...and good reasons not to be famous

I wonder, if Mr. Jackson had thought that his autopsy results, his medication habits, and a live feed of his dead remains would be broadcast repeatedly to the world at large, I wonder if he would have changed anything about himself or his life. The man who was by turns a public meteor and a recluse has nowhere to hide now that he's gone and all the information is fodder for the news cannons.
It's the best reason I can think of to remain anonymous, to stay a relative nobody in the world. It's great when everybody knows your name; it's not so great when they get to hear the 911 call to your house and hear about your post-mortem results on the 6 o'clock (and the 10 o'clock and the 11 o'clock and the Good Morning Working Stiffs! show at dawn) news.

Short Notice About Fame

Did you realize that the words of obstetricians are immortalized everywhere in our society?......Believe it, Grasshopper! Look at any door in any public building. They all say PUSH.

(Any man who is reading this may now say, "Well, that was a bunch of crap," and sign out.)

Bright idea for Trouble # 236: When your significant other says, "I'm sorry," you reply, "You sure are."

It's not the heat, it's the stupidity

96 degrees out, and am I going to walk down to the mailbox? -- Noooooo, siree. Not this chubby chick. There are clothes to be washed and text to be skritched out, so I am hibernating indoors this afternoon,waiting for the kids to fly in to the Charlotte hairport from New Yawk City.
It's peculiar when I get here. When I have a spot to say something, everything in my head that was important simply vanishes. It's as if the act of looking at a white blank page is sufficient to completely erase my memory. (Or else it's Oldtimer's Disease setting in.)
I did have a moment of clarity last night, when I expended a lot of time, cusswords, and bug bomb on a group of ants who mistook my house for a dinner and dance club. I was cleaning and swearing and getting all 10-18 (that's EMS talk for lights and sirens going on the ambulance), and suddenly the Voice in My Head That Knows Everything said, "Shut up and be grateful you have a house, and sweep every day so the ants won't come back."
So I did. That Voice, man, it knows it all, sees it all, and tells it all. In spades. (How was I ever so fortunate as to acquire it?.....thank you, Left Brain, for supplying me with such an intelligent, stubborn monitor. It is very good at looking after me when my son cannot.)