Every day, more people sign up for insurance...and it's getting cheaper. They say.
You can shove your numbers at me or shove the numbers wherever you need to.
The thing is, this thing is happening. Instead of going ape with lawsuits, why not try something else, oh Indiana and Oklahoma? Why not let your people get their pap smears and appendixes out and basal cell carcinomas removed and hearts restarted and go fight for something else?
Like babies. You all love babies. Why not go invent an imitation uterus so you can raise unwanted fetuses in the privacy of your living rooms? Like sea horses in an aquarium? When they're ready, you can take them out and give them away.
Or really get Jesus into your schools by making sure every poor person is cared for.
Or create jobs by hiring anyone at all to do anything.
Or spend some time with an excel sheet and let the government know how they can spend less money on defense.
Go do something. Anything. Instead of throwing sand in the gears. In the end, do you really want to be known as the sandman?
I just spent an hour deleting crap-strewn emails in my inbox...because I hadn't been at my email, cleaning away, for the past six days...Thanksgiving and all.
We should not have to do that.
I hate to miss things. And all the garbage I get, I did at some point sign up for it. But now...slowly, I unsubscribe.
I think of all those years I lived before there were these interwebs coming at me. And I got so much more read. So much more written. So much more thought about. So much more time in my body and on the ground. Music. Etc.
Madness: Be gone.
I have to stand up to myself and be okay with missing stuff. Unsubscribing is the only way. My closets are next.
A dry winter freeze has taken over New York City.
Organic Heritage Turkeys are being swiped off the shelves.
Two nights ago, there was snow on some car roofs in New Jersey.
And now this, five somewhat connected thoughts that are barely important:
- I am going to Jury Duty this week. I signed up for this truncated weirdo time figuring it would be short, everyone on their way to their dinners. So far it has proven to be easy. Today, we were released after three hours. I imagine tomorrow will be similar. Wednesday, maybe not even a need to show. I have never done jury duty before. True. Never. I got around it by being a moving target. Plus a few other tricks. But I finally succumbed, feeling like a civic heel for not doing my duty. I hate it. I hate it entirely. I don’t see an upside. Being in a gray government building at dawn feels like punishment. I tried to gussy it up by pretending I was traveling. Back Issues of New Yorkers, the Kindle, going through security, sit back, relax, and read. As soon as orientation was over (and the woman up front putting on the show was quite funny and good at it) I fell asleep in a chair and read nothing.
- I have a handful of Republican friends and I say, Hi Friends! But now hear this…and this only goes to the real way Drown-the-Government-in-the-bathtub types on the fringes. Question: Why do the people who demand the MOST freedom from tyranny have the most tyrannizing personalities? Seems to me, the ones who fear being controlled are the most controlling.
- Magical thinking doesn’t work. All those decades of visualizing and chanting are for Santeria chicken sacrificing types. I was adamant and verbally insisted to many that something I was doing was simply not going to work out—and railed about it nonstop as in, “This is never going to happen. Never. Never. Never. It’s dead. It’s toast. It’s over. Forget it.”— and it worked out. So if my words create my reality, then it didn’t do it this time. And if your words DO create your reality, then that truth would have to be true all the time. Books giving you secrets to the universe and keys to the kingdom are slippery with snake oil. Dogma blows. Life is full of unknowns. Do your best. Worry about it or not. Really, wasting time on trying to control the outcome by yacking your way in a certain direction is just a weird positive spin on worry. Stop counting and cajoling your outcomes. And don’t agree with any of this garbage in this paragraph. Go slam into trees with your head yourself. Figure it out. Who cares?
- People keep buying things for each other at Christmas. I am way more of a Dah who doraze type. I have ten year old shirts that look like they’ve never been worn. How much more do you need?
- And on a completely contradictory note: Why is all the wooden furniture at Crate and Barrel on the edge of completely disgusting?
I have a play published in POST ROAD MAGAZINE.
The Winner was originally cast with the wonderful Angela DeCicco, Don White and Randi Pareira, directed by Pablo Marz.
Dealing with oil greed, the play becomes a fight for the last canister of oxygen on earth.
It had its premiere at West Coast Ensemble, back in the day, and was a finalist for an award at Actors Theater of Louisville.
Then, it was published in this magazine, very recently. And it was shot as a small film on the campus of USC.
Sometimes, you dash off this little thing, and it has its own ride. I wrote it for a contest called, "It's later than you think." It was rejected there and then had these other nice things happen. I do hope for all of us that we just keep making things, we cast them into the wind and wait to see what plants. It was nice to see it published. In paper. And bound.
Have a good weekend.
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