Nina Simone (February 21, 1933 — April 21, 2003). Live in London, 1968. “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”
‘Cause if I’m misunderstood
All my life would have been in vain
And Lord knows I don’t want to come here again
So don’t let me be misunderstood
Give me a clear mind
Give me the words to say what I mean
Don’t let me be misunderstood
Scrabbling to gobble at the cruise ship trough, then scrambling for a spot to shit it all out
I bought a rubber chicken purse, but it turned out to be vinyl. It stinks.
Where’s my rubber chicken?
It’s outside tonight. Off-gassing.
The Voice has obtained hundreds of new renderings of Scientology’s Super Power Building in Clearwater, Florida, as well as a comprehensive collection of its architectural drawings.
Every Scientology “org” is supposed to create an office for Hubbard, even 26 years after his death, in case the “old man” suddenly returns.
(via The Village Voice)
SC on December 7th, 2012:
Fifth grade field trip to visit Senator Strom Thurmond. I’m wearing a light brown corduroy suit (in May, in South Carolina), a white shirt, and a green (don’t know why) tie. My class gathers in Thurmond’s office. Thurmond shows up (with orange hair, even way back then) and socializes with the girls, and only the girls, in the class. Several young women sit in Thurmond’s lap while socializing. Our teacher asks the class to gather around Thurmond’s desk for a group photo. Photos are taken. Then, there’s a warm sensation around my tie and some sort of salty liquid in my mouth. My friend Jonathan looks at me and screams “Bathroom! Bloody nose!” then he puts his hand on my face, possibly to help, but he ends up making a bloody handprint on my shirt. I run to the bathroom and bleed for a while in a sink while security guys mill about like personal bathroom attendants. I take my shirt off, button my corduroy coat to the top, turn the collar up, and spend the rest of the field trip testing various theories of invisibility.
A tribute to those brave folk who just said, “No.” Courtesy of e.e. cummings.
i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or
In need of cheap lodging for perhaps 4-6 weeks. Have access to same for period required. Physical conditions rough but livable.
Note: Premises likely haunted.
Question: Is this wise?
Say, here’s an idea. What say we establish a bizarro clusterflock for hackers, extremists, and miscellaneous goofbuckets? SHOUTING! And the SWORD!
We could even make it user-friendly by modeling it on bilingual sites. You know, sites that offer you the GERMAN or the ENGLISH version.
Visitors to the bizarro clusterflock could opt, say, for the MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY-KRAZEE-CHRISTIAN version or the MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY-KRAZEE-MUSLIM version.
There are infinite variations.
– at least in reruns.
Hoisting this post is as poignant for me as it is funny. I’ve been in Dallas for a couple of weeks, in part seeing to troubles swirling around my long-time friend Lee, who’s been diagnosed with a form of dementia.
Lee’s last paying job after her formal retirement was a part-time gig writing summaries of lawsuits filed in various district courts of Galveston (TX) County. Before that, she was . . . oh-so-many and oh-so-much. Read more
This morning I refereed a fight between a clinically demented woman and her caregiver. At issue: the meaning of the word “cognizant.”
— Sheila Ryan (@Cirinda) September 4, 2012
and you’re hurting my mind and I wish the hell you would stop. And not just for my sake.
Please take a breath and reconsider posting that captioned image du jour. Do you know the one I mean? Its import is by and large political; oftimes it will feature a stock photo of a politician (or two) emblazoned with a snappy quip, ill-positioned and rendered in an ugly font. You must know what I have in mind.
I see such images mainly on Facebook, where they’re hard to avoid without hiding all of your posts.
And I wonder: What is the point?
These clumsy graphics you share and re-share are not great nor even good political art. They are not effective pieces of propaganda. They simply confirm sentiments held by the bulk of your contacts.
And they look like they been slapped together by somebody whomping an ugly stick.
So: For my sake and for your sake and for the sake of all that is true and beautiful, will you please pause and consider whether you really want to share that lame-ass piece of dreck?
My friend Charlie is assistant manager of a small grocery/deli/”sundries” store catering to guests of a Midwestern resort and nearby residents. This week a customer phoned his store, claiming that the chuck roast she’d purchased had not in fact been handed over with her other purchases and requesting that it be delivered to her home.
Charlie’s store does not sell chuck roast.
Delivery, he explained, was impossible because (a) there was no chuck roast available for delivery and (b) only two employees were staffing the store.
The customer returned the following day to pick up her chuck roast.
Charlie asked whether, if this happens again, he might phone me with a request to deliver a phantom cut of imaginary chuck roast to the woman’s home. I consented, adding that I might even volunteer to prepare it for her. Commandeer her kitchen, imaginary chuck roast in hand, and act out the preparation of Boeuf Bourguignon in the manner of Julia Child.
Sheila Ryan: The Imaginary Chef.
Or — more accurately — Amy and her mother bought a house in which they, I, and Amy’s sister live. I’ve learned a few things by living in an owned home for the first time since I started college.
- Mowing an acre with a push mower is no less ridiculous now than it was when I was in high school
- I don’t have nearly enough tools
- There are certain things you should pay someone else to do.
- If it can be done with a hammer, pliers, a screwdriver, and a utility knife, you should probably do it yourself
- Don’t trust anyone to whom you will be giving money
- Sometimes you have to put the cart before the horse for your own sanity
Any tips on home ownership/maintenance would be welcome.
Porky’s Duck Hunt (1937). Directed by Tex Avery.
Note that in 1937 Porky was not Porky Piggin’ it.
I was too busy posting pictures of my family at the beach on twitter to bother with the razor.
Posted to Dubuque Freecycle list:
Playing a game and need as many keys as I can get ahold of. Prefer keys that belonged to master locks (not house type keys so much, although I’ll take them too). The “Key” to the game will be to find the right key in a bowl of keys to unlock the paddel lock to reach the prize.
Recommended: Both the film and the activity encouraged by Ray Charles in this scene.
Let’s go get stoned.
How do I feel about this SOTU?
I don’t mean to go around hawking my wares, but this seemed so relevant and useful to you personally that I thought it would be wrong not to share it. Please keep in mind that I am financially involved with this offer, but even so I think you’ll find I was right to share this marvelous opportunity with you today.
Well now here I’ve wasted a lot of your time with technicalities and jibber jabber, I’ll come to my point quickly. Let me ask you just one question:
Have you ever wanted to have a spleen named after you?
but I am thinking that somebody should assume the mantle of The Sanitizer.
and one reason only, that I put this photo here on clusterflock.
Joel, I love you, man, but that photo out of context was beginning to make my tummy sad every time I stopped by.
Besides, I know you love Culver’s.
Where’s all the old snow?
Heaped up over there
By the Walmart.
At four AM.
Half a dozen Russian speakers, all under thirty, packed up their car after a weekend rental of one of my neighbor’s cottages here in the Driftless Regional Resort Region. A few may have glanced at me as I scrabbled in the dirt, digging up buried money and muttering, “I am uncovering my wealth.”