neW loW 4 W

Aww. Poor Bushie. Approval rating fell to 27% this week.

What I wanna know is:

WHY SO HIGH?????

I simply can't get enough of this bimbo

.....with, I hope, the understanding that I do NOT want her elected.

For years I've been amazed and appalled at the sheer volume of trash left behind by fans on the campus of the University of Georgia on Sunday mornings after a Saturday night football game. The trash used to pretty much stay wall to wall all over campus most of Sunday, but the university contracted with a new trash service that hies on down at the crack of dawn and spends a good part of the day picking up the approximately 130,000 pounds of trash (food, cardboard, plastic, bottles, signs, hibachi grills, lawn chairs, tents, puke, and, I'm sure, human shit) strewn by drunk revellers who don't give half a goddamn about the campus, the property of others, or what sort of impression the might convey as Bulldawg Football Fans.

Clearly, I don't number myself among the fans. Long before I moved to Athens, I had a negative impression of University of Georgia fans. In my opinion, they are among the most arrogant, obnoxious, and rudest of fans. I have NEVER seen a campus trashed anywhere even close to the way the Bulldawgs crap all over their supposedly beloved UGA.

So when I got to campus this morning to record the trash it was already 930 and most of south campus had already been bagged. You'll be able to see at the beginning, and as I circle back around to my starting point at the end, what the entire campus looks like before bagging starts.

Dear Baby Jesus

I want this bed. So bad. Very bad. I promise not to ask for anything else, every again, if you could just swing by the house here and drop this sister off. You can even leave it down by the street; I know you're busy what with all the war, famine, pestilence and suchlike going on. Call my cell first, though, so I'll know you're coming and I can get some help in moving it out of the elements. I'd really appreciate this bed. A lot. Thanks in advance. Amen.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SNAP!!!!

Snapperdoodles is 24 today!

We had a smallish little dinner with a few of her friends. I made my famed PINK CHICKEN (so named not because it is raw; pink chicken is just what Snap has called it since she was young--It's actually a tarragon-parmasan sauce. However, one of Snap's friends had a nut allergy and took a bite of my pink chicken without realizing it contained almonds (somewhat understandable-it has a heavy sauce). First he froze when he got the bite in his mouth after his girlfriend screamed, "Don't eat the chicken!!!" He then ran from the table to spit it out and wash his mouth out like crazy. Not a reaction most cooks long for in their dinner guests! I was thinking, "Gee, I thought it was pretty good." Turns out he pulled through. He was also severely allergic to cats. We've seven. Think he'll be back soon??

I was glad he was okay, though. I'd've hated for him to have keeled over, it being Snap's day and all, and my being starved and who wants dinner interrupted by a coroner's inquest and whatnot?

Here's Snap's butterfly balloon and BIG basket of chrysanthemums.

Here she's saying, "You'd better not be taking a picture of my putting on my SHOE."

Here she is in earlier times, with a big mouthful of birthday cake!

By Reader Request

I'm here to say, and I can but speak from my own experience, that if I don't keep up a regular blog sked, I'm prone to a bit of lassitude in this area.

Fortunately, the request from MA under comments last prods me forth from my blog-ennui and gets me posting picks commemorating our Friday night dinner out at the local Trappeze. She wisely ordered a flight of scotch (three good, one spewable, in my humble).

MA sniftering.

Earlier in summer: MA, Eliza

Wow. I reread my post below to see what could possibly be troubling about it. To me, it seems incredibly positive. I think it says that I'm maybe about to rejoin this thing called Life in ways in which I have not been engaged in the last few years. Certainly, I didn't mean to worry anyone! But if I did, I see that as simply an added bonus!

Feelers

I feel as if I've been away for a long time. I don't mean sick. I mean....a looooong time. I might be on my way back. But I don't want to end up in the same place. Cuz that's why I left. That place wasn't right. But this one SURE is not.

So I might be leaving my hole. But it also might be too early to tell.

I'll have to see.

a Telemarketers nightmare

I had to play this twice because I missed so much of it laughing!

STRAPPED FOR CASH, FRIENDS????

Watch this first. Since you don't have TIME to really see the INTEREST RATES that flash on the screen like some kind of subliminal ad, I provide the details below, for your consideration. Now: just how broke ARE you?
Diff'rent Strokes, my ass!

Click on RATES at the top!!!!!

And note, please, that NOT ALL customers will receive that LOWEST interest rate of 99.25%!!!!

My Fave Childhood Story

I learned to read really early. Or I didn't really LEARN to read, in the traditional way that school teaches. I just sort of absorbed it. Both parents read to me a lot, for which I'm extremely grateful. I remember my dad reading to me more, I guess. I'd ask for anything to be read: the traditional Little Golden Books, the newspaper, encyclopedias (I especially loved The Book of Knowledge). I was reading pretty well by age four. So this story must've taken place when I was 3 1/2 or so.

My cousin Kip was a slightly chubby child though by no means overly so. But my mom, being crazy and mean, made fun of Kip as a child. Hey, if you had any self-esteem left after hanging with the woman, you were Something Special. She'd find someone's weak spot like a heat-seeking missile and blow any self-esteem they had sky high. She once reduced Kip to tears on a shopping trip to Huntsville when we were about 13, an especially sensitive age (and, honestly, Kip MIGHT have been ten pounds overweight at the time, at most?). After this incident, even Kip's mom, my mother's sister, felt she was out of line and had to have a "talk" with my mom, a talk resulting in, of course, their not speaking to each other for some time after. But this isn't the part that glows in my memory.

I, of course, even as a young child, heard my mom talking about Kip's "baby fat" and, not knowing any better, I fell in line with the fun. My mom called it a joke, of course, and would've never admitted she was being mean. If you couldn't take her jokes, your weakness was YOUR fault.

So. Kip and I, though we lived pretty close, took to writing letters to one another. But there was one problem: we could not yet write. So we'd dictate the letter to a parent, envelope it, stamp it, and mail. When the letter arrived at its destination, a parent would then read it aloud to us.

One day, I gathered paper, pen, and daddy together and began to dictate my missive. "Dear Little Fat Hog," I said, opening my salutation. My dad hesitated but then wrote. The rest of the letter was, I'm sure, chock full of news regarding my whirlwind life at the time: I am fine. How are you? When will you come play? What are you doing? The basics.

When the letter was done, daddy wanted to stuff and stamp and get that sister in the mail immediately, but I said no, I'd not signed it yet. I could write my name, and did so in an incredibly fabulous script that I myself had invented: the L, I, S, and A all capped and connected with a big filled-in dot. I thought it looked a lot like Tinker Toys. (Of course, one can see this font all over the place now, but I felt it exclusively mine).

Also, something about my dad's mannerisms made me suspicious, and I took the letter to my brother, who'd not heard my dictation, and asked him to read it. He began: "Dear Cute Little Piglet"!
Oh wow! Was I LIVID! I marched back to my dad with the letter in hand and demanded to know why I'd been censored. He shook his head and said, "Noooosir! I'm not messing with Kip! She bites!'

And indeed she did. And HARD. If you crossed her at this age (up till about age 5), she'd drop to the floor and go after your ankle or calf!

She never bit my mom, though. I guess she knew a pecking order when she saw one.