The Essentials of Life
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The Decline of Devil Worship
The year was probably 1983. I, a 13-year-old rocker (or "freak" as we were known at my place of schooling), with frosted hair combed and sprayed into wings and a quarter inch of black liner beneath each eye, shuffled through the Target checkout line after my mom, who was likely slightly blitzed at the time. She paid for her stuff and I somewhat boldly but with no small amount of trepidation placed Ozzy Osbourne's "Diary of a Madman" LP (shown) onto the familiar red counter, fully prepared to pay all my week's babysitting wages for the thing. The checkout girl, who was probably only a few years older than me but considerably more mainstream in her level of conformity gawked at the tattered, blood-spattered Englishman on the cover, then at me, then at my mom, all in disgust. A sense of delicious rebellion flooded through me, multiplying with every second she disliked the album, and myself for buying it. A short time later, my father (who may well have been on ...
Courtesy of Experiments in Mediocrity
The Official Song of the 2008 Olympics: Welcome to Beijing -- Please Ignore the Communism. My apologies for reposting, Bride of Porkins, but it's just too perfect. Be on the lookout for Jackie Chan.
Thanks. I never noticed.
Yesterday I was attending a women's expo. I was dressed nicely, in a fuschia Lane Bryant work top, ruched at strategic points, with cute, short black skirt. I even had my dollar store hair clip updo rocking, and was hustling and bustling around in a couple of different capacities, professional and personal. As I re-enter the exhibit hall, an Asian lady at the acupuncture booth forces the pictured flyer into my hand, though I was walking at a speed calculated to deter flyers being given to me. A bit later, I was looking around at a jewelry booth, and saw some bracelets that I thought my (thin) sister would like. The saleslady quickly pointed out the extended size bracelets to me, though, in case the regular sized ones didn't fit (which generally, they do). People who aren't fat do not have any clue how persistent, how pervasive, the consciousness of your own size is in the life of people who are. I suppose I should forgive them for that, as well as their bold attempts to hel...
