Lunatics and Princesses

Dear Everybody,

Guess what? I don't really care that Whitney Houston died. It was weird in a 'huh' kind of way, because she's been around and part of the music scene since I was a kid. It gets the same kind of 'huh' from me that anyone does that was a household name who dies. I think the whole drug thing was a shame. Literally, I mean, throwing away a voice like that for drugs is shameful. But it's her life and she could do what she wanted with it.

Now. I am sick to death of all the displeasure that you're showing that ANYONE in the media is paying attention to her death. All of the macros with dead soldiers or starving African children going 'Whitney who?'-- are you kidding me? GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELVES.

Just because someone had addiction problems is no reason that they can't be mourned. Guess what? Soldiers have addiction problems. People from all walks of life have addiction problems. And believing that just because someone was in entertainment means that they never did anything to help society or individuals? Is BULLSHIT. Yes. Houston never picked up a gun to serve her country. However, she did:

- break down race barriers in a restrictive industry
- operate charities supporting children with AIDS, cancer, and who are homeless
- support the United Negro College Fund, helping to send people of color to college who might otherwise not have been able to go
- record and release her Superbowl rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner", donating ALL of her share of the profits to the American Red Cross Gulf Crisis Fund
- Staged a concert specifically for soldiers and their families
- refused to do any business with any agencies supporting apartheid
- supported charities that raised apartheid awareness
- become the first major singer to perform in South Africa after apartheid, donating proceeds from her concerts to various South African charities
- re-release "The Star Spangled Banner" after 9/11, with all profits going to the New York Firefighters 9/11 Disaster Relief Fund and the New York Fraternal Order of Police

Those are just the public things. You don't know how she affected individual lives. Guess what? When I was super depressed and going through a really hard time in my life, it was not a solider who saved me. It was a musician who got me through. Now, that wasn't Houston, but who's to say that her music never touched people, never helped them through hard times? I'm sure those people are mourning her right now. And newsflash: THEY HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO.

(Just like you have every right to mourn Steve Jobs, who was a tyrant and a slave worker, literally, but hey, he didn't do drugs, so he's all right. Whatever. I wish you could see the dismissive sneer on my face right now.)

And to the people in my parents' generation who are sounding off on this on Facebook:

SHUT THE FUCK UP. SERIOUSLY? I KNOW WHAT YOU PEOPLE DID DURING THE SIXTIES AND SEVENTIES. I'VE SEEN THE PICTURES. Pot and the kettle, much?

To sum up: Death is painful, whether big or small. Everyone has the right to mourn whoever they want, however they want. You don't have the right to judge or direct them.

.

Benazir Bhutto was killed during a suicide bombing.

Story here, because I don't have time to mess with the html.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/12/27/pakistan.sharif/index.html

It was a disaster in and of itself. The man is fucking retarded, I swear to god. The thing that drove my mother, sister, and I nuts the most, though?

The whole "this part of the world thing."

THIS PART OF THE WORLD IS IN YOUR COUNTRY, FUCKWIT!!! "This part of the world" "That part of the world"- that's what you say when you're talking about somewhere else. Indonesia, Africa, wherever- not a place that's like, three hours or whatever from where you fucking grew up. He must have said the phrase "in this part of the world" five or six times.

Oh, yeah. The other real gem of his speech was the bit where he talked about having waaaay too much fun there in his youth, and he's sure that someday soon New Orleans will build itself up to it again.

If you want to say it, Georgie, say it. You can't wait for the city to get back on its feet so you can see women flashing their tits for beads every fifteen seconds, and then you can go get wasted with your cabinet members. Maybe if you get lucky, Condi will show you hers.

Fucker.

( And a meme! )

Seriously. Who the fuck does the president think he is, pushing back CSI for a dumb "press conference"? Because, you know, he answers questions off the cuff all the time. Yep. Constantly.

Interesting insider random bit o' knowledge: When Georgie deviates from his scripted speech, his press/speechwriter people call it "going off the ranch." My public speaking teacher has a friend who works for the press corps, and her job- this is incredible, it's her main reason for working there- is to yell "YOU'RE OFF THE RANCH!" at him when he practices his speeches and starts to ramble.

Obviously she's doing a good job. He didn't go off the ranch last night, although no one laughed at his jokes.

...Eh. The point is, I wound up staying up to watch CSI even though my parents were going to tape it. It was good that I did, because the tape stopped halfway through the episode.

You know, when CSI does an episode that deals with a sexual sub-culture (BDSM, baby play, whatever) everyone makes a huge deal out of it; the episode itself is usually not that bad or shocking when it actually airs. Then there's the occasional episode that has doesn't particularly deal with a deviant sub-culture, and it's extremely squickish. Committed= creepy. Good, but creepy. It kind of scares me that there are people like that in the world.

And of course, Grissom just stood there like a dope. *eyeroll* At this point I don't expect anything else, but... gah. Hello. Sara's got a very sharp object to her throat, so let's just stand here with the good old "mildly concerned" look on our faces, right?

Overall, I really liked it. I can't wait to see the icons people are going to come up with for this one.

Unfortunately, staying up that extra hour means that I'm really, really tired. So tired I have a headache. I hate when that happens. I usually manage to get enough sleep to keep the headaches off, but sometimes I push it too far, and it all goes to hell. Maybe I can grab some sleep after chemistry class.

Gah. Chemistry. DOOOOOOOOM.

I saved the last season’s transcripts to disk at work last week. They only took two days to read, and I’ve had nothing to read since then due to limited computer access. I have got to get internet back in my house. Hopefully I’ll be able to do this soon, as I have a job interview tomorrow. Environmental activism –yay?- yay or not, it pays about $400 per week with benefits. You want me to stand on the corner in a clown suit and try to sell save the whales t-shirts? Whatever you want, sweetheart.

The hours are weird but that’s fine with me. 2pm-10:30pm Monday to Friday. It’s on Westcott Street, so Dad is freaking out about it being a shit neighborhood, but what else is new? Every time I point out a house I like, Dad goes off the handle ranting about how it’s a “shit neighborhood.” The adjectives never change. He’s all, you can’t be down there at eleven at night, blah blah, woof woof, and it’s like, That’s fine, but what do you expect me to do the rest of my life? I’m not rich enough to stick to only the best areas, thanks. Wouldn’t want to anyway. I like urban areas about fifty thousand times more than anything, well, less than urban. I like hearing rap music from someone else’s stereo, I like hearing sirens at night, and traffic noises and people yelling and talking and laughing. It reminds me of home; in a strange way it’s where I feel the safest. I love trees and all as much as the next elf-wannabe but being all alone with the area empty for miles around (with no one around to hear me scream) really, really creeps me out.

Anyway. Onwards and upwards. Nana is moving from Doylestown to Tom’s River at the end of the month. Both houses are sold and bought. I found this out last night via a phone conversation my mother was having with her old roommate. My mom’s a sweet lady but she’s got this idea fixed in her head that none of us can handle anything, good news or bad, so she doesn’t tell us. Nice of her, and all, but annoying when you have to get all your information secondhand from eavesdropping on phone calls.

“I ain’t been droppin’ no eaves, sir!”

In other news I’ve decided to run for President when I turn 35. I figure if I start campaigning now, I won’t have to squeeze two billion dollars worth of campaign ads into three years. Here is my ingenious plan:

Heather 2020

If I just have that put on stickers and t-shirts and stuff, and distribute it all over the country, in fourteen years everyone will know who I am. Subliminally, anyway. No one will know what it means until I turn 35 in 2018, and I’ll let everyone know then. So remember, people. Heather 2020! Abolish the Electoral College! Term Limits for Everyone, even Supreme Court Justices! Down with the Patriot Act!

Muah ha ha. Am political mastermind. Go me.

Ronald Reagan died.

My dad: “’Bout fucking time, the rotten son of a bitch. I hate that miserable cocksucker.”

My mom: “Oh, was he still alive? Great, we have to sit through this ‘national mourning’ for a whole week. People loved him, but I don’t get why… He was such an ass. No, Heather, I don’t love Grissom! I hate Grissom! Leave me alone.”

My sister: “So? Who cares?”



My mom hates Grissom. This is quite amusing, so I tell her that he’s pining away for her and that she should run away to Vegas almost constantly. Hence the quote.

It’s really muggy out. I’ve got a sinus headache right now, which sucks. I took a couple of aspirin before, but I really don’t want to take anything stronger until I go to bed, since I don’t feel like passing out right now. I wonder if it’s going to be as hot as it was last summer. May was really cool and wet, and rainy all the time, and I thought that was how this summer was going to be until my mom told me that it was just like that last year and how it got hot all of a sudden. Like I would remember that. I can barely remember being hot last year, and that was only because it was hellishly hot on the day that the Power Went Out. (Great Northeast Power Outage, brought to you by the People Who Are Powering Your War!) Ugh.

Have to call Anna. If she hasn’t left for Georgia already. Am slug. Huge, lazy slug.

Also have to call Bill. (See above slug comment.)

Maybe I’ll make ramen.

Speaking of ramen, what the fuck is going on when the ice cream melts in the freezer but the carrots freeze in the crisper????? What is the world coming to?

Wrote to Jeannette.
Talked to Lise.
Made some sort of contact with Johanna (phone tag- I’ll call her back later this week.)
Called work.
Called job-maybe-place.
Saw Kate.
Read vampire book.

Erm…that’s it? I think?

-_- Probably not. I’ll probably forget something terribly important and get it loads of trouble. *goes to comfort self with CSI fanfic*