There is something I want you to understand whether it’s an election season or not:
Rape is rape.
Rape is not a blessing from God, or Allah, or whoever you believe.
Rape is an act of violence.
Rape must never so much as appear to be excused or condoned.
Not so long ago, I asked my mother to play “The Entertainer,” by Scott Joplin.
She said, “I don’t know that song.”
If you ever wondered how you would know childhood was definitively over, I can tell you that it will be a moment like that.
For the 6570 days of my first 18 years, I heard that song banging out of the old upright in the living room, sometimes more than once, at varying speeds and volumes, depending upon how her day had been.
Maybe you remember it from The Sting.
Anne Rice likes Honey Boo Boo and Honey Boo Boo’s family.
I’m not opposed to them, m’self, though I haven’t watched any more now than I had the last time we visited here.
This is what Anne Rice says:
Honey Boo Boo. I’m a fan. Love the mother, her independence, her love for her girls, and her pregnant daughter. Very cheerful, fun loving and kindly people, this family. If I’m supposed to scorn them, well, I’m not getting it. I think they’re great. I wish half the people I knew were that kind and that cheerful. I wish I was that kind and cheerful. They all love each other; no meanness, no darkness. Great people. I even like their ambitions and dreams for Honey Boo Boo. Go for it, I say. Will be watching more. Fascinating look at an American family.
Which is not so different from what I said. What really fascinates me is the comments people made to Ms. Rice. To wit:
They scare me. I have no prejudice against simple, country folk. There are, however, some psychological issues that disturb me so much that even if I did watch reality TV? I could not watch that show.
I’d be curious to know what “psychological issues” the commenter is referring to.
Is she talking about them being poor? Or previously poor, I should say, because they’re certainly not poor now, since they just got a big whopping raise for doing what they were going to be doing every day anyway. I would argue that they are resourceful, rather than crazy.
Or does she mean that they have less-than-good manners? It’s not good manners to talk on the phone while the cashier is ringing up your groceries, but nobody calls the asshole who does it while you’re waiting in line behind them crazy, just rude.
Is it that pesky go-go juice incident? Plenty of parents have momentary lapses of judgment, but that doesn’t make them crazy. Plenty more parents make daily judgment calls to drug their kids with Benadryl to get them to sleep better. Which is worse?
Also, they might be “country people,” but I doubt they’re simple. They’ve managed to parlay a kid who likes wearing the glitter shoes into a paid profession. They’re stars. People know them when they pull up at Wal•Mart and want to speak to them. They are like Elvis, even if only for a short time. The people who are railing at Anne Rice do not have television shows and fans and get paid just for hanging about the house.
I stand by my original post. I like them. They like each other. They have fun together. I couldn’t stand listening to them talk about their bodily functions, but I’d rather spend the day with them than with people who are so uptight they squeak when they walk.
As for the people who are talking smack to Anne Rice and threatening to burn her books and never read her again, well, I don’t know that I’d be so concerned about the opinions of a handful of people who don’t know the difference between your and you’re, and who can’t figure out where to put the apostrophe.
Saturday was the end of DaveFM, which used to be Z93.
I know that everybody listens to XM radio now, or streams Pandora, or uses their iPods to listen to music, but I’m a radio holdout.
I grew up going listening to the radio, and still listen to the radio. I like the patter of the DJs and the variety of the music.
When I got to college, the local radio station had about as much wattage as a blow dryer, but then I moved here, and there was so much radio.
Mara Davis moved here not longer after I did, and I have listened to her at some point almost every work day.
Last week was ridiculous. I have been mourning the demise of DaveFM, and dreading the day that radio becomes fully automated.
This morning I turned on the radio and turned it back off. I don’t even know Mara Davis, but she’s sort of emceed my life. I hope she finds somewhere on the air somewhere soon, because I feel kinda lonesome.
This is what my friend Beaufort just posted on Facebook:
Two years ago I rescued a Florida soft-shell turtle from a pond store in Michigan. Anybody trying to overwinter that turtle outdoors here would’ve killed it. The soft-shell, whose name is Blitzkrieg, is healthy and happy but outgrowing her 40-gallon tank. She needs to go to Florida. To a turtle rescue joint in Okeechobee, to be exact. I’m looking for a compassionate, conscientious person or persons driving to Florida for the winter who can take her with them and drop her off. Yes, I’m totally serious. Please let me know if you’re interested, and thanks.
Now, I am not in Michigan, or even near Michigan, but I would be willing to be part of a relay of drivers to get this turtle to safety. Please let me know if you can help, or are interested in an adventure.
People sure do like to rag on this little girl and her family and their life, don’t they?
I hadn’t seen an episode until last night, when a friend posted on Facebook that it was on and I switched over and watched it.
I keep hearing things like, “they’re just going to blow that money,” but they don’t know that. For all they know, they’re socking away that money, however much it is, in some high-yield fund so all of those kids can go to Harvard.
Even if they’re spending it all on canned peaches and a brand new pair of underwear for every day, it’s their money.
The Boo Boos, whatever their name is, are not really pretty people, but most people are not really pretty, including me. If most people were really pretty for longer than about four years out of their lives, who would buy the magazines and look at the pictures?
They’re sweet people. They love each other. They enjoy each other. They have a good time together. I don’t know that a body can ask for more from a family.
They’re clearly pretty smart.
I don’t suspect I’ll be a regular viewer of their show, but good for them for recognizing opportunity when it’s in the palm of their hands and not as it sails over the horizon.
Besides, how can you not love a family devoted to a piglet named Glitzy?
Praise God and pass the peanut butter, everything is back in the closets!
I’ve culled through it and have a bunch of stuff to take to Goodwill, and now the dining room is full of crap, but I can see both beds and the floor.
I haven’t forgotten about that whole stopthehorn.org thing.
I still think those people are stupid and I’m still pissed off about that.
The ceiling patch had to come down.
It was put up without being taped along the joins and it wasn’t any kind of flush with the ceiling. The insulation men flat-out refused to put the insulation in because it wasn’t even sealed enough to keep the insulation from leaking out. And when it did eventually come out (and it was coming out, make no mistake), all of the insulation would fall out of the attic and into the rest of the house.
I called the project manager and left a message that we were having an urgent urgency, and then called the foreman, who I reached immediately.
The foreman got here first, and didn’t seem to see the problem with the patches protruding a half inch from the ceiling, and told me he could float it out. I just stood there and smiled at him until he decided he’d just take them down and start all over again.
The project manager came and agreed it had to all come out, so that worked out fine.
I was home Monday through Wednesday, just to make the point that I am on top of this, dammit.
I hate riding herd on people who should just do their damn jobs, and I hate hanging around the house when I need to be at work. I also hate when people are put in the position of doing double work because of sloppiness.
And now, here I am, days later than I should be, with clothes and shoes and the crap that was on the shelves in the top of the closet still strewn all over the house.
God forbid I should die, because it looks like a hoarder lives here. There’s dust all over the place from the sheetrock mud, and plastic is taped to the floors.
Derrick tells me that by the end of tomorrow, it will all be done. It’s going to have to be. My dog is having such terrible seasonal allergies that she’s scratched herself raw and is on prednisone, and yesterday morning I got horrible news about a friend of mine. I’ve had a headache every day for weeks now.
I need my house to be in some kind of order.
Just like a Slattery 