Sex after AARP

'Sex', in hot red letters, graces the cover of the AARP magazine lying seductively in the mail box where, at first glance, it resembles my granddaughter's Cosmo. Single and enjoying my own processes of life, I cringe in terror at the thought of missing something and leaving an unearned T-shirt or mouse pad.

Inside this magazine mutation, weathly plastic seniors profess to aging as one should - with tucks, trims, sucks and stitches - and inserting those new shapes into grandkids' clothing. Taught by trainers, massaged by wannabes, coifed, colored and chauffeured to exciting careers they soon sneak into elevators for lovely lusty trysts with the next handy mate. My eyes turn green with envy.

Having sensational sex several times a day sounds like a perfect way to while away the golden years until I remember past partners and wonder if they improved with age. Shuddering, I mutter, 'Down with Viagra', and render a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Eveready.

Reading further, I learn bottled hair color should not be obvious, artificial nails should be applied religiously and I should always wear a smile on my lips, a prayer in my heart and a flirt on my hips.

Well. In the interest of saving time, money and stress, I dress in brightly colored floor-length T's that double as dress or nightie and my gray hair serves as a beacon at dusk.

I sometimes wonder who let the air out of my arms, brought my thighs to my knees and planted fanny fat in my tummy. It annoys me when I bend over and my eyes close by the lower lids, but mostly it's enough to have original hips and a beating heart. A smile is nice but not mandatory - some days hateful thoughts spill blithely from my lips.

Living, by itself, is a good thing.

Health Insurance Myth

Is Health Insurance Sick? 2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #1

Once upon a time in the world's richest country lived honest joes who paid agents of medical practitioners in advance for treatment of illnesses they hoped never to have.

With those monies, the agents wove personal glass and steel kingdoms until it became apparent they might have to return some funds. They ordered scribes to underwrite laws to prevent this coffer drain but, alas, the scribes overwrote until the money became soiled and was laundered in other countries. The agents continued to request larger amounts of money until regular joes could no longer pay.

One day a large group of the honest humans gathered in a small town to seek a solution. A little girl listened to their chatter for a long time before she picked up a small stick. The sky bled rage-red and transformed the stick into a powerful battering ram. Whirling, the girl bade the citizens to follow and led them to a beautiful building where with a mighty roar the girl and her ram smashed down the door of the new jail.

A cry of relief burst forth as the uninsured mass broke into the last bastion of safety where medical needs, color television, Internet hookup, law library, three meals a day and housekeeping were freely dispensed. Lo! The building's large windows were even barred to keep criminals from re-entering.

And there, thanks to the little girl, the good citizens lived happily ever after.


Between a Rock... is my original watercolor which was used as a book cover for Truth & Other Fiction 2000

JonBenet - tragedy without end

In my view, regardless of whether the new suspect is deemed guilty or not,

it would behoove the justice system to put him away, quickly and surely
it would behoove the media to forego 24/7 coverage to stay on critical news
it would behoove the judicials to write fewer laws and tighten old ones

This little girl's death caused pain for a number of people while thousands more suffer at the hands of abusive adults. Abusive adults: war initiators, bombers, genocidists, sexual predators, random killers and child-careless parents.

The suspect, whether guilty or not, increased the amount of grief and mocked human decency. No amount of legislation makes society safe from anti-people but dull-toothed wishy-washy laws could be sharpened to make earned penalties swift and sure.

Jack Paar et al

I miss Jack Paar.

I miss Dick Cavett.

I miss Johnny Carson.

It's not the men I miss. It's the conversations. Grown up talk. Not slutty. Not scatalogical. Discussions of real events in complete sentences, grammatically correct and interesting. Funny, funny skits and comments.

I yearn for bleeps and closed doors in the place of strangers' coin slots and navels. Voyeuring is not my cup of tea.

Generally, people are dumbing, no doubt about it. When I see a skit of a dog biting an anatomical protruberance and the owner of both dancing around, unlike Gene Kelly, I wanna puke. I've turned into a news junkie in order to hear sentences, mostly without humor, which saddens me.

Words have lost meaning. Several have taken away the need for descriptive sentences and for any meaningful thought process.

In the long haul, it won't matter that Paris, Tom, Jolie, Katie, Brad, Britney-burps and artificial lites are creating faux news. It won't matter that erectile dysfunction is the only treatable ailment when we can't fix electile dysfunction.

What matters is that if we don't get our minds out of the sludge, tomorrow will go missing.


Fractal created in Fractal Explorer program. Spring 2006.

Welcome Home!

Today we'll see the young man whose tour of duty was extended, extended and extended. He was sent all over the world, released twice, then recommandeered and sent off again ~ most recently to Baghdad.

He'll be off duty for 10 days, then returned to stateside duty for several more months before a final 'out' date. Fortunately, he returned with no visible physical damage.

My heart goes out to all those who've lost friends and family and those who've returned with massive damage. War is a sad and useless thing for those who are actually required to participate in it or are attacked by it.

Welcome home, Nate!! And thanks for your brave service in the an unpopular and unnecessary war. Now, maybe you can tell us the truth...

Smoke and Mirrors is a fractal created in Apophysis.

Use it or Lose it!

Use it or Lose it was a threat I remember from my teen years. Some time has passed. I may have lost it - I'm not sure; but I'm not using it - at least I don't think I am.

Today a headline in the paper caught my attention. Use it or Lose it was printed in the darkest boldest caps. I nearly ignored it. Surely it had nothing to do with me, but who knows what tomorrow might bring, so I read the smaller print.

The gist of this article maintained that if you don't use your BRAIN, you lose it. Studies show that stretching this organ increases its changes of healthy surival far into the golden years and maybe beyond.

Over the past years I've used mine almost beyond recognition. I was a left-brained computer illiterate. Today, I can design a web page, paint a watercolor that sells and write poetry and prose that is published in places you'd recognize. That feels like a stretch but I'll have to admit there are times when I'm sure I've lost it anyway.

After all this time, I wonder if I misunderstood that ultimatum issued after a movie or roller-skating date. Were those fellas with ciggies rolled up in their t-shirt sleeves and long hair slicked back into duck butts referring to using the brain? I wonder. I would ask them but I'm not sure they'd remember.

Rise the Morning Bird Watercolor by Sue, June 2006. Original available for purchase at Watercolor Gallery

War Tale

Yesterday, a family friend e-mailed with the news he'd be returning from Iraq next week. This young man has served 3 concurrent terms. One-plus in Guam. One-plus in Afghanistan. Returned to stateside duty in January 2006. A month later, he was sent to Baghdad. We haven't stopped praying and believing that this recent report is true.

Each day the news worsens as the Pandora box opened by the current administration cannot be shut any more than the original could. If you haven't yet had a personal friend or family member exposed to the War of 27 Names, the odds are narrowing. This political fiasco which serves no purpose is gaining speed to effect each of our lives. Soon, our days of being a super power will be marked by a full-fledged slide into third-worldhood.

The shifting numbers bear this out even though the controlled media forks continue to titillate the unaware with unending sleaziac tales of Mel, Katie, Tom, Suri, JLo, Paris, Brittany and Brad.

Self-extinquishing Smoking Sticks

On August 16, 2000, Governor George Pataki of New York signed the Cigarette Fire Safety Act, which made New York the first state in the nation to require the establishment of fire safety standards for cigarettes.

It's enough for a wrinkle, a wink and a giggle. Who does he think he's kidding? NY Gov. G. Pataki is headed for Iowa for a stab as Presidential Contender. Is it possible he's the same straight-faced silly man who signed this law? Yup. None other. Age doesn't improve this weirdness. Think of his meeting the Shoe Bomber. Think of his being in charge of anything.


2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #8

It came to pass in the days of heat and drought that many countries-within-acountry burned. Some said it was divine will, others said it was smoking sticks that caused the fearsome conflagrations.

Alas, the leaders of one big apple, in a state of confusion, passed an edict that required makers to create those coffin nails in a manner to cause them to put themselves out.

Many people cheered and admired the leaders but some were incensed by this feudal attempt to control every aspect of society.

One lad laughed uproariously when he saw the difficulty imbedded in a self-extinguishing tobacco stick and soon after that he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Several mini-countries caught up in this incendiary issue passed similar bills and in their zeal also outlawed other fire provoking instruments such as lightning, spontaneous combustion, acts of divine and accident.

In earlier days the solons required automatic matches to be built in such way as to prevent children from using them however in the days that followed it was found that children were the only mammals agile enough to operate mechanical matches.

One gaggle of solons who advocated purposeful burning of forests set off a blaze that ate many acres, unfortunately at that time no one required lawmakers to be self-extinguishing, thus they raged on.

It came to pass in those heated times that fire was so unpopular many upright citizens died from consuming only uncooked food.

And so it was in those days just before the bar fell completely and smothered society along with the fire.

Powerfree

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts ~ #20

Once upon a time, there were men (mostly) who roamed the streets with matches looking for a light and they were named lamplighters.

In time, the matches lost their heads and a silly fool went out to fly a kite in some sort of bad weather and used his new key to provide a tail.

Lo! A lightning bolted straight into his kite, stringed now and blew up his key. This act of divine knocked the fool into a cocked hat and when he woke up a light bulb went off in his head. He kited and keyed another while and imagined up electricals.

Much in demand, this form of captured lightning brought a high price and people formed little groups to produce enough to light their path to the outhouse and the cow barn. Soon, otherbodies went from kingdom to kingdom to buy up these small groups, or co-ops as they were then known.

After some time, there were only a few big groups and the price went so high the littlebodies couldn't buy any more. Because of the twin ninos and such the lightning pretty much moved on and alchemists began to make electric out of water.

And it came to pass that the dam electricity faltered because of heavy useage by many and many more folks who were using it to light up days as well as the night. Alas, when the rich got the lucre out of energy, the rulers stepped in and mass-confused the whole system until town criers were invented.

A town crier was a man (mostly) who went up and down the roads crying out the news in his own words. His opinions, called punditings, were commonly accepted as truth. It was he that rolled up and down the roads telling first one and then the other that there would be even-ing power.

Today you get some, tomorrow you don't. Some get it, some don't and so on until eventually it rolls back to your place and you see the light.

And that's how the powerless caught rolling blackouts.

Headlines, Again

We appear to be moving backward.

Heat wave kills...

People are giving humans a really bad name.

Politically Correct rewrites history and future all in one fell swoop. Future words will be limited to duh and f***. Who could possibly take offense at those?

Abandoned cats become savage and scalp inhabitants of trailer town.

Barking dogs lie when they should be asleep.

Walnuts are found to have peanuts envy.

Cold War heats up.

Salt treaty thrown over left shoulder at full moon.

Tax rebate borrows trillions to return six dollars to poor while doing away with Social Security.

Poor money habits put government out of business, middle class out of existence. The government seeks lucre in pockets of indigent and elderly.

Bottom drops out of bucket. Those who were astute enough to invest for their own retirement as suggested by the government and brokers now find social security and retirements borrowed out. Homes are being foreclosed at a record rate and gun sales increase.

Country wonders what to do with few remaining whites. They just won’t wash with colors.

The Spin Goes On

#1

My head is cross. My eyes spin.

I apply facial moisturizer full of botox bugs and retinol to eliminate aging signs before going to the garage to apply shabby chic crackled paint to a new table to make it appear old.

In a fit of confusion, I decide to keep my face as is and learn to love a scratchfree table.




The fractal above was created in Fractal Explorer.

The Wages of War

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #27

Once upon a time when the towers of Babel were knocked down by the hands of foes, the king (ruled by the dead dreams of his father who reigned a couple back) was blinded by the trees and couldn't see the forest for the shrubs.

He drew his sword to fight a losing battle with the tower downers in a far off country then rhetorized it to a quiet death to make room for his new plot which was sadly soiled. He claimed it as his own right to cast stones at another evil king even though it rocked the world of otherbodies. In this self-wrought foolish plot, the silly king decreed that only he could amass bigsize weapons of killer proportions and others would be ended if they attempted to hold those same rights.

Forsooth! He sat upon a vipers' nest of his own hatching. The land he ruled was once the richest in the world but he pimped it off, piece by piece, to the hands of villains in an effort to buy popularity and up his backers.

Wait, the dwellers cried, this is not right.

And it came to pass, things moved too slowly for the pachydermal king who took a fast track and claimed all rights as his own. Lucre matters were in such short shrift, he surmised this war would be good for his coffers, his polls and his pols. He was upon a role and huddled in his castle while he sent the littles to fight.

Lo! By this time Pandora's lid slammed and pinched off the wings of the wise while evil thrived underfoot and overhead.

Thus it ever is, the ways of men lack forethought and in this rage the wages of war produce destruction of the masses.

Agendas

I live in a reverse bigoted community professing to welcome all diversities with open arms and tax breaks in a 'holier-than-thou' unbigotry. This place task-forces on a constant basis to promote this image. Well.

The Aryan Nations came. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is one diverse group. Mayhaps, even somewhat bigoted. Called, you know, they came. But with them came the information spinners who blew this into a storm in a teacup. The few members of the splintered group were hounded by media and harassed by ill-meaning righteous.

In the meantime, the community gained such a rap for succoring these diverse people it became necessary to hire people to upgrade the community's standing in the world of tourism which is what makes a few locals wealthy and lets them hire some diversities for menial low-paying service jobs.

The small number of Aryans wanted to hold a parade and the discussions went on and on, pro and con, as you can imagine. Eventually, in the interest of free speech and right to gather, the parade was approved. Many legal snipers sat atop buildings and the militia for the people eyed watchfully lest this turn into a riot. As usual parade pomp, the sweeper of horse poop came along behind and all the reverse bigots who welcome only select diversities were overjoyed by that symbolism.

I can tell you that with the diversity lovers and the diversity yelling at each other from opposite sides of the street it was very hard to tell the haters from the hatees. The appalling look of hatred rode each face in self-interest.

Then came a strange incident which created a trial and a staggering monetary judgment against the bald ones. It looked like a kangaroo court, like a mock trial as if in something prepared in 'Real World 101 - A Comedy'. The judgment amount was so humongous it caused the AN to file bankruptcy. I wonder how much money the attorneys took and I wonder because that debt will somehow find its way into the list of things I, as a property owner, must pay.

If I had a choice, I might choose the Aryans over the serial murderer who is now on trial here, the father recently convicted of killing his 9-year old daughter, meth gangs, and the 'sure to re-offend' perverts who are released into the middle of unsuspecting neighborhoods.

Because I am tired to death of pseudo-tolerance, holier-than-thou righteousness and an agenda promoting special rights under the aegis of political correctness, I am seriously considering becoming a bigot but I haven't decided which side to bigot on.

Bazaar Betrayment

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #19
        
        Once upon a long time ago, a group of crones appointed by a well-wishing king gathered fortnightly to share story tales and merriment. Timid souls, without sharp spines, they gave willingly to youngs and olds and left their fire open to those of all missions.

And it came to pass, a strangeress from a foreign kingdom journeyed to those crones for advice about upgrading her wares to sell and begged their word-of-mouth helping. She ingratiated before departing for her kingdom and nothing more was heard for some long span of time and some found this to be bizarre.

Lo! An agoura of the weightiest size was occurring near the ides of September and was rightly called Festember. Great excitement preceded the affair and the crones were lit by enthusiasm. Invitings smoked from mountaintops well behead of this autumnal bazaar.

The crones spent many hours laboring at scalding cauldrons to prepare feastings for the fair comers. Games were planned with prizes to be awarded the winners. Crone-sent couriers rode deep into the kingdom to give word of the event.

At last the big day dawned as a downer for the crones who arrived with the sun at the bazaar grounds and were turned away by soldiers, even some they knew, but some not. Keening with loss and fury the crones crouched near the grounds and pleaded with passersby to share the new tale with them but found only firm rebukes by those under perukes.

Puzzling, the crones pieced together in one moon that the stealthy strangeress who came for advice was up to usury and had penetrated the castle by deceiting. One recalled how the strangeress pretenced to be young and well-known in the other kingdom but the sharp-eyed crone saw witch doctor sewings befront of the foreigner's ears which had snugged her faceskin and shriveled her heart. Now they knew the bizarreness of the whole fable was that they had been fleeced by a greedy clone who legended herself in her own mind.
   
For some time beyond the bizarre bazaar the crones, weary of dishonest doings rested and pondered the weirdness of socials

It came to pass, the wise crones couraged up and realized they didn't need a king who was rolled over for strangeresses and once again went to their storytale-ing.
    
And that's how it was when wise crones didn't play with clones because the crones would get dirty and the clones were already.

Postals

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #24

There was a time in the newer world when missiles were carried by men on horseback riding across the desert between oceans after otherbodies sprawled wide enough to need them.

It came to pass that the men got calloused by all the riding and, anyway there arrived other forms of lugging the goods, so the horses went to pasture and the blistered men kicked back. The rulers saw a way to become involved in glory and snatched the deliveries to be conveyed under their oversight.

Lo! They did make so much money, they were able to loan some to forgetful foreign folks. In time, other bands formed wee groups doing the same duty for littler money and provided more competition than a game of hot marbles.

When the old postals saw what was happening they began to make collectors' items from the stamps by die-ing errors on the heads and soon they began to issue new stamps a lot, each new job was destined to tie in with whatever faddish things the populace was doing. Such as: flowers appeared on the stamps at Easter, flags at patriotic times, fruit in the fall and even some celeb faces graced the little stickies which by then didn't need licking because the glue made from horses was so vile the postals now stuck the stamps to little slices of shiny paper for easy uncoupling.

Indeed, it happened that the workers made so much currency they forgot the common folk who were sending these messages anyway and the workers became rude and sullen and begged for more money and filed frivolosities when they were chased by pups or some such.

Droves became annoyed and grumbled their letters were not arriving timely, so there was a big dust up and when it all settled, the postals showed remorse by huge dear commericals on image tubes to tell peons the postals were god-like. And after that message was sent out until they thought it worked, the price of the stickies went up again.

One old lady was heard to say, 'I wish they wouldn't send those warm fuzzy ads. Right afterwards, I get screwed.'

And that's how it was that regular joes went postal, as well.

Anti-aging

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #29

It came to pass in the decade preceding the Mayan's calendar ending that a crusading king grabbed so much righteousness that he began to believe he had the god's ear and began dropping bombs of love and awe around the world in order to remake it in his own nightmare.

Instead of being shocked into submission and falling for the this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you promises of the charlatan king, the receivers of these great bursts of love became enraged and launched their gods' love in return.

While the majority of the world huddled in wonder and fear the two kings increased their righteousnesses to send more and more missionaries out into the other's countries with awesome missiles designed to convince the nonbelievers that kings do indeed know best what the world needs.

As the year of the fire spitting and hissing wore on, plants and trees began to die. Birds fell from the sky and crushed the lowly ChickenLittles who were loath to cluck for fear of retaliation by big brothers and even bigger motherofalls.

Lo! The big bang theory arrived when deaths spiraled upward and landmasses disappeared in clouds of smoke and shock.

And that's how the anti-aging cure was discovered by the bellicosity of the old world.

Wave after Wave

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #31

Once upon a time, before the Cyclops box, long skirts weary of daylight chores sought their sewing rockers to stitch evening entertainment while they rested up for bedtime.

One woman, most likely a poet, sewed her thoughts with stars and lines in colors of truth, purity and blood or so it is said.

Lo! Others took up this frame of hues and carried it round on a stick until it was well known and pedestaled. In time it became symbolous for patriotism, democracy and citizenship and was written in history books, rode stalwart in corners of public buildings, hung suspended from any number of shafts around the country and drooped despondently like a wayward prayer when a famous passed.

In time these fabric arts became mixed in the minds of the biggest little beings and became revered as real gods. And when rebels grew, some of the squares were purposely dropped in mud and burned to ash. These actions roused the ire of the legals who wrote and wrote and wrote while professing that if enough writing was done the rebels would see the error of their ways and would begin to identify the flags with the great uncle in the big hat who finger pointed and wanted them all.

There was talk of worshipping icons being sinful but it dissipated some during waving ceremonies and in the hardest of times it was found that some even prayed to this flag.

And that's how it was that a piece of sewing came to be a mythical mystical icon of power.

Peking Pieces

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #25

Once beyond the time when you and I were born, the boomings kept coming on and a crowded country named after dishes went into crazed crackdown.

The rulers, already born and before they knew what was waiting in the closet, in an effort to chink the breach passed decrees to the masses that a man and a woman could have but one name bearer.

Lo! Those otherbodies then began newly programmed breeding about the time the foreseers learned to tell the coming-parents which sex their parts had spawned.

Peoples at that age, before they olded and needed compassion, found femmes to be of little useage and with the bodies' ingrown wisdom they turned to deleting skirt wearers and thus produced merely brawn even though each unit could be three -- one man, one woman and a single moppet.

Forsooth! Time and tides didn't wait for them to sharp up. One day the rulers beheld a widespread overage of the three-leggeds. But by then it was sorely late.

And so it came to pass, the dish nation died out even though the three-leggeds did practice unproductive procreation among themselves.

And that's how it was when farseers became doomed by their own shortsight.

Dei Vinci Code

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #47

Once before any living remembers, a mystical marvel came about and once written found an ever enlarging readerhood.

As time went, many addenda and penned rewrites caused little consternation and none of the old timer eyes survived so conjecture withered under the rule of acceptables.

It came to pass that a smart man what-iffed the old tale and called it counterfeit but many could not accept the what-iffing and berserked over this rewriting.

Behold! The tiny cardinal country riled the world while claiming victimhood and stirred up a stumble over what-iffy and fostered fractious factions. Some knew what-iffy even though after all the centuries counted down the chute there couldn't have been what-was by probity of translation and rewetting quills so much of the what-iffy could have been true, but not for certain so.

Out of the muddle of the tussle over the rightest, one victor arose and he was the what-iffing scribe because, while such struggles ensued, his name became as well known as the main notable.

And that's how it was when what-iffy was deemed to be true and without real truthiness it was all one big moot because the message went lost in translation. And some stood back and laughed at the follies of the know-not-alls.

Saved by a Dime

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #23

Once upon a time, a hippocritic oath was taken by witch doctors when it was determined that any number of them couldn't do the right spell. This vow compared their work to magic and allowed they should always do everything within their power to save lives of any who sought help.

In time, the kings and rulers sought longer life in order to spend the gold woven into their parachutes. Those wielding knives, leeches and needles practiced stewing long life remedies away from plants and herbs.

It came to pass they saved so many lives from birth onward that the populace took on a high number. And those who came to call themselves saviors became accustomed to hiring bean counters to oversee their waxing wealth and to provide means to sew up their own parachute stringing.

Lo! Witch doctors became in such demand they were able to charge exorbitant fees and to support little kingdoms of others until they resembled a great deal those very rulers who set them to finding the secret of eternal life.

Then, because of tontines, insurings and such, those who provided salves and balms grew so busy they no longer had time to stir the pots. They claimed to want to go back to the old days of healing ills.

Soon, they discovered a way to stay not so busy and to make even more wampum. Sick were turned away at the door because the docs picked a few healthiest rich and charged them the same beads as they had charged whole groups the other years. So one wealthy man could pay a huge sum of cash for a practically personal witch instead of the old style of many people having one.

And that's how survival of the richest was launched. Alas, this survival method is little different from the other supremes who tout survival of the whitest.