TWITTER? THANKS, BUT NO.

`````I don't get the Twitter thing at all. I'd never feel so deluded that I'd think that people would want an update of my every move in my mundane life. I've undertaken this blog as a way to force myself to write and as a means to vent. But with Twitter, there's the expectation that your friends and family are going to read and care that: "Now I'm going to the store." "Oh, it's on sale." All written in lower case and without punctuation, of course.

````` I'm a person who rarely, if ever, updates her Facebook status. It goes blank. Consider it an existential statement; my staring into the void, if you will. I'm actually just rather cognizant of the fact that nobody cares or reads this stuff, unless one is perhaps a Supermodel (and I'm not). Alas. I've already had my fill of people who seem to think that the rest of us want to hear their phone conversations broadcast at full volume. I don't think that they talk that loud when alone at home nor are the giggles that over the top. I find the people who text message others while eating out in fine restaurants bizarre. Now there's an avoidance strategy if I ever saw one. The ironic part is that men used to go on about women and talking on phones. Somehow, when cellphones and blackberries entered the picture it became okay for them to enter the fray as it is now "technology"; so it's not a chick thing.

`````Facebook said that they are changing their format because people want constant updates of information, often from their favorite celebrities. Most of those people cannot speak clearly without a P.R. handler. Has anybody read Courtney Love's rambling diatribes? Just imagine what this woman will be capable of when left to her own Twitter devices?

`````What I did realize, however, is that there is a whole untapped Government wastage potential here. Each department head needs, of course, to hire their very own personal Twitterer. This person's job is to enter the words of wisdom that "his master's voice" sets forth upon the unsuspecting masses. We already have the Department Spokesperson (we call ours the Designated Liar because he's only heard from when bad things happen). I think the perfect title would be the Designated Twit.

`````So, all you frustrated writers out there who blog, get your resumees ready.

GOING, GOING, GONE? I HOPE NOT.

A BEAUTIFUL VIEW

PRIME SOIL FOR FARMING

CHECK OUT THE SPIKES

Sadly, they want to develop the area. Nearby are much needed wetlands also. There are still a lot of wildlife in the area that hang out here.

A DOCUMENTARY FROM A TOWN I ONCE LIVED IN WITH PEOPLE MY FAMILY KNEW

Munsalasocialismen 1918-1945 Elävä arkisto yle.fi

I found this documentary by chance one day. I showed it to my Dad and he was most excited as he knew almost all of the people being interviewed. I believe that probably all of them have passed away now. He also said that he was one of the kids who had been blamed for walking into the 'hide-out" although they had not done so. The town had strong socialist beliefs and did not want to support the Germans during the Second World War. While they did not believe in what Russia stood for, they could not condone the actions of the Fascists either. The documentary is in Swedish (well, Finn-Swede which is a dialect). I thought I'd put it out there. There are two versions of the video listed. The 33 minute one is the better one. By the way, believe it or not, the interviews were done in the mid l970's in the town. As late as the late l960's, some homes here still did not have indoor plumbing. Even in the winter one would have to go outside to use the outhouse.

THE SOUNDS OF VIOLENCE

`````It's almost been a year. Time to file the paperwork for end of fiscal term, submit requests for vacation leave, that sort of thing. All very normal.

`````But it's not. New routines and structures are in place that are suppossed to prevent it from happening again. Yet, there is more to the mere physicality of a structure or a place which defines it. There is more to safety than solid walls and thick doors. For some, the events of a year ago changed things forever.

`````Violence does not have a soundtrack. There is no driving rap music or soaring arias to accompagny it when it descends. On that night it was strange what I missed.

`````I did not hear the gunshots. I was made aware that there had been a discharge but I was on the telephone trying to call people. When we compared notes later, the people in the midst of it all had their own perspectives. The sound of violence to them was an instantenous roar; that it came from humans in a spontaneous explosion only gives credence to books like "The Lord of the Flies". Violence is breaking glass, items beating against doors as others try to gain entry and every item imaginable being broken. Yet, in the midst of it, one can make out the threats of harm. Those words are clear.

`````The sound of violence is the warm buzz in my ears, for somewhere in that maelstorm were people that I cared for. It wouldn't abate until I knew that they were safe. Then it would be replaced by the sounds of silence, for I had to continue doing what I was doing. I could not call out to them. I had to look at people and hope that my eyes caught theirs and conveyed my concern and anger that this had happened. So many messages without words.

`````It is the usual cacophany of sounds with which we have become familiar from television; the emergency vehicles and people moving quickly by. It is people calling out orders and the need for medical attention. It is the sound of vomiting as an aftermath.

`````When I finally arrived home it was the sound of the answering machine. There were the voices of people who wanted me to call right away to let them know I was okay, for by now the story was on the news.

`````The sound of violence resonates. It does not go away and for the people directly involved it echoes in individual ways. When will that finally be understood? It is not a single act that goes away. It is a powerful energy with a long life---thus is the nature of physics. The hurt parties need to be treated with respect by a system that appreciates them and not merely silenced.

WHAT I ENVY

 (Note---I had a photo in here that got flagged as a copyright issue.  It was my own photo, which I took.  I am putting it back).

What I envy most in others is talent for I lack it. While I have an avid interest in a lot of things, I am cursed with a total lack of ability to do things. It's a lost cause.

When I was a kid, Sally moved into the house across the lane from me. She had this great Liverpool accent as they had literally just gotten off the boat. Her parents were "show people", although her Dad had to hold a real job. This was nothing to which I had ever been exposed. Suddenly, however, I was introduced to the world backstage when they were involved in rehersals. Sally and I loved to hang out. The lights, the thick curtains, the orchestra pit; all were a new revelation to me. Musicals became my new love. I learned them all---Music Man, Carousel, Oliver and My Fair Lady. Sally and I were seven years old yet were minced around the yard singing all of the lyrics to "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying". We somehow didn't get what it all meant, but we knew every line. We put on a production of Oliver in the backyard, complete with soot from the fireplace and tickets sold around the neighborhood. I was in love with Jack Wild and his top hat.

A sheet went around school where we could sign up for singing lessons, so I put my name down for it. My parents then had the sad mission of telling me that a person had to have some talent to bother. Well, that was it for me. I still like musicals, but you won't even get me singing the national anthem. I fake it.

I wanted to take dance lessons as well and gymnastics. I actually was very flexible, but they would have been out of our element financially and my family just wasn't aware of that sort of thing culturally when I was growing up. I tried to teach myself gymnastics and could do all sorts of flips and back bends and such, but it was obviously more for enjoyment than anything else.

My Dad tried to encourage running, as he'd raced and done very well. I was good at that and could outrun the guys, but I had no interest. Also, I do not like to compete. My love of something is because it enhances who I am artistically. But, my little kid self couldn't get that across to my Dad.

I loved music, but without lessons, there's not much a person can do. I had a little toy piano which my mother gave to my cousin. Her parents gave her lessons and she went on to study it at a university level and to teach it, amongst other things. So, while I still love a really fine piece of music, I shall never play it.

Art is the bane of my existence. I spend far too much money on art books and I go to galleries when I can. I also like photography. Again...zip...zero...no talent. My brother is very good at painting yet he doesn't keep it up.

Once upon a time I dieted myself into oblivion. My one true talent and I had to give it up. My friend tells me that I have an incredible knack for blowing up light bulbs when I'm angry and frying electonics. In fact, the science teacher in highschool wouldn't let me turn on the lights after a point. Does that count?

 

STOP THE BIMBO BANTER

`````At least in the 80's when we were inundated with valley-girl speak it was generally done tongue-in-cheek by anybody older than fifteen, especially if they lived further from L.A. than Downey. However, we seem beset upon by females who insist upon speaking and writing in what I have come to think of as bimbo banter. They don't understand that it is inappropriate to refrain from using this at the work site or in e-mails that reflect their intellectual comments around the world.

`````Their words du jour are "k" and "ta ta". They are oft used. The words are used in the same taunting, jeering fashion as utilized by the school yard bully. Were they before me I could only imagine the eye roll. For, you can reason with these people at about the same level as you can with the school yard temptress who sneers and back stabs. Read any e-mail commentary on a topic where a person uses these words. At some point, when pushed to actually provide sound justifications, they fall back onto the "oh, you're no fun" or "you're just jealous" "You must be fat." Were these teenaged girls, it would be one thing. These are often adult women.

`````Usually the dreaded "k" is followed by a question mark. The "ta ta" is always a way for the bimb to end a debate she cannot win. As in "I have to go out with my good looking friends now. Ta." In the meantime you know she's lurking about the computer fuming and reading the comments, not understanding the big words.

`````My male friend and I used to call these women the 3-V's (vain, vacant and vacuous). Who knew that they'd develop their own special language.

ANOTHER SAD BUT TRUE STORY OF UGLY BEHAVIOR BY THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE

IMAGES SENT TO ME VIA INTERNET BY A FRIEND.
ARTIST UNKNOWN.

I read this and unfortunately it's nothing new. I just wrote about something which related to it. At least this woman could take the outfit off. This is the daily life of a lot of people. By "daily life" I do not mean the weight, as I do not perceive the writer as looking as anything freakish or bad. I am referring to the ignorant and nasty comments or looks that people need to generate. Let's substitute skin colour and see how long this would be accepted. Hate and bias is wrong. It's sad that so many people have so little to offer the world that they focus only on their own looks and that of others. We as a society reward people for looking good. They can be horrid humans with no personality or intellect. They subsequently develop a sense of entitlement to rival that of Marie Antoinette's. I hope that some of the people recognize themselves and are embarrassed after this article appears................................................................................................................................................................ What happened when we sent a 'fattie' to London Fashion Week? Kate Faithfull reports back on her week on the fatwalk Mail Online