9/12/16

I still think a lot about 9/11, the  day that changed the world.     Some would say evil showed its ugly face on that day in the form of four hijacked 757s;.  less patriotic types might say America had it coming, especially on her own soil.  Others don’t care–it didn’t happen to them personally and still others mourn the loss of humanity.

Fifteen years has flown by.  Since that time, so many people have been born, so many have died.    What happened on 9/11 to some kids born since then might have the same affect on them as the anniversary of Lincoln’s assassination has  on my generation.   It happened at Ford’s Theater, I know…in April, I think.

I was four when John Kennedy was killed.    I didn’t exactly understand the politics involved or the motives, but I knew a bad man didn’t like him enough to kill him and didn’t care how Caroline or John John  felt about it.    That’s how I saw it, I related to my fellow children.    That’s how my  four year old mind grasped that November day.

Fifty-three years later and I’m not sure I understand anything better than I did back in 1963 or in 2001.    It was hate that bought the planes down, three took buildings with it.  It was hate that killed JFK and hate that killed that black kid or that white kid or that murdered Asian doctor, the Palestinian college student or the Jewish merchant who’d been stabbed in the streets of Jerusalem..     Hell, if you want to be specific, hate even killed Osama bin Laden.

Or does it make a difference because ‘we’ hated bin Laden; united by a very strong emotion?

Well, September 11th, the marine barracks bombing in Lebanon, the USS Cole all happened because somebody hated Western ideals.   Were we attacked by the same united hatred , but in this case, it was hatred for us   For America.

I could recall terroristic tragedies that happened even longer ago, but admittedly, things get a little hazy after anything relative to Archduke Ferdinand’s murder.

I had a thought recently….the kind that would enter our gray matter after smoking some great weed.   What if God as we know it was really this massive alien or aliens and we were all put here for their amusement like Ceasar, the lions, and  the Christians in the colosseum????.    Violence being more sport than horror.

Sun Tzu (I think) believed that everything comes down to war. It’s the basic organizing factor of every society.   Well yeah, how can you know peace without knowing war?   Just think about it, somewhere at any given time on this planet, there are warring factors.     From an organized militia,  to ragtag guerrillas fighting in rain forests to football rivals facing each other every weekend in the fall.  Defense.  Offense.  Its the strategy of everything.

Is life just one big power play?

It feels like it is sometimes.     Who has the gold?    Who’s the king of the mountain?.   You hear stories about Wall Street tycoons or the star makers in  Hollywood who get the biggest thrills of their lives simply by fucking someone over a deal.

And don’t get me started on free will.    I think about the passengers on board the hijacked planes or the people who went to work at the Pentagon or either WTC tower that Tuesday morning.   They didn’t believe they’d  wake up that morning to die.    But 19 radical America hating Muslim zealots had different plans for them.    And then on United Flight 93, The Free Will of Man that existed on that plane became a tug of war.  Everyone on  board knew they were going to die and like the jumpers on the burning floors of the towers,  they received the ultimate Sophie’s Choice—-they got to chose how they’d die.  Again, I shake my head.

I don’t know.   I’m told that to try to understand God is feeble.   We’re not meant to understand God.   Well frankly, that sounds just a little too convenient for me.  Tolerance is more relevant than love and I can’t and won’t judge who or what you believe.  we must tolerate each others others different beliefs and yrs, even our doubts.    I know this;  a power far bigger than me exists, I’ve felt it; I’ve seen it in action minus the angelic choir in the background  and while I’d admit an existence, exactly how and why this entity operates as it does confuses the hell out of me.

 

 

 

9/11:  Fifteen Years Later

The phone rang in my Houston home that morning, a few minutes before 8:00.  A friend mine called about some journalistic so tasks on my nerves”to do”list.     I have to sleep,with s TV or radio on because after years of wearing headphones or an IFB decide in your ear for decades, that annoying high located tinnitus  is usually th end result.    Usually it’s just  a par of blihering idiots talking about then zoo’s newest baby momkey or that it’s Jello’s 75th birthday and there are an unimaginable number of deserts or salads you can make.

But not thatbmorning…..

The screen showed one of the  world trade centers on for with smoke billowing from it.      “Am accident”‘ they said.     ??”A small committee airplane hit the building”, they said.  “But how?”, they’d ask.  “Tuesday morning, 9/11 didn’t have a cloud in the sky.”

“Osama bin Laden”‘ I said.

I  wasn’t an expert on the man and west hating  minions,      I had been a political talk show host that summer and  bin Laden’s name was mentioned everyday as was his hate for the west.      He said as far as the  US was considered, he’d make no distinction between an Americsans’ gender, or age, or whether they wore uniform or not.     It would be a war, but fought half a world away.

To some in Washington, this was saber rattling.     Osama’s war affort were a ragtag bunch of men, mostly from the Provences, armed with what they could scrounge through the remnants  weapons used during the Afghan/Ruseian war fought a few years earlier.     But what modes of war alQaeda had in post war -Afganistan changed:    bin Laden’s millions and the wicked creativity of Khalid Sheikh Mohammmed.    It was the portly sheik’s idea to use America’ smug vulnerability against her.     Use four Boeing 767s scheduled for transcontinental flight……that meant full fuel tanks….. And use them as bombs ahainst buildings vital to our economy and security.   

It was easy enough to find 19 matyrs willing to be fed grapes by 72 virgins just to learn to fly a plane and serve as muscle hijackers,    Thy moved here, assimilated to look and appear western and a a select few were chosen to take flying classes.      Some indicated they only wanted to learn to fly and plane, not land or takeoff.     This was a red flag.     A few of the hijackers here learn to kill  Americans  had overstayed their visas.   Another reed flag.  And there were other matters that could create more red flags then outside the Kremlin.
But if the FBI knew any of this., it wasn’t talking.   If the CIA knew something, it kept quiet, as did the NSA.      Information wasn’t shared and oh how things might have been different had they just done their jobs.  Why didn’t they shared info?      The reasonnsppearsbrombe a petty as each organization arrogantly refused to  what each knee as if all infor was proprietary.

But these are just a few facts that lead up to 9/11,   What happened afterwards is just as intriguing.   

I wrote  this piece on 9/11 several years ago prior to the completion of the new One World Trade Center.   It’s long  and exhausting but is a very complet, heartbreaking  and sad.

Please copy and paste this address:   lauriekendrick.wordpress.com/2013/09/11/sixteen-hallowed-acres- 91113/

Things I Don’t Like

Technically,   ex-boyfriends would take the  top five….count’em….top five spots,  but I want to talk specifically about the sights, sounds, smells, and physical sensations  we have as humans that illicit a very unpleasant visceral response   Though some things people do (( or don’t do) will undoubtedly make the list as well.

Some, I’ve had since chilfdood, others I’ve just recently discovered I had.

  1.  I hate the feeling of having my nails filed.    i Ivan  file them myself with a mild case of repulsion.     But a file in the hand of soneome else’s on my nails and I’m reaching for  a Xanax.
  2. I hate lying on a corduroy pillow and hearing  movement on the other side..   It could be something  as innocent as a slight move as mybarm underneath the pillow but when the sound is scratching, I go crazy.    Hearing this  will elicit screams of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre variety.
  3. People who chew and talk with their mouths full of food.
  4. People who who cut their meat  with their with their fist fully wrapped around the knife handle and held straight up..     So interesting.   I’d love to meet the wombats who raised the people.
  5.  Using a toothpick after eating a meal, then making this insipid sucking sound made when when the toothpick finally dislodged pay dirt.
  6. Dirty fingernails.    Males, females  infants, I’m not picky.
  7.  Lines of makeup foundation along the jaw line.   Blend, people…..blend!!
  8. Poor grammar…..”He ain’t got no money…”lHe done took it with him”.      “They’s coming for vittel’s at 8′
  9. Eyebrows plucked to 1/16 of an inch.      What’s that all about?
  10. People who don’t say please or thank for even the smallest kindnesses
  11. Fanny packs.  Lots of people don’t like these things,  handy and convenient as they might be.   Wearing one could be fatal.
  12. A dead tooth.   The gray ones.    You can’t help but stare at it.    If money is an issue, I’d glue a big white Chicklet to the offending tooth if I fad to.
  13. Visible earwax in an ear.
  14. Sneezes that stink.   Someone people don’t cover their faces when sneezing and your forced to smell their pulmonary innards.  Not pleasant.
  15. Clumps of irregular holes….such as in a lotus pod.     Tt actually has a name called Trypophobia.   It actually prompts a visceral response.   Here’s an example if I can find the strength to look one up and post it.

ICKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!

Now, I far from perfect and Ive got more flaws than I can count.  I just felt like sharing some things  that bother me, get me…ot freak me out.

I know someone who breaks  into tears at the  mere picture of a clown.   One good friend recently told me she has a phoba of the pointed ends of fingernail scissors.  Regular sized scissors  are no problem, just fingernail scissors.   She  couldn’t explain it.   Very people can.

I would imagine few could offer any explanations because most phobias are considered to be completely irrational..   Some in the psychiatric community have mixed feelings about their legitimacy, but Ive read read recently  that more and more shrinks aren’t poo-pooing phobias it as they once did.    A fear has to begin somewhere, even the most illogical, irrational ones.

So,if you would, please feel to share some of your phobias,,netbooks or betanoirs.     I’m fascinated by the odd little things that cause so much mental and physical discomfort.

Thanks,

Laurie

 

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An Editorial

I have suddenly grown tired of the term millennial. It’s as overused as the Kardashian’s love of the word “like”. I loathed  the terms Generations X and Y and never liked Baby Boomer

imageI was born in 1959, which places me at the end of boomerdom. I had no war to protest, burnt bras had stopped smoldering. Disco reared its ugly head.  There.was inflation but I wasn’t a real consumer in my teens.  You could be have been referencing putting air in a volleyball, for all I knew.    If it didn’t affect my pubescent world.  Then in 1977, I took a nap and when I woke up, it was 2016.

And I woke up to thevrealization that I had become irrelevant.

The business world of goods and services must appease the millennials. If you’re 32 and older, you don’t matter, because by that time you know you like Coors and Oreos and Ford Sedans. You’ve lived long enough to establish your tastes, likes, dislikes and brand loyaltIes. Doesn’t matter that a millennial is just starting out and broke. Consequently,it doesn’t matter if you’re 60 and worth two million.. The millennials are determining what they like and don’t like…..from gum to politics.   They try different things on their way to becoming part of ye olde establishment.

Advertisers, media buyers, etc, love this.  They focus almost myopically on this consumer sojourn of millennials.   But in ten years, it’ll be a whole new crop of young consumers who’ll have a moniker….I’m hoping it’ll be something as simple as consumers.

Youth.   I remember it well.   I was 20 once myself, with a killer metabolism—like a blast furnace, I tell ya.  I could take a One A Day vitamin with iron and fart nails 20 minutes later. But time marches on. And it starts marching faster every day.

So enjoy it all you, young,cool, hipsters: Revel in your taught skin and lovely full manes of hair, because I have news for you—- hot flashes, arthritis, sagging, never ending foreheads and erectile dysfunction are in your future, along with sweating in places you never knew had sweat glands. Don’t even get me started on the smells!! But yes, it’s true…it all lies in wait.    Aging isn’t  for the weak.  And you’ll be amazed at what no longer matters and suddenly, what does.

Trust me, its tough being hip when yours is made of titanium

Read This, Kids

salute

Happy birthday, America!!

My goodness, the struggles you’ve endured. Centuries ago, settlers came from Englamd (and other places) came here seeking religious freedom. Instead, they found famine and illness and hostile indigenous people. Death was often the end result. Yet, they still came seeking a better life. Harsh winters tried to discourage them, new illnesses for which there were no cures. Skirmishes with the natives couldn’t bridle their enthusiasm, to leave bad behind and seek out something new, and hopefully better. And then after years, we finally got it right, somehow they all learned to live together. We shared with each other our knowledge of agriculture, weaponry from an industrialized mother country and other of doing things. We taught each other. But Mother England wasn’t happy. She didnt want to let go of her subjects. They wanted independence, England wanted their taxes, with no one to represent them in Parliament. Unfair, raw deal!!, thought our founding fathers.

So, His majesty sent over fabulously dressed redcoats armed to the teeth. Impressive looking indeed, but they didn’t know the lay of the land. And the American troops, little scrappy bastards soundly defeated the British Army. Then, a whole bunch of white guys met in what had to be one damned hot hall Philadelphia to pen The Declaration of Independence. We severed ties with Britania and the United States of America was born

Independence. Our own perfectly imperfect Union.

That said, are we a perfect country? Oh hell no. Never have been, never will be. We’ve got a lot scars and reasons to cringe and blush. Antebellum slavery. the Civil War, The indentured servitude of Irish and Italian immigrants up north. Yankees, your hands are not so clean either. The way native Americans have been treated. Treaty after treaty broken. The KKK. The Black Panthers. Hate groups hell bent on keeping others groups down! by violent means, not by acting exemplary. Hate is ignorance.
But in spite of her faults, the poverty, the murder rate, the prejudice, certain inequities, the failure in certain situations regarding education, the misogyny and that damned glass ceiling for women. All downers, right? But the hard core truth is, I just wrote what I wrote freely and as a result, I don’t fear some armed hoodlums grabbing me off the street and shoving me into a delapidated VW van built during the Nixon administration and I’ll never be heard from again.

I can drive a car, I can choose to have a baby or not. I can marry or not. I can get a job, adopt a child, own my home, vote for the candidate of my choice though this election year gives us horrible options. I can dress how I choose and I can live as choose as long as I adhere to the laws of this land. And that means worshipping as I see fit— or not worshipping at all. We’re free to be straight, gay, bi, transgendered, fat, thin, shy, gregarious, outrageous, sedate. Socialists, Democrats ,Log Cabin Republicans, Independents. Jewish, Mormons,  B’ahi….anything we want.

We come from everywhere and we bring our lifestyles with us but once here, we become Americnas. Preface it if you must by revelling in your Lithuanian heritage, but treasure your status as American.

So, please, pray for your country….my country on this, her 240th birthday. Yeah, she’s been through hell, and yes, she’s done her share of hell raising, but she is a wonderful place. In spite of it all, she IS a truly wonderful place.

And listen to this week’s Supernatural Saturday Night from 8-10pm (CST) on RadioBrave.com and  TuneIn.com. We’ll feature the absolutely amazing , mind boggling Carrie Carter, an angel expert and Psychic Extraordinaire.

Now, you just wait a minute and don’t hold judgment: Advertising and opportunistic free enterprise are all part of the American Dream. Somewhere, I just made a founding father very pleased.

Happy Fourth of July.

Your friends at Supernatural Saturday Night.

Him

I’ve written about him before over the years.   I won’t apologize.     Few people think I’m the romantic that I am.    I don’t spread rose petals on the bed, mood music is fine, but little else.   If such a condition exists, I’m an emotional romantic.    Over the years, I have loved with great gusto.     I’ve been hurt….damaged at times…..and as one might imagine, that’s altered the way I love.

I take sone responsibility for this.   I’ve made some horrendous choices.    I have a well-used used saying, that don’t  I don’t regret WHAT I’ve done, just WHO I’ve done.

But Ive known love in my life    Real love.    Once.     Just once.  And if anyone even attempts to tell that what I felt from Monday night, August 30, 1971  to Tuesday, Septenber 4, 1973 was just puppy love ( Is that term even used anymore?), I tell them they’re crazy.   A couple of shrinks have gotten an earful on this subject, too.

We were kids then,  but now as a 57 year old woman I still know what I knew then.

You know, Love can be wonderful, capricious, nefarious, beautiful, painful.      The lack of it, which often times  is Often eartache and its physical.   It’s an actual pain .    It is with me anyway.    It’s nothing that has killed me though I incompletely get how one can die from a broken heart.

i battle and have battled with insomnia for years.   One night back in college while spending the night with my boyfriend, I decided to watch TV in the living room.

HBO FOR YOUNG INDOMNIACS

And just as that discernible, dramatic 80’s network music finished —the one used by   waaaaaay to many gymnasts in their floor routines,  the feature movie at three AM was “Somewhere In Time”.   I’m too tired right now to go into detail.    But at the time I was 21 and had in the early stages of figuring out who I was and whar my place  in the world was.    Still pondering, but I digress.     Fair warning— This is a spoiler alert, but Christopher Reeve was able to travel back in time to meet a woman, whose photo was in the hotel’s hall of honor.    Well, she gives Jim a pocket watch first, which starts this whole process of tying to find her.   He enters theHall of Honor and recognized het photo and immediately fell in love—once again.      He manages to go back to 1910, the year they met, but after some post coital falderal,  he finds a modern penny in his pocket and disappears in front of her, then he wakes up in the same room he exited this realm a week earlier.

Try as he might, he can’t go back in time again.   So he decides to be with her in death, He starves himself and finally dies and waiting for him on a white cloudy soundstage somewhere in Hollywood, she’s there to greet  him, looking young and gorgeous as he remembered her.    She too  continued to love him all her life.  Even in death.

Now mind you, all this sadness is exacerbated by a gorgeous , but heart wrenching Paganini tune underscoring all the most poignant scenes.

Well, I’m crying like a baby and it’s one of those ugly, loud cries that’s more like my eyes are leaking streams. This wakes up the boyfriend. He runs in to see what’s happened and through my sobs, I tried to explain the movie and the ultimate romantic sacrifice that was made.      He said something in Spanish then went back to bed.  I remained on the sofa, trying to gain my composure.

i saw the movie again many years later.     It’s still a 3:00 am featured movie.    And thought it was incredibly hokey.    I’m not jaded, I just have a better understanding of how I love.

Back to the Junior High boyfriend.   I was head over hills in love.     I’ve yet to love like that again.    Hand to God..    I know, first loves are always unforgettable and  for a while there, I was trying to convince myself that I was idealizing the relationship, because it also coincided with a uniquely happy time in my life.   But I’m rethinking that.

This was love.  And in a weird way, it still is.    He broke up with me without an explanation.    On the phone mind you, and he never really  never spoke to me again.    I never got over that.     He was like a chimera twin grieving out of my heart.   Everywhere I went, he went.   He was subconsciously the third person in most  of my relationships.     I survived and loved again, but it was never the same.

It hurt, but he was right to break up, regardless of the ridiculous reason.    He was a year older and only wanted to leave his small South Texas town and get to work   I wanted to go to college then get Walter Cronkite’s job.     We were different people.  Raised differently, grew up differently, but there was always that pesky emotion that kept us connected no matter how far apart.

He got married, had kids……he even has grandkids, from what I hear.

i never married.   Not his fault, my bohemian lifestyle as a journalist keot me moving.  It was feasible….plus Ive yet to meet the right guy.

WORDS WERE EXCHANGED

We spoke for the first time in 2010 and it was a gift from the cosmos.     We never saw each other, I didn’t want to impose on  his life, anymore than phone conversations.

But We spoke a couple of times and he finally explained why he broke up with me.   I was gobsmacked by his answer, it was silly and he admitted that it was and the more he offered,, I could feel his memory’s hold on me exit my body.   Then a sweet nostalgia took its place.      He told me the words that every woman wants to hear.   He said he too had thought about me over the years, had kept up with my career and told  me that while he was happy and life was good but he never stopped loving me and would always love me.  We admitted that despite everything that had happened in the world, in his  world, in my world— despite the differences, we were the loves of each other’s lives.   I understand now more than ever that those words were a gift. I thanked him.    But At the time, I dont think he understood the relevance.

A friend saw him a few years ago, she told him that his conversations had liberated me and I started seeing someone in the years since that first conversation .   He cried.   I’ll admit, I did too when she told me that,  I’m not sure why either of us did.   Closure?   Regret?

AND THEN THERE’S THIS

Lastly, I’ve been doing more driving lately and in recent days Sirius has been killing me with music that was popular during the two years we were together.    Just today, three songs played in a row and on sat stations that normally wouldn’t play these tunes.    And all week long I’ve hearing songs and he’s been in my thoughts.     I’m not quite sure what if anything this means, but these songs now well ovev40 years old sound the same, but the feel just a little bit sweeter.

The TV haracter, Frasier insists in his psychiatric myopia that there no such things as coincidences.    I’m not a psychiatrist, but I’m a believer in signs.

I don’t know why I’m hearing thesecsingscplated so often (even in stores) and they can stop me in their tracks.     I don’t know if it they represent a message, a harbinger of things to come or what

Then again, it could mean that yes, I’m an even bigger romantic than I care to admit.

NO, I’M NOT OBSESSED

I don’t think about him every day.   Years have gone by when he hasnt  entered the grey matter, especially  after we spoke in 2010,

I truly hope he’s happy, and has a joyous good life and I hope his wife adores him as I did and more.   I hope she too is a romantic.   But more than I could ever be.   I wouldn’t take off points for her occasional use of rose petals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a broken heart.

 

 

 

 

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Sexism In Politics

Q: What did one saggy boob say to the other saggy boob?
A: “We better get some support before someone thinks we’re nuts!”

An old joke right?   Still kinda snicker worthy  and absurd, yes—-but it’s based on semblence  of truth, thank you, gravity.     You can make a saggy srotum joke in which gravity also affects.

As a woman  who’s lived  in and around the comedy work place for three  decades, the above joke is just a joke.

But there will be people who’ll use this joke to further their cause, one way or another.

Sexism exists, but it can’t be used in politics with any real legitimacy.       Why?    Because it makes it too easy to cry foul.     A woman can govern…. A man can raise children .     Haven’t we risen above that?      Any other time, funny comments made about gender  in any capacity would just be a joke, a bit tasteless perhaps, but still a joke nonetheless.    And probably funny.

Take for instance, Bernie Sanders.      Do you think Hillary refers to him in private as  a kind, older gentlemen?       No.   He’s like a political Raspitin in that his campaign won’t die.       I wonder how she refers to him in private?

Same with Trump.      Like the axiom, does a tree falling in the the forest make  sound if there’s no one to hear it?      Does sexism if only exist if said in private?   Or kept in a thought unspoken?

As I see it, now  is not the time for Hillary to brag about the first viable female presidential candidate one minute, then shout sexism if Trump says something she can construe as being sexist.   Trump, whether she’ll admit it or not, has changed politics.       For the good?    For the better?     I don’t know, but he’s  certainly made it more entertaining.   And I don’t think campaigning will ever be the same and Ol’ Hill has to get hip to that.    And when the two debate and they will,  if Donald makes a comment about her thunderous cankles, she has to strike right back sbout his daffodil thin hair, his baby aspirin orange skin….or the ridiculous  kabuki white make up a he uses to highlight his eyes.    This isn’t the time taking any kind of moral  high ground.   This is the time for good old, old school, schoolyard name calling.    We’re over the suave, gallant William F. Buckley approach, we want Triumph, The Insult Comic dog- type antics.

Childish?   Oh hell yeah, but Trump’s approach has  gotten more people talking and thinking about politics than ever before.

“Donald,  you’re a wholly owned prick.”

“Hillary. you ignorant slut.”

We want our politicians who represents us, to be like us, to think,walk and talk like us.  Even if it’s just for show.

and the presidential acting award goes too……

And what does it matter how nasty it gets?    Or even how polite and honorable it might get?.   Look, here’s the truth—Politicians are like Radio and TV General Managers and five of my last boyfriends, if their mouths are moving, they’re lying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ol