d m i n m e m

The Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth

2012-02-08T11:13:00.001-06:00

Oh, for God's sake, Karen. Really? More double talk?

The language in your self-aggrandizing letter is no more than a thinly veiled rejection of your responsibility for putting Komen in the crosshairs for your own political gain, when clearly you are to blame.

Evidently the public outcry against Komen's decision to stop funding Planned Parenthood has done nothing to show you that using trickery to advance your personal and political agenda won't fly with those of us who support women's health for all.

Your phrase "perceived" challenges in the language used to justify ending funding for Planned Parenthood illuminates exactly how vile you are. Even though the organization's statistics show that only ≤3% of their work has anything to do with abortion, you've chosen to amplify your lies to anyone who will listen, screeching that Planned Parenthood equals abortion.

Admit it. You're on a personal mission is to end abortion and will stop at nothing to do it -- even if it means allowing innocent women who need breast cancer screenings to die.

Shame on the board of Komen for allowing you to destroy the organization's reputation. And, shame on you for being a the lying, cheating, double-talking Whore of Babylon.

This is Hardly American

2012-02-02T22:24:00.000-06:00

I read a story on Huffington Post about American Airlines wanting to cut 13,000 jobs. If you've been around dminmem.com at all you'll likely know my thoughts on this.

After posting a comment on HuffPo, I was told that the comment was deleted: "This comment has been removed. Most comments are removed because of an attack or insult on another user or public figure. Please see the guidelines here if you're not sure why this comment was removed."

I changed "asshole" to "filthy whore." Guess that wasn't enough. I suppose, too, that naming names probably goes against AOL policy. So, here are my uncensored thoughts:

So enlightening, this story.

Oh, but wait! Nothing was ever mentioned about the CEOs salary and the sacrifices he intends to make for the well being of the corporation.

Coincidence?

Nah. He's just playing follow the leader. Not "leader," as in one who actually conducts his business fairly with virtue and goodwill for both customers and employees, one who is satisfied with a more than ample salary and benefits commensurate with the value of his business (like recently retired Costco CEO Jim Sinegal).

Rather, this is the kind of "leader" who only mimics the asshole that first traveled down this well worn road paved with avarice. This is the kind of "leader" who robs his loyal employees who were instrumental in the business' success (like NWA's Doug Steenland who suggested workers enduring 40% salary cuts could dumpster dive to make ends meet).

This is the kind of "leader" who steals retirees' benefits -- ones they earned and were promised -- by changing the rules after the fact.

This is the kind of "leader" who sacrifices nothing himself and ends up taking even more in bonuses and stock options when all the slashing and burning is done. This is the kind of leader who fattens the calf for slaughter, kills it off with a merger then retires with his balloon of cash to his six residences and protects his ill-gotten gains in offshore bank accounts to avoid fair taxation.

My heart goes out to the 13,000 threatened American Airlines employees.

And, my soul cries for this nation.

Let's Don't Go Krogering

2012-01-07T16:21:00.005-06:00

I've been working on a post recounting the Holidays but I've been distracted. Guess that happens when one has trouble paying attention, is easily led in other directions, or, let's say, has projects on which to catch up after two days without a computer. The original, 5-year-old hard drive gave up the ghost. Things are getting back to normal after having a new 70% larger, light-years faster hard drive installed, and I am determined to finish the holiday post. But for now, here is a note I just sent to Kroger via their website.

Back in the 1960s, there was a huge, colorful, tile mosaic of a happy, modern shopper pushing a cart-full of groceries on the wall at the entrance of the Kroger store on Baxter Avenue in Louisville. I loved shopping there with my grandmother.

Shiny, happy Kroger Shopper, circa 1959.

Forty-three or so years later, I've been living in Memphis for a couple of decades. During that time I've bounced between grocers, most recently Schnuck's and Kroger, to get the things I required.

I was less than enthused when our community received the news that Kroger would be buying out its only competition in Memphis for two reasons: A) there were things I could get at Schnuck's that Kroger wouldn't/didn't/couldn't carry, and B) Kroger would be a monopoly with the ability to limit selection, increase prices and more or less hold us hostage. The remaining grocers are either low-budget, discount operations that don't offer the products I prefer or they are small family-owned neighborhood stores that are charming for an occasional visit but not for regular pantry-stocking.

My expectations have been met. I have witnessed the elimination of some of my favorite staples from the shelves, like Eight O'Clock Italian Roast coffee beans, Romanoff Black (and Red) Lumpfish Caviar and Campbell's Select Harvest French Onion Soup. Those are a few of many that come to mind.

Then, there's the price increases. Understanding the state of the economy I expect food costs to rise in general, across segments. It's the quiet, gradual, specific instances that are glaring to me. Is there a run on mayonnaise of which I'm unaware? A soup shortage? Orange trees disappearing?

No, Kroger, I will not take what you give us and like it. I am not a reflection of that apparently gleeful, tile-faced shopper on the wall of my grandmother's long-gone grocery. I am making a conscious commitment to avoid your stores like the plague. I've had enough of the virtual nose tweaking you're giving us in Memphis by ditching things that have long been on our shelves without consideration and the extortion to which we're subjected in the checkout lanes (often while bagging our own groceries).

I'll be shopping at our local meat markets, produce stands and farmers' markets for perishables even more than I have in the past. And, I intend to find everything else I used to buy in your stores elsewhere -- whether it be in bulk at a warehouse store or piecemeal at various places online.

I'm seeking more value for the way I live.

Mental Block

2011-11-19T09:06:00.007-06:00

So, this morning I got up and went through my rituals, then sat down with a cup of coffee at my laptop to do some research in hopes of being inspired for this year's Christmas card design. I pinned a few things on Pinterest but hadn't found anything especially fitting.

But as I poked through images at Plan 59, I happened upon this image for a 1941 Lincoln Zephyr ad with the caption, "Give them a Magic Carpet for Christmas." While this may not inspire a card design I think it's a great image and as you may or may not know, I love vintage advertising.

Suddenly, the redesign of the new Lincolns made sense to me. I remembered my first up-close-and-personal glimpse of the 2010 Lincoln MKT at Standiford Field over the holidays in 2009, where at first I thought, "I like that," but then wondered what they were doing up in the division's design studios.

Since Lincoln introduced its new look I've been perplexed, but intrigued. And now, I get it. The design looks to be inspired by that 1941 Zephyr. It has to be. Why else would the MKZ have first hit the market as Zephyr in 2006?

Digging a little further, Wikipedia offered this regarding 2010 and later cars: "In the front, the MKZ's headlights are new while its fascia and split-wing grille closely resembles that of the Lincoln MKR concept, a new approach towards giving all Lincolns a shared appearance inspired by Lincolns during the late 1930s, as demonstrated by the 1936 Lincoln-Zephyr."

Good Lord. It's only taken me two years to get here. I'm often curious as to why I don't immediately connect the dots for things which once "discovered" seem so obvious?

"Fiddle-dee-dee," as Scarlett O'Hara would say. I'll worry about that another day. I need to get on with designing our Christmas card.

Happy holidays.

Christmas Tradition

2011-11-09T12:35:00.006-06:00

It started with a simple question: What are your favorite Christmas traditions?"

The query was posed on Better Homes and Gardens' Facebook wall back in July. I answered and posted a link to this blog: Stumped.

Around 10:30 this morning Cameron went to Walgreen's to pick up his new prescription for Ambien. At 11:03 my phone rang. When I answered, he said, "Congratulations."

I said, "for what?"

He'd been checking the newsstands for the last week or two and this time he found it. If you pick up a copy of Better Homes and Gardens December 2011 issue, you'll find one of our Christmas traditions featured on the lead page of the "Better Family" story, page 197. I learned that it would be included in the magazine in August and have done my best to keep quiet about it until now.

To say our holiday season is starting with a "bang" would be an understatement.

Air Travel: No PanAm

2011-10-07T07:40:00.006-05:00

Cameron and I have been excited about ABC's new series PanAm. We both remember the cachet that accompanied the thought of air travel in its glory days. Alas, the climate has changed drastically with deregulation, cost-cutting measures, hijackings and terrorist attacks.

I've posted the following before but I was just reminded of it and thought it was worth sharing again. This version comes from Consumer Traveler.

Memo from an angry flight attendant

by Charlie Leocha on July 25, 2008

Here’s a letter from an unknown flight attendant that touches on almost every part of the flight experience that frequent and no-so-frequent fliers know all too well.

It is a reminder in this day of flight crews being booed and sued, and more and more canceled flights that the front line of pilots and flight attendants are as much victims of bad management as we, the passengers, are.

As this flight attendant so aptly says, “direct your hostility and frustrations in the direction where they will be most effective: The customer service department. They are the ones equipped to handle your complaint and implement procedures for change.”

When you do interact with your flight attendant, a smile, a kind word and a thank you go a long way — further than many of us know.

To the Flying Public: We’re sorry.

We’re sorry we have no pillows.

We’re sorry we’re out of blankets.

We’re sorry the airplane is too cold.

We’re sorry the airplane is too hot.

We’re sorry the overhead bins are full.

We’re sorry we have no closet space for your oversized bag.

We’re sorry that’s not the seat you wanted.

We’re sorry there’s a restless toddler/overweight/offensive smelling
passenger seated next to you.

We’re sorry the plane is full and there’s no other seats available.

We’re sorry you didn’t get your upgrade.

We’re sorry that guy makes you uncomfortable because he “looks like a terrorist”.

We’re sorry there’s a thunderstorm and we can’t take off.

We’re sorry we don’t know when it will stop.

We’re sorry you’re crammed into a space so small that if you were an animal PETA would protest.

We’re sorry a Super 80 has no music or video entertainment for your 3 hour flight.

We’re sorry we ran out of your favorite soda.

We’re sorry there’s no more sandwiches.

We’re sorry that Budweiser costs $6.

We’re sorry we don’t have diapers for your baby.

We’re sorry we don’t have milk for same baby.

We’re sorry you can’t hang out by the cockpit door waiting to use the bathroom. We’re sorry you can’t hang out at the back of the airplane.

We’re sorry you have to sit down and fasten your seatbelt.

We’re sorry you have to put your seat up for landing.

We’re sorry we don’t know when we’re going to land.

We’re sorry we don’t know whether your plane to (substitute any city in the world) will be waiting for you when we land.

We’re sorry we’ve been diverted because we ran out of gas waiting to land.

We’re sorry for these and so many other things that we have absolutely no control over but which we are held accountable for EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Please understand. Flight attendants are not the enemy. We share your space. More than anyone – we want to have a nice, pleasant travel experience.

There is a reason behind everything we ask you to do. It may be a FAA directive. It may be security related. It may be a company procedure.

We don’t just make stuff up. We don’t spend 8 weeks at the flight academy learning how to pour a Coke. There are many things that flight attendants are watching for constantly on every flight FOR YOUR SAFETY.

It’s not because we’re bored or so controlling that we just enjoy telling people what to do. I, for one, would like to have one flight where I didn’t have to repeatedly tell people to put their seats up for landing. Seriously.

Can’t you just do what we ask sometimes? Without the glares, eye rolling and disdain? For the record – putting your seat up for landing may not seem that important to your personal safety. However, it is very important for the person sitting BEHIND YOU. If you have ever tried to get out of a row where
someone has their seat back you know it can be a challenge. Try grabbing your ankles (emergency brace position) or getting out of that row quickly with smoke in the cabin.

Understand a little better now?

Many of the things we ask passengers to comply with are FAA directives. Like carry-on bag stowage and exit row requirements. When we can serve drinks (in the air) and when we can’t (after the aircraft door is closed or on an active taxi-way). We are only allowed to move about the cabin during taxi
out for safety related duties. We can’t get you blankets then, or hang coats, or get you drinks. It’s not because we don’t want to. It’s because we are held personally responsible if we fail to comply with FAA directives.

Meaning that the FAA can fine us personally up to $10,000 if we fail to comply or enforce an FAA Directive. Like no bags at the bulkhead. No children in the exit row. No one moving around the cabin during taxi.

Perhaps now you know why flight attendants get a little testy when people move about the cabin when they’re not supposed to. It’s not the company that gets in trouble for that. It’s us.

Personally, I wish the airlines would show worst case scenario safety videos. Like what happens if you walk through the cabin during turbulence.

There could be a guy who has just fallen and smacked his face on the metal armrest and now has a bloody, gushing broken nose. Or an elderly lady who now has a broken arm because someone walking to the bathroom fell on her.

Maybe a passenger with a broken neck because somebody opened an overhead bin during turbulence and a suitcase fell out and onto the person sitting beneath it. These things can easily happen in a fast moving, unstable air environment.

Please just trust that we are looking out for your best interest and stop fighting with us about everything we ask you to do. It is exhausting.

Finally, please, please direct your hostility and frustrations in the direction where they will be most effective: The customer service department. They are the ones equipped to handle your complaint and
implement procedures for CHANGE.

Think about it. Complaining to the flight crew about all your negative travel experiences is about the same as complaining to the office janitor because your computer isn’t working. It may make you feel better to vent about it – but it really won’t fix anything. More than anybody we are already aware of the lack of amenities, food, service and comfort on the aircraft. Please share your concerns with the people in the cubicles at corporate who need that information to make better decisions for the flying public.

It’s frustrating that so many people are in denial about what the travel industry is about now. The glory days of pillows, blankets, magazines and a hot meal for everyone are long gone. Our job is to get you from point A to point B safely and at the cheapest possible cost to you and the company. So be prepared. If you are hungry – get a sandwich before you get on the plane.

If it’s a 3 hour flight, anticipate that you may get hungry and bring some snacks. If you are cold natured – bring a wrap. Think for yourself and think ahead. Otherwise, don’t complain when you have to pay $3 for a cookie and are left with a crusty blanket to keep you warm.

We hear often that the service just isn’t what is used to be. Well, the SERVICE we provide now isn’t what it used to be.

When I was hired, my job was to serve drinks, meals, ensure that safety requirements were met and tend to in-flight medical issues.

Since 9/11 my primary job is to ensure that my airplane will not be compromised by a terrorist.

9/11 may be a distant memory now to many, but be assured that EVERY DAY a flight attendant reports to work he or she is constantly thinking about 9/11. We feel a personal responsibility to ensure that something like that never happens again. We can never relax. We can never not be suspicious
about someone’s intentions.

It is difficult to be vigilant and gregarious at the same time. Especially when most of us are working 12 hour days after layovers that only allow 5-6 hours of sleep. Not because we were out partying and having a grand time on the layover – but because the delays that you experience as a passenger also affect us as a crew, so that what was a 10 hour layover is now 8 hours which doesn’t leave a lot of time to recover from what has become an increasingly stressful occupation.

Despite everything, I still enjoy being a flight attendant.

I am writing this letter because I do still care about my profession and about the public perception of flight attendants. In the increasingly challenging travel world it is becoming more imperative than ever for people to just be decent to each other. I can go through an entire day without one person saying anything remotely civil. I will stand at the aircraft door and say hello to everyone who enters and maybe 50% will even look at me and even less will say hello back.

I will try to serve someone a meal who can’t be bothered to take their headsets off long enough for me to ask them what they want. Most of the time the only conversation a passenger has with me is when they are complaining.

Is it any wonder why flight attendants have shut down a bit? After suffering the disdain of hundreds of passengers a day it’s difficult sometimes to even smile, much less interact. We are human. We appreciate the same respect and courtesy that passengers do.

The next time you fly, try treating the flight attendants the way you would like to be treated. You may be surprised how friendly your flight crew is when they are treated like people.

author unknown

Where was I? What was I doing?

2011-09-11T08:35:00.007-05:00

I often wonder why it seems important for people to ask "where were you when...." And, I hear this often. "Where were you when JFK was shot?" "What were you doing when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated?" "Where were you when Elvis died?" With all of the media coverage over the last few days leading up to "ten years later," I'm a bit underwhelmed. I understand that people want to "connect" by discussing their circumstances as these events took place, but for me, my whereabouts at the time are unimportant. Nearly 3,000 people virtually vanished that morning and countless other lives were changed forever that day. Yet, I'm still here. I pray to do something meaningful today in honor of those that may have changed the world but didn't have the chance.

With that said, this is my recollection of September 11, 2001:

Ten years ago I was settling into our cabin on the Golden Princess for a nap as the ship prepared to leave the port at Kusadasi for Istanbul. It was about 4:30 PM. We'd spent a great day touring Ephesus and Selçuk with our guide, Anu. She, Cameron and I formed a mutual bond almost immediately. Working the summer as a guide in her native Turkey, Anu had plans to rejoin her sister back in Atlanta in the fall.

After a scary cliff-side bus ride to the House of the Virgin Mary, where it's believed Mary lived out her life, Anu instructed us to quickly go inside the shrine before "the Japanese tourists cut in front of you" as we waited in line to enter. The apparent leader of that group spat, "were not Japanese, we're Korean." Her response? "Same difference." Wow. Once the "official" tour concluded she asked if she could show us around. She escorted us to one of her favorite restaurants where we met some of her friends and ate a late lunch. During conversation we mentioned that we wanted to buy a rug. She took us to a merchant she knew and that's where we bought the rug that's in our living room today.

Not long after closing my eyes, Cameron's mother, Carolyn, came knocking on our cabin door. It was clear that she was distressed. She said a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I remember saying, "it must be a movie." Alas, we sat on our beds and watched the entire event unfold on CNN until the channel was no longer available at sea. We switched to BBC and, as usual, the coverage turned out to be a much better alternative to the "hype" and continued instant replays found on our American "news" media.

The ship was eerily quiet that night. The only activity was the seemingly miles long line of passengers quietly queuing up to the Excursions desk to cancel their plans for Istanbul. There was a handful of folks that sat with us at a bar on the otherwise deserted pool deck. Among them were a couple of girls from the Bay Area, our German friends Georg and Barbara and a couple from Puerto Rico, Ian and Orlando, with whom we'd become acquainted. After nearly two weeks on board we'd gotten to know our bartender as well. She was a sweet, Romanian girl who at first was sympathetic to the events taking place in New York, but then she said, "now you know how the rest of us feel." I'm as nonplussed with comment today as I was then.

The next morning we cruised into Istanbul. As the ship approached it's berth we were stopped while Turkish military came aboard, all dressed in black, carrying AK-47 assault rifles. They patrolled the top deck of the ship while guard boats circled in the water the entire time we were in there. Through various announcements from the ship's captain and hearing the Call to Prayer dotted with the only intelligible word —"America"— we began to feel assured that we were safe in Turkey. Still, uncertainty permeated the air on the Golden Princess. The cruise line had their hands full. Not only did they have a ship full of people wrapping up their two week Mediterranean Cruise, they had another ship-load of folks waiting in port to board.

The second day, Princess asked us to turn in our personalized cards for on-board charges and gave us new ones without names. Confused, I didn't find out until later that they didn't charge for any expenses after the original disembarkation date. In addition, they contracted with charter buses to take hourly trips to the Grand Bazaar for those who had cancelled their excursions earlier who now warmed to the idea of getting off of the ship. I agreed to go with Cameron and his stepfather, Jim. Walking on the shady path to the marketplace, we were offered some tea. Everyone we encountered was welcoming and friendly. But I was still uncomfortable. We walked the stalls of the cavernous Bazaar and eventually stopped in a shop to buy some rings, but by this time I was so stressed that I only stayed long enough for one cycle of bus departures back to the ship. Once onboard, I slept for almost an entire day. Unfortunately, that was Cameron's and my ninth anniversary. Not so happy.

Some time later, we were ushered into the Princess Theatre for an evacuation presentation where too many among the audience were comparing bejeweled canvas shoes instead of paying attention to the presentation. During the Q & A portion of the program those shoe-sharing dingbats were asking questions that had already been covered. As you can imagine stress levels were fairly high and I remember saying something aloud that I later regretted about "turning up your Beltone."

Because air travel had been suspended our chartered jet was grounded in Atlanta. It seemed that once we were given evacuation plans they would change almost instantly. There was talk of sailing back to Athens or even Barcelona. Later, it looked like we might sail all the way to Fort Lauderdale. With each of the different announcement I left the ship for terminal and the lines at the telephone bank in an attempt to keep our families, our house/dog sitter, Lise, and our employers informed.

Every night, the captain would come on the PA and instruct us to put our luggage outside our cabins, telling us we'd leave the next day. Our bags came back to our cabins the next morning. Finally, on the fifth attempt, our plane had been allowed to leave the United States and was waiting for us at Atatürk International Airport. We got on the bus and made our way to a World Airways charter plane, which normally seats just over 200 passengers, that had been refitted to seat more than 400. With space being so tight, and many passengers' complete lack of regard for instructions, it was a miserable 10-hour flight. Inconsiderates were piling used food boxes in front of the emergency exits instead of waiting for the crew to collect them. Some clueless woman leaned up against a flight attendants' communications console while waiting in line for the lavatory and coincidentally managed to press the right combination of buttons with her butt to send a distress signal to the cockpit. One of the pilots came rushing back to the area yelling for everyone to take their seats.

After Cameron became acquainted with some of the crew he helped them get things back in order. We landed at LaGuardia late that night and boarded buses to a LaQuinta/Quality/Non-Descript hotel. It was chaos all around, on the grounds, in the lobby, and in the restaurant. We had a couple of drinks while we waited for something to eat, then went to bed in anticipation of our bus ride to JFK for another flight the next day.

It was a somber flight from New York with only a handful of passengers on board. Much like the morning of the attacks, it was a clear, sunny day giving us a clear view of the smoldering remains of the World Trade Center followed by a glimpse of hole in the Pentagon.

“Green” your lawn with drought-tolerant turf - DIY Advice Blog - Family Handyman DIY Community

2011-08-09T18:39:00.000-05:00

“Green” your lawn with drought-tolerant turf - DIY Advice Blog - Family Handyman DIY Community

Here are a couple of eye-opening factoids:

— U.S. homeowners spend more to maintain their lawns than the average farmer spends on each acre of crops.

— For the average home, 50 to 70 percent of the water bill is for watering the lawn.

If your community is among the many that has implemented watering restrictions to deal with water shortages, it might be time to change the way you think about your yard.

First, consider replacing some or all of your existing turf with ground covers and drought-tolerant plantings.

Second, consider planting a lawn that requires less water. You might wonder if it’s really possible to stop watering (and fertilizing) so much and still have nice-looking turf. According to High Country Gardens, the answer is yes. The nursery offers water-wise grass seed mixtures and grass plugs developed specifically for different regions to look good while requiring less water and fewer chemicals.

The “No Mow” lawn seed mix has been developed for the cooler, moister climates in the upper Midwest, northeastern U.S. and high elevations in the West. For hotter climates and areas in the southern U.S., check out the “Low Work and Water” seed mix. These specially blended mixes of dwarf fine fescue grass varieties provide deep-rooted and dense turf that, according to High Country Gardens, requires little additional water except during the driest spells in summer. You can leave it unmowed for a wild effect or mow it once a month (!) to achieve a more manicured look ($30 per 5-lb. bag, which seeds 1,000 sq. ft.).

High Country Gardens also offers Legacy Buffalo grass plugs (70 plugs for $50) that duplicate the lush green of traditional bluegrass turf in low-moisture, high-clay areas while using 50 to 75 percent less water. If you live in a region with sandy soils, try Blue Grama grass plugs instead.

Even if you’re not interested in grass, check out High Country Garden's Web site (highcountrygardens.com). It has an abundance of information about drought-tolerant landscaping and offers high-quality, water-wise perennials, ornamental grasses and shrubs for your specific region. I’ve purchased many of their perennials over the years, and I’ve been very impressed with their plants, packing methods and customer service.

— Elisa Bernick, Associate Editor

Seems Pretty Simple To Me

2011-07-26T16:27:00.005-05:00

I recently saw this from The New York Times:

And, I asked, "how could we solve this problem?" I like the way this looks much better:

Just as 'Ouisa says in "Steel Magnolias," "these are not difficult questions."

Good Lord. Embarkation Day

2011-05-22T13:00:00.014-05:00

I have been so busy. I was shocked last week to see how long it had been since I began this recap of our February vacation. Guess it's about like me sending Christmas presents -- that were absent-mindedly left under the tree here -- to Louisville and Biloxi in April. The lady at the post office laughed when I told her what they were, saying, "I would have made up something else!" Upon this revelation I finished this installment and clicked "publish," but I found two days ago that none of my work had been saved, let alone published:

Writing this on day two of our cruise, I figured that two days at sea would give me plenty of time to chronicle our adventure thus far since all we're doing at this point is sunning, eating, cocktailing and dancing.

Saturday morning we woke up early, and after making coffee, we packed, applied our Norwegian bag tags each piece of our "checked" luggage and made our way to the Mustang. We were surprised at how little traffic there was on the 405 that morning -- it made my plan: driving to the Westin, dropping Cameron and our luggage there, returning the car to Hertz and making it back to the hotel, a little less daunting.

Pulling into the hotel grounds, we spotted Andy and John out on one of the benches. I pulled up to the curb so Cameron and I could unload our luggage, then headed back out on Century Boulevard to return the car. At first I saw signs directing drivers to the various rental lots, including Hertz. But then for some reason after the first couple of signs my rental company wasn't anywhere to be found and I didn't see any arrows that instructed me to turn. I ended up driving all the way to the terminals at LAX before I saw another "rental car return" sign that took me on all sorts of loops, twists and turns before I spied the big yellow sign at the Hertz property.

After leaving the car I was whisked to the airport where I planned on grabbing a taxi back to the Westin. But when I got there a young woman directed me to a bus stop in the middle of a traffic island at the far end of the terminal where I should to wait for the blue bus. She told me it was free, but what she didn't tell me is that there are several blue buses, each of which go to two or three specific hotels. I began to get a little unnerved when I kept seeing shuttles for every hotel brand on Earth except Westin. I waited. I smoked a cigarette. I waited. What was likely fifteen to thirty minutes seemed like hours.

Since my focus had been on the LED route indicators on every blue bus coming through the terminal I didn't realize I was standing directly in front of the Theme Building with a clear view. In my previous trips to Los Angeles I've tried to snap a photo but have been thwarted by construction scaffolding, large machinery, parking garages, or what have you. I walked a few feet away from the shuttle stop to get a better view.

Finishing after a few quick snaps, I was messing with the lens cap and looked up to see that I'd completely missed the fact that a big, blue bus with the letters "W-E-S-T-I-N" flashing on the LED display was beginning to pull away from the stop. I ran toward the bus and used my palm to bang on the windows to let the driver know I wanted to be on that bus. Thankfully, she stopped. Boarding the bus, I thanked her profusely and explained that I'd been waiting for some time. She and I talked about why I was there as she meandered from terminal to terminal, finally leaving airport property and arriving at the hotel. As I hopped off of the bus she wished us a great vacation. Such a nice lady.

I joined our group and some new cruisers in the lobby where we waited for the shuttle to San Pedro and the Norwegian Star. A few of us made our way to Daily Grill to pass the time with breakfast, a bloody mary or a mimosa. Finding that we could smoke cigarettes on the patio where there were large, comfortable chairs in a conversation area with a stone fire pit we migrated outdoors for the delightful L.A. weather.

After anxiously waiting for what seemed like half the day the charter buses finally arrived. We paid our tabs, scrambled for our luggage and made our way out the door. Leaving our luggage to be loaded onto the bus, we climbed aboard and took our seats with a sigh of relief. It wasn't a long ride to San Pedro and before we knew it we could see our ship. The bus stopped and as the driver unloaded all of the bags we were instructed to walk in a particular door where we waited in line for security to check our passports and boarding documents. Once verified, we walked up two flights of stairs where the concrete block, windowless, sparse space opened up to a huge room filled with a cacophony of stanchions and hundreds of people waiting in line to approach one of the twenty or so NCL agents. The room was electric with anticipation. It was one of those times that everybody is a friend and complete strangers talked and chatted about their upcoming plans, where they're from, and what they did in Los Angeles before today.

We checked in, waved at those in our group who were still in line and began walking toward the ship to another long line. I could tell that some of the other people in line were beginning to tire of the process by how they leaned on any available object with sighs of boredom. Not me. I knew that before long we'd be in our cabin, on our balcony with many of our friends, waiting to leave Berth 93 for sunnier climes.

Typical Tourists

2011-03-18T09:53:00.000-05:00

Sunday, 6 February
At this point, We'd been on board the Norwegian Star for 24 hours. We joked that our stateroom on the Queen Mary was sure to be larger than our room would be on Norwegian Star based upon our prior experience on the Golden Princess. We were correct by about half. Our accommodations onboard this ship were nice enough, but our balcony stateroom is Lilliputian compared to the grand old ship in Long Beach.

The Observation Bar on The Queen Mary conjures up thoughts of 1930s glitz and glamour, but that ambience is all wrecked with the 1970s album rock soundtrack playing over the speaker system. The demographics were clear to me - this is a hangout for 50-something, salt-of-the-Earth locals. Yet during the second night of our stay the place was filled with conference attendees bearing Accenture name lanyards – a considerably younger, hipper crowd. This was a sharp contrast to the frizzy haired man we noticed both nights who, in the parking lot at one point said, "dude! don't do that to me!" I had gone out to the Mustang for something and hit the remote key, causing the horn to sound as he was digging around in his passenger seat adjacent to our rental. It was kinda funny, but I guess you had to be there.

Cameron and I had dinner at the Chelsea Chowder House and Bar for that night. And, since Anderton's closed a few years ago we rarely have oysters. And seeing "Oysters on the Half Shell" on the bill of fare we couldn't resist. Admittedly, these weren't the giant jewels from the Louisiana farm where Linda bought them, but I'm telling you, these little creatures were outstanding. The dozen was gone in mere seconds, it seemed. For dinner, he ordered a black cod sandwich with dressed seasonal mixed greens and balsamic vinaigrette. I ordered a rib-eye, medium-rare, Red Bliss Potatoes and the same mixed greens salad.

After dinner at Chelsea Chowder House we toured the ship for a while, snapped some photos, visited the Observation Bar and eventually turned in somewhat early so we'd be ready to see some sights the next morning. We woke up before dawn Friday and made coffee in the room. Once we were showered and dressed we headed outside to snap some photos of Queen Mary in daylight, then drove over the bridge to Long Beach looking for a Starbucks.

I'm not sure in which part of Long Beach we landed but we didn't find a Starbucks anywhere. A few blocks from the business district we began noticing that smart little shops were giving way to pawn shops and check cashing establishments. So we made a couple of rights and went back the way we came. Finally as the neighborhood improved (a little) we stopped at a Denny's and ordered breakfast and coffee.

While we ate I noticed many of the passers by possessed a certain unkempt quality. Some carried themselves in such a way that one might assume that they were mentally ill or drunk. Others toted tattered, mismatched grocery bags - the kind that twirl about the air and get caught in trees with the slightest wind - filled with what I suspect were not groceries. One character in particular, a gnome-like man wearing too many clothes, pushed a nearly overflowing grocery cart and would take a few steps, then stop, seemingly contemplating something with every pause. Then he'd begin walking again, only to stop. And, again. "Curious," I thought. I continued to chat with Cameron as I chipped away at my "NEW! Ultimate Skillet (fresh spinach, breakfast sausage, fire-roasted peppers and onions, mushrooms, grape tomatoes and seasoned red-skinned potatoes, topped with a smoky cheese blend and two eggs cooked the way you like them." Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I realized the "garden ornament" had stopped walking altogether. And even though the sidewalk was removed by a six-foot-wide elevated grass ledge, he was standing right next to my window. Startled, I looked his way and made direct eye contact. He just stood there staring. I hastily turned my head and wondered to myself, "is there another way out of here?" This, I think, sometimes makes me think I'm a shallow asshole.

Truthfully, I'd much rather make donations to organizations that provide lasting help to the homeless/jobless/hopeless -- like guidance and counseling (in addition to food and shelter) -- rather than being accosted as I go about my mindless business. Such an intrusion is as jarring and unwelcome, perhaps, as is guidance and counseling to those who prefer not to have it. I liken the nature of this so-called help to the way I feel each time that the silly, roly-poly blonde woman accosts me in varying places on Union Avenue. I've run into her numerous times at the post office, Blockbuster, the grocery. Apparently, after more than 26 years, she's still trying to raise funds to hop a bus to Millington, you know, the suburb 20 minutes north of Memphis. At any rate, I didn't want to deny having any cash to spare. I didn't want to smell him.

Relieved, I was excused from an exchange with the Travelocity spokesperson when it was time to leave because he'd moved past the restaurant entrance by a few feet. We hastily got back to the Mustang, left Denny's and drove around the corner to Walgreen's for an eight-pack of bottled water, Kleenex and some reading glasses. I'd left my prescription pair at the hotel and I was finding it difficult to read tiny map type without some help.

Driving away from Long Beach we hit the 405 and drove toward Santa Monica knowing that we ultimately wanted to end up in the heart of Hollywood. And this would have been easier, perhaps, if I'd opted for Hertz's "NeverLost" navigation, but every time I've added the service I have found myself doing U-turn after U-turn because the guide's instructions often require immediate action which is very often impossible in heavy traffic. Exiting the freeway at Santa Monica Boulevard, we turned north on Sepulveda and ultimately made a right on Wilshire, heading east. I resisted the urge to stop and take a snapshot of Cameron in front of one of the iconic "Beverly Hills" signs as we entered into the enclave. Approaching Highland, we found a Starbucks!

After navigating the overly-crowded parking lot, we parked, and went inside. With coffees in hand we went back outside to smoke cigarettes behind the 7-Eleven where we'd parked and look at maps on our iPhones. I realized that if we drove north on Highland from Wilshire to Hollywood and made a left we'd be within blocks of a place I'd wanted to see since I was very young: Grauman's Chinese Theater.

Arriving on Hollywood Boulevard, we drove past the theatre, hoping luck would find us an on-street parking space. That didn't happen. We circled back and parked at Hollywood and Highland Center, beneath the Kodak Theater. A short trip on the escalators took us up to ground level where we walked out to find costumed characters such as Wonder Woman and Charlie Chaplin offering photo ops for the tourists (like us). Skipping those, we weaved our way through the crowd to the storied theater. By happenstance the first concrete slab I was able to stop and focus on was that of Bette Davis. I shot it and began walking around and snapping many of the other sentiments addressed to Sid Grauman, by the likes of Joan Crawford and Clark Gable, just as one would expect from a typical tourist.

We then started walking east on the Walk of Fame where other tourists (like us) were shooting memories of themselves next the symbols of their favorite stars. Looking north at Hollywood and Highland, we saw a perfect view of the HOLLYWOOD sign in the distance. I thought this was my best chance at capturing the image as the site online describes many convoluted, dizzying routes by which to approach the nearly unapproachable sign. I zoomed in quite a bit with my handy, dandy Sony and am quite pleased with the result.

We turned back to Hollywood Boulevard and walked east, seeing Pig N Whistle and Grauman's Egyptian. As a bonus, we stumbled upon Doris Day's star on the walk. I had to capture it in memory of our beloved Doris since she was named for Ms. Day.

Back in the car we made our way up Highland to Hollywood Bowl. Even though the place -- including the museum (which the site claims is open "daytime all year round") -- was closed, we were able to walk the grounds and see the magical, art-deco shell in person.

The place reminded us both of the huge ruins of amphitheaters we saw in Pompeii and Ephesus. In spite of the museum's inexplicable closure, we learned some history, statistics and highlights about notable performances from didactic panels posted next to directional signage all over the property.

Next stop: Pasadena. For years, I'd seen articles in Old House Journal of these perfectly preserved/restored neighborhoods brimming with bungalow homes in a myriad of styles and have dreamed of being able to live there, or at the very least, see them in person. Yet by the time we arrived in the hamlet I became distracted by signs pointing to "Old Pasadena." So that's the direction in which we drove. Housed amongst the many fantastic, well preserved cast-iron facades or tiled storefronts on Colorado Boulevard were the likes of Armani|Exchange, Crate and Barrel, Design Within Reach and a host of other stores that one such as myself cannot find anywhere near home in Memphis without an internet connection. Adding H&M, Diesel, Lush and Kenneth Cole to the mix, I'm sure Cameron would know where to find me if we lived out there.

We turned south at Pasadena Avenue and then east on Green Street to drive for several blocks, just taking in the tree-lined retail area -- "Oh, look! There's a Bang & Olufsen store!" -- with me hoping to find a glimpse of the beautiful neighborhoods full of pristine Prairie, Spanish, English and Craftsman bungalows nearby. I suppose I had imagined that the whole of Pasadena was a bungalow lover's paradise. Alas, as we left the business district and things started becoming more residential, we turned south on Michigan Avenue to see one such bungalow amongst other nondescript houses. By now it was getting late (just about time for rush hour(s) to begin) so we decided we were weary and it was probably time to head back to Long Beach. We made a right on Cordova Street and found a place to pull over and take yet another look at the map when "what to our wondering eyes should appear" but a big, black and white skunk tottering along the sidewalk next to manicured lawns and sprinkler systems. I grabbed my camera, thinking, "Really? In Pasadena? In broad daylight? Amongst this sparkly, expensive real estate?" I imagined the citizenry hunting down vermin such as this with fiery pikes in the middle of the night, forcing them into cages so they could to be humanely released in less savory parts of L.A. I wish my timing had been better as the shots I recorded didn't include the portly man of African descent walking across the street to approach the malodorous alien. The skunk raised his tail at this and I thought surely the man was going to need a tomato juice bath, but, apparently, he wasn't frightening enough for the critter to expel his "fragrance."

Driving back down CA-110 was a blast in our rental. I can only imagine the same trip in the Corvette we left behind. At 75 m.p.h., I liken the drive to navigating the switchbacks in Yosemite with much looser turns, and a hell-of-a-lot faster. It was intense -- and fun! How people do this while yakking on a cell phone, putting on makeup, eating/drinking or whathaveyou befuddles me. I'm certain it happens. I saw it.

Back on Board The Queen Mary just before 5, before going to dinner, we decided to peruse some of the shops that were closed on our first night's stay. The majority of the shops I wanted to see were inside the ship on the Promenade Deck while others were on the outside on the same level. Inside, all the contents of all of the stores with exception of the one filled with "cheap Chinese embroidery" were right up my alley: Travel paraphernalia (like "vintage" luggage complete with destination stickers and luggage tags), reproduction Cunard printed materials, vintage ship collectibles (like history books, silverware and ship's models) and antique Art Deco home furnishings and clocks. I really wanted a particular model of the Queen Mary to go along with my collection of miniature architecture, but tipping the scales at over $300 I remembered I was only on the second day of my 10-day vacation and that I should be sensible with my money, perhaps. I bought some of the destination stickers and luggage tags, reproduction post cards and a T-shirt instead.

That night we ate a light dinner at the Promenade Cafe and turned in early so we could drive to the Westin LAX the next morning, where we'd meet the rest of our party of 22, and catch a chartered transfer to San Pedro for embarkation without stressing over time.

Intermission

2011-03-14T19:04:00.004-05:00

We will continue our regularly scheduled program shortly. In the meantime, enjoy Florence + The Machine in this Pitron and Sanna Radio/DJ Tonic VOD remix of You've Got the Love.

A Warming Trend

2011-03-03T20:16:00.008-06:00

Chronicling our escape from hellish weather here during the first week of February has amounted to a bunch of notes sitting upon the proverbial back burner for the last couple of weeks. I'm sure I'll forget something here or there, but for now, here begins a recap of our two days in Los Angeles followed by seven days on board Norwegian Star (with 20 friends) as we cruised the Mexican Rivera. I've decided to divide this mile-long post into more digestible and hopefully more interesting bits. Here's the first:

Thursday Afternoon, 3 February, 3PM Mountain
So, this morning after checking e-mail and packing up the laptop, I loaded the car with Billie and Georgia's gear and took them to their "spa vacation" out in BFE. They were very quiet on the drive out. I suspect with the cacophony of suitcases and laundry baskets whirling around the house during the last several days they couldn't help but know that we were leaving and they wouldn't be going with us.

Their somber demeanor made me worrisome for the drive even if it made the trip a little safer because they were lying down in the back seat instead of pacing back and forth, standing on the armrests and sticking their heads out of the windows. My mind always races with each of these seemingly never-ending treks to the "country." Will Georgia behave? Will Billie be a nervous wreck the whole time we're gone? Will she eat? Will the staff remember to feed them separately? I tried clearing my mind for the uneventful thirty minute drive once we left Midtown. Finally approaching the last intersection before turning into Berryhill...

..."DAMMIT!," I cursed.

I realized that I'd been racing through these mental lists for days and in doing so left Billie's prescription eye drops at home. After breakfast every morning she gets "a tablet"* (vitamin), her "drops" and a cookie. Because I had at least an hour's loose ends to tie up before leaving the house, I stuck them back in the refrigerator (where they must be kept) and made a mental note to grab them before I got in the car. FAIL.

Inside the facility I explained to the receptionist what I'd done and asked if she could call our regular vet, ask for the dosage amount and prepare a new prescription for Billie's stay. I didn't have another hour to waste on a trip home for the medicine, a trip back to drop it off and another trip home to get ready for our flight. As the kennel attendant and I were putting the dogs' beds in the pen and getting them settled, the receptionist came back to tell me that, "yes," they could provide the medicine. However, it seemed that it would cost just under three times what I paid at Park Avenue Animal Hospital only two days ago!

I wondered, if Adequan is Adequan, what makes it so special at Berryhill that it's almost $100 when I usually pay $36? Oh, yes. I remembered. I'm at Berryhill. A Sally Beaumont enterprise. There's more to that story but we're not going there now. "Whatever," I said. I agreed pay a king's ransom for the treatment. Her eye is healing from yet a second inexplicable** injury in six months, and I don't want to delay that.

"Let's do it."

Now, at 30,000 ft. (an hour out of LAX), I'm beginning to relax in spite of Billie's last plea. Putting her "hand" through the gap between the gate and the wall of their double-wide pen, she reached out as if to say, "don't leave me here." I thought, maybe she'll relax, as I hope to, on this fine Chinese New Year day. In just a few minutes we'll get off of this 737, pick up our bags, make our way to Hertz #1 Gold Canopy Service and hop into our Camaro. I hope.

I'd say Hertz has been running at about a 10% success rate when placing me in the car I've reserved over the last 10 or so years. For two different trips: "No, a Mercury Grand Marquis does not equal a Lincoln Town Car." And, no, a Toyota Sienna (seriously?) doesn't = a Pontiac G6. They did, however, give us the Chrysler Crossfire we reserved for a trip to Atlanta a few years ago. Maybe we'd have the same luck this time. Besides, I simply won't drive -- let alone pay $15/day to park -- a Kia Sephia. I'd rather take a cab to find an authentic Chinese dinner tonight.

At any rate, Long Beach and The Queen Mary, here we come!

After waiting for an eternity (close to forty minutes) for our bags to come off of the carousel we hopped on a bus to Hertz where I found my name on the #1 Gold list: [dminmem] 433. So, in space 433 we should find our Camaro. Confused by the signs we wandered through four lanes of shiny, parked cars looking for space 433. When we finally figured out where it was my thought was, "holy crap." But in this case it was a good thing.

This is not a Camaro.

Instead of finding a Camaro in our space, there sat a bright yellow Corvette Z-06 convertible. I was in shock and giddy with anticipation. Driving this machine for a couple of days would've been AWESOME. But, and there's always a "but," my imagination was immediately snapped back into reality. I knew we wouldn't get my steamer trunk-sized rollerboard in the trunk, let alone the rest of our bags. Believe me, we tried and quickly realized it was a futile exercise. I walked inside and spoke with a very sweet young lady to whom I said, "Bless you for giving us a Corvette. But our luggage won't fit in it."

Do you see that giant bag in the trunk? This was only the beginning.

"But we don't have any Camaros," she replied. "They were all recalled." After explaining that they had reached their mileage limits and were pulled from the livery, she said, "I think we have a Mustang convertible." She reworked our documents and handed me the keys to a shiny red Mustang convertible. Between the trunk and the backseat we were able to pack all of our gear and were on our way to I-405, South.

According to our previously printed map and directions, we should've expected a 20 minute drive under normal circumstances. Yet, after our delays at Hertz we hit the expressway sometime between 3:45 and 4 PM. YAY! Rush hour(s). Now, mind you, I understand that delays on Los Angeles freeways are inevitable and are fairly regular at any time of day, but God help us. Our trip on the 405 ended up being more than twice the time - :45.

I know. Quit whining - you're barely a day into vacation, dminmem.

Honestly, though, I didn't whine. Cameron and I just used that time to exhale. After all, traveling is never easy, but it can still be fun. By the time we hit 710, though, I was just about desperate to get to our hotel in Long Beach. I had to pee. And, if I hadn't been distracted with enthusiasm for having glimpsed the unmistakable bright red and black stacks of The Queen Mary as I crested a hill, I would have gotten to a toilet much more quickly. As it stood, though, I left the freeway one exit too soon, immediately did a U-turn and found the entrance back onto the freeway closed for construction. YIKES! Zig-zagging with a sense of which direction we should be traveling put us at the ship/hotel about an hour after we started the trek. I let out a sigh relief on so many levels but was about to come unglued - we were at The Queen Mary!

How incredible it was to drive up to this.

Walking through that piece of history conjured up feelings of gratitude for the vision that made its useful preservation possible. I think it's magnificent. Make no mistake -- it's not like staying at a Westin -- which is where many of our cruise mates were staying. But I hadn't tried booking a room there until after NCL's block was filled. The cruise line offered to request an additional room for us to which I said, "thanks, please do." I was instructed to call back next week. This started before Thanksgiving and dragged on for five weeks until they finally got a room for us at this ridiculous rate: $168 per person, per night. We declined. I remember saying something like "are you kidding? We can stay at The Roosevelt and rent a car for $700." With that, I logged onto kayak.com and found a much better rate at the Westin in addition to some lousy reviews. Many guests complained about the cost vs. value and mentioned being nitpicked to death with additional charges like parking and internet service. Seconds before clicking "book" at The Roosevelt, which offered free wireless, I thought "I'll scroll a little further" and there was Her Majesty!

Stoic Stowaway. My handsome man.

It's fascinating for me to imagine the enthusiastic travelers on board for the ship's maiden voyage in 1936. Throughout the floating museum/hotel there are displays of china, menus and various artifacts from the ship's heyday. The Art Deco oceanliner is a shining example of the design style.

* I would like to thank my long-time friend, Greg, for introducing "tablet," in this context, into my lexicon some 26 years ago. I think I was asking for an Excedrin: "Do you need a tablet?"

** Inexplicable? Not really. Georgia plays too rough. And, I suspect that Billie's eye maladies are a result of her trying to put Georgia in her place. It's been a way of life for more than three years.

Fond Memories

2011-01-27T18:55:00.000-06:00

Once again I have happened upon a post that I began some time ago that was never published. This one is still relevant even though it's been six months since I began it.

The other day I was standing at the sink cleaning corn for steaming. As I pulled the last hairs of corn silk off of the bicolored ears I recalled how meticulously my friend, Don Blasi, would prepare corn, carefully inspecting every ear seemingly two or three times to make sure every piece of silk was gone. This of course brought back a rush of memories:

My now long-time friend, J.L., and I met by happenstance one hot, humid, "typically Louisville" Sunday afternoon at Cherokee Park. He took pity on the lonely boy in the baby-poop* gold Ventura with Indiana plates and introduced himself. Living on the "sunny side of the river" was our first connection, I suppose. After a little small talk, I hopped into in his Camaro (T-tops off, disco blaring) to a convenience store on the other side of Seneca Park near Bowman Field where we picked up something to drink and continued our drive back to Cherokee Park. As we were getting acquainted I explained that I had just come back to the area after my first year at Ball State and that I knew nobody in the Louisville community. I even suggested that I might put my experiences at Ball State behind me, but he encouraged me, telling me that I didn't need to do that. He asked me "is there anybody you'd like to meet?"

J.L. and a canine guest at one of our Oktoberfair parties, combining Oktoberfest and St. James Art Fair into one big time.

I had seen a large group of people gathering in a spot between what would become known to me in later years as the meeting place for the "Cherokee Bridge Club" and the road that lead out of Cherokee Park to Seneca. Amongst the folks laughing, talking and hanging out, I pointed out a thin, animated character with a sort of wedge haircut wearing a striped sleeveless shirt and shorts, doing pirouettes on the asphalt. My interest in him was that he seemed filled with the joy of living, and apparently wasn't ashamed at all about being gay. J.L. exclaimed something along the lines of "Oh! You want to meet Miss Blasi!

J.L., Lee, dminmem and Donnie on the roof kickin' it at 1436 St. James Court.

I had no idea at the time that both he and J.L. would become two of my dearest friends.

Almost immediately, J.L. was introducing me to Donnie, a theater and dance major at Western Kentucky University (this explains the pirouettes). In the coming weeks, months and years Don would introduce me to several of his friends and acquaintances, many of whom became my circle of friends, ones who helped create the memories I recall to this day. Lee McDonald, Alan Gallagher, Michael Campagna, Steve Soder, Michael Clancy and Mark Craven were among them. For the next several years if you saw one of us, some or all of us weren't far behind. We danced together, bowled together, traveled together, and sometimes lived together. At times we were inseparable. And, now another memory comes to mind involving a trip to wintry Chicago in Mike Clancy's "van full of queers" -- but that's going to have to be another post I suppose. Hell, explaining the quoted phrase in the previous sentence (which comes from a game we played during the 6-hour drive) would take some time in and of itself.

One of our ill-advised photo ops at Stewart Beach in Galveston, TX, circa 1983. From left, Donnie, Steve, one of Steve's friends and Lee.

On July 9, Donnie, would have been 54. As it is, though, he died six weeks after his 34th birthday, August 17, 1990. And - like Donnie - Lee, Alan, Michael, Steve and Michael have all left the agony of living in this world with AIDS for a peaceful hereafter. But, they're still here with me alive and well in my fond memories.

J.L. and Lee twirlin' on the bay window above my bed. Our friend (and landlord) Walt suggested that we get down from there. We did, reluctantly. Why would we give up such an audience otherwise?

*Thank you, Thom, for the delightful description for the color of my car.

Black-Eyed Peas, Prosperity, and Taking Aim at Women

2010-12-11T13:29:00.002-06:00

I didn't realize that consuming black-eyed peas is generally considered Southern. Interestingly, the articles I referenced while researching New Year's Day traditions for my cookbook update say so. Thought to attract good luck in general and financial good fortune, eating black-eyed peas, with pork (hogs symbolize prosperity), and cabbage (leaves represent paper currency) on New Year's day are thought to set the tone for the coming year.

Snopes.com presented the most comprehensive list of traditions, from why we kiss at Midnight to why our cupboards should be filled to why we shouldn't throw anything out of the house on the day. The oddest of these superstitions was that the first person to cross your threshold should be a tall, handsome, dark-haired man bearing small gifts – "a lump of coal, a silver coin, a bit of bread, a sprig of evergreen and some salt." Apparently we should not allow blondes or redheads to be the first persons in the door, and God help us if the "first footer" is a female. The article says "aim a gun at them if you have to, but don't let them near your door before a man crosses the threshold," as they'll bring "disaster down on the household."

I don't know about all that, but I know we'll eat our peas, pork and cabbage.

Thanks, but I'm Staying Home

2010-11-06T13:19:00.001-05:00

Once a week our mailbox is crammed full of ads that usually make a bee-line to our recycling bin. These include one-sheet flyers from Pizza Hut, Captain D's, and Kentucky Fried Chicken, the weekly flyers from area grocery stores and the occasional card announcing special pricing on replacement windows. The cover of last week's mailing was a coupon ad for Steak 'n Shake, and to my amazement I saw this:

Why on Earth does Steak 'n Shake feel it necessary to be open on Thanksgiving? Do they think that we might want to stop in to ruin our appetites while we make our way over the river and through the woods? Shouldn't the day be set aside for togetherness with family and friends sharing traditions or creating new ones?

It's clear to me that there are a lot of folks who don't share my reverence for the day. Hell, grocers started staying open on Thanksgiving years ago. I guess it was to "save the day" for the panicked cook who forgot something on their list. At least they close early.

Searching "open on Thanksgiving," resulted in a link to a CNBC article announcing that Sears would be open from 7 AM until Noon on Thanksgiving day for the first time in its 85-year history. It goes on to say that Sears-held K-mart has been open on the holiday for close to twenty years.

One comment on the article, attributed to "Spin1," caught my eye. It included the sentence: "Give these poor, under paid employees the day off with their families." I pretty much concur. And not just because it's hard to believe there would be an exodus of people wanting to satisfy their Steakburger cravings that day but also because it's the right thing to do.

$200 Million a Day for Obama's Trip to India? It's a Lie.

2010-11-05T09:30:00.003-05:00

"To say this figure — $200 million a day — has made the rounds in the blogosphere would be a huge understatement. It has been repeated by nearly every conservative pundit in the land: Hannity, Limbaugh, Beck, Drudge. Always with a healthy dose of indignation."

Read the full story here.

An Open Letter to Gregg Steinhafel

2010-08-23T11:48:00.002-05:00

I just printed this letter on a pristine sheet of New Leaf paper and am sending it to Minneapolis today:

23 August 10

Mr. Gregg Steinhafel
Target Corporation
1000 Nicollet Mall
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55403

Dear Mr. Steinhafel,

As I look through many of the articles on the pressroom pages of your website, I see how giving and supportive Target is to many segments of society around the world. I’ve always admired the brand for its good citizenship and what appears to be a genuine concern for the communities that support it. I realize, too, that Target deserves the high marks it receives from the Human Rights Campaign for it’s practices in workplace inclusivity.

Yet, I am writing today to tell you why I haven’t made my weekly trip to Target since the media circus surrounding Target’s donation to MN Forward ensued, and why I’ve crossed Target off of my shopping list altogether.

I have been following this story closely and have been hoping for some sort of correction on Target’s part. Today, I read an August 16 article in The Minnesota Independent where Target informed HRC that it “will take no corrective actions to repair the harm that it caused by contributing $150,000 to an organization supporting a vehemently anti-gay candidate closely associated with a Christian rock band that advocates death and violence to gay people.”

Mr. Steinhafel, in spite of the perceived benefit to business Tom Emmer’s policies might bring to your state, religious dogma — or worse yet hate in the name of religion — has no place in politics. The blood of the first person queer-bashed or killed when some fanatic decides to act on Bradlee Dean’s lunatic statements won’t be on my hands because I’m taking the more than $5,000 I spent at Target last year to other retailers in the future.

Sincerely,

dminmem

Why I Think Commercial Aircraft Should Have an "EJECT" Button on Every Seat

2010-08-17T16:56:00.009-05:00

As the handful of my loyal readers know, my beloved is a veteran flight attendant. And, with Steven Slater being all over the news lately it seems that some are coming up with cutesy names and phrases to describe flight attendants as unstable or crazy. Frankly, I read a piece the other day where the uncooperative bitch that Slater encountered on the plane faces a $25,000 fine for her offense. I say "nail her to the wall."

Of course within days, on yet another JetBlue flight, we learn of another deranged female passenger who had to be restrained to a seat after a screaming rant -- but not before spitting on and physically assalting the flight crew. Care to guess who had to restore the cabin to order? Yep. The very same flight attendants who were assaulted.

It infuriates me to no end when I hear about the latest instance where my partner has been treated with disrespect or lack of basic human decency.

He, too, has been struck in the face with a piece of luggage upon telling a passenger that he couldn't stow his bag in the way he was attempting. Cameron didn't say "F-you," blow a slide, grab some beer and bail. He took it in stride. While I wish, at the very least, he'd have grabbed the bag in question and thrown it on the tarmac or called ahead for the authorities to escort the offending asshole to interrogation -- or both -- he moved on. In some cases, though, he has had extreme offenders hauled off to jail. I like that and wish it happened more often.

While you read this, realize that the flight crew is not only dealing with self-absorbed idiots that have likely "cut in line at the water fountain" all their lives since grade school. They're also dealing with greedy corporate thieves who try squeezing every bit of life from every employee while reducing pay and benefits, increasing flying time while reducing rest, and in at least one case, suggested that they dumpster dive to make up for their 40% pay cuts. Yes, that was the former Northwest management who are now running Delta. Think they don't need a union, now? I digress. That's another can of worms altogether.

I made some minor edits to the following letter I found by following a link on Facebook. The story is still the same.

To the Flying Public: We're Sorry

We're sorry we have no pillows.

We're sorry we're out of blankets.

We're sorry the airplane is too cold.

We're sorry the airplane is too hot.

We're sorry the overhead bins are full.

We're sorry we have no closet space for your oversized bag.

We're sorry that's not the seat you wanted.

We're sorry there's a restless toddler/overweight/offensive smelling passenger seated next to you.

We're sorry the plane is full and there are no other seats available.

We're sorry you didn't get your upgrade.

We're sorry that guy makes you uncomfortable because he "looks like a terrorist."

We're sorry there's a thunderstorm and we can't take off. We're sorry we don't know when it will stop.

We're sorry you're crammed into a space so small that if you were an animal PETA would protest.

We're sorry our plane has no music or video entertainment for your 3 hour flight.

We're sorry we ran out of your favorite soda. We're sorry there are no more sandwiches. We're sorry that Budweiser costs $6.

We're sorry we don't have diapers for your baby. We're sorry we don't have milk for same baby.

We're sorry you can't hang out by the cockpit door waiting to use the bathroom.

We're sorry you can't hang out at the back of the airplane. We're sorry you have to sit down and fasten your seatbelt. We're sorry you have to put your seat up for landing.

We're sorry we don't know when we're going to land. We're sorry we don't know whether your plane to (substitute any city in the world) will be waiting for you when we land. We're sorry we've been diverted because we ran out of gas waiting to land.
We're sorry for these and so many other things that we have absolutely no control over but which we are held accountable for EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Please understand. Flight attendants are not the enemy. We share your space. More than anyone -- we want to have a nice, pleasant travel experience. There is a reason behind everything we ask you to do. It may be a FAA directive. It may be security related. It may be a company procedure.

We don't just make stuff up. We don't spend 8 weeks at training (with two refresher courses and tests every year) learning how to pour a Coke. There are many things that flight attendants are watching for constantly on every flight FOR YOUR SAFETY. It's not because we're bored or so controlling that we just enjoy telling people what to do. I, for one, would like to have one flight where I didn't have to repeatedly tell people to put their seats up for landing. Seriously. Can't you just do what we ask sometimes, without the glares, eye rolling and disdain?

For the record -- putting your seat up for landing may not seem that important to your personal safety. However, it is very important for the person sitting BEHIND YOU. If you have ever tried to get out of a row where someone has their seat reclined you know it can be a challenge. Try grabbing your ankles (emergency brace position) or getting out of that row quickly with smoke in the cabin. Understand a little better now?

Many of the things we ask passengers to comply with are FAA directives, like carry-on bag stowage, exit row requirements, when we can serve drinks (in the air) and when we can't (after the aircraft door is closed or on an active taxi-way). We are only allowed to move about the cabin during taxi out for safety related duties. We can't get you blankets, or hang coats, or get you drinks. It's not because we don't want to. It's because we are held personally responsible if we fail to comply with FAA directives. Meaning that the FAA can fine us personally up to $10,000 if we fail to comply or enforce an FAA Directive. Like no bags at the bulkhead. No children in the exit row. No one moving around the cabin during taxi. Perhaps now you know why flight attendants get a little testy when people move about the cabin when they're not supposed to. It's not the company that gets in trouble for that. It's us.

Personally, I wish the airlines would show worst case scenario safety videos. Like what happens if you walk through the cabin during turbulence. There could be a guy who has just fallen and smacked his face on the metal armrest and now has a bloody, gushing broken nose. Or an elderly lady who now has a broken arm because someone walking to the bathroom fell on her. Maybe a passenger with a broken neck because somebody opened an overhead bin during turbulence and a suitcase fell out and onto the person sitting beneath it. These things can easily happen in a fast moving, unstable air environment.

Please just trust that we are looking out for your best interest and stop fighting with us about everything we ask you to do. It's exhausting.

Finally, please direct your hostility and frustrations in the direction where they will be most effective: The customer service department. They are the ones equipped to handle your complaint and implement procedures for CHANGE.
Think about it.

Complaining to the flight crew about all your negative travel experiences is about the same as complaining to the office janitor because your computer isn't working. It may make you feel better to vent about it -- but it really won't fix anything. More than anybody we are already aware of the lack of amenities, food, service and comfort on the aircraft. Please share your concerns with the people in the cubicles at corporate who need that information to make better decisions for the flying public.

It's frustrating that so many people are in denial about what the travel industry is about now. The glory days of pillows, blankets, magazines and a hot meal for everyone are long gone. Our job is to get you from point A to point B safely and at the cheapest possible cost to you and the company. So be prepared. If you are hungry -- get a sandwich before you get on the plane. If it's a 3 hour flight, anticipate that you may get hungry and bring some snacks. If you are cold natured -- bring a wrap. Think for yourself and think ahead. Otherwise, don't complain when you have to pay $3 for a cookie and are left with a crusty blanket to keep you warm.

We hear often that the service just isn't what is used to be. Well, the service we provide now isn't what it used to be. When I was hired, my job was to serve drinks/meals, ensure that safety requirements were met and tend to in-flight medical issues. Since September 11, 2001 my primary job is to ensure that my airplane will not be compromised by a terrorist. That tragedy may now be a distant memory to many, but be assured that EVERY DAY a flight attendant reports to work he or she is constantly thinking about 9/11. We feel a personal responsibility to ensure that something like that never happens again.

We can never relax. We can never not be suspicious about someone's intentions. It is difficult to be vigilant and gregarious at the same time, especially when most of us are working 12 hour days after layovers that only allow 5-6 hours of sleep. This isn't because we were out partying and having a grand time on the layover -- but because the delays that you experience as a passenger also affect us as a crew. What was a 10 hour layover is now 8 hours which doesn't leave a lot of time to recover from what has become an increasingly stressful occupation.

Despite everything, I still enjoy being a flight attendant. I am writing this letter because I do still care about my profession and about the public perception of flight attendants. In the increasingly challenging travel world it is becoming more imperative than ever that people just treat each other decently.

I can go through an entire day without one person saying anything remotely civil. I will stand at the aircraft door and say hello to everyone who enters. Maybe half will even look at me. Even less will say hello back. I will try to serve someone a meal who can't be bothered to take their headsets off long enough for me to ask them what they want. Most of the time the only conversation a passenger has with me is one in which they are complaining.

Is it any wonder that flight attendants have shut down a bit? After suffering the disdain of hundreds of passengers a day it's difficult sometimes to even smile, much less interact. We are human. We appreciate the same respect and courtesy that passengers do.

The next time you fly, try treating the flight attendants the way you would like to be treated. You may be surprised how friendly your flight crew is when they are treated like people.

-Author Unknown

An Open Letter to Memphis City Council

2010-08-03T16:06:00.002-05:00

Dear Council Members,

I am writing today to express my concern with yet another out-of-town company attempting to come to Memphis and destroy a piece of our history and part of Midtown's beauty. Too many of our historic places have been torn down over the years to provide space for the likes of Arby's, Walgreen's and Starbucks.

When I first moved to Memphis in 1986 I met two sisters who'd lived on Carr Avenue for most of their lives. Norma and Audrey used to tell me stories of a beautiful Union Avenue lined with grand southern mansions, churches and the occasional block of retail space like the one that houses Wiles-Smith Drugstore. More than twenty years later, I still hear laments from native Memphians about wonderful places that used to be as I've watched Midtown's charm eroded bit by bit.

On August 24th, representatives of CVS Pharmacy are expected to stand before you in an attempt to appeal the Land Use Control Board's ruling denying them permission to raze Union Avenue Methodist Church. I am asking that you uphold the board's ruling.

Midtown has more than enough drug stores within reach of that site, particularly with an Ike's/Walgreen's across the street. If CVS is determined to come into the Midtown Memphis market, let's encourage them to choose another location where their architecturally uninteresting, cookie-cutter, big-box eyesore might be a vast improvement.

In the Crosstown area, for instance, North of Poplar on the west side of Cleveland, there are many defunct, vacant, weed-infested spaces that provide no particular interest to the landscape of the city. I believe a CVS could do wonders there. Many other places in Midtown could benefit from the commerce their store might bring. Union at Cooper isn't one of them, especially at the cost of another Memphis landmark.

Sincerely,

dminmem

Demand Target Stop Donating to Anti-Gay Politicians

2010-07-25T18:39:00.002-05:00

Targeting: Mark Schindele (Senior Vice President), Denise May (CEO Assistant) and Gregg Steinhafel (Chairman, President and CEO)

Started by: Michael Jones at change.org

Retail giant Target has given $150,000 to a political candidate in Minnesota, Tom Emmer, who has ties to a radical Christian rock band, You Can Run But You Cannot Hide, that has called for gays and lesbians to be murdered. The money, given by Target to a political action committee known as Minnesota Forward, has made its way to the Emmer campaign, despite Emmer's closeness with the anti-gay group.

What makes this move all the more troubling is that Target openly markets to the LGBT community, and has previously incorporated a number of LGBT-specific corporate policies. For them to filter money, let alone such a high amount, to an organization funding a candidate with ties to an anti-gay hate group flies in the face of their corporate practice, and sends a message that a politics based on fear and hatred toward LGBT people is acceptable.

Please email Target today to demand that they stop funding political candidates with a track record that runs counter to LGBT equality. In this particular case, the Minnesota politician in question, Tom Emmer, has clear ties to a group advocating violence toward LGBT people. Emmer hasn't denounced the group, and instead has welcomed them at events and praised their work. That's not the type of politics Target should be in the business of supporting.

Love Letters to Karen Solomon

2010-07-05T21:49:00.006-05:00

I bought a book at Williams Sonoma last Friday entitled "Jam It, Pickle It, Cure It and Other Cooking Projects," by Karen Solomon. Taking advantage of this holiday weekend, I've now read it cover to cover. Although I've attempted to do this with other cookbooks, such as with Julia Child's "The Art of French Cooking," and M.F.K. Fisher's "With Bold Knife and Fork", I've never succeeded. And, trust me, it's not because these weren't educational, entertaining or interesting. I figure it's simply because I became distracted or perhaps overwhelmed.

Image borrowed from www.scribd.com

Not so with "Jam It...." This book was a joy to read. I was instantly drawn in because she denounced high-fructose corn syrup, hydrolyzed fat or any other manner of chemically altered, shelf stable groceries within the first few sentences of the book. The way Ms. Solomon writes is right up my alley. There's no pretense here, it's all matter-of-fact and honest. She makes many references to having a modest kitchen, and it's clear that she has no intent to develop a line of specialty cookware or utensils that could be considered "must haves" in order to create good things. She gives options for using food processors, for instance, but also tells us what to do if we're not blessed to have such kitchen implements.

The way she "speaks" made me feel as if I was sharing culinary war stories with one of my friends around the kitchen table. If you're interested in eating more wholesome food and can commit what seems to me to be a small amount of time to learning the skills she shares in "Jam It, Pickle It, Cure It and Other Cooking Projects," this is a must read.

Thanks, But No Thanks

2010-06-17T15:34:00.009-05:00

Often, I've used this space as a forum for venting about what I find wrong with our food supply. I have railed on high-fructose corn syrup like there's no tomorrow. Hydrolyzed anything was never intended for my ingestion. Tuna canners quietly reducing what's on our store shelves from six to five ounces (while keeping the price the same) was another gripe. Questionable marketing has been a rant as well, even when it comes to pet food and supplies.

While in a Biloxi Petsmart over Memorial Day weekend with my sister and her friends, I took the opportunity to grab some snapshots of the labels from Nestlé Purina's latest, Chef Michael's Canine Creations, not only because I find the commercials offensive, (the whole scenario is annoying), but also because of the company's attempt to make us (the gullible general public) believe that these overly branded offerings are any better than standard fare in the canned dog food segment. The labels contain the word "flavor." This to me is a harbinger of disappointment. Are we expected to believe there's any authenticity to products that use this tactic?

The ingredients list "water sufficient for processing, beef, chicken, liver" and "meat by-products." OK, fine. It continues: "wheat gluten, carrots, peas, added color, artificial and natural flavors, filet mignon flavor...."

What exactly is filet mignon flavor, and from where does it come? Should one expect a label calling the product inside the container "Filet Mignon Flavor" to contain any actual filet mignon? I suppose not. And, if not that, then what of the remaining ingredients?

Salt was next on the list, then carrageenan. According to Wikipedia, this is a vegetarian and vegan alternative to gelatin that comes from red seaweed and has been used as a food additive as early as 600 B.C. in China. Eighty percent of the world's supply comes from the Phillippines. The additive seems harmless enough, but statements near the bottom of the page suggest that one type of degraded carrageenan may be linked to gastro-intestinal cancer, carrageenan "induces inflammation in human intestinal epithelial cells," and is reported to interfere with macrophage activity which is key in human immune response.

Following that is potassium chloride, also known as KCI. Loosely translated, KCI is a salt. But in excess this chemical, which is used in fertilizers, can cause weakening of cardiac muscles or cardiac arrest. KCI is the last of three drugs administered for executions via lethal injections.

After that delightful component the list includes calcium phosphate, a bone mineral found in cow's milk and which also largely comprises tooth enamel. Locust bean gum is next, which is extracted from Carob tree seeds as a thickening agent, followed by sodium tripolyphosphate, a preservative "generally recognized as safe" by the FDA. It's used in meats, seafood, poultry and pet foods in addition to being a "builder" for cleaning products. Who would have thought that a component of dishwasher detergent would be edible?

Guar gum follows which seems benign enough. It is used in the manufacture of textiles, paper, explosives, pharmaceuticals, and in oil and gas drilling, mining, and hydroseeding. Because it possesses eight times the ability to thicken when compared to corn starch, it's economical in the production of baked goods, meats, dairy, and prepared foods. This sort of reminds me of the economic impact of a certain corn-based syrup but without the negative effects.

As the list continues the phrase, "better living through chemistry" comes to mind in spite of the fact that I believe this philosophy is stretched -- sometimes to our detriment. Behind guar gum is zinc sulfate, which delivers the mineral in animal feeds, but is also used in fertilizers, the manufacture of rayon, zinc plating processes, leather and skin preservation and acne medicines.

The label continues, providing a list of vitamins and minerals: vitamin E supplement, ferrous sulfate, sodium nitrate (to promotoe color retention), copper sulfate, thiamine mononitrate, manganese sulfate, Vitamin A supplement, niacin, calcium pantothenate, Vitamin B-12 supplement, riboflavin supplement, pyridoxine hydrochloride, potassium iodide, Vitamin D-3 supplement, folic acid, sodium selenite, biotin.

Finally, I have come to the same conclusion that I've drawn about most things in the grocery: my household benefits from my avoidance of prepared foods. I know I will have to dedicate more time to shopping because I'll continue to read every label of every product I pick up. I will shop at Whole Foods and better still, the Cooper Young Community Farmer's Market. It's in these places I can trust that my bananas aren't gassed to make them ripen more quickly, my beef and pork come from sustainable sources, my fruit and vegetables won't be coated with high-fructose corn syrup-based wax, and I won't be feeding my dog dishwasher detergent.

How the Oil Spill Might Benefit Gulf Marine Animals

2010-05-18T08:36:00.002-05:00

posted by: Jasmine Greene 11 hours ago on Care2.com

Almost two weeks ago, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) placed a ban on commercial fishing in the Gulf region for 10 days due to the BP Oil Spill. Since then, the NOAA has increased the time of the ban until May 17 and has expanded the boundary of the closed fishing. Currently, the area represents around 7% of the waters in the Gulf. While the oil spill is an environmental tragedy, it may help to repopulate the Gulf and put more pressure on oil companies.

While commercial fishing has always been an environmental issue, it remained in the backburner until now. One of the major issues of commercial fishing is the actual method to catch fish via bottom trawling. Bottom trawling is used for deeper parts of oceans to catch very specific types of marine life. A large weighted net is dragged across the ocean floor in order to catch everything in the net's path. Dragging these nets across the floor stirs up sediment and destroys many reef habitats. These nets are about the size of a soccer field and while they are used to catch specific types of fish, around 50% of what is caught in the net is thrown back into the ocean, many injured or dead [Source: Gulf Coast Preserve]. While the NOAA has banned bottom trawling in certain places (mainly the Pacific), locations like the Gulf of Mexico are still open to tens of thousands of commercial fishers, with Louisiana supplying about one third of the US seafood supply, second largest next to Alaska. According to the Environmental Work Group (EWG), there are about 50% more boats than needed to supply seafood to the US, leading to bleak results in the US. A 2007 NOAA report stated that 24 percent of 190 monitored fish stocks were still categorized as overfished, and another 17 percent were deemed subject to overfishing. With help from the government, the Magnuson-Stevens Act was drafted and the NOAA stated that they will halt overfishing in 2010 by enforcing annual catch limits and making sure fishers follow scientific advice in fishery management decisions [Source: NOAA]. The organization has received support from the Obama administration to draft plans for a new ocean policy and marine planning system.

Despite the work from the NOAA and from the government, the Gulf of Mexico contains at least 20,000 licensed bottom trawlers and a multibillion dollar industry [Source: Reuters]. The recent oil spill and banned areas have affected business as many fisherman in the Gulf have no option except to wait for the ban to be lifted and/or help with the oil spill cleanup if possible, though only about 23% of the shrimping areas have been closed off to fishing. Still, many people are taking a "Better safe than sorry" stance when buying seafood since chemicals ingested by marine animals affect those ingesting the fish. But it isn't just the spill that is harming these fish, it's also the cleanup. The use of dispersing agents contains numerous harmful chemicals including 2-butoxyethanol, which causes headaches, vomiting reproductive problems in humans when exposed to high doses. While dispersal is the most effective way to clean an oil spill, BP has already used up a third of the world's supply, with the leak growing increasingly larger [Source: Pro Publica]. threatened wildlife populations, like the Blue Fin Tuna, also use the gulf as spawning grounds. While the oil affects adult fish, the larvae of the fish are especially sensitive to toxins and chemicals. Cleaning up the oil spill might not take a long time, however the effects of the spill and cleanup are far-reaching.

While the environmental consequences are staggering, there could also be some benefits to the gulf. Should the ban on commercial fishing in the Gulf continue for the duration of the cleanup and/or longer, the fish and shrimp population may increase. Thomas Shirley, of Texas A&M, along with other professors and scientists have begun viewing the spill as an opportunity for conservation and replenishing the fish supply. With all the bottom trawling and ever sky-rocketing demand for fresh fish, the fish population and diversity have drastically reduced. While the oil is another stressor on the marine habitat and animals, Daniel Pauly, a professor athe the Fisheries Institute are the University of British Columbia states, " It is possible that a massive rebound of the fish population will occur because we are not fishing them. If the fishing is discontinued for a month or two, or a season, we may see massive changes in the Gulf" [Source: On Earth].

While the environmental effects of the oil spill are devastating, it has forced changes in the government as well. Chris Oynes, head of the oil and drilling program, announced that he would retire by June 2010 [Source: Huffington Post]. Drilling in the gulf has also been indefinitely banned, and many future drilling ventures, such as the one Shell planned in the Arctic, are beginning to see much stronger opposition [Source: Associated Press]. In the wake of such disaster, the horror and public outcry might force oil companies and governments to restrategize for a greener future.

In Dreams

2010-04-12T06:50:00.003-05:00

That Roy Orbison song is one of my favorites, and I decided to use it for this post because it's the first thing that came to mind.

So, this morning around 6AM, I was awakened by a dream I'd been having:

Two former colleagues, (bosses, actually) and I walked into the lobby of a grand, historic building that was being demolished. I began picking up and handing them pieces of ornate, decorative, deep red tile and cornices that had already fallen amongst the concrete and rubble.

At some point, we became separated, I suspect that this is because as I began to delve deeper and deeper into the debris I lost all sense of place and time. As I continued further into the darkened space, I drew closer to what resembled an expansive hotel bar where the mirrors on the wall were still intact. There, hanging in the corner was an illuminated Coca-Cola point-of-purchase display. I recognized it as one of the most rare collectibles in the collectors' guides I have referred to over the years.

I took it down and hurried out of that area to find them standing in the shadows just outside rays of light that poured in through old wood and glass doors in a dusty entryway, holding treasures they'd found while we were separated. One had found some old first-aid supplies, including an odd plastic bag with "Curad" on it filled with cotton swabs, and the other had found two yellow and black "circus" posters.

I remember asking the one with the swabs, "I wonder if you could reseal this?" Because I was certain that her kids would be playing in the relics. As we looked at the posters the other had found, we thought she could name her two cats after two of the names that appeared on each poster. And, for the life of me I can't recall what those names were, but at the time we thought it was a brilliant suggestion.

As I lay in bed, I began to think, "is any of this significant in any way?"

While I recognized references to some recent events, like my friend Becky finding a Curad bandage tin during her last antique-shopping trip, any other similarities are simply coincidence or must have a deeper symbolic meaning:

Is it that in the destruction of something long considered meaningful to me I've found something rare that I'd sought for years through the guidance of two women who have, at one time, been a significant part of my life? Perhaps.

The dream gave me pause. But, now I'm mostly awake and need to get on with my day. I'm sure Edith would appreciate having her litter box changed this morning. And I have layouts due at 2:00 PM. After that, it's back out to continue repair and upgrades to the pond.

Have a wonderful day.

Dear Whining Crybaby Mitch McConnell:

2010-04-11T09:32:00.000-05:00

I knew that getting Health Care reform underway was going to be a monumental task. I knew there would be partisan bickering but had hoped that both sides of the isle would look at the rest of the world and see where we rank among industrialized nations. Being first in cost and 37th in quality/accessibility isn't leading the world.

I had hoped that the people we elected would spend their time working out the details of the legislation rather than practicing politics. Most Democrats and some Republicans tried this. Others fulfilled their roles in this historic process by parroting Fat Limbaugh and Glenn Beck. I recently saw Repugnantcan Senator "Bitch" McConnell (R-KY) pontificating about how the Democrats didn't do what "most" Americans want and that they will be sorry come election time.

For nearly 100 years, this country has tried to get some sort of health care reform in place. And, in fact, Senator Mitch, more, or "most," Americans elected this President because his platform included the pursuit of solutions to our health care crisis. In spite of the fact that most of the progress he plans to make will be difficult and controversial, President Obama perseveres. You would do well to quit your whining, posturing and bitching and look for ways to be part of the solution, rather than the problem.

Being a native of Kentucky who spent half of his live in metro Louisville, I am not unfamiliar with your self-serving ascent in politics. I think you've always been a divisive "us against them" public figure. I am ashamed of you.

Superlatives

2010-03-06T06:19:00.012-06:00

I can't decide whether to call what's happened during the last several hours today or yesterday because I've just woken up after four hours and can't seem to get back to sleep. So, I've decided to get some things "on paper". It's 2:55 AM.

So, Friday morning began just about like any other day for me. Coffee, e-mail, Facebook. Then I finished up some layouts for a client and made plans to meet click-boom for lunch. This was a meeting that our mutual friend option-d had suggested to both J.D. and myself a while ago. When I realized that his office was on the south side of Poplar off Germantown Road, I began to sweat because every time I drive to Germantown I get lost. This has been going on for years. Every Super Bowl party at my friend and former colleague's house? Lost. Trying to find the Apple store after it moved? Lost. You name it. If it's in Germantown, I'm adding a half-hour to my trip so I can drive in circles, look at a map on my iPhone and eventually end up where I'm supposed to be, often not without the aid of a telephone call.

The consternation starts long before I ever leave "the parkways," with me fretting over which route I should take to arrive at what part of Germantown Road, which stretches for some 25 or 30 miles from Brunswick (north) to Olive Branch, Mississippi (south). Oh, there's North Germantown Road, North Germantown Parkway, South Germantown Parkway and South Germantown Road, but it's all the same to me. Mind you, as I write this I'm beginning to understand where the "breaks" are, which might help me navigate this wilderness a bit better in the future.

The questions are: do I need to end up in Bartlett/Wolfchase/BFE? Am I trying to get to Cordova? Do I need to be near the Agricenter? Am I trying to get to old Germantown? Or, do I need to be in Olive Branch? For once in the more than 24 years I've lived in Memphis I made all the right turns and ended up in old Germantown but not without a call to J.D. to make sure I was headed in the right direction.

After I arrived at his office, we spent a little time getting to know each other and becoming more familiar with each other's work. We then climbed into his truck headed for lunch. We stopped into the new Breakaway store to see some of Harvest's retail design, which was quite impressive, before walking over a couple doors to the Mexican deli. Before yesterday I'd never been to Las Tortugas Deli Mexicana, but I'd heard about it several times in conversation. In the past whenever somebody mentions Mexican, or even Tex-Mex for that matter, I feel less than enthused. Molly's LaCasita, a Midtown institution, and Café Ole are two Tex-Mex options that I can embrace, but they're not Chuy's. I've been to El Mare on Jackson which has decent Mexican food but is in a questionable area in a dilapidated space leaving me wondering what other creatures are dining there. Taqueria Guadalupana can be good, too, but there's still something lacking to me.

Inside Las Tortugas, where the smell of fresh, good food was almost as overwhelming as how crowded it was, J.D. offered some background about the place. We discussed the numerous photos, newspaper articles and letters from patrons framed and up on the wall. I saw Neola Farms, (local, organic, grass-fed beef found at Memphis Farmers Market, Saturday mornings) listed among the day's specials. I was really feeling good about this place. Then, I met Jonathan.

At J.D.'s suggestion, I told him I was a newbie. Jonathan explained that his father, a native of Mexico City, opened the restaurant, that they serve real Mexican food and that nothing is brought in on a food service truck. When he asked me what I'd like to have, I told him to surprise me, and that I'd like a freshly-squeezed Limeade. After our orders were placed and in between looking through the many signs and anecdotes posted on the glass around the kitchen, J.D. teased me, telling me that Jonathan told him what he was making for me and it was going to be very special.

Surprised doesn't begin to express how I felt when after having his name called, rather than the numbers on our receipts, J.D. returned from the counter with two baskets saying, "this is yours." He went back and picked up his brisket sandwich and we sat down to eat. During conversation I was embarrassed that until he mentioned it, I'd forgotten to congratulate him on his "Best of Show Award" at this years Addy awards. I can be such a dunce sometimes. I thought about congratulating him before I left the house, checking my copy of the winner's book to make sure I was going to call his award by the right name, but then I guess "shiny-object-syndrome" reared it's ugly head and I forgot. Dang it!

Anyway, Las Tortugas was out of take-out menus and their website says they're in the process of updating it, so I'm sure I won't be calling all of this correctly, but I'll try. In one basket there was an ear of corn, coated with what appeared to be grated cheese and spices, flanked by two lime wedges on a paper liner dotted with a deep-red pepper sauce. In the other basket was a shredded lettuce salad with marinated cucumbers, next to two soft white corn brisket tacos with avocado, a small container of what looked like guacamole but tasted of pepper and lime, a flat yellow corn tortilla covered with spicy, shredded chicken and avocado slices, some homemade tortilla chips and a small dish of white sauce that resembled sour cream but also tasted of cheese. Everything was incredible. And, I promise, this is not me overusing a superlative like I often do. "Incredible" doesn't do the meal justice. In fact, the whole afternoon was amazing. Thank you, J.D.

This reminds me that aside from picking up a birthday card for my sister this morning, I need to refresh my thank you card stash since I still haven't sent my custom cards to press. I see a huge flaw in thought here, but I'm going to have to let it go lest this post become so long that I lose you, if I haven't already. Because I'm not done talking about this amazing day by any stretch of the imagination.

After I came home I took my usual casual approach to Friday afternoon, workload permitting, and took advantage of the sunny, over 60°F day. I took the dogs outside, pruned some roses, sketched some ideas in my journal, pruned the rosemary, read e-mail, tweeted, roughed out an idea for another client, cleaned the brake dust off of my wheels, and ironed a shirt.

At six o'clock I went next door to visit with Gene and Cindie, our long-time friends (and neighbors of 14 years), before we headed to Interim for dinner. Cindie invited me join them, Thursday, when she brought me a cookbook pulled out of other books she planned to donate to the Library. I didn't realize until we sat down at the table last night that they had intended to take me to dinner to celebrate some of the amazing things that have been happening with my work. This meant so much to me. Not only were they taking me to a very special place for dinner, but they wanted to celebrate the success with which I've been blessed in the last five months and they wouldn't let me pay.

With the help of Interim's menu, I'll share. For starters, Gene and I both had Oysters on the Half Shell with preserved lime mignonette and house made saltines, and Cindie had Sweet Potato Soup with crème fraiche, and toasted hazelnuts. For salads, Gene ordered Baked Goat Cheese Salad with arugula, red wine poached pears, sweetened pecans, and raspberry balsamic vinaigrette. I don't recall Cindie ordering this, but since I don't remember poached pears on her plate she must've had the House Green Salad with orange and hazelnut dressing since the only alternative was what I had. The menu says that it was a Tuscan Kale Salad, but if that was kale it was a kale I've never seen. I wonder if the menu has changed in the restaurant but not online? Anyway, with Grana Padano, garlic-herb croutons, creamy Caesar dressing and white anchovies, the salad was delightful. Unlike that of a typical anchovy, the flavor of the white anchovy was somewhat reminiscent to lighter pickled herring. It wasn't salty at all. Noting that, is when I realized that there were no salt or pepper shakers on the table. And, honestly, I didn't miss them.

For dinner, Cindie ordered Fish of the Day, red snapper, with parsnip puree, braised fennel, roasted brussels sprouts & citrus brown butter. Gene ordered the Grilled Beef Tenderloin with roasted garlic mashed potatoes, haricot verts, crispy onions & red wine demi glace, and I ordered the Steak of the Day, a medium-rare rib eye, with parmesan truffle fries, sautéed garlic spinach, & wild huckleberry sauce. Absolutely delicious.

Finally, once we decided to have dessert we each chose something different so we could share. Gene had Warm Chocolate Cake with chocolate ganache & vanilla gelato, Cindie ordered a Chai Green Tea Crème Brulee with what they called Snickerdoodles. But these were amber colored confections that looked nothing like the cookie with which we're all familiar. It was a beautiful dessert. I asked for the Croissant Bread Pudding with blackberry sauce & dulce de leche gelato. I have never really understood the phrase I've heard and perhaps even used, "taste so good it makes you want to slap yo mama," but this bread pudding was unlike any I've ever had.

Once we returned home from this fabulous evening, I took care of the puppies and thought I might like to watch "Big Fish" on the bedroom TV, but I barely made it through the first few minutes. I fell asleep filled with gratitude for all the wonderful things that have happened recently, and the awesome, fantastic, spectacular (superlative) day I experienced today, and the incredible people that make my life what it is. At the risk of sounding greedy, there is only one thing I would have changed: that Cameron was home to share it with me.

It's now 5:53 AM. Time to make some coffee, tidy up the house and anticipate his return from Tokyo. Have a lovely day, everybody.

It's Craptastic!

2010-02-23T16:35:00.003-06:00

Borrowing the above phrase, one which I usually save for reference to Comcast during all too frequent rebooting exercises, I am repurposing the phrase and am relieved to report that the LitterMaid debacle is finally over. I carried the piece of junk to the dumpster no more than thirty minutes ago. It's Craptastic!

Now we're back to using a Booda Clean Dome, the self-proclaimed "best litter box in the World." In this case, I'd have to agree. With it's grand, sweeping, circular steps into the "business" area, which are designed to prevent litter tracking, it reminds me of a theatre. Maybe it needs a marquee: "The Poop Theatre." Anyway, it's probably the least offensive color I've seen in a cat box. The last Booda, which we ditched when the LitterMaid was new and full of promise, was a hideous metallic turquoise color. I liken it's aesthetic to the nasty packaging design of Kleenex® and Puffs® boxes. Thank God for Target and it's monochromatic scheme.

Pardon me, I digress. Not that I would ever consider a litter box an integral part of decorating our home, The new Booda is the color of burnished gold, and it at least will sit quietly in the corner instead of screaming "look at my ugly, metallic [insert a color never intended for home interiors here] self!"

Sorry to cut this short, but I see a white tornado running crazily around the yard. Time to go wipe off "hands and feet," or I'll have to break out the sponge mop. Yes, I said sponge mop. I'd rather dip, squeeze, mop and rinse than swirl the dirt and leave a haze like I would with a Swiffer Wet Mop. We've been there, and done that. Procter & Gamble should have left well enough alone with their wildly successful replacement for the dust mop.

I Found This Lurking in Draft Mode

2010-01-19T21:43:00.003-06:00

Much of what I wrote on 2 January 09 still applies, including the turmoil if we change some of the locations. Last year it was China, this year Haiti. The remainder is applicable, too, in spite of the media's non-stop attempt to tell us otherwise. In the end how we respond -- as individuals, as a nation and as a world -- is what counts.

090102

We could approach 2009 with a somber tone if we chose. There are so many lives all over this third rock from the sun in turmoil, and for them the stroke of midnight on December 31 didn't bring magical transformation. In the so-called "news" I hear plenty of 2008-bashing with good reason I suppose. At first considering the quagmire in Iraq, the earthquakes in China, foreclosures everywhere, job loss and the failing world economy the past year looks pretty bad.

Sitting here in the comfort of my home it's easy to say WE make the years good or bad. It's easy to say it's all about attitude or outlook on life. But, it is. When we eliminate from the equation the part of life over which we have no control -- the things with which we simply have to cope -- the year wasn't so bad.

But the economy? The war? Poverty? Ours. It's up to us to be the harbingers of change. And, as for 2008 We had the courage to change the things we could. At least the election resulted in something hopeful.

And, for me, 2008 wasn't so bad after all is said and done. It wasn't without its hardships. That's life. Saying this doesn't mean I'm not ready for the symbolic "mulligan." I pray for serenity, acceptance for the things I can't change, courage to change the things I can, and finally the wisdom to know the difference.

Today is going to be a great day.

How to Write Your Mission Statement

2010-01-19T17:09:00.006-06:00

While consulting with a client today I suggested that they might want to include a mission statement as part of their home page especially since they're a newly established firm. I found three articles that approach creating one and they're all worth reading:

From Entrepreneur, lengthy but informational
http://www.entrepreneur.com/management/leadership/businessstrategies/article65230.html

From wikiHow, a more succinct, step-by-step approach
http://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Mission-Statement

and finally, from FastCompany, a more candid commentary but one definitely worth reading:
http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/140/do-something-wordplay.html

A Christmas Eve Post in the Middle of January

2010-01-18T13:26:00.000-06:00

I nearly forgot that this draft was sitting on my desktop. I have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to chronicling the holidays and I might still get to it. But, hell, our tree and the few other decorations we set out this year came down just yesterday and found their way back up to the attic. While today is a day for reflecting on the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., one during which I'd like to pay a visit to the National Civil Rights Museum, my goal for today is to get the C-7 lights off of the eaves and back upstairs where they belong. One final leaf blowing extravaganza before Spring, which can't come soon enough to suit me, will follow.

Whatever you do today, embrace it and do your best.

'Tis the Night before Christmas...

...and all through the house it's pretty quiet. The television is broadcasting the weather forecast. Billie, snoring, is sharing her bed with Georgia, and I am contemplating not only what to write here, but tomorrow's plans as well. I suppose I could recount the day I spent shopping with Becky, but then I'd be giving away some Christmas surprises if I went into too much detail. I guess I can be mindful of that and recount the day.

We started out meeting her daughter, Carly, for breakfast at Lynn's Paradise Cafe followed by visiting Regalo, a shop two doors down that sells unusual gift items, extraordinary jewelry and handbags, some well-designed household items and some irreverent novelties. One of the latter I picked up for Thom was a yellow-plaid dish towel with the recipe for "Sh*t on a Shingle". The way this is spelled is not me being polite, it's the way it was spelled on the towel. I bursted with laughter when I saw it and immediately thought of Thom because he seems to replace his kitchen towels with an almost obsessive regularity. While there, I considered purchasing a charging station that looked like grass in a black planter. It was extremely clever, especially when compared to the myriad wooden box options sold at the likes of Target and Pottery Barn, but in the end I couldn't justify the expense. If I decide later that I want it, I'll look for it and buy it online.

From Regalo, we drove to Market Street to visit Red Tree, then Scout. Red Tree was an eclectic mix of furniture, fixtures, gifts and art, both original one-of-a-kind pieces and others of the mass-produced variety. There were some really nice things there, and a couple that I thought I could use, but in the end I exercised better judgement, saved my money and avoided having to ship things home or risk looking like the Clampetts driving back to Memphis.

Carly had to leave for a matinee performance of "A Wonderful Life," the musical adaptation of Frank Capra's film "It's a Wonderful Life." She's playing, Sam Wainwright's wife. "Yee-hawww." So when she left, Becky and I walked a few blocks to Scout. There, all bets were off. I found Christmas gifts among the unusual things (at least for me) stocked in the store. They sold fantastic smelling candles, one of which greeted us upon opening the door. It smelled of fresh pine but with a hint of a warm fire. I immediately noticed that the music playing was that which I'd heard all during the previous week on Christmas Lounge on SOMA FM. With that, I knew I was going to love this place. Scout offered handmade jewelry, including work from a friend of my brother's, Sarah Balmer, Jonathan Adler pottery, hats, gifts and unusual objets d'art. The store was a visual and sensual overload. They had great stuff in every corner and there were a couple of things that I simply couldn't resist. I truly hope Cameron believes my "find" for him as much a treasure as I do.

After Scout, we drove to St. Matthews by way of the wrong exit from I-64 onto the Watterson Expressway, another exit to Breckinridge Lane, through Dupont Circle -- the back way into Mall St. Matthews. Through the parking lot, out again and another wild turn onto Shelbyville Road landed us half-in and half-out of the left turn lane into the plaza where World Market is located after I realized the line to get into the parking lot ended just one car length from the intersection. I squeezed in as far as I could. I held back my nervous laughter upon seeing the expression on a passing man's face who hadn't been paying attention. His unpleasant surprise at seeing my right taillamp not quite in my lane seemed to pass as quickly as his Bentley.

We had to visit World Market because all three stores in Memphis closed last year. And, I need Key Lime Seasoning for our proscuitto-wrapped grilled scallops. I included the recipe, aptly named Key Lime Grilled Scallops, in this year's update of "Betwixt the Both of Us," the TasteBook cookbook I published last year as gifts to family and friends. They only had three jars of the spice left but I figure that's enough to hold us over until I can visit another World Market sometime in the future. A couple of Nesbitt's orange sodas (without high-fructose corn syrup), a stocking stuffer and two bars of soap finished my excursion "around the world."

After her show, Carly met us at "eyedea" in Butchertown. It's a consignment/antique store loaded with some fantastic furniture, lamps and art. There I found a miniature New Albany Train Station for Thom, who collects miniature architectural gems. The train station was a beautiful, triangular shaped structure that stood for decades on Vincennes Street begging to be restored and put to another use. But fire would destroy it before it's renaissance could happen and I knew that Thom was heartbroken as he listened to the news of it's demise on the radio one morning on his way to work. I also picked up two vintage bottlebrush trees with foil stars. The whole lot was just over $10!

The New Albany Train Station

From eyedea we went to Butchertown Market to visit Canoe and Work the Metal. Canoe featured Turkish clothing, rugs, huge urns and lighting among some gift items. What they sold there was beautiful, but nothing for which I'm in the market. Work the Metal sold gifts, furniture, lighting with more of an irreverent, modern approach. It occurred to me that the shops to which Becky and Carly took me were ones I don't remember seeing the likes of when I moved to Memphis from Louisville in 1986. It was great seeing such forward thinking and progress in what I once considered my sleepy hometown with tons of unrealized potential.

We finished the day at an at least new-to-me location of Bristol Bar and Grille, located at the Sheraton in Jeffersonville. As the sun set the lights of Louisville's skyline began to twinkle. Becky's husband, David, met us there and it was great sharing dinner and the evening with my former classmates and their beautiful daughter.

Must-See Cars at the 2010 Detroit Auto Show

2010-01-14T08:43:00.000-06:00

Must-See Cars at the 2010 Detroit Auto Show

For many years I've wanted to go to the Detroit Auto Show. And every year when the reviews start rolling in, I think, "crap!" I've missed it again. The editors at MyRide have done a nice recap of what they consider highlights of the show. My favorite quote is about the new Lincoln MKX: "The MKX gets the awkward Lincoln face." I saw what I consider a few awkward faces in this year's offerings, but I'm happy to see that automakers are getting away from the "me-too" smiley faces of the 1990s.

An Open Letter to the Makers of LitterMaid

2009-12-09T13:19:00.011-06:00

Dear LitterMaid,

I thought I'd write today to tell you how enthusiastic I was the day I brought home the special edition LitterMaid I purchased at PetCo about a year ago. I bought an extra package of waste receptacles and the litter to go along with them. I simply knew that upon the recommendation of a friend, and the marketing propaganda I'd read in the past, that this automated cat litter box was a magical device. It was going to change our lives, both mine and Edith's (the cat).

As soon as I arrived at home I began making the transition from the Booda Clean Step (which up until then had been the best covered litter box I'd owned in more than twenty years in spite of the fact that it was a big, cumbersome bitch to clean) to the new LitterMaid. Following the sometimes tedious instructions, it was relatively easy to assemble. I set the digital clock but not a "sleep" time because I knew my cat would use the thing while the rest of the house was asleep.

The next morning, I immediately began to find cat litter strewn all about the house. Vacuuming constantly I vowed to change the litter to something that wouldn't track as badly. When it came time to purchase more litter, I cleaned out the box and started all over again with Fresh Step clumping litter. It didn't track as badly, but clumps adhered to the box like superglue, rendering the rake and the box itself useless. The motor would cycle continually in an attempt to rid itself of clumps to no avail before finally shutting down.

That noise you hear isn't the box running constantly. It's me groaning with aggravation in another room because that means I have to drop whatever I'm doing and remove the offending obstruction. The promise of having to deal with the cat box 1 or 2 times a week had been dashed at this point. Hell, I was cleaning the catbox more times per day than I ever had. It seemingly had become my reason to wake up every morning. Otherwise, the stupid thing would run constantly and clean nothing.

So again, I was faced with looking for another litter choice. I've tried corn. I've switched between two different clays. I've tried wheat. I've even tried using Fresh Step crystals. I thought I'd had a "Eureka!" moment until the first fill of these magic chunks reached their saturation point a day or so later. And, when they're done absorbing, they're done. Period. The LitterMaid became a disgusting smelly mess within hours that needed to be emptied completely and cleaned with Nature's Miracle and dried before it could be refilled, starting the ordeal all over again.

We've been using Arm & Hammer Essentials for about two weeks now. It's wrought with it's own set of problems, but it's livable until I decide I've just had enough and throw the whole damned mess in the trash. I have decided that the money I spent on the LitterMaid was the biggest waste ever. I will make sure I let anyone who is considering a LitterMaid purchase about the problems I've had and encourage them to get a Booda Clean Step.

Yours very truly,

dminmem

Finally, A Post

2009-12-02T10:00:00.001-06:00

I received a SiteMeter report in email yesterday that showed that my few reader numbers were just about flat. Lately, I've been thinking often about what I might write and have just been coming up blank. I had three unfinished posts started.

One draft began: "The Queen" is finally in the DVD player after it sat on the shelf for more than a month. I'm not getting my money's worth out of Netflix if I don't watch it and send it back, or just send it back without watching it. Sitting on the shelf just as long is some lesbian flick, "All Over Me." I must've been interested in seeing it at some point or I wouldn't have put it on my queue. Supposedly, tonight, I watch them. Regardless, they're hitting the mailbox tomorrow.

I ended up watching "The Queen." It was ok. Helen Mirren was great. I didn't watch "All Over Me." They were both mailed back the next day.

Another draft began: "My last post was October 1, if you can call it a post. It was more like parroting. Or regurgitating." Or in another case, assumption that "the writing was on the wall." I am freelancing again after leaving my 10 year position at CS2 advertising. October 15 was my last day there. I have my Federal tax identification number and have posted a website: davidmaddoxcreative.com. I have been working on logos for various companies and am working on plans for some other things. It's been very exciting, sometimes overwhelming, but always empowering.

Yet another draft was titled, "Accidental Conspicuous Omission." It began, "More than a year has passed since I committed to quit drinking." During that year I spent much of my time reading, researching, seeing a therapist and learning about the challenges of growing as an adult child of an alcoholic. I have been amazed, surprised and ultimately changed by the experience and will continue to work toward being a better person. The biggest revelation, though is dealing with this thing called self-loathing. I have always been told that I'm too hard on myself, but I just didn't understand the implications of such thinking. I'm learning to give myself a break.

As I ponder how my life has changed I consider the people I have chosen to leave behind. I no longer have time for the dishonest, deceitful, or self-absorbed. Some friendships have been exposed as the toxic situations they have been and I can't be pulled down by them anymore. For this I'm grateful, but very often I think of these people and wish the situation were different. Because in spite of the bad I really have cared for them. My motivation may have been warped, seeking approval from people I admired for one reason or another, but I can't afford to give up my well-being in order to be liked by someone who's not worthy of my care, affection or love.

There are others in my life who deserve more of my attention. Because Cameron was going to be flying over the holidays, I planned to spend Thanksgiving with my sister who is house-bound, recovering from back surgery. I left here around 9 AM, Tuesday morning, with my favorite cooking utensils packed, TripTik in hand, and Billie and Georgia comfortably positioned on their cedar-filled bed atop the folded down back seat.

As I drove south on MS-49 toward Hattiesburg, listening to the Martha Stewart Thanksgiving call-in shows, I witnessed a horrible accident. As I approached the car that had been impaled by pine timbers on a flat-bed truck, I dialed 911. I found a young man unconscious at the wheel. Others stopped and helped. A man with leather work gloves was able to break out what was left of the windshield, switch off the car and get the door open. We put the boy on the grass, elevated his feet and head, covered him with a blanket from my first aid kit. A woman kept direct pressure on the gash on his right cheekbone while an off-duty Air Force medic asked him questions to determine how badly in shock he was. The young man was lucky to be alive. Another responder got the boy's family phone number and called his mother. We reassured him that he was going to be fine. His mother sent instructions to take him to Forrest General and asked that he be told "your mother says she loves you." As the paramedics put him in the ambulance, I realized I had witnessed a miracle.

It wasn't a miracle in the way Beauregard Jackson Pickett Birdside burst into Mame Dennis' apartment, phone book in hand, exclaiming "it's a Christmas miracle" upon finding the right Dennis. It was a real miracle, one that I believe I was meant to witness. It made the the thought of how our lives can change in the blink of an eye very real to me.

So, it's with faith I sit at this desk contemplating my next move. I pray that my mind stays open to possibilities and that I remember that what's meant to happen will. The Christmas holidays are upon us and that, in and of itself, is reason to celebrate. With that, it's back to work because I have a lot to accomplish today.

In This Case, "S & G" Do Not Stand for What May First Come to Mind

2009-10-01T14:49:00.002-05:00

Assess Yourself

Here's another checklist to help you assess your current employment situation. Check the statements that apply to you (and ignore for now the letter after each statement):

1. I look forward to going to work most every day. (S)
2. My employer treats me fairly and with respect. (S)
3. I live for the weekend, or any days away from work. (G)
4. I feel valued and appreciated for my professional contributions. (S)
5. My workplace feels "toxic." (G)

6. I can be myself at work and not have to worry about being judged. (S)
7. I am included in my company's "information loop." (S)
8. My employer discusses with me and provides opportunities for advancement and professional development. (S)
9. I am commended for the extra effort I perform. (S)
10. I am stimulated intellectually and creatively by my work. (S)

11. I feel that I am making a positive contribution to society. (S)
12. I am compensated well for my work. (S)
13. I find myself daydreaming frequently about a new career. (G)
14. I feel that my work is a natural extension of who I am as a human being. (S)
15. I see myself as successful. (S)

16. I feel trapped and stuck in my current position. (G)
17. I feel in control of my career destiny. (S)
18. I am working at the level of my full potential. (S)
19. My current career negatively impacts those close to me. (G)
20. I have a desire to try something new and different. (G)

Now, count the number of "S" and "G" responses you have. "S" means "Stay" and "G" means "Go." This checklist is a reliable indicator of whether or not your present job is a good fit for you. Clearly, the more "G" ("Go") responses you checked, the more critical it is for you to start thinking about new opportunities.

Debra Davenport, PhD, is a Master Professional Mentor career counselor, and the president of DavenportFolio, a licensed firm that mentors entrepreneurs and professionals. She is the creator of the Certified Professional Mentor designation and certification program. Reach her at debra@davenportfolio.com or (480) 348-7875.

Reuters: Gay Couples are as fit to adopt as Straight

2009-09-28T10:32:00.002-05:00

Gay couples as fit to adopt as heterosexuals: study

Reuters, Fri Sep 25, 2009 10:40am EDT

NEW YORK (Reuters Life!) - Gay or straight, the sexual orientation of adoptive parents does not have an impact on the emotional development of their children, according to a new study. But researchers said that if parents were satisfied with the adoption process, had a stable income and functioned well as a family the risk of emotional problems in children were reduced.

"We found that sexual orientation of the adoptive parents was not a significant predictor of emotional problems," Paige Averett, an assistant professor of social work at East Carolina University, said in a statement.

"We did find, however, that age and pre-adoptive sexual abuse were," she added.
Averett, Blace Nalavany, also of East Carolina University, and Scott Ryan, dean of the University of Texas School of Social Work, questioned nearly 1,400 couples in the United States, including 155 gay and lesbian parents.

They used information from Florida's public child welfare system and data from gay and lesbian couples throughout the U.S. for the study.

Each couple was questioned about themselves and their children, the family composition and dynamics, and the history of the child before the adoption.

The researchers said the findings, which are reported in the journal Adoption Quarterly, are important because it compared gay and lesbian and heterosexual couples.

"There are implications for social work educators, adoption professionals, and policy makers in this and other recent studies," said Averett.

"We must pay attention to the data indicating that gay and lesbian parents are as fit as heterosexual parents to adopt," Averett added, "because at least 130,000 children are depending on us to act as informed advocates on their behalf."

The American Civil Liberties Union has said that laws and adoption agency policies have created obstacles for gay and lesbian couple who want to adopt children.

(Reporting by Patricia Reaney, editing by Paul Casciato)

So You Don't Think We Need Healthcare Reform?

2009-09-03T11:10:00.007-05:00

I tried posting this through signing up and using permissions and links on the AP website, but ended up with a hideous scrolling box thing. This is what I copied and pasted from the Wyoming Tribune-Eagle online.

Pfizer to pay record $2.3B penalty for drug promos

By DEVLIN BARRETT
Associated Press Writer

WASHINGTON (AP) -- Federal prosecutors hit Pfizer Inc. with a record-breaking $2.3 billion in fines Wednesday and called the world's largest drugmaker a repeating corporate cheat for illegal drug promotions that plied doctors with free golf, massages, and resort junkets.

Announcing the penalty as a warning to all drug manufacturers, Justice Department officials said the overall settlement is the largest ever paid by a drug company for alleged violations of federal drug rules, and the $1.2 billion criminal fine is the largest ever in any U.S. criminal case. The total includes $1 billion in civil penalties and a $100 million criminal forfeiture.

Authorities called Pfizer a repeat offender, noting it is the company's fourth such settlement of government charges in the last decade. The allegations surround the marketing of 13 different drugs, including big sellers such as Viagra, Zoloft, and Lipitor.

As part of its illegal marketing, Pfizer invited doctors to consultant meetings at resort locations, paying their expenses and providing perks, prosecutors said.

"They were entertained with golf, massages, and other activities," said Mike Loucks, the U.S. attorney in Massachusetts.

Loucks said that even as Pfizer was negotiating deals on past misconduct, they were continuing to violate the very same laws with other drugs.

To prevent backsliding this time, Pfizer's conduct will be specially monitored by the Health and Human Service Department inspector general for five years.

In an unusual twist, the head of the Justice Department, Attorney General Eric Holder, did not participate in the record settlement, because he had represented Pfizer on these issues while in private practice.

Associate Attorney General Thomas Perrelli said the settlement illustrates ways the Justice Department "can help the American public at a time when budgets are tight and health care costs are rising."

Perrelli announced the settlement terms at a news conference with federal prosecutors and FBI, and Health and Human Services Department officials.

The settlement ends an investigation that also resulted in guilty pleas from two former Pfizer sales managers.

Officials said the U.S. industry has paid out more than $11 billion in such settlements over the past decade, but one consumer advocate voiced hope that Wednesday's penalty was so big it would curb the abuses.

"There's so much money in selling pills, that there's a tremendous temptation to cheat," said Bill Vaughan, an analyst at Consumers Union, the nonprofit publisher of Consumer Reports.

"There's a kind of mentality in this sector that (settlements) are the cost of doing business and we can cheat. This penalty is so huge I think consumers can have some hope that maybe these guys will tighten up and run a better ship."

The government said the company promoted four prescription drugs, including the pain killer Bextra, as treatments for medical conditions different from those the drugs had been approved for by federal regulators. Authorities said Pfizer's salesmen and women created phony doctor requests for medical information in order to send unsolicited information to doctors about unapproved uses and dosages.

Use of drugs for so-called "off-label" medical conditions is not uncommon, but drug manufacturers are prohibited from marketing drugs for uses that have not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration. They said the junkets and other company-paid perks were designed to promote Bextra and other drugs, to doctors for unapproved uses and dosages, backed by false and misleading claims about safety and effectiveness.

Bextra, for instance, was approved for arthritis, but Pfizer promoted it for acute pain and surgical pain, and in dosages above the approved maximum. In 2005, Bextra, one of a class of painkillers known as Cox-2 inhibitors, was pulled from the U.S. market amid mounting evidence it raised the risk of heart attack, stroke and death.

A Pfizer subsidiary, Pharmacia and Upjohn Inc., which was acquired in 2003, has entered an agreement to plead guilty to one count of felony misbranding. The criminal case applied only to Bextra.

The $1 billion in civil penalties was related to Bextra and a number of other medicines.

A portion of the civil penalty will be distributed to 49 states and the District of Columbia, according to agreements with each state's Medicaid program.

Pfizer's top lawyer, Amy Schulman, said the settlements "bring final closure to significant legal matters and help to enhance our focus on what we do best - discovering, developing and delivering innovative medicines."

In her statement, Schulman said: "We regret certain actions taken in the past, but are proud of the action we've taken to strengthen our internal controls and pioneer new procedures."

In financial filings in January, the company had indicated that it would pay $2.3 billion over the allegations.

The civil settlement announced Wednesday covered Pfizer's promotions of Bextra, blockbuster nerve pain and epilepsy treatment Lyrica, schizophrenia medicine Geodon, antibiotic Zyvox and nine other medicines. The agreement with the Justice Department resolves the investigation into promotion of all those drugs, Pfizer said.

The government said Pfizer also paid kickbacks to market a host of big-name drugs: Aricept, Celebrex, Lipitor, Norvasc, Relpax, Viagra, Zithromax, Zoloft, and Zyrtec.

The allegations came to light thanks largely to five Pfizer employees and one Pennsylvania doctor, who will now share $102 million of the settlement money.

FBI Assistant Director Kevin Perkins praised the whistleblowers who decided to "speak out against a corporate giant that was blatantly violating the law and misleading the public through false marketing claims."

To rein in the abuses, the government's five-year monitoring will force Pfizer to notify doctors about Wednesday's agreement, encourage them to report any similar behavior, and publicly post any payments or perks it gives to doctors.

Under terms of the settlement, Pfizer must pay $1 billion to compensate Medicaid, Medicare, and other federal health care programs. Some of that money will be shared among the states: New York, for example, will receive $66 million, according to the state's attorney general, Andrew Cuomo.

When Pfizer originally disclosed the settlement figure, it also announced plans to acquire rival Wyeth for $68 billion. That deal, which would bolster Pfizer's position as the world's top drugmaker by revenue, is expected to close before year's end.

Shares of Pfizer dropped 14 cents to $16.24 in midday trading.

---

AP Business Writer Linda A. Johnson in Trenton, N.J., contributed to this report.

© 2009 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed. Copyright 2008 Associated Press

New Now Next Music on Logo

2009-09-02T23:47:00.006-05:00

I'm sitting here watching New Now Next PopLab on Logo and I've seen two videos that are at least new to me. The first, Colton Ford's cover of R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion," I found on YouTube. After clicking "share," I filled in the appropriate fields only to come here and find that the post didn't happen. It may still, but then again, it may still, twice.

The second video I found on the John Fordham's website. Fordham is the Director of Photography for the sexy video. The song is a bit monotonous and a bit shallow, but it's fun and I liked it well enough to post it. Here it is:

Monday · 31 August

2009-08-31T13:16:00.008-05:00

It's been a long time since I've done a "Luncheonette" post. I suppose I just felt like today would be as good as any for one. Conflicted with the taste for something Asian, I figured my options were either Vietnamese from Pho Saigon or sushi take-out from The Fresh Market.

Given that I was in Cameron's Eos and that it's a beautiful outside, by the time I got to Pho Saigon I decided to skip combination vermicelli and spring rolls for continuing the top-down drive to Eastgate. Even as nerve-wrecking as navigating traffic through the "Poplar Horridor" can be, the sun-shiny break away from my desk was therapeutic.

The deli at The Fresh Market is a large rectangle surrounding a kitchen. One side is where shoppers will find a large, atypical selection of meats and cheeses sliced to order. Continuing to the next side, one will find a smorgasbord of ready-to-eat main courses and side dishes next to grab-and-go sandwiches and salads. The next side is where the small sushi station is located next to fresh pasta and prepared sauces to take home, heat and eat. The last side is a huge display of prepackaged cheeses, specialty meats and hors d'oeuvre type spreads such as Boursini and hummus.

As I approached the Japanese section of the deli where the two sweet, gracious girls who run it keep seaweed and fried calamari salads, spring rolls, assorted sushi rolls and Nigiri neatly on display, I found a dumpy, confrontational, disrespectful blonde occupying all of the space in front of the sushi with an inconsiderate big-ass-in-stretch pants/cart combination. She was shoving a sushi box up toward the faces of the girls asking "what type of fish is this? Because the box isn't marked." She reminded me of the clichés I usually see at this store. Let's let it suffice to say that money can't buy class, taste or respect for others.

With their answer, Dumpy Stretchpants dropped the box of assorted nigiri with tuna, salmon, eel and shrimp back into the display and moved away. The girls glanced toward her, then to me, quietly giggling at the idiot. I couldn't resist rolling my eyes in a half-assed show of support and gratitude for their grace.

My clearly marked boxes, like all of the others in the display, were filled with spicy, crunchy shrimp tempura roll and a vegetable roll were delicious as I enjoyed them at my desk.

"Kids, Get in the Car!"

2009-08-11T07:04:00.001-05:00

It's amazing to me how stumbling across the photos of the car and the thermal jug brought this to mind. This post was much longer in the beginning, but some of the history was omitted because it's much more personal.

I can't remember where we had been, but one Saturday afternoon, my mother, sisters, brother and I returned home to find that Daddy had destroyed the house. He had ripped the phone out of the wall, threw the black and white Admiral television, the kind that swiveled on four, brass-tipped, pointy legs, out the back door into the garage where it amazingly stayed intact after hitting the ground. He opened the Frigidaire and slung its contents all over the counters, the walls and the kitchen floor. There was a distinct elbow shape in the front glass of the empty 50-gallon aquarium. The dead angelfish, goldfish and guppies lay strewn amongst Christopher's toys, which had been dumped out of their toy box onto the living room floor. He shredded my mother's clothes, unsuccessfully tried to burn them, then turned on every faucet in the house in a lame attempt to keep it from burning to the ground. I remember seeing water running from the back of the house onto the patio and into the yard that afternoon. Mommy said, "Go next door and ask to use the phone." I ran to the next door neighbor's house to call Plain Grandma and the State Police. They found Daddy naked in my parents' bed, woke him up and instructed him to put on some underwear before they handcuffed him, put him in back of the sheriff's cruiser and hauled him off to jail. I was eleven.

This 1970 Ford LTD Country Squire looks identical to ours except for the wheel covers. To me, these were leftovers from previous models.

Sometimes a place to hide from him meant staying away until the wee hours of the morning. This could be a visit to the drive-in theater or a late-night trip to White Castle. One hot, humid, Kentuckiana summer evening, Lou and her boys, Eddie and Richie, were with us for a trip to South Park drive-in. Shortly after we drove past the huge neon arch where Speedee toted his sign that no longer said 15¢, Lou exclaimed, "that's misery!" She was referring to the morbidly obese woman walking alongside Dixie Highway in the sweltering heat wearing a cotton peasant blouse and too-short shorts. Her companion, a much smaller person, made her seem enormous. Like a side show attraction. While the car filled with laughter at the expense of the unfortunate soul, I imagined it was Lou's way of elevating the mood, and recognizing that everybody has a cross to bear.

Other escapes meant traveling for hours to campsites like Barren River, or Nolin Lake. We'd arrive under the cloak of darkness and set up camp using the headlamps until we unpacked and lit a Coleman lantern. One such evening landed us closer to home at Deem Lake, near Borden. And for some reason that I can't recall, Lou was with us again. After we had been there a while the familiar sound of our old Volkswagen approaching drowned out the forest's evening song. Its headlights lit the dust from the gravel as its driver stopped at the end of the road leading to our campsite. It saddened me to see the car I'd adored for so long, battered and tired after a trip at my dad's hands through a thicket in Floyds Knobs one icy night. What made me even sadder, and even fearful, was to see it there at that moment. Lou's husband, Dan, was with Daddy. It was plain that they had both been drinking. Dan barely could stand well enough to pee in the bushes on the side of the road, and to this day that's the way I remember him -- perpetually stumbling, drunk. As we kids stood in the background, the two wives approached the car, talked briefly with their husbands, but stood their ground. The intruders eventually left us to pursue a night's respite from the hell at our respective homes.

Day trips to Deem Lake became as regular as Saturdays. We'd fill up the Coleman thermal jug with Kool-Aid or Pillsbury Funny Face drink mix. Over time this concoction became fruit drink with instant tea mixed in. The anticipation of having Choo-Choo Cherry was dashed with the addition of Nestea. I wasn't a big fan of this blend that Tina annoyingly dubbed "drink." To me it was unnatural and tasted odd. Adding insult to injury, her name for this brew became amplified once it was evident that I hated it.

After filling the matching red Coleman chest cooler with cold-cuts and condiments, we'd load the Country Squire with portable radio and beach towels, then head out to the lake. At first these these excursions were exciting, fun excuses to be away from home. After a while, though, they became boring and tedious, at least to me. I sense my mother understood this and began allowing us to bring a friend, squelching the familiar refrain, "is it time to go?" Sometimes Lisa would bring Sherry. Sometimes Thom would come with me. Sometimes Doug, Brian and Kim would come along. As creative children are prone to do, we found ways to entertain ourselves once the novelty of doing flips from the diving dock faded.

Thom extolled the virtues of numerous trips to the snack bar. One day I learned why. Ducking into the men's locker room might reward him with a glimpse of the lifeguards changing clothes. Upon seeing those men for a split second the one time I went with Thom, I couldn't reconcile the curiosity or excitement I felt with the gut instinct that I shouldn't be there. So, I stuck to other more juvenile diversions, like swimming with Christopher over to the edge of the swimming area where we'd try to balance on the float ropes delineating safe from unsafe waters until we'd hear a screeching lifeguard's whistle followed by the transistor sound of a megaphone from shore: "get off the rope, please!" The demand sounded ridiculous. We laughed for days, mocking the poor girl to one another.

Save Overton Square

2009-07-29T11:08:00.005-05:00

Photo Credit: girlcalledheaven on flickr.

You should care about what happens to Overton Square. Please say something about it here.

There are examples of successful gentrification of blighted urban/residential retail areas all over this country, and of them Overton Square could be a shining star. The possibilities for the Square are endless, but it takes many people with a singular vision and a common goal to make this happen. This discussion is a great way to start. Please tell everyone about this site and encourage them to get involved.

"Part of the Square's draw is its heritage. Another is its architecture. Frankly an ugly, brick and fake stucco mega-retailer would erase one of the city's few remaining cultural gems.

"Overton Square could include upscale boutique retail, restaurants and office space, but it must have a strong anchor to make it a destination not just for the general public, but for like-minded retailers as well. I agree with Stoy's comments about the draw of Playhouse on the Square, but there needs to be more -- a draw that pulls more than the occasional visitor/tourist.

"Midtown shoppers must make compromises to shop at any of the current grocery options. We either have to deal with complacent filth, parking nightmares, or price gouging to offset poor security. We are in desperate need for a different experience. A clean, affordable food market with upscale sensibility (like Trader Joe's) would be a step in the right direction, one that would fit nicely with a forward-thinking plan to breathe life back into an Overton Square of which we can all be proud.

"More people on the Square more hours of the day -- more days of the week -- will make it sustainable."

This is Only a Test

2009-07-26T13:34:00.000-05:00

I remember being fascinated by the design of my grandmother's inexplicably-colored, green, 1962 Valiant when I was very young.

This isn't Nano's, but it's very much the same car.

The big, blue and red, split, "V" logo in a circle on the grille. Or was that Papaw's black 1963 Valiant? Anyway, Nano's Valiant had two horizontal fins above simple circular tail lamps, and a seemingly giant chrome circle bisected by the letters "V-A-L-I-A-N-T" in a black bar across the deck lid. She used to pump the hell out of the accelerator every time we got in the car, causing a giant, black cloud to waft out of the garage when she started it.

Another example of the Valiant, found somewhere online.

The single turn signal indicator, which was a green diamond in a chrome circle on the dash was always curious to me. Why weren't there two arrows? Then, oddity of all oddities, everything on the dash was push-button: the transmission, climate control and, of course, the radio.

I spent many a trip with her looking at the Civil Defense logo on the Valiant's radio dial. At the time I didn't know what the "CD" in a triangle inside a circle meant. The little symbol, along with the broadcast copy, "this is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. This is only a test," is a familiar refrain from the "duck and cover" Cold War era.

The announcement is firmly implanted in my psyche, just like how her car smelled inside on hot afternoon trips to Scotty's for pork cutlet sandwiches, Jesse Schook's Beer Depot, home to a foul-mouthed Mynah bird, for Blatz beer in waxed, flip-lid cardboard cases and Charms Blo-pops.

Nano and Papaw enjoyed a few of these during airings of "The Lawrence Welk Show" and "Hee Haw" on Saturday nights.

As I ponder the many things that have taken place over the last several weeks, I keep remembering "this is only a test." And, I sometimes have wanted to climb under a desk and cover my head. Or have a fit, like I might have in the past. But, if the personal work I've been doing for the last nine months has taught me anything, it's that... if... I... just... pause... and think... I realize that whatever "this" is will pass.

Like a kidney stone.

In early May, we noticed that the water level in the pool was consistently, slowly decreasing shortly after we removed the winter cover. Upon further inspection, we found a 7-inch long crack in the liner. After discussion about whether or not the structure I placed in the center of the pool back in October to "tent" the winter cover caused this I am convinced it didn't. My tray, bell weight and PVC pole were at the very least a foot away from the breach, and I had taken extra care to research my plan and make sure there wouldn't be anything potentially damaging coming in contact with the vinyl. Nevertheless, the liner needed replacing. I drove out to Watson's on May 15 to arrange the installation of a new one. Feeling like one of those asshats I see on cell phones in checkout lanes, I called the credit union while I sat at the service counter and transferred funds from one account to another while the service department set our replacement date for the following Friday, May 29.

I figured this was a fairly elementary liner replacement and worked at making sure the pool was drained, "except for three inches," as I was told. The prospect of draining to this low level unnerved me because the installers told us eleven years ago to never let the pool get below half-filled. Unfortunately, the pump I used didn't work fast enough. When the crew arrived, they put a second pump in the water, said they'd go to West Memphis to do a job there and would return later. At 9:30 that night, they called, said it was too late and that they'd return the next day.

Saturday I waited. I called the Scheduling department asking where the guys were and was rescheduled for Sunday. I waited again. And, again, they didn't show. Then the rains came for two days and the pool walls began to pull away from the soil. In my mind, collapse was imminent. My nervous calls didn't seem to alarm Watson's service department. I was eventually rescheduled again for Friday, June 5. Upon arrival, the crew assured me that even though the pool had begun to separate from the walls of soil around it that the situation was nothing serious. However, discovering a small rust-through spot under the skimmer was. The only option offered was replacing the pool altogether.

I called Watson's to make arrangements and received the first estimate five days later because someone who had to approve the warranty coverage was out of town. The prospect of rain made every delay a nail-biting experience because there was a very real risk of the existing walls collapsing even more. The more the walls collapsed the more hand-digging would be needed to accommodate the new structure. There is no way a crew could get a Bobcat back there to reverse the impending erosion.

Even with warranty coverage the cost was more than we paid for the original pool. Included as a line item on the estimate was a savings of $300 if we removed the concrete, then demolished, removed and disposed of the old pool. During a phone conversation while he was out of town, Cameron and I decided to save the 300 bucks. I put in a vacation request to use Friday, June 12 to do this. Unfortunately, because Cameron is out of the country 75 to 80 percent of the time, he wasn't cognizant of the plans I'd made in the meantime.

He came home Tuesday, June 9. While I was at work the next day I got a call from him. He, with John's help, had decided to begin removing the concrete two days early because he didn't want me to have to deal with it. He asked if it would be okay to dump the removed concrete behind the dumpster for gradual removal when we put out the trash. My reaction was less than grateful for his effort. I had just finished weeding, planting and mulching the bed adjacent to our "dumpster park" and installed a 25-square-foot pad for said dumpster and recycling bin to reside. To me, the idea of rocks, sand and concrete being dumped on my fresh mulch for an extended period negated all the hard work I'd spent the previous two weekends finishing.

All of the ways I've learned to recognize how adult children of alcoholics react to life and the subsequent lessons about how not to be "that guy" completely escaped me. Mind you, I have made tons of progress over the last nine months. But for this moment, I failed. I overreacted. I said things that sounded completely different than what I'd intended. Rather than telling him how trapped I feel when he calls me with a problem like this while I'm at work, I referred to another project that I feel ended in a less than perfect result and it really hurt his feelings.

We didn't speak to each other for more than 24 hours.

By Thursday night I had finally figured out how to apologize for overreacting and explain my feelings. There clearly was a big lapse in communication between us. Sometimes I figure out what path to take to accomplish a goal or finish a project, but then I fail to share those plans with him, either because I just don't think about it or perhaps I expect him to follow my lead. Or, maybe even because I don't want to debate and/or potentially confuse my plans. Fail.

Cameron disconnecting the pump.

The next morning I went to rent a truck for hauling the demolished pool to the county dump. It took a couple of hours to make all of the arrangements, to confirm that the pool crew would arrive Saturday morning for the new installation and to finish draining the last few inches of water from the liner. By 10:00, Cameron, John and I started breaking concrete and hauling it one wheelbarrow at a time to the truck.

First aid for an injury from a sharp rock. Question to self: where were your work gloves?

John taking a break.

Around 1:30 we were pulling out the liner in pieces. About halfway through cutting the wall into sections and removing them we were beginning to feel the pressure of getting finished by 3:00 so I could make the 45 minute drive to the dump, empty the truck, refill it with gas and return it before closing time at 6 PM.

Out comes the walls.

How about those 1980s?

DONE.

Around 3:30 John and I piled into the truck with a gravel shovel and gloves and drove out to the county dump in Millington. After clarifying that I am a resident of Shelby County with the man at the guard shack who seemed completely out of his element (read: "family"), we backed up to the ramp where four dumpsters are lined up in rows of two and began chucking concrete and pool parts out of the truck bed. It was evident that somebody lost a freezer or refrigerator and had emptied their spoiled food before we got there. The stench was at times overpowering. Finished, we started driving back to Midtown under skies that were growing rapidly dark with the radio warning of hideous storms over eastern Arkansas. About halfway-home we started getting a steady rain. Cameron called and said that if we'd let him know when we were getting near Midtown he'd meet us at Affordable Truck Rentals.

John and I pulled into the Circle-K station, at Cleveland and Madison. I never buy gas anywhere but the mom and pop BP station at Madison and Belvedere or the Shell station at Union and Belvedere. In this case I wasn't driving my car, but a rental that I don't care about as much as I do my VW. I planned to put just enough gas in the truck to put the needle on the fuel guage where it was when I picked up the truck. Because I expected it to be a quick stop, I left the truck door open while I pumped - something else I never do. Suddenly, the rain became torrential with high winds. It was raining sideways, rendering the canopy at the station superfluous. Debris and random trash were blowing all around making me wonder what to expect from this storm. It was a bit scary.

Completely soaked I climbed back into the truck on my way to meet Cameron. We arrived at the rental store and I saw my station wagon parked there. It was still pouring rain. John leapt out of the truck and met Cameron inside. I got the shovel and gloves out of the truck, opened the tailgate and placed them in my car, and went inside to turn the truck in without much fanfare. We got into my car to drive home, I put the transmission in "R" and backed out of the space. In "D", we stopped at the edge of the street and a wall of water rolled out of the roof onto Cameron's and my head. I had left the sunroof open when I parked it early in the day. Fail.

The storm left as quickly as it had arrived. Nearing our house we noticed that none of the traffic signals were working. Oh, joy. We knew that this had the potential to be yet the fourth time in the last 17 years that we'd go without power for an extended period of time. The first was back in 1992 when during an ice storm our Sherwood Forest home was off-the-grid for thirteen days. Since then, there have been two other occasions we've been without power for longer than a week, including so-called "Hurricane Elvis" — a phrase I loathe — when straight-line winds devastated University Park among other neighborhoods citywide.

We listened on the battery powered "beach radio" to news reports of downed trees and power lines and tens of thousands of powerless Memphis Light, Gas and Water customers. Reluctantly, I agreed that we should pull the generator out of the garage even though, in some twisted way of thinking, doing so was resignation that we'd be without electricity for longer than comfortable. I grabbed three 5-gallon gas cans out of the garage and planned to drive for a while to find fuel, perhaps to Southaven like I did for ice during the last outtage. Surprisingly, just a few blocks from home, my favorite Shell station had power.

Knowing that this meant all bets were off, I expected the call I got Saturday morning from Watson's to inform us that our pool installation was being rescheduled. Naturally. The "test" in this was that rather than shifting other appointments they put us at the bottom of the schedule again. In the grand scheme I knew that the biggest problem in this was how I would handle my response given my level of frustration. After all, the estimate included all the hand-digging necessary to get the pool into the ground. So let it rain! Who cares? There was no point in being angry, I had a powerless life with which to get on.

I graciously said, thanks and we'll see you in ten days.

The installation day finally arrived and as I was advised, I expected the crew between 8 and 12. Noon came and went. I called. The hour extension I was expected to give came and went. Four men arrived around 2:30. One can imagine my frustration when I was told that they might not finish today. "Like hell you won't" is what I thought. To add insult to injury, the foreman said "it's going to cost you an additional two to three hundred dollars for the hand digging."

Again, I thought, "like hell it is." Mind you, this guy had already been here before. He knew what he was facing and had passed that information along to the estimating department. The digging was a line-item included in the estimate.

Rather than coming unglued and strangling the whole lot of them I said, "I've already paid for that. It was in the signed contract." He found his copy and verified what I'd said. Resigned that they were finally here and that they had work to do, a couple of the guys jumped into the hole and started digging.

As a gesture of goodwill, and because it was a miserably hot, humid day, I offered to go get water, soft drinks, whatever they wanted or needed. After some reluctance they admitted that they'd like to have beer. So off to Midtown Mini-Mart I went, vintage Coca-Cola cooler in tow for a case of Bud Light and a couple bags of ice. Meanwhile, the foreman called in another two-man crew from a job in West Memphis. We would have eight men on the job then, virtually guaranteeing a finished installation at the end of the day.

Returning from my errand, I decided to clean out the garage so I'd be close by if they needed anything at all. An extension cord. A spade. Seeing one of the guys struggle with the concrete-like, rock laden clay, I offered a garden fork. They were amazed at how easy the tool made their toil, commenting that they'd never thought of getting one. They planned to buy one before the next job. Later, when they were close to finishing, the foreman left his crew to tie up loose ends while he and I talked about the yard. He mentioned that he liked the pineapple I was growing. Although the sago palm looks a lot like a pineapple, I explained the difference and offered to give him one. He accepted and told me his wife would love it. As the guys finished he made sure all of the tools they'd borrowed ended up back in my hands. I told one of the crew to grab all of the Bud Light from the cooler. He hosed out their shop vac to take away the beer and ice. As I watched the two trucks drive away, I let out a sigh of relief and thought to myself, "finally, I've made it through this two-month ordeal without compromising my commitment to a year's sobriety. Spiritually the previous eight and a half months have been worth it and I feel like I'm becoming a better person. And it's over! Maybe, now, we can get on with our summer."

But, I was wrong. At least about thinking the ordeal was over.

The following Saturday -- after the pool was refilled with 14,000 gallons of water and all the chemicals necessary to make a it swimworthy -- I was finishing up a few hours' work rebuilding and adjusting the permanent deck steps that lead up to the pool's side. Cameron and I hoisted the "wedding cake steps," for inside the pool, over the wall into the water. We began moving them into position where the handrail attaches to the deck. "OUCH," he said. He'd stepped on a sharp rock under the liner which was coincidentally where the steps would sit. Remembering to remain calm (time already invested be damned) and that this was a fixable situation, I called Watson's. I was connected with Dustin in the service department who listened to my story. His completely uninterested response, which I later explained to the store manager was unacceptable: "You'll just have to move the steps."

You see, we've spent a small fortune deckbuilding and planning our yard around this pool. Dustin supposedly scheduled us for service, "sometime in the next two weeks." No promise date. No time. Not that I've been able to schedule around those promises before, but this was even worse experience than I'd had so far. The following weekend I drove out to Watson's and spoke with the manager, told him my story, showed him photos and shared my receipts. He couldn't find where we were scheduled for service at all.

I know I've gone on too much about all this. It's taken me weeks to write, edit and rewrite this post. Let it suffice to say that the manager took care of getting the problem solved, paid for our water and reimbursed us with new chemicals. The pool is in, the deck is done and I suppose, I've passed this test.

An Exercise in Futility

2009-05-26T07:32:00.002-05:00

Here is a recent e-mail comment I sent to DirecTV after switching from their Choice XTra programming to the Choice package to reduce expenses, followed by "Jennifer's" response, which makes me wonder if she comprehended my complaint at all:

My comment:

Customer (dminmem) - 05/25/2009 08:56 AM
The main reason I switched to DirecTV many years ago was to get some relief from the cable's monopoly on my entertainment options. Currently, I feel like DirecTV has become another inflexible version of cable.

I don't understand the limitations of your programming package options. Why must I receive channels I don't want, need or watch? Conversely, why are others that I do want available only through excessively priced upgrades? DirecTV is capable of providing more individually tailored options, but does not.

Today, I changed my programming, for the second time this year, in order to curb expenses. DirecTV rates have continuously, steadily increased without any added benefit. Many channels I like to watch, including Logo and National Geographic channels, are no longer part of my lineup and I find this disappointing.

DirecTV response:

Subject
---------------------------------------------------------------
Programming Limitations

Discussion Thread
---------------------------------------------------------------
Response (Jennifer A. - 100216511) - 05/25/2009 09:41 AM

Dear (dminmem),

Thanks for writing. You’ve been with us since 2000 and we recognize you as a valued and loyal customer. We want you to know we appreciate it.

I understand that wish to have an option to choose the channels you frequently watch to be included with your package instead of upgrading. Kindly be advised that our programming packages are designed to give you the best selection of channels for the money and are currently not customizable. Also, we also provide a wide variety of programming in order to appeal to the broadest audience possible. We understand that not everyone will like each program. However, our ongoing research tells us that most customers like being able to choose from so many viewing options.

In addition, please know that it's never an easy decision to raise prices, but we feel it is necessary due to the increasing costs we pay to carry the channels you see. Despite rising programming costs over the years, we've managed to keep our prices very competitive while still offering the best programming options.

Even with new pricing, the cost of DIRECTV service continues to be a better value than our competitors. While our prices have changed we have invested in new programming and innovative services in order to provide you the best possible entertainment experience. We will continue to invest in the quality of your viewing experience by bringing you more new features and more new programming in 2009.

Nevertheless, though we currently do not have that option yet, I have forwarded your suggestion to DIRECTV management. We are always on the look-out for ways to improve customer experience. We appreciate it when we receive feedback and we do take them seriously.

Moving on, kindly be informed that Logo and National Geographic channels are included in our CHOICE XTRA package or above. By upgrading your current base package back to CHOICE XTRA or upgrading to PREMIER, you'll get more than 30 channels that are not available in CHOICE, including the Biography Channel, History International and four Discovery Channels. Furthermore, you'll also gain access to Great American Country (GAC), Do It Yourself Network (DIY), VH1 Classic, PBS Kids, Boomerang, the FOX Movie Channel, History International, the Military Channel, the Nicktoons Network, The Science Channel, Style as well as almost 20 extra XM Satellite Radio music channels.

For complete programming and packaging information, please visit directv.com/packages.

We appreciate your patience and understanding.

Sincerely,

Jennifer A.
Employee ID 100216511
DIRECTV Customer Service

Gee, thanks, Jennifer. Nice to know you've "got my back." Perhaps I'll shut the service off altogether.

How Sweet It Is

2009-05-21T07:29:00.011-05:00

Try as they might, the Corn Refiners Association's campaign on the virtues of High Fructose Corn Syrup have been unconvincing. There has been enough evidence and commentary to persuade me to believe that it's not the same as sugar. How can it be? It's altered, just like modified food starch, hydrogenated vegetable oil, and myriad other results of "better living through chemistry."

The association's idea of improving the quality of life seems skewed more toward the almighty dollar rather than consumer health. A site I recently joined, GoodGuide, rates and compares products based upon their impact on the planet, nutrition and social awareness, shares good, basic information here.

Ever since we watched "Super Size Me" I've been paying better attention to what I bring home from the grocery. I've try to avoid buying anything that contains HFCS. It's a difficult proposition when one considers how ubiquitous the stuff is. Look at the labels. Nearly every packaged food contains it. I made my own ketchup until I found organic Heinz. I make my own salad dressings. I bake cakes from scratch. I use fresh fruit in my pies. I'm making my own bread about 25% of the time and I expect to increase that percentage over the coming months.

If it's processed, it usually has no place in my pantry. Of course, the definition of "processed" includes words like pasteurized or frozen, but, I'm talking about processed convenience foods like dinner "kits" and junk food. there are very, very few exceptions. Like processed American cheese food (Kraft American cheese). Sometimes, I have to have a plain, old grilled cheese with Campbell's Tomato Soup. I can justify stocking these because they rarely end up on a tray for dinner. And, this stuff is a great substitute for the nights I don't feel like fussing over three or four varieties of "real" cheese, and homemade tomato soup with diced tomatoes and fresh, snipped basil.

Because unsweetened tea brewed here at home gets tiresome I sometimes buy Mexican Coke, made with cane sugar, at the Vietnamese market on Cleveland. I prefer to drink them ice cold, out of the bottle (as they were intended). But, there is often a foul, metallic odor on the glass that ruins the experience unless the bottle opening is cleaned after removing the crown. Ultimately, they taste like a real Coca-Cola, but, keeping a supply can get pricy at a buck-fifty each.

For some time, Cameron and I have been buying Jones Soda. Though they are made with pure cane sugar we still treat them as something special so we don't overindulge, but lately, they're getting difficult to find. After trip to Target the other day, "where to buy" conspicuously became "where not to buy." My expectations were that the newest bullseye in town would have everything stocked to the gills. Not so. I remembered that the butthole was also listed as a "where to buy" location. So, out of frustration I bolstered myself and pulled into Walmart. After walking the aisles and scanning the end caps I once again came up empty handed. Eventually, though, I found this. I read the label in amazement and bought a 12-pack. At home, I excitedly told Cameron what I'd found and quickly got online to find out more. I learned that not only was Pepsi producing it's cane sugar cola version, but Mountain Dew Throwback would soon appear on the shelves, too.

Since then, I've found both of these at Kroger. They taste like I remember them. The sickening, throat-coating, syrupy quality that carbonated drinks have today wasn't there. They reminded me of times when my grandmother would successfully extract us from behind the sofa, (our usual hiding place after being scolded). Her bribes most often were a longneck, glass, 16-ounce bottle of Pepsi and an ice cream cup (Meadow Gold chocolate, vanilla, or vanilla with a swirl in either chocolate or strawberry -- the kind sold ten to a bag, in plastic cups with paperboard lids and enough wooden "spoons" to go around).

The other day I heard someone mention that she thought Pepsi Throwback tasted flat. I suppose if you're a younger than 35 (and a know-it-all), sickeningly, syrupy sweet is the way you think sodas should taste. Too bad. You don't know what you're missing, or for that matter, what you're getting.

Disclaimer: I have a friend who has a great job at WalMart. I'm proud of his success. But, I can't reconcile the havoc they've wreaked on small business owners in small communities with benefits they provide.

I Simply Had to Say It

2009-05-08T21:43:00.002-05:00

Sent to the editor of The Commercial Appeal in response to this story:

To the Editor,

I am writing in response to comments made by Commissioner Wyatt Bunker, in The Commercial Appeal's story by Daniel Connolly (Wednesday, May 6), about his opposition to a proposed County Ordinance against discrimination of gay and transgendered persons:

The paper reports that Commissioner Bunker describes himself as a Christian conservative, and that he objects to the measure because the county would be interfering with local businesses, he believes homosexuality is a sin, and passing the ordinance could make it easier for the gay community to ask the county for more rights, such as benefits for same-sex couples. He continued, saying, "I don't belive people are born gay. I don't agree with discrimination against them, but I'm not going to give them a lot of protections that give legitimacy to homosexual behavior."

I applaud him for his proclamation that he is a Christian conservative. This is a right the Constitution affords Mr. Bunker, and I'm glad he feels strongly enough to do so. The same Constitution that gives him this freedom also provides for separation of Church and State, so that I am not subject to living under his church or religion's rule.

The Commissioner is entitled to his opinion, but I challenge him to do two things: First, look at the genetic research through a different lens than that of religious dogma. There have been numerous studies conducted by several researchers that indicate that homosexuality is in our DNA, much like our gender or the color of our skin. In fact with each new research initiative there is more evidence to support this theory than historical condemnation from the church can negate.

Second, don't deny me the right to live without fear of hatred, where lack of understanding has the potential to cost me my livelihood. Our ancestors left Europe a few hundred years ago to escape religious persecution. Don't resurrect it because you don't understand gay people and their pursuit of the same rights afforded you.

It is not for you to decide whether or not our lives are legitimate.

Sincerely,

(dminmem)

Emotionally Overwhelming

2009-05-07T07:55:00.001-05:00

This post is over a two months old. I began writing it the weekend of February 20.

At work Friday morning I wasn't alarmed but thought it unusual to get a call from Christopher. My younger brother told me that my father had been admitted to the hospital and was having triple-bypass surgery the following Monday.

We discussed whether or not I would make the trip. We both knew that when I called my father that such efforts would be discouraged. I called my sister, Lisa, who planned to leave Biloxi with her friend Gina on Sunday and arrive in Louisville that evening. As we all suspected, Daddy told me not to drive up when I called him. But I had already made up my mind. The only decision I had to make was whether to fly or drive. Cameron and I talked about it when he got home Saturday morning. Because he would be home Monday, he could care for Billie, Georgia and Edith, meaning the puppies could stay home.

By plane I could get to Louisville in about an hour. But after booking non-rev travel I would still have to sit standby at the gate and perhaps not get a seat. Then, I'd have to book a rental car because if I didn't I'd be at the mercy of my busy family to get me around town once I arrived at Standiford Field. Coordinating all of this was more than I cared to deal with at the time. Driving, on the other hand, would mean a 6-hour drive and would ensure my freedom of movement, and to some degree my autonomy once in "the river city."

Deciding to drive gave me Sunday to finish laundry and pack. I left for Louisville early Monday morning so I'd be at the hospital when Daddy came out of surgery. I stopped at Costco for some less expensive premium gasoline and once back on I-40 was astonished at the number of state troopers on the road between Germantown and Brownsville. I remember counting eleven, complete with victims, pulled over on the shoulder. There were a more poised for pursuit in the median. Thankfully, I made it through the traps with the trusty assistance of my radar detector.

I talked to my youngest sister, Tina, a few times during the drive. She kept me updated on the senior David's status and what was going on with everyone else in the interim. Considering the implications of losing my father for 400 miles was something for which I wasn't prepared. He's five years older than his father, Otto, was when he died of a heart attack. Apparently, Daddy had gone to his doctor for an inhaler that he uses to assuage the manifestations of smoking four packs of cigarettes a day for as long as I can remember. Thankfully, his doctor decided to test my dad because he hadn't been in for a while. From what Tina tells me, they put him on a treadmill for a short time before they sat him down and told him not to move. He was admitted to the hospital with 98% blockage in three arteries. I suspected the breathing issues were a little less COPD and a lot more artery blockage.

By the time I entered the metro Louisville area I had mentally debated my route to Floyd Memorial. I could stay on I-65 North, exit Highway 62, then drive through old downtown New Albany -- which seemingly was the most direct route -- but could be time consuming with congestion and lots of traffic lights at the beginning of rush hour. Or, I could exit I-65 just before the Kennedy Bridge at Spaghetti Junction and take I-64 west over the Sherman Minton Bridge to the first New Albany exit and be within blocks of the hospital.

Either way, I had a more pressing matter to handle before I could go much further. "PLEASE REFUEL" appeared on the Passat's instrument panel and the yellow gas pump icon warned of impending momentum lost. I exited I-65 at the first exit after crossing the Kennedy and filled up at Thornton's. I re-entered I-65 only to immediately exit for Highway 62. So, through New Albany I started and stopped. Started and stopped. Started and stopped. I was relieved to finally arrive at the hospital. I called Tina, who was in the parking lot putting on makeup in her new Mini. I joined her in her car. It was there I was warned of the ensuing drama that could unfold if we were planning on meeting with the rest of the family for anything other than sitting in the waiting room. After sitting for six hours I could no longer. I excused myself to a walk around the parking lot, a cigarette and a quick call to Cameron.

With Tina finished and my call completed, we walked into the hospital and upstairs to the Cardiac ICU. While she used the white wall phone to ask for admittance, the doors opened to reveal Christopher on his way out. We talked for a few minutes before we went in to see Daddy buried under a tangle of IV tubes and monitors and a plastic blanket. He was sleeping as much as he could with the nurses buzzing around and monitoring his every vital sign. I think it startled him to hear me say, "hello, Daddy" because he choked and began coughing. We decided to leave and let the nurses get busy with calming him down.

I met Christopher at his apartment after he was done for work that evening. We discussed what to do for dinner and whether or not to try and orchestrate getting together with everyone else. He was sympathetic, knowing I was tired after the drive, anxious over the entire situation and that I hadn't eaten all day. I didn't want to make any decisions, so he decided that we'd stay in. He gave me some hummus he'd made earlier with some crackers while he started prepping vegetables for stir-fry.

The phone rang. Amidst everything else she does to take care of her family, Tina had managed to get confirmation from Lisa, Gina, Matthew, and Ally, that we'd all meet a couple blocks away from Christopher's place for pizza at Wick's. He and I walked over and got a table. Three people were gracious enough to move to a smaller one for us. After thirty or forty minutes we began to wonder if we'd prematurely asked those folks to move, but our party began to arrive and fill up the huge booth we shared. We shared four large pizzas and had a really nice time together and I'm glad that we changed our loosely cobbled together plans. After all, at least three of us traveled for hours to be there for Daddy and it would have been a shame not to spend some time relaxing together. The leftover pizzas were boxed and we exchanged hugs. Our seperate journeys took Christopher and me back to his place where we settlied in with his boxeer, Scout, to watch "W". We didn't see much of the movie before we decided it was time to call it a night.

Early the following morning I headed back to Floyd Memorial. This time I actually was able to speak with Daddy, whose first words included, "I told you not to come." My response? "Since when have I listened to you?" We had a chuckle over that. The nurses explained to us what we should expect. When it was time for Daddy to rest I left to meet everyone for lunch at Rocky's Italian Grill. This would include most everyone from the night before and my mother and bonus dad. I prefer to say bonus dad because, in my experience, "stepfather" very often implies something negative.

I headed back to Memphis from Jeffersonville at 2:00. For the first time, I skipped my usual trip to White Castle on the way out. The drive home, not without its freaks and distracted drivers, was pretty uneventful. I stopped for gas in Brownsville, then spoke with Tina for the last twenty minutes of the trip. To my astonishment I pulled into the driveway five hours and five minutes from my 2:00 departure time, breaking my previous record of 5 hours and forty minutes.

Happy Easter

2009-05-07T07:27:00.001-05:00

I wrote this post on April 14, and just found it floating around on my desktop. There is one more that I'll be posting that I believe is about my trip to Louisville for my dad's surgery.

Last night, after a day in the yard raking, digging and mulching, I got a late start on my errands for today's Easter dinner. I knew my only shot for picking up Frisee, let alone fresh fava beans, was The Fresh Market because no matter how comprehensive they try to make their produce departments, regular grocers like Kroger or Schnuck's wouldn't have either. Leaving here at 8:30 I made a beeline to Eastgate Shopping Center. Just as I suspected I found the frisee but no fava beans. I picked up a beautiful heirloom tomato, some leeks, a couple pineapples, baby spinach and mint. I picked up a red velvet cake for Cameron because he asked me to pick up something sweet. I grabbed some country mustard, caperberries, and capers.

Five minutes before closing time I made it to a cashier who mentioned that The Fresh Market was closed for Easter and that she felt that people should be given the opportunity to celebrate the holidays with family instead of having to work. I recalled when I was a youngster, back in the 1960s, most of the businesses in Sellersburg were closed on Sunday except for maybe the bait shop and that everything was closed on holidays. I told her that I thought it should still be this way.

Because The Fresh Market can be a bit pricey, I drove from there to Mexican Kroger on Summer Avenue for the rest of my list of staples and supplies for preparing one of Martha Stewart's Easter menus. After putting my groceries in the back of the wagon, I called Exline's and ordered two 9-inch "Special" pizzas, one with anchovies and one without. I still had ten minutes' wait for my order when I arrived at the pizza parlor so I popped into Blockbuster and rented "Cadillac Records," "The Bank Job," "Doubt," and "Role Models." The latter was an impulse because the guy at the counter asked, "would you like to grab another movie? It's rent three get the fourth free." I asked him if it was as stupid as I expected it to be since it was a Seann William Scott feature.

Seann William Scott in Role Models.

By the time I got home around 10:30, Cameron and I were starving. He helped me bring in the groceries and put the perishables in the fridge between preparing trays for us. We popped "Doubt" into the DVD player and ate "the best pizza in town." We finished our pizza and the movie, then watched "Role Models" while eating the red velvet cake from The Fresh Market. As I expected, the cake was fantastic. It should have been for $16.

This morning, I checked e-mail, Facebook and eBay. The auction listing for the Grand Prix garnered 1,886 visits, 38 people watching, a couple of questions and no bidders. I had lowered the reserve from the previous week's listing from $13,500 to $12,500, the "Buy it now" price. The earlier listing didn't have the buy it now price, received 1,800 hits, had 29 watchers and one bid for the starting price of $11,300. So, for now, the Pontiac is staying with me.

Yet Again, We Pay for Overvalued "Top Talent"

2009-04-27T07:55:00.019-05:00

This morning, GM announced its restructuring plan that includes the closure of the Pontiac Motor Division. Here is the Wall Street Journal article. This makes no sense to me, considering that this chart from WSJ shows Buick, Cadillac, Hummer and Saab each selling less than Pontiac for 2008.

This illustrates the "new" math behind GM's decision to cut Pontiac.

I expected some sort of correction would happen years ago when luxury brands started selling SUVs. The different marks at GM used to make sense. When you wanted an "every man's" car or truck you bought a Chevrolet. When you wanted performance you bought a Pontiac. Ready for something more? Buy an Oldsmobile. Need sophistication without pretense? You would really rather have a Buick. Prefer luxury and innovation? You'd buy a Cadillac. As a kid, I remember hearing loyal GM followers say they'd work their way up the General Motors ladder just like one might with career or a home.

In the last few decades the leaders of GM have lost sight of what the marks meant.

The news outlets, today, are mentioning Pontiac's storied 82-year heritage. In my opinion this figure could be shaved a few years. The arrowhead may have been around for just shy of a century, but for the last several decades looking too far past that logo on the grille would reveal a bowtie. True Pontiac heritage ceased sometime in the late seventies when GM stopped production of PMD engines and began substituting Chevrolets. Since 1926, the Pontiac has been a symbol for affordable performance. If the leadership at the GM had stuck to this core value after the oil embargo, and found ways to create efficiency while maintaining what made a Chief a Chief, they might not have had to pull their proverbial heads our of their asses only to have them land on the chopping block nearly forty years later.

GM saves money by building similar sized cars on the same chassis. I get that. I understand that it would be redundant to "reinvent the wheel" when sharing some of the basic parts of automaking. But putting differently shaped body panels and interior fabrics on a Vega and calling it the "all new Astre" doesn't a Pontiac make.

A Chevy engine with differently tuned exhaust is still a Chevy. Hello, Malibu.

It's been a damned shame to watch Pontiac deteriorate to an overly-styled, funky and just plain weird brand. As I watched the ugly, bulbous, overdone blobs clad with rubbery door "refinements" and oddly-designed taillamps give way to the a cleaner, sleeker designs of the last few years I thought I was beginning to see a glimmer of the Pontiac that I remember -- one that I'd grown to love. Unfortunately, now, I'll never know if they were headed in the right direction because there simply hasn't been enough time for the transformation to be embraced. It was too little, too late.

GM has a big task in turning the what's left of the company around. And it's going to be complicated, costly and leave many out in the cold. It's sickening.

I am interested in seeing if anyone makes an attempt to keep Pontiac alive under a new umbrella. In the meantime, I can take pride in my little piece history. The Grand Prix has become a bit more special to me as it joins the ranks of fallen horses like Deusenberg, Packard, Studebaker and Oldsmobile. I'm happy that it didn't sell after two, week-long listings on eBay.

Read more GM news here. And here.

Where are the Adults?

2009-04-21T10:27:00.005-05:00

This is so sad. I don't know why situations like this can't seem to be prevented. Where were the authority figures at this child's school? Where were the parents of the attackers? I'll be watching this story. I want to see accountability.

Family says bullying led boy, 11, to hang himself

By CHRISTIAN BOONE
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Dekalb County school officials are mum about allegations that bullying at Dunaire Elementary School may have led 11-year-old Jaheem Herrera to commit suicide last week.

Public information officer Dale Davis said Tuesday morning that officials are legally unable to comment on student-related records, such as whether Herrera’s mother Masika Bermudez had complained to the school about possible bullying.

A photograph of Jaheem Herrera, 11, hangs above a poster on the front door of the family’s Dekalb apartment, all part of a makeshift shrine to the dead boy. Curtis Comption/ccompton@ajc.com

On Thursday afternoon, after returning home from school, fifth-grader Jaheem quietly went into his room and hanged himself. His 10-year-old sister, Yerralis, also a fifth-grader, discovered Jaheem’s dead body. “His sister was screaming, ‘Get him down, get him down,’” said Norman Keene, who helped raise Jaheem since the boy was two years old.

When Keene got to the room, he saw Yerralis holding her brother, trying to remove the pressure of the noose her brother had fashioned with a fabric belt.

Jaheem was bullied relentlessly, his family said. Keene said the family knew the boy was a target, but until his death they didn’t understand the scope.

“We’d ask him, ‘Jaheem, what’s wrong with you?’” Keene recalled. “He’d never tell us.”

He didn’t want his sister to tell, either. She witnessed much of the bullying, and many times rose to her brother’s defense, Keene said.

“They called him gay and a snitch,” his stepfather said. “All the time they’d call him this.”

In an interview with WSB-TV, Bermudez also said her son was being bullied at school. She said she had complained to the school.

She said she asked him about the bullying Thursday when he came home from school and he denied it. She sent him to his room to calm down. It was the last time she would see him alive.

Bermudez told WSB she talked to Jaheem’s best friend about the situation last week.

“He said, ‘Yes ma’am. He told me that he’s tired of everybody always messing with him in school. He is tired of telling the teachers and the staff, and they never do anything about the problems. So, the only way out is by killing himself,’ ” Bermudez told WSB.

Spokesman Davis said the school sent out a notice to parents alerting them to the death. A crisis team was sent to the school Friday and grief counselors are on hand to help students, he said.

Dekalb Public Schools are working to prevent issues such as bullying and to promote tolerance through a national program called “No Place for Hate,” said Jennifer Errion, assistant director of student support services, prevention-intervention.

The program, sponsored by the Anti-Defamation League and begun in Dekalb schools in 2007, helps train faculty and students on accepting differences, promoting diversity and inclusion.

“It’s heartbreaking,” Errion said of Herrera’s death. “Unfortunately, prevention is not a vaccine. We have a society that is often misguided. We’ve created the idea that bullying is a rite of passage, and I don’t think it is.”

Earlier this month the suicide of a Massachusetts boy, Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover — who suffered taunts that he was gay — attracted national attention.

He was also 11. His mother found him hanging from an extension cord in the family’s home.

Jaheem was excelling academically, Keene said, adapting quickly to his new home. The family moved to the Avondale Estates area less than a year ago from St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Last winter, his grandmother died from cancer. She was living with the family at the time.

His grandfather returned to St. Croix after his wife’s passing. He’s taking Jaheem’s death especially hard. “He says he has nothing to live for now,” Keene said. The family had planned a trip home in June. They’ll be returning next Monday instead to bury their 11-year-old son.

— Staff writer Katie Leslie contributed to this report.

Good Friday

2009-04-10T09:43:00.003-05:00

It's been a while since I've posted on dminmem. I guess I've become a Facebook whore, but the cache, and therefore the obsession, is wearing off I think.

While there have been lots of things going on around here I don't think I have much about which to post. A short list might include that Cameron is commuting to and flying out of Atlanta, now. Or, that I bought a new car. Or, that we bowled dismally in the St. Patrick's Invitational Tournament and for the first time in history Whatever (our bowling team) isn't in the top three in league standings. This half of the season were in the bottom three. And, after last week we're likely in last place.

I've been attempting to recount my recent trip to Louisville for my dad's quintuple bypass surgery but it's been slow going. Each time I look at the draft I end up editing it because I think it's boring which pretty much guarantees that you will, too. Of course, if I'm realistic I know that many of my posts are just that.

So, while I leave here to pull together Easter dinner plans, I'll contemplate ways to make dminmem a place that you might want to visit. Until then, good day!

Northwest and Delta Flight Attendants Need Union Representation

2009-03-13T13:00:00.002-05:00

Welcome, Spring.

2009-03-02T12:33:00.001-06:00

The landscape was beautiful cloaked in its white finery this weekend:

I can't express how desperate I am for Spring, especially after being teased a week ago with temperatures in the mid- to high-60s and these beauties:

The quince has bloomed, as have the camellias and the forsythia. Gene and Cindie's Cleveland Pear was in full bloom when the snow hit. I suspect that all that beauty will have disappeared once all the snow melts. After Christmas, just days after the first day of winter, it's as if I shut down, as if I'm bound and gagged.

I'm ready to get outside as soon at the temperatures are more tolerable than today's 25°. According to the weather forecast we should expect a high near 70° for Friday.

Welcome, Spring.

Past Due

2009-02-18T12:13:00.006-06:00

I've been meaning to post these for days. They were taken the morning of our first and only snow here, January 28.

Through the curly willow into the early morning sky.

Looking toward the pond.

I see the buds about to burst on the Jet Trail Quince.

Much Ado About Nothing

2009-02-10T09:37:00.014-06:00

"Michael's most recent behavior is not consistent with the image of Kellogg."

Seriously? Let's consider Kellogg's image.

I understand that the folks at Kellogg work to earn a living and they are feeding the masses. But spare us the high and mighty judgement when your bottom line is more about quarterly earnings than the nutritional well being of the world. They peddle over-priced, sugar laden crap to children on Saturday morning TV and extol the virtues of eating practically nothing but Special K to self-conscious dieters seeking remarkable transformations. Their statements about Phelps' behavior portray the image of the "duck-and-cover" era, one where the public is too ignorant to question authority and perhaps too many hours are spent watching "Assassin of Youth."

Michael Phelps is proof that the debate over pot is far from over. Stereotypically, pot smokers are considered lazy, munchie-craving ne'er-do-wells with no ambition. Many have commented that Phelps drive for success is undeniable. For them, and me, eight Olympic gold medals are proof enough. Besides, it's clear that he does much more than hit a bong in his downtime. I'm certain that many pot smokers' proclivity to laziness or lack of ambition was a trait for them long before they began hitting the pipe.

The big marijuana debate may go on, but the times continue to change. I believe a sensible dialog based on science, rather than fear or social mores, would reveal far more pros than cons to eliminating the stigma associated with pot use. The black market and the crime associated with it would disappear. People serving time for marijuana crimes could be released, making room in American jails and prisons for real criminals.

The arguments will continue. I need to move along but not before I tell Kellogg's to "suck it." Cenk Uygur at Huffington Post sums it up nicely for me, suggesting that Kellogg's response may backfire on them. One can only hope. I'd love a public apology...

Coming to a Kitchen Near Me

2009-02-10T07:06:00.001-06:00

I've always wanted a good recipe for fried rice, and while on hulu this morning I found this from epicurious.com and the Culinary Institute of America:

Something New to I'm A Fan

2009-01-27T13:12:00.001-06:00

I stumbled upon Proof today and thought it worthy of inclusion on my page.

Gee, Thanks for Your Response. I'm Switching to Red Gold.

2009-01-26T14:23:00.009-06:00

On Facebook this morning I was invited by my friend Brad to join the "Save the Heinz Pickle" group. So I did. I'd read the story about Heinz' reasoning for dropping the pickle and adding a tomato to the bottles, but fail to see why both couldn't coexist on the label in some fashion.

The image of a single, large, vine-ripened tomato is much larger than the pickle it's replacing and better reflects what's inside the bottle, said Noel Geoffrey, director of ketchup for Pittsburgh-based Heinz.
Playing up ketchup's natural roots also feeds into consumers' growing desire for more wholesome, natural foods, analysts and the company said. The new label includes the tagline "Grown not made."
"We really felt that the tomato is the hero of ketchup, and it was the right time to make the switch on our label," Geoffrey said.

Clearly the story was largely based upon spoon-fed consumer research and a press release that Heinz crafted to put a positive spin on a ill-conceived notion. I mean, for God's sake, we know that tomatoes make ketchup and that there are no pickles in the bottle. And, yes, we consumers want more wholesome, natural foods. So, how about you drop the high-fructose corn syrup and really give us the foods we seek?

Do they think we're ignorant?

The pickle has been part of Heinz' brand for decades and the logic for dropping it from their most prolific product is asinine. A USA Today article states "Heinz ketchup director Noel Geoffroy says the company is 'flattered that some people feel a sense of nostalgia about the pickle' — but the tomato stays. But take heart, pickle fans. Geoffroy says the pickle will stay in the Heinz logo on its vinegar, chili sauce and mustard."

Ketchup is made with tomatoes. Duh.

I sent an e-mail from a link to Heinz Investor Relations that I followed from the Facebook page. Here is the dismissive, patronizing response I received:

January 26, 2009

Dear David,

Thank you for taking the time to share with us your comments on Heinz Ketchup 'Grown Not Made' label change.

While this is the first new Heinz Ketchup label in nearly 65 years, Heinz's commitment to high-quality tomatoes and superior ingredients is not new. Since the 1930s, Heinz researchers have been developing proprietary tomato seeds through the HeinzSeed program, from which only the firmest, juiciest, freshest tomatoes are grown for America's Favorite Ketchup.

Heinz tomatoes, which we carefully nurture from seed to vine to bottle, make the perfect ketchup. The addition of the tomato to our labeling is to show Heinz's continuing commitment to quality, and superior ingredients with our iconic ketchup.

The bottles featuring the new labels will begin arriving in stores throughout the first part of 2009. While Heinz is making these changes to the label, you can be sure the product inside is still the same great Heinz Ketchup with the same great taste you've come to know and love!

We truly appreciate and value all consumer opinions and we'd like to thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with us. Consumer input like yours helps us to continue to make Heinz products leaders in value and quality.

Heinz Consumer Resource Center
Heinzconsumeraffairs@us.hjheinz.com

When contacting us, please refer to the following reference number: 002959326A

HEINZ/JNEEL

Save it, Heinz. I'm not buying it. I'll buy this instead:

1970 Chevrolet Camaro

2009-01-26T09:49:00.001-06:00

Dang. I sure would love to have my first car about now. My 1970 Camaro was a yellow SS, 350, 4-speed Muncie transmission with Hurst shifter, dual exhaust and 12-bolt main Posi-Trac rear end. Don't miss the clothes from the late 70s though.

Model

2009-01-26T09:41:00.001-06:00

This one is great, too.

93 lb. Weakling

2009-01-26T09:38:00.001-06:00

Hagerty is the company that insures my Grand Prix. Only recently have I seen any commercials for them, but I think they're all great. Particularly this one.

Jackpot!

2009-01-22T13:44:00.001-06:00

I have been looking for this spot forever. Guess it helps to use the appropriate search criteria on Google. Thanks to SpikeTV I can now share one of my all-time favorite commercials.

Hang Lanterns in Celebration of Eunuch Cattle

2009-01-13T13:07:00.041-06:00

The other day I was considering a name for a new project, looking for more in-depth history or information than my prior knowledge for the word "ox." I found this on Wikipedia:

Oxen (singular ox) are cattle trained as draught animals. Often they are adult, castrated males. In New England and Maritime Canada, the term oxen refers to trained steers at least four years of age. Prior to age four they are referred to as handy steers. Oxen are used for plowing, transport, hauling cargo, threshing grain by trampling, powering machines for grinding grain, irrigation or other purposes, and drawing carts and wagons. Oxen were commonly used to skid logs in forests, and sometimes still are, in low-impact select-cut logging. Oxen are most often used in teams of two, paired, for light work such as carting. In the past, teams might have been larger, with some teams exceeding twenty animals when used for logging.

As some of you know, the word is part of my name. And up to this point I hadn't seen or heard any reference to Chinese New Year, but the Year of the Ox begins January 26. I'm sure this is all coincidence. I think.

Years of the Ox have occurred four times during my life, beginning February 15, 1961, February 3, 1973, February 20, 1985 and February 7, 1997. Since I can be somewhat superstitious or at least looking for odd coincidences, parallels or "signs" I began trying to recall if any of those years bore any significant events or changes in my life -- good or bad.

1973
I always thought she was stylish and impressive. My maternal grandmother, Grace, managed the cosmetics department at Taylor's Rexall Drugs. She wore fashionable hats, drove a white 1961 Pontiac Tempest. Her red vinyl seats were sheathed in custom, clear plastic covers complete with a geometric pattern of bubbles that as an adult I assume were supposed to improve ventilation on hot, humid Kentuckiana days. As small children, however, my sisters and I were entertained with pushing the bubbles in while my mother and grandmother talked, or more likely argued, in the front seat. She always kept beanbag ashtrays on the dashboard and used Ronson lighters, the kind with colored lids and curiosities floating inside like miniature fishing flies or glitter, to light her Bel Airs. She leaned against the driver's door as she drove, her high, teased hairdo nearly reaching the headliner. She and "Crampie" used to collect Brown and Williamson coupons and Planters Peanut wrappers to redeem for things like Mr. Peanut banks for us. I have so many more memories of her, but during the few visits we made to her house throughout my childhood I remember a small metal bookcase next to the bathroom door filled with prescription bottles for what we knew as "nerve pills." I'm still not sure I completely understand what took her, but we buried her on a cold, rainy day in rural Kentucky in 1973, at the age of 53.

This Year of the Ox also took me from middle school to junior high. Seventh grade was my first experience with gym class, locker rooms, other naked boys, and learning not to wear briefs over a jock strap after following instructions from my mother. She was my guide in life, and although she'd never worn an athletic supporter I trusted her judgement until Gary Burton, a blossoming basketball star who no doubt had an involved father who taught him the ins and outs of jock wearing, pointed and laughed at me. Throughout that year I never understood why "Chet" our health/gym teacher stood at the top of the stairs watching us dress out/dress down and shower. The whole scene was intimidating to me. Naively, I figured he was keeping sentinel to prevent inevitable locker room shenanigans like towel flipping. Many years later, I was told that his motivation was more about seeing thirty or so young men naked. Sometime in the eighth grade I was standing outside with some friends before school early one windy morning and witnessed him using his hand to guard his overly-lacquered, light brown helmet of a coiffure. When we asked if he had a headache he replied, "no, I don't want my hair to get mussed, do I?" I'm serious. His relentless referral to us as "ladies" must've been a feeble attempt to prove his masculine superiority. It didn't work. I thought he was a priss.

1985
My ex, Buddy, and I had leased a big four-square on Brook Street in Old Louisville, one with a long, narrow lot and off-street parking on a former garage pad. It was a lovely home with an entry hall, pocket doors to the living room, decks off of each floor and an established asparagus garden in the back yard. We'd shared the first and second floors with one of the ex's dependable co-workers from a restaurant downtown, "By the Bridge". I rented the third floor apartment to person with whom I wasn't acquainted and that we rarely ever saw. He seemed nice enough. He told us he was a student and he worked at a corner grocery at First and Magnolia. Over time his periodic acne and seemingly unmanageable hair was always a curiosity to me. Little did I know, I would gain more understanding of his condition than I could have wanted or imagined.

After evicting him for being several months in arrears I entered the apartment and was immediately sickened at the foot-deep, blended mess of clothes, magazines, newspapers, mail, and fast food wrappings. In the bathroom, on the back of the toilet, I saw a can of "Psssssst." This was a spray shampoo popularized by women in the early 1960s who wore bee-hives. It works on the same principal as cleaning fur coats if I understand correctly. However, I'm sure the intent wasn't to completely forgo a good scrubbing at least once a week with soap and water for a regimen of nothing but the spray. Yet, I'm sure he wasn't shampooing or bathing with any regularity as evidenced by the petrified cat turds in the bathtub.

Leaving the room to continue my assessment I went into the kitchen, where I discovered that he'd never brought in a refrigerator or stove. I'd offered to provide the appliances while negotiating the rental agreement, but he assured me that he had some of his own and that he wanted to move them in. Thankfully, this meant that there wasn't a waiting Frigidaire laboratory needing fumigation. But it did mean that I'd find spoiled leftovers in take-out boxes and random pieces of Tupperware mixed with canned goods and dirty dishes inside the cabinets.

I used a large gravel shovel to clean out the apartment and apparently the timing was perfect. Shortly after all this, my in-laws' trailer suspiciously burned to the ground. I heard tales of a drunken threat from my stepfather-in-law. The investigation concluded that the fire started with the oven. So, the three of them -- mom, step dad and teenage son -- moved in with us. Then there was a trip to Detroit to rescue my mother-in-law's sister and her dog from a toxic living arrangement with a man who wore a bad toupee and invested in too many Franklin Mint collections. While this aunt could be charming she was more often obnoxious and hateful, lit up like a neon sign with cheap bourbon purchased from the sundries store a block away.

The sisters were from northwestern Tennessee where another sister still lived, and between them they decided it was time to move back home. I had been working a dead-end job at a 36-pump gas station/convenience store that friends and I sarcastically referred to as Stupid America, unable to afford tuition for school. My relationship with my family was all but non-existent because my mother misunderstood and did not want a gay son. I couldn't bear the constant scripture battering so I just stayed away. Consequently this estranged me from my little brother. It would be many years before my younger sister and I would reconcile the wrongs born of many misgivings and misdeeds on both our parts. She'd begun her career in the Air Force earlier and the distance only added to the chasm. My youngest sister was the only family member I can remember being supportive, but she was living Southern California with her Marine husband and their two baby boys. I saw a move to Memphis as an opportunity to escape, a chance to start over and an adventure. I agreed to move with my ex the following year.

1997
At this point I had lived in Memphis for eleven years, my cheating, drug addict ex was long gone, I had been working at a good job for nine years. Cameron and I celebrated our fifth anniversary shortly after we celebrated our second year in this house that August. And if I remember correctly, 1997 was a pretty uneventful year.

All in all, these Years of the Ox seem pretty much like all the others. They all have their share of good and bad, and now, I look back on many of these memories with gratitude because they've put me where I am today. I'm not sure what this Year of the Ox will bring, but I am sure of one thing: I'm going to live this one a day at a time.

On Being Direct...

2009-01-09T11:26:00.006-06:00

Cameron and I continued watching Bravo last night after Top Chef ended and watched four episodes of Tabatha's Salon Takeover. This was the first time I'd seen Tabatha in action on this new show -- Eric reminded me this morning that she was a competitor on Sheer Genius.

I don't know what to say about this new guilty pleasure besides "Bravo, Tabatha!"

It's Already a Happy New Year

2009-01-02T16:30:00.003-06:00

I added this widget to my laptop when it arrived a few days over two years ago. I am so grateful to see these statistics.

Twenty Years Later

2009-01-02T08:58:00.006-06:00

I've been contemplating a New Year post for a while but haven't felt like I have much to say or share. Or, I can't seem to pull together my thoughts. I don't feel like I've had any sort of epiphany and the only thing I can think to post is best wishes for us all, for 2009.

While contemplating the things I'd like to accomplish "just for today," I remembered ABBA's Happy New Year. After listening to the video I found on YouTube, I think it embodies a spirit of regret that I hadn't noticed before. Perhaps I have only listened to the chorus.

I am choosing to look at today as the gift it can be. It's all up to me.

No regrets. Only hope and determination to do the best I can every day, one at a time.

Remembering Miss Kitt

2008-12-26T11:31:00.006-06:00

We'll miss you Eartha.

Taking Life on Life's Terms

2008-12-26T09:09:00.007-06:00

He'd been complaining about our visit for days. First, his house was dirty and he needed to clean. Then the fence was destroyed when the neighbor's cherry tree fell during the last bad storm a couple of months ago meaning that Billie and Georgia wouldn't be confined to the back yard. Then there were complaints about his split shifts at the hospital. None of this mattered to Cameron and me, we weren't visiting to judge his cleaning abilities, let the dogs run amok or interfere with is work schedule.

Then there was "I don't want to hear one iota about my drinking."

Two weeks before, at a meeting with my sponsor at Starbucks, I had expressed concern to Matthew about staying with Thom. Not because Thom has "fallen off the wagon" after more than five years or that we've been "on it" for three months, but because I didn't trust him not to try coercing or berating us into joining him. Interestingly, after that meeting at the coffee shop Matthew and I drove to my first Spiritual Angle study meeting where the topic dealt with avoiding situations in which we once participated and how such an approach may be considered a contrast to recovery and/or spiritual growth. Since that meeting, many of the others I've attended have been dealing with family, expectations, disappointment, resentment and a myriad of other emotions that surface at any time but particularly during the holidays. What I've taken away from these sessions is that I need to accept what comes my way and be at peace about it.

I suppose by telling Cameron when he returned from Knoxville in October that I may just want to stay home with him and make this Christmas about us -- that we needed some "us" time -- I had been prepared to stay in Memphis. At the time I couldn't wrap my thoughts around the six-hour drive north, the interstate, the usual drama at Thom's, the constant driving from his house, to my mother's house, to my father's house, to my sister Tina's house, to this restaurant to meet this friend, to another to meet that friend, the tired six-hour drive back to Memphis all within two half-days and two full days. I liken the experience to being a deer in headlights for the entire time.

But, around Thanksgiving we had decided that a trip home for Christmas would be nice. I didn't ship any gifts to my family with the exception of my sister, Lisa, who was in Biloxi without enough vacation time to make the trip to "Kentuckiana," because I would be there. I was looking forward to the feeling I get when we drive into Louisville from the south, seeing "my city's" beautiful skyline, calling my mother to say, "we're here," stopping at White Castle for "six with mustard, ketchup, onions and pickle with their delicious crinkle-cut fries and a Big Red before settling in for rest at Thom's for the night, making plans for the next day to share time and gifts at my mother's with my family around the Christmas tree. I could drive to Scottsburg to see Norma at Renslow's Bargain Barn and deliver her some cookies. I could do all the things that run me ragged but keep me connected to people and places I love once a year.

So, to say that I was getting excited about the trip -- finishing laundry, pulling together dog necessities, vitamins, charging cameras, and taking gift inventory -- would be an understatement. I didn't realize that while I was preparing for the trip that my expectations were building. Of course, I knew what to expect, generally, as I have done this for many, many years. I expected there to be some sort of drama with Thom. I didn't, however, expect it to put me in a place to make a decision about whether or not to go home -- at literally the last minute.

Returning home from a Came to Believe meeting around 1:30 on Christmas Eve, hours before we would pack the car and head to Louisville, I got a call from Thom, who said, "you're going to have to find another place to stay. The roof leaked and flooded the living room and soaked the sofa. I'm going to have to dry out everything and wash the sofa cushions." He went on about "him, him, him" as he's so prone to do. I bit my tongue. I didn't say "we can figure it out." I simply said, "Thom, go take care of your stuff. Goodbye."

After I put down my phone, I went to the bedroom where Cameron was napping and said, "we're staying home." I worked really hard at not getting angry with Thom's insipid self-absorption. I realized that getting angry was a sign of my own self-centeredness. I called Lisa and commiserated with her for a minute about not going home. But, during that conversation I realized that both of us were really at peace about being hours away from the rest of our family. I called everyone in Louisville to tell them how our plans had changed and wish them a "Merry Christmas."

Since then, Cameron, Edith, Georgia, Billie and I have had a wonderful Christmas. We still are. The tree is lit. Music has been playing. I talked to Lisa on Christmas morning while she unwrapped her gifts. We're baking cookies and watching movies. We're having "us" time. I'm packing up gifts and homemade fruitcakes today and sending them north. We might even brave the outside world and do a little shopping this afternoon.

Let it suffice to say that I am working at taking life on life's terms while letting go of my expectations. It's difficult to do but I'm learning.

Beatitudes.

2008-12-22T10:26:00.016-06:00

From Wikipedia: "possessing an inward contentedness and joy that is not affected by the physical circumstances"

Saturday was a partly cloudy unusually warm day for December in Memphis. I got up early and spent some time reading e-mail, going over some paperwork, addressed some "straggler" Christmas cards that were overlooked during the first writing exercise and prepared three gifts for shipping to Biloxi, Orlando and San Francisco. It's amazing to me how quickly time passes when you're busy and under the gun to get things done. I think I made it to The Mail Center on Madison around 2:00 P.M. There, Mark took my three packages and packed them up and surprised me with stamps for the remaining eight cards I had to mail just as the USPS carrier came in. So far, things were going very well.

Leaving there I reluctantly headed east to BFE because Costco had something I wanted to get Cameron for Christmas. Close to my desination on eastbound I-40, about a mile from the Germantown Road exit, I was nearly rear-ended by a giant-white "schoolbus" (read: Chevy Tahoe) and the turquoise minivan behind it because the woman driving the Tahoe was talking on the phone and failed to notice that I had turned on my emergency flashers a mile earlier to indicate "pay attention, we're slowing from 85 to a dead standstill! Screeching tires on vehicles equipped with anti-lock brakes is very unnerving.

After reassuring myself that I hadn't peed my pants, traffic started moving again and I made it into Costco wondering if this whole retailer-driven side of Christmas is all really worth the hassle, safety risk or credit debt. In my heart I felt a resounding "no."

The "item" I sought was conspicuously missing from the shelves where it usually sits amongst it's overstocked siblings. I was mortified. In order to keep the trip from being a complete waste of time I walked back to the meat department and grabbed a package of generously cut New York Strips. Then cutting through the DVD and books section on my way to the cavernous cleaning supply aisles I picked up a "Jethro-sized" jug of Tide HE and made my way to the checkouts. I ran over a half-mile to the Hoover store and was surprised to see it plastered with "Going out of Business" signs. Inside it was nearly empty. There was a lone, white Constellation marked down to $99 among some random models which were also reduced. I knew I wasn't finding what I was looking for there. But I did manage to snag the last bag of Type "C" HEPA filter bags for my hovering wonder.

From the access road leaving the Hoover store I looked at the traffic on Germantown Parkway and decided to scrap my shopping plans for the day. It just wasn't worth the stress or irritation. Once I got home I was mentally worn out. I told Cameron I wanted to take a nap. Four hours later I woke up thinking it was the next morning. We made dinner and I decided I'd try my conquest for his gifts Sunday morning. I was content with that decision.

Sunday morning I got up and performed my rituals. Dog stuff. Cat stuff. Coffee. E-mail. By 10 A.M. I was headed back out to BFE to Best Buy. Looking very much like one of the people whose behavior I loathe, I called my mother from the "item" aisle and talked with her about which model she thought would be best since she has one of these things. Then, Carey called and we talked about the one which was available at Sam's and coordinating a purchase there since I don't have a Walton anything, let alone a membership card. Because Carey lives on the opposite side of the city in Southaven, I called David and John to see if they'd be up to meeting me -- they live on the north side nearer to BFE.

We met there and found that the one at Sam's was a "540", between the "530" and the "560" I was considering at Best Buy. The only difference I could see was an accessory that I can buy online for $40 if Cameron decides later that he wants it. So, all said, with help from Carey, David and John, I saved $80 on the first gift which made it much easier to buy the second while I was there, saving me a trip to the Apple store.

Fast-forward to Wednesday, Christmas Eve, and I am sitting here finishing this long overdue post while Cameron puts away clean dishes and reloads the remnants of last night's inaugural fruitcake baking. It's on to laundry, last-minute gift wrapping, a noon meeting, and packing.

Joy to the World. It's Christmas! May your days be merry and bright.

Mullets for Christmas

2008-12-07T13:49:00.010-06:00

With DirecTV shuffling, deleting and adding music channels after the Sirius/XM merger I have been none too pleased to see that several of my favorites have changed or were deleted altogether and that they've added several new "head-bangin'" channels. According to the DirecTV website, my favorite classic disco is now available at "70's on 7." I fail to see how having a random disco song mixed among every other genre of 1970s music qualifies as a replacement for "Chrome."

When it comes to Christmas music, the Holly channel is back for the season along with the renamed classical channel, Holiday Pops. A third holiday station that was available last year is missing and, of course, it was the one into which I tuned. I have yet to hear a Squirrel Nut Zippers song via satellite, but I have heard enough Michael Bolton to incite an uneasy feeling in my digestive system.

Knowing that in my spiritual pursuits that I should not be judging like I have in the past, I still have to ask, "why are we hearing Michael Bolton?" Losing the mullet a few years ago amped him up on the looks scale, but as evidenced by Erik Estrada's failed attempt at vocal stardom in the eighties, a handsome face doesn't always good music make. And a trailer-park 'do would most definitely have knocked him off the handsome pedastal. (Mind you, this was long before we discovered that he was ugly on the inside.)

I am at a loss for words.

Michael Bolton's rendition of White Christmas, to quote Wesley Snipes' character Noxema Jackson in To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar, "is an affront to my delicate nature." OK. I don't really have a delicate nature. But, while I was reveling in Christmas preparations, hanging the Martha Stewart Everyday wirework Christmas Card holders above the dining room doors, I thought I heard two cats fighting in a pillowcase. Or, someone straining on the toilet after eating cheese for a week. The phrase, "just like the ones I used to know" had this awful, painful sound that made my ears hurt. Please give me the White Christmas just like the ones I used to know. Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra or Darlene Love's versions would be nice.

Thankfully, this torture only lasted for three minutes or so and was followed by the obnoxious- but-more-tolerable, Toylandish diddy, I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, written by Jon Rox and recorded by Gayla Peevey in 1953. I read on a YouTube post that Peevey "IS THE ORIGINAL SINGER!!!! And SHE was 11 yrs old." Even with four exclamation points I'm still not impressed.

For the remainder of the season I'm plugging my laptop into the sound system and looking up songs from albums like Cool Yule or Yule Be Miserable. I need some of Louis Armstrong's "'Zat You, Santa Claus?" or Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters' "Mele Kalikimaka."

Oh, and speaking of Mele Kalikimaka, Jones Soda has a new, delicious, limited-time, pineapple-coconut soda by the same name available exclusively at Target. There are two other Holiday flavors: Pear Tree and Candy Cane. I've had the former, which is good, but haven't tried the latter. Yet.

I'm still stuck on the pineapple-coconut.

May you delight in the music you like and play it loud and often this holiday season. Even if it involves head-banging, questionable hairstyles and prefabricated homes on wheels.

Thanks, But No Thanks

2008-11-28T05:37:00.012-06:00

As I sit here this morning contemplating my day, I feel grateful for so much. Yesterday (Thanksgiving Day), we had the company of some new friends for a great dinner at around 4 P.M. Another friend, who we've known for years, joined the four of us later, after dinner with his family, for some Tripoley. It was an early evening, ending with Cameron and me watching Hancock with slices of apple pie and then pumpkin pie.

I can't imagine that at this hour there have been people shopping at Kohl's, for instance, for an hour-and-a-half already. Or, Target for a half-hour. That's where the "no thanks" for this post comes in. Traditionally, Cameron and I shop for our Christmas tree on Black Friday. And, that's about it. There may be an occasional stop at the grocery but retail stores are the last place we want to be on this day. It's madness. I'll be ordering some gifts online this weekend, but it's unlikely I'll do it today.

I had intended to point and shoot the preparations for Thanksgiving day like I have in the past, but those intentions were dashed when I got into the thick of it. So, there's not much to show here, but I'll share what I have.

Wednesday at lunch I went to Holliday's for some fresh flowers before a stop at Back Yard Burger for a blackened chicken sandwich combo with unsweet iced tea. When I got home I put these together for a small arrangement on the cocktail table in the living room. I love the vivid reds but have no idea what kind of flower they are.

I started the morning making Cranberry Chutney.

Then, the apple pie. Notice that I forgot to peel the apples. Of course, I didn't realize this until I cut our slices for movie watching.

And after that, it was pumpkin pie. You'd think that I'd find nutmeg in here. But the jar was nearly empty, save the "dust." I substituted allspice and am quite pleased with the results.

Next, it was deviled eggs. These were made with sour cream, horseradish, lemon juice, lime juice, mayonnaise, dijon mustard, Worcestershire sauce, Frank's RedHot sauce, garlic powder, black pepper, cumin and kosher salt. Garnished with three capers each, they're finished with a sprinkle of fresh dill and paprika.

Then it was time for the turkey to go into the oven. It's rubbed inside and out with kosher salt. The outside was rubbed with olive oil, minced garlic and black pepper. There's fresh rosemary leaves from the garden under the skin, and a lemon with half an onion in the cavity. It was delicious.

Is the turkey ready yet?

Well, I suppose I'm about finished here. I have a load of whites in the dryer and a few things to clean up around here. We have another movie to watch before we venture out. If you're "doing" Black Friday, best of luck to you.

A New Addition to "I'm a Fan"

2008-11-25T07:13:00.004-06:00

One of Zen's followers commented on the Keith Olberman post below, so I decided to check out his links. I've added one of them to "I'm a Fan" at the right. It's a blog filled with quotes, most of which appear to help the reader keep their perspective.

Visit And I Quote here.

I'm a fan.

We've Lost Our Minds

2008-11-24T06:55:00.006-06:00

"Breaking News" from Yahoo this morning:

And according to a New York Times news alert, Citigroup will effectively halt dividend payments for the next three years and will also agree to certain executive compensation restrictions, which will be reviewed by regulators. It will also put in place the F.D.I.C.’s loan modification plan, which is similar to one it recently announced.

USAToday reports that last fall Charles Prince left Citi with a $10 million bonus, $28 million in stock and options and $1.5 million in other perks, according to the report.

An April 4, 2008 Times article by Claudia Deutsch (April 4, 2008) states:

"Shareholders and their advocates have increasingly viewed the escalation in executive compensation with concern and sometimes anger. In 2007 and 2008, numerous proxy resolutions were introduced to address the subject. Congress held several hearings on excessive pay and heard calls for action."

"The burgeoning ire has two roots. For one thing, toward the end of 2006 the Securities and Exchange Commission set tighter rules for corporate proxies requiring more information about the methods used to compile pay packages for top management. But by early 2008, as many proxies came in with a maximum of verbiage masking a minimum of information, some shareholders rebelled.

"The sinking economy also stoked shareholder discontent -- especially when executive pay rose even as share prices plummeted. It was hard to find a link between pay and performance; indeed, often the opposite was true. A study by Equilar, a compensation research firm, showed that even as the number and value of performance-based bonuses dropped in 2007, the value and prevalence of discretionary bonuses — ones not tied to performance at all — were up.

"And earned or not, paychecks remain high. The average overall compensation in 2007 for chief executives at 200 large companies that had filed proxies by the following March 28 approached $12 million."

It's no wonder our nation's corporations are bankrupt. I've lamented often on how former Northwest Airlines CEO Doug Steenland took millions in bonuses and stock by robbing the rank and file and the customers. When are we going to put these incompetents that continue to run their companies into bankruptcy at our expense on the firing line?

Mulligans, True Friends and Fifteen

2008-11-18T12:17:00.017-06:00

According to Wikipedia, "in golf, a mulligan is a retaken swing, usually due to a previously errant one." I first heard the phrase while playing disc golf with my friend, Dan and while I understood what it meant to us in those circumstances I didn't realize it was a widely accepted term. The only mulligan of which I knew was stew.

Last night while I was driving up North Parkway, headed home from a meeting at St. Mark's Episcopal Church, smoking a cigarette and punching buttons on the radio, I heard the beginning of Five For Fighting's "100 Years". Just as I crossed Poplar I decided I wasn't in the mood and pressed another button and landed on Rhianna's "Disturbia." Ordinarily I love the song, but at the moment it made me uncomfortable. Maybe it's because I lately feel, at times, like I am in Disturbia. Instead of forging ahead on the radio dial, something compelled me to go back to Five for Fighting. Before I got to the intersection I call "Parkway, Parkway, Trezevant, Summer" I was in tears listening to John Ondrasik's words.

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind
I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star
15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
Half time goes by
Suddenly you're wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...
I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
15 there's still time for you
22 I feel her too
33 you're on your way
Every day's a new day...
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

It's funny sometimes how things happen and that they often have a bigger meaning than the obvious. Seems like a lot of that has been going on over the last 58 days. Oddly, the number "15" has come up more than once. The first time I heard it was during a lecture at Family Fundamentals Weekend in Knoxville. The suggestion was made that we stop growing emotionally and spiritually when we start drinking. For me, that was at age 15. So, theoretically, I am still 15 years old.

There have been other significant mentions of "15" but none as profound as the next one. A few minutes ago I got a phone call on the office line from a friend with whom I haven't talked in over fifteen years. I can't express the feelings of warmth, love and true friendship I felt when I heard the voice coming from Louisville. It's a voice I've often needed to hear but hadn't sought for many, sometimes complicated, reasons. We've made plans to reconnect, catch up and stay in touch.

Clearly there are things larger than me happening in my life right now. And for some inexplicable reason I'm ok with it -- I'm not afraid. In fact, I feel good about it and look forward to what each moment brings. Make no mistake -- there are still obstacles. I'm just choosing not to obsess about them.

What I heard last night was a divine message that I am getting a Mulligan. Not that this is the only chance I'll have to change the way I approach living -- I get that chance every day. But in my self-centered quest for complete control in pursuit of perfection I haven't typically embraced those chances for many of my days -- the better part of just over 17,000. Sure, there have been bright days filled with promise. Some of those have even been connected together for long periods of time. But I've realized that I'll never get to perfect. I've realized the fighting to get where I want has been a fight against my best interests. Thankfully there have been a handful of special people who have loved, guided, and stood by me -- in spite of me. The thing is, I have only occasionally, if ever, loved myself as they have.

This is the sort of epiphany I have been looking for since I started down this path of healing. Taking a long, hard look at myself and letting go of the preconceived notions that have kept me from growing as a husband, friend, and colleague is tough. It's tough to admit that I have been a schmuck. It's tough to admit that by pursuing my idea of what should be I haven't been as good as I can be.

In my quest to accept the things I cannot change and my resolve to embrace the courage to change the things I can I pray that I can love me for me, for better or for worse. God, I'm listening.

Oh Where Oh Where Has My Gina Bruce Gone...

2008-11-14T15:52:00.005-06:00

I haven't seen Shawn on IM lately. I know he's busy as hell. So I visited his blog to see if there was any news. Nothing.

So, as I was there I looked at his blogroll and clicked on a link I hadn't visited in quite some time: Bitter Cup of Joe. When I got there I saw this from Funny or Die.

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

I LOVE IT. And, I'm going here to sign the petition.

Keith Olbermann Speaks Out On Prop 8

2008-11-13T13:44:00.004-06:00

When I checked in on my blogpal, Zen, I saw she'd posted this clip: Keith Olbermann's commentary on the passage of Prop 8 in California. Mr. Olbermann's speech is eloquent, passionate and hopefully mind-opening for the many who don't get it. This video is a must share.

Oh, Goody. Another No Talent Who Sets Foul Language to a Beat, Calls it Music and Hates. Just What We Need.

2008-11-12T11:01:00.010-06:00

After a meeting, I was enjoying the remainder of my morning listening to Fernando and Greg and catching up on e-mail when I heard the duo launch into a tyrade about "Trick Trick". Apparently this fool, "close friend and collaborator" of Eminem, doesn't want the "fags" buying his new album. Read more at AllHipHop. Or still more at Bossip. Or at Queerty.

Fugly on the inside. Kinda the same on the outside.

“I’ma go on the record right now with this. Homosexuals are probably not gonna like this album
,” Trick revealed to AllHipHop.com. “I don’t want your f**got money any goddamn way. I don’t like it [homosexuality]. Carry that s**t somewhere else.”

I paused for a moment and remembered the Serenity Prayer.

Realizing that I may not have the power to influence the heart of an ignorant but sly, gimmicks-to-riches music promoter cum hate-rap artist I can at least say what I feel needs to be said. After having read the comments posted on the Bossip post from innumberable readers, I have come to the personal conclusion that better than half of these nincompoops were asleep during English class, were clearly absent during the portion of History lessons that discussed civil rights and they are woefully deficient in Sociology and the Sciences.

Of exactly which language is the phrase is "I'ma go" a part? Ignorantish? Dumbassian? Loserese?

Failure to see any parallel between the struggle of African-Americans against hate and oppression and the hate of any other group based upon biological differences such as skin color or genetics escapes me. This hatred toward gays makes about as much sense as hating someone because of the shape of their eyes.

While the argument of "what makes gays gay" is still being debated among the believers of environmental/emotional influences versus the proponents of genetic proclivity versus the ignoramuses who believe "it's a choice," clearly there is enough evidence that those amongst us with any modicum of intelligence can agree that there is still more to be learned. Trying to determine "what makes us gay" makes about as much sense as trying to figure out why we have nostrils on our faces rather than behind our ears.

I'll spend a moment saying the Serenity Prayer. I'll think about what each of the phrases in it means. I'll find peace in my day. And, I'll say a little prayer for "Trick Trick." (Thank you, Dionne Warwick.) I'll pray that Christian Mathis learns a new trick, and that God shows him the way. Clearly, he's not being influenced in the ways of love now, like his mother was when she picked his name.

Monday · 10 November

2008-11-10T13:53:00.006-06:00

Don't really have much to say today, but as I begin this post I can think of a few things. Maybe later. But for right now a Luncheonette post seemed in order since I'm finally satisfying a crave I've had for a while. Today, it's Pho Saigon combination vermicelli (bún thap cam) and spring rolls (goi cuan tom) as big as my head.

The vermicelli, on a bed of shredded lettuce and bean sprouts, is topped with grilled pork, shrimp and an egg roll, garnished with julienne carrots, cucumber slices, pickled radish (daikon, I think), mint and chopped peanuts. After it's doused in fish sauce and topped with chili garlic paste it's heavenly. I couldn't wait to start, so the photo of the Styrofoam® box depicts the lunch in an altered state.

Goi Cuon Tom on left with Bún Thap Cam. Translation: YUM. More garlic pepper paste, please.

Hope you were able to satisfy a crave today. Now if we'd only get a White Castle in Memphis....

And Here's to the Ignorant Bigots in Arkansas

2008-11-07T17:24:00.005-06:00

Not only have we kept the gays in their place as second-class citizens, but we've also kept thousands of children who need loving homes out of danger.

— Bubba and Bubbalina
Concerned Arkansas residents

No 501 (c)(3) Tax-Exempt Status for Lobbyists Even if They're Using a Church as a Disguise

2008-11-07T12:20:00.002-06:00

The Mormon Church played a significant role in getting Proposition 8 to pass by an extremely slim margin in California. Their actions were clearly lobbying, spreading fear with lies and propaganda to advance their own agenda and influence legislation. Sign the petition below to have their tax-exempt status revoked.

Visit Mormons Stole Our Rights, here.

With All This Hope I Forgot About Reality

2008-11-07T07:52:00.003-06:00

I just received a link to CNN from my friend David, not the one I mention frequently, here, but another who proudly served this country in the military who happens to be gay and in a long-term relationship with our friend John.

I had to share. Some of the comments are great while others are from folks who cling to a religious dogma that is so misinformed. It's worth a few minutes' read.

At a moment of great inclusiveness, gay people are shut out.

Forty Days and Forty Nights

2008-11-02T09:55:00.007-06:00

It's Sunday morning. The kitchen clock says 10:57. But it's not. I usually find the end of Daylight Savings time a depressing one. The days are shorter. It's dark at the end of the business day when I'm walking to the car. But, this time, I'm not thinking too much about it.

I suppose that the promise of today and what's transpired up to this forty-first day of Cameron's and my new journey together makes such things insignificant. Gone are the evenings wasting away our time with cocktail hour. Although we spent every one of those evenings together we now feel more connected. It's almost as if the promise of our life together is brighter. We still have a lifetime of work ahead of us and it's work toward which we look forward. Hope really does spring eternal.

For today, though, there is quite a lot of other busy work ahead of us. Along with the spiritual "housecleaning" of the last five weeks there has been a physical one. After being reminded of Linda Blair in a television commercial during the Halloween festivities I could liken it to an exorcism. Years of procrastination or even denial have been finally righted with the emptying of the attic, the yard sale, the elimination of eight azaleas and a diseased mimosa. There have been meetings with contractors, plumbers and electricians. While we've been facing fears of the change within ourselves we've been facing things that were ignored, avoided or "saved" for later.

I find us living "now" more than ever. This honesty and forthright approach to baggage accumulated over our lifetimes is uncovering some old pain. But what it's revealing is the beauty and grace within us both -- that which we saw in each other sixteen years ago -- and I'm grateful for that. If we hadn't been able to see through the things we didn't understand we might not be here, together, today.

So, as I begin catching up on laundry, listing on eBay the more precious things from the attic (to which I no longer need to cling), reclaiming the windows whose views have been obstructed by air conditioners for decades, and finish closing the pool, I am thankful for the work to be done. I am thankful that I have hair that needs to be cut, plaster to dust from the furniture, a vacuum to clean the white dog hair from the rugs, a battery to charge in the Pontiac, Billie and Georgia's poop to remove from the yard, and lots of clocks and watches to set.

It's a fantastic day. I hope you enjoy this one, today, as much as I will.

I'm Still Laughing

2008-10-27T20:59:00.005-05:00

I can't help it. Although I do have a lot of respect for John McCain's service to this country, and I thought I might vote for him before this whole campaign debacle began, the Dumbya dogma is coming through loud and clear with his stance on certain matters, so I don't bristle so much at seeing him being referred to as "Geezer." That's what antiquated, out-of-touch ideology will getcha.

Sarah Palin, on the other hand, is a clueless idiot, just like Dumbya.

While I feel that calling her a "dingbat" is a disservice to Jean Stapleton's All in the Family character, Edith Bunker, I can't help but laugh out loud every time I look at this shirt. I just ordered mine. Get yours by clicking the link.

GeezerDingbat 2008 T-Shirt
Buy this product at CafePress
Designed by jademade Online Store

No on hate - No on 8

2008-10-27T10:50:00.001-05:00

Shared with me by my friend Kathy. Glad to pass it on and I have my fingers crossed.