Porn on the Side.

Sky Rodgers (818) 533-1358

Tweet This.

Twitter is like some socially acceptable and sought after form of paranoia, what with the “followers” and all. Who really has time to follow? Someone recently gave me a nice #beautiful compliment wanting to know why someone like me only had 72 followers. Simple answer: My iPhone twitter app, and Linkedin, for that matter, refuses to acknowledge that I am who my account says I am. Therefore, I don’t tweet. I don’t believe followers really exist. I have my own conspiracy theory about Twitter. People don’t really follow. They just join, and keep adding. It’s sort of like the email lists you try to unsubscribe to, but six or so months later, they show up again, like a weed in your Gmail garden. Or a virus that remains dormant. They keep coming back; be it from a local spa, a coupon scam or the Kabbalah center. If Twitter really has followers, then they are paid for profit individuals. Hired hands by Hollywood production companies, or independent entities. Companies need good ratings and branding, because maybe the Nielsen’s rating system has become inaccurate and obsolete. Words in the Twitter sphere are characters. When I think of characters, I recall interesting people; like Carol Burnett, Andy Kaufman, Joan Rivers, Amy Sedaris, Crispin Glover and his dad, Bruce Glover. But that’s just little ole me; someone with only 72 followers. 72 is very powerful number, so the Kabbalists say…

Shall I tweet today?

Shall I tweet today?

Twitter doesn't like Sky.

Twitter doesn’t like Sky.



Crunchy is Not the new Grunge.

Though a Rat sign in Chinese astrology, I’m not a hoarder. There are certain things that get left behind in life. For me, it was flannel shirts. None I actually bought, but were gifted to me once upon a time by BFs of bygone days. I recall several years ago having a brief conversation with a young girl about her footwear. She felt compelled to explain why she was wearing closed toed shoes on a warm autumn day In the San Fernando Valley, to “cover up her crunchies”. It was then that I first heard this phrase. I had covered up my crunchies during my entire pregnancy, and then, continued to do so as a new mommy. Waxing, on the other hand, was a bit of a necessity (see Wax-a-Preggo below). I hear the term crunchy now on again, and am informed enough to understand it’s the new word for unkept and messy, possibly bordering on dirty. This is the new hipster word for something my generation invented: Grunge. Every generation wishes to reinvent themselves; but in the end, we all beg, borrow or steal from those of the past. There is no such thing as an artistic license. As a young hipster, There was nothing I could listen to that my parents could not compare as a rehashed watered-down version of their own (the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, etc.) . Everything comes full circle. And feeling a bit nostalgic due to my recent birthday, I’m sharing this video, which would never occur to me to do, prior to my birthday. Kurt Cobain: You may not have loved yourself, but we did; and still, “I Do…”

Amateur Porn: an Off-shoot of Grunge.

Small Change.



Facebook is the new Myspace.

There’s a Wiki leaks, a Porn Leaks, and a variety of other leakish sites around, but what about Facebook? On the Facey Leaks site, you’d post what did actually  happen that day, and it would be similar and possibly more interesting than a very bad hair day. Your Facebook Leaks page would generate more hits,  and you’d find out who your true Facebook friends were.   Some forebode  Facebook will soon fall on it’s face.  If Americans didn’t spend so much time showing their good face to the world, they’d  see  more sincere faces on the figures surrounding them. But I know, It’s complicated. 

My Goodface Book Pic.

A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea. ~ Honore De Balzac

A blurred face is an honest face  ~ Sky Rodgers

Until I was thirteen, I thought my name was SHUT UP. ~ Joe Namath

I love you, Joe Namath.

SKY is on my FRIENDS List.


Love, Sky

RuPaul for President.

Liberal, Pretty and Pro-Titty.

 “Remember, this country was founded by a bunch of men wearing wigs!”…”Politicians are really like show people, people in show business — except that they have not as good costumes in politics.” ~ Rupaul

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall. Who’s the most undecided Voter of them all?

KISS MY 47%.

A “fan” wrote in to inform me that blogging about the Fed really killed his hard on. Oops! I can’t take it back (well, I guess I could), but on that note…

I gather up the belongings of the trash bag that must be walked out to the nearest dumpster every other day, which is located almost a block away from my home, and still always includes reminisces of dirty diapers, heavily cut with baking soda. Anyone who has been fired, divorced or has taken cared of a toddler for a few years, knows that some things just can’t be recycled. I then prepare to load the larger bin of recyclables, to a smaller bin located even further out from the outskirts of my apartment complex. Those of us in my generation and younger appreciate our non-recyclable social security accounts, as well. The name social security seems to be an oxymoron; but gone, trashed with many other “valuables”, floating away  into obscurity on  antique garbage barges of secured debt, defaulted loans and a ton of aluminum cans. You want to have a conversation about entitlement or privilege? Talk to a Baby Boomer who still owns his or her house. One who is still gainfully employed, maybe even after retirement, and who”ll probably debate the fact that he is privileged (as, he earned it). I typically smile, let that person speak, and contemplate reminding him that his classy middle will soon fall with the gravity of time in a world that created a false sense of space, and place. The only constant is change. Money follows arrogance, and it is not always polite to talk to strangers. Unless you are 100% Native American Indian , then your predecessors were Mojados. Our Founding Fathers  broke the law. They were criminals, who said with their actions, “Yes, I’m going to do this my way. You will have to come and kill me if you don’t like it.” The constitution did go into effect. Incidentally, so did debtors prisons, poorhouses, and of course, slavery.
I’ve paid taxes every year of my adult life.

Who Are the 47%?

KISS MY 47%.



Hijabs, Sanitation and the Federal Reserve.

In lieu of the current political timeframe, and because of being an isolated, sole-provider loner MILF , I only catch glimpses of not so current events, and sound bites of much ado about nothing I would put my sanitized finger on.
I choose not to get political, because the political is too personal for most. Also, it is none of my interest what your political views are. Being that you probably live in the United States, you still have the right to choose many opinions and privileges. My only concern would be that you would not have the right to express them. You can take the girl out of the United States, but you cannot take the American out of the girl. With that, I believe:  Yes, the Federal Reserve will eventually destroy itself (as will Hollywood), no woman on the planet would willingly diminish her looks by wearing a hijab (they are only worn to appease bullies), and that one syphilis outbreak will not destroy the business of Porn. Those are a few dim views; and here is one from above..

Sky is not so federally reserved.



My Fortune Cookie.

I’ve had four of the same fortune cookie prophecies since New Year‘s Day. Am I chasing the Dragon of fortune cookie prophecy in this Year of the Dragon, or, more positively, are all transactions profitable?

Fortune Cookie’s Closure.

This particular Korean Diner knows where to transact for Chinese fortune cookies. I keep coming back, and not just for the red jello wedges my toddler takes pleasure in.

(no jello-wrestling photos of Sky at this time). 

Securing my Fortune.



My Old School Ass.

I love Laila Ali‘s version of the Dog on Yo Gabba Gabba (and sorry to hear her actual dog died last month). I watch the show often, its toddlerrific . Ali‘s Dog is a slightly more complex, yet user-friendly version of the Dog than the oneI remember as a toddler. And whatever happened to the Dog Catcher? Can you believe, that in some of our lifetimes, there actually was such a thing-a mobile, public canine control and remover ? Who Am I (What’s My Name)?, by Snoop Dogg , is what I hum on from time to time, and it  begins with the phrase ” Snoop Doggy, Dogg“instead of “Atomic Dog”, because of my age; and that I was coming of age at the time of Snoop Dogg’s initial release (he is but a year my senior). I gradually revert back to the original George Clinton tune. Both references are now old school; so the bloom is off the rose, either way. And the fact that this CD is still laying somewhere on the outskirts of my bedroom probably constitutes being old school, if only for the fact that its a CD, and I don’t own a CD player. My toddler does, though.

Not as Old School as Vinyl


Sky’s Old School Ass.


This Train Wreck Loves You.

On this day in 1963, this train headed for disaster, and the 20th century turned on it’s heel in a way it never had before.


This Train Wreck Loves You.


And I love this Tornado.

Can’t give up acting tough/It’s all that I’m made of.  -Neko Case




Joe Tremaine and Me.

I recently outed my somewhat transparent Side life to an old friend of mine. This Side of my life is obviously documented, and documentation requires honesty; at least to those you have considered family. What a load off it was-sending him this blog link.  My good deed for the day?

Though I have not seen the aforestated friend in many, many years, something has followed me around for the past 20 years: the Joe Tremaine Dance Conventions.

Decades before all the dance competitive TV shows- which I will not bore and list- there were a few conventions, well-known to adolescent dancers nationwide. Tremaine was top dog. As a teenager, I never missed a convention in my home state. Anyone of similar background knows who Barry Lather is. I memorized Lather’s choreography to Freak-A-Holic, by Egyptian Lover, and publicly performed it, at 15, on numerous occasions. More than a couple of decades past adolescence, I discovered my neighborhood was a mile or so shy of the Joe Tremaine Dance Conventions address. I would drive slowly past an empty building on Vineland Avenue. I recall a few unfulfilled attempts to attend advanced modern dance class. Once was a schedule conflict, and twice the classes were canceled. I’ve remained a rolling stone for much of my adult life for mainly personal reasons. Joe Tremaine always finds me. What a gem of an ex-dancer detector. Freaky is as Freaky does.

Love you, Double J,

Sky xo

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