Somebody: bsmoffatt , not only read my blog, but they had given it a review on their web site! I don't care if it was written by Koko the Gorilla, it made my day!
The old blog's name is shown below as "Easily Destroyed" and "Easily Distrac". I have changed it to "Fancy Dirt" now. I keep changing it because I get nervous about anonymity sometimes; dumb, I know. I might have kept the old name if I knew anyone was reading it and liking it!
The review follows:
And so I sat there staring at the computer screen. The lifeless ciphers of my blog blurring into the middle distance. Then I spotted the Next Blog button at the top of the page. I hit it.
Within two hours I had regained my faith in humanity. I'm easy that way.
The world is phat.
PHAT. Pretty Hot and Tempting.
(Phucking Hilarious And Thought-provoking )
Let me start with the last of the next blogs, a neo-blog, easily destroyed. You can tell the neoblogs right away. They still have Edit me, Edit me in the sidebar, unaware or unconcerned about it. These neobloggers are here to write. And I am here to read. And so I do. And here's the first thing I read:
My counselor had to cancel our weekly appointment today. I love to see her, and she is helping me get on with the future. But, I'm a little relieved to have another week. I didn't want to have her see my bandaged wrist, this morning, because I can't lie to her.
I'm hooked.
When I was old enough to see a Doctor on my own, I got the "life's rough, Honey, get used to it!" speech. My next try to get help (I was fairly pretty back then) was met with the, "Yeah, I'd like to have your problems." speech. Then there was the Doctor who decided that fondling my breasts and crotch must be done, by him, immediately. He was shaking and breathing funny during the exam - I was there to get a mole removed.
My broken "People Radar", was my faithful companion.
This is the setup to a near rape in Chapel Hill, NC.
I thought about reporting it to the Police. I pondered that and decided that what they would do to a black man in the South, in the early 1970's, would be much worse than what he had done to me. It never occurred to me, then, that I may not have been his first or last try.
Wait, the world is dynamic and ambiguous and complex. And the metaphors lead to an opening up, not a shutting down. And painful and funny.
There's the continuing saga of 'her son' the 'Idiot like a Savant' who is done, it would seem, with psycho-engineers: he's finished with this infuriating game and does not waste his time on them or their pills any more. He is certified with a grandiose I.Q., has completed two semesters of college making him a Junior who plans to end up with at least three degrees in Physics, Fine Arts, and Mathematics when he graduates. At least that's the plan today. The rub in the whole thing is that, in the past, he has entered a different dimension of reality at times. His work astounds me, and he recently said something to the effect of, "Picture Van Gogh telling people in the loony bin that he will be venerated by the world as one of the greatest artists that ever lived. Sounds like grandiosity to me!"
Still, the Idiot Like a Savant can't get a job at WalMart, to doubly (maybe trebly) repay his debt to society.
He fills out the forms honestly, even the part of the application where they ask if you have ever been convicted of a crime, no matter how petty it was. This is when The United States of America, the Bill of Rights, etc., turn into merely a pretty concept, not the reality of this place we love and live in. That is where the interview ends. That is where the Background Check kicks you in the ass for 7 to 10 years. When the faces go blank with the "Don't call us, we'll (not) be calling you." stare. Well, yesterday it was WalMart's turn.
As I read on I'm not sure if my leg is being pulled or not. But then you read this:
Savant is not himself. We watch his storms roll in. I watch with dread, because he needs to get back on medication, but he claims that it is the medication that makes the people in the TV talk to him when they should be doing their show instead.
Savant better soon learn that the world is flat. (FLAT: Fucking Lousy At Times) Stay tuned. I understand Savant. He suffers at times from an inarticulateness that is described as 'word salad'. I've never heard that expression, but it leaves an impression.
Again, I'm not sure if the writer of this blog is a writer with some keen insights into human character or some human character with some keen insights. It doesn't matter. Humans are phat, humanity a world salad.
But wait. There's More.
There's the night out at the local Golf Club, with Husband #2, a night out with local celebrities Vince Gill and Amy Grant in attendance, a night with a bluegrass band covering Guns'N Roses tunes, a brief vignette on a the professional life of a woman named Melons Galore, twin sister of Pussy, and the author's failed attempt at bulimia:
I have a theory that I must have gained an extraordinary control of my gag reflex from the times I spent having 24 hour "morning sickness" for four months with each of my pregnancies.
I also want to recommend The White Mountain Creamery's excellent ice cream. What you do with it once you leave the store is beyond their control.
This shit rocks. I'm expecting Dick Minim to enter the scene at any time. Him, or The Family Guy.
Still, it's all about Love, all this writing.
Sometimes it feels like these people have an ocean of Love that they have no way to exchange with other people, or don't know how.
Rock on.
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