill.  Rehearsing Sugar Baby’s pageant routines is hard work but as I remind the VP everyday, I’m a pageant mom before I’m the President.

The best thing I have done in my presidency is to repeal Roe vs. Wade.  Now I am part of every future mother’s happiness in this great country of ours that was founded on freedoms. As soon as I get “legitimate rape” into the abortion ban law, I’m a shoe-in for a second term.

Before bed I drank a cup of cocoa and worked on my book, a memoir for prosperity. Why they still call them books anymore is beyond me. Books are so yesterday! 

The Making of a Psycho Killer on the Bus

Found Drama: Mother & Son on the Bus
Dollar Bus, North Bergen, NJ.

The Making of a Psycho Killer on the Bus

Mommy, can we go to the park?

No.

Why?

Because I said so.

But why?

I said so!  That's why!

I wanna play in the park.

Play.  Play.  Play.  That's all you think about.

No it isn't.

Hello?

Mommy!

Shush! I'm on the phone.  Hello?

Mommy!

Shut up.  Sorry, I'm on the bus.  Hello? What?  Hello? Shit!

Mommy, can we go to the park?

No is no!  What part of no don't you understand fool?

I'm gonna play at home.

Play.  Play.  Play.  All you do is play.  All I do is work work work so you can play play play.  Hello?  Hey baby, how you doing?  I'm doing good now that I hear your voice again.

Mommy!

Shut the fuck up.  Can't you see I'm talking!  I'm on the bus.  With the kid.  Oh, baby stop it.  You makin' me hot.

Mommy!

What?

I want to go to the park.

You give me a fucking headache.

Pleeeeease mommy.  Please, please, please.

Five minutes.  When I say it's time to go home I don't want to hear no shit. You understand?  No fucking shit.

Thank you mommy.  I love you mommy.

I love you too baby.

Found Drama: Mother & Twins Hoboken

Since my continuing unemployment status I have a view of the world I didn't see when I was shut up in a 9 to 5 cubical: other people's children.

Mother & Twins. Hoboken

Willow Avenue.  Morning. Mother drinking coffee pushing her twins in double stroller.

Baby Twin One:

I wanna go to the park

Baby Twin Two

I wanna go to the park

Mother
Do you mind sweeties if we go the CVS first? We can go to the park after. Is that okay? Do you mind? Sweeties?

Baby Twin One
No. I wanna go to the park.

Baby Twin Two
No. I wanna go to the park.

Mother
I only need to pick up a few things. Okay?

Baby Twin One
No.

Baby Twin Two
No.

Dangerous Diane & The Dinettes

My first record: "Potentially Dangerous" is currently up for auction on ebay with a suggested start bid of $125.00.

I used to give the record away, even toss it to the audience at The Detroit Institute of Arts during a performance.

It's a 45 rpm.  I don't have a record player anymore.
 Side A is about child abuse.  Side B is about how easy it is to make art.
Vintage.  Punk.  Detroit.

Also in cyber space is a  photo of a woman identified as me watching a rugby game.  It is not me.  She looks very Conservative.  Is it possible to know if someone is a conservative by the way they wear their hair?  Choose their clothes?

Ray Johnson interview Detroit Artists Monthly

There is an interest in the many interviews I and Randy Delbeke did in the 70's and early 80's in Detroit for our magazine, "The Detroit Artists Monthly."    A favorite interview was with Ray Johnson, (1978) a New York artist originally from Detroit who Randy and myself interviewed in our Detroit living room. Ray was in town for a visit to see his mother.  He was so deadpan and wonderful that when Ray left we kept our private comments in the interview at the end.  Ray loved that.

Jim Pallas published the interview in its entirely at his website: Jim Pallas Website with photos of artwork by Ray that were published at the time with the cover of the magazine featuring Ray with a photo earring.

Check it out the Ray Johnson Interview: 

http://www.jpallas.com/hh/rj/DAMintervw-RayJ.html

Why Internet Dating Doesn't Work

The first thing I noticed about this dating thing is you got to answer a lot of questions.  Your age, your height, your religion, hair color, things you like, things you don’t like.  I goggled how to answer Internet dating questions and it said be honest.  Except everyone knows that women lie about their age and men lie about their height, so I said I was six feet tall.  Even though I’m five foot eight.

The picture is the Holy Grail.  You have to have a good one.  But nothing naked or skimpy even if you have a good body and everyone has to say what kind of body they have.  You can check only one body type: athletic, thin, average, a few pounds or jumbo.   I’m a couch potato so I checked average.

I looked at other profiles to get some ideas on what kind of a picture to upload. Men pose with things like lawnmowers and cars, motorcycles and dogs.  Boats.  I live in an apartment and I don’t drive.  And, my landlord doesn’t allow pets.  So all that is out.  Men also post pictures of themselves with grandchildren and sons and daughters at graduation ceremonies.  That’s also out for me.  Some men have pictures of themselves sucking in their stomachs on mountaintops, holding up kayak paddles and straddling bicycles.  Or in bars holding up a drink, an arm around a buddy or a barfly, looking like they’re having a good time.  Those days are over for me.

I took a picture of myself in the bathroom mirror.  After I posted it, I noticed that the mole on my left cheek was on the right.   I said in my profile that my picture was backwards and I got an email from a woman who said she understood.  That’s what I want, a woman who understands me.  She had black curly hair and wore a low cut red blouse with lots of cleavage and her breasts were not wrinkly for her age.  She said we could have a good time and should meet for drinks.  I told her I only drink coffee these days and she emailed back: “Look me up when you fall off the wagon. Ha Ha Ha.”

There are a lot of good-looking women out there.  I emailed all the ones with big hair. Some had French twists like my mother still wears.  She says her hair is her best feature so I always ask her how her hair is.  I called her and told her no one emailed me for a date and she wanted to know what age group I was looking in and when I told her she said, “Older women don’t want a lover, they just want someone to take them to dinner.” She said that maybe she should look at my profile and give me some pointers. I said no.

I asked her if she thought I should pose with food.  Some guys have pictures of themselves with the food they cooked, men pointing to fish on platters with the heads still on them.  Some men pose with fish on fishing boats and then there are men with guns. If I was a woman and opened my email from a message that said, “happygoluckyguy wants to meet you!” and he’s aiming a rifle at the ceiling, I’d hit the delete button.  I cook pasta but my mother said she wouldn’t bother posting a picture of my pasta. 

After a few months I took my profile off and created a new one.  Now I’m sexybadboy7823.  I lied about everything.  I get a lot of emails from very attractive women.  Some want to meet me.  Onetruelove7572 says she is sure I’m the one. We have been getting it on in the emails, chatting back and forth and stuff.  Lots of sexy stuff.  She is really hot. And, she’s intelligent.  She says she likes to read.

My mother called and said she was trying the Internet dating thing too.

“Why should you have all the fun?” she said.  “Some men are very sweet and nice and some are very naughty.”

“Ma!” I said, “I don’t want to hear this.” 

 “Sexybadboy wants to meet me.”

“What?”

“He says I’m the one.”

Maybe it was just a coincidence. 

                                                                            clipart

I Don't Care Song (Click to Hear)

click to hear song:

I Don't Care

The "I Don't Care" Song

Reading the entry of yesterday I noticed how lyrics from my songs entered my prose. (everything is a memory)

Curious when that happens. Is it true that an artist must "care" immensely to write a song called "I Don't Care"? There are many songs out there with this title, (in addition to You Don't Care, We Don't Care, They Don't Care, etc.), so I think I am probably in good company. I wrote "I Don't Care" for the Dangerous Diane Band in 1978 when my daughter was two and I cared about everything because the world got so much bigger! Listening today, I think it still kicks.

I Don't Care

What's wrong with the immediate/most things are

It may be false/but it's splendidly false

I don't care if it's temporary/everything is a memory

I don't care/I don't care/I don't care

It takes talent to transform useful into useless

There was no sadistic intention

It's not enough to live/just to be creative

I don't care/I don't care/I don't care

copyright 1978, 2012 Diane Spodarek

You get to go home

Here there is no there.

I am one of four siblings. For two months I have sent emails to my brother and sisters and bc to my daughter to keep everyone up to date on what is happening here: the doctors, the hospital, the diet, the weather, the outings, the armadillo.

I will not forget what it feels like to sleep in a chair for two weeks next to my mother in her bed, my father next to her. Like a new mother who knows when her child stirs, I knew the moment my mother lifted the blanket. I went without sleep for two weeks. This is possible. It takes caffeine. And something else. Duty? Love? I think it has always been there, deep in my soul. It is a pain that does not yet have a name. It is wrapped in sadness, and is one a daughter knows.

In the fog that is my life today, I have found yoga classes, a state park with turtles, a grocery store. The lavendar plant my daughter sent reminds me of her. I pinch a flower and carry it in my pocket each day. But there is no art. That somehow eludes me. I do not try to get it back. I wait. Trusting it will return when it is time. It always does.

My youngest sister has visited twice to help me out. When she left I said, "You get to go home."

She gets to go home, she, like my bother and other sister have their own lives far away from here. Sometimes I think that this is right. They are the professionals, they could never give up their lives, their families, their day to day responsibilities. They wake to normalcy, they go to jobs, eat and sleep and make love. It is I, the artist, who can give up everything because I never had anything to begin with. Even a successful art career can be seen as the one that should be given up when a family shifts. I know it cannot happen unless the artist agrees to it. It's temporary. Everything is a memory. I must be here now than give up. I could never give up my daughter and so I could never give up my parents.

I imagine there are others like me. ­

Care Taker in Florida

Another time. Another place.

A small town on the Gulf in Florida.

Left New York at the start of 2012 to help out my folks.

I imagine there are others like me.

Christopher Hitchens Mother Teresa Reverend Billy & Leggings

I miss Christopher Hitchens.

Each day I wonder what he would say about the republican four for president. He said the USA was the best country to live in the world, the reason he moved his family here from the UK. He reminds citizens that the US is the only country in the world with a Constitution that supports separation of church and state.  Something the GOP Party wants to dismantle.

I hate anyone who resorts to name calling but it's hard to hate Hitchens even though he called Mother Teresa  a cunt following her acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize when she said abortion and contraception was the biggest threat to world peace.  What about hope for women and our daughters when women continue to be blamed and marginalized? Will the Republicans and organized religion continue to attack the other, and women, gays.  The only hope we have is to hang on to one's self. To live our truth, to not compromise. And stop shopping. Now there is a presidential contender: the Reverend Billy of the Church of Stop Shopping in New York.  It is possible.  Never before has it been so easy to not buy women's clothes.  Leggings are back! Are big hair  bands far behind? Just when I got used to low huggers where thongs are visible on backsides, I can now see the the crack they rest in.  (Not to mention what a woman in leggings walking down Broadway, coming at you looks like!!) It appears that many women who wear leggings do not have full length mirrors.  Nothing is less attractive than leggings, unless you are five.

Breasts are not the same as the Penis Yoga Journal

Can we just agree that a breast is not the same as a penis?

Why do men and women continually compare breasts to penises? They are not the same. Look in any anatomy book. Or just look at each other, they are not even located in the same body region!

Recently I saw a letter to the editor in "Yoga Journal Magazine" by a reader (with a woman's name) who said she got a chuckle from the woman who found men in lycra doing backbends in a yoga classes unpleasant. She inquired if that same woman would find it wrong if it was a woman with large breasts in a tight top, or was she only disturbed by a man's anatomy. After all, she asked, isn't yoga about getting comfortable with our bodies.

Well Yeah, but I don't have to be comfortable with YOUR body, especially if your penis is looking back at me, at my eye level, as I come down into a flat back for the sun salutation. (It's a bit disturbing that she says "large" breasts. Only big breasts in tight shirts are distracting? not "average-sized" breasts?)

When women's breasts can penetrate and piss and when men's penises can feed babies, then we can compare.

Men in lycra doing back bends know exactly what they are doing. What if your daughter or your son was in the class with you? How would you feel then? What if you were introducing your niece or nephew to his or her first yoga class? If the yoga studio gave you a questionnaire and said, Class A taught by Man in tight lycra and Class B taught by Man in pants, which teacher would you pick for your son? For your daughter?

Even in a gym environment, personal trainers are required to wear comfortable and APPROPRIATE clothing. So what's up with men in lycra anyhow? Yes, women's bodies are distracting in tight shirts in yoga class, but women's dress is distracting in every environment! At least in the office I work in I don't have to see what is in men's pants even if some women are intent on showing cleavage - there is a difference.

Lycra is ugly on everyone. It is not sexy. And it does not look like it is worn to be comfortable. As a teacher, I'm not going to say you can't come into my class, but while we are on the subject, men in shorts can be just as much a problem, especially on the floor for Prasaritta Padottanasana: legs wide, reach up..... Oops.

Sexual Harassment is a Big Fat Lie!

Sexual Harassment is a Big Fat Lie?
Right?
No one believes these women. No one believes these children. Why should they? Where’s the proof?
Do you believe my story? This is just one of many:

My first job in New York City after moving here from Detroit with my five year old daughter and my husband. I signed with a temp agency that sent me to a garment manufacturer who said he wanted to hire me as the receptionist and secretary to the VP. It was late summer shortly after we moved here in June. By Autumn the VP was giving me letters that had to go out that night. After a few nights of this, after everyone had left, he threw me up against a wall, shoved his knee into my grown, grabbed my breasts and smashed his face into mine, his tongue slobbering all over me. I pushed him away and he said, "Is it because you're married?"

It didn't stop. The VP came to work one day with a black square suitcase, said he wanted to take me to a special lunch, at the 21 Club or the Rainbow Room. After I could have the rest of the day off and we would go to a hotel room. Another woman, (a dark haired angel) in the small office saw the suitcase and told me there were sex toys in it. She said that he had harassed her in the past with the same lunch offer. She offered to stay late at the office if the VP kept me after hours. She never witnessed him touching me but she could see how distressed I was and knew what was going on. Every night she gave up her personal time to act busy at her desk to save me from the VP's "unwanted advances". I was grateful.

Like the battered women who do not leave men who hit them, like those who know exactly what I am toaking about, I still wonder, 30 years later, why didn't I quit? Why was I so desperate? I was young, living from paycheck to paycheck. I was responsible for the family while my husband looked for work (and that VP knew this!) He was a family man. For xmas he bought tickets for me and my family to see the Rockefeller xmas show because his kids enjoyed it so much.

If I say he was the VP of Sweet-Orr, in midtown thirty years ago, do you know him? If so, I am sorry, I am very very sorry. But this is a true story. Respectable men do this! I cannot prove it. I was molested and harassed and I can remember it clearly.

I had to post this. The present sex scandals of women and young boys makes me so daman mad and sad. If we all stand up and tell our story, can we at least make a dent in this? Point the finger. Go on.
POST YOUR OWN STORIES. GO AHEAD.

gypsy journey

leaving bensonhurst, now in hoboken. i think i have slept in over 100 beds in the last few years, including floors, couches, futons and matresses. in the past year it has been nyc, woodstock, key west, belle river, canada, brooklyn and now hoboken.

hoboken is an easier commute to the job, and the mystery pain in my joints is gone. two possibilities: the microwave units in the building behind mine that faced my bed, or the lead-soaked mosquito netting under the bed that the lease holder of the apartment felt kept the micro waves at bay. I won't miss all the smoke from tenants smoking so close to my apartment it stunk, and the trash in the halls. also, scary fighting in the middle of the night - when the fights stopped I could hear snoring coming from under my bed.
what I'll miss: a short train ride to coney island.

Living in Brooklyn

After another stay on second avenue and 28th street at frank's for a month, i am now in brooklyn, back to the first borough i lived in when randy dana and i moved to new york in 1983 and lived in what is now affectionately referred to as carroll gardens. this time it's bensonhurst, a foreign land to me, looking for grocery store, health food, etc., and close to the bay with a promenade......

looking for a job and an apartment at the same time has been hell.... but now i have both, and with a job or without a job it can still be hell, but i am grateful to be working even if it is a temp job. it too will come to an end.

having trouble writing in a new space, at a desk with my back to the door, i can't stand it, this feeling of an open space behind me. was a shot in the back in a previous life? i know many feel uncomfortable with this sensation; it is quite palpable. any one else feel it too?

The neighbor who called

I saw the woman who reported the possible break in at Prof Gates home give a press conference. She was crying and said she just wanted to help, that she is not a racist. How is it possible to live close enough to a house and see a possible crime in action but not know it's the guy who lives there?

Are we really so isolated from each other that we think we should call the police to protect the property, anyone's property -- even property we don't know the owner? Is it more important to protect property over people?

We should know our neighbors. We should say hello or at least wave to our neighbor. Some people will not wave back, so keep waving.

Today I'm in Canada on a lake where neighbors wave to each other all the time, even if we just waved an hour before. I know exactly what the neighbors look like three and four doors down on each side. I also say hello or nod to those I pass when I'm out for a walk. Some people do not say hello back, it's rare, but it happens. You never know when you may need a helping hand. Here I never worry, friendly neighbors are always close by.

Cops acting stupidly

This is getting really boring. First Obama says something that makes sense: cops act stupidly. Then he tries to clarify it and cool his comments. The truth doesn't need clarification.

No one should be arrested in their own home for doing nothing -- even if Professor Gates yelled and screamed, the police were wrong to handcuff and arrest him. Isn't it the job of the police to know how to deal with these moments? To understand people freak out when they haven't done anything and you try to arrest them? And what about the charge and the fact that it was dropped? Why be defensive now? The police are missing out on an important opportunity here to make this right, rather than being defensive when caught with their racial pants down. Just because they carry guns after a few weeks of training, they think they are certified bullies.

How come you always hear that cops are cops because they can't be firemen. Do cops resent firemen because they have to be fit to do their job? And why don't cops have to be physically fit? Should all public service jobs require employees to be healthy? Surely all those donuts are rotting cops' hearts as well as their colon.

Ginn'd Up

I watched the Obama Press Conference on July 22 and was stopped cold when he used the words "ginned up". He said.....(we or I) not going to get ginned up about it.....
What does it mean?

Does it have southern roots? Black roots? Is it a reference to the cotton gin? Does it mean the same as don't get your finger caught in the wringer. If the origin is from the cotton gin, which separates cotton from its seeds, is "ginned up" separating your mind from your body? heart from soul? Somehow I don't think it has anything to do with drinking gin.

Whatever it means, I like it. I think I'll try it out at the next family get together and see what kind of a reaction I get. (Not that anyone in my family pays attention to anything I have to say.)

Back to Canada

After Key West I traveled to Detroit which is looking better than ever. It is a beautiful city, full of life and memories.

Now I'm back in Belle River, the town of my childhood in Canada where I am spending time helping out around the cottage and writing new songs.
While working on the suicide stories, I thought I would post one of my earlier suicide writings, which is also a monologue in my solo show, "The Drunk Monologues."
But I have yet to figure out how to make it larger.

LPJ says just click on it.
Thanks Leonard!

Mile 0

Mile 0 at Whitehead and Fleming, the cottage where I stayed for an additional week and where the conch train goes by every half hour and where tourists line up to take their picture with this sign.
No tourists at this moment because it is happy hour.

Virgin Mary at Paint Ball Field

Looking for the virgin mary at the paint ball field.
Salt Ponds. Key West

looking for the virgin mary in the sea

Paint Ball Field

Last Hours in Key West

On my last day in Key West I had a chocolate dipped key lime pie (with crust) on a stick. Frozen of course.

I began a new work: a noir story about a suicide that takes place in the creepy salt ponds with creepy inhabitants while baby boomers disco dance in the clothing optional bar.

Here I was able to meditate and write from a private pool perspective.