Robot Youtube
here
Thursday, February 25, 2010
....And This Time He Sent His Daughters and They Are Mothers
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And this time He sent His Daughters and They are Mothers
A Musical
Picnic-Father opening back of SUV as the children jump out of vehicle.
Grandma drives-up as father is unloading the Karoke machine.
Parents continue unloading (food/picnic supplies)
Grandmother and children hook-up Karoke machine and 5 year old girl takes mic and starts singing Brick HOUSE..... HO HO.
here
Grandmother takes mic and breaks into "Stand By Me" as all the children chatter that it's their turn next.
here
As lyrics "stand by me" is belted out, grandma motions to each of her three children and then spouses and children.
Parents return to unloading and setting up picnic as g'ma keeps children occupied with her tactics.
"Good Morning Viet Nam" rings out as g'mother 'pumps up the volume'.
here
G'ma gives over mic to kids and checks on progress of the 'feast'. (Mothering all the while as she glances at the safety of the Karoke machine as the g'kids toss mic around.)
G'mother meanders back to the machine as she realizes her children have the feast under control and as the kids let her know, IT'S their turn to organize.
Child in charge of machine hands out 'Run Thru The Jungle' lyrics as Gram re-enters the fantasy world she's built. She dons her fatigue hat and jacket and marches and sings to the lyrics.
here
A solumn moment brought on by G'mother's tears brings on 'Abraham, Martin, and John' by an empathetic and loving G'daughter.
here
The kids are loving every minute of this as many other children from neighboring picnic sites have wandered over as the kids seem to be having so much fun.
*** Red and white table cloths are blowing in the wind as the feast is set up.
Tea, coffee, sodas, and cider is passed out to all visiting participants.
Chris Gaines sings out on the machine.. (Garth Brooks alternate)
"Right Now" is the song chosen by G'mother leading the crowd at this point. Son takes the mic and belts out the lyrics as he reads from hand out.
here
"Time to eat," parents call out in unison........ HO HO asif anything at a picnic is that organized.
"One more, one more, please... please, please," the kids holler out.
Gram, being the old hippie that she is fires up the lighter as in olden days for 'one more'.
Gram's oldest takes over the mic and asks that "Wake Up Little Suzie" play for the last song before chow.
here
The food is smelling yummy by now and Gram claps that it's time to eat and a triangle bar is sounded by sappy son-in-law to get all to sit down to lunch.
Neighboring crowd is growing and laughter is abounding around Grammie's table.
All is hunky dorie as food is eaten and children are hurrying everyone up as they want to return to the Karoke fun.
Grandson runs over the SUV and grabs his guitar as he is learning new songs. He is drowned out at first as the younger crew is taken with the NEW karoke machine.
He walks away from the youngsters with his older sister and some of the neighboring kids walk over and asks him to play. He is happy to play a tune. Older sibling takes this opportunity to walk back to the SUV and call her friends and complain about the juviniles in her family. (She has her CD on now and listening to her own brand of music..... which pretty much says the same thing only in HER hip hop version.)
Famous radio host parks close by and Gramma recognizes him/her from when Cindy Sheehan was in town. She walks over and introduces herself and invites him to join her family for a cider/coffee.
He is cordial but not sure about the others as NO one else seems to know who he is...... HE HE, Gotcha!!!
Gram excuses herself as he/she (Famous host/hostess) gets involved in family conversations re: cuts in school budget and redistricting.
Gram takes the mic from a reluctant ten year old and sings "IMAGINE" to the growing audience as audience joins in.
The kids are growing tired of the singing now and grab up soccor balls and skate boards and head out for new territories and other kids sites to see what's up with the neighboring families.
Cal's son takes the mic and starts to sing Dear Mama by 2Pac. (He'd sung it to her years earlier and remembered how much she liked it and decided now was as good a time as any to dedicate it to her in front of his two siblings and all his nieces and nephews.)
here
One of the young neighboring mothers who joined the crew deems it time to nurse her baby. She excuses herself and walks over to her picnic site and sits down to suckle her child.
Gramma excuses herself and asks the new mommie if she minds if she sits with her while she nourishes her babe. (New mom a little embarassed agrees to company.)
Gram shares her own experiences as the new mom, 'Tasha' modestly goes about her business. Gram's daughters and daughter-in-law walk over to the duo and asks if they can join as they all cherished the time in their lives when nursing was a part of their every day schedules. (Tasha is relaxed now as it seems that all involved in this bonding have nursed their children.)
It seems that someone new has joined the crowd of singers. A man in a Harley T-shirt is now holding the mic and belting out..."Power to the People" as the kids give the PEACE sign.
here
As he winds up the song his female friend walks up and takes the mic. "Working Class Hero" is her choice as she chimes in.
here
Another biker....... (duh, like the new additions are from a bikers group sitting at a near-by table) saunters over and tells of his new DVD that his wife has bought for the family car. He shares that her first movie she wanted was "Norma Rae". Hence, 'Working Class Hero'.
Another biker is now joining and asks his accompanying BUD........ (a Viet Nam vet) to suggest a song he might like someone to sing.
Cal notices that the bikers may be of the anarchy agenda and suggests: Why Can't We Be Friends by War........ she closes her eyes and remembers back in the day at the Madera Speedway that they sang this song. It makes her happy to think that here in the now, they all can come together and remember.......
here
Bud, (the biker friend)suggests 'Four Dead in Ohio' as he remembers times long ago.
here
Gram noticing the tone of the crowd is becoming morose, walks over and asks for the mic and breaks into an old 'WAR' tune....... "Why Can't We Be Friends".
The vets laugh at the coincidence of the group's name and begin to sing out with the group as bonding is now the theme of the day.
As the song ends, Gram goes right into "Another One Bites the Dust" relaying to all that the Bushes are now close to the Nixon times and ready to fall from grace with Americans.
here
As the sun sets and the babies tire, it is decided by all to start packing up the left overs......... but wait, dessert hasn't been served yet.
Plastic forks, paper plates, napkins, cakes, pies are spread out. Kiddies run screaming to the tables as the parents smile on.
"Give Peace a Chance" is sung quietly by Gram as she watches over the whole crew and smiles softly to herself. The day was indeed a huge success and her journey is indeed a pleasant if somewhat erratic and sorrowful place.
here
PEACE
Cal
And this time He sent His Daughters and They are Mothers
A Musical
Picnic-Father opening back of SUV as the children jump out of vehicle.
Grandma drives-up as father is unloading the Karoke machine.
Parents continue unloading (food/picnic supplies)
Grandmother and children hook-up Karoke machine and 5 year old girl takes mic and starts singing Brick HOUSE..... HO HO.
here
Grandmother takes mic and breaks into "Stand By Me" as all the children chatter that it's their turn next.
here
As lyrics "stand by me" is belted out, grandma motions to each of her three children and then spouses and children.
Parents return to unloading and setting up picnic as g'ma keeps children occupied with her tactics.
"Good Morning Viet Nam" rings out as g'mother 'pumps up the volume'.
here
G'ma gives over mic to kids and checks on progress of the 'feast'. (Mothering all the while as she glances at the safety of the Karoke machine as the g'kids toss mic around.)
G'mother meanders back to the machine as she realizes her children have the feast under control and as the kids let her know, IT'S their turn to organize.
Child in charge of machine hands out 'Run Thru The Jungle' lyrics as Gram re-enters the fantasy world she's built. She dons her fatigue hat and jacket and marches and sings to the lyrics.
here
A solumn moment brought on by G'mother's tears brings on 'Abraham, Martin, and John' by an empathetic and loving G'daughter.
here
The kids are loving every minute of this as many other children from neighboring picnic sites have wandered over as the kids seem to be having so much fun.
*** Red and white table cloths are blowing in the wind as the feast is set up.
Tea, coffee, sodas, and cider is passed out to all visiting participants.
Chris Gaines sings out on the machine.. (Garth Brooks alternate)
"Right Now" is the song chosen by G'mother leading the crowd at this point. Son takes the mic and belts out the lyrics as he reads from hand out.
here
"Time to eat," parents call out in unison........ HO HO asif anything at a picnic is that organized.
"One more, one more, please... please, please," the kids holler out.
Gram, being the old hippie that she is fires up the lighter as in olden days for 'one more'.
Gram's oldest takes over the mic and asks that "Wake Up Little Suzie" play for the last song before chow.
here
The food is smelling yummy by now and Gram claps that it's time to eat and a triangle bar is sounded by sappy son-in-law to get all to sit down to lunch.
Neighboring crowd is growing and laughter is abounding around Grammie's table.
All is hunky dorie as food is eaten and children are hurrying everyone up as they want to return to the Karoke fun.
Grandson runs over the SUV and grabs his guitar as he is learning new songs. He is drowned out at first as the younger crew is taken with the NEW karoke machine.
He walks away from the youngsters with his older sister and some of the neighboring kids walk over and asks him to play. He is happy to play a tune. Older sibling takes this opportunity to walk back to the SUV and call her friends and complain about the juviniles in her family. (She has her CD on now and listening to her own brand of music..... which pretty much says the same thing only in HER hip hop version.)
Famous radio host parks close by and Gramma recognizes him/her from when Cindy Sheehan was in town. She walks over and introduces herself and invites him to join her family for a cider/coffee.
He is cordial but not sure about the others as NO one else seems to know who he is...... HE HE, Gotcha!!!
Gram excuses herself as he/she (Famous host/hostess) gets involved in family conversations re: cuts in school budget and redistricting.
Gram takes the mic from a reluctant ten year old and sings "IMAGINE" to the growing audience as audience joins in.
The kids are growing tired of the singing now and grab up soccor balls and skate boards and head out for new territories and other kids sites to see what's up with the neighboring families.
Cal's son takes the mic and starts to sing Dear Mama by 2Pac. (He'd sung it to her years earlier and remembered how much she liked it and decided now was as good a time as any to dedicate it to her in front of his two siblings and all his nieces and nephews.)
here
One of the young neighboring mothers who joined the crew deems it time to nurse her baby. She excuses herself and walks over to her picnic site and sits down to suckle her child.
Gramma excuses herself and asks the new mommie if she minds if she sits with her while she nourishes her babe. (New mom a little embarassed agrees to company.)
Gram shares her own experiences as the new mom, 'Tasha' modestly goes about her business. Gram's daughters and daughter-in-law walk over to the duo and asks if they can join as they all cherished the time in their lives when nursing was a part of their every day schedules. (Tasha is relaxed now as it seems that all involved in this bonding have nursed their children.)
It seems that someone new has joined the crowd of singers. A man in a Harley T-shirt is now holding the mic and belting out..."Power to the People" as the kids give the PEACE sign.
here
As he winds up the song his female friend walks up and takes the mic. "Working Class Hero" is her choice as she chimes in.
here
Another biker....... (duh, like the new additions are from a bikers group sitting at a near-by table) saunters over and tells of his new DVD that his wife has bought for the family car. He shares that her first movie she wanted was "Norma Rae". Hence, 'Working Class Hero'.
Another biker is now joining and asks his accompanying BUD........ (a Viet Nam vet) to suggest a song he might like someone to sing.
Cal notices that the bikers may be of the anarchy agenda and suggests: Why Can't We Be Friends by War........ she closes her eyes and remembers back in the day at the Madera Speedway that they sang this song. It makes her happy to think that here in the now, they all can come together and remember.......
here
Bud, (the biker friend)suggests 'Four Dead in Ohio' as he remembers times long ago.
here
Gram noticing the tone of the crowd is becoming morose, walks over and asks for the mic and breaks into an old 'WAR' tune....... "Why Can't We Be Friends".
The vets laugh at the coincidence of the group's name and begin to sing out with the group as bonding is now the theme of the day.
As the song ends, Gram goes right into "Another One Bites the Dust" relaying to all that the Bushes are now close to the Nixon times and ready to fall from grace with Americans.
here
As the sun sets and the babies tire, it is decided by all to start packing up the left overs......... but wait, dessert hasn't been served yet.
Plastic forks, paper plates, napkins, cakes, pies are spread out. Kiddies run screaming to the tables as the parents smile on.
"Give Peace a Chance" is sung quietly by Gram as she watches over the whole crew and smiles softly to herself. The day was indeed a huge success and her journey is indeed a pleasant if somewhat erratic and sorrowful place.
here
PEACE
Cal
You Are Not Just A Rung In My Ladder
here
here
here
You are not a single rung in my ladder, you are so much more.
here
Led Zeppelin » Stairway To Heaven Lyrics
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
And it's whispered that soon if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
here
NO MORE RHYME
Debbie Gibson
Electric Youth
Written by: Deborah Gibson
Verse 1:
When the fear sets in
Where the fire burns
Where I find a place
But thre's nowhere to turn
When the evening sings
An eerie song
Longing for the day
You say I'm wrong
Verse 2:
You can find your place
But never fit in
And only when you've left
Do you know where you've been
I can see the light
But only when it's gone
You can go on waiting
But only for so long
Chorus:
I know we are right
It's not always clear
Because I've never felt the fear
Can it stay so good
Forever in time?
I've always felt the rhythm
What happens when there's
NO MORE RHYME
Verse 3:
Can we face ourselves
Like we face eachother?
We've never felt anything
On our own
I can't wait much longer
To feel any danger
I hope we're not living for
A lifetime alone
Chorus
Bridge:
Hard to go on
It's like waiting for
The other shoe to drop
I'll never stop
Believing in you
It's just we never had to sstruggle
It all came too easy
I hope we felt what we felt from the start
We've never suffered a broken heart
We've been so blinded by all the best
We never put our love to the test
Chorus
here
here
You are not a single rung in my ladder, you are so much more.
here
Led Zeppelin » Stairway To Heaven Lyrics
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
And it's whispered that soon if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
here
NO MORE RHYME
Debbie Gibson
Electric Youth
Written by: Deborah Gibson
Verse 1:
When the fear sets in
Where the fire burns
Where I find a place
But thre's nowhere to turn
When the evening sings
An eerie song
Longing for the day
You say I'm wrong
Verse 2:
You can find your place
But never fit in
And only when you've left
Do you know where you've been
I can see the light
But only when it's gone
You can go on waiting
But only for so long
Chorus:
I know we are right
It's not always clear
Because I've never felt the fear
Can it stay so good
Forever in time?
I've always felt the rhythm
What happens when there's
NO MORE RHYME
Verse 3:
Can we face ourselves
Like we face eachother?
We've never felt anything
On our own
I can't wait much longer
To feel any danger
I hope we're not living for
A lifetime alone
Chorus
Bridge:
Hard to go on
It's like waiting for
The other shoe to drop
I'll never stop
Believing in you
It's just we never had to sstruggle
It all came too easy
I hope we felt what we felt from the start
We've never suffered a broken heart
We've been so blinded by all the best
We never put our love to the test
Chorus
It's a Revolution and it's almost Valentines Day
REVOLUTION
I've heard tell that purple stands for passion so for today I used purple in my love.
Valentines Day was probably set up for commercial reasons........... BUT HEY, let US take advantage of it and wish each other LOVE and PEACE and do what we can to make the world a better place. Send this message, like a wave around the world!
Catch A Wave
here
My friend once said to me that nobody's perfect. I laffed and shared with her that I was perfect. Boy oh boy, did she get pissed off......... and then I shared that I was precisely where I was supposed to be in God's plan for me flaws and all.
I'm not about God as a Christian or a Buddhist or a Muslim.............. as you see, I think maybe Jesus was a middle man and yep, I still worship and love Jesus but not as a Christian as I think Christianity is messed up today because someone somewhere messed with Jesus' teachings. Is that blasphmy (i can't even spell it) hmmmmmmmmm and I figured that I wouldn't get baptized either because if God is who I think He is, He surely has the power to baptize me on my way to His house, eh? (Oh and BTW, I was born in Los Banos.......... you'd think I was born again the first time beings that Banos is baths, no?
You know, if Jesus was indeed sent here to learn about being human why would God let him die before he became a father? OMG, how can anyone judge what it's like to be fully human if he/she hasn't had the experience of being a parent?
I asked a very close friend at IBM what it took to be a good secretary (admin assistant) and she told me it took a good mother to be a good
'admin assistant'. (hmmmmmmmmm and personally, I think she was correct.) Thanks Linda for your insight......... you rock girl!!!
I would like to send a special Valentine's Kisses and Hugs to Cindy Sheehan and Mary Tilman as they've endured much more than I in this mess of a world. (That goes to all the parents of the world as well that have lost children and loved ones in this Big Fat Mess we call Earth today....)
............ and a special xoxoxoxo to the folks in Haiti!!! (I also send my xoxoxoxo to the men that stepped up and listened in our time of need.... you know who you are!) I LOVE YOU!!! ...........and to the women that were just waiting to be heard to take your places....... BLESS YOU!!!
http://cal-mystuffs.blogspot.com/2009/06/women-why-arent-you-running-world-yet.html
Monday, June 1, 2009
Women, why aren't you running the world yet?
Women - why aren't you running the world yet? Frankly I'm disappointed in you. Men are still far too dominant for their own good, and consequently we've made a testosterone- sodden pig's ear of just about everything: politics, the economy, religion, the environment ... you name it, it's in a gigantic man-wrought mess. The world's been one big dick-swinging contest, and we've caught our collective glans in a nearby desk fan. By rights we should be squealing for your help, but we're not, because we're too damn stupid and too damn proud. We swagger convincingly, and that's about it. And swaggering's fine for scraping by in primitive times, but the world we've built is altogether more complex now. We've got stock exchanges and nuclear warheads. It's too easy to swagger your way into big trouble without even realising. Well, we've had our turn. It's time for the Rise of the Ladies.
We don't need a few women in conspicuous positions of power scattered here and there - we need a 10-year prohibition on all forms of male power. Seriously: a decade in which men don't get to control anything, from the remote control upwards. Imagine the consequences. For one thing, there would be an instant and massive reduction in armed conflict around the globe. Sure, nations would routinely bitch about each other in secret (and with a new, hair-curling viciousness) , but there'd be fewer intercontinental punch-ups and a far smaller bodycount.
The economy should clearly be run by women. City boys are dicks, plain and simple. Look at them. Listen to them. Consider the carnage of the past 10 years. What the hell were these idiots thinking? Even now they're still at it. In any sane world they'd all be herded into a shed and blasted with hoses until they promised to stop. Everything they say, think, do, watch, read and fill up their iPods with is awful. Even their girlfriends are awful. Straight women, reading this: if your partner is a city boy, leave him. Leave him now. Dump him with a text message, right this very second. It'll hurt for about six days, then your life will improve beyond measure. Sod that little number-swapping dick who dares call himself a man. Lob him in the shed with the other squeaking fakes and train the cold jets on the bastards. Shut the door and let them shiver.
Men love machines, because machines remind them of themselves. As a result, men quickly became very very good at building machines and then driving them round rather too quickly, shouting "Toot toot! Look at me in my brilliant car!" This was cute for a while, but the novelty's worn off now that the planet's teetering on the brink of becoming an inhospitable cinder. Please, women, for all our sakes: just lock us in a room with some Lego or something. I'm sorry, but we're just too bloody stupid to save the planet. Looks like you'll have to clean up our mess once again. Mankind's depending on you.
"This is all very well, but none too realistic," thinks the female reader. "Men aren't just going to hand over the reins that easily. I know what men are like. They're self-righteous and stubborn - just like women, but worse."
Oh, you. Pretty, silly you. We've got you brainwashed. See, that's what our incessant, ruinous swaggering was all about: pretending to be more complex and dangerous than we actually are. In truth your suspicions are correct: we're very, very simple. We're lazy and we like blowjobs. That's all there is to us. Literally: that's it. From Sir John Betjeman to Barack Obama, from Copernicus to Liam Gallagher. The core software we run on could fit in the memory of a digital watch circa 1985 without even scraping the sides.
And you know this, you women. You know this of course, but it's so dazzlingly obvious you actually doubt it's true. Most of my friends are women. I often find myself counselling them as they agonise for hours, trying to fathom what men are thinking, what men want. Yet no matter who they're talking about, or what the circumstance, from my perspective the answer always seems so glaringly basic it could be scratched on the back of a button. This one wants a shag. That one wants a biscuit. Every time: the butler did it.
The only mistake women make is crediting men with far more mystery than they're capable of. We're impulsive yet thuddingly predictable, and you'd better learn to love us for it because that's just about all we can muster. That's why we bollocksed the planet up. We didn't mean to. We're men, that's all.
And now, surely now, it's time for you to shunt us off the podium and take charge for a decade. If only as an experiment to see what happens. I for one welcome our titted overlords. Give us our toys and our daily bread and permit us to lie on the sofa for 10 whole years, like snoozy, spluttering pigs. We get to loll around contentedly, you get to save the world. Sound good? Do we have a deal? Well do we, you wonderful bitches?
Herstory is dedicated to the voices of women, silenced and unsung, or just coming into being . . .
“We all know our stories, but it is the act of shaping them that teaches us our journeys.” These are the words of Herstory’s founder and artistic director Erika Duncan, who pioneered an approach to memoir writing that over the past 13 years has touched over 2,000 lives.
Whether we are beginners or seasoned writers, we work with the belief that writing at its best can conquer oppression; indeed it can change hearts and lives. As each writer finds a way to recapture her memories so that others can walk in her shoes, she reaches the hearts of those who have helped her craft her story, and barriers that so often divide us begin to dissolve. Week by week and chapter by chapter, what was relegated to silence begins to be heard. Sometimes the result is deep bonding. Sometimes it is individual healing. But always the writing grows more powerful as blocks are overcome and larger structures are sighted.
The “Herstory technique" of daring each new writer to blaze a path towards reader empathy starts with the awareness that we don’t necessarily care about what is happening to the pale “paper stranger” we find on the page, unless the writer finds a way to let us in. Writing memoir with the hope of engaging the “Stranger/Reader” represents a giant leap away from the personal diary or intimate story that is told to a friend or a lover or therapist. Practiced in a guided group setting, it can bring about healing and understanding, even as it creates powerful art. Extending the “dare to care” into every stage of producing a written work, professors of literature are able to work on level ground with those whose main education derives from the lives they have lived, each guiding the other in the task of making memories come to life.
At any given time Herstory offers 11-17 weekly workshops, including three for women in prison, two in Spanish as well as numerous community options for women and girls. Through our public readings, special thematic workshops and our magazines, we reach out to an ever-increasing audience. Our manual Paper Stranger: Shaping Stories in Community was published in October 2008, and is the centerpiece for our training program and special seminars. Not only is it used in our own training workshops; it is being circulated to writers, educators, healers and social activists.
Newcomers are always welcome.
I've heard tell that purple stands for passion so for today I used purple in my love.
Valentines Day was probably set up for commercial reasons........... BUT HEY, let US take advantage of it and wish each other LOVE and PEACE and do what we can to make the world a better place. Send this message, like a wave around the world!
Catch A Wave
here
My friend once said to me that nobody's perfect. I laffed and shared with her that I was perfect. Boy oh boy, did she get pissed off......... and then I shared that I was precisely where I was supposed to be in God's plan for me flaws and all.
I'm not about God as a Christian or a Buddhist or a Muslim.............. as you see, I think maybe Jesus was a middle man and yep, I still worship and love Jesus but not as a Christian as I think Christianity is messed up today because someone somewhere messed with Jesus' teachings. Is that blasphmy (i can't even spell it) hmmmmmmmmm and I figured that I wouldn't get baptized either because if God is who I think He is, He surely has the power to baptize me on my way to His house, eh? (Oh and BTW, I was born in Los Banos.......... you'd think I was born again the first time beings that Banos is baths, no?
You know, if Jesus was indeed sent here to learn about being human why would God let him die before he became a father? OMG, how can anyone judge what it's like to be fully human if he/she hasn't had the experience of being a parent?
I asked a very close friend at IBM what it took to be a good secretary (admin assistant) and she told me it took a good mother to be a good
'admin assistant'. (hmmmmmmmmm and personally, I think she was correct.) Thanks Linda for your insight......... you rock girl!!!
I would like to send a special Valentine's Kisses and Hugs to Cindy Sheehan and Mary Tilman as they've endured much more than I in this mess of a world. (That goes to all the parents of the world as well that have lost children and loved ones in this Big Fat Mess we call Earth today....)
............ and a special xoxoxoxo to the folks in Haiti!!! (I also send my xoxoxoxo to the men that stepped up and listened in our time of need.... you know who you are!) I LOVE YOU!!! ...........and to the women that were just waiting to be heard to take your places....... BLESS YOU!!!
http://cal-mystuffs.blogspot.com/2009/06/women-why-arent-you-running-world-yet.html
Monday, June 1, 2009
Women, why aren't you running the world yet?
Women - why aren't you running the world yet? Frankly I'm disappointed in you. Men are still far too dominant for their own good, and consequently we've made a testosterone- sodden pig's ear of just about everything: politics, the economy, religion, the environment ... you name it, it's in a gigantic man-wrought mess. The world's been one big dick-swinging contest, and we've caught our collective glans in a nearby desk fan. By rights we should be squealing for your help, but we're not, because we're too damn stupid and too damn proud. We swagger convincingly, and that's about it. And swaggering's fine for scraping by in primitive times, but the world we've built is altogether more complex now. We've got stock exchanges and nuclear warheads. It's too easy to swagger your way into big trouble without even realising. Well, we've had our turn. It's time for the Rise of the Ladies.
We don't need a few women in conspicuous positions of power scattered here and there - we need a 10-year prohibition on all forms of male power. Seriously: a decade in which men don't get to control anything, from the remote control upwards. Imagine the consequences. For one thing, there would be an instant and massive reduction in armed conflict around the globe. Sure, nations would routinely bitch about each other in secret (and with a new, hair-curling viciousness) , but there'd be fewer intercontinental punch-ups and a far smaller bodycount.
The economy should clearly be run by women. City boys are dicks, plain and simple. Look at them. Listen to them. Consider the carnage of the past 10 years. What the hell were these idiots thinking? Even now they're still at it. In any sane world they'd all be herded into a shed and blasted with hoses until they promised to stop. Everything they say, think, do, watch, read and fill up their iPods with is awful. Even their girlfriends are awful. Straight women, reading this: if your partner is a city boy, leave him. Leave him now. Dump him with a text message, right this very second. It'll hurt for about six days, then your life will improve beyond measure. Sod that little number-swapping dick who dares call himself a man. Lob him in the shed with the other squeaking fakes and train the cold jets on the bastards. Shut the door and let them shiver.
Men love machines, because machines remind them of themselves. As a result, men quickly became very very good at building machines and then driving them round rather too quickly, shouting "Toot toot! Look at me in my brilliant car!" This was cute for a while, but the novelty's worn off now that the planet's teetering on the brink of becoming an inhospitable cinder. Please, women, for all our sakes: just lock us in a room with some Lego or something. I'm sorry, but we're just too bloody stupid to save the planet. Looks like you'll have to clean up our mess once again. Mankind's depending on you.
"This is all very well, but none too realistic," thinks the female reader. "Men aren't just going to hand over the reins that easily. I know what men are like. They're self-righteous and stubborn - just like women, but worse."
Oh, you. Pretty, silly you. We've got you brainwashed. See, that's what our incessant, ruinous swaggering was all about: pretending to be more complex and dangerous than we actually are. In truth your suspicions are correct: we're very, very simple. We're lazy and we like blowjobs. That's all there is to us. Literally: that's it. From Sir John Betjeman to Barack Obama, from Copernicus to Liam Gallagher. The core software we run on could fit in the memory of a digital watch circa 1985 without even scraping the sides.
And you know this, you women. You know this of course, but it's so dazzlingly obvious you actually doubt it's true. Most of my friends are women. I often find myself counselling them as they agonise for hours, trying to fathom what men are thinking, what men want. Yet no matter who they're talking about, or what the circumstance, from my perspective the answer always seems so glaringly basic it could be scratched on the back of a button. This one wants a shag. That one wants a biscuit. Every time: the butler did it.
The only mistake women make is crediting men with far more mystery than they're capable of. We're impulsive yet thuddingly predictable, and you'd better learn to love us for it because that's just about all we can muster. That's why we bollocksed the planet up. We didn't mean to. We're men, that's all.
And now, surely now, it's time for you to shunt us off the podium and take charge for a decade. If only as an experiment to see what happens. I for one welcome our titted overlords. Give us our toys and our daily bread and permit us to lie on the sofa for 10 whole years, like snoozy, spluttering pigs. We get to loll around contentedly, you get to save the world. Sound good? Do we have a deal? Well do we, you wonderful bitches?
Herstory is dedicated to the voices of women, silenced and unsung, or just coming into being . . .
“We all know our stories, but it is the act of shaping them that teaches us our journeys.” These are the words of Herstory’s founder and artistic director Erika Duncan, who pioneered an approach to memoir writing that over the past 13 years has touched over 2,000 lives.
Whether we are beginners or seasoned writers, we work with the belief that writing at its best can conquer oppression; indeed it can change hearts and lives. As each writer finds a way to recapture her memories so that others can walk in her shoes, she reaches the hearts of those who have helped her craft her story, and barriers that so often divide us begin to dissolve. Week by week and chapter by chapter, what was relegated to silence begins to be heard. Sometimes the result is deep bonding. Sometimes it is individual healing. But always the writing grows more powerful as blocks are overcome and larger structures are sighted.
The “Herstory technique" of daring each new writer to blaze a path towards reader empathy starts with the awareness that we don’t necessarily care about what is happening to the pale “paper stranger” we find on the page, unless the writer finds a way to let us in. Writing memoir with the hope of engaging the “Stranger/Reader” represents a giant leap away from the personal diary or intimate story that is told to a friend or a lover or therapist. Practiced in a guided group setting, it can bring about healing and understanding, even as it creates powerful art. Extending the “dare to care” into every stage of producing a written work, professors of literature are able to work on level ground with those whose main education derives from the lives they have lived, each guiding the other in the task of making memories come to life.
At any given time Herstory offers 11-17 weekly workshops, including three for women in prison, two in Spanish as well as numerous community options for women and girls. Through our public readings, special thematic workshops and our magazines, we reach out to an ever-increasing audience. Our manual Paper Stranger: Shaping Stories in Community was published in October 2008, and is the centerpiece for our training program and special seminars. Not only is it used in our own training workshops; it is being circulated to writers, educators, healers and social activists.
Newcomers are always welcome.
Some of mystuff written in 2004
Message #1711 of 4077 < Prev | Next >
My stuff here was written in 2004........ I received the photos today.......... It doesn't matter if the children are Iraqi or Palestinian, they are still innocents.... and now dead. OMG!!!
by a woman known as cal
terror is only terror when it's spelled within lies....
Terror is the thought that the people we terrorize don't know us.
Terror is the boy just shot who could have been my son's best friend.
Terror is the fact that I love children and they love me and the one that died yesterday may well have been one that I could have helped tomorrow.
Terror is knowing that there are angels in heaven that should be walking the earth as humans today.
Terror is a world so corrupt that a child isn't allowed to be a child but instead a number within words like collaterral damage.
Terror is a child of tomorrow without a stomach trying to digest something so simple as a mother's milk.
Terror is a world caught up in something so ugly that it may not recover.
Terror itself is only a word. Terror in reality is worse than the word. I would rather die tomorrow than feel terror for a life time.
Terror is used to control us and I would rather look point blank at a weapon and have it over with than live with it the rest of my days as a FOOL.
Terror is for the ELITE to reign down on a world and call that world THEIRS.
Terror is the end of humanity because it exists in a world of beauty and hope, and yet it hides those things from the masses because it is corrupt and evil and MUST have it's way.
Terror isn't human nature, instead it is EVIL's way. As long as it reigns, it is allowed to shadow all that is beautiful and sweet.
Terror is the devil's way of having the last say.
Terrorists are children of the opposition and children of our own. A terrorist is a child that is frightened of the other person because of lack of education of the other's culture.
Terror is only a word and when we get past the Terrorism, if we do, we should educate our children that Terror is only terror when Terrorists are in charge.
When we are allowed to hold hands, once past the WAR, we will gaze into the child's eyes and call him friend. Terror will be lost when the masks are uncovered and the true terrorists slither once again into their hidden worlds of deceipt.
by a woman known as cal
The Color of Torture
The Colors of Iraqi memories that will haunt our troops and the Iraqi people all their lives
The color of the eyes didn't show but BROWN is the color they were before the ordeal.
BRONZE was the color of the skin, although some people simply say dark. As the GOLDEN sun shone down on it, the skin turned a darker shade still and appeared BLACK. The 130 degree weather affected all skin in one manner or another.
GREEN was the color of the leg. The doctor attributed the death to Gangreen and that is the color that set in after the wound. (The family will never know.)
PURPLE is the color that surrounds the areas of the wounds inflicted by the torturers. They are everywhere and even though his skin tone was BLACK the wounds show PURPLE in some places and slightly GREEN and BLUE in others.
BLACK and tones of red lines covered the lids of the eyes that closed and could not blink before death.
WHITE broken pieces of teeth could be seen beside the body.
The Private viewed the body and ran from the room. Twenty is quite young to have experienced so much in the last 24 hours. He will dream of the boy on the table who appeared younger than him in life. How did this happen? He could hardly recognize the person on the table except for the clothes in the corner.
He turned as the Sergeant walked through the door and asked him why he was here? The Sergeant hissed at him to use the clothes on the floor and dress the body. The doctor had completed the autopsy and the Private's duty was to see that the body was fully clothed.
The young man had tears in his eyes as he dressed....."the body" . He could see what he couldn't view as the body laid face up on the table covered only slightly with a sheet. He saw the blood on the underside of the body and he also saw the electrical dots that touched the youngster's genitals. He cried openly when the Sergeant walked out.
What happened to my life he wondered, as he relived the last year.
I want to tell the world
A story
My stuff here was written in 2004........ I received the photos today.......... It doesn't matter if the children are Iraqi or Palestinian, they are still innocents.... and now dead. OMG!!!
by a woman known as cal
terror is only terror when it's spelled within lies....
Terror is the thought that the people we terrorize don't know us.
Terror is the boy just shot who could have been my son's best friend.
Terror is the fact that I love children and they love me and the one that died yesterday may well have been one that I could have helped tomorrow.
Terror is knowing that there are angels in heaven that should be walking the earth as humans today.
Terror is a world so corrupt that a child isn't allowed to be a child but instead a number within words like collaterral damage.
Terror is a child of tomorrow without a stomach trying to digest something so simple as a mother's milk.
Terror is a world caught up in something so ugly that it may not recover.
Terror itself is only a word. Terror in reality is worse than the word. I would rather die tomorrow than feel terror for a life time.
Terror is used to control us and I would rather look point blank at a weapon and have it over with than live with it the rest of my days as a FOOL.
Terror is for the ELITE to reign down on a world and call that world THEIRS.
Terror is the end of humanity because it exists in a world of beauty and hope, and yet it hides those things from the masses because it is corrupt and evil and MUST have it's way.
Terror isn't human nature, instead it is EVIL's way. As long as it reigns, it is allowed to shadow all that is beautiful and sweet.
Terror is the devil's way of having the last say.
Terrorists are children of the opposition and children of our own. A terrorist is a child that is frightened of the other person because of lack of education of the other's culture.
Terror is only a word and when we get past the Terrorism, if we do, we should educate our children that Terror is only terror when Terrorists are in charge.
When we are allowed to hold hands, once past the WAR, we will gaze into the child's eyes and call him friend. Terror will be lost when the masks are uncovered and the true terrorists slither once again into their hidden worlds of deceipt.
by a woman known as cal
The Color of Torture
The Colors of Iraqi memories that will haunt our troops and the Iraqi people all their lives
The color of the eyes didn't show but BROWN is the color they were before the ordeal.
BRONZE was the color of the skin, although some people simply say dark. As the GOLDEN sun shone down on it, the skin turned a darker shade still and appeared BLACK. The 130 degree weather affected all skin in one manner or another.
GREEN was the color of the leg. The doctor attributed the death to Gangreen and that is the color that set in after the wound. (The family will never know.)
PURPLE is the color that surrounds the areas of the wounds inflicted by the torturers. They are everywhere and even though his skin tone was BLACK the wounds show PURPLE in some places and slightly GREEN and BLUE in others.
BLACK and tones of red lines covered the lids of the eyes that closed and could not blink before death.
WHITE broken pieces of teeth could be seen beside the body.
The Private viewed the body and ran from the room. Twenty is quite young to have experienced so much in the last 24 hours. He will dream of the boy on the table who appeared younger than him in life. How did this happen? He could hardly recognize the person on the table except for the clothes in the corner.
He turned as the Sergeant walked through the door and asked him why he was here? The Sergeant hissed at him to use the clothes on the floor and dress the body. The doctor had completed the autopsy and the Private's duty was to see that the body was fully clothed.
The young man had tears in his eyes as he dressed....."the body" . He could see what he couldn't view as the body laid face up on the table covered only slightly with a sheet. He saw the blood on the underside of the body and he also saw the electrical dots that touched the youngster's genitals. He cried openly when the Sergeant walked out.
What happened to my life he wondered, as he relived the last year.
I want to tell the world
A story
Happy Valentine's Day! A Tribute to Cher & A Life After Love
Happy Valentine’s Day! A Tribute to Cher & A Life After Love
Sonny & Cher via last.fm
2.14.2010
In the early 1960s the pop duo Sonny & Cher dominated pop music charts, popular fashion trends, and pop culture. After the demise of their duo, Cher went on to produce one of the most amazing bodies of creative work as a recording artist in music history.
here
Sonny & Cher via last.fm
2.14.2010
In the early 1960s the pop duo Sonny & Cher dominated pop music charts, popular fashion trends, and pop culture. After the demise of their duo, Cher went on to produce one of the most amazing bodies of creative work as a recording artist in music history.
here
Story that I tell
When you get into this email a bit you'll see the song Cottenfields by CCR. The reason for that is that my ex was a cotton farmer back in the day and we lived surrounded by cotton fields. We lived on the family ranch most of our married lives and that's where my kids grew up. I had a wood stove in my kitchen and there were lots of livestock surrounding our home. We had chickens in our yard and rabbits in cages and the loudest bulls ever in the corral next to the house.
My ex went to college at Cal-Poly San Luis Obispo and he drove home almost every week-end during our courtship.
We had cotton pickers and pick-ups and old racing cars and once my brother-in-law even had a boat stored in the shed. Later on some of our friends bought airplanes and years later we were to learn that the planes were used for moving drugs. (I'm simply sharing with you this information as I don't think our little town was very much different from other little towns in surrounding areas.)
I thank God a lot that my second husband got us the hell out of Dos Palos, Ca as I think 100% of the folks that finally ended up in DP were into drugs and by moving we got the hell out of Dodge and my kids weren't affected too much.
The night before I had my oldest kid my husband took me on a ride on the road surrounding the cotton field. As it turned out my daughter was born 6 weeks late on the day MLK was assassinated. I didn't know until 4-5-68 that he was murdered. I was so happy with the new family addition that no one wanted to tell about 'the' King. (My son was to be born 13 years to the day that Robert Kennedy was shot.)
The following video shows 2 football teams and the Broncos in the video are my hometown team. No brag, just fact and my daughter was a pomerette and she was president of the senior class and Homecoming queen and dating the quarterback......... oh yeah her sister was a freshman and president of the Freshman class. (I'm lying, I am bragging as my kids turned out to be pretty great so it musta been a little bit of something I did.)
And, if you think I am bragging, I hafta share with you that Tony Coehlo who worked for Al Gore was valadictorian of his class in DP a few years before I graduated. (........and he turned out to be one of the biggest crooks in the democratic party.) But then again, Dave Henderson, who played baseball for the Oakland A's also is an alumni of my itty bitty town.......... His mother-in-law was married to my Biology teacher Rozwell Smith. ..........all this from a itty bitty town with population of 2,500. hmmmmmmmm
here
here
EXCERPT:
Frogs' legs are one of the better-known delicacies of French and Cantonese cuisine. They are also eaten in other regions, such as the Caribbean, the region of Alentejo, in Portugal, northwest Greece, Piemonte in Italy, Spain and the Midwest southern regions of the United States. A type of frog called the edible frog is most often used for this dish. They are often said to taste like chicken[1] because of their mild flavor, with a texture most similar to chicken wings[2]. Frogs are raised commercially in certain countries, e.g. Vietnam. Frog muscle does not resolve rigor mortis as quickly as warm-blooded muscle (chicken, for example), so heat from cooking can cause fresh frog legs to twitch.
Recipes for Frogs legs
here
These 2 photos are of frogs gigs... just wanted to share with you.
here
Live frogs hanging from the ceiling of a kitchen in a street restaurant in Saigon, Vietnam. Photograph: Christine Kokot/dpa/Corbis
In the cavernous community hall of the Vosges spa town of Vittel, a large and lugubrious man, his small, surprisingly chirpy wife, and 450 other people are sitting down to their evening meal. It's rather noisy. "Dunno why we do it, really," shouts the man, whose name is Jacky. "Don't taste of anything, do they? White. Insipid. If it wasn't for the sauce it'd be like eating some soft sort of rubber. Just the kind of food an Englishman should like, in fact. Hah."
Outside, the streets are filled with revellers. A funfair is going full swing. The restaurants along the high street are full, and queues have formed before the stands run by the local football, tennis, basketball, rugby and youth clubs.
All offer the same thing: cuisses de grenouilles à la provencale (with garlic and parsley), cuisses de grenouille à la poulette (egg and cream). Seven euros, or thereabouts, for a paper plateful, with fries. Nine with a beer or a glass of not-very-chilled riesling. The more daring are offering cuisses de grenouilles à la vosgienne, à l'andalouse, à l'ailloli. There's pizza grenouille, quiche grenouille, tourte grenouille. Omelette de grenouilles aux fines herbes. Souffle, cassolette and gratin de grenouilles.
Everywhere you look, people are nibbling greasily on a grenouille, licking their fingers, spitting out little bones. "Isn't it just great?" yells Jacky's diminutive wife, Frederique. "Every year we do this. It's our tradition. Our tribute to the noble frog."
This is Vittel's 37th annual Foire aux Grenouilles. According to Roland Boeuf, the 70-year-old president of the Confrererie de Taste-Cuisses de Grenouilles de Vittel, or (roughly) the Vittel Brotherhood of Frog Thigh Tasters, which has organised the event since its inception, the fair regularly draws upwards of 20,000 gourmet frog aficionados to the town for two days of amphibian-inspired jollities. Between them, they consume anything up to seven tonnes of frogs' legs.
But there's a problem. When the fair began, its founder René Clément, resistance hero, restaurateur and last of the great Lorraine frog ranchers, could supply all the necessary amphibians from his lakes 20 miles or so away. Nowadays, none of the frogs are even French.
According to Boeuf, Clément, whose real name was Hofstetter, moved to the area in the early 1950s looking to raise langoustines in the Saone river; the water proved too brackish and he turned to frogs instead. A true Frenchman, his catchphrase, oft-quoted around these parts, was that frogs "are like women. The legs are the best bits".
Hofstetter/Clément would, says Gisèle Robinet, "provide 150kg, 200kg for every fair, all from his lakes and all caught by him". With her husband Patrick, Robinet runs the Au Pêché Mignon patisserie (tourte aux grenouilles for six, €18; chocolate frogs €13 the dozen) on the Place de Gaulle, across the square from the restaurant Clément used to run, Le Grand Cerf. Now known as Le Galoubet, there's a plaque commemorating the great frogman outside. "As a child I remember clearly him dismembering and preparing and cleaning his frogs in front of the restaurant," says Robinet, who sells frog tartlets to gourmet Vitellois throughout the year, but makes a special effort with quiches and croustillants at fair-time. "It's a big job, you know. Very fiddly. But we were all frog-catchers when I was a kid. Now, of course, that's not possible any more."
Boeuf recalls many a profitable frog-hunting expedition in the streams and ponds around Vittel. "One sort, la savatte, you could catch with your bare hands," he says. "Best time was in spring, when they lay their eggs. They'd gather in their thousands, great wriggling green balls of them. I've seen whole streams completely blocked by a mountain of frogs."
Others, rainettes, would be everywhere at harvest time. Or you could get a square of red fabric and lay it carefully on the water next to a lily pad that happened to have a frog on it, "and she'd just hop straight off and on to the cloth", Boeuf says. "They love red."
Pierette Gillet, the longest-standing member of the Brotherhood and, at 81, still a sprightly and committed frog-fancier, remembers heading out at night with a torch in search of so-called mute frogs, harder to catch because they have no larynx and hence emit no croak. "They'd be blinded by the light, and you could whack them over the head," she says.
But those days are long gone. As elsewhere in the world, the amphibians' habitat in France – where frogs' legs have been a recognised and much remarked-upon part of the national diet for the best part of 1,000 years – is increasingly at risk, from pollution, pesticides and other man-made ills. Ponds have been drained and replaced with crops and cattle-troughs. Diseases have taken their toll, and the insects that frogs feed on are disappearing too. Alarmed by a rapid and dramatic fall in frog numbers, the French ministry of agriculture and fisheries began taking measures to protect the country's species in 1976; by 1980, commercial frog harvesting was banned.
These days, a few regional authorities in France still allow the capture of limited numbers of frogs, strictly for personal consumption and provided they are broiled, fried or barbecued and consumed on the spot (a heresy not even Boeuf is prepared to contemplate). There are poachers who defy the ban; two years ago a court in Vesoul in the Haute-Saone convicted four men of harvesting vast numbers of frogs from the Mille-Etangs or Thousand Lakes area of the Vosges. The ringleader admitted to personally catching at least 10,000, which he sold to restaurants for 32 cents apiece.
By and large, though, France's tough protection laws, enforceable by fines of up to €10,000 (£8,500) and instant confiscation of vehicles and equipment, seem to be working. As a result, all seven tonnes (officially, at least) of frogs' legs consumed at this year's Vittel fair have been imported, pre-prepared, deep-frozen and packed in cardboard boxes, from Indonesia.
Needless to say, this does not much please patriotic Gallic frog-fanciers. "We'd far prefer our frogs to be French, of course we would," laments Gillet. "Especially here in the Vosges. This really is the heart of frog country."
A Vittel restaurateur, who for obvious reasons demands anonymity, suggests there are still "ways and means" of securing at least a semi-reliable supply of French frogs for those who demand a true produit du terroir, "but it's really not very easy, and no one here will tell you anything about it. We'd like to source locally, but the law is the law."
But the fact that the Foire aux Grenouilles – not to mention the rest of France, and other big frog-consuming nations such as Belgium and the United States – now imports almost all its frogs' legs has consequences that run deeper than a mere denting of national gastronomic pride. For scientists now believe that, just as with many fish species, we could be well on the way to eating the world's frogs to extinction. Based on an analysis of UN trade data, researchers think we may now be consuming as many as 1bn wild frogs every year. For already weakened frog populations, that is very bad news indeed.
Scientists have long been aware that while human activity is causing a steady loss of the world's biodeversity, amphibians seem to be suffering far more severely than any other animal group. It is thought their two-stage lifecycle, aquatic and terrestrial, makes them twice as vulnerable to environmental and climate change, and their permeable skins may be more susceptible to toxins than other animals. In recent years, a devastating fungal condition, chytridiomycosis, has caused catastrophic population declines in Australia and the Americas.
"Amphibians are the most threatened animal group; about one third of all amphibian species are now listed as threatened, against 23% of mammals and 12% of birds," says Corey Bradshaw, an associate professor at the Environment Institute of the University of Adelaide and a member of the team that carried out the research into human frog consumption that was published earlier this year in the journal Conservation Biology. "The principle drivers of extinction, we always assumed, were habitat loss and disease. Human harvesting, we thought, was minor. Then we started digging, and we realised there's this massive global trade that no one really knows much about. It's staggering. So as well as destroying where they live, we're now eating them to death."
France is the main culprit: according to government figures, while the French still consume 70 tonnes a year of domestically gathered legs each year, they have been shipping in as many as 4,000 tonnes annually since 1995. Besides popular, essentially local events such as the Foire aux Grenouilles, frogs' legs are mostly a delicacy reserved for restaurants with gastronomic pretensions; one three-star chef, Georges Blanc, has at one time or another developed 19 different recipes for them at his celebrated restaurant in the Ain village of Vonnas, baking and skewering and skilleting them in everything from cream to apples.
Obama eating a frog's leg........ hmmmm
Credence Clearwater Revival - Cottonfields
here
Upland Pheasant Hunting With a Weimaraner
here
Dog & Dog Training Tips - Hunting Birds with Bill Schaller
here
Frog
here
I hafta tell yaw'll that I never really learned how to cook Pheasant as my ex used to shoot the bird and give it to his aunt to pick and then his Nona got the pheasant and cooked it. After the hard work was all done, his Aunt would bring the bird over to us for dinner. hmmmmm, I was fortunate as his Nona and Aunt (the kids called her Sugar) were wonderful Italian cooks.
I learned about 9 course meals from his family and to this day do not think I have eaten as well. OMG, and we had a cellar under our house and they had a cellar under their house that housed 200 gallons (each house) of wine a year.......... have you ever drank wine in an Italian cellar? OMG, if you ever do, don't try to manuever the steps as it doesn't work.
My brother-in-law is Portuguese and you don't ever wanna be around when an Italian and a Portuguese gets in a 'wine' discussion............ and you ain't gonna believe this but one of my husband's partners was French. (That's a whole other soap opera so we'll leave that 'wine' story for another day.)
Now, do ya wanna hear about our frog legs adventure....... We had friends who had a hot tub and we used to have regular 'Friday' nites frog legs get together. OMG, Frog legs in beer batter can hardly be beat. They are scrumptious........ and the beer and wine weren't bad either.
We had other friends that we'd party with that had an indoor pool and the wife had her own MG. When we were a lot younger, we'd get in the MG and head backwards on the freeway. It's a wonder any of us are still alive to talk about these things as we were a bit wild. (Thank goodness some of our best friends were cops, eh?)
Anyways, if you think being a country girl was ever boring, I guarantee you need to rethink THAT again. It was a hoot growing up in California.
When I was really young in our itty bitty town, we used to borrow a sled from a local 'BIG' farmer and go grass sledding. It was a wonderful way to grow up. When I was 13 and 14 years old I used to have friends that were much older and it was always great.
Some of my male friends were really into fast cars and we would pile into a bunch of cars and head out to Palm Rd. There were always a bunch of boys out there racing and it was a really neat way to grow up. There were '57 chevys and there were El Caminos and there were always LOUD cars revving up their engines.......... those cars always reminded me of the level of testosterone the boys had. Have you ever seen a Rooster (cock) puff out his chest? That's what those boys reminded Us girls of and we all loved it back in the day.
The testosterone levels are probably what got a lot of the boys my age into the service at that time as that was when Vietnam was happening.
Pheasant Recipes
here
EXCERPT:
Cream of Sherry Pheasant or Partridge
Posted by highplainsdrifter
I developed this recipe using various ingredients that I happened to have on hand at the time. It has gone through several revisions. It yields the most tender pheasant (or partridge) I have ever tasted. MORE»
Recipe #409272
select
Pheasant Casserole
Posted by Catnip46
This recipe calls for Beau Monde seasoning. Beau Monde is a mellow beefy flavor with broad tones of celery, onion and garlic. Widely sought for use in party dips and Bloody Marys. Marvelous on salads, green vegetables, or pot roast. It can be... MORE»
Recipe #407718
select
Pheasant European Style
Posted by Catnip46
I got this recipe from a 1989 NAHC Wild Game Cookbook. Cooked in a crock pot and so good. MORE»
My ex went to college at Cal-Poly San Luis Obispo and he drove home almost every week-end during our courtship.
We had cotton pickers and pick-ups and old racing cars and once my brother-in-law even had a boat stored in the shed. Later on some of our friends bought airplanes and years later we were to learn that the planes were used for moving drugs. (I'm simply sharing with you this information as I don't think our little town was very much different from other little towns in surrounding areas.)
I thank God a lot that my second husband got us the hell out of Dos Palos, Ca as I think 100% of the folks that finally ended up in DP were into drugs and by moving we got the hell out of Dodge and my kids weren't affected too much.
The night before I had my oldest kid my husband took me on a ride on the road surrounding the cotton field. As it turned out my daughter was born 6 weeks late on the day MLK was assassinated. I didn't know until 4-5-68 that he was murdered. I was so happy with the new family addition that no one wanted to tell about 'the' King. (My son was to be born 13 years to the day that Robert Kennedy was shot.)
The following video shows 2 football teams and the Broncos in the video are my hometown team. No brag, just fact and my daughter was a pomerette and she was president of the senior class and Homecoming queen and dating the quarterback......... oh yeah her sister was a freshman and president of the Freshman class. (I'm lying, I am bragging as my kids turned out to be pretty great so it musta been a little bit of something I did.)
And, if you think I am bragging, I hafta share with you that Tony Coehlo who worked for Al Gore was valadictorian of his class in DP a few years before I graduated. (........and he turned out to be one of the biggest crooks in the democratic party.) But then again, Dave Henderson, who played baseball for the Oakland A's also is an alumni of my itty bitty town.......... His mother-in-law was married to my Biology teacher Rozwell Smith. ..........all this from a itty bitty town with population of 2,500. hmmmmmmmm
here
here
EXCERPT:
Frogs' legs are one of the better-known delicacies of French and Cantonese cuisine. They are also eaten in other regions, such as the Caribbean, the region of Alentejo, in Portugal, northwest Greece, Piemonte in Italy, Spain and the Midwest southern regions of the United States. A type of frog called the edible frog is most often used for this dish. They are often said to taste like chicken[1] because of their mild flavor, with a texture most similar to chicken wings[2]. Frogs are raised commercially in certain countries, e.g. Vietnam. Frog muscle does not resolve rigor mortis as quickly as warm-blooded muscle (chicken, for example), so heat from cooking can cause fresh frog legs to twitch.
Recipes for Frogs legs
here
These 2 photos are of frogs gigs... just wanted to share with you.
here
Live frogs hanging from the ceiling of a kitchen in a street restaurant in Saigon, Vietnam. Photograph: Christine Kokot/dpa/Corbis
In the cavernous community hall of the Vosges spa town of Vittel, a large and lugubrious man, his small, surprisingly chirpy wife, and 450 other people are sitting down to their evening meal. It's rather noisy. "Dunno why we do it, really," shouts the man, whose name is Jacky. "Don't taste of anything, do they? White. Insipid. If it wasn't for the sauce it'd be like eating some soft sort of rubber. Just the kind of food an Englishman should like, in fact. Hah."
Outside, the streets are filled with revellers. A funfair is going full swing. The restaurants along the high street are full, and queues have formed before the stands run by the local football, tennis, basketball, rugby and youth clubs.
All offer the same thing: cuisses de grenouilles à la provencale (with garlic and parsley), cuisses de grenouille à la poulette (egg and cream). Seven euros, or thereabouts, for a paper plateful, with fries. Nine with a beer or a glass of not-very-chilled riesling. The more daring are offering cuisses de grenouilles à la vosgienne, à l'andalouse, à l'ailloli. There's pizza grenouille, quiche grenouille, tourte grenouille. Omelette de grenouilles aux fines herbes. Souffle, cassolette and gratin de grenouilles.
Everywhere you look, people are nibbling greasily on a grenouille, licking their fingers, spitting out little bones. "Isn't it just great?" yells Jacky's diminutive wife, Frederique. "Every year we do this. It's our tradition. Our tribute to the noble frog."
This is Vittel's 37th annual Foire aux Grenouilles. According to Roland Boeuf, the 70-year-old president of the Confrererie de Taste-Cuisses de Grenouilles de Vittel, or (roughly) the Vittel Brotherhood of Frog Thigh Tasters, which has organised the event since its inception, the fair regularly draws upwards of 20,000 gourmet frog aficionados to the town for two days of amphibian-inspired jollities. Between them, they consume anything up to seven tonnes of frogs' legs.
But there's a problem. When the fair began, its founder René Clément, resistance hero, restaurateur and last of the great Lorraine frog ranchers, could supply all the necessary amphibians from his lakes 20 miles or so away. Nowadays, none of the frogs are even French.
According to Boeuf, Clément, whose real name was Hofstetter, moved to the area in the early 1950s looking to raise langoustines in the Saone river; the water proved too brackish and he turned to frogs instead. A true Frenchman, his catchphrase, oft-quoted around these parts, was that frogs "are like women. The legs are the best bits".
Hofstetter/Clément would, says Gisèle Robinet, "provide 150kg, 200kg for every fair, all from his lakes and all caught by him". With her husband Patrick, Robinet runs the Au Pêché Mignon patisserie (tourte aux grenouilles for six, €18; chocolate frogs €13 the dozen) on the Place de Gaulle, across the square from the restaurant Clément used to run, Le Grand Cerf. Now known as Le Galoubet, there's a plaque commemorating the great frogman outside. "As a child I remember clearly him dismembering and preparing and cleaning his frogs in front of the restaurant," says Robinet, who sells frog tartlets to gourmet Vitellois throughout the year, but makes a special effort with quiches and croustillants at fair-time. "It's a big job, you know. Very fiddly. But we were all frog-catchers when I was a kid. Now, of course, that's not possible any more."
Boeuf recalls many a profitable frog-hunting expedition in the streams and ponds around Vittel. "One sort, la savatte, you could catch with your bare hands," he says. "Best time was in spring, when they lay their eggs. They'd gather in their thousands, great wriggling green balls of them. I've seen whole streams completely blocked by a mountain of frogs."
Others, rainettes, would be everywhere at harvest time. Or you could get a square of red fabric and lay it carefully on the water next to a lily pad that happened to have a frog on it, "and she'd just hop straight off and on to the cloth", Boeuf says. "They love red."
Pierette Gillet, the longest-standing member of the Brotherhood and, at 81, still a sprightly and committed frog-fancier, remembers heading out at night with a torch in search of so-called mute frogs, harder to catch because they have no larynx and hence emit no croak. "They'd be blinded by the light, and you could whack them over the head," she says.
But those days are long gone. As elsewhere in the world, the amphibians' habitat in France – where frogs' legs have been a recognised and much remarked-upon part of the national diet for the best part of 1,000 years – is increasingly at risk, from pollution, pesticides and other man-made ills. Ponds have been drained and replaced with crops and cattle-troughs. Diseases have taken their toll, and the insects that frogs feed on are disappearing too. Alarmed by a rapid and dramatic fall in frog numbers, the French ministry of agriculture and fisheries began taking measures to protect the country's species in 1976; by 1980, commercial frog harvesting was banned.
These days, a few regional authorities in France still allow the capture of limited numbers of frogs, strictly for personal consumption and provided they are broiled, fried or barbecued and consumed on the spot (a heresy not even Boeuf is prepared to contemplate). There are poachers who defy the ban; two years ago a court in Vesoul in the Haute-Saone convicted four men of harvesting vast numbers of frogs from the Mille-Etangs or Thousand Lakes area of the Vosges. The ringleader admitted to personally catching at least 10,000, which he sold to restaurants for 32 cents apiece.
By and large, though, France's tough protection laws, enforceable by fines of up to €10,000 (£8,500) and instant confiscation of vehicles and equipment, seem to be working. As a result, all seven tonnes (officially, at least) of frogs' legs consumed at this year's Vittel fair have been imported, pre-prepared, deep-frozen and packed in cardboard boxes, from Indonesia.
Needless to say, this does not much please patriotic Gallic frog-fanciers. "We'd far prefer our frogs to be French, of course we would," laments Gillet. "Especially here in the Vosges. This really is the heart of frog country."
A Vittel restaurateur, who for obvious reasons demands anonymity, suggests there are still "ways and means" of securing at least a semi-reliable supply of French frogs for those who demand a true produit du terroir, "but it's really not very easy, and no one here will tell you anything about it. We'd like to source locally, but the law is the law."
But the fact that the Foire aux Grenouilles – not to mention the rest of France, and other big frog-consuming nations such as Belgium and the United States – now imports almost all its frogs' legs has consequences that run deeper than a mere denting of national gastronomic pride. For scientists now believe that, just as with many fish species, we could be well on the way to eating the world's frogs to extinction. Based on an analysis of UN trade data, researchers think we may now be consuming as many as 1bn wild frogs every year. For already weakened frog populations, that is very bad news indeed.
Scientists have long been aware that while human activity is causing a steady loss of the world's biodeversity, amphibians seem to be suffering far more severely than any other animal group. It is thought their two-stage lifecycle, aquatic and terrestrial, makes them twice as vulnerable to environmental and climate change, and their permeable skins may be more susceptible to toxins than other animals. In recent years, a devastating fungal condition, chytridiomycosis, has caused catastrophic population declines in Australia and the Americas.
"Amphibians are the most threatened animal group; about one third of all amphibian species are now listed as threatened, against 23% of mammals and 12% of birds," says Corey Bradshaw, an associate professor at the Environment Institute of the University of Adelaide and a member of the team that carried out the research into human frog consumption that was published earlier this year in the journal Conservation Biology. "The principle drivers of extinction, we always assumed, were habitat loss and disease. Human harvesting, we thought, was minor. Then we started digging, and we realised there's this massive global trade that no one really knows much about. It's staggering. So as well as destroying where they live, we're now eating them to death."
France is the main culprit: according to government figures, while the French still consume 70 tonnes a year of domestically gathered legs each year, they have been shipping in as many as 4,000 tonnes annually since 1995. Besides popular, essentially local events such as the Foire aux Grenouilles, frogs' legs are mostly a delicacy reserved for restaurants with gastronomic pretensions; one three-star chef, Georges Blanc, has at one time or another developed 19 different recipes for them at his celebrated restaurant in the Ain village of Vonnas, baking and skewering and skilleting them in everything from cream to apples.
Obama eating a frog's leg........ hmmmm
Credence Clearwater Revival - Cottonfields
here
Upland Pheasant Hunting With a Weimaraner
here
Dog & Dog Training Tips - Hunting Birds with Bill Schaller
here
Frog
here
I hafta tell yaw'll that I never really learned how to cook Pheasant as my ex used to shoot the bird and give it to his aunt to pick and then his Nona got the pheasant and cooked it. After the hard work was all done, his Aunt would bring the bird over to us for dinner. hmmmmm, I was fortunate as his Nona and Aunt (the kids called her Sugar) were wonderful Italian cooks.
I learned about 9 course meals from his family and to this day do not think I have eaten as well. OMG, and we had a cellar under our house and they had a cellar under their house that housed 200 gallons (each house) of wine a year.......... have you ever drank wine in an Italian cellar? OMG, if you ever do, don't try to manuever the steps as it doesn't work.
My brother-in-law is Portuguese and you don't ever wanna be around when an Italian and a Portuguese gets in a 'wine' discussion............ and you ain't gonna believe this but one of my husband's partners was French. (That's a whole other soap opera so we'll leave that 'wine' story for another day.)
Now, do ya wanna hear about our frog legs adventure....... We had friends who had a hot tub and we used to have regular 'Friday' nites frog legs get together. OMG, Frog legs in beer batter can hardly be beat. They are scrumptious........ and the beer and wine weren't bad either.
We had other friends that we'd party with that had an indoor pool and the wife had her own MG. When we were a lot younger, we'd get in the MG and head backwards on the freeway. It's a wonder any of us are still alive to talk about these things as we were a bit wild. (Thank goodness some of our best friends were cops, eh?)
Anyways, if you think being a country girl was ever boring, I guarantee you need to rethink THAT again. It was a hoot growing up in California.
When I was really young in our itty bitty town, we used to borrow a sled from a local 'BIG' farmer and go grass sledding. It was a wonderful way to grow up. When I was 13 and 14 years old I used to have friends that were much older and it was always great.
Some of my male friends were really into fast cars and we would pile into a bunch of cars and head out to Palm Rd. There were always a bunch of boys out there racing and it was a really neat way to grow up. There were '57 chevys and there were El Caminos and there were always LOUD cars revving up their engines.......... those cars always reminded me of the level of testosterone the boys had. Have you ever seen a Rooster (cock) puff out his chest? That's what those boys reminded Us girls of and we all loved it back in the day.
The testosterone levels are probably what got a lot of the boys my age into the service at that time as that was when Vietnam was happening.
Pheasant Recipes
here
EXCERPT:
Cream of Sherry Pheasant or Partridge
Posted by highplainsdrifter
I developed this recipe using various ingredients that I happened to have on hand at the time. It has gone through several revisions. It yields the most tender pheasant (or partridge) I have ever tasted. MORE»
Recipe #409272
select
Pheasant Casserole
Posted by Catnip46
This recipe calls for Beau Monde seasoning. Beau Monde is a mellow beefy flavor with broad tones of celery, onion and garlic. Widely sought for use in party dips and Bloody Marys. Marvelous on salads, green vegetables, or pot roast. It can be... MORE»
Recipe #407718
select
Pheasant European Style
Posted by Catnip46
I got this recipe from a 1989 NAHC Wild Game Cookbook. Cooked in a crock pot and so good. MORE»
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Reasons For Punching Women in the Face
here
Another Facebook Fail: Group Lists Reasons For Punching Women in the Face posted by: Ximena R.
I saw this on Care2 and thought you'd like it as well.
This month, I wrote a post about an extremely offensive Facebook group - "Killing Your Hooker So You Don't Have to Pay For Her." I was shocked (as many of you were) that such a group was ever allowed to exist on Facebook and, as it turns out, the offending group's page was taken down before I even finished writing the post, but this time that's not the case.
You mean you found another highly offensive, unacceptable, unamusing Facebook group that pokes fun at violence against women?
Yes, unfortunately, but not altogether surprisingly, I did.
"Reasons When It's Acceptable to Punch a Woman in the Face" is the newest offending group. The group justifies itself by claiming that it's meant to be taken as "dark humour" similar to Family Guy, South Park, and Scary Movie.
The group's creator actually says, "I don't feel I'm promoting violence nor am I condoning it, it's just dark humour... it's a joke."
Well, let's take a look at the list and see what's so funny.
Trigger Warning: Some of the items on this list are extremely offensive and may be upsetting.
1. talking too much
2. disagreeing with anything you say
3. burning your food
4. not washing up
5. being on her period
6. being on her period and still coming to see you
7. talking bout other guys....even her dad
8. taking off her make up
9. leaving the kitchen
10. leaving the bedroom
11. refusing a threesome
12. telling you to stop pushing their head down... when
they give you head
13. not knowing the offside rule
14. not knowing the offside rule after being told too many
times
15.not allowing you to have sex with their mum/sister
16. killing banter
17. out drinking you
18. making stupid baby noises
19. being on either team Jacob or team Edward
20. refusing anal
21. breathing
22. when your football team looses
23. wanting attention during a cod session
24. asking you to make her a cup of tea
25. thinking their in control of the relationship
26. when ur angry and need something to hit
27. when you wanna try out your new kung fu move
28. wearing clothes indoors
29. asking you to go down on her
30. when they fish for compliments
31. when they make you watch chick flicks
32. expecting to get paid for
33. trying to help make this list (foook u becky)
34. having an opinion
35. crying for no fucking reason
36. weighing more than you do
37. calling you a woman/pussy
38. giving you a stupid nickname
39. forgetting to shave
40. not swallowing
41.having a 4 finger bucket
42. taking more than 20 minutes deciding what to wear
43. being taller than you
44. bitching about people you dont even know
45. looking at you funny
46. complaining that she's cold.... wear a hoodie bitch
47. being a feminist
48. asking you to finish her off once ur finished..
49. calling the police when you hit her...bitch should learn
50. for being a woman..
51. saying they love you
52. when she is in range
53. When she reads this and wont have sex with you for
laughin
54. When she asks to be and admin
55. bitching about facebook groups.... get back in the
kitchen
56. when you got 99 problems but a bitch ain't 1
57. Whenever she talks without being questioned
58. when she sends you a friend request.... i don't want to be your friend, but you can go make me a sandwich :P
ONLY REASON TO NOT HIT A WOMAN IN THE FACE...
1. when she's pregnant.....punch her in the stomach
I've read this list a few times and each time I get angrier and angrier. This is not humorous or funny no matter which way you slice it. This list basically calls on women to be mindless sex machines, with perfect bodies, who don't speak or think but only live to pleasure men.
The creators of this group think what they are doing is OK because it's only meant as a joke and I know some people – there are currently over 31,000 members – will think it's "only meant to be funny" but I have to ask where this humor comes from.
The items on this list show a deep disrespect for women and trivialize a problem that is very real. The fact is that many women suffer the heavy hand of abuse from men who don't respect them and think they deserve to be hit for any number of reasons. Fortunately, most men have the privilege of never knowing this reality. That ignorance doesn't give them free reign to make fun of those who aren't so lucky.
I truly don't understand how this group can be construed as funny or not condoning violence against women as the creators claim. Creating a group that makes fun of women being abused isn't funny – it's hurtful, unjust, and frankly, unoriginal.
Making jokes about violence against women is not new. We see it all the time, especially in the very shows, like Family Guy, that the creators claim they are attempting to emulate. We need to be more vocal about opposing this misuse of humor and demanding more from the networks, shows, and websites we support.
Facebook is a huge social networking platform with over 400 million users worldwide as young as 13-years-old. We deserve better from Facebook – much better.
The group's creators have promised to continue adding items to the list, even asking people to submit their own reasons it's acceptable to punch a woman in the face so make sure you sign on to Facebook and report them (there is a "report group" link on the left hand side of the screen under links)! It's about time this group got the boot!
Another Facebook Fail: Group Lists Reasons For Punching Women in the Face posted by: Ximena R.
I saw this on Care2 and thought you'd like it as well.
This month, I wrote a post about an extremely offensive Facebook group - "Killing Your Hooker So You Don't Have to Pay For Her." I was shocked (as many of you were) that such a group was ever allowed to exist on Facebook and, as it turns out, the offending group's page was taken down before I even finished writing the post, but this time that's not the case.
You mean you found another highly offensive, unacceptable, unamusing Facebook group that pokes fun at violence against women?
Yes, unfortunately, but not altogether surprisingly, I did.
"Reasons When It's Acceptable to Punch a Woman in the Face" is the newest offending group. The group justifies itself by claiming that it's meant to be taken as "dark humour" similar to Family Guy, South Park, and Scary Movie.
The group's creator actually says, "I don't feel I'm promoting violence nor am I condoning it, it's just dark humour... it's a joke."
Well, let's take a look at the list and see what's so funny.
Trigger Warning: Some of the items on this list are extremely offensive and may be upsetting.
1. talking too much
2. disagreeing with anything you say
3. burning your food
4. not washing up
5. being on her period
6. being on her period and still coming to see you
7. talking bout other guys....even her dad
8. taking off her make up
9. leaving the kitchen
10. leaving the bedroom
11. refusing a threesome
12. telling you to stop pushing their head down... when
they give you head
13. not knowing the offside rule
14. not knowing the offside rule after being told too many
times
15.not allowing you to have sex with their mum/sister
16. killing banter
17. out drinking you
18. making stupid baby noises
19. being on either team Jacob or team Edward
20. refusing anal
21. breathing
22. when your football team looses
23. wanting attention during a cod session
24. asking you to make her a cup of tea
25. thinking their in control of the relationship
26. when ur angry and need something to hit
27. when you wanna try out your new kung fu move
28. wearing clothes indoors
29. asking you to go down on her
30. when they fish for compliments
31. when they make you watch chick flicks
32. expecting to get paid for
33. trying to help make this list (foook u becky)
34. having an opinion
35. crying for no fucking reason
36. weighing more than you do
37. calling you a woman/pussy
38. giving you a stupid nickname
39. forgetting to shave
40. not swallowing
41.having a 4 finger bucket
42. taking more than 20 minutes deciding what to wear
43. being taller than you
44. bitching about people you dont even know
45. looking at you funny
46. complaining that she's cold.... wear a hoodie bitch
47. being a feminist
48. asking you to finish her off once ur finished..
49. calling the police when you hit her...bitch should learn
50. for being a woman..
51. saying they love you
52. when she is in range
53. When she reads this and wont have sex with you for
laughin
54. When she asks to be and admin
55. bitching about facebook groups.... get back in the
kitchen
56. when you got 99 problems but a bitch ain't 1
57. Whenever she talks without being questioned
58. when she sends you a friend request.... i don't want to be your friend, but you can go make me a sandwich :P
ONLY REASON TO NOT HIT A WOMAN IN THE FACE...
1. when she's pregnant.....punch her in the stomach
I've read this list a few times and each time I get angrier and angrier. This is not humorous or funny no matter which way you slice it. This list basically calls on women to be mindless sex machines, with perfect bodies, who don't speak or think but only live to pleasure men.
The creators of this group think what they are doing is OK because it's only meant as a joke and I know some people – there are currently over 31,000 members – will think it's "only meant to be funny" but I have to ask where this humor comes from.
The items on this list show a deep disrespect for women and trivialize a problem that is very real. The fact is that many women suffer the heavy hand of abuse from men who don't respect them and think they deserve to be hit for any number of reasons. Fortunately, most men have the privilege of never knowing this reality. That ignorance doesn't give them free reign to make fun of those who aren't so lucky.
I truly don't understand how this group can be construed as funny or not condoning violence against women as the creators claim. Creating a group that makes fun of women being abused isn't funny – it's hurtful, unjust, and frankly, unoriginal.
Making jokes about violence against women is not new. We see it all the time, especially in the very shows, like Family Guy, that the creators claim they are attempting to emulate. We need to be more vocal about opposing this misuse of humor and demanding more from the networks, shows, and websites we support.
Facebook is a huge social networking platform with over 400 million users worldwide as young as 13-years-old. We deserve better from Facebook – much better.
The group's creators have promised to continue adding items to the list, even asking people to submit their own reasons it's acceptable to punch a woman in the face so make sure you sign on to Facebook and report them (there is a "report group" link on the left hand side of the screen under links)! It's about time this group got the boot!
A poem written by a friend
A row of bottles on my shelf, caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.?
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze..
The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know..
Is what tells each one where to go!
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.?
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze..
The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know..
Is what tells each one where to go!
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