Godammit, I’m Mad!

I have barely come down from the high of Obama’s acceptance speech, only to learn that McCain’s choice for Vice President is a busty chick with a huge beehive who used to smoke pot and doesn’t hate gays. Governor Sarah Palin has the Sexy Librarian look that we’ve all come to appreciate, and she’s certainly a ‘fresh face’ in national politics.

But I’m sorry, a great ‘hive alone isn’t enough to get by on. Just ask Amy.  Sarah Palin is the anti-Amy, and not in a good way. In high school, she was head of her school’s Christian Fellowship of Athletes. She’s a “pro-life” activist who is skeptical about global warming and wants to prevent polar bears from being protected as an endangered species.

She is also a strong proponent for oil drilling in the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge, which even McCain has opposed. She is under investigation for abuse of power in the firing of her ex-brother-in-law, a state trooper. She fired the Public Safety Commissioner who balked at firing the ex-brother-in-law, and replaced him with an official who had already been reprimanded for sexual harassment.

Sarah Palin is clearly an ambitious and capable woman, but I’d like to see her stay in Alaska and ruin things there, rather than help John McCain ruin what’s left of the whole world.

Earlier this year, She was brave and noble enough to bring a child with Down Syndrome into the world, but here are my problems with that:

1. She named him Trig. (Her other kids are named Bristol, Willow, Piper and Track)
2. She returned to her office 3 days after Trig’s birth.

Are any of you good with this? I’m saying Yes on Trig, but No on His Mom.

Every night, I am glued to the TV while Nancy Grace sneers and yells into the camera that Casey whatshername is lying about the whereabouts of her two year old daughter Caley.

No shit, Nancy! The mom did it! The frustration with this mom’s failure to just admit it is driving Nancy and me nuts.  Nancy is like a circling shark, and I’m right there behind her. My husband can’t understand why I need to watch this, so I tell him it’s like people who love reading murder mysteries.

But it’s not really. I just want that bitch to admit it so Nancy and I can move on.  I know there are other things happening in the world, bigger stories, momentous events, but I need to get to the end of this grisly road. I need that woman to stop lying.  I’m taking it personally.

On the album “Nothing’s Shocking” by Jane’s Addiction, there is a song called “Ted, Just Admit it.” It’s about Ted Bundy, who didn’t confess until after he was sentenced to death.  On the eve of his execution, Ted Bundy gave an interview in which he blamed pornography for making him a serial killer.  Who knows what this emotionally vacant mom will blame.

I loved that Jane’s Addiction record. To this day, when someone I know is in denial about something, I mutter “Ted, just admit it!”  It never gets me anywhere, though.

Today I read a boring article by Gen X poster boy Douglas Coupland about growing old. He notes that we all have two ages: the age we really are and the age we are in our heads.

Later this month, Sister Wolf will be 55. If you are taken aback, think how I feel.  No one wants to be this age but, ahem, consider the alternative.

Being 55 means nothing much except that it isn’t considered a good thing by men who blabber on and on about women losing their appeal after 30. As if.  I am completely awesome, so I am happy to refute that line of thinking.

I have come to love my cute hospital bed and my beautiful red sheets, but all things must pass and the hospital equipment is being picked up on Friday.  I love cranking up my bed to read and I love knowing I can’t fall out. Oh well. Maybe I will end up buying a hospital bed for two….do they exist?!  I’m excited just thinking about it!

During my recovery, I bought this Mischen silk dress online, because it was drastically reduced and because it has zippers down the entire length of each side. The fact that I won’t ever wear it is hardly worth mentioning.  Bring on the Rapture! And the fucked-up looking hem in the photo isn’t like that in the real dress.

The age I am in my head is around 14.  My oldest son is 32, and people generally think I’m his sister or girlfriend when we hang out together, but they don’t realize that in my head, I’m still a defiant hippie girl, angry and insecure but much cooler than those awful straight people.

How old are the rest of you in your heads?

The name ‘Starkeisha’ was what caught my eye while I was reading the Los Angeles Times tonight. I’m sorry that I read about her and her girlfriend, Kristal.

Even with those optomistic names, the two young women have been torturing Starkeisha Brown’s 5 year old son for around two years. They burned him with cigarettes, and starved him. They are in jail tonight, but that doesn’t solve anything.

Both of these women have fancy Myspace profiles, with slide shows no less. Even I don’t know how to make a Myspace slide-show. So no one can excuse these women on the basis of mental illness…at least, not in the usual sense of the term.

I can’t really bear thinking about this too much and I’m even sorry to bring it up. But I’m trying to turn it into something useful. Someone in their neighborhood must have known what was going on. Some neighbor or relative or friend of a friend. But no one wanted to get involved.

If you ever have a suspicion that a child is being neglected or abused, call 1-800-4-A-CHILD (in the US)

Let us pray for a better world.

No matter how much time passes, The Manson Family endures as the epitome of depraved evil. It just never gets old. This week, a new documentary about Roman Polanski has been playing on TV every night. Now, Manson murderess Susan Atkins is seeking parole, with a request for a “compassionate release” from prison. Atkins, now 59, is terminally ill with brain cancer. She says she has 6 months to live, and she has been a model prisoner.

A story about this in the L.A. Times has generated 750 comments. People obviously still feel strongly about the the Manson murders. But maybe there is support for the idea of redemption through serving “God,” which Atkins has done with the same zealous commitment she once reserved for Charlie Manson.

Susan Atkins runs a ministry and donates her prosaic artwork to good causes. She has even found two men to marry her during her incarceration!

And just like everybody, she has her own website. I laughed out loud when I saw the heading “Accomplishments.” Her accomplishments are listed in minute detail. I’d love someone to make a similar list of my accomplishments, like “Sister Wolf participated in watching TV without stabbing anyone.”

Susan, I’m sorry about your brain cancer but shit happens. You should have read “The Secret” instead of stabbing a pregnant woman in the stomach and drinking her blood.

Finally, I was shaken to the core by hearing a demo of Charles Manson singing one of his own compositions. He actually had a great voice! Isn’t that awful?!?

Here is a cell phone picture of my dresser tonight. Is there too much crap on it, do you think?

Some of the things I considered writing about today, include:

A really funny review of “the worst book ever written”

The obscenity trial underway in L.A., involving scat porn (and a guy who needs killing)

A blog about “piñata related violence”

Golconda diamonds, and why they are so valuable

But I was too lazy, so that’s why I took a picture of my dresser! Despite appearances, I am devoutly atheist.

William Earl Lynd, 53, was put to death at Jackson state prison in Georgia late on Tuesday after a final meal of two pepper jack barbecue burgers with crispy onions, baked potatoes with sour cream, bacon and cheese, and a large strawberry milkshake.

I reported this news to my kid, who thought for a moment and said admiringly “He had good taste.” It’s the kind of meal a teenager wants, even when he’s in his room and not on Death Row.

Don’t feel too bad for Mr. Lynd. He admitted that after shooting his girlfriend and putting her in the trunk, he “heard her thumping around” and then opened the trunk to blast her in the head one more time.

R.I.P., William Lynd. At least you got your burgers!

On a lighter note, six years ago at Louisiana State Penitentiary in Angola, Leslie Martin was executed by lethal injection…. “Much himself even during his final moments, a sort of death row class clown, he told his lawyer ‘You’re fired,’ just after he received the fatal dose.”

I hope to go out like Mr. Martin, although I don’t like the sound of his last meal: crawfish stew, oatmeal cookies and chocolate milk. This is the type of thing we often talk about in my family. One member has already put in an order for egg rolls.

Some guys on Fox radio were trying to refer to the surprise question addressed to John McCain today, but they tried hard to avoid using the term”the C word.” Instead, they called it the Deadwood word.

What the hell?! I screeched to my husband. Did McCain call his wife a cocksucker?!  I mean, the Deadwood word is surely cocksucker. I think they should’ve called it the Larry David word. These guys at Fox don’t even know their HBO lingo.

Evidently Mr. MCCain called his wife a trollope and a cunt in front of some campaign workers. It’s obvious the woman’s a trollope, but is she really a cunt? I thought it was Hillary who was the cunt! But no, she’s a monster, and a ‘big fucking whore.’

Listen Mr. McCain, we don’t want a cunt in the White House. If your wife’s a cunt, we demand full transparancy. If the phone rungs at 3 o’clock in the morning, a cunt might just throw the damn thing out the window or something.

I’d like to get it over with and put that black elitist Barack Obama in charge asap, even though he hates America. His wife may be a little uppity, but it’s better than having a white cunt all up in there.

Albert Hofmann, who invented LSD, died this week at age 102. I went to read about him at MAPS, where he is obviously revered. I learned that when Hofmann took his second ‘trip,’ he was only able to write 13 words to describe his experience:

“Beginning dizziness, feeling of anxiety, visual distortions, symptoms of paralysis, desire to laugh.”

That sums it up pretty well, except for the part where you get paranoid and you can’t bear the way your face looks in the mirror and you keep trying to vacuum the same part of the rug and your mom comes in and yells at you.

How ironic that Hofmann’s death coincides with a horrible fashion flashback to the 70s. Every fashion site I look at is infested with colorful long dresses that don’t seem appropriate for anything besides a Love-in. I’ve even noticed peacock feather earrings, too.

Maybe these fashions are directed towards young girls, whose mothers are sure to scream “Bummer!” at the sight of those awful swirling prints. Thank god I have sons, who both prefer to dress in black.

On a blog I’ve just discovered at Elle magazine online, a writer describes herself as “….takes her style cues from Katherine Hepburn, Tina Chow, Mary Kate Olsen” etc. This struck me as kind of nauseating and self-aggrandizing, but of course it inspired me to try to encapsulate my own sense of style.

“Sister Wolf takes her fashion cues from Patti Smith, Morticia Addams, Keith Richards, and a Jewish grandma circa 1975. If it’s leather, black, cashmere, snakeskin or sparkly, I want it.”

Here we are, trying to digest the news about the crazy polygamist ranch in Texas, when a maniac in Austria admits to fathering seven kids with his imprisoned daughter. Can’t these people take turns getting arrested, so we can focus on one story at a time?

The guy in Austria clearly wins the Worst Father in the World award. Anyone whose grandchildren are also his children is a real bastard, in my book. God only knows how this tale will end. His wife will probably have to admit that she knew what was going on, and people will probably agree that she has Battered Wife Syndrome.  He will be rightly vilified as a monster of unthinkable proportions. First Hitler, now this guy, what’s up with Austria? It’s clear that paternalistic societies are dangerous, and not just to women.

Trouble comes in threes, as we know, so it stands to reason that Miley Cyrus has to choose this moment to implode, or whatever it is she’s doing via her publicists. Big deal that she posed with a bed-sheet in Vanity Fair! She’s fifteen going on thirty, and teenagers today are horrifyingly casual about sex and nudity.

I’m much more concerned about Miley’s relationship with her dad. Ever since I first saw them together, my feeling has been, Eeoow. There is something inappropriate going on, and you’d have to be blind to not see it. Why are they always all over each other? Why is she always out on a red carpet with him as her date? Miley’s mom better get her ass in gear before it gets uglier.

Years ago, I worked for a woman who was molested by her grandfather when she was a girl. Her story shook me to the core, and for a long time, I couldn’t look at an old grandpa without thinking, ‘Child Molester!’ I got over it, mostly.  But now I’m going to feel creepy about old Austrian guys.

Thank goodness I’ve always felt creepy about Billy Ray Cyrus.