Games

I wonder when these people will get a clue that I am really not interested in playing their silly Bering Strait game. I am just sitting here trying to have a life and they are standing around me with daggers poised waiting for a chance to slaughter me because I have better English spelling skills than they do. I think this game is rigged from the get-go and I am not going to be playing by their rules, thanks anyway. I would rather commit suicide than cave in to this contrived reality. You should know, however, that if you do play by their rules that their rules will become everybody's rules and that reality will be changed, eventually. Perish the thought. I would rather just not have a life if I have to play the Bering Strait game. It is legal to play in self-defense but when I am greatly outnumbered the odds are against me.

Quiet

I am a quiet person and it is better this way. I vaguely remember in college Cori and maybe others complaining about me never talking very much. I might have said that I don't usually talk very much when I don't know people very well and don't trust them. Even now I see no reason to talk very much. There never was any reason for me to trust Cori with any personal information, now less more so than ever. I don't remember what I was thinking.

Candyland Game

I don't think that we ever actually owned this game, Candyland, and I only vaguely remember playing it when visiting other people's houses and playing with other people's children. I don't think I need this game in my house. The spelling would really bug me, for one thing. It would only perpetuate the confused notion of these naughty children who imagine the name Candy has something to do with me when obviously my name ends with an "i" and not a "y." And besides, it would perpetuate my sister's misperception that success in life means beating on me at every opportunity and taking every chance to humiliate me in the eyes of everyone who I formerly imagined might be my friends. I am tired of fighting about this but just copping this Mom act and reminding me to clean the bathroom is not going to gain you any peer respect from me. I know better. This is all just another game to humiliate me and so it doesn't really have very much to do with the reality that God loves me and has a plan for my life, a plan for good and not for evil, that is if the Bible can be believed and applied to me just the same as everybody else on the planet.

Misery

There is no forgiveness for three-year-olds like me and so it would be pointless for me to try to do anything more. Of one thing I can be sure, that all my relationships will be taken from me, that all my achievements will be taken from me, that anything good will be taken from me and I will be given only bad, so obviously prayer is pointless. Why should I give the putridly wicked enemy Hoskins anymore presents? God hates me, obviously, so no remedy is available to thrust stupid swine Rob into a bottomless pit. Besides, they needed a substitute Mao to bash and I was available to represent my generation in a life of misery inflicted by the U.S. Army for whatever mysterious reason. That was so mean and nasty what they did to Mao, I have to agree. However, it is not supposed to be my problem. Does Mao really think that she alone of all women on the planet was cast aside with utter contempt and disdain to make room for the U.S.-favored Madame Chiang Chai-Shek? Hardly. It happens all the time but it becomes just so much more political when these generals and captains are poking their noses in places where they don't belong.

The Facts Of Life

My mother explained to me the facts of life when I was about 11 years old. She gave a very thorough and excellent explanation and also gave me a small book, "Almost Eleven," which includes all the essential information helpful for an 11-year-old, including pictures of the component parts necessary for human reproduction. Thus I have no further need of any other mother to explain the facts of life to me. I am assuming that all mothers give the same valuable instructions to all of their daughters and there is no need for me to explain the facts of life to anyone else on the planet in the future, certainly not my own sister, only my own daughter should I ever have one. I cannot imagine why anyone would think otherwise. Obviously, literature class has absolutely nothing to do with it. As far as I am concerned, the books assigned to us in literature class are mostly written by tortured individuals who have a lot of problems that I cannot possibly imagine and mostly would profer not to try to imagine. Literature reflects the sinful condition of people who mess up very badly and I do feel sorry for them but that is not my problem. My mother did mention on a later occasion about having read Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter" which is obviously the big "A" but that conversation was not in connection with or by way of explaining the facts of life. That was a whole different conversation at a later and different time about the problem of literature and how sometimes we have to read these books for homework assignments even if they are very unpleasant or boring or weird because they do say something about reality or the culture in which we happen to live and must function, not because we would want to take those people home with us and live in their sick realities and absorb their warped and twisted worldviews as our own. I can say pretty much the same about all books and magazines. My knowledge of these matters might have expanded through the years in terms of reading but still there is no reentry law requiring me to explain the birds and the bees in order to resume my duties as a citizen of the United States upon returning from Latin America. There is no reason, no law on earth, requiring me to discuss these very personal matters with the Pentagon. What would those stupid stuffed-shirt bigwigs know about girl stuff? Nothing obviously. To this day, I fail to understand Cori's fascination with asking stupid questions about these subject matters. Why should I care about whatever Cori said about her mother? I really don't care. I don't even remember those people and Cori was never my boss except in her own sick and twisted mind. There is no need for me to prove anything to anyone about what I think about these matters and no reason for me to accept a slave position in regards to Cori. I can't have these trashy rich bitches getting accustomed to thinking of themselves as my boss or master. How ridiculous. It is necessary for poor girls like me to tell rich bitches like Cori what I will do and what I will not do and that's just the way it is. Cori has no power to fire me or to tell me anything else. I don't need her garbage. If I want to quit and I can certainly quit any time I want to. There is no law requiring me to do Mrs. Nipper's dirty work. And anyway, it's not a matter of being right in terms of intellect and understanding. It is about finding the Mr. Right but if he never made an appearance in my life there is just nothing else I can do about it. Statistically there are just not enough men to go around, too many single women left over who just are never going to make it to the altar through no fault of their own. That is just a fact of life. There is no reason to self-flagellate and beat myself up because the odds are against me. Yes, if I only I had attended the Foursquare even church I might have perhaps had a slim chance of sighting Lisa Welchel from the TV show, "The Facts of Life." But as it is, the odds are against me.

Beall

In her diaries, my great-grandmother often speaks of her friend Anna Beall from Pasadena, Calif. Anna and her husband, Granville 'Grant' Edsell Beall, seem to have moved to California from Ohio at about the same time that my great-grandparents did, perhaps even earlier. However, according to military records it appears that in 1898 Mr. "Grant" Beall was a 21-year-old private fighting in the Spanish-American War. A quick Google shows that Mr. "Grant" Beall was actually white, not black, and he was also not the only Beall soldier fighting in that war. Beyond that I really can't say much about that. I have not studied the Spanish-American War very much and am only vaguely aware of it. It seems that Grant Beall, originally from Greene County in Ohio, also spent some time in Tahiti in the 1920s, according to ship passenger records of him having sailed at least twice to and from Tahiti and San Francisco. What was Grant doing in Tahiti? The answer is not clear. I have no other clue so don't ask me. And why was Grant Beall admitted to a mental hospital in 1926, at age 50, with a diagnosis of manic depressive and psychosis? I just have no clue about that either. He died in 1944 at age 68 so obviously we never met. I never knew this person existed and anyway he is not even related to us, just the husband of a friend of my great-grandparents, so I can't say much about it. There is no real connection there. We have no idea what happened to their daughter Miriam and her family after they moved to Northern California. Life is too short to keep track of all these people.

Literature

Literature does not tell us how to survive. Literature only tells us about the hopelessly sinful human condition and often what not to do. From high school's "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" we learn that your decision to flout the rules of Nurse Ratched at the mental hospital could result in your lobotomization. They will literally have your brain disabled so that you really won't know what happened to you or even care anymore. That's the problem with insane asylums. The people are just drugged all the time so barely functional and there is no privacy, no way to avoid rubbing elbows with the inmates. There is no real "asylum" for the insane, an oxymoron of terminology. Tht is what happens if you do not play by the rules, a scary prospect indeed. And from "To Kill A Mockingbird" we learn that the Deep South is a very weird place to be and not my choice of permanent residence. I was never one of those tortured people and hopefully will never have to go there.

Canadian Farewell

It really is annoying that this Canadian, lewd crude Madame Crawley, has parked herself nearby pretending to be someone of importance when actually she was only a friend of Pam from Michigan. She was always rude to me and I always sensed that she was trashing me behind my back all the time. So why should I care about her opinion? I couldn't care less. She is one of the most boring people. She knows nothing about anything other than her own nursing career so there is no intelligent conversation to be had with those people from the hospital. Hopefully I will never need them. I shouldn't have to explain this. I shouldn't have to verbally express my extremely low opinion of them and risk endangering myself, but these Canadians  never seem to get a clue about when to back off so finally I have to tell them to shut their big fat mouths. They never seem to realize that it's not all about them. Someone really should get a message to them in Canada while there still is a North America not yet wiped off the map.

Art vs. Faith

I vaguely remember that interesting short story from Salvadoran fiction in which a thief and murderer and lapsed priest in Guatemala of the 1500s is crucified. I might have read/translated part of this story for Barbara Miller of Mississippi although I really don't remember. During Uraco's long criminal career he had come to think of himself as a noble creature, one who committed bad deeds in order to spare "good people." He murdered his friend so that his friend would not have to carry out orders to act as executioner. Uraco took upon himself the bad in order to spare the good and after he was captured the judges decided to reward Uraco's "generosity" with his own execution by crucifixion. It so happened that while Uraco's body was hanging on a cross on a Central American hillside that a professional artist who had been commissioned by the Catholic church to make an artistic rendering of Christ's crucifixion was walking nearby with his notebook in hand and saw Uraco's dead body. Immediately he sprang into action, sketching a vision of Uraco that would serve as the model for his artwork, a sculpture known as the "Black Christ." It so happens that there really is a famous sculpture named the "Black Christ of Esquipulas" located in a Catholic church in the Guatemalan town of Esquipulas which is just across the border from Guatemala but the verifiable facts pretty much end there. It is said that the wood from which the 400-year-old sculpture was carved has turned dark as it has aged over the years, thus matching the skin color of the original inhabitants of the region when it was conquered by the Spanish. The story is an interesting and well written contrivance of human imagination, an entertaining blend of fact and fiction. In truth, art is beautiful and fascinating in its place but in and of itself it has no redemptive value. Art for art's sake is a dead end. Uraco, if he ever did exist outside of the author's imagination, was just another sinner who died. Praying to his image will not save anyone. The artist also was just a man carrying out the orders of the religious clerics who rewarded his talent according to the local market value. The artist was just another sinner who died. The church of Esquipulas was built on a site at which it is said that a local inhabitant had a vision of Christ crucified. The local inhabitants were just people who died as are we all. It was only Jesus who rose from the dead and who holds the keys to sin and death and is at the right hand of the throne of God making intercession for us. So sometimes all this art is just a distraction. So I found the story of the "Black Christ" very interesting in its own artsy way and yet it is wrong in a sense. There is no glory in being bad and sacrificing a good and clear conscience in order to meet the demands of art. Or maybe that was the author's point, sort of. Christ died so that we would not have to do that.

Not Impressed

Yes, it's true. I never much liked or had any desire to talk to or be friends with Canada's "Madame" Crawley. She always was much too busy servicing all the men that flocked to flop and spend the night at her high-rise apartment near the beach, especially those dippity dumb MK guys Warren (MK-Uruguay) and Tim (MK-Nicaragua). Why does she even pretend to be a Christian and attend church when she obviously has no brains in her sick Canadian snowbrain head? I have heard what people said about her behind her back, and also the things that people say about stupid Canadians who flock to South Florida and never have a clue about how rude they are and how nobody really likes them and wishes they would get a clue and go back to Canada, and I can't say that they were wrong. Just because she got married later to a U.S. guy who lives at the airport, that doesn't mean that her opinion is worth two cents, at least in my humble opinion.

Bottled

During my second semester at Evangel, my roommate in Spence Third North was Jan Green. She was a wild and worldly redhead except that her red hair actually came out of a bottle so she really does not represent redheads in any real way and is not an example of redheads. She proves that lots of wild and worldly women are actually not redheads and so there is no direct correlation.

The Problem With Canadians

The problem with Canadians is they come down here and impose on us their alternate reality, as if their opinions ever mattered to us in the formation of our country. Ha! We cannot have these stupid socialist Canadians running our country. We are independent of Canada in case the wicked Canadians forgot. We need to remind these Wicked Canadians more often that they really have no choice in the matter of what I do with my life or where I go. If I choose not to discuss my personal business with Canada's demon trash Ann Campbell, that is no big deal. We are not impressed with these stupid socialist Canadians who come down here and pretend to be part of the elite rocket scientist immigrants who were brought in here to show us how to run our lives. That's ridiculous. There are plenty of U.S. well trained nurses to fill the hospital staff when the Canadians go back to Canada where they belong, in case they forgot. If Canada is such a great place to live and if Canadians are so smart, then I really think the Canadians should just stay in Canada or go back to their idealic country because we would be just fine without them and their alternate reality, thanks anyway.

Known By The Company You Keep

We see those poor empty-headed boys Thomas and Raymond thinking that the only word in the English dictionary starts with a big F. Wrong! There are so many other words in the English language so rich in meaning and depth and clarity of understanding. How sad that those two guys have been spending way too much time hanging out with foul-mouthed Canadian demon-witch Ann Campbell. Obviously. It is so easy for the incredibly wicked nasty Canadian Ann Campbell to buy friends. She is so very rich and has so much money that obviously everyone takes everything that Ann Campbell says way too seriously. Ann Campbell is one of the dumbest people I ever knew. She is a classic example of spoiled rotten rich kid, one whose opinion is given way too much importance given the lack of content contained in her empty head. It is not like I ever had a chance to tell dippity dumb Ann anything. She was always trained from the beginning to hate my guts because I never did have the money that Susie did nor the Stewart connections, nor did I ever try to pretend such but try to explain that to these little spoiled rich brats who sit around gossiping and collaborating on their fictional works behind my back. Besides, I never did have patience to fawn all over these pompous little rich kids the way that the Stewarts did. Down there, it is easy for these Scottish pretenders to use their vast wealth to buy friends and followers but that is just not my thing. That was never my modus operandi, my reason for being. Obviously, those people seem to think that all missionaries are pretenders to royalty but actually it is only the Stewarts and the Campbells that I know of who ever did that. The rest of us just suffer by comparison because it is just part of the company that we have to keep. I am not really one of them but it is hard to explain this.

Tom

I have no idea what Tom's problem is. I just don't remember much of anything about Tom. His oral book reports in class always put me into a deep sleep. I always thought he was such a boring guy with nothing of interest to say. I cannot remember a single thing that Tom ever said except for the time that I was stuck in a small group and he and Raymond were saying mostly F— F— F—. It is sad that those two guys were not born with brains so they have nothing intelligent to say. They have no vocabulary, obviously, or they would be able to articulate their deep and abiding hatred for me which knows no bounds. Whatever that means. I just couldn't care less about Tom and his empty mind so all this hubbub about Tom means nothing to me. It's just ridiculous.

Stuart Pretenders

Oh yes, I forgot. There is yet another pretender to the Stuart throne of Scotland, a Polish count or something like that. Perhaps he is some sort of cousin or kin to the Smeyas and that is why we have this Polish shrew screaming in that background about her son Roy who as we all have heard spends a lot of time checking in and out of depressionville. How bizarre! And how were we to know that all of these people we thought were simply our friends and co-workers and classmates were actually pretenders? That they had so-called Stuart monarchy connections? We had no idea. I know I certainly never gave it a thought. It is so weird how these Stuart pretenders pretend to be better than me even when they just have a lot more money to throw around because of their royal connections to elaborate their pretentions upon which they hope to build a global throneroom or something like that. We have no preference for any of these Stuart pretenders. Don't these people realize that we do not have any monarchs here in America? I do not think that we even have any Chinese monarch in our connections either. How common are these royal Chinese surnames anyway? This is all just so ridiculous. It's cruel to put me at the crux of this blob of nothingness.

Clock

I never opened my Christmas presents before time, but I do remember one Christmas that my parents put a certain box under tree. The box was still ticking when they put it under the tree so obviously it was a clock, even though it wound down later. No surprise there.

What is Faith?

According to the Bible, faith is "being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."
And yet there is no evidence that I have anything to hope for. I never get what I want. I feel ridiculous if I even try to pray because it is just ridiculous thinking that I have any hope of anything. Don't I know that I have been cursed by all kinds of important, rich, powerful people and condemned to a life of uselessness for some mysterious reason? It's almost like those stupid rich people think that I am a snake that should be crawling around on its belly for the rest of its life. How utterly absurd and ridiculous! It is no wonder that that the sacred cows are now locked away in an insane asylum so that their drugged out hallucinations do not spill over onto the rest of the population. What did I do to deserve this horrible curse of being treated like a crawling snake? I just cannot imagine. And how could anything good ever come of anything that I ever think of doing, especially with all of these wicked rich people leering down at me from their lofty perches, because I am under this curse and tripping me every time I turn around? God must really hate me to treat me in this horrible way. That's all I can say about that. By their logic, then, the Bible is just a bunch of gibberish and all of His promises are false and church is a farcical exercise in futility. I don't really believe that but I am just repeating whatever they say, obviously, because, after all, I am a copycat and I reflect whatever they want. It's not like I have any choice in the matter. I reflect snakes because they are snakes. That's all.

Fasting

Yes, I am well aware of the biblical prescription and instructions on fasting. I vaguely remember talking to Mark Brown in the lunchroom and he was making all kinds of snide remarks about Lee Bueno's book on fasting and how fasting is supposed to be a secret and so basically it would be sort of annoying to have to promote Lee's book. One would come off sounding so pretentious and phony and hypocritical, sort of like those drugged out dogs of Northern California. I sort of agree with Mark in a way although Mark is too extreme. Mark thinks that it is wrong to have any book on fasting ever written or published. I think Mark is an off-the-wall Baptist extremist. I think there is a place for books on fasting in the Christian book marketplace. I imagine there are probably hundreds of books about fasting available if one wants to look for one and buy one. I personally would not buy Lee's book mainly for personal reasons, because in my experience it is well proven that she is one of the nastiest meanest people on the planet and I am not going to give that Wicked Witch a place to tell me anything and run my life into the ground promoting her own family's vast wealth at my expense, not because there is necessarily anything wrong with fasting or reading or writing a book about fasting. So I disagree with Mark on many points. So that's my opinion, not that I would ever dare to say what I really think about those people in public. It would be too risky and dangerous. Lee would have my chopped head on platter, that's how mean and nasty she is, obviously.

British Petroleum

All of which begs the question: Why does BP hate us so much? Since when does BP care about Texas oil? Don't they have enough oil sources all over the world? Why make this such a personal vendetta? Is it because my grandfather happened to be Scottish? Like, why should that matter? Are there no other oil companies out there investigating the validity of mineral rights claims in the United States? Certainly the land is the territory of neither Spain nor Britain, and no Spanish or British claims would be upheld in a court of law, obviously, so I don't see why all of this should escalate into an international incident. Obviously the owners should be U.S. citizens and that is all that should matter to them. The Baptists never did anything to deserve it any more than anyone else, obviously, and do not have even a shred of legal standing in this regard so there is no reason to consult their selfish and greedy opinions. Certainly, the extraction of oil would not make us all that rich anyway. Assuming that drilling ever did occur, which has not happened in all these many years, and assuming there actually were oil down there, even though they often would have us believe there is nothing there, we would only get a small percentage of which ten percent would be tithed to the church but not necessarily the Baptists and anyway I probably would not even have a chance to decide that because I will be dead and gone long before anything could ever happen, having been murdered by everyone I ever trusted, because it just takes too long and I am not immortal and who knows, the longer this is delayed the more the Baptists will take every opportunity to grandstand and finagle even if it doesn't belong to them and it's really none of their business. And who is that horrible lady who owns some of the land nearby but has nothing of ours so it is none of her business? With their meddling way the Baptists will be ruining it for everyone else, and especially for me. I am not immortal and there is no reason to count my chickens before they hatch so I am just a sitting duck, a dead sitting duck. There is no reason to assume that I would ever derive any benefit from something that does not belong to me anyway so this is just an exercise in futility.

Speaking of Christmas

Speaking of Christmas, I vaguely remember that during my first newspaper job in Central Florida, while I was assigned to cover the goings on at Dundee Town Hall, the mayor and city council at the time made a big fuss about Christmas. Every year they placed a creche or nativity scene on public land near the town hall. This particular year they received a letter from the ACLU requesting the removal of the creche from public land. The mayor of the city made a big dramatic statement about that in her remarks from the podium. So I dutifully reported this incident in the bi-weekly newspaper. The reporter for the competing newspaper also reported the story in the larger daily newspaper. Her story was more spun in favor of the ACLU and basically ignored the city's reaction whereas my story was more reported in terms of reporting the mayor's comments about the city's determination to continue defying the ACLU. That was in about 1989 or 1990. I have not been back to Dundee since being reassigned out of Dundee so cannot comment on subsequent city councils or whether they still have a creche there on public land or not. It could get very expensive for the city if the ACLU decides to take the battle over Christmas to the courts so I think it is very reasonable for them not to have a creche simply for that reason. No one is paying my salary so there is no reason for me to say anything else about that. There is only a story if people talk. Talk is cheap, certainly, no matter what angle you take. As for my personal Christmas and what Christmas decor may or may not exist in my house, it's just none of your business. I wouldn't want the ACLU showing up at my doorstep, you see, so I will just keep it to myself, thanks anyway.

Speaking of Books

Yes, I vaguely remember that Miriam Denham, Bob Hoskins' joke-cracking and shorthand whiz secretary and Susie's erstwhile roommate, mentioning that she wants to write a book. And who wouldn't want to write a book? I also might have mentioned that idea to other listening posts at some time in my life. Every day thousands of books are published by thousands of authors so this is nothing unusual. Lee Bueno might like to imagine herself the only creditable book author in Christendom, and that with only one published title to her name, and yet hundreds of other Christians also have many books published and write books of many kinds all the time so it is not really such an unusual thing to want to write a book. I fail to see why it should matter that someone says that. It is a long way from saying that to actually getting a book published, certainly, but anyway talk is cheap.

Speaking of Susan

I fail to see why I should rearrange my entire life to make room for the nothingness of fat ugly Susan. Just because her last name is really Stewart, that does not mean that she is closely related to the Stuarts, especially not Jon Stuart, or that she is really an heir to the throne of Scotland or England. Ha ha ha! Do not make me laugh. This is too stupid for jokes. Some pathetically ignorant peons of Latin America may be inordinately impressed with persons by the last name of Stuart/Stewart for that very reason, because of the lingering legends of ancient Scottish history, but that does not justify capitalizing on the misunderstanding and confusion of them by setting oneself up as some sort of aristocrat of royal ancestry in their eyes when actually one's ancestors were just regular folks, farmers and ranchers or something like that. The actual recognized descendants of the Stuart monarchy now live in Spain, as we read in the celebrity gossip mags. They mostly speak Spanish probably and have no kingdom or Scottish subjects to justify any claim to political power even if they may have a lot of money and influential friends. The Stuarts were never elected president of Scotland and it is doubtful that anyone living would want to return to the days of absolute monarchy when the people just didn't have any choice and were captive to the whims of despots and tyrants. The world has changed and there is no one living who can predict what will happen to them in the future one way or another. Still, I fail to see why my life should be placed on hold to accommodate for Susan's big fat mouth when actually they are always playing the field against me behind my back.

Typing Test

I vaguely remember that during the time I was living in Virginia Beach that some person from the Pat Robertson for President office called me about applying for a job. I went over there and took some sort of maybe a typing test. However, it was too late for me. Within the next week that campaign was over and the office was being dismantled so obviously they never called me back for a job, not that I was expecting anything. It just wasn't meant to be, as they say.

Stupid Letters

I see no reason why I should apologize to Lori for the fake love letters that my sister wrote unbenknownst to me. My sister and some other girl, a tenth grade classmate of my sister who was in tenth grade at that time, came up with that little plot all on their own without consulting me in any way and I only learned of it after the fact. My mother explained to me that my sister had gone to apologize to Lori and, well, their friendship always was a lot more frosty after that. My sister and that other girl put fake love letters in Lori's locker supposedly addressed from some guy, I am not sure whether real or fictitious. I have no idea where my sister came up with that bizarre scheme but she always did love to pull various pranks. She really doesn't care and in fact enjoys the sight of me getting perturbed at having all my stuff strewn around all over the place. She has no thought or regard for the feelings of the victims of her pranks. In fact, she thinks it is very funny to watch me getting angrier and angrier until finally I reach the boiling point. My mother always told me to ignore her but it's really hard to continue doing that when she just won't stop.

The Problem With Baptists

The problem with Baptists is that they are not really Spirit-filled Christians. They might be saved but that is about all one can say about the blah boring Baptist Bells and Reeces. Beyond that minor point, the Baptists are indistinguishable from the masses of Christian religiosity, just more purveyors of lifestyle and social standing at whatever the cost may be. The Baptists assail us with curses and slander because, obviously, they are not Spirit-filled Christians. If they were Spirit-filled they wouldn't be saying those things. Their only concern is their social standing in terms of appearances. Do they seem like "good" people? Well, that is nice and well and good, but it does not mean that we are obligated in any way to "like" them. There is no law requiring us to invite the Bells and the Reeces over for dinner and I don't think that we ever did. I do remember being at the Bells' house once or twice and it was always such a boring and miserable experience to be screamed at by Shannon and to have to sit there and listen to Lori's boring Dad, Jerry Reece, talking about how she is pretty enough to be Miss America. She does have a certain flair for looking like a fashion model but I don't remember her ever saying anything of any significance. For them, it's just all about appearances. Beyond that, there is really nothing to say about those boring people. They think that speaking in tongues is of the devil, they don't believe that God heals, they think they know everything, so obviously it would be hard to have any cooperation with them in terms of the local work. Obviously they are not flowing in the Spirit and would be a huge stumbling block if allowed to control us. We give them a little rein in some areas but we have to keep them on a tight rein because we cannot let them run our lives or be in control. They would just run everything into the ground, obviously.

Shoot

Which does make me wonder where that expression comes from: "Shoot McGroot"? A shortened version of it, just "shoot," was apparently in common circulation in the 1960s, but it wasn't about just randomly shooting people. It was about shooting a certain person who was blamed for everything, a sort of scapegoat you might say, McGroot. Is there a need to pin the blame on someone? Well, the solution is to just "Shoot McGroot"! That apparently solves everything although not really. It is just a joke from more ancient times than I can recall. We children were just the little parrots echoing the joke from an earlier age. McGroot himself might not think it very funny, however, to have everyeone's garbage dumped on him, certainly.

Christmas Junk

Yes, I fell myself under no obligation to join the mob for Pastor's Christmas Knick-Knack parade.  I am not going to say anything about my non-involvement for fear of being labeled some sort of public Scrooge. However, knick knack paddy wack give the dog a bone. Personally speaking, I can't think of a more trivial and worthless cause upon which to waste my time and energies than that of the right of private citizens to force the government to plant manger scenes and creches on public lands. Like, so? And what sort of fruit will this Catholic ritualistic parade of bric-a-brac produce, may I ask? Sometimes these so-called "Southern" pastors get off on these extremist tangents and what can we poor parishioners do about it? Nothing, absolutely nothing. If we force public acceptance of creches and manger scenes, who is going to block the installment of gigantic Buddha statues and various other symbols of polytheistic and pantheistic and occultic religions embraced by these peoples immigrating here from all corners of the planet? I just don't see why anyone would give priority to this type of religious statement at the expense of the true spirit of Christmas. Jesus really was God having taken on flesh, appearing in human form to meet with us here on earth so he is worthy of our praise and worship. However, some symbolic likeness fashioned by human hands just isn't the same thing. I seriously doubt that early Christians placed any faith in artistic representations of Jesus. That stuff developed later. It is good to be reminded of the historical Jesus always. However, God is spirit and the early church knew that true worship is expressed in spirit and in truth. If no manger scenes existed, would it matter? Would the Holy Spirit be any less powerful if we did not have to fill our houses with bells and baubles and other holiday junk for the season, if in fact we were not even able to do so for some unforeseen reason? What does Christmas really mean anyway? It makes you wonder.

Skipping School

I vaguely remember hearing the story about the younger brother of Libby Penders, the redhead in our high school class, who was removed from school by their mother and forced to stay home and pray because of the impending end of the world as per their Jehovah's Witnesss beliefs. I cannot remember who told me that story or whether there was ever any resolution to that or change in that situation, just that she had a younger brother that no one ever saw because he was not in school. Just because I was never glimpsed in dummies' English, that does not mean that I was not there in school, just never in dummies English. Obviously I am not in any way related to Libby Penders even though she may have red hair although much frizzier than mine and lighter more flaming shade of red as well as freckles and blue eyes. I suppose there are those who think all white people look the same to them but no we are not related to Libby in any way.

Linda Bosley

We all know that Linda Bosley is just another horrid nasty Baptist bitch, just like all the other mewling cows that are produced by this "process." We don't want Linda Bosley hanging around thinking that we would ever want to be friends with such a nasty horrible person as putrid Linda Bosley and her worthless family. I am just saying that I don't know they find all these fat ugly props for the show because they are nothing "special."

Possessed

Yes, it is unfortunate that my own sister is possessed by a host of demon spirits. I am not exactly who they all are although I have an idea but they will need to be cast out from my life. I cannot have putrid Linda Bosley demanding my attention. Why should I pretend to care about her screechy-voiced trashy slut daughter? I cannot have these Episcopalian nerds pretending to be Protestants when actually they are much closer to Catholicism than I ever dreamed of. It is hard for those Anglers to understand the radicalness of my faith. They cannot imagine their own sinful condition and are always trying to project it onto me. I remember Pastor Max of one of his stupid idiot lackeys saying that if you criticize somone then you are guilty of what you are criticizing in others. I somewhat disagree with that insinuation. Just because I have accused Pastor Webber of being a child molester, this does not make me guilty of the same sin by virtue of having lodged an accusation, (not that I ever was aware of this to be in a position to accuse ). The truth is that I have not caused any little ones to stumble. If my sister stumbled it was because she tripped herself knowing full well that she should not be running whilst carrying a glass bottle in her hand. I did not trip her. I also ran but did not fall but I did not cause her to fall. It is quite possible that she would not have fallen if she had not been so eager to outrun me but that is her own pride, not my problem.

Sewing

Back when I was attending CLC not long after college I got into sewing a bit. I made a blouse with a piece of cotton I found somewhere on sale. It was very economical and the pattern was an easy one. I wore it to church and I remember Craig Bolenbaugh kidding me and saying that it looked like I was wearing a tablecloth. So typical of Craig to make all these nasty digs, like I should care what he thinks. Is it my fault that Pam always complained about my clothes, as if I spent a fortune on clothes because I live at home with my parents while she is on her own and with a boyfriend so has to spend all her money on a wedding dress and force her bridesmaids to spend something like $70 or $80 on a dress that I can wear only once, not to mention the matching shoes and other expenses involved, not that I am complaining or anything like that, but really, get real.

Oxymoron

These TV people offer me nothing but an oxymoron. They say that in Christ we are free and yet they offer me nothing in real terms, nothing but slavery to the horrible Bueno/Hoskins/Connally clan which is composed mostly of people I can't stand anyway. There is something wrong with this picture and I am not sure how to fix it. Christianity is supposed to be a good thing and yet it is a stifling suffocating reality to have any connection to the horrible Bueno/Hoskins clan with their Hideous Horrid Hazel and her petulant bratty sons. They just sit there waiting for me to die. It is unfortunate that we have to live in some geographical proximity to those horrible people because they have a way of poisoning the waters all around them. Unfortunately they have amassed all the money unto themselves so that nobody else can do anything about it.

Voice

We see that Lee Bueno was cast into the bottomless pit and locked down there where she belongs because nobody wants to hear from those people. Talk about a voice like fingernails on a chalkboard! Just goes to show that if you are loaded with money then everyone has to listen to you even though you are a horribly wicked witch and you are making everyone miserable and ruining our lives just to prove yourself more powerful than us, which actually makes you more like a Druid than a Christian as far as we can tell. There is no love of Christ in you, just lots and lots of money.

Overdue Fines

I vaguely remember reading some books at Alexandra's house or else somewhere, maybe the Raggedy Ann and Andy and also Pippi Longstocking, the ageless redheaded next door neighbor who is just always there and will not be disappearing any time soon, and also the Narnia books. These are children's books some of which I might have read at the school library, although I really don't remember. It's not like I have these books in my possession at this time so I do not owe any overdue fines to the library or to Alexandra either for that matter so there is nothing else to say about that. I vaguely remember that Alexandra moved away to Afghanistan and we never saw her again after that. So there is nothing else to add to this story. I cannot spend the rest of my life remembering every book I ever read in my childhood. I read lots of books in my younger days so that would a hopelessly monumental task, but at least more entertaining than trying to read all the literature produced by 19th century missionaries about China. It was a different world back then and people talked and wrote and thought differently. You are just not going to find us having written anything like "Chinese Characteristics," written by Arthur H. Smith, not to be confused with my great-grandmother's cousin Arthur D. Smith, as fascinating for the author's attitude and viewpoint as for anything he may have said actually said about Chinese people. You can't talk about these people from more than 100 years ago and expect us to know what you are talking about. You are just barking up the wrong tree, that's all.

Movies

Yes, I vaguely remember that Alexandra invited my sister to see the movie "Oliver Twist." I was also invited to that movie or else another movie but I declined to go saying that I was not allowed to see movies or that I did not believe in going to the movies or something like that because actually it was against the rules for missionaries and we weren't supposed to be doing that and we knew that. René came home from seeing "Oliver Twist" in a state of stupor and ecstasy, singing these songs "Consider Yourself At Home" and other songs and also talking about the movie based on Charles Dickens' fictional tale of orphan boys in 19th century England. At the same time, René and the other girls decided that I was just a complete idiot because of not going to the movies. Later I did agree to movies with them because I realized that if I play by the rules I lose out on having any friends or anything to do and just sit home alone while my sister is out on the town. Even my own mother ridiculed me for complaining about their mistreatment of me, saying that I was the one who said it was against the rules so obviously they are going to think that I am obnoxious. I can't expect to make friends that way, now can I? At the same time it is also true that if I do not play by the rules and go to the movies I still lose because obviously it is against the rules and it really wasn't my idea to break the rules in the first place. That was my sister's idea. So basically I can't win this game. I made the mistake of stating the rule in the first place and so I will always look like a hypocrite to them when actually they are the ones who are the devil's advocate, always tantalizing with these tempting movies and yet never really accepting the fact that we don't really need them and their stupid movies that were not really that great anyway and anyway salvation is not conditioned on whether or not I went to see a movie. God forgives me for that so it's not about going to hell if I go to the movies. It's more personal than that. Am I going to let this world conform me into its image and likeness which is what movies are all about? When you adapt your life to the movie culture you begin to think like them and act like them. The makers of movies shape your thought patterns in conformance to wordliness and after a while you are a tasteless Christian. The salt loses its savor and must be thrown out to the world because it is not setting the culture but is rather being driven by the culture. The Christian is supposed to be doing the opposite. We are supposed to be a city set on a hill, a light in the darkness to show the way. We cannot let the stupid movie makers tell us what to think. Who are those pagan druid movie makers anyway? They skew everything according to whatever sells but that doesn't make it right. I am just saying that there is plenty of pathetically bad movie stuff on TV without paying extra money to see it at the box office and thereby incurring the wrath of Springfield. So while we understand the logic behind movie rules, we are no longer missionaries and thus no longer Catholics in this matter of box office idolatry. The pope does not tell me whether or not I can go to the movies. The law is one thing and yet the reasons not to bother going to the movies are many. My sister never did share my opinions in this regard which matters not to me. I still rarely go to the movies and if I do go it's usually disappointing somehow. It's really not that exciting to experience the Pirates of the Caribbean selling their souls to the devil. It's actually kind of sick and scary.

Yearbook

Leafing through my ninth grade yearbook I see the photos of two sisters, Alexandra and Susan Winkelman. Who on earth are those people? I have no memory of them. Certainly they would have nothing to say to me after so many years and I also have nothing to say to them even if we did go to the same high school. It just doesn't matter anymore.

Cherry Tree

George Washington confessed to chopping down the cherry tree because, as he told his father, he could not tell a lie. That's amazing, sort of an ideal that we all perhaps should aspire to emulate. However, it is probably not possible to not tell a lie. I personally would not want to claim that I never told a lie. As soon as I would say that the devil would be there at my side reminding me of some long forgotten lie that I may have said, some incident of youth or childhood best left buried under the forgiveness of the blood that Christ shed on the cross. I don't really remember when I lied or what I said but it is quite possible that I did lie at some time in my life, a huge disappointment no doubt to Grandpa McClellan and yet indicative of the fact that I, like all members of the human race, am affected by the curse of sin in this world. Jesus' death and resurrection was all about forgiveness and redemption, not about anyone being the "best." Only Jesus lived the perfect sinless life.

These Pagan Southern Baptists

It is amazing how these Southern-Fried Baptists pretend to be Pentecostal Christians and at the same time they teach us about magical spells and potions. They tell me that if I say that I am a grasshopper, that I will become a grasshopper. That is so ridiculous. I will not be a grasshopper no matter what stupid thing I might say. No combination of magical words or chanted spells will ever convert my human body into that of a grasshopper. Sure, it would be a stupid thing to say but I never said that and even if I had said that it wouldn't be true. It would just be a lie. Thus, I never described myself as a grasshopper, nor am I a liar in that sense. I might have once or so likened myself to a turtle but not in a literal sense, obviously. Only in the sense of having a thick hide to protect myself from danger. Thus, I am neither a turtle nor a grasshopper. I am a human being just like you and do not deserve to be kicked around in this way. It's just ridiculous. This is just further proof that these people that one sees at church and even in the choir are not necessarily Christians. They might even be pagan Druid witches. How would I know? They appear as angels of light but then later you realize you were talking to the devil. Scary.

Bill

Why is everyone expecting me to pay for everything? I can't possibly pay the Baptists' many bills. I don't even have any idea what all they have done to other people, only the nasty stuff they did to me, and there is no reason why I should pay for stuff I don't know anything about. It just isn't fair.

Turkey Me

Yes, that was so embarrassing to admit, at age nine in fourth grade, that I still believed in Santa Claus. It was so utterly humiliating to be told that it was just my parents making me look like a fool. Cheryl always knew there was no Santa Claus so how could I have been so stupid as to take for granted that what my parents were telling me was true? How could I be so naive as to stupidly believe that there actually was a Jolly Ol' St. Nick who flies around on a sleigh every Christmas Eve dropping off toys for little boys and girls who are good? I always believed that I was good because every Christmas morning because there were the toys under the tree from Santa, and also the milk and cookies were gone, but now I am starting to wonder. Perhaps it was all just a ruse. Like Cheryl was saying, all that time it was just my parents who went to the store and bought things and gift wrapped them and put them under the tree. And they expected me to stupidly believe that an old bearded fat man would ever do me any favors. How wrong they were and how stupid I was to just accept this farce at face value. And yet even now society conspires to make little boys and girls believe in this mythical red-capped personage, he of the fur-trimmed sleeves. Why did I not rise up and seize the truth? After all, praxis demands that the people rise up and liberate themselves from these theological traps, to shake off these misty myths fogging their clarity of thought, these boondoggles that are imposed by the ruling classes. And yet there I was at age eight stupidly pondering whether the lights of an airplane flying overhead on Christmas Eve might actually be Santa on his sleigh. Yes, I was pathetically stupid at age 8 and even age 9. So what can I say? I was just wrong, hopelessly utterly humiliatingly wrong. Wrong. What part of wrong do you not know how to spell? All this stupid stuff about Santa is just W-R-O-N-G.

Alabama Loser

Yes, I do know one other person from Alabama, that pathetically wimpy loser Tim Connally. I always did have no respect or regard for that obnoxious Alabama pestilence of Southeastern alumni who imagine themselves somehow better while their own rotten attitude belies their uselessness. Of course, I never liked Tim Connally ever and always thought he was a total creep, classic example of pretentious PK, long before he was diagnosed with Parkinsons and wasted away to nothingness. I guess that his wife, that viciously hideous bitch Christie Gladstone, got what she deserved when she married that Deep South blob of nothingness, just riding on the coattails of their pretentious parents. Obviously those two pathetically stupid people do not deserve to have children and yet they have maybe five of them, not that I ever said anything about that. So we see that one cannot always say who does or does not deserve to have children. Perhaps the children will do fine as adults in spite of their having such pathetically horrible parents. Yes, it wouldn't be fair to judge the Connally kids by their horribly worthless parents, at least in my opinion.

Yes, so how do I tell that horrible woman Raeann to butt out of my personal life? I just can't stand those people and never want to do any ministry projects with them ever in this lifetime. Once was bad enough. Surely God would not curse me with any future attachment to Raeanne and her horrible daughters because personally I just can't stand those people and hopefully they will get a clue, too, that they have no place in my life and ministry, thanks anyway.

Alabama Connections

It is weird, all these Alabama connections. I don't really have any real connection to anyone in Alabama. We have not heard from Tom and Jean in at least 20 years. I vaguely remember at Evangel College there was someone from Alabama on my dorm floor but I don't remember her. Maybe her name was Angie but I really don't remember Angie. She was disagreeable with some other people on the floor but I don't remember what that was about. Angie was just a very disagreeable and unpleasant person to be around and I really didn't care what Angie thought about whatever, which was another reason not to go back to Evangel next year. I just can't have all of these insignificant acquaintances pretending to run my life. It's not supposed to work that way.

Dolls

It was Gail Reese's idea for us all to work together on a project making Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls We never did get very far with that and then when we left we put our unfinished pieces in our suitcases thinking that maybe somehow we could finish that later but then we never did and finally we got rid of that stuff. I don't think I still have those pieces anymore. Anyway, I don't feel very guilty about that. Gail was very disorganized and failed to schedule the followup meetings where we were supposed to finish the project so really it was her fault that the whole project fell apart. I don't know why anyone has anything else to say about that. She brought over the stuffing for us to stuff our pieces first so we did that and there wasn't enough stuffing to even finish our own pieces so they probably had to get more stuffing from somewhere else to finish their pieces. Maybe they have their Raggedy Ann & Andy dolls but we never did finish ours and are not interested in resuming that or doing any future projects with the obnoxious, inconsistent, back-stabbing traitorous Baptists. With friends like that I don't need enemies. They do a great job of playing the part of devil's advocate without any help from me.

Alabama

I vaguely remember reading Mark Twain's Puddn'head Wilson in high school and I don't remember what I wrote about that. The book reflects an ethos of 19th century Deep South but I was never from the Deep South so can't say much about that in a personal way. I vaguely remember that Tom and Jean from Alabama lived down here and worked at Vida for a while but we haven't heard from them in many a long year. I have no idea why I should care about Alabama when I can't even understand what they are talking about with that thick Southern accent of theirs. It was the Baptist Reese's who were from Georgia but I also have not heard from them in years. We never were really close friends with them anyway and I really couldn't care less that Shannon is still angry with me because I dropped the turtle there in the patio. They always did have the most rotten attitudes toward me. Anyway, it is not like the opinions of the Bells and the Reeses matter in the slightest. They always were just the silliest most superficial people I ever did meet and I hope to never see again in this lifetime.

I Hate Sports

Yes, I always did pretty much hate sports. In high school when teams were picked I was always among the few remaining leftover people who were not picked until the team had no choice but to put me on their team. That is just the way it is with me and sports. I hate teams and the politics that go along with being the last person picked or rather not picked but forced down your throat. However, you just don't have a choice. It's put me on your team or go to jail. All I have to do is stand here stoically, expressionless, until the teacher sends you to the principal for demonstrating such a rotten attitude in refusing to do your duty as team captain. That is all there is to say about that.

Steaks

The steaks that I broiled for dinner turned out well so I probably could learn how to cook if I had to. I served steak for dinner when I invited my co-worker Brenda and her husband Doug Hunt for dinner one evening. I don't suppose that Doug Hunt would be related to my distant relatives, the Hunts who were from Northern California. The thought never even crossed my mind. We don't really know anything about my Dad's Uncle Eugene and his father Clarence Henry Hunt (1893-1955) born in Iowa, died in Susanville, Calif. All we know is that Eugene married my Dad's Aunt Mary Olive and they were missionaries in Venezuela for many years. They left the AG and turned Christian Missionary Alliance which was their choice but not our choice. The Alliance is very small and not Pentecostal anymore so if we ever did see them we would probably never really talk about religion because we don't really understand what their problem is.

That was such a depressing movie that I saw over at Brenda and Doug's place. It was about two sisters and their guardian. One of the sisters went to high school and got connected to social workers and had her guardian reported to the authorities. The other sister and the guardian fled from the house that was raided by the police and social workers and rode the rails out of town. And that was the whole story. So depressing.

Not My Fault

It's not my fault that the Wicked Witch Con Artist is targeting me with her high-powered connections for some vague mysterious reason, something like she really hates my guts and is just too chicken to come right out and say it to my face. How much more convenient to hide behind the system but I really don't care that she hates my guts. I just am who I am and her hatred is just part of the system, something to be ignored or just tolerated because obviously I myself, only one person, can't change the system. All I can do is remind her that she is not my counselor anymore and I never called her for counseling to start with so how would she know anything about me unless Wicked Witch Counselor Sue Watkins can't keep anything confidential. I never expressed a desire to commit suicide but I might as well commit suicide if I am going to talk to a counselor like nasty horrid monster Sue Watkins because obviously everything I say will be twisting in the wind soon after.

Pot Party

I certainly don't know anything about pot use in my high school. I am not sure if there ever was any of that but there was that sick smell that makes you wonder about them, not that I would go around accusing people without really knowing anything, unlike some other people I can think of. It just makes you wonder, I mean, all these weird clues. Anyway, I was never at the party so I don't know. I vaguely remember saying something like this to someone like maybe Sharon. Anyway, I can't be expected to talk about something that I don't know anything about which is why I don't really have anything to add to your amusing TV parody, thanks anyway. I am referring of course to the beach party which we passed by on our way to youth camp. They certainly were a rowdy bunch, that's the only thing I can say for sure about that.

Cash Crops

Speaking of cash crops, it is interesting to note that the biggest cash crop in the United States actually is not eaten or drunk for nourishment of the body but rather smoked to get high. Pot tops the list, with corn only second, as the nation's biggest cash crop and yet no politicians have as yet dared to pin that name on their foreheads by designating themselves the "Pot Party" activists. Perhaps they would not want to be taken for Pol Pot (1925-1998), the Cambodian Maoist Revolutionary leader. And anyway, if they did it that way they would be laughed to scorn and handed over to the FBI for processing as illegal drugs are not legal in the eyes of law enforcement authorities, at least not at this time. How much easier for them to obsfucate the truth behind the "cash" crop issue by hiding behind a veil of genteel respectability, sipping their choice of Earl Grey or Latte Deluxe while the growers and consumers of pot burn out their brains in a mindless hallucinatory daze and damage their own genetic makeup due to the nefarious effects of smoking pot. Interesting that Obama's recent presidential pardons were granted mostly to persons jailed for participating in the illegal production of illegal pot. Why do pot growers deserve a presidential pardon, one might reasonably wonder, and not the purveyors of other illegal substances and materials? As long as they are pardoning pot, why not pardon opium as well? Thus, it is reasonable to wonder what the Tea Party really stands for and who really belongs to it, at least in my opinion.

Tea or Coffee?

Yes, it makes no sense at all. Why would the United States ever have a political party named after "tea" which is a beverage that we don't really drink all that much anymore, especially with all this fake-tasting artificial stuff. There is also coffee, soda, etc. Americans probably drink more coffee than tea statistically speaking although there are those individuals who prefer tea. It's a personal thing, we understand. However, our fortunes here in the U.S. were never based on the production of tea. It was the British Empire and its colonies whose fortunes more often depended on the production and consumption of tea. Neither were the fortunes of the U.S. ever based on the production of coffee. Latin America is where the coffee is grown. Obviously the Latins probably would not be friends of the Mormons who often abstain from drinking coffee for religious reasons. Here in the U.S. we are only the consumers of tea and coffee. We are expected to drink coffee or tea or something until it comes out our ears and yet we get no profit from that. Here in the U.S. we are blessed with the best agriculture in the world, our farmers keep our grocery stores abundantly supplied with vegetables, corn, wheat, etc., and yet we are expected to have a political party dubiously named after the British cash crop "tea." Would not the "tobacco" party sound more American? But then the U.S. Surgeon General would have objections. If we had a "coffee" political party it could also perhaps be alternately named the "Hispanic Race" political party but then that would sound sort of racist. So why would we have a Tea Party either? And who are these mysterious "Tea Party" activists? British colonialists who want us to buy more tea instead of coffee? Perhaps these are British and Hispanic colonists would like to divide the U.S. plantation into two halves, the white and the browns. Yes, or something like that. Truth be told, the average American voter is just a consumer of tea or coffee and doesn't really have a clue what these mysterious "activists" are doing behind the scenes. Scary.

Reading Materials

Yes, it is true that when I was renting an apartment in Central Florida for two years the persnickety landlords charged me a fee for not passing their inspection for messiness. The biggest problem actually was the huge pile of reading materials, books and magazines, that was accumulating by the side of the bed and which was cited by them. So, like, is there some reason why I should feel guilty about reading a lot because, well, I always was too intelligent to waste my intellect on the intricacies of landlord-tenant laws and relationships and the way they have nothing to do all day other than sit around gossiping about their tenants? So, like, I guess this qualifies me as unrepentant in this regard. And I happen to remember my co-worker, the other reporter Brenda, talking about her own messiness and she made it sound worse than me so basically I don't feel very guilty about this. Some landlords just don't understand and besides they will use any excuse to enhance their own economic situation at my expense so it's not worth arguing about.

Coffee and Sugar

Coffee and sugar are two commodities grown in El Salvador although probably more coffee than sugar. I don't know very much about that as we were a missionary family and never involved in the farming issues, unlike the coffee barons, possibly the Hills family who apparently also moonlighted as the sellers of paint. Anyway, obviously sugar is grown right here in hot and humid Central Florida so sugar is a domestic internal issue although also imported whereas coffee is probably not much grown in the United States and mostly all imported for our consumption from all over the Third World where salaries of those poor pickers of coffee beans are so low that you would freak out if you knew but they are used to living like that so what are we supposed to say about that? It is not like we have the power to make those decisions anyway. If the people want to stock their shelves with coffee, then they will continue to fund living expenses of thousands of dirt poor people. But if one prefers to drink soda then also one is funding the living expenses of thousands of dirt poor people who harvest the sugar cane or else the sugar beets here in the U.S. or perhaps in the Caribbean or Russia. Yes, I suppose that it was sort of weird for me to be living in a country where coffee is the main crop for both export and internal consumption, a place where coffee is drunk for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and all of the time, and yet myself not really like coffee very much and preferring rather to drink soda or whatever else is available but not for reasons of boycotting or having any awareness of the coffee barons. I just don't like the taste of it very much. It's a personal thing. We always drank iced tea at our house with our dinner. I don't really care that this perhaps bugs the coffee people. It's a personal kind of thing, my decision not to drink coffee. I am not saying that the People of the Republic are wrong to drink coffee if they so choose but there is no law in this regard, only some persnickety people who are actually trying to make a stupid point about other beverages that I also choose not to drink. So fine, be that way. However, I think that these people should remember that I am not a mere cup of coffee nor am I a spoonful of sugar. I am a human being just like everybody else who is appalled at your draconianly stupid tactics.

Sword Play

What a joke, these violently militant Methodists daring to accuse me of living by the sword. I was only playing a theatrical role when I did the role of the captain in the musical play "The Stranger," unlike some other people that I can think of. That's really not who I am. My personality is actually nothing like that. They must have me confused with someone else nastier than I am. Like I was saying, I am not really interested in picking fights with people and going around trashing people the way they do, they knowing exactly who they are. Like I was discussing with someone in fourth grade, perhaps whiny Alexandra, about that storybook found in the school library, I am not that girl from the South who moved to New York and found that her maliciously gossipy way of trashing people and tearing them down behind their backs was not considered acceptable behavior by the cool and sophisticated girl she met in New York. She learned right away that this type of nasty gossip would not be accepted in New York. In our fictional tale, the New York girl always managed to avoid saying anything bad about anyone and always benefited for it and for that reason brushed the southern girl aside. Obviously I was born out west so Alexandra is way out in left field if she thinks she is talking about me. I never drew a picture of a southern house with a front porch and hammock as any kind of personal memory expressing homesickness for the South as in the story because I was never from the South. I don't remember anything about Alexandra now and I never did see the musical "Oliver Twist" and couldn't care less. That was a movie she saw with my sister only. I don't remember it because I didn't go there.

Louise Caskie?

I think her name was Louise Caskie although I am not sure. Susie might remember. Louise was the person who wrote the lyrics to the school song for San Salvador Christian Academy. Louise made her poem singable to the tune of the Jamaican national anthem which is where Louise had previously lived before going to El Salvador. That is almost the only thing I remember about Louise. You could always ask Susie. Susie probably remembers more about Louise than I do because that was the year that I was either on furlough or otherwise at a different school so I really don't remember the Caskies other then a couple of things that Susie said and I don't think I have a copy of the lyrics to the school song. Maybe Susie has that but I don't have that.

Mark

It is odd that so many people are talking about Mark Davis. I don't know anyone by that name. I am vaguely aware of someone over at a nearby church of that name but I never met that person and have no connection to those people. There is no reason for Mark Davis to imagine that he ever met me or that he knows anything about me or has any cause to go around telling lies about me when he knows full well that's not what happened. I just have no clue what Mark Davis' problem is and couldn't care less.

Manners

Yes, that was so bad of me at maybe age 12 to make my little comment about Aunt Judy's cranky colonel. It was so wrong of me to say that publicly even if what I did say was true in a manner of speaking. When will I ever learn my manners? Don't I know that we are not supposed to speak the truth and/or say what we really think about these people in these social situations in which we are absolutely on the losing end of the social and economic and political spectrum? It is necessary and good to remember that we must respect our elders at all costs no matter what. That is just the way things work when you are a minor.

That said, I do find it odd that this minor event is so engraved upon the minds of everyone in a way that means I will never be forgiven so it is futile and useless for me to apologize even though it has been a long time since I was 12 years old and I don't recall saying anything else about the colonel as I never had occasion to read the diaries until recently so did not know very much about those people. I am apparently a chosen target of these contentious objectors from the military who are always looking for another reason to object to me even though I don't know anything about it. It's just a matter of policy I suppose, a mandate from on high. If only suicide were legal, but it's not so I drudgingly plug away at this apology in a manner of speaking and yet without any desire to bother trying to have relatives in the future, thanks anyway. There are some things more important than them, believe it or not.

Personally

I know that I should not say anything personal on the Internet, but in case someone wanted to know, it is no secret that my Dad's Aunt Judy was a batty old witch in a manner of speaking. Her divorce and second marriage to the colonel really confuses the picture. We were not military people (the Butterfields being an exception to the rule, not that there was ever a rule about that) in China. This is not said to criticize the military, or to make any pretense of ever having declared ourselves to be pacifist non-combatants (not to be confused with the Hammonds or some other colleagues of my great-grandparents who were conscientious objectors), but because it just doesn't have very much to do with who I am. Most of us had come out of from among the dead mainliners in response to the true Gospel of Jesus Christ, the invisible church of the saints redeemed by the blood the lamb which is not necessarily defined by the four walls of institutional religiosity, and yet Judy's offspring somehow got confused and went backwards. It is unfortunate, then, that Judy's mainlining offspring, the Hunts and the Hiatts, have way more money and influence than their insignificant opinions deserve, at least in our opinion, in a manner of speaking, sort of, if you know what I mean.

Unanswered Questions

Yes, there is no need for me to say anything about Stephanie and her problems. If Thomas Hills really wants to know more about that, he can always ask his CIA buddies who work for the government and I imagine they will tell him everything they know which is probably a lot more than I know or else they probably know where to find the information he is requesting. Obviously I would not be a great source of information about anything given that I am not in a good position to do that. If you asked me as a friend and classmate and fellow patriot then I might tell you what I know out of the generosity of my heart or else just in the way of self defense and proving my non-involvement and do not know anything about it but if Thomas is not wanting to be my friend and just being pushy and belligerent, then I don't have to put up with his rotten attitude. I feel myself under no obligation to vote for his political boondoggles, thanks anyway.

share?

Yes, what a joke, patronizing witch Stephanie Share pretending to be a nice person. Just because she is actually from the U.K. was not the reason that most people in high school were scared to death of her. She was just weird. That was it. She was very weird, always yapping loudly and saying the weirdest things. She did not know that she was not supposed to do that but still I for one would not be interested in joining her in whatever she was talking about. I personally don't have nearly as many problems as Stephanie Share and would prefer to keep it that way, thanks anyway. I don't think that Stephanie was ever aware of my existence or ever knew a single thing about me. That is how motormouths are. They just talk all the time so they never learn anything about the people around them. They just cannot stop talking long enough. I don't mean to be mean but that is just the way things were.

Fiction

Yes, that was a lovely novel by Eugenia Price set on St. Simon's Island, Georgia, in which the wealthy lady gives a gift to her friend, a crystal bird, as a symbol of their friendship because it reminds her of her friend's lovely free and soaring spirit, or something like that. No one ever gave me a crystal bird. However, I personally don't need that stuff cluttering my life so I really don't care. It would just get too expensive if I had to keep up with the Prices. Besides, I am really not related to the Price family even though, well, there might be a connection somewhere on the family tree but too remote for me to know about this or care about finding out who those people are. After so many generations it doesn't really matter that much anymore, at least not to me. However, in my great-grandmother's diaries we did learn of the existence of Nellie Ermina Smith (born 1897) who was the daughter of my great-grandmother's cousin Arthur D. Smith (born 1869) and who married Chester Arthur Price (1894-1956). I know nothing about those people so I can't really say much about them. Someone in the family might remember them but I am not that old, obviously.

Heather's Box

Yes, I think I did sign Heather's box or whatever it was. I was about seven years old and this was at a missionary service during furlough or actually maybe at the restaurant where everybody had gathered after the evening service had concluded. Heather Greisen was older than me, maybe three or four years older although I'm not sure, and our parents were missionaries itinerating to go overseaas, mine to Central America and Heather's to Hong Kong. I never heard much about Heather after that, just that they went to Hong Kong and lived there. So that is about all I remember about that. I never saw Heather again so cannot really comment on the box or what she thought it meant. It doesn't really mean anything to me and I personally really don't care if I never see Heather ever again, especially not now, not after all this tempest in a teapot. I don't appreciate my life being turned into World War III. It's just ridiculous.

Term Papers

I did not go to college in order to post all of my term papers on the Internet for the amusement of empty-headed bimbos like Rebecca. That is why it is very odd that bits and pieces of term papers that were never published and exist only in copies in my notebooks, some in storage for years, seem to be circulating in the gossip circles of the trailer trash ladies. They take things out of context. They obsess on insignificant details. They jump to unwarranted conclusions. Who would even know about some of these things except my professors and, anyway, don't they have thousands of other students to pick on? Why me? College is supposed to be for career preparation, not to provide joke material for these obviously failed comedians. Nobody is laughing, at least not me. I don't find it funny to have all my stuff put through a shredder. I am too old now to beat them up so I will need to turn these whiny people over to the police for processing and possible jail time, hopefully, as per the judge's prescription.

I can see where my master's thesis is vulnerable, a copy of it sitting there on library shelves for all to see and pick apart. With all of my enemies, I cannot afford to have another one of those things sitting around for my enemies to tear apart, one might think.

While visiting California I did notice there on the library shelves a copy of a paper written by Lois Cooper (Stewart Williams) written back in the 1930s or 1940s. I did not read it and don't remember what was in it. I just saw it and thought, oh, I remember this person. It is probably a good thing that there is nothing of mine at the California library. It could get expensive for the howling of hyenas of California to drive across country just to glimpse my lousy term paper, so hungry are they for further ammunition in their demented quest to hold me up to ridicule. They are just too much, a mob grown wild and unruly that is way out of line in my opinion.

Dealing

Yes, what is this deal that my relatives have worked out behind my back wherein I get nothing and they get to pull all kinds of strings behind my back and turn my entire life into a huge joke? I think it stinks. One would think that my wicked aunts and uncles would be ashamed of all their little "keeping up with the Joneses" tricks but they are really not nice people so no one should be surprised at their unbelievably rotten attitudes, their hatefulness toward me, and the way that they conspired to utterly destroy my life, as if there were anything "better" about them. Ha ha ha! Was I supposed to sign some paper signing everything over to them? No, it doesn't work that way. They just stretch everything out waiting for me to die and then, since I have no children, they can redistribute everything without setting aside a portion for me and my family as I have none. So I am stuck and I have no one to blame but myself because I fell for their stupid trick. What was the apple for? The lure of knowledge. My eyes will be opened and learn that there was nothing of any significance to discover in the first place. They think that I should have known better than to attend college. Women in their family are supposed to drop out of college at age 15 to get married and start having children. That is all there is to life, just sweeping floors and burping babies and nothing more. In their book you cannot be married with children and also have a college degree. It is just one or the other. Of course, there are exceptions but you have to have money to make exceptions. Otherwise, it just isn't going to work.

Trailer Trash Dismissed

Also dismissed are those two trailer trash ladies. I am sorry if I made some stupid comment about them maybe 30+ years ago although only based loosely on something my mother said but my life really cannot be held hostage to those two horrible single ladies. If they were such nice people why have they always be so unfailingly mean and nasty to me although mostly behind my back? Obviously there is something wrong with this picture and I'm not sure what or that I even care to find out why. I just want to get on with my life and forget about them, drop them off at the airport and bid them adieu and maybe we will all be able to get along in heaven because we will all be perfect then. Until then, so long, farewell. I have other things on my mind now and not enough time for doing what I want to do which will not include rolling around in a trailer trapped for the rest of my life with her or rather them, they know who they are. Sorry but I just don't have time for the trailer trash ladies. Time is too short.

Cat-Holics Dismissed

The Cat-Holics are now hereby dismissed and fired are instructed to exit the building forthwith. This instruction natrually includes Uncle Joe's three idiot children. Obviously they have no place in this discussion. Neither is this a subject for discussion with Jews and Muslims because even though they are against idolatry they are not believers in Jesus so they wouldn't really understand the context of this event. No, this is a discussion amongst Protestants. Centuries ago the Cat-Holics forfeited their right to say anything about idolatry and preferred to populate their houses and churches with statues of all kinds and sizes in representation of all kinds of personalities, mostly dead ones ,although Jesus is alive having risen from the dead but he probably doesn't look like the he is being depicted by them, all pale in a coffin toted around city streets in some poverty stricken Third World countries. Thus it follows that the Cat-Holics would have a totally skewed opinion of this event, meaning the 1914 occurrence in China in which my great-grandfather trampled upon the family's household idols. This is a really complicated subject and I cannot have the crazy Cat-Holics clouding the issue. The poison of the Cat-Holics is a worse remedy than the ailment it purports to cure. The Cat-Holics would prefer to distribute the idol poison throughout the globe so that everyone can get accustomed to living with the culture of idolatry. However, the effects would be more damaging than you can imagine.

Bear Story

When I was in first or second grade at the Christian School in San Bernardino, Calif., there was a special presentation by a guy who told a story maybe about a bear or something. Only part of the story was told, ending with some sort of dilemma for the protagonist of the story, and we children were asked to write, invent, create, make up the rest of the story. What would you do in this given situation and/or dilemma? I don't remember what I wrote. I have no idea. I wish now that I could remember but the answer does not come to mind, probably because my answer was too stupid or just not worth remembering or being brought to mind so many years later. I cannot imagine why this would matter to anyone at this present time. If Debbie Lange has some bone to pick I really don't care to hear about it. I am not going to respond to that sort of badgering. Enough said.

Ralph

I really don't remember Ralph Macias. I think that maybe he was a student at the little school in San Salvador during a time when I was at the American School so I only remember some things Susie Stewart said about him, something about him liking to do science experiments and blow stuff up with his lab kit. Some guys really get obsessed with science kits, usually guys who would not in a million years think of saying hello to a girl like me so it is not like I would really remember him.

Ok, so I just checked Wikipedia and learned that Bianca Jagger's maiden name was Macias. However, I have no connection to those rich people. I also can't say whether Ralph was from Nicaragua. You could always ask Susie if she remembers.

Pride

Oh, ha ha ha! Hispanics have a lot of nerve criticizing me for racism when they are probably the most intolerantly racist people on the planet. Hispanics are so utterly shameless in the pridefully racist way they imagine themselves more virtuous than white people, more given to have family values, more Christian when actually they are mostly nominal Catholics who rarely set foot inside a church, more honest and moral when actually they are adept liars and easily adapted for gang warfare and drug trafficking, more loving of children as long as the children are Hispanic. We are not hugely impressed with the pride of "La Raza." I think that if pride is going to be roasted, that "La Raza" should get its fair share of time roasting over the open fire, at least in my opinion. There is no reason for us white people to wallow in self pity just because the "La Raza" people do not understand us. There is no reason to feel sorry for "La Raza" when their culture is the product of their own flawed character and lack of integrity or other issues beyond anyone's control, not because of any malicious intent on our part. If the selfish greedy "La Raza" ruled the planet nobody else would get a chance, now would they? Why would we choose to have all these vultures sitting around waiting for us to die so they can take everything? Obviously, there is a reason why "La Raza" should remember its place, because it is not all about them.

No More Carol Long

When will Harold Mintle finally get a clue that I am no longer working for him? That ended a long, long time ago and I also no longer have to put up with obnoxious Carol Long as my supervisor, praise the Lord. Just getting out of reach of obnoxious Carol Long was reason enough to quit my job oh so many many years ago, although getting out of reach of Harold Mintle also was definitely a motivating factor. It would help if I had some other option to turn to that does not involve any input from obnoxious Carol Long and Harold Mintle not to mention some others who drive me nuts. Still, not having to tolerate Carol Long is worth the heavy cost.. Carol Long is the worst kind of Old Maid I never wanted to be, hugely overweight, obnoxiously overbearing, treats me like a robot, always shoveling more busywork into my inbox, always picking at me for various personal issues that I would rather not discuss like for example that I talk to myself and the guys were complaining about that because they walk by my desk and I am typing and mumbling to myself about something as if it is a crime to think, always dumping multiple projects on my back and then two minutes later asking me if everything is done yet, always explaining the most obvious chores to me as if I were her third grade student from when she used to be a teacher maybe. I would rather kill myself than hear another word from Carol Long/Harold Mintle, a horrible nightmare of a job that was. I hope that I have made myself understood.

Counting

Yes, what is Mark Triplet's problem anyway? A guy who cannot even count the number of kids on the bus is obviously not someone whose opinion matters a whole lot at least in my opinion and has no place to be tossing darts at me. Why should I pretend to be fooled by Mark's fakiness in pretending to be nice to me when actually behind my back he is trashing me all over the place? I am not so stupid as not to know that. Mark is just pretending that he has to be nice to me while telling everybody else some other crackpot story that has nothing to do with the reality of my miserable existence. I only lived less one year in the state of Missouri and the misery of that year follows me around everywhere I go. I don't remember what I did there in the State of Misery that could deserve to be so maligned by those horrid people: Pam Hart, Judy, Karen, Mark, Marge, Amy, Don Triplett, etc. I don't even want to hear another word from those whiny obnoxious people. Life is too short to let those whiny Nicaragua dogs rain on my parade such as it is, i.e., my miserable existence.

May

Ok, so maybe I do have a little bit of Irish in me, maybe. It depends on how you look at it. My great-great-grandfather on my mother's side was Abner May (born 1848 in Coosa, Alabama). Now the surname May might or might not be Irish. In fact, some sources say it is derived from the Gaelic meaning the descendants of Miadhach. The name Miadhach in the Gaellic means 'honorable' or 'proud.' However, it is sad to note that the Abner May from whom I am descended died young when he was struck by lightning. I never knew this story until recently. I only learned this story about the lightning strike maybe a year ago because my mother visited some relatives and asked a lot of questions that we never thought of asking before I started doing my family research. Otherwise, I really wouldn't know anything about that or think to ask. It appears that my great-grandmother Ida May is said to have been raised by her grandmother while her mother, Betty Mitchell, married someone else and had another family somewhere else. We don't know those people and have no clue about them, probably nobody important, just some superstitious cretans. All we know is that my great-grandmother was known to refer to herself as Ida Bell May but not because she was ever related to the Bells or had that name in her family tree but apparently because she was born in Bell County, Texas, and that somehow was a way that she differentiated herself, apparently although I am not sure why. Ida May was known to attend the Baptist church and taught Sunday School there even though her daughter, my grandmother, picked Methodist not to be confused with the Presbyterianism of my grandfather. Anyway, the Smith kids have the same May connection that we do so I don't see where are adding anything significant to this discussion.

I personally was born in the month of May (Incidentally, my sister also was born in May but I came first) but that does mean that I was ever struck by lightning although all this induced mental confusion does make you start to wonder. Actually it was Shannon Reese, a Baptist MK, who was struck by lightning in Guadalajara, Mexico, although it did not kill her. She survived. She was very lucky in that regard. However, I do not recall anyone making an issue out of Shannon. Only if you are killed, I suppose, will they say it was an act of God. If you survive, the doctor will get some of the credit, probably.

Anyway, lots of people die from lightning strikes every year. According to the National Weather Service about 55 fatalities attributed to lightning strikes occurred annually between 1981 and 2010 in the U.S. However, only about 10 percent of people struck by lightning are killed. Another 90 percent survive with injuries and disabilities of varying degrees.

Your chances of being struck by lightning in any given year are one in 1 million and in your entire lifetime one in 10,000. The odds that you will be affected by someone who was struck by lightning are one in 1,000. Thus, it is best not to go running outside when it is raining and thundering but sometimes people forget this bit of common sense.

So anyway, this omen perhaps does not portend well for the Irish in me, one could say. On the other hand, the odds are good that it really does not make a bit of difference. May is as good a month as any for me to be born, I suppose, if I really must exist on this earth for the purpose of being kicked around by whomever, I am not sure who or why. If I had millions in the bank I could hire P.I. and lawyer to sort this out and/or sue someone but alas I have nothing to go on.

However, it perhaps should be noted that it was actually my grandmother who wrote to the The Delineator, a New York-based women's magazine that apparently focused onsewing and sewing notions, submitting her entry to some sort of article which apparently advertised a personality analysis based on a picture. This is always a bad idea, thinking that you can judge someone's personality by their appearance. As they say, you cannot really judge a book by its cover. This might be a useful exercise for novel writing and fiction but not for assessing the reality of everyday life or one's vocational aptitude as judged by some total stranger isolated in their hermetically sealed ivory tower.

Editorial Rooms
Butterick Building, New York

The Delineator

London - Paris - New York

July 24, 1914

My dear Miss Strickland:

We are returning the picture sent is in answer to our article in the May Delineator.

Type #1 shows rather a forceful character; good executive; would do well in domestic science, and trained nursing. Type #2, rather unusual business sense; forceful; would suggest training for business, if circumstances warrant. Type #3; less forceful; more affectionate; a great deal like type #4 on page 16 of the May Delineator.

Very truly yours,

VOCATIONAL DEPARTMENT

Miss Strickland
Boonsville
Wise County
Texas

Church of God

Since when do the nasty wicked dogs of Tennessee have anything to say to me? Is it my fault that my idiotic distant relatives, probably those dippity dumb Barth cousins, switched over only recently to the Tennessee denomination because they were too obnoxious to get along with the AG probably, not that I would know anything about that? The Church of God TN has no clue about who I am or what this means, obviously, or they would not go around ranting and raving in a way that reveals their true nature as being ignorant hicks from the sticks. I suppose you must carry a big stick to keep from tripping over your twisted feet but your opinion is only that, your opinion and not something that matters to me. Get over it. I do wish the obnoxious Tennessee liars would go back to the hiding in the woods and stop bothering me because there is nothing that I can do for them and obviously they never did me any favors.

Lori's Opinion

Oh yes, that was Lori Kelderman of Michigan who was saying to me that she found it appalling that people like Molly were picketing abortion climics. Molly would probably end up spending a lot of time in jail and live the rest of her life with a long criminal record that will circumscribe her choices for the rest of her life. Lori thought it was terrible. I think that Lori has a point. Molly's plan of action would not be my choice, certainly. Of course, I personally think that Lori has a lot of nerve telling Molly what she can or cannot do when obviously Lori stole Cindy's husband Tom, having dated a man she knew was married and then hanging on through the divorce, even if Cindy was a terrible person if you believe what Lori said that Tom told her about Cindy. I really don't want these people like Lori latching onto me this way. I don't really want to be associated with whatever Lori thinks she stands for, personally, because really just having been in the military does not guarantee virtue of character, obviously, as we see from Lori's lousy example. Anyway, I also don't like the idea of Tom's lousy ex-wife Cindy, who lives with her mother, latching onto me this way. How is it that Tom's ex-wife Cindy is sending all these signals to me, recriminations about my being complicit in Lori's stealing of her husband, when all I did was listen to some things that Lori said. And who is this worthless Tom anyway? Tom is nobody as far as I am concerned. Tom would not be my choice, obviously, so I don't want to hear another word from Cindy or Lori on this subject matter. I don't like these people latching onto me this way. I never met Cindy, only once met Tom maybe and I only knew Lori for a short time and then started distancing myself because I don't want to be associated with that.

What to do

Yes, it is possible that I might have said something to Cheryl about the interview with Pat Buchanan's intern and what I might or not might do about it. I really don't remember. I did my homework and I never thought out that again.

Interview

I am vaguely remembering that at the time I was studying journalism I interviewed someone who was working in journalism as an intern or else maybe full time for that famous columnist Pat Buchanan. I cannot remember what her name was. I am not sure whether I still have the article I wrote or whether it was published or not in the Standard. Maybe someday I will have time to go through all the stuff and locate the item and figure out what it was. I think that the idea came from Cheryl who at least knew of her because otherwise I was not aware of her existence. Maybe Cheryl would remember her name. So I called her and she talked about her job and what she does and things like that. She mentioned that she was being teased and/or harassed by Pat Buchanan, I am not sure which. They were doing a show on harassment and also joking about the subject behind the scenes precisely at the moment that I was talking to her on the telephone. She seemed to think this was funny. I am not the police so not sure whether that would be something to report or just extraneous background noise. There was of course, as always, the temptation to do the kitchen sink story and dump every detail of the interview, the entire contents of the reporter's notebook, into the story but I did not do that. I was not exactly sure what to do with the harassment thing. To include the harassment thing in the story would take my story into a whole other direction not foreseen or planned by me. This was a story about journalism and the things that people do in the world of journalism in their careers as journalists, not about harassment which is not included in the prescribed job duties of journalism as far as I can tell. So I did my homework assignment and have nothing else to say about that. I personally would be leery of applying for a job working for those Irish Catholic bulldogs of New York, especially after my experience working with Pat Buchanan, so obviously I did not take that any further.