Which Reminds Me

Some distant cousin of my grandmother's was known to be an employee of the Johnson family. However, my grandmother voted for Nixon. They were no fans of the Johnson machinery. So how is it that Tricky Dick is now working for the Johnsons, as if they need to be protected from themselves and their own bad attitudes? This does not compute.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, theoretically speaking, I could drive all the way to New York City and find Mark playing piano for a dancer lineup, and there I would find him surrounded by a hundred or more cloned copies of his students Sharon, Debbie, Rose, Lynda, who are the only people he probably remember much of anything about because they were in that class he taught at our college. But I was never in that class so I will always be at a loss to understand what that was about, which is just one of those limitations of human life, that we can never know all about everything. Few are the choices we are given. And if we run out of choices there is just nothing else to be done about that.

Which Reminds Me

You have a strange way of trying to make me feel guilty about things of which I am not aware. How can say something about that when no one will tell me anything. What?

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I remember that years ago I had a co-worker named Sebastian, a somewhat rude and boorish person but that is not unusual in co-workers who tend to think only of themselves and their own interests, naturally. I do not wish to say something to or about him. Actually, we are not on speaking terms. Oh, was he from Argentina? I wasn't paying attention to that at the time. He just wasn't that important in my opinion, at least not to me.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, how sad that there is no profit to be had in filling the shoes of an Irish woman, particularly a very low class, garrulous, violent Irish woman, one who goes around slugging people for the slightest imagined affronts. There is evidently no growing demand on the stage for this stereotypical role of such an Irish woman as that, even if I could with some costuming and strenuous effort perhaps make the attempt to fill some such role, based entirely on superficial appearances, perhaps the theoretically Irish roots of my surname added to freckles and red hair, even though I do not consider myself Irish in the least, although perhaps maybe I do have some Irish ancestral roots, as well as plenty of Scottish and English and Welsh and other parts of Western Europe, but a detailed examination of DNA would be expensive and what would be the point of that, other than to discover some unknown nightmare of remote ancestry?

And as soon as I open my mouth you will know immediately that I cannot speak a word of Gaelic, have no cutesy Irish brogue, have no idea of Ireland and its politics. Honestly, I cannot be expected to represent the grievances of the stereotypical Irish woman, never mind about some unknown person's desire to stage something about that.

Anyway, I heard Libby talking online about how she is planning to escape the negative stereotypes of an Irish woman via marriage to a Spanish or Italian man or some such ethnicity. Her children will have shed the Irish appearance problem and thus she can represent herself as their ethnicity, thus vacating the planet and leaving that other unclaimed redhead fairy to answer her mail. Yes, I can see for myself that Libby is a source of angry tweets but even so I cannot answer her mail. I just have no idea what was going on in her empty head during high school if she is going to be that way. With this scheme in operation it's like I don't exist. I just have to follow the scripting. Thus we learn that Libby cannot escape her angry twitter past using me as her scapegoat when her calling codes are imprinted on her very own face. I am just saying.

Which Reminds Me

My mother is always right when she says that I must do the social correct thing even if it kills me. So I did that when my mother forced me to attend a wedding shower held for Carol (MK-Ecuador) who, incidentally, was only 16 years old when she married Mark. I don't know why I don't remember anything about that. It was probably a matter of a few silly games, refreshments, and mainly watching the bride open many gifts. I seem to remember that her boyfriend might have stopped in for a few minutes. So basically that is all that I can remember about that, just a standard event in the presence of many people I mostly had never met previously and whose names I cannot possibly recall. We had recently moved to the area and we knew very few people at the time. Strange that I should be hearing all these weird messages from Carol just because she married into the Johnson family of whom nothing is known, just that their name is Johnson. (Personally I rather dislike the Johnsons, and the Garlits by extension, maybe because I see that they are hostile to me even though I can't see what their game is, but attending the wedding shower was the socially correct thing for us to do, certainly.)

Which Reminds Me

Which reminds me that if you had been reading the diaries of great-grandmother, you would see how she begins almost every year's diary watching the Rose Bowl parade in Pasadena, not on TV but live in person, accompanying the family of my Dad's Uncle Ariel, who live in the Pasadena area to this day. She often goes up there a day or more before the event and then accompanies them to the parade grounds. She describes how they always park their cars at the church there in Pasadena which is apparently so close to the parade route that they can easily walk from there, and then they afterward they go home and play games such as anagrams before and after the parade. Hmmm.... Interesting how Uncle Ariel's family often broadcast warnings that the rest of us are not invited to participate in that. And who said we have to go there with them? This is a free country so if we choose, if we wanted to, we can find our way to the parade route without going through them. I am just saying, actually, we can figure out where Pasadena is on the map and go see the parade without having to check in with Danny boy and company. Because, after all, the parade does not belong to them. It is a public spectacle that belongs to everyone, unlike that other private corporation which is none of my business.

I can't quite recall how to tell that story, or was it a joke, about not letting the birds build a nest in your hair. So, Ok, fine, we should all be able to get along just fine without continual harassment from the private company based in Pasadena. I am just saying.

After dinner, the Mean Go home to play games with themselves because the rest of us just want to go to sleep. We were not expecting to get clobbered by the stupid People of California, but apparently life is not a rose garden for us, only a ruin.