Twop danny gokey disagreement

drips and drabs to the old blog and my modest goal of reaching 5000 hits by my very special birthday is possible but not probable. I will continue to blog my head off and share the sort of innermost thoughts that don't get me into much trouble.

How are you feeling today world wide web? I understand that the world has many time zones and so many should but up and at em at this hour. I shouldn't be up at at me but circadians are crazy things.

Much to tell the world wide web today. My American Idol review most urgently:

Was it my mood or was that really boring. I'm not feelig Adam Lambert again and none of this batch of kids hits my soul spot like Fantasia did or even Melinda Doolitle or even Jason Castro. I grudgingly watch it but it's not much fun this year for this little gal. So, now I've tired of all my reality shows and so I don't think I'll be watching more than an hour of non news related tv anymore.

Up to here with Tyra and those half homely models. But, that Tyra and those dreadful fashion people Jay and Jay and other assorted fashion sorts and just marvel that it is still on and that Tyra is living large. I rarely loathe people on TV or even in real life but that's for the next post, but Tyra is one of those very select few.

There is some tenous but obvious connectin between her and Oprah I'm not aware of a direct link but one senses that without Oprah there could be no Tyra and so I'll blame it all on Oprah and stay true to my blog name.

Then, I promised myself that I would not see any Rock of Love 4 and that my saturation with Bret Micheals must be established etc. I must not watch it and fear I might. Man oh man, was last season a stinker or what? It went from heavenly(first season) to a pleasant purgatory(Amber??) and then a deevolution into some godforsaken bus and an array of skeeves and skanks that made Bret Michaels look like a prince by comparison and so that felt very wrong-- feeling that Bret coul "do better." For the record: I don't know what the hell the TwoP cabal is talking about when they ooh and ahhh over Big John. Big John, to me, is one of those awful security types who takes their ridiculous jobs seriously and just as I find it impossible to see how the gang at TWOP have managed to so consistently Lurve Big John I can't see how they have managed to hate Danny Gokey. I shall quote randy jackson here and tell TWOp,"I'm not feeling it, dog."

Hmmm. Then, I long ago gave up on Survivor and can't get over that it is stiil on and that these constestests are now suffering like that without even the slightest chance of losing their obscurity(See Hasselback, Elizabeth, Susan Hawk, Richard even jeri etc) For the love of the game? For the love of Jeff Probst? To see how they look really thin?
all is possible. I hit publish post now with mouse click.

charles manson and oprah

My blog is gettting hits and I feel secure that I will reach cyber success by my birthday. That is my goal and that is what I shall devote a good 14 percent of my headspace to till that desperate day, which is now 22 days away.

The good lord is pulling strings to keep me here and i figure that I should try to foment a revolution as I am very irritated by much of what this thing called society is coming up with. Society as a rule is always going to be annoying because the slightest pause for real thought would put that word under unbearable scrutiny. See, and here is where I am dong a charles manson imitation but you don't know it as no emoticon is yet available to have my readers know when I am thinking that I'm going to sound like Charles Manson when I say,

"You want a write a letter to her. Yeah, Yeah, sure she's never ain't getting back to you. See if then society gets back to you with a christmas card. Cause, Dig it, yeah, She don't have no mailing adresss. Society don't have no mailing labels, so to speak, Dig it? You want to e-mail or text society on Twitter and tell her what soup you ate?? Dig it? She ain't going to get back to you cuz she done cancelled her accounts."

I see that strange and possibly nonsensical speech being made in a manner of speech resemblig a mixture of charles manson and Janis Joplin at some concert before she died. Janis was talking like in this whiny hippy way and would punctuate all her unoriginal and somewhat addled observations with , "maaaaaaan."

Getting into this character here and unbenownst to any sweet sod who ventures upon my blog has been fun but the goals have still not been met and so the goals still will be gnawing. The goals? You ask? To reach 5000 hits by my miserable birthday and to foment a revolution where I am the leader but not in that power hungry way. My revolution will be all about making due with discount items and chatting and FUN. Eventually as with all revolutions it will implode and ony the 99 cents stores and goodwills will be left standing and most will come to loathe me and curse the day I told them they couldn't go on twitter, buy things at whole foods, or wear loafers without socks. Those are the first things that come to mind for my revolution but trust me I have more ideas than that.

On the right side of my screen it says "Monetize" and that just might be a wierdo euphemism of capitalize but it is time to monetize and I have 22 days set as my goal to do so as I have many fish to fry yet, and frying pans, fish, and oil cost money.


Talking about fish has not made me hungry because it's not even breakfast time and only freaks want fish for breakfast, anyhow. So, I won't talk about fish but I will talk about charles manson for a second and marvel how he got a bunch of people to do such vicious things by just being completely cryptic and not even good looking.


I have some heft behind my crypticism and am good looking and I can't even imagine asking 99.9 % of people to do me a small favor much less carry out my murderous schemes. That is not to say that I have murderous schemes. I must make that clear as it is possible that somewhere out there someone has a stake in twisting my words...
So for the reord: All is said figuratively and the jury is going to hate you. I trust my jury, bitches.

My that is beyond cryptic.It alludes to a recent and very real lifestyle that is not by my choice. And, that lifestyle by no choice is that of being prosecuted for a crime I did not commit and having to focus my energies on 12 random souls picked in voire dire and the most important 12 people I'll ever deal with in my life. At least I hope so because, I'm all about having exprerience, but being prosecuted for something you didn't do is one I'm not too sure I can survive twice. That's a good story and one that slowly but surely will get told.

I know for certain that i have 3 readers now and so I apologize to them for piquing their curiosity without payoff but my truth has been twisted for over a year now and so I need to be careful. But,it should be known to as many people as possible that a grave injustice was done to me and my family and that we'll fight the assorted evildoers till the end. Evil doers is not said in some campy overly christian kind of way but as an adjective that is appropriate even after careful analysis.

I work as a webmistress part time for a pretty awful lady named Tarra Slovan and she blames her own recent rash of bad luck on her corrupt life coach. She's writing an e-book about suriving the justice system when you are both indigent and INNOCENT and I plan to to link it when it is done. She's a pretty awful lady but it's turning out to be a good book.


Feel free to request more charlie manson impressions!

egan means yes in hungarian, oprah! http://www.yadvashem.org.il/

Since I changed my blog name to oprah I might have upset some or many enraged oprah fans looking for an oprah related fix and coming upon my random bloggery.

Well, I finally had some op(r)ah-riffic experiences. Today was one of those days when fighting seemed fine and noble rather than just exhausting and wasteful and where I felt able to feel PERSPECTIVE. It started with an image of steve jobs and then the sight of my ever plump mother. Steve jobs was given the diagnosis of islet cell cancer awhile back. I remember reading about that in my epic pancreatic cancer research days and wishing I was that lucky. And almost a year later it turned out that a better diagnosis was given. Still, of course, before I could fully celebrate some very sick people came along and invented a whole hoax that will be revealed soon. It all came to me so strongly-- that this will all end well soon. It seems I'll never get rid of the mr. magoo inside that makes me oblivious to so many things and puts me at danger. I get told about cut throat types and dog eat dog worlds, and I still can't believe that people are selling thier souls so cheaply all the time. In this case: I don't think their are souls involved but hypothetically, if they did have a sould than one sold it for a podunk comedy career and one sold for the love of said podunk comedian. What degrees of guilt is up to debate but damn are those two guilty.
the soul strikes me as something very expensive and so I haven't had the right offer as of yet. I don't get how they are living with themselves, is all, and I never will(naivete?) and their actions can never makes sense to me, and I hope they remain forever a mystery.
Speaking about the soul doesn't bring to mind oprah for me but stil, I've gone astray and forgot my oprahantastic tale- and it would be called"My mothers name is marianna," if it gets told and then packaged by oprah, but I doubt that any of that will happen.
Let me explain. My mother is a hungarian holocaust survivor-- and that entails lots of things, one of those being very confused about where and how she spend 1 very particular year of her childhood, particulary- the year between turning 5 and turning 6 years old. Most kids don't have a clear recollection and her memories are clearer than most. It's common knowledge that traumatic events(because of another one of those murphy law catch 22 situations) is more memorable than non traumatic events, and so my mother remembers mountains of dead bodies and potato peel meals and her mother doing all kinds of heroic things and then she remembers being in france(orly) and some fresh traumas and non traumas from growing up in Israel. But, holocaustwise I just had to hear hazy stories with hazy details about her camp experience. Suffice it to say, they were not about how fresh the air was in the Catskills that might be told by someone else of her generation. So, though I've been told a few stories and knew that she spent 6 months in bergen belsen(made famous by the highly posthumous authoress, anne frank) I never could be sure about a lots of other things. At 39 years old, I don't exactly know why it is only now that I must find out more. But, that's how it is and so I am finding out more. Awhile back my mother made an effort to get her hungarian birth certificage and it took a long long time to arrive. We've been very impatient about a lot of things lately so that was just a minor annoyance, and something pretty much forgotten. Last week, it came in the mail and whoa. Not to mention myself again in all this but it is my blog and my take so I will insert myself here. I for about 8 years was interested to a pretty small but signifigant degree in astrology. In the last year I totally forgot about it. I just lost interest. And, so my first thought after the initial excitement was that " damn, what if mommy isn't an aries." I've ascribed and been able therefore to categorize her in good and bad ways by thinking or even saying, "oh,she's an aries."
The woman is so rammish it's incredible. I knew that my mother was never sure of her birthdate and the date 3/30/39 was calculated by her mother telling her that she was born on the second night of passover. Her older brother was told he was born on the night of purim, the other oldest brother was 11 and so he remembers his own birthday. Now, it's strange enough that my grandmother didn't remember two of her kid's exact birthdates but potato peel meals probably dulled the memory for some time. Plus, my grandmother wasn't a birthday kind of woman. My grandfather died in the holocaust so 3-30-39 it was. So, back to silly astrology: I felt this fleeting panic- what if my mother is scorpio???? Will I still love her??? Of course I would but then I'd start seeing new qualities that might or not have existed beforehand. So the opening of that shiny envelope from the hungarian consul was fraught with absurdities--- and time passed and it was open and in readable form and IT WAS RIGHT. She was born on march 30, 1939. But, but... her last name and the name her whole family goes by is not the same. And, her first name-- the name that defines her so incredibly strongly-- is not the same. And it not a mere phonetic formality as the last name(szameth rather than samet)but her birth name is Marianna. I heard her tell me a few times how her mother named her after an opera star and that it was marianna, but though I know my mother never lies , I figured it was just another unusual fact that I had no time to consider.

Hungary, like Germany, had a very assimilated jewry. My family in particular was orthodox but my grandmother told me that she clearly remembers as a child enormous nationilistic pride. This of course, adds a further layer of tragedy to it all-- et tu hungary? egan!
But, that's for my new blog which i will unveil shortly. Since I've been falsely accused as of late, my confessions of a past serial killing existence, became too realistic and too dangerous. So, as a one year gift to myself and society . One year no serial killing. knock on wood, kind of celebratory gesture, I'm going to start a spanking new blog with none of that "i'm a suburban mom serial (and sometimes spree killer)" bagagge. This will most definately affect my hits because profilers will no longer come to see my blog and profile and I might have to earn my hittage the hard way. Ghouls of all sorts will have seek such information elsewhere. sorry, ghouls.

Back to Hungary and Germany and my mother and probably me. So, with this new information to process I set on a fact finding mission that thus far has led me to very dark places. I know no more than I probably should know but that's nothing new.
I now know that my grandfather died in Mauthausen and that Mauthausen is notorious. Why it was more or less notorious than the others is not that clear and my grandfather according to statistics on hungarian jews sent there seems to have been spared the gas chambers.Cold comfort,for sure.
I know that my great grandmother and many of my great cousins, aunts and uncles died in birkenau and aushwitz. My great grandmother died in the gas chambers and I will now not only know this but cry for this and feel this as I fight and survive in my own way-- thousands of miles away. and as I sit here blogging and fighting to retain some perspective in a world that doesn't seem to provide it freely -- I feel the fear of my grandmother and the suffocation and the saddest of sounds-- the sound of mercy in such instances -- the sound of silence. Such instances, such moments, such times -- all sounds so wrong. How do you describe the time it takes to die by such vicious means? and my body fills with a tension that can only be released through tears until this same tension returns and since something like this can't be made sense of, I'm again to rely on time. Time, as they tell us, will heal the wounds. That old time worn assurance alway makes me feel a painful form of impatience.
And there's guilt there too. A lot. There is the guilt of the intitiall oblivion --of not being yet born. and then the guilt of knowing that I didn't make more effort to know. And, still I want to find out so much more, and there will be times where what I find is comforting. my sister wrote a lot of great lines in her (still ticking) time -- but two of my favorties that keep cropping up are, " my new definition of "Luck." and " life is long... unless you get a melanoma..." The second one can only be appreciated in the context of her novel or at least the page of her novel, but the first one can stand alone for our purpose. Our purposes? whateva.

I have the strongest urge to write an academic essay on luck. what do you think of these titles?

A discussion of the absolute fluidity of interpration of benificient abrogation?

no?

the dissemination of the inabsolute character of beneficience in modern day life.

or

the explication of sitational classifciation visa vi the interpration of the label, "luck."

perhaps this:

vacillations in life's viccissitudes- a study in relativity.

I have more but, seriously, how does one quantify the perceptions of munificence? Is munificence a state of mind or a an indisputable entity.

am I smart or just fancy? should I go to grad school?



I have run out of time to finish this blog entry and dindn't even get a chance to discuss tragedy as I'd planned.




To be continued ASAP.

Ulitmate frisbee and creativi-- tee and theories

So, I see there have been some viewers and I’m going to go on a limb and assume they are off somewhere in the vast universe just waiting to hear the rest of my ultimate frisbee story.. Since the comments left have thus far been only complimentary I think my assumption is valid even if entirely wrong. So, sweet Mike drives the three of us to some grubby field in north Hollywood, and there is some unusually huge turnout. I’d guess about 30 souls waiting patiently to play ultimate Frisbee. And, they all are wearing their adidas special sport shorts and some shirt that is properly athletic and they look so … shabby. Like the comedians in L.A. But, there not comedians but from my very limited information—they are editors and other things. And, no one knows anyone though they’ve been playing this ultimate Frisbee for longer than 6 months. I just didn’t get it and was grateful to at least look cool with my cords and flip flops while I didn’t get it. Anyone over 30 wearing that adidas long nylony short and the athletic gear shirt just looks wrong unless they are gorgeous. I just was overwhelmed by the absurdity of strangers running around throwing a Frisbee at each other. The manager of my building deserves his own book, much less a blog but suffice it to say he is now a hot shot agent and had a pet tiger as pet while a boy in Puert Rico. He also spoke openly about how sweaty his balls were and I wanted elsewhere so very very badly.

Anyhow, I’m over it. This is my theory on artists and angst. I truly never hear about it before so if it is unoriginal I apologize in advance.

The artist, unlike the non artist, lives to create. God, like the artist, is a creator. So, when an artist stares at a painting in a gallery he feels that his critique of the artist is more “educated,” than the run of the mill gallery goer.

So, he can look at the canvas and approve or he could be filled with alienation (if the work is Popular) or he can be filled with admiration or he could be filled with angst that such a gross piece of shit is in a gallery at all.

Enter God. The creative artist aloft in the universe must stare or gaze or just notice God’s Canvas and so often he will find it not only lacking but vile and grotesque. The artist mourns the lost chances for beauty. There seems even a crime against symmetry in the figure of most humans. How can it be so that the master of all would create a hairlip or piano legs and flappy tits. The list of offenses is endless and painful to re-visualize.

Well, dear reader, that is the gist of this theory. I only can know that since I was a baby I remember marveling and mourning the ubiquity of hideousness of so many humans in a symmetrical and spiritual sense. So if, lets say, I am on the admissions board of an art school and god presented with a portfolio of his prose and poetry(spiritual) and his fine art( symmetry, composition, purpose) I’d be intrigued but ultimately horrified that he had the power and talent and came up with the shit I see.

Clever, no?

Also, the artist unlike the scientist or other exalted character has no real lab or university to find shelter in. The studio doesn't count as a real place of "business." The possibilities are too endless and therefore ripe for neurosis. Whateva. Give someone like the smaller bones spinster 3 exceptional talents and you have a recipe for angst.

If talent reveals itself from a young age, any artistic goal won’t feel realized in any organized institution. And, beginning at 3 in nursery, institutions are organized to lead us … somewhere. The real artist, meanwhile, is marching to a drummer that’s beat is leading him only away. Away where? Endless places. Don’t give them any recognition, or mentorship and they will suffer. The poet, today, is only recognized in corners of academia and I’d bet there are lot of suicides that we’ll never hear of.

I recently read a book about bipolar/mania, and according to this book, "touched by fire" by Kay Redfield; mania has been found to be the most prevalent in poets, poetic writers, and composers. Suicides are by far the highest in poets, or as someone said in the book, “in the rhyming tribe.” Novelists suffer mostly from depression. Visual artists seem spared of the worst of it and though sometimes very depressive or psychotic (van Gogh) they are not as suicidal or that mentally distressed.

I’ve always known that many poets, “lost their mind,” and that writers of any quality are sufferers. But, the idea that composers too suffer very similarly made me have to figure out why.

Why? My opinion. The poet and the composer are obsessed with putting form to chaos. Trying to see patterns in randomness is too heavy a burden on a human brain and like some computer it overheats or plain crashes. The novelist and painter also want to put form to chaos but the novelist's format it less restrictive and the painter doesn't have to use his mental faculties with the same intenity

My brain is now overheating so I’ll leave you with my theory on Atheism.

I believe atheism is an impossibility. Why? Because we all had mothers and fathers and so the idea of our creations is hardwired. We all can’t help but believe, in our own ways, that we were invented and that someone other than a human invented us. Some insist that they are atheists. I think many of those who insist this are convinced that it shows them to be less simpleminded. But, in reality, some of the great minds of our time and other times couldn’t resist believing in a god. I think we all carry some idealized vision of how the world should really be and maybe that is a god.

Okay, now it's time for me to take two excedrins and get to work.