Sunday Morning

I have a lot of friends, family, and history in NYC.  Heartbreaking to see how quickly their systems of distribution have collapsed, and how little government-run entities can do to resolve it.  Someone explain to me why FEMA didn't forward station basic supplies in light of several days notice.  Hope & Change seems a difference without a distinction from Rainbows & Unicorns.

Without much difference, on the television now is a movie about the French Revolution.  Indiscriminate killing by government thugs seeking to retain power.  I have a well-developed ability to sit in a room with a movie on and fail to absorb any plot whatsoever.  All that enters is phrases and snippets of action.  For some reason the head cop (or whomever) had the hero handcuffed and ready to be shot.  Instead, the head cop took the cuffs off of the hero, put them on himself, then turned backward towards the river and fell into it.  How very odd.  I wonder what it meant.  The hero just walked away, smiling evermore broadly as he distanced himself.  Credits rolling.  Filmed in Prague and Paris.  I want to go to Prague someday.

I'm gonna make bean soup today based on this recipe.  Need to run to the store for vege broth, maybe celery.  Want it done for two or three o'clock.

I installed do-not-track apps on Chrome, so now when I go to sites they don't get to know it's me.  I don't fully understand how effective they are, but the reports are pretty.  So anyway, I think one of the net effects is that the internet's view of who I am is now static. Maybe.  Diving into my Spam on GMail, I get a glimpse. No idea how this persona was forged, but I get Es for hosiery, asking me - as a single black woman - to join a dating network, Christian single, Jewish singles, bras ... the common theme is definitively effeminate.  How very odd.  Makes me want to scratch, burp, and fart ... over-compensate just to project my masculinity.  Well, I hope the internet at least thinks I'm pretty.  If not, I think I'll hug my pillow and cry.  Maybe I should buy a training bra to train, um, well at 53 I doubt I'd every graduate from the training stage.  What an interesting concept - what exactly is being trained - the person or the body part?

Some completely idiotic movie (or short) is playing centered on The Society for the Prevention of Jazz.  1930s Era.  Can't tell if it's supposed to be humorous.  I think so as I stop now to watch it for a few moments.  Comedy has changed.  Turner Classic Movies channel is difficult to watch.  For me, it's the adoration the hosts cast on the actors and actresses - people who are trained in reciting words written by others and doing so with a stock affect ... sad, happy, whatever.  No, it is not "brilliant" to cough up someone else's lines through tears.  It's just acting.  Ut oh, Katherine Hepburn and Ginger Rogers in Stage Door is starting now.  Lucille Ball is listed last on the opening credits.  I think I'll run to the store.  Anything.  Re-fold my laundry, maybe.  Oh, I can feel my intellect dripping out my ears.  I think this is a movie about a lesbian colony.  One woman just took the stockings off another.  Now they're yelling and pushing.  The blonde on the left has graduated from the training-bra stage, the one on the right not so much.  Hunh.

I'm off.  Bye for now.