Periscope Has Gender

I shall not be reviewing Eric Edwards. He contacted me politely in a group mail to Amazon customer reviewers, asserting he was a local celebrity in San Diego. Emails from strangers asserting blessed fortunes tend to elicit hostility, but I strapped on my muzzle, mentioned Examiner, and Eric Edwards sent me a PDF of his masculine point of view, whose acknowledgments offer garlands to the 56 year marriage of his parents. I cannot do it, read this short text and offer a salient synopsis, mainly due to my perception of a certain insularity from the author, though this is what it takes to hone merit, create a pathway toward establishment. And this represents the answer to my unhappiness beneath turgid victimization: I wanted to be Ann Patchett appearing on Charlie Rose. I'm not Patchett, who is what? Bemused? Wry, yes, but wry in an abbreviated manner, with a pleasant projection of self-sufficiency. I envy that. People who stay intact, hold it together. She is right about teaching. It is not the right profession for all of us, and like she did, I turned to writing articles, but turned to it too late with too many events either threatening me physically or destroying an already precarious health.

My father's sister is, sadly, senile, and due to this I will stop posting about her. Overtly, anyway. She has anti-depressants she is not taking. She needs them, because her cognitive abilities are deteriorating. If I try them yet again, it will be a game of guess the right dosage until something goes wrong with the cocktail. Dependence simply creates more problems. I already know this due to tobacco, blu cigs, and aeros, my expenditures on these products. I am not going to discuss the fact that Marie is nuts with either cousin William or Richard. I was, but Marie and Joseph are old and sick. I am worn out with it, much like the latest outcry over Shinseki. 

The VA has treated the rank and file like an expendable class from Hoover's days in office, when he had Eisenhower shoot protesters. I am over 50, and soldiers getting fucked over by the Pentagon is a solo chorus that never stops improvising. This is just one sub-group, veterans, and I am a raving maniac because intake centers eschewed me, case management wasn't exactly my dream niche, and I opened my mouth on a message board @ P&W and all hell broke loose. Sigh. We don't know what we're doing, even those with the expertise to dismiss my reactionary stance. The 100 is just another show easy on its production values, but one day humanity really will face these choices, in a collective necessity over riding self interest.