Wallenberg, Kati Marton, and Sarah Palin make one tasty stew

I promised some info on Sarah Palin that is not widely known so here it is. I wont’ state my not humble opinions(yet)

Comment won’t ya!

http://www.newyorker.com/talk/2008/09/08/080908ta_talk_gourevitch


So, my hurricane musings might be right. http://www.albany.edu/~jd4226/project2/facts.html#costiest
I didn’t write that blog and yet I apologize for it saying, “costiest.”

Ivan, Camille, Katrina, Andrew—All grand names, and all very deadly. Apparently, they didn't alwasy name hurricanes so this eureka of a theory is limited.

I think Gustave sounded as if it had a lot of gravitas but that was misleading as I mentioned—The king of a country known for it’s neutrality. I’d love to reference a quote from that famous Orson Welles film and say… a King from a country that can only lay claim to herring and the cuckoo clock. But, that quote referred to Switzerland- the real notoriously neutral country. Plus, that’s not the quote but my own version of the quote.

Sweden was not as neutral and gave us Raoul Wallenberg. Raoul Wallenberg was a true hero and ended up at the Gulag Archipelago for his efforts.
That is so as per. So depressingly as per. I feel hopeful that as per will indeed become as prominent an expression as the abominable, “Awesome.” Ivan is a very intense seeming name and so I’ll go out on a limb and say that it will be an intense hurricane. I won’t be held accountable either way so I might as well just put it out there.

Which brings me to this: I’m starting to have this premonition that I will die soon. I had the premonition that I’d die at 25 and that came and went and here I sit blogging, so my premonitions are not so hot. But, I’m pretty convinced that this one will come to pass and maybe that is why I am continuing to put this out there as some very minor and unsolicited poke at “lives of quiet desperation.” I am not doing my part to fight antioxidants and I smoke as much as time permits so a ripe old age would be a major major affront.

According to my observations, a ripe old age is not appealing—Even if you’re not an Eskimo. This is one thing that I can concede to the Europeans, Asians etc.
America sucks if you make it to senior citizen status. You get older or wiser or older and just as stupid and suddenly you have a new label. Both known labels are obviously were intended to euphemize the basic realities that we all lose the indicators of youth. But, in America it seems that these words sound ugly. Words are just words but because of the culture here those words bring to mind polyester pantsuits and enforced mah jong, backgammon, or bingo games. It can also bring to mind Nursing homes. On the plus side, it calls forth the fact that you will get small discount at IHOP and at the movie theatre. It also may evoke a small social security check if you’re lucky.

I’m not yet even very close to this senior citizen status, but I can see that I’ve gotten smarter with age and the thought of being some frail thing who gets condescended to by the less physically frail amongst us sound like hell to me. My autistic kids are not going to be there for me and the chances of me losing what’s left of my sanity and ended up in the psych ward of the nursing home is there, to say the least. To be surrounded by indifferent or even hostile “caretakers.” Blech.
Which brings me back to the original kernel that inspired that huge corn cob of words. Often, I can't help but feel extremely self conscious about giving in to this blogging thing. I take some screwy pride in not being apart of any online social network etc. I take a screwy pride in lots of things. Anyway, so I'm blogging and I feel I have to justify this fact somehow. Isn't there something inherently unseemly abot a public diary? I think so. I don't think that my blog is a proper public diary, per se, but still...

Screeching out to the void is still very new...

I love ellipses, and you?

Anyhow, so to justify this screeching out to the abyss business -- I've decided it's because I'm just keeping a record of my last year on earth. Kind of an anne frank sitch but without the ... you know. I feel a certain sense of immediacy, but also know that I have no real record of prescience. Keep reading!



And since I’ve broached premonitions in this post I want to warn you that I’ve gotten a little big shotty with this premonition business. And, since it’s 9/11, I’ll tell you a small illustrative tale:

It turns out that I was at an ashram with the spinster sisters on Sept 9 2001. They weren’t at an ashram because they were dips but because they needed to get away from visiting relatives and so that was the cheapest and closest alternative- An alternative to having to see their wretched extended family, that is. So, we were at this ashram and it turned out that we had a great time and met some cool people and had some very decent food and didn’t miss meat as much as anticipated. So, we are at this ashram and on the morning of Sept 9 I woke up after a dream of war. I can’t remember the details because it was a dream but when I woke up the smaller boned spinster was awake and I said to her, “ There will be war. I had this dream and I know there will be war.”

Well, two days later there was. So, yeah, I could be a prophet or it could be a coincidence. You decide.

So much more to ramble about but I’ll force myself to just post this and ramble further in another post. Blogging for dummies tells you to pace yourself etc.

Which reminds me that I must google to see if The Dummy series of books and the Idiot series of books are by the same publisher. When I find out, I will treat you with my riff on that. Ah, lucky you. Like Raoul Wallenberg you must have some good ass karma.