Madonna’s pervert brother Christopher Ciccone, who is a non-rehabilitated drug addict that did a book containing nothing but photos of naked butts, and got in on dirty business deals with his even more perverted sister, is doing a tell all about her.

That family behaves like barbarians. What a messed up gene pool. Knowing them, I highly doubt the book will be original. What’s he really going to tell us that we don’t already know, anyway:

Mad-onna

That his sister’s marriage is in trouble. Though she denies it – yet in the same breath states they are getting marriage counseling over their problems.

That her fraudulent music has faded and audiences are totally over her, hence her flopped CD “Hard Candy.”

That she's had 11 abortions according to Barbara Victor, Andrew Morton and many others:

Barbara Victor's book "Goddess" (HarperCollins), published in the same week as Morton's, includes the shock claim that Madonna has had 11 abortions in 25 years, and tricked British film director Guy Ritchie into marrying her by deliberately getting pregnant with her second child, Rocco.

http://app1.chinadaily.com.cn

She has had abortions. She has been known to be insecure, pestering her menfolk with telephone calls.

http://www.tribuneindia.com

Superstar Madonna has had 11 abortions in her life - according to an unauthorized biography by Barbara Victor. In new book Goddess, Victor says the Material Girl would be the mother of 13 children if she had retained her catholic beliefs of termination being wrong. Victor says, "She had a pregnancy in between Lourdes and Rocco. It was with a British man." The last abortion is alleged to have taken place just before Madonna met her husband Guy Ritchie.

http://www.imdb.com

"Madonna had several abortions when she was with Jellybean, at least three that I know of," says Erica.

http://findarticles.com

That she has a currently medically incurable STD she contracted from one of the many people she slept with.

Madonna devilishly laying on a pentagram in her video "Human Nature"

That at age 25, she made out with and fondled her manager’s 15-year-old nephew.

That at age 25, she went around downtown Manhattan having sex with underage Latino youths (she just keeps spreading that herpes).

That all her major hits and many of her minor ones as well were stolen from other artists she ripped off.

That she, um, exchanged funds (that's a euphemism) for the mafia (her ex-boyfriend Mafioso, Chris Paciello, and others)

That she’s still a lesbian and is having sex with a woman in her employ. Isn't that not allowed in Kabbalah.

Claudia Schiffer

That her husband made a pass at model Claudia Schiffer (pictured above) even though she is the wife of one of his friends.

Kelly Brook

That he has a crush on model/actress Kelly Brook, who he was seen standing too close to and sniffing her perfume and hair with a grin on his face.

That she engages in bribery to win court cases.

That she’s frequently used hard drugs like ecstasy (“The night I met Michael Rosenblatt, who signed me to Sire Records, I jammed my demo tape into his hand, we both did a tab of ecstasy and then we danced the night away").

Psycho

That she puts testosterone into her system via a skin cream:

Madonna is rubbing male hormones on her face. The Material Girl has started a strict regime of massaging her skin with testosterone cream due to it’s toted ability to increase muscle mass, boost energy, improve memory, and ward off mood swings. But Madge has got a hairy surprise that’s a bit more than she bargained for.

http://www.popcrunch.com

http://showhype.com

http://ifitandhealthy.com

http://www.prettysocial.net

That she's been pictured out in public drunk.

That she’s been stalking Prince William and Prince Harry in London with that sick Kabbalah cult.

That she is abusive to kids:

1. A group of young girls waited patiently for hours in the Westbury Hotel lobby for Madonna's autograph. Her personal assistant, Melinda Cooper told the crazy pop star:

“They’ve been waiting here all day, Madonna. Why don’t you sign an autograph for them” to which the she-devil Madonna walked up to the kids and said " 'If I do it for you, then I’ll have to do it for everybody. You’re nothing. You don’t mean anything to me' then turns and leaves." - from the "I Hate Madonna Handbook"

2. That she choked a 10-year-old boy for "pestering" her for an autograph on her day off:

MADONNA THE BOUNCER POUNCES ON A KID FAN

"Madonna beat me up," reported Keith Sorrentino, a 10-year-old fan from Staten Island, whose parents sued the superstar after she allegedly choked their son. Little Keith and his older sister Darlene were devoted fans.

They knew when Madonna got up, where she took morning coffee, where she jogged. They knew the name of her private secretary, when she left the theater (after performing in Speed-The-Plow) and from which door.

What they didn't know was how Madonna felt about their adulation. "We're her fans," Keith said innocently. "We were following Madonna out of the San Remo [co-op]. I ran in front and took her picture, that's when she started cursing me out - she's got some mouth on her - and threw me against the wall. Look. I got bruises," he told New York Post columnist Amy Pagnozzi, exposing a skinny arm.

Keith suffers from "regular nightmares," according to his attorney, who filed a $600,000 damage suit over the encounter. Madonna settled out of court.- New York Post

3. That she choked Dick Clark’s son

Music industry veteran Dick Clark

The book titled "THE BIG SHOW: HIGH TIMES AND DIRTY DEALINGS BACKSTAGE AT THE ACADEMY AWARDS" by Steve Pond, detailed how a camerawoman fell into the orchestra pit and was seriously injured, and as she laid there on the floor waiting for paramedics, a furious Madonna was upset that she wouldn't be able to rehearse for the show. Madonna, obviously not concerned for the woman's welfare exclaimed, "But she's just lying there. Can't we just do this."

Still upset at not being able to rehearse (like it was gonna help), Madonna later choked Dick Clarke’s son Rac who accidentally fell asleep during her show (can you blame him) and ruined a planned microphone stunt for her performance. According to the book she then, "Launched into an astonishingly profane tirade, despite the fact that the area below was occupied by a group of children." And now she's writing children's books. Alrighty, then.

http://www.judiciaryreport.com/madonnas_brother_to_write_tell_all.htm

]]> http://aishamusic.wordpress.com/?p=862 Fri, 27 Jun 2008 16:31:57 +0000 aishamusic http://aishamusic.wordpress.com/?p=862

Cindy Lauper rip off

Greta Garbo rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

(courtesy of www.madonnarevelations.blogspot.com)

For more Madonna rip offs click here

http://www.judiciaryreport.com/more_madonna_thefts_uncovered_5.htm

]]> http://petetoro.wordpress.com/?p=168 Fri, 27 Jun 2008 15:31:21 +0000 pete http://petetoro.wordpress.com/?p=168 I came across this:

It's kinda funny, and kinda sexy.

See Also:

Penelope's Pantyhose - About The Show

Penelope's Pantyhose - youtube

Bringing You The Funny, Whether You Like It Or Not.





Perhaps my favorite George Carlin routine was his rant on “stuff.” As was often the case in his routines, he starts by alerting his audience to the absurdity of something and then, in a torrent of repetitions and distinctions, overwhelms you. By the end, he exhausts the word... and sometimes you.

Others are more qualified to address Carlin’s “process”—I don’t know how he rehearsed or how much—but so much of Carlin’s manic energy was magic. No one will ever equal him in the humor of lists—seven was an absolute minimum for George Carlin. He let the lists rain down, and his timing was so masterful he sometimes seemed a shaman. His quirky dance seduced you, and his endless renovations and innovations on a theme became a sort of conversion.

The job description “comedian” never fit him well. More accurately he was a satirist, his true business covert. In the tradition of Jonathan Swift, Carlin presented a mirror where people might see everyone’s face except their own. As indirect as his blows could be, he hit hard. At some point, the universal “you” changed into the personal you. The “you” that initially included Carlin sometimes didn’t in the end. The audience lay on the pyre.

As a satirist, Carlin was an equal opportunity offender. No spectator survived the evening without feeling targeted at least once. Watching George Carlin—especially late in his career—I sometimes laughed, sometimes felt defensive, and sometimes argued back at the screen.

He hid less near the end. At times his bitterness was explicit. But Carlin’s rift on “stuff” finds him in wiliest form. He never uses the word “materialism” as he targets Americans’ materialism and our belief that happiness is just a thing away. “That’s the whole meaning of life,” Carlin crows, “trying to find a place to put your stuff.” We organize our lives around “stuff.” We build houses—really “piles of stuff with covers on them”—to protect our stuff and buy new homes so we can buy more stuff. We travel with stuff, resent other’s stuff, and worry which stuff should be with us at all times.

Carlin was hardly the first person to insult us so. In Walden, Thoreau wrote that our possessions possess us. Thoreau famously said, "A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to leave alone." As we accrete stuff, Thoreau argued, we give up freedom and flexibility in proportion. Worse, we become accustomed to our diet of excess until it takes more and more to feed us. In this matter, as in many others, Thoreau proved prophetic.

But Thoreau wasn’t funny. He was a scolder, a proud party pooper, and, where Thoreau revels in hyperbole and spleen, Carlin could draw people in before springing a trap. He could be late because he was looking for a place for his own stuff. He didn’t start out, as Thoreau did, playing the exception. In the end, he obviously wasn't.

Sure, Carlin had a Thoreauvian guise too. In his bitterest work, he attacked openly, and some critics slammed his later work as dour and, particularly damningly, preachy, not funny. Yet, while some of his routines did amount to, “People are so full of shit,” you knew he was willing to exempt you during the performance, as long as you didn’t exempt yourself afterward.

And he always made me laugh—he was certainly more funny than Henry David. I will miss him. The world needs Carlins as much as it needs Thoreaus.

Guy Ritchie: how much longer do I have to fake this

As claims of a forthcoming divorce abound, Madonna's husband, Guy Ritchie, who I remarked yesterday looks so miserable when he's around her, went to the opening of a new night club in London...without her...and grinning. Dude looked happy like a run away slave.

Without Madonna:

Really, you don't have to show all your teeth at once. We get the point - you're happy you broke out.

"Director Guy Ritchie - minus his wife Madonna." http://www.dailymail.co.uk

He was smiling away, having ditched Madonna for the night, to attend an event with many beautiful women present. Dude was smiling like he just broke out of prison.

You know, you could at least fake a smile when she drags you out for photo-ops to pretend you are a happily married couple (like anyone's paying attention - they're too busy looking for Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt).

http://www.judiciaryreport.com

Let's just listen to what Fiorino Fiorina has to say to us, about starting as a secretary once upon a time. Like many, she headed up a pretty big company as an executive -- and then she was dumped, just like that. Rotten, no?

She knows all about the "sweeties" plight. And, like myself, she really did her homework before she agreed to go to work for McCain. This election for me is about trust. So far, the Democratic Party blew it. They are out of my life for good, and Hillary was the only hope. I find the other camp entirely bogus after reading blogs and seeing inside of them for myself. No Quarter is my favorite blog to read, and I trust everything they say. Why? it's backed up by sources and when they say "no quarter" they mean it. And The Confluence.

Isn't it about time we did have something to ease the malaise of the average American? Isn't it time to rebuild some faith in this country? We live in an era when the press has been overtaken by Robber Barons. I know the stories of people who have been laid off from newspapers. Hardly any journalists except PBS are the real deal anymore. And, I'm very sad that Russert passed. Very. I've know many journos in my day, and seen the death of the American Press. It's not funny.

What we need is a President whose value system is like Russert's. He represents the spine of America, and the value system of America, overall. By that, I mean he was beloved by journalists. That means "good guy" to us. Right now, there are a lot of "bad guys" so -- the good guys like Larry go to work. I met some other good guys too, over at Flapping Aces and Patriotroom.com. Bill Moyers is a good guy too, in my opinion.

Television is a bore. PBS is the only relevant network to me. At least there are journalists there. Last nite night I probably watched the best snapshot I've seen in terms of what has happened to my country. Go watch it, and then you'll know why I care about this election. We need a Teddy Bear. We need a Progressive President like Teddy Roosevelt was. Thank you Bill Moyers. Thank you. Journalism is about truth. And journalists like Bill Moyers are my heros. Click on that link above and you can see what I saw last night. You are going to cry, about our country.

Am I being paid to blog? No. I'm blogging because of my ethics, and my country, and my heart. Thank you Wordpress, for saying "code is poetry." And your ethics.

When the Robber Barons come to Sherwood Forest? Well, that's when the Robinhood's o' my tribe get to work! Because we grew up hearing the Teddy Bears picnic! And, we want to see an America that feels like that again, no? For EVERY child. I am talking about Raggedy Ann and Andy right now. I hate Robber Barons, and my guess is that, all good-hearted Americans do as well. How am I going to see if I can trust McCain in an era when America's trust is shattered?

I'm going to listen to Fiorina and see if I can trust her. Believe me, I'll know. I trust my own research when I want a President, not someone else's, and anyone who has read me knows I wanted Hillary Clinton, because I felt she could really help this country right now. I believe in philanthropy, because you cant can't take it with you, can you? Fiorino is talking about that below and what she might do to help women across the USA. I liked what she had to say, a lot. I once quit a job because of the company's ethics. Something I saw in the way they laid people off was unethical, and, because of my value system, like Carly Fiorino, I had to go. It's a Robin Hood kind of thing. You see, in childhood, Robin Hood was my hero. I have lots of them.

No? Well, check out my lastest article and links on Moms Speak Up for the rest of the story because there are people doing just that, purging themselves of the materialistic trappings of our uber-consuming life-styles. Turing over a non-shopping leaf. Pulling away from the table of the American way of life.

I hate grades (and won't repeat myself explaining why), but I assign letter grades because it’s a responsibility of my job. And the school tracks my statistics. In a department meeting last spring, my average ranked second highest among freshman English teachers. Though I did not give many very high scores, mine fell in the narrowest range, only ten to fifteen points between top and bottom. The administration offered these results as "helpful information only," but the agenda seemed clear. I was embarrassed to be laid so bare before my peers. At a school like ours, where being rigorous is de rigueur, no teacher likes being a pushover.

Defensiveness kicked in—so many variables go into those statistics. Sectioning is never equitable, particularly when the registrar groups students for an honors section in another subject. Having students early in the day can be an advantage, and you also can’t discount the relationship between teacher and students. When the atmosphere is positive and the class active and curious, the grades will be higher, particularly if the students come to believe they can do better. Naturally, I want to claim all these variables contribute to my inflated scores and hope my colleagues won't look down on me. Yet my explanations sound like excuses. Bottom line, I'm too easy.

I know the trouble. The biggest influence on a class average is a teacher’s grading policies, and mine are terrible. I give too many second chances. After tests, students can earn back three or four points by correcting the questions they missed, or by finding the spot in the reading where answers appeared, or by responding to an essay choice they passed over and practicing their writing. Students can also rewrite out-of-class essays. To encourage them to revise, I grant the grade they ultimately earn. An “A” can wipe out a “C.” I drop the lowest quiz each quarter.

Some colleagues would say I’m seeking affection. Maybe I am. I don’t enjoy adversarial classes. Still, I’m not naïve. H. L. Mencken said no teacher should expect to be seen as more than a benevolent jailer. Most students appreciate me only as much as their last grade. In my experience, anything a teacher does exclusively to be nice, backfires. What seems nice often isn’t, and it's best to be consistent instead. I try to be consistently challenging.

As I see it, students barter for grades. My standards are my standards (and I think they're high) but students give what they can to reach them. A few have the mental wherewithal, habits, and training to meet my standards easily. The ones who don’t add effort, particular attention to the skills I’m trying to teach, desire to improve, and intangibles like curiosity, teamwork, organization. The more opportunities I give—and the more varied opportunities I give—the more they do. Many find ways to apply their particular strengths in surprising and resourceful ways.

Which is, unfortunately, a quick path to grade inflation. I could easily bring my grades down by eliminating every policy that allows students to learn from mistakes. All I need to do to stop being a grade inflater is reduce the amount of work I give them, rendering every little misstep more consequential.

As it is, I sometimes find myself perversely grateful for students who, through disorganization, missing work, and/or apathy, can’t reach my standards. I’m glad when someone's effort clearly won't be sophisticated enough to attain an A essay. I’m strangely okay with someone failing my exam because my statistics are sure to look better at next year’s meeting.

And I’m ashamed.

In the nineteenth century, education was a sorting process, a way of separating scholars from workers, but we like to think ourselves more enlightened now. If you don’t learn to ride a bicycle today, we don’t say, “Sorry, you aren’t a bicycle rider.” We offer another chance. At the end of each school year, I’m really saying, “This is where you are now, this year, in this class, with this teacher” and I’d love to be able to do so honestly, without a nagging voice telling me I’m being too generous.

I don’t like rounding down. I know everyone can’t get an A, and you can say it’s good for students—their B+’s or C+’s this year may inspire them next fall. However, for me, those arguments seem to make education into even more of game, a contest where some win and others lose by a nose.

Is learning a game? I don't like to think so.  In games someone must lose.

June 9. 2008

Mad-onna

As many of you know, I think Madonna is a terrible human being. She’s stolen vast amounts of copyrighted music, film, clothing and photos from my preexisting Copyrighted Catalog containing 10,000 songs, 300 movie scripts and short stories, 15 book manuscripts, 200 music video treatments, 500 photographs, 150 photo treatments, a perfume line and clothing line.

Hence this page on my site illustrating she is a sick, crazy, vulgar, common, low class thief with no talent, who has stolen from DOZENS of copyright holders around the world.

Today, I found a blog http://madonnarevelations.blogspot.com (NSFW) that unmasked additional Madonna thefts that are appalling. This stuff is really stunning. The blog proved once and for all that Madonna is a complete, unadulterated fraud that stole from everyone to put together her farce of a career. Nothing she has done is original.

View the images below for yourself and watch how the blatant thefts pop right out at you. It’s really terrible how far she has gone in stealing from everyone.

The photos are additional evidence that illustrate from day one there’s been nothing real about Madonna’s career. It’s all been a fraud. From the music to the videos to the images, all stolen from other people’s preexisting copyrighted works she butchered.

That’s another thing – butchering people’s work. In viewing the following photos, one can’t help but notice how unwise she is in ripping off photographs of beautiful women - they make her look like dog chow in comparison.

Madonna, if you’re going to rip off people’s photos, which is illegal and is also known as copyright infringement, rip off items from the Lord Of The Rings, then at least you’ll have a chance.

The so-called "iconic" images - well, none of it was real - she stole it all to go with all the music she stole:

Greta Garbo rip off

Jean Harlow rip off

Jean Harlow rip off

Jane Mansfield rip off

Jane Russell rip off

Gina Lollobrigida rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marilyn Monroe rip off

Marlene Dietrich rip off

Marlene Dietrich rip off

Marlene Dietrich rip off

Bette Davis rip off

Bette Davis rip off

Brigitte Bardot rip off

Brigitte Bardot rip off

Chrissie Hynde rip off

Princess Diana rip off

Princess Diana rip off

Princess Diana rip off

Princess Diana rip off

Audrey Hepburn rip off

Ginger Rogers rip off

Story found here

This is the first self-portrait I have created in what seems like a very long time. I hadn't planned to do any photos today at all, when all of a sudden I found myself behind (and in front of) the camera!

I have been having this recurring dream of being bitten by a snake (usually a king cobra), on and off for the past four or so years. The dream is never nightmarish, but rather matter of fact in feeling. I'm not sure of the more elaborate subconscious or superconscious reasons for the recurrence of these snake dreams, but I don't subscribe to the standard dream dictionary gobbedlygook regarding the appearance of snakes in dreams-death, enemies, good fortune and whatnot. I have a strong attachment to serpent energy, and consider them one of my "animal totems"....right up there with ravens and elephants. I am absolutely fascinated by cobras in particular. I suppose it's not so surprising that they tend to be a frequent element in my sleeping life.

So today, I was actually sitting down to do something completely unrelated, when I spontaneously remembered a flash of a dream I had last night. In the dream I was being chased by a cobra, and was eventually bitten by it. This thought somehow loosely hitched itself to a thought about some ancient rings that I was given. As I followed this thought further, I was pulled to look through some of the lot of very old kuchi tribal jewelry which I was recently given. Because some of the pieces are so old, not to mention handmade, the clasps and findings are worn out and there is no way to attach the pieces to the body. I decided to take a little bit of time to untangle them, along with some tribal jewelry from India I recently found, and fit them for attachment. As I tied all of the jewelry on, the combination of colors and placement ended up looking very visually interesting and I wondered how it might photograph. Soon, I was bitten by the muse and found myself playing with the sunlight streaming into the room, apertures, and exposures. Somehow, it all led back to my dream....because my favorite image of the session is the one of the girl with the cobra above. It's interesting for me to see how the thought of a dream led to a series of other thoughts which resulted in a creative session- which captured the dream! So, maybe the snake in a dream does represent creativity.

Another thing I have been thinking about today, which was inspired by me piling on heaps of tribal jewelry, is the idea of self-expression. Below is one of the photos that I took with the jewelry...

...but, this is the way I would leave the house every day if I could! I have always only felt comfortable in archaic (for lack of better description) clothing. I don't think I have ever owned a pair of jeans or a sweatshirt, because I simply have never felt comfortable in "normal" American clothing. Because I obviously cannot go out adorned like this photo, my wardrobe has grown to consist mainly of contemporary styled Islamic Abayas and other long black or white dresses. I took to wearing saris for a period of time, until the constant staring from everyone became too much. So often I feel "out of time", or that I am in the wrong dimension or on the wrong planet. All of the things I love and relate to are thousands of years old, even the clothing that I feel comfortable in.

There is a certain amount of loss of self-expression we must all deal with in the act of being human. Lately I have been realizing that I will never be able to fit comfortably into this world. Since I was a child I knew this, and it made me sad. I wore one thousand masks of and for other people, trying to fit in and be "normal". The difference now is that aging and moving toward authenticity has brought acceptance, and the masks I wear now are my own.

The day slows after a sleepless night,
and conversation arrives like whale song.

The watery lullaby reminds me—
we hear without words, we understand.

Outside leaves shift in a humid breeze
and the milky light of a summer morning.

Later the sun’s rays will burn unimpeded,
but now, a neighbor sits on his steps,

reads the paper, raising his head only
when air conditioners surge to life.

The sweat on his forehead isn’t exertion
but another operation of living.

He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
From my window, he seems to swim, just

adjusting to catch a current. My head
is heavy. Yesterday I lived two days—

one in the sun, another in worry.
The moon and street lamps recast every object,

tangled beginnings and ends until
I looked back on myself looking back.

I can’t remember any of it now,
the ghosts having settled into the floor,

buried in silt that threatened to bury me
and then didn’t when dawn swept in again.

Across the street my neighbor rises,
dusts himself off. He smiles up as if

he meant to find me, but turns to go.
He leaves the world momentarily

empty, uncluttered, uncomplicated—
a place where all of us might safely sleep.

Create your own visitor map!

Mostly, though, I’ve been mulling over a comment on my last post. Cole was identifying with my need to get away, and she said, “I don’t think you’ve really ‘made it’ with your blog until people start to say negative shit. Although, you are far from controversial.”

It’s true, I’ve received very little negative shit here. Perhaps I’m too dense to recognize shit when it’s negative and subtle, but aside from anachronistically naming Basho’s work “haiku” instead of “hokku,” and mildly annoying an author whose work I cited, no negative, no shit. And I’d include my own posts, which are anything but negative shit. I’m not controversial, and sometimes qualifications seem to accompany almost every word I speak. Everything “seems”... and always sometimes, often, or occasionally so. Everything “may” or “may not,” “might,” or “could possibly be.” Whenever I get near controversy, I bow, apologize, and crawl, crablike, away.

Which is worse—me, who creates no controversy (just angst) or Gould, who seems so shocked to discover she makes everyone angry?

Maybe there’s something controversial in being so accommodating—I bet it bugs the crap out of some people—and it certainly runs counter to most of what you find in the blogosphere. Controversy is a convention of blogging. Shock sells product. When I started this blog, I remember reading Wordpress advice on how to attract an audience. “Be controversial,” they urged.

Maybe I should be. I tell myself my niceness is honest, and that spewing vitriol would be, for me, the worst sort of pretense. It’s true I don’t have much respect for hot-heads, but I’m not without strong opinions. I wonder how much bile I might swallow to get approval. I wonder how much I’m swallowing all the time.

In “Exposed,” Gould writes:

It’s easy to draw parallels between what’s going on online and what’s going on in the rest of our media: the death of scripted TV, the endless parade of ordinary, heavily made-up faces that become vaguely familiar to us as they grin through their 15 minutes of reality-show fame. No wonder we’re ready to confess our innermost thoughts to everyone: we’re constantly being shown that the surest route to recognition is via humiliation in front of a panel of judges.

While some bloggers brim with confidence, full of the worst sort of unthinking un-self-conscious controversy-mongering conviction, Gould’s sort (and my sort) aren’t any better. Sharing mental space with reality TV stars is a step too far for me, but am I trying to get in the first humiliation, seeking to confess one more fault than anyone else could throw at me? It sometimes seems so. When I’m being third person here—talking a about a poet or artist or broad concept—I feel good about this blog, but I inevitably turn, as now, to confess. I’m smarter than Gould in keeping particulars to myself, but, in the end, my alias is a half-hearted feint—I must want to be seen and known. Only my method is different.

Gould calls herself an “oversharer.” “Long before I had a blog,” she says, “I found ways to broadcast my thoughts—to gossip about myself, tell my own secrets, tell myself and others the ongoing story of my life.”

That description might fit me as well. The same anonymity that allows angry and bitter venting online makes confession easier too. Oversharing here somehow feels safe…and expected. The courage—or lunacy—of Emily Gould’ confessions creates a broader market. The prurient details of her life embarrass and humiliate those around her.

I try to make sure my confessions of doubt humiliate only me. But we are both oversharers, and I wonder if that's what a blogger, by definition, is.

... all the backward-looking crybaby complaints that "we were lied to" still doesn't answer the basic question: what should have been the appropriate response to the extreme injury of 9/11? A diplomatic protest? Another investigation by the UN? The surreptitious assassination of Arab troublemakers all around the world? I don't think the "we were lied to" contingent has a credible answer to this question.
     There's another hugely important realm of inquiry that the "we were lied to" folks have never addressed: who lied to us about the way we live in this country? About the amount of oil we consume in the service of all our comforts and conveniences? About our extreme car dependence and what is required in our relations with the rest of the world to sustain it. All these years, Frank Rich and all his whining colleagues at the New York Times barely acknowledged the domestic fiasco of the suburban sprawl economy that placed us in such jeopardy to begin with. Even now, with the airlines disintegrating and gasoline over $4 (diesel over $5) I haven't heard any of these crybabies even raise the issue of restoring the US railroad system. How many of these crybabies live suburban lives themselves, in places like Louden County, Virginia, or Westchester, or Long Island, or the San Fernando Valley? Who lied to us about that?
     For my money, the "we were lied to" chorus only represents the obdurately self-righteous cluelessness in every band of the American political spectrum. We lied to ourselves. We continue to lie to ourselves every day. The US public barely understands the first thing about the energy predicament we're in, and what it means for how we live in this country -- or how we get along with the rest of the world -- and the news media tragically reflects that ignorance. We fantasize about being "energy independent" and still being able to drive to the mall three times a day to eat caesar salads grown on the other side of North America. Get this: we deserve exactly what is happening to us. We might as well keep on lying to ourselves to pretend that we are not descending into a dark phase of our own history. After all, the true basis of American life these days is to feel good about yourself no matter what you do.

With thanks to wood s lot

I will never know which of the 150 countries that comprises the African continent my ancestors were imported from. I will never be able to perk up with recognition and joy whenever I hear an immigrant from Africa speaking their native tongue. The only information I have about my family and my history comes from my experiences with my maternal grandparents. Neither of them were immigrants. Both were born in this country. I suspect their parents were as well. There are no records and there was never any discussion, not even after Roots.  I have no information about my father or his family, but I suspect his parents  and his parent's parents were all born in this country.

The search for an identity and an identifying moniker has become something of a pop culture joke over these past twenty-five years. For Blacks, so much confusion, and for hundreds of years, because we as a people were forced to endure being called whatever derogatory name White people wanted. Negro, Niggra, Darkie, Coon. Nigger.

Fredrick Douglas and W.E.B Du Bois and others of their contemporary thinkers reasoned starched white collars and an education would mitigate the predominate social climate of hate, derision and physical disgust directed toward us. If we could just look, act, and sound like them, then they will like us.  The NAACP was so named to "uplift the race," increase awareness and respect for colored people,  and elevate the public perception of the Negro.

My maternal grandmother was born in 1908. The NAACP was founded the following year in 1909.  Since its inception, the philosophical imperative of the NAACP has been challenged on several fronts, including by one of the pre-eminent co-founders: W.E.B Du Bois. It's a philosophical debate that continues to this day: Integration or African nationalism? People who continue to poke fun at the various name changes that have been put forward over the years appear neither to fully appreciate nor understand this fundamental divide within our culture.

Those of us who remember when we were Colored recall those times with a mixture of emotions and nostalgia. Colored people endured and lived through the reign of terror in this country known as Jim Crow (the system of legalized segregation and disfranchisement from 1865 to 1954). My grandparents lived in Charleston, South Carolina all their lives in a segregated section called Charleston Heights. There Colored people established an infrastructure of schools, banks and businesses and built strong, vibrant, stable, family oriented communities with the Church at its center.

I grew up among Pentecostals, Baptists and Methodists. There was a juke joint, a beauty parlor and a grocery store on just about every corner. My grandparents home, which they owned, was across the street from the community funeral home.

In the late fifties and early sixties, when Blacks began to appear sporadically on TV, people used to rush to their windows and doors calling out "Colored on TV! Colored on TV!" A Colored person appearing on TV was a cause for excitement. People stopped whatever they were doing to see who it was:   Sidney Poitier, Diahann Carroll, Ivan Dixon, Harry Belafonte, Nat King Cole, Sammy Davis, Jr.

When we were Colored we were self actualized and self sufficient. We cooperated with each other. Young people respected their elders. We looked out for one another, protected one another and supported each other materially, economically, socially, and spiritually. By the time James Brown* released his anthem and clarion call for Black pride, Colored people were already Black and Proud. I recall that period as the most moving, self affirming period of my life. I still get emotional just thinking about it. I am proud I am Black.

Which makes all that has gone on in the political arena over the past eight months, and in my life as it stands right now, all the more poignant and sad. This country is poised to nominate the first Black man for the highest elected office in our land. This should be a cause for national celebration, introspection-- an affirmation of a collective national pride unprecedented in the history of our nation. That many support Hillary or McCain should not detract from what's happening here. We have gone from 400 years of slavery and Jim Crow to witnessing the first Black person not only aspiring to the nation's highest office, but having a real and credible chance of actually achieving it.  At the risk of channeling Oprah:  This is big.

My grandmother was born in 1908. Her daughter, now age 77, still lives. Now her daughter's daughter and her great-grandson, age 24-- three generations-- together are witnessing the triumph of the resolute and resilient, ever hopeful Black American spirit. Hell, yeah, I'm saying it loud. I'm shouting it from the roof tops. I'm Black. And I'm proud.  I am an American.

*Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)

Uh! Your bad self!

Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud
Say it louder! I'm black and I'm proud
Look a-here!

Some people say we got a lot of malice, some say it's a lotta nerve
But I say we won't quit movin' until we get what we deserve
We've been buked and we've been scourned
We've been treated bad, talked about as sure as you're born
But just as sure as it take two eyes to make a pair, huh!
Brother we can't quit until we get our share

Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud
Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud
One more time, say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud, huh!

I've worked on jobs with my feet and my hands
But all the work I did was for the other man
And now we demands a chance to do things for ourselves
We tired of beatin' our head against the wall
An' workin' for someone else

Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud
Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud
Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud
Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud, oh!

Ooh-wee, you're killin' me
Alright, uh, you're out of sight!
Alright, so tough you're tough enough!
Ooh-wee uh! you're killin' me! oow!

Say it loud! I'm black and I'm proud
Say it louder! I'm black and I'm proud

Now we demand a chance to do things for ourselves
We tired of beatin' our heads against the wall
And workin' for someone else look a-here
There's one thing more I got to say right here
Now, now we're people, we're like the birds and the bees
We rather die on our feet than keep livin' on our knees

Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud huh!
Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud huh!
Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud Lord-a, Lord-a, Lord-a
Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud, ooh!

Uh! alright now, good God
You know we can do the boogaloo

© DYNATONE PUBLISHING CO

Lyrics provided by Gracenote

Do I have to change my name?
Will it get me far?
Should I lose some weight?
Am I gonna be a star?

I tried to be a boy
I tried to be a girl
I tried to be a mess
I tried to be the best
I guess I did it wrong
That's why I wrote this song
This type of modern life
Is it for me?
This type of modern life
Is it for free?

So I went into a bar
Looking for sympathy
A little company
I tried to find a friend
It's more easily said
It's always been the same
This type of modern life
Is not for me
This type of modern life
Is not for free

Chorus:

American life [American life]
I live the American dream [American dream]
You are the best thing I've seen
You are not just a dream [American life]

I tried to stay ahead
I tried to stay on top
I tried to play the part
But somehow I forgot
Just what I did it for
And why I wanted more
This type of modern life
Is it for me?
This type of modern life
Is it for free?

Do I have to change my name?
Will it get me far?
Should I lose some weight?
Am I gonna be a star?

(chorus)

American life

I tried to be a boy
Tried to be a girl
Tried to be a mess
Tried to be the best
Tried to find a friend
Tried to stay ahead
I tried to stay on top

(Spoken:)
Fuck it

Do I have to change my name?
Will it get me far?
Should I lose some weight?
Am I gonna be a star?

Uh, fuck it
(repeat 3 times)

(Spoken:)
I'm drinkin' a soy latte
I get a double shoté
It goes right through my body
And you know I'm satisfied
I drive my Mini Cooper
And I'm feeling super-duper
Yo they tell me I'm a trooper
And you know I'm satisfied
I do yoga and pilates
And the room is full of hotties
So I'm checking out their bodies
And you know I'm satisfied
I'm diggin' on the isotope
This metaphysics shit is dope
And if all this can give me hope
You know I'm satisfied
I got a lawyer and a manager
An agent and a chef
Three nannies, an assistant
And a driver and a jet
A trainer and a butler
And a bodyguard or five
A gardener and a stylist
Do you think I'm satisfied?

I'd like to express my extreme point-of-view
I'm not a Christian and I'm not a Jew
I'm just living out the American dream
And I just realized that nothing is what it seems

Do I have to change my name? [American life]
Am I gonna be a star? [I'm the American dream]
Do I have to change my name? [American life]
Am I gonna be a star? [I'm the American dream]
Do I have to change my name?

My wife did not liked it. But, we were still driving the car with it. One day, we came across an autostore. The name of the shop was Total Auto Parts, I think. We found a better design that costs us $22.99. We returned the previous one and used this new wheel cover. We are more happy. My wife was still not satisfied with the design even though it was better design. One day, we found our choice at $13.88. Yes, it was better in design and best deal. We found it in Wal-Mart. We are very happy now. No more exchanges now. I changed all of them. Thanks Wal-Mart.

　　這就是在FG減肥版廣為流傳的食譜，號稱可以有效減肥卻不用挨餓。我也打算開始奉行。這陣子因為節食得太厲害，我經常感到胃痛、暈眩、甚至呼吸困難！雖然有瘦下來，可是太傷身。而且聽說過度節食會導致基礎代謝率下降，很容易復胖！

　　不過這食譜對我來說還是有難度在。如果早餐要吃水果的話，我就必須提早起來。而且我要花很多錢買燙青菜（我住的地方沒辦法料理）。再加上我在餐廳打工，吃飯時間很難固定（通常只要晚上有班，我那天就不吃晚餐）……。全菜日我打算定在星期一：這天餐廳休息，也不會在老家，不容易受到影響，只要恰吉不要慫恿我就好了。

　　算是在一起了，雖然第一次約會去好市多有點奇怪，可是因為我想買內衣。結果買了一堆吃的，那都是他的。不過烤雞實在太好吃，本來晚上我只要吃挑食樂的海鮮沙拉就好，最後還是忍不住吃了幾口。

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Couple caught fighting in public again - Guy Ritchie gives his crazy wife hateful stare

Rumors abound that the marriage of copyright infringer Madonna and her husband director Guy Ritchie are on the rocks. Madonna's emasculating ways and insistence on all things Kabbalah, coupled with Ritchie actively cheating on her with another woman, are believed to be the cause.

Of course, their rep denies there is any tension or trouble, but the pictures and their conduct speaks volumes. Of course, not being able to admit she ruined his life when she tried to get him to turn her into a movie star, after almost two decades of being panned by just about every film critic in existence, couldn't have helped.

Not to mention, making him nutty via Kabbalah, insisting he incorporate the cult into his rip off films that later flopped (he's been sued by 4 different people for separate acts of copyright infringement) and the ridicule and humiliation she brought him, couldn't have helped either.

Tania Strecker

Guy Ritchie is also said to be still hung up on his former girlfriend, Tania Strecker, pardon the pun. She recently married into the wealthy Rothschild family.

Story found here

　　我換工作的速度已經可以跟換男人比了。其實也還沒換，我洋朵那邊還沒辭掉。很想和對付VIEW一樣，領完薪水就人間蒸發。可是它就開在我家巷口，一天到晚都會碰到。但不管怎麼樣，我的辭職都是很不負責任的，當初是答應老闆娘會做很久才被錄用的。而且這個週末一個同事因學校校慶不能上班，老闆娘趕緊讓我學會做披薩，我卻在這個時候要走。

　　我知道我這樣很賤，但我實在不想再做餐飲業了！況且這家餐廳生意這麼差，會不會哪天突然收起來都不知道。在VIEW做過之後，我就非常不喜歡在私人的店上班，制度不明確，權益很容易被剝削，光是勞基法規定的最低薪資都不遵守了。

　　NET的工作我在離開VIEW沒多久就應徵了。當時店長說六月才有缺人，叫我等候通知。通常這樣我都會把它當作沒上。沒想到上禮拜接到NET的電話，問我找到工作了沒，我謊稱沒有，於是就被錄用了。