The Montel Conspiracy

Okay, I admit it.

I'm one of those obsessive, sweaty armpits types--at times--that's always looking for a 'gunman in the grassy knoll' no matter what.

Seriously, don't get me started on the JFK Assassination, or I'll start talking like Kevin Costner doing Jim Garrison.

"Back...and to the left....Back and to the left..."

Heck, the jury is still out for me concerning Princess Diana's death, but I digress.

My point--and I do have one--is that many times I think the 'conspiracy' is there. Whether that means I need to up my dosage of Lexapro, or whether it's the intrepid reporter in me I have no idea.

Case in point: Montel Williams

When I have time, and the TV is on, I'll catch Montel. He's one of the least offensive daytime talk show hosts, in my opinion, and he's a military veteran, etc. Most of his shows are helpful, instead of "Who My Baby Daddy?" shows on that disgusting "Maury" show.

Montel's staying power is evident, as he's been on the air for over 16 years. But that just changed, abruptly, as several Fox affiliates, etc. refused to re-up their contracts with Montel. This, in and of itself, would not be a smoking gun, or enough to warrant a grassy knoll, however add the following interview with Montel on the Fox Network's morning program--Fox and Friends (how original), just seven days before he was axed from television, and it makes for good conspiracy conversation.



Give a big salute to Montel Williams--a true patriot--who dared to point out the absurdity of the 'cult of celebrity' in America. Don't get me wrong, I was saddened by the passing of Heath Ledger, as I am saddened by any young person who dies before their time.

However, four homeless persons in Atlanta died in one night, from exposure, right around the time of Heath's death, and it was barely covered by local news and, to my knowledge, nothing in the national news about these four people.

And that's what they were: human beings, just like Heath. I wonder who they were, what they did in their lives, and I wonder even more about a country whose government is bent on spending billions of dollars on a fraudulent war, killing men and women every day, who allows anyone in this country to go without adequate shelter.

With the amount of money spent on this war, America could clothe, house, feed every homeless person, family, in this country.

Montel Williams spoke a truth that Fox News wouldn't know if it bit them on their fleshy ass, and I do believe that it resulted in his show being yanked, primarily due to Fox affiliates refusing to re-up their contracts for the show. This diversion from what is going on in Chad, Kenya, Iraq, Iran, etc., by focusing on every fart Britney makes, or the next blond-haired ,blue-eyed teenage girl that disappears--thousands of minority teens go missing every day, and we see little coverage anywhere--is precisely what our government wants us to see and hear every day.

Well, that and watching Hillary "cry" on cue, after she loses a primary race.

Folks, if you believe you are getting "the real truth" from any network or cable news organization, then you must believe that JFK, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean and Elvis are all living on a remote island in Fiji.

....well, don't get me started on that theory, either....

Even better "Stupid" song...

Since I am on a roll with songs and videos, here is "Stupid Girl" by Garbage. Great lyrics.

Sometimes, one finds a song that says everything and I think this one is it.

Enjoy.

You pretend you're high
Pretend you're bored
Pretend you're anything
Just to be adored
And what you need
Is what you get

Don't believe in fear
Don't believe in faith
Don't believe in anything
That you can't break

You stupid girl
You stupid girl
All you had you wasted
All you had you wasted

What drives you on
Can drive you mad
A million lies to sell yourself
Is all you ever had

Don't believe in love
Don't believe in hate
Don't belive in anything
That you can't waste

You stupid girl
You stupid girl
Can't believe you fake it
Can't believe you fake it

Don't believe in fear
Don't believe in pain
Don't believe in anyone
That you can't tame

You stupid girl
You stupid girl
All you had you wasted
All you had you wasted
You stupid girl
You stupid girl
Can't believe you fake it
Can't believe you fake it

Stupid Girls....Stupid Women too

Over the weekend, I was listening to a fantastic cd by Pink, where she sings an opine to girls who think that acting stupid will get them everything that they want in life, that being a shallow twit is how to get ahead.

Thank God for Pink. I think every parent with daughters should make them watch this video and pay special attention to the lyrics.

As well, I think some women need to watch the video and listen to and/or read the lyrics. In particular, I'm thinking of a certain woman that I know, who continues to make very dangerous and STUPID life choices, even after she's been through the same situation over and over again.

How does one become that STUPID? I have no idea, but I certainly hope she reads this post and watches the video.

As well, I am sending it to all of my friends with daughters, along with sending it to my niece.

Lyrics:

Stupid Girls


Stupid girl, stupid girls, stupid girls
Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

Go to Fred Segal, you'll find them there
Laughing loud so all the little people stare
Looking for a daddy to pay for the champagne
(Drop a name)
What happened to the dreams of a girl president
She's dancing in the video next to 50 Cent
They travel in packs of two or three
With their itsy bitsy doggies and their teeny-weeny tees
Where, oh where, have the smart people gone?
Oh where, oh where could they be?

Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl
Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

(Break it down now)
Disease's growing, it's epidemic
I'm scared that there ain't a cure
The world believes it and I'm going crazy
I cannot take any more
I'm so glad that I'll never fit in
That will never be me
Outcasts and girls with ambition
That's what I wanna see
Disasters all around
World despaired
Their only concern
Will they **** up my hair

Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl
Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

[Interlude]
Oh my god you guys, I totally had more than 300 calories
That was so not sexy, no
Good one, can I borrow that?
[Vomits]
I WILL BE SKINNY

(Do ya thing, do ya thing, do ya thing)
(I like this, like this, like this)
Pretty will you **** me girl, silly as a lucky girl
Pull my head and suck it girl, stupid girl!
Pretty would you **** me girl, silly as a lucky girl
Pull my head and suck it girl, stupid girl!

Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, stupid girl!

Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back
Porno Paparazzi girl, I don't wanna be a stupid girl
Baby if I act like that, flipping my blond hair back
Push up my bra like that, I don't wanna be a stupid girl

R.I.P.:Shasta 1996--2008

Yesterday morning--ironically, Elvis' birthday-- I received word from my mother that one of our beloved family dogs had to be put down.

Shasta came to us, as many of the dogs that my family owned over the years, quite by accident. Our next door neighbor owned Shasta and her partner in crime, Lady, and both dogs would escape from their own fenced in prison, as if they were escaping from Alcatraz.

Once they got out, they had the run of the neighborhood, but for some reason they would return to our house, not to their own house.

We'd see Shasta and Lady at the top of the hill, scream "Shasta-kis and Lady-kins" and Shasta's tail would be straight up, in a corkscrew sort of way, and she'd be wagging it and running down to the house.

This was a daily occurrence, until a couple of days-in-a-row passed and we didn't see either dog. I finally could not stand it any longer and asked my neighbor what happened.

"My husband got mad because our son won't watch his dogs, so he threw them in the back of the truck and took them to the Atlanta Humane Society," said his wife.

I was mortified.

Then, she added," He told me that Lady fell out of the truck on Interstate 85...I'm really angry with him."

Yeah? Not as angry as I was. I wanted to take a lead pipe to his head. Poor Lady.

But when my brother--we used to tell him his middle name was "Dog"--found out about Shasta and Lady, he went ballistic.

With the okay from my mother, he went down to the Atlanta Humane Society to find Shasta. He said that she was all the way in the back of the place, in her own 'cage,' looking sad, and he said "Shasta-kis," and she looked up, but still couldn't see my brother.

He said it again, louder, "SHASTA-KIS" and she jumped up, saw David and came running toward him, whimpering and all excited.

He brought her home, and after a few days of confusion and upset over her best friend, Lady, being gone, she quickly fit into the menagerie of dogs and cats at the house.

We found out, from a woman who was out when we were walking with Shasta, that she was quite possibly an Australian Blue Tick.Hound variation, and she was a "digger."

Even when I tried to be mad at her, for digging out a spot to escape the huge fenced-in backyard, there was no way that I could be mad at her. You could judge where she was in the neighborhood by the barks of all of the "friends" she just had to visit.

It would end up with Shasta coming home about 45 minutes after she dug out of the fence, wondering if she was going to get in trouble. Looking into those big brown eyes of hers, I totally understood her need to be Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape," even down to all of us taking huge concrete blocks to block every weak area of the fence.

It didn't matter. Shasta would spend hours trying to find another spot, refusing to come in the house when called, until she would find another way to get out and party.

You gotta love that spirit! As she got older, she had to endure introduction to more stray animals, including the last edition at my mother's house: Milly. Milly is a Jack Russell mix, a big yapper, and she got on Shasta's last nerve.

God love her, Shasta was such a good girl. I should have known something was up, the last time I house-sat for my mom, when Shasta--who usually couldn't wait to take a long walk in the morning--could not keep up anymore and seemed to want to go home.

I attributed it to arthritis, but it was not arthritis. One of my last encounters and memories of Shasta, or "Shas-E-Frass" as I called her, was Shasta refusing to come inside on a warm, sunny day a couple of months ago.

I knew where I would find her. She was laying in front of her last escape route, which was sealed over, and she looked up with her sad brown eyes and pleaded for me to let her go. I couldn't do it, because my mom's neighborhood has gotten worse, and it's not safe for her to roam, but I so wanted to.

I coaxed her into the house and loved on her for a long time, pushing crazy Milly away, and I had the feeling something was not right.

My mother said that over the past few days, Shasta had been making BM's that were black as tar, loose and bloody. Not good. As well, my mom said she didn't want to move and was losing her bladder, etc.

She wrapped up our Shasta in her arms and took her to our vet of 28 years, and when the Vet techs came to greet her, they already knew what was going on.

She was bleeding internally and her organs were shutting down, and it was time for Shasta to cross over the "Rainbow Bridge.'

I guess it's corny, but I broke down and sobbed like a baby when my mother told me. I loved that dog, and she was always a fighter and survivor. This was the one time she couldn't find an escape route out of it.

Mom said that Shas seemed to sense what was happening and my mom said she placed her hands on Shasta as they gave her "the shot," and said, "You gave her to us, God, now please welcome her back to you."

Shas-E-Frass, I am going to miss you something terrible, and thank you for all of the fun, love, companionship and irritating barks at 5:30am in the morning.

I know you are up there playing with Blackie, Evita, Sam, BiBi, and last but not least, your best pal, Lady.

Happy New Year and all that jazz...

Greetings patient readers! I have not kept up with my blogging duties as well as I should, but, as usual, it has been a crazy, crazy holiday season for Susan and me.

First, Susan had her much anticipated concert with the Our Song choir, here in Atlanta. In the weeks leading up to the concert, Susan had a terrible sinus infection. We were not sure if she was even going to be well enough to perform, but with 'better living through chemistry' she got on the right meds and was able to perform magnificently, if I do say so myself...and, well, I do.

She was as beautiful as I have ever seen her, and as many of our friends and family commented too.

I will post a picture. Her voice was in good form, and she got through her solo bits and a beautiful trio flawlessly.

For me, I was on a holiday deadline with three articles due for one publication--which I am still on today, with one article due by New Year's Eve day--and I took over as "gift buyer" this year, since Susan says I am the one who knows what to get everyone.

Add to the mix that I had to spend a week in Savannah, making my stubborn and ill-tempered father go to the doctor.His feet have been swollen twice the size as normal, and when we went to see him in October, he couldn't even walk without a cane!

I made him take of his shoes and socks and I thought I was going to scream when I saw his feet and ankles.

My father gets on my last nerve, for many reasons, but the fact that his pride makes him refuse to see a doctor, when he has Diabetes and other issues, rankles me to no end. I was ready to lay into him, but Susan--realizing that my head was about to pop off, and knowing that it would only make my father more stubborn--stepped up to the plate and calmly told my dad that he really needed to see a doctor.

He finally admitted that he was scared, so I told him that I would find a doctor for him, come down there and take him to the appointment myself, etc. That's just what I did.

I stayed a week, and while I was there I managed to get an interview with a convenience store owner that I had been trying to wrangle an interview from for months, so that was good. Anyway, I took my dad to "Dr. Arrogant," as I call him

Don't get me wrong. The guy knows what he is doing, but he was a real jerk as far as his ego is concerned. It was a stressful week, because my father has a knack for lying to doctors, and I kept catching him lying, so I would tell what was really going on to the nurse and doctor, and my dad was getting really angry with me.

I didn't care.

So, my trip culminated with my father having a blood clot in his right leg, and him yelling at me on the way home from that visit, when I told him he was going to have to be careful and really do what the doctor told him to do about his feet, legs and the blood clot.

He went off on me, as if I were a 12-year-old kid, telling me that I needed to "shut up" and that I "didn't really care about him."

Oh boy...let me tell you, I quickly stuck my car in park, locked the doors and let him have it. I don't think I've ever done that with him before, when he's been an abusive jerk, but there was no way he was going to talk to me like that.

Though I don't like to do it, I had to yell over him over and over, until I was the loudest one, and he had no choice but to listen to what I had to say.

For the first time, my father was speechless. As well, as I dropped him off and left Savannah, he was very worried that I would never speak to him again. I assured him that I would, but that I would not allow him to speak or to treat me that way ever again.

When I got home from Savannah, I had an email waiting for me. For the first time in my adult life, my father apologized for his actions, told me that he loved me for coming down and taking him to the doctor, and he said that I was right all along. He did need to see a doctor.

Now, I don't hold my breath that the man has changed completely, but I was surprised that he 'got it' about his health and my concern for him.

So, reeling from that week, I went right into to deadline mode. As well, we had to sing with our church choir, bake cookies for the ladies in the shelter at the church, make Christmas bags for our friends and neighbors.

It was an E-ticket ride up until we left to go to our cabin on the 23rd. Both of us were completely worn out, but once we got to the little town of Murphy, NC, and to our cute little cabin in the hills, it was like night and day.

Both of us were able to relax--there was a private jacuzzi on the back porch--and have a nice, quiet Christmas--just the two of us and no dysfunctional family--together.

I surprised Susan with rings this year. I had not planned to do that, as I had been turned off on the idea, after a friend of ours kept collecting rings from her multiple "partners" after knowing them for a month or so, then the relationship would not work out, and she'd keep the ring.

It just seemed so silly and 7th grade, when I watched what she was doing, that neither Susan or I wanted it to have so little meaning. However, when we went to Savannah in October, Susan kept looking at Celtic rings, etc. I knew that she wanted something, since the black vinyl rings we had previously worn, to symbolize the fact that gays and lesbians cannot marry in this country, had broken.

I relented and found some rings that I could afford, as well as being rings that I knew Susan would love. We both are not into diamonds, given how most diamonds are harvested--read a book entitled Blood Diamond, if you want to know the real story--and how so many folks in Sierra Leone and other areas of Africa have lost limbs and their lives over the harvesting of diamonds. Diamonds are lovely, but they represent total greed to me.

I settled on two sterling silver bands, with the following words--I believe it's in Gaelic-- etched into each ring:

One ring to show our love
One ring to bind us
One ring to seal our love
And forever to entwine us

Susan loved the rings, and I had an "Elvis" Christmas, which suited me just fine, along with a boxed set of Johnny Cash songs!!! It was great. Along with the rings, I gave Susan a "Melissa Etheridge" Christmas, which suited her just fine. I was able to find and buy some Missy E concert T-shirts, and a sweatshirt, along with Rufus Wainwright's tribute to Judy Garland. She loved it.

So, here it is New Year's Eve 2007, and it's been a year of surprises and change, some good, some odd, and some that needed to occur even though I didn't know it at the time.

I've moved up in the writing world. I haven't won the Pulitzer, but I'm finally starting to make a respectable living at freelance writing. We've made new friends, which is great, and even with the bumps in the road, all in all, I am happy and I know that I am loved.

It's a good feeling.

Here's to 2008.

Susan, looking very beautiful:

The Gifts of the Red Tailed Hawk

As it is our custom every morning, my neighbor and friend Donna and I took our morning walk. We try to walk about 2.5 miles every morning. Sometimes we make it and other times we don't. Either way, it's good for us both to get out, since we primarily work from home.

Lo and behold during our walk, yesterday, we were witness to a beautiful hawk, perched in one of the trees in our condo community.
We were so excited, and I ran home to get my camera, while Donna grabbed her binoculars. We believe it is a Red Tailed Hawk, after looking at the pictures. It was gorgeous, and it seemed to wait for us, allow us to snap some pictures, and then promptly and majestically flew from the tree.

That encounter, alone, made my whole morning, but the events of the rest of the day were even more interesting.

After we saw the hawk, I helped Donna take a bunch of large boxes to the trash compactor, and out of the blue, a guy that was there emptying his trash, took over and took all of the boxes and put them in the compactor. We didn't even know who he was, but he did it all. Very nice thing.

Later in the day, Donna called me and said, "Hey what are you doing tonight? Do you want to go see John Fogerty in concert?"

What??? Are you kidding??? I said, "well, how much does it cost?" and she said, "Oh, honey it doesn't cost a thing, I got the tickets FOR FREE!!!"

Another neighbor of ours, that I have not met, but will do so now, was not able to go to the concert so he handed the tickets to Donna.

Not only were they free, but they were incredible seats at the new Cobb Energy Centre, here in Marietta.

Fogerty has not lost his touch, since his days with Creedence Clearwater Revival. This guy played, non-stop, for two hours. His band was smokin'--no joke. What an even bigger treat to know that Billy Burnette was one of his guitarists.

One of the most touching parts of the rocking concert was John's song concerning Iraq, while looking back at the Vietnam war as well. While he sang the song, "Deja Vu All Over Again," a video played, with all sorts of images from Iraq and Vietnam. It was very moving.

Fogerty rocked the roof off of the gorgeous venue.

This is one of those almost perfect days, that rarely happen. Donna and I couldn't figure out what we had done to receive that sort of Karmic gift, but then I read a little about the Red Tailed Hawk.

It seems that this particular bird of prey is held sacred by many Native American tribes, and here's what I found on a particular Web site:


Pueblo peoples referred to them as "red eagles" and felt that red-tailed hawks, like the eagle, had a special connection with the sky and the sun. Because hawks are high fliers who can see the earth clearly from their heights, their feathers were often used ceremonially to carry prayers to the sun and the Creator. Hawk feathers, as well as eagle, were also used in healing ceremonies. Southwestern people used them in ceremonies to pray for rain. To the Ojibwa, the Red-tailed Hawk clan was on of the leadership clans. Its members have the gifts of deliberation and foresight.

From what I understand, as well, when you see one of these birds, it means that good luck is coming to you.

I'd say, from everything that happened yesterday, this is true.

Donna says this is the Red Tailed Hawk, but I am not so sure. Take a look at the pictures for yourself, and if there is anyone looking at the pictures who knows about raptors and birds of prey, let me know if this is the Red Tail Hawk or a different hawk.

It's beautiful nonetheless.

It's these rare moments that make life so worth living.

And FOGERTY ROCKS!!!!

Enjoy the pictures.

Wanda Sykes For President!

That's all I have got to say about that!

My stomach is aching from laughing at one of her pranks on Comedy Central's "Crank Yankers." Basically, that show is a replica of the work from "The Jerky Boys," but this nugget is one of the most funny bits I have ever heard, period.

Wanda Sykes is one of the THE funniest ladies I have ever seen or heard. If scatological humor--hence hearing the word "turd" or "shit" bothers you--do not click play.

Well, enough of me rambling here. Just watch/listen to the prank:

"Attend me, you wench"

No,

This is not what I say to Susan when I want a little "somethin' somethin," although I have now threatened that it is what I will say in the future.

If you could see the look on Susan's face when I said that. Well, let's just say I was sufficiently frightened. ha.

For part of my birthday gift, Susan took me to "Medieval Times," in nearby Duluth, GA. It was a blast, really.

Part of my fascination with this franchise is the fact that it IS a franchise. I think they have them all over the U.S., and the part of me that really loves cheesy things like this was just itching to go. At the same time, I had heard that the performers were very good, given their limitations and the audience.

I really wanted to find out whether the serving wenches, king, queen, knights, etc., spoke with a southern accent, not unlike when I went to Helen, GA--the southern version of a Bavarian city--and the waitress at the German restaurant, clad in lederhosen, said with her nasally southern twang, "Ya'll want some Schnitzel?" I kid you not.

Hitler's moustache would have twirled, had he heard her.

My smile was huge as we were in line waiting to go in, and they had two "heralds" actually playing the long trumpets, inviting us to the kingdom of "King Alfonzo," or "Fonzie" as I affectionately

nicknamed him.

From the moment we stepped into the huge waiting area, I knew this was going to be great on many levels.

First off, they put paper crowns on our heads, not unlike the one's at Burger King, with our knight's colors, then we were whisked away to have a picture taken with "The Queen." Of course, I walked toward a very effeminate young man, but Susan steered me to the real, ah-hem, queen!

Does it get any better than this?

Oh, yeah it does.

The waiting area, with "Ye Olde Tavern" up-front, with ever so Medieval "Fat Tuesday" daiquiri and margarita-making machines.

That's right. I do remember reading about these machines in a book about Henry VIII. I believe Anne Boelyn requested them.

Seriously, the fireplace is fantastic. I'd love to have a home and install such a huge fireplace. It was rather cozy, and after the bar wench loaded my daiquiri with a lot of Rum, and I carted it away in my super cool "Medieval Times" plastic cup that LIGHTS UP ON THE BOTTOM (whoo hoo!), I was almost drunk by the time we were called into the "arena."

Oh yeah, the gift shop wench tried to entice us into the dungeon--eyebrow raised--and we were game, until she told us it would cost another 2 dollars.

The arena itself was great, but what really spoiled the "Medieval mood" for me had to be the hocking of the "royal glow-in-the-dark swords," etc. I mean, this is schlocky to begin with, but I highly doubt that historians will ever uncover King Henry's "glow-in-the-dark dagger" anytime soon.

The coolest part, actually, apart from the knights in mortal combat, was when the Royal Falconer came center stage and this gorgeous falcon was let loose on the crowd. It's trained to fly the length of the whole arena, and it was a magnificent sight to behold. It really was.

Thank God it didn't rain "royal poop" while the falcon made it's way around the arena.

Our serving wench, Jasmine, was par excellent! I'd say, if you just want to go to have a good time, and not take things so seriously, it is a blast.

My Birthday...

I was completely satisfied with my experience at Medieval Times, even when the "mysterious oracle" sounded like a cross between Barry White and Ork from "Mork and Mindy,"but then I was waiting and gearing up for my free birthday meal from a local Italian restaurant.

What made my day even more special was the fact that a new friend was able to join us for my birthday dinner.

She gave me the coolest card with the following quote from Emerson, as she knew it was exactly what I needed to hear right now. She also picked up the tab!! That was very sweet, period.

I thought I would share it with those who have been faithful readers, even when I lag behind on updated posts, as it's one of the best Birthday cards I've received in years. It's a keeper, along with the person who gave the card.

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

I needed to read this, as I had been very hurt (and I am sure I hurt that person too) by someone I foolishly considered a true friend, and even when I tried to admit my own shortcomings and blunders, this person rubbed my nose in things further. The bad part is, this type of behavior had happened previously with this same person, and I really thought she had changed. Sadly, she has not. What she thinks is a "change" is merely the same neurotic behavior repeated again.

It hurt to feel duped, yet again, and to be cast off so easily, for no real reason other than I spoke up and said, "why did you make this comment? It really hurt my feelings." From there, it just went downhill. Nasty barbs sent back and forth. Some assertions I didn't even understand, really. After reading a little about Narcissistic behavior characteristics, I realize that I am the ultimate target for a Narcissist. It stands to reason that I would be attracted to that type of person, since my own mother has many Narcissist traits.

I'm certainly not saying I don't have my own issues and shortcomings. I am the first one to admit to my "blunders" and "absurdities," but I really thought this friendship was a true friendship.That's where I went wrong. Past behavior is always an indication of future behavior, unless someone has been truly willing to do the painful work needed to make themselves whole.

It was made very evident that this person does not wish to change, and is not interested in getting help anytime soon. On my part, this sort of incident has happened before with this person, and I only have myself to blame for allowing it to happen again.

At any rate, this new friend totally understood my dilemma and hurt. The quote by Emerson is one that I will hang on my mirror so I can read it every day.

Susan and I ended up going back to this new friend's place, after we ate, and we had the best time making fun of Nancy Grace!!! What a great way to spend a birthday!!!

Some doors close and others open. I'll try not to be encumbered by my own nonsense, but isn't it all about ME anyway?

Heh!

The Best Thanksgiving I've ever had

Every year, I dread going to "The Barbara's" (my mother, or Smother as I call her) home for Thanksgiving, or having one of those "Ordinary People" moments when she is over here for Thanksgiving.

Last year, we invited her over since it seemed she felt forlorned because neither of my brothers or their wives had invited she and my step-father over for gorging on turkey, etc.

She did what I refer to as a 'drive-by' Thanksgiving. She insisted on making everything, even though we wanted to do it ourselves, and then when they got here, she acted like she wanted to leave 5 minutes after they arrived.

It was making me so nervous that I felt I needed a "Lexapro IV Drip," with IV pole included, to drag around with me, while she fluttered about acting like she couldn't wait to leave.

Actually, it was in such fast motion, it reminded me of the Benny Hill Show, when "Yakety Sax" is played in the background and everything is in fast motion.

I found myself wanting to scream out, like Timothy Hutton did in Ordinary People, "Just take the GD PICTURE!!!"

Let me just say that incident, last year, made me realize that it was time for Susan and I to have our own Thanksgiving traditions.

This year, we joined a new church--Trinity UMC in Atlanta--and they have a women and children's shelter, for women who are in transition and need a place to stay until they can get back on their feet.

Weeks ago our church emailed saying that they needed a Thanksgiving Day meal to be prepared for the women in the shelter. It was a no-brainer, this year, for Susan and I to not only volunteer to cook, but to actually serve the women there as well.

Let me tell you that this was the first stress-free Thanksgiving I've had in years.

We had so much fun cooking for the women. I made Paula Deen's flat-line inducing mashed potatoes (God Bless you Paula Deen from one chubby chick to another!), with heavy cream, sour cream, butter, butter, butter, shallots, crumbled bacon....you get the picture.

Susan made her fabulous collard greens and the other members of our small congregation graciously stepped up to the plate and added the turkey, ham, sweet potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese.

When we got there early, the ladies were ready to eat! It was fantastic. We both enjoyed being able to serve them a hearty Thanksgiving feast, and when we sat down with them, we had the best time. These ladies are in a hard space, but they all had such sweet spirits about them.

Over and over, each woman came to us, hugged us and said "Thank you...you are angels," over and over. As Susan can attest to, I am certainly no angel, and this was the least we could do (I felt anyway). I told them, "Well, you are angels yourselves. We have enjoyed meeting all of you very much."

To the surprise of the ladies, and the woman that runs the program at Trinity, we cleaned up after the meal. Dishes, etc. They kept trying to help and we kept saying, "No, this is your day to relax, so Happy Thanksgiving."

Hands down, it was the best Thanksgiving I've had in ages. Susan said it was for her too. They are a great group of ladies down there, and I look forward to volunteering more often down there.

We've decided that this will be our new "tradition" at Thanksgiving. It actually felt good not to feel so bloated after eating too much, as we often do when we go to my mom's or to friends to eat.

It just felt good focusing on other people, instead of gorging and falling asleep.

I wish a very happy Thanksgiving to everyone reading this blog, and I hope the coming year brings peace, happiness and health to you all.

Things to be thankful for today

I am thankful that I am not Karl Rove...

He was the closing speaker at the National Association of Convenience Stores (NACS) convention, which I had to cover for one of my clients.

It's ironic that Rove is out of a job, and speaking at this convention. Maybe he can work at one of 7-11's new "Quick-E-Marts," modeled after the one in The Simpsons. I kid you not about that. What an ingenious marketing plan to partner with Fox and The Simpsons.

Anyway, I fear "Baby Huey" Rove would steal most of the "Big Gulps" himself, and blame it on the Indian guy.

I forced myself to sit through his speech, and it was really nauseating. He is such a liar--blatant liar--but he had that crowd in the palm of his hand.

Let's see if I can encapsulate what he said here:

--The Democrats fettered away all of the Social Security surplus, so that's why your son or daughter won't have anything when they retire.
--The Democrats aren't serious about terrorism, Iran, and they are to blame for the lowest ratings as a congress in the past 20 years.
--Iran is a threat and we must shut them down.
--Dubya really "cares" about the soldiers.
--The Democrats want to steal the small businessman's money.

Hmm, the last time I looked, Rove was no longer working for Dubya, but gosh darn, he sure sounds like he is still on the payroll.

I so wanted to yell out "VALERIE PLAME" over and over, but since I was representing my client, I thought better of it.

One brave woman--the rest were men who were putting Hillary Clinton down, etc.--stood up and asked Mr. Rove if he thought, in retrospect, that the UN should handle and be the governing body that decides who we attack, if we should attack, and why we seem to be such an isolationist country now.

Boy Wonder shot that one down like Cheney on a deer hunt!

"The UN is not effective in managing anything like that...I mean, come on, they allow CUBA to have a seat and vote."

I believe I was the only one that laughed out loud, for a different reason of course, than all of the rest of the crowd.

I am sooo thankful that I am not Rove. Thank You God!

I am thankful for friends

My good friend, Andrea, had a hysterectomy two days ago, and she came out of it just fine. I went through this in 2005, so I was able to tell her that she cannot lift anything heavy, including children, and that she needs to take it easy, even when she feels like she can jog the Peachtree Road Race.

I'm happy that she made it through and her pain will subside now.

Tonight, we went to dinner with a couple that we met through Susan's OurSong choir. They were hilarious, sweet, and very positive to be around, period. And the best part is that they picked up the tab!!!

We didn't expect it, but they wanted to thank us both for helping with the OurSong yard sale, and I think that's the nicest thing that someone has done for us in a long time.

I am thankful for more work

I got that third client!!! Met him at NACS, and he didn't flinch over my rate per word. If I do a great job for him, this could be a repeat client indefinitely.

I am thankful for FREE SCHWAG!!

I picked up so much free 'stuff' from NACS. T-shirts, key chains, autographed pictures of Playboy Bunnies (don't tell Susan! ha ha), Hooters Energy Drink (that, in and of itself, made my day).

I am thankful that I am not one of Nancy Grace's new twins

Because I fear she's going to name one Orenthal and the other James, whether they are boys or girls, or one is going to be named Trenton and the other one Duckett.

On that sarcastic note, I will finish this post.

Ever feel like this?--Human Tetris

This is, hands down, one of the funniest clips I have ever seen. As well, it certainly represents the stresses of life.

I felt like this over the last few weeks, as I have had multiple deadlines--emphasis on dead.

Add to that, a misunderstanding with a friend, which was aggravated by my lack of sleep, and it's just been fun, fun, fun lately!

The one good thing is that I am about to get another client (fingers crossed), and this client should be one that needs me every year for an annual convention magazine. Another is that my partner and I had a great weekend with some folks from her choir. We helped out with their yard sale, and it was so much fun. Great group of people. If you are in the Atlanta area, check out OurSong Altanta

Talented, funny folks, as I found out this weekend.

I hope for the few gallant return readers, you will continue to check-in from time to time. I am trying to keep the blog updated. I plan on writing a few posts this week.

Thanks for hanging in there and for visiting here.

Enjoy this video.

Good Night, Sleep tight and pleasant dreams to you

Who has been keeping up with the Anglican mess?

It seems the 'conservative' side is in a twitter, and it seems that they are finally going to take their toys and go home!!!

Father Jake explains it for you, me and everybody else, much better than I can.

GOODY! It's about time. Please, please, don't let the door hit you on your arse on the way out!!!

I hope that all sides of this issue will now move on. If the schismatics are really pulling out and moving on (ah, just like a man, right?), then I hope they will shut up, build their mega-Pentecostal-charismatic-PowerPoint presentation-hands-in-the-air churches, and leave the rest of the Anglicans alone.

It's too bad that every one cannot worship together, period.

With that said, I will leave you with an uplifting ditty from the show, whose ending is embedded into my psyche. Every Sunday night, when I stayed with my grandparents every summer, we'd watch Lawrence Welk.

Don't get me started on my nightmares about Guy and Rawlna...

Anyway, I think this positive, uplifting, polyester clad song, says it all about the Akinola Bunch finally LEAVING!!!

(tapping microphone) Hey, is this thing on?

I figure if Mother Theresa can bare her true soul about not having faith, then so can I here.

Does anyone actually read this blog?

It says 0 on my site meter, since August 19th. That number sort of signifies what I am feeling at the moment.

Over two years ago, I met a really interesting writer. We met via a writing board on mediabistro.com. She had recently moved to Atlanta from Philly, and she didn't know many people here, etc. She liked my whacked out sense of humor, and I hers.

She sent me the e-bay listing for the Virgin Mary on Toast, and I knew I had found a kindred spirit. We met, once, after many false starts, and I really, really loved hanging out with her. We laughed a lot, over Sushi.

Well, this writer was feeling rather insecure, as well, about her own writing. She was working on a book about a bordello in Chicago, at the turn of the century. That piqued my interest. Her literary agent kept putting her off, concerning the book, which lead to much angst for my erstwhile writing comrade.

So much so, that she sent me two sample chapters to read, to get my opinion. That's always a tricky thing with me, because what if it is truly crappola? How do you tell someone it's crap? I have a knack for spotting true talent. I have always been able to do so.

I'll listen to a singer or a band, way before they make it big, and I'll know that they will be the next best thing. Or, in the case of David Sedaris, I knew he was going to be big, right when he first started out. I sent him a letter to his address in NYC, and I still have the postcard he sent back to me, from he and his partner's place in France. It was hilarious.

Anyway, back to the Chicago bordello story.

I anticipated the chapters, and when I received them, I began to read, fully expecting it to be not-so-good.

It was quite the opposite. I was completely hooked, after two chapters. The prose crackled, which is hard to do, sometimes, when you are writing non-fiction. To me, only Doris Kearns Goodwin, David McCullough and David Hallberstam(R.I.P.), have truly been able to make historical non-fiction exciting.

So, I wrote back to my new writer 'pal' and told her that I knew that the book would be published and that she had nothing to worry about at all.

We planned to get together over and over, however, I would wait to hear from her on the day we were meeting for lunch, and she never called or emailed.

I would take the lead in emailing to find out what happened, and I would get an apology email about 'something coming up,' etc. I can deal with that excuse a couple of times, but after that, I have no patience with that sort of stuff.

So, the last time it happened--getting stood up--I just decided that I'm too old for games like that. I let it go, and went on with life.

Finally, she emailed me, with her apology, and begging me to let her have another chance. I decided not to do that, as at that point I felt like Charlie Brown and she was Lucy, holding the football in place.

I told her that I thought she was a fantastic writer, that her novel would be published, but I can't get into the whole, "Let's have lunch....oops, I'm going to stand you up," stuff. She wrote back, saying something about how she has issues, etc. We all do.

Her book did get published, and it is now on the NY Times Best Seller list. I wondered if I should even email her, but I felt good that I had spotted the talent and that the book was as good as I thought it would be.

She told me I was a funny writer, etc., but it's interesting that she's written for publications that I wish would even let me write classified ads.

So, a few months back, I received my Oxford American magazine, and this issue was devoted to up-and-coming southern writers. Lo and behold, there's a brief story on a friend from my high school. Natasha Trethewey was (and still is) a gorgeous, gorgeous girl, who embodied that rare combo of inner and outer beauty.

As well, she was so damn smart. We worked on the school newspaper together, and I would make her laugh a lot. It was always fun to see her laugh really hard.

I was a year ahead of her, and when I went to college, I heard disturbing news that her mother's husband--Natasha's stepfather--murdered her mother. She was 19, I believe.

Anyway, Natasha is a respected poet, who has written about slavery, New Orleans, Katrina, etc. To top it off, she won the 2007 Pulitzer for Poetry.

How do I keep getting together with, or knowing such writers, but yet I can't seem to write worth a damn?

Sounds a bit selfish, I know, but I'm going to be 42 in November, and all I can seem to get published are second-rate articles, for second-rate trade journals, etc.

I can't even get Creative Loafing--every Journalism student, who graduates, writes for CL right out of college--to even respond to my queries.

I worked a research job at The Atlanta Business Chronicle, around Thanksgiving/Christmas last year, talked to the managing editor about writing for them. She was completely for it. Then, suddenly, I never heard back from her and when I inquired, she said she wasn't interested.

So, I thought I'd start blogging, just to give myself an outlet, but I don't even think these posts are even compelling enough to keep anyone reading.

Don't get me wrong. I am so happy for both of these writers. It's just that I'm approaching middle-age, and I've struggled and looked for any open door, when it comes to my writing, and it just doesn't happen for me.

That either means I completely suck as a writer, or that my lot in this life is to be a mediocre hack.

It's painful for me--no matter how selfish and vain it sounds--to watch all of this and know that no matter how hard I try, I'm just not a good writer.

It doesn't take talent to write about a petroleum and convenience store expo, which I am headed to today, in Macon. Any monkey can do it

Speaking of monkeys...

Right now I really feel the after-effects of the monkey eating my five dollars, so long ago.

Both of the writers I have written about here will be at the Decatur Book Festival this weekend. I haven't decided if I am going to go or not. On one hand, I want to cheer them on and give Natasha a big hug, but on the other hand, I have this feeling that I'm going to shatter into tiny little pieces after seeing them.

Maybe it's time to just realize that I'm meant to stay in the shadows of others. Maybe I'm the Willie Loman of writers, period.

What was the great line that his wife angrily says in his defense? "Attention MUST be paid."

Even better--I feel like John Kennedy Toole right now. In many ways, my life has mirrored his. If you don't know who he is, look him up.

He was a brilliant and funny writer, who won a Pulitzer only after he shot and killed himself. He shot and killed himself, because an editor told him that his book wasn't any good, etc. He died thinking he was just a hack.

Irony, irony, irony.

Not that I would even consider suicide, however I understand the feelings. Oddly enough, the character I most identify with is Miles from the film, "Sideways."

I think the screenwriter sums it what I feel like, in this scene. It's brilliant, and I yelled out "YES" in the theatre when this scene was shown:

Miles Raymond: Well, the world doesn't give a shit what I have to say. I'm not necessary. Had. I'm so insignificant I can't even kill myself.
Jack: Miles, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Miles Raymond: Come on, man. You know. Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf. You can't kill yourself before you're even published.
Jack: What about the guy who wrote Confederacy of Dunces? He killed himself before he was published. Look how famous he is.
Miles Raymond: Thanks.
Jack: Just don't give up, alright? You're gonna make it.
Miles Raymond: Half my life is over and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing. I'am thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage.
Jack: See? Right there. Just what you just said. That is beautiful. 'A smudge of excrement... surging out to sea.'
Miles Raymond: Yeah.
Jack: I could never write that.
Miles Raymond: Neither could I, actually. I think it's Bukowsky.

Classic.

Well, I'm off to Macon for my exciting assignment!!!

Pain is Pain is Pain

I haven’t written in a while, because I’ve been working on never-ending deadlines and re-writes.

For all of my writing efforts alone, I feel I should get an honorary Pulitzer, but writing about government mandates for convenience stores, and/or new guidelines for credit card processors isn’t exciting stuff. However, it does pay the bills.

Recently, I posted about my best friend in high school and her first boyfriend. Her first boyfriend was in a terrible car accident and lost two of his children in the wreck.

As well, the other driver lost children in their car, too. You can read my post about it down below.

Well, after I posted, I received quite a few responses, all sending out good vibes and prayers for Joe, and all involved.

And then I received a very different comment, for my approval.

I wasn’t really prepared for it, I guess, but in retrospect, I’m glad I received it, as it made me think about pain, true pain, and the ramifications and facets of that state of being that most of us spend our lives running from.

It was from the ex-brother-in-law of Joe, who happens to be named Joe. I couldn’t have asked for a more Bergman-esque scenario, right?

He was very upset with me, because he felt I white washed the actual situation, got my facts wrong (which I did) concerning the accident, but more than anything else he wanted to let me know that the “Joe” that I knew so many years ago, was not the angelic, grieving father that he feels that I portrayed him with my post.

Honestly, I didn’t think I did that at all. I haven’t see Joe G in over 25 + years, to be quite honest, but the wreck was horrible for all involved, period, so I wanted to get the word out for prayer.

But I didn’t see it from the other Joe’s standpoint. From where he sits, the pain and anger is overwhelming, and, to him, the anger is for good reason.

At first, I emailed and told him that I wasn’t going to post his angry words about Joe G., because I didn’t think this blog was the place to do so. I don’t really know any of the folks involved; period, and I couldn’t understand his anger at someone who was simply posting what she was told by someone else. No matter what, Joe G is the father of those children that died, and he was injured himself.

I corresponded with the other Joe via email and tried to explain that to him, while respecting his own anger and pain—both are so valid, period.

But I just received another email from him, the other day, and as I read his words, I realized that, in many ways, so many people seem to be rallying around Joe G., and some have forgotten that a mother lost her two children, too.

And here was her brother gallantly stepping up for her, and letting me know that she exists and she hurts, too, on so many levels. I can only tell you that I wish I had a brother like him, as my two brothers wouldn’t know if I left the face of the earth, nor would they care too much, I think.

With that said, I’m still not going to post the exact words here—for legal liability reasons—but I do believe in writing something. I hold no bias in this situation, but this stands to remind me how much pain can be inflicted by one human to another, and how many layers there are to pain and suffering.

So, I am going to ask that all those who came here and posted for Joe, also remember the children’s mother, Carolyn, in a big way, along with Joe M’s family. It’s seems their journey with pain started way before the accident.

Joe M.? I hope you are reading this, and thank you for teaching me about listening and hearing someone else.

First of all, I got my facts wrong.

The other driver was a 21 year-old-male, who was not related to the woman and children killed in their car.

Apparently, from what Joe M said, Joe G was not returning from Disney World, as I had been told by my old friend, but he had sent the kids over to his sister’s home, so he could work that day.

He was late meeting his ex-wife to drop off the kids, and thus how the timing happened for the accident.

Joe M wrote and told me that the divorce happened over two years ago, and, let’s just say it has not been a pleasant experience for both sides, but from Joe M’s experience, his sister has been through a living hell before the accident and after. I believe him.

Joe M wanted me to know that. I do know that now, but what I really got from his words was that this terrible accident has added yet another layer of pain for Carolyn, Joe M., and the rest of their family.

It also reminds me that divorce is such an ugly thing, period. My parents divorced, rather acrimoniously as well, when I was 30. I can tell you that it hurt me just as much as it would have hurt me if I had been a kid when it happened.

I’m reminded of two verses from the Bible, which really rang out to me as I contemplated this post. Trust me, this usually does not happen with me. I am not one to quote Bible scripture, because I grew up in the Southern Baptist church, where the bible was used as a ramrod, but since I’ve heard from Joe M., I have felt very compelled to ask God what can I do about this situation. It’s really horrible from every angle, period.

As I meditated on it, these two verses came to mind and would not leave my mind, until I wrote them down. So, for what it is worth, here they are.

Matthew 5:45: (Amplified Bible) To show that you are the children of your Father Who is in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the wicked and on the good, and makes the rain fall upon the upright and the wrongdoers [alike].

The other is:

Luke 12: 52-53:For from now on in one house there will be five divided [among themselves], three against two and two against three.

They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.

I will leave it to those who read this post, to interpret the verses as they see fit. Right now, pain is palpable and real on both sides of this terrible accident, period. The way pain manifests itself, whether in messy child custody visit issues, or insensitive and petty actions at the funeral of innocent children, nobody is immune to grief, anger and pain.

It’s what we do with those emotions that truly matter, for we will not understand things like the painful divorce, the accident and it’s aftermath, until we can ask God, face-to-face.

Joe M did say that Joe and Carolyn's surviving son, David, is back in school and healing. I thought I would pass that on.

Peace be with you, Carolyn and Joe M. and your family as you begin to heal and move on. Thank you to everyone who posted prayers and good wishes, previously.

Song for the week: Quality of Mercy

Quality Of Mercy - Michelle Shocked

All you hypocrites and liars
In the temple seeking gain
All you senators and lawyers
With your motives to explain
All you victims and heroes
Your petitions to complain
All you murderers and martyrs
On the fields where you lay slain

On the just and unjust alike it doth rain
And the quality of mercy is not strained
Vengeance and revenge are just two words for pain
And the quality of mercy is not strained

Did not I crucify my Lord
Did not I bind Him in chains
Did not I three times betray Him
Three times deny His name
Did not I cast the first stone
And then justify the blame
Did not He die for my sins
But never would I do the same

I've been three times a sinner and two times a saint
And the quality of mercy is not strained
Love, if it's love, is changing but unchanged
And the quality of mercy is not strained

Now, listen to the song

Walk it Out...

This is so great.

You've got Fosse, Gwen Verdon dancing to Fosse, with "Walk It Out" in the background. I love it.

Positive energy, prayers, smoke signals, whatever

At the end of last week, I received an email from one of my best friends from church, when I was growing up.

The news was stunning.

Her first boyfriend, Joe Gargiulo, became a good friend to me at the time, as we were all going to the same church.

When Joe and Kathi broke up, I didn't see much of Joe anymore. At any rate, Kathi and I barely keep in touch, as we have such different lives. It almost seems like a whole other life that I lived then. She's been married for years, with two kids who are almost adults, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday that we were wearing our mother's wigs, teasing them into beehives, putting on lots of makeup, stuffing our bras, and, looking like a more grotesque version of Tammy Faye Bakker in her heyday, simply to go and play Putt Putt, like we looked normal.

The looks we would get were priceless, let me tell you.

Anyway, we keep in touch at Christmas, etc. But I was not prepared for the news she sent to me.

Last weekend, there was a terrible wreck on I-85, near Atlanta. I remember hearing about it on the news. A Chevy Impala, carrying two kids and two adults, crossed the median and slammed into a van, head on.

It was Joe's van that got slammed head on. There was nothing he could have done to prevent the accident, according to the police.

Two of his children were immediately killed upon impact, even though they were wearing seat belts. His other son was injured, as was Joe. Two children in the other car were killed, too. I just read an article, which I will link here, which lists the driver's name, the children's names, as well.

Kathi told me that Joe was in the midst of a very painful divorce, and he was driving his children back to their mother's house, after taking the kids to Walt Disney World.

According to Kathi, Joe had been very, very depressed over the break-up. The two children were buried on Saturday, but Joe could not attend, as he is in ICU.

I cannot imagine what he and his estranged wife are going to go through. As well, what will the surviving son feel and go through in the coming weeks, months, years. Even more tragic, is the fact that driver of the offending auto was a 21-year-old girl.

It reminds me of the verse from the Bible, 'On the just and unjust, alike it doth rain, and the quality of mercy is not strained.'

I normally would not do this on my blog, but I am going to ask anyone reading this post to put down what you are doing, and just send a prayer or a good vibe to Joe and his family. As well, prayers for the Stephens family, and for the girl driving. Their pain is just beginning.

Whatever, or whoever you believe in, please send positive energy Joe's way, and to the Stephens family.

I'll keep you posted on Joe's progress. I am not sure he'll even remember me, but I plan on going to see him, when he is able, and to let him know that he can talk to me anytime.

As I was going to the bank this morning---I got my first 2,000 dollar check for my writing--I was listening to Bridge Over Troubled Water on an Elvis CD that I have. It really made me think about Joe.

These are the times when I have no idea why God allows these things to happen. The only way I can even rationalize it is that God gives us all free will, so that means everyone has it. Some people use it for good, some for evil, some make mistakes--they think the young girl driving fell asleep at the wheel--and God could come down and stop anything, but God doesn't do that.

He lets us choose our behaviors, and the outcome is determined by the chosen behavior, but He's always there no matter what.

That's why you won't find me saying to Joe, "It was God's will...." because I don't believe it was God's will. I believe it was a series of events, a chain of mistakes, that led to the accident. I have to believe that, because if I don't, then I cannot fathom a God that would purposely take away the lives of children in such a manner.

If there is anyone out there in blog-land, reading this post, who has lost children in a car accident, etc. please post and let me know what to say and what not to say to Joe, whenever I get the chance.

Thanks to everyone who will read this.

Here's the Article I found from Connecticut, where the two Stephens children resided

I've Grown Accustomed to her Blog

I don't know what has come over me, or who has come over me, as I feel that I am in sort of trance-like state.

Ever since 'she' ragged about my partner, in a very condescending and nasty way, on her blog, I have felt compelled to read her blog almost every day. Is this part of my anxiety disorder??

It first started as a way to give back the same caustic medicine she doles out to anyone that doesn't jibe with her rigid religious beliefs.

In the beginning, I referred to her as 'it' or Bigmoose, as it seemed a fitting retort to her name calling. Even though I really detested her narrow thinking, I was like a moth to her snide flame.

But as I read her long odes to Chesterton, or when she intimated that I might be like Cotton on the show, "King of the Hill," I started to wonder what she might look like. Actually, the Cotton thing was pretty funny. Oddly, I do picture her looking like a cross between Joann Worley and Peggy Hill

I started to wonder what happened to this woman, with such a high IQ, and how she ended up staying at home with her three children. No, there is nothing wrong with raising one's children as a profession, as it is one of the noblest and thankless professions. It's just that I sense that there is so much more to this woman that simply being a homemaker.

Rarely do I agree with her theories, postulates, or thinking patterns in general, but she is a fine writer.

As well, her knowledge of silent films is phenomenal. I really did not like this woman, after seeing for myself how she skewers anyone who isn't just like her in beliefs--mainly religious--and I left some posts, using the same tactics that she uses in her own posting.

However, when you put a mirror up to someone, they either get that their behavior is irrational and hurtful, or they run crying to their comrades, "Look how MEAN the liberal is to me!!" She engaged in the latter, and I was chastised as 'vile' by simply pointing out the obvious about her daily routines.

I was told that I made fun of her autistic children. I did not make fun of them at all, nor would I ever do that. I did point out her fondness in speaking about her children defecating on the floor, as well as pondering why one would try for a third child, if the first two had Autism. As well, I just gave her a dose of her own medicine, as she routinely picks apart those liberals that seem to so rankle her, for just being liberal.

Was it too harsh? I don't know, but I publicly apologize (her group of witch hunters always love it when a liberal apologizes, so they can pick it apart and decide whether it's a real apology or not).

Why would I continue to return to her blog? I have no idea. I know she reads my comments, and she allows me to post them, but she refuses to respond. As well, I'm sure the email chain letter has gone out, which tells others not to respond to me as well. I think it's funny. Actually, I think she's probably a very nice person, somewhere underneath the fear and sarcasm.

But, as I read her odd posts, there is just something that keeps me coming back. Maybe it's the fact that she must really hate it that we have so much in common. We really do. Well, I am not in love with the same dead author--she is in love with G.K. Chesterton--but we actually like the same TV shows, books, etc.

It's an odd attraction and fondness I now have for her, sort of like watching a train wreck happen right in front of you. You have to look, even if you might not want to, deep down in your soul.

I must say that I agree with Dr. Alice--Alice, please post a comment, as I see you have been visiting my blog as of late--I think 'she' is a better linguist than I am.

So, I must write this song for her, borrowing from Lerner and Loewe's "My Fair Lady" show stopper, "I've Grown Accustomed to her Face"

Of course, it's all tongue in cheek.

So, this is for that multi-talented Catholic Curmudgeon, who is 16 times the writer I am:


I've Grown Accustomed to her Blog

Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!
I've grown accustomed to her blog.
She almost makes my stomach churn.
I've grown accustomed to the anti ECUSA tune
that she whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns,
How Chesterton brings her up when she's down
Are second nature to me now;
Like trapping gas in and then, just letting it out.
I was serenely independent and content before we met;
Surely I could always be that way again-
And yet
I've grown accustomed to her screeds;
Accustomed to her sarcasm;
Accustomed to her blog.

[Spoken]
Become a anti-US Anglican CATHOLIC?
What an infantile idea. What a heartless,
wicked, brainless thing to do. But she'll regret, she'll
regret it. It's doomed before they even take the vow!

[Sung]
I can see her now, Mrs. Anti TEC
In a wretched little flat above a store.
I can see her now, not a penny in the till,
And a bill collector beating at the door.
She'll try to teach the things I taught her,
And end up picking up poop instead.
Begging for her bread and water,
While her husband has his breakfast in bed.

In a year, or so, when she get sick of talking about the gays
And the blossom in her cheek has turned to chalk.
She'll come home, and lo, he'll have upped and run away
With a hockey-playing bimbo from Quebec.
Poor Mrs. Anti-TEC. How simply frightful!
How humiliating! How delightful!

How poignant it'll be on that inevitable night
When she hammers on my door in tears and rags.
Miserable and lonely, repentant and contrite.
Will I take her in or hurl her to the walls?
Give her kindness or the treatment she deserves?
Will I take her back or throw the baggage out?

But I'm a most forgiving person;
The sort who never could, ever would,
Take a position and staunchly never budge.
A most forgiving person.
But, I shall never take her back,
If she were even crawling on her knees.
Let her promise to atone;
Let her shiver, let her moan;
I'll slam the door and let the hell-cat freeze!

[Sung]
But I'm so used to hear her say
"CHESTERTON" ev'ry day.
Her joys, her woes,
Her highs, her lows,
Are second nature to me now;
Like keeping gas out and breathing in.
I'm very grateful she's a bigot
And so easy to forget;
Rather like a habit
One can always break-
And yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air;
Accustomed to her blog.

Sometimes, Life is Good

Yes, for the few folks still bothering to come here, can you believe that I would be saying that?

Better living through chemistry is what I say.

Well, partly chemistry, partly listening to what God is trying to say. I'm not good at the "listening" thing at times, just ask Suzer!

As I posted previously, I had a major panic attack at the last on site job I took--mostly out of fear--and quit.

After dealing with debilitating anxiety levels for years, I finally took the advice of my doctor and tried a little pill called Lexapro.

I'm only taking a small amount, every night, but according to Suzer, it's made a difference. At times, I feel it wouldn't matter, because I still freak out about time. I have to get to a venue at least thirty minutes before any show, or I start getting nervous.

Susan is quite different. She is happy to get to a venue maybe 5 or 10 minutes beforehand. Can you see the 'wacky fun' that ensues with those two thought patterns?

She says the difference is that before I started taking Lexapro, I would argue with her at why my anxiety was legitimate, and that my thinking patterns were perfectly okay. Now, when she says, "honey, don't worry about it. I really think it's going to be okay," I actually say, "okay, you are right," and instead of obsessing over whatever the cause for worry was for maybe like 8 hours, I now have it down to about 1-2.

See? Progress!

Add to a new chemical makeup inside my pointed little head, is reaching out and listening to God.

Donna is my neighbor. When I first moved in with Susan, she was one of the first persons I met here. I don't know how, exactly, we started talking, but we did. I think I made a copy of a cd for her, and we started talking about music.

She knew so many of the artists--mainly 50's and 60's folk, blues, rock n' roll artists--that I enjoyed, that it was really fun to speak with her.

Then, she started telling me about how she knew Pete Seeger, that Pete Seeger wrote music to her lyrics. She spoke as if it was all no big deal, but my mouth dropped, when she brought out a cadre of letters written to her, from Pete.

As well, she started telling me how she dated Mac Davis, how she saw Brooke Benton, Otis Redding, Ike and Tina Turner, perform, live, in the Atlanta area, way back when. It's when she opined about the Rev. Gary Davis and Ernie Marrs that I perked up. I had heard about both, briefly, but she actually KNEW them.

Every time she would mention someone, I would say, YES, I LOVE THEM TOO!! Well, after I had quit the job from hell, I sort of retreated. Yes, my brief "Howard Hughes" existence. Only Susan would not allow my toenails to curl like old Howard's toenails.

I had decided that I needed to start walking every morning, as it would benefit my physical health and my emotional health. I went down to give Donna a cd I had made for her, and she didn't look well.

I asked her how she was doing, and she confided in me that she was feeling very depressed. At that moment, I knew that I was supposed to be there and I was supposed to listen and offer support.

That's what I did, and it turned out we had a lot in common concerning our families of origin, abuse, etc. I was able to tell her about my panic attack, and how I just didn't think I could ever work in a corporate setting again.

It turns out that Donna felt the same way, and that's why she works from home. So, we both decided to start walking together in the morning, and we've been doing so for the past couple of months or so.

I've learned a lot about her and from her in the brief time we have been walking, and it's good to know that I'm not alone in what I deal with, at times. She has done so many interesting things in her life, and she's so funny. I hope she will take my advice and write a book.

We have started a "Hermits Day Out," as of today. We are going to try and go out to lunch, or do something fun, once a week, since we both work out of our homes.

I consider it a blessing that I met and got to know Donna when I did. I needed her and she needed me, also.

Oh yeah, I guess I should write that a former freelance client of mine contacted me about an on-going writing project for his company.

He asked me to give him a price on a retainer fee, so I calculated one for him and with great trepidation, sent it to him. He didn't balk at all. It's a good amount of money per month. I am truly grateful, as it allows me to continue being my own boss, plus he pays on time!!!

The other blessing is that Susan and I finally found a church that we both feel comfortable with, and we both feel at home.

It's a small Methodist congregation in downtown Atlanta. They are the only reconciling church in Georgia and, I believe, in Atlanta. Since the first time we visited, over a month ago, we felt so welcomed by everyone there.

The pastor is low key, and says what she believes, period. No pretense, no politics, just the truth. It's such a diverse congregation, and one of the elders took us out to eat lunch last week, after the service.

She is 73, black, and very outspoken.

She was one of the very first people we met there, and I just instantly liked her. As we found out at lunch, she has had such an interesting life as well. Engineering degree from U. of Iowa, was in the Army, etc.

But what I really appreciated from her was her honesty about how she struggled, internally, after the church decided to become a reconciling church.

She blatantly told us both that she really had a problem with it at first. It really bothered her, but she said she prayed fervently about it, and she said, "God told me not to worry about it, and to go about the business of doing His will."

I appreciated her candor, and I told her I totally understood her feelings. She said what helped to change her was the fact that she had been married to a white man, and she and her husband had a business near Morehouse College for years. She explained that many of the students there were customers.

In the early 1990's, after the first Rodney King verdict, Atlanta went insane. I was working at Turner Broadcasting at the time, and after the verdict was read, riots broke out all over the country, and Atlanta was no exception.

Turner's great wisdom was to keep us locked inside the CNN premises as long as possible, which would have been fine, but then they decided to let us go right at the height of the rioting, right outside of the building.

I remember riding in the car with my boss, as I had taken our rapid transit to work, and being stuck in this long line of traffic trying to get out of downtown. All we heard was breaking glass, cussing, screaming, and people being beaten.

Thank God my boss had an old ,beat up Toyota, as I think the gang that passed us by took a look at the car and figured they would do us a favor by catching it on fire, so it wasn't something they wanted to do.

I make light of it, but it was scary.

Well, it turns out that the lady we had lunch with got caught in that maelstrom too. She said the students that had been repeat customers in their business, looted it and beat up her husband, because he was white, and because they were angry.

She said that is what God pointed out to her, concerning her feelings about being part of a reconciling church.

I really appreciated her candor. She said that she never invites new people out to lunch, really, but that she was drawn to us for some reason. I really enjoyed the lunch and fellowship.

We've joined the little choir--a choir that sounds fantastic to be so small--and it's just good to be in a place where we can all worship together, and the emphasis is not on our sexual orientation.

Well, back to Donna:

She's a fantastic graphic artist, and she's created a line of slogans/designs for T-shirts. Some of them are really funny, others are just really cool, period.

Hey, take a look and give her some business: Donna's T-shirts


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