Self Expression Magazine

Worth Mentioning

Posted on the 16 October 2016 by Laurken @stoicjello

Dear SK130,

Received your note.

You must have been reading posts from years ago and if that’s the case, those were merely me going off an a political tangents with humorous undertones.   Or as you perceive them, ‘unfunny’ attempts at humor.  Not a problem, I’ve dealt with meaner critics.

Let me begin by once again, stating the obvious.  I’m not a politician, I’ve forgotten whatever I learned in Poli-Sci classes from college.   Over the past past six years, I have voted and that’s about as political as I tend to get.   And in terms of posting on this blog, that’s sporadic been erratic since 2012.

You inquired about the veracity of my background.   It’s all there, in black and white.   Based on your comments, I assume you’ve read the internet submissions.   But I’ll help you fill in the blanks.   I’ve been alive for 57 years, survived a couple of traumatic injuries, had my heart broken and glued back together, I’ve mourned my share of  deeply personal losses, had more arrears of faith than I care to admit.  I went to college and was a self funded student, no scholarship and no parentship for that matter.  I graduated despite a number of odds, worked very, very  hard and moved up a rickety carreer ladder, especially for women.    I could see my house from the height I ascended, no more, no less.   Hope that helps.

I watched the first presidential debate and felt hopeless.  I didn’t watch the second assault and unsure I’ll watch the third.  I learned of the VP candidate debates after the fact.      So, I can’t attest to what Clinton said, Trump did or what Pence assumed.    I’d never heard of Mike Pence prior to being announced as Trump’s running mate, but I DO know that he’s an elected official…a governor, right?

And I’ll offer you kudos for fact checking my career, and but please note,  there’s a lot of proof out that I existed long before this blog was born.    I’m retired now,  but yes,  I had a 30 year career in broadcasting which, included all three mediums.  As an anchor and reporter, I’ve interviewd my share of local, state and national politicians and I’ve reported on the electoral process,  but that doesn’t make me a politician, or an analyst or an expert of any kind.    I’ve had my day in the sun.   The shade suits me just fine these days.    I’ve never had any ill conceived motions of my career or the high and lows it might have contained.   If I  answered the phone at FOX while touring the news facility, I would never imply that means I once worked there.    I’m not that desperate.   Besides,  embellishing  one’s career is so risky in this day and age.   It’s not even worth making vague allusions.    You will be found out.   Anyone can call themselves anything they want, but the Peter Principle will always reveal the wannabes.

You’re critical of Trump.   I have my concerns, too, but I think it’s safe to assume that Donald didn’t achieve all he’s achieved by being an idiot.   He comes from money but has far exceeded the wealth of his father.   I find Hillary to be contra to everything I feel in my soul, yet one can’t deny her political pedigree.    And let’s not kid ourselves about Chelsea Clinton.  If this rather unremarkable woman had any other parents, she wouldn’t have had the opportunities that have been offered to her.  As for Mike Pence, well, he’s the governor of Indiana.     He didn’t get there by posing as a political hack.

SK, this might be beyond your years, but there’s a movie which was produced and released late 1980’s, called Working Girl staring Melanie Griffith and a host of Hollywood A- listers at the time.  Now in this flick, Mel plays Tess, an aspiring Wall Street ball buster with a Community College education.  Admirable yes, but she’s working for and with Harvard, Stanford and Wharton graduates.    She might know as much as they do, but they have the sheepskin and better CVs that can be vetted with a click of a button.   In the beginning of the movie, we notice all her mistakes; the outward ones specifically.  Her clothes are wrong, her hair is all wrong as is her makeup, she wears too much jewelry and possesses nary enough refinement to play in the executive ranks.    For a woman circa 1989, that is.   Basically, she’s from the wrong side of the Hudson.   She stands out for all the wrong reasons.

After being burned by her well educated, upper west side dwelling boss, she decides to make a broadcasting merger on her own.   Ballsy move  since she’s never risen higher than an administrative assistant position, but she’s watched and studied and observed the honchos enough to get her foot in the door.    She “poses”  as a broker at her firm, but she wisely knows her limits and seeks the help from  another broker at a similar firm.

Her uppity female boss breaks her leg while skiing, so Tess and Cyn, her equally big haired and bejeweled friend and co-worker, go to the home of her Boss (in) Tweed, to raid her closet.   Tess needs something nice to wear at an apres work function.   As they go through  the woman’s closet and see expensive dress after dress, most still with store price tags attached, Cyn questions why Tess is doing this.   She says Tess is a smart lady, but playing with fire in terms of attempting this gigantic leap into an area in which she’s only been on the periphery.   Tess scoffs at this.

Then Cyn tells her the following:   “Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn’t make me Madonna. Never will.”

I vacationed in London two years ago.   That doesn’t mean I have my pulse on all things British.

You came here to stir the pot using initials and a made up email  address.    I have no idea who you are, but I can only imagine what you are.   You’ve hidden behind anonymity  in an attempt to use that  your advantage.   It’s cowardice, really.   I loathe the spineless.     I loathe those who cut corners by pretending they never existed.   So, after this public response to your private comment, I won’t allow you to take up any more time or energy.   Stay in the safe, imaginary confines of your own backyard, SK.   I’ll invite you over to my place when you prove you have the toys and I’m convinced you  know how to play with them.

Until then, I politely invite you to fuck off.


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