"Are you acting white?" said the witch to this third grader at the New Year's Eve luncheon at the club on the golf course where families had gathered to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather and share a meal and good times.
This kid is in the same pod as her daughter so I guess she's seen him around, and he sorta knows her too.
The kid looked like he had accidentally run into a wall. Breathless and cross-eyed then wide-eyed and red-faced, he said, emphatically, "NO," and ran after his dad to go get the cart and clubs.
The witch explained to those within earshot, and she sounded slightly tipsy, that this Hawaiian kid sang a Perry Como song for the 3rd grade talent show and won, and now he's learning to play golf while wearing a t-shirt with the stars and stripes on it, at the country club, and don't we get the joke?
They moved here from Hawaii, mom's a doctor, dad's a colonel, his dad was also in the military, retired a general, like his father before him, and his father before him, which makes the kid military blue blood, if such a concept exists. What the rest of us see in this child is a scion of a very patriotic and successful family who is likely a patriotic and hardworking kid himself.
As for the 'Hawaiian' reference, his great-grandmother was Japanese, his
mother is Mexican-Argentinian American(daughter of diplomats, who
studied medicine here in the US), and produced a kid who is part
Catholic, part Jewish, part Buddhist, part nothing at all (his dad's
agnostic), who is somewhat brown, and has lived for the last three years in Hawaii.
And the witch wants to know why he's playing golf wearing a stars and stripes t-shirt?
I really wonder what goes through an eight year old's mind when an adult behaves this way.
- SDG
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
New Beginnings
Every new year, like every new day, every new minute, every newborn child, every new bud, every new career, every new thought, is an opportunity to start anew, and to create something better than that which exists.
The witch and the pedophile have this in common - they snuff out the promise of all things new before it can blossom, and crush it beyond recognition so there is no hope for a recovery, or so they desire.
Keep your new beginnings witch-free.
- SDG
The witch and the pedophile have this in common - they snuff out the promise of all things new before it can blossom, and crush it beyond recognition so there is no hope for a recovery, or so they desire.
Keep your new beginnings witch-free.
- SDG
Monday, December 23, 2013
Why The Witch's Neighbor's Kids Don't Believe In God Anymore
The Witch has taken it upon herself to make her neighbors' lives a living Hell.
She had told them she would do just so the second time she met them, years ago, but everybody else in the neighborhood said to ignore that threat and went on with their lives like nothing had happened. Ignoring the witch only seems to have made her more aggressive in her efforts to hurt the neighbors, perhaps as she thinks they are stupid, or too vulnerable to retaliate. She is seeking engagement, and those who have been asked to intervene suggest ignoring her will make her go away. It hasn't worked in all these years so one wonders if it ever will.
Two years ago she gift-wrapped two little boxes filled with coal and left them at her neighbor's doorstep with the kids' names on them for a joke.
On Valentine's Day last year she sent them "I hate you" cards in pink envelopes signed in fictitious names.
For Halloween it was some mean trick again.
She 'lost' the kids' backpacks one year when they were in kindergarten and 1st grade when she offered to pick them up from school 'helping' their sick Mom.
Over the years the Witch has gotten a better job, bought a bigger house in the same neighborhood, a fancier car, while her neighbors remain in survival mode as the Witch sabotages their lives ever so often. She always visits to feed off their sadness when one of her actions has succeeded in wounding them.
Over the years the neighbor's kids have begun to wonder who the smart one really is, the Witch, or their family.
They've stopped believing in God, family, etc etc as it makes no sense anymore when vandals who ravage their lives live so much better, while they suffer every time they crawl an inch toward some small success in their little lives.
- SDG
She had told them she would do just so the second time she met them, years ago, but everybody else in the neighborhood said to ignore that threat and went on with their lives like nothing had happened. Ignoring the witch only seems to have made her more aggressive in her efforts to hurt the neighbors, perhaps as she thinks they are stupid, or too vulnerable to retaliate. She is seeking engagement, and those who have been asked to intervene suggest ignoring her will make her go away. It hasn't worked in all these years so one wonders if it ever will.
Two years ago she gift-wrapped two little boxes filled with coal and left them at her neighbor's doorstep with the kids' names on them for a joke.
On Valentine's Day last year she sent them "I hate you" cards in pink envelopes signed in fictitious names.
For Halloween it was some mean trick again.
She 'lost' the kids' backpacks one year when they were in kindergarten and 1st grade when she offered to pick them up from school 'helping' their sick Mom.
Over the years the Witch has gotten a better job, bought a bigger house in the same neighborhood, a fancier car, while her neighbors remain in survival mode as the Witch sabotages their lives ever so often. She always visits to feed off their sadness when one of her actions has succeeded in wounding them.
Over the years the neighbor's kids have begun to wonder who the smart one really is, the Witch, or their family.
They've stopped believing in God, family, etc etc as it makes no sense anymore when vandals who ravage their lives live so much better, while they suffer every time they crawl an inch toward some small success in their little lives.
- SDG
Sunday, December 22, 2013
When You Wonder Why Someone Suffers As Nothing Quite Adds Up ...
Watch which way a witch goes. Destruction follows whichever way the witch goes. She can convince
perfectly normal people to hurt the elderly, the young, the defenseless, the broken, then step aside once the wrecking ball has been set in motion. Watch
her sow seeds of destruction and run and hide as soon as they begin to
show signs of life. It is always some one else who is left holding the
smoking gun. Don't be so gullible, please, you normal people, you.
- SDG
- SDG
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Why Did The Witch Cross The Road?
When the witch crossed my path I instinctively parked by the side of the road, said a Hail Mary, a Rudram, aur phir humne ek phoonk maari, phir hum wahan se guzre.
Billi rasta kathi hai toh log yeh sab karne ko kehete hain.
Waqt hi batayega witch ke liye itna kafi tha ke nahin.
- SDG
Billi rasta kathi hai toh log yeh sab karne ko kehete hain.
Waqt hi batayega witch ke liye itna kafi tha ke nahin.
- SDG
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
♫ Away in a manger no crib for a bed ... ♫
It was mentioned in a local newspaper that I chanced upon at the library that a certain organist was coming to our little town to perform. I got busy figuring out when and where, and elected to attend the lunch hour dress rehearsal over the evening's main event as I had already committed to something else for that time slot.
I got there nice and early to get a good seat. He's famous. You have no choice but to be at his concerts a good bit before opening time to be able to pick a seat you like. It is a wonder he deigned to come to our neck of the woods and play when he's already been booked for a European tour in 2014, playing Vienna, Strasbourg, London, Berlin, Moscow, the works...
I found a nice spot that would afford me a comfortable exit after the concert and walked toward the main entrance of the chapel. I went up a few steps, entered the external foyer, and was about to walk into the vestibule when a woman my age stepped out from the shadows, put the tips of her black pumps against the tips of my black pumps, looking very grave, said in an incredibly soft voice,"Mrs. Gurpur, it is much nicer upstairs." She moved her voluminous nose even closer to mine and consequently the eyes too, and said,"I am the new junior pastor here," and nodded furiously as she adjusted her maroon tie and patted down her navy blue blazer.
I can take a hint. I went up the floating staircase and sat down in the dark and desolate and narrow balcony upstairs. I was stunned she knew my name. I had never been to this church before. I didn't know the woman at all. I thought I must be getting famous or something but then quickly discarded that thought. I know my limitations. And I trust my instincts. My instincts were going w~i~l~d !!!! I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I knew she was not to be trusted. But I was here for some good music. This was God's house. One ought to feel safe here. So I chose to feel safe.
The concert wouldn't begin for another 40 minutes so I tried to nap while I waited. I must have dozed off for 15 minutes and when I woke up I felt like I might have been transported to the UN or something while I was sleeping. There were people speaking Tagalog, Chinese, Korean, French, Spanish, Afrikaans, even a Canadian version of Punjabi, and lots of English, as I tuned into what was going on around me. I couldn't help but stand up and stretch after my nap and get a good look at the pews below us. There were women with golden hair almost across the board, while the gentlemen were mainly greying to various degrees or were very nearly bald. I didn't catch sight of a single dark-skinned person down there except for the one young lady in a lilac sweater and pretty white dress who was walking along the pews handing out flyers to each of the attendees, smiling and talking to each attendee as she walked by. No one came upstairs to give us any flyers though. I sat down and waited for the concert to begin.
The opening act was a single Christmas carol by the church choir, in honor of the season, "I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas".
Suddenly I felt like the witch just shat all over one of my most favorite tunes, one that I strongly associate with a Currier and Ives, picture perfect, Christmas.
The concert, a truncated version of what was to come that evening, was still a little vision of Heaven, given what had just passed.
Feeling very grateful to have heard this music live I got up to leave. I walked slowly to my car, looking around to see what I might have missed on my way in. Possibly someone had been stationed in the parking lot to tell the witch whom to be expecting at the door. There was no one around on a radio or cellphone or bluetooth. That person's services were most likely needed elsewhere by now so he or she was probably gone.
I read bumper stickers as I walked by them. There was a "My dachshund is smarter than your honor roll student" , a "Coexist", a " D 7:1", a "MysterySpotUSA", an "I believe in the 13th amendment", another version or two of "My dog is smarter than you" , and the pièce de résistance, "Secede". Lincoln should have let her secede.
Just when I thought the worst was over, a truck over took me but then a little later we were both at the same red light and I saw he had a picture of a noose for a bumper sticker.
I was driving home with mixed feelings towards the maestro. His genius and his success made the witch hate me even more, and before she even met me. One can safely assume she hates the maestro for growing up a child of the holocaust, penniless, in the Bronx, and now rubbing shoulders with the best of them. She wouldn't want any of us with the darker skin tones getting a closer look at him and seeing his darker skin tones. What if he inspired us to greater things? What if??
Funny thing is, the witch has big black bushy eyebrows to frame her brown eyes that are a disconcerting contrast to her very yellow hair. I guess she chooses to keep her brows intact to offset her nose as wide as the Himalayas are high. I wonder if she knows who wrote "White Christmas".
I turned on the radio for some Christmas cheer and they were playing "Away in a manger..." conjuring up the image of a cherubic brown baby swaddled in a bundle and kept warm by the love of his parents and that of the menagerie around him.
Now that half the town is talking about our segregationist here I hear the witch not only colors her own hair a tacky yellow, but subjects her kids, a kindergartner and a middleschooler, to coloring treatments too.
I wish she had been born colorblind.
- SDG
I got there nice and early to get a good seat. He's famous. You have no choice but to be at his concerts a good bit before opening time to be able to pick a seat you like. It is a wonder he deigned to come to our neck of the woods and play when he's already been booked for a European tour in 2014, playing Vienna, Strasbourg, London, Berlin, Moscow, the works...
I found a nice spot that would afford me a comfortable exit after the concert and walked toward the main entrance of the chapel. I went up a few steps, entered the external foyer, and was about to walk into the vestibule when a woman my age stepped out from the shadows, put the tips of her black pumps against the tips of my black pumps, looking very grave, said in an incredibly soft voice,"Mrs. Gurpur, it is much nicer upstairs." She moved her voluminous nose even closer to mine and consequently the eyes too, and said,"I am the new junior pastor here," and nodded furiously as she adjusted her maroon tie and patted down her navy blue blazer.
I can take a hint. I went up the floating staircase and sat down in the dark and desolate and narrow balcony upstairs. I was stunned she knew my name. I had never been to this church before. I didn't know the woman at all. I thought I must be getting famous or something but then quickly discarded that thought. I know my limitations. And I trust my instincts. My instincts were going w~i~l~d !!!! I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I knew she was not to be trusted. But I was here for some good music. This was God's house. One ought to feel safe here. So I chose to feel safe.
The concert wouldn't begin for another 40 minutes so I tried to nap while I waited. I must have dozed off for 15 minutes and when I woke up I felt like I might have been transported to the UN or something while I was sleeping. There were people speaking Tagalog, Chinese, Korean, French, Spanish, Afrikaans, even a Canadian version of Punjabi, and lots of English, as I tuned into what was going on around me. I couldn't help but stand up and stretch after my nap and get a good look at the pews below us. There were women with golden hair almost across the board, while the gentlemen were mainly greying to various degrees or were very nearly bald. I didn't catch sight of a single dark-skinned person down there except for the one young lady in a lilac sweater and pretty white dress who was walking along the pews handing out flyers to each of the attendees, smiling and talking to each attendee as she walked by. No one came upstairs to give us any flyers though. I sat down and waited for the concert to begin.
The opening act was a single Christmas carol by the church choir, in honor of the season, "I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas".
Suddenly I felt like the witch just shat all over one of my most favorite tunes, one that I strongly associate with a Currier and Ives, picture perfect, Christmas.
The concert, a truncated version of what was to come that evening, was still a little vision of Heaven, given what had just passed.
Feeling very grateful to have heard this music live I got up to leave. I walked slowly to my car, looking around to see what I might have missed on my way in. Possibly someone had been stationed in the parking lot to tell the witch whom to be expecting at the door. There was no one around on a radio or cellphone or bluetooth. That person's services were most likely needed elsewhere by now so he or she was probably gone.
I read bumper stickers as I walked by them. There was a "My dachshund is smarter than your honor roll student" , a "Coexist", a " D 7:1", a "MysterySpotUSA", an "I believe in the 13th amendment", another version or two of "My dog is smarter than you" , and the pièce de résistance, "Secede". Lincoln should have let her secede.
Just when I thought the worst was over, a truck over took me but then a little later we were both at the same red light and I saw he had a picture of a noose for a bumper sticker.
I was driving home with mixed feelings towards the maestro. His genius and his success made the witch hate me even more, and before she even met me. One can safely assume she hates the maestro for growing up a child of the holocaust, penniless, in the Bronx, and now rubbing shoulders with the best of them. She wouldn't want any of us with the darker skin tones getting a closer look at him and seeing his darker skin tones. What if he inspired us to greater things? What if??
Funny thing is, the witch has big black bushy eyebrows to frame her brown eyes that are a disconcerting contrast to her very yellow hair. I guess she chooses to keep her brows intact to offset her nose as wide as the Himalayas are high. I wonder if she knows who wrote "White Christmas".
I turned on the radio for some Christmas cheer and they were playing "Away in a manger..." conjuring up the image of a cherubic brown baby swaddled in a bundle and kept warm by the love of his parents and that of the menagerie around him.
Now that half the town is talking about our segregationist here I hear the witch not only colors her own hair a tacky yellow, but subjects her kids, a kindergartner and a middleschooler, to coloring treatments too.
I wish she had been born colorblind.
- SDG
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