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 |  Impromptu writing, whatever comes...on writing or whatever the question of the day is. |
    I've been blogging all through my days without knowing that it was blogging; although, this isn't necessarily the only thing I do without knowing what I'm doing. Since I write on anything that's available around me, my life has been full of pieces of scribbled paper flying about like confetti. I'm so happy to finally have a permanent place to chew the fat.  So far my chewing the fat is on and off.  Maybe, I lack teeth. Feel free to comment, if you wish.  Thank you very much, Cindy, for this honor and the beautiful graphic.  This Blog Continues in "Everyday Canvas "    |
| And my two cents: Contrary to public opinion, I feel insulted. News: Bush Ducks Shoes Thrown in Iraqi Leader’s Office Shoe thrower: Muntadar al-Zeidi, a correspondent for Al-Baghdadia television, an Iraqi-owned station based in Cairo, Egypt. Disclaimer: I never voted for Bush and I do think my president has his big faults. However, when you threw your shoes at him, you not only insulted me, my country, and my citizens, you also disqualified yourself from being a member of the honorable profession of journalism. Your act shamed you, your country, and your citizens. I agree you have every right to show your displeasure, but you could do this in a civilized way. If you claim you are a journalist, you should find out how. Isn’t it a disgrace to insult a guest in your culture, knowingly? I thought you put guests above all harm no matter who they were. I think it even says so in the scriptures, not only in mine but also in yours. Leaders deserve respect not for themselves but for the peoples they represent. I don’t even like it when our late night hosts pick on other countries’ leaders, however in jest. In a slightly more serious note, the President handled the whole thing with as much poise and as well as anyone could As a last note: No, I don’t think it was funny. So, this is off my chest! |
| I don't have much time to write long now, but this morning, I was excited about two things on the internet. One is the new virtual library that EU opened, I think, yesterday. http://vlib.org/ The other is Flock's green browser, which gives updates and daily information on cleaning-up-the-planet ventures. I find Flock to be the best browser, but now that it has a green face, I like it even more. The browser can be downloaded here: http://browser.flock.com/eco/eco_default/download/?utm_source=eco_default |
| "Little people" do not change minds all that much. What they achieve when it comes to any changing is to be called little. Let’s take the olden times when a husband used to call his mate “Little Woman”; Ha ha! Well, I bet that caused the feminist movement or men who got cut up by women. In the same vein, when politicians want to make a point, they go to the “little people”; my guess is those politicians do not change a whole lot of minds either. One of those little people in the news, who caused quite a heated agitation, is Joe the Plumber. Don’t tell me if you hear “Joe the plumber” again, you’ll scream. Okay, then, let’s scream together. Still, in this presidential campaign, Joe the Plumber took the cake, and no matter how much I try, I cannot--will not--erase that epithet off my mind. Joe the Plumber--who is not a plumber and who cannot come up with cash to pay his taxes, let alone start a business--is the surprise star of 2008 elections. We might as well call this election Joe the Plumber election, like the way we are naming the hurricanes. Hurricanes are not alien to me, and neither are botched up elections, since I live in Florida. In this hurricane of an election, this Joe asked the first-place candidate if he believed in the American dream. Hmmmm! This makes me think. .. Could this Joe be a mole? I mean the kind that hides under the soil or some kind of façade, sort of like the person CIA calls a mole. Judging from the one who used his name so many times and made him a symbol of the little man, I might not be too far off, although I may be paranoid. Then, paranoia has its pluses. It makes some people think. Moreover, it makes little people not stay little anymore. Then, to top it all, it makes the runner-ups yell at reporters, “Why the hell are you going after Joe the Plumber?” thinking it will make the one who asks this question matter more than the reporters’ snickering. I have to snicker, too, if not at anybody, at myself, to tell the truth, because I shall never forget Joe the Plumber. He has been one of the rare shocks of my debate-listening life. He has impressed me so much that I may be suffering from a disease a columnist called, “Joe the Plumber Derangement Syndrome.” Unfortunately, this disease is incurable. Besides, Joe the Plumber as a symbol is the kind of joke that makes me laugh until I have tears in my eyes, and then, my laughter shape-shifts into down-to earth weeping. |
| A very long time ago, I had decided not to buy or read any book written by any creep or bimbo. That decision served me well; however, over this weekend, I watched a talk show where someone was promoting his book, telling all his dirty tricks in rigging an election. That someone is Allen Raymond, an election rigger who was contracted by the Republican Party time and time again. He told a couple of his tricks. True, he has served time for one of those tricks, because he got caught when he jammed the phone lines of the opposing party, but this one, the trick he got caught in, was one of his nicer (!) ones. The others—among the ones he told and many more are in the book (he says)--included making calls to the people whose numbers he got out of the phone book and whose names looked foreign or ended in –ski, the kind of people –he thought—would be prejudiced against African Americans or any other race or denomination or the kind of people who would most likely be scared of them. Another trick included hiring a bunch of people who acted as survey takers or pollsters and asked questions in a slanted manner to make people reconsider their preferences, or while asking these questions, inserted a non-truth in them about the opposition. These few tricks have taught me a thing or two already, like to never answer the pollsters and survey takers and to put the receiver down on political ads on the phone. Moreover, since our state has early voting, I went and voted early. Still, I wonder if they can rig the early voting system. Then, I wonder if reading or buying this man’s book could encourage people to do more dirty business so they can write about it, get published, and make money. Come to think of it, he did talk about what he did as if this ugly behavior were some kind of a glorified child’s play; although, he insisted that he was cleaning, dismantling, and reassembling his own image. Maybe so, maybe he is doing just that, but I fear he has also lost his “honor among thieves” as well as messing with the law and societal ethics. Then, just because this man worked for one party does not clear the other parties either. Obviously, this sort of thing is common behavior and we are being fed contaminated information, just like the cattle for slaughter who were fed tainted food and thus contracted mad cow disease. The whole thing makes me sick. Maybe I’ll read the book if the local library gets it. Maybe not! |
| It seems our town--a relatively new town founded on the extension of the Everglades to the north--is into drumming up business. When we moved here in 1992, we were told that in 1968 this town had only one street as its main street with less than ten structures on it. No one had heard of hauntings, ghosts, and things of that nature. Now that we have a historical society, before history is even seeded into our soil, we are conducting ghost tours. With the exception of a few neighbors who passed away, and they were too nice to turn into ghosts, I don’t know who is haunting the place. Those who know (!) insist that visitors who come here can encounter with the ghosts of ye-olde-time pirates who roamed our shores, the Seminole wolf men, and creatures who terrorized the early settlers. To tell the truth, no one could have settled here then, except the alligators. Even the main street with its ten structures probably formed around one hunter’s cabin hastily built sometime during the 1940’s or 50’s. Since our town is one of the most afflicted Florida towns due to the economic crisis, everyone is doing their best to attract business. Come to think of it, it could be a good marketing trick to use the housing crisis for profit. I bet the tour guides could take the tourists to empty houses and pass them as haunted houses. Not a bad idea and not at all untrue. To say the least, the entire state of Florida seems to be haunted with all those empty dwellings, and also, the empty brains huddling around inside the city councils. |
| Following all the hullabaloo, we followed Joe the plumber--who is not really a plumber and whose name is not even Joe—and we got under his thinking cap, which he wore backwards. We know that this Joe thinks he would like to be a philosopher. All this unwarranted media attention has turned Joe into taking his life seriously, and for Joe, only philosophy can be serious enough. Why philosophy? Why, Joe cannot tell, because all philosophers ask ‘why’ in the first place, and soon enough, they are forgotten. Still, Joe knows philosophy is the most serious thing on earth even if those incompetent philosophers are forgotten. Joe has learned philosophy from the political rallies. That is why he doesn’t like the question why. ‘Why’ doesn’t matter to a person to whom things keep happening out of the blue, like lightning hits, and Joe does not really want to question or answer any whys, in the first place. He only wants to be remembered as a philosopher. After all, isn’t he already more famous than Kant or Heidegger whose names even the high school teachers do not know? Joe thinks: Surely, I will be dead one day like my other predecessors—say, Kant or Heidegger, the only philosopher names I came across somewhere, I can’t remember where. People will look back at my life, and they will say, “How the heck did he become so famous overnight? Was he the only citizen attending a political rally?” They will say I Joe, although my name is not Joe, represent the common man whose life turns around on freak occurrences. No, I cannot have that. I can neither be a freak nor that common. I must devote my life to leaving the common man image behind me and hook on to greatness. Maybe I’ll say I am giving up all my material wealth—not that there is much of material wealth to give up, but what I have will do for the moment. Next, I can strip off my clothes and wander the streets in search of truth or a place to sleep. Then, not appreciating the cold of the winter and knowing how I love my creature comforts, I can come back to my house without misplacing my pride, after I shout, ‘Eureka! I found the naked truth!’ And I am a philosopher...just like that! I bet every camera in the nation will follow me around while I am in search of greatness. Sure beats being forgotten like those guys who keep asking why while calling themselves philosophers. Aren’t wisdom, free will, shame from being naked in public, and stuff like that overblown anyway? People like it only when you are talked about. They don’t care about who you really are and how deeply you are able to think. What matters is being talked about. I enjoyed the cameras and the spotlight immensely. Wasn’t I the one who went from show to show, numbing the viewers’ brains to the emptiness of my situation? I know I will be great. I will be a success with no soul, but I will be great. Well, now that we know what Joe-who-isn’t-Joe is thinking, we will be watching for him under more intense spotlight and with the scrutiny of us the public, our newscasters, and our politicians alike. Joe is an inspiration. He is as deep as our politicians can get and we can handle. Joe already is naked greatness. |
Although there's still time until Nov. 11, entries are lacking from:
If I weren't one of the judges, I would have entered this contest. The theme "autumn" or "fall" is perfect, timely, and a playwright can stretch it any old way she or he wishes. The thing is you the accomplished or not-yet-so-accomplished writer don't need to be a playwright or you may not even want to become a playwright. There are many pluses for any writer to write a play. To start with, it is great practice, because a number of drama techniques help out with the basics of fiction writing. Short plays may become the backbone of other fiction, for they may suggest stronger storylines because of their hotseating the characters and the plot. Writing a play teaches you how to gear your writing towards an idea or even towards something saleable. Then, since a play needs to have something of a human element and it is also a bare-bones form, you will learn to quickly pinpoint that human element in your other writing through writing a play. In addition, by inserting drama in your opening lines and your last line, you'll be practicing how to write, in your other work even in non-fiction, great opening paragraphs and endings that concentrate on your main idea. If you don't want to become a playwright, it is fine. Just write a play or two for the practice of it. You'll be happy you did. |
| I just finished watching the third presidential debate, a minute ago. One thing this election season has brought up is all those Joe’s: Joe six-pack, Joe the plumber, Joe Biden…Wow! All those Joe’s out there, hats off to you! Your name is the front runner whichever direction I look. Our front runners certainly do love the name Joe. Joe must be in our genes, although he might be wearing jeans and maybe coming up in all shapes, sizes, and mentalities. The word Joe’s origin is Hebrew. It means: he will enlarge. Since as a nation we are all getting fatter, in other words enlarging, we must be Joe’s, all of us. As to Joe the plumber, I wonder why Senator Mc Cain did not choose him as his running partner. He talked to him directly several times. If a direct address was in the works, shouldn’t the American public be addressed first? He talked more about that Joe than his VP, also. Could it be that he thinks his choice for a running mate needs a revision? If so, I couldn’t agree more. Cheers with a cup of Joe (but not the latte kind) for all the Joe’s in the world! |
| Russia must be living a revival of Anti-Americanism. I found this out when a research link took me to the Pravda’s online page. http://english.pravda.ru/ After that, each time I look at the Russian press, I find lots of negative things about the US. In today’s Pravda, top story is: The final shoe on American consumerism is about to fall Another one is The demise of America Yet another one: Embargo Russia? America Had Best Get A Clue Then another: The hypocrisy of American democracy Plus a few more: On America’s Sickness and Inevitable Destruction Being too proud of themselves, many Americans don’t know where New York is George W. Bush has a crowd of skeletons in his closet The Godfather USA On the evils of American 'Multiculti' And all of these are on the same page. With friends like these…! This is not to say that everything is positive about us. If it were, we wouldn’t be in the hole that we’re in today. The Russian media, however, is not just reporting what happens here; it rejoices over our pain and exaggerates our mistakes. You’d think we’d made friends with those people. After all, our president looked into Putin’s eyes and saw his soul. After all, we were told we were friends now. After all, we wanted to help them. Maybe it is Putin’s KGB training that festered in his soul like a hidden cancer, which now spread to the Russian media. Maybe this is the bipolar Russian mentality that surges from one pole to another. Maybe it is just Putin’s politics that attempt to show him as the fearless leader in his people’s eyes. In any case, I did not like what I read. Russia is one good reason we should pick ourselves up and become as strong and independent as we possibly can. I just hope those who resent us like this do not spring any surprises on us when we are not looking. |
It looks like our pocket money has become shadow money, and our financial institutions have turned into imaginary off-shore banks. An AP Economics writer reports: "The lending institution (The International Monetary Fund) says in a statement after a daylong meeting that it has given full support to the action plan approved on Friday by wealthy nations." If by wealthy nations they meant US, they are the grandest tease of the twenty-first century. On Friday night, Bill Maher joked: "Wall Street is a farmer's market." I certainly do not agree with the comedian. A Farmer's Market has goods to sell. Wall Street has numbers that have faded, and they cannot be converted into cash. Well, once upon a time this might have been a possibility, but not anymore. By any small chance or extraterrestrial intervention if some conversion could occur, the bill at hand would not even buy a pound of tomatoes. Any prayer through theism or pantheism cannot fix this fantasy of riches with good government either, and hockey moms who shoot moose, talk as if they are chewing gum, and spill out questions like “Who’s whooo?” in hate-fests cannot fix what’s gone haywire, especially if they think Afghanistan is our neighboring country.  Betcha! I suggest they hobnob with Joe-six-packs and stick to grinding moose flesh instead of grinding nerves all over my neighborhood. Maverick that I am, today I have broken my resolve not to write anything political, even political parody. Psychoanalysts blame mothers for anything, but for this, my mother is innocent. Instead, I blame my sons who are in total panic about the economy and the elections, and I caught their bug. So, in my house, we are rooting for Tina Fey for VP instead of Ms. SP –Sweet Pea, that is. Talking about peas, in this case not peace, I am backing into the farmer’s market idea again. Hence, I’d better go on a pumpkin cruise, especially after watching on TV that man who carved a boat out of a humongous pumpkin and kayaked in it. Oh my! Another maverick! |
| I haven’t written in my blog for such a long time. Although I was away for most of the last month, for the time before that I have no excuse. From a long overseas trip, we came back to an economy that went from bad to worse. Now panic has gripped the markets and the big seven (G7) will meet in a matter of hours in Washington. We just listened to Bush’s sermon on TV. It seems he is leaving it in God’s hands, even if he didn’t say that exactly. Out of not knowing what to say, I can only say, Well, God Bless! Maybe we can add up John Mc Cain’s IQ of 138 to Joe Biden’s 146 and convert their sum to cash.One thing we did good was to take this trip. At least, we’ll have this one last memory of splurging if all banks go kaboom and our retirement funds and social security go bankrupt. Our itinerary was Southern Europe from West Palm Beach, FL airport to NYC (JFK), then to Rome, then Athens, a day trip to Santorini, on to Istanbul, to Turkish islands on the Aegean, back to Istanbul, then a direct flight to New York, and to Florida (PBI). It was like the old times of air flight in the Turkish airlines airbus from Istanbul to NYC. They fed us non-stop with the best airplane food I have ever eaten, and they gave each passenger a gift package containing socks, earplugs, and portable toothbrush and paste. Each seat had its own TV, and they handed out earphones with no charge. (Jet Blue, shame on you! You don’t give earphones anymore.) The plane personnel were extremely helpful to passengers. They worked non-stop, and they even cleaned up the toilets every now and then. Although it was a long 12 hour-flight, we enjoyed it greatly. This was almost nostalgic for us, since it made us reminisce what air flight in US planes had been once upon a time. Another thing, in Istanbul’s airport, we went through six security checks. If anyone is complaining about the security checks in USA airports, which is only one, they should go through Istanbul’s. In the last security check, they opened every bag and handbag, three female officers women’s things, three male officers men’s carry-on bags. Although terribly unpleasant, it made me feel better that they are taking such care. Those people must care about us, I thought. |
| I walk over to the canal to look at the water once more. Two days ago, I had glimpsed a five-foot alligator sunning on the bank when we passed over the bridge in the car. I didn’t call anyone for fear the alligator could be killed in its own territory. Then my alliance to my own species proved stronger and kept producing visions of alligator versus child conflicts to prod my conscience. If I see the alligator again, I’ll call. I swear to myself that I’ll call. That is why I keep touching the cell phone in my pocket to make sure my cell phone doesn’t run away, even if I am bothered by its cracking voice when it works—it is from Verizon. Before I reach the bridge that goes over the canal, I see the tall trees. They have always been there, but today, I am looking at them as if for the first time. Ivies and air ferns have encircled their trunks with longing, a longing that suffocates. Yet the trees must have allowed this. Stupid trees...now they look like hippies in love with rags and long hair hanging off of them. Most any tall tree looks like this in South Florida where the hanging anything has its way with the tree. Small palm fronds and tropical brush tighten around the edges of the canal. Although the home owners association opened up a park-like clearing and placed several picnic tables, no one goes there. It is too near the canal and the sign that says, “Beware of the Alligator!” I stick to the sidewalk all the way to the bridge. I have my umbrella in one hand and the cell phone in my pocket, both for assurance. It is highly doubtful that I can protect myself with an umbrella against an alligator, but the feeling of having something in my hand comforts me. I stop at the center of the bridge and stare into the opaque water. In its dark murkiness, it reflects the green vividly. Green reflections on muddy brown. Only a disturbed artist would paint that. Lucky me. There is no alligator in sight. Phew! I knew something would prove lucky today. It has to do with the number seven. It is my seventh account birthday in WC. Yay!  And in addition, another alligator did not lose its skin. |
| A friend e-mailed to tell me, now that I am aging, (Well, thank you, Sir!) I should play games that power up my mind. He must have forgotten about the high gasoline prices. Anyhow, he told me what I already knew. Crossword puzzles, chess, scrabble, sudoku, poker, boggle, dominoes, and other board games. Then, he continued with the advice that I should learn about real estate investing principles. To invest in anything shouldn't you have cash first? As to games and sudoku, I'd rather balance my checkbook or add the number of months I have lived since birth. I tried sudoku once or twice and I am not any smarter, believe me. I just came out with an Excedrin headache. Chess, I used to play in my youth. Then I taught it to my ten year old son. By the time he turned twenty, he became a ranked member inManhattan Chess Club and started to beat me so badly that I was sorry I even brought up the word chess when he was little. Poker makes my husband to kick me under the table, and I don't like to risk my marriage with his kicking under the table and making his eyebrows dance. As to dominoes, I fall better than dominoes even when I don't mean to. So I wrote back and asked my friend if he ever tried to write a poem a day. He said that is above his prowess. Ahha! I got him. |
| Jell-o is sexy. Anything that quivers and shakes with whipped cream on top has got to be sexy. Probably that is why it is so popular. You know, sex sells… Sex may sell, but I didn’t know until recently that jell-o’s fancy crystalline powder base was gelatin from pig bones. I learned this from the news, which showed some people whose religions abhorred anything of pork fall apart. They were rebelling against a situation that some of them were served jell-o in the hospitals where they were recuperating from one malady or another. Then I realized that there is no warning on the jell-o packages about pig material. I used to make sugar-free jell-o for my husband when he dieted. Not that the diet stuck, but I loved making the jell-o, adding hot water to its base, and watching its sparkles and crystals separate into color and silt. It gave off its sweet aroma of desire, with strawberry or watermelon as my favorites. Stirring and stirring the mixture until it turned to clear liquid was a delight whose memory still makes my toes curl. How could I know I was dissolving a pig? This came like a Jack-in-the-box surprise. I had surmised jell-o’s base was plant material. Duh! But then, I am so clueless of some things and so not caring about their origins, I wonder how my gray matter keeps the rhythm and the momentum going. Are other people as oblivious as I am to the origin of things? What’s in what or who will do where, when? Facing the probability of my shallowness, I’m bewildered. |
| This morning I was free-flowing to the prompt, “What will I miss when I die?” The prompt asked to make a list and choose one item from among the list. Although my list had taken several spiral note-book pages tightly written, my choice was immediate: the kindness of strangers. It is expected and normal, though sometimes not possible, for the family members and friends to be kind to each other, to encourage one another with a smile, a gift, or a pat on the back. But when that kindness comes from total strangers with no relationship or give-and-take ties attached, that kindness is more valuable to me. Family and friends honor your existence because of your ties to them, but a stranger honors you because you exist, period. Because you exist. Isn’t that what it is all about? You exist, you matter. Those kind strangers do not care whether you are Mother Theresa or Jack the Ripper. How can anything else be more valuable than that? What can be more valuable when a complete stranger you have never met before and possibly you’ll never meet again smiles at you in the baking goods isle in the supermarket; or when you are lost in a strange city, one of the locals shows you the way; or when a farmer waves at you looking up from his seat in his tractor while you drive by; or when someone let’s you pass in front of him in a line only because you look old and tired or maybe you have one item of purchase compared to his many. This list could be endless. The warmth I feel from those smiles, kind words, and small gestures is endless, too. Definitely, I’ll miss the kindness of strangers the most. |
| While the world is in a turmoil, Florida wipes up its behind…well, just maybe. According to AP report from Tallahassee: “A proposed law currently making its way through the Florida legislature might help you with what can be an embarrassing problem. Here's the bottom line, the bill would be a mandate that all eating establishment must have enough toilet paper when you go into the restroom. The only problem is the bill doesn't dictate how much toilet paper is "enough." State Senator Victor Crist, a Republican from Tampa, felt the problem was so important, a law must be passed to protect the backsides of anyone in Florida. Oh-oh! I believe there are too many backsides to wipe around here. I thought the toilet tissue news was hilarious. Not that it is not an issue. It is important enough to make me carry Kleenexes with me…just in case. Still…doesn’t our legislature have more important issues, like joblessness, house crisis, insurance and tax issues, education, fraud, traffic problems etc.? Remember the pregnant chads? That was only a tiny flash (from our sun of boo-booes) we let other eyes glimpse at. But then, toilet paper news still cannot beat the sniffing squad news of Northampton, Mass. “Northampton officials signed a $25,000 contract with an Agawam environmental company after state officials ordered independent testing of landfill odors. Using their own noses, the super sniffers are trained to detect and rate the strength of rotting trash, landfill gases and other unpleasantries.” Who says the news is boring? |
| According to AP news, US plans to fire missiles from a U.S. Navy cruiser to shoot down a disabled satellite before it hits the earth’s atmosphere. This has to be another one of those slip-ups or what are called the urban legends, something that makes me chuckle and want to weep at the same time. We think we are so civilized now. We are brilliant enough to manufacture and place a fancy satellite in space; but in time, it becomes a menace and we can destroy it with a missile. Civilized? Today? Hasn’t the humankind been that way all through time? We act just the way we did at the beginning, evolution or Adam and Eve if you like, since I am not arguing that part of the deal now. We Homo Sapiens have always created our own problems, thinking they are solutions. Then, we have tried to get rid of those problems that were supposedly solutions at first. We do this in our daily lives, in selecting our governments, in our vocations, in raising our children, in…well, the list is endless. Still, I have to rejoice because we can do all that and sometimes more. What if we didn’t and we just ate grass and lulled on the meadows, like sheep? That would be worse. Yes, come to think of it, the drama of it--the drama of our human condition--is inspiring. Just use your imagination. The tears and the laughs always come from watching things rise and fall. Having said all that, just watch out for what may fall on your heads from the sky, especially in the beginning of March. Just as in telling a joke, its timing is everything. Luckily, the missile will be smart...I hope. |
| I wanted to write an article on sea turtles. I can't believe what the first draft turned into. Turtles are washing back to the beaches all over the world, especially in colder countries. Since I read this news yesterday, the turtles probably escaped our Super Tuesday. Also in the news, I saw a two-headed turtle and two turtles born attached to each other. The pollution in the seas must have gotten to them. Or like us, they didn’t know which way to look and at which party to look with all that flipping and flopping. Sea turtles sometimes die as the result of crashing into boats’ propellers. Other sea turtles die in shrimp nets. Some candidates have had it after the New Hampshire primary; others wait until they are totally drained. Adult sea turtles are considered delicacies by the large sharks and killer whales. Out of the norm candidates are also delicacies for the media. In my neck of the woods or should I say in my neck of the beaches, sea turtles come ashore to hatch. Come election time, candidates, too, arrive to kiss babies and send pre-taped messages over the phone lines. Although the turtles are protected species, with all the seaside condo construction, they can find little space to do their nesting, egg-laying, and hatching. Candidates don’t like to be exposed also. Artificial lighting fools the turtles as to the time of the day, because these animals are nocturnal nesters. I guess bright limelights and fanfare fool candidates, too. Then when the adult turtles succeed to nest and leave their eggs to hatch, the hatchlings have a difficult time finding the sea because of the city and street lights and the crowds on the beaches. Some are eaten by other animals like seabirds, raccoons, dogs, and ghost crabs, or are crushed by cars. In Florida, votes for candidates are eaten by faulty voting machines even after pregnant chads gave birth and their pain was forgotten…well, sort of. The luckier turtles that can evade all these dangers live to be 50 to 80 years of age. The age of a turtle can be determined by the growth rings on the carapace or the shell of the turtle. With the candidates, the age is determined by the video of his everyday workout, mostly running, even if he is running zigzag. (I watched Huckabee run.) Sea turtles become social, offshore, when they congregate or when they travel together to nesting grounds. Boy, all this reminds me of the candidates traveling together to each state for campaigning against each other. Candidates campaign for states; turtles campaign for nesting grounds. Turtles are done away by other living things, candidates by their own kind. I know I shouldn’t be so involved with politics when I am writing about turtles, but the mind is a funny thing and I can’t help myself. But then, this is all free flow. So much for sea turtles. When I get my head together, I may write a decent sea turtle article. For now, my brain is partied out. |
| What a crazy week in FL! Not a moment has passed without a candidate or his next of kin calling us, with offers of paradise and proofs of their family trees or genome maps. On top of that, a few days ago, the invasion of the poll and survey takers started. They remind me of "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers." When asked, I told a survey taker my choice. He asked who my second choice was. I said his name. Obviously, neither was the candidate he was pushing, because he slammed the phone down with a grumpy hum. Yesterday, another one called and asked my choice again. When told, he asked, “Is there any way for you to change your opinion and vote for candidate X?” I said, “No, but I wonder what these questions are really about. I wonder if you are trying to sell me an armchair or if you are trying to bribe me.” He slammed the phone down. I know that a certain party is pushing a certain candidate down people’s throats, because the parties always do that. I am not telling the candidate’s name even if I do not think he will make a good president, because I respect him and think that he has nothing to do with what the people who push him are acting like. Do these people ever think that all this pushing could result in a reaction...a reaction like people leaving the party to become independent or to register with the opposing party? Tonight, the party games will be over in Florida, and the pajama games will begin all over the place after February 5. I hope the whole thing does not turn X-rated at the end. At this point, what turns is my stomach. |
| I voted today; although, it was a busy day for me and we have another week to vote. Even so, kudos to FL for coming up with the early voting option. And they changed the format or rather the method leading to the voting act, not that anything was wrong before. This is the way it goes. We stay in line until called, just like in an airport by the ticket counters. Then we step up and hand the driver’s license. They look at the driver’s license or any other gov. given photo ID. Among other things, the driver’s license has the driver’s address on it. The person at the desk checks the driver’s license and asks the voter what his address is. If I handed in a driver’s license with my photo and address on it, why ask? If I were cheating with someone else’s ID, wouldn’t I memorize the info on it, first? Maybe they are checking our reading acumen!?Then also, why send voter’s ID cards if you are only going to check driver's licenses? On the other hand, this is Florida; you know how we screw up things. Only two issues to vote for were on the ballot: The name of the person to choose from the party you are registered in and a state resolution. I had read about the resolution beforehand, so it took me a few seconds to finish the voting process. Then, I had to wait for hubby, and wait, and wait. He took enough time as if he were reading an entire volume of an encyclopedia. So odd! He knew about the choices. We both knew whom we would be voting for and what the resolution entailed. I kept wondering why he was taking so long. In the meantime, standing by the door, I watched the other voters. You have the admire these Floridians. Some came on wheelchairs, some by using walkers, or others while dragging oxygen tubes. Beware the silver power, World! When we went out, I asked my husband what he was doing in the booth for so long. For all I know, there were no flowers to smell. He said he wanted to decipher the weird legalese in the resolution. He said, it wasn’t the legalese that gave him the problem but the way the resolution’s language was constructed. In other words…Florida’s higher powers’ disorderly syntax. And hubby is pretty much up on legalese since a lot of it is used in his profession. “Why do they do this to people?” he asks. It was this curiosity that made him try to decipher the thing. He says, “If we have difficulty understanding it, how would the guy on the street figure it out?” Doesn’t syntax mean the study or the system of orderly arrangement of language where it pertains to grammar and sentence, phrase, and word formation for easier comprehension? I guess Florida’s syntax goes hand in hand with the way we handle our voting. And my hubby, the solver of people problems, needed to put himself in everyone else’s shoes…on a day I was way too busy. |
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