There are quite a few Blog posts that I have started but, for various reasons, have never finished. This is a Free Write Blog, meaning I write down my thoughts and, with few exceptions, post as is. There is no editing. (Although I can think of a few I’d like to go back and edit.)
Here are some I don’t see going anywhere:
All the Harry Potter I could Find – Imgur
Scott Weiland: Not Dead and Not for Sale
AMONG MY GREAT LOVES is that category of substances called heroin. Narcotic alkaloids. Derivatives of opium. I describe this stuff lovingly. I do so at the risk of high irrespon-sibility. It is not my intention to mislead anyone looking to live a righteous life. God knows that the shit will kill you, in-side and out, soul to the bone. At the same time, I am com-mitted to an honest assessment of the wreckage of my past. I loved opiates; I hated opiates; I am attracted to opiates per-haps the way John Keats was attracted to death.
— Scott Weiland
Read more: https://www.scribd.com/book/224353376
I started this book a couple of months before Scott died. I didn’t finish it and now it’s too close.
No, I didn’t personally know him. I was a fan of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver. When he went on Howard Stern in the early 90’s, and claimed he was “clean”, I ditched the idea I’d had to bring him some “help” (even tho I was sure he had dealers all over). He was arrested that day for trying to buy drugs near where I lived. Oops.
The day after that, I took a plane to visit an ex in L.A. I was rather “sick” at the time, and when getting off the plane six hours later, kept my head down. There was a rather nice rear- end in front of me and I was staring so hard that when he stopped walking, we collided. It was Scott and he’d forgotten his hat on the plane. As I found my friend and we were leaving the airport, Scott and a woman I later found out was his wife, were heading for the same exit. His wife kept giving me the stink-eye which was odd as Scott’s mind was only on drugs. In fact, on their drive home he asked her to take him to his dealers and when she refused he opened the car door and, apparently, left the moving car. He found a payphone (this was before cell phones) and his dealer picked him up. I read about the incident in the papers.
And when he died a few weeks ago, I read about it online. I’d stopped listening to his new stuff as it was hard to look at him — the drugs had done some horrible things to a once decent looking guy but, more than that, his singing seemed… dead. Flat. Listen to the first STP album and the material from the last couple of years. What a waste. I hope he found in death what he was looking for in life.
Transgender teen Taylor Alesana kills herself after bullying at California school | Daily Mail Online
Possibly not the smartest thing to post but this was after my son’s dad snapped my spine and crippled me — in front if our son. At the end of the video my son’s fad took, as I’m lying unconscious on the floor, my six year old son is standing between us, trying to protect his mom from his dad. My son is screaming at his dad, “I hate you! I never want to see you again!” My son had been saying it for years, since he started talking, and now it was on video.
Did the judge take away his visitation? Make him go back to supervised visits?
The judge decided that, instead of picking up my, er, our son from our home at 6pm he would now pick our son up from school at 2:30pm. In other words, my son’s dad got an extra three and a half hours added to his visits.
How can you tell if someone is a vegan?
They’ll tell you.
As an ovo-lacto vegetarian who has no problem with others eating meat– children especially need the proteins found in meat or need supplemental vitamins; basically, if you like it, eat it. For all I know, G-d is a giant piece of brocolli who is not happy with my eating so much of the stuff. But I am constantly amazed by how defensively meat eaters become when I say I’m a vegetarian. I’ll explain that it’s vegans who like to preach about others not eating meat; I’ll continue with how, since such a small percentage of vegans stay began for long periods of time, it is probably a case of “misery loves company”. (No, this has yet to elicit more than a mild chuckle and that from a former vegan digging into his rare steak.) Yet I’ve had people try to debate my stance. I’ve even had meat thrown at me.
What is it about my decision not to eat meat that makes meat eaters so uncomfortable? They should be happy — more meat for them! Yay! Right?
Review: “The Heroin Diaries” & “This Is Gonna Hurt”, by Nikki Sixx
I started this months ago as I read the books. I was a huge Mötley Crüe fan in the early days. I loved their first four albums. I used to write “Home Sweet Home” on my upper arm in pen, touching it up after every shower. When I was listed in the pen pal section of a metal magazine (note: people used to handwritten letters, place them in envelopes, and use what is now referred to as, “snail mail”, because *gasp* email did not exist yet *double gasp*.), I named, “Mötley Crüe, Bon Jovi, Poison, Cinderella” as my top favorite bands. (It was the mid 80’s.).
My favorite pen pal, C.C., and I would debate which if us Nikki would go for. We were 12. When the news came out about Nikki dating Vanity, C.C. was in heaven because it meant he was into black girls.
I remember hearing about Nikki being an addict, but it wasn’t until I was pregnant, bedridden, and reading Mötley Crüe’s book that I began to get some idea of what a serious addict he was. “The Heroin Diaries” puts Nikki’s various addictions out there for all to see. As a former “functional” addict myself, I do question whether the book was written when he says it was or afterwards. My only diary entry from that time (and I had kept a diary since I first learned how to write) was an apology and many promises to “my Goddess Heroin” for thinking I could go a day without her– the result being that when I did sniff my evening bag I wound up curled around my garbage can / (puke) bucket, throwing up and crying. The life of an addict is hard, even when you have the money to support said habit(s).
“This is Gonna Hurt” shows the more artistic side of a (mostly) sober Nikki. We see his photography and read some poetry.
Overall, I would only recommend these books to a Crüe or Sixx fan. “The Heroin Diaries” isn’t something you can give to an addict and hope it will set them straight. It shows the life of someone who never had to beg, borrow, ir steal to get his next fix, someone who had reasons to get and stay sober — namely, his music and the fact that his band was making money. Most musicians are not in that situation.
Her love is like a swimming pool
Winter comes and it’s no use to you
Her love is like a suicide
Lose your faith and it takes your life
Her love is like a merry-go-round
Spins you in circles then it knocks you down
Her love is like cheap alcohol
Morning comes and you don’t remember at all
Her love is like a Cheshire cat
At first so friendly but at you it laughs
Her love is like a passionate kiss
At first so sweet then it takes your breath
Her love is like the stars above
Your guiding light always leaves you lost
Her love is like Jesus Christ
No matter how much faith
You still die on the cross
by Nikki Sixx
Read more: https://www.scribd.com/book/225089270
“They say a dog is the first one to smell his own shit. I think a drug addict is the last.”
Read more: https://www.scribd.com/book/225089270
Learning Russian For My Soviet Neighbord
My great-grandfather, Jacob (American vetsion) is from Brest-Litovsk, Russia. His mother, feeling she would lose him to the Tsar’s army, urged him to go to America. He took a boat and wound up in London where he learned how to cut hair and shave in a barber shop. One day, he nicked a man’s ear and, fearing for his life but not knowing much English, stowed away on the first boat to North America. He wound up in Canada and made his way down to the United States. He was unusually tall for his age and, once in Cincinnati, Ohio (proving my sense of direction comes from my mother’s side), was able to get a job in a barber shop. He married, opened his own barber shop, became president of the Cincinnati Republican Club, and worked daily (except for the Jewish holidays) until he died in his mid-50’s, father of 13 children who made it to age 18.
My paternal grandmother was number 12 of these children, and today, at 88, still has the same work ethic.
I was always proud of my Russian heritage and when I moved to my current neighborhood, was excited that it was filling up with Russians.
I live in a 6 story building which is, at a guess, 90% Soviet.
Notice I don’t say, “Russian”.
What’s the difference, at least in my mind?
Russians work, if they can.
Soviets avoid work like the plague.
Russians are nice and, although there legally isn’t an “official” language in the U.S. (and I’ve read that by 2025 more people will be speaking Spanish as a first language but that’s another story), make an effort to learn the basics of English: please, thank you, excuse me.
Soviets don’t do this. In fact, they’ll press the “door close” on the elevator and slam the door in your face. I’ve had to learn the basics of Russian and even then I’ll usually only get a grunt — as if I’m the typical American tourist who has gone to their country and expected them to speak my language!
My first experience in this neighborhood was at the grocery store. I was behind a Soviet woman bathed in perfume (this is common. Perfume is not supposed to be like a punch in the face, and too much can male the most expensive perfume smell cheap.), wearing a fur coat, draped in gold and jewels, rudely directing a worker to put the bags into her new Mercedes. She opened her wallet to pay and I saw a few hundred dollar bills. She dipped her newly manicured fingers into a pocket and pulled out a food stamp card. I was shocked but I’ve since learned it is quite common.
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