I'd like to start off by dedicating this blog to five other people who are as inebriated as I am right now, though in my defense, I am sipping coffee as I type this.
I should probably mention that this is only the third time in my forty-six years that I have been intoxicated, and one time was at a church luncheon because I hadn't eaten anything at all that day and they served wine first, so does that really even count? I'm thinking no.
After a day of marathon shopping, which left me with naught but a beautiful pink lipstick, I came away package-less and in search of the nearest Jenny Craig. This is, perhaps, not the time to go to dinner at a Mexican restaurant with an overly friendly waiter cheerfully offering margaritas. I'm usually the one saying, "No, I'm fine with water." But tonight? I did not so much as hesitate in ordering the drink. Maybe it will take the edge off this feeling that I'm old and fat and in need of a life plan that will not keep waking me up at 4:30 in the morning wondering why I don't own my own damn condo by now.
When the drinks came, the waiter winked at my friend Anthony and told him he put in extra tequila. I, being the novice among us, thought he meant he put the extra only in Anthony's drink. A few sips into my icy cold beverage, I felt the room start to spin and my face get hot. I decided this was the time to make an announcement. "Hey you guys...I'm drunk."
Now I would like to tell you that the more experienced drinkers at the table thought I was joking, but in truth, from where I sat, they all looked a tad drunk, too, from their one beverage. They started laughing at/with me. I said, "I'm not kidding. I don't think I'll be able to stand and walk." Fortunately, our food hadn't arrived yet, so maybe there would be time for it to absorb some of the alcohol.
For some reason, our conversation involved other meals we'd eaten at other restaurants and where else we wanted to eat in the future. It really is all about the food, you know. I'm convinced that if there's a heaven, it involves a banquet of my favorite foods. Yeah, yeah, there's light and love and all that other good stuff, but I'm convinced there will be a pint of Ben & Jerry's at the end of it and no Type II diabetes anywhere to be found.
As I continued sipping my drink, undeterred by the thought that I might literally pass out in my Spanish beans and rice, I wondered how people who really drank actually did it. I mean, we're talking about one drink here and I was three sheets to the wind. Someone said, "Ilene, you're a lightweight," to which I responded, "That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."
As the check arrived and I scrambled to down as much water as I could in the hopes that it would dilute the effects of the cocktail, I mentally struggled to reassess the notion of standing up. The room was still kind of spinning. It was time. We all stood up, got on our jackets, and then came the true test - walking. I almost got mowed down by the busboy balancing the trays of tortilla chips and salsa he was bringing to a table. I swerved to miss him. My friends were laughing hysterically. I maintained my tilted posture as we exited the restaurant, artfully (in my mind, at least) maneuvering the few steps to leave.
As I prepare my bedtime chaser of Advil and a glass of water, I am inclined to agree with my friend Jenn who wisely leaned over during dinner and informed me, "Tequila is no joke."
So let this blog serve as a cautionary tale, boys and girls, that 1) One drink can really be one drink too many or at least all you need, 2) That you should be wary of anyone who is just a little bit too happy to serve you, and 3) that tequila really is no joke.
Sweet dreams and thanks for stopping by.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
In Search of...a telling sign
I recently thought it a telling sign that Rocky Road has been my favorite ice cream flavor for as long as I can remember. Do I even have to wonder how this shows up in my life? Sure, I could point out the obvious: my music career, but the message was really driven home to me as I tried to open a window that was stuck yesterday afternoon, before the blinds came crashing down during my failed attempt, and before the rod that manipulates the blinds broke off and also fell while the window stubbornly remained closed.
That was the point at which I decided a glass of wine might be in order. Absent the Merlot I craved, I was left with the bottle of Manischewitz in the refrigerator - not was I was hoping for, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. And did I mention the computer virus on my "good" computer? This is truly a wonderful thing for a writer to have. Doesn't slow you down at all.
A lesser person would have just ended it right there for the day, but oh no, not me. After a few moments of tearful hysteria, I commenced the rehanging of the blinds while my father glued the pieces of the rod back together so I could rehang that, too. My window solution? Turn on the air conditioning, even if it is only March. The computer virus? Back up files on a hard drive and bring the dang thing in to be fixed somewhere.
Now, I could tell you that none of this fazed me, or that I was perfectly zen-like as thing after thing has gone wrong over the past few days, but who are we kidding?. The truth is I've been, at times, on complete meltdown, but that is a luxury none of us can really afford, and so, I put into practice the greatest take away I took from what might be lovingly referred to as a hippy-dippy workshop I took part in more than a decade and a half ago. Here's what I learned: You can be on complete meltdown and still function productively at the same time. This is a neat trick and possibly should be taught in elementary school to save us all a heap o' trouble later on in life. You can feel what you feel, but you have to take action in the direction of resolving the situation anyway.
And I'll let you in on my secret weapon in accomplishing this: friends. Call the ones who, though sympathetic, don't indulge helplessness, but rather, aid in finding solutions that can assist you. For instance, one friend found me every place to fix my computer within a 25 mile radius. My brother, God bless him, explained everything I needed to know about viruses and sent me all the malware links that would work. The blinds, well, they took some nifty "I can do this" affirmations while I stood precariously perched on the arm of the couch trying to rehang them. But I'm happy to say they are back up without looking too much the worse for wear.
Life throws all sorts of obstacles in our way. Some are small, like the blinds and computer; some are big, like illness and unemployment. It's not our circumstances that define us. It is how we deal with our circumstances in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
The same thing can be said of our government, our politics, and our policies. It is a telling sign of our character, both individually and collectively, how we handle the most trouble-ridden, poverty-stricken, help-needing people in our society. I am dumbfounded at "people of faith" who "don't want to give handouts." I'm not sure how you reconcile the teachings of Christ with a practice of letting people starve, ail, and die. But maybe that's just me. I subscribe to the trinity of beliefs that go something like this: there but for the grace of God go I, I am my brother's keeper, and we are ultimately judged by how we treat the least among us. If all that doesn't work, I also subscribe to the notion that karma's a bitch. Yes, these are the fundamental ideas I live by.
It is easy to give credibility to the negative. It seems so pervasive today. I'm not sure that I've ever seen a more hostile and selfish time in history. But I also know that there is an equal and opposite reaction to that as well. So if there is greed and hostility, then there is also the flip side; generosity and kindness. We just don't get those stories in the news. We love to build people up and tear them down. We want things to be different, but we don't want to be different.
So I encourage you today, to begin with a deep breath and a desire to be the opposite of the sign of the times. Be the one who lets the other guy who's signaling into your lane. Be the friend helping the friend who's on meltdown, the one who, through tears or no tears, takes action in the direction of fixing what's broken. Self esteem is gained only by doing that which we thought we couldn't, by developing muscles that heretofore have been atrophying.
I'm going to do this, too. Then, maybe Rocky Road won't be a telling sign of life choices, but rather, simply a desire for marshmallows and peanuts with my chocolate. It's the little things in life.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And have a great day!
That was the point at which I decided a glass of wine might be in order. Absent the Merlot I craved, I was left with the bottle of Manischewitz in the refrigerator - not was I was hoping for, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. And did I mention the computer virus on my "good" computer? This is truly a wonderful thing for a writer to have. Doesn't slow you down at all.
A lesser person would have just ended it right there for the day, but oh no, not me. After a few moments of tearful hysteria, I commenced the rehanging of the blinds while my father glued the pieces of the rod back together so I could rehang that, too. My window solution? Turn on the air conditioning, even if it is only March. The computer virus? Back up files on a hard drive and bring the dang thing in to be fixed somewhere.
Now, I could tell you that none of this fazed me, or that I was perfectly zen-like as thing after thing has gone wrong over the past few days, but who are we kidding?. The truth is I've been, at times, on complete meltdown, but that is a luxury none of us can really afford, and so, I put into practice the greatest take away I took from what might be lovingly referred to as a hippy-dippy workshop I took part in more than a decade and a half ago. Here's what I learned: You can be on complete meltdown and still function productively at the same time. This is a neat trick and possibly should be taught in elementary school to save us all a heap o' trouble later on in life. You can feel what you feel, but you have to take action in the direction of resolving the situation anyway.
And I'll let you in on my secret weapon in accomplishing this: friends. Call the ones who, though sympathetic, don't indulge helplessness, but rather, aid in finding solutions that can assist you. For instance, one friend found me every place to fix my computer within a 25 mile radius. My brother, God bless him, explained everything I needed to know about viruses and sent me all the malware links that would work. The blinds, well, they took some nifty "I can do this" affirmations while I stood precariously perched on the arm of the couch trying to rehang them. But I'm happy to say they are back up without looking too much the worse for wear.
Life throws all sorts of obstacles in our way. Some are small, like the blinds and computer; some are big, like illness and unemployment. It's not our circumstances that define us. It is how we deal with our circumstances in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
The same thing can be said of our government, our politics, and our policies. It is a telling sign of our character, both individually and collectively, how we handle the most trouble-ridden, poverty-stricken, help-needing people in our society. I am dumbfounded at "people of faith" who "don't want to give handouts." I'm not sure how you reconcile the teachings of Christ with a practice of letting people starve, ail, and die. But maybe that's just me. I subscribe to the trinity of beliefs that go something like this: there but for the grace of God go I, I am my brother's keeper, and we are ultimately judged by how we treat the least among us. If all that doesn't work, I also subscribe to the notion that karma's a bitch. Yes, these are the fundamental ideas I live by.
It is easy to give credibility to the negative. It seems so pervasive today. I'm not sure that I've ever seen a more hostile and selfish time in history. But I also know that there is an equal and opposite reaction to that as well. So if there is greed and hostility, then there is also the flip side; generosity and kindness. We just don't get those stories in the news. We love to build people up and tear them down. We want things to be different, but we don't want to be different.
So I encourage you today, to begin with a deep breath and a desire to be the opposite of the sign of the times. Be the one who lets the other guy who's signaling into your lane. Be the friend helping the friend who's on meltdown, the one who, through tears or no tears, takes action in the direction of fixing what's broken. Self esteem is gained only by doing that which we thought we couldn't, by developing muscles that heretofore have been atrophying.
I'm going to do this, too. Then, maybe Rocky Road won't be a telling sign of life choices, but rather, simply a desire for marshmallows and peanuts with my chocolate. It's the little things in life.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And have a great day!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
In Search of...my pre-Oscar blog!
It's Oscar Sunday, or as we like to call it in my family - Christmas. Sure I was snubbed yet again, so I will be watching this year from a friend's house, no doubt indulging in things the Oscar nominees don't get to have for themselves until well after the awards are over - dinner and lively conversation.
Because I don't have to wrap myself like a mummy to lose excess water weight before the show (a ritual they actually touted as a celebrity must beforehand), I can partake of delectables and speculation to my heart's content...in comfortable shoes, though I might wear a few baubles just for fun.
The majority of my family will be gathering on the west coast for their annual Oscar party. I like that party because they give a prize to the one who guesses the least amount of winners correctly. But this year, since I've seen all but one of the Best Picture nominees, I think I might guess more than a few correctly at my east coast soiree.
I've been following Billy Crystal's tweets, which absolutely crack me up, so I am thrilled that he's back hosting again. Kudos for tweets also go to Steve Martin, undoubtedly best tweeter on twitter. (Try saying that five times fast!) I myself would be a happy twitterer, or tweeter, or whatever, if I could figure out how to get the porno people to stop following me, but that's a dilemma for another day.
Yesterday I watched Midnight in Paris, which left me with the disturbing feeling that I could give Woody Allen's neuroses a run for their money. It also left me craving French wine, baguettes, and with an uncanny desire to read Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Fortunately, I can indulge in these things and plan to do just that during the coming week.
I am looking forward to seeing George Clooney and Brad Pitt...and of course, the dresses and the jewels (on the ladies, that is). I fancy myself an aficionado with such discerning comments as "I love that dress, but that other one - not so much." It's taken me years to cultivate this kind of astute powers of observation.
In my mind, my own Oscar dress is a rich, deep purple - my favorite color. And it covers my upper arms which, my father helpfully pointed out, do not look like Michelle Obama's. So I'm going with 3/4 sleeves. I'm also three dress sizes smaller in my mind, so Jenny Craig, here I come! I will not, however, be doing that mummy thing. Dehydration makes me pass out, and who needs that kind of attention on the red carpet!
I've been delving deeply into the psychological ramifications of an Oscar win, and decided that not only would it be the ultimate source of professional validation, but it could also, in a pinch, be used in self defense, because I hear that those suckers weigh quite a bit. I've got Mr. Oscar pictured on the mantle of the fireplace in my house. And because the house I'm currently in does not have a fireplace, I must be envisioning my Oscar-worthy house as well. (It's really a domino effect once you start visualizing these things.)
Ah, but time is fleeting, and I must go and begin the getting ready process. These are personal favorites: Best Picture - The Help, Best Director - Scorsese for Hugo, Actress - Viola Davis for The Help, Actor - George Clooney for The Descendants, Supporting Actor - Jonah Hill for Moneyball, Supporting Actress - Octavia Spencer for The Help, Original Screenplay - Bridesmaids, Best Adapted Screenplay - Moneyball.
And why the heck are there only TWO songs nominated??? Anyone???
Have fun tonight at the Oscars! I know I will!
Because I don't have to wrap myself like a mummy to lose excess water weight before the show (a ritual they actually touted as a celebrity must beforehand), I can partake of delectables and speculation to my heart's content...in comfortable shoes, though I might wear a few baubles just for fun.
The majority of my family will be gathering on the west coast for their annual Oscar party. I like that party because they give a prize to the one who guesses the least amount of winners correctly. But this year, since I've seen all but one of the Best Picture nominees, I think I might guess more than a few correctly at my east coast soiree.
I've been following Billy Crystal's tweets, which absolutely crack me up, so I am thrilled that he's back hosting again. Kudos for tweets also go to Steve Martin, undoubtedly best tweeter on twitter. (Try saying that five times fast!) I myself would be a happy twitterer, or tweeter, or whatever, if I could figure out how to get the porno people to stop following me, but that's a dilemma for another day.
Yesterday I watched Midnight in Paris, which left me with the disturbing feeling that I could give Woody Allen's neuroses a run for their money. It also left me craving French wine, baguettes, and with an uncanny desire to read Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Fortunately, I can indulge in these things and plan to do just that during the coming week.
I am looking forward to seeing George Clooney and Brad Pitt...and of course, the dresses and the jewels (on the ladies, that is). I fancy myself an aficionado with such discerning comments as "I love that dress, but that other one - not so much." It's taken me years to cultivate this kind of astute powers of observation.
In my mind, my own Oscar dress is a rich, deep purple - my favorite color. And it covers my upper arms which, my father helpfully pointed out, do not look like Michelle Obama's. So I'm going with 3/4 sleeves. I'm also three dress sizes smaller in my mind, so Jenny Craig, here I come! I will not, however, be doing that mummy thing. Dehydration makes me pass out, and who needs that kind of attention on the red carpet!
I've been delving deeply into the psychological ramifications of an Oscar win, and decided that not only would it be the ultimate source of professional validation, but it could also, in a pinch, be used in self defense, because I hear that those suckers weigh quite a bit. I've got Mr. Oscar pictured on the mantle of the fireplace in my house. And because the house I'm currently in does not have a fireplace, I must be envisioning my Oscar-worthy house as well. (It's really a domino effect once you start visualizing these things.)
Ah, but time is fleeting, and I must go and begin the getting ready process. These are personal favorites: Best Picture - The Help, Best Director - Scorsese for Hugo, Actress - Viola Davis for The Help, Actor - George Clooney for The Descendants, Supporting Actor - Jonah Hill for Moneyball, Supporting Actress - Octavia Spencer for The Help, Original Screenplay - Bridesmaids, Best Adapted Screenplay - Moneyball.
And why the heck are there only TWO songs nominated??? Anyone???
Have fun tonight at the Oscars! I know I will!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
In Search of...celebrating the moment
The Huffington Post was nice enough to publish this!
There is a picture that CNN has shown repeatedly tonight of Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Elizabeth Taylor, and Liza Minelli. It seems unfathomable to me that three out of four of them are now gone. Sure, there was always the underlying gnawing feeling that lives fraught with drug use could not end well. And yes, we all knew intellectually that the odds of longevity were decidedly slimmer when a crack pipe was involved. But somehow, that doesn't seem to lesson the blow or ease the pain of our collective loss.
Music, perhaps more than any other sense memory type of thing, has the ability to stir and transport us. It picks up where words leave off. It brings people together - people who wouldn't necessarily be together. And so, when one of it's emissaries leaves us, we lose a little bit of that magic that would make this world seem more humane in times when we so desperately need it to be.
And so I find myself with another reminder not only of my own mortality, but of a time in life permanently relegated to the past, a song that lives on only in the recesses of my memories now. And it sounds silly to say that part of the reason for such deep impact is that death robs us of the chance for a comeback, for that full circle moment that would transcend all the mistakes of the past and return a star triumphantly to the glory days of his or her former youth, even if it's just for an evening. We all want that second chance, not only for a celebrity, but for ourselves.
For a brief moment, we'd like to remember who we were, how we felt, whom we loved, and what dreams we held in our hearts with the earnest belief that their realization was possible. We want to remember the car we drove when we first heard that song, how much younger we were, the taste of a kiss, the outfit we wore. These are the things inextricably intertwined with the music.
As a songwriter, I remember endless hours in the recording studio trying to make one of my early demos sound like a Whitney Houston record. I remember going to see her on Saturday Night Live, being in the same room with that voice. I remember covering her song "So Emotional" in one of the first shows I did of my own in New York. (This was not the best idea I ever had, me singing Whitney, by the way.) I remember endless attempts to pitch my songs to her and Clive Davis. These were my earliest days as an aspiring songwriter, and with every cassette tape (yes, cassette), I delivered my hopes and dreams as well.
If there's a take away from tragedy such as this, I think it lies in celebrating the moment. We get one chance to walk through this life and savor the experience. Even the heartbreak is inherently beautiful if you stop and appreciate how you grow and who you become because of it. These aren't just the best days of our lives, they're the only days.
By all accounts, Whitney Houston grappled with demons that seemed in direct proportion to her immense talent. It is often this way with artists. We unknowingly reap the benefit of their insurmountable pain. It makes them great, but it takes them too soon.
I can only hope, as I'm sure much of the world is hoping tonight, that Whitney Houston is finally at peace.
There is a picture that CNN has shown repeatedly tonight of Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Elizabeth Taylor, and Liza Minelli. It seems unfathomable to me that three out of four of them are now gone. Sure, there was always the underlying gnawing feeling that lives fraught with drug use could not end well. And yes, we all knew intellectually that the odds of longevity were decidedly slimmer when a crack pipe was involved. But somehow, that doesn't seem to lesson the blow or ease the pain of our collective loss.
Music, perhaps more than any other sense memory type of thing, has the ability to stir and transport us. It picks up where words leave off. It brings people together - people who wouldn't necessarily be together. And so, when one of it's emissaries leaves us, we lose a little bit of that magic that would make this world seem more humane in times when we so desperately need it to be.
And so I find myself with another reminder not only of my own mortality, but of a time in life permanently relegated to the past, a song that lives on only in the recesses of my memories now. And it sounds silly to say that part of the reason for such deep impact is that death robs us of the chance for a comeback, for that full circle moment that would transcend all the mistakes of the past and return a star triumphantly to the glory days of his or her former youth, even if it's just for an evening. We all want that second chance, not only for a celebrity, but for ourselves.
For a brief moment, we'd like to remember who we were, how we felt, whom we loved, and what dreams we held in our hearts with the earnest belief that their realization was possible. We want to remember the car we drove when we first heard that song, how much younger we were, the taste of a kiss, the outfit we wore. These are the things inextricably intertwined with the music.
As a songwriter, I remember endless hours in the recording studio trying to make one of my early demos sound like a Whitney Houston record. I remember going to see her on Saturday Night Live, being in the same room with that voice. I remember covering her song "So Emotional" in one of the first shows I did of my own in New York. (This was not the best idea I ever had, me singing Whitney, by the way.) I remember endless attempts to pitch my songs to her and Clive Davis. These were my earliest days as an aspiring songwriter, and with every cassette tape (yes, cassette), I delivered my hopes and dreams as well.
If there's a take away from tragedy such as this, I think it lies in celebrating the moment. We get one chance to walk through this life and savor the experience. Even the heartbreak is inherently beautiful if you stop and appreciate how you grow and who you become because of it. These aren't just the best days of our lives, they're the only days.
By all accounts, Whitney Houston grappled with demons that seemed in direct proportion to her immense talent. It is often this way with artists. We unknowingly reap the benefit of their insurmountable pain. It makes them great, but it takes them too soon.
I can only hope, as I'm sure much of the world is hoping tonight, that Whitney Houston is finally at peace.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
In Search of...interesting things to put on a business card
Yes, it's true. I am an ordained member of the clergy now. This bit of news is usually followed by a long pause in which the person hearing it tries to assess the veracity of the statement. Those who know me seem to think I'm kidding, but those who really know me are certain that I'm not.
While it's true that I've held a variety of jobs that include teaching Broadway tunes on Broadway, being an "information coordinator" (a nebulous title, if ever there was one), and even a stint making biker jewelry, I have managed to keep God, music, and politics at the forefront somehow.
I have to admit, though, this latest foray has taken even me by surprise. You see, I got ordained online. None of that years of seminary stuff for me, no sirree. I just filled out a form and clicked. But I warn you. Should you decide to do this for yourself, you will be transformed by the decision you make in ways you cannot anticipate. Sure, I picked the church who's sole tenet is "do what's right." That seemed good enough for me. And while I became ordained so that I could perform same sex weddings for my friends, the fervor of my belief in love, in equality, and in religious freedom has deepened tremendously, so I no longer giggle when I talk about it.
So sure, I write snarky political pieces for The Huffington Post, pop and country songs for upcoming artists, and will tirelessly persevere for any cause I deem worthy of my efforts, but in the end, it may just be that my "we are the world" belief system is what will define me and inform all my future choices, because to be a part of anyone's most vulnerable moments, whether good or bad, is to have a ringside seat for what is meaningful in life.
As for what I'm going to put on my business cards, I'm done with the biker jewelry, though I do love a good Broadway song. I think I might need as many cards as I wear hats. No matter what your motivations are, I encourage you to go for whatever you feel that inner urging towards. You never know where it may lead you. Life has a funny way of surprising us.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
While it's true that I've held a variety of jobs that include teaching Broadway tunes on Broadway, being an "information coordinator" (a nebulous title, if ever there was one), and even a stint making biker jewelry, I have managed to keep God, music, and politics at the forefront somehow.
I have to admit, though, this latest foray has taken even me by surprise. You see, I got ordained online. None of that years of seminary stuff for me, no sirree. I just filled out a form and clicked. But I warn you. Should you decide to do this for yourself, you will be transformed by the decision you make in ways you cannot anticipate. Sure, I picked the church who's sole tenet is "do what's right." That seemed good enough for me. And while I became ordained so that I could perform same sex weddings for my friends, the fervor of my belief in love, in equality, and in religious freedom has deepened tremendously, so I no longer giggle when I talk about it.
So sure, I write snarky political pieces for The Huffington Post, pop and country songs for upcoming artists, and will tirelessly persevere for any cause I deem worthy of my efforts, but in the end, it may just be that my "we are the world" belief system is what will define me and inform all my future choices, because to be a part of anyone's most vulnerable moments, whether good or bad, is to have a ringside seat for what is meaningful in life.
As for what I'm going to put on my business cards, I'm done with the biker jewelry, though I do love a good Broadway song. I think I might need as many cards as I wear hats. No matter what your motivations are, I encourage you to go for whatever you feel that inner urging towards. You never know where it may lead you. Life has a funny way of surprising us.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
In Search of...signs that you want the job just a little too much
The fight for the Florida Republican primary has gotten ugly. Make that deaf, dumb, and ugly. Yeah, yeah, Newt is delusional, is planning not only for his second term as president, but also for additional statehood on the moon, but you gotta give him credit for bravado. He wants to appear bold, forward-thinking, and presidential. I'm not buying, but I admire the chutzpah.
Mitt, in the musical equivalent of arms flailing and crazed desperation, has resorted to a horrifying attempt to capture the coverage and affection garnered by President Obama's recent soulful rendition of an Al Green song. Only this white man can't sing. Oh Mitt, where do I begin to count the ways in which this version of "America the Beautiful" is going to bite you? First of all, don't you have anyone in your corner who is willing to be honest with you and tell you not to do it? A wife or ten, perhaps? But no, they probably told you you have a lovely singing voice. That's where that billionaire lifestyle can seriously lead you astray. Anyway, thanks for trying, but don't quit your day...wait a minute, do you even have a day job? Oh yeah, campaigning for president.
And just because he can't help himself, Donald Trump is waiting in the wings. No, he really doesn't want to be president, but you know, if America can't live without him, he's just the kind of guy who'll sacrifice for his country...not on a battlefield, of course, but just as president so he can be the most powerful man in the world. He's a giver, the Donald is.
All this fodder has been making me think about what job I'd want badly enough to do this tap dance for. I'm reading Chris Matthew's book called Life's a Campaign and it really does come down to people's perception of the degree to which you care about them. This is where the Republican candidates all fall short. They are good at telling you what's great about them and how bad Obama is, but as for listening to a country that's hurting, no can do. They'll be happy to tell you where you've gone astray, but they won't take responsibility for any of it. That's on you. And here's the problem with that: everybody played a part, whether it was private sector Mitt or Speaker Newt. Passing the buck and casting blame aren't signs of leadership. They are signs of cowardice. And true leaders inspire and encourage people to be part of a team and work together.
Is lying and name-calling an inevitablity in today's political landscape? Maybe. But I think the better tactic is empathetic listening. I think that truth is what is inevitable and the jockeying for power is fleeting, at best.
Well, I'm off to polish up my own vocal repertoire. You never know when you might need to publicly break into song.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
Mitt, in the musical equivalent of arms flailing and crazed desperation, has resorted to a horrifying attempt to capture the coverage and affection garnered by President Obama's recent soulful rendition of an Al Green song. Only this white man can't sing. Oh Mitt, where do I begin to count the ways in which this version of "America the Beautiful" is going to bite you? First of all, don't you have anyone in your corner who is willing to be honest with you and tell you not to do it? A wife or ten, perhaps? But no, they probably told you you have a lovely singing voice. That's where that billionaire lifestyle can seriously lead you astray. Anyway, thanks for trying, but don't quit your day...wait a minute, do you even have a day job? Oh yeah, campaigning for president.
And just because he can't help himself, Donald Trump is waiting in the wings. No, he really doesn't want to be president, but you know, if America can't live without him, he's just the kind of guy who'll sacrifice for his country...not on a battlefield, of course, but just as president so he can be the most powerful man in the world. He's a giver, the Donald is.
All this fodder has been making me think about what job I'd want badly enough to do this tap dance for. I'm reading Chris Matthew's book called Life's a Campaign and it really does come down to people's perception of the degree to which you care about them. This is where the Republican candidates all fall short. They are good at telling you what's great about them and how bad Obama is, but as for listening to a country that's hurting, no can do. They'll be happy to tell you where you've gone astray, but they won't take responsibility for any of it. That's on you. And here's the problem with that: everybody played a part, whether it was private sector Mitt or Speaker Newt. Passing the buck and casting blame aren't signs of leadership. They are signs of cowardice. And true leaders inspire and encourage people to be part of a team and work together.
Is lying and name-calling an inevitablity in today's political landscape? Maybe. But I think the better tactic is empathetic listening. I think that truth is what is inevitable and the jockeying for power is fleeting, at best.
Well, I'm off to polish up my own vocal repertoire. You never know when you might need to publicly break into song.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
In Search of...things that are making me cranky
Yes, it's odd coming off such an uplifting New Year's blog, that I would head right for the cranky. But in my defense, as I nearly got run over by the same Hummer - twice yesterday, it occurred to me that a) As a rule, I don't like people who drive Hummers. And b) They must not come with turn signals since no one uses them.
Hummers aside, I must move on...to politics. Sure, it's been an entertaining week politically. Rick Perry dropped out of the race, so God help the Texans. He's coming home. Then Rick Santorum, the sweater-vest guy, has unexpectedly won Iowa well after it was given to Romney. Kind of anticlimactic, but Rick will take it as a sure sign that - well, I'm really not certain what it's a sure sign of, but anyway, he's looking at least an inch taller on stage now.
A word about Romney, if I could. Okay, so it's no secret that I don't like the guy. Heck, his own party doesn't like him. But if my name were Willard Mitt Romney, I'd go by "Will" and not "Mitt." Here's why: Mitt sounds too much like it should be a form of contraception. Really. I'm just sayin'.
And Newt. Poor Newt can't catch a break from the ladies. Wife #2, the one with MS, not to be confused with Wife #1, whom he left when she had cancer, told Nightline that Newt asked for an open marriage. Is there anyone else besides me out there who can't even picture this guy with one woman, let alone three? I'm waiting for the men to come out with allegations. And frankly, to be fair, I don't really care who he sleeps with. I said that about Bill Clinton as well as Anthony Weiner. It's not my business. Is it morally repugnant? Sure. Do I care? No. However, and this is a big however, if you're standing on a stage, passing judgement about what should and shouldn't be considered a real marriage, then Houston, I think we have a problem. And I don't think this problem will go away until Newt does. So as the South Carolinians vote today, here's hoping that Newt or Ron Paul win, because, let's face it, we could all use some more entertainment in these bleak winter months.
Lastly and on a very serious note, I would like to encourage you, my beloved readers, NOT to let SOPA, the Stop Online Piracy Act in Congress, and PIPA, the Protect IP Act in the Senate, drift off quietly into the night. Companies like Wikipedia and Google are banking on the fact that you won't want to be inconvenienced. But for folks like me, losing our livelihoods more and more every day, this is a matter of life and death, so suck it up and join the side of the fine working people who provide you with your entertainment and ideas.
Most of us who are writers and artists are eking by, depending on a system where our goods and services are compensated. Illegal downloading and duplication is not a victimless crime. It is stealing something that doesn't belong to you without paying for it. And for that, you should go to jail. That is what we do with criminals who rob stores, and just because the item is a song or a movie, doesn't make thievery any less of a crime. So please, contact your senators and congresspeople, and tell them that there needs to be legislation to stop online piracy. Just like the workers in an auto plant, the creators of these products have bills to pay and food to put on the table. It's no joke.
So if you're one of the many who are staying inside today because of snow, please take a moment and contact your representatives. The links are below.
http://www.house.gov/representatives/
http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm
Thanks for stopping by and participating. Please tell your friends.
Hummers aside, I must move on...to politics. Sure, it's been an entertaining week politically. Rick Perry dropped out of the race, so God help the Texans. He's coming home. Then Rick Santorum, the sweater-vest guy, has unexpectedly won Iowa well after it was given to Romney. Kind of anticlimactic, but Rick will take it as a sure sign that - well, I'm really not certain what it's a sure sign of, but anyway, he's looking at least an inch taller on stage now.
A word about Romney, if I could. Okay, so it's no secret that I don't like the guy. Heck, his own party doesn't like him. But if my name were Willard Mitt Romney, I'd go by "Will" and not "Mitt." Here's why: Mitt sounds too much like it should be a form of contraception. Really. I'm just sayin'.
And Newt. Poor Newt can't catch a break from the ladies. Wife #2, the one with MS, not to be confused with Wife #1, whom he left when she had cancer, told Nightline that Newt asked for an open marriage. Is there anyone else besides me out there who can't even picture this guy with one woman, let alone three? I'm waiting for the men to come out with allegations. And frankly, to be fair, I don't really care who he sleeps with. I said that about Bill Clinton as well as Anthony Weiner. It's not my business. Is it morally repugnant? Sure. Do I care? No. However, and this is a big however, if you're standing on a stage, passing judgement about what should and shouldn't be considered a real marriage, then Houston, I think we have a problem. And I don't think this problem will go away until Newt does. So as the South Carolinians vote today, here's hoping that Newt or Ron Paul win, because, let's face it, we could all use some more entertainment in these bleak winter months.
Lastly and on a very serious note, I would like to encourage you, my beloved readers, NOT to let SOPA, the Stop Online Piracy Act in Congress, and PIPA, the Protect IP Act in the Senate, drift off quietly into the night. Companies like Wikipedia and Google are banking on the fact that you won't want to be inconvenienced. But for folks like me, losing our livelihoods more and more every day, this is a matter of life and death, so suck it up and join the side of the fine working people who provide you with your entertainment and ideas.
Most of us who are writers and artists are eking by, depending on a system where our goods and services are compensated. Illegal downloading and duplication is not a victimless crime. It is stealing something that doesn't belong to you without paying for it. And for that, you should go to jail. That is what we do with criminals who rob stores, and just because the item is a song or a movie, doesn't make thievery any less of a crime. So please, contact your senators and congresspeople, and tell them that there needs to be legislation to stop online piracy. Just like the workers in an auto plant, the creators of these products have bills to pay and food to put on the table. It's no joke.
So if you're one of the many who are staying inside today because of snow, please take a moment and contact your representatives. The links are below.
http://www.house.gov/representatives/
http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm
Thanks for stopping by and participating. Please tell your friends.
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