Motu · proprio

If you're on Twitter, set your location to Tehran & your time zone to GMT +3.30. Iranian security forces are hunting for bloggers using location/timezone searches. The more people at this location, the more of a logjam it creates for forces trying to shut down Iranians' access to the internet.

Please pass this on...

More fun from the blog of Chris O'Shea:
http://www.pixelsumo.com/post/tweenbots

Conversation:

Me: "So, what is your beautiful ass doing here tweeking in my alley at 3:30 in the morning?"

Girl" "What?!" "I'm not. . .." "No...I'm okay, I'm fine."

Me: "Well, it's not safe for you to be here, so I'll just stand here until that piece of shit comes out to get you, or whatever." "Or you can come inside." "I have a husband and a cat, and no one will try to have sex with you or anything..."

Girl: Gets on the celphone: "Uh...there's this 'nice lady' here who says it's not safe for me to be here, and she won't leave... "

Piece of Shit: Brusquely comes out to bring her in.

____________________________________________________
What was accomplished, you ask? Absolutely nothing, except that I don't have to deal with a girl being raped under my kitchen window. Intervening then was better than what may have gone afterward. Besides, Drug Dealer Boy and I got to exchange meaningful, dirty looks this morning. Fucker

This post is to apologize for my recent post, which is no longer viewable, in which I slandered Keith418. I have learned in discussions with the former GTG that my assertion that Keith was derelict in managing E.C. funds during his tenure is false. It has become clear that I misunderstood. I retract any statements I made which implied or directly stated that Keith had mismanaged funds while he was Treasurer, or at any other time during his post on the Electoral College. I apologize for any confusion, and for any harm I may have caused to Keith or anyone who read the post. I will be disabling comments on this post, and will not now or ever discuss any aspect of this matter, publicly or privately, with anyone who is not immediately involved. Again, please accept my sincere apologies.

Michael just pointed out that some people may think that our marriage is on the rocks based on my posting of the Sinead son. It isn't. Just think it's a beautiful song. Sorry lovebug! <3

Dear Gods....The best divorce song Ever! If I were a lesbian, I'd have to get a restraining order against myself on Sinead's behalf. Ever notice that she's a very rare artist, in that her voice is actually more powerful, confident, inspired and compelling live than when "perfected" by digital mastering? Stunning song and body of work in general. - And a true heart and uncompromisingly sublime, pure eccentric.

I'm having New York envy. It attacks about once a year, usually in early Spring or late Autumn, and is almost always kicked off by my reading or hearing someone use a term like "Netherlandish" to describe a branch of art, and then presenting two respectable volumes on a subject which actually is termed Netherlandish fucking art. Within a matter of days, as the melancholic longing sets in, I'm behaving really strangely. I stop making eye contact with strangers. I dart out into traffic without first looking to see if there are any taxicabs speeding toward me. I dye my hair almost black, wear no makeup except for very dark, stark and severe red lipstick, and compulsively start applying 50 block before braving the elements to go across the street for a pack of smokes. I've also been seen, in the throes of this yearly attack, running, screaming from my car to whatever building I'm destined for when I realize I've left the house without my sun repelling blanket.

My syndrome can have consequences for the environment, too, disrupting my sleeping patterns and disturbing the groove of the normal, passionate affinity I have for the beautiful flora around my home. I complain about my city's fair and friendly sunshine, as I defiantly click on the air conditioner, even when it's not very warm. I become the ingrate to end all spoiled L.A. natives, scowling at the ordinary colored leaves on the trees around the city, which rarely ever change much from one season to the next, and occasionally find myself in the car, muttering stuff like "You're supposed to be red or orange!" - while my bratty, jaundiced eye denigrates their simple and perennially green loveliness. And if that's not enough to warrant an actual diagnosis, on par with Seasonal Affective Disorder, or worse, I'm also struck by a weird (but very compelling) impulse to buy funkily elegant outer wear I don't need. . .

But this, too, shall pass.