In a world with very few personal blob(g)s lasting more than a week or maybe a couple of weeks (kind of like Gym Memberships which start on January 1st)…. we are proud to present Blob # 1000 of “We’re Just Sayin’ ” The editor acknowledges that a large majority of the entries have been penned by Iris (probably about 60-65% but who’s counting!?) but since April, 2006 — 7 short/long/incredible/boring/amazing years we have struggled to maintain our editorial POV in an ever changing world. If we had started Twitter or Instagram then, who knows what the world be like now, but instead, we just chose to share with our small, dedicated, vast readership, our views (and reviews) of what’s doing. Thanks for tuning into the Blob, and in honor of #1000, we’ll first reprint #0001, April 19, 2006, followed by Iris’ latest, penned, as many of them were, on a plane to NY this morning.
This is the first line of the first graf of the first post, and so far, blobbing has been extremely exciting. We couldn’t just sit by and let all the other Blobbers just post blob after blob, and not react. I mean, what are we chopped Liver? (You CAN enjoy chopped liver during Passover, but somehow it seems to take a back seat to gefilte fish, but that’s another story.) So we started blobbing, and it really seems easier than TYPING 101 Class: just let it flow, let it run, and you’re blobbing. Wow, we’re blobbing. Well, here we are, blobbers and happy to be here. This space in the future will be occupied by various observations, travel memoirs, rants, witticisms, and other wise uncorroborated opinion (apparently in blobbing, contrary to ACTUAL Journalism, you’re not supposed to either verify information, follow up rumors by checking them out for veracity, nor be sure what you’re saying is for real) which we hope will cause our readers and viewers (yes, as a photographer unleashed, images will find their way here too) to feel that Blobbing is the wave of the future. So enjoy We’re Just Sayin, because, after all, I mean, you know, We ‘re Just Sayin.
Apparently it’s supposed to be BLOGGING not BloBBing, however given what we’ve actually read online, we think BLOBBING makes a whole lot more sense (see the original film The BLOB, 1958 and you’ll know what we mean). Come BLOB with us.
Iris Burnett ( political operative, novelist, world traveller, humorist, entrepreneur, mother, discount shopper & now Musical Producer)
David Burnett (photojournalist, world traveller, beer gourmand, mimic, possessor of a keen eye and keen wit)
Flying is just not what it used to be. On our trip to Palm Beach we discovered that
Mr. Bland, who was asked to identify himself, had been upgraded to 3A. Wow, Mr. Bland is a lucky guy, he’s going all the way from 12 B to 3A. In the short term this was good news, but in the long term, people like us felt only sorrow because he is stuck being identified as “bland”, for the whole of his life. You can only imagine what that was like, which we did by imagining that people would shout, “try to be a bit more colorful.” (Or you finish the shout with something equally smart.)
That was amusing, right? Today we were flying back to NY on a plane that was crowded beyond belief, or maybe it just felt that was because we were sitting with our legs above our heads, in some kind of a distended yoga position. In the middle seat of the row behind us was a big elderly woman. The aisle seat was occupied by a portly gentleman and, briefly, the window seat was unoccupied. When the passenger in 11A arrived, the gentleman stood. Not so the woman in the middle. There was a brief pause while Mr. Window seat waited for Ms Middle seat move. After a few minutes and uncomfortable eye contact, the woman said, “Jump!” She was not kidding and he was a bit bewildered, but he jumped. It wasn’t pretty. The only thing we hoped was that he would not have to go to the bathroom. Two Jumps might have killed him. I was reminded that the mini-STOP signs at the club where we were staying (either meant for small dogs, or to make it clear the STOP sign wasn’t for cars, just golf carts….) would have been handy.
There was a horrific bombing during the finish of the Boston Marathon, about which I am not going to talk. There really is nothing to say, since the media covered the news 24/7 and made sure to tell us over and over that there were arms and legs all over Copley Square and in front of the Boston Public Library. Maybe we should change the name of our country to Americarnage. Too long. Australia is almost that length but seemingly with a few Alligator incidents, instead of violent attacks on children and people who like to run.
Speaking of Alligators (nice segue´ huh?), We spent the week in West Palm Beach, staying with cousins in their home, on a golf course where there are alligators, who don’t bother anyone, not even the Woodstorks (who did not go to upstate New York to protest the war, and stay with hundreds and thousands of their closest friends listening to music. Nor did they smoke dope or bathe in puddles left by gargantuan rainstorms.) Did I digress? One of the things I like about Florida is the tropical vegetation. For example, there are camellia bushes as big as trees, and some folks cut and shape them and use them as hedges. And there are palm trees and birds of paradise as well as lovely little birds, who, without an announcement, know enough to stay away from alligators. I also like the weather, the fruit, and the shopping centers on every block. You are never more than a half mile from any discount clothing shop. I could do without the people who drive their cars but who, at no time, can see above the steering wheel.
Anyway, it was a busy week for “Gefilte Fish Chronicles – the Musical,” which has yet to find a tropical home, but there is certainly interest. And the best news is that Zachy is six years old, cuter than any of the three cats in his house, and smarter than almost any other kids who are not my grandchildren. It’s my blob, I get to say anything I want. We’re just sayin’… Iris