At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


There are some things that without even checking, you ascribe to Nebraska. It's an imaginary mental Nebraska, not the actual real live physical Nebraska. Such as the presumed headquarters location of a certain mail-order catalogue that features fine articles of habiliment.

Clothing for white ladies.

There are two items shown that actually look halfway exciting. The white lady in one particular jacket has an expression on her face that says "I'm gonna shoot me a fox today", whereas the other coat just screams "it's an Irish Springs morning!"

Everything else is Princess Leia in civilian drag.

Hi! I am a sincerely happy white woman!
They should be paying me more for this crap.

My apartment mate stayed home because of her menstrual cramps. Which is something we men never do. So naturally I was somewhat stressed.

She was reading a mail-order catalogue filled with photos of bland ice-cream hued pastel clothing that only white people can wear. Nice dairy-head white Caucasians from someplace where the prairies come right up to your door-step, bunny rabbits and gophers gambol on your front lawn, and everybody goes to church, even when they don't have to, because they like lutefisk and bingo.
A gentle kind and pale place.
It's very whitish.

The only even mildly ethnic person in the catalogue is the intern from Hawaii. The clothing company probably kidnapped her relatives and is holding them hostage to force the poor girl to model these white lady rags.
"Is my grandma still in your cellar?"
Pale pale PALE pastels. Sweetly girly-girlish, in soft fabrics, with very simple styling.
The kind of clothing that makes you look boxy.

It's rather fascinating to experience the menses vicariously. The marked rise in body temperature as the body fights off a thickened uterine lining, the off-kilter emotional reactions, the brain made feverish and edgy by the body's hormonal imbalance.
The sheer creatively berserk re-interpretation of the intent of a seller of bland innocuous suburban clothing.......
I am staggered by the rushing torrent of inspiration.

But mostly by the concept of karmic Nebraska.

In case you were wondering, she found the catalogue at the laundromat. We live in a neighborhood populated mostly by Asians and young hip post-college professionals. But there is at least ONE white lady somewhere.
Either that, or a Chinese person with eccentric taste.


This blogger himself is white.
Many of my best friends are also made that way.
As are beloved relatives, associates, and folks who sell me things.

I've actually never been to Nebraska. I think it's somewhere in Kansas.
Dorothy country. I'm certain very fine people live there.

My apartment mate is the one with the non-white ideas.
She's a small bitchy Cantonese-American woman.

[No, we're not "involved", in case you were wondering.]

I used to keep careful track of my apartment mate's monthly cycles, so that these episodes would not spring on me unawares. Free-associative thinking, random mental connections, and physical discomfort causing stressful behaviour, plus periods of inventive madness. Abdominal pains spark chaos.
As I say, I used to. Forewarned is forearmed.
Keeping a calendar of Mayan precision.
So that I knew exactly when.

Now I just go with the flow

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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