Poor mom. All I asked her to do was find me a nice chew toy.
.
.
.
.
.
Correction
In my column below I mention photographer artist Robert Mapplethorpe as the creator of the picture of a cross in urine. I was wrong. He did not do that picture.
Violence is not the answer in a free society
A few years ago, Robert Mapplethorpe created a piece of “art” that consisted of a photograph of a crucifix in urine. I think it would be fair to say that just reading those words causes a little shudder to run through most people who find the whole symbolism disgusting and sacrilegious.
For most of us, Mr. Mapplethorpe is probably never going to really be an artist whose work we might want in our homes. For most of us, he might not even rise to the level of artist. Having read all the reviews of his work and photography, and viewed
I tried to be good and not say anything…really
This whole Cheney thing was just too easy of a target. Like shooting ducks in a tank at close range with a howitzer…which, come to think of it, is not unlike what Cheney was doing. And I have to ask, how macho a guy do you have to be to drive up to tamed birds, scare them into jumping around and then shooting them? You want to hunt, Mr. Cheney, come here to Alaska and go out into the country where the bears are as wild as the moose, wolves and caribou. Trek out into it with your pack on
I’m better now
OK, I’ve mailed all the tax paperwork out and now don’t have to think about it again till my accountant calls to ask me to clarify some obscure financial moment in my life that I will probably barely remember. So my normally sunny disposition should soon reassert itself. If nothing else, I know I will be able to watch the Daily Show tonight and see Jon Stewart’s take on Dick Cheney’s little shooting mishap this weekend. At my age, I really don’t need much more than that to amuse me.
Screw Valentine’s Day, taxes are coming
In reviewing my finances preparatory to giving the government my last pound of flesh – though there is apparently plenty of fat still left – two thoughts occur to me. One, money management is, in my world, a contradiction in terms. Two, for what this website cost me, I should be getting constant orgasms on demand from it every time I log on. It’s not like there’s anything or anyone else around who is apt to.
Is there spittle on my chin yet?
I watch the Olympics from my easy chair, light turned low, newspaper and tea by my side, so relaxed and comfortable that I all but have drool dripping down the side of my chin. On screen, young, buff athletes – buffer than me in ways I can’t begin to even imagine…buffer than I was at my best by an exponential of about a million – and I think, “All in all, I’m pretty happy in my chair.”
Fair warning
I’m getting my taxes ready for my accountant today. I will not be a pleasant person. I will, in fact, be an angry bitch. Until tonight when I can relax and watch Mal do his thing in Serenity.
Does God just wait….
Does God have nothing better to do than sit in heaven and wait for me to get happy with winter so She can then cause it to warm up just enough in Anchorage for there to be icy rain, sleet, wind and the kind of generally gross weather that makes me want to run screaming back to the North Slope? Maybe things will look better after my coffee. I’ll go strap some ice skates on my car tires and head to Cafe Loco.
Doctors, doctors everywhere
I go see one of my many doctors today. So I’m not drinking caffeine, not eating anything with cholesterol and willing my blood sugar to remain normal. Of couse, come tomorrow, damn the blood pressure and give me caffeine. I guess I’m still just a little Catholic school girl who wants to sin in private but be good in public so Sister Mary gives me a glowing report.