Cakes
I baked six birthday cakes this year. They all tasted great, and three of them looked amazing.
My personal stats aren't always this high; I'm calling it a win.
#32
Cakes I baked six birthday cakes this year. They all tasted great, and three of them looked amazing. My personal stats aren't always this high; I'm calling it a win.
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#33
Standing Rock NoDAPL is a serious issue. Police are committing atrocities against peaceful protesters, and if the industrial machine wins, it will lead to environmental catastrophe. There is, quite literally, a war going on in North Dakota; the government, the police and the money are on one side, and sanity is on the other. It's fucking dark. How is this a blessing? Because thousands of people have come together to stand on the side of sanity. Because native tribes have joined together and risen again who may never have otherwise done so. Because the bad guys haven't won yet. We watched Suicide Squad the other night. *sigh* D.C., what are you thinking? You blew six movies worth of damn decent stories in a scrunched-up flurry of flashback. Also, never use popular rock’n’roll songs again until you know how to do it right (Among other things, You Don’t Own Me is about the most inappropriate song you could have used to introduce Harley). We would have liked to know why our air-humping villainess was determined to take over the world, and big, glowing mega-weapons are not self-explanatory. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Send your writers back to school. Slap your music director in the face once or twice. Keep your effects guys, they did a fine job; and stop taking brilliant ingredients and using them to make shitty movies. On to other things… There are, by my math, 34 days left in 2016. This year has been a crapstorm, publicly and privately, for everyone I know. Will 2017 be better? Gods, I hope so. In order to maximize that possibility, I’m going to spend the rest of the year doing a countdown of the blessings ’16 has brought. Because what you focus on increases. Weekday ones will show up here. Ready? Let’s go: #34
We took the kids to Denver ComiCon in June, and it was awesome. My story starts as every story must:
‘Once, long ago…’ Upon my wedding day My bridegroom whispered in my ear a secret; He’d never mount a woman or sire an heir. There were but two who knew besides his queen: His lover, the court jester; and his brother. I told my king, ‘Then bring me forth this brother, And I will spread beneath him as I must For king and country, as I now am queen.’ My sacrifice was moot-—Before a day Had passed, the brother won my love. An heir Was born in pomp, yet well conceived in secret. The four of us rejoiced in our shared secret Until our clown-—I loved him like a brother-— Died suddenly. And we were each an heir To Sorrow. Even our young prince, he must Have felt it. He became, on that sad day, As kind a ‘son’ as e’er had king…or queen. Years later, and those two were eating queen- cakes out in the garden. ‘Twas their secret. Who knows how poison found them on that day? I only know that, sought by the king’s brother, They were found. Dead? Not both, but god, we must Do everything we can to keep the heir! We saved him…But that day left him the heir To fevers of the brain. My place, as queen, Was now to run the country as I must And keep the prince’s raving madness secret; Send for a Red Cross doctor and his brother… And wed my long-time love. Oh sad, sweet day. My son’s dark night refused to yield to day; He’ll never wed his trothed, or get an heir. He sees mad visions—-Swears he killed her brother, Her father, and some others. I, the queen, Am dead of poison in his eyes. In secret, We sent him off to Bedlam, as we must. He must have told the playwright: Death and secrets, A ghost, a queen, a brother, a thwarted heir. I never saw Horatio…but to this day, I miss my son. Oh god, I miss my son. We spent 90 minutes sitting in traffic on Monument Hill. We were, as a result, 90 minutes late to the concert. But Amanda sang until midnight, may all the gods bless her forever and ever, so the journey was well worth it.
I was wearing my furry pink coat, which gave me the courage to ask for a hug. And I got one. And it was luvverly. Here's Ruth getting her book signed. That's me in the coat in the mirror. And that guy is Jake, who was seated next to us and was so grateful that I was polite about asking him not to sing along quite so loudly (instead of telling him to shut the fuck up, which is what he's used to), that afterwards he grabbed us as we were headed for the end of the very long signing line. He was fourth in line, and we joined him shamelessly. Instant good karma, I thank you. As for the music. . . We laughed. We cried. Sometimes both at once. There are no words for how amazing this woman is. I'M GOING TO SEE AMANDA PALMER TONIGHT!
OOM-pah OOM-pah OOm-pah <---(That's my happy tuba dance.) Here's a link to the first AFP song I ever heard, at Perkin's when Sandi and Manna sang it for me. . . ahhhh, memories. . . My fellow Americans,
It seems our country needs a good enema. But where to start? Shall we strip corporations of personhood? Shall we declare that any church that has lobbyists is therefore NOT a church, and tax the hell out of them? Shall we reinstate the farm laws that Nixon dismantled, thereby giving us (a) more jobs and (b) more food self-sufficiency? Shall we legalize all drugs and then apply taxes to them, fixing our prison-crowding problem and reversing our national deficit in one stroke? We could pay the members of Congress the minimum wage, and amend the Constitution so that those pricks need an actual vote of the general population to decide when they can have a raise. While we’re at it, let’s make it a criminal offense for those same members of Congress to stonewall like a roomful of petulant three-year-olds. After all, we have space for them in prisons now… All of this would be great, and it’s unlikely ever to happen. But if there’s one thing, just one single thing I personally could change about this wretched, discordant, raddled beauty of a country we have, it would be: Change the K-12 curriculum. So it would be: English, Math, Science, Music, Art, Critical Thinking. If we do this, in ten years we will have a population that is a little harder to fool than it is now. In thirty years, the government will begin to make the changes I suggested; and in eighty years, this part of history will be a chilling yet laughable example of how easy it is to manipulate an undereducated society. Thank you and goodnight. Now that the shock and anger are starting to settle, I can almost find it in me to feel sorry for the ol' Donald.
He is not just "unfit" for public service; I don't believe he knows what those words mean. He thinks he's won a position of power, but what he'll find, like every president before him, is that there are more checks on his actions than he ever knew existed. He thinks he'll be looked up to, and instead he'll be reviled. The most vain man in the country just got himself a job that ages people at triple the normal rate; the most thin-skinned man is going to have to cope with everyone being allowed to say whatever they want to about him. He'll demand the right to sue the world, and his advisors are going to tell him No. "I'm afraid you can't do that, Mister President" is going to be said so often, his staff will want it printed on buttons. "I'm afraid you can't repeal Freedom of the Press, sir." "I'm afraid you can't imprison Rosie O'Donnell for being mean to you, sir." "I'm afraid you can't start a State of the Nation address with 'People have been asking me,' sir." "I'm afraid it is not in your power to have the White House painted gold, sir." It all makes me hope, for his sake, that he's convicted of sexual assault or fraud next month and gets thrown in jail, just to spare him the impotent rage he'd feel every day in this terrible job. Poor man. Poor, orange, tiny-handed man. A haiku to commemorate this, the single most embarrassing day in American politics so far: I never thought I'd look back at W with nostalgia Count your blessings and batten the hatches. This is gonna suck.
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ArtistHi there! Stick around! Kick off your shoes and have some tea. I'm Robin, and this is my place. Archives
May 2019
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