Class of '06 Alumnae News

Greetings, fellow sisters! And first a quick reminder of our tenth reunion brunch on October 27th at Brennan's! So get Hubby or Granny to sit with the kids, and turn out.

Time for some gossip: Melanie just had her fourth bambino! Hey, shouldn't Jack be relegated to a second bedroom, or what? Anyway, Baby Kristie is a real sweetie. She must be the apple of Dada's eye! 

A raven-haired member of our class is said to have made a preliminary announcement of coming out of the closet. When will she share it will all of us? It's very hard to remember who is in the know and who is yet to be told. 

Bitsy got her J.D. degree and didn't have to sleep around to get her first job. She only has to turn in eighty billable hours per week on it.

Maria seems to have gained some weight. Is this the result of her appetite for beignets, or is a possible new little stranger? And will there also be wedding bells? 

Guess whose brother Arnaud recently paroled, and will probably bunk on Big Sister's couch?

We're all glad for Marie that the Boob Fairy finally paid her a visit! Share with us, Marie, the gory details!

Megan is in her ninth semester at L.S.U., and has still not declared a college major. She spent four years on a protracted rest at home after a grueling leave of absence.

Emma dressed daringly for the Krewe of Porcellino ball this February. Unable to find a bra in your size, Hon?

Amaryllis is still teaching at that Charter School in Darkest, Alabama. Isn't it time to return to civilization, or are you waiting until the coast is clear?

Millie and Dave just returned from a honeymoon in Alaska. When will there be further good news?

Karen has developed into a highly successful entrepreneur of recreational herbs in Colorado. Don't bogart that mellow weed, Karen.

Bernadette has recently become a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Show us the moves, Bernie!

Tillie tried teaching Tom to tango; but it was too tough.

Which one of our class is also the mistress of that up-and-coming politician from Shreveport?

Ask Melanie was real desperation really is.

Sophie is still at large after winning America's Greatest Loser.

Speaking of losing, congratulations to Fifi for losing 170 unsightly pounds. Her divorce from Buster finally came through!

Remember: Our Class Reunion will be in October. Hopefully, this early reminder will give each of us time for our Jenny Craig programs!

Clotilde at the Shore

Clotilde loved to vacation at St. Yves in the off-season. She enjoyed the delicious sensation of having a lot of room and quiet for her thoughts and avoiding the madding crowd. She worked on her tan, and read a typical summer book even though it was not that season. Still, she was away from the reporters and paparazzi, even though it was a little bit cool.

With time, a number of gulls flocked around her, assuming that she could be about to cast some bread or gull feed along the road or beach. After all, the lazy gull does not get a meal!

But in this setting rendered noisy now by the birds, Clotilde had time to reflect that she had not a lover, and she felt the pangs of loneliness. Or maybe it was ennui! Models have busy lives; and some have lovers as well. But Clotilde did not meet anyone while in the bustling fashion world because the pace of life was so hectic there. And the people were in many cases so phony!

Clotilde shed a tear of loneliness.  "Stop", she thought to herself. "This is so self-indulgent, I need to get a grip or something. Or find some amusement."

Just then a stranger approached and asked about the birds. He seemed pleasant and unassuming.

"Hi, I'm Pete. And you?"

"Clotilde."

"Do you often come here, or are you on a holiday?"

"A holiday. And you?  What are your interests?"

"I like music and engineering. But I also like quiet walks with pretty ladies."

"Do I qualify for a walk? I am in need of company."

So they walked and conversed. And afterwards they drank pastis at a tavern. And passed an enjoyable afternoon.

Pete asked Clotilde, "May I see you again?"

"I would love it."

"You never told me many details about yourself. Are you married? And what do you do?"

"Ah, fortunately, I am not married. And I am a mannekin by trade."

"Tommorow at this time then?"

"Bientot"

Clotilde mused that one is more optimistic and joyful if one has the possibility of love.  This was turning out to be a great vacation when one has someone to look share it with!

Crazy Jane Talks With the Bishop

Crazy Jane Talks With the Bishop
   by William Butler Yeats

I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'

'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.

'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.'  

                           
A elderly, possibly deranged or at least eccentric woman named Crazy Jane encountered a Bishop while walking along a road. The Bishop scolded her for her unholy way of life and exhorts her to mend her ways and become more pious and virtuous. He pointed out to her the obvious facts that she is advancing in age, and doesn't have much time left.  Therefore, said the Bishop, she should become more religious and give up her life of sensuality.

But Crazy Jane countered the Bishop’s pious advice and admonition. She declared that fair and foul, virtue and vice, body and soul are unavoidably co-existent; and life is complete only with the union of each. Life becomes meaningful and entire only when body and soul work together. Rather than despise the body, a person should accept physical pleasure as a truth of life. In general, the sacred and the profane are both necessary ingredients in the composition of human life, and should coexist. We cannot accept the one and deny the other: the whole can be achieved only when a foul is also accepted along with the fair.

While the bishop’s point was that Jane should live a more religious life, instead of feeling ashamed she argued that love and lust should be accepted as an important part of life. She ends her response with a philosophical twist. She points out that love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement, and ends with the statement of the Platonic opposites.  With this poem William Butler Yeats creates a dynamic tension of the differing views.

The Subcommittee Considers Banning Navel Display

Recently Heidi  [http://transplantedtennesseean.blogspot.com/2015/02/banning-yoga-pants.html]  and then Salon
{http://www.salon.com/2015/02/17/10_truly_bizarre_tea_party_bills_from_nipples_to_militias_to_religious_zealotry/]
mentioned a current bill before the Montana House (HB 365) that requires that "nipples and aureolae be completely concealed. The Salon article attributed this and nine other weird laws to the Tea Party. It may be; but I don't know whether opposition to more taxes or the ones we already have warrants legislating dress codes or other things. I guess the morality dictation crowd fits in with those tax opponents. Oh well.

What is not widely known is that this type of legislation has been noticed in other states; and some hyperprudish persons are proposing similar dress restrictions there. In Louisiana, for example, there's Hilda Walspurgis, mainstay of St. Cletus's Parish and too often seen figure in the halls of the Capitol Building in Baton Rouge. (Some people wonder, where is Carl Austin Weiss when we need him?  No, just kidding. Assassination is not an accredited government solution except in banana republics!)

Anyway, here's Hilda's argument for an additional restriction to a bill being considered in committee by the Louisiana House: 

Hilda Walspurgis: "Thank you for giving me the opportunity for legislative input on the bill based on similar legislation being considered in Montana and Idaho.  The bill before the committee, in its present form, does not go far enough. It should also prohibit  the display of navels as well as nipples, aureolas, anuses, and other indecent parts!"

Committee Chairwoman Felicia Jones: "Very interesting, Madam. You realize, of course, that this addition would de facto prohibit belly dancing and bikini swimwear?"

Hilda: "I do, Ma'am. Belly dancing is a lewd Middle Eastern practice found only in low clubs where you can get go-cups when closing time is near. It's been said that some strip teasers go to the extreme of flaunting their navels!"

Rep. Dillweed (Hard of hearing): "If you prohibit navel flaunting, you of course realize that doing so ends any possibility of New Orleans hosting Fleet Week...."

Chairwoman Jones: "Mr. Dillweed, I think that type of navel we're concerned with is spelled n-a-v-e-l, just to clarify things."

Hilda: "This bill would also make great strides to regulate the naughty abdomen displays in the French Quarter on Mardi Gras Day!"

Rep. Stanley Mossback: "I'm for this; there's too much display of bosoms, navels, camel shoes, and derrieres on Fat Tuesday, as it is. NOPD is just too lax; it's like they declared that Mardi Gras was a police holiday."

Rep. Gilbert Timmons: "In my opinion, this is fine legislation; but let's not limit it to female navels only. It would be more acceptable to the Courts if it is a non-sex discrimination navel ban."

Hilda Walspurgis: "I'm sure that a law that does not sexually discriminate would be desirable, and esthetically justifiable. The law I advocate, however, does  give greater penalties for displaying inverted navels."

Rep. Timmons: "But wouldn't that fall into problems under the Equal Protection Clause?"

[Aide whispering aloud to Rep. Dillweed: "Greater penalties for outies as opposed to innies."}

Rep. Dillweed: "Whose navels, Audrey's or Annies? Why not also Jack's or Bob's?" Leave it to Rep. Dillweed to deter any possible manifestation of sexual discrimination, at least.

Rep. René Fontenot: "Penalizing display of outies might antagonize pregnant women, who often have popped navels when in the last few months of pregnancy. Likewise for fat men.

Hilda Walspurgis: "Showing any navels, whether male or female ones, is an offense against God and man."

Rep. Claude Dupré: "Let's nip this outrage of navel displaying to include navel oranges. Plaquemines Parish can switch to Valencia oranges. Sell the navel oranges with duct tape over the navels."

Rep. Timmons: "Wouldn't doing this lead to navel orange pornography?"

Committee Chairwoman Jones: "We ought to outlaw the Fuzzy Navel drink too. And other suggestively named drinks: Sex on the Beach, Bosom Caresser, and so forth.  So, shall someone offer a motion to amend the nipple and aureola measures to include navels?"

Rep. Beau Jefferson: "Yeah! And clever bartenders will re-name their drinks fuzzy belly buttons!

Committee Chairwoman Jones: "Let's amend the proposed legislation to include 'the prohibition to display navels, also known as belly buttons!' It's better to stop up tha loophole."

Soon to be hidden in Louisiana.

[This is entirely fictional. Hairy beer bellies will continue to be seen in Louisiana.]

Tina Moreau Tries to Write a Bodice-Ripper

It's a cultural hazard.  I think that any young New Orleans female with at least eighth grade writing skills has tried her hand at some form of literary expression, prose, poetry, essays, or so forth.  There's the example of Anne Rice, among others, with her vampire stories that carried a mysterious yet undeniably erotic content.  And the New Orleans literary set provides some good literary or less examples; although they are somewhat less evident in Fat City or The Quarter lately.

Anyway, Tina Moreau determined to write some erotica; figuring that she could become a writer of bodice-rippers rather than making an honest living, as she was apparently destined to do.

Tina worked up the outline of a plot:  An innocent Scottish or French or English or Cajun maiden named Brigitte experienced bold, untoward advances from a (Lord/Prince/Comte Rutledge) which she virtuously repelled.  Varying contrivances in the plot were concocted, before Tina was to get to the meat of the story: her seduction by said rakish Lordship which she found wonderful, legendary, just so erotic beyond belief.  The point, as is commonly understood with regard to erotica, is to provide a vehicle for a sexy description; much like the flimsy story lines are found in operas or operettas to provide deep singers an excuse for singing.

Tina planned a climatic situation where poor Brigitte was in her bath, when suddenly Lord Rutledge bursts in on her, sees her in the altogether, and lifts her out of the tub, dripping wet and kicking, which vainly trying to regain her modesty by using her hands.  Then he was to initiate the intimidated Brigitte into the Rites of Venus on the sofa in which she responds first with fear, then with utter abandon.  However, our author could not go that far with her heroine.  Brigitte wept copiously; and Lord Rutledge relented.  He covered Brigitte as best he could, and departed from her room with no further incident.  The bounder sent a note of apology the next day.

Tina tried to write the rest of the story by having Rutledge repent, sincerely attempting to win Brigitte's hand, and eventually succeeding.  Dammit, she came to like her heroine, however prissy she was, and didn't want anything bad to happen to her.  Well, this would not totally sell: for some strange reason, there's a class of women who continue to like the vicarious experience of rape fantasies or light S and M in their nonrequired reading.  And besides, who in her right mind would want to marry a creep that would do that?

I guess that Tina didn't have the killer instinct when it comes to erotica.  And, perhaps, more respect for a potential readership.

Mardi Gras 2015!

The Official Mardi Gras Poem

[Bridgette Williams]

Welcome, Fat Tuesday.
Throw your cares away!
Hand me that King's cake.
It's time to celebrate!
You get the baby.
I get the wine.
The gumbo, the shrimp.
We are going to have a good time!
All the colored beads.
Too many lights to see.
The bands are playing.
The music is so sweet!
And, we are dancing.
This night is meant to stay.
We will always remember.
Happy Mardi Gras Day!
Never stop partying.
Never.
Best Mardi Gras…
Ever!

http://voices.yahoo.com/the-official-mardi-gras-poem-12014404.html?cat=47

If You Do It Like an American: You're Wrong!

In the current The Atlantic there is an article entitled, "Five bad American habits I kicked in Finland."

1.  I don't fear awkward silences.
2.  I don't say things I don't mean.
3.  I don't leave food on my plate.
4.  I don't take coffee to go.
5.  I don't feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/02/five-bad-american-habits-i-kicked-in-finland/385140/

The author takes us to task because we:
1.  Are uncomfortable with lapses in conversation, and feel we must converse than be quiet at times.
2.  Say things like "pleased to meet you" or "let's get together sometimes" that confuses foreigners.
3.  Waste food, from his point of view. Naturally, he doesn't take into account the giant-sized portions in restaurants. Hey, I'm a chick; there's no way I could eat an 8 ounce hamburger with fries!
4.  Take our coffee to go. We do this because we drink coffee while working and because coffee bars have limited space that discourages lingering. [I do my best work when I have a venti-sized coffee with chicory with it.]
5.  Feel squeamish about going naked. It's our custom not to go starkers; though I can go with a certain amount of undressing on beaches. As a matter of fact, I'm okay with women going topfree; but my personal niñas remain in my top.

These interesting cultural differences are taken by the author that we are wrong. And that chafes me to no end!

Okay, instead of our chaotic American non-rituals of courtship, why don't we go in for arranged marriages? Some people would like that!

And, when we meet someone, why don't we ask them how they manage that irritating laugh, or how they see around that big nose? Hey, that's speaking plainly!

And we part company, why don't we just say, "Go **** yourself, Jack!"

And maybe the major American newspapers could have Page 3 girls. No timid hinting of what's under her bikini by Hannah Davis, even though it caused some people to have conniptions.

Humor papers could engage in crude characterizations of religious figures. After all, if artists can get grant money for that, why not cartoonists?

Bikini waxes are so timid; in some parts of Africa they go for female genital mutilation. Hmm....Canada is suddenly looking pretty good!

Ethnic cleansing? Could that be used as a solution for pesky Hollywood types?

Instead of a duly elected government and President, why don't we adopt rule by fiat on the part of a junta? Maybe this junta could also drive Fiats?

As for silence, we could introduce silence training periodically in different stages in a monastery or convent that requires its members to adopt a vow of silence. Oh, be still, my heart! Would that be a way of shutting up pundits and rabble-rousers?

Of course, I'm engaging in a little bit of heavy-handed sarcasm. But, seriously, Americans have a right to their cultures and mores too!* Yes, I am proud to say, you all!  Just because the people of England or Sweden or East Abunni do it differently, does not make either our way or theirs', for that matter, wrong.


*That includes saying "you all" or "y'all."




http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/02/five-bad-american-habits-i-kicked-in-finland/385140/




Captain America looking to kick some bad habits.

A Kiss in the Rain

Sometimes romantic moments come up spontaneously, they're best not planned.

A boyfriend and I had gone to see a very charming Shakespeare play, "Much Ado About Nothing," and we were walking in the park, enjoying the quietness and the magic that seemed to be in the air.

We stopped by the fountain, and he gave me a gentle, tentative kiss. His tentativeness, rather than impetuousness, seemed to imply, 'are you okay with this'?

I was. So I kissed him in turn. Just then, it began to sprinkle. Did we let a little rain spoil the moment? No, we continued to enjoy that sweet moment, even when the rain turned into a downpour. Our kiss became deeper and more passionate, even as we both became drenched!

Eventually, the two of us went to his place where I donned his robe and he a sweat outfit, and I made some hot chocolate and we talked.

I still remember it as one of the most romantic experiences in my teen life. I hope you have your own sweet memories of your own.

(I thought I would write something romantic in honor of this Valentine's Day, instead of my usual tongue in cheek stuff. I hope it is okay by you.)

School Dress Codes

You might as well accept it: whenever dress codes or sumptuary laws are enacted, a small subset of the affected group will try to skirt or disregard them. This is specially true with teens; after all, they are compelled to do a lot of things by the adults in power. Now many of these rules are well-intentioned and originated because of some looming problem, like gang activity or status signaling.

Take the reason why some schools prohibit athletic wear. Now guys like to wear team jerseys and other sports tokens anyway; however certain color combinations have been adopted as gang colors, and were prohibited. For some reason, the color often involves black. Well, there goes possible affinities to the Pittsburgh Steelers, the New Orleans Saints, the Seattle Seahawks, and the Oakland Raiders.

[Angel's Rule #47: Anyone who dresses like an Oakland Raiders fan is likely to be annoying. Doubly annoying if they go the full monty with makeup, chains, and spiked hair.]

But some schools, being proactive and sensitive to emerging nuances, scan for possible new signs or new things to worry about.

Like for example, suppose skaters or hoods or stoners in the local high school were to adopt beanies with propellers on the top. The clueless administrators would notice this, and notice moreover that their pet SGA members were not wearing them.  So they would go, "Hmmm....Houston, we have a problem." or go into the full Oh Shit! mode.

And they would ban beanies, just in case.

Would about the ladies? Well, school big shots notice what they're wearing too. Too much pink is worrisome. So is wearing "Juicy" sportswear.*

But suppose one group of girls decided on a whim to dress like Sailor Moon and other Sailor Senshi.**

The teachers and administrators would go into full conniption, and ban the Senshiwear. And make a big deal out of it. Henceforth, any Sailor Senshi get suspended! And they would develop a post hoc rationale. Let's see...the skirts are short; they distract boys from studies or even (horrors!!) sports. The wearers are signaling that they use grass, or are sexually active.... The Senshi are a girl gang bent on utter domination of the school*** and a force bent on overthrowing the community....Or even worse, their short skirts might lead to dancing.****

Of course, the quickness by adults to adopt dress codes rules against fads practically guarantees that teens will have a possible way to shake things up. I remember looking at a beret I liked, and wondered if I could launch a fad. Sadly, I was not a school counterculture leader. At least I was not one of the student government lapdogs!


* Categorically, I refused to wear shorts with "Juicy" on the tush.
**A particularly innocent anime cartoon.
*** Cheerleaders are supposed to dominate the school. They wear short skirts too.
****The movie Footloose was based on Elmore, Oklahoma.

Cowgirl Melinda Checks Out Congress

Some situations are just not safe for a sheltered, middle-of-the-road Western woman. Now Cowgirl Melinda was used to camping out on the lone prairie, going into tame places such as Buffalo, Ten Sleep, or even Cheyenne, but she went into dangerous territory when she went to Washington to see what all the fuss was about, and charm those good ole boys and gals running the place to see some reason, for a change.

So she goes into this big damned building with a pretty dome, and she is told she had to check her gun. So Melinda goes, "Cool. They sell drinks while you watch the show." But what she sees is mostly long-winded guys and a few women who talk on and on, stand around, scratch their crotches, and pass all kinds of motions. She decided that it's some kind of game for uncoordinated people to get some exercise.

She asked a man next to her, "How do you tell the Democrats from the Republicans?" The dude did not know; only saying that Republicans wear shorter hair than Democrats. Otherwise, they wear dark gray suits, with a bright-colored tie. One or two of them wore ties with nekkid ladies on 'em, so Melinda asked if either represented Wyoming. She was relieved at a negative answer, I guess.

She stayed around a bit; but nothing seemed to happen. So she asks a guard, "How much them fellows get for being here?"

The guard says, "$174,000 a year."

Melinda goes, "Are they also part-time football coaches? They sure don't work very hard for their money. Maybe they oughta get paid by the bill passed and maybe we would get some work out of that shiftless lot." But then she thought that the bills they do pass do some mischief. 

Then she noticed some fat cats talking animatedly to the elected officials, so Melinda asked the guard politely: "Who are those hombres?" "Miss, those are lobbyists." 

"They sure don't look like bell boys, do they?" 

By now she got  the lay of the land, so she didn't ask about the big gals following the lawmakers around. "I see they got a stable of whores, don't they?"

 "Dear lady, those are Congressional Assistants." The man winked while saying that, and Melinda wasn't going to let any East Coast dude make a pass at her, no Ma'am, even if he was a Capitol guard!

Still, she was curious. They all seemed to have spiffy haircuts. The guard told her that the Senators have their own barber shop so that they would look good on C-SPAN if their constituents happen to flip by while looking for some afternoon talk show or ESPN. 

Melinda asked, "Can you get a pedicure there?" 

"No, but they could get manicures until budget constraints caused them to drop that service." The things you learn if you ask the right questions.  Melinda thought that they probably don''t do bikini waxes, either.

But there's more. Congresspersons have their own gym, and they get free parking at Dulles and Reagan airports. They get to lease cars as an expense and help increase traffic on the beltway. And they get to go on fact-finding junkets to swell places as Paris or Stockholm; rarely to places such as Ubzekistan or Sudan. Finally, they have a retirement benefits that are so much better than the real working stiffs. It's like a bribe to make them go away.

Cowgirl Melinda said, "Not bad for a bunch of steers eating at the public trough. At least they're not in Wyoming."

We Need to Go In for Soccer and Other Sports

Let's face it: while professional football and baseball are well-followed in America, we are out of step with what the rest of the world considers big time sport. For some reason, they're caught up in soccer, which they have the temerity to call "football"! But, we set ourselves open for criticism when the our World Series is staged, and only American teams and one little bitty Canadian team are eligible! And . . . . let's be real, folks: the game with Gisele Bündchen's husband and the sinister coaches was upstaged by the Left Shark!

Clearly, we need to ramp up our soccer here. After all, it can be played also by ordinary-sized guys and women! And it provides a convenient venue for spectators and players to wear outrageous or even sexy costumes, and engage in recreational hooliganism while lustily cheering their gladiators...er, players! 

Part of the problem is the creeping expansion of seasons. Consider this: football dominates the sports news from August to February. There's a brief flurry of interest in basketball (longer for the absurd Hollywood Laker fans), and then there's the dull tedium of baseball. I think what the President needs to do is limit those seasons! If that could be blamed on the Republicans, so much the better!

Right now, there only a teeny gap in sports coverage from February to mid-March, if you exclude the Swimsuit Issue season of February. Maybe we can slip soccer in there, and start baseball a little later.

What about hockey? Well, the Canadians are too tough for us; and hockey won't play well for relaxing the natural aggressiveness of Southerners! So that's a no-go, except in benighted places as Boston and New York. (How about them Broons?)

And maybe fit in beach volleyball for late summer. Actually, although this is regionally limited sport, it does have possibility in that it is singularly American, we do it well, and we can routinely kick the rest of the world's collective asses when it comes to beach volleyball. Now all we need is for those Midwest farmers' daughters to make us feel alright by taking up beach volleyball in style!

Ain't America grand? We still have the wherewithal to kick European butts like we did in the old days. We just need a proper focus.

A French soccer cartoon.

Signs of the Impending Apocalypse

According to the Mayans, the world was to come to an end on December 21, 2013.  It didn't.  But will this cataclysm be preceded by distinctive signs?  A random selection of New Orleans people offered some possibilities of these portents.

Al Gautreaux -- The President and the Republicans will manage to work out an effective budget agreement.

Officer O'Shaughnessy -- The streets in my neighborhood will suddenly get repaired.

Missy Chauvin -- CNN or Fox News will hire me to be one of their anchors, and I'll get a boob job.

Bat Guano Tom -- The Saints will win another Super Bowl!

The Prophetess Madeline -- Street corner preaching will be legal again.

Hizzonor, the Mayor -- We'll come under budget one year.

Prospective Tourist -- Hotel prices won't get jacked up for Mardi Gras.

N.O.P.D. Sergeant -- The fad of breast-flashing for Mardi Gras beads will finally come to an end.

Fish Seller at the French Market -- I'll catch a three pound crawfish.

Preacher Bob -- My ministry commission will finally come through.

Clotilde Badeaux -- Models, like nuns and nurses, get to ride the streetcar free.

Crazy Chester -- The Four Horsemen will ride horses from a claiming race; each went off at 20-1 or greater.

Tommy Tulane -- The Tulane Green Wave will finally defeat the L.S.U. Tigers in football.

West Bank Commuter -- The bridge will not have any traffic.

Suzette the Existential Stripper -- I'll headline the show at the Tipsy Tiger Lounge.

The "I Where You Got Your Shoes" Scam Artist -- I'll know the world will end when the I.R.S. starts sending out "thank you" letters to taxpayers for paying their taxes.

Hilda Walspurgis -- There will be a category 5 hurricane, or maybe OSU coming back again.

Apparently, there's some bad weed being sold in New Orleans, with Al and the Scam Artist being the primary suspected users.

The Avenging Angel moons the world.

What About Wingnuts?

 Wingnut is a relatively new slur that recently entered the lexicon of political discourse; basically applied to someone equally of extreme left- or right-oriented views, as seen by the perceiver. Now this is nothing more than the extention of an ad hominem argument in political dialogue; it really generates some possible heat, a warm and squishy feeling of self-superiority on the part of the user, and nothing else. Sorry, folks; that's the way it is.

But one wonders how real wingnuts feel about this usage. Are they offended? And what are their political leanings, anyway?

Fearless, no-nonsense, big city reporter from New York Wilma Hastings did the ultimate preparation for interviewing on the street: she took a few tokes of that heathen killer weed before encountering the Great Unwashed. Hey, if you write for a newspaper catering to the uptown clientele, you have to make some sacrifices. So, after getting a good buzz on, the donned her urban sombrero to pass as an ordinary citizen and sallied forth!

Only there were no wingnuts in evidence. Wilma said, "My bad."

So she went into a hardware store, and found more likely candidates there. Big ones, little ones, wingnuts of color, wingnuts with rounded wings, those with squared wings, and so forth. You might say that she found a random sample of wingnuts; or at least a sample good enough for reporter work. Anyway, she saw no tinfoil hats in evidence. Curious.

Wilma Hastings: "Mr. Wingnut, what do you think of political extremists being referred to as 'wingnuts'?"

Big Wingnut: "I don't approve of that term. First of all, it's disrespectful to Wingnut-Americans. Secondly, very few metallic, hardware wingnuts hold to political extremes." 

Wilma: "Oh, and where do their political loyalties lie?"

Ms. Wingnut: "Well, 2% of wingnuts are Democrats, 1% are Republican, 22% are middle-of-the-road, and 75% are apolitical."

Wilma: "Well, what do you wingnuts do?

Tom Wingnut: "Oh, mostly we screw around and follow the Wichita Wingnuts minor league baseball team."

Wilma Hastings was a little disappointed at this. Her first thought was no story!

However, she re-thought things and came up with a new angle:

[Headline] WINGNUT-AMERICANS NEGLECT CIVIC DUTIES FOR SEX AND BASEBALL

Being a Fake Girlfriend

I don't know if anyone else did this, or had an occasion to have one, but I was a guy's virtual fake girlfriend briefly when I was an undergrad. Here's the story:

While I was a student at L.S.U., I was approached by a friend from U. L. - L. who said she had a problem, and I asked if I could help. She told me how:  I was to pretend to be her brother's girlfriend. Now Warren (not his real name) had just gone to U.L. -- Lafayette and had pledged a fraternity that was pretty broad-minded.  Now Warren was in the closet (so to speak). I kind of guessed it; but he was afraid that some less tolerant frat member might blackball him because of homophobia!  [I make no judgments about his preference nor his desire to make it not evident. Anyway, he is a nice guy and was glad to help out.]

The story line is that I was his g.f. away at L.S.U. while he was being a Ragin' Cajun at U.L.- L. (Lafayette is a party town.) Still we would correspond by email, send letters to each other, and occasionally phone.  I was careful to make the tone of the correspondence by post to be somewhat suggestive of closeness, but without explicitness, to indicate we had an enduring relationship. And, of course, add some day-to-day things for verisimilitude. Boys are just as nosy as girls when it comes to possible dirt. And the idea of someone getting laid! [blush] Frat guys are VERY basic in their interests.

This went on for over a semester. Finally, it came time for the fraternity's Spring Formal. He asked me to come visit, and I got away for a weekend, and crashed with my girl friend.   

Warren and I made the scene, and we played at being inseparable and devoted to each other. This called for the best in our acting performance; but I must say that some guys with a few under their belts were not acting critics! I helped him with his dancing; apparently being gay did not make him a better dancer! However, he got the basics, and I did not mind very much even when he danced close with me while holding me close a little lower than was entirely proper!

And we kissed. Repeatedly. I enjoyed his; and I hope he did mine. Somehow, his ardor must have made an impression on his fellow frat members.

We continued to correspond, but at a lower rate. Apparently, he adjusted well to life in Lafayette. And his frat bros figured out his orientation eventually; but no worries there -- they were open-minded. He was even elected an officer.  I guess the faking was not needed.  Oh well; maybe we all didn't have to be so judgmental. Anyway, he's still a great friend I keep in touch with.

Women are supposed to be good at faking orgasms. But faking a relationship is a whole new dimension. Maybe I'm cut out for diplomacy.   The Department of State is good at that.

Different Drum

A few weeks ago I deconstructed a 1970's song "Peaceful Easy Feeling," giving an interpretation of the lyrics. Now doing that is risky, since the lyrics are, after all, secondary to the beat most of the time. In the interests of fair play, Sometime I'll do "Baby One More Time," one of my favorite songs when I was a girl.

But I recently came across a song from 1967, "Different Drum" by a group called the Stone Poneys (Linda Ronstadt, Bobby Kimmel, and Kenny Edwards).  Actually, in reading about it, the version that made the CD was done by the lead singer Linda Ronstadt alone. Furthermore, she had to do it cold with a different accompaniment: she had a different back-up to her solo, and they used a  complex string arrangement including a harpsichord instead of acoustical guitars.

The Stone Poneys were not the first to do the Mike Nesmith song: the original group was the  Greenbriar Boys, and Carrie Underwood was to do it at the time of Linda Ronstadt's induction into the Rock and Roll Music Hall of Fame. Even the Lennon Sisters did a cover of it.

The song is, briefly about a young woman telling her lover that she's not ready to settle down, but that they both will live a lot longer if they live without each other. Apparently, they discovered that women, like guys, could have commitment issues too.

Seriously, this is a great song!!!

Sir Nils Olav

Edinburgh has a nice zoo; but one of the animals has a distinction that sets him apart from the others: he was knighted. His name is Sir Nils Olav. 

The story begins when the Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen brought back a king penguin for the Edinburgh zoo. He became the nucleus of the penguin exhibit. Back in 1961, near the fiftieth anniversary of the gift, the Norwegian Royal Guards came back for a visit. One of them, Nils, suggested that they adopt one of the penguins at the zoo as a mascot. Accordingly, he was given the rank of lance corporal.

King Olav V of Norway loved the idea, and the penguin was named Nils Olav. He, and successor penguins, rose in the ranks until the present Nils Olav (the third one to bear that name) was given the rank of Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Guard. And King Harald V knighted him Sir Nils Olav, declaring him in every way qualified for knighthood! Not bad for a resident of Scotland!

Here's Sir Nils reviewing the troops.