Hey smarmy Seth MacFarlane and idiots from the Onion,

You want to fight? Sure. How about you go out in the street and practice falling down for awhile, first.

Like we used to say in my old neighborhood: Two hits. Me hitting you and you hitting the floor. It wouldn’t even take a hit. I could tap you with my finger and you’d fall down go boom. Or you’d call me a name, let’s say, the “c” word.

Abby: Did you call me?
Roy: What?
Abby: I heard dumb bitch. I assumed you were talking to me.
Roy: I was talking to her.
Abby: Your name is dumb bitch TOO? No wonder I keep getting all of your mail! You know, we could be related. There are a lot of us dumb bitches here in LA.

— “The Truth About Cats & Dogs”

You’d be all, “C word!” and I’d turn around and say, Perdon? and you would… dissipate. Spontaneously combust, or maybe just implode. There would be a little pile of lint, that’s all that would be left of you.

You’re wussies, that’s why. Not just those garden-variety wussies, either. You’re the next level of wuss, my friends. Remember that trucker from “Thelma and Louise”? Now, he was your garden-variety wussie boy.

Thelma: I mean really! That business with your tongue. What is that? That’s disgusting!

Louise: You got that right.

You’re the kind of wussies who make certain people (moms, women, little girls, men who aren’t wussies) totally lose their shit. “Oh, what, you don’t have a sense of humor?”

Yeah, I like jokes.

When they’re funny.

1) You guys aren’t funny. You’re assholes and…

2) You can run, son, but you can’t hide.

Here’s a New Yorker article, because it’s all on the damn record now, isn’t it?

And then the Culture Vulture weighs in.

Also, a thoughtful post from Happy (or whatever).

On the one hand, I would like to pretend, like I have so very many times before, that this was just another bad date. You called me a slut, I went on my way, but you know what? We need to have this conversation, right here, right now. On the record. Because I’m not going anywhere.

But you are.

You guys said what you said, and acted like you acted, and it was bullshit. Old boys’ network and bwah-ha-ha and jokes about Jack Nicholson’s house and women’s “boobs” and calling a sweet little girl a horrible name… And really? Fucking really? More of this shit?

The difference this time is…

Everyone knows. And your way (the old way) is on the way out.

And that gives me, and my sisters, and our daughters, and all of those guys who aren’t wussies like you, a really good gift…

Hope.

And a big smile.

So head on out to the street now, would you?

love,

nancy

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

Russell Brand on addictions and 10 years clean (from an interview with Ellen DeGeneres): “Certainly it’s true, Ellen, that there are challenges. It’s just a tendency. If you’re naturally inclined to take drugs, or have problems around food, or problems around ‘How’s your father?’, it sometimes seems like it’s a solution. I think people that have those addictive tendencies, you feel a bit sad in your tummy, or a bit down. And you think, ‘I can’t feel this feeling, I must have some booze, I must have some drugs,” (gesturing with hands) “I must have a cake, or some sex.” (Thinks it over.) “You can’t probably hold sex like that in the palm of your hand. Unless you’re really attracted to mice. You must never do that!”

On February 24th (that is three days from now) I will have gone 22 months without booze. Feels good. Two years in April.

xo

wm

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

“As freely as the firmament embraces the world, / or the sun pours forth impartially his beams, / so mercy must encircle both friend and foe.” — Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, poet and dramatist (1759-1805)

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

I’m ready for summer spring, but I’m really enjoying all the good pix Steve is capturing this winter. Have a good week everyone!

— wm

Duke: “The lights are growing dim, Otto. I know a life of crime has led me to this sorry fate, and yet, I blame society. Society made me what I am.”
Otto: “That’s bullshit. You’re a white suburban punk just like me.”
Duke: “Yeah, but it still hurts.”

– from the movie “Repo Man”

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

At the International Cat Show, Portland, Ore., Jan. 27, 2013.

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

“Love Is Not Concerned”
Alice Walker

“love is not concerned
with whom you pray
or where you slept
the night you ran away
from home.
love is concerned
that the beating of your heart
should kill no one.”

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

“I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality… I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.” — Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love

peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace

I think about what it’s maybe like in Heaven. My cousin, who shot himself in the head; my uncle (his father), who wrapped his car around a tree; my Dad (my uncle’s friend, and the man my cousin loved most next to his own father), who jumped off a bridge; my Grandpa (who loved my cousin, my uncle, my Dad, so much) who kept threatening to shoot himself, until my uncles took away his guns. So he went off dialysis and stopped eating and was gone in a week.

Yeah, I bet that’s a real g.d. interesting conversation they’re all having, about their rights and how much easier everything is, now that they’re gone.

Now, how about you tell me that suicide is painless, while I’m sitting here alone, with their pain and mine, on a Saturday night. When people kill themselves, that pain doesn’t go away; it just gets transferred to someone else is all.

That’s all. Someone else carries it.

This is all getting stirred up for me in a kind of huge, ugly way, because of Newtown (Clackamas Town Center, Columbine, Springfield, Jonesboro, on and on). All the Yosemite Sams are jumping around, shooting themselves down both legs at once, no gun control bs, “gotta stay safe!”, loading up on new guns and ammo, going to gun shows, taking shooting classes, taking out concealed weapon permits, NRA bs, 2nd Amendment bs, on and on until I want to scream from it, really.

You know what people like to shoot with guns? Themselves. And children. And their wives. Women, in general. Wait. And men. People like to shoot men, too.

No more guns. They’re not worth the cost.

This song always makes me feel a little better. I’ll just play it twelve more times and try to get some sleep.

Peace, love, peace, love, always.

nancy

LuLu, aka Wacky Cat 1, we will miss you always. Love you, sweet girl. (Here are my favorite pictures, from when we brought a friend home for her.)

Edited New Year’s Eve to say: Stopped by the post office with Steve this morning to pick up LuLu’s ashes. Why? Because the Pet Remains with Dignity people just had to send the box registered mail. (No, they didn’t. Seriously. If someone had stolen our late, wild kitty’s remains from the porch, then cosmic joke would have been on them.) Well, it’s a little depressing, picking up your cat’s ashes (inside a box, inside a package wrapped in plain brown paper) from the nice postal guy, who made me sign my name, print my name, and write out our address, in addition to all of the same on a slip of paper the other nice postal carrier left at the door, “sorry, cannot leave package as Signature is Required,” etc.)…

Where was I? It’s a little sad, really, taking care of a small piece of business like that, when what I’d really like to be doing instead is having brunch with my husband, and guzzling mimosas.

Only I don’t drink anymore, so much for that plan. Sorry, denial, you just don’t do it for me anymore. I would love to try to find a way to forget that my kitty is gone. We were together for 17 years! She was funny, cuz she quacked instead of meowed! Also, I loved the way she would threaten you by holding up just one, flexed paw, claws extended. “I’ll cut ya.”

Sigh. One mimosa? Nope.

Quiet, sad moment. Then we walked outside and right then…

It started to snow. Gorgeous, beautiful, cold, white snowflakes.

Because my kitty is an angel now, that’s why, and she sent the snow.

The End and Happy New Year, dear readers.

— wm