Susan Thatcher's Blog, page 6

Warning: Politics

No, I don’t like the current President and my gut feeling says he shouldn’t be on the job (Yes, I know what the results were. He doesn’t shut up about his 306 Electroral College votes). Back in 2001, HBO made a documentary showing how easy it is to hack a Diebold voting machine and the technology in the last sixteen years has improved. Just when you get better security, you get better hackers. Here’s a link:

Hacking Democracy

 

Look, I haven’t liked the GOP since Reagan, and the succeeding generations have mutated the party by trying to be more conservative than each other while appealing to the CHRINOs (Christians in Name Only. This would be Westboro Baptist, the Duggars, Focus on the Family, the Falwell empire, Pat Robertson, Kim Davis, Chik Fil A, Ted Cruz, and anyone who proposes intolerance hiding behind Christ’s robes. Keep your religion out of my government and we’ll get along just fine). Evangelical Christianity is a multi-billion dollar industry (Yes, it is, folks. TV shows, books, personal appearances, merchandise. It’s Star Wars with Jesus). I have seen commentary from people who are “called to spread the Good News” which gives them license to push it on the rest of us, but God forbid (Yes, I see it) proselytizing go the other way. I confronted someone online who thought it was okay to work on kids to convert them without the knowledge or permission of the parents, yet WOULD NOT TOLERATE someone Muslim, Jewish, or Hindu people to proselytize THEIR kids. And then they whine about being persecuted. ]

But I digress.

I am aghast that the current administration seems to have committed treason to win an election. I know there are a lot of dirty tricks and shortcuts taken in elections. However, this is first time a political party has actively colluded with an unfriendly foreign government to secure victory. GW Bush, President #43, said in 2001 of Vladimir Putin, “I looked the man in the eye. I found him very straightforward and trustworthy – I was able to get a sense of his soul.” I’m wondering now if Putin, who had been on the job a year by then, had started monkeying in American politics at that point. Were Bush, Cheney, Rove (who had been a Junior Varsity Dirty Trickster in the 1972 Nixon campaign, where Roger Stone, longtime friend and advisor to President #45, was the head of the Ratfuckers, the Dirty Tricks squad) taking payoffs from Russia? Bush and Cheney were oil men, Russia has a shit ton of the stuff and has been using that and their natural gas as a weapon (In 2006, Russia cut off natural gas supplied to Ukraine because the government was pro-Western and Putin is not). Sanctions were applied after the 2014 annexation of Crimea. Additional sanctions were applied at the end of 2016 due to evidence of Russian hacking of the DNC (and RNC, but they didn’t do anything with the info). There was to be a $500 billion deal between ExxonMobil and Russia to develop oil fields. The sanctions put the kibosh on that. Our Secretary of State who’s blowing off NATO? Former CEO of ExxonMobil. There is talk of a 19.5% stake in Rozneft, Russian state oil company being privatized, possibly given to Trump in exchange for lifting sanctions. People don’t fuck around with that kind of money on the line.

46 US attorneys were asking to resign, one was fired for not complying. Preet Bharara, US Attorney for the Southern District of New York.  He was working on a case against Deutsche Bank (to whom our current President owes $300 million through his businesses) for laundering money for the Russians.

And I suspect many of my fellow Americans brought this upon us because Trump was a guy they knew from TV and he talked in simple phrases, or they wanted an old white man as the head of the country, or they hated Hillary Clinton. Or, as one woman put it, “I always vote Republican and I hate Trump, but if he’s the jackass pulling the wagon, then I’m voting for a jackass.”

If he goes ahead with his agenda, the land of the free and the home of the brave will no longer exist because we surrendered our freedom to a dictator because we weren’t brave enough to say “No” to his apocalyptic vision of the world.

He has labeled the mainstream news outlets who report on his dirty deals (and who provided him with over $1 billion in FREE coverage by reporting on his every twitch and tweet) “fake news.” The New York Times and the Washington Post (for whom Woodward and Bernstein wrote. They’re the guys who took the Watergate iceberg tip that was a break-in at Democratic headquarters and showed the behemoth of corruption that was the Watergate cover-up) as “failing.” Their circulations have been rising since his election, hardly failing, but that doesn’t matter to him. If he can get us to distrust the mainstream media, we won’t know what is truth.  We do know that the January 21 marches were far better attended than his inauguration. We have proof. He denies it.

There is a Twitter account, Rogue_POTUS Staff. They’ve been providing accurate inside views of what’s going on at the White House. Right now, they’re saying that Trump is racing to consolidate his power before the Russian connections put him in prison. Getting rid of the US Attorneys (which puts Jeff Sessions. the US Attorney General, also a target of investigation, in charge of those offices) is a step towards that. The Chair of the House Intelligence Committee, Devin Nunes, has also been implicated. He’s the one who would chair hearings.

What can we do? Here:

 

Minority chair of the House Committee on Intelligence, Adam Schiff is asking the public to DEMAND the Trump/Russian ties hearing on MONDAY be OPEN TO THE PUBLIC.

Majority leader Nunes has decided it will now be CLOSED to the public and is also refusing to release information. Nunes has convincingly let us know protecting our democracy is NOT his top priority. Chair Nunes (202) 225-2523 BARRAGE Nunes with calls.

Since information will be discussed about the Trump Campaign’s ties to Russia, it is imperative that the American Public know first hand whether or not Trump and his associates committed treason.

1. Call or internet fax the Intel Committee’s Majority Staff: Ph: (202) 225-4121

Fax: (202) 225-1991

The script:

“This is X, calling from Y, It is completely outrageous, considering the shadiness that has already characterized the hearings regarding the administration’s Russian ties, that Chairman Nunes has closed them to the public.

Transparency has never been more critical to the legitimacy of our government than now. The public must hear this testimony. Reopen the hearings immediately.”

2. Then call your representative and deliver the same message DEMANDING they make a public statement:

“This is X, calling from Y. I just learned that Chairman Nunes has closed the hearings about the Administration’s Russian ties to the public. This is completely outrageous, particularly considering the underhandedness that has already come to light. I call on Rep. Z to make a public statement calling for the reopening of the hearings.”

The following are phone numbers of GOP members. Important to target them individually as well. ESPECIALLY NUNES

?Chair Devin Nunes -(202) 225-2523 (barrage his office)

As Americans, we have a Constitutional right to petition our government for redress of grievances. I suggest we exercise that right, find out what the hell happened, and proceed accordingly. This time, I’m not a pissed-off twelve year old who’s mad at Watergate and John Dean for ruining her summer soap opera watching. I’m an American citizen who’s pissed off at the Republicans for selling out her country.

 

Sorry, No Post

I got nuthin’. I have 2 ticketts for Book Obsessed Babes, Jacksonile, but that’s it.

Stuff

There will be an Imaginary Conversations, Part II, just not today. I am venturing into new territory with a racy/naughty/sexy short story with humor. I haven’t written a short story since Margaret Edwards’ Creative Writing class at UVM (Go, Cats, Go, except they got put up against Purdue in the first round of March Madness this year and were quickly gone. Basketball is a religion in Indiana. Whattayagonnado, ya know?) in 1981. Okay. 36 years between short stories (the two things I sold to Playgirl don’t count because they were short. Wicked short. And those were over a decade ago). That’s a lot of rust. Anyway, since I want this to be ready to offer as an e-book for Book Obsessed Babes (Jacksonville, FL April 8. I STILL HAVE 2 GENERAL ADMISSION TICKETS!!!!), I need to focus. This story won’t write itself – the computers haven’t gotten that smart. Yet.

Speaking of upcoming short story, just remember the names “Patti” and “Ed.” Okay? Patti and Ed. Trust me, they are very busy imaginary people. The word count right now is 3379. How many in the final? I don’t know; it will take as many words as it takes to tell the story. I will say things are getting interesting.

I know I’ve promised you Liz Gardner’s story before Ty came along, and “The Baldie Chronicles” is under construction (and has been for some time), but it’s been fighting me tooth and nail. That’s the way it is with creative things; sometimes you are so inspired that you can work on a project for days and weeks on end, like Jack Kerouac and “On the Road” (although there may have been some drugs involved to make that happen), or sometimes, the Muse abandons you in favor of less difficult company (I can be a pain in the ass, I really can) which you end up envying when THEIR book soars to the tops of the charts and gets a big fat movie deal while you sit at home in your yoga pants with the big run in the butt and envy oozing out every pore. (You know damned right well your book is miles better if only people would read it, but that would involve getting out of the yoga pants and it’s almost time for “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Drives” anyway. Not to mention you THINK you may win the next Spider Solitaire game). Listen to “Luck Be A Lady Tonight.” Inspiration is as fickle as Lady Luck.

Luck Be a Lady Tonight (Like you can do better than Ol’ Blue Eyes?)

And that’s giving me ideas for another short story.

Let me tell you, while I’m talking about myself, and if you’re a fellow author who writes erotic things, I’ve found myself visiting websites and looking up terms that would make my mother roll over in her grave (Not my great aunts, though. Ruth and Loretta were cool. Marion still is). The shit that turns people on….I don’t even need George Takei for the “Oh, myyyy.” I was concerned about getting the logistics right. Not so much. Anything goes.

And finally, I want to offer 2 (two) General Admission tickets to Book Obsessed Babes in Jacksonville, FL, April 8 at the Omni Hotel. Trust me, Sheer Bliss Events puts on a great event.

I have to go see what Patti and Ed are up to.

Imaginary Conversation, Part I

She sat down across the table from me. It was a nice day and Dunkin Donuts had a bunch of empty tables outside. Her face was stony, like she was about to be interrogated by a cop after getting caught speeding. Ashley took her privilege seriously and I was not among those allowed to to violate it.

“Ashley,” I said.

“Lou,” she grunted.

“So how have you been?” I asked. “Haven’t hear from you in ages.”

She sneered. “You’re just saying that because I blocked you on Facebook.”

“Yeah, you did, ” I said. “Right sisterly of you. Remember that the next time you and Dina are telling your friends how important family is to you.” She looked uncomfortable. She deserved to.

“What do you want, Lou?”

“Must I necessarily have an ulterior motive? Maybe I was in the area and thought it would be nice to talk to my own sister.” She snorted. “That’s right, Ash. I forgot. That’s your M.O. Yours and Dina’s. Only time I ever heard from either one of you, there was something you wanted.” She looked uncomfortable again. “Funny how Mom and Dad thought we were all so tight. Or should have been.”

“Fuck you,” she said. She sipped her coffee. I continued. “Well, I do have an ulterior motive this time. I want my pictures.”

“Your what?”

“My pictures from Mom and Dad’s. The ones of me. They were in the hall. That’s what I want. My memories.”

I don’t care much for pictures of myself, but they were ones I liked: my baby picture, graduations, a publicity still from my work, Dudley the cat in my arms. I was out of touch with my mother when she passed, partly due to Ashley. The Facebook block took place a long time ago.

She shrugged. “I don’t know where they are.” She didn’t look me in the eye.  That was a lie. When you’ve known someone her entire life, you know her body language. Ashley never looked anyone in the eye when she was lying. If she was trying hard to sell it, she’d touch the person she was talking to. It always amazed me how quickly her demeanor would change from talking to our parents or people she liked to talking to those she didn’t. The smile, the flirtatious air would melt away and be replaced by a scowl and curt tone. I let the lie go for the moment.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.,” I said. “I really wanted those pictures. I like so few.”

“Try not eating so much. That might help.” She smirked.

I resisted the urge to punch her in the face. There it was. The old game. Bored fiyr year old goes out of her way to provoke the ten year old until the ten year old reacts. Then four year runs to Mom complaining that the ten year was being mean. Then five years old, six, seven, until I left home for college.

I smiled a tight smile.

“You can’t run to Mom anymore, Ash Hole,” I said. “So you can stop.”

She glared at me. I wasn’t playing her game. “Okay, so if there’s nothing else,” she started to rise.

“Oh, there’s plenty,” I said. “Sit your ass down.” She did.

“I’m not the asshole,” she said. “You were never nice to me. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving.”

I laughed. “Keep telling yourself that. You know, when someone says ‘I am forgiving or kind or able to laugh at myself,’ that’s the biggest clue that they aren’t. You’re so ‘forgiving’,” I emphasized the word, “that there were people at your wedding who didn’t know  you had a sister besides Dina.”

She looked startled. “Yeah,’ I said. “I know. You want the names?”

Ashley’s face flushed. She opened her mouth and closed it again. “I know,” I said. ‘There’s not a damned thing you can say about that.”

“While we’re on the subject of invitations and events, I noticed when I wasn’t invited to your thirtieth birthday party…”

“You were studying,” she said. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.” She wasn’t making eye contact. A lie, but I’d known for years it was a lie.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” I answered. I looked her straight in the eye. “Were you really good at hiding your hatred from Mom and Dad or they just didn’t care? Seems like they were always willing to go on vacation with you and Dina. Me, not so much.”

She shrugged. “I can’t help it if they liked me better.”

“Right,” I said, “despite Mom saying over and over again how she loved her children all the same, somehow you’ve come to the conclusion that she liked you better than any of us for no reason. Had nothing to do with you bullying us and then running to tell.” She glared at me. “Nah. Making us look bad and you the perpetual victim. No wonder you vote Republican. ”

I leaned towards her. “You know why I eat?” She shook her head. “Because I don’t do drugs and there are enough alcoholics in the family. Dina may not have as much weight, but boy, does she like her wine. Think the fact that two of you have been competing for ‘Best Daughter’ for over forty years has something to do with it? How’s that going now that Mom and Dad are dead?”

“Fuck you,” she said again. “You’re just jealous and bitter.”

“Jealous of what?’ I asked.

“Me. Everything. You’re fat. I’m not. You’re single and alone. I’m marred with kids. You’re a failure. I’m not. You’re just jealous.” She was looking me straight in the face.

I leaned back. “Actually, I’ve done a bunch of stuff with my life that would count as ‘bucket list’ if I had one. I’m not married because I’ve been surrounded by a bunch of examples of people who fought each other for control, who turned their self-loathing into ways to torment others, who found new and different ways to use the people around them in the name of family and make a big show of it  and were MIA when called upon, unless Dad was watching. Or could be told. As for no kids, you are the reason I don’t like children.”

“What?”

“You were petted and praised for bratty behavior. You had a potty mouth almost as soon as you could speak and Mom encouraged it by laughing and repeating it as ‘isn’t she cute?’ Dina and Joe would laugh when you said rude things, especially when you said them to me. If I fought back,  I ‘didn’t have a sense of humor’ or ‘don’t react. You’re older than she is. Act like it’ or ‘don’t ignore your sister. You two should be friends.’ I was forced into babysitting you, bathing with you, giving up my room because you wanted it, doing the household chores you didn’t want to to do, and you wonder why I don’t care for you very much.”

“Well you weren’t very nice to me, either.” Ashley was defiant. “You told me to go fuck myself.”

“You never gave me a moment’s peace,” I said. “I get a flood of bad memories when I smell baby powder. Or vanilla,  because you’d throw a tantrum if you didn’t get vanilla ice cream.”

“Poor you,” she said, “You suffered because you had to help care for your baby sister. So you weren’t the baby anymore. Boo fucking hoo.”

I took a breath. “You weren’t my child. I missed Drama Club rehearsals and parties because I had to watch you. You weren’t my child, but I had to give up my personal space, my time because of you. And as for being the baby, given the level of self-absorption you have, maybe I dodged a bullet.”

 

to be continued…

 

 

 

 

March 13, 2017

 I don’t have anything especially interesting or profound to say tonight (except that I still have tickets for Book Obsessed Babes on April 8 in Jacksonville, FL and For Love of Books and Florida in Sarasota on July 15).

On the “So are you actually writing?” front, I have written 2708 words on a short story that is funny and sexy. I want to have that ready for the author signings this year. And perhaps write a couple more short stories, the idea being an eventual bound collection.

I moved last November from North Florida to South Florida to be closer to friends. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. My life had been solitary and isolated up to that point: mostly living on my own or among people who weren’t all that friendly when the chips were down, at a distance from the office where I was working (when I was working) or, in the case of test driving, spending 8 hours driving 300 miles around Los Angeles, Orange, and San Bernardino counties then going home to a house sit. The center of my group of friends was 20 some miles away in the San Fernando Valley. I discussed this with a friend (who is 1800 miles from me): the scariest thought was that if I had decided to end my life, I would succeed because there would be no one around to stop me except myself. Yeah. Unsettling.

 I’m not trying to be the most popular person (and I am who I am. I bite my tongue a lot, but still…) and I know there are people who I like a lot and respect to the utmost who think I’m a loudmouth and a fool and tolerate me, rather than enjoy my company. That’s okay. I still like and respect them. I know that my words are better received than myself. That’s cool (buy my books. Trust me, you’ll love them). I do not suffer fools well. Nevertheless, I need human contact.

Since my move, I am part of a group of 7 people who get together on Saturday nights for dinner and some of us go for a walk at night at the local park. It’s wonderful.

I’ve reconnected with a friend from 25 years ago and she is still as warm and wonderful as she was then. My friend, Catalina Egan, known to you bookworms as M.C.V. Egan, is close enough that we can get together and do stuff. Author stuff, metaphysical stuff, just plain stuff. It’s excellent.

My soul, which had been withering a bit, is blossoming. I am grateful to be in this location, in this circle, in this situation. I am at peace in my life. And that’s where we all should go.

Peace and love and all that jazz

Somebody: free tickets! C’mon!

Ya Gotta Roll With the Punches

First off, I found this in the spam comments:

“Hi, I think your blog might be having browser compatibility

issues. When I look at your website in Safari, it looks fine but when opening

in Internet Explorer, it has some overlapping.”

Simple solution: join the 21st century and ditch Internet Explorer.

I’ve had some interesting days this week, including yesterday. Especially yesterday. I attended a presentation by the Women’s National Book Association (WNBA. No skills with hoops required. I have none). I get home, it’s late (10 PM. My day starts early), I’m getting ready for bed and Facebook Messenger pops up.

“Are you ready?”

For…?

Turns out, I’d forgotten that I had a slot in the For Love of Books and Florida 2017 author takeover and my turn was up in 3 minutes. Trust me: you’ve never seen a middle-aged fat woman move faster.

Thank God for modern technology. I did the whole half-hour in my jammies and nobody knew until now.

 

Anyway, that’s the story. I still have general admission tickets for Book Obsessed Babes (Jacksonville) on April 8 and For Love of Books and Florida (Sarasota) on July 15. Hit me up.

 

Free Beer!

Nah. But…

On the off chance that one of the twelve people who read this is in the Jacksonville, FL area, I have 2 general admission tickets to give away for Book Obsessed Babes at the Omni (which is a woo -hoo hotel) on April 8, 2017. Taira Wilds and Sheer Bliss Events put on an excellent show/event/happening. Seriously, if you’re a reader,  I can get you in the door. Comment if you’re interested.

Book Obsessed Babes 2017 Link

I also have 2 tickets (General Admission) to give away for The Love of Books and Alcohol in Sarasota on July 15, 2017 at the Ritz (I shouldn’t need to say, another woo-hoo hotel). Comment if you’re interested.

For the Love of Books and Alcohol 2017 Link

 

Mess Not With Authors

You know, I believe in peace and love, be the change you want to see in the world, what goes around comes back around times three, if someone bothers you, just wish them good luck so that they’ll be too distracted by it to bother you, I’m learning to meditate, I have an impressive collection of gemstone Buddhas, you get the idea.

Peace and love and all that jazz

There are times, however, when all that goes by the wayside and what I want to really do would get me three hots and a cot for years if not the rest of my natural life.

These times are generally tied to someone deciding they need to fuck up my life.

Case in point: Old man neighbor. I leave him alone. However, he tries to block the path when I’m returning from walking my cousin’s dogs (the Assistant and the Intern). Cousin does not want him messing with the dogs, I don’t want to waste time because I generally must get back to work and don’t have time to indulge him. He will try to distract them while I have them out doing their business by whistling. The Intern must have a form of doggy ADD because it’s hard to keep her focused on peeing and pooping unless she really has to go. She is his target because she is extremely cute. “Oh, the little perro.” And he will block the sidewalk when I try to return. I have taken to cutting across the grass. He has “chased” me to the door because I evaded him. He doesn’t like that. I almost threw a bag of poop at him. That I had picked up (the Intern’s).

Now he’s told the management company that I don’t pick up poop. It’s a lie. Just because I won’t let him do what he wants. So either he blocks the path or traps me at the front door while I’m trying to get animals inside. This is a tort called “false imprisonment.”

It’s also sexism.

I’ve had dealings before with cranky old men who don’t like my non-submissive attitude. You’re not paying my bills, you’re not running my life.

Now I have to deal with another old fart who’s decided to be an asshole because I don’t obey him.

And here’s where the meditation comes in. And visualization.

I am not seeing myself pounding on his door and verbally tearing him a new one. I am not seeing myself gently applying a baseball bat to his head.

Well, I can. Legally.

I’m an author. I can write his nasty old bossy ass into a story and kill it, beat it, berate it, anything I want.

You are warned

Never screw with an author.

And he hates my Patriots

Spam Spam Spam Spam

With a blog, you get comments. Actually, ANYTHING you do on the Internet is bound to get comments these days. Inevitably, they include spam.

Monty Python Spam

No, not the fund kind of spam. I’m talking computer-generated “what the hell does this mean” kind of spam. As such, I dedicate tonight’s post to a cross-section of what has to be cleaned out weekly:

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(I can probably write better stuff. And spell it correctly).

What a pleasant YouTube video it is! Remarkable, I loved it, and I am sharing this YouTube record with all my friends.

(Dude, this isn’t Youtube)

 

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(What, exactly are you saying?)

I am cheap Charles Clay jerseys supplier online,

(Sounds like an identity crisis)

I just could not go away your site prior to suggesting that I really loved the usual information a person provide to your visitors? Is gonna be back incessantly in order to check up on new posts

(Maybe let’s cut back the caffeine, shall we?)

The root logs me, I get news

(Ernest Hemingway, is that you?)

Home Depot Garden Hoses

(No explanation needed)

I see your page needs some unique content. Writing manually is time consuming,

but there is solution for this.

(Ain’t it the truth)

And finally, my all-time favorite, see it’s most often:

 

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Taking on a Life of Their Own

I’m writing again and not just this blog and tweets hurled at the current occupant of the White House (Secret Service hasn’t been by to visit). In order to have new material, I have to sit down and actually create it (no chip in my head to translate to the Internet for your viewing pleasure. It’s a crazy, scary, jumbled mess up there anyway with calculations, mortgage guidelines, cat videos/memes/memories, and visualization of myself with the winning Powerball ticket. And stories, fragments, and “what ifs.” If my brain was a TV show, it would be an episode of “Hoarders” subtitled “The Craziest Pile of Shit We’ve Found Yet.”)

Looks about right

But I digress.

So, I’ve started work on a short story (whopping 802 words over 3 nights. Woo). I start out with pen and notebook (leopard print) writing narrative. It’s like jump-starting a standard transmission; hold in the clutch, get your friends to push it, when you get to around 10 MPH, pop it in first. My throwing it into first is moving the words from ink and paper to pixels on a screen.

And, that’s where the craziness happens.

Ask any author (and any author who reads this blog is invited to comment): At some point, your characters stop obeying your wishes and start doing things on their own. For instance, my current story (it’s a short story, so if I post spoilers, there won’t be anything left for you to read). I had an idea for what I wanted Patti and Ed to do. Their own words started coming out of their mouths. And then they started moving and doing “stuff” faster than I could keep up.

Time to turn off the motor, i.e., go back to the pen and paper to take notes.  (Please note: that is the proper use of i.e. Merriam-Webster wouldn’t lie)

This is really my notebook

So, I started scribbling. (I’m afraid to try to read my own handwriting) Dialogue fragments, questions to myself about the direction, various storylines (my initial one wasn’t necessarily going to remain). I almost wish I smoked (Never have). Just seems like a cigarette would be a useful prop for thinking. Cross-outs, margin notes, more questions…

All because two imaginary people decided to take on a life of their own.

My goal is to have this story complete (edited, printed, bound) in time for Book Obsessed Babes 2017 in Jacksonville on April 8 (Should my local friends read this, bring back a bagel and coffee from Einstein’s for me on Sunday, please).

After I finish writing this post, finding amusing photos to insert (or half naked men. They can be amusing, too), I will see where Patti and Ed lead me.

Half naked