Monthly Archives: April 2011

change a comin’

it comes

again

without denial

no stopping

its path of life.

at first, a tiny snowball

glistening and soft

with lies of faith

then

rolling

and rolling still

rumbling

tumbling harder

sneaking up

and hurling down

into my valley of peace

in its subtle and snarky way

until it smashes coldly

into me

as an avalanche of change

all at once

exploding into pieces

or so it seems

to jolt me

overwhelm me

to suck my breath away

with its harsh

frigid

reality

stealing all

that is warm

and known

and full of comfort

it throws me at tomorrow’s darkness

without a blanket

where I don’t really want to go

right now.

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twitter twitter little star…

I used to adore Hollywood stars. I’d have this internal “image” of them in my head of how they would drive in a convertible about the coast of gorgeous California from garden party to social event with ease. They’d be in outfits that they shopped for on sun-filled jaunts to Rodeo Drive sacking different shoes for every day in between tennis lessons on bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

Then I signed up for Twitter, and discovered I was WRONG.

I don’t truly know why I opted to join the “Tweeters” of the world. I think I caved in (as usual) during a second glass of an Australian Shiraz one evening when I was bored. On a side note: I have discovered my liking for MORE vegetables while on a second glass of wine. It’s as if the walls of disgust come tumbling down and my eyes get a glaze in them that make it easy for me to try new things! Hopefully this never happens while near a bungee cord and a bridge.

Anyway, as I began to navigate my way around on Twitter… okay, it wasn’t really considered navigating so much as stalking, I immediately started my Twitter fest by following half of the cast of my favorite soap opera (and one of the few remaining) General Hospital. I invited these actors into my home daily, so obviously they just HAD to be cool west coast folks as well. Right?

At the risk of not mentioning any specific names, the stunningly handsome and eloquent Prince of the Cassidine family, who also has the most incredible body known to man, is as stupid as an ass. His tweets directed me to his blog which he continuously touts as random thoughts from the beach. Try random complete sentences without the adjective of defecation in three or four different ways Tyler (oops). Myth debunked in a major way (although his ass still rocks).

Then there’s my favorite bitch/mother/lover/slut Carly whom I absolutely ADORE for her blatant honestly on the soap. Oh wait… that didn’t come out right. Regardless, her rants on Twitter don’t describe engaging social events by the pool or charity events with A-List stars, but rather include wine sloshed comments about her family vineyard and how they make candles from wine bottles to sell on a web site. She also punctuates every sentence she posts with ha or haha or hahaha as if she thinks everything she says is funny. I’m disappointed.

Other stars that fizzle include Kristen Chenoweth who gives me chills when she sings, but can’t type for shit (people: it’s you’re, not your for Christ sake!).  Sean Hayes from “Will and Grace” fame tweets @KChenoweth Love you back!!! Ridiculous.

When I signed up, I was looking for pretentious Hollywood people. I wanted who sleeps with whom, who got fired from what and who has yet to get thrown out of the proverbial closet!

Total Twitter disenchantment!

I’ve learned to follow, unfollow, and then follow again some of the hippest celebrities in the business. I’ve discovered how to RE-tweet, comment, email and post photos on Twitter. I’ve educated myself on those incessant #hash #tags as well.

But I wonder. Do I REALLY want to debunk the celebrity “mystique” that I’ve grown accustomed to from years of subscribing to People Magazine? Now where’s that bottle of Shiraz?

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the lunch table.

I grew up on the border.

The physical border of the local school district changed a lot when I was growing up. For some reason, just when I’d get used to one group of kids at school, the district would decide to alter the border’s location within the district and I’d attend the rival school the following year.

One would THINK this would have rounded out my circle of friends; however, it rounded out my circle of insecurities and worries.

My biggest first day challenge, besides finding the correct bus stop, would always be who I would sit with at the lunch table. Who am I going to share my sandwich with?  Who will I talk to? Will they like me? Will I fit in? Or worse. What if I sit with them today, and tomorrow they decide to sit somewhere else?

It seems like yesterday that I’d come into the lunchroom to the odd aromas of ammonia and grilled cheese. The echo of trays, flatware and laughter as the energy of the first day of school filled the air. I sometimes liked, yet always loathed it every year. It was scary for me.

Picture panicked darting eyes searching for a familiar face. A smile. A nod. And finally… a seat.

These days, I still sometimes look for a place to sit at lunch. Not so much literally now as figuratively. Although, I rarely worry anymore about what to talk about, if I’ll be liked or if I’ll fit it. Age, perspective and experience tend to give me that freedom, but I’m still afraid.

Today, I worry about healthcare, politics, education, the youth of America and the condition of our world.

Perhaps the township will change the border on me once again.

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good shoe, bad shoe.

Are you aware that when you can’t reach your sneakers because of a newly formed and ever growing stomach that you tend to tie it differently?

Take note at what I’ll call the “good sneaker” photo at left. Note it’s clean, precise knot and also how it’s tied with the bow placed perfectly center due to graceful bending at the waist thus the scientific center of gravity.

Now note that in the example on the right, which I will refer to as “bad sneaker.” Notice a much looser knot that is skewed to the side of the shoe due to folding the knee and leg over a stationary leg to gain proper reach.

In conclusion– the next time you see someone with their shoe knot askew OR if they have velcro ties instead of laces, you will know that they cannot touch their toes.

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tis true?

I won an online blog award for the poem I did about my son. Very honored and thanks!

tis true, they say

apparently so

these words i write

you seem to know.

how can it be

i have no tools

to make this work

i feel a fool.

as i go on

as i remain

my heart will speak

of love’s sweet pain.

i wish i may

take thought to flight

and quell the dark

with truth’s harsh light.

so thank you folk

allow my bore

my little poke

for this award.

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discarded umbrellas.

Daryl and I had the good fortune of coming out of the Palace Theatre on Times Square last Saturday evening, after enjoying the spectacular “Priscilla – Queen of the Desert,” during a monstrous thunderstorm. After the show, I had silently wondered why the theatre patrons had exited so slowly but thought it was possibly due to the collectors for the Broadway Cares for AIDS program in the lobby. As we rounded the corner down the mezzanine stairs, I understood why the sluggish exodus.

I looked outside and saw torrential rain and wind making Times Square look like an amusement park on steroids. Flashing animated billboards, honking horns, windswept water, lightning and thunder all creating an apocalyptic crescendo of near manic proportions as we began our sidewalk adventure to our destination – the Courtyard Marriott on 40th Street.

As Daryl and I dared to maneuver our way out onto the marquee covered sidewalk, we were immediately swallowed by a sea of umbrellas. A multi-colored calliope of movement as we would raise, then lower, then raise again our own umbrellas to weave our way through stuffed streets of foreign faces and thronged energy. We leapt over flooded intersections as streams of plastic bottles and soaked playbills danced feverishly around clogged street drains. Flashing walk and don’t walk characters told us what to do, as we continued to waft through this hoard of drenched humanity.

We turned off of Broadway and onto a less crowded 42nd Street as the wind fought with our own umbrellas turning them inside out then back again as sidewalk strangers ducked in and out of awning covered buildings. The cold wind sliced at our soaked bodies as we continued to dodge taxis, pedestrians and bold flashes from the sky.

I could not help but notice all of the discarded skeletal umbrellas that were tossed to the sidewalk in crumpled heaps as if they were thrown forcefully from the sky. Lonely handles reaching to us as if we could save them from their hapless fate as flashes of lightening from the echoing heavens highlighted their silver ribs in tortured twists of sizes and shapes. Canvassed covers buried in the splashes of water they were once made to protect.

We ran past Bryant Park as the dark statue of its namesake sat stoically on his seat as if mocking the storms fury. As we turned onto 40th Street, our destination came into view as our breaths grew more rapid and heavy. Sopping into the hotel lobby like two drenched rats, we sloshed and squeaked on the marble floor to the elevators.

Daryl pressed the “UP” button. We stepped in and took our ride to the sky.

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faggot.

AOL SPORTING NEWS FEED:

Lakers guard Kobe Bryant has been slapped with a $100,000 fine for using a gay slur, directed toward referee Bennie Adams, after being issued a technical foul during Tuesday night’s win over the Spurs, according to several reports on Twitter.

“Insensitive or derogatory comments … have no place in our game,” NBA commissioner David Stern said in a statement.

Care to repeat that Mr. NBA Commissioner? You mean to tell me that the word FAGGOT has never been used in the locker rooms or during practice games? Bryant got caught. The NBA got caught. The sports community got caught. And most importantly, the American viewing public got caught.

I was taken aback by the casual attitude of many “responders” on the AOL web news post who stated that it “really shouldn’t be a big deal. Kobe was just angry and said a word that while derogatory, wasn’t actually directed at or even HEARD by the referee.” Wow. Here I thought we, as Americans, were actually moving forward.

First of all a $100,000 fine for Mr. Bryant is what he pays for lawn service. Secondly, the word faggot IS highly offensive to many people gay AND straight. Finally (and unfortunately unavoidable), if a white player had used the N-word, the offender would have been suspended if not fired.

Perhaps, Mr. Bryant’s weak “public relations” apology is enough — perhaps not.

We need to learn from this.

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