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While mowing the lawn yesterday, on the shady side of the Ponderosa Pine, I saw something white sticking up out of the grass. I pushed it with my toe and this is what it was.
I kicked it around a little bit. Picked it up and rubbed and blew the dirt off of it and tried to lay it back down on my desk, but it now looks like this.
Can anyone tell me what this is?
I'd appreciate it.
The Reverend Al Sharpton told the Michael Jackson kids at their daddy's funeral that there, "Wasn't nothing strange about your daddy, what was strange was what he had to deal with."
I know of at least one daughter and one son of mine who will disagree with me, but I've got to say, Michael was as strange as a human being can be.
If you have to say at a person's funeral that he wasn't strange...he was strange!!!
And, what about his tabloid moniker, "Wacko Jacko?" That didn't come from nothing.
It seems that he hated himself.
- He hated his blackness so much that he made himself white. He hated blackness so much that he procured white eggs and white sperm in order to give himself white children. (Or, maybe they also had vitiligo...Yeah, right!)
- He hated his beautiful, wide, Negroid nose, a defining look for a proud black man or woman, so he had it made skinny.
- While most fans, including myself, thought he was a darling child, a handsome youth and great-looking young man, Michael hated himself so much that he spent hundreds of thousands of dollars making himself look like Diana Ross. He then went past that look to some kind of comic book looking character.
I don't know what to think about his sexuality. He was certainly accused of being a pedophile. Although he was found not guilty in at least one court action, he paid off others to make the accusations go away. Frankly, I don't think he was a pedophile. That might surprise you, but I think he was, among other things (which I'll mention later), just a very, very eccentric man. I think he felt more comfortable with kids. And who, as kids, did we feel comfortable hanging out with? Other kids. I think he just like being a kid and hanging out with kids.
Regardless, he was either absolutely naive, thinking it was cute and fun and okay for a grown man to sleep in the same bed with boys, or he was a pervert and a pedophile.
I'm not a doctor or a psychologist or psychiatrist, but I think Michael Jackson was mentally ill and none of the people who professed to love him was bold or brave enough to take him by the hand and try to help him.
Michael Jackson was very talented and very, very strange.
After a beautiful, cool, wet spring, it finally got hot in Utah. Now don't tell me how hot it is in Las Vegas or Dallas or Phoenix or wherever you are that is hotter than Provo. To me, 95 degrees is hot. And, if you know me well, at all, you know that I don't like hot weather.
I hate heat.
I hate the Sun.
The Sun and the heat make my skin hurt. Not as in sunburn hurt, because I stay out of the sun so I won't get sunburned. I mean heat and Sun hurt my skin. They make my skin hurt all over. I have the same crappy skin my Mother had. (By the way, other than her skin, wasn't my dear old Mother just about perfect?) Anyway, the Sun and the heat make me feel like my skin is going to wilt and fall off.
From my growing up days in sunny San Diego, I've been treated to basal cell carcinoma, squamous cell carcinoma, and melanoma. At this point in time, I'm skin cancer free.
I know (at least scientists tell us) that the Sun is "important for life." I try to keep that in mind, but it doesn't make my skin feel any better.
So, here I sit in my office, with only my underwear between my beautiful, extremely white body and the heat of the day, with a Sun Blocking Blind in place and the air conditioner blasting on me. It feels so good!!
Is it almost fall?
