tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-194005992024-03-05T16:16:38.954-08:00carlitabay's thoughtsLibrarian has thoughts about life and nutty patrons.carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-47030601345422146242013-02-01T15:30:00.001-08:002013-02-01T15:30:16.768-08:00I wish I could turn off my power of smell sometimes. I feel assaulted by patrons' smells: cigarette smoke, cologne, bad breath, all in the first hour or so of work. It's not always a blessing to have a super sense of smell but not like a dog's sense of smell which is supposed to be a thousand times more sensitive than a human's.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY73ejhDC3UoMMSsA1qOlkLWbpWOTM6vI0dFX6DuFpl8068g4PMy0DdhqyTiMc5lPlBAxz28WfAX7u7sLWt4feZsQU1up-MVLBRoGvlAopBle41LG4KtrZ_bVCI2FbxuWuzBT9/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY73ejhDC3UoMMSsA1qOlkLWbpWOTM6vI0dFX6DuFpl8068g4PMy0DdhqyTiMc5lPlBAxz28WfAX7u7sLWt4feZsQU1up-MVLBRoGvlAopBle41LG4KtrZ_bVCI2FbxuWuzBT9/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
On the other hand, if losing my sense of smell went along with a loss of taste, like a co-worker's loss of both due to chemotherapy, then, well, no, thanks!carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-51725107250457804392012-11-01T16:49:00.000-07:002012-11-01T16:52:54.997-07:00a bitty stained glass project<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpol_KqF9y-YqF2ZSGBVHpvOid4kWhZIw8NAx8tbgDkcxapj_TwiRearNcFwL8i9wXQ-hCZpIUr9ewYoL5tdmeGkNk0NHmB6tryHNpFI_9B2ADPMDTx9-GTbDRwwhwTpyAvWe2/s1600/leaf+stained+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpol_KqF9y-YqF2ZSGBVHpvOid4kWhZIw8NAx8tbgDkcxapj_TwiRearNcFwL8i9wXQ-hCZpIUr9ewYoL5tdmeGkNk0NHmB6tryHNpFI_9B2ADPMDTx9-GTbDRwwhwTpyAvWe2/s320/leaf+stained+glass.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaf suncatcher</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://bitstrips.com/r/N6GV0"><br /></a>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-20046395157475925302012-04-24T19:34:00.002-07:002012-04-24T19:34:48.820-07:00Down There<div dir="ltr" id="internal-source-marker_0.45932650845797696" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 19px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 19px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hola!”</span></div>
<h1 dir="ltr">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She was walking around the square for the second time that morning when
she heard the flirtatious greeting. She kept walking lazily, not even
turning her head to see the speaker. The heat made her tired and she
scanned the café’s bordering the plaza for a familiar face, looking for
an escape from her solitary promenade or from the stranger probably
following her. The purple string bag weighed heavily on her shoulder and
she wished she hadn’t brought along Let’s Go Mexico on that day’s
outing. Her bag also contained her suntan lotion, SPF #24, her journal, a
few blank postcards and a map of the town. She had left her camera at
the hotel.</span></h1>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Hola!” she heard the same reedy male voice, this time at her side. She
turned slightly. This one was tallish, about 5’8” and his skin was on
the light side. He had a nice smile, was probably in his mid-20’s and
had a good build. He was wearing a plain white peasant shirt, a change
from the American college or rock band T-shirts that she was used to
seeing, and a macramé bracelet.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Habla español? Como se llama usted?” he asked eagerly, using the formal form.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She debated for a moment whether to let on that she spoke Spanish. But
she couldn’t resist an opportunity to show off. But was he going to be a
pain like the last one, that jerk she met in Oaxaca?</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Me llamo Maria,” she lied, picking an easy and common name. She felt
she was protecting herself a little if he didn’t know her real name.
She’d done it so often she was beginning to think of it as her real
name, her Mexican alias.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
He repeated the name, adding on a murmured “que linda” and she wondered
if he was referring to her own attractiveness or the name’s. He then
introduced himself quickly and took her hand; she struggled to separate
what he said, were there three or four names? Did she hear Jose or
Jorge? She thought he’d said Pedro also, but it didn’t really matter.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She looked again at the café tables as they walked but she didn’t see
anyone she knew. She realized he was still holding her hand and she
extricated herself from his grip.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
Other men strolling the plaza stared at them as they passed. Their
prying eyes appraised the, perhaps wondering if she would go to bed with
this guy, and by extension with them as well.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “You speak Spanish very well,” he said to her in English.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “But we have hardly talked at all,” she protested in Spanish, annoyed and flattered at the same time.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“But I can tell you are intelligent. You are very beautiful, too. You
are so different from the women here,” he said earnestly.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She grimaced at the quick comparison. She knew all too well, every
minute of her trip, how different she was with her blonde hair and blue
eyes and strange clothes. And why wasn’t he speaking Spanish. She needed
the practice.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“I like to teach you my town. See you the mural in the town hall? It
has a lot of meaning for my peoples. I enjoy to show you the mural, if
you are not…” he stumbled.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Busy? No, no estoy ocupada. Pero…” she hesitated, trying to decide, to think of an excuse not to go with him.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
He put his hand gently on her shoulder and she felt the warmth like a
heating pad radiating throughout her body. “I know you enjoy the mural,”
he said in a quiet and confident way, looking into her eyes.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She thought to herself, “what the hell” and said the universally
understood “okay.” He took her bag in a gesture of chivalry, slung it
over his shoulder and then took her elbow and led her in the direction
of the city hall. She stiffened as she felt eyes watching them as if
they were going straight to a hotel, the loose “gringa” and the local.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
But she liked her elbow cradled in his smooth brown hand, she liked his
masculine air of competence and she wanted to be guided for a change,
to forget about the guidebook and the map; she decided to let herself
enjoy the company after the solitude of nearly five days. She leaned
into his arm just a little as he talked of the history of his town.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
It was after seeing the mural that she started to feel a little scared.
They had spent an hour perched on the stairs where the huge mural was
painted, busy officials and townspeople passing, while he still had her
bag and in fact, would not let her carry it herself. She didn’t mind
much. He had gone from holding her elbow to holding her around the
waist. Once when they were laughing he had stroked her hair until she
moved her head away.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
They left the city hall and he said, “Let’s go rest. It’s too hot to
walk around,” as the church bells rang out the noon hour. She looked
around the street and saw the vendors closing up their stores and women
scurrying off with their infants on their backs. She felt like she would
fall if she didn’t sit down soon, and she was very conscious of the sun
beating down. She felt tired of struggling to understand him, both in
Spanish and in English. There was the hush of midday, a stillness that
always made her feel out of sorts.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Me gustó el mural pero tengo que ir al hotel para descansar,” she told
him firmly, wanting to show her appreciation for his tour but wanting
to go rest now.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Podria acompañarte?” he asked, wanting to go with her. She said no.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Pero quiero estar contigo,” he demanded, pulling her closer. So he
wanted to be with her. But of course that didn’t mean tomorrow or even
later in the day, that meant right now. So, it was going to be like
that, was it?</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“No, yo quiero descansar, solo” she said, and repeated it a couple of
times, realizing that “solo” should be feminine and thus be “sola”. But
was he even listening to her?</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Mi bonita, mi amor, conozco un lugar tan especial,” he started to
describe a cool and quiet place nearby with a fountain and ducks and a
boat they could rent to go on the lake. It sounded wonderful and as she
wavered he suddenly reached to pull her head towards him and she
instinctively lurched backwards, like a horse rearing. He was expecting
to kiss her, apparently, but she wasn’t’ going to, not that way at
least.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> He took her elbow again and sighed loudly. His lower lip stuck out a little and he looked sad.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Excuse me. We walk to the hotel now, okay?” he asked.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She nodded and they walked in silence for a while. At the square she
plopped down onto the nearest empty bench and he sat down next to her.
Children played and old men chatted.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Quieres un refresco?” he asked, and she watched him as he sauntered to
the kiosk to get a cold soda for her. Sitting in the shade of a huge
tree, she felt better already. Her head wasn’t pounding anymore. He
returned to her with a green bottle, which she was disappointed to see,
was not frosty cold. She gulped it down as he watched her and he smiled.
The soda was lukewarm and very sweet, sickeningly sweet, and so a few
mouthfuls were enough. He drank the rest and gave the empty bottle to a
kid nearby to take back to the kiosk and collect the deposit. The kid
then returned and talked her into buying a pack of gum he was selling.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She looked longingly over at her bag still in the young man’s grip and
wished she were alone so she could write in her journal. Though how long
she would be left alone was questionable, since even now sitting with
him the street vendors were besieging them at regular intervals to buy
everything from flowers for the lady to rugs.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> They rose, her with some effort, and as they walked towards her hotel they talked about her life in the United States. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
They were a couple of blocks from her hotel when he pointed out a
quaint little alley. She peered down it, seeing cobblestone and a statue
of the Virgin Mary.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Es un callejon muy interesante,” he said as he led her into it. She
wondered if callejon meant alley and was starting to ask him when she
felt herself pushed brusquely against the wall, his body against hers.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “Que haces?” she asked him in a small trembling voice, realizing that the quaint little alley was dark and empty of people.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Maria, mi amor” he breathed into her ear, and she felt his erect penis
pressing against her. She felt a tremor of excitement down there, and
confusion, too. She had promised herself in therapy that she would never
do this again, never let this happen again to her, so what was she
doing there?</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “No, no quiero” she said, and tried to push him away. She wondered what it would be life if they continued.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Por favor, Maria, un momentito mas, por favor,” he begged, grabbing
her hands and kissing them. Then he kissed her neck and she felt herself
going under, under, how weak she was, she couldn’t stop him, it felt so
good…</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Quitale los pantalones,” he commanded her sternly, and she awoke
abruptly. Take off her pants in this alley? One of his hands was
fumbling at her pants zipper while the other was rubbing her down there.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> “No, dejamé, stop it!” she cried. They struggled for a while until he gave up disgustedly.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
She stumbled out of the alley and clutched at her pants. She realized
he still had her bag and she turned to see him behind her, a sulky look
on his face. Oh, what a jerk, what a baby! Now how was she going to get
to her hotel without letting him know which one she was staying in?</span>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-58956943351449455632012-02-28T10:03:00.003-08:002012-02-28T10:07:43.095-08:00How many middle-aged women have newly taken up the guitar? Many. Me, too. I am trying to keep my brain limber, my fingers dexterous, but it is such a challenge. Even getting the time and applying myself to practicing is difficult.<br />But to play a song even moderately well is the reward. Singing and playing (at the same time!) is so cool...I've always thought my singing voice was terrible but it's not so bad, really.<br />Getting to play songs that were favorites, wow! Thinking about writing a song...but I would have to apply myself, focus, work and there's the rub. I am always trying to do too much.carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-67281667893802197962011-02-08T19:13:00.000-08:002011-02-08T19:18:53.560-08:00Woman in gym, talking to her friend: "I bought this at Wal-Mart (hiss) for $20. I only buy clothes on sale. I like to replace my clothes every year. It makes me feel good."<br /><br />No consciousness about Wal-Mart and the high cost of those low prices! Privileged or should I say spoiled Americans! Replace all her clothes every year? I think only a woman would do such a thing.<br /><br />Maybe I misunderstood her. I hope so.carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-56764323935602065372011-01-23T09:46:00.000-08:002011-01-23T09:47:49.045-08:00So this patron comes up and presents me with a piece of paper, saying it was a quiz. First question, true or false:<br />I have boogers.<br /><br />Second question:<br />I have a pretty smile.<br /><br />Okay, well, I said True to both and made him happy. More importantly, it made him go away.carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-69806863516786674282010-05-28T09:01:00.001-07:002010-05-28T09:29:15.723-07:00I recently talked to a man who seemed to think that all women with cleavage have to do to get what they want (in this case, a taxi on New Year's Eve) is to <span style="font-weight: bold;">show it</span>.<br /><br />How naive can you get? Men are essentially naive, perhaps willingly so, to women's actual world and experiences in it.<br /><br />What might actually happen? The taxi driver could insist on a feel of such cleavage, putting the woman in a very uncomfortable and even dangerous situation.<br /><br />An obvious extension of this kind of thinking is that women should or have to let men have sex with them to get what they want. The assumption is that men are always in a position of control and power. If the taxi driver is a (straight) woman, the assumptions are shown to be faulty in this regard.<br /><br />The attitude that also bothers me is that this man thought I should be manipulative to get what I want. And that it was so easy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is he ignorant of the dangers women face?</span> Or just trying to flatter me? Or just <span style="font-weight: bold;">stupid</span>?carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-56714704782490099042010-05-28T08:48:00.000-07:002010-05-28T09:00:41.239-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGcnTpqXXxP30gZ0dpkg-RhP2vBExCd4Rc4PV5vIoI2rV_WWxcY9byYWFX76pQGCAxBK2RG4ClZN4All09ND69GWfWfijN9S8QYsmNk4ojTJuJwdjiFfi196o1meRAR1ChPrN/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 101px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGcnTpqXXxP30gZ0dpkg-RhP2vBExCd4Rc4PV5vIoI2rV_WWxcY9byYWFX76pQGCAxBK2RG4ClZN4All09ND69GWfWfijN9S8QYsmNk4ojTJuJwdjiFfi196o1meRAR1ChPrN/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476351403984051474" border="0" /></a><br />"A Serious Man", "A Single Man" and now "Solitary Man". So many movies about men. And then we have the new movie, "GIRL with a Dragon Tattoo" about a mid-20's WOMAN!<br /><br />How many movies can you name with the word woman or women in the title?<br /><br /><ul><li>"Pretty Woman": about a prostitute, one of the few female dominated professions of interest to the male audience (the one that's really important since women will watch movies about men and men won't generally watch movies about women)</li><li>"Scent of a Woman": two main characters are both men so it's not even about a woman</li><li>Can I count "Wonder Woman"?</li></ul>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-37680517155009100442010-02-07T09:27:00.001-08:002010-02-07T09:27:52.794-08:00No More Shame in Having Prison Connections<br />by <span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_0">Jean Butler</span><br /><br />For those of you who forget that the incarcerated humans in this country<br />are indeed just that - human - I'd like you to think on this the next<br />time you talk about "inmates, criminals, convicts, etc." These humans<br />have families and those who love them, despite whatever they did. Look<br />around you and wonder, because this is who we are:<br />We take care of your children and grandchildren in <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_1">nursery school</span>.<br />We give them shots in the doctor's office.<br />We're <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_2">dental assistants</span>, school teachers and <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_3">Sunday school teachers</span>.<br />We stand behind you in the grocery line.<br />We prepare your medicine in the drugstore.<br />We work in banks, approve your loans and service your insurance claims.<br />We work for newspapers and television and radio stations.<br />We read your electric meters and water meters.<br />We are your landlords and your neighbors.<br />We take care of your elderly parents in nursing homes.<br />We're nurses, <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_4">lab technicians</span> and Wry technicians.<br />We own beauty shops, flower shops and printing shops.<br />We're welders, plumbers and tree trimmers.<br />We work for the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_5">Internal Revenue Service</span>, the State Department, the<br />courthouse, schools, churches, drugstores and toy stores.<br />We're lawyers, <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_6">legal secretaries</span>, school board members and school-bus<br />drivers.<br />We prepare meals for your children in school.<br />We're <span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_7">city council members</span> and bank tellers.<br />We process your checking account and savings account.<br />We work at your Social Security office and your insurance company.<br />We take care of your IRA, stocks and bonds.<br />We sell your children bikes, school supplies, clothes, shoes, and<br />eyeglasses.<br />We repair your cars.<br />We're real-estate agents, car dealers, college professors, safety<br />engineers and ranchers.<br />We work at <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_8">Wal-Mart</span> and Kmart and sell Avon products.<br />We're not all "on welfare," no matter what the government would like you<br />to think.<br />There are 2 million people in prison in America, and twice that many are<br />on parole and probation. Add in mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers,<br />aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends, and you're touching about 16<br />million people affected by the <span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1265563974_9">prison system</span> in the United States.<br />We're tired of letting ourselves feel humiliated or embarrassed because<br />our loved one is in prison. We did nothing wrong. We're tired of fearing<br />the loss of our jobs or evictions from our housing should anyone find out<br />we have a loved one in prison. We're tired of being made to feel inferior<br />or unwelcome in churches, clubs, organizations or society in general<br />simply because we refuse to abandon our loved ones.<br />We're ready to unite, to come out of hiding and openly support each other<br />and our loved ones. We're ready to speak out against the "they deserve<br />what they get" attitude we hear you talk about in stores, lines and<br />restaurants.<br />We number in the millions. We're everywhere, in every state, county, city<br />and town. We may even live next door to you. Sixteen million (or more).carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-39341118831063788722010-01-26T18:37:00.000-08:002010-01-26T19:11:16.880-08:00Nice people at the library and what they say:<br /><br /><br /><br />"You're a cheap bastard!" (county took away drop off ballot boxes, nothing to do with the library or the library assistant being accused of frugality)<br /><br /><br /><br />"You are the devil in disguise" (said to same library assistant because she smiles a lot)carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-47133268355845389122010-01-09T10:09:00.000-08:002010-01-09T10:10:10.289-08:00Take a librarian to lunch<br />You know that she deserves it.<br />Ascertain her favorite food,<br />And find a place that serves it.<br /><br />Seek out, too, an ambiance<br />That you are sure will suit her.<br />Some place that bans all little kids<br />And where there's no computer.<br /><br />Serve her with her favorite drink:<br />Champagne? Or something diet?<br />And make it clear that, at this meal,<br />There are no rules on quiet.<br /><br />Ask her to tell you of her job:<br />Which books are circulating?<br />Which patron said what funny thing?<br />You’ll find it fascinating.<br /><br />But do leave promptly when you’ve shared<br />Good talk and drink and food.<br />Librarians must be back when due<br />And may not be renewed.<br /><br />N.B. Nothing here should be construed as precluding the taking of a male librarian to lunch.<br /><br />(Who wrote this? twasn't me)carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-39562748092597969912009-10-02T13:01:00.001-07:002009-10-02T13:05:13.064-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh5lQUXoybljLMiw6M0kICl5doGIVEoDiGykn-dFhha0r9R-If0qbnRQb8qqoNpXdZAWylFZ7A0ynNPa2wKv9w7N7vNLUCUBhJEPspYZ8Ls5z06w9OR3F5MJ15z8qRC2VFw8h/s1600-h/e029bb2227b59318.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh5lQUXoybljLMiw6M0kICl5doGIVEoDiGykn-dFhha0r9R-If0qbnRQb8qqoNpXdZAWylFZ7A0ynNPa2wKv9w7N7vNLUCUBhJEPspYZ8Ls5z06w9OR3F5MJ15z8qRC2VFw8h/s320/e029bb2227b59318.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388095891511035346" border="0" /></a><br />THINGS THAT ARE SO MUCH EASIER TO BUY THESE DAYS:<br /><br />Ear plugs<br />Gluten free foods<br />Vibrators (in your nearby drugstore probably!)<br />Machines to print out digital pics<br /><br />THINGS HARD TO BUY<br /><br />Record players<br />Books on cassette<br />Lemon-broiled tempehcarlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-27208285805786984002009-10-01T13:01:00.000-07:002009-10-01T13:05:20.798-07:00Hey, Barbara<br /><br />Yes, I'm on Facebook. I deleted my Myspace page a little while ago. Facebook has helped me feel in touch with my niece and nephew who I haven't talked to since the lawsuit (the oldest kid just had her first baby and posted photos of baby Liam). I just sent a friend request to your hubbie. Damn, he has a lot of FB friends! I only have 49.<br /><br />I get all sorts of interesting news and links and poems and recipes. One drawback is the games they have on there that your friends may become addicted to and post news of their winnings and losses on your Wall, Mafia Wars and FarmVille. I just learned how to hide results of the games! Hooray!<br /><br />It seems like in every group of "older" people we end up in a discussion of Facebook. I don't get how some people can spend 3 hours signing up. It's so easy! Discussions of privacy always ensue, and then the obligatory discussion of wasting your precious time on computer sites. That last one I get but Facebook doesn't usually take much time. I can recommend it, I think!carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-67628577261764570432009-09-12T07:58:00.000-07:002009-09-12T08:02:07.619-07:00Why do people (who should know better, people on NPR even) say "women's movement" when it should be women's LIBERATION movement? Or, if you can't say that many words, how about one fairly short one, feminism? They will say "civil rights movement" and "gay rights" but "women's movement"<br /> sounds like someone is having trouble with their bowels. Are we so unconsciously uncomfortable with the concept of women having rights? Or just unaware of what the movement was actually called...it's like saying you like women's magazines. Are we talking Ms. or Glamour? There's a huge difference!carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-56092507209486149322009-04-24T21:40:00.001-07:002009-04-24T21:53:15.937-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxr-fJvyEz4EvUKcqbjb2-ivgnRc37VNjNMLKXihpE61XrTELdq8Rn-mMM7qPeENBJ8hDqwM01iA42bzuGruisemr8wNKZQ86ZVauQny6winFHWubpSL2nFv9oiXKvq2oGwy4/s1600-h/world_without.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxr-fJvyEz4EvUKcqbjb2-ivgnRc37VNjNMLKXihpE61XrTELdq8Rn-mMM7qPeENBJ8hDqwM01iA42bzuGruisemr8wNKZQ86ZVauQny6winFHWubpSL2nFv9oiXKvq2oGwy4/s320/world_without.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328487542677226962" border="0" /></a><br />Just read <span style="font-style: italic;">The World Without Us</span> by Alan Weisman, right on the heels of <span style="font-style: italic;">Blindness</span> by Jose Saramago (Portuguese Nobel prize winner). It's a very interesting combo. In the latter all veneer of "civilization" drops right off when everyone is struck by the same ailment, blindness. Talk about a dog eat dog society! The book is fiction, of course, but makes you think about all our conventions we rely so much on that actually require a lot of "man" power: electricity, government, stores, plumbing, etc.<br />The World Without Us is an examination of how long it would take the earth to recover from the damage we have already done. He started with Chernobyl and what plants and species jumped in when the nuclear power plant was abandoned. He then extended it to the whole world! It is awesome. He covers everything, including subways (and how long it would take for them to collapse and get filled up with water--not long at all), bridges, cities, etc. In a way it feels good to think that the earth could survive us but of course at times it will take a very very long time: to recover from the chromium and lead we have left in the soil would take 70,000 years, for example. A guy at a party ventured forth a guess of 100 years. Ha! Only one person's lifetime! How naive. He really needs to read this book. We all do!carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-40319962743209690182009-01-29T10:35:00.000-08:002009-04-24T10:45:55.474-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_zd2lZxvVkVGc9tNePCBtc2Q788G1l-289mPXxSw8Sf4G-b0yDJaVgsDIhyStIo_g-2tnM5yzkgCcDIvOVOQ9oWLnMPQCSLI7aKEVtw030dHd1tjKc0Ko_X8DYb9mC7bRPhe/s1600-h/killing+sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_zd2lZxvVkVGc9tNePCBtc2Q788G1l-289mPXxSw8Sf4G-b0yDJaVgsDIhyStIo_g-2tnM5yzkgCcDIvOVOQ9oWLnMPQCSLI7aKEVtw030dHd1tjKc0Ko_X8DYb9mC7bRPhe/s320/killing+sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296786397426522930" border="0" /><span style="font-size:180%;">ANOTHER QUAGMIRE </span></a><br /><br />Ah, the good old days! Not even 4,000 dead! And who is counting Iraqi lives? Not our usual media but only <a href="http://www.iraqbodycount.org/">http://www.iraqbodycount.org/</a> and the current count is:<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">91,466-99,861</span></span> (a stunned silence)<br /><br />Obama is great; it's so wonderful to have an intelligent person as the prez, and so cool that he is a person of color and has such a varied background.<br />But why does he want to send more troops to Afghanistan? Can we stop the Taliban? What is the goal? This worries me and others. From Alternet.org<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Afghanistan is no longer a downward spiral, it has hit rock bottom. It is, </span><a style="font-style: italic;" mce_href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/06/opinion/06herbert.html" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/06/opinion/06herbert.html">as Bob Herbert put it</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> in </span><i style="font-style: italic;">The New York Times</i><span style="font-style: italic;"> this week, a total quagmire, one that we're up to our waists in thanks to Bush. </span><br /><a href="http://www.alternet.org/blogs/video/118732/we_can%27t_afford_to_sink_deeper_into_the_afghan_quagmire/">http://www.alternet.org/blogs/video/118732/we_can%27t_afford_to_sink_deeper_into_the_afghan_quagmire/</a>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-11335806528651598702009-01-29T10:03:00.000-08:002009-01-29T10:13:07.473-08:00<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">AM I JUST GETTING OLD OR WHAT?<br /><br />These days when you hear someone saying "hello" in the park, chances are better that they are talking on their cell phone then that they are greeting you. And when they repeat it over and over you know it's a bad connection and you are so annoyed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Our devices cut us off from communication with a person actually in front of you. When I'm walking in the park with my iPod I don't get greeted very often (okay, half the people walking are either on the phone or listening to something, just like me). It's so different when I am walking with a friend and smiling and talking--I get greeted constantly!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The isolation worries me. I have enough periods of isolation in my life, days when I don't work and might not talk to anyone all day except for "paper or plastic?" in the store, and here in Seattle I think there's now a law against plastic bags being given out by stores (or is that being contested).</span></span>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-19506790138049783302008-12-30T10:52:00.000-08:002008-12-30T10:58:21.993-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OUchJlXpS3z8fSEU6kQ5TkvjhAwCnp3F2T74oWnjap6Z67xDmCFqyxANZw-e62Q7JE2l03jR_es2uZHqpfPuLfZYpvkFscp7_IY6JGwhhxYd1F2vutn4MiIaUuN3voNObM5P/s1600-h/Family3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 96px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OUchJlXpS3z8fSEU6kQ5TkvjhAwCnp3F2T74oWnjap6Z67xDmCFqyxANZw-e62Q7JE2l03jR_es2uZHqpfPuLfZYpvkFscp7_IY6JGwhhxYd1F2vutn4MiIaUuN3voNObM5P/s320/Family3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285659301466758418" /></a><br />There is a great new web series on polyamory! Not a documentary, it's a drama. Each episode is only 5-6 minutes so it doesn't take a lot of time but it's funny and poignant. It's meaningful for all types of relationships and has some local interest, such as mentions of Microsoft employees. Watch it on YouTube!<br />FAMILY - a comic web series of alternative love. <br />http://www.youtube.com/user/3dogpicturescarlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-61010571351703964762008-12-07T13:07:00.001-08:002008-12-07T13:08:03.619-08:00I'm sorry you are upset about the racial thing you wrote about. I can see why you think black people shouldn't say the “N word” but you don't seem to understand that it's different for them to use that word. It really depends on how it is used and it is usually used as a very hateful word by white people. It's just like lesbians using the word “dyke” or gay men using the word “faggot”. They don't use it in a hateful way; they are trying to turn a hateful word into something else that lowers the intensity of the word. I don't know if I'm explaining it very well! But if you wanted to use that word with a person of color you would have to ask if it's okay with him/her/them. That's only polite, really, and if you are really friends you would be able to communicate that you don't mean it in a bad way. But to my way of thinking it is way easier just to avoid the word. If THEY want to use that word with each other, they can and they are allowed. As a white male, perhaps it's hard for you to understand. But I really disagree with you that only black people are racist (you said “racial” but I think you meant “racist”). I see racism all the time from white people. I do experience people of color “pulling the race card” at the library a lot; they understandably have a chip on their shoulder since we are still such a racist society, despite Obama's win (and he is BI racial and very light skinned) and they are quick to claim that they are getting unfair treatment because of their color. And staff are frustrated by that and feel it's unfair. So maybe this is what you were trying to say. It's a helluva lot deeper than using the “n” word!carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-47808082094885619182008-12-04T19:53:00.000-08:002008-12-30T10:47:44.827-08:00She always was single, terminally single, and didn't understand why no one fixed her up with someone. Everyone seemed too afraid. They were afraid the couple wouldn't get along and would blame them. Or maybe they just didn't care, didn't want to risk either friendship, or didn't know anyone suitable. She had a hard time understanding that since she herself loved playing matchmaker. She only had one success story it's true and they only lasted half a year. She had been helping her less computer literate friend post an ad in “Dreg's List” and then field and answer the ads. Up came a recognizable photo, a man she had gone out with five times. Although they got along, it wasn't exactly fireworks. She finally kissed him very lightly and that was the extent of their physical familiarity. So she couldn't really recommend him as a lover which was just as well! And when she thought he looked “weird” in his photo, the man in the photo being seated in a boat so perhaps he looked dwarfish, she was able to talk her friend into answering his message to her ad. It didn't hurt that her work friends also thought he looked nice or even handsome in the photo.<br /><br /><br /> On the other hand, she'd resisted her Indian friend's desire to match a geeky slight guy at work with an overweight student friend of hers. The friend was Christian and the guy was not religious. The guy was so unassuming and lacking in self-confidence that he would never have had the nerve to call the woman so what were they to do? Her friend was in town for only a few days so the timing was impossible. Besides that, this friend like so many Indians was doing an arranged marriage so did she really know much about relationships, never having been in one?carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-25277778238933542262008-05-09T10:23:00.000-07:002008-12-12T12:51:51.677-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxWEuC8-WyNHF2q89Kx3nejgMIK0M2SnlF3VqBwoHwPkm-rUtZesjvQBk9K4T4kQlYhoQaO_v7_WSmbAutrXmLOuzqcQBQYR1OEk9QaS9qMnZW_j7DpkV2QykCHumrAlJ0eJV/s1600-h/350px-Single_origin_multiple_dispersals.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxWEuC8-WyNHF2q89Kx3nejgMIK0M2SnlF3VqBwoHwPkm-rUtZesjvQBk9K4T4kQlYhoQaO_v7_WSmbAutrXmLOuzqcQBQYR1OEk9QaS9qMnZW_j7DpkV2QykCHumrAlJ0eJV/s320/350px-Single_origin_multiple_dispersals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198431387034502194" border="0" /></a><br />Quote from my father after I gave him a puzzled look on the start of his lecture about how we are all descended from 150 original people*:<br /><br />"Is that a smirk or a sneer?" Why are those my only choices?<br /><br />*Wikipedia: "Some scientists believe that only a few people left Africa in a single migration that went on to populate the rest of the world. It has been estimated that from a population of 2,000 to 5,000 in Africa, only a small group of possibly 150 people crossed the Red Sea. This is because, of all the lineages present in Africa, only the daughters of one lineage, L3, are found outside Africa. Had there been several migrations one would expect more than one African lineage outside Africa. L3's daughters, the M and N lineages, are found in very low frequencies in Africa and appear to be recent arrivals. A possible explanation is that these mutations occurred in East Africa shortly before the exodus and by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Founder_effect" title="Founder effect">founder effect</a> became the dominant haplogroups after the exodus from Africa. Alternatively, the mutations may have arisen shortly after the exodus from Africa."carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-19813844780173008252008-05-02T14:22:00.000-07:002008-12-12T12:51:51.876-08:00<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeVsUT1uAzJiE3EUeml8vFJwnkbYSj_NcGtNgrL5NJkNNMNl7svQ70Zc_sLfjUjUdltQvHSjK1Gcbl4kB6DrimM5oFmVbBrvy0sm3eCNG6fZRizMiHF32irr6iFh4aZE7bhhO/s1600-h/phonebooth.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195894673844938002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeVsUT1uAzJiE3EUeml8vFJwnkbYSj_NcGtNgrL5NJkNNMNl7svQ70Zc_sLfjUjUdltQvHSjK1Gcbl4kB6DrimM5oFmVbBrvy0sm3eCNG6fZRizMiHF32irr6iFh4aZE7bhhO/s320/phonebooth.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong>OUTMODED CONVENTIONS</strong></div><br /><strong></strong><br /><br /><strong>You sound like a broken record.</strong><br /><br /><strong></strong><br /><br /><strong>telephones:</strong><br /><br /><strong>there are no longer phone booths</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>you no longer dial the telephone</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-10418865706441449562008-03-28T17:38:00.000-07:002008-12-30T10:48:47.378-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRvA2kSQUkZ0D4nKLc7VDAp8a3qEcCAJVgA80S3eXetjIEYiCPDEJLXjDJaixFxvur1A1pubMQuDw0fXobJTnFr4buoLI83lmfGJR_aRCMjwWpKdAQSCnddzZJynn8ba9TsNa/s1600-h/latrainingspoon-480.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182958646835976338" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRvA2kSQUkZ0D4nKLc7VDAp8a3qEcCAJVgA80S3eXetjIEYiCPDEJLXjDJaixFxvur1A1pubMQuDw0fXobJTnFr4buoLI83lmfGJR_aRCMjwWpKdAQSCnddzZJynn8ba9TsNa/s320/latrainingspoon-480.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>CUDDLE PARTIES? HOW BIZARRE!<br /></strong><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Have you heard of Cuddle parties? Scott Baio, the actor, went to one in NYC and did a YouTube video on it. He didn't want to cuddle with any men (horrors!) but he did let a "small person" massage a woman's foot while it was perched on his chest. How liberal of him!</span> </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><br />It's really very cool. You bring pajamas and change into them. Then comes a lot of rules, 45 minutes of them, and you practice saying "no". I like rule #7, No Dry Humping. Well, I don't actually see that on their website so maybe they realized people (uh, men) are too cool for that. Yeah, right.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><br />So, no sex? What's the point, sez some men I've mentioned it to. Yeah, they're the younger types with testosterone poisoning. There is SO much value and comfort in touch! There are SO many of us who are touch deprived!<br /><br />I just wish it didn't cost so much! Yes, people are trained and trying to make some kind of living from it, but it shouldn't cost $30 to get a little touch!carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-13419750742465184592007-11-27T18:29:00.000-08:002008-12-30T10:49:08.392-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJe1udCneZ-cMgxv-0VuUdP27WGKPDvI-sTQuzIaWJVRSV4DLlxxRtJoXwhoobq0JFAypFwPQqJ4NK3GqouR9HOvKZnN379fzknprbDseMOED6A-MCgKJdsqQcbpcdJ5xM6h89/s1600-h/248reading-close.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137721385097999842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJe1udCneZ-cMgxv-0VuUdP27WGKPDvI-sTQuzIaWJVRSV4DLlxxRtJoXwhoobq0JFAypFwPQqJ4NK3GqouR9HOvKZnN379fzknprbDseMOED6A-MCgKJdsqQcbpcdJ5xM6h89/s320/248reading-close.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">IS READING GOING OUT OF STYLE?</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">I have kept a list of all the movies I've seen and books I've read since 1985. On paper and occasionally I update a list but since the computer keeps changing or the program changes I have had to start over a few times in the 22 years I've been doing it. Yikes, that's a long time! My goal is to read more books than see movies but do I count books on tape/CD (and now ebooks)? Sure, why not! A woman in my book group doesn't even read the book if she can help it; she prefers to listen to it!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">A recent study says that people are reading less and less. The most depressing statistic: "Almost half of Americans between ages 18 and 24 never read books for pleasure." (a new report released today by the National Endowment for the Arts, November 19, 2007)</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">Ian Frazier wrote a hilarious piece for the Nov. 13, 2006 New Yorker titled, "Downpaging". In it he talks about buying books as a terrible addiction that is bankrupting people. Here is a sample from it: </span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">"Few people know that the leading cause of personal bankruptcy in the United States is the ‘Clan of the Cave Bear’ novels. You overspend on one, and, just when you begin to dig yourself out, the next installment comes along."</span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>carlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19400599.post-24689226749586449972007-10-26T21:10:00.000-07:002008-12-12T12:51:52.450-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViGFuU4pGxqQm5BoNQJPk6d6n89dXfKfzcfvWyOWdqsY2WrwcIC1iXyD9P66cWAcR1ogHKEG_t62hdk5qMum2uiebCTcHuYLhBeWY1ti7wiJ1JO6905uREZESaV-2d7tCBZ3S/s1600-h/bright.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgViGFuU4pGxqQm5BoNQJPk6d6n89dXfKfzcfvWyOWdqsY2WrwcIC1iXyD9P66cWAcR1ogHKEG_t62hdk5qMum2uiebCTcHuYLhBeWY1ti7wiJ1JO6905uREZESaV-2d7tCBZ3S/s320/bright.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125865632184550002" border="0" /></a><br /><h3 class="entry-header"><a href="http://susiebright.blogs.com/susie_brights_journal_/2007/10/the-sex-positiv.html">The Sex-Positive Librarian Will See You Now</a> is a new posting on Susie Bright's blog, the sex educator. She interviews Steve Harsin, a librarian, about sex books and censorship in public libraries. You can hear an interview. It's fun!<br /></h3>http://susiebright.blogs.com/<br />see October 21st entrycarlitabayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04063140906399904198noreply@blogger.com0