The Living Room at GeeGee's House

Brochettes

2011-07-07T14:25:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Sugar and salt
might be at fault.
Some blame
the carbs and ways.
As waistbands expand
folks stop walking the land
and spend more time in the shade.

Sun shines as
pressure grows.
Changing the flow
from head to toe,
breaking the pipes
a-lining the way.

Heart, liver, kidney
on a stick.

Travel Suit

2011-07-07T14:11:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Cars, trains,
ships and planes
around the World
and back again.

But what if
a head is bumped,
an arm is stumped,
or an eye is knocked
down the esplanade,
a kilometer or two?

When the US citizen
returns to our States,
who will pay
to put Humpty Dumpty
back together again?

The Newest Frontier

2011-06-03T03:39:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Those who refer
to the present-day
Internet
as The Wild Wild West,
have no idea what the Internet
was like when the
cowboys, rebels,
sheriffs, and vigilantes
roamed free.

Typhoid Sally

2011-06-03T03:20:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

At least one uninsured person
who cannot afford health care
or transportation to a doctor
will send an infected child
to school.

Another exposed person will go
to the mall, to a restaurant,
to the church, temple, or mosque.

We must make sure everyone
has access to medical care.

It's not to protect them.
It's to protect all of us!

The Shakedown

2011-06-03T03:04:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

After our storied history
with search and seizure
at the hands of mother England,
one might expect several
historical examinations
of the Fourth Amendment
and the Patriot Act.

One might expect...

Generation Gap

2011-06-03T02:52:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Oprah takes a bagged lunch to work,
yet many of us insist on spending between
$7 to $20 a day for lunch.

Our grandparents understood
how and when to spend money.

They didn't drive
if they could walk.

They packed as many errands
into a trip as possible.

They packed cooked food on ice,
drove the car to a vacation site,
and stayed with friends instead of
splurging on 5-star hotels.

They bought snacks at the grocery store
instead of stopping at restaurants.

They toured America during the day,
dreamed of the European hotspots at night,
and watched their certificates of deposits grow.

That generation always seemed to have money
when it was really needed.

The high point of this economy?
This generation is learning the value of the dollar.

Gone Fishing

2011-06-03T02:05:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

How many minnows
does the State need
for a sneak and peek?

Will a frog suffice?

Queen Me

2011-06-03T01:34:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

A woman at the helm
of the IMF?

Hire the best person
regardless of gender,
race, or national origin?

Are we still answering
these questions?

White Cloud

2011-06-03T00:14:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

The home of
Bert, Ernie,
and Kermit was
infiltrated.

Folks long past
grade school
sent a simple message:

One, Tupac is living
the good life in
New Zealand.

White cloud.
Hacked lining.

A Counting We Will Go

2011-06-03T00:03:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Facebook, Twitter, Credit and Debit
are vulnerable to hacking.

Please be assured that
the electronic machine is safe
from any such concerns.

Sick and Tired

2011-06-02T21:51:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Perhaps
preexisting illnesses
should be redefined
so that stable patients
who need no more
than case review
and prescriptions

are segregated

from patients
with serious and
immediately escalating
illnesses.

Private Stock

2011-06-02T21:48:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

In this economy,
very few of Us
care about someone else's
marital affairs,
dating shenanigans,
or Internet behaviors.

Helicopter Parent

2011-06-02T21:17:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

America needs to have
a serious discussion about
how Our leaders
are suppose to lead our Government
and appropriately parent our children
without an occasional helicopter ride.

Flying Nun?
Flying Dad.

Garden Hope

2011-06-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Individuals engaging in
small scale subsistence farming
in order to save money
during the harsher years
of the US austerity plan.

Bishops and Rooks

2011-06-02T20:56:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

The plates of the Earth are moving
and the most able corporations
are shifting themselves
into the market positions
with the most bargaining power.

The US food system is battling
flood waters and drought.

Our most stable corporations
are swallowing corporations
in the emerging markets.

As always, compensating for the losses
is a time-honored strategy when playing
a challenging game of chess.

Getting On Message

2011-06-02T20:50:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

More market participants
were needed because
the gap between
the haves and the have-nots
was dangerously widening.

A new normal has to be set.

Currently,
we have media reports
of England's newest Princess
wearing a $340 dress.

Meanwhile,
an American teenager
will wear a dress
to her Prom
that costs two
or three times
that amount.

She might even call
her date by using her
similarly priced cell phone.

Our goal is simple.

We are to behave in ways
that are more congruent
to America's current economic situation.

Eating Cake

2011-06-02T20:47:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

America is still
in the stranglehold
of the Recession
and the powers that be
continue to pry holes
in order to make space
for additional participants.

Citizens are encouraged
to garden,
shop at farmer's markets,
shop at grocery stores,
cook at home,
pack lunches for work and school,
support local businesses
and restaurants,
adopt a green lifestyle,
and save money.

Every participant
can make money
and save money
because we will
all engage
the system
to meet our own needs.

Apple Pie

2011-06-02T20:45:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Full participation
in the US market is not
a sum zero equation?

Context Blues

2011-06-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Have a rap star,
prisoner,
or writer
explain
the n-word
as a term
of endearment,
affection
and a signal
that one is standing
in a zone of
physical safety.

Have a coven
explain their use
of the b-word
as an indicator
of a close bond.

Speak to men
from various groups
and listen
to their reasoning
for nicknames
and lingo
that would make
outsiders cringe.

Context is important.

Arizona Bell

2011-06-02T20:25:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

There is civility,
there is the right
to express oneself,
and there is
the random misuse of
colorful language
that does not add anything
to the commentary.

This is not about
limiting the use
of the s-word, n-word,
f-word, g-word,
r-word, a-word
(as in a crowded gym
full of high school
basketball fans
screaming "Arizona"
at the visiting team
of mostly Latino students...).

This is about realizing
that regular words,
with a certain tone
and context
can be just as hurtful,
inappropriate
and distasteful
as the slurs.

Sunny Side Up

2011-05-15T11:18:00.000-07:00

China is likely to unionize
as it's market matures.

To compete in the free market,
high-end technology is invaluable.

Because at this particular point
in its development,
the perception is that
the money is better invested
in technology than in
the workers.

No worries.
There is no mean spirit to blame.

This perception
is an inextricable part
of a market's development.

Simply put, this is the way
the fortune cookie crumbles.

Virtual School

2011-05-15T11:14:00.000-07:00

Because this breaks
an important role of school
by eliminating interactive
links between the teacher
and the students.

Teachers teach all sorts of lessons.

What of the life
and negotiating skills
needed to become
a valued member of society?

What about the lessons
taught by peers?

In PE, in addition
to learning about sports,
one also learns about teamwork,
body image, and locker room etiquette.

Classrooms provide
a microcosm of our society
where children must negotiate
the values learned at home
with values required to work
with people who have different values.

Without this, education is incomplete.

Home School Advantage

2011-05-15T11:07:00.000-07:00

There are lessons
that are taught in school
that have little to do
with readin', ritin',
or 'rithmatics.

If dual enrollment,
AP classes and
college attendance
cause this kind of dismay,
how will the very real differences
between at home academics
in your pajamas
compare to
in class academics
with one is measured
time after time against
crazed and tortured peers?

The good news is now
they can play sports together.

Home team.
Away team.
Both will have at-home players.

What's next?

Auto Wars

2011-05-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

Because parts and components
will be where rubber meets road.

Math Lesson

2011-05-15T10:56:00.000-07:00

Voting results
do not always reflect
the election of
the best candidate.

Instead,
they reflect the
aggregated opinion
of all the voters.

Such is the way of the ballot!

Over the Counter

2011-05-15T10:49:00.000-07:00

Because dental issues
can quickly lead
to brain infections.

Because one can OD
on OTC drugs.

Spilled Water

2011-05-15T10:27:00.000-07:00

Our government and agencies
learned several lessons
in the wake of the Katrina disaster.

Cautious.
Proactive.

The water is free
to rush where she might.

Let's not cry over spilled water.

After all, the Mississippi River was born
before America took its first breath.

Cherry Lifesavers

2011-05-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

The Army Corps of Engineers and
your state's water management team
are the two entities standing between
the every day citizen and
giant walls of water.

As the waters flood homes and farms,
we must be willing
to sacrifice our belongings
in order to save lives.

The Rush Card

2011-05-09T11:27:00.000-07:00

Because some of us need
to carry the proverbial
"Black card."

Because a beloved mogul
is striving to provide
a banking alternative
in the face of
the deep recession
impacting Americans
everywhere.

Anchors We Lay

2011-05-06T15:42:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Frogs planned the task.
Seals shone the light.

May Day!
May Day!

Shots rang.
Air sang.

Bullets lit up the night
in a distant land.

May Day!
May Day!

A tale without pictures.
An unfinished book.

May Day!
May Day!

He is buried at Sea.

May Day!
May Day!

The world cried
in several languages
as the waters reached the shore.

May Day!
May Day!

I planted my brother.
I planted my son.
I am raising my children alone.
My love is gone.

May Day!
May Day!

Wails beached themselves
like a key floating
in the wrong lock.

A pod charging itself
on the dock.

May Day!
May Day!

Sky stroked.
Sun soaked.

My neighbor
planted a stake
and raised our Flag.

Twins sighed.
Wind tiptoed by.

Our safety?
At bay.

Sons Worship Sun

2011-05-01T11:33:00.000-07:00

If you work out
all the kinks,
you will have
lots and lots of
solar panels
available to help supply
Japan's efforts
to rebuild?

Pens, Clocks & Flags

2011-01-18T12:04:00.000-08:00

By Giggles Anderson

The Constrictor
made several changes.

At the counter,
brochures outlining how to give yourself
more control of your financial future
replaced
offers for small business loans
and introductions to life
after a line of credit.

As if.

No after life.
Just a cold shoulder
from the friends
who still have bubbles
in their underwater loan.

House full? Home less?
Stress is the great equalizer.
Rob Peter. Pay Paul.
Time to file the taxes.

A fee to cash a payroll check?
That was news eight or so years ago.

Not so new?

The search for English language
marketing materials on
opening a new account.

Understandable and excusable.

The new hires will be The Bilingual.
Those who speak the language
of the Economy.

The twin tongues of English and Spanish,
playing nicely with Creole, Portuguese,
French and Russian.

Just imagine the German-speaking
Japanese native who is first picked
to join the Team.

A team headed to China.

Recruiting order matters less
as the Recession turns,
it matters only that
one makes a Team.

How else can one afford Bank fees?

Personally unaware
of the exact check-cashing fee
and painfully aware that I would eat
any mistake in counting out my payroll,
I laid my spread out on the counter.

One Landshark. Two Landshark.

The teller seemed appalled
that I'd be willing
to thumb through a grip
with such openness.

Three Panther. Four Panther.

At the Constrictor,
not counting your money
in front of the teller
means you will be eating
any shortage,
no matter your protestations
of bank error, once you leave
the teller's line of vision.

Five Hurricanes. Six Hurricanes.

So I glanced at her
with a puzzled look of,
"I'm pretty sure $6 is missing,
I could be lunching at Pollo Tropical with that."

"Oh, there is a $6 fee
for cashing a check here
if you don't have an account with us...

Would you like to open an account today?"

I'm so sure
she thought she was saving me
from a parking lot mugging
since I'd clogged up her window
with my silly money counting
and what not.

I wanted her to save me
from the not-so-subtle
window-cupping.

Maybe she could have mentioned
before she cashed the check
that there would be a fee.

Maybe.

But did I give her enough reason
to believe that I hadn't cashed a check
at the Constrictor before or better yet, lately?

After all, it's been at least a fifth of a score
since I'd last set foot inside a Bank.

Too much Dalton,
not enough Walton.

A hint or two might have helped
as I handed over an unsigned check
and a valid ID card.

The Teller, aptly named,
slid the check back
because there was no signature.

No ticket? No laundry.
No endorsement? No cash.

Well she told me.

I signed.
The plexiglass sighed.
The fees got the last laugh.

I was not amused.
It's a tough economy.
What if I really needed the $6?

I could have deposited the check
at the Constrictor and waited a gazillion days
in lieu of paying the $6 fee.

Lou, Lou, Skip to my Lou...

Luckily, I can properly
appreciate a lower fee.

Some banks charge $15.

That's a meal at Pollo Tropical
with coffee and dessert at Starbucks.
Or chicken appetizers,
lemonade and tiramisu
at Segafredos.

Appalling to know that
$15 also buys grain and clean water
for several villages or
provides malaria medicine
to a villager in need.

Developed markets.
Currency wars.
Gotta love em.
From a distance.

I watched as a fortune-counter
behind the plexiglass
fed large-faced bills
into a machine.

One alligator. Two alligator.

There was a time
when the paper
was counted behind closed doors,
in the basement, or side closet.

The casinos still do it that way.
Well at least they do on TV.

Banking in real life
is nothing like
the Monopoly game.

And so I head
to the Credit Union,
with an envelope stuffed
with just enough money to buy
the left shoe of a pair of
Monolo Blahniks.

Credit unions
are usually tucked away
in notoriously discreet
bank buildings.
No all glass banking center.
No marbled pavilion with columns.
No Au Bon Pain in the lobby.

Just a bank and
the implements required
to provide appropriate service.

Kudos for all!

As flags sway
in the afternoon breeze.
Enter soldier-friendly banking
signaling a return to patriotism.
Bankers who encourage our
march to an old, yet familiar drum--
Save more.
Spend less.

The Empire is depending on it.

Brother Cities

2010-10-10T07:36:00.000-07:00

Amityville.
Babylon.
Great.
South Bay?

A family of horrors.

Lost a brother.
Bones broken.
Life stolen.
Broken by an Uncle's bone.
Small token.

Son visits the tomb.
Pricks the wound.

Stick a pin.

The sins of the father,
shall be visited upon the Sun.
A thousand times.

Makes for a dark Mourning.

Twinning.

My brother city of Stone.
Put down the fish nets,
Cast your ballot.

One means won here.
The cops cruise without
paying a premium.

I would open that can of worms
but I don't have a key.

The money is mine.
I sneezed three days ago
and I was blessed
right after
the neighbor said so.

Yes, it was a Fat Tuesday.

Favor?
I can dig that.
After all,
I reap the seeds
I sow.

We find favor with those who believe.
There are no non-believers in hell.
Have you been?

I'm heading there today.
Taking the red-eye past
CNN, MSNBC and CBS.

Fox licks its lips.

Four tongues wagged a dog's tail.
Time for click and tell.

I kept my receipts.
Did you?

The Chitlin' Circuit shook.

As the blueprint took shape,
Obama moved The Rook.

Mama cried.

Too late.
Daddy never came home.
Tuxedo Junction got him.

Oh, and the house in Amityville?
Put on the market in May 2010
for a cool $1.5 Mil.

Take 1: I, He, and We.

2010-08-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

I do not know why all this hubbub about
a girl acting like a guy.

A woman, strongly identifying as a man,
decided to join The Debbies–
a cookie cutter coven of campus co-eds
who walk, talk, act, dress, and dance staccato
the SAME.

I was never a Girl Scout, but I ate the cookies.
Still today, I bitterly eat the cookies.

I never played team sports as a child.
(I was pudgy from eating too many cookies.)

I did NOT play well with others.

I became a mean girl.

I AM a *mean* girl.
(cause and effect?)

I DO not play well with others.
But don’t act like I’m the only one.

The SCOUTS won’t let agnostics,
atheists or known gays IN
& The SCOTUS ruled that as a private organization,
the Boy Scouts of America can keep them OUT.

Anagrams aside,
I think we all need to take
another look at this mix.

The Supreme Court itself has escorted
many a Man’s law down the mountain
with O’Connor and Ginsburg helping
to etch and carry the heavy stone tablets.

(Yes, in a testicle’s shell,
we have all been living
by Girl SCOTUS law as well.)

Seriously, it’s really a good question:
Do the Justices REALLY play well with each other?

Social justice attacks your manners, poise and dress.
Racial justice profiles candidates for ethnicity & corporate success.
Equal justice makes sure the pencil test gets a fair shake.
Criminal justice always shoplifting Fashion Fair face cake.

(In) justice has always been such a bitch–
no one likes her, but somehow
she manages to crash all the parties.
If you live through the night, Real Justice will admit
you were there for the fight.

Apple, Orange, Peanut Butter. Tell me the name of your sweet heart! Alpha, Beta, Gamma, …

A Civil Justice–does she get to play?

She likes spiders and frogs.
Ain’t she a woman?
She is muscular and strong… in the face.
Ain’t she a woman?
She loves the ladies perhaps while dressed like a man.
Ain’t she a woman?
She loves the men while dressed like a man.
Ain’t she a woman?
She prefers masculine pronoun references.
Ain’t she a woman?
She wears out hats, slacks, and flamboyant verb tenses.
Ain’t she a woman?

Again, Civil Justice–does she get to play?

There was a time
when a Sorority woman in public
did not smoke, did not drink liquor, and did not wear pants.
The primer was clear, yet a Woman somewhere
broke rank and took a stance.

How about we invite Poetic Justice over for some charades?

Hear ye, hair ye:
No BEAR legs! Shave those stumps!
That’s right, no bare legs.
Wear the hose, but NEVER dress like them.

No short hair stretched into
ALL long hair neatened into
No unkempt hair ironed into
No spongy hair turned into
No natural hair folded into
No braids matted into
NOT THE DREADED LOCKS!

Yes, there was a time where
women with locked hair
were ostracized and
their participation limited.

Yes, and it made me want to spew bile
into my brown paper bag.
(what did YOU think it was for?)

And this too shall pass.

As our understanding and acceptance
of Womanhood continues to evolve,
Devin Alston-Smith poses a sincere
yet intriguing set of Star Trek questions
we really ought to seriously consider:

IF womanhood exists on a continuum,
(a range from Debbie to Donnie, each still a lass)
What is to come of the woman who identifies herself as a man,
while continuing to live in the body of a woman?

Will you be your Brother’s keeper?

IF womanhood is found a century from now
to exist on a continuum and you were the first
to have a member expressly identify herself as a man
while living in the body of a woman…

Would you want a documented history of patience, understanding,
and well-executed attempts to educate and uncover research regarding gender?

Are you working on that?

I don’t have any answers.
Until today, I didn’t even know these questions existed.

If a forum addressing gender issues was organized
and Civility was invited,
I’d tag along and be on my best behavior.

Coed used to mean a female student attending college
now its code for serving men and women alike.

Meanings change but a fundamental question remains largely unanswered–

Does ANY secret society have a responsibility to address, openly or otherwise, the sororal or fraternal needs, if any, of “other-gender identifying” individuals?

I expect a lively discussion and I await the release of an official statement or two. In the meantime, I will continue my own independent research and share my findings.

As for Delvin, He ain’t heavy, he’s my Brother.

Fig Fight

2010-05-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

Because both sides
really need to shut down
Newt Gingrich.

As if it is possible.

Because both sides
will try to shut down
Newt Gingrich.

As if it is possible.

Forever running.
The chase goes on.

How does one fight the mist?

Pocket Pals

2010-05-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

The enemy
of my enemy is
my new best friend.

Forging a close friendship
with a powerful banking
financing entity is
a great idea.

Let us all lower
our interest rates
and let bygones
be the new black.

Glassware

2010-05-05T11:44:00.000-07:00

Like a screaming sunrise
a rosy sunset and
moonlight floating
over the sea

Mexico
as the days go
is a place everyone
wants to be.

Start your visit
with a pair of glasses
salt-rimmed or
rose colored.

You choose.

Say What?

2010-05-03T12:07:00.000-07:00

The only thing
more telling
than a restatement,
is a statement.

Moray Eel

2010-04-29T12:54:00.000-07:00

*this*
free trade
agreement is a
truly interesting development.

let the trading of goods and services begin

Eye Chart

2010-04-29T12:46:00.000-07:00

Close your eyes.
Face south,
This looks a lot
like ASEAN.

Cluster anyone?

No Luck

2010-04-28T13:07:00.000-07:00

China's pork feed.
the Haitian pig.

No pearls for swine.

Desk Top

2010-04-27T13:12:00.000-07:00

The Chinese have begun teaching.
The lessons?

Confucius for the children.

In Line Skating

2010-04-24T14:12:00.000-07:00

We The People should be
more concerned about the folks
this country entrust with firearms
and our safety.

Our protectors
are to follow orders
as they are passed down.

Orders without compliance mean chaos.
Taxpayers ought not pay for that.

There is but one Chief.

No matter the rumor,
tongues hurt like teeth.

Tails can wage war
but will never win
without a Head.

Pepper Pot Soup

2009-02-27T11:26:00.000-08:00

By Giggles Anderson

This Sam’s Club Republican
doesn’t own silk stockings and
wasn’t born with a silver spoon
in her mouth.

Dems who didn’t like her gave her a basket to catch water.

And so Callaloo Barbie was found
floating down a Florida canal
in a bamboo basket lined with plantain leaves–
Clutching in her tiny left hand
a primer explaining the fundamentals of
supply side fiscal policies,
and social conservatism.

Dems who didn’t like her made new rules when she mastered the old.

Speaking up would be as tough as her curls,
learning the code was a must.
Go forward and let nothing distract you
Onward towards the light
Plant your seeds in fertile ground.

Dems who didn’t like her whispered lies as she slept.

She learned to walk
in five-inch heels
on a center-right platform
suspended above
a slew of hungry gators.

Tall and strong,
She plays the game well
and to those she never liked–

a plate for their pepperpot soup.

What Did You Get On Your Haiku Test?

2009-02-27T11:17:00.000-08:00

By Giggles Anderson

Love lurks in the air
Blinds filter out the ugly
here comes eye water

Barack Obama
He is clean, articulate.
Oh Eight Candidate!

John McCain Straight Talk
The Maverick Candidate
U.S needs him now

It is hot today.
Dark clouds race towards my house
rain is on the way.

Blond child on sex tape
mom says she looked fine always
how come no one knew?

We met at nineteen
the vicissitudes of life
were well on their way

I love you so much
I cannot bear to lose you
that is all we need

Britney lost the kids
to the husband that she found
freedom gone awry

The Four Rs

2009-02-27T11:08:00.000-08:00

By Giggles Anderson

Lost a penny,
found a dime,
threw it in a well,
bought more time.

Lost a quarter,
five cents found,
a dime, two nickels,
paid tax to the ground.

Took a dollar,
bought some cigs,
Few cents left,
Nothing big.

Earned a twenty,
Blagojevich treat?
I bid two-fifty on
Obama’s seat.

The Senate sat Roland Burris.
And it’s alright by me,
For at his feet I daily toss,
the brown Lincoln penny.

Sisterly Tea

2009-02-10T07:41:00.000-08:00

By Giggles Anderson

Historically, I have never had any problems procuring the proverbial supplies needed to read, write and learn.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday my sister and I went to purchase office supplies. Never mind that both of us graduated from high school long ago. Sylvia, now a public school teacher, was on a mission of mercy to buy all the supplies her special ed students would need to survive their sophomore year of high school. And then I saw Him. Loyally surrounded by high stacks of colored two pocket folders, construction paper and three-ringed binders. Crowned by a shelf after shelf of golden file folders. Proudly standing at the triangular apex of two aisles–filled with erasers, pencil sharpeners and cigar boxes–as if to extend his welcoming arms.

It was a majestic sight of fantastic proportions.

Enter HRM Xerox KG2-1732, the newest, most regal manifestation of my childhood fantasy. A Xerox color copier. I lovingly called him King George II. If this machine were a man, I would have married as a teenager and given birth to print resolutions of at least 300 x 300 dpi. When I thought of the book reports and scientific research notes I could have copied, then I finally understood the inspiration for both the colony and the song, Georgia On My Mind.

Let me take you back to 1982.

The parental units would announce that it was time to create our forecasted list of necessary school supplies. The older two really didn’t take much interest. Their list was pretty standard. A Trapper-Keeper, calculator, college-ruled paper, a few blue Erasermate pens and a box of number two pencils.

Sylvia and I were a whole different story. A back-to-school sale was another name for “A” student paradise. Sylvia and I were nerds at heart. We were ages nine and ten, respectively, when we realized that school spending was in truth synonymous with hitting the jackpot because the parental units would spend lavishly on any education-related endeavor.

The key word is any. [You thought I was going to say lavishly, didn’t you?]

Much later in life, as a thirty-two year old attorney, I would soon learn to love and appreciate the words must, shall, and any in the most perverse and precise ways, but any would never again be the sweet respite of honor and hope it represented in my well-spent youth.

Remember, we went back to 1982. Reagan was President, Bartles and James’ Melon Splash was all the rage, and a first-class stamp cost $.20. We said goodbye to Princess Grace and Jim Belushi. Alexander Haig resigned and The Color Purple–already my favorite colored pencil–quickly became my favorite book.

If that didn’t bring you back, I’m not sure anything could.

For two weeks before school started, Sylvia transformed into Sylva Meanie. Already an ever-present and worthy opponent for my parents’ love, attention and annual income, Sylva Meanie became my arch nemesis in the war over 5-subject notebooks, plastic stencils, yellow highlighters, and blue Pilot pens.

Yes. We fought to the near death over Pilot pens of every color!

Show me an 80s student who didn’t own at least one Pilot pen and I will show you a kid who never finished her homework by laying on the floor, pressing her paper against the underbelly of her desk while chewing grape Bubbalicious gum and humming a Megadeath riff.

But, I digress.

The parental units, however partial to the older, slimmer and clearly more manipulative Sylvia, had some limits. If they hadn’t, I might be referring to them with a much icier tone.

Motherpod, hair restrained in a tight bun like a freshly caught felon in handcuffs, decided that a color copier machine was out of the question. Fatherpod, seeming similarly restrained by the strength of her decision, stood stoically at her side while nodding in agreement.

Looking back, I vaguely remember seeing a barn in the background and pitchfork in her hand.

The parental units had spoken. The color copying machine was out of the question. Their reasoning? There was not enough space in the house.

I argued quite persuasively that the machine fit quite nicely on Sylva Meana’s side of our full-sized bed. To my amazement, S’Meana supported my argument by volunteering to sleep on the fluffy yellow mat poised betwixt the bed and the chest of drawers. I had to give it to her. She was mean, but she had nothing but respect for the crystal clarity and razor precision representing the Monolith that was 80s Xerox, complete with color cartridges and up to 500 dpi.

Alas, there would be no copier. Not even next to the laundry basket, the alternate space that I suggested. Looking back, that was the day my dream of becoming a world famous neurologist went up in smoke and my career as a paper peddler began.

Peddler. Pilfer. Whatever.

Sylvia and I, now happy, well-adjusted, and childless adults, push our way through the mob of parents, students, teachers and employees in an attempt to pay for the school supplies. We get along well. The failed attempt at the acquisition of King George II forever bonded two sworn blood enemies. As paper pushing professionals, we use the copiers at work all the time and would never dream of bringing one home.

Well, not unless that model I just saw in Office Depot is available online. And in case you’re wondering, Sylvia can use it anytime. In exchange for a small fee: a huge slice of her homemade banana pumpkin bread, and a vat of her addictive Cranberry Apple Zinger tea sweetened with no less than a quarter cup of sugar. It sounds hazardous, but it is the most nectareous way for a peppermint sprig and a chunk of ginger root to carelessly float without a lifejacket.

For the record, King George’s distant cousin would’ve been just as welcome in my bedroom…

Tea and Communion Crackers

2008-12-27T12:09:00.000-08:00

By Giggles Anderson

I don’t go to church with just anyone.

Now whether or not I should even bother going to church is a whole different story. I have known for years that I am currently booked on a coach flight to Hell. but my departure date is unknown, thus far. For some odd reason, the people around me insist on trying to upgrade my flight to First Class. Not that a warm moist hand towel, warm cookies, an omelette, southern biscuits and a Bloody Mary wouldn’t help calm down my already-damned Soul. And come on, who doesn’t want to plummet to the Underworld while strapped to a leather seat with a 52-inch pitch? But, there are rules for this kind of thing.

No, I’m not talking about the Rules on those stone tablets Moses escorted down the mountain like a determined Dad accompanying his slutty daughter to her Senior Prom.

I’m talking about those unwritten rules we use every time we are confronted with a church, a steeple and a handful of badly-behaving people.

The Church wedding: I never understood the concept of marriage. You mean to tell me that there is a day that you stop ~~sleeping around with every consenting person you meet with a symmetrical body~~ searching the globe for your soul mate and you decide to settle for less settle down with one person who now impacts every intimate part of your life? I don’t buy it and the results don’t show it. Most of my friends are divorced, contemplating divorce, having a child to avoid a divorce or working longer hours to afford a divorce. A civil divorce would be avoided if everyone paid attention to those uninvited clues that show up on the SS Relation Ship and avoided the wedding in the first place.

What? Cancel the wedding because you have chosen the wrong person? Who the hell does that? Most people don’t, thus necessitating the creation of this long overdue indictment.

Don’t get me wrong, like most women, I LOVE weddings–it’s just that not all weddings should be held in a Church. For example, if either the Bride or Groom is having a sexual affair of any kind with either sex, no church. If either Parent of either the Bride or the Groom has physically assaulted any member of American society within 12 months, no church. If either party has bad credit AND had to steal programs, baby’s breath, and rose petals, no church. If you stepped on a crack and broke your mother’s back, then no church for you, Buster Backslide!

The Christening: I will never understand the concept of infant baptism no matter how many times I re-read Wikipedia. Baptizing a human baby before it has even experienced the ever-pleasing, all-addictive joy of ~~kinky sex, recreational drugs and hardcore gangster rap~~ sin intrigues me. Please tell me, what is the point of washing ~~the sin~~ off a baby when the tyke is destined to get ~~all sinned up and~~ dirty again? All inappropriate jokes aside, the innocent babies should be christened in a church, but their iniquitous parents should be banned from the premises. If the Parents treats the Grandparents like a lusty band of reprobate roaches racing towards Thanksgiving dinner, no church for the parents. If either Parent is having sexual relations outside the marriage and/or a trip to see Maury’s buccal swab is in order, then no church.

Seriously though.

Don’t these professional sinners know that God doesn’t sleep? Haven’t they been warned that he is all-seeing and all-knowing? Aren’t they afraid of being smote down by an angry God? I know some of you don’t pay any attention to God, but fear the words of a King. It was King David who said, “God is a just judge, and God is angry with the wicked every day.” And what words do I have for those of you who now stand appalled at the notion that I, of all people, could portend to know WWGW or “What Would God Want?”

I have no words for you. But, I did notice that NOT ONE OF YOU gave up ~~your life, your job, or~~ your seat on the comfy couch when King George Bush II said, “God told me to end the tyranny in Iraq.”

*blink*

Yes, I went there. If Dubya, who lives in Chocolate City, far away from God, claims to know what the Big Geezy wants forreezy, then I definitely know what God wants too.

Every year, God heads to Miami for the Season. And if you wear an Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie on your head while standing at Concourse D of Miami International Airport, you will hear Him sending special messages to his faithful listeners.

The tin foil hat ROCKS! It eliminates all the evil voices while increasing the signal strength of God’s voice.

That being said, I think that it is more than okay to skip Church when nefarious adults gather within those holy walls despite their licentious behaviors just hours or days before. Hell, it is an unwritten requirement that you refrain from congregating with the diseased venereal. They say birds of a feather flock together. Let’s say you are hanging out in aisle 6; row 3; seat 2 of the local Megachurch with Salacious Sally. She is dressed like a tossed salad and is actually carrying grape jelly in her purse. God has just gotten a brand new laptop with Vista installed. God sees Salacious Sally savoring a sample of sainted snatch and decides to smite her. Alas, he smites you instead.

That’s right. You are sent on the road to perdition, by accident.

Don’t look at me like that, we ALL know how Vista hates when you move, copy or delete files. And so now you’re *stuck* like Corrupted File Chuck.

Oh well. Sucks for you. Good luck with working all that out with the Angry Deity who denies making mistakes. I may not be versed in Roman Architecture or Creationism, but I know villainy when I see it. And if Devon Debauchery is walking through the doors of a Church, I will wait outside.

After all, I’ve got a plane to catch and I don’t know when it’s leaving.

Pine Nut Purple

2008-10-20T12:51:00.000-07:00

By Giggles Anderson

Not only does Meth rot your teeth, but with the wrong ingredients or recipe, you may cook up a batch of crystal Death.

Lest we forget, death is a steep price to pay for the Recessional user who simply wants an exciting, yet inexpensive vacation. This all-inclusive package includes three aggression-filled weeks spent fully awake, basking in the glory of nonstop paranoia, with several hours of escapism smartly squandered by hallucinations of gator wrestling with Janet Reno.

Seriously, who can resist this unique opportunity for an arrestable travel getaway spent sifting through construction sites for copper wires, parasailing above the powerlines, and sprightly spelunking through the local landfill?