2/8/2013 Early morning local TV news, you gotta love it. I've befriended it. Yesterday's news covered not only puffing of marijuana, but another puffing which I was too
lazy to report.
Body Puffing. Everybody's familiar with puffing lips and other body parts. Forget siicone, liposucking,
tucking, botox and Debbie Boone. We're talking butt puffing on steroids. Hard to believe, but do videos lie?, Crazy,
normal-sized Tennessee women pay good money to have bottoms puffed to gargantuan portions. The effect is that of a skewer shoved through an orange. How do they walk? (Slowly, very slowly.) Charlatans lurking in
back alleys inject normal bottoms with silicone, motor oil, cement, and who-knows-what. Is this look to die for? Is it backlash against the ultra skinny?
there's an easier way to get the look. Just ask Chris Christy. (Boy, he's catching flack for his sillouette.) You'd think southern women would know this. Southern cooking is not exactly a secret.
Speaking of which, the University of Alabama just released a study showing southern cooking is not a healthy thing. It's slower here than I realized.
Where there's smoke......
Medical Marijuana In Kentucky's future, where there's smoke, there may be marijuana. A movement has begun! A demonstration in Louisville is planned. Not
taking bets, but common sense says media will outnumber advocates. Preachers have been handed the Sunday morning topic for weeks to come.
This follows an earlier statement by agriculture officials suggesting
reintroducing hemp, a legal crop, used for rope, etc. Nice coincidence! Who's to spot a few illegals amongst the legals, a point making rabid anti-immigration types even crazier. Will the
marijuana helicopter know the difference? Oh, yeah, it flies over every month or so.
I can hear Rush and LaPierre now: It's an Obama plot (pun intended) to stone Kentuckians out of their guns!
I've never screemed, "EEEEEEEK!," and hopped on a chair at the sight of a mouse. Actually, I have knowingly shared a house with a mouse, the mouse being confined
to private quarters in my daughter's room. When a friend moved, couldn't take the mouse, threw in an elaborate cage, my daughter went into mousekeeping. The mouse, a female, was tame. Mouse aroma
was no problem, open windows being the norm in Hawaii. Besides, my daughter was a fastidious mousekeeper.
Holona, ( Hawaiian, we think, for little white thing) had pink
ears, black eyes, a charming butterball of a mouse. Time went on and my daughter declared Holona needed a friend. The pet store man assured us the lovely tan mouse was, indeed, a female. Wrong! In
a heartbeat, the mouse compound was brimming with babies. Have you ever tried to find a home for a baby mouse?
Would the pet store buy them back? Yes, indeed. I dared
not say it aloud, but I'm pretty sure they needed snake food. That pet store rascal knew we'd be back. Actually, we threw in the male, too. Since sexing of mice is difficult, we took no chances
on another companion.
Holona didn't mind the empty nest. Nor did she mind the celibate life. Happily she puttered through the empty compound, rearranging her bed, taking
a turn on the wheel without standing in line. She was ready for the slow lane.
Carl Rove declares war on the Tea Party. Yeah! Those baggers stymied government with simplistic, ignorant, pinched ideology. Not to mention racist undertones. To top it off, signed the Grover Norquist pledge! (Impeachment
or censorship comes to mind.) I felt like a lonely, old voice crying in the red state wilderness. That is, until the election.
Back to Carl, I have great faith in this man. When he tackles something,
he goes all the way. Fortunately, that is what happened in the laatest election. His strategies went all the way........ down the tube. He probably couldn't sit for weeks. Not a stupid man, he licks the wounds
he can get to and regroups. Hence, the Tea Party purge.
Should the bagger purge be successful, half GOP problems will be solved. The other half when Carl, himself, topples from the throne That assumes the GOP will
then join the current century.
BREAKING NEWS! In The Slow Lane hits just passed those of the former Miss Alabama, beautiful young woman, girlfrirend of the
Alabama quarterback. Well, yes, this figure is prior to the Notre Dame - Alabama game, after which we all know the lovely face went viral. Now, all I need is a facelift and
a quarterback. Actually, I have a quarterback, but he's not played since 1953.
Who was the clever ad man/woman who convinced us Super Bowl commercials are better than the everyday mix fated for the mute button? ( In my book, the person who gave us the mute button deserves national recognition.)
I muted most Super Bowl commercials, even while considering my Slow Lane Awards. Not fair, you say. Maybe. But, my selections were based on ads I remember this morning. The farm and military tributes narrated respecttively by Oprah and Paul Harvey (RIP) tied for first and second place. Third place went to the pistachio nut man.
I can't say why I liked the little round man dancing with pistachios, but there you have it.
One commercal I found totally baffling. How can an anorexic man have such big muscles? And those skinny little women dancing ecstaticly while
slurping down the beer. I love beer myself, but skinny little women don't usually drink it.
I liked the game, stuffed myself with traditional Super Bowl stuff. My team won, so the calories weren't wasted. What about the power
outage? Think New York Times.
Ed: Joe Montana Tomoto Stain, funny ad I liked but forgot till I did the laundry.
Amazing! Statistics say 19% of men sport tattoos while a whopping 23% of women now wear the inky art. My grandkids beat this rate by 33% men to 100% women. (It feels awkward calling them men and women, but
they are.) Haven't documented family body piercings, but there's plenty.
Anyhow, I've kept my cool, even as my eyebrows shot up. The kids tell me it's an addiction. Gotta have one more. Hmmmmm.....Maybe,
but it cetainly was not for me.
Yes, I, too, wear body art. Living in Honolulu, forty odd years ago I went native. Not only did I pierce my ears, but got a tattoo. My husband was in Vietnam, or it mighn't been so
easy. I took myself in broad daylight to the tattoo man with my 13 year old daughter in tow. (I was about 3/4 a hippie though happly married with three kids.) She begged and I succumbed. Both of us left with identical inkings,
a cute flower on the right great toe.
Years later, my granddaughter had her toe inked in the family tradition. My son-in-law was less than pleased. "Well," he said. "I guess the next generation will be born with it!."
Still love the little flower joke on my toe. Seems one was enough for the daughter, too. Alas, for the granddaughter, it was only the beginning .
The best way to avoid the flu, and various maladies, is to wash your hands often. The authorities suggest singing through two choruses of "Happy Birthday" for the proper scrub. I do this, singing silently and very fast.
after shopping for healthy food that is not fast, I endulged in food that is. Better scrub up before grabbing the burger. Hmmm.....this restroom is clean, but stinky. "Happy Birthday to you, etc." Whoops!
It's a man! He promised not to tell, but I know he was lying.
This scenario haunts me through the years. A Freudian might make much of it. It's not failing eyesight as my cataract has
This latest incident was not the worst. Once I was enthroned when, not one, but two men walked into the restroom. How did I miss that damn urinal? Anyhow, things trickled along and they begin chatting basketball. There
I sit, feet on the door so they won't see the decidely feminine shoes. They go on and on. Finally, fearing paralysis, I burst from the stall, dashed for the door. A purple-faced man in a purple shirt yelled, "Lady,
you're in the wrong place!" Duh! He was really mad. Purple shirts make me nervous every since.
The first was in my college days. A tired old, night student, I rushed in between classes, took
the handicap stall, rationalizing tall and old as handicapped. Hmmmm. I don't remember seeing graffitti in here. "Handicapped people have feelings, too!" Oh, oh! Yep, brushed
shoulders with a laughing college kid on the way out. Why don't I see those damn urinals?
Well, yeah, I'm in the slow lane. It's already 2013 and Emmanuel Kelly's 2012 video just hit my mailbox. A gazillion hits a day and the link finally lands in my mailbox. I'm talking The X
Factor audition of Emmanuel, handsome young man of middle eastern heritage, singing sentation, future star. But, you know, he sings with such joy I think he'll be okay if the career never gets beyond the church choir.
Header for the video, quoting one of the judges: "Will make everything we worry about seem so pathetic." Hmmmm, wonder what that's all about? The camera's full body shot makes it clear. Emmanuel was born
with mangled, partially missing limbs. And the judges comment makes even more sense when you hear his story of abandonment as an infant in Iraq or Iran. (Blush, don't remember which country, and I know North and South Carolina are
not interchangeable.) He and his brother were adopted by an English woman who gave them the upbringing all children deserve.
I agree with judge's quote. But let's carry it a bit further and remember that despite
obvious physical differences, we are all human, made of the same stuff, more alike than different.
After my kids were grown, I went to college. Phys Ed required, of course. In my square dance class was a young man missing
most of one arm, but there was a hand. Well, you know in square dance you change partners a lot, always holding hands. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I hoped desperately never to be in his square. Time came when he was in my square. I simply cannot touch him, I'm thinking. Do-si-do! With closed eyes, I took his little flipper hand. It was the same warm flesh of any hand! The same!
I never gave his hand another thought. He was a terrific kid.
A Wild and Crazy Nation
Are we Americans the craziest nation on the face of the earth? TV news this morning makes you think so..
Weather headlines: Continued violent weather, tornadic in nature.
The storm, 1000 miles long ravages the nation. I regret writing about it because that very scenario was re-enacted Tuesday night. (The law of attraction and all that stuff?) Sure enough, poised for the closet dash, I watched weather
channel's tiny, deadly, red cell, life blood of a tornado, pass without touching down. Slow lane escaps a direct hit.
An act of God? Hmmm......I don't think so. A cyclical
thing? Probably. We can do nothing? Come on now. What quota of weather violence do we need before, we, supposedly the most advanced folks on the planet, decide, "Hey, let's
listen to the scientists. Maybe they're on to something with this global warming thing?"
Tightening the Fiscal Belt in KY: A portion of the free-loading 47% are getting their just
desserts. Working parents earning $27,000 (I'm assuming annually though this fact was not stated) will no longer qualify for state assisted child care expense. The mark has been set back to $18,000. $18,000! Are
you kidding? Go on welfare or go in debt to pay child care. And there they are the lazy things, taking, taking, taking.
Cyber Violence Strikes the NY
Times: Chinese hackers are suspected of hacking into the Times. So clever, in fact, they obtained passwords, etc. The motive for the attack is undetermined. What! If they can hack the Times,
they can hack banks, government, transportation, utilities, maybe even gas stations. I hope our cyber troops are in place.
gun violence is not a problem in America? Wayne LaPierre, that's who. (Though tempted to make disgusting puns about his name, won't sink that low today.) LaPierre has proof. It is not violent, but safe.
He parades some ditzy woman by the committee who says she must pack to protect her children, I, for one would not like to be in the same ball park with this woman if her kid gets a bad call on first.
and God : Forty some percent of Americans believe that God cares about football. Please! Doesn't anyone realize how stupid this sounds. I don't know this for sure, but I suspect prayers are shouted or whispered by all opposing
teams. And Is the losing team being punished? Well, they'd better figure it out before next week!.
But, hey, there was a ray of light. Even though we're violent and crazy, we had the good sense as a nation
to elect the Labrador Retriever as our favorite dog. Wish our elected officials had characteristics and sense of this lovely animal.