More and more, I see the pronoun people, like some members of the LGBTQI community, as participants in a giant game of Calvinball, scrambling to keep up with changing rules and shifting goalposts.
Best had some shining moments in The Monster Walks. I could see there was more to him than a copycat Stepin Fetchit.
Stepstools and ladders and stairs, oh my.
King Paul decrees adoption of the 13-month calendar, outlaws organized religion. Yeah, that’s the ticket!
Hey, a fella can dream, can’t he?
Both friends took me to task for lumping restrooms in with places women or men should not have to share with non-GRS transgender women or men. They’re right; I shouldn’t have.
There’s no way I’d eat at a buffet or salad and soup bar now, commercial or homegrown. And I seriously doubt I’ll ever be able to bring myself to do so again even if there’s a vaccine (especially with the number of people who swear they won’t take it), which basically means never again.
You have to get up early to beat the heat in southern Arizona, so when the dogs started stirring at 5:30 I said what the hell and got up with them.