I first met Gayle about three years ago when she left a comment on one of my Howdygram posts and became a devoted penpal for a while. We even mailed Christmas presents to each other that year ... goofy trinkets, magnets and canned food from Amazon. Then we lost touch — until yesterday — and it was so good to hear from her again, because she had a few excellent suggestions for my “respite” trip to the nursing home next month. Thank you, Gayle! She thinks I should bring along: 1) several bottles of my favorite Clear American fruit-flavored sodas from Wal-Mart; 2) a 10-foot extension cord for my laptop; and 3) my favorite blanket. Actually, I’d already thought about #1 and #2. I always worry about my technology needs.
Gayle also recommended Ayr Saline Nasal Gel for my crusty little non-Tresley* nose due to wearing an oxygen cannula all the goddamn time. Woo-hoo! NO MORE DRY NOSTRILS!
*He was the number one plastic surgeon in Skokie, Illinois, when I was in high school,
and my girlfriends all got nose jobs as presents for their sweet 16s. I personally didn’t
need one as my nose was already teeny-tiny. Oddly enough, I didn’t have a sweet 16,
either … except for dinner at the Morton House!
and my girlfriends all got nose jobs as presents for their sweet 16s. I personally didn’t
need one as my nose was already teeny-tiny. Oddly enough, I didn’t have a sweet 16,
either … except for dinner at the Morton House!
This morning Trump posted this tweet: “The local politicians who run Washington, D.C. (poorly) know a windfall when they see it. When asked to give us a price for holding a great celebratory military parade, they wanted a number so ridiculously high that I cancelled it. Never let someone hold you up! I will instead …” It took 13 excruciating minutes for Trump to finish his thought, and hope swelled that he might finish it with “I will instead resign.” But no such luck.
Trump eventually tweeted that he would instead “attend a big parade already scheduled at Andrews Air Force Base” on a different date and then “go to a military parade in Paris on November 11 celebrating the end of the War.” War? Which war? Does Trump even know? “Maybe we will do something next year in D.C. when the cost comes WAY DOWN. Now we can buy some more jet fighters!” What a fucking moron.
Aretha Franklin began her vocal career as a teenager, singing gospel hymns in her father’s Detroit church. She scaled to the very heights of stardom, scoring her first national #1 hit in 1967 with a searing version of “Respect.”
Since then, Franklin notched 77 “Hot 100” chart entries and earned an astounding 18 Grammys. In 1987, two decades after her first #1 hit, Franklin became the first woman inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and was later named the Greatest Singer of All Time by Rolling Stone.
Among the mysteries of Aretha Franklin’s life and her preference for “extreme privacy,” her role as a mother was one the superstar typically kept private. Franklin had four children ... her first, Clarence, at only 12 years old. Franklin’s youngest son, Kecalf, was born in 1970. Kecalf’s name is an acronym of both his father and mother’s full names … Ken E. Cunningham (the star’s road manager) and Aretha Louise Franklin. WTF?
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| Aretha and Kecalf. She must have been awfully stoned to stick him with a name like THAT. |
This afternoon I began assembling my next Wal-Mart order by tossing the following items into my cyber shopping cart: 1) three cans of Chef Boyardee Chili Mac; 2) one tube of Ayr Saline Nasal Gel; and 3) an 80-count box of tropical fruit-flavored Pop Ice. Tomorrow I also want to add two jars of Manischewitz Beet Borscht with genuine Diced Beets. There’s nothing better, especially with sour cream!
It’s getting late. Sam just went to bed and I should probably do the same thing … except with a Clark Gable movie. (I’ve been recording them all day today on TCM.)
Thank you for reading this, and always remember … THE ALAMO IS NOTHING AT WHICH TO SNEEZE.
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