Hellooo! I’m tired of doom and gloom. What I want to know is will we still have pocketbooks in the New World Order, and will they be called pocketbooks? Pocketbook is what my mother called hers. As an English descendant of Mayflower ancestry, my mother harbored English ways albeit filtered down through 300 years of ancestry in the New Colonies, calling strangers “mum” and never going anywhere without her “pocketbook,” just like the Queen. And we ate lots of peas….
The New World Order is off to a bloody good start. Apparently, the Queen thoroughly enjoyed her visit with the Obamas. Royal-watchers took careful note of the positioning of the Queen’s purse. “It’s always with her, and, when pointed at certain angles, it’s said to signal to her attendants that she can’t wait to escape from the frightful bores in her company. The purse rested in the crook of the Queen’s left arm, which means that she’s happy and relaxed with her guests.”
Michelle Obama notably lacks a pocketbook of any size or shape. Our excellent First Lady must signal her minions with her long eye lashes and since she towers over all in the room, I feel sure they will catch her signal.
Does this mean the future will be pocketbook free? Maybe. But if the formidable Queen has her way, the pocketbook will survive the New World Order. The Queen knows. Women will always need their signals, and their lipstick and their powder and their iPods. And that’s the good news.
Before there were blogs, there were journals. People actually wrote words on paper. I’m not a pundit on camera, so I rely on my friends’ memory to back up my own sometimes, and I was shocked when one didn’t remember me speaking out against the Iraq war. I have a vivid memory of singing war protest songs against The Iraq War: Number One with my band, Fugitive Blonde, at the China Club in Los Angeles, and I have a fixed memory of loathing the current decision to bomb Iraq from day one, but where is the proof?
Things have been fuzzy since 9-11 around my house, what with the business crashing, and the downsizing, and the graduate writing courses, and one crisis after another. Since I’ve had no public platform to speak from of late, the only documentation of what I’ve said is from reliable witnesses and my journal.
These may just be words swirling around in the blog-o-sphere and who cares anyway. But at least I can read my typing. And as long as the internet keeps going, and I can hang on to my computer memory sticks, my computer, printer, and ink, everything will be swell.
My handwriting is not much above scribble these days, but I did scratch out a few thoughts about The Iraq War: Number Two to myself, and luckily the journal survived a move and my I-Love-Lucy filing system. There is no search button to find things in my closet.
As I recall, if one spoke out against either Iraq war, one was labeled a traitor or aiding terrorism. Obama’s stance on the war in Iraq was one of the big reasons I voted for him. Yes, even the appearance of change feels good.
The funny thing is I did go to Mérida four years later–Mérida, Spain. Life gets weird sometimes.