Back to My Roots

Okay, so it's been almost a year since my last post, but as this blog is really only for myself, I don't really see a problem with it. Soooo much has happened since March when I put in my last two cents. Since then I have saved up and now have more to talk about. This has been quite the year. Let's see...
We have elected a new President, and let me just say while I believe the Apocalypse is upon us, I am hopeful he won't screw up too bad. But lets be real about it people, even if he does screw up, the good ol' Dem's will just blame Bush, so it won't matter anyway. That's comforting in a misogynistic way that this at least will never change.
We've also been thrown into a recession the likes of which haven't been seen since the Great Depression (Recession/Depression- coincidence, I think not!), followed by the Mother of all Bailouts to everyone from Fannie Mae and Mac to the auto companies. Everyone's hand has been in the US cookie jar, except those of us who really need, like me and my fellow po' folks.
Russia and Georgia (the country not the state) got into a pimp slapping contest to see who was really the greatest 3rd world country of Eurasia, and proceeded to bomb each other with shit that was pre-cold world. Nothing really came of it, but for a few hours I thought for sure we were about to watch another soviet meltdown.
On the personal front, I have migrated back across the Mississippi. That's right, I've moved back to my beloved city and State after a few years hanging out on the East coast. Although the ATL was a fun place to visit for some years, I just couldn't see myself living there so I left and came back to where everyone knows my name. While I do miss the friends I left on the other side, I must say that I wouldn't go back now, except to visit. When I would visit SA, I always drove by this spot on the lower lever of IH10 West in the downtown area where you pass near the Fiesta spices factory. It's always been comforting to drive past there and smell Chili powder. It's like a woobie for my soul, or some crap like that.
So now that I live here again, I feel more like myself, so that what I'm after right now. It's part of my WINTER OF WHITWELL. More on that the next post.

Doin' My Civic Duty

Today was jury duty day. I have been summoned to jury duty before, but usually I show up only to find out that the case is now dismissed, postponed, etc...all the while causing a huge pain in my ass due to having to get up early. In defense of the process, I had only been summoned in JP trials (that's the Justice of the Peace for those not cool enough to grow up in the sticks.) Today I got to go to state court and be apart of the magic that is our legal system. I must say that given that I live in the most backassward state, even I was amazed at how tight the system was here. I got my summons a month ago with instructions to call in to see if I was needed. That's a first. I called the day before and sure enough, I won the lottery. I must say that I was excited since this is the first time I had ever been chosen for anything. Ever. I took the train downtown and walked the 5 blocks through the ghetto to the court house (I see a future post on why our legal system is always housed in the worst part of town) to show up promptly at 8:15 so that I would have enough time to check in before court started. Once checked in and sporting my red and white juror badge so that all would know not to approach me as I was there on important state business, the waiting game began. They actually showed us a video in case anyone was all unsure as to what jury duty was and needed to know what they were doing there. So I waited for about 15 minuets until the faceless voice came on to tell us that we had a break until 9:15. How slow the wheels of justice move! About an hour later, my name was called and bingo, I was told to report to the court room. I must admit now that my name was called out of all those people, and there were a bunch, visions of Law and Order started going through my head. I thought it was just a matter of time before Jack McCoy came bursting through the courtroom doors giving a poignant and thought provoking closing argument. But alas, it was not to be as I was number 30 and they only took 2 through 15. So back to the waiting room I went for another hour until they called me again to tell me my duty was served. So not only do I get a full days pay from work for being a good citizen, but I also get a whopping $25 bucks from Fulton County, which I might add pays more than the State of California at only $7 a day. Yeah, it was in the video. I did enjoy my time as a juror and really want to do it again, but next time I want to go to trial and really see the action.

Where have I been?

I really hate it when I log onto my favorite site and see that the blogger has not written anything for a day or two, never mind 5 months. Yuck!! Even though I no one reads this blog except Abby, I still should be better about writing on it, especially if I ever want someone to read it!!

Fruit from a Crack Pipe

I remember the first time I heard of huffing. It was in an after school special on t.v. where kids were huffing paint and gas fumes. I thought they were pretty stupid to want to smell things that stunk like moldy ass. Turns out kids today like the smell of moldy ass. A little too much. Today, kids are taking huffing to a whole new level. The article above outlines new methods of getting high by taking human excrement and fermenting it until the methane levels in it build up enough to get you high. I love the street names that they came up with for this, my favorite being Fruit from a Crack Pipe, although butthash is pretty good too. One has to wonder how this came about. Who got so high and sat around in their own waste so long that the smell started to make them feel even higher? Then in the euphoric epiphany that followed decided it was good enough to try again and again. I do wonder which gets you higher, huffing your own waste or someone else's? If anyone wants to try this, please let me know what you think. Just don't get too close!

Hertiage-The Great Divider

I need to hop up onto my soapbox here for a moment and talk a little about the differences in race and ethnicity. I realize that most people seem to think the two are synonymous, but actually they are in fact, two different things. Let's just make sure we're all clear about this; there are only 3 known races in this whole wide world, Caucasoid, Negroid, and Mongoloid. Those are what they are called and there is no malice or disrespectfullness attached to those terms. In contrast there is an almost infinite number of ethnicity's out there, if you take into account all the combos, (enough put McDonald's and Wendy's to shame)!
Now that we have that straight, I would like to opine on why people not knowing the difference irritates me to no end. When I had a job requiring me to take down a person's racial data, White people always say White and Black people always say Black and Asians always say Asians. The only ones that ever had a problem with this are the Hispanics. This is not to be taken as a dis on the Hispanics since they're already getting it from both sides, but Homie Please! I don't really give a shit that you feel that being called White is an affront on your hertiage and want, nay demand, things broken down to your most basic region of the world. In my mind there is not much difference between being from Cuba and being from Brazil except the language. The same is true if you are from France as opposed to being from Sweden, i.e. you are still White. Hispanic is no more a race than being an asshole is, although they both probably have the same amount of numbers attached to their group! I just don't understand why some folks need to be so damn insistent on this point. We finally got Jewish people to stop refering to themselves as a collective people, a term they used for race, and to realize that religion does not equal what you are biologiacally. No, It Doesn't!
Along this same line, I also don't understand why on questionnaires there are all kinds of ethnic categories, but for White folks, there is only one choices. You can be American Indian, American Inuit, American Samoan, or African American but I can only be white. I can't even be American White, just plain ol' white. Now that I think about it, there are 2 White choices, but since I'm from English and Irish stock, I have to be White (not of Hispanic descent), that's how White I am. WTF!!! Sometimes, I'll write in my own category in "Other" as English, just so that they don't confuse me with any of those French M.F.'s.
If anyone can explain how on earth this is in any way PC, I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter, as I am at a complete loss for words.

What is up with Halloween Costumes?!?

It never ceases to amaze me how the older I get, the less I understand things. Take Halloween for example. When I was a child, I used to love getting all dressed up in the latest female super-hero costume, complete with crappy plastic face mask that was held together with a piece of string that broke 5 minuets into the walk around the neighborhood. I couldn't wait to be asked who I was, and explain why I had chosen to be Sheera, the Princess of Power this year, and of course, get candy. Now that I'm an adult, I hate getting dressed up for Halloween! It just seems ridiculous to spend $60.00 on a costume that has less material to it than the costumes I wore when I was 5, just so I can look like a tramp for one night out of the year without anyone thinking I'm one. I have tried not to dress up over the past few years, but whenever I don't I have to hear about it all night that I have no imagination and don't want to get into the spirit of the holiday. Okay people, this is a night for children. When was the last time you walked around your neighborhood dress like a Victoria's Secret Angel model for some candy? Or would you walk into Walmart dressed like a giant penis and feel totally comfortable buying eggs in an outfit like that, standing next to a coworker. If you can honestly say that you would feel totally okay doing that, then you are right, I have no imagination and I have no spirit of the holiday. If however, you would pause to run into Walmart in your naughty sailor's outfit, then I would recommend not wearing it to your local pub, lest the men inside think that you are willing to spit-polish their torpedos!

My First Post!! Yippie!!

Welcome to the first official posting of bloggin' down the 85. A blog dedicated to what ever strikes my fancy to write about, be it politics, religion, football, or the stupid and sweet. I doubt anyone will be reading this for a while, but I always welcome feedback and ideas of what to write on.