Literature

Kurt Vonnegut, you were a genius.
I would say that words can't describe just how great you were, but then you wouldn't need to keep reading!
And reading was what Vonnegut was all about.
No, strike that. Humanity was what Vonnegut was all about. Humanity at its most absurd, colorful, quirky, hateful and beautiful moments.
His observations about the things that humans do for and to one another are striking in their ability to boil down the crazy and complex tapestry that is human life into something that is both true and profoundly funny. True because he saw to the heart of the matter, and funny because if you didn't laugh at these things then you would probably cry in frustration at the lost potential.
Vonnegut said he was a pessimist. He wasn't. He was an idealist. For your Auntie's world the biggest pessimists and satirists are usually the biggest idealists and optimists! Stung by imperfection, some of them can turn bitter, or biting, or caustic. But really, it's seeing humanity's hope and humanity's promise glittering beneath all that garbage that makes them sour.
They know, as well as I do, that we have the chance to better things, to live in a fantastic world of hope and happiness, but that something is holding people back from it. They know that the US represents the best chance for a great and free society, and they weep when petty-minded morons savage it. But really, deep down inside, they still have hope.
Kurt Vonnegut, the world is a richer, better place for your having been here.

Dearies,
I want you to be nice to your Uncle Alberto.
He's having a tough time of it, what with all those mean Congressman asking pushy questions about this and that, always yelling at him about "Fool of Law" or "Rule of Flaw" or some such.
Quite frankly, he's barely any fun at all anymore.
Nowadays he's muttering his safe word after only a few minutes (yeah, but I NEVER said I would stop when he screamed it). And I know it's not an accident because of course you pick something that you would never say as a safe word (his is Constitutional). Don't look at me like that! I was only helping him out. Just like when your Uncle Donnie said that it was ok to make people stand for eight hours because he could stand for eight hours, Uncle Alberto wanted to be sure that torture was ok before he released those memos…..Actually, never you mind, Dears, that's grown-up stuff. Forget I mentioned it.
Anyway, let's just say that the other night when Uncle Alberto was "tied up" with something, I took just an eensie peek at his diary to see if I could get a sense of why he was just no fun anymore.
So don't tell him I showed it to you, but here's a little tidbit that might explain why he's such a poopoo-head these days.

Dear Diary,
I've gotta update my resume tonight!
I mean I HAVE to!
So here's the deal. The other day I went over to Pennsylvania Avenue for a big meeting. It was on my calendar!
But there wasn't ANYBODY there! I mean Nobody!
So I look around, Dick's gone, Condi's not there, El Grande Gringo (he likes it when I call him that!), Karl, the whole crew.
I finally got a secretary to acknowledge me, she said that the meeting had been moved to an "Undisclosed Location." Like I don't know that's the big room in the basement! Dick likes it because he doesn't have to expose himself to sunlight, and the Decider likes to play Xbox on the big screen (although we have somebody to set it up for him. When he first found the room he tried to do it himself. MIS-take! He accidentally switched over to NORAD and almost bombed Winnipeg, Canada!)
Anyway, I was told that they had sent an e-mail, but I never got it! (note to self, have the geeks check my e-mail. I seem to be missing a lot of them lately!).
Although to tell you the truth, I don't know for sure that they actually sent me one! The only other person who didn't make it is the guy with Tourettes!
Anyway, not comforting!
So I figure I'm in the real doghouse.
I immediately hit the internets and order something for the big guy, as kind of an apology. I figure he's still touchy that we couldn't fire ALL the US Attorneys, but hey, you go to fire the people you have, not the people you want to have to fire. Heck! Rummy could have totally made that line work! But you know what I mean. Anyway, the right DVD might just get me off of the bad boy list. I spy the perfect thing and order it up.
Long and the short of it, the next day I'm sitting at my desk and I get a chill, like Death's Icy Hand brushed my cheek. Oh great I said. Sure enough, the phone rings, and the caller ID reads "Undisclosed Location". So I pick up the phone and say "Hi Dick!"
Anyway, he's there with 43 watching the video I ordered. "So he likes it? It's the latest one in the Girls Gone Wild series! It's not even released yet, but I threatened to bust 'em up for porn, so they sent it over."
I can practically feel the chill over the phone. Man, how does Dick DO that?
"Did you SEE this before you sent it over" he snarls.
"No, should I" I ask, starting to get a little nervous.
"Do you know where it was filmed?" Man this guy is good at the lord of darkness trick. I can almost hear giant bat-wings rustle in the background.
"Ummm, no, like South America or someplace. Figured the Big Kahuna would like to see some exotic women."
"It was filmed in Argentina"
"So? The big guy likes the south of the border feel." I want to add and that's another reason he likes me. But I don't. I've seen Dick choke somebody through a video conference phone, like in that movie.
"It was filmed in last November. The twins were in Argentina. In November."
"Uhhhhh. Are they? Did they? Uhhhh. I think I don't feel so well."
"I think you don't either." You can FEEL the snarl on this guy! "Alberto, in 17 hours there's a plane leaving for Gitmo…"

Anyway dears, we all know how that always ends up. A knock on Auntie's door, a crying, blubbering conservative moaning about a lost Presidential Medal of Freedom, followed by, well, actually, I'd probably best leave that out.
Shall we just say my arm is sore and he's standing for his press conferences?

Gosh Dear Ones,
Auntie Willow is all Giddy today!
It has been a hard week, but except for a little computer wrangling, it is over.
And then this video cropped up on AmericaBlog: Pink singing Dear Mr. President. I'm bowled over by it. No, seriously. If you have ever been a teensy bit peeved at our Glorious Leader, then you should definitely check this out. Who said kids today don't care about anything? (Don't GO throwing my words back in my face! I'll THWACK You!) Did you see all the young people in the front row singing along to the songs?
No, I think that the 60's are making a comeback, and by that I don't mean the atrocious grooming habits. It's do or die time in the Ole US of A, and I think that more and more people are starting to get up and speak. It's about time.

Writing, apparently.
I have known about my reading addiction for years, but just when I thought I had conquered it with a combination of Television and Pure Grain Alcohol, a heretofore undiscovered addiction for writing cropped up.
And it does make me feel better. Even if your Dear Auntie can't stop the Republican Juggernaut by herself, rest assured I feel better knowing that there are mean-spirited little drawings of Republicans zipping around the Internet.
Except that drawing was never my strong suit. Cookery, as the Dewey Decimal System terms cooking; Conversation; and spanking are my fortes. Still, one must persevere, as your Uncle Thomas was hinting at yesterday in his resignation.
To that end, I present you a page from the new book that I have just started: Auntie Willows Field Guide to Republicans.

I know that I still have to sell the other two books that I have written, and rest assured, Dear Ones, I am trying.
But while I'm waiting for the World to recognize my genius and shower me with money, gifts, and accolades, I'll pass the time with another book!
XXOO
Auntie Willow
P.S. Tomorrow, we'll talk about the Homeland Security Press Secretary who is working So terribly hard to reach out to our children!

Well Dear Ones, What can I say?
Last night I was too preoccupied with "Auntie Willow and the case of the missing car keys" to post. The case was resolved successfully. Like most great crimes, it was a tale of human intervention. Like the entire George H. W. Bush Administration (1989-1993) it was a case of erroneous and unplanned human intervention.
Kudos to Jean Ann and Dear Roommate for providing me with a ride to work while the person who accidentally took the keys returned them. Shout out to the Internets for not only letting me discover that my beloved car is one of the most stolen in America (even 10 years after they stopped making it), as well as teaching me how to do it myself if the need ever arises again. But technically it's not stealing if it is my car.
There is so much to post about.
Daily, it seems, people are waking up to just what a giant nightmare the George W. Bush Administration (2001 – ??) is. Gosh time does seem to drag some decades, doesn't it? It seems like only an eternity ago that all we had to worry about was an intern's sexual preferences and what to do with the salary increases we were getting from a booming economy.
So instead of talking about the PATRIOT Act Signing Statement or the 8 gillionth classified memo showing that we were going to invade Iraq even if we had to make something up (wait a minute, didn't do just that?), I am going to talk about a living nightmare.
John Ashcroft's living nightmare: The Pornography Fairy.
That is what I am going to call this good Samaritan. The Porn Fairy.
This story was told to me by someone whose spirit I broke a long time ago. Someone who knows better than to try to lie to their Auntie Willow, and furthermore someone who has no moral, intellectual or legal hesitations to buying pornography. So when this suspiciously beaten up magazine was displayed prominently on this person's kitchen table, I knew there was a story behind it.
It was a dark and stormy night. No, seriously. It was dark and stormy. The clouds had just departed, leaving a cooler and glistening parking lot behind. This person works night for a large brownish type package shipping company. Hard to believe, but this person was laughing with some people that can only be described as Teamsters after a long shift. Of course, since they work nights, and they had just gotten off of work, it was 3:45 in the morning.
Now as Teamsters are wont to do when off work, I'm sure that they were exchanging recipes and talking about whether or not muslin is a suitable fabric to wear in the early spring. Or whatever. At any rate, they were discussing their teamster stuff when what was described as a "beater", a type of car that Auntie Willow does not normally ride in.
A door opens and what I have written affidavits describing as "a cloud of marijuana smoke" pours out of the driver side. (No, I don't know where Teamsters learned what Marijuana smells like, either) A skinny (and bloodshot) young scruffy white gentleman steps out of the car. He gulps nervously.
You see, when magazines are no longer current, they are to be removed from the shelves and destroyed. Instead of returning the entire magazine, to save shipping costs, just the front cover is ripped off and return. The rest of the magazine is discarded. Even pornographic magazines. Usually.
According to this fine citizen, his "brother" worked for a convenience store. Whenever the pornography was "stripped", the term for removing from the shelves and ripping the covers, he had been saving copies. One day he decided to share his bounty with his brother. Now, Auntie has worked in a bookstore before. Stripping magazines can quickly yield pounds of useless magazines. It is easy to get excited about getting them for free, to the point where you quickly find that you have over 70 or 80 different out of date, coverless magazines laying around your car. But of course, I didn't take pornographic magazines. However, this young man did. I'm sure after three or so months of "heaven" for him, he quickly discovered he was driving around with 40 pounds worth of nudie books.
Which takes him, stoned and no doubt tired from all of that self-pleasuring, to a parking lot at 3:45 am. The Teamsters seem to feel that he was there to use the dumpster and offload his pornographic albatross. However, seeing 20 Teamsters can have a disorienting effect on people wacked out from too many (what do you kids call reefer these days?) giggle sticks.
So out he comes, cloud and all. Now embarrassed, and no doubt scared, he decides to distribute free pornography to all the good teamsters. Who no doubt only took the magazines to be polite.
Simple, true, believable.
Still, I'd like to think of something a little different. A story of a hard-core rebel, chafing (in more ways than one!) under George Bush's America. A kind of Santa Claus for the rebels in society. A man showing up wherever there are laborers, and in a flash hands out "morally reprehensible" magazines to deserving young men and women. Then, in a puff of marijuana smoke, he is gone.
And I'd like to think that he's out there, right now, troubling John Ashcroft's sleep.

Dear Ones, I have finished again!
This is my second book. It was much easier than the first: I have to tell you that!
I predict it will take a little while for me to finish my third book, since I'm not sure what it is just yet!
And, I might add, I have to sell the first two!
But, it is done.
It is the FEnMA Emergency Handbook. It is a survival guide based on top-secret plans that I smuggled out of the FEDERAL EMERGENCY non-MANAGEMENT AGENCY.
These plans represent the next generation of disaster management, the ones drawn up by the current politically appointed geniuses that brought us the Evacuation of Houston and the Relief Efforts at New Orleans!
When I was tipped off by my contacts (shout out to Tamara at the FEMA Graphics Department) that the cocktail napkins with the new survival plans were going to there department to be translated into glowing Government Hieroglyphics, I had to grab a copy!
Knowing how long it takes for the Government to get something done, I had to make sure that my Dearies had the knowledge NOW on what it takes to survive.
Unfortunately, I had to resketch all of the instructions (hurriedly) in order to keep them from figuring out which artist tipped me off.
Which is where I have been. Drawing my little arms off and trying to get everything setup to go out in book form.
I've put it up on my CafePress store Http://www.cafepress.com/InfiniteLattes, but I'm going to try to find a real publisher.
In the meantime I'm trying to slice the graphics up for t-shirts, so you can help everyone you meet by showing them how to survive, as well! How sharing you all are!
I'll probably be posting several of the graphics here to help you all out, but right now Auntie Willow needs a little Gin and Tonic (with the summer coming on, I don't want to catch Malaria. That's the only reason to drink such a drink, dontcha know).
In the meantime see if this won't help you to survive. It is the top-secret survival plan used by our very own Leader of the Free World!

Is finished!
It is done!
Now all I have to do is find a publisher! Do you know of one?
It is a technical book about how to use Microsoft Word. I recommend having a box of Kleenex handy if you read it, it is so beautiful that you might cry.
It is called "Put Word on your Resume - Quick!", and I opened up a Cafe Press shop in case someone needs to know how to use this before I find a publisher. Yes, this is version .9 as they say in the tech world. And many of you probably already know how to use Word, but does everyone that you talk to know how to use it? How about those people that are always calling you with questions? Want to hand them something to shut them up?
No, seriously, I wrote this book for the people that come into the library all the time. They know they want to work in an office (Texaburger isn't as fun as it once was), but they need to learn how to do things. I tried to make this book so that after reading the first section, you could put Word as a resume item without worrying about it. It gives you at least the same level of competency as the person interviewing you probably has! The second section is for advanced tools that will make people think that you are a genius.
I wanted to print it out, bound, to ship around to find a publisher or agent. Believe it or not Cafe Press was cheaper than a local print shop, and who knows, someone might stumble onto it while I'm finding an agent or publisher and actually buy the thing! Although, they would have a collectible item, because to tell you the truth, a publisher would get a real artist to do the cover instead of just your poor Auntie staring at a blank screen. But to tell you the truth, I'm proud of it! My first book, at age 39 23!
How is it possible for me to transcend mere pedestrian technical writing and enter the realm of art? What grace allows me to give you insights into the profound questions of Human Existence, all the while teaching you how to properly use Headings in Word? Should we question it at all or just let the work of genius stand for itself?
Now I can get back to my true obsession: Finding Dick Cheney's undisclosed location and signing him up for every record club I can think of! (Note to federal investigators. That was a joke. If Cheney starts getting the Slim Whitman library of albums, look to someone else!)

Dearies, one of the reasons that I have been so slow to post is that I am working on a magnum opus, a document that could well change life as we know it. If executed properly (which of course I can't do it any other way) then it will not only bring World Peace, but will gently help push humanity to the next rung on the ladder of evolution.
I am referring, of course, to my memoirs. They are far from finished. As of this post I am still bogged down in the chapters where, as a young farm-girl standing in the great redwood forests of Iowa, I looked into the clear desert air and dreamed of great adventures. But I digress.
After much soul searching, I realized that it wouldn't be fair to my Dear Ones to keep this work secret until after its completion, so I have decided to post a brief excerpt from the tales of my travels. Please enjoy.
(Note to our young male readers, some of the scenes might contain kissing. Be forewarned).

I'll be honest.
I never read the book "Goodnight Moon". It is a children's book, but not one that I was privy to when I was younger (I was too busy reading "Discipline for Toddlers". I remember how shocked I was when I realized that these were instructions to someone on how to handle ME, and not the other way around!). However, the book has been wildly successful, and is considered among the greats of children's books.
Except, of course, for the smoke.
Cigarette smoke. You know that your Auntie has feelings about smoking, but putting those aside, there just seems something wrong with changing the text and pretending that it didn't. Just ask George Bush. It seems that someone has said just because he lied about all of the reasons to go to war in Iraq, that he is a liar. It is just revisionist history; he clearly had his fingers crossed behind his back when he gave all of those speeches. I guess we were just too busy looking at the radio transmitter hump on his back to notice his fingers crossed, or the thumb that was discretely up his, well, you get the idea.
But not content with that, they have now gone after the beloved children's classic.
You see, "back in the day", cigarette smoking wasn't considered the same level of sin as, umm, (how do they say?) Self-Love. Now, both are considered only for private enjoyment in a special place, whereas when I was a child, at least one of those activities was practiced unashamedly in public. I will let you confer amongst yourselves to decide which one.
But now of course, you can be arrested for doing either in a crowded restaurant. As it should be. Let me just state that for the record: as it should be.
The only problem is that you have a body of work running from, oh, say, 1494 when the first European was incarcerated by the inquisition for indulging in a nasty habit he picked up while shipwrecked among the natives of Cuba, and say, about 1984 when Nancy Reagan caught the Marlboro Man molesting Firefly Girls in a Marijuana Factory and just said "NO" to the whole ugly scene. Besides, Big Tobaccos checks to the 1988 Republican Party Election Fund bounced, so, you know, they've got to go.
But some of those books from the evil old days don't denounce cigarette smoking as stridently as they should. Those poor, unenlightened savages of 1947! As a matter of fact, the illustrator of the book even had cigarette-in-hand in his picture on the dust jacket. To quote another famous Bush "This Will Not Stand".
Fortunately, with the aid of Photoshop, such inconveniences as what was actually in the picture are no longer an impediment to printing the picture the way it SHOULD look.
Et voila! No cigarette, no harm, no foul. Oh, sure, SOME people are calling it an almost Stalinist revision of history. But these Capitalists wouldn't know Stalinism if it came up and bit them in their Oceania! After all, what do you care if some chain-smoking ex-octogenarian is portrayed using the picture that he chose as the best portrait of him 58 years ago? What did this guy know about looks, anyway? Just because he was one of the most prolific Children's Literature illustrators doesn't mean he knows what looks good to kids!
Besides, he quit smoking later on in his life, and apparently grew to detest the habit. He just didn't have the tools to go back and change history. Which of course, as the President says, we would never do.
The only thing I don't get is, why on his deathbed in 1988 did he say that he wanted George W. Bush to liberate Iraq? It sounds almost like someone was reaching back through the years and putting words in his mouth. Or maybe he was just a visionary. We may never know the real story, at least until I get around to making it up and typing it.

By now you are probably wondering if your Auntie Willow is truly qualified to fight crime.
I mean, I have discussed some of my activities, and you Dear Ones are very sweet to listen to a young, vibrant and attractive Librarian prattle on about her day, but I have been getting some requests about how I actually go about separating right from wrong.
So to help all of you get a better idea of my qualifications, I will share with you a recent case that has come to be called "The affair of the Blueberry Scone". I hope that some of the prose doesn't frighten Auntie's younger readers.
Some years back I happened to be in an apartment while late night television was being played. I don't normally watch such things, of course, but in this case I had the infernal device on to drown out certain loud sobbing and whimpering that one of my, umm, "Special Friends" was making. A commercial came on for a correspondence school that promised to get you a better and more exciting job. I know, you are thinking the same thing that I am, that it is impossible to get a more exciting job. But Auntie Willow likes to have a backup position at all times, and I was intrigued. Setting my ruler down, I snatched up a pen and made note of the number on the back of the person that I was having play-time with. The next day I made some discrete inquiries, sketched Splotchy the Cadaver on the back of a match book, and a few weeks later your Auntie became certified as a Crime Scene Investigator (freelance).
So believe me when I tell you that I have the techniques to determine guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. After all, the evidence does not lie.
That is what I was thinking as I was unpacking my kit to go over the scene of the crime. What crime, you might ask? Making off with the last Blueberry Scone. Auntie Willow normally doesn't cook much. I like to let the men in my life do that for me to demonstrate their devotion. But on this fateful day, I had been up the night before making a batch of my famous Blueberry Scones. Nothing prepares you for a day at the Library like a fresh cup of Earl Grey tea and a fresh Blueberry Scone. Nothing that is, except for crime solving!
Returning to the break room after some emergency Hair-Bun maintenance, I was immediately confronted by the empty plate, the half consumed cup of tea, and the crumbs. Dear God, the crumbs! Quick as a flash I was at my desk, getting my satchel of sleuthing. After taping off the crime scene, I immediately began processing the cup and saucer for prints. Right away I noticed that the perp (that's criminologist talk, Dearies) hadn't been wearing lipstick. This fact eliminates the females on staff, except for Dana, the acquisitions librarian, who rarely wears lipstick. Actually, the poor dear never wears anything decent, just some khaki pants, plaid shirt and sensible shoes, everyday. I could pretty much discount Dana, though, because she is always in physical training. That woman is positively the anchor of our Softball team. (She is always asking me to play with them, but alas I cannot. Due to a very long story, your Auntie is forbidden by Judge's Decree from wielding a bat within the confines of this state.) I whipped out my tape and got a partial lip print from the rim of the teacup anyway. I figured that I could always use it for comparison later when I'm making the criminal kiss my, ahh, posterior.
I turned to the plate itself. Fortunately, Auntie sprinkles her scones with Confectioner's sugar. I know you might think me radical for that, but I feel it adds a little extra something that makes it well worth flouting Society's conventions. In this case, it proved the perfect medium for preserving fingerprint evidence. After lifting the prints, blacklight revealed traces of the substance on the floor of the break room. The splatter patterns were consistent with a medium height male eating a scone. Further proof that it was a male, only a man would refuse to care about splattering crumbs and sugar all over the damn floor. (I can't believe I just used the D-word!) Grabbing up my portable blacklight flashlight, I dashed out the door. The chase was afoot!
A faint trail of luminescent crumbs led me towards the administrative and technical sections of the library. I immediately headed to Winston's (our Audio-Visual Librarian, and prime suspect) cubicle. Winston, as always, was stunned by my presence, mouth half-full of, cinnamon bun? I peered closer at the front of his sweater, slapping one of his sticky hands away from my cardigan. Yes, small bits of white. I shined the flashlight on the lapels of his polyester sweater vest. Hmmm, small flecks of white. They're not fluorescing correctly, though. Wait a minute, that's Dandruff!
After a "Purell Hand Sanitizer" moment in the bathroom, I proceeded with the trail. Slowly, I was going into a dangerous part of the Library, the Administrator's office.
Suddenly, I rounded a corner, and there he was: J. Ambrose Smith, Library Administrator! Remembering some unpleasantness from the Holiday party involving a spilled punch bowl, my dress and his pepper-spray inflamed eyes, I am always at my most careful around him. Oh yes, and he's technically my Boss' Boss. But, what is that on his poorly tailored lapels? White flecks? I turned the blacklight of truth on him, they fluoresced perfectly! The thief! He smiled at me, a bit of purloined blueberry still stuck between his imperfect teeth!
Now at this point, most people would have smiled back, thanked this important personage for absconding with their breakfast and called it a day. But you have long ago realized that Auntie Willow isn't most people.
I closed the door quietly, reached into my crime-fighting case for my ruler, and dispensed Justice.

This is a special Monday post since Kwtia asked so sweetly for it.
It is to address a comment made by Gary in response to the Corrections that I posted on Saturday.
Gary said that I was in a flow-of-consciousness mode (Thank You Sweetie!). He asked if your Dear Auntie had started in on the Christmas Sherry early. While I have been known to tipple on occasion (very rarely and for medicinal purposes only!), I do not write while intoxicated.
I have no moral objections to it, but I have reasons not to attempt it.
You see, Dear Ones, Auntie did attend College at one point. So I know all about ?altered writing?. This is a school of thought that says, as Dave Chapelle in Half Baked so eloquently put it, ?They think that they?re more creative when they?re stoned.?
In honor of this, Auntie has rummaged around in some of her old papers to help Gary see what her work is like if she is not exactly sober.
This snippet is from a rather long poem which was handwritten, I couldn?t make out some of the words, so my apologies.
Please don?t be trying to date your Auntie Willow by looking up the political references; for the record I?m 22 and that?s the only answer you will get out of me.

• blood and cauliflower
  Gold and cauliflower
  Reagan spreads his dark wings across the land
  The poor his target
  Cauliflower and Granada
  Cauliflower and Contras
  (Unintelligible)
  Spank them with a ruler.

I know, your breath has been taken away by this. Unfortunately Dear Ones I no longer have the constitution to keep up such serious debauchery.
Still, since you love it so much, I?ve started work on an updated version. What I have so far is:

• Cauliflower and Iraq,
  Cauliflower and Alito,
  Cheney spreads his dark wings across the land

I think it will be beautiful. What do you think?

Dearies, your Auntie has found another "Must Have" book. It seems that some very clever people have found a way to "punch up" that boring old tome, Strunk and White's Elements of Style.
I had often thought that what that treasured volume of grammar lore needed some decent illustrations. As you can no doubt tell by my writing style, I have had little use for that book in the past. There was a traumatizing incident early on in life where a delivery truck filled with grammar goodness ran over a dear pet. I can still see it like it was yesterday. The truck speeding over the crest of the hill, Sparky's tail wagging while he ran to fetch the ball, the drunken book dealer swilling claret while blasting a particularly raucous polka. The screeching tires...NO SPARKY NO!!!! Nothing but a crying child and a spattered copy of The New York Times Manual of Style and Usage on the pavement....(I think it was the one that was supposed to go to poor Judith Miller....).
I swore off of writing manuals on that day, but I'm tempted by this new one.
I'm sure that reading such a missive would only improve my command of the language, but for the aforementioned reasons I have been hesitant to pick one up in the past. This holiday season I might acquire a copy.
In the meantime, there is someone who needs reading material, and desperately. His name? Tom DeLay. Poor Thomas has had an arrest warrant issued for him in the State of Texas. Thanks to the privatization of Texas Prisons, overseen under the auspices of his and George Bush's cronies, err, associates, I'm sure that he has a certain amount of trepidation as he goes to get fingerprinted. I heard that the poor dear might not even be allowed to bring a stylist to prepare for his pictures. Mug shot is such an ugly term. Uniquely Numbered Glamour Shot would be a better term. Actually, that is not a bad idea. Since the Repbulican Controlled, ummmm, Country is so bent on privatization, perhaps they could outsource the traditional booking photo spread to Glamour Shots. Think how much nicer it would be on all of these high level people currently under investigation! Imagine if people like Judy Miller of the New York Times could use her "Mug Shot" as the dust jacket photo on the book that she is trying to sell!
Perhaps they could make Karl Rove look "tough", and send the shot to his cellmates while he is still going through central booking. That could certainly ease his "initiation" into prison life! Note to Karl, although they say it is a good idea, I wouldn't hide anything of value "up there".
Sad to say though, they haven't acted on this good idea yet. Tom DeLay will just have to make due with the regular photographers at the Fort Bend County Jail in Texas. I hear they don't care about their lighting at all!
Note to Self: Good idea! Could get done if I can convince Haliburton to buy Glamour Shots. Contact attorney and banker tomorrow.