TRIGGER WARNING! This Post is Obnoxious & Insulting, But It Accurately Depicts My Mood At The Time I Wrote it. I NEVER Lie to Y’all. –Updated! Had to Add Some Linda at The End–Cannot Believe I Forgot! This Post is all Fucked UP. Guess What? I No Longer Dare to CArE! Don’t GIvE A sHiT! fUcK IT! “Hearts are like AssHoles; eVer’one gOts one!”

Wasted Time

I Honestly Don’t Know Why I Waste My Finite Time. I Pull Together All Kinds of Poignant Videos. No One Watches.

God Forbid Someone Comments!

Takes Some Time

Drops a Thin Dime

Says

“Thank You! You Made Me Laugh!”

Oh Hell NO! Cannot Be Bothered To Spend A Fuckin’ Mouse Clik!

Fuck All Y’all!

And I Sincerely Mean That!

Vid Share Cred: Chris Spags

Content Creator: K Ryan Jones (I think)

And of Course The Mesmerizin’

Connie Britton

George Don’t Give A Shit

He is My Spirit Animal

Anyone who reads me, knows most of my shit is about women–my relationships with women. I love women. This is well-documented.

I have broken lots of hearts.

Lots of good woman hearts.

My heart, my one one, my only one, has been broken too.

I should take better care of it.

Try to Look out for it.

More.

More earnestly.

More diligently.

Less carelessly.

Heart Broke.

More times than I wish to recount.

But.

I always manage

to sailor on.

And I will.

Continue.

For

Ever.

This is cruel.

And

BRILLIANT

Billie Holiday

A National Treasure

Tragic Ophilia

Cred for Vid: jakuerika

Billie H is the broad singing; but you knew that already….

*********

And crude.

But it is how I choose to survive.

I honestly have no choice in the matter.

Yeah! I’m An Asshole!

Streetcar My Desire

*********

If you do not get my sense of humor, you are in the wrong place.

And you need to leave.

Now.

Right Now.

Right Fuckin’ Now

And In Haste

Hasta La Vista!

Lo Siento Mi Vida

Linda!

In My Humble Opinion, This is One Of The Most Beautiful, Wonderful Songs Ever Performed and Performed By The Most Beautiful, Talented Woman in the World

(Sorry Joni–Forgive me later–I’ll buy you lunch)

Hearts are like assholes; ever’one got one

Anyone who reads me, knows most of my shit is about women–my relationships with women. I love women. This is well-documented.

I have broken lots of hearts.

Lots of good woman hearts.

My heart, my one one, my only one, has been broken too.

I should take better care of it.

Try to Look out for it.

More.

More earnestly.

More diligently.

Less carelessly.

Heart Broke.

More times than I wish to recount.

But.

I always manage

to sailor on.

And I will.

Continue.

For

Ever.

This is cruel.

Cred for Vid: jakuerika

Billie H is the broad singing; but you knew that already….

*********

And crude.

But it is how I choose to survive.

I honestly have no choice in the matter.

If you do not get my sense of humor, you are in the wrong place.

And you need to leave.

Now.

Christopher Hitchens: On The Suicide of His Mother

This seems to be popular.

Of late.

fuk it.

Perhaps it is just the sign of the seasons….

Maybe we all want to commit suicide.

Relinquish the world back to the roaches.

Surely they could do no worse, management – wise.

The below is transcribed from Hitch’s book “Hitch-22”

Hitch 22 cigs

***

…because most of what I know about manic depression I first learned from Hamlet.

“I have of late,” the Prince of Denmark tells us, “but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth.” Everyone living has occasionally experienced that feeling, but the lines that accompany it are the best definition of the blues that was ever set down. (“Tired of living, scared of dying” is the next-best encapsulation, offered in “Old Man River.”) Who would carry on with the unending tedium and potential misery if they did not think that extinction would even be less desirable or—as it is phrased in another of Hamlet’s mood-swing soliloquies—if “the ever-lasting” had “not set his canon ‘gainst self-slaughter”?

There are fourteen suicides in eight works of Shakespeare, according to Giles Romilly Feddnen’s study of the question, and these include the deliberate and ostensibly noble ones of Romeo and Juliet and of Othello. It’s of interest that only Hamlet’s darling Ophelia, whose death at her own hands is not strictly intentional, it is the object of condemnation by the clergy. My own indifference to religion and refusal to credit any babble about an afterlife has, alas, denied me the hearty satisfaction experienced by Ophelia’s brother Laertes, who whirls on the moralizing cleric to say:

“I tell thee, churlish priest,

A ministering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.”

Memorable to be sure, but too dependent on the evil and stupidity of the heaven/hell dualism, and of scant use to me in deciding how it was that a thoughtful, loving, cheerful, person like Yvonne, who was in reasonable health, would want to simply give up.

I thought it might have something to do with what the specialists call “anhedonia,” or the sudden inability to derive pleasure from anything, most especially from the pleasurable. Al Alverez, in his very testing and demanding study of the subject, “The Savage God,” returns often to the suicide of Cesare Pavese, who took his own life at the apparent height of his powers.  

Don't stay here

“In the year before he died he turned out two of his best novels… One month before the end he received the Strega Prize, the supreme accolade for an Italian writer. ‘I have never been so much alive as now,’ he wrote, ‘never so young.’ A few days later he was dead. Perhaps the sweetness itself of his creative powers made his innate depression all the harder to bear.”

***

Thank you for reading.

-Lance

(We now return you to our regularly scheduled…)

For Reference:

I love Helena Bonham Carter… Cannot help myself. (This scene is disturbing: do Not Watch)

If You Watch Nothing Else, Please Please PLEASE  Watch This:

Credit: And watch it AGAIN!

Here now (I hope) is the proper credit:

https://www.youtube.com/user/jakuerika

“Hey! Lance Needs Help! He’s Goin’ Down for the Third Time!” or, “Does This Font Make My Blog Look Fat?”

“Just toss him a beer and that ‘Mae West Vest’. He’ll be fine.”

“But Sir, he quit drinking months ago.”

“Well Christ! That’s probably most of his problem right there. Ok, fish him aboard. I’ll have some ‘chat’ with him; get to the nature of his ‘Urgent Urgency’.”

I’m not drownin’.

Just Flounderin’.

***       

But toss me That Mae any-wayyy.

You may keep the beer.

Just asking advice / feedback from

‘The Community’

‘My Community’

‘Our Community’

The ‘Blogging / Writing Community.’

The ‘La Cosa Nostra’ of our ‘Unique Community’

“Uh, Lance?”

“Yes?”

“Is there something, anything, anything at all you are about to actually ask us?”

“Uh, yeah, Yeah. Sorry, got carried away by the current there for a sec.”

“Go on.”

“In truth, it’s just a simple question. Not really much to it at all in fact. But, in my recent writings… not so much the ‘writings’ per se, not sure I’d ever call some of them ‘writing’. It’s more about well, kinda embarrassing to ask, but you see, when constructing… or is it ‘destructing’… or perhaps re-constructing the previously de-constructed or de-constructing the previously con-structed, or just possibly…”

“As Brevity is the Soul of Wit, I shall be Brief”

“More Matter With Less Art

“Enough! Good God Man! Get To-The-Bloody-Point!”

“Alright already! Sheesh!  My query is thus…”

“Is the font I’ve been using too large? Do you think my readers find it obnoxious? Obtrusive? Even abusive to the eye? Self aggrandizing even? I use it ‘cause I can’t see for shit these days and…”

“Yeah, Yeah! We get your point. Finally! We’ll take your request under sober consideration and get back to you presently.”

“Next!”

“I just want to express my deepest, humblest, sincerest thank you for what…”

“Are you still Here Marcom? You have been summarily dismissed! You will hear from us presently. Now haul ass!”

“Thank you. Thank you all. Y’all…”

“BE GONE!”

*Lance slowly and deliberately backs out of the room. Softly closing the door behind him*

***

‘Verbosity’ is the Soul of My (and Sponge Bob’s) Wit

Well, I’d like to think so…

Spongebob Theme But Overly Verbose

Street Cred for Vid: Gigaflare8822

***

Author’s Note:

(At the end this time)

Of late I have been committing The First & Worst Deadly Sin:

‘Burying The Lede’

This unhappy behaviour must cease and desist immediately.

***

Here is the ‘Note’ Placed in its Proper Place:

I am taking a ‘brief’ break from re-writing ‘Shonnie.’

Bringing her back into me, back into my life, reliving her, re-falling-in-love-with-her, horribly missing her…

And as much excitement and joy as I may expierence in the re-riding of that emotional roller-coaster enterprise, bringing her back has, of late, become too emotionally painful for me.

I just need a break.

So I am taking one.

Maybe.

Shonnie is exhausting.

Yet exhilarating to remember.

She wore me out once.

Now she is doing it all-over-again…

“Way to go Shonnie. Wish you could see me now. You would, no doubt, laugh your little darling ass off.”

***

***

Some Added ‘Added Value’ below for all you ‘Word Nerds’ out there in Radio Land.

(You’re Welcome)

***

Why is it Spelled “Lede”

The spelling lede is an alteration of lead, a word which, on its own, makes sense; after all, isn’t the main information in a story found in the lead (first) paragraph? And sure enough, for many years lead was the preferred spelling for the introductory section of a news story.

So how did we come to spell it lede?

Although evidence dates the spelling to the 1970s, we didn’t enter lede in our dictionaries until 2008. For much of that time, it was mostly kept under wraps as in-house newsroom jargon.

Once, Al Marlens, the assistant managing editor, told one of the cleaning men to walk up to me and ask to see my lede, “not lead,” a newsie slang for the first sentence of a story.

—Myron S. Waldman, Forgive Us Our Press Passes, 1991

Spelling the word as lede helped copyeditors, typesetters, and others in the business distinguish it from its homograph lead (pronounced \led\ ), which also happened to refer to the thin strip of metal separating lines of type (as in a Linotype machine). Since both uses were likely to come up frequently in a newspaper office, there was a benefit to spelling the two words distinctly.

William Safire, who knew a thing or two about newsrooms, wrote in his New York Times “On Language” column in 1990, “Wouldn’t it be easier if the noun for the metal were spelled the way it sounded (led, to rhyme with dead) and the noun for the beginning of a newspaper story were spelled the way it is pronounced (lede, or leed, to rhyme with deed)?”

Others have been less than willing to embrace the new spelling. At The Awl, founder Choire Sicha tore out at those who use lede like it’s an affectation:

You schmucks who use ridiculous journo-terms make me crazy! Finally, someone is willing to speak out against the use of “lede” in public. Because, ha ha, sucka, there’s no reason for it! (Plus, MOST OF YOU ARE JUST BLOGGERS.)

—Choire Sicha, The Awl, 19 Sept. 2011

That “someone” was Howard Owens, a writer who has speculated that the flourishing of lede in the 1970s is ironic given that Linotype machines were starting to be phased out from newsrooms around that time. Owens attributes the fondness for the spelling to nostalgia, calling it “an invention of linotype romanticists, not something used in newsrooms of the linotype era.”

Despite the acknowledgment of lede by Safire and others, and its subsequent use by journalists and non-journalists alike, phrases employing the traditional spelling of lead still find their way into print:

But because I didn’t want Marshall’s piece to get lost in a big evening, I’ve buried the lead: The New Music Group was followed by a late-night appearance of wild Up, with Christopher Rountree conducting his increasingly impressive young ensemble in three more premieres

Mark Swed, Los Angeles Times, 2 Oct. 2016

Needless to say, don’t want to bury the lead, but I think there could be a second day of down for Apple (AAPL) — said so myself in a video I did with Jack Mohr (see above) — but if you don’t own any, by all means don’t let me stop you from buying some.

Jim Cramer, TheStreet.com, 26 Oct. 2016

This is sure to become one of those longstanding usage debates that will have its hard-liners on both sides, and perhaps reveal a little bit about the writer’s familiarity with the news business.

Credit:

https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/bury-the-lede-versus-lead

“And Now My Watch Has Ended.” (For Now)

About an hour ago I ended ‘My Watch’ of all four seasons and all episodes of “Game of Thrones”—Took me all of three days to get through it, soup to nuts, but I really had nothing better to do anyhow.

Certainly there are quite a lot of rabid fans out there belonging to “Game of Thrones” and this I do not deny, and I may even count myself among their numbers now, but…

And my intent here is certainly not to rain upon anyone’s parade. However I must admit that a few years ago I was curious to understand “Why all the hype?”, so I went to my Amazon dot com and purchased the first Season.

And I Tried, Ever So Hard, to get “Into” it.

Fail.

Major Fail.

Got bored pretty much instantly with the show.

I am no prude (and anyone who has read even ten percent of my blog posts should know this), but what turned me off almost immediately was all the HBO gratuitous sex and violence. I don’t need to see people fucking every ten minutes to understand the dynamics of ‘intimate’ relationships.

And even though all the fight scenes were Oh So most ‘tastefully’ done, and pretty much well-choreographed, every once in a while, I would rather just hear the severed head hit the ground, rather than have to see it.

“Trust me HBO”: These kinds of graphics do not interest me, even though upon occasion we, as audience, might need to see them… but for the most part we do not. (Actually, I am speaking only for myself. You do you.)

My opinions are generally not worth a cup of warm spit.

If I want pornography and / or snuff films, I can certainly find them outside the realm of ‘Serious Drama.’ In other words, when I want porn, I want porn; when I want good literature or drama, I want good lit or drama. Not to say that the two are mutually exclusive, but a preponderance of one over the other is a waste of time. Just a waste of time (and film).

If you would like to explore a decent contemporary, well-done balance, take a look at Polanski’s “Macbeth” for a start,

 

 

Then perhaps, even Zeffirelli’s “Hamlet”

(if you want to get into all that Oedipus and violence stuff).

Or…

 

Branagh’s “Henry V”

***

The thing that never rang true for me in “Game of Thrones” was the silly justification that “For One Thousand Years, The Men of “Lannis-Sister” Always Had Sex with Their sisters.”

Or Whatever…

In short, I have just now finished, as I did preamble, the Entire Series up-to-date. And, I would be less than honest if I said I could have easily stopped watching.

There are some intriguing characters to be certain, and some plot twists, or at least some of those, “Oh my fucking God! I did not see that one coming!” moments.

After watching all four seasons however, there are only two characters I take away and hold dearest to my heart and interest. And even truly care about.

It will probably be extremely easy for y’all to tell me which ones they are…

That is, if y’all know me at all.

(Or, at least, if I follow that typical male, raised-on-video-games cliché)

Now That, That above is a joke. I hope you know that.

Here is a ‘clue’ for one of them. Hahaha!

Let me know what you think / thought of “Game of Thrones.” I would be very interested to hear. (And Yes. I know: I am so very late to the party)

Story of my life…

Cheers,

Lance

P.S. And if you can guess my two most favorite characters, I will send you two Dinars, Silver.

And a “Mickey Mouse pencil sharpener.”

(Stolen line from the film, “About Last Night.”)

And, if you are a fan of the series, I would be most interested to hear which two characters you favor above the others…

To Be Continued…

-L

Christopher Hitchens: On The Suicide of His Mother

The below is transcribed from Hitch’s book “Hitch-22”

Hitch 22 cigs

***

…because most of what I know about manic depression I first learned from Hamlet.

“I have of late,” the Prince of Denmark tells us, “but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth.” Everyone living has occasionally experienced that feeling, but the lines that accompany it are the best definition of the blues that was ever set down. (“Tired of living, scared of dying” is the next-best encapsulation, offered in “Old Man River.”) Who would carry on with the unending tedium and potential misery if they did not think that extinction would even be less desirable or—as it is phrased in another of Hamlet’s mood-swing soliloquies—if “the ever-lasting” had “not set his canon ‘gainst self-slaughter”?

There are fourteen suicides in eight works of Shakespeare, according to Giles Romilly Feddnen’s study of the question, and these include the deliberate and ostensibly noble ones of Romeo and Juliet and of Othello. It’s of interest that only Hamlet’s darling Ophelia, whose death at her own hands is not strictly intentional, it is the object of condemnation by the clergy. My own indifference to religion and refusal to credit any babble about an afterlife has, alas, denied me the hearty satisfaction experienced by Ophelia’s brother Laertes, who whirls on the moralizing cleric to say:

“I tell thee, churlish priest,

A ministering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.”

Memorable to be sure, but too dependent on the evil and stupidity of the heaven/hell dualism, and of scant use to me in deciding how it was that a thoughtful, loving, cheerful, person like Yvonne, who was in reasonable health, would want to simply give up.

I thought it might have something to do with what the specialists call “anhedonia,” or the sudden inability to derive pleasure from anything, most especially from the pleasurable. Al Alverez, in his very testing and demanding study of the subject, “The Savage God,” returns often to the suicide of Cesare Pavese, who took his own life at the apparent height of his powers.  

Don't stay here

“In the year before he died he turned out two of his best novels… One month before the end he received the Strega Prize, the supreme accolade for an Italian writer. ‘I have never been so much alive as now,’ he wrote, ‘never so young.’ A few days later he was dead. Perhaps the sweetness itself of his creative powers made his innate depression all the harder to bear.”

***

Thank you for reading.

-Lance

(We now return you to our regularly scheduled…)

For Reference:

 

I love Helena Bonham Carter… Cannot help myself. (This scene is disturbing: do Not Watch)

If You Watch Nothing Else, Please Please PLEASE  Watch This:

Credit: And watch it AGAIN!

Here now (I hope) is the proper credit:

https://www.youtube.com/user/jakuerika