garbage can

there's a small bamboo trash basket underneath my desk where I store all of my outgoing mail for recycle, letters with my name still on the label and other identifiers that I have to shred. It's a weird little game that I tend to play likened to the one where I keep snapping the snooze button on my 5am alarm clock. maybe you know that one. anyway, every time I empty out the thing there's one piece of garbage that always gets stuck inside the lip of the basket and each time i let it fall back down to the bottom. I look at it, lovingly, a picture of my ex-boyfriend that I downloaded off the internet one time when we first started dating. It had been in a tiny frame for about four or five months next to my bed before he started cheating on me. then i threw it in the basket one day after one of our biggest break-ups following thanksgiving weekend one year, another very long long story. anyway, the photo has been sitting at the bottom of the basket for nearly three years. Every time I think that it's going to fall out it stays in there...today it finally slipped into the bin for re-entry into mainstream recycle. I guess this is it. Some things seem to linger on for years before they finally move back into circulation, like overdue library books or something like that. There are a lot of things that just take a little time. This one just made me laugh.

I'm looking for an out.

"I think younger workers—first of all, younger workers have been promised benefits the government—promises that have been promised, benefits that we can't keep. That's just the way it is."—Washington, D.C., May 4, 2005

with the recent appraisal of our country's economic fitness, I'd like some options, alternatives for retirement. anyone?? where to go...

there's no way I'm staying in this country another ten years even. this is really getting serious. as of Jan 1, 2008, our baby-boomers are hitting up the system for cold, hard cash and their portion of pharma benies promised to them on Bush's watch, a bill that cost our country trillions of dollars that we will never be able to afford, according to the comptroller of the U.S. Treasury. This puts us in pre-bankruptcy status. This may not seem like a scare to one who's unfamiliar with the emergency clause.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/State_of_emergency

I'm not worried, but annoyed that we are in this situation because of something stupid that george w. bush did.

the paper towel

During the latest environmental crisis I've grown a certain fondness for the paper towel. It has long been a commodity, a prominent member of the paper product family, that I have grown to trust and admire for its functional durability and selfless disposability. Over the years I've come to rely on the towel for my everyday household needs. Its strength and light-weight portability makes it so convenient for transport on long trips. I often carry along a few of them, moistened, in a Ziplocs sandwich bag with my lunch pack when I'm traveling. And, for just the light cleaning jobs around the house, they do come in handy. For instance, after I scrub around the toilet bowl, I like to take one of my all-purpose Brawny brand paper towels and sweep neatly around the lip of the bowl, making sure that all of the pubic hairs and other remnants of debris are carefully wiped away as I sacrifice one more. This way I know that my personal toilet is completely safe and tidy. It saddens me deeply to know that everyday now the precarious lifespan of the ever loyal paper towel hangs in the delicate balance of a now grimly fated future. If only we could clone them. The way things are going, this may be our only option if this species is to withstand another brutal attack. My personal economy and lifestyle will also suffer. I kneel with the Bush Administration and family, now, in prayer, and hope for a miracle. I hope for a brighter future for everyone, for humanity, and for paper towels everywhere.

huh?

"A lot of times in the rhetoric, people forget the facts. And the facts are that thousands of small businesses—Hispanically owned or otherwise—pay taxes at the highest marginal rate."—to the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce; Washington, D.C., March 19, 2001
George W. Bush

from my friend, Anton

...Two men raised an orphan lion cub, but they raised it with the intention of releasing it back into the wilds. So they did their best to not just feed and take care of it, but to teach it to hunt like it's mother would have. When the lion got big enough, it was let go deep in the savannah and left to fend for itself.

Later the two young men started to wonder if the lion they had released had survived or not, and because of the deep personal attachment they had to it they hired a tracker to see if he could find this one lion out of thousands in the protected area and see if it had survived. Remarkably, the tracker did find their lion, and reported he was still alive, and had joined forces with a group of unattached male bachelors that had formed a hunting pack.

Well, hearing that "their lion" was alive wasn't good enough, they had to see for themselves. So they had the tracker take them up close to this particular group of male lions, and saw their lion.

The young men thought, "lets walk closer and see if he recognizes us".

This video is what happened next.

When you're watching this, bear in mind, "their" lion hasn't seen them in over a year and a half. And all the other lions in the video are TOTALLY WILD. Look at THEIR reaction. And last, check out the tracker...he's the older guy with no shirt on...you can see he's NEVER seen anything like this in his life!

Check it out!...love, A.
www.liveleak.com/view

My date with Gavin Newsom and the greater part of an evening in San Francisco

My date with Gavin Newsom and the greater part of an evening in San Francisco

Thu, October 4, 2007 - 4:29 PM
The lucky caller of Ruby Rod's 98.7 KISS fm radio contest last week, Gavin 10-10 Newsom, a modest gentleman and Mayor of San Francisco, won a date with me for a romantic escape throughout the city, a fundraising endeavor supporting my favorite local charities and humanitarian efforts. And it was quite a dating adventure. I have to admit.

Originally, Mr. Newsom, or as he prefers I call him, Gavy, was to send his driver, Biff, to escort me to our meeting place. But as it happened, Gavy had been running late due to a sudden plumbing problem and some other kind of mundane business at his home and so we made an alternate plan to meet at the Starlight Room for an apéritif. Gavy arrived, producing himself as an ex man in drag, but to his bemusement it was not the usual Sunday soirée. That is to say it was not the usual night of uncensored conduct. So this left him the only cross-dresser at the place. A precarious social situation and somewhat uncomfortable, enough cause for us to seek our entertainment at more favorable houses. And since Gavy is on a specific diet, we made a concerted effort to render the evening activity a special creation.

The driver pulled around to the back entrance for us. I managed to sneak away with a wooden peppermill that was placed in the window sill presumably for the convenience of the wait staff. It slipped right into my elongated clutch, one for my personal collection.

As we drove about the city lights, everybody going downtown, crowds bustling, the clicking heels along the concrete sidewalks, and the bass pounding the car ten stades away, all of this combined to overwhelm my senses. I felt a sudden emptiness making its way unerringly into my stomach. The need for something to eat became evermore present. We just had to make a quick stop on our getaway. Gavy asked the driver to swing by Taco Bell for a seven-layer burrito, the vegetarian meal. As we made our way up the drive to the cashier window, it turned out that Gavy had mislaid his wallet back at the Starlight Room. He reached into his pockets hoping to find at least some loose change and a bill of some kind.

AHA! Gavy exclaimed, with an elevated sigh of relief as he pulled out a two-dollar bill and some change from his pocket handing it to the cashier. Under closer inspection, the cashier looked up at us with a suspicious sneer and then told us to wait a few moments while he stepped away from the drive-thru window. On his return the cashier brought the manager of Taco Bell who rejected the bill and refused us the seven-layer burrito.

“I’m sorry, this is nothing more than a piece of paper with some words printed on it...'two dollars' ...means absolutely nothing.” holding the bill up to the overhead lights, “we can’t accept this.” He asked if we had any other money to pay our tab.

“There must be some mistake. I just paid you for our order.” Gavy replied.

“Oh? You mean with that 'two-dollar bill'? We only accept cash here. What do I look like to you?” the manager remarked with a profusion of slang and then called for security back-up.

The night watchman intervened at the drive-thru window from inside the building, tucking the back of his shirt into to his pants and stood beside the cashier.

“what’s going on here?” he questioned with a wheezing drawl while scrawling something into his pad. He continued to wipe the tips of his fingers onto the front side of his pant leg as if he'd been eating greasy potato chips.

Gavy said, in a poised and reserved manner, still in drag, “good-evening sir. We ordered a seven-layer burrito. Apparently there is a problem with our money. We’re paying in cash.”

“Oh, with a 'two-dollar bill'? What do you think this is, some kind of game- pass and go- collect two-hundred dollars? This establishment only takes real money. You either pay or leave. As you can see, there are several witnesses…”

Just as we were about to pull away, the watchman exclaims, “hey, you, you’re Newsom, the Mayor of San Francisco? It is! Hey everybody, look who it is! it’s Gavin Newsom! Make him a burrito on the fly!”

As you can probably imagine, I was utterly exhausted after having to sit through this trial and could not wait to get into a dimly lit booth where I could finally relax with my date in drag. But Gavy really wanted to explore a warm raspberry soufflé with chocolate sauce and some karaoke action at this exclusive corner cafe across town.

It was a dark spot, lots of guys crowding the place bucking for the mic. Once we got ourselves nestled in there and placed our dessert order, Gavy looked at me with a glowing smile.

“I’m feeling evil” he said, crinkling his nose. Whispering into my ear, he told me that he just wanted to make up for the rough start by singing a little something, “it’s best that I alter my costume slightly. If you’ll excuse me while I take my place…” And off he went to the right of the stage.

There was a pregnant pause in the crowd, followed by a lot of whispering while the seats were arranged to make a clear space for the performance. A pretty jug of water and some tumblers were placed on each table, and cigars, matches, and ash trays were set towards the door to the cloak room where the men helped themselves. It was an unusually warm and balmy night in the city. Things began to heat up a bit. I felt thirsty suddenly. The waiter took it upon himself to offer me a gratuitous martini, chilled and shaken, as if he were able to read my mind, a nice, smooth cool-down. The room filled up to maximum capacity and so the maître d', a bald man in uniform, opened all of the doors to the sidewalk to allow a passage of air to flow through the room and invited the diverted pedestrians into the fringes of the place.

The piano keyed abruptly. Out came Gavy sliding clear across the stage, gripping an erect microphone stand in stripped-down-Risky-Business fashion, looking like Tom Cruise, only taller, in his white socks and briefs…
-Just enough edge to crack an egg

www.youtube.com/watch

“Just take those old records off the shelf
I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself
Today's music ain't got the same soul
I like that old time rock 'n' roll”

The crowds overflowed out onto the curbside, blocking traffic through the intersection crosswalk. Some amateur footage was instantly uploaded to YouTube.com. by a small parade of frat boys who were also filming themselves in raw, collegiate activity, kicking a Frisbee about, up and down the street and up along the walls of the cafe. What a spectacle.

Then it was my turn to sing the only sensible thing that popped into my mind just then:

www.youtube.com/watch

As we strolled down the walk late in the evening, we mused the following day’s activities, a possible meeting for banana breakfast at Gavy's rooftop garden as the Blue Angels soar above the bay. Just then Gavy stopped and took a deep breath of air as if something were weighing on his mind. He looked up into the night at the stars spread out across the sky, likened to neoned confetti sprinkled into a cupula of black ink.

“Do you see that?” pointing up into five directions in sky. “Right there…that’s my star. that is my star.”

“You mean to say, it watches over you even when you cannot see?”

“Ya. Even when I can’t see a thing” he paused, inwardly mentating. There was a pleasant breeze. “will you dance with me now under the canopy of these stars…?”

“For you… a happy birthday dance. A very happy birthday, indeed. Truly, Mr. Newsom! Truly.”

www.youtube.com/watch

The next morning I was greeted by Biff, who drove me over to Gavy’s place for an idyllic, late morning banana breakfast on the rooftop lawn while the Blue Angels soared above the city spelling out F-I-A-T L-U-X across the misty sky, and right then a double-rainbow appeared.
fiat lux

thanks giving

Thanksgiving Prayer
"To Jack Dillinger and hope he is still alive.
Thanksgiving Day November 28 1986"


Thanks for the wild turkey and
the passenger pigeons,
destined to be shit out
through wholesome American guts.


Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.

Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and
danger.

Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.

Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.

Thanks for the KKK.

For nigger-killin' lawmen,
feelin' their notches.

For decent church-goin' women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.

Thanks for "Kill a Queer for
Christ" stickers.

Thanks for laboratory AIDS.

Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.

Thanks for a country where
nobody's allowed to mind his
own business.

Thanks for a nation of finks.

Yes, thanks for all the
memories-- all right let's see
your arms.

You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.

Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams.

- William S. Burroughs

thanks bill.

and now for the audio/video portion of our program click tbelow and then click the video link in the first paragraph:

blog.wfmu.org/freeform/20...giving_.html