It

Perhaps Dauna would remember who it was that I was talking to about the "it" dilemma. I really can't remember for the life of me who she was. I just remember someone talking about how frustrating it is sometimes when guys treat us like dogs, like we are not really feminine in the sense of prom queen or fashion model. We are not the homecoming queen type, not the type of girl that guys would think of for asking out to the annual banquet or other date night event. Yes, I remember sympathizing with her and saying that I know how she feels even though I am not exactly sure what her story actually would be as compared to mine. She talked about guys being very flirty and leading her on to think that they liked her and then later she would be finding out that they were not very sincere, that they were just being friendly in a political sense but it was nothing to take seriously. Yes, I know exactly what she means by that. Some examples of this type of guy would be, for example, the Cederbloms. It is not like they would ever ask us out. Certainly not. No sense wasting much time thinking about them. Yes, it is very frustrating when those guys go around telling everyone that I am their "sister" when actually I am barely acquainted with them and sometimes it seems more like they hate my guts in some sense that I can't quite explain. I can't quite figure out where they're coming from. The things they say just never made a whole lot of sense to me. With friends like that I don't need enemies, do I? They do a great job of ruining my life and stabbing me in the back while all the while pretending to be my friends to my face although I can't really prove this. It's just an intuitive thing, like I was saying. So, like, yes, I understand.

Gophers

Great-grandmother in her diaries often mentions the gophers that plague her vegetable garden. I am surprised to learn that gophers are a problem in Carlsbad but there it is in the diaries. I am thinking that great-grandmother is referring to rodent-like critters that often creep in from somewhere to nibble on the carrots and other sprouting vegetable plants in the garden that she has planted. Great-grandmother speaks of putting out poison for the gophers to eat so that they will die and give up the ghost. Another way of dealing with gophers is to set traps to catch them in the act of sneaking around where they don't belong. Thus, it was odd to hear someone saying that these references to gophers have a more symbolic meaning. I had not heard of great-grandmother's diaries at that time so perhaps I thought you were talking about go-fers. Well, if you want to be a go-fer and eat the poison then fine, do whatever you want. It is not like I ever knew what they were talking about anyway. Still, last time I checked I do not have a long rodent-like tail. It is more likely that there actually were gophers living in the Carlsbad area. You could always ask Gwen and her husband Lance who are described in the diaries as going over there to set up the traps and remove the dead critters or something like that. They might know more about the habitat and roaming ways of Carlsbad gophers. I myself know nothing about that, only what is written in the diaries. That is about all I would care to know about that personally speaking.

Prairie Dog Whiners

Yes, these prairie dogs are such annoying whiners. I hate the way prairie dogs whine and complain about everything, especially about California. They have sharp little teeth and are always chewing on the furniture. The prairie dogs took over California which sort of explains why there is not much left there except a gigantic television station. Prairie dogs are fond of complaining about California, as if there ever were a monolithic entity comprised of "Southern California." It always was a lot more complicated than that but it is much easier to leave than to try to explain these things to prairie dogs. They just don't get it.

Harold Stewart

And then there is the question of who is Harry V. Stewart and why is his photograph mixed in with our family's photo collection. Combing through the genealogical record we find a Harry V. Stewart, son of Louella Whetstone, who never really left Pennsylvania and died there at the ripe old age of 82. So although my great-grandmother was originally born in Pennsylvania, why would she be referring to the Harry Stewart who lives in California who is the son of her cousin May, or could be it be that her cousin's name was really Mary Smith, daughter of her uncle Parks B. Smith? And then there is the Harold Stewart who was born 1894 in Pennsylvania but died in Upland, California, in 1999. That Harry Stewart lived in Ontario most of his life and married Mabel Hardwick and had two children, Walter and Ruth. So this gets very confusing trying to figure out exactly who great-grandmother is talking about in her diary when she refers to Harry Stewart. Obviously someone has already done this genealogical research and I am just being called upon to copycat their steps which gets really annoying. Don't I have better things to do than this? Makes you wonder what is wrong with these people.

Harold

It is true that Sharon's father is Harold Whetstone. However, that Harold Whetstone was born in Colorado and married a Letha Jane. Thus we are obviously not talking about the same Whetstones. The record gets confusing as to who exactly is this Louella Whetstone and was she really our cousin at all and how did all these names get mixed together in the genealogy records, but still it is very crystal clear that Sharon is not connected to them or us for that matter.

The Whetstone Connection

Yes, it should be noted that my great-grandmother had some distant cousins of the surname Whetstone. However, Sharon Whetstone should know that she is not related to us and our Whetstone connections. I did spend some time on Ancestry.com checking this out and I don't see any connection between our Whetstone connections and Sharon. I should not have to explain this basic data to the entire planet when this elementary fact is as obvious as the nose on your face, figuratively speaking of course. Our Whetstone connection is complicated to explain because it comes down through the Smiths but still there is no connection to Sharon and no reason for Sharon and her crew to imagine that they are related to us and the Smiths either for that matter, not to be confused with those other millions of Smiths to whom we are not related. Enough said about that. Of course, we are not going to trace this back to the Middle Ages of Merry Old Englande. I suppose there could be a connection somewhere in the dawn of history, perhaps before the invention of the alphabet, but that would be of no concern to us in the present 19th century milieu of northern Pennsylvania and/or upstate New York. If you dig a little deeper you will see that Sharon is just a Nebraska prairie dog so obviously there is no connection to our family's ancient Whetstone connection.

Ultimatum

That was weird. Pastor Yeary sent me a message saying that he hates my guts and wants me out of his church or else and demanding that I speak to Ophelia if I want to get anywhere in life. Yes, like, after all the knives those two have stabbed in my back, do they really think that I ever would ever bother to speak to Imperial Wicked Witch Ophelia? And where would I go on the planet to get out of reach of their invisible wicked network that seems to follow me around wherever I go? When will the dogs of Fullerton get a clue that they really are not very important and will have no role in my future life? Pastor Webber-Yeary must be out of his wicked wicked mind. I never did go to beauty school so there is no way I would offer to coif Ophelia's wig or whatever it is. Do they really think that I don't know they are linked back to SoCal's Wicked Witch Sharon Whetstone, as if I would ever want her meddling behind my back all the time. I have enough problems without those glee dogs yapping at my heels. We do feel sorry for Sharon. You would have thought that she would have sensed the truth before taking the leap but apparently not. It happens. Still, I have to think about my future which will certainly NOT be a copycat version of hers. At least she has a ministerial credential so she will not have any problems staying employed in ministry one way or another. As for myself, I have no idea how people get credentials. I suppose I could force myself to memorize the district bylaws but on the other hand why bother if there is no church or ministry that would ever hire me anyway or give me a license as the Yearys so often hint obscurely without coming right out and saying in so many words? So basically I see no solution to this impasse. What do these people want from me anyway? They toss around lots of hits but they never really get specific. There are two logical conclusions to be drawn from these facts. Either (1) I am mentally retarded, or (2) They really don't care what happens to me. Basically, it is just all about them and how I am supposed to do whatever they want even when it is not in my best interests. Given the fact that I won the spelling bee, I tend to believe the latter conclusion.

Chapel

It is true that I once sang in chapel at college but that was arranged with Warren. I am sure that Sharon and Debbie were no longer in college by that time and they have nothing intelligent to say about me. Sharon does not seem to have any problem with Silla kicking around in chapel despite the college ban on dancing but then again it is not like I would never discuss anything personal with them.

Wondering What Happened

Yes, I do recall our music teacher, Mrs. Hummel, saying that you can be either one who makes it happen or else you can be the one who wonders what happened. Yes, and of course upon hearing this platitude I immediately and obviously, it goes without saying, identify myself as one who makes it happen and not as one of those pathetically sick Foursquare dogs who are plugged into the Hollywood machine of Southern California. You have no control there. You are just another cog in the wheel of Sin City if you do whatever they say. That's what happens when you compromise with the world and run with the herd. There is something better than worldly success and that would be godly failure. At least God knows what I meant to say.

Story

Yes, I remember reading the story in Good Housekeeping magazine about the boy whose circumcision at birth went awry and was thus converted into a girl. During high school I always read most of the articles in my mother's Good Housekeeping magazine. Obviously that was never my problem. There is no need for health care records to prove this point.

Silla

Yes, I vaguely remember Priscilla (Silla) doing a dance performance during chapel one morning. We all have heard for months that she is a professionally trained dancer who was quite successful in Florida so we are not surprised to see Silla in tights doing her thing on the platform. I would not be able to do that, obviously. We also heard later that we were very critical and disdainful of Silla's dance performance, not that I recall saying anything about it. It is just assumed that I probably said something about it even though the powers-that-be who run chapel let her get away with that so who am I to say otherwise. We should not forget that, well, it is against the rules of the college to go out dancing, and anyway, we don't know how to dance. We would all look like fools for sure if we tried to assume such a position. But Priscilla is professionally trained, having gone out for dance training which is not the same thing apparently as hanging out in bars so she can get away with that. If you are professionally trained apparently you can get away with pretty much anything. Silla also might have lived on the same dorm floor as my sister the year that my sister was there and Silla married Loren who is a cousin to my childhood friend Susie (MK-El Salvador). Susie's family was not impressed with Silla from what I understand although I don't know very much except a couple of things that Susie said, such as that Silla is quite foul-mouthed in Susie's opinion and also overly fascinated with writing scripts for movies and TV programs. Loren, who as it turns out is nothing but a boring policeman, divorced Silla later and remarried. So we are not really in touch or friends with either Loren or Silla, not that we ever wanted to stay in touch with them after college. It is just that they are connected through the Stewarts and also through college so we hear about these people in the alumni news or wherever. We are not sure why Silla would want to use her old surname, "Cheney," instead of her children's name but we are not going to go bother to comment. We know who these people are even if they have no use for us.

Being Nice

Yes, we have to be nice to these people. We don't dare tell Charity how much the sight of her makes us want to puke. We could get fired or at the very least demoted if we were to express our true disgust at the thought of Charity. Charity has the power to make our lives miserable and so we must disguise our true opinions and avoid the power circles where we might have the misfortune of coming into contact with Charity. Sad but true that that is just how it is in this crazy mixed-up world.

Attachments

Yes, that was very clever of Pastor Webber to attach me to his story. Is he quaking in his boots at the thought of me condemning things I know nothing of? No, it is more likely that he needed some diversion to detract public attention from his own wicked schemes. It is not like I ever attended his church except when visiting my grandparents so obviously no reason to tithe there or to consult his opinion in regards to my church involvement there. My grandmother is the one who taught Sunday School there for many years. If she were still living she probably could help you unravel the mess but unfortunately she is not here. Why not include all of my accusers in this attachment? Certainly they are guilty of something, I imagine. God knows the truth.

The Keys

Yes, I vaguely remember that I was talking to Grandpa Calkins and that biker guy came into the room and handed him the car keys and then I was introduced to the biker. I am not surprised that Grandpa Calkins would loan out his car, probably the red El Camino pickup truck, to a dangerously psychotic biker. That's how generous he always was, such a nice guy, so easily taken advantage of by creepy Pastor Webber. My grandparents were always very generous to a fault, always overlooking those little things that bothered them about the Webbers, such as for example the time when Mrs. Webber was pregnant at a rather advanced age and had the test taken to determine whether the child should be aborted if mentally retarded. The Webbers were a shockingly over-the-edge kind of people to be serving as pastors of a Pentecostal church. My grandmother always did Mrs. Webber's hair on Saturday. My grandparents were always so generous to pastor. I, on the other hand, am not so generous as that. I am not so trusting as my parents, not so willing to be led around by a ring in my nose. I have learned that there are times when I must say "NO." Like for example the time when Tana Aivaz wanted a ride to Hollywood to sign up at an agency to become a movie star. She suggested that I could also enroll at the Hollywood agency along with her. Even though we had done some piano duets together, ultimately I declined the offer. Then she wanted to borrow my car to go by herself. Still, I said no. Thus I declined to give Tana a ride to hell but I imagine she found some other way to get there. I already have enough problems, thanks anyway. The last thing I need is to launch my photo into circulation as the laughingstock of Tinseltown. I imagine they have entire vaults of wannabe horror stories. Why should my story be any different from theirs? Yes, it was a good thing for me to say "no."

The Purse Story

Yes, I suppose the purse story probably wasn't all that bad, not that I remember much about it. But it was literary journal criticism day and critics criticize. I was asked to deliver a critical opinion and thus I did so as back in those days I usually did whatever was asked of me with some exceptions. The author really should not have taken it so personally. It really did not matter who wrote the story. Critics criticize and so if I had been given some other story by some other author to criticize, undoubtedly I would have found some reason to be critical of it and deem it perhaps unworthy of publication, not that my opinion would matter all that much in the final analysis. I did not continue with the literary criticism journal thing after that day because anyway I admit that at age 14 I do not know enough about literary criticism to know that I am supposed to like everything and that I should just not say anything and let it go. There is no shortage of reasons why someone may not like your caterwauling style and may not want to waste the paper on your peripatetic ramblings, or else they may love it. I have no idea. It is better for me that the hammer of judgment be delivered by someone other than myself so that no one can have place to say that it was my fault that it was or was not published. Ok, so that is not exactly what you wanted to hear but I don't remember anything else about it or why my opinion should matter at all when obviously nobody cares what I think about anything.

More on Heather

It was interesting to learn recently that Heather's family once owned a newspaper in Houston. I never knew that. In high school I just thought she was a professional snob as are all DK (diplomat kids). I have no clue who those people are or what their parents do out there in the other world. Nor would it ever cross my mind to consult them in regards to my own career plans or decisions regarding my professional future as for example my own career in newspapers for whatever it was worth. The fact remains that nothing that I do is any of their business. They have way too much money, much more than they deserve having coming by it through birth without ever having to earn anything, and so I don't see how it would matter to them at all what I might do later in my professional career and adult life. I don't see how the circumstance of having been in the same classroom should have any bearing on whether I may or may not outshine them in the future even though I do not have as much inherited money as they or the high-powered connections that they boast of. Do you really think that the rags to riches story is not applicable to white people and that all white people must descend into a life of grinding poverty in order to fund Heather's extravagant and luxurious gilded mansion and flotilla of staff genealogists? There is something wrong with Heather's sick brain but I am not sure exactly what, something about the stinkingly sulphurous Texas tea they drink over there. I'm not sure what their problem is but stealing from the poor to puff up the rich and mighty is not really the stuff that greatness is made of.

Rich People

Yes, wouldn't it be fun if I had all the money in the world to do whatever I want? Just think, with all that money I could roast Heather Catto's bitchy butt over an open fire. I could hire a bevy of private investigators to dig up the dirt. After all, she always was worthless as a high school classmate and there probably is more to that story than I know anything about. I would be able to tell these rich dogs how little I care about them and dismiss them to their materialistic gilded mansions where they are waited on hand and foot by staff. After all, the only thing that matters to them is who has more toys. Rich people are brazenly bold in their stupidity and that is why I would prefer not to be contaminated by their stupid idiot thinking, presenting Heather of course as a prime example of stupid rich girl. But then if I did that I wouldn't really be a Christian, now would I? I would have to step down to their level of richly stupid and then I would be just as stupid as they are, which means that I would be just another child of Satan as they are. So obviously I am not going to do that. I am a Christian and Christians are guided by Christian love and so therefore I am not going to say what I really think about hideous Heather and Libby and all those other obnoxious rich girls who sneer at me. The list could go on and on but it is not my place to say what I really think about them. I cannot compete with them. I do not have the millions of dollars in the bank, the high-powered connections, etc., etc., necessary to tell my enemies to take a hike. No, instead I will have to do what the real Christian does, which is to turn the other cheek, walk the extra mile, etc. If I had the money I could go to war but even if I fought and won there wouldn't be any trophy to take home. The better victory is to win the victory within myself, the struggle within my own conscience, my own heart and soul, which is not something that will ever belong to them. My body they may kill but God's truth abideth still, as the song says.

The Carlsbad Riff-Raff

Yes, I vaguely remember mentioning to my sister that one time when I was living in California and I stopped by grandpa Calkins' house for some reason for a very short time and grandpa was at that time single after grandma had died and he had a bunch of young guys living in his house. One of them was there at the time that I stopped by and he was introduced to me by grandpa and I don't remember his name or anything about him except that he looked like a biker wearing brass knuckles or something on his hands. So I mentioned to my sister that maybe if grandpa has all these sort of cool looking single guys there that maybe I should stop by more often and meet them and find out who they are but then I never did that because, I don't know, Carlsbad was just too far away from the place where I was living and anyway grandpa is always busy with his social life which comprised mostly of very old people such as Stella and so it just never happened.

Work Work Work

These people are crazy. They keep telling me that I won't get the money unless I work and yet they never say what exactly they are expecting me to do in terms of this work or why I should bother when they built so many roadblocks it's not even funny. Where is this work they are talking about? And isn't the work supposed to have more purpose than just collecting a paycheck? Any robot can collect a paycheck but life was supposed to mean more than this. It would be stupid to expect me to run out and do something without first knowing what exactly I am supposed to do. My purpose in life was not to serve as joke fodder for your never-ending stream of sick humor.  I don't like this idea of being expected to throw blind, as if I were not allowed to control my own destiny, as if the rich kids are defining the terms and setting the rules and I am just supposed to play along with whatever they want because obviously having no money to start with means that I probably don't deserve anything later. I really don't like this setup. This whole thing is twisted and I hate it and that is why I am on labor strike until further notice. Thanks for listening, at least, even if as it turned out you are just as worthless as everyone else on the planet.

Television

That was weird, someone telling me that I have no future in the local church and that I should go work for the televangelists. That's ridiculous. And what would money-grubbing televangelists do for me? The same thing that the local church does for me. Nothing, obviously. No, they only want me to send them money and if I have no money to send them so there is nothing that the televangelists are going to do for me. The televangelists only care about the people who have already helped themselves and already have the surplus income with which to pay the bills from the televangelists but I cannot help myself without capital and with all these micromanagers peering over my shoulder. I am not knocking all the good things that they do, the water projects and the medical projects, but that's just not where I'm at at this time. It would be better if I could make that choice, but I'm just not there yet.

Money

Yes, it is true that I did not pay tithes on the tuition money which was classified for my tax purposes, at least in my mind, as a gift and not as my working income. The money went straight to the college and there was no extra money left over for an extra gift for you. Sorry about that. I didn't mean to rob God in that sense that you are lodging accusations but I was paying tithes on my regular working income so I am not sure what your whiny complaint is all about. The assumption is that I make my own financial decisions and it is not your place to tell me how to pay my bills. My accountant will straighten this out, hopefully, but pastor will not. Pastor will not have access to my paycheck and salary information just as my co-workers also do not have the right to know how much money I make or do not make each year. You are not the IRS. I really must report this to the IRS but last time I checked pastor was not the IRS reporting agency except in pastor's sick mind, and also perhaps in Wicked Mr. Woolsey's sick mind. I do not want to hear another word from Wicked Mr. Woolsey and his Louisiana crew. There is nothing in Louisiana for me to do except drive through without stopping except maybe if I need to find a gas station with a restroom and snack bar. I was never even remotely interested in going there and the sooner that Mr. Randy Gay can get a clue about that the better for him. I would not want him to be standing at the side of the road waiting for my appearance because it is just never going to happen.

The Boys

Yes, I vaguely remember someone telling me that I was chosen to suffer lifelong singleness along with the five boys who were molested by Pastor Webber, not that I would know anything about that. Well, at least they have $1.7 million to spend on whatever they want but me, I get only this emotional turmoil on a continual basis even though I was not chosen by Pastor Webber. The five boys were the ones who were singled about by Pastor Webber for a future homosexual lifeestyle. Someone was saying that because the five boys were molested by Pastor Webber they can never get married and have families of their own. They are damaged goods, doomed to repeat the patterns of child abuse that were placed on them and thus they would only do the same to other children if they ever had the chance, and thus they must needs be homosexuals due to the designation work done by Pastor Webber and not expose others to their issues. They are the elect in that sense. I, on the other hand, am something akin to the pedophile even though I was only three years old at the time. They are saying that I am doomed to a future of being a child molester and abuser. After all, I used to fight with my sister so I would probably not have enough sense not to beat up and clobber my husband if I ever had one and likewise beat up on my children because I am programmed to be a clobbering bully who has no self-control when provoked to anger. They imagine that whenever provoked I will spew all kinds of obscenities and say unfounded lies about them even though I would really rather not succumb to that temptation and never actually think about them very much. Someone was saying that the mothers of the five boys want to punish the Calkins, my grandparents, for not noticing the problem with Pastor Webber and getting rid of him early on before he did so much damage and perhaps even were part of the reason the Webbers were able to hang on there in Carlsbad for so long when obviously they were not doing anyone any good with all their problems. My last name is still Calkins and that makes me a suitable choice for the slaughtering which is has been demanded by the five Wicked Witch mothers of the five sick boys. I think there is something wrong with this picture but I am not sure exactly what it is and I am not in a good position to comment on this problem. Ok, so it was wrong of me to even think of the "you-show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine" scenario in the church nursery at age three. I know that. I am not sure what I was thinking or where I got that idea. On the other hand, I don't see how that compares to what Pastor Webber did.

Dogs

Yes, it is unfortunate that I was not able to attend a high school with the kind of people who share my Christian values and beliefs. It is unfortunate that I was stuck with that crew of nattering nabobs. No matter what I do right, no matter how hard I try to always do my homework every night more or less on schedule although maybe not always getting started as early as my mother might like, no matter how wisely and carefully I refrain from saying bad words and never touch those filthy lit cigarette butts that are passed around the girls' locker room after physical education class, no matter how often I arrive at class punctually and am already seated at my desk when the starting bell goes off and never skip class, I will never get any credit for anything from certain people. It just doesn't matter. They just don't care what happens to me and they never did. Nothing I do matters. They already hated my guts from day one and there is no way that anything can ever change. There is nothing that I could or would ever be able do to change their deep and abiding hatred of me. It is already programmed against me from the first day. That is just the way it is and I am resigned to the fact that I can never really have the life that I wanted. I never get what I want. I don't know how my sister can stand those horrid people. I am not saying that I am better than them. I am just saying that if I choose not to smoke and not to drink alcohol there is nothing wrong with that. I am not living a clean lifestyle in order to impress or heap condemnation upon worthless trashy dogs such as Heather Catto and huffer-puffer Libby Penders. No, those worthless dogs are mentally retards and their opinion of me is worthless in my opinion. No, the only reason that I choose not to follow the rotten wicked example of Heather is that I would not want to impair my relationship with God. I follow the instructions of God and as far as I am concerned Heather Catto is only a trashy dog whose opinion is of no concern to me. Just because we were in ninth grade together, that does mean that I would ever want to hear another word from hideous Wicked Witch Catto and her cadre of smoking dogs. If this means that I will definitely be executed and beheaded by Wicked Witch Barbara Bush then so be it. I willingly surrender myself to capital punishment rather than be taken captive by the wicked Bush clan and their hangers on. Just because you are or were the supreme Caesar of the republic, that does not mean that I will ever give you the allegiance that is owed only to God. Just because I am a registered Republican, that does not mean that I actually like those people in any personal kind of way. I may or may not vote for them because somebody has to do the job and they may be the only semi-intelligent choice, so they have their reward, their votes rendered to Caesar. That should be enough for them.

Overvalued

So you are saying that I am overvalued and overpriced. With just a little work you can cheaply and affordably get ten cheap Latino girls to replace one overpriced, overweight geeky me. So this makes a lot of sense, actually. Why did my parents bother to raise me to adulthood anyway? It makes you wonder what they were thinking. They could easily use a shotgun to dispose of my worthless body and no one would care anyway. Then they could adopt a Latino girl to do all the housecleaning, cook the food, clean the house, and raise the grandchildren. There is a certain logic to all of this. Yes, I am overvalued, overpriced, have done nothing worthy of mention, have acquired this rotten attitude trashing people all the time, and should be dispatched to the other life beyond the grave forthwith so that I am no longer occupying all this space and eating all this food and wasting people's time with my silly musings. So, yes, what are you waiting for? I would not be surprised if time is shorter than I had imagined. Not at all!

The Pastor Problem

Yes, we do have a problem. What are we going to do about this creepy Pastor Webber? There he is up front continually enticing and luring innocent children to come up to his office and see him sometime. And for what purpose? Nothing good will come of visiting Pastor Webber. It is easy to say that in retrospect but obviously lots of people were fooled back in those days. Where did he go while the church ladies went rambling through the San Diego Zoo which is located adjacent to Balboa Park? He drops them off and then he reappears later without offering any explanation as to his whereabouts in the interim, great-grandmother notes in her diary. Well, you can just shrug that off as nothing. Maybe he had something else to do. Or you can warn us about the pastor problem. It is easy now to see something odd about Pastor Webber's behavior that day of the zoo excursion as described in the diaries but back in the old days we just trusted these people implicitly and never thought evil of them even when they obviously did not deserve it. A lot of these pastors are just there for the power and prestige and the good life on easy street and obviously could not care less about the lives of the children they are molesting. It is easy to see now, looking back, that Pastor could not be trusted but it is too late now to do anything about him. Future generations will have to be a lot more cautious about trusting these double-crossing, back-stabbing pastors and their retinue of mindless lackeys and all because nobody did anything about reporting Pastor Webber to the authorities, or else the authorities always knew and never did anything about it. Either way, sad but true.

Staples

Yes, I do remember, and probably a lot of other people do also, the day in high school when Bevy Ochoa was using the stapler on the teacher's desk and then she was running around saying, "Me engrapé el dedo! Me engrapé el dedo!" which is to say, "I stapled my finger! I stapled my finger!" Did I ask what the words meant? I really don't remember but I think the meaning of the word was sort of evident from the context of the situation. It was not hard to deduce that "engrapar" means "to staple." Someone asked me about that later, like what was Bevy saying, and I explained that she had stapled her finger and "engrapar" means "to staple." So there is really nothing else to say about that. Obviously Bevy was in a lot of pain at the time. I probably would be too if I had stapled my finger. Fortunately that never happened.

Block Captain

I vaguely remember some discussion about how in Communist countries there are block captains appointed on every block to snoop around and spy on everything that you do, sort of like next-door neighbors who work for the Kremlin. It sounded scary. Obviously we don't do that here in America. We don't go around spying on our neighbors and watching their comings and goings unless of course you work for the police and your neighbor is drug dealer. Otherwise there would be no reason for private law-abiding citizens to think very much about the need for protection from block captains who spy on everything and make a huge mess out of things that are none of their business. So that is another reason to ship some of these block people back to Cuba where they will feel more comfortable and secure about who their next-door neighbors are given that anyone they don't like and report on will be immediately thrown in prison for no particular reason other than the people said so.

Joy In The Morning

I must admit that I have or at least formerly had this book on my bookshelf. It seemed very cheap as a used paperback edition when I purchased several items once many years ago at a used bookstore that has long since disappeared but I never did have time to actually read it just as I never read the other book by Betty Smith that I also bought at the same time. I wouldn't want people to think that I actually read all these books that are taking up way too much space on my bookshelf. I am not even sure I remember where they all came from but I rarely really read fiction anymore, just have too many other things to do. I was cured of that a long time ago. I vaguely remember in the distant past expressing the traditional criticism of pretentious people who keep lots of unread books on their bookshelves to impress people with knowledge that is not really theirs. They don't want people to think that they don't know anything and so they buy lots of books. This line of thought makes me feel guilty to be found in the possession of any books. What would people think if they came over to my house and spied a copy of something controversial? They might think that I actually read it and know what they are talking about in terms of the content of the book. So yes, I am admitting that I am one of those pretentious book owners that I once criticized. I have plenty of books that I have not read and yet still I do not feel guilty about owning them and not reading them. At least if I ever had the time, I would not have to go anywhere to find them again. And it remains true that you cannot judge a book by its cover or a book owner by the books. I am not my books. My books are not me. I should not have to explain this plain fact, plain as the nose on your face. Nobody in their right mind would judge me by the books. Only a psycho witch would do something like that.

Bad/Brutal Does Not Really Translate To Good

Yes, I vaguely remember having a conversation with Sylvia Brooke (MK-Costa Rica) in which she was saying how shocked she was when she came to the United States and heard people at college, a Christian college, using the word 'bad' as if referring to something good, as if being 'bad' were 'good.' Yes, really, I had not really thought about this until Sylvia mentioned it but I do think that I agree with Sylvia that it is not good to use this word 'bad' in this clearly wrong and unbiblical way. In pop culture the word 'bad' is often used in a complimentary way to affirm the evil deeds of hipster drug dealers and other not so nice people who defy the authorities in order to get away with doing whatever they want to do and that is bad, not good, obviously. This slang usage of 'bad' was sometimes heard even in a Christian college. Sylvia referred to some Bible verses that clearly do apply to the situation she is describing. So, yes, I agree with Sylvia on this point. For example:

Romans 14:16: Do not allow what you consider good to be spoken of as evil.

Romans 3:5-12: But if our unrighteousness brings out God's righteousness more clearly, what shall we say? That God is unjust in bringing his wrath on us? (I am using a human argument.) Certainly not! If that were so, how could God judge the world? Someone might argue, "If my falsehood enhances God's truthfulness and so increases his glory, why am I still condemned as a sinner?" Why not say--as we are being slanderously reported as saying and as some claim that we say--"Let us do evil that good may result"? Their condemnation is deserved. What shall we conclude then? Are we any better? Not at all! We have already made the charge that Jews and Gentiles alike are all under sin. As it is written: "There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands, no one who seeks God.All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one." etc. etc.

So yes, I agree with Sylvia that we should not call the bad good and the good bad. Clearly, there is too much of that going on all over the place, but not only in the United States as Sylvia seems to have forgotten.

Has Sylvia forgotten that down in Latin America the term "brutal," which translates exactly into Spanish with the same spelling as English, is considered sometimes used as a compliment? Perhaps Sylvia forgot about that.

In English the word 'brutal' conjures images of Genghis Khan's murderous warpath all the way from Mongolia to Eurasia.

In Spanish the word 'brutal' has other meanings in addition to cruel savagery. It also may be used as a compliment in the same sense that "wicked" in English is sometimes used as a compliment applicable to persons who have accomplished something extraordinary in a clever and reckless, ruthless way.

So really there is no reason for the Spanish brutals to get so uppity about the English bads when they are just as wicked as anyone else on the planet.

Perhaps Sylvia forgot about that. I probably should have thought to remind her about that but it wasn't really something that I was thinking about very much. Obviously just being at a Christian college does not make anyone a Christian anymore than swimming in a lake makes you a goldfish, and those who are not really born again are just not going to understand and are very susceptible to the traps of pop culture laid before them everywhere in our modern culture. Obviously lots of people in Christian college were not really born again but it is a lot more obvious now, thirty-plus years later, to figure out who they were. Back then it wasn't so clear what they meant.

Carolina

Yes, everyone seems to have me confused with Carolina Gonzalez, our Rover columnist for the Trojan Times. Carolina always did have a somewhat brutal attitude about everything, always pecking away at people in her column. I have no idea where she got her ideas. She was way out there with Dave Barry, sort of more shocking than funny and nothing that I would ever think of writing or saying. (Don't ask me how Maria Smith got dumped in Cucamonga. I have no idea if that was Carolina or someone else. I just don't remember anything about that article in the senior issue telling of seniors' college plans.) Carolina was elected by the ninth grade class to be their columnist and no one dared to argue with the People's Republic of Ninth Grade. Carolina was the people's choice. That is what they wanted so that is what they got. I have no idea whether Carolina's writing improved later or her attitude because that was only ninth grade. I was happy to leave the Trojan Times far behind me and never have to listen to Carolina's whiny voice ever again. Not that I would ever say that publicly but then Carolina would say things like that about me so she probably should be expecting a boatload of backlash because that is what happens when you live by the sword. You die by the sword.

Maria the Wicked Sinner

Yes, it would be so stupid for me to say anything negative about Maria or criticize her publicly in any way. After all, we would not want Maria to think of herself as a martyr or to be feeling sorry for herself for ethnic reasons. There is nothing for Maria to say about me because actually in high school I just did my homework and went about my own business and did nothing to attract all this ethnic attention. There is no reason for Maria to feel like I persecuted her in any way. I do suspect that these Hispanic persons are persecuting me for being white because they are still trying to conquer the Anglos but I really cannot exactly prove it. It is just something that I sort of suspect.

Sinfully Wicked Maria

Yes, the truth is that Maria is just another sinner like all of the rest of us. She imagines herself of noble birth and sneers at lowly Anglo me but actually there is nothing all that good or better about Maria. That Schmidts just have a lot more money and power with which to grind us into dirt, that's all.

Mean

Yes, that was so mean of me to call Maria Smith an icky dog but that is what everyone is expecting with great anticipation for me to say, as if Maria were anything but just another Smith among millions or maybe billions of Smiths to whom I have no connection and of whom I have almost not really any thought or opinion to bring to mind. If you want me to trash her then perhaps you are the devil placing this temptation in my path because really it would not be very Christian of me to go around trashing people that I don't know anything about just because they are Spanish and I am not. How stupid do these people think I am anyway? I am not really that stupid but it is not like they ever give me credit for anything which gets very, very annoying, as if they think that they should get credit for just being Spanish or Latin. Ha! I really could not care less about Maria Smith and her boring life as she never said hello to me that I can recall. You just cannot go back and rewrite high school and pretend that we were ever friends or that she ever had anything but hatred toward me. We never really connected so just because there was a Smith in my high school class is not saying anything, actually.

The Smith Connection

It is quite true that my great-great-grandmother was Nellie Smith. This is a fact that is undoubtedly true and not contested by anyone who has half a brain in their skull.

However, it is also equally true that I did have a high school classmate named Maria Smith to whom I am not related. There is no connection. Do you have any idea how many billions of Smiths are living on this planet called earth? Smith is the most common name in the English language and then there are the German Schmidts who Anglicized to Smith and who knows what else. Just because someone's last name is Smith, that does not mean that I have any idea who they are or why I should care. Just having the surname Smith does not mean that we are related or that I should in any way be intimidated by Maria who is just an icky dog of whom I remember almost nothing.

Good riddance to Alan Skogerbo

I see no reason why I should care enough to discuss the firing of Alan Skogerbo. His existence is of no significance or concern in my life. I could not care less about the fact that Alan Skogerbo was fired because he, well, nobody knows exactly what his problem was. I am not interested in chewing on his sour grapes. I did meet Alan at an one or two MK Retreats that I attended and I remember him being very friendly to everyone. He was dating Debbie Bowman at the time but I am aware that their romance did not last very long. Alan was later a missionary in Costa Rica where he was supposed to marry a Costa Rican girl but that never happened and then he was fired there in Costa Rica. OK, so? Why should I care? It is not like Alan was ever related to me in any way. Lots of people attended the MK Retreat and I have no idea what happened to all of them later. I just can't keep track of all these worthless people. The vagaries of the currency exchange are not something to be understood by mere mortals such as myself. This is all very complicated and besides Alan is now worth a whole lot less to me, 20 years later, than he might have been worth back then although not really because I was never interested. Now that we know that Alan is mentally disturbed we certainly cannot call on him for anything or get back in touch for any reason. We would not want to be contaminated by his mental issues.

Mike

Yes, it is so sad about Mike Dible who formerly worked at the Lockman Foundation when I was there. Mike is said to be a schizophrenic, seriously, no joke, and has mental issues. His office was right there off the kitchen so we often saw him coming in and out at lunch hour sometimes. I remember Mike talking about having visited a famous magic store in Los Angeles and someone there told him that if he really wanted the scoop on magic secrets he would have to sell his soul to the devil. It was scary to hear Mike say that and Mike said it as if he were actually seriously considering the possibility. As if Mike doesn't already have enough problems what with being seriously diagnosed with schizophrenia in addition to being a redhead. Irene said that she heard Mike talking to his imaginary friend. She said that Mike hears voices in his head and talks to people who are not there. I am not sure what Irene knows about that, probably just whatever everyone knows about Mike. Poor guy. Once you are labeled as a mental case it is very hard to get any respect and certainly Mike has the label permanently stuck and affixed to his personality and everything that he ever does. It is not like he would ever get very far in life with all of his problems.

Mother

So the currency of El Salvador is the colón, which is named after Christopher Columbus, who is called Cristobal Colón in Spanish. And my mother's birthday is Columbus Day which I suppose makes my mother the executioner of the currency if you follow this bizarre, twisted logic. So that makes my mother the dispenser of the money in this imaginary country of La-la Land. My mother has decided that I will not be able to find a husband, given that she does not want me to marry Latin in case she forgot having said that and yet at the same time she has sold her own soul to the Bueno/Hoskins clan so that whatever they want is whatever they get. If vile hideous Wicked Witch Lee/Lois Bueno wants to slit my throat on this point then my mother will oblige, naturally, because she sold her soul to those wicked witches because she so much wants to be in high society with those horrid people. Thus, my mother wants me to be single and independently wealthy in order to oblige the wicked Bueno/Hoskins plan. However, this is illogical. I cannot be an independently wealthy adult and at the same time be ruled by the wicked Bueno/Hoskins clan, as if only they are capable of witnessing about God and I am just a dog that was sold into slavery. This whole thing is just not going to work and the sooner they get a clue the better for me. My hands are tied. My feet are cripled. I am starting to figure out that the Bueno/Hoskins people are really wicked Irish blacks pretending to be white people. They are like a Trojan horse. I am not sure how I know this. It just makes sense. And who is this mysterious Ellen 'Nellie' Stewart anyway? I have no clue and yet these genealogy freaks are running wild with biographical tidbits that mean nothing to me. I am not related to the Buenos so obviously I am not descended from Nellie Stewart who was their great-grandmother. I never even know that until recently and, really, why should I care? Lots of people's family trees are full of odd surname connections and it really doesn't matter or make the slightest difference. This whole thing is just a tempest in a teacup if you ask me.

Death and Taxes

Only two things are certain, death and taxes. Well, at least death is certain. Eventually I will die and be buried somewhere underground. But as for taxes, I am starting to wonder why I should bother. After all, wasn't it Uncle Sam himself conspiring with the CIA to sell my soul to the devil? Wasn't it Congress who sold the company store out from under me? And then I am expected to pay the bill for these dubious services so self-destructive of my own interests? They must be crazy. After all, the national debt is overwhelming. It will not be paid off in my lifetime if ever. The world system holds no promise of future benefit for me. I might be better off just dropping off the grid. After all, I don't need the system for anything. If you split the baby, this baby is not going to choose Caesar. God will take care of me. Hmm! Of course I pay my taxes every year. Not really saying anything. Just a thought.