Which Reminds Me

I really don't remember but I tend to think that Thomas Hills would remember a lot more about Hitler's cousins than I would as this story barely blipped in my mind. Just another sad story. However, I do think that New York was not the state originally mentioned in high school. It might have been somewhere in the Midwest but I really don't remember very much about that. I also seem to remember some discussion of Solzhenitsyn and his "Gulag Archipelago." After all, it was the early 1970s.

Which reminds me

Yes, I do remember someone, maybe in high school, talking about Hitler's cousins. A quick Google reveals that they live somewhere in the vicinity of New York and have all agreed to remain single and die childless to erase the stigma of being related to Hitler. Yes, what a sad story. And they had already left Germany during WWII so they probably did not do anything to start the war, just came to the U.S. to get out of the way. Yes, what a sad story. Of course, I am not even remotely related to Hitler or anyone so notorious as that so obviously that would not be a reason for me to remain childless. For me, lack of husband is a very good reason to remain childless. Nothing else to say about that. It must be God's will for me to die alone and lonely because whenever I get social I seem to be a magnet for stupid people. For example, Ann had some other ideas about having children but Ann's ideas did not come from me and I have no reason to promote Ann's stupid thinking by repeating what she said in public just because you are confused. That would just multiply Ann's stupid thinking many times more and I would rather forget about Ann because I have not nothing nice to say that.

Arrangements

Perhaps Dawn could explain these nefarious and deceptively back-stabbing and traitorous arrangements that she made with Josephine. I really would not remember anything about that obviously. I don't have a vast fortune with which to buy the office, the classroom, the workplace, the family circle, etc., etc., so there is really not much I would be able to do about that. Obviously. I am just saying that all of this is just so much ridiculous overkill. And also Phil Collins and his little sister Priscilla can be excused from class as obviously he was not involved in the Philippine Islands affair. Offer is declined.

Which reminds me

Josephine from the Philippines was a student at our little MK school for a couple of years or so there in El Salvador. She once performed for us a typical Philippine dance, dressed in native costume and hopping around while somehow avoiding getting her feet smashed between the bamboo sticks that were shuffled by her parents who were probably the only qualified P.I. people available to do that. She was a year or two older than us and I remember almost nothing else about her. She was doing high school correspondence courses with Susie while I was still in eighth grade with Sammy, who flunked first grade because of that teacher he hated so much so he was always a year behind Susie. Josephine was always Susie's best friend as Susie often reminded us. Thus, if you want to know anything about Josephine you would have to ask the Stewarts. I really have no clue about Josephine.

Advantage

Ok, so everything I say or do will be used against me. I don't recall when I first figured this out, maybe some time during elementary school, so this really is not news to me, perhaps because I am a girl or had reddish hair or something. There will always be some reason, some excuse, for giving preference to someone else's opinion. Whatever I say will always be misconstrued and misused by someone, it would seem. The trick for me is how to use this boomerang effect to my own advantage given that large groups of people are often chronically stupid or chronically smart depending on how you look at it. The ideal solution would for me to make like Thumper Rabbit and say nothing. But that is not always possible. If I am human at all I sometimes must spill the beans and let the chips fall where they may, I suppose, because anyway these factors are not within my control. It is not like the group is always right, obviously. Large groups of dumb people are often a serious peril and an evil influence on a good Christian girl like me seeking to live in right conscience with God. Ok, so I am not always doing the right thing but anyway, whatever, the group is often quite wrong also. I never particularly liked having to work on group projects because sometimes I get stuck with these people who just want to gossip and chat about other things and nothing ever gets done. I would rather avoid group situations whenever possible, especially any groups related to high school Spanish literature class, because I just don't care to submit to arrested development just because they don't like me. I just want to graduate from high school ASAP so those whiny people will never again have any excuse to interrupt my progress. Never gain will they have an opportunity to arrest my development just because they are just sitting there waiting for me to stick my foot in my mouth. I just won't be there after high school graduation so you will have to find someone else to kick around. Thanks anyway.

Nothing to "Get"

There was really nothing to "get" in terms of the story of the continual pranks pulled by the Saword children on poor Miss Nafsker. It was quite often at recess break during 10th grade that Dawn would have some new little story about that, usually something about them sneaking around and putting things on Miss Nafsker's chair for her to sit on or whatever. I am not very good at remembering these details. I just remember thinking that poor Miss Nafsker probably deserved a prize for putting up so amicably with their mischief for all those years, but I really don't remember very much about that. I just sort of thought that probably someone should have turned that little rascally mischief thing off before it got out of hand, if it did get out of hand, but it was really not my place to say. I was not their parents so it was not my problem, or should not have been my problem.

Kosher Dills

I always did like those kosher dill pickles my mom used to buy at the grocery store. However, I would not be able to comment on whether my great-grandfather, a butcher, learned his trade the kosher way or just the standard Gentile method for the slaughtering of animals. Some people are trying to hint around about the idea of eating animals vs. vegetarianism, and want to explore the idea of kosher killing in which the animals bleeds to death or something like that. While some ancient relatives might know something about this, I really have no idea. This is not something that I ever thought to ask about. While our dinner plates may not be strictly kosher, U.S. food regulations are much stricter than anywhere else on the planet, except maybe Israel, so really, while we may yet have room for improvement, still there is not much room for complaint in the food department compared to some other countries, such as, for example, China. All that sodium glutamate, all those unidentifiable blobs of meat, etc. Chinese food in China, well, let's just say, I wouldn't ever be going there just for the food.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was yapping about the controversy between those Queens Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots, as if I somehow represented Bloody Mary. That was so ridiculous. My name is not Mary, obviously, and neither is my Dad's cousin Elizabeth Hunt any type of queen in any sense of that word. Elizabeth has two sisters, one of whose name is Merry Zoe, but I know nothing about that. I am not aware of any "people" paying court to Elizabeth. Besides, we all know that the Hunts are just back-stabbing traitors in some mysterious way, as are many of my relatives, having turned against the Pentecostals because well, not everyone is going to get it. Yes, in a perfect world everyone would get everything but, anyway, lots of people have too many mental blocks in their heads to ever get the Pentecostal "gift." So? Is that any reason to doubt the gift is real and to go around planting seeds of doubt in all of these empty heads? No, not really. It would seem counterintuitive to turn to the Baptists and kill off the Pentecostals just because they don't get it. The Christian response of a free world would be to leave the Pentecostals alone to do their thing and not try to force a merger with the belligerent and bellicose empty-headed Baptists because oil and water just don't mix well.

Which Reminds Me

We always thought it was so clever the way my Dad devised a clamp to attach the garbage barrel to the garage door so that it was elevated two or three feet above the ground, preventing the neighborhood dogs from being able to knock it over and strew the contents all over the sidewalk, as previously had occurred. Also, my Dad figured out that if you drill little holes all over the barrel the people who live down the street will no longer be tempted to steal the garbage barrel to use for water storage. Very clever, we always thought.

Anderson Dogs

Doodling the Internet we see that Dawn married into the vile decadent Anderson clan. The evidence so far suggests that there is no more wicked family on the planet than those Irish dogs known as the Anderson clan. Even Tom Anderson really was not a nice person come to think of it. When did Tom ever have anything intelligent to say? Nothing comes to mind. Thus we see that the Andersons are intent on being the enemy of me and thus the only solution will be to get out my handy machine gun and mow down the entire Anderson clan at one fell swoop. Anyway, no good thing ever came out of Dawn Anderson and her troop of nasty Anderson relatives. And isn't Anderson actually a Scandinavian name? Nobody really likes Scandinavians who masquerade as Scotty Kids. We are not fooled by their pretentious posturings. We know how Dawn is and how she can't stand to admit how stupid that was. She would rather kill me first than to have to admit what nasty people she and Craig really were and always working the Canadian angle to their advantage. When did I ever get a break? Nothing comes to mind. Thus there will be nothing given to the Anderson dogs. Sorry, but you picked a fight so you get nothing.

Which reminds me

I have or had a pack of little note cards that I had purchased way back in college, perhaps as early as the year I was at Evangel, and on the front there are these cute little pictures of mice in seasonal settings. I don't suppose there would be any connection to that box of as yet unused stationary and the fact that Pam Roberts called me a mouse, as if I were ever mousy. I was too polite to knock her block off at the time but perhaps I should have tried although I am not sure how I could with all the interference going on upstairs. With all these odd coincidences proliferating it just makes you wonder about every little thing because all of these things could not happen by accident, or could they? I don't know. Sometimes I don't know what other think I know nor do I know what I know. It is just too weird in a worthless kind of way. It just clutters your mind with little tidbits of nothing much so that you are not free to think better thoughts. Philippians 4:8. Romans 12:1, 2.

Snarky

So yes, I did mention to Susie Sewart this Saword obsession with pranks on single women missionary teachers and maybe someone else, too. I don't remember. Still, this brutal scheme against me is so much ridiculous overkill. After all, I didn't do anything to Miss Nafsker. I was just explaining to Susie how futile it is to try to talk to these boring Canadian tricksters. There is just nothing in their empty heads other than their own tricky inventions.

The Truth

I have to admit that I really don't know Mary very well at all. She was there at SCC but I don't remember which floor she lived on or who her roommates were. I do remember that she was a close friend of Sylvia Brooke and also Nan so she is probably Ok, a nice person. However, I don't really know why she would want to be a single woman missionary in Latin America. I cannot think of anything more miserable than to be a single woman missionary. I saw what misery those ladies have to endure to be a single woman missionary and I never wanted to do that. I would rather get married but since I am utterly rejected of men and thus have no hope of marriage, enforced singleness, still I would not want to be a miserably unhappy single woman missionary like her. I would rather just get a job and put money in the bank than to be stuck in that position. I just don't have what it takes to do that.

Yes, wow, just think, I could be a single woman missionary teacher like Miss Nafsker and look always quite frumpy and have to endure the constant pranks and tricks pulled by those utterly obnoxious Canadian brats Dawn and Craig Saword. Giggly Dawn never did have much else to talk about other than the latest prank pulled on poor Miss Nafsker who lived with their family for a few years while teaching at the MK school. Now that would be a miserable life, to be stuck with the simpering sneaky Sawords for any length of time. Obviously it is needless to say I would never want to do that.

My Own Family

Not that my own family is any better in some ways. Yes, maybe I shouldn't have promised money that I didn't have yet but family is supposed to be forgiving about these things. How utterly embarrassing to have the in-laws calling on Senator Nelson to lower the boom and to set up a myterious HR "Block" on my future earnings so that I am permanently disabled from ever getting that straightened out even if I wanted to. Thanks anyway.

California's Hideous Dolly Dogs

I am so NOT interested in returning to California to engage in some sort of mysterious warfare with the hideous Dolly Bangert who was always trying to pick fights with me. My only thought is to ignore Dolly forever. Maybe when we all get to heaven and have achieved perfection then we will all be able to get along somehow. Until then there is no reason for me to agree to be submit to this one-sided abusive treatment from Dolly and her pathetically horrible family and also her escort of abusive towtruck driver creeps. I never liked Dolly and I doubt that I ever will this side of heaven.

Which Reminds Me

Bobby was hesitant about kissing Dawn but all the little kids were screaming, "Chicken! Chicken!" and so with all that egging on Bobby did the copycatting of David Davenport's kissing of Dawn. What I was trying to say is that nobody should feel themselves pressured to kiss Dawn also. If you just want to watch the show then fine, there is no reason to be afraid of being called a chicken by some little brat. There was something weird about that whole scene but I cannot help but wonder if things would have gone better for me if I had also been a chicken and said nothing. After all, Dawn's problems are not my problems.

Which reminds me

One year at the church-related singles Christmas party gift exchange I ended up with what looked like a glass jar, candy store-style, containing brightly wrapped candies which suggested the idea of toffees or taffy. But when I opened one of the candies and bit it I learned that it was only plastic. This was a gift from Mike of Fort Lauderdale whose last name I don't recall who briefly dated Sharon Liebowitz and is a handyman by profession and who thought it was hysterically funny to watch me biting plastic. A couple of years later I took the jar of plastic candies down from its perch and wrapped it and took it back to the singles Christmas party gift exchange where it ended up somehow back in the hands of Mike of Fort Lauderdale. I am not sure how that happened. He looked somewhat perturbed and oddly he stopped coming to singles not long after that. I haven't seen Mike for years and really don't remember much about him except that he once told me that he formerly lived in Haines City, a place I once worked, and was a bag boy at the Publix across the street from the newspaper office. After all, it's a small world.

Which reminds me

I remember that while I was rooming with Dolly, next door lived Heather Stewart and Kim Coffaro. Dolly most hung around with them and was mostly nasty to me. Thus it was puzzling a couple of years later to run into Heather and her ask me about Dolly as if I had ever known Dolly outside of SCC. How times do I have to keep correcting  Heaher and reminding her that no, I had not met Dolly prior to SCC and never saw or heard of her after that? How many times do I have to remind dim Heather that actually Dolly was Heather's friend and preferred her company to mine? Heather always seems to forget that she knows Dolly much better than I do. I hardly remember half a dozen conversations with Dolly. I do recall her boasting about her supreme intelligence even though she did not impress. She aced a theology at her Christian high school and thinks she knows more about the Bible than any pastor and yet she is totally worldly and has no moral compass or conscience to speak of. Thus we see that just attending a Christian school is no guarantee of future success in the spiritual realm. Need I say more?

Not Certified

I was not a trained and properly certified psychological counselor prepared to deal with trashy bitches Dolly and Cori. Thus, it was quite wrong of the California weirdos to expect me to remedy their deficient parenting and lack of moral judgment. I had no clue what to do with those dogs. I was in college to study and learn, not to play mother to putrid vile Dolly and Cori who obviously were big liars in trying to paint me with their garbage. I will leave it to the proper authorities to dump Dolly and her Din of wickedness into their appropriate dumping grounds. It would not be proper for me to say what I really think about that so I will not say anything about it because obviously I am emotionally not prepared to deal with that situation in an authoritative way or, for that matter, with the sniping and rewriting of history that was involved from Heather Stewart. I am just saying. I just don't know enough about what really happened behind the scenes. Besides, I don't have enough money in the bank to pay for the damage control. Those people obviously don't work for me.

Complaints

Yes, I really should have complained to the authorities at the college about their forcing me to room with hideous Dolly. One would think that Max and Ophelia would be ashamed of themselves for trying to foist their hideous Dolly onto us unsuspecting college students. They probably knew that she had problems that merited reform school, not college. She really was a pathetically horrible and wicked person and I have better things to do than be bothered with any further thought of putrid Dolly and her Din of wickedness. She truly has no right to assume that anyone would ever be impressed by the obscenities spewing from her mouth. Shocked and horrifed? Yes. But impressed and in awe? Not really. Just didn't know what to do in such a bizarre and unprecedentedly wicked situation. That is about all there is to say about the Dolly Din of most ignoble and ill repute.

Dolly Digs

How could this vile putrid Dolly and her vile putrid family be allowed to ruin my life in this most heinously wicked way? Someone really ought to do something about the vile putrid Din family who should not be allowed any connection to me and my life. I vaguely recall rooming with vile wicked foul-mouthed Dolly for a few short months and it was a horrible experience, a grueling trial of endurance, even then. I never want to hear another word from the pathetically wicked Din family and their Dolly dog, thank you very much. She ought to pay for her own sins instead of trying to dump everything on me. Her problems are not my problems. Dolly is just wrong, wrong, wrong. That is the best way to explain Dolly.

Street Vendors

The only street vendor of whom I may be slightly aware would be that sewer-mouthed trailer-trash Northern California dog named Dolly 'Ophelia?' Bangert. I roomed with that piece of dirt at college for less than one semester and even that was much too much time to be exposed to that piece of dirt and all of the foul emanations from her putrefied personality, including a slew of obscene jokes about missionaries that stunned with the absolute depravity of her pathetically stupid mind. I see that she is now some sort of land and agriculture spokesperson for the West Coast weirdo club. It is rather shocking to see how that piece of trash could ever get a job as public spokesperson and stand at a podium advocating for agricultural issues and farmers after regaling college classmates with obscene stories regarding her towtruck driver boyfriend. I am not saying what is fair but, really, if I am fired over a silly story about fireworks then she deserves to get her butt kicked to hell for what she did if everyone really got what they deserved in this life. Of course, nobody really gets what they really deserve. In eternity is not my place to say. But I didn't make her say all those horrid things. I was just listening. Or else if she could succeed, why can't I do better also? I wasn't half as bad as she was so I ought to be able to twice as much better without any Dolly Din Dirt links to weigh me down, if only life were even halfway fair. I am just saying. Someone really ought to put those Northern California dogs back in their places because they really are suffocating the interests of truth and justice. I am just saying.

Speaking of Windows

I recall that while I was working at the Haines City Herald I was sent to take photographs of a house that had burnt although only partially. The house was still standing but quite charred on the inside. I went there as instructed and took various photographs from various angles including some photos of the burnt out interior through a window. The fire was not so visible from the exterior. Later my editor Max said they could not use those photos because it would be against the law. Oh, I did not know that. I just thought I was doing what I was supposed to do. Sorry. Obviously I won't be photographing the interior of burned out houses in the future unless working for the fire insurance company.

Unknown things

There are a lot of things I don't know about the Jewish family that lived on the other side of the mission house. Someone was talking about the Jewish girl and telling me some things about where she went to high school, which was not our high school, but as I have said before I don't remember her at all. I only remember something that Susie said about her. I heard somewhere that the Jewish family had to leave the country during the war due to much turmoil and their house was sold to others. They owned a factory that made maybe the chocolate-covered ice cream bars that were sold by street vendors who had their little wheeled trucks, or else the chocolate bars. I don't remember this very clearly. I just remember someone saying that they had left the country and closed their factory due to the wartime turmoil and disputes relating to how the street vendors were compensated. I have not read much about that. Those were some delicious ice cream bars whenever you could find them. I don't really care how the street vendors get paid as long as I paid for my Polar Star ice cream bar fair and square. Yum. Thus, I really do not have anything intelligent to say in regards to their problem. Sorry I can't help but all the impersonations and probings in the world cannot dredge up information that just is not present in my head. This item might be in someone else's head but I don't know anything about that. Yes, what did Miriam mean with that screed about the ice cream vendor anyway? I really don't know. You would have to ask them.

Interpretation Issues

I have a problem with these people who think that only Jewish people know everything and everybody else knows nothing. This is just wrong. For example, our high school classmate Alfredo Weitzenfeld might have become a brilliant scientist later but I doubt that he would be able to say much about me from high school as we never talked. I remember almost nothing specific about him except that there is the yearbook photo which shows him playing chess with some guys, maybe Jaime Sol, who was one of those science guys who always hung around together. So that is about all there is to say about Alfredo, just that he played chess a lot and hung around with the science club guys. I suspect that some other high school classmates would have a lot more to say about him but I really don't remember anything and I would expect the same admission from him that he actually doesn't remember much about me either, obviously. We were never enemies or anything like that. I just don't remember anything because off campus we had very different lives that never connected.

Window Dressings

Which reminds me that there was some other window dressing incident on another floor involving some other persons whose identity is not clear to me. I think maybe Dauna or someone mentioned this other incident vaguely but I did not understand what exactly happened or what that would have to do with me as I was not there and know nothing about it.

More of Nothing

Which reminds me that while I was living on the seventh floor of the dorm, the room at the end, someone female mentioned that they were walking outside on the track or on the street and saw me passing near the window. They did not see much from that angle obviously. This person and/or persons later communicated to me the thought that perhaps I could be seen through the window even though I know that I would have drawn the curtains if I were changing clothes obviously. Sometimes it was nice to leave the windows open while studying to catch a cool breeze and I might even have stood at the window a time or two looking at the city lights and maybe even a twinkling star or two in the night sky because I used to have a very good view from that vantage point. I did not remember seeing them. So that was nothing.

Cheese

Yes, I vaguely recall that Lynda really likes that Velveeta cheese. So? What of that? Just because you are all worn out and threadbare and burnt out from being used and used and abused, that does not necessarily give you cause to boast of anything much. You allowed yourself to be used by the devil to steal and kill and destroy so obviously you look like a faded old "Velveteen Rabbit," so nice and yet so wrong. Sorry but just being "used" is not so cute when you are obviously just playing the part of the Devil's parrot.

Which Reminds Me

Not long before I left California to back to school I remember meeting with Lynda and Dauna for dinner at a restaurant somewhere midway between where I lived and they lived. Oddly, Lynda gave me a present that day. It was a decorative glass egg, the egg being in two halves of zig-zagged edges so that the two halves could be placed somewhere or else place together form the shape of an egg. This egg might still be stashed in my junk drawer along with the football-shaped jar of cologne and other "white elephant" things gathered along the way at various gift exchanges, not that I gave Lynda anything that day. I was not expecting a gift as we were just supposed to have dinner. So that was nice to see Lynda and Dauna again although somewhat awkward because those two always seem to have something else going on behind the scenes and I do not really what they are talking about or what this means. Perhaps one of these days I would mail this junk back to her. I don't need this junk cluttering my life. Thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall at SCC that I accepted an invitation from Lynda to attend a master class in Los Angeles, maybe at UCLA or USC, one of those schools. We stopped at Fat Burgers for lunch on our way there which was delicious. At the master class there was this blind black girl who sang and she was excellent. I remember making some minor comment about how that was a song that I also had studied but of course I did not say anything about how lousy I would sound compared to the black singer. I just mentioned that I knew that song, I think. How odd that this comment should provoke should strong curiosity from everyone on the planet. I did not mind the processed cheese thing that Lynda served melted on food when I was visiting at her house for the weekend but, really, it would be sort of rude to say that there is nothing like a slice off the real Cheddar bar for pungent flavor. I am just saying.

Which reminds me

I vaguely recall that Yasushi Takeda gave a very clear explanation from the Japanese point of view of the United States and the events of World War II, especially the nuclear blasts. I suppose that the blonds over in dummies class missed that presentation. Persons who missed it also would include all those Japan MKs, especially Cori and also Chuck Smith and family. Obviously, we don't need to get it from them having already heard the story straight from the mouth of Japan's Yasushi. The best way to get it would be to move to Japan yourself and live in Japanese shoes or sandals and feel the earth shaking. We didn't ask you to do that but if you did, well, here is hoping you lived through all that fallout with your hair falling out of your head and all those other health impairments caused by radiation. For me, personally, just hearing the story is enough for me to believe the truth that nuclear power is out there and the world is a very dangerous place. I don't need to experience it for myself to know that it is real.

Sad Stories

Yes, I may vaguely remember something about Yasushi Takeda in high school giving his report and talking about his conflicted state of mind as a Japanese allied to the United States, the country that nuked his own people at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. They lost the war so now they have to be friends with their former enemies. Yes, it sometimes happens that way. And the U.S. regards mainland China as a sort of enemy even though we were their Allies in World War II. Strange. Why is that? Something about the Communist takeover of China. The Communists were the enemies of the government that we supported during WWII and after the war Taiwan was all they had left. And why we would want any of those countries to be running the show? Besides, these matter are too complicated for me. I don't have any reason to pay much attention to China as I am neither certified as a teacher of English as a Foreign Language or medical personnel of some sort, which are the only positions currently available there for U.S. citizens living in China. I have no reason to challenge this order of things. China is their country and they can do whatever they want over there. It is really none of my business.

Nuking Japan

Which reminds me that I never lived in Japan although my college roommate Cori was the daughter of missionaries to Japan, although I don't think she ever actually lived there. They had returned to the U.S. by the time she was born, I seem to recall her saying. I don't know why I am really not very interested in exchanging notes with the Japanese even though we did have Yasushi Takeda in our high school class part of the time, he who played in Lance Starin's rock band that performed the Beatles act at the high school talent show and later rose to prominence in the Washington D.C. press corps, or so I think I heard. Evangelina Sol sang Carly Simon's "You're so Vain," at the talent show as I recall, maybe, and maybe there were some other acts. I don't remember very much about high school. Anyway, my great-grandparents were missionaries in Japan, not China, although it appears that often the steamships stopped in Japan for a day or more en route to China or America. However, you won't get a lot of steam going about China when all you can talk about is Japan, obviously. Sorry, but there isn't much of a spark in that stale batch of nothing really.

What's Left?

The only thing left would be to wring Dauna's wicked little rainbow trash neck. That's about all that is left for me to do.

Yuma

Which reminds me that I once spent a week in Yuma, Arizona, visiting Miss Geraldeane Knox, who was my sixth grade teacher at MK school in El Salvador. Miss Knox appeared at my college and invited me to spend the week of Spring Break in Yuma with her and her two foster daughters whose names I do not recall that were living with her at the time so I went and returned to California by bus. It was maybe a four or five hour drive to Yuma. So that was nice but I have to admit that I had a very boring time and never wanted to do that again. I went to the local fair with one of the foster daughters and we got on a ferris wheel and the guy forgot to turn it off for the longest time so were going around and around and thought I was never going to get off that. I  I suppose that I should have sent a thank you card later because, well, it was not like I didn't have time but, well, anyway, I forgot all about them later. Also, I wasn't very interested in joining Miss Knox's foster family so I would not want to encourage future invitations.

I also forgot to discourage Barbara Forrest from continuing to give us boatloads of stuff at Christmastime just for being MKs. We really did not deserve it or want or need that kind of charity. If we turn it down we are ungrateful and if we accept it we are greedy so we accept the invitation and then feel like captive guests. And then we feel obligated to write the thank you cards because the receiver is the slave to the gift giver. Unfortunately I forgot to send the cards so I was executed for the crime of ingratitude. I was not ungrateful in a way but I did not like feeling like a slave to those imperiously snooty California people. It is just all obligation and guilt on my head. And also, it was insulting that Barbara seemed to think of me as a sort of Keturah to be sent away with gifts. I never liked Ken Abrams anyway. If you go to a Christian college and you are not really a Christian we will figure it out, especially if you take up with a Buddhist. Dead giveaway.

Which reminds me that I did a little research on Miss Knox, who might be dead for all I know, and found out that her father was remarried in old age to a certain Joan Keller. Hmmm. I wonder if that was the same Joan Keller who was the receptionist at Lockman Foundation where I worked for a couple of years while I was living in California. I don't remember if I knew that before but I know it now and am wondering how all these people got connected behind the scenes. It really is bizarre.

Free Pass

There are those who are wondering why it is that the family of my Dad's Uncle Ariel gets a free pass with the Thieves and Robbers of Iowa club. Yes, why is that? No good thing ever came out of Iowa that I know of, mostly just obnoxiously Sneaky whiners like Tom. So just because the Iowa robbers like to crow in newspapers about their native-born China missionaries, that does not mean that Uncle Ariel's Iowa-born wife Evelyn Woodard was ever a missionary in China, even if Uncle Ariel was born in China and remembers nothing of it, or related to the rest of us. And what did the Iowa Thieves and Robbers club ever do for us other than throw Uncle Ariel's father in prison just because they could? It just seems weird to the rest of us, or at least I speak for myself, that anyone would care what the Idiots of Iowa think about anything. Iowa is nothing to me, just one of 50 blocks on the U.S. map, home to Evangel College's most obnoxious whiner Joni. That's pretty much all I would have to say about Iowa. Yes, why is that?

Which reminds me

Oh, I forgot. I do not consider myself Methodist but my cousins are of Methodist background. In this I refer to the Andrews family on my mother's side. Their father, who married my aunt, was Methodist, I seem to recall. David also, near the end of his life, was getting spiritual counsel from a Methodist minister, or so we heard, so maybe that was good. I am not going to fight with Methodists, although they are sometimes too quick to pick fights with us for various reasons. However, the Andrews family has a connection to Charlotte 'Lottie' Moon, who was a Southern Baptist missionary to China in the 19th century. So that's nice. Lottie's sister, Orianna Moon, married a certain Dr. John Andrews and several children, one of whom was Owen Merriweather Andrews, whose son Doc married my aunt. So that is how the Andrews are connected to the Southern Baptists but we are not related to those other Andrews so that is not our problem. We have problems but not that problem. So that is how that works.

Presbyterians vs. Methodists

Those Presbyterians are pretty smug and complacent in their thought of having swallowed up and conquered the Methodists, looking sort of like the cat that swallowed the canary, as if I ever thought of myself as either Methodist or Presbyterian. I have no idea where this nonsense comes from, as if the Presbyterian Elect is the only American way of doing things while the Methodists, with their Anglican roots and episcopal structure, are turned over to British governance in order to ramp up some sort of sham conflict between these manufactured factions. That was not the deal when the Assemblies of God Pentecostal denomination was originally formed. People from all sorts of denominational backgrounds came together to be represented in a denomination whose structure, as it turns out, is sort of a hybrid. There are presbyters but are they really elected by the people? Well, if they are former pastors then they were originally elected by a congregation because the individual churches have a sort of congregational structure, so in a way, sort of. And is the "President" elected by the people of the Assemblies of God? Not exactly. He is elected by the ministers who alone have the ability to vote in those elections. I as an individual church attender have nothing to say about headquarters even though I might read about things in the Evangel magazine and also overhear things discussed by my parents. My Dad is a minister so, anyway, he might be able to vote on some of that headquarters stuff but I don't. So this internal conflict is not something that I would know very much about and does not involve me in any way. Someone said something about a conflict between the Presbyterians and Methodists but I really would not be able to identify the nature of the conflict or the persons involved in it or why these morons think they can split the United States along Methodist vs. Presbyterian lines and get away with this. There is the theological theme of election and foreordination but that is a whole different story.

Barking Dogs

Why do I hear all this yapping and howling of slobbering dogs coming from the direction of Arthur Blissett and his putrid slime Garcia in-laws? Becky (Garcia?) was such a filthy slut so I imagine the rest of them are equally disgusting. She had two fat ugly slob brothers who I only met one time at a party and that was that. I never saw those fat ugly slob whiners again nor did I want to ever see them again in this lifetime. I cannot have such putrid acquaintances pretending to know anything about me and assuming themselves to have any voice at all in my life. The Garcia family is nothing but a huge whiney nuisance that somehow escaped removal. Sometimes ignoring these vile decadent whiners just doesn't work. They have no social intelligence to understand that they are being ignored and their bad behavior overlooked because it would be too rude of me to say what I really think about them and they wouldn't be able to handle the truth of their own putrid sliminess from my point of view. Thus I just ignore them and pretend that they are not there hoping that they will eventually get a clue and disappear and go away because I don't like them and I don't want them in my life. Get lost, Garcia! Get lost, Arthur!

Authorities

It is not my job to go around punching the lights out on wicked thug Arthur Blissett and his vile putrid in-laws and assorted Gulf Swine connections. I have no connection whatsoever to that putrid scum family, having had more than enough of them during a short acquaintance in California, not that I ever actually met Arthur. It is just that their icky wickedness suffocates everything. The authorities really ought to punch his lights out in my opinion but we understand that he has a TV career. We really can't tell those TV people what to do. They are allowed somehow to spread lies about us and ruin our lives with meaningless innuendos but we aren't allowed to say anything about them because they have all the money. That's just how unfair and unjust things are in this mixed up world.

Garcias

Oh, I had forgotten Becky's last name. Was it Garcia? Did Arthur Blissett's daughter marry into that tawdry and revolting family that I met only briefly in California? Those California Mexicans turned out to be such incredibly low-class filthy dogs that I must feel a certain degree of pity for Arthur if he is stuck with those trash in his own family (I can only imagine) to ruin his reputation if he ever put them on the television airwaves so that people could really understand what kind of trash those people really are behind the scenes. I am just guessing. I don't really know this but I have some clues. It just wasn't that important.

It often happens that these high profile ministers may lead others to the Lord even when their own families are in revolt and disarray and their personal lives a dirty mess. I really don't want to know any more of the details because, anyway, it's not about them.

God is perfect. We are to be perfect as He is perfect. Arthur is just not that important, or that perfect. I am just saying. I never put any faith in Arthur. Arthur is only a prop, a piece of scenery, a fat ugly slob who often appears on television to jeer and mock for some unknown reason. I was never much aware of Arthur or interested in following his example. Jesus came to set us free from the burden of sin. I am Christian and Christian at the cross was relieved of the burden he was carrying. Unlike Arthur, who prefers to carry his burden of sin all over the place, I prefer the imagery of John Bunyan's pilgrim who leaves the burden aside at the foot of the cross and walks free and unhindered to the heavenly shores.

Right now, Lord, I dump Arthur's filthy dirty mess at the foot of the cross and move forward without any further thought of Arthur and his dirty mess to burden my brilliant mind and also, for that matter, I throw out those horrid Garcia sisters who I never want to hear from again in this lifetime. "The burdens of my heart rolled away," as the song says.

As the Bible says we are only pilgrims in this world, a "peculiar" people. Peculiar is not a concept to fear. The thought of "peculiar" is a concept of self-identity and comfort even amidst the jeers and mockery of these more worldly television folks who just don't get it.

Bruce Questions

One question might be whether Bruce actually married the dog who wrote the open letter or someone else. Also, how can Bruce have any friends left on the planet after pulling so many pranks on them during college which he talked about endlessly as if it were funny to stage a pretend rapture, guys wrapped in sheets passing by the window to watch that poor naive guy screaming in terror thinking himself left behind? Another question might be whether he is still in contact with his Italian friend who was finding it so hard to shake the grip of the mafia on his tail as described by Bruce.

Which reminds me

One summer while we were living in El Salvador a guy from Arizona came down to help out with the work and lived with our family for about three months. His name was Bruce Brock and he was from Tucson or Phoenix, one of those major Arizona cities. His father was an Arizona pastor who knew my Dad and perhaps we had itinerated at their church or something. So Bruce was there at our house for about three months during one summer when I was maybe 14 or 15. My sister had to sleep in my room during those three months that we had company. She pulled lots of pranks on him, like propping a water bucket over the door so that he would be doused with water when he went into her room and so forth. One day my sister was being such a brat that I locked her out of my room for a while. However, Bruce interfered and pounded on the door until I finally had to open the door because of all this commotion and Bruce's interference in the proper training of a sister who does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. So anyway during that summer a letter arrived in the mail addressed to Bruce in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Calkins or something like that. My mother, being confused by the way the envelope was addressed, opened and read the letter, then handed the already open letter to Bruce who was apparently somewhat miffed at this invasion of his privacy. It appears that the letter was from his girlfriend back home in Tucson and was quite graphic in its wording, expressing some longing to reenact some previous experiences which I cannot describe because I did not read the letter myself. I only know something that my mother said about the letter because the wording of it shocked her and she got sort of overwrought talking about the letter. We never heard from Bruce after that summer of discord. He went back to Tucson and disappeared into the desert plains of Arizona. After all that discord we were not much inclined to call on Bruce ever in this lifetime given that he interferes too much and makes me feel like garbage. Besides, Bruce is nothing, just another obnoxious pastor's kid.

About the Monk's Cellar

Which reminds me that The Monk's Cellar restaurant might have been known to other missionaries as well, perhaps even the Lyle Thomson family so obnoxious and rude to me. Oh, did I call Judy a fatso and maybe shoved her or something at eight years old when she was so annoying at my birthday party? Yes, how rude of me to throw a "Sorry" game piece on the floor in front of the Thomson girls when I lost a game, which so rarely happened. One of the four yellow game pieces always was broken after that. Temper, temper. What a horrible person I am, especially if you only get it from the Thomson girls who only remember me from that year when I was eight years old living in Mexico. It is like I would never be able to grow up and have a life if I had to live on the same planet as the horribly wicked Thomson family, so full of their own haughty self importance, imagining themselves in total ownership of editorialness, perhaps because they lived in Venezuela near the imperiously haughty Hunts and share in their Swedish disdain for the rest of us ordinary mortals, in addition to being not-so-loyal turncoats of another persuasion. As if. Well, I can't win this game, obviously, rigged as it is with the entire planet against me so perhaps I will just have to find myself a comfortable jail cell where I won't have to worry anymore about what to do next. There I will find food and shelter and not have to work for nothing. Life is futile.

Background Noise

Hmmm... Oh, is that Aaron's dog yapping in the background? Sounds sort of like a clueless California speedster has been busy working herself up into a dither. Yes, I suppose it helps to be connected to all of the top media outlets when your husband is always available to work. However, just because Jen set up all these traps for me, that does not obligate me to go up there and run around jumping through all of these hoops and leaping over these artificial hurdles of meaningless and unproductive value just because Aaron would really like to profit from all of the photographic bounty they already have locked away in their own basement anyway, as if there would be much value in old photographs that nobody wants already posted all over eBay. eBay is full of that stuff. Besides, Charlotte Rosser is nobody. Just because Aaron's parents sent him to a Jewish school for a while, that does not make us a Jewish family. I could say something similar about Charlotte. How nice we are all literate and able to read about "New Thrills in Old China" for ourselves without any help from Jen and Charlotte.

Journalism classes

Which reminds me that at the time I was studying journalism there was the nomination of Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court and the ensuing challenge of Anita Hill. Those hearings were on television every day for a while, not unlike the Watergate hearings of a decade earlier, and there might have been some discussion of that in journalism classes although I do not remember anything specific. It is not something I would really want to think about very much, nor did I watch very much of that stuff. I really don't care. It is a moot point now so there is no reason to revisit that subject. Perhaps Machelle Bush would like everyone to stop the world turning so that we can all listen to her talk about Janet Cook's fictional account in the New York Times and the ethics of reporter impersonations to get a story. I don't recommend it but it happens all the time.

A Bird In Hand

As they say, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush.

Fired

It is interesting to learn that the director of the journalism program in which I was enrolled was later fired for some reason of which I was not aware. I graduated from there in 1989 although my thesis was not finalized until later. I was long gone from there by 1994 when Cliff Kelly and two other professors refused to sign new employment contracts, preferring some other old contracts that might have entitled them to lifetime tenure depending on how you look at it. The professors lost their lawsuit. Well, there are no guarantees, obviously, unless you were appointed to the Supreme Court, in which case the U.S. Constitution would provide iron-clad job protection. However, journalism apparently does not meet the test of law school, or something like that. I am just reading this article on the web now because I really wasn't paying attention to that. So? Does the firing of the journalism director invalidate my journalism degree even though obtained from a supposedly accredited university? Inquiring minds apparently want to know the answers to all of these questions but I just want my paycheck now because life is short. It is easy for these rich bitch buddies of that obnoxious whiner Machelle Bush to sit in judgment of me even though I didn't do anything to her. They apparently have no bills to pay or at least no liability to pay my bills and all the power to make my life as miserable as possible. I, meanwhile, have bills to pay.

Code Sounds

I really don't know what this code means, but judging from the sound of "Heathcliff" I would want to investigate Clifford Kelly's wicked witch secretary who I heard moved to Louisiana. I don't remember much about her, just that she was very far out there. But what would Cliff Kelly, a journalism teacher, and his Filipina wife know about the various Heathers of acquaintance or not, and why should I care about this given that their butts were kicked later anyway? I am not sure. I am just saying it sounds like some connections of which I was not aware during journalism school and later. I am not interested in going around tripping people just because, but obviously there is a big "bull's eye" target painted on my back. I notice this evidence from time to time.

Spare Tires

Which reminds me that it was Lilian Pilarinos who always said she felt like a spare tire, serving as a single woman missionary school teacher for two years alongside all those missionary couples, including my parents. Miss 'Pill' was from New Orleans in Lousiana, a swampy state that holds no attraction for me. What I would I do in Lousiana anyway? There is nothing of interest in Louisiana that I know of, just a lot of bayou people with weird Cajun accents. So?

How Nice

All of these people sound so nice when they tell me they feel sorry for me and how could those people do that to me. They say tell me that I should sue my enemies and do something about this. Yes, words are cheap. So easy for them to tell me that I should sue. And how would I do that? I have no legal standing that I know of. Who would represent me? What would be the cause of action? It makes no sense to me. I only remember Sue speaking of Joni's lack of faith. I did not say anything at the time nor did I necessarily disagree with Sue on that point. So how is it possible that I have faithless Joni yapping in my face, as if I would have some interest in her dreary life and marriage to Ken Tada? I am not disabled in that sense of the word. The story of Joni might be of some comfort to Dawn Saword who suffers from multiple sclerosis or so I heard. But I am not disabled in that sense. I have no reason to just drop dead just because this obnoxious Canadian former classmate is out there married to some creep and has six children or so I heard. We never had much contact with those Canadians anyway. I only know anything about Dawn because of something Susie said. Susie apparently went to Vancouver and visited them there. We were in the little school with them for a short time but that was a long time ago. They are probably not going to be part of our lives going forward now that they have returned to Canada permanently. There is no reason to enforce this obnoxious Canadian "better"-ness by making all the rest of us sample her disability by simulation just because she sat behind me in eighth grade. Sorry but this pagan practice of trying to make me the mystery burning "bull" is just wrong in my opinion. You really can ruin my life with your lies but that does not mean you will get a prize later just for being wired directly to hell.

And how many times do I have to remind everyone that it was Joan Calabrese who wanted to be an FBI agent. I only know this because I sat directly behind Joan in tenth grade English class, an alphabetical thing, and I heard her saying something about this to Miss Marken, not because I ever had any real conversations with Joan. We never talked. Thus there is no reason for all these people to be concerned about my ever applying at the "agency." Obviously, my career path would not lead there.

Obviously, my intelligence does not extend to an ability to decipher the Heathcliff and Catherine coding so I would be of no use to them anyway. Someone was ranting about "Wuthering Heights." I did read this book during high school but found it somewhat dreary. Heathcliff's low position in life made it impossible for him to think of winning the hand of Catherine. Ok. So? Charlotte Bronte's book is all fiction anyway, all just her thinking imposed on fictional characters.

Charlotte Hawe's book, in contrast, is mostly true. She might have some quirky wording in there but overall it is probably a fairly accurate account of things that happened as viewed from Charlotte's perspective as missionary teacher. It is a very interesting book, actually.

I do not have any personal experience of significance to write about so obviously I would not be able to replicate Charlotte Hawe's success in writing about "New Thrills." Nor would I know anything about the "Thriller" connections to this complicated mess that was dumped on me by those wicked witches. I don't remember high school very much anyway. It was just four long years of misery and I never wanted to do that again.

The Moore Connection

My great-great-grandmother was Amanda Melvina Fitzallen Moore (1827-1882), born at Halifax, North Carolina, who married William Brownlow McClellan at age 17, in 1844, and had ten children. So why am I getting all these messages from various other Moores who are not related to me? As for example Harold Moore, who seems to imagine that being an AG pastor is a license to be rude? (Why was that Melodyland associate pastor at Harvest Assembly so rude to me even though I did not remember him from California? I once or twice took the ride offered by Lynda to use the library there but otherwise I do not remember anything about Melodyland except that when I was very young my parents took me to see a production of "Wizard of Oz" in the round. The theater later became a church and I was went to a concert there to hear Teri DeSario. Other than that I don't think that I attended Melodyland as a church more than once or twice personally, just visiting. Rusty was a Melodyland boy but I never saw him there. It was basically some staging by Dauna and others that got me placed in a photo at Rusty's video party. That was before. Otherwise I really would not know anything about that or why those Melodyland people would have anything to say about me. I was never interested in continuing any kind of relationship with Rusty for obvious reason. Melodyland is nothing now anyway. It was torn down and built over.) Amanda Moore looks a bit weatherbeaten in her photo, her dark hair pulled back from her face in severe fashion, blouse with strangely ruffled collar. So? Joy is not exactly a fashion plate either in her website photo. Moore opinions are not that important to me, anyway. I remember Al Moore bugging me in Western Civ class at SCC: "Earth to Candi! Earth to Candi!" But did he have anything to actually say to me? No, it was just a teasing thing, obviously. So why does everyone take this stuff so seriously? I have better things to do than revisit the Moore story, as if I ever knew anything about that. The family history book really doesn't say very much about Amanda personally. It's just all about him. I only have the book so that is all I can remember.

Making It

"There are those who make things happen and there are those who wonder what happened." This quote was a favorite ditty of our college voice teacher, Mrs. Hummel. So? Why should I spend the rest of my time wondering what Uncle Ariel's five children of Southern California have done and cleaning up all of their mess, not to mention all of the Venezuela mess left by the Hunts? I really don't care. All of these people live out of state and out of mind. I am starting to suspect that we are not very related to them anyway. There is no reason to be steaming up some meaningless conflict over events that no one really remembers anyway. All of this is just ridiculous.

Which reminds me

There is something that my mother's cousin said about getting up early in the morning being the road to success. Yes, I suppose that I could get up early and have at it and then make a fool of myself not knowing what I am doing or I could wait until later and find out what is really going on out there and then make plans. I find that I feel better the rest of the day if I take an extra few minutes to reflect and gather my thoughts together before moving or doing anything. Sorry if I don't buy willy nilly everything that my relatives say but if I gave their opinions too much regard my life would be a train wreck. They don't necessarily have any real understanding of anything that is in my best interests, apparently.

Yes, I suppose that if I were a special interest group, such as army or navy veterans, I would get a lot more "special attention" from the government, but I was never interested in selling my soul just because some confused person upstairs thought that Judy marrying a colonel meant that we were army brats. Not really. I don't know anything about that.

Also, we were never a Jewish or Arab family so it would be ridiculous and quite wrong for either of those people groups to be using our family tree to simulate the Palestinian issues of the Holy Land. This is America. We don't do that to each other here in America just because one or another relative married a Jewish or Arab person. We cannot have this ridiculous melodrama going on at home with Jewish and Arab factions trying to outdo each other. It just won't do. That is a problem they have over there in the Middle East, not here in America. You will have to carry on your Jewish-Arab conflict outside of our family because we would not want to end up looking like another bombed out Libyan territory, obviously.

Thus it is a bit ludicrous to see all these Mexican-Italians running around pretending to be Jewish. We know that they are just looking to secure for themselves all the social and financial advantages of being the "chosen" ones and "better" than everyone else without having to live in community with us. They are un-American in that respect. You can put up that front if you have the money but don't force everyone to buy what you are selling. This is America where every ethnicity is supposed to have the same opportunity as everyone else regardless of birth order.

Talent Show Whiners

Which reminds me that one year at SCC, maybe my third year, a group of girls asked me to play accompany the song they would be performing for the college's annual talent show which was then in its maybe second or third year. I am trying to remember what the song was, maybe "One Singular Sensation" from the Broadway musical, "A Chorus Line," although I could be wrong. Perhaps it was some other song. I can't quite remember. I guess those girls really wanted to strut their stuff on the stage so that was their choice of musical routine. I only played whatever they wanted because they asked. Otherwise I would not have been any part of that. It was not the kind of thing that I would be interested in doing, obviously. That was probably the only time that I had any part in a college talent show except for a tiny part in a choir the first year. My sister and I almost did a trio with Lynda but we backed out because it just wasn't going to work. I never really liked doing secular music very much anyway. You had to do some things to get the college credits but the talent show was not required. Thus I find it unbelievably rude for those girls to be asking me to explain their act. What were they thinking? I have no idea. I remember almost nothing about it. What were their names anyway? I only remember that when I walked off the stage I got lost and turned in the wrong direction and Rusty saw me and screamed at me. He thought I was trying to get myself in the spotlight. Ha! No, Rusty, I was only trying to get off stage as quickly as possible to find a chair to relax and watch everybody else in the college making fools of themselves, all under Rusty's able stage directions. That was all that was about.

Which reminds me

I already extracted what Sacramento documents I could find so Dauna can just wait there until the cows come home. I am not going to be doing that again. Neither am I going to be calling Cori for any reason. Have I forgotten that she is closely allied with Glen Kraiss, one of the Chicago Mob Slob ringleaders? No, I have not forgotten this important point. But how would I ever turn the tables on these wicked Chicago bitches without any help from above? It is just never going to happen. Alas!

Books for sale

On the Internet I see that Cindy Lopez Hudlin's book, "Hands that Heal: International Curriculum to Train Caregivers of Trafficking Survivors," can be purchased easily from various website sources, including, among others: Faith Alliance Against Slavery and Trafficking, The Salvation Army, The Commission for Children at Risk, the International Christian Alliance on Prostitution, and the Global Center for Women and Justice.

With such powerful marketing in place, there is no reason for me to call Cindy Lopez Hudlin on the phone to offer my services in the department of human trafficking and prostitution. I am fully persuaded that these professionals can adequately handle the job without any help from me. Is that the punch line you were waiting for? (Barf! Barf!)

Thus it is rather perturbing to be hearing from them on these points. Ok, so my GPA and lack of extracurricular achievements did not qualify me for the Delta Kappa club. However, I am not in bad company in that regard as Delta Kappa is no guarantee of future success, obviously, especially if you cannot get out of Bobby's somewhat simplistic mindset in which case we don't think you have anything valid to say anyway. There is a lot more to the story than the Bueno family business actually.

It is nice that the Bueno family established a school system there. However, that was an exception to the rule and not really our main reason for being there. Schools are good. Free lunch is good. It is all good. No one was saying that the Bueno family should not be doing that if that is what they want to do. Ditto to Sam Stewart.

However, if some other families were not particularly interested in going into the relief and development business in that way and felt themselves called more to the ministry side of it, well, there is no condemnation in that regard. Not everyone is called into the restaurant business, especially not me.

I don't appreciate my name getting all tangled up in that wicked witch web, frankly, as it just makes it hard for me to do anything. How can I have a life when those wicked witches still have their stranglehold? Change is needed, obviously.

The Cross Heresy

We see that Dauna's mother's maiden name was Cross and yet this fact does nothing to magically protect Dauna from sticking her foot in it, obviously. There is nothing magical about having the surname of Cross, or for that matter Crouch, as we see also from the example of Wicked Witch Patricia Cruz, a rude person who mostly was seen reading Kahlil Gibran pablum in high school. I have no time for these contrivances. They are peddling wallpaper, obviously, but I know better than to buy what they are selling.

Which reminds me

There is a question on the floor about all this sternness. Or maybe they are talking about the proliferation of Stearns. I only remember Robin and Renee Stearns who were at SCC at the same time that I was. Whether they are connected somehow to Richard Stearns, the president of World Vision, I really could not say. I have no idea. I have no connection to World Vision or interest in doing relief and development work, unlike the Buenos. Of course, we all know that Bobby's first girlfriend at SCC was Cindy Lopez, who worked for World Vision for quite a few years as well as for the Olympic Committee when it was in Los Angeles, as did Bobby. I really have no interest in following down that trail. I heard that Cindy and her husband later worked for the Latin America Child Care organization. So that's nice. I have lost track of most of these people. I really don't know anything about that nor would I expect to get a job working for Latin America Child Care after all of this, obviously.

More Thoughts About This

There are some things that I might say to one person that might not be appropriately if said to another person. Like everyone else, my life has compartments. Something I might say to a college roommate would not be what I would say to a co-worker or someone I only saw in class or the cashier at the grocery store or the person who asks what I am looking for when I walk into a store and to whom I usually reply, "Just looking," in order to browse privately without feeling like someone is watching me or having to look at and consider their suggestions which are probably not what I want anyway, unlike my mother who would probably embarrass me by telling my whole life story to the store clerk and getting into too much personal territory as she often does.

However, when I was three years old there was this unfortunate incident when I and this other kid in the nursery department at church did this "You show me yours, I'll show you mine," thing. The ethnicity of the kids involved was never the issue. It was strictly a male-female thing. It was really stupid and embarrassing, obviously. It was wrong of me to do that. I never said that it was OK or tried to excuse myself later. Still, I think some people are just too overwrought about it to this day.

Original Sin: The story has traveled throughout the planet and various persons, especially Catholics, have hailed my arrival on the planet as something akin to the original sinner. I have been judged a sub-human species, a mental vegetable who was not healed after all of the effects of enchephalitis that I had when a baby, a dog, a monster, a creature of lesser value, an ignoble beast, etc. I think this level of superstitious regard and attention is a bit unwarranted. Am I the only sinner on the planet? Does my three-year-old misdeed make me a worse sinner than other persons who did not do this or did not initiate the incident? Some people are born sinners but perhaps no one else thought of actually doing that except me. So? Is there no forgiveness for a sin if I cannot quite recall and verbalize whatever made me think of doing that? In retrospect I would recommend using dogs and cats for this purpose. And what about all those other sins of omission and/or commission that everyone else commits and is never called to account for? Why should I be called to account for everything I ever did when it is yet not my time to die and my life has not yet passed before my eyes, even if some other people wish that I were already dead. Besides, I cannot afford to have my brain scanned without money in the bank so bug off and leave me be.

Private Sin: We snuck into the bathroom of the church nursery to do this misdeed and then were obviously seen making our escape, imagining ourselves undetected even as everyone working in the place knew of our guilt and eternal condemnation. Thus, everyone in authority can be expected to reenact this church nursery scenario ad nauseum because nobody knows how to turn off faucet. Ok, so does this mean that I can never have a private moment again in my entire lifetime? Everyone is conspiring against me to publicize everything that I ever say or do and comparing notes behind my back so that I cannot protect myself from information getting into the wrong hands and getting twisted and misused and everything going off in the wrong direction. Everyone assumes that I will continue to perpetrate similar misdeeds for the rest of my life as mindless automaton and no trust or confidence is placed in my judgments or thoughts of any kind. This means that I cannot have any real friends or any real success in a job when everyone will be undoing anything of benefit to me anyway. Why bother? My place in society is that of single-celled amoeba, a word that I might have used myself at times, unfortunately, only because they asked for it. If I can only live in private, then I ought to be looking for a residential nuthouse to pass the time because anyway I have no life.