My Life in Film Review

It started on an otherwise bright and sunny California day….

THE DAY THE SERVER CRASHED

*Shriek*

You’ll chill with the horror.

*shaky cam effect*

“I’m alone. Alone! It’s dark…mommy…it’s so dark…THE INTERNET HAS GONE DARK!”

You’ll thrill with the human instinct to survive.

*In Charlton Heston style – May his soul rest in peace.*

“I am a human being, dammit. I MUST SURVIVE. But how will I reach others? Where are they? Without the Internet, how will we ever know? No, we must go forward. I will create my own companions from art supplies in the playroom. Wilson! WI-I-I-I-ILSON! Together, we will over come these trying days. Oh, yes, WE WILL SURVIVE.”

*semi-maniacal laughter somehow meant to inspire*

And you’ll ask yourself….what would I do?

*In Presidential candidate voiceover style*

“May future generations never experience the darkness of this day. I declare today that Internet service is a RIGHT for all humankind. Man the tanks – we will ensure that the Internet is available in any place where human beings may call home. Let this day be remembered as the day we guaranteed social networking to the empoverished world!”

Coming soon (but hopefully temporary)….THE DAY THE SERVER DIED

Disclaimer: Written on the day our Internet server died and left me alone in a workday with no IM. I’m pretty sure I stole the entire thought and most of the wording – but without the Internet, how could I discover if I were original or a plagiarist? *shudder * May such a day never come that human beings have to know the answers to questions without the use of google…find a movie theater without fandango…make a friend without Facebook….play music from CDs….I have been to this future and I will not permit it! I WILL NOT!

Melancholia and Creativitia

Here's a little ditty I wrote called 'Feeling Sorry for Myself.' It's an old-timey tune you might done hear on the rad-eee-o. Now...let me get out my banjo and we'll have ourselves a little sing-along...

Boss is on my case, my darling
For some rules I didn't keep
Wants to meet with me this morning
I've got trouble brewing deep

Feeling sorry for myself
Feeling sorry for myself
Boss is circling like a hound dog
Feeling sorry for myself

Got my first check after pay raise
Taxes rose with income steep
For I earned $300 extra
But hundreds less I get to keep

Feeling sorry for myself
Feeling sorry for myself
Tax man took away my money
Feeling sorry for myself

Ate just 1300 Calories
Every day for nigh a week
Hungry day and night and morning
Today weigh same as past peek

Feeling sorry for myself
Feeling sorry for myself
Ate a donut for my breakfast
Feeling sorry for myself

Tried to write away my troubles
Tried to express cre'tivity
But my words they fell like rubbles
And no support for them I reap

Feeling sorry for myself
Feeling sorry for myself
Cain't put two words together
Feeling sorry for myself

Tried to cheer and aid a friend
But I've lost that gift, I guess
Ended up just being selfish
And her words I did suppress

Feeling sorry for myself
Feeling sorry for myself
Want to buy ole Ted's lone cabin
In the woods of Wyoming
Feeling sorry for myself

I know that my life ain't all rotten
Others live in pah-ver-tee
Got no homes and lots of risk
Death for them comes so harshly
But today I am begotten
Nasty case of me-measles
So I'm scratching my sad itches
And complaining all day through
Thar be troubles getting treatment
When the only thing broke is attitu'

Feeling sorry for myself
Feeling sorry for myself
Dancing strong and singing this song
But feeling sorry for myself

If only I could portray melody, you'd be laughing right along with me...I'm really fine, for anyone who wants to take me seriously. Can't be too sad when you're writing Bluegrass...

Daily amusements

There are a few things in life that amuse me: SPAM that informs me I've won the lotto in a foreign country whose GNP is less than the stated winnings amount my love-hate affair with General Hospital, and my astrological chart.

1) SPAM makes us all feel important andI'm no different. Per my SPAM folder, I'm a big winner in many countries. The running total informs me that I've won over $450 million dollars from countries in which I've never lived, entered the lottery, or anything else that may have qualified me to win the lotto. I'm the richest person in Lithuania, South Africa, Guatemala, Papua New Guinea, Zimbabwe (I won 5 times last week), and some old lady in Britain keeps trying to leave me $50 million dollars - I've told the Queen I want nothing to do with her. If I was a princess switched at birth, then so be it - stop sending me emails. I love my adopted parents. But to no avail....I just keep winning the lotto in foreign countries or having rich relatives drop to death with my email address on dying breath.

2) General Hospital. Loved it yesterday. Huh. Up and down and up and down. WHEEEEEEEE.......*sigh*

3) The real topic today: my astrological chart. I signed up at Astrology.com ages ago. I don't know if I trust astrology. My rational side tells me that if astrology is true then everyone in the world born at the same time as I was born would have to experience the exact same life. I've never heard of such a thing...so, I don't trust the veracity of astrology. I believe the stars and moon affect our bodies - most women menstruate according to the moon cycle and sleep patterns vary according to the moon - but I doubt that gravity is responsible for both the good and bad of my day-to-day life. However, I find my daily astrology reading the most amusing piece of random in the world. Since I've been receiving these for some time, I know that the entire system is automated. A new star could appear in the heavens and rearrange the entire visual spectrum and my chart would still pop out the same mixture of 12 "predictions" because it's just a computer sending out pre-programmed items on pre-programmed days. I hope that if the world "ends", I still have a computer. I can't wait to watch all HELL break loose and my chart to say something pithy like expect a quiet day as you let your energy reset in order for a calmer, more beautiful tomorrow. Ah, irony. How I love even the idea of you....

I noticed the other day that I approach my daily reading as though it were a hyper-sensitive friend with a tendency to annoy me but who was just rational enough to keep me loyal. The other day, I was feeling very good. I opened my email and thought, that horoscope better not predict anything negative because it's a good day and I just don't want to deal with astrological negativity.

I opened the email: If you're out to woo someone, they don't stand a chance of resisting you -- whether they've been with you for thirty years or thirty minutes.

Why, that's lovely. Thank you horoscope, I thought, pleased to have encountered the horoscope in such a kind mood.

Then the horoscope's mothering side emerged: The only word that could possibly describe how you're feeling now is 'antsy.' Uncross those hands, get up and stop pretending it isn't happening. Do something! Nail-biting doesn't count.

Oh, for Pete's sake! I don't bite my nails! Why are you always in my business? It's my life! I can sit around and let TV live life for me if I choose! Garsh! I rolled my eyes. The horoscope just can't leave well enough alone. But I read on:

You're not on 'Fear Factor,' and there definitely aren't any thousand-legged bugs crawling all over you. It's your nerves, plain and simple. Now sit still and act like a professional.

Grrrrr. I apologized to my horoscope...but then it jumped into yet another mood:

Remember back in grade school how the only acceptable way to get someone to notice you was to aggravate them? Pretend you're back there, and someone's recent behavior will finally make sense.

Ah. Now I get it. Astrological chart, are you trying to say you love me? That's so sweet.

And that's my thoughts on what amuses me today....

These Night Visions in my Head

I have always been prone to weird dreams. I thought this one too weird to share, but Mrs. Charlie and I laughed ourselves to tears over it - so I decided to post away.

I dreamed I was working for the church on a humanitarian mission in Madagascar. I met the most wonderful man. He was a doctor as well as a handsome, kind, sweet, generous, understanding person who seemed to like me with all my quirks and inadequacies - mostly because he had no perfect woman checklist that gripped my heart so tightly it slowly turned to ash in fear for the day I would fail to mark a box. (This imagery was truly a part of my dream. I am a drama queen, much as I hate it.)

The dream changed and we were in Malaysia getting married. My family. His family. But I kept obsessing about whether or not I had invited Nadia and Syar as well as if they still lived in Malaysia and why were we getting married in Malaysia. It's not at all unusual for me to argue with myself in dreamland.

In the next scene, I was very happily living in Jakarta. We had the most amazing treehouse. Our house wound around this ancient tree. Each room held some wonder, like a collection of exotic pets or a guru. I loved my life. I walked around my house feeling at home. At last, I had a place where I felt completely accepted.

I arrived at the bottom of the tree to the place where we housed our free clinic. There were hungry children everywhere so I set to work healing wounds and feeding empty stomachs. I smiled, aware deeply that I was doing what needed to be done and no one in my world would criticize, judge, or reprimand me. I was loved, complete, needed, and liked.

The door to the clinic burst open. A tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny yet very pregnant American woman burst into the room. She bumped into a table and I inhaled sharply out of concern for the baby. She cursed, reached insider her dress, and pulled out a pillow. At that point, I knew my idyllic little dream had changed colours.

"You!" she shouted at my husband. "How could you leave me for this chubby, unattractive, dirty, neurotic and self-pitying woman?!"

I watched my husband. He shrugged. "I guess I liked her. However, I remind you that YOU left me. Not that I want you back, of course. I love my wife."

The woman raged. She tossed things around our clinic. She scared the children. I motioned for them to come to me and that caught her attention.

"You!" I recoiled at her anger. "How could you take him?! Don't you know he used to be a girl?!"

I can't tell you if I was shoked. I had backed into observer mode. My husband responded with a shrug and a nod. "To be honest, I am a hermaphrodite who chooses to live as a male."

I answered, "Hm. Well, I suppose this means you're infertile."

My gentle, good, kind, very masculine AND appealing husband nodded. "It's likely."

It was my turn to shrug. "Oh, well. Guess it was always meant to be me and a sperm bank. I really, really, really love my life and see no reason to change any part of it." I went back to caring for children and laughing with my Spousal Hermaphrodite as the actress stormed out.


There are many things that make me laugh about this particular dream:

1) I have had several versions of the dream where I marry quickly and discover some secret later. The Hermaphrodite ending is a HUGE step up from my recent "best" ending where my husband turned out to be a homeless man who lived with his mother on a flatbed truck. He had sold his radio to buy my engagement ring. In that dream as well, I shrugged and accepted the revelation. So, an ending where 88.8% is FREAKIN' WONDERFUL - hey, that ain't bad.

2) I think this dream really indicates that tree houses are the home of the future. I had a monkey and a housecat and a big snake and a CHEETAH as pets (with, I admit, a significant bug problem - but the cheetah really trumped all over some beetle dung). How cool is that?!

3) When I got to work, I had an email saying that today was a day of astrological significance wherein "detailed dreams will manifest into reality." SO, if any of you know a hermaphrodite working as a doctor in Malaysia - tell him to dump the blonde. I'm on my way.

In Case You Thought Only Santa Would Be Affected

Apparently, The Universe didn't take too kindly to the report that the North Pole might be invaded. One of the astrological sites that amuse me greatly reported this today:

Here in the US, this is occurring in a dramatic way indeed. Our country is beginning its final fall…and it will occur very rapidly now. The rug has been pulled out from under it, and it has nothing much to hold onto anymore. The super power that it thought it was, is now needing to tap into and become what true power really is. The old false power must now depart. There is nothing left to support it. But this is the natural and rightful process of ascension and evolution.


How do we move forward when our systems are falling? How do we create anything from an old world reality? Is each and every country in the world experiencing this?


No. If you are residing in a country where simplicity, allowing, peace, and support are still present, for instance, there would be no need for drastic changes to occur. If your area of residence needs a substantial amount of change to occur, get ready for a wild ride. Uprisings, natural disasters, and chaos will be the norm for a few years yet, but not everywhere.

So, U.S., you've been warned. Don't mess with The Claus. Mr. Universe is watching.

Austin Powers Turns 90 in this Post

oh my. Oh me oh my oh my! I saw my beloved octegenarian friend for the first time since helping him unpack after his move a few weeks ago.

Oh my! Oh me oh my oh my!

I've debated telling this story out of respect for my friend. He's an old man with little knowledge of his true circumstances. For example, today I was encouraging him to engage in social activities at his retirement home. He responded, "Why would I hang out with all those old people?!" As I looked at his wrinkled face, hunched back, and age spots, I reminded myself that his brain ceased self-awareness about 10-20 years ago. In his mind, he is not 80 with all the common experiences of the aged. He's a young, active 60-year-old man who prefers the company of 30-40 year old women.

And, thus, I progress in my telling of an old man who suddenly needed those sweet young things to clean out his apartment.

Since we have a good relationship, I was set to the task of helping him weed through old papers. This is a delicate task since he doesn't really know the date. Papers that are 20 years old feel like they were acquired yesterday. So, I looked painstakingly through boxes and boxes of old information, making up reasons the paper was "unneccessary" beyond being dated 1971.

We had reached the documentation of a traffic accident in 1983 when I heard an eruption of giggles from the bathroom. My sister and another woman from church were cleaning that room - I didn't mind my assignment when I remembered the alternate. They were giggling for a good while with deep gulping breaths marking each minute. After a long period of laughter, the room quieted. I returned to my insistence that you only need to hold onto car insurance papers until the accident is cleared up (or the company goes out of business, I said silently to no one but the Universe).

The other woman left the bathroom and came to hand me a bundle of men's toiletry bags "to go through with him and decide what's really useful." Then the giggling began afresh.

Careful to maintain my compassionate expression, I opened the first bag to discover....one Swedish made penis enhancer. I kid you not. The swedish-made part is the only embellishment in this story. The man had a penile enhancement kit. He's 80 - possibly 90 - years old. And he had a penis enhancer. I guess sexuality really never does die in the virile male. (As a public service announcement, I tell the reader that this kit looked very, very painful to use. I suppose it serves its "function" well, but I think the garden variety vacuum cleaner would be less abrasive, risky, and destructive.)

"Oh my," I said in my most gracious and polite voice, not betraying a moment of real emotion. "This is rather unexpected. I think its time has come and gone." The other women burst into uncontrolled laughter. I sent the old man on an errand so that I could join them in mirth.

Before he returned, I buried the bag in the trash can. My sister and our friend could not contain the Austin Powers quotes. We had already stumbled across a fair amount of 70s style pornography in the house. All I could do is shake my head and ask, "Why didn't the men who moved the boxes get rid of all this?!" We could only imagine that they were desperate to share the laughter and too kind to tell the story - as I promise we have been. The only mention of it has been a passing "That's not my bag, baby" in the halls at church to which we all erupt in giggles - and shake our heads at any quizzical glance. I only share it now as none of my remaining readers will ever meet the man. He's old. He may not even know where or when the bag was obtained. And I wouldn't put it past people to play a prank on an old, Russian ex-priest who didn't know how to read the world "subtle" when I first met him and would be too kind to throw out any kind of gift, obscene or otherwise, as his wide collection of butterfly collars received "from his friends" attest.

And yes, we threw out the porn along with the butterfly collars. We clean that house frequently and just can't keep laughing at the old guy, much as we love him.

And so that I don't leave you with a thought of what an old man does in his spare time, here's one of the funniest Harry Potter fan-themed videos I've ever seen. It's full of inside jokes, so my apologies to you sad muggles living on Privet Drive. Warning: Do not watch until you've read book 6! You would hate me, hate me, hate me if you did....and I've already been criticized for posting spoilers. (FYI: You can download this song for free. It'll be coming to my iPod very soon.)




P.S. Please - if you think this story inappropriate - no need to comment. As I said, I've debated sharing, but it was one of the few very funny moments I've had recently. I love my dear friend, even if he was using a penile enhancer. I just wish someone would introduce him to the sex toys shop downtown so that he stops injuring himself in the name of an erection.

No, the couldn't have...

The Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby sang a rollicking version of Anything I Can Do from Annie Get Your Gun. It contains the following line:

Anything you can lick, I can lick faster.

All I can say is....well done, Sister Sufragette.

(Don't believe me? It's on this playlist. Listen for yourself.)

And thus, on that rather entendre'd note...I'm off to Boston for 3 days on someone else's dollar. I love being a celebrity.

There's a punch line in here somehow...

As my sister and I drove to a women's conference in Riverside, California. We took a wrong turn; as we circles back around, we ran into a most unusual site...

A gorilla....

In a red boa....

Holding a sign to advertise...

An estate sale....

At the unitarian church of universal Christianity.

Uhm. Okay.

Quote from Big Sis: "Just drive fast and think little. Very little."

When You Know You Need Younger Writers...

On Numbers, Friday night...

Man, under 30 years old, opens jacket to reveal wire. His friend is being recorded during the big confession.

Friend, also under 30 years old: Ah, man! No! pulls gun Give it to me! Give me the tape!

Everyone under 30 in the audience: The wha?! Did he say....nah...he did not....does he think he has a tape recorder under there?

Quick. Someone. Find that writer and introduce him to the wonderful world of wireless. His grandkids musta failed him.

Does it Make you Laugh when I say...*

Poochigian: Tough to pronounce. Tougher on crime.

I really, really, really wish this weren't serious. Only in California, my friends...only in California.

*Brownie points if you get the reference...

Oh Spam what do you mean?

The strangest piece of spam ever....

You are eligible for a new freeway!

What? Where? How? Huh? In my backyard? I don't even own a home or any land! How am I eligible for a new freeway?

Must. Write. Senator. I think I've discovered some inefficiency in the Ways and Means committee.

My Potty Mouth Is All His Fault

So, Polo Dude calls me the other day with this announcement:

"Well, I went downstairs and discovered my nuts were missing."

I guffawed. "Okay...."

"So, I went to the store to get new nuts, but they gave me smaller ones."

I guffawed again. "I am really hoping there's hidden meaning to this story Polo Dude. Otherwise, Mrs. Polo is going to have an upsetting future."

"That's the worst part! When I told my wife I'd lost my nuts, she just went right back to reading her romance novel like it didn't matter at all!"

Polo Dude then explained that the nuts in question were LUGnuts and that he is not so savvy at purchasing LUGnuts for his vehicle.

Part of me was relieved.

The rest was still chuckling.

Oh Shame Where Hast Thou Gone?

There are just some things about which I have no inhibition.* And letting a joke play out...well, that's just one of them.

I was eating ice cream at Ghirardelli in Pasadena. A lovely concoction of vanilla bean ice cream, warm gooey fudge, and a decadent brownie. It was almost good enough to help me to ignore the antics of a nearby, very obnoxious employee.

She was one of those excessively loud people. Now, I know, dear reader, that you don't know me. But I am not loud. I'm daring and un-inhibited and silly....but not loud. I'm quiet. Thoughtful. And when things get really loud, I get a little edgy. So, Obnoxious was doing exceedingly bad impressions of who-knows-what in a voice so loud that my chocolate turned to glass before shattering. I was trying to talk to a friend and pretend not to be annoyed.

As luck would have it, I needed to use the restroom. I am born into a family of very small bladders. If you ever need a Glo-family female, check the restroom.

I requested the key in my usual soft tones. Obnoxious chick announced, "Oh! I think there's someone in there! Let me check!"

She is so NOT going to knock, I wondered. But she did. She banged on the door. "Hey you! You in there! There's people need the bathroom! We gonna have to call the police to get you outta there?!" She began to make noise like a police blotter reading out the call.

She turned to me to laugh. "Man, I love this trick!" she said conspiratorially.

As she laughed at her own joke, I heard the person respond. Obnoxious was already on her way back with the spare key to open the door. I reached out a hand to stop her, but, in all honesty, all Obnoxious could hear was her own voice, cackling about her police joke, and all she could see was her own plan.

And I smirked. I could have interceded, but I did not. I smirked.

She turned the key, continuing her police joke. "Hey! It's okay! I'm coming in for you! We all pass out sometimes, honey, no need to be embarrassed!"

The man inside guffawed in absolute shock. I smirked. Obnoxious went quiet for a minute - but not long enough for real self-awareness. "Ah, it's okay," she reassured the now-exposed gentleman as though it really were HIS fault she had just entered. "Just hurry along and then give the key to this nice lady."

It was an unbelievable moment of perfect hilarity.