Horror Movie and No News Is Good News
Without Prejudice
Don't watch the news if you are at all sensitive or depressive, it will scare you to death. My daughter, Lauren loved the Horror Movie song by Skyhooks. The real Horror Story being the News.And I am reminded of that every time I buy a Newspaper or attempt to watch the news. It's mostly bad so instead of reading the paper I go straight to the Stars. They are known to be rubbish but it's uplifting at least. And hope, positive thinking, affirmations, are good also.
The news today is saturated with the Boston Marathon Bombing. The scenes are awful and more than ever, now, with all the advances in Technology, are beamed straight to our living rooms. It makes this evil look huge, in our face and we feel helpless and sad. Angry, frustrated and we take to Social Media to express our horror, disgust and anger.
And still feel helpless and not a little more fearful.
When September 11th happened my first instinct after the 2nd plane hit was to grab all of my grandsons and head for Mount Tamborine or somewhere remote and hide them. I thought my grandsons are not going to War. They were little then, Jai 2, Brock, 3, Kyle 10 and Zach 5. So very small and now they are big I haven't changed my mind.
And now I have 4 more boys to fret about. 4 more boys that I don't want to die for a war that is not ours. I want them to respect their country of course and stand and defend if they have to. But I don't want them killed. Needlessly. War is hell, I was taught that from as long as I can remember. I joined the peace movement in the late 60's.
Well, I wore a peace sign necklace at least. At that time I was a feckless, reckless teenager. I lived in the U.K. then and the late 60's were a magical time in England. Winston Churchill had died, leaving a sense of freedom from the old guard. New things were happening. Music, fashion, love ins, peace, happiness.
Jimmy Hendrix, The Beatles, the Beach boys rediscovered, The Doors, drugs, gurus, all of it was happening in Britain. I washed my Dads old Bedford van to earn 10 shillings to buy Seargeant Peppers. And did concerts with Dad and Jackie at Working Men's Clubs late at night to earn a bit more money.
It all paid off as I could afford my own records, makeup, clothes, herbal shampoos. I grew tired of being the swot at Grammar school and ditched my fair isle itchy school tights for lace see through socks to the knee. Rolled the dreadful kilted skirt we wore as uniform over at the waistband, unknotted my tie, wrapped my school jumper around my hips and called myself a Greaser.
Then I met a boy who rode a Vespa so my best friend, Denise Edsen and I became Mods with bubble perms and chinos and Macs, granny glasses a la John Lennon were de rigeur. As was a phoney French Accent to mouthe words like Voila,
To be continued
Don't watch the news if you are at all sensitive or depressive, it will scare you to death. My daughter, Lauren loved the Horror Movie song by Skyhooks. The real Horror Story being the News.And I am reminded of that every time I buy a Newspaper or attempt to watch the news. It's mostly bad so instead of reading the paper I go straight to the Stars. They are known to be rubbish but it's uplifting at least. And hope, positive thinking, affirmations, are good also.
The news today is saturated with the Boston Marathon Bombing. The scenes are awful and more than ever, now, with all the advances in Technology, are beamed straight to our living rooms. It makes this evil look huge, in our face and we feel helpless and sad. Angry, frustrated and we take to Social Media to express our horror, disgust and anger.
And still feel helpless and not a little more fearful.
When September 11th happened my first instinct after the 2nd plane hit was to grab all of my grandsons and head for Mount Tamborine or somewhere remote and hide them. I thought my grandsons are not going to War. They were little then, Jai 2, Brock, 3, Kyle 10 and Zach 5. So very small and now they are big I haven't changed my mind.
And now I have 4 more boys to fret about. 4 more boys that I don't want to die for a war that is not ours. I want them to respect their country of course and stand and defend if they have to. But I don't want them killed. Needlessly. War is hell, I was taught that from as long as I can remember. I joined the peace movement in the late 60's.
Well, I wore a peace sign necklace at least. At that time I was a feckless, reckless teenager. I lived in the U.K. then and the late 60's were a magical time in England. Winston Churchill had died, leaving a sense of freedom from the old guard. New things were happening. Music, fashion, love ins, peace, happiness.
Jimmy Hendrix, The Beatles, the Beach boys rediscovered, The Doors, drugs, gurus, all of it was happening in Britain. I washed my Dads old Bedford van to earn 10 shillings to buy Seargeant Peppers. And did concerts with Dad and Jackie at Working Men's Clubs late at night to earn a bit more money.
It all paid off as I could afford my own records, makeup, clothes, herbal shampoos. I grew tired of being the swot at Grammar school and ditched my fair isle itchy school tights for lace see through socks to the knee. Rolled the dreadful kilted skirt we wore as uniform over at the waistband, unknotted my tie, wrapped my school jumper around my hips and called myself a Greaser.
Then I met a boy who rode a Vespa so my best friend, Denise Edsen and I became Mods with bubble perms and chinos and Macs, granny glasses a la John Lennon were de rigeur. As was a phoney French Accent to mouthe words like Voila,
To be continued
