Saturday, February 23, 2013

injaynesworld we are "Hot Under the Collar Again..."

I think back to how my grandparents viewed the advent of rock ‘n’ roll, the Civil Rights movement, hippies, and the violence at the ’68 Democratic convention and I’m pretty sure they thought our country was going to hell in the proverbial hand basketLittle did they know that time would one day be referred to as "the good old days."

My grandparents’ generation was a tough bunch.  They’d seen a real depression, where all the money was actually gone and not just siphoned upward by a small number of the powerful and greedy.  They’d been through two World Wars and Korea and couldn’t understand what this fuss was all about over some unheard of place called Vietnam.   In their day, America was always the good guy.  I envy them that unwavering belief.   I envy them the security they must felt after Roosevelt passed the New Deal knowing that they and their loved ones could always count on some financial protection in their old age.  I envy them their belief that America would always lead the world in a free, high-quality public education and that no matter your circumstances of birth, there would always be opportunity for you to fulfill your God-given potential.  Most of all, I envy that they could agree or disagree with the workings of government, but at least their government seemed to work. 

In those days, the “Katzenjammer Kids” were a comic strip.  Today they populate the halls of Congress, seeming to live to create discourse in a non-stop theater of the absurd.   It’s not just one side of the aisle either.  Okay, maybe it’s mostly one side of the aisle – you know who you are – but Harry Reid had the opportunity to restore credibility and function to the senate with filibuster reform and he completely weenied out.    There has always been in-fighting in Congress where both sides fought hard for their positions, but most of the time they actually had positions, as opposed to this current lot whose only goal appears to be the gathering of personal power and the rest of us be damned. 

How did we get so stupid as to elect such a bunch?    They regulate vaginas, but not guns.  They give away millions of our tax dollars to oil companies who then turn around and steal even more from our pockets at the gas tank.    They secretly tap our e-mails and phone calls, while demanding “full transparency” about lack of security at our Libyan embassy after cutting funds for the State Department.    And on and on and on…

Now they’ve manufactured a crisis in government funding, which could throw our fragile economic recovery into complete ruin, and are treating it as no more than a pissing contest with the majority of piss about to rain down on you and me.   

This coming week Congress will return to session and all I find myself thinking is, where’s a drone when you really need one?

This post from the 30 Days Minus 2 Writing prompt “absurd,” but I’ve felt it coming for a long time. 

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

injaynesworld it's "My Cold Left Foot..."

I went to bed last night expecting it to rain.   The Weather Channel app on my computer had been very clear about it, right down to the time of arrival.  And so I drifted off to sleep fully expecting to be awakened at some point by the pleasant sound of light steady raindrops on my roof, only instead to have the oddest dream:

I was out in my garden in the dark of the night, pulling weeds in the pouring rain, while dressed in my pajamas and wearing only one shoe.  It didn’t seem to bother me in the least that I was getting drenched, and while one foot was warmly ensconced in a fleece-line rubber rain boot, the other was ankle-deep in icy mud.   However, upon awakening this morning, my first thoughts were, “Where the hell was the other shoe?” and “Why would I have such a strange dream?”  Then I remembered…

It was that damn Nicky with her diabolical “30Minus 2 Day Writing Challenge” and today’s prompt just happened to be… “the other shoe.”   I had been feeling guilty about how I’d been remiss in getting a post done for her in a few days and fearful that she would soon be “raining” her wrathful self down on my sorry (size 4) ass.  Being a recovering Catholic, an oxymoron if there ever was one, I naturally had to assuage my guilt by doing penance, thus the pulling of weeds in the cold and rain with one foot sinking into the mud no doubt on its way to a fiery hell. 

To add insult, it didn’t even rain last night – and I’m sure Nicky had something to do with that, too!

It's not too late for you to join the writing insanity.  Click the link above, pick a prompt, then post your piece on that day.  You'll meet some fun people.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

Rockin’ the Grammy Red Carpet…

Best:  Kelly Rowland shows how it’s done.

Worst:  Adele.   Ozzy Osbourne called.  He wants his drapes back. 

Honorable Mention:   Katy Perry, whose "accessories" earned a vote of appreciation from Ellen.


Carnival Cruise ship “Triumph” is anything but…

After a week adrift at sea, its hull hung in shame, the ship was at last tugged ashore in Alabama.   The final insult – a choice between a sewage-filled floating hell hole with only ketchup sandwiches for sustenance… and Alabama.  Because clearly the 4,000 passengers had not yet suffered enough. 

Lured by the promise of luxury ocean-view suites…

Passengers instead found themselves enjoying fun-filled slumber parties with their neighbors…

Frankly, the appeal of boarding a 14-story floating building and setting out to sea with the population of a small city eludes me.   I go on vacation to get away from crowds.    

At least the tortured travelers were quickly put on buses out of Alabama before they could be held hostage for breeding purposes. 


This week saw the burial of…….

ex-Navy SEAL and renown assassin, Chris Kyle.  Kyle, author of “American Sniper” was, ironically, himself shot to death by an Iraqi war veteran who he had taken to a shooting range and given a loaded semi-automatic rifle in some kind of attempt to help the veteran deal with his PTSD…  What could possibly go wrong? 

The next time some married politician gets caught with his key in another woman’s lock and tries to pass it off as “bad judgment” let’s refer him to this guy. 

While my condolences go out to Kyle’s family, and I truly do not find the incident funny in any way, good God Almighty.  Doesn’t anyone think anything through anymore? 


Speaking of guns…

How’s this for more bang for your buck?  


With every Valentine purchase of $1500 or more, a North Carolina jewelry store owner offered a coupon for a free shotgun at the local gun shop, saying he thought it would be a "fun" idea.

The response was mixed along gender lines, with women generally saying it was, at the very least, bad timing given the recent horror of the Sandy Hook massacre. 

To all the men thinking this mix of bling and bullets was a great deal, you’d better hope your lady love agrees, lest she grab that new shotgun and blow off your family jewels. 


President Obama gave his State of the Union Speech this week…

While Marco Rubio became the Poland Spring Water poster boy…

Rubio, the “rising star” and last ditch hope for the future of the “Got Old People?” party was just the latest to crash and burn while attempting the truly thankless gig of giving a rebuttal to an Obama SOTU speech.    Surprisingly uncomfortable and sweating bullets from his opening remarks, Rubio, in the gulp heard around the world, then truly took a dive and the rest is comic history…

Meanwhile, somewhere in Louisiana Bobby Jindal fell to his knees and kissed the ground in thanks to Rubio for finally obliterating in the public memory his own pathetic rebuttal attempt. 

And may I just say, Rubio/Jindal ’16.   


Oh, yeah… and the Pope quit.

Monday, February 11, 2013

injaynesworld we take you on a "Road Trip..."

Caitlin pressed down on the accelerator and the car surged forward, the mountain scenery whipping by at the highest speed allowed.  Another time, she would have paused to admire its beauty, but it had taken 25 years to end the life she’d been taught to want and now she wanted only for her new life to begin.

Frank had been a good husband and father.  She could and would not fault him in any way.  They had raised two smart and self-sufficient children together and though she had known that the marriage was wrong from the moment of “I do,” to dwell upon the past was futile and foolish.  Time, after all, did not move backwards, and while there are lessons to be learned from what has been, Caitlin remained unwaveringly focused on what was to be.

Drawn to many of the same websites by their mutual love of photography – two artists sharing their work, eager for approval and encouragement – their friendship blossomed first online, slowly growing from the sharing of images to the sharing of intimacies.   When they agreed to talk by phone for the first time Caitlin was embarrassed by her nervousness, fearing she would appear a fool, but their connection was immediate and complete in a way she had never experienced, though had always known in her heart must exist. 

With hundreds of miles now behind her, Caitlin left the highway for the road that would very soon take her into the arms of the love she had waited for all her life.   She pictured Annie’s soft flesh against her own, her tongue gently tracing the outline of her sweet lips, and the way they would hold each other that night… and for every night to come. 

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

injaynesworld it's "The Golden Years..."

Stuck out on California’s I-15 in the desert armpit known as “Barstow,” the wretched place, wreaking of urine and rotting food with old people stacked like piles of discarded tires, was where Hell came for suggestions.

Most of the people were warehoused here by ungrateful children who sucked the life out of them for years and then, finding their children doing the same to them, had neither the time, resources or interest to care for their own parents.   Because the State frowns on the elderly wandering the streets pissing themselves, they pay corporate-run cesspools like this to make the problem go away.  And at Shady Haven, “The Welcome Mat is Always Out.”

So then it was all the more ironic that this should be the place where, after a lifetime of self-imposed solitude, I should meet my one true love.  Lila was as lovely as her name; truly a gentle woman who had not yet had the twinkle in her sea green eyes dimmed by the harshness around her.  Blessed with dementia, hers was a world still filled with dresses of fine lace and the crooning voice of Sinatra, and I was her beau coming to court. 

Because the staff cared little about what we did as long as we were no bother, my plan of escape for us was easy to execute.  I had been saving the little yellow pills for weeks.  Lila readily accepted my tale of Valentine’s Day and the box of candy I brought for us to share.   Where I had filled paper cups with tap water, she saw fine bone china filled with lightly-sweetened Earl Grey tea.   We held hands, her head resting lightly on my shoulder, my head resting on hers… and then we slept.

This post is from the prompt “haven,” part of the “30Minus 2 Days Writing Challenge” from the gal who can talk anybody into just about anything, the fabulous Nicky at We Work For Cheese.  Click here to visit the others she’s managed to lure into today’s particular exercise in stress, panic and frustration.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

injaynesworld "I Coulda Been A Rock Star..."

I’ve got the rhythm, the moves, and God knows I can work a hairbrush.   How totally cruel then that He would deny me the one essential element that would have made my dreams come true – a voice. 

It was the late 60’s.  I was in high school and my boyfriend was lead guitarist in a band called “The Sit-Ins.”  Sit-ins were a popular form of protest back then, especially in neighboring Berkeley, and I’m sure they thought the name would make them seem edgy as they performed “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles in their matching green velour shirts.   But my favorite band of the day was “Cold Blood,” headed by 4’9 white chick, Lydia Pense, whose forte was R & B and who could belt out Sam and Dave’s “Hold On” or James Brown’s “I Got You” with the soul and pipes of any of the best black singers of the day – or any day, for that matter.  Lydia was also a friend of mine (except for a brief period when I thought she was flirting with my boyfriend) and I would still sell my soul to be able to sing like her.  (Note to Satan:  “Sell my soul” is a figure of speech only and not meant to be construed that I would, in fact, actually sell my soul.)

Eventually, my boyfriend and I broke up, but I continued to be a fan of Cold Blood all the other R & B artists of that great era.    To this day, you will find me joyfully belting out my best "Sam & Dave" should you wander onto my mountain top, although I have noticed a distinct reduction in the bird population since I’ve lived here.   

For your viewing pleasure, the classic, brilliant, Sam and Dave…

This post is from the prompt “hold on,” part of the “30 Minus 2 Days Writing Challenge” from the gal who can talk anybody into just about anything, the fabulous Nicky at We Work For Cheese.  Click here to visit the others she’s managed to lure into today’s particular exercise in stress, panic and frustration. 

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