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!