Return to Current Blog

 

Friday, February 28, 2014

 

“The flute which makes sweet music for princes

is not appreciated by weavers.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Atypical (unrepresentative, not typical)

 

His conduct on the field was atypical of good sportsmanship.

 

[Corrections were made to the past three previous blog entries. Thank you.]

 

[Correction: from “recited” to “resided.” (Ha!)]

 

---  ---  ---

 

[Corrections were made.]

 

Hello.

 

***

Lifetime Family Trusts

 

(I’m tired to the bone this evening)

 

[Personal note:       I don’t know what’s going on with my health as of late but I’m tired to the bone. I can barely make it to Friday afternoons anymore without wanting to lay my head down on this desk and go to sleep. I’m ever so tired. More so than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Mind you, we don’t drink much alcohol, if any. I’m not on any pain medication of any type or any illegal drugs. I don’t have any illnesses that I know of at this time. I sleep very well. We sleep eight hours per night. I take a bath each evening. I soak in the tub for about an hour each night. I walk every single day except when we take the Sabbath at sundown on Fridays. I ate well the entire week. No soda or candy or sugar of any type was consumed this week. I’m exhausted and I can’t shake it off.] Anyway, moving on: I’ve got to make a doctor’s appointment soon because this type of exhaustion is starting to worry me deeply. I’m more tired now, than I ever was, when I was ill from fibroids for ten straight years.

 

 

****

Beneficiaries

 

            My Peabody, Massachusetts Grandfather passed away on August 2010.

 

Before both my Grandfather and Grandmother perished; I had the gumption and courage to address most of my entire New England ‘stiff upper lipped’ family over a massive and inclusive e-mail about the tremendous psychological cruelty and emotional and some forms of physical abuse which occurred throughout our immediate and extended family due to my adoptive aunts-and-uncles (wet-drunk) as well as my mother’s crazed and dry-drunk and control freakish and manipulative ways which come across more so as bi-polar than anything else, which my adoptive-mother might be ‘officially’ bi-polar but unwilling to test for it.

 

(Yes, I’ve tested for mental illnesses within the past four years. I’m neither “bi-polar” nor “schizophrenic” nor “post traumatic stress disordered” nor “A.D.H.D.” as my adoptive-mother used to tell me that I was when I was a teen and I believed her.) (Yes, even ‘successful’ adoptive American Ivy League doctorate parents can be ‘bat shit crazy’ and psychologically cruel.)

 

I let it rip over e-mail.

I didn’t ‘hold back’ because I had ‘held back’ most of my life.

 

No, I didn’t care what anyone thought of me (and I still don’t) especially not when it comes to an abusive adoptive family that refused to speak up when my (DUI) uncle used to “box off” or cuff my eldest cousin’s ears as hard as he could with his tremendously large hands.

 

The actual sound of such physical violence used to make me shutter yet no adults ever stood up to my uncle except for my Minnesota Finn-Jew Father who’d married into an abusive, sad, greedy, and control freakish and manipulative and emotionally cruel New England family of in-laws.

 

My Father sat down both of my (gossiping) aunt and (DUI) uncle (now ‘trustee-uncle’ of the lifetime family trust fund) and told them that if they continued to hit my cousin in such a manner then they weren’t welcomed back into our home. They never visited again together as a family.

 

            When both of my Grandparents were dying from aggressive forms of cancer; I decided, that I was going to tell ‘the truth’ over e-mail ‘even if it killed me’ in front of ‘my Maya Gods’ as my witnesses, and prior to my Grandparents death.

 

I wanted for my Grandparents to take the truth with them to their graves; even if they ‘hated’ my guts, or even, if they scorned me to all hell, because deep down inside I knew they held a great deal of trust and respect for me because over the years we’d kept a twenty-year long letter writing and e-mail relationship until almost near the end.

 

            (The truth will set you free.)

            (‘No one’ can control or shame or bribe one out of the truth.)

 

Indubitably, my family was outraged.

 

I mean, bloody angry to the core enraged.

 

My one (DUI and now trustee) uncle sent me a “howler” of a letter (which my therapists (yes, two) told me not to read it, and to recycle it, thus I recycled the letter in my therapists’ office mainly out of self preservation) while my adoptive-mother tried to ‘cover all her basis’ and “feigned innocence” to my e-mail allegations.

 

My Grandfather pretty much wanted to slap me hard across the face but that didn’t say much about most of that branch of the family because they’ve been angry and enraged peoples most of their lives, and tent to maliciously gossip about each other without ever having any regard for others’ feelings or  the courage to come out and say what they mean to each other’s faces because they’re cowards as well as insane with jealousy and envy for anyone else other than themselves.

 

            My Grandfather self-loathed till the very end, and hated ‘everyone’ who wasn’t exactly like him which he was impossible to please, anyway. Who cares?

 

My Grandfather sure made a lot of money in his lifetime even though he was a cruel and abusive dry-drunk.

 

What he didn’t overcome or ‘get over’ for the remainder of his life was the fact that my Grandfathers’ parents were severe ‘wet-drunks’ that my Grandfather had to carry them in his arms, up to bed, each-and-every night, one after the other; according to my Father, and according to what my Grandfather had said when he scolded my Grandmother outright and in front of my Father, and others present there that day for company, because my Grandmother had a tendency to portray my Grandfather’s parents as ‘saints,’ however, my Grandfather ‘let it rip’ that his parents had been complete wet-alcoholic-drunks and he said it in front of other family members present.

 

That day, my Grandfather was so mad at my Grandmother that my Grandfather ‘set the record straight’ right there-and-then by yelling at my Grandmother to acknowledge that my Grandfather’s life had been a living hell while growing up with complete alcoholic addict failures.

 

            My Grandfather was so cruel and out of control that when he hollered and screamed and yelled at my (gossiping) aunt in 2007 she urinated in her pants right there-and-then in the moment.

 

My gossiping aunt was so frightened of my Grandfather’s wrath that as a woman in-her-fifties she ‘pissed’ herself, and she told ‘us’ this story; both Eric and I, when we visited with her at her home on August of 2008.

 

            My Grandfather and (DUI and now trustee) uncle were so covertly abusive towards family members that when both of them jointly held our annual “family Christmas slide show,” there wasn’t a single slide (not one) of my sister or me.

 

My sister was so upset over this that she had to bring it up with my Grandfather because that’s how hurt she was.

 

I held back tears, and pretended like it didn’t bother or hurt me, and I understood that neither my sister or I mattered enough to be included in our ‘entire’ family slide show presentations year-after-year.

 

(Abuse of any type gets one right in the gut but I was taught to be subservient and not to make any waves, no matter how much others may hurt or abuse you.)

 

            For part of fall 2000, I lived with my Grandparents for a stint while I slaved on the set of a major motion picture at the age of 23.

 

One Saturday afternoon, I noticed that both of my Grandparents were gravely distraught and stressed out. Both of their stress level and discomfort went on for close to two hours.

 

From an upstairs reading study at the top of the landing, I could hear them discuss and somewhat bicker amongst themselves as to what course of action to take about something or other.

 

I’d been sitting at that upstairs study for a length of time trying to read, but by the end of that hour my Grandparents were gravely distraught at the teenager across the street while his car stereo blasted their serene and already posh established neighborhood.

 

Finally, I went downstairs and directly asked my Grandparents what was the matter with them, and they informed me that their neighbor across the street had been making much, too, much noise at the “Arboretum” (a New England location where they kept a condo opposed to their Florida mansion in Homosassa Springs.)

 

The situation didn’t dawn on me particularly as a ‘big deal’ at all and I couldn’t understand why my Grandparents were so ‘bent out of shape’ but as it turned out there were many posh rules to abide by in that particular gated community because people were ‘paying through the roof’ to live there and ‘all’ had to abide by a strict ‘social contract’ and rules of conduct. Fair enough.

 

(I’d lived in ‘all (24/7) quiet’ study buildings through most of my schooling experience, and expected ‘all’ those willing to abide by the same rules and expectations of that particular “signed” contract and code to uphold such a social contract as so did I.)

 

Without asking my Grandparents, I took it upon myself to walk to the front door, opened it, and walked across the street, and told the rich spoiled neighbor; “Hey, you’re bothering my Grandparents with your loud car stereo and they’re stressed out by it. Please, keep your music down. I’ll not ask again. Thank you.”

 

The kid immediately turned down his car stereo, and as the story goes my Grandparents not once heard the car stereo ever again for the remainder of their stay at the condominium.

 

I walked back into the single unit, two-floor condo, closed the front door, walked the length of a beautifully and expensively carpeted walkway and hallway and arrived at a larger sitting room with immense light shinning into it.

 

At first my Grandfather refused to look at me, but as soon as I made myself present fully inside the sitting room then he began to scream at full octave.

 

He screamed and fumed and threw his arms up in the air and I allowed it.

 

It wasn’t until he started to walk towards me with all his rage, that I stopped him ‘short in his tracks.’

 

I warned him, that if he struck me, that I’d strike a blow in return one which might kill him only because I was so scared at how big he was and that I would only do it in self-defense.

 

I told him that he ‘could scream all he wanted’ but if I received a single blow then he’d receive one ten times harder than the one I would receive. I meant it. If he’d administered a blow that day, I might of killed him with blinding fear and defense for my life because he was a man full of rage and he could’ve hurt me if he so wanted to.

 

I was terrified of my Grandfather’s rage because he was one of the cruelest people I’d ever met only slightly more so than my adoptive-mother.

 

My adoptive-mother used to tell stories with sheer delight about how she and her older sister used to hold down their younger brother in the backseat floor and stump on him and dig in their heeled shoes into his ribcage for entire family vacations.

 

She used to squeal with great delight at telling these stories about her earlier childhood masochism.

 

She used to take great delight in telling us how the family would travel cross country from Hamilton, Massachusetts to Yellow Stone and her six year old brother would be forced to spend the entire drive there-and-back on the backseat floor with his face down getting kicked and having the girls’ heels dig into him until he went home black-and-blue at the end of each extended vacation. I can only imagine that my (Chef) uncle never looked forward to vacations.

 

(Disgustingly morbid little games of dry-alcoholic children.) Who comes up with such abuse? Only the children of wet-and-dry drunks do.

 

My Grandfather had an innate need to control ‘everything’ and ‘everyone’ around him even if it meant holding money over others.

 

            My Grandmother stood slightly, and near, and to the left of my peripheral view, and in between us, but at an equal distance apart from each one of us while she didn’t utter a single word in anyone’s defense.

 

My Grandmother witnessed this act-of-violence while she held back tears, and held a concerned look over her face while I choked back tears of disgust at how psychologically cruel and mean-spirited our family truly was, and it was because of our Patriarch, whom ‘everybody’ feared greatly, yet awaited with much anticipation for him to die so that they could get their hands on the family trust, and adult family members felt that they could excuse and exercise their covert and overt violence and abuse and rage because they could ‘get away’ with sheer cruelty because my Grandfather did.

 

My Grandfather ‘set the tone’ for the rest of our family and our ‘behind doors’ disgrace and acts-of-violence and abuse even though no one ‘hardly’ ever talked about it we all knew how terrible is was for everyone involved.

 

            If and when the adult parents (baby boomers) in our family couldn’t control their children then they’d resort to sheer brute force or psychological abuse or bribes or yelling and screaming or cornering and threatening or by any means necessary to attain and keep power because they didn’t know any better and no one had taught them better than wet-and-dry drunk tactics of miscommunication and relationship to each other.

 

            After it was established between my Grandfather and I that we wouldn’t come to blows:

 

My Grandfather continued to yell.

 

When I’d had enough of his disgrace I, too, joined in, and competed to keep up with his disgrace.

 

I too, began to yell at full octave only in hopes that I could outmatch him to get him to stop, if only, he could hear me, that I could yell louder than he could then he’d realize how stupid he looked.

 

When he was spent from his outrage, he stopped, and told me to go to my guest room, and to stay there, and not to come out for the remainder of the evening until the following morning because he needed time to cool off. Fair enough.

 

Like a child, I went off to my room without supper that night.

 

At two in the morning my Grandmother came into my room, and woke me up, as she pleaded, and begged for me to please forgive and apologize to my Grandfather. I refused. I was just as stubborn as he was. I wasn’t about to apologize to a raging and raving lunatic who constantly abused his power.

 

            The following morning I dressed, and sat at the edge of my already made bed with the door completely wide open and waited to be called for:

 

Suddenly, I heard a thud and a crash and my Grandmother shrieked and yelled for me to come to her aid and quickly.

 

I sprung into action.

 

            When I arrived at the top of the stairs, I looked down and saw that my Grandfather had taken a nasty tumble down the stairs and while near the bottom he lay on his belly with his left cheek jammed inside the crevice of a single carpeted step with his right hand helplessly dangling between the slats of the railing he lay motionless and without moving a single muscle I became terribly afraid that it was the end of his era.

 

For as cruel as my Grandfather was; he was also fair while his children weren’t. His baby boomer children had ‘always’ been greedy slobs or loud or dismissive or mean or cruel or controlling or liars or manipulative and the Grandchildren knew it all, too, well while most of the Grandchildren had taken the brunt of the abuse they seemed kinder and more honest than their broken parents.

 

            My heart stopped for one complete single moment and I was terrified that my Grandfather was gravely injured or dead before I could ask for forgiveness or forgive.

 

He’d taken a tremendous fall.

It was obvious that the fall was serious.

 

Since my Grandfather had had about five hip replacements and surgeries over the years therefore he couldn’t move as quickly as he’d probably liked to and on that morning he didn’t move at all.

 

My Grandmother and I did our best to stand him up and move him off of the bottom steps to a flat part and gently lay him down on the floor on his back. He barely uttered the following words; “Help me. Don’t tell anyone” while he held on to my left arm and tugged at my shoulder.

 

            My Grandparents refused to call an ambulance that Sunday morning while we went on and pretended like nothing had happened without ever talking about our fear for what had occurred between us the previous night and the following morning.

 

I loved my Grandfather more in that moment of fragility and awkwardness and vulnerability than I had all of the other moments of cruelty.

 

I realized in that moment how much he meant to me and how much I’d loved him my entire life even though he was the meanest man I’d ever met.

 

Even though my Grandfather had been so cruel to ‘everyone’ in the family for over forty years; I realized that he’d come to mean a great deal to me because the premise of our relationship was a letter writing one.

 

            My grandfather ever so diligently wrote to me one letter each month for about twenty years even when I went without letters from either one of my parents for years at a time.

 

My Grandfather guided me through elite social business contacts and social constructs, business contracts, hedge funds, brokers, corporate Wall Street, fortune 500 companies and how to get them started, stocks, bonds, and CD’s and anything business.

 

My grandfather wrote to me about business ethics and all matter of insider secrets and sorts of things that the public hardly ever knows much about.

 

My grandfather taught me how to play the stock market and win. He taught me how to pick and chose stocks. For over twenty years he taught me the ins-and-outs of business and that was the degree of our relationship yet it was everything because it meant more to him than physical displays of emotion.

 

Ultimately, I think my Grandfather was immensely proud of me and all of his Grandchildren. He loved us especially when he had a terrible time communicating his wishes to us.

 

            [Corrections were made about proper trust terminology.]

 

            In conclusion:

 

            When my Grandfather perished, I texted my sister soon after, and asked her if I’d been “named” in the trust, and she ‘never’ texted back about the matter. She’s kept her silence ever since our Grandfather died.

 

                        If one is to be “named” in a will then by law others involved must get in contact with those “named” in a will but if one is “named” in a trust and if a trustee rather than an attorney runs the trust then ‘no one’ has to get a hold of the beneficiaries. (It’s a ‘dirty trick’ and a means to control funds.)

 

I asked my adoptive-mother if I’d been “named” in the trust or not while over a difficult phone conversation summer 2011 and she said: “That’s not something we’re going to talk about.” (I went and looked up the quote from my journal entry.)

 

            I’ve just discovered as of this week that in some American states such as Massachusetts that “named” trust beneficiaries aren’t necessarily ‘called’ or ‘notified’ unless there’s an attorney involved opposed to a family trustee or while an estate settles its accounts and that could take as much or as little as a decade.

 

If a “family trustee” holds “discretionary power” over a lifetime family trust then ‘good luck’ because ‘no one’ has to notify a beneficiary.

 

The beneficiary has to go and ask for the trust and other information from the trustee otherwise by law the beneficiary is considered to “go missing” after six years.

 

While an estate is in probate court, the trustee doesn’t necessarily have to ‘get in touch’ or get a hold of beneficiaries until all of the accounts are settled or possibly trustees don’t have to ever ‘get in touch’ with beneficiaries simply so that trust shares don’t have to be split any further amongst more number of members.

 

            In the state of Massachusetts a trust beneficiary has six years to claim their shares to a lifetime family trust.

 

Since “no one” on that side of my family will inform me if I was “named” in the trust or not (to a considerable fortune) then I automatically assumed that I hadn’t been “named”  in the trust but now I’m beginning to reconsider what this is all about.

 

Our lifetime family trust was left to a (DUI) uncle trustee and not to a lawyer therefore my uncle doesn’t have to get in touch with me.

 

After six years, I’ll be considered “gone missing” and the rest of the family gets my shares (for the rest of their lives) while I would get nothing and my family is okay with that but I bet you anything that they don’t sleep well at night and they’ll probably die of cancer from the stress as my Grandparents did.

 

I’ve got to move quickly after all of the hell my family put me through.

 

Now, if I wasn’t “named” in the trust then I can live with that but if I was “named” in the trust then I’d like ‘what’s coming to me’ because I worked for it my entire upbringing.

 

If I wasn’t “named” in the trust then fine, but my adoptive-mother just sent a letter via mail to my Roseville, Minnesota aunt and uncle because she “supposedly” neither knows where Eric or I live, however, her letter was a ‘howler’ therefore we recycled it, nevertheless, at the end of six years she could “feign ignorance” and state before a judge that she ‘tried’ to get a hold of us but that she didn’t know where we were.

 

            I’m right here.

            We’re right here.

 

            I’m right here and one million readers global wide also know that I’m right here in the Twin Cities of Minnesota.

 

            I do wonder why my family won’t tell me if I hold shares to the lifetime family trust or not?

 

If, I do hold shares then I do recall my eldest cousin telling me that there were tens of millions of dollars in the lifetime family trust as of 1990.

 

I do wonder.

 

What’s next?

 

I guess I’ll have a trust fund attorney draft a letter and send it off to the trustee.

 

Peace;

Gabriel

 

Word Count Goal: 1,625

Word Count: 3,865

 

*)         Day #10 without sugar: It’s alright. I like it.

 

*) Oscars: We’ll be recording them on our DVR. I haven’t watched the Oscars since 1994.

 

*) We don’t have cable rather we have satellite.

 

*) WCCO’s radio broadcast story about “Hockey Mom” brought three silent tears to my eyes this week. I couldn’t hold the tears back. What a mom! What a family! What a community. I thank you all involved for telling this story and having the courage to bring it to light.

 

Thursday, February 27, 2014

 

“You can’t make a beaver hat out of a pig’s tail.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Visage (the face, with reference to the form and proportions of the features or to the expression; countenance; appearances; aspects)

 

As a child I feared nothing so much as the stern visage of my Grandfather when he was about to lecture me.

 

(Vocabulary Card #921)

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

*****************************

‘Old World’ (modern) Posh vs. ‘Nouveau Riche’ Posh II

 

Yes, we’re ‘Middle Income Earners’

We’re the ‘Orchid’

 

            “Old World” (modern) ‘posh’ won’t shove their opinions down one’s throat because they know (all, too, well) that with the changing of seasons so does the tide and attitudes and sentiments towards ‘anything at all.’

 

“Old money” separates church from state, always. (It’s wise.)

 

“Old money” has enough imaginative historical references at their disposal when they become frustrated or molested so that they can substitute the word ‘fuck’ with colorful imagery which can sometimes hurt or damage more so than only derogatory terms such as ‘fuck’ can.

 

“Old money” is accustomed to changing their wardrobe many times throughout their day to fulfill particular or certain functions in their daily lives.

 

“Old money” gets dressed accordingly to their activities, and ‘weather permitting’ and functions therefore if the weather calls for hat & gloves then there’re functionally and fashionably dressed (at all times) to sustain a hat and mittens and boots and scarves, no matter, if their hair gets messy or not. (Functional fashion over style, folks.)

 

“Old money” takes enough time to arrive places earlier than on time so that they may attend to themselves in powder rooms without gossip or malice towards other attending guests especially when other guests aren’t their class equals; (no, not monies or fortune.)

 

And, if ‘other’ guests are rude or needy or sexually covert in their attempts in socialization in their physical or emotional or psychologically lacking attributes or demeanor or manner then “old money” can quickly state ‘cutting words’ of dismissal under their breath at their will and exit any social function immediately thereafter because that’s ‘just cause’ and ‘self preservation.’

 

“Old money” knows quality over quantity.

 

“Old money” ‘doesn’t give anything away for free’ except gifts ‘without strings attached,’ terms or conditions.

 

“Old money” minds their “P’s and Q’s” (at all times) because no matter how much or how little money one has to one’s disposal, one doesn’t go out of their way to ‘overtly’ or ‘covertly’ insult or hurt or injure or judge another human unless “old world wealth” has been previously slighted then watch out.

 

“Old money” is ‘never’ poor ‘only’ broke.

 

“Old money” forgives ‘on the spot’ but ‘never’ forgets.

 

“Old wealth” openly apologizes for ‘their’ wrong doings.

 

(Only a ‘dry-drunk’ or a ‘control freak’ ‘never’ apologizes or attorneys.)

 

“Old money” swallows their pride and protects the vast interests of the ‘greater good’ than that of the few.

 

“Old money” isn’t ‘smarmy.’ (They don’t have the time for it.)

 

“Old money” can’t afford ‘group think’ because time-and-money are of the essence and ‘old wealth’ depends upon these two vitally important resources to make ‘serious’ and ‘correct’ decisions to set the course of the future in a prosperous and healthy overall direction without smacking into ice floes and killing everyone onboard or overboard.

 

“Old money” openly and respectfully debates their well gathered points in argument.

 

“Old money” doesn’t fall for the modern delusion that professions are ‘perceived’ as familial ties because “old world wealth” already holds familial bonds and close bloodlines or relationships to each another, no matter how much time passes, or how much abuse has occurred, or if any relations may become estranged from one another. (At a moment’s notice “old money” can side with each other over strangers or acquaintances or friends because ‘blood is thicker than water.’)

 

“Old money” places Kin above all others, even if they ‘hate’ each other, however, this doesn’t mean that they won’t dual one another for their ‘piece of the pie’ if it came down to that.

 

“Old money” is aware of the brutal and intricate distinctions between ‘classes’ vs. ‘success’ especially, and more so, when others aren’t aware of their discretionary social responsibilities.

 

“Old money” understands that it doesn’t cost a pence to be ‘classy.’

 

“Old money” knows ‘the’ trials and tribulations of the ‘poor.’

 

“Old money” or “old world wealth” (1%) advocate for ‘poor’ (serfs) because “old money” is set in place by the ‘divine will of Gods’ to be good stewards to the land and to protect workers; as their duty (more so of a historical and figurative “God” reference than a modern factual reference).

 

“Old money” cuts-out checks to their workers first and foremost and secondly to themselves.

 

“Old money” doesn’t allow for their workers to suffer or starve otherwise “old money” is prepared to suffer or starve right along with their workers.

 

“Old money” has an invested interest in excellence towards good relations with workers because workers are the backbone of any Estate or Land or Nation-region.

 

“Old money” ‘puts their money where their mouth is.’

 

“Old money” cares tremendously about the education of their workers and their workers’ offspring’s’ education.

 

“Old money” does ‘one thing’ well each and every single day.

 

“Old money” writes down their long-term and short-term goals.

 

“Old money” has a daily to-do-list and does it.

 

“Old money” keeps up with world current events.

 

“Old money” reads at least one hour per day.

 

“Old money” makes investments no matter how small or grand.

 

“Old money” will work with their hands if that’s what it takes to ‘get it done.’

 

“Old money” isn’t afraid to look disheveled or dirty if the occasion is pressing-enough or if the situation’s dire-enough to call upon them to get dirty and attend to sick and ill pigs because their Estates depend on it.

 

“Old money” doesn’t hold any type of discrimination against dialects or languages so long as the ‘next fellow in line’ is decent and well discerning.

 

“Old money” understands that ‘upward mobility’ is an answer to evenly and well distributed wealth.

 

“Old money” is old.

 

“Old money” goes back to 1066 or further back.

 

“Old money” loves to read.

 

“Old money” understands world history.

 

“Old money” understands world and historical mythology.

 

“Old money” understands world literature.

 

“Old money” understands world poetry.

 

“Old money” understands ‘old world’ English.

 

“Old money” understands world languages.

 

“Old money” understands world creativity.

 

“Old money” understands factual global sciences.

 

“Old money” understands global economics and mathematics.

 

“Old money” understands nature.

 

“Old money” makes Birthday wishes to their beloveds and friends and others.

 

“Old money” watches one hour or less of television per day.

 

“Old money” networks five hours or more per month.

 

“Old money” believes that hygiene creates ‘good luck.’

 

“Old money” believes in reading about self-and-career improvements.

 

“Old money” exercises regularly.

 

“Old money” isn’t gluttonous (unless one is a food addict or full of self-loathe and can’t stop.)

 

“Old money” knows when to stop eating.

 

“Old money” ‘always’ leaves at least the tiniest morsel of food on their plate as an ‘offering to the Gods’ to give thanks for what they were provided with and nourished by.

 

“Old money” nurtures relationships.

 

“Old money” rarely eats junk food.

 

“Old money” isn’t snobby towards other humans only towards things and situations and events unless others are directly and personally rude to “old money.”

 

“Old money” won’t grab or snatch anything out of one’s hands.

 

“Old money” asks questions and doesn’t make assumptions.

 

“Old money” won’t nag. (Seriously.) Why would they?

 

“Old money” understands that control is out of their control.

 

“Old money” won’t dehumanize unless nothing; nevertheless, unless one is a complete donkey’s ass and directly harmful towards others.

 

“Old money” ‘doesn’t get mad rather they get even.’

 

“Old money” refuses to bully their way to success.

 

“Old money” will most likely allow for you to go first in line (unless they’re very hungry and low on blood sugar (ha!).)

 

“Old money” masticates their food at least ten times per bite unless they’re famished then don’t judge.

 

“Old money” will eat pizza with their bare hands, and if it’s called for they’ll use a fork and knife to cut their pizza, and not think twice about their versatility.              

 

It’s fun to eat pizza with a fork and knife because that action forces one to slow down, and possibly, stop and consider the history of food, and the divine will of life, and nourishment by the seed of the Earth.

 

“Old money” knows ‘good’ food when they taste it, no matter, where or by whom it’s prepared.

 

‘Great’ food is difficult to come by and when one does so, then one gives their ‘compliments to the Chef’ without any airs about it only gratitude.

 

“Old money” says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ right after anyone has done anything for them that which they didn’t have to get up or do for themselves because ‘energy’ is everything and one of the more exhausting and costly resources in the universes is the usage of human energy.

 

“Old money” isn’t rude to ‘the help,’ ‘servers,’ ‘workers,’ ‘peasants’ or ‘the poor’ or anyone in need.

 

“Old money” understands their tremendous place and situation in the world thus “old money” is grateful to be alive and thriving.

 

“Old money” doesn’t use profanity because there’s no need for it.

 

“Old money” doesn’t hastily give their opinion.

 

“Old money” holds back on their opinions unless directly asked or in dire situations over one’s health or property in life.

 

“Old money” doesn’t demean former acquaintances or school mates.

 

“Old money,” when greeted will decently acknowledge former acquaintances, (unless personally slighted by another but it’s unlikely) and isn’t ever ‘ashamed’ to be associated with any former relations because others ‘never’ really and truly understand the intricacies and complexities of already established former relationships or how one has or hasn’t ‘lend a helping hand’ yet “old money” doesn’t go out of its way to make connections to prior acquaintances unless it’s dire health and life-and-death or property situations then “old money” seeks out the advice of “experts” and not their monetary help because wisdom sets many rungs higher than monies.

 

“Old money” knows perfectly well that it’s not about whom one knows rather it’s about what one knows so that they don’t have to run around all over the place meeting everyone just to acquire information because that would be silliness when they have so little time to spare in general.

 

“Old money” has information at their disposal at anytime at the touch of a button.

 

“Old money” is busy contributing before they die.

 

“Old money” knows how to generate vast amounts of wealth.

 

“Old money” has work to do so they can also relax.

 

“Old money” likes to play without getting an eye poked out.

 

“Old money” doesn’t ‘cheat, lie or steal’ its way through life unless one’s a complete dry-or-wet alcoholic-drunk or manipulative con-artist or abusive perpetrator or an utter and complete ‘control freak’ or ‘profound’ addict of any type and by that I mean more so psychologically cruel (psychopathic) than anything else.

 

“Old money” knows perfectly well that money has nothing to do with class.

 

Honor is in our actions, words and deeds not by the amount of money we consume before we perish.

 

I raise a glass to you;

Gabriel

 

Word Count Goal: 1,478

 

Word Count: 1,841

 

*)         Day #9 without sugar: It’s alright. I like it.

 

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

 

“No cloth is so fine that moths are unable to eat it.”

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Platitude (a dull, insipid, common place utterance, triteness)

 

His conversation is boresome because it is filled with one platitude after another.

 

Note: (Seriously, that’s the card that came tumbling out for today: (Vocabulary Card #922) (I don’t choose the daily vocabulary words. I pull one out from the back of a line each day.)

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

*****************************

‘Old World’ (modern) Posh vs. ‘Nouveau Riche’ Posh

 

            “Remember, whenever you point a finger at someone, there’re three fingers pointing back at you, so don’t, because it’s considered remarkably rude by any world standard.” My Father explained.

 

I was thirteen at the time and understood perfectly well.

 

            Pointing a finger at someone is like: wishing others bad luck but also wishing oneself triple bad luck.

 

            New American money sure has money but that’s about it, and that’s not enough any longer in an overpopulated world seeking solutions for clean air and water action and green reusable and renewable resources for energy.

 

“New money” ‘got lucky’ and that’s why they have so much money but that doesn’t mean anything. (It could all be lost tomorrow.)

 

“New money” lacks class and style because no one’s ever taught it to them or because they don’t seem to take the time to learn.

 

“New money” follows trends or ridiculous styles without a thought in the world about how their purchases impact an overall global economy or overseas factory workers without any workers’ rights or how wasteful raw materials most likely will pollute the waterways and lands of ‘those’ nations doing dirty work of disposing waste for American corporations.

 

“New money” can barely speak proper English.

 

(Nope, don’t even so much as raise an eyebrow at me. I’ve sat in rooms and listened at how “new money” talks, and most speak out of their arses and nostrils without an audible or sensible word to their name.)

 

“New money” seems to be extremely and atrociously uneducated.

 

“New money” can barely name more than five American presidents or state capitols or cities or rivers or monuments or much less global leaders or global history and global literature or current events… (The list goes on.)

 

Since most “new money” can barely tell you where they stand (literally) they can barely speak to broader or complex abstract concepts about “international nepotism” or agricultural new methods or constructs for natural food production without genetically modified foods or American Immigration reform.

 

“New money” doesn’t know the difference between “Immigrants” and “refugees.”

 

“New money” doesn’t have a clue what “hydroponics” entails.

 

“New money” believes that “Tesla” was a mythological figure. (Yikes.)

 

“New money” believes that “nothing travels faster than the speed of light.” (Yikes.) (Outdated physics.)

 

“New money” sure loves to talk about money but that’s about it, and that makes them the most boring and dangerous people alive and not worth playing together in a global sandbox.

 

“New money” sure is worth collecting a paycheck, however, not worth much civilized socialization or conversation because while “new money” ‘got lucky’ and works much, too, hard but not necessarily smart at making enormous amounts of ‘dough’ and because of that ‘lame excuse’ the rest of world passed them by therefore they don’t get ‘a say’ in a ‘Brave New World’ of modern progressiveness because they’re still stuck in 1982. (Pity.)

 

“New money” can sure be racist and tacky as well as tactless.

 

“New money” pretends to come from “old world wealth” but ‘the honest to God truth’ is that they just recently consumed their amassed ‘new monies’ in this present generation (they’re in their early sixties, they’re neither dead nor close to it) therefore decorum goes way passed their heads, and it seems as though the word ‘fuck’ is their favorite adjective rather than verb.

 

“New money” tends to speak with its mouth open full of food or goes to work drunk or ‘hung-over’ (and smells like it) or tends to spittle in people’s face when they talk dribble or when they’ve ‘had one too many’ to drink at social functions or they sure like to speak loudly as though they require hearing-aids or when ‘second’ and ‘third’ generations want ‘grand-mommy’ or ‘granddaddy’s’ money (which technically doesn’t belong to them until the older generations perish) or when “new money” requires attention and are ready for a diaper change.

 

“New money” tends to be tardy.

 

“New money” tends to be unorganized.

 

“New money” ‘puts on airs’ about nothing much but money.

 

“New money” is one of the most despicable and unintelligible of animals. Even rats and donkeys are smarter than “new money.”

 

“New money” is ‘lazy’ or ‘entitled’ yet ‘some’ have brains for business but that’s not enough any longer in a global market and culture.

 

“New money” is spoiled and a whiner.

 

“New money” has no idea how to dress for class or success.

 

“New money” believes that however they present themselves to the world at large then the world must abide by them, or the world gets forced ‘to take it up the nostril’ simply because “new money” has money; thus they seem to think that they can go around looking like ‘trailer trash’ or two-cent whores.

 

“New money” takes ‘pop-culture’ (a subculture as well as ‘poor-economical-culture’) literally and way, too, seriously therefore when one states “it fits like a glove” they go ahead and purchase the tightest and ugliest looking clothes ‘in the world’ because they don’t have class or they can’t seem to differentiate metaphors or allegorical statements or figurative speech or analogies to mean that a glove requires room to comfortably move in and breathe.

 

“New money” is brash and a bully.

 

“New money” is a low common denominator with too many financial choices and not enough care for their fellow man.

 

“New money” tends to live for more money and that’s not enough.

 

“New money” tends to think of themselves as ‘posh’ but they don’t seem to understand why ‘People’s of old’ used to do the things they did in the manner and fashion in which they did therefore “new money” imitates without regard or innate understanding for historical context and that just makes them look like silly cows prancing about in expensive and ugly styles.

 

‘Only’ the Queen of England, (and other royal blooded,) may truly be carried across puddles or have cloaks placed before Her Majesty’s feet when it rains; ‘all others’ are mortals and imitations of the Queen, Her Majesty.

 

Even the Queen is ‘modern posh’ and seems to know well enough that getting carried over puddles looks ‘silly’ and ‘weird’ by any modern standard, although if she wanted to, then she may, because she’s the ‘Queen of England’ and there’s ‘only’ one of Her; The Queen of Scotts! (Just Kidding.) (I’ve always wanted to do that.)

 

More later…

 

Peace;

Gabriel

 

Word Count Goal for today: 1,145

(I’ve written much in the past two days.)

 

Word Count: 1,385

 

Note: Yes, many major and subtle grammatical corrections were made from yesterday’s blog entry. I’m on my way to an editor’s heaven! (Ha!) I’ve got a long way, yet, still to go, though.

 

*)         Day #8 without sugar: It’s alright. I like it.

 

 

************************************************************

Welcome to ‘he who shall not be named’

(Nothing personal and with Utmost respect)

 

Smiles all around

 

The loveliest aspect about folk culture

is that “folk” (in general)

hold their spoken word series,

and are vitally important in the development of folklore,

and mythological figures and stories told (here on the ground).

 

Eventually and most likely

their folklore will become myth;

told word-of-mouth

for generations to come

until eventually the stories

become something of

a forgotten Latin prose poem.

 

We ‘all’ know who;

‘he who shall not be named’ is.

 

And with ‘endearing scorn’

‘he’ shall go down as just that

in the mythological adventures

of history’s spoken folklore annals

and bedtime stories.

 

How splendid for ‘him’ indeed.

There’s no greater honour as that.

 

I ‘love’ those stories

which are mythological by nature,

and become whispered bedtime stories,

and not found in books.

 

Folklore is what makes culture tick

because folklore is magic.

 

Folklore doesn’t wander off

from modern civilizations.

 

Nevertheless, folklore is ‘made up’ by The People.

 

And not ‘made up’ by political campaigns

or weird politicians with ulterior motives,

or mean-spirited propagandas

or marketers

or advertisers.

 

Nope.

 

I believe in the power of folklore.

 

Folklore is intimately guarded from prying eyes.

 

Cheers.

 

Let’s have a splendid day!

 

I’ve got other responsibilities to fulfill.

 

Peace and Respect;

Gabriel

 

***

 

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

 

“Even an angel can’t do two things at the same time.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Panacea (a cure-all, supposed remedy)

 

He considered the little pink pill a panacea for all ills.

 

Correction: from “appendixes” to “appendages.” Ha!

 

---  ---  ---

 

[Serious geographical corrections were made. Thank you.]

 

Hello.

 

***

St. Paul, Minnesota

 

            We celebrate Thanksgivings in St. Paul, Minnesota because that’s where our Elder resides in the beautiful Lyngblomsten independent care facilities. Our Elder was a pastor’s wife and highly regarded and respected in the St. Paul area.

 

(Personally, this Thanksgiving 2013 I thought the pecan pie was most tasty. I kept myself from having seconds. I could’ve skipped the main courses and been quite content with second helpings of the pecan pie.)

 

I adore St. Paul, Minnesota because our sister from Sierra Leone graduated from Hamline University. She now resides in Washington, D.C. and studies law.

 

I adore St. Paul, Minnesota because our Roseville cousin who’s now resided in Manhattan, N.Y. for about twenty years works for Columbia and graduated from Columbia University with an anthropology degree (B.A. and M.F.A.) and while in high school she attended “Central High” and loved it before “it went downhill.”

 

I adore St. Paul because my cousin ‘loves’ Café Latte.

 

I adore St. Paul, Minnesota because our Roseville uncle worked as the Executive Director of the International Institute. He’s now retired and mellower than I’ve ever known him.

 

I respect St. Paul, Minnesota because it was my uncle whom for nearly twenty years brought the state of Minnesota the famous: “Festival of Nations” at St. Paul’s RiverCenter.

 

I adore St. Paul, Minnesota because some of our closest friends whose siblings I attended private school with and church groups (while growing up) purchased property and live in St. Paul amongst their close friends and Hmong neighbors who grow the most spectacular vegetable gardens to feed their five children or so as well as their other neighbors whom are proud to work for Target Corp. and live openly as a same-sex couple without any discrimination from their other neighbors.

 

I adore St. Paul. Minnesota because it has the Union Depot and Midway Station there near the Menards (hardware store) where we used to go for our Saturday afternoon dates because it was nearest to uptown.

 

We used to attend a restaurant called: “” They had some of the best burgers in town until the shop closed down therefore we hardly ever make it over to St. Paul anymore.

 

****

No, I don’t hate St. Paul, Minnesota

 

            Nevertheless, one of the many aspects about St. Paul, Minnesota which I can’t stand is the heaps of garbage on the streets especially on University Avenue and Snelling Avenue.

 

Anytime, that I’ve visited St. Paul throughout the recent past decade all I’ve ever seen are heaps of garbage blowing this way and that way.

 

Once, one were to exit St. Paul’s remarkably small yet beautiful downtown area then most of St. Paul appears to be an extended ghetto with long arms reaching out for many miles in many directions particularly an extended stretch on University Avenue and Snelling Avenue.

 

Now, near downtown St. Paul there are pockets of beautiful and wealthy neighborhoods.

 

These little pockets of St. Paul’s wealthy neighborhoods are tucked away behind smaller ghetto-fronts like that of Kenwood’s wealthy neighborhood filled with mansions and surrounded by the likes of other smaller pockets of neighborhoods such as those of uptown’s “overpriced ghetto.”

 

(I can finally write about it. It took me one recent complete decade to figure out the Twin Cities.)

 

The incredible aspect about these beautiful wealthy little pockets of St. Paul’s neighborhoods is that they’re hidden by street fronts of ruins and shabby and ghetto like flats and houses which hideaway the wealthier neighborhoods.

 

It’s sad that the more ghetto-looking flats and houses hide the beauty of such ostentatious modern wealth behind a rundown façade of shabby structures leaving St. Paul to look like a ghost-fossil-brittle-shell of its former self discarded on beach shores of 1900’s America.

 

            St. Paul’s history is a rich one, literally.

 

            But that’s about it.

 

            St. Paul is like the remnant giant bones of a whale washed ashore that got stuck there and left to rot and picked away by seabirds and beach mice.

 

St. Paul has the look of antiquated New England, East Coast seaside hotel resort villages of the late 1890’s at the height of St. Paul’s power and money but ‘no one’ can sell St. Paul to me, not today, because it’s so rundown like uptown, Minneapolis is.

 

(I lived in uptown for eight straight years. I would know what I’m talking about, 2004-2012.)

 

These “overpriced ghettos” once housed some of the wealthiest patrons of the earlier part of the last century (early 1900’s).

 

All one has to do is look at the structures and realize that St. Paul’s history was once a grand lady with a fine wardrobe and civilized sanity but ever since her fortune dwindled now she lives at “Grey Gardens” on top of heaps of garbage bags and ‘broken dreams’ while she went insane from feeding and talking to the raccoons in the attic.

 

*****

            The splendor of what St. Paul once was is magnificent.

 

            There’s no denying it that St. Paul was once the ‘grand lady of the ball.’

 

            Last year (2013) I was granted a private tour inside some of St. Paul’s mansions on Summit Avenue. I was left breathless.

 

‘The best kept secret’ about Summit Avenue’s mansions is that many are rotted-out and falling down and have been for many decades.

 

It’s like an intrinsic debilitating manifestation that’ll eat away at the breasts and colon and liver until the maggots are satisfied with a shriveled and dried out and dead corpse.

 

The secret is that these mansions look amazing from the exterior but many are falling and wood-rotted into themselves.

 

It was a ghastly sight.

 

St. Paul’s Summit Avenue’s mansions; it was like setting eyes on the most beautiful woman at a ball but in a short time she went from the height of sophistication to becoming ruined by too much drink and uncontrollable loneliness and despair and a personal vendetta against a ‘lost love’ in her youth which she can’t shake off therefore she lets go of life and begins to invite death inward towards the centre of her marrow to sit inside her bones, and fill her with self-loath rot because her greatest wish is to die slowly and to be left alone to do it without a peeping eye about the place.

 

Some of the mansions on Summit Avenue reminded me of the insane old lady in “Great Expectations.” I became more frightened by the eerie sensation of her than I did by the rundown look of her.

 

            Even the surrounding apartment buildings and flats and homes are rundown near the famous “W.A. Frost and Company” on Selby Avenue.

 

I’ve been granted access inside many homes and apartment buildings all over St. Paul and they’re one interior ghetto structure after another in the likes of many of uptown, Minneapolis’s overpriced ghetto buildings and flats.

 

            Now, I’m not writing about this subject matter to hang out our dirty laundry to dry.

 

I’m only writing about it because the breakdown hits one right in the gut.

 

At times, I can’t believe that I live in the Twin Cities in which the area architecturally predates early 20th century (1900’s).

 

A terrible sadness that the Twin Cities area are filled with so much historical and modern wealth and so much modern poverty in which the past history is doted upon and progress is foreseen as something to fear.

 

******

            I’ve been informed that many individuals who live in severe poverty make their way over towards St. Paul because the cost of living is much lower in St. Paul than it is in Minneapolis, however, it seems to me that both St. Paul and Minneapolis are run by slumlords that put as little work as possible into the interior upkeep of their edifices and structures yet they ‘make a killing’ on what they collect each month from renters.

 

I’ve been inside both St. Paul and Minneapolis apartment buildings and former single family homes now partitioned-off as separate apartments filled with asbestos and hot water heater pipes that smell like iron ore in winter while lead painted pipes chip and peel away.

 

I’ve seen the old homes with the glorious built-inns and the cracks on the walls and brittle windows that allow for heat to escape through the crevices in between the window sills and the plastered walls in which when one squints then one can see clearly outdoors and feel the cold air drafts come in.

 

            I know that many of our readers will probably take a great deal of offense to what I write about (here today) because both Minneapolis and St. Paul are personal to people but I, too, take offense to living and contributing to a rundown and forgotten lady of old.

 

            Look; we live here.

 

We’re contributing as much as we can as quickly as we can.

 

Yes, we need the minimum wage to start at least at $10.50 per hour within the year 2014 because even that is ‘highway robbery’ since the adjusted inflation rate and growth puts the minimum wage at $21 dollars by today’s forgotten standards according to Bill Moyers.

 

Whatever it takes: (through an honest medium and not a corrupt one) America must move with the times.

 

Instead of constantly arguing without solutions, and bragging about the past while expecting everybody to swallow the lead chips and inhale the asbestos, why not, sink real money into beautiful old cities like St. Paul and Minneapolis and Detroit?

 

(Don’t get me started about Detroit. Our family lives on 12-mile.)

 

Why not invest in cities which simply need a little bit of help without forgetting that our working class populations do require beautiful city parks and well kept structures and a decent way of life because many return at night to ghetto and slumlord flats. How depressing is that? Quite.

 

*******

            One of the oddest aspects about Minnesota is how as an overall culture people seem to ‘pull the wool over one’s eyes’ nevertheless it’s easy to see and to understand that great power and money reined here, long ago, and now money’s kept close to the chests’ of the “rich” while the “wealthy 1%” tries desperately as they may to revitalize our cities but without help from the “rich” and their lack of upkeep of these overpriced slumlord ghettos then nothing much gets accomplished by way of civilization.

 

It’s not enough for the “rich” to collect on their slumlord ghettos.

 

It’s not enough for the “rich” to forget their civic duties to society while the “wealthy” lend their fortunes to fighting the apathetic nature of the “rich” who once were “poor” and keep those in poverty living under terrible conditions.

 

It’s not enough to be “rich” anymore.

 

There must be something more than monetary means that’ll pull both cities and nation out of its gutter like attitudes and appearances.

 

            When did the “rich” get so stubborn about learning their greatest responsibilities towards progressive civilization?

 

For as much money as the “rich” have here in the Twin Cities area they don’t impress because they’re so selfish and shallow and materialistic and short sided. It’s as though they don’t understand that their monetary means automatically puts them in a place of responsibility whether they like it or not.

 

The reason why the Twin Cities isn’t a new modern East Coast is because it lacks in the deeper understanding of historic and modern economics and the value of upkeep and how these work together when wealth is evenly distributed throughout the centuries, and without malice towards upward mobility especially when it comes to the health of our workers.

 

No, not everyone can own an apartment building or two homes or a business but just because workers don’t make such calculated risks, by historical and contemporary standards, it doesn’t mean that we kill and choke the very life out of our workers, because if our workers lives don’t hold a certain dignified ‘standard of living’ then what reason is there to care to rebuild and reinforce our already remarkably strong stone foundations when our people suffer?

 

Why should workers care when the very life is choked out of them? They shouldn’t.

Therefore give them a reason to care.

 

Stone is beautiful but it sure can crumble.

 

America is like a shabby little rundown slumlord ghetto.

 

Our streets are falling apart.

Our transportation system is nothing like Europe’s.

 

Our country looks like it’s taken one too many hard beatings since 1931.

 

America needs a break from wars and abuse to regroup and put a better plan in place to best learn how to defeat, not our greatest opponents, but our greatest fears, and to launch into an effort of high quality maintenance, restructuring, reusing and rebuilding with reusable and green energy because our buildings and streets and structures crumble before our very own eyes.

 

Put our workers back to work and get this nation out of the gutter.

 

Let’s get this giant back up on its feet again.

 

What’s the problem?

 

Money?

 

I don’t think so.

 

There’s so much damn money but it either goes into making fake wars or into the pockets of warmongers.

 

I’m so restless living in America.

 

We made a commitment to stay here until retirement but I hate looking at garbage every place we go and shabby-looking and rundown ruins that I’m supposed to be impressed by their historical context.

 

********

            Impress us, because ‘the wool can’t be pulled over our eyes.’

 

            [Tremendous geographical corrections were made!]

 

            Yes, we grew up as one of the wealthiest real-and-true blue blooded ‘coats of arm’ (not purchased over the internet but actually acquired at the Battle of Hastings in 1066) former Brit-aristocratic Sea Captains historical families former ‘Lords of the Manor’ south of the Bristol Channel from Somerset, England and we helped develop Saco, Maine in the 1680’s and then again we helped develop Marblehead in Massachusetts and established Rockport and Gloucester in 1690’s.

 

(Richard Tarr was factually born south of the Bristol Channel and not a Welsh. (Look it up. I did.) (No, I don’t have anything against the Welsh.) Elizabeth Dicer (Richard Tarr’s wife) was indeed summoned by the courts as a potential witch in the Salem witch trials and Judge Jon Hathrone was Nathaniel “Hawthorne’s” great-great-grandfather who looked over the case. {Furthermore, yes, the Elwell’s are my close second cousins and aunts and uncles whom I shall adore and love until the grave. I actually grew up and played with my cousins and ate at my aunts’ and uncles’ tables. I know their faces and love; they, too, know mine. They’re actually people that I’ve met and known quite well and broken bread and drank wine together and laughed and love dearly with my entire body and soul and spirit.})

 

            Show us what you’ve got because our families established the first three hundred and thirty-four years of this country and we didn’t do it for outdated infrastructure either.

 

What else you got?

 

I feign surprise and pretend like things are amazing not to bruise one’s egos but one hath no idea the places I’ve stood, and the people I’ve held teatime or dined and rubbed elbows together because they’re my class equals, and not just people I went to private schools with but “old money” and “old wealth” and “old world common sense world ideals,” those, who keep quiet about the infestation taken over America’s infrastructure yet they ‘put their money where their mouths are’ because the “wealthy” hold their opinions back, and don’t allow for the foul stench of profanity to escape their lips unlike the poor who want to tell everybody their bloody opinions of unhappiness. Oh, woe is their tale without satisfaction or solutions to the endless…

 

[Yes, I am a jungle peasant Indigenous Maya kid in my first six years of life then an orphan-cleaning-slave in a Roman Catholic Central American orphanage for four years and then I became an adopted Minnesota Finn-Jew-American and a New England blue blood.]

 

I can’t help what I am but one thing is certain: no one can ‘pull the wool over my eyes’ especially when I ‘feign ignorance.’ Oh, how sweet it is to be anything at all…

 

Impress us because we hate living in a ghetto nation.

We get tired of this rundown little shabby America of ours.

 

Show us the money or go home and sit there to rot.

 

With Respect;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,757

 

Day #7 without sugar: It’s alright. I like it.

 

Monday, February 24, 2014

 

“All cantors are fools, but not all fools are cantors.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Plagiarism (steal from another’s writing, copying)

 

A song writer was accused of plagiarism.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

Food Power for The People

 

Day #6 without sugar: It’s alright.

I like it.

 

Shopping List: (2/23/14)

 

            *) “Agave Dream” all natural (no sugar added) ice cream ($4.49)

 

            *) Yukon Potatoes ($3.99)

 

            *) “Dannon” all natural nonfat yogurt ($3.19 X’s 2)

 

            *) “Old Home” made with sea salt 100% all natural peanut butter distributed from New Brighton, Minnesota ($6.19)

 

            *) “Eastbound Farm” organic baby spinach ($2.99 X’s 2)

 

            *) “Wild Harvest” natural and cage free and large brown eggs, Grade A ($2.79)

 

            *) “Wild Harvest” organic vegetable broth distributed from Eden Prairie, Minnesota ($2.99)

 

            *) “Wild Harvest” organic popcorn, distributed from Eden Prairie, Minnesota / ($2.29)

 

            *) “Tazo” cocoa mint Mate tea (50% post consumer recycled materials packaging) / ($?) (Bought last week)

 

            *) “De Boles” spinach fettuccine ($3.19)

 

            *) “Cascadian Farm” organic whole grain oat and barley cereal ($4.49 X’s 2)

 

            *) “Applegate Naturals” Genoa Salami, no antibiotics, humanely raised, Gluten and Casein Free ($5.59)

 

            *) “Simple Balanced” organic unsalted butter / ($?) (Bought last week)

 

            *) “Bob’s Red Mill” 100% stone ground whole wheat flour, all natural, no preservatives (this is the only flour I use for our homemade breads) / ($5.99 X’s 2)

 

            *) “Suedka” orange cream pop (flavored vodka) with vanilla, imported Swedish Vodka, 35% alcohol, (70 proof) / ($?) (Bought last week)

 

There were other miscellaneous items on our list but all in all our total this weekend came out to: $71.16 and we received a fuel discount of $.10 cents per gallon at Cub Foods.

 

****

           

            Okay, let’s talk Life, Eat, ‘Drink and Be Merry’:

 

            Now, I don’t know about you but after a long day’s work I’m exhausted after everything’s said and done.

 

Life sure is full and busy. I get tired because so much life happens in one single day. My life is full like any other human adult.

 

            As of late, I’ve been feeling tired to the bone at the end of each workday therefore I went back to what I know best and changed our nutritional intake because I want to feel more energetic and healthier all around.

 

Food is medicine.

Food can either help or hinder one’s daily performance.

 

I’ve been taught that a person is what they eat. Okay.

 

            Since, the last thing I want to think about at the end of each workday is what to prepare and make for dinner; I’ve gone back to prepping and cooking all of the week’s meals ahead of time on Sundays.

 

This Sunday we spent eight hours on purchasing and prepping and cooking and storing our meals for the week ahead.

 

It’s simple and easy and fun. All it takes is one day’s work for an entire week not to have to think about what to make. Yes!

 

One full day of cooking sure takes organization and time but so what when one doesn’t have to cook each individual meal each and every night of the week at the end of long and exhausting days.

 

            This Sunday’s ‘consolation price’ after eight hours of cooking was that I won’t have to cook a single meal this entire week because it’s all done. How wonderful indeed! That’s a consolation price worth my life and energy and effort.

 

For me, half the battle of cooking has been to think about what to prepare on the spot each and every night. I tend to run out of ideas therefore ‘I’ve fallen into a rut’ and make the same foods over and over again and that’s no fun to our taste buds.

 

When I prepare all of the week’s meals ahead of time then I don’t have to concentrate all my energy on the week’s menu ahead because it’s done and that brings a great deal of joy to my life.

 

It’s my responsibility to cook therefore I want to do an excellent job with that responsibility because it means our health.

 

Indeed not having to think about what to prepare each and every night leaves hours of spare time leftover for enjoyment and relaxation at the end of each day therefore I don’t care that we’ll spend eight hours cooking on Sunday’s. I’m left to be carefree and happy at the end of each workday.

 

Everybody gets to eat hardy and there’s always prepped and made and cooked food at one’s disposal at a moment’s notice. It works out wonderfully for everyone’s health benefits because we have another fifty years of life to live which we’re planning on dying from natural causes (knock on wood).

 

            I no longer want to feel this exhausted from cooking each and every single night ergo I’ve gone back to what worked best for me in my twenties.

 

I’m implementing a system that worked for me.

 

I’m implementing it for the rest of our lives so that I may feel fulfilled and proud of my efforts and healthy but also so that I do well by my beloved ones and family.

 

I’m one lucky dog to be disciplined enough to get so much back from my healthy efforts but also once one gets into the habit of cooking their meals on Sundays and freezing the food for the week ahead then life’s so much more fun and easier on the one person who does all of the cooking all of the time.

 

Anybody can do it.

I’m not special.

 

It’s simple and an efficient way to keep healthy and to stay ahead of the curve of each workday’s surprises and added appointments and schedules and changes. (You know exactly what I mean.) Life is complex enough as it is.

 

*****

Let’s Take a Deep Breath

 

            Since, I do all of the cooking then Eric’s taken on the sole responsibility to do all of the food shopping because he’s good at it and fast.

 

Eric shops like a Finn.

 

Eric has a list and he goes to the store and he knows exactly what he’s looking for and when he’s done then he gets out faster than a racecar driver because he’s a farm-city-man (ha!). There’s no wasting time with Eric. He’s there to shop and that’s that.

 

(Eric’s not there to socialize just like bath time isn’t a time to socialize. Eric’s serious and he’s not there to pick up or flirt with anyone even though he doesn’t sport a wedding band and neither do I because we lost our wedding rings while working at the farm this summer 2013. We haven’t been able to find our wedding rings therefore in solidarity of our marriage we go without wedding bands because we also work with equipment that could chop off our fingers. There you have it.)

 

Eric has a better grasp of the English language than I do. Eric understands labels and all of the bad chemicals in foods otherwise I have to bring my chemistry dictionary along with me and look up each and every chemical on the food labels.

 

            Furthermore, Eric will do all of the food shopping because I get approached by strangers and they tell me the queerest things.

 

Therefore, while Eric’s shopping in his manly style then I’ll be changing and washing the bedding for the week ahead and washing dishes and taking out the garbage and prepping the kitchen for about six hours of cooking on Sundays.

 

This system works out beautifully between us.

 

I’d rather that Eric does the food shopping because I walk slower than he does and tend to read each and every label therefore we could be at a store for hours and that’s not an option for either one of us.

 

            Sunday, Eric made his family’s recipe of Tortellini and Cheese Soup Crock Pot. (It’s the first time Eric’s made a real meal in years other than soup from a can and bread with peanut butter.)

 

He purchased; and placed all of the ingredients into the crock pot.

 

I washed and hardboiled fifteen Yukon golden brown potatoes in two pots; it took forty five minutes, no salt or butter, cooled down and stored in freezer.

 

I prepped and kneaded two loafs of whole wheat bread without any brown sugar. I stored and froze one loaf in the freezer. I cut the second loaf into slices.

 

(Everything’s work and energy therefore I give thanks to people who prepare our food anytime we go out to eat because I know how much hard work and energy it takes to prepare precious and life given food for others. I do it every day.)

 

I put away all of the food in their proper placement in cabinets and refrigerator and re-arranged foods for added side dishes as the week progresses.

 

I placed all of the fruits on one of the shelves on the refrigerator side door so that they can be visible and easily accessible and not go to waste. As I re-arranged I also cleaned out and wiped down the refrigerator.

 

We waited four hours for the crock pot to finish. Cool down, stored and clean up. Whew!

 

We did it! We did it together and not once did we get annoyed with each other. Yes!

 

***

I'm not a Purist but I sure like Health

 

            The reason why I don’t eat sweet-flavored yogurt is because it has tons of sugar to make it tasty.

 

If one were to try nonfat and all natural yogurt then one will come to acquire a taste for it. The blander any cereal or any yogurt is then the tastier the fruit tastes when one adds natural fruit to one’s nonfat yogurt.

 

Yes, I do believe in eating yogurt once a day for healthy gut bacteria. When one acquires a taste for nonfat yogurt then there are almost no calories in it so you ‘can go to town’ and moderately indulge in it.

 

            Important:                 Yes, after twenty-five years of research: after talking to organic and non-organic farmers, I’ve decided not to eat “organic” vegetables or fruits because the “organic” chemicals and compounds in the “organic” soil can be more harmful than pesticides.

 

One can always wash off pesticides but one can’t wash off “organic” soil compounds in which food is grown in and that can be dangerous. (Be careful of the “organic” propaganda.)

 

“Organic” compounds are imbedded into the foods because of the types of soil it’s harvested in. (Each independent organic farm will have to give a detailed specs sheet on how they treat their soil.)

 

Yes, factually some of these “organic” soil chemicals are proven to be more harmful for the body than pesticides.

 

I’ve been taught by farmers that pesticides wash off but organic compounds placed into the soil don’t, and that can wreck havoc on the body more so than pesticides can. (Look up the research and decide for yourselves. It took me twenty-five years to get to the bottom of the produce truth. I came to find out that organic produce is more of a commercial and expensive system of marketing.)

 

            Yes, I do believe that one must eat at least one piece of fruit and one vegetable per day no matter what.

 

Primarily because one’s bones will thank one later especially before one attains brittle bones and gets bent over in half.

 

Youth likes to think that they’re always going to be ‘good looking’ but the test of time is how good one looks and how healthy one actually is at 60, 70, 80, 90…

 

            Now, whether one has government food subsidy assistance or on a tight budget or not; I’d plea with anyone to be ‘posh’ ‘cultured’ ‘contemporary-cool’ and ‘modern’ about their health and eat at least one “non-organic” or “organic” vegetable and one fruit per day if that’s all that one can and is willing to muster.

 

Why?

Why not?

 

Not only because you’ll be ‘cool’ but because humans are already cool by design but more precisely because maturity will be so much easier on one’s body.

 

I’ve met ‘aged’ people with terrible illnesses and health because they worked, too, hard and not smart, and didn’t eat well enough to care about and for their bodies therefore they’re now paying for it in their eighties and nineties with terrible aches. (That’s a terrible way to go out in life.)

 

            Important:                 No, we won’t be purchasing “organic” produce in our household however we will be purchasing “Fair Trade” produce and we can only implore that you will do so right alongside with us because it helps spread the wealth in the world to those who most need it like our world neighbors.

 

*******

Come on America!

 

Stop eating foods that’ll kill us young!

 

Let’s take twenty-five pounds off by next March 2015!

 

(Did you know: that if you eat four cookies per day,

and stop eating them all completely

that your body will naturally

lose twenty-five pounds in one year?

 

Yes! We can do it!

Although, don’t forget portion size and moderation, always!)

 

We’re a culture and nation of fat people.

(I can say that: I’m an American.)

 

Let’s get back into health and looking good.

 

Let’s ‘smoke’ the Europeans!

 

Let’s show the world that we’re beautiful

and proud with self-control

because we have enough American altruism

and hard work and dedication left in us

to save our Kin from self-obese-implosion.

 

It’s never too late to start new healthy habits.

Last week our home was full of junk food

and this week we’ve turned this ship around.

Aye, Aye, My Captain!

 

You won’t be alone:

We’re here in the trenches right alongside you.

 

Do it: because beauty reigns supreme in nature

and you want to be as naturally beautiful as possible.

 

We’re a beautiful nation of gorgeous faces.

Let’s show the world what we’ve got.

 

You’re never alone.

 

Please, don’t ever starve yourselves;

because a stomach bacterium gives those

who starve themselves

a terrible overall smell as well as abominable breath.

 

Keep life in moderation.

 

Smile, America.

 

We’ve got so much to smile about

because we’re alive

even if the politicians

want to destroy the Middle Income Earners.

 

We’ve got this!

 

We’re cool!

 

Why are Americans so grumpy?

It doesn’t cost anything to smile.

It’s contagious to smile.

Pass it on.

 

Come on!

Let’s go!

 

Let’s get this giant back up on its feet, again!

 

(Okay, I’ve put down the pom-poms. Ha!)

 

With all of the love in my body and soul and spirit;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,392

 

Friday, February 21, 2014

 

“Any Jew can be a cantor,

except that at this moment he happens to be hoarse.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Portend (warn, foretell)

 

Dark clouds portend a storm.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

No blog.

This cold took me out this week.

 

Day #3 without sugar: It’s alright.

I like it.

 

            After much research: We’ve decided to cut out all refined sweets and baked goods and ‘hidden’ sugars in commercial pastas and breads from our lives however not natural sugars such as those found in fruit.

 

The more research I do then the more I’ve come to discover ‘hidden’ sugars like those in pasta and pasta sauce that can only mean that I may just have to start making homemade pasta and pasta sauce. (It’s so easy. Big deal.) (I work full time and I still find the time to bake bread every other day and make all of our meals at home.) (Gosh, I’m super woman.)

 

By the time one makes 100% whole wheat organic and non-preservatives homemade bread then it’s not such a stretch to make homemade spinach pasta.

 

I adore to cook and more so with high quality ingredients.

 

Eric tells me that he loves everything I make because it tastes great even if it looks weird. (Ha!)

 

            At the moment, I’m not overeating fruit but I sure am having a wonderful time eating apples and bananas with real peanut butter for desert. Last night, I found myself savoring each and every bite because the food tasted real and not synthetic.

 

I love eating well.

I won’t over do it, but I sure love the taste of real food.

 

I hardly ever over eat therefore I’ll keep an eye on my nutritional intake even if I do feel wild about organics I hardly ever eat beyond 1,200 calories per daily intake. I’ve been in the practice of doing that for about four solid years.

 

After a while one naturally consumes only so many calories because one’s stomach shrinks to a particular size. One’s body can only handle so much or so little food.

 

Eric wishes that I ate more but I’m petite. There’s only so much I can eat in one sitting no matter how much I force myself to eat beyond my fill, it’s not possible. I listen to what my body’s needs are. My body speaks to me. I like to listen because my body has a tendency to keep me naturally healthy.

 

            Now, that I haven’t had pregnancy hormones rushing through my entire body since September 2013 on the hour -- every hour -- I’m finally once again slim and plateau.

 

When I had pregnancy hormones rushing through my body then my body tended to naturally fill out and quickly get plump no matter how many miles I walked per day or how little I ate.

 

I suppose my body was constantly preparing to carry a fetus to full term therefore it continually for over a decade prepared itself towards that endeavor even though nothing ever came of it.

 

It’s tremendously liberating to eat only for one instead of having my body continually trick itself into hormonal pregnancy.

 

I feel liberated.

 

I can’t explain to you how tremendously wonderful it is to finally have my body back.

 

My body no longer belongs to pregnancy hormones.

 

My body now once again belongs to me.

 

Thank the Gods because I thought I was going crazy for a while, instead I was only semi-pregnant for about ten straight years. (How I managed only the Gods will ever know.)

 

I’m regaining my strength and my health back.

 

            Next week when I’m done with this sinus cold I’m going to start doing pushups and possibly begin weight lifting once again for upper body strength even if I put on pounds I need the muscle more so than I do being slim for the sake of it.

 

No, this isn’t “chick lit”; this is real life struggle and maintenance and choices and decisions about health which at times can mean real life-and-death consequences.

 

            Men must know all about women’s health because anything that women regard as real challenges and illnesses then their men must also face them bravely and without getting squeamish about women’s bodies and their health.

 

Women aren’t only made for sex and their orgasmic vaginas.

 

Women are also real and face dire life threatening illnesses.

 

No one knows that better than the men who stay and love their women through sickness and in health. Now, those types of men are worth their marriages and positions as responsible and caring husbands.

 

I can’t tell you how much I’ve been adored and cared for in our marriage especially with how ill I’ve been through much of our marriage. ‘I’m one lucky dog.’

 

Eating real food without preservatives or hormones is like making love. It’s a dream. It’s like doing something effortlessly well.

 

I wish you love and great health and tremendous respect and adoration and sincerity in your lives. You’re worth it.

 

Peace;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 892

 

P.S. As far as oil being a fossil fuel or not; allow me to do some serious research and I’ll get back to you with the answer.

 

No, I’m not a scientist. It’s tough to know what’s factual and what isn’t in this era of the dark ages in which all types of information is made up for the sake of corporate politics.

 

*) As for Kiev. Our dearest brothers and sisters; we think of you, love you and pray for your safety and freedoms. Sweet Dreams!

 

Thursday, February 20, 2014

 

“A khazn without a voice is like a sheep without wool.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Utopian (having the nature of, or inclined to draw up schemes for a utopia; idealistic; visionary)

 

Your ideals on the distribution of wealth and raw materials are purely utopian and not a bad idea.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

No blog.

 

I’m sick as a dog with a sinus head cold.

This cold has taken me out of the game.

 

I’ve been in bed all day.

 

I don’t care that I haven’t done a single thing until now.

 

Finally, I sat up to type a few words from our home study. Today, I’m actually typing in my pajamas (how liberating.) I’m only doing it because I’m sick yet every workday I get up and get dressed. I get myself ready for anything; not today.

 

My first fever broke yesterday morning.

My second fever broke this morning.

 

I’ve been dreaming about French pastries and breads.

 

In my dreams I walk around French cafes in delight and order one of everything. I woke up salivating at the thoughts and sounds of French bakeries. At this moment I miss France and their delightful breads.

 

Day #2 without sugar: It’s alright.

 

Yesterday, we shopped for all 100% natural, no hormones or preservatives salami and broccoli, apples, oranges, kiwi, banana, grapes, almonds, organic sugarless cereal, organic sugarless peanut butter and organic popcorn and unsweetened almond milk (which we purchase all year round no matter what.)

 

All of the tastes of these foods took me back to my youth.

 

Everything I grew up eating was organic and of the highest quality foods but in those days hardly anyone knew what on Earth I was eating so no one wanted a taste or a bite because my lunches and food looked weird to my generation.

 

Last night’s peanut butter held a real aftertaste of peanut butter and not sugar. The peanut butter is made here in Minnesota and it sure was high quality.

 

I’ll look up labels when I’m not as sick and pass them on to the reader, not because this is a commercial but more precisely because if it doesn’t kill our family then hopefully it won’t kill anybody else’s family.

 

The salami was remarkable and the apples were large and full of natural sugars and juices.

 

As for the cereal. It’s bland as hell. I loved it!

 

The bland cereal taste is something I can get behind because it tasted real and mature and adult like. It sure is nutritional. I’ve fallen in love with sugarless cereal all over again. I grew up on sugarless cereal.

 

Most of my youth (10-23) was spent eating sugarless and bland foods. (I guess you go back to what you know.)

 

Here I am at 36 going back to what my body craves: sugarless.

 

I know what this is all about.

 

I grew up picking and harvesting our own organic vegetables and foods from a locally certified organic farm. This isn’t anything new to me while it’s new to so many other people. I look forward to it with gusto and bravado.

 

(Eric’s finally on board so I won’t have to pull teeth anymore. I’m sure he hates the bland taste of these foods but he’ll soon get used to the taste. When he begins to feel amazing then he won’t want to go back because humans sure are what they eat. We’ve turned a corner! We’re turning this ship around. Finally! It’s been an eight year struggle. Even if Eric goes back I refuse to. We make plenty of money and we can afford to eat anything in the world therefore I chose to eat nutrition over sugar because too many of our friends have died from cancer. It’s truly sad to lose our people in their fifties. Fifty is too young to pass on. I’ll fight for Eric’s health. I’ll fight for his health even if he fights me all the way down the grocery store isle. Ha!)

 

Peace;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 618

 

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

 

“When a khazn knows no Hebrew,

he is called a cantor.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Peccadillo (petty fault, trifle, silliness)

 

That was not a serious fault but a simple peccadillo.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

No blog.

 

I finally caught Eric’s cold from last week.

My nose drips, my left ear aches and my entire body feels as though it’s gone through a rigorous eight hour Olympic workout.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Side note to consider: Eric is a mature adult man.

 

Like hell if I can ever get Eric to watch ‘chick flicks’ or read ‘chick lit’.

 

I write with that in mind because Eric refuses to sit through and watch anything that’s made for women to cry over.

 

He’d rather shoot cans in the woods or snowmobile under moonlight or sit in a closet with a snack and his tablet and online video games and be left alone than sit through something as terrible as ‘chick flicks’.

 

“It ain’t gonna happen.”

It isn’t going to happen.

 

Now, I can’t stand ‘chick lit’ or ‘chick flicks’ because I’ve sat through enough of those in my lifetime to know what they are.

 

            I write about my own health and women’s health in general because one thing to which both Eric and I agree on is, that when women are ill then the men have a grave responsibility on their hands to help out their women folk to figure out how to alleviate that pain which the women folk suffer from.

 

To Eric there’s no greater responsibility than to make sure that women in his clan are as healthy as possible because that means ‘peace of mind’ for the men and that also means that men can be left alone to peace and quiet. (Ha!) Those Finns!

 

            If and when Eric and I argue or debate over a lifestyle issue or habit then it’s for real. We clash heads and neither one of us wants to budge nor give in.

 

Arguing with Eric is like preparing for trial.

 

Eric’s quite well read. He’s read a lot about many things so it’s tough to fool Eric especially when he doesn’t rebuttal. When Eric goes silent then one knows very well that he knows better than yourself.

 

Eric’s into the intricacies of space rockets and space travel and how they work and anything engineering for that matter.

 

Eric’s into Star Wars and Star Trek and justice and filmmaking and animation and anything scientific and mathematical and physics therefore one has to be just as smart as he is to keep up with such a ‘handsome devil’.

 

It’s very difficult to fool Eric and for that reason alone I must prepare my debates and arguments.

 

My arguments must make sense or Eric becomes doubly as stubborn as before. He’ll refuse to give in just because I may plead every four years to change a lifestyle or habit just because it might be ‘trending’. It doesn’t necessarily mean that change will happen just because I want it to therefore I must gather my arguments and counterpoints.

 

The cool thing about Eric is that if he can’t find loopholes or mistakes in my arguments then he concedes.

 

I get to implement lifestyle changes into our lives otherwise he just wants to have things as easily as possible with as little worry as possible.

 

Eric hates to exercise and eat well because there’s no point to it.

 

I’m beginning to change his mind with my well put together arguments. It’s been a tough journey to say the least but we’re making strides because I like to be healthy and sustain a wonderful lifestyle that’ll take us well into our nineties without us looking like we’ve got ‘one foot in the grave’.

 

Eric was quite crabby day #1 of no sugar but he was also funnier than he’s ever been before. You should of heard his commentary. Oh, he was crabby as all can be.

 

What a splendid man.

 

Cheers!

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 630

 

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

 

“A cantor is a fool:

he stands on a platform but thinks he’s on a pedestal.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Renaissance (rebirth, a new birth or revival)

 

The renaissance of learning was marked by an interest in Latin and Greek.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

Sugar Poison

 

            Monday night is trash night on ‘Sugarless Plum Lane’.

            Our trash gets picked up on Tuesday mornings.

 

            Last night I threw out about 40 pounds of food.

            Yes, I did.

 

Don’t think that I wasn’t crabby afterwards because I was. Much of what I threw out was half eaten so it wasn’t like I could give it away to anyone else, anyway.

 

Plus, since sugar is considered a poison then there was no point in giving away poison to anybody else. (No, I don’t usually make it a point to throw out food like that but I’d had enough of it. Eric gave me the ‘green light’ and I ran for the kitchen before he changed his mind.)

 

I went through our entire kitchen and pantry and threw out anything with sugar in it. (Yes, even ‘hidden’ sugars.)

 

I threw out a ‘wildberry’ pie, an entire bag of brown sugar, three muffins, one sticky bun and four bags of cookies, hot coco packets, microwave popcorn, ice cream, ice cream toppings and other miscellaneous items those which I found in our cupboards such as crackers and pasta with ‘hidden’ sugars in them.

 

            From the years of 2001-2004 I went without sugar of any type in my nutritional intake thus it won’t be that much of a stretch. I’ve done it before thus I can do it again.

 

As of late, I haven’t been feeling 100% therefore something has got to give when it comes to my health and nutrition.

 

I want to feel radiant and wonderful thus the sugar poison had to go. More raw fruits and vegetables will get reintroduced back into our daily nutritional intake.

 

            Eric and I are going to cleanse our bodies for the next month. We’ll cut out all sugar from our nutritional intake and see how we feel at the end of one month then take it from there.

 

Nevertheless, I already know that I’m going to cut out all refined table sugar for the rest of my life because sugar ‘anything’ leaves me feeling bloated or sluggish.

 

I hate either one of those two feelings after I eat. Feeling bloated or sluggish after I eat leaves me feeling crabby or empty thus here comes the end of an era.

 

After I eat sugar I want to fall asleep.

 

After I eat sugar I get this overwhelming feeling that my body weighs a ton. I can barely lift my legs to move. I get paralyzed after I eat sugar especially ‘hidden’ sugars in some commercial pastas or breads.

 

            The three years I went without sugar I lost twenty-five pounds. I expect the same thing to happen again. I look forward to taking off most of the ‘baby fat’ I carry on my body which isn’t much but what I do carry bugs me incredibly because I was born with great physical attributes but much of my adult life I’ve either felt tired or irritable or exhausted therefore I’m taking my health into my own hands.

 

            I’m annoyed of hearing doctors call me ‘obese’ when most doctors who’ve called me that have had about 50, 75 or 100 pounds on me. (As if.)

 

I’m a petite woman, actually I’m quite small. Most of my Caucasian female doctors have been plump or fat therefore what’s the point of calling me ‘obese’ when these women have been gigantic in girth and size.

 

I hope to keep a little bit of body fat for when and if I get terribly ill once again this year or next then I can ward off any real sickness or ailments but for the most part my goal is to get rid of the little bit of ‘baby fat’ I’ve carried under my chin for most of my twenties and thirties (on and off depending on illness or healthy intervals).

 

            No, I don’t mind carrying a little bit of ‘baby fat’ however my ‘baby fat’ just happens to be visible to the world. It’s not like I can hide baby chin fat under sweaters or jeans and for some reason anytime that I gain even the slightest bit of weight it just happens to be under my chin and throughout my entire face. (I’ve had enough of it.)

 

As of late, I look good but I don’t feel very good hence the huge difference between looking good Vs. great health.

 

I look trim and slim.

 

I’m swimming in size 10 pants which I think that soon I’ll have to go down to a size 8 but my little chin fat won’t go away because I’ve been eating two cookies added to my daily breakfast each and every single day for about four months ever since Halloween hit, oh, boy!

 

After my surgery in September 2013 all I craved was sugar. When I think about it; what I really craved was protein.

 

            I’m swimming in my pants.

 

I’ve lost a lot of weight around my waist (January and February 2014) but I’m tired from the moment I get up until the moment I go to bed. I can barely lift a plate or a bowl without getting exhausted.

 

In the past two months (January and February 2014) I’ve lost considerable muscle mass which hasn’t shown up on the scale but it sure does on my clothes.

 

My clothes are now all baggy but ‘I’ve got to come out with it’ and tell the truth: as of late I can barely pick up a laundry basket or a vacuum because my entire body slightly aches all over especially my shoulders and arms. I feel weak to the bone.

 

Doctors have been telling me to lose about 20 pounds for the past decade: now that I’m on my way there I haven’t felt this terrible in years. (I don’t know what to do anymore.)

 

If I listen to my body then the doctors tell me that I’m ‘obese’ but if I lose weight then I feel like I’m sick all the time because I really don’t have much body fat to lose. (I’m lucky that way.) I only have a little bit of body fat and a lot of muscle therefore taking off 20 pounds of muscle has left me feeling under the weather like I have a slight cold all the time.

 

            Eric says that I have to exercise my upper body more and regain muscle mass back. He says ‘screw’ the doctors and to take care of myself and to stop listening to ‘obese’ female doctors tell me that I’m ‘obese’ when they’re the ones who are ‘obese’. Eric’s not happy about what’s been happening to me as of late.

 

As of late I feel like my upper body has atrophied.

 

Because my doctors call me ‘obese’ I’ve done everything in my power to lose weight. I have, but now I have also lost muscle.

 

I’ve become a weakling which has never happened to me before in the entire of my life.

 

Yes, I’m still quite strong.

 

I shoveled for an hour and a half yesterday with much gusto but then I took an hour nap afterwards (which hasn’t happened before) when I walked back inside the house I felt exhausted which was a good thing because I had to take off the Valentine’s weekend’s excess calories of sugar and more sugar.

 

            For the past two weeks I’ve been fighting terrible cystic acne on my face. When acne becomes cystic then it’s terribly painful to contend with and all I can do is apply hot compresses and baby my skin as much as possible as well as drink more water than it’s humanly possible.

 

For some reason when I eat white refined flour pastries or anything with high sugar content then the cystic acne appears.

 

At times, I’ve gone into hiding. When cystic acne occurs then I stop eating all of the things I adore like commercial white refined sugars and flours and pastas.

 

I can’t help it that my taste buds like what they like. I must overcome that aspect of myself because it’ll eventually kill me. How do I know this?

 

I know this because my body doesn’t seem to support the consumption of refined sugars and pastas and breads. It never has and it probably never will because my hereditary and ancestral lineage didn’t eat like this: there you have it.

 

            From some of the research I’ve done; I guess sugar is far more addictive than cocaine. Sugar kills 25 million people worldwide per year. (Yikes.) Sugar is a drug. I’d rather eat sugar than drink alcohol or smoke a cigarette. There’s something about sugar that draws me to it but not in abundance only as a taste.

 

Although, I’ve been eating about two cookies per day and one small chocolate piece of about the size of two American stamps so it’s not like I take down fifty cookies per day like some people do. After three cookies my body feels stuffed therefore two cookies has been my cut off point.

 

I can’t explain to you how awful adult acne makes me feel.

 

Not only am I embarrassed, but I barely have the courage to leave the house when the acne flares up to a point to which I can’t control it, which I must control it on a daily basis because I’ve got a life to lead yet all I want to do is apologize for my acne, which I don’t, because really, I’m not that low on self-esteem, however, acne is just one of those things that women like me have to contend with and no matter how many dermatologist specialists or home remedies I use nothing much seems to make a difference. (Ah!)

 

If I had another life to live (which I don’t) I’d come back in the human form only to sport flawless skin without a single blemish. I’d have milky smooth brown chocolate skin. (Ha!)

 

            The three years I went without sugar I still got cystic acne so I know that that won’t be a complete solution, nevertheless, I felt alright.

 

Although at that time in my life I had very little to eat and worked 16 hours per day which I don’t anymore.

 

Now, I work 8 hours and that’s it. At the end of 8 hours I stop no matter what because well, what’s the point of aging rapidly if I don’t have to.

 

            After eight years of arguing about nutrition, Eric’s finally on board with me as of last night.

 

We used to fight about money but we don’t anymore (not at all) because Eric’s now in charge of all of our money. (Yep, hath no fear for my wellbeing.)

 

Eric’s in charge of all of our finances and I care less what’s happening in that department.

 

If I need to know something terribly important then Eric will let me know otherwise I’m an old fashioned Lady.

 

Eric’s run with that responsibility and he’s very good at it. (I know what feminists are thinking but really: keeping up with finances is such a chore and Eric’s promised me that no matter what happens between us that he won’t leave me destitute because he believes that he owes it to me to do well by me therefore I don’t worry one bit.)

 

I’ve absolutely not a single financial need in the world. Eric’s a mature man who takes great care of almost my every financial need. I respect him for that because we both work hard for our money. Finances are one less responsibility on my plate then so be it.

 

I’ve never been happier in my life to get out of the ‘stone age’ of paper ledgers and book keeping and jump right into Eric’s online banking system. What a difference it’s made in our relationship.

 

                        [If I ever end up in the gutter then I also know several people who’d want to beat the shit out of Eric and so does he, therefore he does well by me even though he doesn’t really need that as a reminder because he knows his responsibilities as a great husband.

 

(I’d hate to think what his family would do to him because I’m one of them now and they love me and I love them even if and when we get under each other’s skin while in the kitchen.)]

 

When I need or want money it appears before me but I’m an Indigenous and hardly ever need or want money. My cultural priorities are vastly different from those of the Americans.

 

I’m more into experiences than I am into consumption. For me a perfect evening is sitting in front of an outdoor bonfire with hummus and pita bread and a tea (we hardly ever drink liquor) while catching the day turn into night.

 

            Anyway, the entire point to that side note or diatribe is that Eric and I quit fighting about money. We shan’t fight about it ever again because what’s the point?

 

Arguing makes me tired and it rapidly ages me so we try to argue as little as possible.

 

Since I’m now on birth control then I can control my temper and my hormone imbalance quite beautifully. I let things go by and don’t ‘argue them to death’ because after birth control nothing much is that important to me. Birth control is my favorite drug in the entire world. It makes me a relaxed and non-temperamental human.

 

            Now, the other aspect which we’ve argued about for eight long years has been our nutritional intake.

 

Eric’s left all of the cooking up to me (for the rest of our lives) because he hates to cook.

 

For about four years we gravely argued about who was going to cook at the end of each long work days because we were both so exhausted from work.

 

This argument wasn’t something that Eric was willing to compromise about therefore I’ve been left to do all the cooking which I don’t mind anymore but then Eric has to eat whatever I place in front of him which turned out to be a great compromise because as much as I like Dairy Queen I refuse to eat it each and every day.

 

I like to eat Dairy Queen burgers as a treat once a month or every few months but I’m not willing to make that our daily nutritional value because then I’d end up three hundred pounds and that’s not in the cards for us or I’d become a bitter bitch.

                                                                                    

I grew up a spoiled rich brat eating an all organic nutritional intake like tofu and remarkable and incredible vegetables and fruits as well as matzo. I grew up eating remarkably well but it tasted bland.

 

My paper brown bag lunches cost more than twenty students’ hot lunches put together.

 

            It was hell between us when it came to healthy foods because I have to be quite disciplined in order to keep a healthy lifestyle while Eric only views food as fuel and that’s it.

 

No, I don’t view food as fuel.

 

I view food as something sacred with a life and a spirit of its own.

 

Sometimes, bi-racial and bi-cultural marriage is difficult but that’s what makes it so damn fun also.

 

Out of the blue last night, for the first time in eight years of pleading and intellectual debate that we quit sugar all together; Eric actually gave me the ‘green light’ and I jumped to it. I didn’t ‘even bat an eye lash’.

 

I ran for the kitchen and threw out all of the stuff that could possibly age us quickly and eventually kills us.

 

I was surprised by Eric as I always am. He surprises me all of the time and that’s refreshing in a marriage. I’ve given in over the years and he, too, has given in over the years and that makes a continual beautiful friendship.

 

Now that we don’t have anything to argue about we’ll probably just sit in silence and stare at each other. (Ha! A joke.)

 

Hip! Hip! Hooray!

To health and vitality!

 

Cheers!

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,743

 

The city in which we live is desperately in dire need of an organic cooperative.

 

I like “Charlie Rose: The week.” (I think that’s the title.)

 

I just caught one episode today. There was no selling or plugging or hawking of any type. (I thank you.)

 

I like Charlie Rose and wish him long and lasting health and happiness.

 

Monday, February 17, 2014

 

“One man is an expert on folklore, another on brushes,

but everyone is an expert on cantors.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Utilitarian (useful, satisfying human wants)

 

He took that special course because of his utilitarian value.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

On Writing

By

Stephen King

 

An Excerpt

Page 188

 

 

            If I were a Henry James or Jane Austen sort of guy, writing only about toffs or smart college folk, I’d hardly ever have to use a dirty word or a profane phrase; I might never have had a book banned from America’s school libraries or gotten a letter from some helpful fundamentalist fellow who wants me to know that I’m going to burn in hell, where all my millions of dollars won’t buy me so much as a single drink of water. I did not, however, grow up among folks of that sort. I grew up as a part of America’s lower middle class, and they’re the people I can write about with the most honesty and knowledge. It means that they say shit more often than sugar when they bang their thumbs, but I’ve made my peace with that. Was never much at war with it in the first place, as a matter of fact.

 

Friday, February 14, 2014

 

“Three kinds of mortals need to be protected from others;

a patient, a groom, and a bride.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Remunerate (to pay for service, reward, recompense)

 

They did not fail to remunerate her generously for her work.

 

[Yes, corrections were made.]

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

(It’s 5:59p.m. and I’ve run out of time for today.)

 

 

***

Happy Valentine’s Day 2014!

 

Note:             

I can’t seem to find a single red velvet cake cupcake in this city. Wow! Where did they all go? Oh, well. We’ll have to go without this year because we waited until the last minute to purchase two red velvet cake cupcakes. (I might just bake my own cupcakes tonight or stop by at Perkins and pick up one ‘wildberry’ pie and serve it with hot coco.)

 

            For those men and women spending Valentine’s Day alone please keep in mind that we’ve all done it at one point or another (yes, everyone) and that tomorrow’s Saturday therefore you won’t have to go into the office and be asked silly questions about a possibly crappy Valentine’s Day that might or might not occur.

 

Personally, I cherish days in which I can sit back all by myself in an empty house and have a glass of red wine and unwind because those days hardly ever happen anymore, even when I was single I had a vibrant social life and now, well, I can barely hang on because life sure happens all too quickly and it’s filled with incredible events and remarkable people and healthy surprises of the best variety.

 

No, I’m not bragging about my wonderful life.

 

I simply want you to understand that it’s okay to spend Valentine’s Day alone or any other day for that matter. It’s a privilege and a gift to spend time alone when life can sure get busy.

 

If you look at it from an optimistic point of view and cherish the time you’ve got when alone then you’ll come to discover that it can be fun and a blast. (Seriously.)

 

Mix a stiff drink and savor a little sweet chocolate something you purchased for yourself and sit back in comfy clothes and warm socks and watch something that you’ve been meaning to watch or read for months but everything else got in the way of watching or reading for pleasure and enjoyment.

 

Play a little music and deeply breathe and realize that spending Valentine’s Day alone isn’t for “losers” only for people who aren’t in committed relationships or who didn’t make plans or all other plans fell apart at the last minute. It happens. Big deal. Don’t beat yourself up about it.

 

For those of you ‘longing’ or ‘pining’ for those that you can’t have then breathe and be calm and wish that other person nothing but the ultimate best. Wish them an incredible and remarkable year ahead and all of the happiness in the world because most likely someone out there is doing the same for you; they’re saying a prayer in regard to your health and happiness. Wish others that same happiness and great health that they secretly wish to bestow upon you. Peace and love.

 

For those of you who let ‘the’ one get away; also wish them a prayer of safety and love and great health and success. Don’t beat yourself up about it too much for being ‘stupid’ or ‘scared’ not to realize it sooner that sometimes your soul mate or best friend does indeed get away from you because you were too much of a donkey’s ass to realize love and compassion and kindness when they presented themselves before you. Peace and love.

 

Definitions for you:

 

Lonely (feeling alone, forlorn, lost, lonesome, alone, friendless, without a friend in the world, abandoned, deserted)

 

Desperate (frantic, anxious, worried, distressed, distracted, fraught)

 

            Now, those two definitions are quite different from each other.

 

Everybody is alone.

 

Yes, ultimately in life each and every one of us dies alone therefore don’t be too worried about being alone on Valentine’s Day because ultimately even couples sometimes feel alone at one time or another and they work through it as you will on your own.

 

Now, ‘desperate’ is like cutting yourself or harming yourself in any way possible because you have an obsession with a man or woman who refuses to have anything to do with you. (You’ll get over any infatuation or obsession.) You can do it. We’re cheering for you.

 

‘Desperate’ is like threatening suicide or doing something drastic so don’t. ‘Keep your shirt on’ and breathe and be calm.

 

‘Desperate’ is getting drunk and drunk-dialing your obsession so don’t.

 

‘Desperate’ is striping nude and running down the street in your birthday suit so don’t.

 

‘Desperate’ is a ‘one night stand’ so don’t unless it’s consensual and strap on a condom but mainly don’t.

 

‘Desperate’ is getting drunk in a bar with complete strangers and crying your heart out, (co-workers don’t count because they work with you all day long and they know how to push your buttons.)

 

‘Desperate’ is drastic measures so think first and act later. (If your Grandmother or Grandfather wouldn’t do it then most likely you wouldn’t either.)

 

‘Desperate’ is threatening the life of others so don’t.

 

‘Desperate’ is scaring others so don’t.

 

            ‘Loneliness’ is a feeling; a chemical reaction in your body that’ll soon pass so just sit tight; sit with that fleeting emotion of loneliness; sit quietly and you’ll be pleasantly surprised how difficult it is to sit for a very long period of time and do nothing without sound.

 

Soon you’ll come to laugh at yourself at how silly you felt about being lonely when there’re dishes to be washed, meals to be made, clothes to launder and many things to discover about yourself and the world around you.

 

‘Loneliness’ isn’t ‘desperation.’

 

‘Loneliness’ is and it’ll pass.

 

If you need ‘to have yourself a good cry’ then do so because we’ve all been there at one point or another and you’ll feel much better afterwards.

 

I’m wishing you peace, love, respect and happiness no matter how fleeting happiness may be you can still attain it each and every single day.

 

Peace and love;

Gabriel

 

I’ve got to run.

 

Word Count: 1,024

 

We’re going to climb into pajamas with hot food and watch “Moone Boy” with our puppy because we’ve never laughed harder in our lives. Peace.

 

Thursday, February 13, 2014

 

“If you invest in fever, your profit is a disease.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Winch (machine to turn or strain something)

 

The heavy objects were lifted to the roof by means of a winch.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

The Trouble with Rock ‘n’ Roll;

Hardcore Drugs and Underage Sex

 

            No, don’t make such an “ugly” face otherwise you won’t get a date for Valentine’s.

 

It’s not like we don’t know because we’re all adults here and we know perfectly well what goes on in the “underground” world of drugs, sex, rock and ‘the great unwashed.’

 

            I like some arts and music and some other “subcultures” but not many of the manipulative or filthy aspects that belong to those particular American “subcultures” such as Wall Street and their abundance of ‘blow’ and ‘hookers.’ (Yes, Wall Street is also another “subculture” that tends to ‘lose their marbles’ over greed.)

 

            What I don’t like about many music scenes are the hardcore drugs and underage sex.

 

No, I’m not really sure why these three aspects of life attract each other.

 

It’s not like people sit around like the ‘dead’ Hippies of old did and smoked a few joints to discuss how they were going to change the world. No.

 

People today like to get real ‘fucked up’ to the point in which they forget themselves and their bodily functions and reality and sanity. (How boring indeed.)

 

(Yes, I’ve vomited a total of about five times in my life from too much drink but I was a stupid little girl who couldn’t hold her liquor.)

 

Yes, I’ve witnessed grown musician men piss and shit themselves because they were too wasted to do anything about it. It’s truly a pity to be a witness not only to such disgrace but also to see wasted unrefined talent go to piss.

 

(No, I don’t mean early twenties folk who can’t hold their liquor or drugs.)

 

(I mean men in their forties or fifties who were too pissed off at the world that their music careers never ‘took off the ground’ therefore they’re barely unrecognizable to the public and nobody cares if they live-or-die much less do the men care if they live-or-die as well therefore they drink themselves to death.)

 

Personally, I attribute alcoholism and ‘hardcore drug use’ to deep pain and immaturity however those aren’t excuses which exempts others from personal responsibility because well, “irresponsible people” sure are some of the most violently manipulative and boring people, ‘those’ which, one may cross paths.

 

            At first, alcoholics and ‘hardcore drug users’ seem “exciting” but after a short while one arrives at a place of enlightenment and becomes rather frustrated and extremely bored by the absent mindedness and repetitious misbehavior and violence and lies of those who lose all disregard for their humanity and others’ boundaries.

 

(No, I’m neither “squeaky” clean nor am I under-sexed.)

I would know.

Eric does know.

 

I’m simply someone who believes in “common sense” and “decency” and “intelligence” whether one drinks or does drugs or not because embezzlement is just as bad. It does no good to anyone much less the perpetrator.

 

Why wouldn’t I believe in common sense?

Why wouldn’t we all believe in common sense?

 

[Yes, I came to find out through extensive two-year research that South Minneapolis (Seward neighborhood) “wanna-be” Hippies and “former” punks and today’s “dirty” hipsters (full of self-loathe) either love to “cover-up” underage sex or they love themselves a good kiddy fuck. (Yep, I wrote it. It’s here on ink for you to read. Get over yourselves. I did. I became an adult.)

 

Allegedly, runaway fourteen year olds are a “hot ticket item” at Sisters’ Camelot and others associated with them whom are closely tied in with the music scene here in Minneapolis.

 

(I wouldn’t know I wasn’t there. Allegedly, that’s the story that’s been “covered-up” for over a decade here in this town and that’s what I came to find out through my research. No wonder everybody’s so bitter with ‘a chip on their shoulder’ or full of self-loathe.) Truth sure is stranger than fiction.

 

No, I’m not a cop or F.B.I.

 

I’m a private citizen and a researcher.

 

My job is to get to the bottom of the truth of anything and I did. Now that ‘the cat’s out of the bag,’ talk about filth.]

 

            Minneapolis is an extremely small city and an “incestuous one” (at that) in which everybody knows everybody and just about everybody’s slept with each other (according to what I’ve been told) and for that reason alone most in the art scene hate each other with a passion because they bought into the notion that if they ‘slept around’ then someone would eventually open a door to ‘fame and fortune’ but that didn’t happen because small city notoriety isn’t the same as global fame. (Ouch.)

 

One actually has to be talented to be famous and revered and respected.

 

Rather the people in these sub-subcultures ended up with each other’s STD’s and crashed dreams and lost hopes for anything other than crappy flats with about twenty-eight thousand dollars in their pockets per annual income, if they’re lucky enough to make that from some service work. (Seriously.)

 

            Nope, I didn’t ‘sleep around’ in the Minneapolis scene.

 

I was considered an “outsider” and a woman of color therefore “undesirable” and was told so, therefore, no one would touch me.

 

Ultimately, that became a ‘saving grace’ but don’t think that men and women haven’t wanted to slap me around or punish me for not being like them.

 

Every time, I’ve met ‘scum’ (which I hardly ever do anymore) they tend to want to take me down to their level because it’s obvious that I’m not like them and I shan’t ever be in the likes of them. (I’m not ‘the great unwashed.’ I never was even when I was broke and that’s enough reason for them to hate. Get over it.)

 

Even my Minneapolis former male closeted friends told me that I was “unattractive” to them as a woman of color (as if) and that they had no desire to sleep with me because I was “ugly” thus I went three years without sex.

 

Big deal. After a while one doesn’t even masturbate anymore because what’s the point?

 

Yes, I was the type of young woman who wanted a serious relationship with a heterosexual non-closeted man.

 

At that time in my mid-twenties ‘no one’ seemed interested in something serious, thus they only wanted to ‘sleep around’ and abuse their hardcore drugs and do it all over again day-after-day. (No wonder they stayed in some quasi-artist gutter.)

 

In those days, I worked sixteen hours per day. Yes, I meant to arrive someplace wonderful other than hang out in filthy green rooms and become a groupie to a no body band or musicians.

 

I know exactly what “under-sexed” is like, lonely, but that doesn’t mean that a respectable woman becomes desperate. A woman with enough pride knows her business and her place and she regards herself with respect and dignity no matter who may come along or not.

 

My acquaintances meant to do that to malnourish me from a cohesive community experience. I was on the outside looking in. I thank them now. I didn’t live their lifestyle and they knew I was working away at something better than a rundown flat and a fast lifestyle.

 

I blame myself for being ignorant and naïve yet I also blame my former closeted male friends for ‘leading me on’ to believe that they were looking for wives, when in reality they were only looking for other closeted males who ‘seemingly’ lead heterosexual lifestyles.

 

I didn’t know.

 

What I came to find out is that each and every one of them had been raped before the age of 18 and that’s why they hate women so much yet that’s what they all shared in common. (Pity.)

 

Have you ever gone three years without sex?

 

Well, I have. I lived to tell the tale.

 

It’s interesting to have absolutely no one sexually interested in you because one is of color.

 

It’s surreal while all of my other Caucasian quasi-friends were ‘getting laid’ left-and-right to ‘skanks’ and other male-sluts they made sure that I sat on the sidelines and watched everyone else have all the fun while they ask me to write their applications to Hamline or Harvard or some other godforsaken academic institution.

 

(Yep, I’ve written the essays and filled out the applications of about 12 (actually more) Harvard graduates. Ha!

 

(I’ve been accepted to Harvard about 12 times (seriously) and to Hamline and the Main U about 5 times.) It’s hilarious!

 

No, I not once got paid to write out the essays or fill out application forms but I sure was promised by my former quasi-friends that they’d hang out with me yet they never called unless they needed something from me like re-writes.

 

(I wish I lived in a Latino culture because wouldn’t you know it; I’d love to slap around jerk-offs of that magnitude real hard across the mouth until they bled.) (The shit some men get away with in friendship and in close relationship to their women friends. Shame on those types of scum.)

 

Remarkable, some of today’s attorneys and architects and others owe their careers to me otherwise they couldn’t have done it on their own because while they were ‘getting wasted’ and ‘slept around’ I was writing their graduate essays and filling out applications in hopes that they’d think better of me. Stupid, really.

 

I let myself get used but now I can write the truth and laugh all the way to the bank without a single STD on my body. I won! (Every tale has a moral.)

 

Yes, I made it a point in my life not to sleep with schoolmates or co-workers or associates or colleagues of any kind. While in my twenties I liked my men “outside” of any social or culturally incestuous scenes. I chose well.

 

            Anyway, the point is that: since Minneapolis is a place where everyone knows your name then it’s best to stay close to those who’ll regard you with respect and dignity.

 

It’s best to stay away from heroin junkies or drunk musicians or people with large but empty dreams and with absolutely no discipline of any type to create any new material within a year but talk a big talk and expect everybody else to come up with the money for their mediocre efforts.

 

(Oh, one more point: the more hardcore drugs people use then the more shit they talk about each other. (The things I’ve heard!) I’ve been left speechless about how much Minnesota musicians hate other Minnesota musicians (I don’t personally know who they are) and everybody’s got dirt on everybody. That’s why I keep my mouth shut. Nope, I don’t go around gossiping or telling anyone anything no matter what (especially not when I get my hair cut) and that’s why people respect me, because I could take down mayors of cities but I’m not like that and everybody knows it.)

 

I’ll keep others’ secrets till the grave unless it involves underage sex then I’m a huge advocate against statutory rape.

 

If I’ve got something to say then I’ll first send out a warning and after that it’s off to the press and on ink for everybody to read because I don’t have ‘anything to hide.’

 

Nope, I’m not perfect.

 

I’ve made terrible mistakes in my life but the difference between me and most is that I’m willing to ‘put it out there’ and write about it. (Scary, right?) Yep.

 

Why scary?

 

Scary, because that means that others can’t fuck with you anymore than they already have when you’re the first to come out and admit your shortcomings and downfalls. What makes one more powerful than others is that one becomes more human to the public and readers can either sympathize with that or not.

 

I know for a fact that heroin is the number one choice of drug amongst teens the ages of 13-17 because it’s cheap and you can’t smell it on them. How do I know? The research’s out there.

 

I also know that music and nightclubs and some art scenes are huge into heroin and substance abuse and hardcore drugs and alcoholism and underage sex.

 

No, I’m not into hardcore drugs because I think that I’m better than everybody else but because I lost one sibling to cocaine and alcoholism and one loss is one too many. (Moving on.)

 

            I’d love it if downtown Minneapolis became an artistic Mecca, however.

 

The success of such an art Mecca will take a remarkable community of folks to pull it off. In the sense that it’s tough to keep some artists and musicians from snorting anything powdered or placing a syringe into their arm.

 

No, I’m not perfect.

I never said that I was.

 

I smoke one to two 100% organic cigarettes (American Spirits) per day.

 

(Yes, I’m a “closeted cigarette smoker” and only smoke alone or with friends going way back) or when I deal with benign tumors (which I don’t have any at the moment) the size of grapefruits then doctors will prescribe all types of painkillers to help me deal with tumors embedded into my spine or that push against my bladder or colon. So you see, I’m not perfect either but I’m also not into any Minneapolis art or music scenes because I gave up on that long ago. (No, I haven’t taken painkillers since September 2013.)

 

No, I never was a groupie. I’m, too, classy for such nonsense.

 

I’ve known real physical pain like any other human does.

I’ve known real emotional pain like any other human does.

I’ve known real psychological pain like any other human does.

 

I also know that much of life is suffering and pain. I get it.

 

I’m no longer a kid or in my twenties with my head firmly planted up my arse therefore I’d love to be a witness (by the time I die) to a mature and “clean” and respectful art scene and if not completely clean then an art scene that doesn’t judge those of us who can barely smoke a cigarette in public because we’re afraid of discrimination therefore we hide because everybody’s got their vices and some are legal and others are about to become legal, thank goodness, because marijuana is “common place” from the rich in the penthouses to the poor in the gutter, (all races and peoples).

 

What’s the big deal about cigarette smoke when heroin is the drug of choice in America? Please. What hypocrisy.

 

Side note: When marijuana becomes legal, I’d like to smoke it specifically for tumor-growth pain and Carpal Tunnel Syndrome pain because the pain is unbearable and not even painkillers can numb out the pain of tumors or Carpal Tunnel.

 

Yes, I’m conducting an independent botany study. Plants are medicinal. Where do you think drugs come from? Plants.

 

What’s the point of hiding our culture’s infatuation with distracting pain?

 

It’s like Afghanistan not admitting that in the land of Allah, prostitution and opium are ramped.

 

No, I don’t have a problem with drugs however I do have a problem with mixing drugs and kiddy sex.

 

With Respect and Regard to present archaic drug laws;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,522

 

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

 

“The deceased rich once were buried in ornate caskets,

and the poor in cheap coffins;

so the rabbis have decreed that all who die,

however rich or poor,

be buried in plain caskets.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Wizened (dried, shriveled)

 

A wizened old man caused the little children to be frightened.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

I’m conserving as much energy as possible for tonite.

 

Tonite, we party at a posh “place” downtown, Minneapolis with incredible hors d'oeuvres and blueberry martinis. (Yum.) (I’ve been craving oysters for months.)

 

Eric’s got a cold and I don’t feel 100% percent, however, we’re not totally sick simply not up to par.

 

Our incredible and remarkable and beautiful and successful Minneapolis girlfriend gets married this weekend to an amazing and remarkable man from California.

 

We’re stepping out for her pre-wedding posh party tonite.

 

I might just get out of boots and into high heels.

 

Although, I’m clumsy at the best of times in the snow even without high heels on, so I may just wear my boots and mittens and scarf and ugly yet warm winter hat anyway while everybody else will most likely be dressed to the nines in their downtown designer posh outfits.

 

Even though I hang out with posh and fashionable people they all know that I tend to dress for winter comfort and not for fashion.

 

I’m a tropical baby and I choose function over style. I just do. I frostbit my fingers and toes as a teen during sub-zero outdoor speedskating practices and my appendages haven’t been the same ever since.

 

Most of the guests will know me as a “woodsy and outdoorsy Lady” therefore most of the guests will neither judge me, too harshly, nor my holey T-shirt hidden underneath my fancy top.

 

Although where we’re going is definitely posh so I’ve decided to wear my new Cloquet, MN “Maurices” grey studded chiffon long-sleeved shirt over one of my last un-holey T-shirts and no stupid cheap belts that come undone on their own.

 

It ought to be the time of the century.

 

I don’t get to see our Minneapolis girlfriend very often because we work and work. Nevertheless we trust her and ‘think the world of her.’

 

The last time we had lunch together in uptown was about four years ago. How time passes by incredibly fast. We’ve been meaning to set up a get-together puppy playtime.

 

Posh party time here we come!

 

I’m ever so tired of the cold.

 

We finally walked “Freeway” earlier this afternoon before he went “cabin fever” crazy on us from getting stuck indoors.

 

Much Respect;

Gabriel

 

Yes, we’re making plans to get away and head down south but there’s more work than time, it seems. We don’t mind work. We work quite a bit.

 

Yes, we work and play and live in the Twin Cities, Minnesota area all year round. (We don’t care what you might think of us.) We’re Minnesota posh in our winter clothes and lack of travel.

 

Eric and I travelled the world as younger people when sand in our shoes and such things didn’t much matter. Most of our travel occurred when we were young pups (before the age of 40 anyway.)

 

It seems that the older we get, we like to stay close to home and “creature comforts” because no matter which five-star hotel one stays at; it’s not quite the same as our incredibly comfortable bed.

 

The furthest we travel from home nowadays is to take a weekend off and soak in the hot tub at North Brach, Minnesota’s welcoming “Americ-Inn” or to the farm.

 

We dine at the clean and professional “Perkins” or “Dairy Queen” across the street from the Americ-Inn. We have a blast because we just love the relaxed and laid back atmosphere of North Branch.

 

Even though we’re considered “city slickers,” the respectful North Branch folk mind their business and we mind ours even though everyone’s genuine and friendly because we don’t have a reason to hate each other or ‘put on airs.’

 

We’re all in the same boat. Our dog has to be walked and popped and we’re culturally Scandinavian and mind our business. We’re not there to show off and neither is anybody else.

 

Eric refuses to go camping therefore I gave up on camping all together except for the backyard and that’s still dangerous with all of the deer and raccoon and opossum traffic crossing our backyard like it were a main street. (Yes, we had opossums this summer 2013.)

 

Eric refuses to stay anywhere without a flushing restroom. I can understand that. I’m getting too old to squat in the woods with the bears. (Ha!)

 

We’re able to get on a plane and travel anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice but there’s not much time to get away (the older we get) as we prepare for full retirement within the next decade.

 

We enjoy and like our work very much and that keeps us connected to the Twin Cities all year round because we keep our eyes peeled to what’s happening in our local area even though we’re more often than not, too, tired to go anywhere and prefer the comforts of our home even though we’re invited to do a million and one things throughout the year. Our home is designed for function and supreme comfort.

 

We don’t feel like we’re missing out on anything although our friends are heading to Italy on their honeymoon and they’ll tell us everything there’s to know about Milan’s fashion week coming up next week (I think?).

 

Our friends are about to go and witness it for themselves. They’ll report back to us from their cushy seats because considering air travel makes us tired just at the thought of having to take off our shoes and get X-rayed like criminals. Air travel isn’t fun anymore. It’s more like a prison therefore we plan on driving down south with our pooch in the car so we can make frequent potty stops along the way.

 

We’re happy traveling back and forth to the back forty and shoot cans in the woods as well as fresh rhubarb pie in the summers downtown, Moose Lake and long walks on private property in the woods of Kettle River. (Careful, in Barnum the folks will shoot first and ask questions later if one trespasses unto their private property.)

 

We’re happy.

 

We’re still waiting for our A.A.R.P. cards since we just turned 50 this November 2013. Yes, on weekends we eat Finn dinner at 4:30 P.M. Sauna by 5:30, local news and films and popcorn by 8:00 and bed by 10:00. What a great life! We order out from the Kettle River liquor store because they have the best burgers and pizza in the Nation. (Seriously.)

 

We hide out.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) As for “Neutral Milk Hotel:” we’re ever so happy to hear that they played at First Ave on Monday night for the first time in 15 years.

 

Again, we don’t go out at night very often (especially not in the winter time if we don’t have to) unless… nevertheless, it was nice to share the same streets with such talent because we travel to downtown every single workday. I thank you.

 

Minneapolis couldn’t be any more proud than we already are to host such remarkable talent. This place is made for rock ‘n’ roll and (un-snobby) live theatre.

 

Word Count: 1,183

 

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

 

“Every bride is beautiful.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Welter (a tossing and tumbling)

 

A welter of confusion resulted when a holiday was announced.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

No blog today.

 

I’m a bit under the weather.

I’m not fully sick, however my entire body aches.

If I’m going to get sick then it’s going to knock me out.

I can feel it coming-on in my bones.

 

Yes, I got a flu shot on December 20th.

Yes, I believe in vaccinations after twenty years of independent research I finally found out the truth about vaccinations and our children will be vaccinated just the same as us.

 

I’m wishing you an amazing night.

 

Cheers;

Gabriel

 

P.S. Yes, we use “puppy pads.”

 

If and when “Freeway” (our dog) passes bowel movements or urinates then it just happens to be on the same exact piece of rug (every time) therefore we keep one entire rug covered with puppy pads and it works out fabulously. Clean up is easy. Thank goodness for puppy pads.

 

Word Count: 146

 

Monday, February 10, 2014

 

“Walk reverently in a cemetery,

lest the dead say:

Tomorrow they will join us,

yet today they mock us!”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Winced (shrank, drew back, flinched)

 

The slave winced when struck by the lash.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

Thoughts

 

Carbon Tax 2014

 

*) After about twenty years of independent research which I’ve done (on my own) and read from professional and expert published works on the subject matter of pollution as well as spoken to scientists; as a humble servant to our American People; Personally, I believe that mining and fracking are deadly to the environment and to Our Peoples. (Duh.)

 

Need I say more?

Nope, and everybody knows it.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) The Keystone Pipeline is detrimental when it comes to clean water and air because oil spills are frequent and common occurrences and no, paper towels don’t erase the disaster and destruction that oil spills cause and leave a trail of devastation behind.

 

Paper toweling oil spills is the biggest fantasy of the twenty-first century.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) Why isn’t there a corporate carbon tax since corporations are regarded as individuals?

 

There’s just about a tax for everything out there so why not tax polluting corporations or businesses when it comes to dumping their wasteful byproducts into our atmosphere, water and soil?

 

(Oh, because lobbyists and politicians and corporate monkeys all suck on each other’s anuses and nut sacks, did you say? Oh. We see the conundrum. We see the ‘conflict of interest’ quite evidently.)

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) I’ve personally spoken to the heirs of mining companies whom can’t seem to repay back quickly enough the damage that their families created to the environment in the last century (100 years) of mining (more or less) free resources taken (stolen) out of the Earth while profiting hundreds of millions of dollars but not contributing anything worthwhile back to the environment and definitely not real environmental solutions.

 

These fourth generation heirs feel terrible that for the most part these archaic functions are still pushed-through in congress to generate a continued outdated industry in a world that has the know-how and the technological means towards advancement, if only corporate tyrants didn’t keep looking backwards and put their money into future development because another fifty years of oiling and mining will pollute the United States of America down to its dirty socks.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) We know that big oil and mining don’t give two dimes rubbed together about the health and welfare of the American People but ultimately clean air and water means national safety for the Americans.

 

If America buckles under oil and mining pressures then in fifty years from now when our lands are dried up and barren and there’s no clean water to be found anywhere then invasion will be the easiest prospect to impose upon the sick and ill Americans who’ll barely lift their heads to fight as other nations take over our lands and our families and our independence and freedoms because we’ll be sick or on our deathbeds and too ill to fight from polluted drinking water which only the wealthy 1% will have access to, (no, not the 2%).

 

Without the ability to grow crops or accessibility to clean drinking water America is subject to fragility and destruction.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*)  The future gold of America isn’t gold. No.

 

The future gold of America will be clean and healthy produce and water for all.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) What’s difficult to understand is the greed of corporate tyrants. It’s difficult to understand why corporate America is so leaderless when it comes to making ethical decisions for our Peoples.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) When did corporate America become exempt from a code of conduct or a code of ethics? (Rhetorical.)

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) What is it (aside from vast and large sums of profit) that will get corporate tyrants to realize that with a polluted environment their offspring, too, shall die amongst mass polluted destruction.

 

What is it that makes corporate tyrants consider themselves special?

 

Is it that they stole their vast wealth from the rest of the masses?

 

You’d think that with as much wealth as these corporate tyrants have stolen from The People that corporate tyrants would at least invest their profits into clean renewable and reusable and green energy.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) Fossil fuels are so uncool because by Gods they burn way too many emissions into to air.

 

Fossil fuels are a dirty resource unlike renewable or reusable or green resources like wind and electric.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) By the end of 2015 every American household ought to be granted a solar panel from the American government for ‘stealing our chickens’ and giving away our chickens to corporate tyrants who already get three square meals per day.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) The 2016 Presidential candidates ought to make sure that they run a campaign all about the environment and HOW they’re going to improve the overall environmental conditions from the topsoil to caustic weather to renewable and reusable and green resources.

 

The 2016 Presidential candidates better know their science and not corporate science either but real and factual science because The People are way ahead of the politicians on this one.

 

We’re growing our own vegetables and foods to support our families whom can’t live on minimum wage any longer therefore we must grow our own gardens or our People completely suffer and starve.

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) There’s no such thing as clean coal.

 

Please, don’t believe such a lie.

 

(Yes, I believed the lie for while but when I went and researched it I was appalled to find out that it was a marketing ploy just like “Minnesota Nice” is also a marketing ploy made up by advertisers to get tourists to come to Minnesota but “Minnesota Nice” is code for racist. I’m ashamed to have been so naïve and stupid about something as blatant as both lies. I bought into both lies and now hell hath no fear like a woman’s scorn.)

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) There’s no such thing as safe fracking either.

 

Fracking is exactly as raping the Earth.

 

It’s a process by which: think of it in terms of a man taking a crowbar to pry open a woman’s legs then thrusting his penis into her and raping her out of sheer stupidity, brutality and necessity for power because he’s too much of a small dick to respect himself let alone women.

 

Fracking is the same as corporate tyrants and congressional lobbyists and congress members raping Mother Earth and acting all surprised by Mother Earth when she gets pissed off as all hell and she pushes out the rape cum with earthquakes caused by human processes and spits in their face for forcing her to carry an unwanted rape fetus (fracking) which you know she’s going to rip it out of her body in one form or another. Amen!

 

Fracking is like shoving a crowbar into Mother Earth’s vagina.

 

                        Note: (I got that rape analogy from the archives of sex abused children who’ve been sexually raped by objects and had objects such as ‘sticks’ placed into their little sex organs for fun. Some Minnesotans sure have it confused when it comes to their children especially Caucasian children.

 

Yes, I used to archive and take care of all of the legal video records and depositions going back twenty (or more years) for the state of Minnesota and its child rape cases. Yes, I used to take an oath on Wednesdays as a ‘video expert’ to confirm that all of our recordings were legitimate. Yes, I’ve passed a thorough FBI background check. (I’ve sat through the tape recordings of children’s’ physical examinations and their interviews.) (I conducted 800 interviews in one year alone from the technical perspective via teleconferencing and remote recording as a video coordinator and I was only 25 years old at that time.)

 

(I could write mystery novels.)

 

(Yes, when children lie about rape or assault then it can be psychologically detected by professional psychiatrists or psychologists.)

 

(I sat through one interview in which a child of about ten lied about rape and I almost thought about slapping that kid once real hard across the mouth for being such a manipulative coward but I don’t believe in assault charges and I do have remarkable impulse control.) I left the room because I was so upset. (I learned through my research in professional workshops that kids lie about anything and everything (all of the time: actually, every ten minutes) and that telling lies is normal therefore finding out the truth is an art form because children lie so much.)

 

[No, I’ve never been raped. (‘Knock on wood.’) I count my lucky stars. And, if I ever were, then I’d murder right there and then in cold blood. I’d scalp the bastard. Yes, I’d go FUBAR on a rapist. Yes, I’d take the scalp as a war killing. (I made up my mind about that last year. No doubt about it.) I’d go Vietnam and I’d want an ear or two thrown in there. Maybe a couple of fingers or a pumping heart. I’d become a beast because after a woman gets raped what does she have to lose? Nothing.]

 

How do you think Mother Earth feels?

 

How do you like them apples?

 

---  ---  ---

 

*) This nation belongs to The People and not to the corporations giving head to the politicians under the table in exchange for the corrupt ability to rape Mother Earth however they wish and whenever they wish.

 

Peace,

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 1,574

 

P.S. I wrote over 769 words on Friday.

 

Friday, February 7, 2014

 

“Many complain of their looks,

but who complains about his brains?”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Pendent (Hanging, supported from above)

 

The cones on some evergreens are pendent.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

Meteorology and Journalism are professions;

not channels or trends on television

 

Keep your clothes on if one so desires to keep their day job.

           

            ‘They come and steal our chickens.’

 

            The main reason why “mass media” meteorologists and journalists and reporters must refrain from looking like cheap whores or prostitutes or hookers or barmaids or sluts is because throughout the history of humanity much that hangs in the balance are the freedoms and liberties and rights of the masses.

 

When Ronald Reagan decided to do away with FCC rules and regulated standards in broadcast it was in part because he wished to primarily make corporations large sums of profit and that’s when America lost their high quality standards in Journalistic and reporting and news worthy attributes.

 

Broadcast news media is a “public service,” not “spring break” or “beachwear” or a “fashion runway” or a “brothel.”

 

Broadcast news media is here to inform the “mass general public” about “current events” and “factual information” which the reporting must be lead by “concrete evidence” otherwise it’s just another B-rated reality television show that lies about anything and skews ‘the events of the day’ or ‘makes up’ events to further sensationalize fear or evoke further panic or crises upon “mass culture” which we don’t buy for one second because we’ve become sensitized to mass media’s constant and continual quasi panic attacks over every tiny little thing. (Look around: we’re the ones living on the ground. We would know what is or isn’t fantasy.)

 

If one so desires to enter into the remarkable and incredible profession of televised meteorology or journalism or reporting then these individuals must abide by a strong “code of ethics” and “code of conduct” and “professional standards” as well as “fact checked information” before the information goes out over the airwaves; not propaganda campaigns or manipulative promoting and marketing measures to evoke fear or consumerism upon “mass culture” to keep mass culture in a state of perpetual alert or glutton because then we’re talking about another entirely new ball game without rules or regulations or boundaries when it comes to the freedoms and liberties and rights of the mass public to know what’s happening in their world today and to keep them well informed.

 

            Now, I can understand not wanting to look like the late 1970’s news reporters in their “boxy outfits” without much shape or wide collars or ugly prints or boring attire (because the 1970’s were an ugly decade for clothes) however and nevertheless it must be understood that there’s no reason to ever get in front of a camera and look like someone’s about to serve drinks at a ‘slut fest’ or about to show off one’s dry vagina to the viewership in hopes to get a date otherwise “mass culture” will want to chuck rotten vegetable’s at one’s vagina.

 

I can understand wanting to portray one’s allure (or sexual appeal) to mass culture just in case one may get lucky enough to get laid by a handsome viewer but one must refrain from that type of ‘on-camera’ misbehavior because ‘it’s not in the cards’ when it comes to the responsibilities of these professions.

 

If one desires for airtime and wants very badly to look like a ‘slut’ on television then choose another profession like soft-pornography because we can’t afford anymore sluts taking down the professional standards of televised reporting or journalism or meteorology.

 

The profession of any televised journalist or meteorologist or reporter isn’t to come across as a slut-whore who’s forced into sex trafficking against her will because she must meet a nightly quota to sleep with as many as thirty clients or her pimp’s going to beat the shit out of her at the end of the night or her producers or junior executives will beat the shit out of her if she doesn’t meet market or rating expectations. No!

 

News media is of vital importance as a “public service” not as a meat market or a nightclub or a brothel.

 

The main reason and purpose for televised meteorology and journalism and reporting is to help protect the freedoms and liberties and rights and factual information of The People. (Get that through your thick retarded cocaine infused skulls.)

 

            I hate to spell it out for you but what’s at stake and what’s important here is the masses and not the individual reporters or meteorologists or journalists because they’re a dime a dozen however what’s at stake is far more profound and meaningful than any single individual who seems to like to portray themselves as venereal disease filled vaginas.

 

The pinnacle of mass culture is decency.

 

Decency hasn’t ever gone out of fashion or style especially in the journalistic or meteorological professions because we’re dealing with information that belongs to The People and that which they need to know on a daily basis.

 

It’s ugly and bad enough to watch sixty-year old sun dried tomato women (whom can’t even speak proper English) show off their wrinkly cleavages and tits or dress like professionally incompetent twenty-year olds.

 

It’s bad enough to watch men wear shirts or pants so tight that their penis-bulge area protrudes from their in-seams because no one’s ever taught them about proper measurements.

 

It’s bad enough to catch a glimpse of televised women’s vaginas when they sit down or stand up when a camera is facing them directly. (Yikes.)

 

It’s bad enough to watch supposed professional women dress like they’re ready for a “nightclub” or the “trailer park”.

 

It’s bad enough to watch women wear tight shirts or skirts or pants because no one’s ever taught them about how to properly fit for clothes or measurements.

 

It’s bad enough to watch women past thirty-five wear tight mini-skirts because no one’s ever taken the time to properly teach them about different stages and phases in life and beauty and maturity.

 

(No, what worked in one’s twenties won’t work in one’s thirties or forties or fifties or sixties or seventies or eighties.

 

And what twenty-year olds wear aren’t for the rest of us who’ve matured gracefully because most twenty-year olds don’t have the money to look sophisticated or classy much less the brains for it.

 

And, no, ‘preppy’ isn’t always sophisticated or classy.)

 

            The reason why “mass media ‘on-camera’ personnel” comes across as “lunatics” is because they bought into their own bullshit about how their shit doesn’t stink, except that the more mass media perpetuates such a “fantasy” about not having to follow a “professional” or “sophisticate” or “classy” standard in “dress code” and “attire” then the less “mass culture” trusts mass media to make good decisions about reporting the weather or the news in the best interest of mass culture.

 

When did mass media news begin to forget themselves? (Rhetorical.)

 

When did mass media news begin to regress into their retarded fantasies and lose consciousness of their professional endeavors? (Rhetorical.)

 

When did mass media news accept the lie that “social media” is factual news or information when most of it is nothing but “sub-cultural” trends or fads? (Rhetorical.)

 

When did mass media news lose their professional way? (Rhetorical.)

 

When did mass media news drink the spiked Kool-Aid and become mad as mad hatters? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Furthermore, I do place some of the blame on academia and their journalistic and reporting and meteorological broadcast departments because it’s obvious that many professors skipped that fundamental and important basic topic of discussion or unit in subject matter with their ‘on-camera’ journalism and television majors about proper professional attire in the workplace.

 

(It’s a ‘brave new world’ and one has got to ‘spell out’ everything for everyone or we get off ‘sync’ and no one’s on the same footing because educational standards also faltered in their responsibility to prepare students for college and colleges to prepare students in codes of conduct and ethics.)

 

The particular subject matter about professional ‘on-camera’ attire must be addressed to journalism and television majors because our present situation is one in which mass media news and their personnel have ‘lost their marbles’ when it comes to clothes and proper attire.

 

Mass media news, their ‘on-camera’ reporters and journalists and meteorologists dress as if it were “party time” in some brothel in a far off distant land without any thought or consequence as to their lack of appeal when our country deals with significant and important issues that must be addressed by those whom we’d like to trust most and consider professionals however act more like teens or older women trying-to-look-like-teens with gum stuck to their hair.

 

(Please, teach ‘on-camera’ journalism and television majors about professional attire in the workplace even if it’s beneath any professor to do so otherwise journalism and television majors will continue to leave school looking like hot messes and mass culture won’t trust a word they say because these ‘on-camera’ personnel will look like slobs, sluts and ‘ho’s’.)

 

Yes, allow for me to reiterate my point: I’m sure this would seem obvious to most, however, one doesn’t dress in the same manner one would for ‘on-camera’ television work as one does for nightclubbing, nevertheless, it must be said, that in a warped or corrupt demographics of lazy minded or slightly stupid people, who seem to ‘fall through the cracks,’ that this most important subject about professional attire must be addressed in all journalism and broadcast television schools because no matter how much professors may prepare their students for a future in journalism or television, if their students don’t conduct themselves in a proper manner or correct dress code then mass public won’t trust them about anything and that can only become detrimental to television personnel’s’ psyche of mass dislike and a complete waste of time to mass culture.

 

            Yes, standards must be maintained in the workplace because that’s the fun of being a professional is that one can take pride in how and what one does because a professional doesn’t dig ditches or trenches or makes beds for a living. No. Therefore, don’t treat those important professions like garbage.

 

When students go to school to learn any line of profession in any given field, many students come from many different regions and backgrounds which means that they must be taught standard ethics and conduct.

 

It’s of vital consequence that students learn a “standardized method” of deliverance and ethics and codes of conduct otherwise it’s up to anyone’s lesser than good opinion to come up with fantasy and expect an audience or viewership to sit though it when time is of the essence and the most valuable resource humans have to their disposal is time which they may not give away to just any slut on television.

 

The reason why standards must be maintained is because mass culture refuses to listen to any unrefined “hussy” read the news which can is important to our daily lives and decision making process.

 

“Mass culture” expects that our “mass media ‘on-camera’ personnel” will be well informed and well spoken and well rehearsed and properly attired (even if they’re high school dropouts) otherwise “mass culture” comes to think of “mass media personnel” as lacking in their responsibilities and not taking them seriously much less do such media personnel deserve to be in their positions of great responsibility and power because such personnel seem to come across as though they believe that the rules to professionalism don’t apply to them and that automatically “takes them out of the running” in any adult capacity no matter how old they may be.

 

No, it’s not a choice to set aside professional standards just because one feels “special” or above board or like a princess without any clue as to what one’s profession holds sacred and important and valid.

 

When it comes to the news, one doesn’t need to wear the “latest fashions” because one isn’t a promoter or a marketer one is a “public servant” conducting a “public service.”

 

All that one has to be: decently dressed and clean and properly attired and keep their cleavage inside their shirts and their bulging pack from protruding from their tight pants.

 

Make sure that clothes fit well and without any tears or holes in them and The People (mass culture) will want to hear what you’ve got to inform us about because clothing can’t become a distraction away from the factual information of news and weather.

 

One can be “fashionable” and “stylish” within the reasonable boundaries of professional standards like ‘never, ever’ wear a “pajama-shirt-dress” in life because they’re tacky but much less ‘on-camera’ or on television.

 

Why?

 

Because humans are keen observers and they’re looking for any wayward or morbid aspects to sexual misconduct or deviance to downgrade the status of the professional therefore “pajama-shirt-dresses” drive “mass culture” to consider tearing open a dress in the same manner and fashion in which one would with a hooker (as an example). (It’s best to stay away from anything that remotely resembles standardized pajama attire while ‘on-camera’ at anytime.)

 

Prostitutes wear clothes that are easy to take off-and-on like dresses with zippers down the entire front of them thus “mass culture” has come to think of that as “easy access.”

 

(These are only free points to consider and ponder. All “mass media” is psychological and “mass culture” is constantly looking to see what they can read “between the lines” about those on the boob tube to get a better read about who they truly are instead of whom they’d like to portray themselves as.

 

One must maintain standards otherwise one becomes a clown riding in a clown car then it’s time to get the pizza out and not our listening ears.

 

What more do you want?

I gave you everything I had.

Now take it to the bank.

 

(Thirteen years of research in a nutshell.)

 

Peace;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,769

 

P.S, Kelly ‘somebody’ apologized to George Clooney for not wearing makeup and no one blinked.

 

That was probably the most disingenuous bit of television this week.

 

Why would a pretty woman apologize to a celebrity for wearing bare face? Was she ‘fishing’ for a compliment? What does that say to little girls? Does it say that a woman must apologize for not wearing a mask especially must she apologize to a celebrity? Why would she apologize for her bare face which “her” God gave her? Is she embarrassed about what she was born with? Weird. The freak show ensues. (I thought she looked great and she didn’t need to apologize to any man for her face or looks unless she’s that insecure but then again we’d be talking serious psychological issues.)

 

*) Fashion week for Fall 2014: I’d wear just about anything by Carmen Marc Valvo’s collection for this coming Fall season 2014 with the exception of a few designs which I’d have to wear a full and complete black slip underneath the dresses. The collection took my breath away. It was nothing but a work of art.

 

I thank you for your masterful designs Fall 2014 but most importantly thank you for not getting our women raped and violently killed here on the ground.

 

It means the world to those of us without security guards or without mansions or private chauffeurs.

 

*) Yes, any Russian officials and others of any official capacity must refrain from making fun of any global leaders especially depictions of the American President or the First Lady as “performing monkeys” in search of bananas because Americans consider that not only offensive but also racist.

 

*) No, it’s not okay for any diplomats to “swear like sailors” even if they’re sailors because when one is in any professional capacity or standing such as those of diplomats then they represent entire nations and not just their potty mouths that need to be washed out with soap with a kick to the rear end.

 

*) Yes, of course the NSA is listening to anyone and everyone across the globe and I guess that the Russians are doing the same thing to the Americans. Get over it. The American People realize that we now live under a totalitarian regime and we’re doing everything in our power to get our Constitutional rights and freedoms and liberties back from those whom stole them.

 

*) Please, don’t send the peaceful Russian gay-rights demonstrators to Siberia. They’re only children.

 

*) Yes, I like Charlie Rose as much as possible from what I gather. I have a great deal of respect for the man himself. I do. I just don’t like the direction of both his shows so I don’t have to watch and that’s my choice and I made it. Cheers! Cheers!

 

Thursday, February 6, 2014

 

Note:

 

There’re major differences between primetime news and cable news but that doesn’t exempt either from their professional responsibilities as journalists or reporters to present themselves in proper attire.

 

If one is considered a professional journalist or reporter then there’s no reason to dress like a slut or a whore or a hooker or a prostitute in the workplace because mass culture doesn’t stand for that type of desperate retardation.

 

As of recently mass media has produced some of the laziest and most retarded and unprofessional producers in the history of television. (What a mass media shame.)

 

Mass culture turns the channel every time mass media reeks of desperation and the need to get voyeuristically laid because they can’t in their own real time lives.

 

If one can’t get it right then go home and masturbate and leave journalism and reporting to the professionals who don’t have their tits hanging out of their shirts for ratings.

 

Sincerely;

Gabriel

 

Thursday, February 6, 2014

 

“Prejudice is a blindness in the brain.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Mausoleum (tomb, a magnificent tomb)

 

The coffin was placed in the mausoleum after the ceremony.

 

[Corrections were made, again.]

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

Canines vs. Humans

 

            I love our dog which we rescued on August 1, 2013.

 

            I love our dog as I would a firstborn. (Yep.)

 

            I love “Freeway” for so many reasons however it hasn’t always been ‘a cakewalk in the park.’

 

After six months of being together as a family I finally lost my temper for the second time earlier this afternoon and swore at the universes out of self-loathe. (I got over it.) (Oh, well. I’m human. The self-loathing didn’t last anymore than about thirty seconds and I regained my senses.)

 

The more I try to be an utmost “perfect” ‘mommy’ I seem to fail from time-to-time because I run short on patience the more I overindulge or spoil “Freeway” then the more stubborn he gets about anything at all.

 

We tend to “clash heads together” when he stops listening to a word or command I give him. (Sigh.)

 

I tend to take care of “Freeway’s” every need each and every day. (It gets old after a while to be tied to him “ball-and-chain” when (at times) he can be ever so overly “needy” and has tremendous abandonment issues which do get old because I’m quite an independent spirit.)

 

We make sure that “Freeway” is hardly ever alone which I’m beginning to reconsider and believe that’s not good for him or for us either because (at times) he tends to take over our marriage and our bed.) (Ha!) (Yes, this week I almost fell out of bed because he has a tendency to push us towards each edge.)

 

            “Freeway” has this thing about sometimes passing bowel movements or urinating inside our home (sometimes when he doesn’t get his way or when he gets extremely nervous or if it’s too cold for him to step outside and take care of his business) and that’s got to stop because well, it’s aggravating and smelly and messy. (Immediately we clean up his messes.)

 

We don’t ever yell at “Freeway” when he does pass a bowel movement or urinates inside our home because my Father informed me that if we don’t catch him “in the act” then we can’t reprimand him for something we didn’t witness. Fair enough.

 

(Thus, we go about our business and clean up after “his” business because it’s our responsibility and duty to do so. We do it with a glad heart.) (We signed up to be “Freeway’s” parents (for life) therefore we take care of his every need.)

 

My Father told me that when we do catch “Freeway” passing a bowel movement or urinating (inside our home) then we can state a firm “no” and immediately place him outside in the backyard but otherwise we’re to be accommodating and kind and patient with him which we are and we’ll continue to be.

 

My Father also informed me that there would be times in which I’d “lose patience” with ”Freeway” and not to feel, too, guilty or bad about it forever because I tend to feel guilty about the tiniest things for a long time therefore my Father informed me not to feel bad when I’d enough of “Freeway’s” misbehavior.

 

(Bad behavior sure is misbehavior.

 

We can be as annoyed as we want however we’re not to harm “Freeway” in any way which we don’t but we sure can get as aggravated as we’d like with him all that we want because it’s not like I urinate or pass bowel movements on top of his bed(s).)

 

(Yes, we purchased five sheepskin beds for “Freeway” to lay-on all throughout our home. We want him to be as comfortable as possible anywhere he sits or lays down in our home.)

 

            Since, it’s been murderously cold outside this past week (most of this winter) we haven’t gone to the park (most of this week) on a regular basis to walk “Freeway” as we normally do seven days a week.

 

The main reason why we haven’t walked “Freeway” as of this week is because he can barely walk less than twenty-five feet without starting to limp from the frozen cold snow on the ground.

 

His paws get so cold that he begins to limp then we have to pick him up and carry him fully wrapped inside a blanket back to the car or to our home.

 

We purchased sixty-dollar booties for “Freeway” this late Fall 2013 and he refused to take any more than five steps in them.

 

We hate to pull or drag “Freeway” to get him to walk anywhere thus we’ve given up on his “expensive” booties which are designed poorly and we figured out why that’s so.

 

I hate to pull or drag “Freeway” in any capacity even though he wears a harness (and doesn’t get choked) because I feel abusive in doing so thus he goes without booties even though the boots that we purchased for him tend to make him bleed when the nails of his “disposable thumbs” dig into the sides of his legs.

 

I felt like crying each and every time he bled from the “Velcro” ties which are sewn, too, low (on his legs) thus no booties yet again no walks either because he can’t stand the severe freezing cold.

 

We can’t seem to find booties that are well designed yet high tech for the cold thus we’re ‘this close’ to designing and sewing our own.

 

We’re engineers by trade and that means that we can figure anything out otherwise my heart rips apart to watch him limp in pain. (I can’t stand it! “Freeway’s” pain is more difficult to contend with than anything else.)

 

            The reason why I became overly aggravated and slightly lost my temper in general today was because “Freeway” has this tendency to cry-out and whine the most painful cries when he rides in the car especially when he so badly has to go to the bathroom.

 

The first time I made a public stop for him to urinate was in a park for junkies and addicts.

 

I wanted him to go to the bathroom so badly that I gave up our safety for his bladder which I shan’t do again.

 

He can urinate inside the car if that’s what it takes. He refused to go. I felt that it wasn’t an ideal place for either one of us to be.

 

The second place I stopped to let him out was in a desolate parking lot far away from anything or anyone.

 

I felt that it wasn’t an ideal place for us to be either when it was -1 outside. If anything were to happen to us (like a sprained ankle or broken leg) then we would not have been found for hours (as an example).

 

The third place I stopped to let “Freeway” out to urinate was an ideal Dead End street with beautiful homes along a Boulevard near our home but he refused to go and began to limp for the third time within fifteen feet from the car.

 

By that point I’d had it with “Freeway” and his nonsensical and whimsical ways.

 

I’ve discovered that “Freeway” has to have ideally and perfect conditions for him to go to the bathroom or he won’t at all.

 

I could run all around the world to find “Freeway” an ideal place to urinate but if it’s not satisfactory to him then he prefers to hold it and that’s annoying because he then continues to whine and cry endlessly until my stress level goes through the roof. I almost drove off the road (which I almost did twice this week while looking back at him in the backseat to make sure that he was okay as he cried his head off.) (Not funny. Sometimes, I get worried that we’ll end up in a car accident because I’m overly concerned about the wellbeing of “Freeway’s” bladder.) Ha!

 

            For the third time, I lifted him off of the frozen ground and told him to “stop fudging around.”

 

“Piss or don’t piss, but don’t waste my time,” I said.

 

I meant it and he knew it because I neither take that tone of voice with him nor do I ever swear at him until today.

 

I felt terrible to have sworn at him.

 

I still feel terrible (hours later) and I shall for the next month. (I learned my lesson.) (Verbal violence doesn’t get me anywhere much less to get my dog to urinate even when he cries out in pain from a full bladder but refuses to empty it.) (Ha!)

 

When we got back inside the car I placed him on the front passenger seat (which I dislike to do very much) and commanded him to sit which he hardly ever listens to my commands or directions when we’re inside the car, therefore, without hurting him but quite firmly I took his hind legs and folded them under his rump (as Eric’s instructed me to do) and the same with his front legs under his chest.

 

Hence, once he was seated in that fashion, I told him to “stay.”

 

I held my right hand in front of his face so he knew that it was a serious command.

 

He stayed in the exact same position (as I’d placed him) all the way home a few blocks up the hill.

 

For the first time in six months since I’ve directed him in the same manner with the same approach in command “to stay” while inside the car “Freeway” actually kept seated. (I was stunned.)

 

He also looked ever so stunned to have me be ever so firm with him: like: ‘What the hell?’

 

He gave me sideway glances that seemed to say: “‘I don’t like you right now, but you’re pissed off so I’ll stay exactly where you told me to stay.’” (Thank goodness. There’re Gods, after all.)

 

            Not only had I placed us in less than ideal conditions and situations today but he refused to go to the bathroom all three times.

 

I didn’t know how else to accommodate him any further than I already had even though all he’d done was whine and cry all the way from downtown, Minneapolis to the third site at which I finally lost my temper more so at myself then at him and at the entire ridiculous bloody situation. (Ha!)

 

            “Freeway” is indeed preparing me for future children and he’s challenged me for that endeavor more so than anything else has.

 

I learned that pack leadership does indeed have to be established with dogs and asserted and kept.

 

I learned that “Freeway” takes Eric way more seriously than he does me even though “Freeway” and I are almost together twenty-four-seven.

 

I learned that it’s not a good idea to allow for dogs to walk in front of humans because they come to think of themselves as pack leaders and will take control over humans (if you let them).

 

I learned that even if we miss one walk then “Freeway” gets “Napoleon complex” in which he’ll bark for up to forty-five minutes straight and that can drive anybody a little crazy.

 

I learned that “Freeway’s” an amazing watchdog.

 

I learned that even the more expensive dog apparel doesn’t necessarily mean the best in sub-zero temperatures.

 

I learned that “Freeway” requires persistence and consistency in his life which he gets plenty of that from both of us.

 

No, I don’t consider “Freeway” a little toy or a baby.

 

Yes, “Freeway” has a stubborn mind of his own.

 

He’s finally learned to use his voice because he feels safe with us. He literally makes guttural sounds if he needs to be heard immediately about anything and we’ll listen.

 

Yes, “Freeway” is very kind and patient and respectful for the most part unless he gets insecure or scared then he has weird psychological ticks that I try to understand as best as I can as I do with humans.

 

No, “Freeway” isn’t afraid of men because he gets along with all of the men in our family and there are plenty of them whom are all quite different from each other yet respectful of “Freeway.”

 

No, I can’t imagine our lives without “Freeway.”

 

Yes, the only time I considered ‘returning’ “Freeway” was early September 2013 (days before my second surgery) because for one whole day “Freeway” consistently peed and pooped inside our home for about six straight hours because he was mad as hell that we’d left him inside a kennel for about three hours earlier that day. He wanted to teach us a lesson about power and we learned it ‘loud and clear.’ (I almost sat down a wept that day and I probably ought to have.)

 

We kept “Freeway” and got rid of the kennel forever.

 

“Freeway” will now and forever be part of our family until he’s an old man and passes into his next phase.

 

Yes, I learned that “Freeway” can break furniture in half even though he only weighs eleven pounds. (How? I’m sure that I haven’t got the slightest clue? I could figure it out if I thought long and hard enough about it.)

 

Yes, at times “Freeway” refuses to pass bowel movements unless he’s taken to the park and then we have no choice but to drive him there even though he limps from cold within fifteen feet of the car.

 

Yes, no matter how much I shovel down to the dirt “Freeway” refused to pass bowel movements in our backyard for much of this winter.

 

Yes, I collected “Freeway’s” bowel movements while on walks to the park and brought them back and placed them in the backyard.

 

Yes, it’s tough to get “Freeway” to love teeth brushing.

 

Yes, “Freeway” was quite loved and well taken care of as a pup because he knows love and dignity and respect.

 

“Freeway” is possibly and probably one of the kindest beings I’ve ever met and that makes him a leader in my eyes.

 

I love “Freeway” as I’ve not ever loved another.

 

I’ve fallen head over heels in platonic love for our little “Freeway.”

 

With love and tender care;

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,515

 

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

 

“The borrower is liable for any accident

[to the thing he borrows].”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Gnome (a small being in a fable or story)

 

Another name for a little gnome is dwarf.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

 

***

Sochi

2014

 

            I love the Olympics.

 

            I’m wishing our world athletes a safe and remarkable journey through their shared experiences as they show their strength and intelligence and humanity and sportsmen and sportswomen behavior.

 

(The world’s watching as our athletes portray their full mature adulthood to us and to themselves through their magnificence and unrelenting athletic and mental and philosophical efforts.)

 

[May the Gods of humanity look kindly and favorably upon you as they have upon all other Olympians who’ve come before you.]

 

            Let the games be full of laughter, sharing and safety.

 

            I’m wishing the Olympic staff and administrators and volunteers and security safe passage through these difficult times of potential terrorism and hatred.

 

(May Godspeed your safe return to your beloved ones and communities as well as safe return to your beds at night knowing that you did your best in all your endeavors.)

 

            With much regret I shan’t be with you through these Olympic Games, however, I’ll be discussing and listening and sharing with others throughout the globe in their excitement as they speak about your adventures while you persevere through feats of Olympic heroism.

 

            No, I shan’t be watching the Olympics because as you already know American culture isn’t fighting a “cultural war” instead we’re fighting an “economical war” of income inequality thus I must put most of my time and efforts towards that.

 

Boycotting these Olympics was a difficult decision to make. It was such a difficult decision that I finally made up my mind as of this afternoon.

 

One of the main reasons as to why I’ve decided to boycott this winter Olympics 2014 is because as a nation (The United States of America) we’ve just now finally won the rights of our Brothers and Sisters towards “marriage equality.”

 

I shan’t turn my back on a long and tedious and arduous cultural war we’ve just now recently won here in America.

 

[It’s a point of pride with me as a legally married and heterosexual woman because I grew up in an era (1990’s) in which our homosexual Brothers and Sisters either committed suicide (still do) or were beaten into bloody pulps by jocks of that particular era.]

 

            In all earnest motivation I shan’t standby as our Russian Brothers and Sisters begin to drudge through such a steep uphill battle and cultural war as theirs with the inequality to free love and marriage equality.

 

Yes, I may not write much about Russia but I do keep an eye on this nation in which it holds our dearest (three) Sisters whom we’ve lived amongst in close quarters and shared meals, dreams and desires for a safer world than this one today and that of the late 1990’s when a loaf of bread ‘cost an arm and a leg’.

 

I know some Moscow Russians to be some of the utmost straight forward and direct and honest Peoples as almost no others therefore they hold my deepest admiration and respect as they would our own family members.

 

If I know anything about the Russians then it is this: (they can keep their vodka down like no others;) they’ll fight for their rights against any totalitarian regimes those which deem to oppress the very freedoms and rights and liberties of their Peoples and bring shame to a regal history such as theirs, however, if I know anything about some of the beautiful Russian People than it is this: they won’t disgrace their Ancestors, ancestries or communities in the charge towards change and equality.

 

I stand united by our progressive Russian Brothers and Sisters whom understand the vital importance to equality and change in a modern world such as ours today.

 

I stand united by our progressive Russian Brothers and Sisters whom understand that equal rights isn’t an intellectual concept but more so of a reality that needs to be faced with bravado and strength and dignity and just cause.

 

I stand united by our progressive Russian Brothers and Sisters whom understand that love doesn’t discriminate as politics and warped politicians do.

 

I stand united by our progressive Russian Brothers and Sisters whom understand that to love is a life-given right granted by the Gods of wisdom and compassion.

 

I stand united by our progressive Russian Brothers and Sisters whom understand that love isn’t a privilege but a right to the overall human condition.

 

I stand united by our progressive Russian Brothers and Sisters whom understand what it means to fight for human dignities and rights and liberties and freedoms for all.

 

I stand united by our Russian Brothers and Sisters because I love some of them dearly for changing my world view at the ripe age of fourteen and fifteen and sixteen as we sat and faced each other and broke bread late into the night over candlelit discussions without prejudice or discrimination but only respect for each other’s humanity.

 

[I love the Russians as I do our Ethiopian and Somali and South African Brothers and Sisters and Costa Ricans and Germans and Italians and Japanese and Koreans and Peruvians and the list goes on and on and on...all those with whom we’ve broken bread together.]

 

            With a heavy heart I regret boycotting these winter Olympics because as sappy as it may seem to some; it’s the Olympics that truly do bring the world together in a peaceful and gentle manner which is rare unlike murderous wars.

 

Even though the Olympics have lost some of its luster for me because the Olympics are overly scheduled every two years (it’s difficult to catch our breaths as viewers due to the bombardment and over saturation) I still believe in the great feats of Olympic heroism and glorious humility that goes into competing with the best in the world.

 

To me it doesn’t matter who wins or loses in their events.

 

For me the magic has everything to do with our world athletes whom give it their best and do portray the meaning of excellence to our world viewers.

 

For me it’s the back stories of “everyday” people doing amazing feats of athletic heroism that strikes me with awe and wonder.

 

I can only hope that younger viewers watch and believe that they, too, could follow in the footsteps and in the splendor and awe of such hard work as our athletes have and in what it means to be human and flawed yet respectful and kind because when one is an Olympic hero one doesn’t have any reason to be mean to those whom struggle to eat or survive.

 

            The Olympics mean so much more than just athletic competition because we know the sacrifices and struggles that these committed world champion athletes made to get to the place to which they’ve arrived.

 

The countless hours in which these athletes trained and spent away from their beloved ones and communities to gift their mental and physical capacities towards their nations pride and joy sure is something to be celebrated especially when some athletes from less fortunate nations than ours (U.S.A.) struggled to get to compete much less alone with dreams to medal.

 

I shall keep our beautiful athletes in my prayers and dreams as the games progress and ultimately come to a close.

 

My favorite thing to watch are the opening and closing ceremonies because the world stands as one.

 

May our athletes have fun and be safe!

 

We think the world of our athletes when they can do that which we didn’t dedicate our lives towards such endeavors and lifestyles of athletic sacrifice.

 

May Godspeed. (More so as an expression to your magnificence than a theological one.)

 

Peace;

Gabriela

 

Word Count: 1,323

 

Congratulations to W. Flanagan.

As I watched him ‘rock those mountains’ he took my breath away.

Cheers, cousin!

 

(Yes, once a person makes a national public appearance in any sport or professional medium then it’s alright to call them by their full name; anything else would be less than proper.)

 

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

 

“The borrower is the servant of the lender.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Vivacious (full of life, lively, spirited)

 

That was a vivacious group of youngsters who were here yesterday.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Hello.

***

Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter

Mr. Shawn Corey Carter

 

[Disclaimer: In my recent “artist statement” I called “Beyoncé” by her first name not because I think of her as a household name but more precisely because I was, too, lazy to go and look up her complete and full name: “Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter.”] (A household name is “Channel” and I don’t perceive “Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter” anywhere in the likes of Channel.)

 

[Second Disclaimer: Yes, I’ll come across as directly as possible and some readers may perceive my writing to be mean or hateful but I think that both Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter’s and Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s (“Jay-Z”) acts are in poor taste. I’ll back up my reasons as to why that is.] Fair enough.

 

(Yes, the reader will ‘take it on the chin’ like a mature audience. I refuse to take any life-threats seriously simply because my opinions differ from those of “subcultures.” This is America for crying out loud and I can write whatever I wish but more so profoundly I can back up my statements because I’m that intelligent.)

 

(No, I don’t want to hear from either one of these performers’ parents or peeps. They’ll learn to stand on their own as any grown adults do.)

 

[Third Disclaimer: No, lyrical poetry doesn’t have to be “nice.” Actually, lyrical poetry can sing truths that are far more painful than life itself and send one back to the gutter hence one came from. Lyrical Poetry can drive a dagger through one’s eyeball and leave its victims brain dead yet alive. Lyrical Poetry can metaphorically lobotomize without committing murder.]

 

****

Here goes nothing…

 

Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter

Mr. Shawn Corey Carter

 

Both are worth 500 million, so what?

 

Yes, I consider them performers and entertainers but not artists.

 

            One of the main reasons as to why I don’t find Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter’s wardrobe entertaining is because she portrays herself as a whore incarnate and that’s about it.

 

Her wardrobe and performance characterization can be perceived more of a flat note or a “one hit wonder.”

 

I can only guess that either she or her wardrobe team are without imagination or uneducated about stage performance and by that I don’t mean further characterizations of prostitutes but completely and totally different characterizations of Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter.

 

I can only imagine that Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter is a whole person and multi-faceted and complex thus and therefore she must have more to contribute when it comes to her performance characterization otherwise she must be the most dull person that ever lived and I highly doubt that.

 

What she appears to portray is what she embodies to an audience because music characterization isn’t like playing a part in a film.

 

Music characterization is more like an extension of the entertainer’s deepest and inner desired aspects to come across as something significantly more so than it’s humanly possible.

 

Characterization derives a need to get looked at or considered in a certain type of manner and for Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter’s characterization she seems to lean on her “alter ego” whom continually comes across in the likes of a hooker which says a whole lot about her and her history and her possible potential sex abuse. (You’d be surprised how easily people give themselves away.)

 

(Interesting, not really but that could become a psychological case study about music performance and enhanced egos.)

 

I wonder as to what makes Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter find it so important to portray herself as a prostitute or a hooker time and time again thus mass culture comes to think of her as her deepest psychological secret wishes as just another B-rated performer or entertainer.

 

(The only reason why I consider Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter another B-rated performer is because she only seems to have one act and the same set of change in wardrobe. Everything she wears looks the same. Why is it that a woman with so much money seems to wear cheap material clothing?) I’d take that up with her ghetto wardrobe consultant or if they’re not ghetto then they’ve got a lot of explaining to do.

 

I was taught to consider the psychological aspects of any performer or entertainer. It’s of vast importance to ask questions because performers or entertainers whom so easily give away their deepest fears and shallowest insecurities and darkest wishes are open books.

 

Normally attributes such as these come across as clear as day to an audience so there’s no pretending like we can’t see right through such weaknesses a mile away when we do.

 

             The second main reason as to why I don’t find Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter’s performances smart ones are because once again her entertainment value is a “one hit wonder.”

 

It appears that Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter has only one main move and that’s to massage her crotch which gets boring after a while just as in the same manner as repetitious patterns of something ugly and violent does.

 

It’s as though Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter has only a few set of performing moves or “tricks” and if she were an actual whore then she’d get the shit beaten out of her by her pimp.

 

Since Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter invited mass culture to think of her vagina as a dried up and urine smelling place with multiple cum filled darkness full of venereal diseases (because mass culture thinks that when women portray themselves as hookers) then allow for me to be utmost bold; since Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter’s vagina is the main attraction it sets a standard for that which one must stay clear off because the depiction of a whore grants its audience a strong portrayal of what to “hate” in undesirable women which mass culture wants absolutely nothing to do with her or her vagina or in any way associate with the likes of “the great unwashed.”

 

It’s any wonder as to why Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter likes to fondle herself on stage because it doesn’t add to her allure it mainly objectifies her to a lesser form of being.

 

A being that mass media could rape with their eyes wide open without ever having to touch her once. (No, we’re not talking love-making rather we’re talking about rape because that seems to be the topic of the day.)

 

A being that likes to objectify her-self to hooker status must ultimately desire for the entire world to give it to her real hard up the ass, doesn’t she? (Of course, not without consent.)

 

How could we not come to think of her lesser than an object? Why not consider her a blob with ‘tits and ass.’ (Oh, wait she already is considered just that.)

 

The saddest aspect about Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter’s one trick pony performance is that we don’t consider her a sex symbol instead mass culture considers her someone to beat the crap out of with our voyeuristic senses because her character’s persuaded us to believe that that’s what she wants. She desires to get raped and so why not? Right? (Wrong!)

 

 

***

            One of the main reasons as to why I don’t find Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s lyrics evolved or complex is mainly because his physical and lyrical performances also deem to be a “one hit wonder” stuck on the same note.

 

Any time that a performer continually regresses into their teens to pull out material then they become mince meat because it says that they’re stagnant in their approach to writing and performance.

 

They get left behind by their audience because as an audience grows and matures they expect their performers to do the same with them otherwise they’re worth absolutely nothing in value to mass culture at large because stagnant measures means inactive minds or penises. (Only as a literary example.)

 

Since Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s performance and lyrics both deal with so much sexual neediness then let’s have it out in the open air: Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s performance comes across as a horny middle aged man who’s never been laid because he makes such a point to make his performances mainly about sexual content which after a while the audience begins to wonder if he’s alright in the head or if he’s regressed instead of matured as he’s supposed to do into a full and complete man.

 

Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s lyrics and performance seem to be about his “small” penis (not literally, but he sure drives the point home directly and indirectly by mainly rapping about sex which it comes across as though he’s starved for it but can’t get any).

 

Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s performance and lyrics are so much about the objectification of women that one begins to wonder if he’s ever raped any women for fun and if he had (hypothetically) then you know what.

 

Hypothetically; if indeed he had raped any women or beaten any women then by ‘a court of public opinion’ he’d get hung by a lamppost not because he’s black or rich but more precisely because he got stinking rich on the backs of poor Americans and lied about it.)

 

            Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s inability to say “no” to collaborating with Robin Thicke on a song titled “Blurred Lines” written about rape says a lot about both ‘boys’ with broken off penises as socially castrated men without brains only buttholes to rape up the ass with broomsticks as its customary in prison.

 

There’re no blurred lines about rape in mass culture and there’s no such thing as a “rapey song” either. Rape is or isn’t.

 

There’s no reason to want to rape “good girls” because more often than not “good girls” are the girls dealing with massive adversity in their lives like taking care of their elderly or running households all on their own without much financial help or assistance and thus they don’t have time to become sluts as these performers wish them to be.

 

When a song about rape against Peoples makes its way into lyrics or the ‘top charts’ then automatically that song is outside of mass culture looking in, no matter how much money a song such as this song makes or how many in the music industry look the other way it’s considered garbage for the wastebasket.

 

Automatically that rape song becomes “subculture” because if one hasn’t looked around and noticed women fighting the fight of their lives when it comes to sexual violence and rape then one is considered the biggest moron that ever lived and not worth anything to mass culture.

 

Every 18 minutes a woman gets raped in America and mass culture doesn’t take that lightly nor do we consider it entertainment.

 

            I’ve got absolutely nothing against Mr. Shawn Corey Carter coming straight out of a ghetto and making 500 million because that’s the ultimate dream but what I do have a problem with is this: how many rapes are his to claim when it comes to male audiences listening to his lyrics and giving themselves cart blanche to rape simply and only because Mr. Shawn Corey Carter refuses to grow up and continues to promote the rape of women. (Gross.)

 

(That’s not entertainment that’s an uneducated rich asshole with a microphone waiting to get raped just to see how it feels or maybe he already had and that’s why his lyrics are about rape as well as Mr. Robin Thicke’s lyrics.)

 

I’ve got absolutely nothing against Mr. Shawn Corey Carter coming straight out of a ghetto and making 500 million because that’s the ultimate dream but what I do have a problem with is this: neither his lyrics nor his performance have evolved and that’s a huge pronouncement to his inner and deeper characteristics as a horny little boy who doesn’t understand the vast wonders of the universe.

 

A man who promotes the sexual violence and rape of women is no man at all no matter whichever way one looks at it because it’s disingenuous and the performance comes across more like a lie than anything else.

 

            I don’t personally have anything against Mr. Shawn Corey Carter other than his performances and lyrics are mediocre and hateful.

 

I do wonder why a man worth the estimated 500 million doesn’t educate himself in ethics and philosophy and the responsibilities of entertainment.

 

I do wonder why a man worth the estimated 500 million doesn’t write lyrics about raping his Mom or his Dad or his Grandfather or his wife Mrs. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter instead of putting it into male audiences’ heads that all women are up for grabs. (As a literary example, of course.)

 

I’d like to see Mr. Shawn Corey Carter write lyrics about the rape of his Mom then we’ll see how he feels about it afterwards. (As a literary example, of course.)

 

I’d like to see Robin Thicke write lyrics about the rape of his Mom then we’ll see how he feels about it afterwards. (As a literary example, of course.)

 

Could you imagine both anuses writing lyrics about the brutal sexual violent rape of their Moms? (As a literary example, of course.)

 

Hypothetically, rape lyrics about how strangers would approach each Mom and pry them open as the strangers choked them and inserted their penises deeply into Robin Thicke’s and Mr. Shawn Corey Carter’s Moms’ vaginas and thrust until the women bled then beat them with a crowbar and broke their noses and knocked out a few teeth. (As a literary example, of course.)

 

That sounds like fun songs, don’t they? (Wrong. Please, don’t do that to the American women. It’s vulgar and destructive to our freedoms, liberties and rights.)

 

Anytime that abusive rape lyrics makes an entrance into mass media then consider the writers’ parents and that particular performer in disgrace. What great shame they must bring to their families and communities.

 

            I just won serious and major points for massive culture.

 

I just showed my humanity and that makes me a full and complete woman tonight. I’ll sleep well knowing that I did well by all by bringing ‘balance to the force’ against dark forces.

 

Three points for my writing and zero for these insane twats or performing monkeys.

 

Note: The reason why this blog entry means more than any critic’s review is because I don’t get paid to tell the truth and that’s why my writing is more valuable than mass media’s promotions or marketing.

 

No, I’m not a Puritan but I sure don’t condone preaching about rape or rape entertainment.

 

Boycott these insane peoples’ albums. Hurt them where it hurts most because they condone the rape of our American women.

 

Goodnight, moon.

 

Peace:

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,445

 

Monday, February 3, 2014

 

“The man who greets his creditors too warmly,

is guilty of usury words.”

 

(Leo Rosten’s Treasury of Jewish Quotations)

 

Vitiated (contaminated, spoiled, corrupted)

 

His kind deeds were vitiated by selfish motives.

 

[Corrections were made, again.]

 

---  ---  ---

 

Note: As far as news and factual information are concerned: we trust Rachel Maddow implicitly because she backs up her information and brings in print media reporters to interview. We like that her reporting isn’t made-up by allegations but factual information.

 

We trust anything that “Big Sister” reports.

 

There’s a major difference between primetime news and cable news but that doesn’t exempt either from being professional journalists or reporters.

 

Hello.

***

American

Subcultures

 

            As of December 2013 the overall population of the United States of America was 317 million folks.

 

            It was estimated by the Huffington Post that 106.6 million viewers watched the 2013 Super Bowl.

 

            According to the “Girl Scouts of America” there are 2 million participants.

 

            According to the “Puppy Bowl” there were 10 million viewers in 2013.

 

            Let’s do the math: 317 million Americans minus the estimated 106.6 million 2013 Super Bowl viewers equal 210.4 million non-viewers.

 

317 million Americans minus 2 million Girl Scout participants equal 315 million non-participants.

 

317 million Americans minus 10 million Puppy Bowl viewers equal 307 million non-viewers.

 

            Now a million of anything is a lot of something but not when we do the overall mathematics because math doesn’t lie but people sure do.

 

People seem to skew numbers so that Americans can’t decipher the difference between this and that; plus Americans seem to be rotten at mathematics and that’s why it’s easy to manipulate them. 

 

Numbers tell the truth and nothing but the whole truth so help the numbers. (Ha!)

 

            Americans are easily duped by mass media for many reasons.

 

            One, mass media news is no longer a place for ‘real’ journalism or reporting.

 

Mass media news has now become unethical in the sense that the lines are blurred between “reality” and “fantasy.”

 

Mass media news has taken on more of marketing and promoting roles rather than reporting, news and factual information.

 

Media’s hands are tied behind their backs primarily due to their corporate relationships.

 

            Two, American mass media news tends to hype-up many topics due to sensationalism.

 

            Three, American mass media fell for many lies but one in particular is that they don’t seem to understand that “content” is indeed King.

 

            Four, instead of ‘objective’ journalism or reporting we’re now forced to agree with journalists’ or reporters’ viewpoints or mass culture is considered ‘dumb.’ As if.

 

            Five, mass media news doesn’t seem to understand that massive culture tends to ‘read between the lines’ as though we’re forced to live in Communist countries because our mass media news has been high-jacked by conglomerates whose only function is to make profit.

 

            Six, when mass media news reporters or journalists become bias and hold steadfast personal opinions about any one subject matter then massive culture trusts them less because we feel competent and smart enough to want to make up our own minds about anything especially about guilty parties that must first undergo civil trials before convicted of any crimes.

 

            Seven, mass media news has taken on a role of judges when in actuality the judging is left up to first: juries, judges and then a public court of opinion.

 

            Eight, when did promoting or advertising products become news and information? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Nine, mass media news outlets; their reporting and information are so heavily different from each other that “independent research” has become King.

 

Facts will always reign free especially in an age of misinformation.

 

            Ten, when did mass media news journalists or reporters stop being on the side of The People since we’re fighting an economical war of our times? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Eleven, when did sub-par standards in journalism or reporting become so passive and relaxed in their approach? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Twelve, when did fact-checking anything become the homework of misguided mass media news outlets? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Thirteen, when did mass media news begin to blatantly lie to The People? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Fourteen, when did mass media news quasi journalists or reporters begin to sell out to a pariah system of profit making and greed? (Rhetorical.)

 

            Fifteen, when did journalists or reporters stop thinking on their own? (Rhetorical.)

 

            America is a nation of wayward leadership in many prominent categories and branches of government and business because in today’s era hardly anyone has to prove their humanity thus they only have to make profits and prove their greed.

 

When any system relies solely on a Capitalist or Libertarian concept in notion or economic models then such economic empires seize to exist.

 

Oh, yes, the Romans lived fat and rich lives of greed and slavery but they ‘seized to exist’ all together because what they mainly cared about was conquering peace-loving Peoples and nations against their will thus the Romans imploded and self-destroyed.

 

No one else was at fault for the collapse of the Roman Empire but the empire itself because greed became the ruling state of mind of that hour.

 

            History has taught us many lessons: 1) take care of our Brothers and Sisters 2) be civil and kind and appreciative and respectful to all 3) put your money where your mouth is 4) education is King above all the rest 5) any Nation that doesn’t do well by its People is a failed Nation on its way to a long and painful death 6) when ‘the rich get richer and the poor get hungrier’ then revolts occur 7) to have mercy upon those who struggle to eat 8) band-aid solutions don’t contribute to the overall state of humanity they simply cover up the real problems 9) greed kills 10) the rich aren’t the same as the wealthy 11) mainly the rich used to be the poor and that’s why they tend to be greedier than the wealthiest one percent 12) the rich who once were poor do turn their backs on their fellow men because they’re ashamed or embarrassed to help out those whom remind them of their past selves 13) the rich aren’t necessarily educated thus they lack strong moral values thus the cycle of greed and poverty continues 14) uneducated humans have a tendency to turn their backs on philosophy which leads to wisdom 15) uneducated humans have less understanding for the plight of others than the educated do 16) to be inclusive around the bonfire and not exclusive because when fire goes out then… 17) universal truths are thus because the drive for human existence isn’t to become exterminated like rats 18) once, one has reached the pinnacle of inclusiveness and forgiveness then one becomes more divine in their humanistic approach 19) when fire burns out then humanity seizes to exist 20) don’t judge humans but most certainly judge their ethics 21) peace at all cost 22) war is for murderers (whichever way one looks at it)

 

            Yes, I’ve decided to boycott the “subculture” of the NFL and the Super Bowl for the rest of my life because what came with that subculture was the staggering numbers of sex trafficking and child prostitution and unnecessary athletic violence.

 

I’ve heard many gut wrenching and terribly sad stories about how the NFL takes advantage of our players. Ultimately that industry creates brain damage and that’s not something that I can stand for because I’ve got principles not to stand-by as others get injured or harmed especially not through their professions such as the military complex and its wars.

 

Believe it or not: my personal boycott of the NFL and the Super Bowl has more to do with the humanity of the players and of those whom are sex trafficked than anything else.

 

[Yes, drink Coca Cola. Like I care.

 

We’ve got stock invested in the company. The more Coca Cola one drinks then the more profits we make but not for one moment do we ever forget that Coca Cola hardly contributes anything worth of value but child obesity.]

 

            Yes, I’ve decided to boycott the “subculture” of the “Girl Scouts of America” for the next year (2014-2015) because this past weekend we were floored to watch one of the most “miserly” television commercials of our lives and our profession is to broadcast engineer commercials for a living therefore that’s our business. We would know.

 

[We live, eat and breathe commercials. We know commercials and the psychology of them. We’re not against commercials or commercial-making but we sure are against the dehumanization of our Peoples. At times, we’ve laughed so hard at funny commercials but that’s rare because it seems that sarcastic-cocaine-snorting staffs are behind making mean-spirited commercials therefore we normally give them a D or an F for failing America and ‘talking down’ to an audience who’s smart and quick to understand the manipulation to consume.]

 

We watched the rot infested disease that has become our nation when it came to the “Girl Scouts of America” and their mediocre commercial of Capitalist beggars.

 

In the commercial not only did the Girl Scout girls brag about the importance of money and more money but in the same token they begged to have the audience purchase their cookies. (What a contradiction. Greedy little beggars.)

 

The only reason why we’ve ever purchased Girl Scout cookies were because we hardly ever saw “Samoa” cookies anywhere but this weekend when we went to Menards (hardware store) for our Saturday afternoon date out, we came across Keebler “Coconut Dreams” and we’re not looking back.

 

Girl Scouts used to hold a monopoly over coconut cookies but not anymore.

 

I thought about how no future child of ours will ever participate in Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts. (Mind you, Eric was in Cub Scouts.)

 

Nope.

 

We’ll place our future children in martial arts and outward-bound programs but they’re not to mix with the likes of greedy little girls or homophobic little boys. Nope.

 

The world’s changed.

 

We don’t have to be participatory to sub-cultural abusive and manipulative practices much less our children will.

 

            I’ve not once watched the “Puppy Bowl” so I can’t personally speak to it, however, I’ve decided to boycott anything that uses the word “adoption” when it comes to animals because Americans seem to forget themselves and the importance of semantics in the linguistics of meaningful communication.

 

One doesn’t “misplace” a person because they aren’t objects.

 

One can only become “displaced” because they’re humans unlike misplaced car keys.

 

(Point made. As small as this linguistic point is: it makes a world of difference between objectifying and dehumanizing a human or not.)

 

One doesn’t “adopt” an animal because they aren’t humans.

 

One can only “rescue” an animal from itself because animals are beings unlike humans who have the right to vote and the privilege to pay taxes.

 

(Point made. As small as this linguistic point is: it makes a world of difference between objectifying and dehumanizing a human or not.)

 

            Remember: when any promoting or marketing groups push for you to believe that they have 10 million listeners or viewers or fans, so what?

 

(Always cut any ‘projected’ numbers by half because it’s been proven that promoting groups will lie about their numbers by as much as that.)

 

10 million of anything is ‘a drop in the bucket’ when it comes to massive cultural practices and unification and inclusiveness and working together.

 

            One of the main reasons as to why mass media comes across as corrupt or warped to massive culture is because mass media bought into the dehumanizing and sarcastic tones of heroin and cocaine infused “pop-culture” junkies that took themselves way, too, seriously in order to sell their crappy underground violence and sexually demeaning B-music and B-films and B-anything they had to hit mass media with a blunt instrument and mass media took the beating.

 

If you don’t know why massive culture doesn’t trust mass media then it’s this: mass media seems to have lost their heads over subcultures.

 

Mass media tends to “preach” through promotional or marketing manipulative means that which mass media desires to promote to mass culture to take seriously such as these perverse “subcultures” but mass culture knows better than to buy into sub-par ideals such as Jay-Z with his violent songs.

 

“Jay-Z” is a subculture of a subculture of twelve year olds without pubic hair or breasts therefore and ultimately he’s inconsequential to the overall picture of the universe and history.

 

Nevertheless, he’s an uneducated microphone who bought airtime thus he sure is, but not worth anything to massive culture because he sells the absurd notion of rape and that automatically places him on the outside of massive culture that fights for the equal rights of all and against the violence of our Peoples.

 

Another reason as to why “pop-culture” got so pissed-off was because they knew for a long time that their lack of education and thirst for violence and dehumanization wasn’t going to be either bought or believed by those in massive culture no matter how many twelve year olds bought into them even if mass media lost their heads and went for the lies.

 

Another reason as to why “pop-culture” and “subcultures” got so pissed-off and had to overly promote their violence was because otherwise they weren’t going to get anywhere in life unless someone bought into their philosophies of hatred and hipster-dirty lifestyles.

 

It just happened to be mass media that bought into a subculture “of the great unwashed” but also mass media bought into “Wall Street” and that’s just as messy as “pop-culture” except one has diarrhea while the other’s constipated. (Ha!) (Now that’s hilarious.)

 

            Yes, I’ve got to continually prove my humanity to others and thus here it is.

 

Massive culture’s about inclusiveness, education, a fight against discrimination or prejudice. Mass culture is against the bombardment of violence with a microphone or airtime just because they’ve got nothing better to do.

 

Peace,

Gabriel

 

Word Count: 2,777

 

P.S. Yes, I’ve once more begun a personal boycott of the Tavis Smiley Show because for the month of January 2014 they had terrible microphone problems which engineers tell me that it’s TPT’s fault and not the show’s fault. Fair enough.

 

(I don’t have the time to sit through it. I’ll try again in 2015. The most valuable resource I’ve got is time and I can’t waste it.)

 

---  ---  ---

 

Yes, I’ve once more begun a personal boycott of Charlie Rose and his PBS show because his show tends to hawk, too, much stuff instead of dealing or speaking to the issues at hand and TPT also has sound issues when it comes to broadcasting his show.

 

I just don’t want to sit through the selling of anything anymore or less than I already have to.

 

(I’ll try again in 2015. The most valuable resource I’ve got is time and I can’t waste it.)

 

---  ---  ---

 

Yes, just about the only channels I watch (if I were ever to watch T.V. which is never) are Turner Classic Movies (because they don’t run commercials,) The Weather Channel (“Wake Up With Al” because Al is a mature man and not a little “pop culture” boy) and MSNBC otherwise I read print news.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Yes, I’ve begun a personal boycott of Cate Blanchett’s work for the next five years (until 2019) because she doesn’t seem to understand her magnificent role as a role model.

 

The privilege of becoming a multi-millionaire famous celebrity is that one is indeed a “role model” to twelve year old girls and not thirty-six year old women. (Ha!)

 

When women dress in designers’ hooker or prostitute labels then massive culture does the single most important thing in the world: we’re courteous and polite but we most certainly don’t invest our time or money into the actions of those who portray themselves as prostitutes because that’s a subculture of America that’s torn the fabric of our morality.

 

Clothing can be powerful or disingenuous to the eye.

 

Massive culture can tell when one’s being sneaky or a rebellious rebel without a justified cause or reason only because they want to be rebellious for the sake of giving the viewer the middle finger.  

 

When one doesn’t take into consideration any of the 317 million people who put money into their pockets then mass culture has absolutely nothing to purchase or say and let’s see what silence does to any performer.

 

No applause here today.

Why would there be any?

There wouldn’t be.

 

Peace.

 

---  ---  ---

 

Personal Note: Bill Moyers is indeed one of my contemporary heroes and he’s been for the past five years because he’s consistent and doesn’t hawk things but asks questions of his guests to get them to discuss the issues of the day.

 

I can’t ever meet him or I’d go speechless and in awe of him. In other words: I’d become a complete idiot.

 

Return to Current Blog