A n a r c h i c _ U n i v e r s e ®

California Kamasutra: Ask Tina

I love challenges. Linguistic challenges such as one letter L in American language and double L in U.K. English. Or, "when do I double the consonant preceding the -ed ending of a verb?"

Today, I take upon the unusual challenge of going through a series of commonly known but rarely practiced sexual positions. No photos or pictures. Just words in a Q & A format. Having lived in California gave me all this  wisdom.

--Tina, what is a missionary position?

--A missionary position is that one in which a man/woman puts himself/herself on his knees while offering a 10 K piece of jewelry to his/her significant other. The offering had better come in the colorful acqua bag from Tiffany, or else.

--Tina, what is the position "I go on top?"

--This is a very intriguing question. If a woman rides on top that means she is quite busy on the phone, at the beauty salon, shopping on Rodeo Drive, chatting with friends on line or at a café while the significant other is slaving his life away at some stupid cheap corporation, such as GE or our government's NSA.

If it's a man on top, that means he "works on-line" all day long, surfs the Net, has a ton of virtual friends and excuses for taking calls from total strangers (to his significant other) and takes a siesta from all this hard work while the partner works in and outside the house, supporting the leech.

--Tina, what is a sideways position ?

--Ah, ha! Wonders never cease. In the days baby-boomers were younger, this position meant the opposite of its meaning today to both boomers and surviving parents. Sideways means the couple sleeps with ear-plugs on, their derrières barely touching while they snore their night away.

--Tina, what does a 69 mean?

--How fascinating! I got this question in my mail box just yesterday. A 69, or a soixante-neuf, or billandmonica, isn't what people talk about or imagine. For one partner, it's the ingestion of proteins; for the other, a jetstream release of unnecessary stress. Some partners like to yell, "Flegma, shmegma!" And those do not ingest the liquid proteins.

--Tina, what is phone sex?

--Phone sex is a practice among boys and girls of all ages. If they don't have friends, they just pick United or any big company and pretend a business interest. Depending on their luck, they will achieve their goals. In United's case, remember to say loud and clear, "Agent!" if you get the robot. Maybe you are into cybersex, but robots are still not fully ready, linguistically speaking. Also keep in mind United's hubs are Chicago, Denver, Miami... Chicago is a great phone hub.

And that's all, folks! More soon, insatiable guys and gals?

Tina California Dreamin' Easter  1971 courtesy William Salvador©

Post Republished from 9/2006 Anarchic_Universe®.

 

Series: Never Throw Away Your Spam

I received this SPAM from my son. Even if I don't drive, I thought you'd like it.

SENIOR DRIVER BY GRANDMA

The other day I went up to a local Christian bookstore and saw a 'Honk if you love Jesus' bumper sticker.

I was feeling particularly sassy that day, because I had just come from a thrilling choir practice followed by a powerful prayer meeting, so I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper.
I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection just lost in thought about the Lord and how good He is, and I didn't notice that the light had changed.
It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus; because if he hadn't honked, I'd never have noticed.

I found that LOTS of people love Jesus. Why, while I was sitting there, the nice man behind started honking like crazy, and he leaned out of his window and screamed, 'for the love of God, GO! GO!' What an exuberant cheerleader he was for the Lord.

Everyone started honking! I just leaned out of my window and started waving and smiling at all these loving people.

I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love. There must have been a man from Florida back there, because I heard him yelling something about a sunny beach. I saw another man waving in a funny way with only his middle finger stuck up in the air. When I asked my teenage grandson in the back seat what that meant, he said that it was an Hawaiian good luck sign or something!

Well, I've never met anyone from Hawaii , so I leaned out the window and gave him the good luck sign back.

My grandson burst out laughing; why even he was enjoying this religious experience.

A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me.
I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed the light had changed. So I waved to all my sisters and brothers, smiled at them all, and drove on through the intersection.
I noticed I was the only car that got through the intersection before the light changed again, and I felt kind of sad that I had to leave them after all the love we had shared, so I slowed the car down, leaned out of the window, and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away.
Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!

Share Grandma's letter with your friends.
I just did.

Strange Night in the Rio Rain

I can't recall how it all started. I know it was in the days we were mostly single or divorced or whatever else. My little circle of old time friends consisted of engineers, except for a poet and translator and I, a teacher of English as a Foreign Language. Like most Cariocas we went into and out of trends. The trend at the time was very refined cachaça, sugarcane alcohol. Out of the blue we had become connoisseurs, seeking the next best cachaça.
So it happened that one night we got a call about a primo one. That was the good news. The bad news was the cachaça was with friends at the other side of town. Rubinho decided he'd go pick it up. I tagged along for the car ride.
We got to our destination, small talk exchanged, we decided to leave. On our way back, the silence in the car was nearly surreal. Rubinho wasn't one of too many words, I knew that. I am chatty but knew not what to say. Pretty soon we'd have to cross Praça da Bandeira, an area with negative altitude. The rain was pouring now. We were crossing a lake, really.

Rubinho breaks the silence with a thought that he must have been mulling in his head for quite a while. He turns to me, quite assertive, and states,

--You know, I've never had an American butthole in my whole life.

I froze. Rubinho, despite the --inho, was about 6' 4". Easy. His *** couldn't be the type Greek or Roman sculptures show in gardens. I didn't think so. Rather, I didn't want to think about it at all. My mother had always told me about how horrible their thing was when they wanted us. I found a way out. Quickly, I pointed out to him,

-- Rubinho, watch out for the hole in the road! --

That should be better than my hole, I was sure.

You know how drunks are. He averted his attention from my hole to the one in the road. Before we knew it, we were crossing the tunnel to the south side of Rio. Before we could realize it, we were at my door. I pretended nothing had happened and asked him in. By then, the booze, the excitement, the fatigue had gotten to him. I kissed him on both cheeks and he left.
At home, I undressed, prepared myself a Bloody Mary, put Lou Reed to play, lit a cigarette. Slowly, I felt sleepy, put out the cigarette and got mentally ready for the morning, when students might ask me for the words of the song I was listening to. I'd be ready.

Never Hum a Tune in a Taxicar in Rio

In my carefree early to mid-eighties, at the height of the so-called "dark" fashion in Rio de Janeiro, when I listened to Joy Division, New Order,
Killing Joke, The Alarm and in especial The Smiths, the big time American to make it in my Sony Walkman® was Bruce Springsteen.  I fell in love with his double LP and a friend gave me a cassette of the album. Oh, there was the early Jonathan Ritchman and there was Laurie Anderson, and the
Talking Heads . My friend in NYC gave me tapes of these.

I like to sing or hum songs albeit my voice gets out of tune at the third note, says Gabriel. Nicolas, my husband, can recognize what I sing, though.

(background info)I was a heavy smoker; I got away with smoking in class while I was teaching. My outfits was overalls, a T-shirt, my SonyWalkman®, my backpack, an acquired tem of practical fashion I picked up in NYC, and my Adidas shoes, royal blue with orange stripes. At night I used to hang out at a gay bar which served a delish tomato soup and drink Bloody Mary, Cochrane's. No wonder nobody ever made a pass at me ;P))

Rio de Janeiro is subject to unexpected tropical rain. This night was no different. A heavy rain fell, everybody was gone in a flash. I walked to the corner of an already deserted Botafogo neighborhood to hail a cab. To my surprise, a cab stops. The guy looked ug-leeee, scar-eee, but what the heck. A cab is a cab is a cab.

I hopped in a VW Beetle without a front seat, the cabbie asked me my destination, I gave it to him. There I am humming a song in Portuguese whose lyrics go,

"Stay with me tonight, you won't regret it, the wind outside is whipping cold, here warmth you will have."  (Where did I get this song from?)

He goes in the opposite direction. Well, I thought, a little dazed by the vodka, maybe he wants to try another route. When we are in the street of the cemetery São João Batista, he stops the car. A conversation ensues. He demands,

"Suck my c***."
"????? No, I won't"
"Suck my c***."

This went on, the pouring rain outside getting no thinner. The dialog was as repetitive as those routines in "Waiting for Godot."  Suddenly, he inquires, in a total off-topic,

"Can I take a piss?"
"As long as it's not in the car..."

My remark was nonchalant. I just sat there in the warmth of the car. He returns, says as he grabs one of my thighs wrapped under a semi-sheer white pantyhose,

"I always liked chunky white girls like you."

(Gee, thanks for the chunky. Good for me to be wearing a long sweatshirt that was supposedly a dress.) 
He adds,

"I got a Saturday Night Special in the glove compartment."

He opens it and shows me the cheap metal gun.

"Where are you going now?"

I request,

"Laranjeiras."

The SOB charges me full fare, and I let him keep the change.

Morning after it was English classes starting at seven. A double glass of cold coffee and cold milk, another cab, another day in the Cidade Maravilhosa, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

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Saint Patrick's Day

©All rights reserved, Tina Oiticica Harris, 2008
We have had our lean corn beef, rye bread, light mayo, mustard, salad and tomatoes, and diet Coca-Cola© for drinks, except my husband, who drinks water. Tomorrow he works while our son, the "shamrock of our eyes" is on spring break.

I'm slowly but surely going back to the pre-spinal tap phase; meaning I can't really move around. It's a bit frustrating every time I think, "Well, I am going to the big living room," and remember I depend on the kindness of my family to get moving.

I'll be back tomorrow, I hope in full Hillary-swing, as usual. Click here to watch the unarguably most successful Irish band in recent history. Below, tea roses and double gardenias.©All rights reserved, Tina Oiticica Harris, 2008

The Only One - He Can Win It All - Will Farrell

According to the front page of today's Los Angeles Times, Senator McCain, who was part of the Charles Keating Savings and Loans scandal, as one of the Keating Five, has more skeletons in his closet. Click here.

The LATimes says McCain would beat Senator Barack Obama by two points.
Senator Obama is indeed a miracle maker. Even the GOP wants him, and it seems his color of skin has healed all of our previous history of racism. In addition, his campaign has sooo much money, it's hard to believe it comes from those 20-25  dollar contributions  he talks about.  Not to mention how rabid fanatics his followers are. BTW, the "Obama Girl" is a fake. BTW, amazingly, my link to the Huff Puff, one of today's del.icio.us is still up and it's a must-see.

Then there's poor Hillary, who's hammered if she's a bitch and hammered when she complains. There is no way the media will ever like her. Actually, I saw the producer of SNL on CBS this morning saying there was nothing wrong with SNL last Saturday, when Tina Fey "campaigned" for Hillary and uttered "profanities," according to others. I was thrilled. Still on the Huff Puff link, click, please, and scroll down, there is a link to a huge bulletin board reacting to Feb. 24 SNL.

However, the one unanimous winner from here to the New York Island is Will Ferrell. Yeah! The Bush for SNL in 2000.  HIs R-rated "Semi-Pro" toilet humor movie is coming up for the delight of the male millennium creatures, thirsty for toilet humor. Along with the movie, comes an attempt for revival of Old Spice, Daddy and his generation's  favorite scent.

So, forget about it, Nader, it's never too late to concede, our new president will be Will Farrell. Will Farrell for president!  He will not misunderestimate Hillary, for one. Good day, folks, we have two new posts today, plus our anarchic_universe del.icio.us links, on calories, download of MP3s, Huff Puff and a lot more! And a show I missed, in 1985, at the Los Angeles Colosseum, Bruce sings Woody Guthrie's "This Land Is Your Land." BTW,  if it helps, you, I will donate back my five dollars I have made so far back to Google. I know, that's only one drop of one share, but  that's all I have in my lockbox.

Still on Fidel Castro

I received a joke on Fidel Castro as a comment on my post, in which I had posted a chestnut; however, the jokes on Fidel on TV have been so lame, I thought, "Why not?"

The chestnut goes like this. Fidel Castro calls for a big rally. He's going to make a few announcements to his people. They come to the rally in droves. He starts,
People of my country! I have some words of news for you. The first one is good, the second one is bad.
Dead silence. Not a good sign for the Cuban people.
People of my country! The first news is...You shall eat sh*t.
And that was the good news. The Cubans looks puzzled. What could the bad news be?
People of my land! There's not enough sh*t for all.


This joke was in vogue in the 60s, when Daddy worked for USAID.  The one I got today, from w1zard, of w1zard.com went like this. See below.

José is home with his mama and asks her, "Mámi, can't we have the parrot with  some potatoes?" Mámi tells him there are no potatoes. "Mámi, how about if we just fried the parrot in the frying pan?" Mámi tells him they have no oil. José is really hungry and asks her, "How about if we put the parrot in the oven, Mámi?" The poor mother is nearly in tears as she lets her son know they have no gas, either.
The parrot, however, waves a banner and yells, "¡Viva Fidel! ¡Viva Fidel! ¡Viva Fidel!"

I'll Be Back Tomorrow, Pinky Promise

What can a woman do when her males are in the house? Sit on the couch with them and watch flicks.

My husband gets neurotically jealous of Internet activities of mine while he's home. My son needed me for an English project on figures of speech.

Now is time for cheapo Chinese made for American palate delivery. And another flick.

No school tomorrow. Yey! That reminds me of an old favorite of mine. Let's see if I find it. I can't believe it's already of driving age in California. With you a great video of "School" from Reading Festival, in England.

Choose life.

Digging anarchic_universe del.icio.us links

Dahlings, I am exhausted. It is my purpose to offer you a varied perspective on education, politics, entertainment and whatever turns you on. It takes a long time to go here and there, read and say to yourself, yes, this is okay, or this is crap.

I confess the political scene has been an overdose. I have very low tolerance for people who start extolling the virtues of Barack Obama, especially johnnie-come-lately bloggers in Brazil, where blacks are still uneducated and poh. Most Brazilians would be black here, but have money there; therefore, they are white.

Okay, I could say No Child Left Behind is the main reason education is in such a mess. Just check Dr. Krashen's site on my list of favorite readings. Truthfully, SMMUSD was always cheap and biased.

What I have to say about SMMUSD and its repeated requests for money is SAY NO on PROP R.

Tomorrow you'll see a variety of links I got for you. Tonight I mmust say I am ready for organic macaroni and cheese and grassfed beef. Whatever veggie suits me fine. The boys are in the kitchen while I wrap it here.

I'll leave you with a photo of a plumbago(say what?) It's the flower  the hummingbirds love the most. Did I tell you I got an empty hummingbird nest? It's the cutest thing and it tells us spring is around the corner. Sorry, Seth A. for all the cold weather in Chicago.

See you tomorrow, with more delicious links, right below my mini-rant.

I Know What You Did Last Night - Apple, Inc.

After blogging all day, and I have to write slowly so I avoid typos, I fell asleep from seven to nine. When I get up, guess what my husband and teen son had been doing? No wonder the journalist in the Los Angeles Times called Apple users "Followers." That's right. That is a link in today's del.icio.us. links below.

While I was sleeping the boys were watching Steve Jobs annual presentation at the annual Apple convention. You'll ask what I did. I watched it, too, and scolded them to go to bed, both. I had no patience, however, to watch Steve Jobs after Number 3, whatever that was. The thin Air computer is awesome, the renting of films will be the last blow on neighborhood cinemas, coupled with Apple TV 2. I pooh-pooh iPods because I don't need them. The rest, iPhone, all power to Apple, seems to have gone beyond my tech sophistication or needs.

The best news was Apple's alliance with Google. Only Google can make Apple computers more palatable to the rest of the world. I was really happy to hear about their small alliance for now in the iPhone.

I went to read on Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak. I highly recommend you read these entries on wikipedia.

You may ask if I am part of the flock of the Apple faithful? Yes, I am, but a little tired of Steve's presentations and repeated "Kewl, really kewl. Innit?" He's really thin, I guess on purpose, and looks older than he should. It must be the pressure, self-imposed and imposed on others. I kinda feel sorry for him. There is no use for millions when you are stressed and unhappy even remarried to a much younger wife.

So that was what we were doing last night. Now it's breakfast and newspaper. I tried to get info from CNN last night on Hill, Bill and Obama to no avail. Oh, well, enjoy our del.icio.us links, whose comments are open. I'll be back shortly after my long breakkfast break. I have been working since six-thirty and now must eat. Oh, the comments on our anarchic_universe links are open. Go ahead and make my day. Good line for a cop movie.
See ya!

One for snacktime - On Bloggers

Enjoy while I have breakfast and read the paper. I'll be back.

• The blogger was such a high brow, his comments had footnotes.

• The blog was so multidimensional, you'd find more op-ed positions there than positions in the Kamasutra.

• It was such a confusing blog it was written in Portuguese about USA politics for disinterested Brazilians, ignoring any geopolitical difference between Ilinois and Iowa, or a caucus and a primary.

• It was such a spiritual blog,  the blogger believed in the absence of pork in Congress, both American and Brazilian.

• It was such a naïf blogger, he bought the video on American ignorance of international geography flmed  with tourists in front of The Sidewalk Cafe,Venice Beach, California, which is also OLD. We are ignorant of geography at our convenience or the Panama Canal wouldn't have been built.

• It was such a juvenile blog, its owner asked for Elementary School Id cards from its readers.

• It was such an idiotic blog it kept its aura among the elementary school children by creating a sect mentality; and then another and another.

•This blogger was so full of herself, at night she had to go out to see others thru plastered eyes.

•It was a politically incorrect blog. It found no followers, a fact that remains inexplicable to this day.

• It was a blog dedicated to writing about technology in third grade language. The problem was that its followers were second grade nerds.

• It was an obscure blog, written by a multilingual blogger, in obscure syntax and language, followed by pseudo-intellectuals like her.

Don't forget our fantastic anarchic_universe del.icio.us links. Our group has changed to: Tom Watson, w1zard, Seth A., who's known me since the flame war I won but had to leave my blogs behind, Gabriela Zago,
André Marmota, a star blogger in his own right, and yours truly, the abstruse Tina Oiticica Harris.

You Know Your Primaries Are Around the Corner When

Good day to all. Spring must be around the corner. I just saw two butterflies doing it. They are the first ones to show up at springtime, black with yellow trim wings. They look like one, shake together for a while and that's it.

You know the primaries are aroudn the corner in  California when:
• An evangelical group rings the gate bell.

• The Catholic Church where I go, for minorities, also remembers I exist and two volunteers ring the doorbell.

• You get spammed with John Kerry's mail for Obama.

• You get mail from the DNC (again.)

• The gatebell rings. This time it's an unidentified group supporting the write-in vote for Space Cadets.

• The phone rings. It's the cops from San Jose. A contribution, please.

• Another evangelical group rings the gate bell. They explain they are for the empowerment of the human race before the end of times. (Will that be if a woman breaks the presidential glass ceiling?)

• A West Hollywood single-sex group rings the gate bell. They want you to support their rights. No problema but there's nothing about their rights on the ballot. That's okay, they wanted to make it a point they exist. Okay, best wishes.

• Suddenly a taco stand opens by your gate bell.

• More people keep on ringing the gate bell.

• You make a stand and hang your "Hillary Prez or Bust!" homemade poster on  your window.

• Not a good idea. Busted.

• Call someone to replace broken window pane.

• Surrender to the tacos and buy ten.

• The  gatebell  rings.  It's  the police.  They bust the  taco vendor.  Take notes  on the  window incident. Ask me if  I am  sure  I  want to vote  for  a woman  with a shrill voice whose husband...  I start weeping.  They turn their back to me and  leave.

• The Fire  Dept. comes  to control a flood of tears.  This is  how politically correct my city is. Imagine if this were Malibu.

• I scribble a big poster with the words "God bless the USA." And mute my gate bell.

Just a quick note. We found a hummingbird nest, empty already. Spring is on the corner, after the primaries.
A good day to all.  Bob Dylan sings at a tribute concert for the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. a different rendition of "I Shall Be Released."

Don't Throw Away Your Spam - Insults

I nearly always read my mail. Sometimes the temptation to mark all as read is big. But I never learned how to do that. In these heated days of mud-slinging primaries, I though these pearls of insults would be priceless. Following are quotes from some of the smartest people who ever lived.

"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire."
-- Winston Churchill

"A modest little person, with much to be modest about."
-- Winston Churchill

"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with
great pleasure."
-- Clarence Darrow

"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to
the dictionary."
-- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

"Poor Faulkner, Does he really think big emotions come from big
words?"
-- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time
reading it."
-- Moses Hadas

"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I
know."
-- Abraham Lincoln

"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."
-- Groucho Marx

"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I
approved of it."
-- Mark Twain

"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends."
-- Oscar Wilde

"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring
a friend . . if you have one."
-- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second . . . if
there is one."
-- Winston Churchill, in response

"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here."
-- Stephen Bishop

"He is a self-made man and worships his creator."
-- John Bright

"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing
trivial."
-- Irvin S. Cobb

"He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others."
-- Samuel Johnson

"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up."
-- Paul Keating

"He had delusions of adequacy."
-- Walter Kerr

"There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure."
-- Jack E. Leonard

"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt."
-- Robert Redford

"They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of
human knowledge."
-- Thomas Brackett Reed

"He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears but by
diligent hard work, he overcame them."
-- James Reston (about Richard Nixon)

"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily."
-- Charles, Count Talleyrand

"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him."
-- Forrest Tucker

"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address
on it?"
-- Mark Twain

"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork."
-- Mae West

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go."
-- Oscar Wilde

"He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts .. for support
rather than illumination."
-- Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

"He has Van Gogh's ear for music."
-- Billy Wilder

Don't Blame Your Reduplication on Me

Reduplication is a device found in all languages, seemingly, in which there is a repetition of a syllable. I learned about this with Doug Pulleyblank, my phonology professor at USC in 1986, whose passion for reduplication took him to Africa, so I hear. And there went my friend Uschi, for the same purpose. So, I learned that the future is formed in Tagalog, one of the languages in the Philipines, by repeating the first syllable. Thus, "sulat" means write and susulat means will write.

Brazilians are quite xenophobic. A study somewhere in the links of this blog shows this.; The Native-Brazilians live far and isolated. Brazilians adopt the term bizarre for anything they feel is alien to their culture.

So, the Tagalog example was considered bizarre. A little bit of research showed that it's present in English, as in willy-nilly, flegma-shmegma, hokey-pokey, Freaky Deaky; English must be a civilized language although its spelling is bizarre to me. However, had we changed our spelling, how many works in English would have become out of our reach today?

I found a great video of a Portuguese band playing Noel Rosa's "Gago Apaixonado." Theirs is a great chorinho played wtih Portuguese instruments, sung with a Portuguese from Portugal accent.

A gago  is a stutterer. Get ahold of your favorite Brazilianist and have him/her check out the lyrics for you.

What Microblogging Is Here at Anarchic_Universe

I read about it all day, in different blogs. There are more and more services to let the world know you are asleep or washing your private parts, how crude, Tina, if you choose to do so. Idiots abound on the Net.
Our Internet world lets any bozo with a computer become an author on sites such as Facebook, Orkut, MySpace, and other relationship sites. Try them. Here in my space at home we are reading Edgar Allan Poe, I am re-reading Poe with more adult eyes. Dinner awaits us, and more fun with homework, which if viewed intelligently can be fun.
And this is the end of my microblogging. A photo? Why Not?  A video? Fer sure. Click for a taste of a trailler of "Tropicalia".  The photo is a tribute to all fat cats in this country skinning us, the mice, fearful to vote and express our anger and disgust. Hillary/Bill Richardson, the ticket.
Check it out. Use your Internet wisely. End of the post.

Maka Maka, Hillary and Bills

It's a bummer when lawyers are the only ones reading you. In addition, it's weird I use Firefox and all my readers are comig through Internet Explorer.
I guess I should surrender and buy a Vista (with no view) or just insist, as my nature tells me to.
Google lost nothing after losing an infinitesimal share of biz on Facebook, a kewl relationship site to Microsoft. Google just went ahead to announce Maka Maka, which reminds me of Tiki Tiki a drink at Trader Vic's a five star restaurant of the 50s. Really old for our standards here in Los Angeles.
Maka Maka makes a lot of sense. After all, Macca, the Beatle, is the only in the newspapers, tabloids, cutting deals here and there. Who wants to read about HoneyPuss in long boots Patty Boyd ?  Or Eric Clapton's pathetic confessions of plagiarism?  My source on the latter is B12 Solipsism, beware, spreading confusion on the Net since www 1.0.
I wish I had been a blogger in the 1990s instead of an educator. Then a blogger instead of a translator.  Here we are.

Maka Maka is a way of virtual life. It's a sweet surrender to Mountain View.  More than  MySpace, Orkut or FaceBook, more than the Google Bar, Maka Maka will take care of every single aspect of your life.  All we need now is love between Google and Apple.  Every time I read left click I cringe.

Hillary, my presidential candidate, also cringes at the idea of a left click. Left nada. This time she won't be the mousey brown-haired GOPer who watched Nixon's fall. She won't be the blondie feminist who adamantly declared 'I'm not the stand by your man type' while Mme. HW Bush gave away her favorite cookie recipes.

Hillary will be tough as nails, setting aside those who are in her way, kinda of like Mountain View will with Maka Maka.  One of Hill's Bills is deeply involved in his former POTUS job, his library.  Another is a bill, immigration, in which she used the best of clintonism's -- It depends on what the definition of if is.  Her bills, money amassed during the campaign, are the target of all candidates, except her key bill.  Bill Aberdeen, the one imposed by the Brits on slave ships is history. If Barack Obama couldn't stand tall against BP why would he now?

Bill Richardson, ahhh! That's my man. Rotund, Native-American, Spanish fluent, he looks just like me.  A former cabinet member for Bill POTUS, he can add he has experience building our image and is faithful to his political background.

Like Google, Inc. couldn't care less if it is indeed IE the browser for Google Bar, at 600+ dollares/share one can afford t be less popular among its peers, and Maka Maka is coming. Hillary can laugh at the face of John Edwards, who lost his home state, playing a poor self-made man when in fact a millionaire insurance lawyer. Hillary Clinton is my person today and at the polls, for a better America, centered, supported by all the bills that matter and Bill Richardson, for vice-president, the governor of New Mexico.

The beauty of it is -- Hillary doesn't really have a home state to lose. Really. Maka Maka for her, too.

My Mac pleads Help! Tina Oiticica Harris, from center one-click MacBookPro.

To Shear the Fleece

Last night we went to visit a French quasi-bistro, quasi-restaurant to treat our son to his favorite food: French food. Here are the photos of the French, who are closet Latinos to me, just a tad more sanguinary. And of me, back to black hair after my roots were showing for ages.

"Yes, I am fat. Tomorrow I shall not be fat, but you'll still be ugly."  That is a variation of a Churchill quote.
Take the title as you please.  GHR got his fleece sheared. So now, the loves of my life and one photo of me and the French. Tina Oiticica Harris, the two French from the south.
R. got a braid somewhere. GHR got glasses and braces, a few zits. Tomorrow we go celebrate his birthday at the Museum by USC.  And this photo is of my "true love, for if it dies it wasn't love," in a free variation of Nelson Rodrigues' saying.
Nicolas F.Rouquette, sometimes irascible from exhaustion, sometimes sermonizing his thoughts out loud, can be found on Google under Remote Agent, the software that opened the series "New Millennium" for NASA. He's my husband and the father of our most elaborate and exquisite creation. Together they drive me nuts. The French joke will be for tomorrow. With you GHR and Nic:  Check out Nic's sh*-eating near grin of pride
for our son. Click to enlarge and enjoy.

This Way, President Hillary Clinton

President Hillary Clinton was exhausted.  The elections in 2012 had given her that look of purple sagging bags under the eyes Bill had that day when - Hush!  How could she be thinking of that day in 199* still?  She had juggled a difficult path of pseudo liberal pseudo centrist pseudo - shoot! Don't!  Secret agents swarmed into the Elyptical Office.
"Go away!" Her shrill voice hadn't changed even sharing inhaling sessions with Good Ole Partner, Bill.

"Darn good job," she patted herself on the right shoulder for goodluck. He was a lefty.  She had a vision. he still made people swoon to his husky southern voice; still talking about watermelons in Arkansas. Humpft!

Power and money.  It had worked.  Even villified by her own kindred spirits, womin, she had rebuilt the US Empire.  We were now the United States of World Hillarmonia.  One world under the tenets of the Founding Fathers and some good Acts for check$$ & balan$$.  President Hillary knew how to gamble. The republic was filthy rich, pornographically wealthy to the point manned missions to space were no longer pipe dreams. Sshhuddup already.

The government had approved of endless runs for president.  If her arthritis was bad, her greedy claws could still grab what was due to the Eagle.  Palestinians and Jews had decided to follow Neva Shalom and a scroll  cleverly authenticated by all main religions had certified the need for inbreeding among the brethen of David and Ishmael.
In the middle east all females chose an Arabic name and a Jewish one.  They settled for Mirian (Mary) like the southerners settle for Lee as a middle name.  There was peace and the White Sox had won.

President Hillary swayed her wide hips dreaming "Don't Stop."  A knock on the door announced Bill himself.

" I made us reservations at the diner."  At the sound of "dine," Bill pinched her, said fine and off they went.

(End of Part One. Later.)

That Was a Loooooong Coffee Break

Suddies by Michael Loeb, B. Ud. Weisser et al. (Bebum Press, 2005) indicate the problemas bloggers face with technology are the most stressul they may can experience. At the beat of "Waters of March,"

A server, some typos, a keyboard, a Mac

The XTML

The Outlook Express...

My problema was a total human failure. I fell asleep and just woke up. Not for being a lazy bones; just for being tired.

It is in my nature to push myself. Our wonderful machine-body has its own limitations. So I'm back to say I am still tired and will see you tomorrow.

Aguas de março will be here.

You may also feel like checking on the other Jobim or Elis Regina songs. Just click on a good not perfect video with okay translation, thank goodness!

Late Night T.V.

When at Saint John's Medical Centre, I O.D. on TV.  Promises of weight loss abound.  As big promises as my bunda [boo˜dah]

I decided to try the FDR deal. famine. deprivation.repeat. Not that it was a cheap-O deal.  When I started I looked like this:

The NYC Met Museum has great brunch.  What can I tell you?
I am a foodie.

Moreover, in addition, also(weak!)
I am spoiled like Kitty Carlysle, our cat.  Zee Ruler.

At Saint John's there was a fuss over my using a credit card sent with delivery to Saint John's Room 42-42.

FDR - The New Deal is fantabulastic (oh how dated, tina.)

I'm gone to Rio de Janeiro's Pedra da Gávea ta chill in the winter sun.  FDR's food packages, rationing, this new deal allows me ta offer you my pin-up photo. I ate like a horse and never went hungry.  From a 469 lbs. wreck a Jibcrane wouldn't lift, I became a "Foxy Lady."  Albeit I miss being an L.A. woman, no city can beat the fun Rio de Janeiro offers. My friend "Botafogo Jorge" is wild.
FDR-The New Deal!  Just a mere seven days.  Trial offer or your money back.  Weight not included.  back f'r sure. Includes S + H. (Sex with homo sapiens.)

Missing on a Milk Bottle

This photo is of Maria-Cristina Leite e Oiticica Harris (no royalty, thank Job.)

I think I was in seventh grade, at age pre-coup, pre-Beatles' A Hard Day's NIght.  1963.

How would you classify my look?  Missing on a milk bottle?  Dork, nerrrrrrd!

Clumsy, bookworm.

Meeting of middle school photo?  Choose a Flickr photo from Anarchic_Universe, with S+H included.  Fast!  Offer expires at 12:01 A.M of August 19, the first anniversary of attu.typepad.com/anarchic_universe/

This one is mine.  All mine.  After this I was an ugly duckling for a while.  I was in lust (S.L.T.S.) with George Harrison, "There is no comparison to George Harrison."  This copy is excellent.  I saw the film some 45 times.  It was our little social gathering.&n