Which Reminds Me

Yes, someone keeps reminding me of the photos that my Dad has among his slides of the making of brown sugar. Yes, I do remember that there are photos of the process of making brown sugar, how the sugar cane is placed in a container where it is crushed by the gear turned by the yoke of oxen who are going around in circles pushing the lever that turns the gear, until finally it is mashed to a pulp of molasses or brown sugar, perhaps lacking further refinement to become white sugar. Yes, I do remember seeing those photos. And I suppose that someone is saying that also may be used for an allegory of the way that brown people pretend to be so sweet while actually stabbing white people in the back because they feel themselves insulted in some way by comparison, even if we don't really know what they are talking about.

Which Reminds Me

Oh, yes, I think that it was later that Dennis was boasting loudly of his part in the prank, claiming responsibility for the "SPOT" sign and also explaining some other pranks that he had pulled. I never did see Warren's car as it was decked out with shaving cream as I had not gone over to that part of campus before everything was washed away. I only remember that Dauna was explaining to me how they had done that in partnership with Dennis. Dauna filled in a few details of that. I really don't remember anything except what Dauna said about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I remember that during the "used car lot" prank they painted prices and other mottos on the windshields of the cars using some paint that easily washes off with water. The price on Lynda's car was placed at $0, whereas Warren's car was given a special treatment of being covered with shaving cream and a price of $1 million. I am not sure what that meant. It might be some insider joke that was never explained to me, just an impression that Dennis especially relished in helping to plan these pranks. Well, we already that he can't spell "Stop." Many persons were quite angry with the pranksters because they got up that morning and had to wash their car windshields before going to work or somewhere. That is interesting to hear but as I was not involved in the prank in any way, just happened to be in the same class with them the next morning hearing them pretending not to know anything, and then Professor Elliot chiding Lynda for what she did because he somehow knew, even so, I do not see why all this anger should still be directed at me after all this time. I really don't know anything about it. I will just point you to Lynda, Dauna, Dennis, Mary Lasley, and possibly also my sister. But not me.

Which Reminds Me

How many times do I have to explain that I was not involved in the massive "used car lot" prank at college that was staged by some classmates of mine? Lynda's car was on the lawn wrapped in toilet paper and yet, as we learned later, she was one of the masterminds of that and did that to herself, whatever that meant. I was not part of the planning and slept through the whole thing. The next morning I see all of this turmoil as I walk across campus. There is "SPOT" painted on the pavement of the parking lot where it should have said "STOP." Do you not recall the kindergarten readers that often refer to the dog named "Spot"? "See Spot run. Run, Spot, Run," says Dick or Jane. I don't know why that's what came to my mind when I saw that, but of course, I first learned how to read, in California, so that's what I thought it to probably referenced. But of course these signs have other meanings as well and perhaps it meant something else to you, a transplanted weed from some other place. How would I know that? I have a limited frame of reference. I am not the encyclopedia, only one person.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was saying that the Wet-Stone dog has a very ugly voice. I really can't remember that but she does seem to resemble raw meat, a case of ground round as it were. Isn't there something better to do than revive a pathetically worthless piece of P.D.Q. Bach? I would like to forget about that. My sister learned about P.D.Q. Bach in her trashy high school but my only exposure came through Sharon's choral direction. Yep, there just never was anything nice to say about her, just that she too was there. I was assigned to sing in the choir and assigned to sing the P.D.Q. Bach and then I am continually assailed because I only did whatever they told me and nothing more. How can I contribute to the show when I am never allowed to express any real opinion of anything, not even invited to the meeting? I would be condemned if I did and condemned if I didn't. So it would be better for me if I had just never been there. Ignorance is bliss as they say.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, how does a pathetically powerless dog such as myself politely tell the vulgar Klein Swine to go away and stop bothering me? It was Richard, not I, who went around crowing like an idiot and driving everyone crazy and making a nuisance of himself. Don't you understand that it was not I who married a worthless idiot named Richard? Just because Beverly made a bad marriage decision, that does not mean that I even know anything about them. The Cranfords are distant cousins whose lives mean nothing to me, just a royalty check in the mail. Why should I be punished for whatever Beverly and Richard did in their divorce the details of which no one has ever bothered to explain to me? Beverly's in-laws are not my in-laws nor do I care to hear more about the Kleins and their sad divorce story. I really don't know anything about them. We are Christian but I really can't speak for the Cranfords. I am not sure what they are other than a colossal nuisance.

Which Reminds Me

Perhaps I should also be asking whether Andrea is aware of the existence of the infamous Dino Baker complex. But really, ho-hum, who cares? Beware of Greeks bearing gifts that we don't really want. Maybe the next generation will reinvent Christian television but for the time being we seem to be stuck with the same worn-out broken records. There is nothing that we the people can do about that. That will be up to the powers that be, not really me.

Which Reminds Me

Does make you wonder if Andrea is even acquainted with Miss Pilarinos, the Greek spinster who made our lives so miserable during her two years as the little school teacher. Really, who cares what Miss "Pill" said the next day after the kissing incident that I witnessed? I never discussed anything with Miss Pill and, anyway, she is still an unmarried spinster dog to this day, never mind about all the mean things that she said about me behind my back to others, just another reason to never go to New Orleans. It just wouldn't be worth it to get mixed up with those horrid Louisiana people.

Which Reminds Me

Nevertheless, I do not wish to be ruled by them. It will be important for my future welfare to kick Andrea's stupid butt out of my way. Andrea is nothing but a nasty witch who certainly deserves to be abandoned on a certain Greek island known for its Amazonian dogs, which shall go nameless. We don't always get what we deserve, but certainly she seems to have booked herself into a corner of no interest to me.

Which Reminds Me

I seem to remember hearing that Faulkner is a drunk who writes mostly while in a drunken stupor, rambling on incoherently about his own nightmarish visions of Murphy's Law scenarios. I suppose that something similar might be said of other prize-winning authors of the "Grapes of Wrath" persuasion. Of course, some of these clueless readers cannot even read English, much less judge of the various novelists who are not lacking in abundance on the literary landscape, even if the overall quality of our literature seems to be not as good as it was a century or two ago, generally speaking. To many persons to whom I may or may not be related, it is important that we, our family in Texas, not be confused with those clueless lowlife Okies who so prominently display their ignorance on the pages of fiction. We must remember that fiction by definition is NOT TRUE. NOT HISTORY. So obviously we really don't care to be questioned about the legacy of Nobel writers who tortured history in their private nightmares. We don't know anything about that.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I noticed that you obviously spend too much eating Sharon's lousy cooking. I would only be guessing if I were to imagine that Sharon could not be qualified to be anything more than a lousy dishwasher at the Dinner Bell restaurant that was run by my mother's aunt. I must say that my grandmother's family were excellent cooks if you like a hearty Texas meal, none of this Okie Fairfax gruel. But I did not inherit much in the way of cooking so I really don't know anything else about it. You are just barking up the wrong tree if you think that you are going to get any Nobel junk out of me. There is just nothing else to say about that.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was making some points about "Little House on the Prairie," something about how blond bimbos such as Dorothy are well suited to play the wicked villainess in the popular TV series. Oh, I really hadn't thought of that. I might have read plenty of Nancy Drew mysteries in my youth but my reading habits never turned to "Little House on the Prairie" matters so I really wouldn't know anything about that. I would have a hard time understanding why these nasty Swedish prairie dogs are so worked up about nothing really and, anyway, I am not interested in learning more about their "Wilder" mental issues. That never meant anything to me. I tend to think that probably they had some good reasons for casting nasty Nell the way that they did, all things considered.

Which Reminds Me

During college one semester I took a volleyball class in order to fulfill the minimum PE requirement. Also sometimes people would get together in the gym for informal volleyball games. There was one guy playing volleyball who I remember was very obsessed with winning and was always hyper vigilant, watching everybody's playing and critiquing and criticizing, especially if we were on his side and losing, which added stress to the game. I do remember thinking that he was somewhat overly obsessive especially as we were not any formal team whose win or loss would make any huge difference. Sometimes I would get a good hit in or serve the ball well and other times I am content to duck out of the way and let some taller person spike the ball at the net which I am not so good at. I might like to win the game but if I am losing, well, it's only a volleyball game, not the end of the world.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is a bit awkward, all these nasty rich Chinese people trying to attach our family to their repulsive pagan stupidity. It will be hard for them to convince us that they really understand what it means to be Christian when they still hang out at pagan temples burning incense to their departed ancestors. All they got was one clueless French Catholic bimbo, only a De-Lessee, obviously, not really the Di-Lessors of the family, so obviously the incidental Chinese attachment will not be running the show, needless to say. Someone really ought to tell these nasty Chinese to back off because they don't really know much. If they would listen first they might learn something but we don't really think they have anything that we want. We didn't choose them. So I am just saying, don't shoot this messenger. This junk just seems to write itself with my incidental participation.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is reminding me of something that Terry once said. One day a group of us were walking across the college campus and Terry made some weird remark about me being his heifer. I took offense at that remark and said so, not that I would want to prolong the discussion beyond that day. To me it was a simple matter of not wanting to be described as the mindless cattle property of some obnoxious person named Terry. I do not wish to spend more time figuring out what you might have meant by saying such a weird thing as that, as if you were already planning to slit my throat on the chopping block. I do not wish to take seriously any of the bizarre statements continually spewing from the mouth of this angry Terry. We already know that Terry's ambition is to emulate not so much the example of Christ as that of the Beach Boys. We already know that Terry is a very angry person, always muttering and mumbling revenge on whoever, and always caring only about the exalting of himself at any cost. It is very important to me that I not be mistaken for one of those trashy bimbos who so much admire his somewhat dull and boring and mediocre singing, but I dare not say that in so many words. I think that Terry should stick to trumpet and forget about trying to sing. There so many singers better than Terry. But such a nice person as I am would never even think of saying what I really think about this shrill caterwauling of Dorothy. I wouldn't want to risk running afoul of their overly aggressive political operatives. They would just destroy me first, and even though their mediocrity might eventually receive its just desserts, I would already be destroyed early on anyway if I had dared to say anything at all about those snarky Cedar-dogs.

Which Reminds Me

I am not sure from whence comes this fiction of me running for president. I never took that idea seriously at all. There are those who will tell you when you are young that you can do anything, even run for president, but they do not mean that seriously, they are just saying not to be afraid of the future because anything can happen if you work hard and smart, not that anything actually will happen. It is just a point of philosophical attitude not requiring a literalistic interpretation. I am by birth a U.S. citizen born in the U.S., California to be specific, so already I do not have to worry about belaboring that point of necessity, unlike some other wannabes I might be aware of. But even with that point uncontested, I am female, which also makes it doubly hard to attain such high position, especially starting as low as I am on the socioeconomic scale of things and having absolutely no interest in politics of the electoral variety. I think that I am entitled to have my own opinions and not to be represented by some clueless bimbo unbeknownst to me. Why should I be required to belabor this insignificant point? Why should my brain be frozen at some point of ancient early history that no longer has any relevancy in the entire scheme of things? It makes no sense to me.

Which Reminds me

To Allot. Someone is trying to make a point about allot, deal, distribute, handouts. Keturah was only a concubine so she was given gifts and sent away to a distant place wherever she was to go whereas Sarah was the wife who stayed with Abraham and family. I don't see where that has anything to do with me and my life here in Non-Mormon America. Just because I may have received some gifts that I didn't ask for and would be just as happy without getting, that doesn't mean that I have any such overlord or paramour who would have any claim on me and my children. No, I am free and clear of any such entanglements, never mind about the pathetic efforts of mag addicts. Nor do I have any children. I am just saying the principle. How utterly insulting to be appointed the "Keturah" of the family. Family? How dare these nasty horrid people pretend to be my cousins! I have no need of cousins.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, this does put me in an awkward position, being related to them. The actual question is, how long would it take me, a completely clueless know-nothing, to figure out what they are even talking about. I have no ancient magazine repertoire to speak of, can almost count on one hand any conversation I ever had with them that I can remember, have no record of their wanderings hither and yon all over the country, no memory of who their friends or enemies might be, and was out of the country when they were having their big problem so don't remember much to speak of. I may remember a few things that grandmother said but would only be parroting her to repeat that and, anyway, am not interested enough to ask further questions. I don't see why I should feel sorry for those whiners when they always were so mean to me. Don't we all have problems in this life of trials and tribulations? So all things considered, I think that my paperwork is better than expected given that I don't know what I am talking about.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I do remember that. Someone is continually trying to remind me of something that I overheard, something that I overheard at work, something that I overheard at work that was said by Gerd Persson, who is a multi-lingual Swede from Portugal. Gerd was overheard by us talking about she and her husband watching TV, and how he gets things started while they are watching a TV program, and then he pauses and refused to continue to a logical conclusion until after the TV program has ended, so she gets really frustrated waiting for the TV program to end. Yes, it is rather weird how these nasty Swedish Thor-dogs have insinuated themselves so much into the landscape even though, really, they perhaps don't belong here that I can see. I don't see how driving an imported Rolls-Royce somehow makes you more worthy of American citizenship than just some poor white person driving around in a dilapidated vehicle with a cracked dashboard.

Which Reminds Me

Hmmm....I wonder what makes those silly New Yorkers think that I would want to go there to share in their Big Apple curse, whatever that means. I really couldn't care less about living in New York and if I never get there, well, so much the better. Guess what, NY, quite a few of The People of America would rather live anywhere other than there in NY with you snapchat whiners. So typical of these silly New Yorkers to think that only they can know everything. Some of us already know that we don't need everything, that everything would only make us sicker in the head and get us kicked around New York, a place of no interest. So I never had any plans to go to New York any time soon. So it is puzzling that some horrible person was asking me when, almost commanding me to go to New York. There is nothing there for me to do there. Oh, maybe I could join the homeless there, eat in rescue missions with the unemployed..... Uhhhh, no, obviously I am NOT planning to go to New York any time soon.

Which Reminds Me

It may seem easy for General Jerry to stand there holding a bazooka to my head, as if blowing my head off any moment now will somehow solve all the problems of the world, but this really doesn't help me in any way. General Jerry-Can doesn't have to worry about paying bills because he has lots of power and money, and plenty of time because he is retired and can do whatever he wants, while poor little me has to sit here starving to death because some big-shot military honcho wishes to use me as some pathetic lab rat on some mysteriously tortuous treadmill. This life just isn't fair.

Which Reminds Me

We see from the actual text that the city of Bucarest features prominently in this travel story so why all of this silly chatter about Budapest? No one ever said anything about Budapest. All that Hungarian goulash cooked up by Marty will not be of any use south of the border, over in the former Wallachia, so I find it hard to understand what all this chatter is about. Just because Marty enjoys exercising her right to be a pestilent motormouth chatterbox, that does not mean that I have to sit there and let myself be verbally abused by the Hungarians, or the Polish for that matter. Yes, I know how they are.

I think that if there were really a job for me in this, that some actual authority figure [not Marty, obviously, nor Greg] would appear at the front door to explain it to me in person and to outline the terms of employment and financial plan for reimbursing my time spent on this endeavor. Or else letter or email. Otherwise, I don't appreciate being harassed for no reason. Go away and leave me alone. I just want a job.

Which Reminds Me

I remember probably the last or next to last time that I called Lynda, she prattled on about her newfound predilection for British literature, specifically the series on Jeeves and his butler. She was working her way through the Jeeves books, said she, a subject that seemed to me very dry. I might have glanced at a Jeeves book in a bookstore somewhere and decided not to buy that so I really can't comment further on that point. I really don't want to be bothered with Lynda's idea of literature. I have developed a predilection for history and non-fiction so Jeeves does not fit in my library. Thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

I am not sure from whence comes this fiction of me trying to cut someone off from marriage, telling them they did not deserve to get married or something such thing. All I can say that if someone did say that it probably wasn't me, but if someone did say that about her, well, I also can't really say that they didn't have a point in their own way, but I wouldn't want to have to be forced to explain that because, also, they may know something that I don't know so it is hard for me to really understand what point they are actually getting at or why I should care. I think that some people just are never going to get married for various reasons but that is not something that I can control. It is just the facts of life in the real world. I can't conscientiously defend her when I don't know what you are even talking about.

Which Reminds Me

While working at a newspaper I once set foot in an orange grove to photograph something, maybe the oranges hanging on the trees. Later at the office I was told not to do that again because it is illegal to trespass on agriculture. Oh, I didn't know that. Ok, so I never did that again.

Which Reminds Me

One of the advantages of never getting married is not having to bother with assembling a makeshift bridal train. Singleness is perhaps better than having to bestow artificial honors upon a gaggle of worthless people who have done nothing to help anyway, only hinder, besides which I can't think of anyone that I would want to honor with such a position. I never asked for any stupid Swedish nanny to book my travel itinerary which is why the Nobel thing is out the window now. I have been waiting a long time to dump that Nobel junk in its appropriate garbage can. I don't think that I will need a bridle train for anything so if you are threatening to dump me for that reason, OK, fine. Life will just be lonely as usual, which is what I am used to anyway.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I suppose that I am now supposed to launch into some pathetic tirade about those paperless Warrens who are buzzing around on the edge of things, pretending to be somebody important but actually having no paperwork of their own to show for all this nonsense. Those dirty dogs are just trying to poach off of my paperwork. Get your own paperwork, you dumpy whiners, you vicious little monsters. So that is what they are expecting me to say. Oh, I hadn't thought of that, but since you are insisting so urgently, we must oblige by kicking your pathetic butts out of the way.

Which Reminds Me

Someone is expecting me to say something about those buttered brutal army-brat bullies who are unfortunately somehow related us. Even buttered, they are hard to stomach. They crash around making all kinds of noise and commotion even though nobody seems to understand what they are talking about or why we should care. Nobody did anything mean to them that we can recall so why they are always so mean and nasty to us behind our backs, always trying to paint themselves the victims when actually it is the other way around, we being the victims of them, is something that is unfathomable to us. If they were really Christians they wouldn't be acting that way, is the only thought that comes to mind. "They will know we are Christians by our love," is a song the meaning of which seems to elude them.

Which Reminds Me

I never had any thought of winning the Nobel prize which is why I don't understand where this silly prize fiction is coming from. You wicked liars. The vast majority of book writers never win any Nobel prize and in fact the ones who do are perhaps not the only good writers. The Nobel only proves that you are popular with those Swedish prize-giving socialists. So all of this Nobel prize hubbub seems meaningless to me. Oh, I recently noticed that Judy Thomson married a certain Mr. Faulkner, doubtless not the William who won a Nobel. I don't even need to ask such a silly question and couldn't care less about reconnecting with those boring people.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I have a hard time understanding why all these famous people are talking to me. Some things are just too personal to discuss with just anyone. I don't care if your name is Billy Graham, some things are just none of your business. Why are you standing there barking at me? I don't care if you are some hotshot public personality, nobody here even knows anyone from North Carolina, much less have any reason to personally communicate with you. I never met you and don't know anything about you so why do you think you have a reason to talk to me? I wish NC would just go away and stop bothering me because you're just being so mean and nasty to me and for no reason whatsoever, sending all your nasty people to bite and scratch me for no reason. I didn't do anything to them, and you send all these people to scream at me and unload all this garbage. I don't even know what you are talking about or why I should care. North Carolina has no meaning to me, just another state to drive through on the way to somewhere else.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is getting rather annoying, this clueless rich man continually trying to shove me into the position of governess to his trashy horrid daughter. And yet there was never any contract of employment to prove any obligation on my part. I have no duties and no paycheck and yet I am continually slammed for non-performance of a non-existent agreement and/or disagreement. There is no reason why I should adapt myself to fulfill these unrealistic expectations just because some vapid French hole imagines itself in command of the universe. So I am just saying.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, who was that summer intern, the one with the long blond hair, who boasted of having some murky after-hours affair with Tom Crockpot? I don't remember her name. All I can say is that probably Bonnie or Kathy would remember her. I really don't remember enough about her to explain anything. Why are you asking me? I don't know anything about them.

Which Reminds Me

I see that you have a few ace cards tucked away but I would only be guessing to speculate that one of those might be a Freemason membership. You certainly do look like the type of rich person who would really go for all that secret society stuff, all that mysterious coding that never really means what appears at first glance. It is not yet clear to me where to go to complain about all this lousy scripting, whether the Freemasons or the Shriners or the Rotary or whoever is blocking me on the point of when. When are you going go away and stop screaming in my face? When is my paycheck going to get here? I really need my paycheck. I don't have millions of dollars stashed away for a rainy day, unlike them. I don't need you rich people for anything. I only need my paycheck coming in regular like clockwork. I don't really care about not being invited to your swanky shindigs. I wouldn't feel comfortable there anyway. I would just be miserable if I had to socialize with all those ultra-picky rich people. I might accidentally self-destruct without even knowing what I was doing. Which is why I just want to be paid for my job and left to my own devices on weeknights and weekends. I don't want you rich people tempting me with freebies and following me home. I want to leave you at in the office where you belong. Thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is rather appalling how a vulgar gold-digging leech named Max has tried to attach himself to my life in that most insidious way. I would like to shake him off like a naughty flea because that is all he is to me, just nothing much. People were only trying to be nice to him and all he did was cop a stupid fit, as if someone was trying to trap him into something. How ridiculous. What an idiot he is and will always be in my mind, especially now.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is quite true that my senior paper on the subject of overpopulation was judged by Dr. Bidle to be "amorphous," in other words shapeless, not well organized, just a lot of information cobbled together. I will not deny this point that seems to be all over the place anyway somehow. So whatever. It was quite a stretch for me to write 20 pages on such an utterly boring and uninteresting topic as that, one that really is of no personal interest to me but was an assigned topic for the 20-page paper that I was required to write for Dr. DePaul, and so I used the same paper for both classes, because Dr. Bidle made no topic requirement and also said that he would accept any topic, even that required by another teacher. So that was a deal, even if not my best work. I really hope that there is some better and more interesting topic that I could find to get me started on an actual book writing project, if I were ever to write one, because, really, overpopulation is such a boring, overwrought subject. I think that I do not want to write any book about that, thanks anyway. It would be hard for me to think of anything more dull and uninteresting than that.

Which Reminds Me

Needless to say, there is no way that I am taking the rap for Susie's big fat mouth, just because she happens to be married to some slobbering idiot of no interest. I am certain that I do not know the half of it. It has long been obvious to me that Susie often talks out of both sides of her mouth, often politicking against me behind me back even while pretending to be a friend to my face. So just because your head is full of junk that Susie said to Alan Skogerbo, that does not mean that I would be able to explain that to you. Susie doesn't tell me everything she knows, not that she actually knows of anything that matters. I really don't understand why everyone is making such a fuss about those fat ugly hogs. They are really nothing.