Artificial Insemination

the share of folks not in the labor force remains near all-time highs-- my former grant funder

I was partially in error about Clarity Media's automat. Whatever unfathomable, mysterious reason, after offering my former editorial team a foul berating, I'm still receiving mails from AXS, in the calamitous state of affairs with the economics of content. I am sorely beginning to miss three dimensional space; haven't been back to my Examiner page. If it still exists. Worth more than the arthritis of my ligaments have put into it, I believe I'm worth more, I mean, than penny generated content. Maybe Morris believes she is worth more too, and would like to claw out Spielberg's eyes in a Minority Report rendition. It was her best role, getting Tom Cruise out of deep freeze in a good movie with a silly second sight premise. Women like Penelope Cruz seem to exist to get Cruise out of deep freeze.

Motifs associated with Morris to some extent. With objections to Cold Case otherwise noted, what it does differently is pace itself at the slow speed of reminiscence. It's best propaganda tool was its third oldest puzzle, Best Friends, and Tessa Thompson makes the most of her time on camera. The writers were clever, making it a girl crush, perhaps a transplant from the Harlem Renaissance. Could such affairs of the heart have occurred in Philadelphia in 1932? Between a moon faced Rosie and a minority fedora dyke? (I have a fondness for this male fashion statement which must mean I am repressing the liberating aspects of finding good pencil thin clit; get me to a psychoanalyst to embrace my deeply repressed bisexuality! That is what the LBGT activist terrorists would allege.) I doubt it. Caucasian male and a black woman, yes, but in 32 lesbianism did not exist as a recognized classification. Tessa's Billie dies not because of white male intolerance, but because the screen writers guild indulged in a progressive fairy tale. Yes, the jilted male beau gangs up on the pretty "darkie" girl, so the audience is offered a less than 30 second consequence, but it is still a dream sequence.

We'd react differently if this was transposed on Showtime, elongated into a drama series of depression era lesbianism between a maid and a bootlegger's sister. The world is not in fact shaded in back and white overtones with soft or harsh studio lighting. The writers in fact end the episode almost as if Rosie was a Victorian heroine, compensated for repressing her fascination with the attraction to the forbidden by being granted affluence, burying her dalliance within the safety of fantasy. One can see why Morris is cast between the fantastical and the futurist. Her countenance has that zeitgeist of the alien about it, otherworldly, living in her own dreamscape, whether we scrutinize her biography, chasing after what year she left Temple University after the rest of us, or not.