Happy as a clam, is what my mother says for happy. I am happy as a clam: hard-shelled, firmly closed.
I said it's a cold universe and I don't mean that metaphorically. If you go out into space, it's cold. It's really cold and we don't know what's up there. We happen to be in this little pocket where there's a sun. What have we got except love and each other to guard against all that isolation and loneliness?
Clam chowder is one of those subjects, like politics or religion, that can never be discussed lightly. Bring it up even incidentally, and all the innumerable factions of the clam bake regions raise their heads and begin to yammer.
Sometimes, I want to talk on a song and be angry, because I am angry. Then there's always a part of me that remembers that this record lives past my being angry, and so do I really want to be angry about that? Is that feeling going to have longevity?
Now, why is it that most of us can talk openly about the illnesses of our bodies, but when it comes to our brain and illnesses of the mind we clam up and because we clam up, people with emotional disorders feel ashamed, stigmatized, and don't seek the help that can make the difference.
I am very far away from being angry. I really don't get angry most of the time. I am a patient person.
Do the Clam, do the Clam, grab your barefoot baby by the hand.
The only thing that I can personally turn to is compassion, gentleness, a willingness to allow myself to be angry instead of like why am I so angry. It's so embarrassing. I've got to let this go. I'm not going to be a good person if I walk around angry like this.
I am lucky to be what I am! Thank goodness I'm not just a clam, or a ham, or a dusty jar of sour gooseberry jam! I am what I am - that's a great thing to be!
I really am not angry with Linus. Honest. He's not angry with me either.
Dear White Fella When I am born I’m black When I grow up I’m black When I am sick I’m black When I go out ina sun I’m black When I git cold I’m black When I git scared I’m black And when I die I’m still black. But you white fella When you’re born you’re pink When you grow up you’re white When you git sick you’re green When you go out ina sun you go red When you git cold you go blue When you git scared you’re yellow And when you die you’re grey And you got the cheek to call me coloured?
If I am angry, I am angry. If I am angry, then I have to be calm, and to be calm, I have to tell you to your face what I think about you. If we don't agree, then okay, 'Bye!' It's no problem.
I can't stand having cold air blowing in my ears, so when it's cold at my house, or if I am outside, I am going to have my ears covered up.
Littlenecks and cherrystones are chewy and sweet on the half shell with mignonette, served raw. But a well-cooked clam is a toothsome, tender thing, full of that magical stuff known as clam liquor.
I make a wicked clam chowdah, and linguine with clam sauce. Oysters I like to eat raw, and mussels in either a white wine sauce or in beer with paprika.
Anger at happenstance for its absurd timing. Anger at myself for being so angry. I hate being angry and every time I got this angry it made me more angry at the fact that I was so angry. I realized though that I couldn't really be mad at any of those things.