Saturday, July 29, 2006

Remembering All

Now ladies, I know that most of you have been with a man of whom you've worried about the state of his very soul. As in... does he have one? And by the way, where's his heart? I'm not talking about the kinda guy or the kinda relationship where you're pretty sure he's got a heart; he's just not giving it to you. Moreorless, ye olde SITC infamous "He's just not that in to you" scenario. (And yes, that's a wicked-bitter pill for us women folk to, um, swallow, but once you've bitten that, um, bullet, I swear there's smooth, peaceful sailing ahead.... but that's another advice entry for you all together.)

No, I'm talking about the guy so removed from life, removed from the human experience, the day-to-day tiny joys, the run-of-the-mill heartbreaks of this life we're all given that you gotta fear for his very soul. Where did the dude get off the human path and vear so hard into Detatchment La-La Land? How did he get so far removed from us? What drove him away? And what does he do in his spare time besides wack-off to porn? You know the kinda guy... cold at the core, yet you've seen a spark somewhere. You know it when you feel it coming from him. It's there. It's buried. It's been known to rise to the occasion.

You thought you could ignite an entire freakin' emotional fire within the man, but then he slips from you as if he were sinking under your very boat. And there's so little you can do, less you went under too and drowned your own self in the process; only a stupid, utterly hopeless, ain't-tasted-the-good-in-life kinda woman would do that.

Am I right so far, ladies? Even if you know what a strong, solid swimmer you are, you gotta acknowledge that at some point in the rescue effort, you're going to get tired and really cranky. Worn out to the bone. And when women get bone-tired and exhausted, well bad things is sure gonna happen... most likely to themselves. Anyways, there comes a point with a certain kinda man, a certain kinda person, that you worry so whether you could ever trust them - in anything, any effort of the heart in particular.

I've got a little test I've come up with that might help you guage the state of this other emotional life, the other heart, you're confounded by. Help you along to the right decisions and the right relationship path.

If your man watches this Johnny Cash video and has no reaction whatsoever, dump him as fast as you can. Walk immediately and swifty away. He ain't got nothing but a bad, black heart. If he likes it and comments about it in any kinda way, there's reason to stick around. If it makes him cry, well... you know what to do. If you don't know what to do, then I suggest learning more about your own heart, and real soon too -- else he's gonna eventually dump you.

By the way, my ex-husband sent me this video. Talk about something bittersweet. But well, that's all kinda personal for a blog...

Enjoy. It's all life. Just don't ever let it pass you by.

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(BTW, of all the billions of blogs out there, according to Technorati, there is not a single other blog tagged any of these: Life, Heart, Hurt, Just Living or I Remember Everything. Pretty emotionally barren out there in the blogosphere, n'est ce pas?)

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Our Fave Charlestonian

Takes the total piss outta politicians and MSM - once again. Damn he does it good!

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

My Never Changing Moods

Listen up kiddies... there is someone out there who's hipper than you. Always has been. Hell, he was hipper than us back when we were clueless enough to think we were ice-cool. If you have to ask who Paul Weller is... well then sorry, you were never hip at all.

Just please God, don't let him be a vegan now.

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Monday, July 24, 2006

Rebel Yap

Pauline Ashley-Wilkes sighted at B-ATL. What's next... RebelFemBloggerCon? Anyone up for organizing that one? I gotta go re-enact something or I'd do it myself.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

The End Of Isolation

Here's a comment I posted to BuzzMachine after reading this entry about John Updike's recent lament over the overpowering characteristics of the digital era -- in the context of a bookstore. Yawn.

Be sure to read the Updike essay first though. And yes, I posted my comment in the wrong place. Oooops. Nothing like looking like a complete dope on a popular blog...

"Reading Updike’s amusing, musty handwringer of an essay, The End of Authorship, I was reminded of my days growing up in the rural south with quasi-hippy, isolationist-minded parents.

In the early 70s, the units imagined themselves at the vanguard of good intentions, so naturally enough we had no TV down on the (organic) farm. We had books, radio and music instead.

Books, radio and music only, for info, pleasure or entertainment, were all just perfect — for my parents. Still are. They continue to flourish and thrive with no computers or Internet access on the farm.

Books, music, radio were all fine by me too — up to a certain point. I eventually came to a place in my life, though, where I, unlike the units, had to survive in the real world of a just segregated, Deep South, rural, public school system. And believe me, “dirty hippies” was a freakish concept able to unify blacks and whites with little or no fuss.

Oddly enough, one way to keep savages at bay is to have a conversation with them. Of course “the savages” weren’t at home reading Ulysses while lovingly stroking the inches of the edges of a dusty treasure from Cambridge Square.

Rather, they were hootin’ it up in the hallways over Marcus Welby, M.D.

Since I didn’t have a prayer of sparking a conversation about Susan Stanberg’s cranberry relish, I’d often make-up anecdotal tid-bits about last night’s Rockford Files. Kinda the way I do now when I’ve missed most of the last season of Entourage.

The point being here that good old-fashioned book reading, fiction in particular, is ultimately a solitary pursuit we choose as an intellectual indulgence, with little or no interactivity involved, unless you’re an academic or in one of those icky, menopausal book clubs. And that’s ok.

However, not only does society demand interactivity, the befudling “performances, access to the creator, and personalization” that Updike stodgily dismisses out of hand are often a deep source of enjoyment and fulfillment - especially when they become something we can create, control and distrubute so easily in this digital age. And who knows, maybe they become a survival source too.

Guess that’s why my parents do not blog. But I do."

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Monday, July 17, 2006

(Alert) Moms In War Zone

Here's a blog from an Israeli mom and writer, Allison Kaplan Sommer. Allison lives in Ra’anana, a suburb located about a half hour’s drive north from Tel Aviv and chronicles on her blog, An Unsealed Room, what daily life becomes when bombs start going off around you.

Having just sent my kid to horse camp too, albeit one without reinforced walls, I find her account of living, again, in a war zone utterly compelling and not so terribly far-fetched for our placid American sensibilities. I mean, what can you do when the shit hits the fan other than what writer-moms do best... clean out the bomb shelter and have a cappuccino!

Odd choice of patronage on her blog though I must say. Are Sonic Booms big in Israel?

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

News Flash: MSM Remains Kinda Clueless

What's missing from this story about blogging on ABC News dot com, (other than Peter Jennings who I still miss deeply everytime I watch at 7pm) titled Should You Quit Your Day Job To Blog? (Thanks for the link, Randy.)

The news, perhaps? I can't believe anyone can be so clueless as to write a (wildly optimistic) story about independent video blogging nowadays, mention Rocketboom right out of the gate, and then fail to talk about the glaring fact that Amanda Congdon was unboomed from Rocketboom just last week!

MSM is falling seriously behind the curve I'm afraid. The whole dynamic of video blogging took a dramatic swerve when Amanda left and all their dirty laundry got hung out to dry.

It's almost that MSM isn't worth bothering with as they're so slow outta the gate. I mean, cranking up those multi-million dollar bits of copy and video is heavy lifting. No longer Johnny On The Spot. And as for quickie political investigations, look at what went down at Peach Pundit! Go get 'em, you Red Boys.

By the way, the answer to Should You Quit Your Day Job To Blog? is "Sure! Why not?!" I just did. So... watch this space.

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Sunday, July 09, 2006

The Beauty Of Rock

If you can get on the server (it's full-up with overuse right now since CBS Sunday Morning just aired a story about this treasure drove), the late Bill Graham's massive, exclusive rock memorabilia collection from the 60's and 70's is available online now.

All that's to say about this collection is "Wow." I watched the story today on TV with my mouth literally wide-open at the goodies one could behold. The previously unseen footage from the Who's last tour with Keith Moon, for instance, was enough to give one a deep longing to gaze on the whole show for as long as you could. To go back in time. To stay there too. The Jumpsuit tour. Oh wow. That's all I can say. Check out the site when you can here.

Another artist recently noted on a good Atlanta blog, SoulPole, is James Jean. He also does marvelous rock posters in that fabulous old-school Haight-Asbury style. A poster example regaling The Donnas is on the SoulPole site.

And while you're on the CBS Sunday Morning site, don't miss David Pogues', uh, grammer school primer on blogging. Cute bedroom shoes, eh? Elvishly cute that Pogue is. Um Hum. Nice person too, from what I read.

PRESS ALERT: If you happen to be in the area, be sure to pick-up a copy of The Marietta Daily Journal, Sunday edition, and pull out the Lifestyle section. Guess who's on the front page of that section? Yep - Sas and Pauline. They are such MSM hags!

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Thursday, July 06, 2006

Must Have Been Slytherin

Hmmm... Coke employees have been naughty, as they were caught trying to sell The Formula. Ha. As if that's possible.

Whatever they were passing around at Pepsi (and whatever Pepsi respectfully declined) everyone knows The Formula is locked in The Vault forever and ever, amen… along with some stinkin’ Polyjuice Potion, Margaret Mitchell’s tape recorder, Jeff Clark's worthiness as a human being, and Sas Gordon-Walker's first pageant trophy.

All Atlanta children grow up hearing, “If you don’t behave, y’all be locked in the Coca-Cola vault. Mark my word!” Stupid stupid people.

Alan Rickman can pour potions all over me anytime he desires... but that's neither here nor there.

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