Corrollary, sans Ivanhoe

"I had a late term abortion and was black balled in Hollywood."  -- Toni Collette, absorbing to upend

A few insensitive emails crowing about sexual satisfaction does not amount ipso facto to a sexual harassment case. I have put a good deal of study into it, but Linda pressed the bar pretty close, because when I lost my temper and plowed into her things became pretty dire for me at Liberty. Cassie and Tom can't answer for what happened. Cassie and Tom were not back running the center Linda was in charge and I had a meltdown. My Aunt Roe supported my desire to file a lawsuit. My mother didn't. "You'll never work again," she inveighed dramatically, and in point of fact I haven't been able to find anything to keep me out of extensive travel, but Linda did indeed violate state law by contravening right to work guidelines, in a deliberate struggle with her boss, and this is what I'm pissed off about.

I turn to this spastic Jewish princess in a great deal of trouble, allow myself to get snowed, traumatized, and eat another seven years of it by coordinators who get defensive if your intelligence threatens their superiority, and then in comes the minority housing managers to join the battle. I have nothing to assure me that things won't worsen significantly within the next 36 months, and even this Seuss imprimatur, in sentient moments, told me to hire an attorney. Easier said.

Quarantine

Our food will be poison.
                                        the ophthalmologist in Blindness


如果我的偏执狂放大的优良中华人民共和国公民滚动通过我的帖子？

How accurate the calligraphy I have no idea. Simply an attempt to be accommodating, but allow me to be honest with the most powerful hunk of Asia: I fear not you the people, but your mighty nine member Politburo? Yes, most of us lowly, if educated, Americans, fear your Communist Party, its corruption, thuggery, and the beating of heroic self-educated blind lawyers who can still score a victory for small cogs. The people of the United States are not free, but we do a better job of respecting personal dignity than your officials, and you, dear citizens of China, have a terrible petty provincialism. Grow up some day soon. Spastic waves.

When I watch Australian films, I tend to get a bad taste in my mouth, as if degeneration on the basis of criminal caste had some truth, and wonder in the back of my bigoted mind if America got the better part of British blood in the colonial era, or if it's just that Australian dysfunction is an uneasy mirror reflecting back on all of the white working class, the status of a Blanchett or a Russell Crowe aside, and Crowe does not really count; he is too generic and Hollywood plasters his face in every white might blockbuster of which humanity can conceive; given this, I had a difficult time controlling my self pity renewing my acquaintance, after midnight, with Muriel's Wedding. I wept, and the mismatched love making towards the conclusion, after the mother's suicide, was convincing. Most homily women have the untapped depth of Toni Colette's character. From a 2012 perspective, some of the digs in Hogan's script were cheap, and Rhonda is little more than a bitch in stencil, but this film was made for women like me who never wanted to go lesbian, but need the emotional intimacy of a best friend, and can make love to a great looker with the best of them.

Let us drop the facade for a moment. The real Joanne Marinelli never went to her senior prom. Can you even enter into what that must have been like for me as a teen? There was no American Civil Liberties Union, not in 81, blaring trumpets for me because a high school student with cerebral palsy could not so much as get a trophy beau with a corsage to experience such an important rite of passage.