NewscomaGot A Two-Pack Habit And A Motel Tan

I’ve lived in Tennessee most of my life.

I’ve never been here.

That’s going to change this week.

Many of the stories that we are going to be hearing in the news today will include Pres. George Busy finishing his plan regarding Iraq. He’s been given a great deal of advice.

Our hope is that he will take it into consideration, but we will have to see. You never know what’s going to happen when it comes to the Decider. I think it goes without saying that he’s been giving sound advice before. But when one uses the word surge is it saying the same thing as saying the word “escalation.”

Gen. Wes Clark says this is a bad move. And when the No. 2 is saying that a “surge” will not fix the issues in Iraq, then it goes under the things that make you go ‘MMM.”

One wonders.

Also, Sen. Joe Biden says the’ll run for president. Okay. I don’t think he has a shot but there is money to be raised to be squandered on a run.

In other news, here in Hooterville, we don’t have a lot of murders, but we did over the weekend or at least the local law enforcement guys are saying that a death last week appears to be a homicide. I hate covering murders for obvious reasons. We won’t get a thing until the autopsy comes back. The thing about this murder is that there was some signs of forced entry into the home of an elderly man.

Here’s what happens in a small newspaper. You don’t want to create panic with your elderly readers, but news is news.

Very fine line of what should be done. No one will say very much who “are in the know” and that’s where the fine line is because we can’t be sensationislistic about this but the public needs to know.

And it’s Grand Jury time here in Weakley County. Plus, we’ve had a terrible rape case of a child come to our attention.

I’m really hoping that things go smoothly. Remember one thing about rural media, we cover a murder one day, a rape the next, biodiesel and it’s affect on our community the next, a union strike, philanthrophy efforts the next (and many times in the same day.) And then I lay the paper out, handle personnel issues, lay out special features and then do our public relations thing to made sure people continue to buy the paper.

A Day in the Life, campers.

And remember my hands covered in ink from stuffing inserts into the paper from last week?

I wouldn’t know what to with myself just following one story or doing just one thing.

As I lay down to slumber, let us remember that visions of leather and spandex are dancing through my head.

If I leave a peanut butter and banana sandwich on a plate by the chimney with care, will Elvis Claus come and visit me. If he does, I want this version. Yeah, this is what I’m talking about.

Happy Birthday, Elvis.

You were okay in the rhinestones, but damn if you weren’t amazing back in the day.

Photo from here

I think this is my 25 peeps code.

Saw this over at John’s and Kathy T.’s so I though I’d give it a whirl.

I don’t get stuff like this, but hey, I’m game.

I should have gotten a puppet. It seems to be the rage this weekend in Nashville.

Photo from here 

I wasn’t going to say a word. Really I wasn’t because, in all honesty, the way people act sometimes just wears me out. Why people have to be shitty to other people to make themselves feel better never ceases to amaze me, and quite frankly, I’m done with it.

But a comment over at NiT sparked several conversations around the web about size acceptance and civility and the issues that women (and men because I know men who go through this too) so many times, are judged by the way we look and not who we are. It also brought up several different reactions from both men and women that I feel shows that there are more good folks out there than idiots.

So far, these women have been more eloquent than I could ever be:

Kate O

Kat Coble

And the lovely and kind Aunt B.

Here’s the thing. I have written in length before about internet trolls who find instant balls by sitting behind a computer where they can tear apart people without looking them in the eye. I’ve also written about treating people the way that you want to be treated not only in life but here on the internet. To say things so harshly and rude not only makes me angry but saddens me. I’ve been a target of it myself and, although it is bruising, I have learned to laugh about it as much as I can.

But it still twists your insides into a million different directions because comments about looks just is so dismissive to the people we all are.

In this post written on a fantastic blog named Sexeteria I can’t help but feel that there are more women and men that get it than those who don’t.

I’ve always been heavy. I just lost a crapload of weight not for any other reason than I was really, desperately sick and food disgusted me. Due to the illness that resulted in a hysterectomy and a bladder sling, I realized that certain foods just made me feel bad so I quit eating them. I went through a lot, but that is another story for another day.

But you see, I’m never going to be a fashion model. Even if I was in size 7, it wouldn’t matter. I am who I am, just like other people are who they are.

But there will always be that little kid that I used to be that had the beauty queen mother and thin sister who didn’t feel like she was a part of things. And those insecurities came from people being very rude and hateful about the way I looked as a child. What was worse is knowing that there are adults who act with the hurtful ignorance of kids who didn’t know better. I guess those kids grew up to be the adults who perpetuate a level of harm and ignorance. What amazes me is that it creates a new elitism of what we regard as beautiful.

And what we don’t

So, I tried to find things to distinguish myself where my weight wouldn’t be what people saw when they looked at me. Be smarter, funnier, more insightful, a better listener, a kinder person, a savvy businesswoman, a better friend, a devoted daughter.

I found balance and contentment but the reality is that people do judge anyway and it doesn’t go away. People judge other people many times on what they see.

Now, in Sexeteria’s post, it was a woman who sparked her post. A woman who took a picture of an anonymous fat woman, placed it on Flickr and then proceeded to make fun of her. Women have to take care of each other or the tower of cards will always fall down. Why haven’t we learned that?

I don’t know.

But, you know, the thing is when people like this make these sort of comments be it on-line or in the real world, they don’t care and that’s what saddens me the most of all.

And, the moral of this story because in the blogosphere, we do personalize what we read and I did the harsh words on the comment from NiT, I am sexy. I am smart and I am a goddess.

And these ain’t just words, campers.

As is Pink Kitty who dances with abandon with her hair sweeping around her graceful body as she moves with the joy of knowing she is sexy. As is Miss Syl over Sexeteria who felt the hurt of horrible words from people who needed to feel their worth by making fun of a fat woman. I do not know either one of these women, but they have made an impression on me.

And, yes, I’m not Twiggy but I am awesome. And if you don’t believe me, let me tell you all about the unique, lovely Newscoma because she is fabulous.

As we all are.

There is some really weird crap at my house, so in honor of the pic a day oath I made, I present you with several oddities.

This lovely beauty was found at an estate sale. I’ll call her Little Ada just so she has a name. Little Ada just came to me. Yeah, I’ve had a beer. Shut up.

And this is the set of salt and pepper shakers Badger gave me for Christmas. Coincidence that I have a new friend named Smiley. I think yes but maybe not. Anyway, they are watching football.

And Squirrely’s weird Wizard of Oz Collection. Yeah, it’s weird but I dig it. She’s an odd old Squirrel wrangler.

And yeah, I’m still learning this camera.

Shut up.

Scene from Chez Coma:

“What you doing?” Homer asked me this morning. I was wandering around the house in an old MUMU and chasing after the dogs.

“I don’t know,” I said, eyeballing Duff, who had an unfortunate case of flatulence this morning and was grossing the whole house out. She has always been the smelly dog, even when she was younger.

“What are you doing today?” she said, playing the wordgame Bookworm on her laptop. She is the queen of Bookworm and can score up to a million points in one setting. Me. Not so good and I easily get bored with the game when bright and shiny things come into my line of sight. This is a serious problem I have, but it is best tonot mention it and move on.

“Nothing.” I answered as Duff went diving between my legs. I had no idea what I was going to do if I caught her, but the smell and the nasty funk she was exuding made me feel like a bath would be in order. However, baths do not help Duff. She has an on-going problem with a very distinct body odor that even grosses Mabel out. However, Mabel being the trooper, will lick her eyes on occasion. I have no idea why but it seems to be an occurrence that happens daily.

“I might have some beer and watch football,” replied as I sat down on the sofa. Duff had hit the staircase with lightening speed and was casting me a heavy dose of stink-eye. I could swear if she could cuss, she would have at that very moment. I know when I’m beat.

“Alright.” Homer does not drink except on very rare occasions. She doesn’t care if you drink, because she will laugh at you after you make an ass out of yourself. It’s her loving way. “I watched the Davinci Code last night.”

“Was it good?”

“It was long,” as that would explain everything to me. I know Homer pretty well. If she likes a show, she will tell me every single scene in the entire movie and will inadvertently spoil the ending, meaning I don’t have to go to a lot of movies. It’s actually very time efficient and being that she is, at most times with two young children, at kids movies this methodology at Chez Coma works to both of our advantages.

“Hey, you guys rented the Davinci Code?” Squirrely hollered from up the staircase. She was holding Duff. I decided not to say anything about Duff’s bad belly. Her stench, however, is known worldwide and this was a choice that Squirrely made on her own.

“You want to watch it,” she said and it took me a moment to decipher she was speaking to me. Something bright and shiny had caught my eye and I was in my own little world.

“Hey, are you listening?” she said again, obviously perturbed.

“Seven,” I said. I learned this trick from Homer. If a person isn’t listening, sometimes blurting a number out will keep the wolves at bay. It didn’t work this rainy day.

“You aren’t listening, are you?” Squirrelly sighed. Duff continued to give me stinkeye and I had an overwhelming urge to stick my tongue out at her.

Homer just laughed and abrutly tried to wrestle the remote from the nieces who had entered stage left, who wanted to watch Hannah Montana. The adults all agreed that if we have to watch another episode of Hannah Montana, we would all go seriously postal.

“Nope,” I said with my award-winning grin in response to Squirrely’s question, which I thought might tantalize her with it’s incandescent quality. It has been known to work. Other times, it has failed miserable.

“Asshat,” she said and there was not doubt her comment was directed at me, your kind host, as she wandered back up the stairs holding the smelly dog.

But I have a beer sitting next to me and the tube is showing images of the Jets losing to New England, which was not what I wanted to happen, but, hell, it’s football.