Going Through the Motions

Everyone likes to recall all the eventful moments of the past year. We want to remember all that was extraordinary and that brought us joy. When I rummage through my mind, I can acknowledge a lot of occasions to celebrate. However, this year there is only one thing, this single event that completely changes my outlook. All memories have to go through this solitary event. I can only say to you that I lost someone I loved very dear. I didn't know how much I loved him nor how important he was until he left. I do believe I wept for entire month. Whether that is accurate or not, I just can't bring to my remembrance anything else. Nevertheless, the tears soon evolved into anger. I was angry about losing him, about not spending enough time with him, and about how he left his affairs. The funny thing is that I know I conducted daily chores this year...I took trips, celebrated birthdays, and had fun. There is evidence of all of this in my digital camera. Yet when I take time to think back, it is as if that was a day or two and the whole rest of the time was just me walking in a fog. An angry tear stained fog was what greeted me in the morning and lulled me to sleep at night. All I did was imitate someone living. I didn't feel any of it. I wanted to break through the cloud and just feel something. When I gaze back on this year, it was a series of attempts to feel, to engage, to care. I can only hope I do not turn into a pyre of salt as I reflect on 2008.

It Shouldn't Happen Any More

What the hell is going on? When I heard about the Killer Santa, I was disgusted and almost moved to tears. On Christmas Eve, a man dressed as Santa went into a residence and shot nine people, and then torched the house. The only consolation was, he later took his own life. I cannot believe that as time moves forward, as science progresses, and as technology becomes more sophisticated, these events continue to occur. Is there no way to detect these people; I hate to say, even weed them out? As I write this out in rage, I fully understand that it is sounding a lot like eugenics. I rationally would never condone such a process or even the belief, but as I read the testimonials of the neighbors and friends that have come to mourn the loss of this family, I entertain the idea that this individual should have not been allowed to tread the same sod as his victims. What attribute was so compelling in this monster that the family felt comfortable with his presence? Did he find himself in such dire straits that his mental stability collapsed? I can sit here, and judge without compassion. I can harden my heart to his story, because his actions destroyed any capability I possess to listen. I refuse to know anything about him except this single act. It is enough to condemn his life, irrespective of any good he ever exercised. I refuse to postulate that he ever had any redeeming qualities. He was spawned by hell, therefore, he acted in such a wicked manner. I can effortlessly draw these conclusions. No one can fall into such a dark and disturbing place. How can one's mind surrender to that sort of violence? I must pause...to reign in my anger, hold it at bay, and restrain myself. I will put that away, think of it no more, and return my thoughts to "blue skies and rainbows." Choosing to compartmentalize the appalling of this world into a secure crevice in mind, restores the joy of the season. Damn this man for tainting a wonderful image like Santa. Damn him for desecrating a holy night. Damn him.

Girls Only

The gavel came down, and court was in session. The hen house's doors were shut, and no one was safe. Passing judgement is the inevitable right of women with life experience. The topic of conversation was the same as always...these girls in their twenties are nincompoops. Pardon my French. The declarations of moronic behavior were concise and direct. Everyone was aware of whom was spoken. Diagnosis took place without a hiccup. Everyone gave their two-cents worth. With a panel of experts like these, it was an efficient meeting of the minds.


"She is getting married too young. She doesn't know what she wants."


"She is so materialistic! She breaks up with this great guy, and then changes her mind only when he flashes the bling."


"She needs to stop having babies. She is just a baby herself. She gonna have regrets."


"Why doesn't she just finish her education. The longer she waits; the harder it is to finish."



"God! What are these girls thinking!"





It is obvious that when you leave this decade of foolishness, your hindsight is 20/20. You are qualified to let "them" have it. You have a better view, and can see what is up ahead. You should be given a medal for your ability to predict the future, after all, life has lifted the veil. That is why these "Feminine Mystique" summits occur. It is a charitable act on the part of Eve's race to impart to these girls the wisdom of womanhood...if they would only listen.

To Meredith...Merry Christmas

I Like this song by ABBA. It just spoke to me.



I don't want to talk
About the things we've gone through
Though it's hurting me
Now it's history

I've played all my cards
And that's what you've done too
Nothing more to say
No more ace to play



The winner takes it all
The loser standing small
Beside the victory
That's her destiny


I was in your arms
Thinking I belong there
I figured it made sense
Building me a fence
Building me a home
Thinking I'd be strong there
(But I was a fool, playing by the rules...damn)


The gods may throw the dice
Their minds as cold as ice
And someone way down here
Loses someone dear

It's simple and it's plain
Why should I complain?


But tell me does she touch you
Like I touch you?
Does it feel the same
When she calls your name?

Somewhere deep inside
You must know I miss you
But what can I say
Rules must be obeyed


The judges will decide
The likes of me abide
Spectators of the show
Always staying low

The game is on again
A lover or a friend
A big thing or a small
The winner takes it all

I don't want to talk
'Cause it makes me feel sad
And I understand
You've come to shake my hand
I apologize
If it makes you feel bad
Seeing me so tense
No self-confidence


The winner takes it all, the Winner takes it all.

Willona Would Agree

Do you remember that little kid on "Good Times?" You know that Norman Lear show about the inner-city African American family. Gosh, I am stunned that I am not an ultra left wing liberal. I watched a lot of T.V. growing up, and Norman Lear produced most of it. I did have my Gary Marshall chasers with Happy Days and LaVerne and Shirley to tone down the social satire. However, I was mostly influenced by the acid-trip that Sid and Marty Krofft took us on every Saturday morning. What I am trying to say is that Michael Evans, Ralph Carter's character, and Barack Obama are a lot alike. I have never seen them in the same room together. Is it me or is that a strange coincidence? I have thought this one through, and just hear me out...Little Michael could have grown up to be Obama. When I would watch him, I knew that this kid was smarter than anyone in his family, he had insight beyond his years, and he was ready for change. Let us not forget the "black Jesus" episode; for a kid to come up with that, he had to be destined for greatness. Everyone loved this kid. He had drive, ambition, and was well read. Michael Evans could have been the 44th president of these United States. He knew the plight of the common man, and was able to rise above his circumstances to achieve the American dream. I bet Oprah and Barbara Streisand would have endorsed him. Yeah... President elect Evans and of course, Penny would have been the First Lady. I don't have to convince you all that J.J. would have been his "Roger Clinton." A coattail rider, if I ever saw one. Now, I can't say much for Ralph Carter. He has fallen off the face of the earth. Thank God for TV Land, at least he is getting those residuals. I hope he didn't end up like those Brady kids.

Open Mouth Insert Foot

We have all said something we would have loved to have taken back. A tone in our voice we regret, a tidbit of information that did not need to be shared, or an opinion that could have been kept quiet. We all are guilty of opening our mouths, and believing that we are obligated to say something. I find myself continuing to speak, even with my foot securely placed in it. I just work around the muffled sound, by making more of an effort to enunciate. I wish this was a temporary condition, a momentary lack of judgement, a brief malfunction--sadly it is not. I used to rationalize it as "wearing my emotions on my sleeve,"or "being an open book," but as I have gotten older I think it is just as my mother told me, "I don't think before I speak." I do not engage my filter; thus my id runs amok. The wreckage left behind is hard to tidy up. Crap! The morning-after is always filled with regret and disappointment. No, I didn't? I said what? How can I undo this? How can I make this right? What was I thinking? Again? I have to go through the self-interrogation so I learn my lesson. This process is not as effective as I would like. There is no doubt that someone is asleep at the job. There has to be an avenger for those of us that are incredibly stupid. A hero to sweep in and stop the foolishness, or at least assistance with damage-control. Superego to the rescue!

A Charmer You Say

Having a muse is quite wonderful. It gives me inspiration, and I have to admit energizes me. The words come to me in the middle of the night awakening me, and dictating exactly what must be written down. It holds my attention throughout the day, guiding my intuition and logic. However, it is not flawless; this muse of mine is conflicting and troublesome. It is domineering and forceful. I can never say no. When I feel that there is nothing left, no satire to portray, no drama to disclose, no humorous story to recount, my muse, like reveille, calls me to perform the task at hand. Calls me to produce out of what I thought was void. Calls me to press on irrespective of desire. Not just ideas, but it fills me with well structured prose. Like movements in a body of music, it orchestrates each word and phrase. There is no rhyme or reason. I cannot fully understand its grasp on me. It is my passion, yet I cannot conclude why. It is my fantasy, my make-believe, yet its attraction is unimpressive. Nothing great about it nor extraordinary, yet I am deeply moved by its charisma. Yes, having a muse is wonderful, yet quite confusing.

Meredith is Black

Oh dear, Meredith has resurfaced. She tends to make an appearance every time I am getting too arrogant. If I think or am under the crazy notion that I've got a handle on things, she makes her cameo. When I am under the impression that treatment is over, that I am going to be released from rehab, and that I have earned my chip, my vice is back. It is not unique to me. The ladies at work have deep thought provoking discussions about their dirty little secrets. You know, those small addictions they seem to hold on to for future reference. The lounge becomes a confessional, and everyone is revealing their quasi-iniquities. The obstacle, the impediment, the obstruction that they know they should rid themselves of, yet they hand themselves over without any resistance, they are entranced, enraptured, and giddy. It might be as innocent as chocolate or as dangerous as buying on credit, but when the siren calls, when the bell tolls, do we not all jump? Do we not respond enthusiastically, "now, now" to our temptation? The gals at work with much academic research and scientific testing chalk it up to low self-esteem caused by the fashion magazines and those skinny models. I will have to participate in further deliberation with my colleagues, but for right now Meredith is back.

Once the Smoke Clears

I was thinking why people in this day and age still smoke. I have been told that it is relaxing or has to do with oral fixation. I don't get it. I am sure that it can't be an awful experience, because so many people continue to do it. I am just fascinated by the type of people I see smoking. I walk outside the hospital, and the respiratory tech is puffing away. I go to the gym, and the trainer is having a cigarette. The dancer or the singer is as guilty. I consider it odd that body- centric individuals have this addiction. Is it p.c. to say addiction? I don't want to offend...well, I guess I might have already done that. I am not suggesting that we round up smokers, and place them in quit-cold-turkey camps. I am not organizing their genocide. They have a well organized committee on it; I do believe you have heard of them, "Big Tobacco." I have to ask for the sake of pure unadulterated academic curiosity, why smoke ? If the performance of your body is your money-maker, if you treat the pulmonary health of others, if you push others to reach physical excellence, why smoke yourself? I subscribe to the notion that smokers should be people who are not physically minded. They should certainly not be health care providers. Aren't they going against some kind of oath? Doesn't it affect your breathing when you dance? Or damage your singing ability? I am just throwing the possibility out there that maybe, these career choices are compromised by tobacco. I am seeing the smokers' aptitude better suited for cocktail waitress, roadie, or custodian. This is what I see when the smoke finally clears.

When You Get Down To It

I believe in many profound truths, but there are a lot of "skimming the surface" truths that direct my thoughts, actions, and attitudes. Now my core beliefs do in fact shape my worldview, however, it is the insignificant doctrines that I hold dear which aid in my decision-making each day. For instance, I believe that popcorn tastes better at a movie theater than at home watching a DVD. I am sure the coconut oil and extra artificial butter have a lot to do with it, but when I am sitting in a theater and the screen lights up that tub of popcorn becomes the most delicious treat. It's magic!

I also believe that a spa facility is a necessity in choosing a hotel. My credo has always been, "a vacation is living better than you do at home." I do not have a masseuse nor an esthetician at my disposal, so if a hotel can't offer me this basic vacation necessity than I can't fork over my money. It is a matter of personal dignity. I need, and I do mean need, to have the ridiculous amenities that even Diddy would expect.

I believe that high heels should be worn at least twice a week. Let's face it, they are uncomfortable, damaging to your feet, and of course non-essential footwear, but they make my legs looks so cute. When my legs look long and sexy, it is like a shot of confidence into my step. I walk taller because I am, and I strut like I mean business. The right pair of stilettos can make me as hot as a supermodel, as cool as a movie starlet, and as confident as a business mogul.

Moving along, I believe that dessert and coffee are a must after a great dinner. I am not talking about fast food or those pseudo foodie establishments. I am speaking of the kind of meal that makes you rethink pleasure. The sort of place that has no salt or pepper on the table because the food is that good. When you have finished a meal like that, you are obligated to sit back, and reward yourself for choosing wisely. A well crafted dessert with an aromatic cup of coffee is the best chaser, and don't forget to top it off with clever witty conversation.

I believe a sleeping baby is the most beautiful sight in the universe. The little face with chubby cheeks in a quiet peaceful state reaffirms good and decency in this world. In the midst of the chaos, there is serenity and moments of tranquility.

I believe that the right pair of earrings can change your outlook on life. Accessories have a special place in my heart. I find them a lot like comfort food. When I am down in the dumps, they seem to make me feel whimsical. They are just an add-on, but they are playful. They serve no other purpose but to be fun, like pixie sticks.

I believe that buying online is best done at work. If you have that kind of down time, life can't be that bad. I have to admit knowing that I can put aside a project to shop online is evidence that I must be ahead of schedule. When that occurs, the dot-coms are the ideal reward. My work ethic is still intacted; I put my nose to the grindstone; I gave 110%, now it is "me" time.

I believe that driving in central Florida in a tropical storm is a true test of your driving ability. When you have zero visibility and you know that pre-hurricane winds are beating down, you tend to put on your A game behind the wheel.

Finally, I believe that summer is sexier than winter. Do I have to explain myself? Less clothes, more skin. I love the warm nights, and the lazy days. The tropical drinks and the fresh fruit. Staying out late and sleeping in the morning. That's sexy!

Yeah...the superfluous dogma might not change the course of history, but it is what puts into motion the details, the quirks, the nuances that make me, me!

Cheerleaders Wanted

I have to admit C.S. Lewis was brilliant. He said so eloquently, regarding friendship, that it is not a necessity for survival. There is no need for a BFF on a desert island. He likened the need of a bosom buddy to art or philosophy; they are non essentials for the daily grind. Which makes total sense, I always thought my college friends who were Philosophy and Art History majors were unpractical. When are you going to use that? What career pays for you to sit around and discuss the significance of man? However, he doesn't stop there; he continued by saying that companionship of a kindred spirit gives value to this existence. I know I often find myself meandering each day, fulfilling my duties with a cloud over my head. Like Eeyore, I respond in a most melancholy manner, and perform in a most mediocre method. Despite my gloomy disposition, I always encounter a ray of sunshine when a comrade at work emails me a funny joke, a pal shoots me a "how ya doing?" voicemail, or a confidant calls me over to get a cup of coffee and talk. Yes...when I feel like I am going through the motions, and I believe that no one is watching, no one detects my weariness, no one has a clue that I got the "blues," I always get a friendly note, a kind message, a word of encouragement that empowers me to push on with meaning. Friends make surviving have value. A meaningful life is the theme of debate for the philosopher, and the subject of the artist. This Gloomy Gus is grateful for the emoticons!

Ducks Walk and Talk When Spoken To

During a staff meeting yesterday, a form was sent around the room regarding different football teams. The long list of collegic mascots made me take a second look, pause, and say out loud, "Is this a football pool?" My direct supervisor answered very quickly, "No, it is not. It is a comprehensive study on the BCS systematic championship." Okay, back up the truck...What? The words systematic and the BCS should not even be uttered in the same sentence. If you explained to me as if I were a four year old and had Sesame Street air it, I still wouldn't be able to understand the method to the madness. However, basketball's March Madness I get. Moving on...I responded that the form required us to indicate "advancement," and to "donate" $5 to "properly" conduct the study. So I said with a huge smile on my face, "Walks like a duck!" I felt out of the loop. It seemed that this was very typical, and I seriously needed to shut up. I knew that being the newbie was going to be somewhat of a disadvantage, but it was as if I stumbled into a secret society. The others just looked at each other with occasional nods, and kept quiet. Did they go through some rite of passage? Am I going to have to go through "Hell Week," in order to be part of the group? I prefer to haze than to be the "hazie." After the blunder on my part, the meeting dispersed, and all day the others came up to me (with full intent) to see how I was doing. Is that creepy or what? How was I to know that a football pool at work was such a big deal? I guess this duckling needs to get in line.

And Oprah Said There Was Light...And There Was

Rumor has it, there is only room for one First Lady in these United States of America. The tabloids allege that Michelle Obama told Oprah that she and she alone was to be the First Lady. Yes, Oprah, consider yourself served! Now in all fairness to Oprah, does Michelle Obama actually believe she will have any real authority or power? For crying out loud, Oprah with one nod of her head can establish schools in Africa, touch lives daily on her talk show , and revolutionize our thinking through mere suggestion of a book she likes. That is real power. The kind that Scarface, Michael Corleone, and George Clooney have. The type that can get a first term Senator with little experience and no executive history elected into the highest office in this country. That's what I'm talking about! Oprah Power! The threat of Michelle is laughable. She can not compete or come close...she isn't in the same league. So Michelle, go to your charity events, get criticized by the press for your wardrobe, and perfect your smile to the crowds, because we all know that when the important issues come to surface, Oprah is in whom we trust. The title of First Lady would be beneath her. I'm thinking Empress of the World is more accurate. Let Michele have her day in the sun, we all know who owns it. Let her bask in the glory of the Oval Office, we know she is still your toady. Let her turn her head and wave as she enters Air Force One, we all know that it is by the grace of Oprah alone that she is even there. Long live the Queen...Empress, sorry about that, won't happen again.

Can We Review the Instant Replay?

I wrote a blog regarding keeping a window open after closing the door. Please review, if you have forgotten. Preparation is key to all discussion groups. With that said, I wanted to address the question of intent that was left unanswered. Is the intent to close the window or to open it up? If you intend to close it, then I am curious why haven't you done it? What makes you procrastinate? What are you envisioning? Is there an evil master mind at work here? However, if you want to open it up, then is there a purpose, a reason, or a scheme? Intent is such a funny little word. It is subjective, and can not be placed under any scientific test. It is so hard to prove. It is what makes all the difference in the world in a court of law. What is your intent? You are the only one who can answer this question. When you have figured it out, feel free to share.

Sucker Punched by a Kid

I met this woman over the weekend, and I must say she was fascinating. She had...and I'm not exaggerating, a glow about her. She was in the presence of her child, and she could only reflect all that was good. Unassumingly they sat together, speaking quietly as if they were the only two in the room. As we were introduced, I was shocked at how young she was, and began to calculate her age, how old she must have been when she had her son, and what products was she using. After an exchange of small talk, I boldly asked her to come sit next to me. As we spoke alone, the sadness and anxiety began to fill her eyes. She shared with me the uncertainty that preoccupied her thoughts. My heart was touched, and I felt like my attempt to console was very poorly executed. There were so many things I would have loved to have said to her. Words of encouragement, I would have loved to have extended to her. I hope she knows that my concern and understanding were very sincere. I know her grief. However, that was just a moment for when her son returned to her side, instantly her smile returned, her eyes lit up, and her voice was light. What children can do to our spirit! The worst of circumstances, the most confusing of dilemmas, the darkest of seasons, can be swept aside as you look into the face of your baby (regardless of age). They are able to vanquish the wrongs in this world, eliminate the absurdities, and align the planets. They possess a power over us bringing us to our knees with their hugs, and rendering us inept with their loving words. And...we would not change it for all the tea in China.

Hearing Silent Voices

Today is Pearl Harbor Day. We remember the day that our country was attacked by Japan or as the politically correct historian would say, "the offensive directive of the Axis Powers." It sounds clinical, and less adversarial. You don't have to recall the tragedy as anything more than a military attack of the past, an historical cause and effect, or an academic discussion of strategic warfare. The day is coming when those who were present or are able to remember the occasion are fading fast. Their deaths are imminent, their minds are growing dimmer, and their generation is reclusive. I have no link to this time. The first part of the 20th century has no living testimony in my life. The grave has swallowed all the memories and oral tradition. To reminisce and be taken through that corridor of time and space, to hear the first-hand account, to feel the raw emotions, to connect to the soul that was destined to recount and not undergo the suffering, such a perspective has no place in my current existence. They are simply photographs on a wall. I buried the past...laid flowers, and ceremonially said my farewell. I can only hear echoes, feel faint after-shocks, and see residual evidence of what used to be. I will read the text, discuss the theories, and analyze the future consequences, but I will leave the heart-wrenching discovery of yesterday to those who can hold these witnesses near.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I feel like a substitute teacher. You know the person who pitch hits for the regular teacher. I'm not just talking about the one who comes in for the day, and puts a video on to entertain the class. No, I'm speaking of the sub who is there for a week because the teacher has gone out of town for a conference. You see, the regular teacher knows her class; she has to get through the normal lessons (whatever normal is). However, the long-term sub is treated differently by the class. They pay more attention to detail, and want to know more about this intermediate instructor. They are more anxious to please, to give compliments, and to spend their break chit chatting with him/ her. However, when the regular teacher comes back, the infatuation is over. It is back to business. No more special treatment! Therefore, I acknowledge that my role has merely been that of a bench warmer. I kept the embers glowing until the real McCoy returned. I was an effective surrogate, but my time has come to an end. The problem with being a substitute teacher is that you grow attached to the class, you start to believe that you are the regular, and you are disappointed when your contract has expired. Shame on the class that makes it so damn hard to leave. If you had just been less amusing, less charismatic, and less wonderful, the transition to a new class wouldn't be so bittersweet.

This Old Thing

Tightly fitted jeans, a striped dress shirt with a couple of buttons undone, and a pair of dark glasses...this is the image of the cool, sexy, and sophisticated. Clothes are an avatar. It is the expression of desire, passion, and control. Your strut is fueled by the garments you choose. We take our cues from the red carpet. We worship at the altar of Vogue. You are not innocent. The selection you make is not random, but with much thought and accurate precision. You produce run -way calibre ensembles to make every head turn. Color and style are calculated to maximise, to enhance, to draw the audience. You know without a doubt that wearing red is breath-taking, posing in the sunlight is weak-in-the-knees, and accessorizing is just unsportsman-like. You do it with a degree of flare and effortlessness. The world is stunned, baffled, and because you are truly an artist, totally envious. What you wear is not coincidence, it is by design. Looking "hot" is your masterpiece; being comfortable is just a bonus.

Don't Pass Go...Don't Collect Your $200

Have you heard, we are becoming a socialized country? I knew hanging out with Canada was going to be a bad influence on us. The government owns the banks; they got the automotive industry, and if they can just hold out a little longer, I'm quite certain health care will be theirs. It's like we are playing monopoly, and the government is winning. When did bailing out mismanaged companies become a branch of government? I hate to hear that people will lose their jobs, their homes, or their buying power but let's get real, this economic topsy turvy didn't just happen over the past year. I remember getting the unrelenting phone calls about refinancing my house. The bait was to use the extra cash to indulge in something I knew I couldn't afford at the moment, and preying on every Americans' "instant gratification" weakness, it sounded like a "win, win." I get money for pretty things now, and later I will cry the blues into my scotch, the cheap kind, no blue label for me. It sounded like a good idea at the time. However, the fine print (excuse my language) bitch slapped us, and we were stunned by the interest rate. How did I agree to an adjustable loan? There must be a mistake? The pretty things, we were convinced were worth the debt, became dull and uninteresting. We couldn't reconcile our salary with our ballooned mortgage. So we picked ourselves up, and ran away. The banks got us into this now; they have to pay. See, the banks don't want your house, they want your money. The car manufacturers don't want to employ the "hard-working" American, they want your money. I can't say it...oh yes I can, health care wants money too, and to help sick people. If they can't get it from us, they go to the government. One wave of Congress' magic wand, and poof...problem temporarily solved. There must be a national treasure somewhere; there has to be. We just need to put Nicolas Cage on the case. Being socialized isn't that bad...wait a minute, are our taxes going to be raised?

Meredith Comes in Black

This character entered my life, and instantly I was connected, drawn, and bonded. Her lustrous aura welcomed me in, and created for me a wondrous playground...an escape.
You see every moment of dread, concern, or pain vanishes by her mere presence. Her eyes can render an accurate analysis of the chaotic mind. Her touch can comfort the heaviest of hearts. Her voice can relieve the anxious of souls. These attributes are an addicting hallucinogen, making you see a friend or a lover. It is a look that she gives that makes you think that you are more than you ever imagined, a laugh that fills you with overwhelming elation, and a word that heightens once again all your senses. I find it so difficult to pull away or put her aside. Like I said, she is a drug, a dulling narcotic from the toils of this world. My dreams have rolled out the red carpet, and given her the key to the city. Morpheus has arranged a quiet meeting place, a lovely spot that is indescribable. The rain falls, and suddenly in my solitude, she is the rainbow with a pot of gold at the end. I am overjoyed by the outcome, the precious gift she grants. I realize that time has robbed me of knowing her more, circumstance has deprived me of showing my affection, and the unforeseen has placed a chasm between us. My supplication each night is to have a face to face, a tangible interchange, and the warmest of receptions. I wish, I desire, and I am ever hopeful.

A New Rule for the New Millenium

There are certain people you think you have figured out, you believe that decisions have been made, and it is a done deal. However, some tend to create a ripple of confusion...a wave of "maybes," and even a swell of "huh?" I do wonder at times, when we close the door, do we intentionally leave a window open? Is it because we are not fully convinced that the ending is happy? Second guessing myself is a recurrence in my day to day. I hate to say it, but even shopping for clothes gets me antsy. I know that I can evaluate the cost to determine whether the bargain was achieved, but I am guaranteed buyers' remorse the moment the cashier hands over the receipt. The look of shock and awe cripples me; I think that is why the military favors this war strategy. It leaves me devastated...and completely bewildered as if I had no idea how and why this happened. Is it that we second guess, or reevaluate? Is it that we falter, or we can't go without? Is it that we are indecisive, or we want it all? You might think you got closure, you tied loose ends, or that the Q and A is over, but make no mistake the window is cracked open. Did you purpose to close it or open it up? Ponder and reflect, then be prepared to discuss.

Memoirs of the Criminally Fun

My brother is what you would call a mischievous, break-the-rules-and -see-what-happens guy. When I was growing up, he was my big brother, the leader of the neighborhood pack, the evil master mind. He always had a quickfire way of making money. He was able to convince my older cousin to open a casino in my parents' basement. Allow the shock to subside. Southern California is not known for attaching basements to their homes, something about violating earthquake codes. Believe it or not, we had a basement. We would go outside to the backyard to a side patio, and open up the raised, flat door that served as my center stage for conducting interviews with celebrities, my humorous skits, and of course my song and dance routines. The choreography was shaky, but it always brought down the house. The family dog, who was the director, made sure the people got what they wanted...oh, right, the basement. So my cousin, the fat boy who lived down the street, and the Supreme Chancellor of Pepper Street put together all sorts of games of chance. The nut under the cup game, card games, I think they were even able to pull off a roulette wheel. They had the entire neighborhood buzzing. Now money had to be made, so cheating it out of the kids from church, school, and the surrounding streets was the mission statement of this enterprise. However, my Donald Trumpesque brother did not rely solely on the "house" bringing in the cash flow, he charged a cover to everyone. Yes, he tagged on an admission, so if you didn't want to gamble due to religious convictions, lack of income, or just because you were five years old and had no idea what was going on, baby, you paid. I thought nothing of it. I was his baby sister; I wanted to play with the big kids, but equal access came at a price. It is this type of social progressivism that has always driven entrepreneurs to seek equal opportunity in "pulling the wool over your eyes." A shot of compassion must have hit, because I think my older cousin must have lent me the money. We walked down the dark stairs into the basement that was faintly lit, and marveled at all that they were able to accomplish. This get-rich-quick-scheme was pitched in the morning, and by lunch was executed. He was able to raise revenue in a matter of hours with very little overhead. The exact amount of money he made is a secret or at least a forgotten memory. I do recall picturing him and my cousin counting out bills. It was like Oceans Eleven, and the two of them were gloating over their scam. He did it again! We went along with all the crazy plots, pranks, and proposals. The Prince of Pepper Street was a skillful puppeteer, and we loved having our strings yanked. The funny thing is I don't remember any consequences, at least he would never let anyone know that he couldn't do the time, and it sure didn't deter him from the next con job.

Put Aside Funny for Fuzzy

Do you know what sadness is? I am talking about the kind that you carry on your shoulders like a weight. A type of deep penetrating sorrow that actually changes the color of your brown eyes to "blue," (of course). This emotion awakens you in the middle of the night with a cold rush of air to remind you that even sleep is no longer yours to enjoy. It is the continuous falling sensation you have in your nightmares, and the overwhelming panic you feel in the darkness of a back alley. It is the constant, unwavering gloom that holds you hostage, and requires a ransom that you know might not be paid. Is this merely an academic discussion for you? Can you really relate to this kind of torment? Is your sympathy genuine? If you are unable to get it because life has not dealt you this kind of somber existence, consider yourself fortunate, blessed, and perhaps, content. When you look at me, and see a fallen countenance, it is a momentary lapse of control on my part. I will collect my thoughts, stiffen my upper lip, and press on. If you inquire of my quietness, I will snap out of it and roll with the punches. If you look at me and notice that I'm somewhere else, I will carry on and rise above it. So this cross that I must bear, I place in a secret compartment, in a hidden nook in order to blend with my surroundings. This chameleon adapts displaying a cheerful coat, and no one is the wiser. Except for you...a fellow chameleon , versatile, playing to your audience, can you read me? Do you have a sense of who I am? Do you see me? Or am I fuzzy to you?

Tickled Pink But More Like Fuchsia

This means different things to different people. One might be tickled pink when you have arrived or even more so if you leave. I personally prefer the pink to occur when I arrive. The rosy blush of excitement on others' cheeks as they see me enter the room. A good entrance is essential for the tickling to be successful. I am certain that the Pilgrims were a wonderful shade of mauve as they saw Squanto enter the colony. People tend to giggle uncontrollably in delight when their lives are being saved. Starvation tends to be a downer. But let's face facts, many do find great joy when one leaves. These individuals are threatening, under minding or even annoying. When you have someone like this in your life, someone that you see very often, someone that makes you uncomfortable, you look forward to their departure. If by any chance, the link is severed, and their presence is no longer a matter of contention then the tickle is huge. I see this state of bliss as cleverly disguised jealousy. The anticipation of the status quo to return is the cry of the wounded ego, the insecure, and the fallen hubris. They are gone, and you claim back your territory. Although you will not see the dual, the shoot out, or the smack down, the exit confirms in the hearts of the onlookers that a victory was obtained...thus the pink and the tickle.

Striking While the Iron is Lukewarm

When you look at time as points of light, as dots on a map, as still pictures, you tend to notice a lot of missed opportunities. Because time is of the essence, choices are made at that very moment. You can't always decide based on all the information because most of the time you are only partially informed. When chance presents you with something so delectable, so enticing, so incredible that you are willing with all your mind to suspend belief, you consider the iron red hot. It is this isolated minute carved out especially for you that requires you to answer the question, "do I strike now that the iron is hot?" Is this the opportunity of a life -time? Or will I file this in my archive of regrets? If I take the time to weigh the pros and cons, will I lose the very thing I want most? Rushing in with reckless abandon seems ridiculous in hind sight, but at that very instance all that is apparent is the good, the outstanding, and the immeasurable. We can only take notice of the obstacles, the inconveniences, or the repercussions when we withdraw and in our solace ponder over and over every aspect of the proposal. We remove the rose -colored glasses and see with clarity the rewards if any. The scale is set, and the opportunity is truthfully gauged. However, time does not stand still, it insist on a response. Counting chickens before they hatch is often a luxury that many of us do not have. We consult our hearts, and hope our minds follow suit. So it is in our limited understanding, we take the chance, we go for it, and leap with faith. We say a prayer and cross our fingers. Whatever negative effects occur, we stand in solidarity abundantly sure of our selection. Because when opportunity calls... or text, we want to answer immediately. Knowing that you have left your phone in the car, you have missed the message, you have waited too long to get back is typically catalogued "failed to attempt." With Carpe Diem as our credo, we put on those wonderful rose -colored glasses, stare deep into the eyes of fate, and relish in the fact that this occasion will be filed under "opportunity found." Fate looks hot in red!

Death and Vampires Are Always Crowd Pleasers

When you have had to deal with death, the state of grief that creates a darkness that envelops you, a deafening chaos that clouds your judgement, and a hole of despair that penetrates your core that cast a gray tint over the world through which you wander, I believe then you can fully comprehend the saga of the vampire. This mystic creature that straddles both worlds. He no much belongs to the living nor to the dead, much like many of us in high school. These are the ones that are the embodiment of death, and when cleverly presented in gender ambiguous Robert Pattinson, one believes possibly that they can be combated, repelled, or even extinguished. A tangible being that is immortal, yet desires mortality. He finds no eternal rest nor the damnation that is merited. He is thrown into an existence of extremities. Every experience of pleasure, of pain, or of power is uncontrolled, and thus his demise. However, the conflicted vampire, the one that holds back his insatiable lusts is what intrigues us most. We identify with the creature of the night, the corruptible soul that is in constant battle of wills. Will the darkness and its desires overtake us? Will the appetite of the flesh finally be victorious? Or will the depravity of the mind enslave us? It is an endless debate, a fearsome argument. Either side is relentless and ruthless. Yet each night, the battle rages, and there is no surrender on either camp in sight. The pain of death produces a legend in which we hate and admire. The vampire escapes death, yet is sustained by it. I recommend you see Twilight.

High Holy Days

I am thankful for so much; I cannot describe in mere words, because of the deep and solemn sentiment that is stirred within me. All I can say is Black Friday and Cyber Monday brings a tear to my eye as I wait patiently. Don't be deceived, my anticipation of this most glorious of days is unsettling. I am overtaken with joy just thinking about it. This holy of retail days comes only once a year, and if you have properly designed your shopping plan you could find yourself holding a Toshiba Laptop for only $350. I understand your cynicism about it. The crowds intimidate, and one regards that cost too high for the amount of savings. The inept shop personnel taints the wonders and excitement of the holiday. The lack of parking makes it impossible to make your heart merry and bright. Yet the participation in itself marks the commencement of the season. Christmas is upon us, with tinsel and eggnog. We get to wrap presents for loved ones, bake cookies for neighbors, and kiss strangers under the mistletoe. The pure exercise of capitalism screams Bethlehem to me, don't you agree? Consumerism heralds the beginning of a Rankin-Bass Christmas. Charlie Brown had to admit that Lucy was right about the sound of "cold, hard cash" ringing in the most wonderful time of the year. So as you find yourself waking up at the crack of dawn to get the hottest deals, searching through endless piles of disorganized merchandise, and waiting eternally in lines, remember that it is all started in a stable.

Call of the Wild, Silly

You remind me of Jack London. Why do you think? It makes perfect sense. Let me draw you a picture. A robust man with health issues is the perfect paradox to describe the extraordinary author from Frisco. This unlikely literary giant was an oyster pirate. He was an early 1900's Captain Jack Sparrow. He cunningly romanced and seduced the mistress of the seller of the ocean vessel he bought. Does it sound familiar? He, then worked in the field of law. However, he found himself living a life as a tramp; modernly we would call him a "partier." He disregarded school. He fully enjoyed this "care-free" lifestyle to the point of arrest. His brush with the law was not in vain; it yielded a profound change in him. Do you see it yet? During the time he spent in Alaska, he sustained hip and leg injuries that he unfortunately dealt with for the rest of his life. The influence of two intelligent and business-savvy Republicans set into motion his worldview. He believed in a strong work ethic. He planned, projected, and prepared to "sell his brains." He envisioned writing as a business. The revolutionary concept of artistic expression for profit was his divine calling. Are the similarities eerie or what? He was racially biased. Does this statement confirm it for you? "All that the other races are not, the Anglo-Saxon if you please,is. All that the other races have not, the Teuton has." I am not suggesting this as a motto. However, that one has to resonate. His wife was what he considered the perfect Mother Girl. A young girl brought forth to be the Mother of his children. I am speaking of "the girl you bring home to Mom," the "keeper," and "Miss Right." However, he found another that shared in his sensuous fascination. The lust he recounted, gave away the connection between himself and the passionate sprite. Laid out in prose, his thoughts were of them in paradisaical Hawaii. How's the picture? Do you see it now? I see Jack London in you, and a little James Dean.

Let Them Eat Cake

I have found myself pondering cake. Well the metaphorical cake, we all would love to sample. We would enjoy to eat cake and then have it, but literally that is impossible, thus the idiom. I am convinced that there are some individuals that do enjoy eating and then having. For example, O.J. Simpson was able to rid himself of his ex-wife via murder, and then get acquitted of the crime. I'm going to have to put that in the eating/ having cake category. Everyone would like to get away with murder. However, lightening never strikes twice, especially in Las Vegas. It is not often that one can delight in two conflicting desires. You can't devour McDonald's at every meal without exercising, then expect to have Michael Phelps' physique. If you want both, you are not alone. How many of us loved having Mom take care of us, but didn't want her imposing her rules? If that could have been achieved, what 18 year old would ever leave home? Nevertheless, it is the ones that seem to pull it off, we watch with a careful eye and analyze their method of great accomplishment. When it is so frustrating to make a choice, or when you know the opportunity might not present itself again, we spend much time thinking about cake. It is something that we do. We like cake. I say, "let them have cake and eat it too."

The Lost Boys

There are a group of gentlemen I find fascinating. I love to observe the way they interact with women, other men, and each other. The first is chronologically the oldest of the group. He is what many would describe as the "Latin Lover" type. He presents himself as the classic Casanova. The seduction of women is his holy ordination. You know the "women want him, and men want to be him" guy. Although if cornered, he speaks softly, and is hopeful of a future with someone he could raise children with. I find the paradox sweet. The smoke he blows is very entertaining, and even though it is a facade, I have to admit I enjoy this part of him as much as his tender side. The next stud in this stable is unconventional. He is the James Dean of the group. The rebel without a cause kind. His stagger isn't merited by his profession, but rather by his appearance. His looks on the outside are reflective of what is going on inside. His angst and attitude are written all over him as billboards conveying his worldview. This one isn't going to be labeled, figuratively. I find him interesting because as he speaks regarding personal aspects of his life, I can see a testimony of it on his persona. Now I have to relay to my faithful readers a disclaimer. I am well aware that I can not be certain that I have properly diagnosed each personality. I am just telling you what I see, as I sit on the couch and merely watch a cross section of society. Please concede this point to me, and let us move on. The Alpha dog is a very unlikely candidate. He is no one you would pay much attention to if you saw him at the drug store. In fact, you would never believe that he has definitely marked his territory, and has made it perfectly clear to everyone around that he isn't going to give any of it up. I can see world dominance in his eyes. He has a plan...and it will be carried out to the letter. He is prim and proper without mistake. He is a model citizen, and reputable in every way. Yet, there is a little despot in him that comes out in a sinister look or superior nod of his head time and again. Now his nemesis is equally confident. He is regal in the way he conducts himself. He is the crown prince. He surveys his kingdom so that everyone is acquainted with his appearance and his position, but he seldom lowers his guard to reveal his true nature. I did encounter the royal in a casual situation where he did relate to the average "Joe." On the other hand, the newbie is quiet and unassuming. The investigation is underway to figure out what makes him tick. I hold this challenge quite seriously. I might unearth his clock (continuing with the "what makes him tick" metaphor), and discover he is how he is. A quiet unassuming man whose personality is consistant and honest. Or...it might be one of a series of identities that he presents to distract you from exposing his torturous past...but that is a working hypothesis. Finally, the last of the Lost Boys is complicated. His only association with this group is based on a freak act of coincidence. Fate drew him to this unlikely world, and he has acclimated flawlessly. The great fissure of the soul has him treading both sides of the fence. His dual personality works brilliantly to be dedicated to both camps. Nevertheless, when it is unexpected there is an overlap and a complete picture is visible. I find these moments a wonderful treat. He has the ability to execute his craft impeccably, and at the same time converse about the most eccentric and engaging of topics. Schools of thought, seminars, and discussion panels could spend an infinite amount of time disecting each one. This diverse assembly is an educator's dream workshop...a behaviorist's fantasy come true...or merely a humorous pastime for me.

May I have a Second Serving of Guilt?

I have had my fair share of instructors of different disciplines. I am one of those people that need to physically see a human being in order to be motivated to do the insane tasks I've decided to sign up for. I think this approach is deeply rooted in the Catholic heritage of my great grandparents. Blessed and holy guilt has worked to make me do so much in this life, whether it was good for me or not. Guilt has been the single force that makes me floss my teeth, donate to Feed the Children, and keep my appointments with my trainer. It is what talks to me when I'm getting a massage. Letting me know that there is laundry that could be done instead. It is very apparent in the looks of others. Those disappointed eyes, those words of discouragement, those sighs of disbelief are what put me on the straight and narrow. Guilt is so multifaceted, and goes with any assemble day or night. I can wear it around my neck as a stylish scarf to the PTA, and end up baking two dozen cupcakes. I could pin it on my lapel like a vintage broach, and find myself signing up for a book club. I can even put it on as a faux coat, and wake up to a 7 am golf lesson. I know it encourages my"plate being too full" lifestyle, but it does keep me off drugs and turning tricks. I have to commend it for getting me to change my eating habits, getting me to exercise on a regular basis, and getting me out of bed in the morning. I know it requires me to put too many irons in the fire, to be stretched too thinly, and to burn the candle at both ends, but I know that if it wasn't for guilt I would be irresponsible, unresponsive, and unrecognizable. Guilt made me tell my parents the truth about where I was last night; it is what made me go out on a date with Javier because he bought me a teddy bear and a dozen roses; it is what made me apologize to Mr. C the Spanish teacher for calling him a "wetback." Guilt has been a part of who I am, and will always be. I will cherish it, and hold it near to my heart...and I will blindly obey it.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Today, I read the most disturbing news. The announcement of the birth of Ashlee Simpson's son was unexpected to me as I glanced over the entertainment section. I understand that having a baby in Hollywood is very trendy, and it is essential for the advancement of one's career. I am sure that this child has a shot at a dysfunctional home like any one of our kids do. They just get the unhealthy environment coupled with privilege. However, my distrust of celebrities bringing up children in this world is evident in the choices they make in selecting their offspring's names. I mean seriously, Baby Boy Wentz will be forced to go to school with the name Bronx Mowgli...yes, from the Jungle Book. This kid is going to get his butt kicked on a daily basis, and who is to blame? Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz must have shared the narcotics in Labor and Delivery, when asked to fill out the birth certificate. How can teachers, recess monitors, or even administration be responsible in defending the Bronx Mowglis, the Apples, or Rumors of this tinsel town world? Can we honestly reprimand the Joeys, Bobs, and Matthews for pouncing on these kids? These artistic types are under the belief that their children are exempt from the playground bully. Will Gwyneth Paltrow be prepared for the rude awakening, when little Apple comes home in tears? Assuredly, these thespians, musicians, and entertainers will gasp on the day they are made aware of their asinine name choices by their own children in either therapy or rehab. Is it that difficult to find a name that won't tempt the other kids to tease and harass yours? Come on! Think of the poor children, Hollywood.

A Little Bit Goes a Long Way

The tease is that which makes your mouth water, your heart beat fast, or your thoughts fixate on its arrival. Whatever makes you want more of is probably your demise. It manifest itself in different and unique apparitions. A T.V. show promo, a movie trailer, a sample at See's Candies, or the smile or wink of the cute barista. They are all designed to hook you in, get you to second think your diet, or make you reschedule your prior commitments. However, we are all incredibly evolved individuals that can nip it in the bud. We are well-crafted masters of our own desires. No marketing executive has us in a box. Sure enough, when you least suspect it...it stares you right in the eyes, breathes down your neck, and touches your Achilles' heel. All the rational arguments you silently reviewed in your mind before passing Krispy Kreme's go flying out the window. You think why do I wait anxiously for the next episode, why do I circle the premiere on the calendar, why do I go out of my way to buy coffee here. It is something within us that likes the Christmas Morning wonderment. We fantasize of its extraordinary, firecracker-in-the-sky, out-of-this-world gratification. We hope it is everything it promises to be. The tease speaks volumes to each of us on a personal level. What I see, you pass by...what draws me in, you consider pedestrian...what stirs raw emotion, you find hard to even recall. It is what makes us put together our Christmas list. It makes us go out on Saturday night. It makes us enjoy empty calories. It helps us remember that the serious adult has the angst and foolishness of an adolescent. The impulsiveness and immaturity, we thought had been cast aside is just tucked away. The tease draws out the childish excitement that adulthood does a wonderful job of smothering...frankly, I need a good tease once in awhile.

Men are from Mars...perhaps, Mercury

Ladies lend an ear. I am convicted of this truth. Men are like pastries. Each one has a unique attribute that you won't find in the others. That is why there is such a large selection of goodies at the bakery. I can look over all the tempting pastries and breads, and know intellectually that they are all bad for me. How do I know this? It is very simple...years of going to the bathroom with other women, and discussing it at length. The fluffy, white french baguette man is comfortable and easy to talk to. He is the guy you find yourself too relaxed around and with whom you can be yourself. He is most defintely interested in romance, but you know he goes in the "just friends" category. Oh...then, there is the sweet, buttery chocolate filled croissant guy. He is the one you day-dream about because he lavishes you with compliments in his best Barry White voice. We all know these are the ones that are indecisive, afraid of commitment, or just happy leading you on. Of course, let's not forget about Mr. doughnut. He is great and wonderful, until you get to his core, and find out that there is nothing that can keep you interested. Did I mention the savory crackers? Those males that are intelligent, interesting, and savvy. However, they are selfish, self-indulging, and self-promoting. They can't reach any deeper than them. What about the bran muffin? The one we like to call Mr. Right. Now, he is good for us. Well, at least that is the impression, until you crap in your pants. You figure out that you are in dire need of flavor! Fear not; I'm not a lesbian. I just see a yummy array of gentlemen, but let's be honest, many are not good for us. I'm not saying women are superior in our intelligence or wisdom, because we will go back time and time again and hit the Sara Lee pound cake. The nice thing about eating cupcakes and Hawaiian rolls is they just make us fat. Men make us crazy...oh, and do we have crazy monopolized!

Playing the House

Have you heard of the pregnant man? We all saw him with his big belly on Oprah.
We stood shocked as we had to figure out if science actually did the impossible. Of course, we later found out he/ she was a trannie. I get the allure of getting your 15minutes of fame. Why else would healthy people, who have relatively nice lifestyles openly volunteer to starve themselves in an impoverished environment for money? The seductress of celebrity. She presents to her victims the beautiful and exciting world of press junkets, fancy social gatherings with TV cameras, and the all intoxicating recognition on the street, perhaps from the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi. Yeah, I get it...it's Psych 101. I want others to like me or at least have an opinion about me. Hey, that is what has kept Madonna alive and kicking for all these years. The public loves you or hates you, but they are talking about you. I recently found this said about me...which proves my point. If I'm the topic of your conversation during the day, than I have won. If I consume your thoughts for longer than a moment, I am the victor. If you think you see me on the street, then, my friend, put up your white flag. Others can form their opinions about me, criticize me, praise and adore me, but if their wasting their time on me then I have accomplished what I set out...FAME! Hey, I have no problem being a Thomas Beattie in a small pond.

When did Delusional Become a Bad Thing?

Have you seen newly elected President Obama on any magazine cover? Oh, that's right; he is everywhere. The press overdose has me thinking that his celebrity is legit. I saw his face on about four periodicals at my local grocery store. I happen to find myself in a short line, and was unable to do my weekly reading of current events. It isn't his foreign policy or his tax program that intrigued me. It was Washington's ban of his Blackberry. He is a techno freak, and I being a Luddite consider it curious that this is an issue. Let me assure you that I understand the inherit evils associated with technological devices. I cringe when confronted with a scientific calculator. So it doesn't seem far-fetched to me that the Blackberry is a security risk. I theorized that the Secret Service has lobbied to be the only ones with fancy Bond gadgets. But let's consider this...President Obama with a Blackberry looks like a Silicon Valley nerd, however, with an iPhone...well, that says 21st century Commander and Chief. I say POTUS is eye candy, not self-administrating. The whole reason, we employ such a large bureaucracy is to avoid security breaches caused by checking email, downloading ringtones, and synchronizing Outlook. The days of peanuts and jellybeans linked to the Executive Office have come to an end. My friends, that Administration is in the past. Long live the i(fill in electronic device here)!

Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

I had a teacher in 6th grade, and I can't remember her name, who hummed this little tune while she sat at her desk or passing out papers, anyway the reason I bring it up is because I bumped into one of my old classmates from junior high school. I was sitting at my neighborhood watering hole just chatting with the barkeep, when I heard my name called. As I later found out, this old fellow Comet had called out my name several times. I was so engaged in conversation and sipping my bourbon that I didn't notice that he was trying to get my attention. When I finally figured it out, I was stunned that number one he recognized me and number two he remembered my name. I mean it took me about ten minutes of mind jostling to remember who he was. Now mind you, I had no recollection of his face. It was his name and the fact that he "went around" with my best friend that he even registered in my memory. Wow! Does that make me sound stuck up? I am speaking of junior high. He lived around the corner from my family, and I hate to say it, I never knew that. He could recall my parents' house, and my dad's horrible gardening skills. He shot off people and events I had suppressed deep in my sub conscience. This encounter made me think about all the other memories I have forgotten. What is buried in my past that I just can't bring to the surface? Do I need some quality time with Dr. Phil? I'm thinking a session or two on air could help. I mean if I don't remember, maybe I could get discovered and finally get my literary career off the ground. I just don't believe publishers read blogs. Now Dr. Phil, if you do, and this is of interest, get me on your show. Oh dear...this is why I don't remember those of the past, I am self absorbed with my present. Mrs. Malucky was the name of the teacher who hummed that song! I wonder if she would remember me now...no, wait, I think it was Ms. Fellwalk. I don't remember. Great! I can't get that song out of my head now.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Children of all Ages

I was sent an email for a birthday dessert at a local restaurant. Now I won't pester you with which birthday it is, mostly because I find that giving out that kind of information only gives away my age...which is sealed "confidential." I am licensed to kill if that government secret got out. Vanity is a ruthless master! I digress. Seeing that another year of my existence is coming to an end or commencing,(I believe that is a matter of how filled the glass seems), I have to wonder if time is actually passing more quickly than before. When I was a child, time literally stood still. School was about ten hours long, Christmas vacation never came on time, and August was the longest month of the year. However, now the stores have Christmas decorations in July, the dentist sends me my six month check up reminder postcard a week after I've seen her, and every movie I go to see in the theater is out on DVD two days later. What gets me thinking about time's passage is looking at this picture of my sister and I as toddlers. The time that photo was taken there was no internet, no iphones, no DVD players, and no Oprah. The short years I have lived...and yes for those of you playing at home that is my way of saying I'm not that old...I can say that my life has been filled with amazing technological advancements, cultural progress, and medical discoveries that will be recorded by historians as a blessed generation. Eventhough reality bites...there is an upside.

Conspiracy Theory...Anyone?

Is it just me or is the economy really that bad? I mean, the media has told us morning, noon, and night that stocks are at a all time low, people are being laid off, and consumer spending is down. Seriously, do you see it. I still see a line at Starbucks in the morning. I don't know anyone who rides their bike to work. For goodness sake, the Madonna concerts were all sold out. Friends and I have sat around discussing this problem in depth. In the lunch room or after work, the topic is that we will pull out of this recession, but the theories on how are as follow: there is "the government is under new management thus the economy will get better" camp or "the economy is cyclical hence it has to run its course" faction. The theory I find more sexy and enticing is the "Madison Avenue Conglomerate pulling the strings of the economy in order to create an artificial panic for some future consumer control" junta. It's straight out of an episode of Mad Men. Whatever the cause and effect, the action and reaction, I find that we will always spend because it is fun, it is capitalistic, and it is down right American. So with over priced coffee in hand, a spa appointment at Burke-Williams ahead of me, and the minimum amount due on my Visa behind me, I theorize that no matter what the Down Jones says, Americans like to shop.

Regarding the Elephant in the Room

I got into a passive aggressive argument today. It was very polite and under a steady stream of control. It was a disagreement; I wouldn't say there were hurt feelings, but enough of a tiff to get a bee in my bonnet. If it took place on a playground, it would have been very similar to this: A girl and boy play nicely in the sandbox. The boy is making a sand castle and the little playmate helps. The boy's experience in sand castle construction is much more efficient than that of the girl's. This has nothing to do with gender, if that is crossing your mind at this point. As the side of the left tower collapses, the young boy relays familiar remarks of disapproval. He does sprinkle incredible laurels in order to keep the young girl attentive and industrious. After several attempts to keep the tower from plummeting once again, the girl gives out a sigh of frustration. In light of possible abortion, the exasperated foreman repeats his mantra of perseverance, but this time tags on the phrase, "you will do it because I said so." The girl rises no longer as a subordinate, but rather stating claim to herself and her ability to make choices that might be overheard as, "you're not the boss of me!" This is not exactly the way it happened, but it has the undertones of a fine vintage conflict with which we all have had familiarity. Adults and children are more alike than we often think.

My Administration Approves of this Holiday

Veteran's' Day is a holiday that people think about because they were reminded on the news or because their kids got the day off from school, and they have to figure out babysitting for the day. I find it odd that while we know and understand that we are at war, many do not make any effort to celebrate. I, for one, appreciate anyone willing to go head to head with possible death so that I can put my two cents worth on the Internet. Our freedom is costly and down right high maintenance. I enjoy it every day, and disregard its importance every chance I get. However, as I am reminded that today there is a man or woman sitting in Iraq dreaming of coming home to the mundane grind of a safe and comfortable lifestyle, I have to say thank you for letting me fall asleep at the wheel. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to throw a fit when there is no "good" parking spaces at the mall. Thank you for allowing me the choice of ten restaurants in a two mile radius. Thank you for providing an overflow of information, resources, and technology. Thank you to all you super soldiers that wake up to serve me and the freedom I take for granted. It's good to know that the morning news anchor made an attempt to get us all to remember why we were able to get up this morning out of a warm bed to complain about our lives.

Liquid Courage... Coming Up!

There is a nagging feeling that consumes me. A report is issued in my psyche. Did I accomplish everything I wanted this week? Did I interact with others in an appropriate matter? Did I sweat the small stuff? Did I smile more than frown? Did I look at my motivatational calendar, and take to heart the desktop pep rally? When I was asked how was I, did I answer truthfully? Did I make my concerns known in a respectful manner? Did I say please and thank you enough? Did I look others in the eye and ask with sincere concern how they were doing? Yes, this mental pest seems to fly around my head every Friday. Inevitably, I sit in my psychotic state with the Starbucks empire's rendition of liquid courage, and ponder, reflect, condemn, and ultimately repress this annoying psychological disturbance in the "force." I drink in the black nectar, and move along my day with a song in my heart...OK, its a Morrisy song, but it is a song.

Thursdays and the Fate of the Free World

I woke up thinking about the holidays. I do enjoy the hustle and bustle. The energy of the crowd, and the pulse of the streets filled with people. Southern Californians are so confined to their cars that it is a treat every year at this time to see people actually walking around. I rant because my heart belongs east of the Mississippi. I would love to live close to the corner bakery and bodega. I woud love to walk around the corner, and grab a pizza. However, this little country called L.A. and Orange county was set down on planet earth by aliens. No governmental entity could be this well organized! I am fully convinced that I don't live in any reality recognizable by the rest of humanity. I criticize because I love this place. It is not the ideal, or should I say it is the ideal. Many have planned this community for the safeguard of its citizentry, but the little fiesty kid inside me who thinks New York's fashion week should be a national holiday, still wonders if she could leave this paradise of perfectly designed residential and commercial zoning for the hundred year old streets of Boston. I am harsh and unreasonable. As long as we have Pasadena, I can escape from the cookie cutter existence of the o.c. Thursdays always make me think of such things!

The Morning-After Pill

It is a bitter pill to swallow for most Republicans. I'm sure the feelings are a lot between losing your job and your team losing the Super Bowl. I have to give my utmost appreciation and accolades to John McCain for conceding in a most gracious and gentlemanly fashion. I am not one of those citizens that believes that this nation is doomed by the outcome of an executive election. I know that irrespective of what politicians say during their campaigns what actually occurs in office is very much dependent on how well the governmental branches work together or against each other. Let me be honest, carrying out policy is not a matter of the president but rather a task for the House and the Senate. Let us not forget that there are a lot more behind the scenes individuals that wield significant power and control, and we didn't vote for them. I think I have fallen into a conspiracy theory trap. If you are a Democrat or Republican, the next four years will probably be like the last four years...another financial tragedy might hit, another Katrina might occur, or even another Virginia Tech massacre might take us by surprise. Bad things happen to both good and bad presidents. However, we still survive as a super power. It is just a roll of the dice to see what President Obama is in for these next four years. So to all my Conservatives, I give this gain of salt. Please take it with last night's bitter pill.

Greetings from Election Day

These are my first official thoughts on this election. I do believe "change yes we can in our country first" is important. As I write this, something familiar about that phrase resounds in my mind. I can't believe that we are finally here. Election Day! I mean, it is bit bittersweet to know that the ads will come to an end, and regular T.V. programming will not be postponed for debates and speeches. However, I perfer to see the democratic republic half full. We have an entire day of election coverage to push Dancing with the Stars to the Wednesday night line up. I can't wait to see how the insignificant states will make no dent on this election. I charge all Americans to be of good cheer. We embark on a new dawn with endless possiblities for our nation's future, and the return to family values that include uninterrupted primetime. God bless America!