Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Dragonflies and Nominees
Gwyneth Paltrow=Linda McCartney. In addition, the goopy love struck lyrics prove once again that Happiness is a Lousy Muse. Despair=much more interesting. There’s a song in there with these lyrics: “I will fix you.” Uh-oh. Run for the hills!!!!
There was an article in the Wash Post Style section today about a woman who maintains her husband’s makeshift roadside memorial. She said she sees her husband in dragonflies that alight on her car. As I was walking into work this morning, I saw a yellow dragonfly and wondered if Chuckie was saying hi to me too. She pours ponies of Jack Daniels on the memorial ground in his honor and has a tattoo of his face over her heart.
Oh yeah! And there were all these articles about the new Supreme Court nominee! I was very defiant and read every single other article in the paper except those. Including an obit of a truly classy and classic newsman, Paul Duke, who used to host Washington Week in Review. It’s a day of farewells, then, to Chuckie and Paul.
No need to worry about that nominee! I can’t even think of his name. He looks like a bland can of tuna. White albacore. I am not even going to attempt a tirade on how they absolutely should have chosen a woman. I know it doesn’t HAVE to be tit for tat, SO TO SPEAK, but he should have picked a woman. Salon has a coupla good pieces on him and a line from one of them chilled me: Roberts (remembering his name reminds me of the scene in The Witches of Eastwick when none of the women can remember the name of the Devil) will be the 105th white male to serve on the Court. In addition, his wife is a member of something called "Feminists for Life," not to be confused with "Feminists for Death," or "Death to Feminists for Life." He also supports Operation Rescue's right to bomb abortion clinics under the First Amendment. In addition, he told the Supreme Court that its historic decision supporting a woman's right to an abortion was "wrongly decided and should be overruled." Sounds liberal and unbiased to me! Back to my posture of ostrich, head in the sand, defiant pouting. Mealy mouthed bastard. Where’s another David Souter hiding in the Vermont woods when ya need him? Or was that New Hampshire?
A team of younguns just came to my desk to offer to help out with this monumental project thing I am working on, so I guess I would be really naughty and cheeky to keep writing today. Dammit. Back to the stones of grind. |
Cynicism is another word for reality