Be quiet, Bush family
Be still, Chavez
Yap shut, Bill O'Reilly
Tais toi, Perez
Quit talkin', candidates presidential and local
Hey you, Rev. Sharpton, stop being so vocal
Heather Mills and Rosie O'Donnell
Keep it to yourselves, please
We don't want to hear every fart and sneeze.
Stuff--what?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Blessed Be
Wandering around, using the word "beee zar".
Yesterday at the vets, all the techs were wearing homemade, knitted kitty ears. Miss Poopy, my feline companion of many years, is in slow kidney failure and spent her day enthroned on heating pads being pumped full of kidney cleaning fluids and getting more attention than she has in years. When I went to pick her up last night, I met a friend there who's little man, Boots, 14 years old, can't poop. Previews of our own old age, eh? Meeting at the geriatricians in 30 years time, techs wearing rabbit ears for Halloween, both of us cranky and dressed in hideous caftanallia, discussing our maladies over Sanka and dietetic pastries. (Except, by then, I plan to be carrying a hip flax full of my favorite cocktail, have a chin like Kirk Douglas in "Spartacus", and smoke the legal, synthetic derivative of whatever Mary Jane induces the strongest giggles in a long, glamorous ivory holder).
Yesterday at Starsux, I drowned my kitty sorrows in a low-fat, decaf, soy latte (what's the point?) and the barrrrrristas were wearing little devil ears. One of them, a surly, rotund girl who sports a soft, down moustache on most days had drawn in a fu-manchu complete with beard and was wearing a hideous tie as big as a surf board in front of her Starsux regulation Seattle blue grass green apron. I had to snicker at the irony. "Snicker."
On CNN's website there was an article about certain celebrities favorite Halloween candy. One of the guys from "The Office" enjoys candy corn, eating it colored section by section. Some starlet who I'm sure never consumes more than 6 crackers and a carrot a day says she likes mini Hershey bars--in her dreams, or perhaps as an annual treat after a high colonic. Of course I'd be really interested in anything Morgan Freeman enjoys consuming or, say, what Michelle Obama considers a light repast. I'll have a Barack with cheese, please, light on the rhetoric.
Yesterday, plodding through the Center, I noticed a young lad with an axe buried in his head, 3 teenage dudes dressed up as the "Scream" killer and a tiny, raven haired toddler dribbling ice cream down the front of her bulbous pumpkin costume, complete with tiny, elfin green shoes with curled toes. "I don't understand Halloween," Sweetie, my favorite CVS lady, said to me. "If you want to eat candy, eat candy. Ruin your teeth any day you choose." She comes from a land where the traditions and rituals are thousands of years old and don't involve threats to your neighbors involving rotten eggs and toilet tissue.
I remember loving All Hallows Eve--stomping through the neighborhood, trampling bushes with my brother as we ran from house to house in the crisp autumn night, knowing who was liberal with the handfuls of Sugar Daddy's and Clark Bars and who was giving out apples and raisins, blech--Moms was a genius with the costumes--I have a great picture of my baby bro' as a pirate complete with curly moustache, sabre, and black tri-corner hat--and it was the '70's so my gypsy costume is festooned with a lot of great, clunky jewellery. The last time I dressed up, at a chorus rehearsal a few years ago, I was a washed up, peri-menopausal opera star and got cheap boa feathers all over the rehearsal hall. Some of that a little too closed to the truth for comfort.
Ms. Poopy has a catheter inserted into her left front leg which restricts her movement--just like a peg-legged pirate. Perhaps I'll fashion her a little eye patch and teach her to purr "rrrrrrgh, Matey. Some kibble, and be quick about it."
Yesterday at the vets, all the techs were wearing homemade, knitted kitty ears. Miss Poopy, my feline companion of many years, is in slow kidney failure and spent her day enthroned on heating pads being pumped full of kidney cleaning fluids and getting more attention than she has in years. When I went to pick her up last night, I met a friend there who's little man, Boots, 14 years old, can't poop. Previews of our own old age, eh? Meeting at the geriatricians in 30 years time, techs wearing rabbit ears for Halloween, both of us cranky and dressed in hideous caftanallia, discussing our maladies over Sanka and dietetic pastries. (Except, by then, I plan to be carrying a hip flax full of my favorite cocktail, have a chin like Kirk Douglas in "Spartacus", and smoke the legal, synthetic derivative of whatever Mary Jane induces the strongest giggles in a long, glamorous ivory holder).
Yesterday at Starsux, I drowned my kitty sorrows in a low-fat, decaf, soy latte (what's the point?) and the barrrrrristas were wearing little devil ears. One of them, a surly, rotund girl who sports a soft, down moustache on most days had drawn in a fu-manchu complete with beard and was wearing a hideous tie as big as a surf board in front of her Starsux regulation Seattle blue grass green apron. I had to snicker at the irony. "Snicker."
On CNN's website there was an article about certain celebrities favorite Halloween candy. One of the guys from "The Office" enjoys candy corn, eating it colored section by section. Some starlet who I'm sure never consumes more than 6 crackers and a carrot a day says she likes mini Hershey bars--in her dreams, or perhaps as an annual treat after a high colonic. Of course I'd be really interested in anything Morgan Freeman enjoys consuming or, say, what Michelle Obama considers a light repast. I'll have a Barack with cheese, please, light on the rhetoric.
Yesterday, plodding through the Center, I noticed a young lad with an axe buried in his head, 3 teenage dudes dressed up as the "Scream" killer and a tiny, raven haired toddler dribbling ice cream down the front of her bulbous pumpkin costume, complete with tiny, elfin green shoes with curled toes. "I don't understand Halloween," Sweetie, my favorite CVS lady, said to me. "If you want to eat candy, eat candy. Ruin your teeth any day you choose." She comes from a land where the traditions and rituals are thousands of years old and don't involve threats to your neighbors involving rotten eggs and toilet tissue.
I remember loving All Hallows Eve--stomping through the neighborhood, trampling bushes with my brother as we ran from house to house in the crisp autumn night, knowing who was liberal with the handfuls of Sugar Daddy's and Clark Bars and who was giving out apples and raisins, blech--Moms was a genius with the costumes--I have a great picture of my baby bro' as a pirate complete with curly moustache, sabre, and black tri-corner hat--and it was the '70's so my gypsy costume is festooned with a lot of great, clunky jewellery. The last time I dressed up, at a chorus rehearsal a few years ago, I was a washed up, peri-menopausal opera star and got cheap boa feathers all over the rehearsal hall. Some of that a little too closed to the truth for comfort.
Ms. Poopy has a catheter inserted into her left front leg which restricts her movement--just like a peg-legged pirate. Perhaps I'll fashion her a little eye patch and teach her to purr "rrrrrrgh, Matey. Some kibble, and be quick about it."
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