"There's got to be a morning after,
If we can hold on through the night.
We have a chance to find the sunshine --
Let's keep on looking for the light.
Oh can't you see the morning after?
It's waiting right outside the storm!
Why don't we cross the bridge together,
And find the place that's safe and warm?
It's not too late! We should be giving!
Only with love can we climb.
It's not too late! Not while we're living!
Let's put our hands out and climb ...
There's got to be a morning after!
We're moving closer to the shore!
I know we'll be there by tomorrow.
And we'll escape the darkness --
We won't be searching anymore! ..."
-- "The Morning After" by Maureen McGovern.
As always, I pick the theme song for every post for a reason. A really good friend, knowing how rough the last three months ... fine, screw it -- eighteen months, but especially the last three ... have been on me, got me a "mid year birthday gift" a couple weeks ago: a DVD copy of one of my ten favorite movies* of all time, "The Poseidon Adventure".
I've been playing the hell out of that movie the last couple weeks. I would guess that I've probably watched it all the way through eight or nine times in the last couple weeks. I cannot get enough of this movie. It's one of the first ever "disaster flicks" that Hollywood cranked out ... and 41 years later, it's still one of the two or three best they've ever done.
Today's theme song for this post, is the song that defined "The Poseidon Adventure". And it's a song that, quite frankly, for the three things I want to comment on, fits quite well.
There HAS to be a morning after.
(*: my ten favorite movies of all time, from tenth to first**: (10) "500 Days of Summer", (9) "United 93", (8) "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World", (7) "Suspect", (6) "Days of Thunder", (5) "Field of Dreams", (4) "In And Out", (3) "The Poseidon Adventure", (2) "Love Story", (1) "Saturday Night Fever", the reasons why explained in this post.)
(**: mock away. I don't care. Also, if you can't tell that I was propped up next to a TV, watching a boatload of AMC, HBO, and TBS/TNT/USA as a kid and teenager ... well, then you don't know me.)
1. How is George Zimmerman walking amongst those of us who are free?
I completely agree this wasn't a racial killing. I completely agree, that the Reverend Sharpton, the Reverend Jackson, and President Obama, were one hundred percent wrong, to throw race into a debate, that isn't about race.
But, and maybe I'm just a clueless blanking idiot -- didn't the 911 Operator tell Mr. Zimmerman to "not confront" Trayvon Martin? Didn't the 911 Operator tell him to "stop following" Trayvon Martin?
And what in the bluest of blue hells is a "neighborhood watchman" doing with a loaded gun, at 7:30 on a rainy Sunday night, that said loaded gun is so easily available to be used, that he can actually use it?
Should Mr. Zimmerman have been charged with second degree murder? No. Should he spend a solid 8-10 in the general population for manslaughter? Not just hell yes, but f*ck yes, he should.
I'm outraged at the outcome for reasons other than race. I'm outraged because some blowhard wannabe cop decided to take the law into his own hands. Decided that a person's value and worth is determined by how many Skittles* are in his hand, apparently. Determined that since clearly -- clearly! -- you know each and every person who lives in your neighborhood, that he should be the sole judge, jury, and executioner, in determining Trayvon Martin's worth as a human being.
Mr. Zimmerman was told to "stand down". He was told not to engage. He was told to stop pursing Mr. Martin. He failed to heed the 911 Operator's instructions, and a seventeen year old kid with the world ahead of him, is dead as a result.
The fact that Mr. Zimmerman got away with this repulsive homicide, infuriates me. Not because of race, but because of human decency, because of moral outrage, because no person with an ounce of character or integrity, should stand for this bullsh*t.
For once, the far left is right (in their outrage). As usual, they're wrong (in their reasons why they're outraged).
(*: as a result of the "transition" at work, I had to move to a new cubicle this week, closer to my new reporting area I'm in. And as always, on Monday, I brought in the not one, not two, not three, but four bags of Skittles that fill my personal candy bowl, that get me through the week. I had not one, not two, but three people literally staring at me as I filled that bowl with nothing but Skittles, and as one co-worker noted: "how long will it take you (to eat all those Skittles)?" My response: "five days, max. And that's because I'm gambling Ute doesn't wander over here, and cost me Friday's share." The lesson? I'm a Skittles addict. Oh, and Ute always replaces what she eats. Gotta love that -- it's one less humongous bag to buy at Target every Saturday.)
2. Huma Abedin standing by her man, Anthony Weiner, yet again.
I don't often agree with Rush Limbaugh completely, totally, and thoroughly ... but he put it far better than I ever could.
At the risk of infuriating certain people who will read this: cheating is a choice. It's not an involuntary action, like drooling on the pillow in the middle of the night. (And as anyone who has spent a night in the same bed with me can attest: I am the world's worst drooler. Especially once I slide over the chica's way.)
I couldn't give a sh*t about a person's sex life as long as they are single, and their partner for the ten ... fine, eight ... minutes, is the same. I am single. I have never cheated on anyone (although I have been cheated on). And I would never knowingly cheat on someone. And granted, I don't post every detail of my (virtually non-existent) sex life, and quite frankly, even if asked, I'll never send an unasked for pic of my junk to anyone.
But if that is what you're into, and you're single? More power to you. You obviously love the camera more than I do. (Pause). What? (Pause). Well of course I'll state the obvious -- it's because noone wants to see, what I haven't got! You happy, non-existent editor of this site?
But someone who's married, who does this sh*t? They are seriously f*cked up in the head. Seriously f*cked up. And any woman who would stand next to her husband, if they did to her what Anthony Weiner did to Huma, is a f*cking idiot.
I have someone in my life who used to be a great friend, but no longer is, due to her choosing, note to me not even six months ago that "I will never tolerate three things from someone: a liar, a cheater, and a thief". Anthony Weiner is all three -- he lied that this was over when he resigned from Congress, he's cheated on Huma so many times, she has to be the dumbest idiot walking the planet to stay with him, and he's stolen our trust in an elected official, seeking to be Numero Uno of the most important city in the world.
Funny -- I couldn't agree with that former friend, more -- even if I tried.
Almost as funny as putting the blinders on, and acting like it could never happen to you -- like Huma, and her mentor Hillary Rodham Clinton, did ... to get to where they are.
3. Work sucks at this point.
I've been drug into so many meetings that I have no clue what is going on with, that's it's almost laugh out loud funny.
I had a 4pm meeting today with one of our PMO folks, and literally, me, Domi, and my (the who voice) (new) boss, (same as the old boss), spent 15 minutes arguing over something, none of us disagreed on. We just didn't see it from the same perspective.
I accept that change is a part of life. I accept that times move on, roles change, people evolve.
But man, does work suck at this point.
It's to upper management's credit, recognizing the (jimmy carter voice) malaise we're in, that they launched the week we're enjoying. It's "Christmas in July", so to speak.
I am still in shock my "secret Santa" hasn't figured out who is leaving her her "present", every morning. I am in utter shock. If you've ever seen my handwriting, I have a very unique, very distinguishable style (thanks to breaking my right hand as a kid). I write with my right hand ... but many letters look like a lefty wrote it, especially my B's, D's, and S's. The curves don't match a typical rightie's curves, because I write my S's from the bottom up, and ditto the B's and D's. I'm also in utter shock, because I drew the person I did.
But I'm glad that I did somehow draw her. The look on her face every morning, when she sees the day's gift, makes me laugh out loud. I let Joe and Heather know who my "secret Santa" was, in case I miss a connection on the way in, or need a "drunk at home" day, to grab the next day's gift out of my file cabinet.
But seriously, dear readers -- sometimes life hands you a rough spot. God knows it has me, over these last three months. Hell, these last eighteen months.
But there HAS to be a morning after. We will hold on through the night.
At least I will.
I hope to get number seven on the "Stevo Looks Back" TV episode recap up tomorrow. I'm guessing I'll fail. But it'll be up soon.
Until then, good night, and I truly mean this -- anyone who reads this, God bless you.
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