HUMOR? I PREFER MINE BLACK

Not long ago, I sent this meme to a group of people I thought would enjoy it (and get it.) All but one of the recipients thought it was absolutely hilarious. The exception thought it was "sick" and did not like it at all.

Now, I am the kind of person who recoils from the very thought of having a human being in my freezer. UGH, how disgusting! But, in the context at left, it does strike me as uproariously funny.

It takes a special kind of depraved mind to appreciate sick jokes. Depraved but intelligent and witty as all hell. And who on earth would take a joke like this seriously anyway? Someone who's too serious for their own good, that's who.

As a kid, I was a big fan of Charles Addams, loved Alfred Hitchcock's demented but brilliant mind, and never failed to gravitate toward irreverent people. My father and maternal grandfather may have had something to do with that, given their eccentric and wickedly funny sense of humor. And I know both Grandpa and Dad would have thought the above screwball meme was hysterical.

My grandfather was the King of Practical Jokes...placing a garishly-painted coconut head in my mother's bed, and lighting a cigarette in its mouth as soon as he heard her at the front door, returning home from a date. Or, knowing how afraid she was of certain things, asking her to "please get something from my room." And when she opened the door, Grandpa had let ALL his pet birds out of their cages, one of her worst fears come true. Now that may seem 'cruel' to some people, but not me! I still crack up whenever I think of it.

My father was another character, coming up with answers that no one else could ever think of. When I first noticed Les Paul and Mary Ford's 'overdubbing' (multiple voices on a recording) I asked my father "How do they do that?"

He replied, "Well, they line up a whole bunch of microphones in the studio and then Mary Ford RUNS back and forth as she's singing..." In an attempt at conversation, he once asked my first boyfriend "So, do you like feetsball?" Poor guy didn't have a clue that he meant football until I told him.

So, with these two influences (genetic and otherwise) my own sometimes macabre way of viewing life may have come into being. And growing up in a screwball neighborhood, Little Italy in the Bronx, circa-1950s, certainly contributed something too. Wise cracks were a way of life. The quick comeback was essential if you wanted to be accepted (and in some cases, stay alive!) We were all irreverent kids, and some of us never grew up.

Getting back to the present, my one extremely brief experience with marriage does give me a special appreciation for having "more space on the sofa."

MWAAHAHAHAAAAAHAHHAAHA.....

MOM, YOU CAN REST EASY NOW...

...your worst critic is dead. I called the nursing home yesterday and was told "Oh, she's long gone" but nobody would tell me the date she joined you in the hereafter ~ in a decidedly different location, I'm sure.

Your beloved younger brother went through hell on earth after he married this woman (I can still hear a faint shotgun echo...) and then she gave birth to two children, first a daughter and then a son ~ my first cousins, older than I was but always adored and loved by me. I became extremely close with the boy cousin, who left us too early in 1993.

And given the family history of Alzheimer's Disease ~ grandmother, all of her aunts, and mother ~ who knows how long the daughter has until she, too, descends into that terrifying netherworld we cannot possibly comprehend? Last I heard, she was living in a permanent state of panic that she, in all likelihood, will be next in line.

Karma is a very mysterious thing.

It wasn't until we moved into your brother and his wife's building in the early 90s that I came to know some very unpleasant things about your brother's family. Disgustingly racist, utterly ignorant if not downright stupid, vicious gossips, and disrespectful to the MAX, they came and went, eating their mother's meals (and YOUR home-baked cakes) giving her every conceivable job to do, be it sewing, cooking, whatever, and never really appreciating anything at all. Very classy, treating your own parents like that. Not to mention how they "forgot," year after year, their parents' birthdays.

Why I expected anything more from them toward you remains a mystery, but after your brother died in 1995, their true colors really came flying out, and they were UGLY. I'm glad you caught on and went your own way after years of insults and disrespectful behavior.

It was only after you were gone that I discovered something I had never known before, and remembering how ultra-sensitive you were about your looks, I too left them in the dust...but not before telling them what a truly despicable group of people they are.

When I heard that Girl Cousin and her cockeyed husband had been mocking your looks for as long as they were married (told to me, and tolerated by, your first-born daughter for her own selfish reasons) my brain froze with white-hot anger. I sent them a blistering message, accompanied by this beautiful picture of you from 1944, and told them to slap it up against their own mothers' pictures and then get back to me.

Of course, they never did. How could they? Their own late son (lots of death in that family...) once told me he had "never seen an uglier family than his maternal grandmother's."

Daddy always told us "Don't make fun of nature, people cannot help the way they're born" and so it pains me to even repeat words like "ugly" when describing another human being. I don't judge people by their "looks" ~ I look into their hearts, their souls, and then decide what kind of person they are.

And now that their Matriarch is finally gone, I can honestly say that looking into this family's 'heart' was like a glimpse into hell itself. As for their soul, they don't have one.

WHO THE HELL DESIGNS THESE THINGS?

This is a quickie, because when I'm cranky or particularly annoyed by something, I like to complain.

Lately, every time I go shopping, I am reluctantly drawn into an infuriating game of Dominoes...touch one item, and everything else on the shelf behind and around it falls down, like little tin soldiers all in a line.

That is because the geniuses currently designing containers have apparently decided that the "sleek" look is the in thing...never mind that it's the consumer who keeps the company in business.

I currently use a hair gel that is bottled in the ridiculous way represented by the left two illustrations. And even at home, these unbalanced bottles/containers have to be stored against a wall or propped up in some way so they don't fall over since they are so top-heavy and cumbersome.

Hair gel isn't the only victim of this stupidity. Shampoo, dish detergent, body wash ~ you name it, they're all in sleek (and unbalance-able) containers that constantly fall over at the most inconvenient time (while you're trying to actually USE them) often spilling some of the contents, which only increases the annoyance factor.

Hey, I'm a senior citizen living on Social Security ONLY, I can't afford to lose 1/4 of an OUNCE because something I've purchased is ill-designed (but SLEEK!)

Whatever happened to common sense? I believe I last saw it around 1959...

GOOGLE, YOU'RE KILLING MY COMPUTER!!!

Dear Google,

I do love your special technological commemorations of certain days and people, but the interactive ones are killing my computer!

The last one with which I attempted to interact (little people navigating a room, controlled by the arrow keys) had my computer literally FROZEN and SCREAMING...with pain? I don't know, but EEEEEEE EEEEEEEE EEEEEEE doesn't sound too comfortable to me. I thought it was going to drop dead in front of my eyes and almost slipped it two aspirin to keep it alive.

I mentioned this to my technologically savvy friend Daniel, who snapped, "Oh, that's ridiculous!" so I figured it was a one-time thing.

UNTIL Earth Day, and your adorable little interactive commemoration of same. Click on Earth Day sun, FREEZE and EEEEEEE EEEEEEE EEEEEEE all over again.

Now I know my computer is ancient (might as well be 2005 B.C.) and unable to keep up with the increasingly sophisticated, complicated new-newer-newest technology, but now I can't even play with your delightful Google interactive games?? That's just not fair to a senior citizen with an even more senior computer!

And since I am a Google Blogger in good standing (thank goodness your Google birthday wish to me last year was a still one) and since you can probably afford at least 100,000,00,000,000 brand-spanking-new computers, how about thanking me with just one of them ~ a little gesture of good will in these miserable times for older people?

If you'd like, I will devote an entire month's worth of blogs to the many virtues of Google, including (and especially) its adorableness and clever commemorations ~ especially the interactive ones, if I can ever play with them again.

How about it, Google? You know where you can reach me.

(Hell, you know where you can reach ANYBODY!)

I GOT THOSE DIRTY LOWDOWN CRAZY COLON BLUES...

For those who may not be familiar with the large intestine in their bodies, it is comprised of three major sections: 1. the ascending 2. transverse, and  3. descending colon.

In case you're wondering, the illustration at left is not a normal colon...but is IS a pretty accurate depiction of my own whenever I have a colitis attack, which ~ I can assure you ~ is not fun.

I was born with a 'sensitive colon' which progressed, as the years and aggravation piled up, to a herniated-strangulated colon before it finally blew, requiring emergency surgery and a NINE-DAY healing period of NO FOOD-NO WATER until the 'pipes' started working again. The surgeon informed me that I had a 'high-grade' obstruction, i.e., sections that were flipped over, crimped and telescoping and wondered how I had been able to physically function at all, given the period of time this had been taking place. Well, Doc, it wasn't easy, I can tell you that.

I called in sick a lot at the very last job I had, before this condition completely disabled me. Nobody ever believed me, not even my own family...everyone thought I "just didn't want to work." When my boss asked  "What does it feel like?" I told him "Sort of like trying to digest a razor blade as it slowly (and excruciatingly) moves its way through the knots, needles, clothespins and clamps along the way."

After the above explosion and reparation, a friend told me "Maybe now people will believe that you weren't slacking off all those times you were sick." You think??

And if I don't eat enough fiber (or 'roughage' as it used to be called) every single day ~ and I'm talking a tree's worth, including the bark ~ the above illustration comes to life again. As the surgeon explained, "We repaired the damage, but you will always be prone to attacks. You must watch your diet very carefully and thoroughly chew your food." Ah yes, mastication, the root of all evil!

Which means oatmeal and prunes for breakfast, as much fruit as I can afford in these ridiculously high-priced times, and all things whole wheat...breads, pasta, even SNACKS have to be chosen with care.

And ONE exciting thing that either upsets or flips my manic switch will bring it on or further exacerbate the problem. Which leaves me very little choice as to diet, and the company I keep.

Yeah, I got those dirty, lowdown, crazy colon blues all right...or, to quote a James Taylor live rendition of his 'Steamroller Blues,' "I got those chicken-chuckin', motherfuckin' BAALUUUUUUUUES!!"

Pardon the language, but if you EVER had this condition, you'd be cursing a blue streak too.

'FRIENDLY' STALKERS

It just recently came to my attention that someone who used to be a cyber-'friend' has been following my public posts on facebook. (Every so often, I change my settings from custom to public, just to break chops ~ now you see me, now you don't!)

So there is no doubt in my mind that she's found this blog, too. It's been years since we've spoken, but apparently Miss Gossip Queen still has a hankering for my words; most likely, to repeat them to others, always her forte.

Writing a blog is an interesting experience. I have readers in America, Canada, England, Ireland, Germany, Australia, China (!) and even a couple of hits from Indonesia, the Ukraine and Russia.

Aside from the people I personally e-mail each new blog, I have no way of knowing which of the now 3,100+ reads are by people I know ~ my former stupid fake family, old friends, old enemies ~ or complete strangers, which can give one a creepy feeling of being stalked. But when you go public, that comes with the territory. But oh, what a delicious way of releasing one's thoughts!

I don't allow 'comments' because, quite frankly, I don't give a damn (thank you, Rhett Butler) what anyone thinks ~ this is MY blog, create your own if you have anything you want to say.

And for Miss Gossip Queen Stalker, PLEASE watch your grammar and spelling because it can be atrocious. Hint: be sure to look up the correct way to use written and wrote. Among a million other things. And don't be delusional about others' comments in the past that our writing is 'similar' because it most certainly is not. Unless I'm writing from Dogpatch, USA, Green Acres, or the set of Hee Haw.

So, all my stalker cats, I bid you adieu for today and thank you for reading my words, even if you hate my guts. That's okay...I probably hated yours first!

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!

PEOPLE WHO NEED PEOPLE...?

Tentative artist, 1964

As the song goes, "are the luckiest people in the world..."

But are they really? Or are those people who can be alone the truly "lucky" ones? I've never had a problem being by myself. Fortunately, I like to draw, paint, write, and read which kind of eliminates the need for people about 95% of the time, doesn't it? And if there are four legs, fur and whiskers around, my world is complete.

Another song comes to mind, Paul Simon's brilliant words:

"I'm not the kind of man who tends to socialize, I seem to lean on  old familiar ways, and I ain't no fool for love songs that whisper in my ears..." ~ Still Crazy After All These Years 

The beginnings of 'old familiar ways' can stretch back many years...the need for solitude, peace and quiet can be born early in a person's life, for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps "people" were not a source of comfort but rather irritation and even pain. Children and young adults need to be able to trust before they "need" other people, no?

And if that trust is not established at an early age, you're going to have a loner on your hands, someone whose 'best friend' is him or herself, which is not a bad thing. And not all loners are 'weird' either. They're just more comfortable being alone and in reality, that's a hell of a lot healthier than those people who cannot be alone, those "people who need people."

I know SO many people who really cannot be alone, it's mind-boggling. They fill up every available MINUTE with something to do, someone to see, they're like Alice In Wonderland's Rabbit, "I'M LATE, I'M LATE, FOR A VERY IMPORTANT DATE!" 

Yes, and you probably also have hypertension and a host of other health problems because you don't know how to sit still and just ENJOY life. Just GO GO GO GO GO until you collapse, utterly exhausted...BUT you got your daily "To Do" list done, even as you swallow those blood pressure pills, so there you go!

No, creative people tend to be loners, they need the time and space to be alone with their Muse, their music, their minds. Most of the time, the mindless chatter of 'people' is a distraction, unless the conversation is a) interesting, b) intelligent, c) funny and d) occasional.

The wonderful Don McLean spoke for all artists with his exquisite song, "Starry Starry Night."

"But I could have told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you..."

And so it is not; for some of us at least.