We are all waiting for the big one.
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Yesterday's quake in California confirmed it - I'm not the only one waiting for the next promised big one. Not just in California, but anywhere in the U.S. - we are a country on high anxiety alert - which explains why the press made a huge deal of a moderate quake that did very little damage.
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A list of the most popular "big ones" many people probably are waiting for:
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Another 911.
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Any horrendous act of terrorism, but especially something nuclear - although it must be localized.
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Another, bigger Katrina.
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A mega volcano in Yosemite.
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Any volcanic action in downtown L.A.
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A tsunami - on any coast of the U.S. (All of these things must happen in the U.S. to impress us for more than a day.)
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A mega quake anywhere in the U.S. but higher points if it hits someplace such as Memphis where we haven't built buildings to withstand quakes.
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What most people in the waiting room DO NOT want:
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No pandemic - no one wants to be sick.
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No recession/depression - no one wants to be poor.
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No all out war - no one wants to fight.
Crucified without nails...
Some days.
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Some days the memories of childhood sweep over me in a tsunami of pain and ignominy, with such overwhelming force, I can think of little else. After many years, I have learned to abandon myself in these circumstances. In doing so, I have come to realize how disabling the pain can be... like being crucified without nails.
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I say that because I used to run from the pain. I ran into all sorts of vices trying to convince myself it never happened, and I always ended up proving it did... and proving that I was what they said I was. Although, in an odd way, my sin allowed me to forgive them.
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Nevertheless it is still like being crucified - without nails; one is free to run - but it never goes away.
Conclusions
I was just going through my old posts looking for something on small black capes...
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And I skimmed a couple of posts wherein I kind of ranted about other people. Mostly about how people act in church; such as talking in church, chapel veils, genuflecting or not, receiving communion standing or kneeling, in-the-hand or not, and so on and so forth.
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1st conclusion: How unbelievably petty and unimportant.
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2nd conclusion: What a meddling busy-body I am.
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3rd conclusion: The posts were extremely poorly written.
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4th conclusion: What a waste of time - to read or to write..
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And to think we are going to be judged on every word we utter.
My blogs.
This blog has degenerated into a bunch of videos of black girls singin' trash.
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I have a page on Facebook but I do not go there - I don't know what the big deal is about Facebook anyway - it's kinda high school if you ask me. I mean 3 blogs and then a Facebook site? That is obsessive. Although I was thinking of getting a web cam and doing interviews and self-help videos - with my assorted personalities of course. (Heavily disguised, and using all of my different voices - maybe some singing too.)
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Does anyone know I could do that? Do you just get a web cam, make a video and post it on Youtube? (I'll bet Little Freak knows all about it - he is so sick.)
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Now aside from this last-ditch, desperado career venture, I will try to post more thoughtful, insightful posts on this blog once again. (I pronounced 'again' like 'uh-gane' - classy huh?)
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Like this:
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Once upon a time I had an aunt Leona, who was married to my dad's brother Herman. She had a sort of a frog-in-her-throat voice, and in fact she kind of looked like a frog, only with cat-glasses. My mother couldn't stand her, so that is why the rest of us didn't like her either. Come to find out, after Leona died, she was actually very nice and a rather devout Catholic for awhile. My mother's attitude was toxic - she did not like many people. Anyway, after Leona died, uncle Herman married a friend of theirs just 2 or 3 months later. No one said anything - although my mother was overheard murmuring to herself at the wedding reception, "He probably didn't like Leona either."
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The End
The Romanovs - Death ( Last Imperial Family Of Russia )
July 17 - 90th anniversary of their martyrdom.
Marian Becker
Please, please pray for my best friend's mom, Marian Becker. She is in very serious condition at a hospital outside of Washington D.C.. Please pray for her - a Divine Mercy Chaplet, a rosary, and if you are a priest, a Mass. Remember how very important just one soul is in the eyes of Our Heavenly Father. Thank you.
Chapter of faults meme...
Fr. Eric kind of started it.
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Name 5 or more embarrassing faults/facts you have committed in the past - and if you were running for office or something, you would be embarrassed if they came out - I added that part. (For instance, Fr. Eric voted for Mondale! - I know!)
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1) I once made a prank call to 911 - several years ago! - to complain about a wild party my friend was having, claiming it was too noisy and disorderly, and that I wanted a squad sent out. (I was at the party earlier - it wasn't wild at all.) Anyway, the party was on the other side of town and the operator said to me, "You tryin' to tell me you across town and can hear all that racket?" I said, "Huh? How do you know that?" And she said, "I got caller ID an' I know who you are and where you callin' from!" I was just happy not to get a fine.
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2) Up until 5 or 6 years ago, I used to speed a lot of the time, often pretending I was in a chase scene like you see in the movies. I loved to weave in and out of traffic on the freeway, or cut in on merging lines by taking the shoulder to the furthest point I could go, and then cutting in. (It never occurred to me it was rude - I just thought it was good driving. I know!) One day it all came to a screeching halt - literally - as I was racing across the Ford Parkway bridge in St. Paul, going 65mph in a 30mph zone. Because of the volume of the radio, I did not hear the police siren, and he was pretty angry when I finally stopped. Gratefully, I only received a very expensive ticket. After that incident however, I always drive within the speed limit.
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3) My blog, Abbey-Roads2.
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4) My blog, Up Your Street.
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5) This blog.
Sunday morning musings...
Sometimes I wonder.
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I wonder what happened to all my friends. "Was it something I said?" I ask myself.
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Obviously they were not kidding when they said things like, "Keep hurling the insults and you'll end up friendless." Or, "Stop posting fake videos of me drunk and dancing, or I'll never talk to you again." And then the notorized letters: "Cease and desist or face legal action." And, "If you are caught on our property again you will be arrested for trespassing." The classic one is this, "You will never work in this town again!" Gosh! How often have I heard that one? Or this, "Get out! get out! I never want to see you again!"
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Some people can be so darn sensitive.
Cool looks from the streets of Milan and Florence...
These shots are from one of my favorite blogs, The Sartorialist.This is who the Sartorialist is and what he is about - in his own words:
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I started The Sartorialist simply to share photos of people that I saw on the streets of New York that I thought looked great. When I worked in the fashion industry (15 years), I always felt that there was a disconnect between what I was selling in the showroom and what I was seeing real people (really cool people) wearing in real life. - Sartorialist
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My comments.
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The shorter trouser and tapered leg is so early 1960's - and as the "old guy" in the middle demonstrates, it works much better on the young guys - "Bumpa's" trousers could be lengthened about an inch or two - otherwise he looks good.
Went out to dinner again...
With friends who read my blogs.
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The evening had been in the planning stages for weeks. I committed, but no one expected me to show up. (Isn't that sad - they are so desperate for friends.) We ate at a Nazi restaurant - a place that specializes in German food. Although before meeting there, we made a pact not to bring up the war or the holocaust while we were eating. So the food was fairly palatable. Even though we ate outside, you could smell the ovens, as well as the insecticide to keep the bugs away, so naturally I couldn't help think about the concentration camps and all. But I tried not to dwell on it.
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My two dinner companions were so drunk they didn't notice anything until I brought it up.
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As the evening wore on, everyone was talking at once. The woman, who I'll call Kathy, kept applying make-up for the 3 or 4 hours we were there - well not steadily, but on and off. The fellow she was with, whom I'll call Jay, kept kicking me under the table calling my attention to it - then he whispered, "She's watching that guy behind her in her compact mirror." Finally, I just had to say something, "Kath, hon, you have lipstick all over your upper lip and it's even in your nose for crying out loud."
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Anyway, we discussed blogging, and my blogs in particular, since I was pretty much able to talk them down, except for when they yelled out names of local celebrities they knew - "Michael Bayly told me this." The Archbishop told me that!" "Oh Mitchell is so handsome!" "When I was talking to the Mayor..." "Well, when I dealt with Catholic Parents Online, I told..." - just before saying the name, that was when they'd raise their voice for attention... "COLEEN PERFECT..." No, I wasn't embarrassed.
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Then they set their sights on me and started asking really pointed questions such as: "Why are you so mean on your posts? Why don't you like this or that person?" "Why do you have a problem with Germans?" "How much money do you have?" "Have you ever been in a mental hospital?" "Why don't you post your real photo in your profile? Are you wanted by the police?" "Or are you trying to get dates?" "Tell us what you know about this blogger or that commenter."
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I couldn't answer most of their queries because I was hardly able to understand a word they said, and I had just gone to confession anyway. All in all, I have to admit it was a good time. When we finally had enough, we all hugged each other and left. The lady said she had to use the restroom - although I thought she said, "What a farce." (Jay said, "No - she said she had to f@rt." I said, "I hate that word!") Anyway, he just shrugged and we left her there. Halfway to my car I realized I had left my keys on the table and went back to the restaurant. To my surprise, the lady was seated at the bar with a pitcher of beer, apparently trying to text message on what looked like to be the back of a hair brush.
Sort of like gay marriage.
This is what frequently happens in same sex relationships - when there happens to be a huge age gap or people have been together for a very long time. In fact - straight relationships often turn out like this too - if the couple has lived together for a long time without benefit of marriage and no children. Yes. That can be kind of gay.
Drunk Again
I'm thinking of starting another new blog - just because I'm bored.
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It would add balance to all the other blogs dedicated to writing about the 12 steps; you know, it would be for people who like being alcoholics. I'd call it, "Drunk Again".
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Being a nation which celebrates Independence Day - we sure have a lot of restrictions. No drunks allowed. No smoking anyplace, no drinking while driving, smokers and drunks are discriminated against - but oh boy! Uncle Sam sure likes to tax them. Marijuana and other drugs are illegal. No shoes, no shirt, no service - which is entirely bogus BTW. No prostitutes, even though gay people are getting more and more rights and can do what they want. (Many drink a lot too.) You can't say hateful things to or about people anymore. Gosh - you can't even burn your trash. There are so many freedoms curtailed in this country that I'm beginning to think this July 4th crap is really over-rated.
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Maybe we should start a war or something to get people feeling more patriotic.
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At least liquor stores are open on the 4th now days.
A 4th of July Story
"What the man who lives on the corner did while working in his yard the day before Independence Day." By Terry Nelson
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One day, today actually, I was working in the yard planting grass seed when I decided I needed to take a break. I went in and got my cigarette lighter, a sleek black Bic. I wanted a cigarette, but I said to myself, "No Mr. Man! No smoking for you!" I then returned outside and sat on the boulevard. The grass is all yellow and dry because we have had very little rain in the past month and naturally I have not watered the boulevard because the city used salt on the street this past winter and it killed all the beautiful grass I planted last year, which made me very, very angry.
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Anyway, I tried setting the dried, weed infested dead grass on fire. But it didn't burn more than 3 square inches at a time. (I also had a hose handy just in case it really did burn.) Although I was alone, I said to myself, "And yet people yelled at me when I'd throw cigarette butts out my car window as I drove, screaming at me that I could start a grass fire." (Of course, I'm positive many of these same people throw their beer cans and pop cans and french fry bags out of their car window onto my boulevard for me to clean up.)
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So after a couple of tries, I got bored with trying to see how easy a grass fire would start, and quickly went into the house to get my smoke bombs and cherry bombs and fire-crackers. (My neighbors are so lucky I do not have a gun.) I carefully placed several of them in ant holes around the yard to blow up their sinister tunnels by which they infiltrated my yard. (5th Column movement, you know.) I pretended it was war and the ants were filthy, despicable Germans. Nazis. I later tried to blow up a short wall along side my driveway - since I have to rebuild it anyway. I was pretending I was doing demolition work with explosives after a nuclear attack that killed off all of the ants. Unfortunately, the cherry bombs did little to no damage, so I will still have to rework the wall by hand - and the ants were still there.
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I realized it would be best if I resorted to guerrilla tactics, and so it became necessary to use chemical weaponry. I got out the smoke bombs. I positioned myself behind the fence and placed them in prominent locations - though heavily camouflaged - like landmines, but not really. They were embedded in the ivy along the fence. As kids were coming by from the park across the street, I'd light them and they would get all excited wondering where and why the smoke was - it was simply a diversionary tactic - until suddenly, the neighbor lady came running around the corner because, "After seeing all of the blue smoke, I thought maybe your hedge-trimmer... or something had blown up! Are you okay?" Then the police came by and we waved and I went back to work after assuring Mrs. Kravetz everything was fine.
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The End.
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