Early morning ruminations of Miz. Ann Thrope

As the world sleeps, I sit contemplating the sweet complicity of life. The subtle ironies that elude one in youth but put you in awe in later years. I think about:

How simple life was as a child, rise, dress, eat, play, learn, laugh, cry and sleep.

The power of a mother’s pain eradicating kiss, a father’s protective hug.

The fretting over beauty, form and those ephemeral qualities that in youth, weigh heavy, but in the end mean so very little.

Words, small utterances universally understood, often underrated, uncensored, and underestimated.

Space in it’s vastness, it’s beauty, it’s isolation, the craving for it, fear of it, and the peace and torment that it can yeild.

I think about people, loved, lost, and passed away their faces, the sound of their voices their touch, scent and laughter fade but the essence of their beings remain forever embossed on our souls.

I think about laughter and tears and marvel at how closely they reside, much like joy and sorrow, and fear and utter abandon.

I contemplate life, paths that cross, intertwine, run parallel never to touch but in some cosmic way work in tandem.

In the quiet stillness of the morning I wonder “WHY THE HELL I CAN’T GET TO SLEEP”

Miss.California - I ain't mad at chew

I can’t stand it anymore, this whole Miss USA thing has really pissed me off, and the discourse surrounding it is just as disturbing. Now before I continue, (because I am sure to pissed others off in turn) let me make this clear:

Personally I support gay marriage, I think that if God has an issue about it, then those who have transgressed will certainly know it when they com face to face (or burning bush—not a lesbian pun) with her/him. I think there is enough shit for us to do on this planet, why don’t we let God take care of his/her own business. Further more I think the Heteros have done such an abysmal job at marriage that the privilege should be revoked. If you drive and fuck up enough times they pull you license, so… We like to talk about the sanctity of the institution yet we have reality show competitions that are races to the alter, what’s that about? Pamela Anderson and Jennifer Lopez have single handedly dropped our numbers, and they are following in the footsteps of serial matrimonialist Elizabeth Taylor. So ye without sin cast the first stone. I say let the Gays have at it, how much worse can they do?

More seriously, I can’t understand where it really affects any heterosexual anyway, it’s not like anyone would force you to marry someone of the same sex if you don’t want to. It’s a fear and control issue - like abortion. If we live in a country of freedoms especially of religion then I don’t think the laws should have the powers to legislate one’s personal choices, and what is more personal then who you chose to spend your life with, leave your belongings to when you pass, or if you chose not to become a parent. So having said that, back to the matter at hand.

What the hell! First let’s take the issue of Master Shit stirrer Perez Hilton. I read his website, I do - I hate to admit it but there it is. But the thing I find so interesting about him is his transformation. When he started the site he was an equal opportunity hater, he was fat, really unattractive, he was the kid who was bullied gets revenge. Big up to Tina Fey because I can coin a syndrome – Mean Girls Syndrome- and Perez has fallen victim, as soon as he got the same power and prestige as those people he had been dissing (and he lost the weight, stopped trying to camouflage his feeling unattractive with crazy hair colors and zany wardrobe choices) he became them- the very thing that he railed against- and worse. It’s like ex-smoker are more vigilant and annoying then the people who have never smoked… same principal. Since he created his persona around being mean and hateful, now anointed with power he has Carte blanche, and seems to view it as his “Job” to be offensive. At this point he deserves a bonus because unlike those bankers he has exceeded his quota of nastiness. I’m not prude, (well no so much) but there is something in the way he uses the term Bitch that grates on my nerves, I think it’s the bitter gay man, thing that I hear, it’s almost like you can hear his jealousy of that the object of his venom has a vagina. It must be hard to be nothing at all what you so much want to be.
Back to the issue:

I am not upset at his question, it was loaded, and salacious, okay, either way no matter who answered it and how it was going to get airplay weeks after. Then it happened, Miss. California actually replied with her true and unapologetic opinion- the same opinion I might add that is held by our current President. She believes that “Marriage’ is between a mad and a woman, a shocker? Um not so much. Why would it be when she represents a state that voted no on Prop 8, apparently she is aligned the people she was selected to represent for her state, country and potentially the Universe.

Being honest potentially cost her the crown and started a media storm on both sides of the issue. What bothers me most is the way some have chosen to speak out against her. Perez took to his blog and said that Miss California lost not because she of her opinion but because she was a stupid bitch. Really?! And she was stupid because…She thinks differently then you, and she has the courage to say is regardless of what millions might think? Funny a man named Mohammad Ali did the same thing when he refused to go to Vietnam, hummm...Was he a stupid bitch, I dare Perez to say that to his face.

Here’s the thing, don’t ask a question if you can’t handle the answer. And another thing, the beauty and the difficulty of this country is that not only do we have certain inalienable rights (that of which I think the right to marriage whomever you chose is one) we also have freedom of religion (which Miss California evoked in her reply) and freedom of speech. You get them all you can’t pick and choose, we have to suck it up it’s like Facts, of Life, “You take the good you take the bad…” Look as an African American woman I know that there are people out there who hate me just because, (I would prefer that they get to know me and I can give them far better reasons to hate me – a little melanin is the least of the issues) it kind of goes with the costume, if you are Black, Jewish, Gay or any other headliner for hate you kind of expect it, - well not expect it but you can hardly be surprised. It doesn’t make it right but come on we know the deal.

It wasn’t so much what she said, the majority of the state said when they pulled those leavers, it was THAT she said it, she SAID it. That is quite different from closing a curtain and anonymously voting no. Personally I have to respect that, I don’t agree with it but I respect it, will she ever change her mind? perchance, hopefully but either way she is entitled to her opinion and she lives in country where she should not be persecuted for having and voicing it especially when asked. Now if she had run up through gay pride like, “Ya’ll shouldn’t be able to marry! Down with gay marriage” well then I wouldn’t be able to help a sister but, if you ask well…

On a final note, her statement went from her not supporting same sex marriages to her being a Gay hating homophobe- not fair. Geoff Kors, the executive director of EQCA was on Bill O’Reilly saying as much and heaven help me I ACTUALLY had to agree with O’Reilly for once when he (for his own reasons which may not be the same as mine) stopped him from taking it there.

What is a shame is that she never got the opportunity to have a conversation that might have revealed or clarified her stance on the issue, Obama did, he is for the idea of having civil unions carry the same legal weight as Marriage, which will allow couples to have the same legal rights a man and a woman in marriage, thereby separating semantics from legality- once you have the same rights you can fight about what you call it until the cows come home.

The reality is she’s a beauty contestant, not a politician, Perez, and any one else if you’re Pissed at this girl, then go toilet paper your neighbors house, after all that’s probably the person you really should be worried about, not a chick in a feather dress, eyelashes a spray tan and a tiara!

Don’t stress, we will get there! In time, all in due time.

I'm Nobody Who Are You?

I fought the good fight for a long while but alas I am not altogether impervious to the ubiquitous multi-media gossip mill and reality competition shows. There is something about the pervasiveness of gossip (particularly on the Internet) that insists that you acknowledge and participate in(no matter how peripherally). Come on every Internet provider’s home page has a little corner for it. True it is your choice to click but I dare you to tell me that you don’t read the blurbs…

Honestly I felt like a failure when I succumbed to it, I was certain that I was too levelheaded and stanch in my beliefs, unbending in my convictions to be had. Hell I was down right Republican on the issue (surreptitiously engaged in the deviant behavior I publicly maligned others who took part). Later I found solace and support in the fact that it could – and has happened to the best of us. I mean if someone as smart and sensible as our beloved Anderson Cooper can be ensnared by it’s allure, (as he has admitted to watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta) no one is safe, and I mean no one.

I find it perversely spectacular that a whole new enterprise has been created surrounding the posting of banal pictures of people (famous people) doing everyday tasks (Getting coffee, shopping at Costco’s picking up dry cleaning etc.) They cal it “Sighting” as if Big Foot came out of the woods and went to Pinkberry or the Lochness Monster stopped for gas.

Our voyeuristic fascination has sunken to such a low that we will follow the lives of almost anyone with a pulse and some sunglasses: the offspring of accomplished people, Hollywood royalty, or wealthy families. We’ll even watch people who have slept with one of the afore mentioned. We’ll watch people whose only talent for showing up at parties, getting pissy, stumbling drunk, misplacing a sex tape, and being a grammatically impaired, socially retarded, or even worse people who do …nothing…wait that’s not wholly true, they act out desperate for attention, are stupid, disrespectful and debasing. Over night an absolute nobody can become a somebody by drinking too much, bitch slapping someone then vomiting into her purse, hell with those antics they could have their own TV show and book deal on manners. As asinine as it might be, it is lucrative, for rampant indiscretion, and lack of compunction whore-mongers are often rewarded with golden tickets to fame, fortune and free swag! I have to admit it can make for some good television if only for affirming that you yourself is are not so screwed up.

On one particular day my personal fascination with these non-entities sparked a series of revelatory events that sparked another series of pondering I would like to share now. It started rather innocently:

I was sitting at my desk at home scrolling down a gossip site that for privacy sake we shall call, insignificantpeoplewecareaboutforsomeoddreason.com, Bravo was on the flat screen behind me begging me to “Watch what happens!” only at that particular moment I could only listen to Real New York Housewife Bethany rip Countess Luann a new one with the pristine etiquette only a Countess from Connecticut could appreciate.
Suddenly I asked, myself “Why do I care, why do we care?” About these not so “real” housewives or these post- tweeners who have stretched Worhal’s (or should we call him Whore-hal) adage of 15 minutes of fame like a Madoff investment return.

Flash-forward:

I’m teaching class and struggling to get my students to connect with the information. In desperate frustration I resort to drawing an analogy I cull from my gossip site that illustrates my point in a manner they can relate to. Miraculously the room instantly is brighter for all the light bulbs that go on, they are in a united Oprah “Ah-ha” moment. I’m now in their network, “Can you hear me know?” Prior to my reference the lights where off and everyone was pretending not to be home, when I gave the information straight with no chaser they couldn’t connect, add some empty calories and they were all over it.

I spiral and realize that at some point to stay relevant to my students, and perchance the world I might be obligated to know who these nugatory folks are and what they do/don’t do.

Flash-forward:

I am on the train on my why home and have the “pleasure” of being in a car with some teens who happen to be discussing things that in the past might have been considered or “Private” even “Personal” and discussed in hushed tones. Because of the nature of the dialogue I feel as thought I am eavesdropping however neither I nor anyone else on the car has to strain to hear what is being said, in fact I think all of us are struggling to block it out (there are just things you just don’t want to know that teens are doing, thinking, or experiencing). The youths are speaking in a tone and manner that can best be described as presentational. They are purposefully engaged in creating a spectacle. It is a full on show, a play. We learn who slept with whom, got what from whom, and how so-and-so found out, all peppered with “fucking, bitches and mother-fuckers” They are performing for their unsuspecting, (unwilling) audience who had no idea that their subway ride came with a floorshow.

* As a side bar, you know we New Yorkers complain about the price of the subway however if you take into consideration that for a mere $2.00 you can get from Queens to Brooklyn and hear musical concerts and see plays, all with the gritty reality that makes New York, New York you ungrateful straphangers would think again before bellyaching!

It seems as though they imagine themselves to be as interesting as those vapid, barely able to put a sentence together bobbleheads on The Hills. They for the short stint between 34th street and west 4th on the D train have a captive audience, and in those moments they are famous. That’s when it hit me; rich is passé, it’s no longer good enough – all the money in the is worthless if nobody knows who you are.

Which leads me to the final part of my spiral.

As I traverse this world and am hit with the barrage of marketing ploys that have insidiously (albeit effectively) become our way of life, the quest for beauty, youth, fortune and most recently fame, the hermit crab in me rises and my mind goes to little Emily Dickenson who asked:

I’m nobody who are you?

Such a simple question, but so apropos, and she looks so fine in her crisp white dress completely unfazed like Real Housewife Bethany when she was confronted by Kelly, where when asked you freely admitted that she was in fact – nobody. Dickenson goes on?

Are you nobody too?
Well that’s a pair of us don’t tell,
They’d banish us you know

I realized that the rush, and clamor to be “somebody” to be recognized creates in me an adverse reaction causing me to want to disappear. I figure it’s the by-product of my innate inner rebel; the only way to stand out these days is to withdraw, but who would notice, it’s like that damned tree in the forest! If you make a statement by not bein gthere does anybody get it? Dickenson continues:

Well that’s a pair f us,
Don’t tell, they’d banish us you know.

Though she wrote in the 1800’s somehow her words seem even more poignant today. Because everyone is trying to be known, the idea of someone desirous of being anonymous is unfathomable, so far fetched so fresh- untapped that no one in their right mind would be able to sleep until it was exploited! Eureka! The next reality series would be born. Dickenson ends:

How silly to be somebody
How public like a frog
To tell your name the live long day
To an admiring bog!

And is that just what we have become, a bog with hundreds of narcissistic terribilis croaking out their names, their bad albums, their fashion and handbag lines, their publicity stunt relationships, and breakups, weddings, and even their deaths. There is never any silence or peace in a bog not with all the incessant croaking, and chirping and such. I’m sure there is one pissed off toad that is hunkered down thinking “I wish you all would shut the fuck up!” and asking what did he do to deserve living in this good forsaken place. Not quite unlike how I feel every third day of the week!

Word of the Day- and the answer to an age old question

Gound- n. The crusty yellow substance that collects in the corner of one's eye while one sleeps.

so we can get rid on eye- boogers and sleep snot, with it's proper term, you can talk about gound at the dinner table! (no don't thank me, just glad to help)

All I wanted was some help...Damn!

Recently I was in need of a curl defining leave-in conditioner so I decided to seek help from my friendly neighborhood product specialist at Ricky’s Beauty Supply store. I have to preface this tale be saying that in the past I have found the sales people at Ricky’s (various locations) enthusiastically helpful and full of information about the products they carry. Now I don’t know if Mars was in retrograde, the moon was full, or the two female clerks had been working with each other long enough to sync their PMS cycles, but on this day I was highly disappointed.
So I enter the store, it was completely empty. I went to the hair care section and began to scan my choices. Lost in the labels I sought help, I spied a clerk re-stocking a shelf about ten feet away,
“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?”
She looked over at me, without moving a muscle and I suppose that since she was looked at me, I was to infer that she was listening.
I waited a beat just to see if she would make a move to get up and actually engage me but…no.
“Could you come over here?” I asked- yes I had a tone in my voice; you know that I did because you could almost hear it in this written word. She rose with a slight huff that implied a slight annoyance at having to …I don’t know…do something…
When she finally reached me I presented my query. “I am looking for a leave-in curl definer, which could you recommend?”
She sighed, and thought,
“Well” she said sounding as if she was in desperate need of a B-12 shot “I use this.” She picked up a bottle. I waited for more information, like perhaps a why, or a what made it different, better…nothing. Finally I asked her about another product I had heard about,
“Yeah, that’s good too.”
“Because…I mean what is the difference between them….”
She looked at me with a vacancy sign flashing in her eyes, oh yeah there were many rooms available in that hotel. I searched her face for signs of life- screw intelligence.
“It can leave a film” she said like some of my student when their answer is more of question in hopes of…
Okay so after I pulled the front two molars, I was pretty sure that there were no wisdom teeth to extract in her case. I was frustrated, and started to break.
“There is a shelf full of product here that say they do want I want, there has to be some difference between them, can’t you tell me anything?”
It was like ringing the bell on the concierge’s desk when the “Gone Fishing” sign is out.
I was through with her, useless.
“You know what? You’re a bit passive about helping me, is there anyone else who might know?” she pointed to the women behind the counter, counting bottles. Again there is no one in the store, we are in the middle of a Re-Depression and I am trying to purchase something you would think that in the interest of job security there might be more urgency. Ummm…no.
“Excuse me.” I begin to young woman’s narrow back, she turned around and immediately I see that the neon light in her eyes is doing that flickering dance they do right before dying out, you know that intermittent flashing that can give an epileptic a seizure?
I reiterate my desire to her. Nothing. I ask her if she had a sample of the product Zombie #1 suggested. She routs through a drawer and has none. She looks at me as if to say “What! What else do you want?”
“Can you make any suggestions?”
“You can look back there on the shelf, all of the conditioners are back there”
I had had it.
“I was just back there, can you come out from there and help me?”
She huffs, and begins to come from behind the counter when she bumps into a guy whom she quickly passed off the pesky task of WORK to. Now you have to understand that this gentleman was standing not a foot from her when I told her what I needed, so you might be able to understand my irascibility when he ask what I needed!

I was done, done with these passive, lazy ass people who were supposed to be at work, who were supposed to be their to provide information, and sell things – but who were acting as though they couldn’t be bothered, and can’t seem to understand why the hell you are interrupting them from whatever they are NOT doing.
I abhor bad service, and I abhor people who make it your problem that they hate their jobs! I what to slap the audacity off of the faces of cashiers who hold conversations with one another as they check you out slower than Canadian Molasses moves in the dead of Winter, and then drop your change for not watching what they are doing. I am sick of bad service, no I am sick at people not taking pride in their work, no matter how “menial” it might seem it’s necessary, it needs to be done which makes it important. With the economic condition we’re in everybody who has a job to go to better be damned grateful. Everybody should be tap dancing during rush hour because they have a place to rush to!

Sorry but I had to get it out. Look all I’m saying is:
If you’re at work- be at work, do your job! If you’re in the service industry, SERVE! You can’t work at the information desk and get pissed when someone asks you a question. If you don’t like your job, find another (and- good luck with that these days LMAO), otherwise, suck it up like everyone else and then after your shift go get a cocktail like everyone else, and just hope that you bartender doesn’t have a shitty attitude!

A Dose of Prose

There were moments when she could feel the spaces within her that were incomplete. Places where miss matched edges touched like the soft spot on an infant’s head, tender, and unable to withstand pressure. In her unfinished places she was jagged and crude, and insecurity grew under wet mossy rocks, thriving in the tight dark spaces. While treading on the flatlands of herself, unexpectedly she would stumble upon these gaps, slipping on one of these unformed areas could send her tumbling into a ravine of uncertainty and indecision. Collapsing into the vortex of organized chaos that was her mind, her head would turn inside a spectacle of color, where her reality twisted within this kaleidoscope of fear …
Unfinished …
At days end in and artist’s studio when all is still, as the paint dries does the work know that is in progress? Can it feel its becoming? Does it rest easily in the knowledge that tomorrow its creator will return and complete its mouth, form fingers? Does the symphony hear the ending of its phrase? Is it restless contemplating its future, does it have thoughts of what it should be? Does it have dreams of a direction of its own? Does it ponder, “How will I turn out?” “ Am I to be a masterpiece?” Does a melody already know its harmony? Does a sketch feel as complete as the final painting, or does it long to be completed? Does it feel…unfinished?
Like a Mona Lisa painted by Picasso, she was fractured and haphazardly reconstructed. There were no neat seams in her structure. She was abstract and indefinable in style and technique. The colors of her were clear, vivid and muddy all at once. Like a Bearden that only knew of itself as a whole, having no recollection that it had been pasted and glued into being from scraps and fragments of once larger, complete objects.
In her unfinished places tiny fissures marred her constitution. There were gaping holes, and fine pinpricks where liquid bits of herself seeped through. Places where she was split open like a tree struck by lightening leaving her insides exposed to the elements. Assured by the firmness of what she knew beneath her feet, she feared the depth of what was yet to be discovered within. She hopped stone by stone from one formed place in herself to another, crossing a creek in the woods of her Self. She tread slowly making her way through life, trying not to get her feet wet in her unfinished places, carefully, toes gripping to what she knew for certain, fearing a loss of footing that could send her plummeting into her void.
If she fell in she would have to struggle against that current like a salmon fighting its way upstream to its death, thrashing about in the turbulent surf of her own becoming. Within the formless void lay the whispers of expectation and the desires people held for her life. The murmurings echoed through the cavern of her head creating a powerful undertow in the murky waters of her unknown. In her uncertainty, the desires she held for herself pulled against the expectations of others. It would be a while before she realized that it was her own voice resonating within her head. In an effort to find the shore of herself, the voices of others had been sublimated into those of her own whispers of fear, of failure, and disappointment. Her sea of Self was wide, deep and upsetting. She was immense, vast and ever changing, full of everything that is or ever was…
Her incompletion threatened to envelop her, thick and heavy it wanted to pull her into the depth of it. The current was strong but she could see the shore. She was so tired she did not think she would make it. She did not know if she wanted to. When the surface is troubled, the depth is at rest; there is silence at the bottom of the sea. It would be so easy to surrender, be drawn down by the current. There was stillness, an ease, a weightlessness down deep. Enervated with life, its struggle and herself, she relented. She would lie on her back, feel the sun on her face; let life happen to her sink or float. No fear, no fight, just float…

Word of the Day

Cacocallia-n. The state of being ugly but sexy

Would it be a like that attraction people have to Ellen Barkin? But she's not really ugly per se, just crooked faced so that's not it...

Or it's like how Seal has the scared up face, we don't really know why, but the soft spoken English accent and the raspy voice could make it happen, you just have to avert the gaze...

I know I know, I think I've experienced this. You know those days when the face is beat down but the body is still banging like that little drummer boy?
That's Cacocallia!!

Have you have those days, or is it just me? rummpphummpummm rummpphummpummm rummpphummpummm

Thought o'da Day

I had heard the rumor that they were in the market for another child but bidding for the small Indian children of Slumdog Millionaire from the front row of the Academy Awards? It was not wonder with the length of the Oscars last Sunday, that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt forgot where they were for a moment.

Apparently the pulchritudinous pair were quite besotted by the hobbit like Indian musician who won for best song. They thought that he might make a wonderful addition to their growing brood giving stretching the group’s possibility of pure future thespian domination to that of musical theater. Since Bollywood is larger than Hollywood they thought it would be the most direct route.

When producers kindly asked that Jolie not raise her bidding paddle on camera (she was #10) she was a bit perturbed but Pitt held her hand to sooth her temper, and with class and elegance through pillowy lips said she was “Sari”

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Whoa Now, Hands Off : A commentary on Chris Brown and Rihanna

You can’t troll the Internet without landing on some news or gossip item about the Chris Brown - Rihanna debacle. If you have been living under a rock (or simply have better thing s to do) after a Grammy party, R&B singer Chris Brown allegedly assaulted pop star Rihanna and then fled the scene. Needless to say the press, fans and fellow celebrities were up in arms, and talking heads went wild quilting facts and speculation, ambushing celebrities as they exited their favorite eateries asking their opinions on the matter.

After weeks of listening, reading and watching clip after clip, Miz. Ann Thrope can stand it no more, and though I may not be a celebrity I would like to fervently weigh in, not so much on the topic of what happened- that’s a no brainer, it was a travesty and there is no excuse – none for what happened. Not to sound like a PSA, but violence is never the answer. Allegedly there were bite marks on Rihanna’s arms- what the hell? Now I have to say I am curious as to what got Chris Brown so wound up that he went all Mike Tyson on the girl? Hitting never ok but cannibalism? What man tries to take chunks out of a woman? We are all familiar with the mantra of if he hits once, he’ll do it again, so does that mean if he bites once, you’re an appetizer, give him a second chance you’re an entrée?

I digress; my real issue is with the media and public reaction to the incident. My first peeve is the way that is has been classified as “Domestic Violence”. The legal definition of domestic violence is thus:

“Any abusive, violent, coercive, forceful, or threatening act or word inflicted by one member of a family or household on another can constitute domestic violence.”

To my knowledge the two are not married do not cohabitate and since they are dating and neither are from below the Mason Dixon Line, they are not family members. Based on the classification it was assault and battery not domestic violence. These are two kids 19 (Brown) 20 (Rihanna) they are dating, not engaged, not living together, how did this get labeled Domestic Violence? We all know that the media and those on the blogesphere like to upgrade - “Domestic Violence” it’s a “Sexy term” and before you get your panties in a knot I don’t mean sexy as in good, I mean it’s incendiary – gets people all riled up, it’s Pavlovian- we hear it as we are instantly enraged. Where as Assault- not so powerful; first because, let’s face it, it’s so prevalent, and second it does not imply gender- Sorry to my gays but we still think of domestic partners and Male and Female.

There is another aspect of the illegal upgrade of terms that troubles me, and that would be the inflation of the relationship from the beginning stages of courtship to the legal binding, interweaving of lives, homes, finances etc. when you upgrade in this situation you take two people who are so young, have been dating for a year or so, and are still figuring out whether they want to spend the next months together to the level of having chosen a life time commitment with legal binding- sharing a home, filing taxes, in-laws, children etc. Ok I hear you saying, “Well whose to say that couples dating don’t share those things?” Well they might however, there is a huge difference when you are sharing a domicile, when your finances are entangled, and perhaps you have children. One of the most insidious elements of true domestic violence is the idea that the battered party may have great difficulty in extricating themselves from the situation because of the aforementioned things. It’s one of the chief reasons battered women stay; they have no where to go, no money, and fear. When you are dating someone and still have your autonomy, your own home, independence, (though psychologically it may be just as hard) physically and legally it is easier to separate from the abuser. Speaking psychologically, there is also loyalty, a sense of being beholden to your mate as the totality of your lives are intertwined- the guilt or fear of leaving, might be overwhelming. It looks like apples and oranges to me.

The reason this gets me going is because so much of our society if build on the Appearance of things rather then the reality. If you are driving a luxury car it looks like you can afford it, the same with handbags, shoes, and homes- the reality as we are so painfully finding out is that the majority of folks are in debt for an image. We are all about boosting the upgrade, with relationships, we meet someone and there is no moment to get to know, make up your mind, it’s hyper drive from “Who are you?” to “That’s ma Boo”. The texting, the jumping into to bed, the possessiveness, the drama of the Baby’s Mama, and before you know it you’re all entangled and it’s been two weeks (Romantic Comedy Syndrome) the process of developing relationships is antiquated in our high tech world. The benefit of taking it slow was that is afforded you the time to spot the red flags that could save your life. Crazy doesn’t stay quiet for long! (You can’t tell me I’m wrong) Like a my Godfather once told me, “If a person wants to move forward that good foot can’t stay in front for long”.

Over the past decade the instances of violence in teens has risen and is all too common. We have high school couples who have increased the intensity and drama in there upgraded relationships calling each other “husbands” and “wives” which is all fine we did it back in the day but in light hearted jest, however now some this children are taking it to mean that a young girl belongs to him, and should Obey him, and that he has in some twisted sense of reasoning the right to lay hands on her like he was her father (Whoops now a days her daddy can barely tan a hide without being charged) something has gone awry. Teens are mimicking what they are seeing, we are giving them the information that this is what a relationship looks like. Adolescence is a training ground. We need to upgrade the training program by getting real as adults and creating some relationship models that don’t involve an emergency room visit

Let’s stop playing games, let’s get real, it’s abuse, yes, it’s assault, yes, it is not domestic violence, there is well enough drama in the situation without an accelerant. Chris Brown ASSAULTED his girlfriend. I’m not trying to belittle their relationship rather put it into perspective.

Now you know I love my gossip blogs solely for the fact that it keeps me current so that I relate to the youth (oh give my points for a plausible excuse) a number of these sites have referred to the incident as being a “Beat down” and THAT pissed me off, or so many reasons. Now I know we are talking about a gossip blog but to refer to this assault as a beat down? There is a flag on play- foul! It just sounds insensitive, I have always thought of a beat down a kind of ha ha, something you go “DAMN” with your hand over your mouth as giggle a little sort of tone to it. Shug Knight, gets beat down, or has some one beaten down, scantily clad club girls vying for the attention of some overly tatted up (more than likely short) rapper dole out beat downs, the chicks on the Bad Girls Club engage in beat downs, but a man putting his hand on a woman who he is in an intimate relationship with not so much. I know it’s a hip term but it lacks respect for the severity of what happened. I know there are those who won’t agree, those who will think that I’m over reacting, but words have power and when you use a relaxed fit colloquialism in reference such an offensive act downgrades it. Using the proper- legally harsh term Assault and Battery will remind those who might think of it as a “Beat down” that their asses can go to jail for laying their hands on someone- it’s no joke and it’s not casual. Let’s stop treating it that way by using casual language. Enough!

Which brings my to my final issue with this whole fiasco: When are we going to realize that the adage “You reap what you sow” is not just a catchy phrase from that perennial best seller. It’s true, when has anyone planted a tulip and gotten a cabbage? We pump violence, all sorts of violence into our society in every form and fashion, and then when we get desensitized to one level what do we do? That’s right we upgrade, look at slasher movies from the seventies and current films like the SAW series, gone is the insinuation, we need to see the gore. I recall in the 1995 when the Xena Princess Warrior series debuted I loved her; she was an Amazon, strong, fearless, and could kick ass. Where she could hold her own (and as the heroine most times she came out on top) it always disturbed me that the villains (often men) would come at her full force without compunction that she was a woman. It was almost never mentioned. We see more inter-gendered fights in movies and television, Buffy the Vampire Slayer comes to mind, and it’s somehow ok, it always gives me an uneasy feeling when I see it, that fight scene in Mr. & Mrs. Smith disturbing… Then there is the Hip-Hip culture long known for its misogyny and the glorification of the Pimp/Hoe culture. Even when these mediums seek to “educate” there is still this perverse underlying glamorization of the subject – the glamorization of the victim as they get revenge, seldom do we see the after math of them dealing with the process of healing after the event. Not quite the Romantic Comedy Syndrome, but something akin.

We have become a society that preaches violence, and greed with almost every breath. For us Shakespeare’s “To thine own self be true”, has come to mean, “I’m just doing me, screw everybody else - screw the outcome as long as I am fine it’s all good” No it is not! Let me let you in on a little secret, personally I fear outside, foreign terrorist less then some of the kids I take the subway with. We won’t have to be attacked, our enemies can just sit back and watch as we self destruct from moral decay and self-harming. It hurts my heart to see that lack of respect, regard and tolerance we as neighbors, countrymen, as human beings display. The fact that the greed is so great that media outlets, run by adults, the majority of whom have children, couldn’t see fit to take the high road in this situation- sure it’s “news” it’s salacious, yes but these are two individuals barely cutting their teeth on adulthood, and they just hit a huge, painful learning curve. There are times when less is more we really don’t need to see her battered police pictures, we know all too well what a beaten woman looks like, and if per chance you have forgotten, turn on any television station, go to a movie, hell walk down a street, it shouldn’t take long before your memory is jogged.

Leave it alone.

Thought o'da Day

You have to think that this Re-Depression is the great equalizer.
Now rich and poor are all on government assistance, I mean what is a bailout but welfare? Where I don't think that those "Golden Parachute" boys of banking are putting their utility bills in their children's names, it might not be long before they come to acquire the very refined ghetto palate that will have them appreciating a good ol' fashioned government grill cheese sandwich. We might be seeing a few of them on the subway in their wear worn tailored suits and hand-made Italian shoes soliciting donations:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to bother, you my name is Chadburn Montgomery Talbort III, you might not knowit by looking at me now but and I went to Yale, was a trader on Wall Street and then became the CFO of a fortune 500 company. I lived on York avenue, had a house in the Hamptons and vacationed in St. Barts, but now that's all gone. My wife and children are reduced to buying off the rack and I myself have lost my expense account. If you could spare anything 5, 10, 50 million dollars I would be so appreciative. As we speak my wife's lips are deflating and her forehead is starting to wrinkle. Since we could not afford our annual family trip to St. Barts and I cannot afford a spray tan, as you can see I am fading. Please, any thing at all, a car service, a coupon to the spa anything at all, God Bless..."

It is far harder to have had and have to break, then to have been broke all along!

De-Viced

I have finally figured it out what my problem that is. What I lack is a vice, some fated flaw that concomitantly brings out the best and worst of my personality and talents, something that would make me at once endearing and revolting. I feel oddly well adjusted in this maladjusted world. For as crazy and misplaced as I am on this orb statistically I am bizarrely stable. I have read countless self help books and have actually been able to help myself (not just project my new found knowledge on others like chunky vomit) I have learned how to self analyze and communicate my feelings, as well as take responsibility for my actions and non-actions. Most importantly I know EXACTLY where I’m fucked up! My propensity towards honesty has made me 1) let people know 2) ask myself if I am ok with that particular fucked-up-ness, and 3) if not, resolve to work on those places. . Though have never been to therapy, I have had a tarot card or rune read from time to time. I am not and have never been escape seeker, which is in most cases the root cause for take a Vice.

Let’s take a brief look at the history of the Vice:

Vice:
1. Immoral habit: an immoral or wicked habit or characteristic
Lying is the least of her vices.

2. Depravity: immoral conduct

3. Prostitution, gambling, and drugs: criminal activity connected with prostitution and other sexual offenses, gambling, and illegal drugs (often used before a noun)


The vice and stardom, celebrity or we can go as far to say genius, have been linked for as long as we can research (Billy Holiday, Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Keith Richards Karen Carpenter you get the idea). However, in the new Millennium the advent of the Internet has transformed the vice from a dirty little secret into a priceless career booster with its instantaneous full disclosure. Let’s call it the [Amy] Winehouse Effect. The Internet has also made it possible for the average Joe the Plumbers to become mini celebrities of online social networks where their vices can be documented and displayed in perpetuity.

The modern day vice looks quite different from her old school ancestors. Opium, peyote, marijuana, cocaine, heroine, tobacco, prescriptive pills, and alcohol were standards, but just before the change of the century the scope was broadened as the species found new ways of over indulging in average everyday activities thusly transforming them into a “taboos”. Shopping and sex topped the new list. Soon anything done in excess could be considered a vice of sorts. It must be clearly understood that all “vices” are not considered equal, not by a long shot, those that lead to physical and spiritual dissipation still top the list.

Let Me Get an Upgrade:

In the ‘70’s sex was harmless and love was free, get it where you can, and sometimes that meant in broad daylight with a person you just met but whose fringe vest you dug. Now a days with venereal diseases that laugh at antibiotics, stay with you for life, or could possibly end it, sex is more terrifying than titillating. Personally I have a six-page application form (available for download in PDF form at ifyoueverhopetohitit.com) and a bodily fluids collection testing kit that I require before going to second base. Have you ever seen the pamphlets for genital warts? Then you understand my prudence. I am clear that since sex has turned into an episode of CSI, I’m pretty sure that it will not be the official vice of Miz. Thrope. As an aside, in shopping for a vice I am leaning toward something that can be done alone. The sex thing requires meeting someone, creating a safe word, too complicated and though I have great affection for the male member, I have found that it is generally attached to something troglodyte in nature. If only, if only you could get one without that pesky attachment, now where oh where could a girl find something like that?

It’s About Hygiene:

I can not tell you the number of times that I found myself in a bathroom stall of a beat pulsing nightclub with a girlfriend who ask me to accompany her. I say “sure’ thinking she needed a wingman to wade through the sea of dancing bodies, as not to get lost. To my surprise I am pulled into the cubical with her where she whips a packet of coke from her décolletage. It never fails I always fall for it. It must be the same mental block that has women not realize that their foul mood is PMS until they literally see red. There were times when the potty summits were three deep in a stall, and once at the after-hours club Save the Robots I actually had to pee while four people took hits in the corner. No judging, no judging, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Luckily my bare black ass was no competition for the white pony in the room.

Strangely I was never drawn to drugs, I think that I was scared straight by that college student in the ‘80’s who did a Quaalude while drinking alcohol and slipped into a coma dying some decade or something later. I was not trying to play with fire. Cocaine never enticed me, the whole snorting thing freaks me out, I’d probably sneeze and waste my money and needles are out of the question. Mary Jane and I never hit it off. The common Gateway drug was always locked for me. Once on a trip to Jamaica I smoked, it only made me paranoid and sluggish and gave we a weird internal body tick. I couldn’t see how people could function in that state; I guess they kinda don’t huh?

Another stipulation in my adopting a vice would some basic hygiene. Using a public bathroom to pee is bad enough but to brave the germs to take a bump, um…no. I see that there is a sharing sort of communal, cum-ba-yah vibe with drug use. I’m not parsimonious by nature but passing off things used orally or intravenously by folks I don’t really know… um… No (see bodily fluids collection testing kit – Hep-A, B, C…)

See, I’m a control freak, I don’t like the concept of anything that might get a hold of me and not let go, be it man or medicine. I do however like the drink. Oh I revel in the sweet gentle spread of warmth that a full-bodied red gives you, or the clear headed buzz only Sake delivers, vodka creeps up, then bam! And tequila, well let’s just say that I know Jose Cuervo so well I call him Joe, he, unleashes the beast. Ah I know my friends well. However I found that as I grow older I do not like to be drunk, and I like less waking up hung over. In addition alcohol has a bloating effect, and let’s be clear, I what the RCS (Romantic Comedy Syndrome) version of debauchery, I want to indulge- but look flawless, like I just stepped out of the make up trailer. Honestly, I don’t look good puffy. Plus I am a stickler for the tell tale that if you drink alone you have a problem, as a child of an alcoholic… well I don’t like to play with fire.

A Debt-triment to Your Health:
Shopping seems like a new fangled vice that I could be quite good at, except for two things, first, I have an ethical tug of war with needless consumerism, I get physically angered with the idea that I need something else. Oh, it’s a whole mental dog and pony show that happens when I feel like I have to buy something, and not just another bag, or pair of boots – I’ll put off buying eggs on principle “Do I really need these eggs is the media just making me think I need eggs?” Mean while the next morning I’m screwed because I can’t make an omelet ‘cause I was bunking the system! The second issue is, I don’t support the accruing of debt. Given our current economic situation, the whole concept of having to show that you owe money before anyone will loan you money is asinine. No I prefer to work with the old Clinton, pay as you go methodology. The only zeros I like to see are on my bill balances! Oh there is a third thing, I live in New York City- closet and storage spaces are always limited.

So it’s not looking good for my finding a vice. I don’t like drugs, they will ruin what little looks I have (or have purchased) either making me too thin (although I am curious), or bloated. The harder set of drugs would definitely at a point jeopardize my credit rating and my dental work. Sex is out because I don’t want to have anything on my genitals that is usually on the terribilis family, and shopping while tempting, is wasteful and ethically against my personal philosophy.

Wait - there is one thing that I indulge in daily and am obsessed about, it’s free, and if I can convince a few million people that it’s cool enough to engage in, it might just catch on. I get high, on Honesty and Integrity. It’s a heady brew; a combination that is more powerful than absinthe and the contact high is wicked! It’s so rare, that when others sense that you’re doing H.I. they are oddly draw to you but at the same time scared shitless. I mean you have to be hard-core crazy to do that shit man. Yeah guess in a way I’m a totally stoner, a junkie, and to be honest (whoop see there, I’ve been using) I have O.D. several times. Since my vice is relatively new I don’t know the penalty for using or dealing, but the good news is that I’m not alone. I have a really strong feeling that our new president is hopped up in the same thing!
ROCK ON ROCKER!

Quote o'da Day

On Long Distance Relationships:

When one girlfriend asked the other how she could be in love with a man she never saw? The woman replied “I love the idea of him, because the idea never lets me down and it never disappoints!”

A Personal Parable of Sorts

There were three friends in deep contemplation, struggling to collectively complete a thought:
“So wait Jesus turned what into wine?” one man asked
“Water” said the woman.
“Then what did he turn into bread?” said the other man,
“A stone” she replied.
“No” the first man interjected, “He turned watering to wine, and made a loaf of bread feed the multitudes.”
“Ok, then what did he do with the fish?” The second man asked.
“The disciples were out in the boat and their nets were filled with fish,” said the first.
“No, no that was before they were disciples, that how he got them to follow him” The woman said.
They sat for a moment each sorting the frayed facts out for themselves.
They came to the conclusion that between the three of them they made one half decent Christian, individually they were going to Hell.

The moral of the story: Eat some fish or at least some bread before imbibing wine, and at some point in the evening what’s in your cup should become water.

Associative Displacement

I know that I am not your average sort of gal. I never have been. Ever since I can remember I have had a very different perspective on this thing called life, and the dominant species on the planet has always perplexed me. For the most part what I see has the Scooby Doo effect on me haarrummmph? I just don’t get. The things that are of import to the masses just don’t interest me much- or shall we say not to the same degree. Perhaps my value system needs to be reset to the common calibration because I am way off the mark.

Take fashion, I’m into it, I like to look good, in fact at times the idea of a well crafted outfit is the only reason I can find to leave my house, (Last year I had an obsession with accessories it was all about pearls) however I refuse to go into debt to look hip, and I will certainly be damned to hell if I ever spent $3,000 dollars on a bag (if I ever did -know that it came with $2,950 cash sewn into the lining). That being said if I were guaranteed to carry that bag at least 1,500 times I could rationalize paying $2.00 for a purse (that is how I rationalize my Prada coat). So I am not immune to fashion per se. Albeit I can’t comprehend fad fashion, in one season out the next, you would think with all this, “Save the planet - go green” rhetoric we would start to see a shift – um, not so much. Well let’s just make vegan shoes, that are biodegradable you can bury them next season when you buy a new pair guilt free.

Conceptually I don’t fully get the Fad Fashion because I can’t see why would I want to look exactly like everyone else? I find it very depressing when you see a group of girls heading out for an evening and they all have on skinny jeans, satiny patterned umpire waist tops, foot wear ranging from the strappy pump, or booties and their hair is flat ironed within an inch of making them Asia. Somewhere in their minds they think they are going to stand out! Even the fashion deviants look alike, ride the L train across 14th street and you can always tell who’s going past 1st avenue into Williamsburg. No matter how you slice it, it’s all a uniform, I’ll pass. Once a scouting representative for the Rockettes asked me if I would be interested, my wry reply was” That, is my worst nightmare, standing in a line of 30, girls all wearing the same outfit, why would I want to do that?!”

I do not view what a person wears as a barometer of how “cool” they are. Trust, a well tailored jacket and a rocking pair of boots rarely escape my notice but I take it for what it is, a smart fashion sense and in some cases a willingness to live beyond one’s means. I am more impressed by what comes out of a person’s mouth, then their closet. I care about what you stand for, not what pumps you stand in. If you are a fashion do and an intellectual don’t you’re done for me. Looking good isn’t enough; it’s being or doing good, and having a point of view that matters. We don’t have share an opinion but at least take a moment develop one. As a society, beauty and hip-ness warrant exemptions. You can be stupid, untalented, mean, arrogant, rude, discourteous basically an *sshole but if you look good and are dressed well then it’s all good. It’s ridiculous, in my book if you can look good while holding a decent conversation I hear a choir of celestial angels sing. On the other hand if you’re a crappy dresser with bad skin and a glowing vocabulary you are welcome at my table anytime.

I am really outside of the norm when it comes to relationships. Ok, ok, I know what you’re thinking, relationships become hard when you don’t like people. True enough but even before I realized that I wasn’t a fan of the species, I never subscribed to the idea of Dating to Eat; going out with a guy just to have something to do, or have a great meal, even when you know good and well you have no real interest the person beyond having them pay the bill. Look, whether in feast or famine, recession or a booming economy it is my belief that people work too hard for their money to be toyed with. Personally there is no meal worth sitting across from a person I have little interest in for two hours, I’d rather go to the dentist, at least there’s would be a point.

Where Sex in the City was supposed to exalt the lives of single, independent women it actually ended up highlighting how desperate and pathological single women can be. I can’t get down with being with someone, anyone just so that I won’t be alone. What is so terrifying about being alone? Barring the fact that it might take a week or two (depending on the weather) for authorities to find your dead body in your apartment, being single isn’t so bad. It’s better than being in a bad relationship, but perhaps that’s just me. I like being alone, and some of the best conversations I have had have been with myself, I’m quite witty and insightful, sure I can be a ball buster but I’m rather entertaining if I don’t say so myself, and myself agrees.

There is also this general consensus that you can be a self absorbed, self involved, ego maniac, and inflict that sort of behavior on everyone in your life (parents siblings, friends, co-workers etc.) yet someone should want – should feel privileged to get to spend the rest of their life with you. Whenever I hear people talking relationships 95% of the time they’re talking about what the other person is doing for them. A guy’s great because he buys her x,y, and z, he pays for this or that, gets her hair and nails done, and takes her here or there. Seldom do I hear about what they can contribute to the life of the other person. It’s all about what you can get, not what you can give. It strikes me as odd.

What it boils down to is a sense of loathing for superficiality. I mean the majority of people flocking to yoga in the states are less concerned with the spirituality of the practice as they are about what it’s going to do for their guns and abs, yet they run around saying “Namaste” with that cylinder mat carrier on their backs clueless. I hate the idea that people think that having the hot new bag or phone or car makes them any more or less, I hate that it has trickled down to our children. I hate that even as much as it should be true when you tell an authentically odd looking child that it doesn’t matter because they are a beautiful person inside, that we know it’s not true in this world, and what’s worse is that they know too. I hate that people are more concerned with being ”hot” Then they are with being informed, and that instead aspiring with age to grow more comfortable in our own skins, we are compelled to pull it tight and cut it off. Haarrummmph- I just don’t get it, but now I’ve done worked myself into a tizzy I best be grabbing my yoga mat to in the hopes of finding some peace, or just the peace of mind that I’ll look hot in my bikini come Spring break! Namaste…

For the record:
Namaste- two Sanskrit words - namah + te - meaning " I bow to that (divinity) inherent in you."

In An Instant: The Romantic Comedy Symdrome of Life

Although I am highly misanthropic, I have lived most of my adult life under the belief, the hope that in an instant your life can change – For the better. It is romantic comedy syndrome (RCS), where the down and out protagonist gets the unexpected chance of a lifetime and money and love arrives in a perfect package before the credits roll. It’s akin to the hope that people cleave to before New Year’s, the thing that makes them pay the exorbitant fees to be amongst drunk and irritating strangers in clubs, restaurants and anonymous parties, (I never quite got the whole Times Square thing- What the hell is that about? Squished into a contained area, braving sub-degree temperatures to see a ball lowered) As the seconds tick down and the clock strikes twelve they harbor the hope that something in the world, or in their lives will change. The truth of the matter is that when the clock strikes, it is the first of the month and your rent is due!

There is proof that the trajectory of a life can be changed in a matter of seconds. Think of the lottery winner as the last ball up signs their name to a multi- million dollar check, (though history has also shown that they end up miserable after the millions – Oprah did a whole show about it)- but I digress. Perhaps it is my nature but the life altering instances seem to lean towards the unpleasant, tragic sort, albeit there is something of beauty begotten out of it, even if it is just a movie of the week or a Lifetime Original Story it comes with a paycheck and a C-list cast. That’s more than the average Joe dreams of.

My mind goes to all the unexpected incidents of nature or man that drastically alter the course of the lives of many, either by cutting them short or by leaving them behind. The tsunami in Thailand instantly wiped out whole villages, and the people who inhabited them. In those devastatingly brief moments Mother Nature equalized those who had worked the land and served the privileged to feed their families living in the most modest of circumstances, and those who had garnered fortune and fame taking a break to enjoy fruits of their labor - even those who might have scrimped and saved in order to experience paradise on earth, just once. Without discretion it was all swept away, in an instant.

My thoughts carry me closer to home and the numbers that now signify something larger then a date on the calendar, or eerily the code for the emergency- 9/11. On that fateful day the 2,955 people set out about their day, boarding planes to go home to their loved ones or to a business meeting, they got up, showered, ate breakfast, fought with a spouse, got kids off to school, jockeyed for a space on the subway, or highway, worried about making a mortgage, car, or tuition payment and wondered how their lives (for better or worse) came to this. Then, at 8:46 am none of that mattered. Time stopped and the problems that at 8:45 seemed insurmountable dissipated. All that we are, all that we strove for was stripped bare in one instant.

In the aftermath, those of us who witnessed, and those who survived were forever changed, having to make sense of it, and our lives in its wake. In the days after, New Yorkers traversed the city in mourning; our pace tempered our moods reverent. People were quieter and more courteous on the subway. The smell of smoke in the air reminded us of the loss of life, and that sense of security. It was the scent of change, nothing was the same, or ever would be; yet things were oddly, peculiarly the same. As artist I questioned what I was doing, why and what did it matter? There was a loss of purpose, I had never quite gotten the point of my life on this planet, but when something as random and two planes hitting the tallest buildings in the city happens, I had serious doubts of ever figuring it out.

After the attacks in the months to come al-Qaeda, the name of the terrorist group responsible and Osama Bin Laden would become household names, there would be colored alerts levels announced on the news (Though civilians were never briefed on what we should do– we just knew if it was red we were screwed) and for a short while in the city there were rifle toting army soldiers deployed in the subways. Travelers countrywide would lose countless pairs of tweezers and scissors forgetting that they were now on the lethal weapon list, as would be perfume, shampoo and all other liquids in larger than a 3. Ounce container.


With time things (at least for the masses) went back to business as usual, there was the idiots standing in the subway doorway when you were trying to get out (or in) people blinding passing the mother with the 300 pound stroller struggling up the stairs alone, people stood closer to the crosswalk to hail a cab before you even when they clearly saw that you were there first, people went back to – well to being people. And I continued to be the same me.

As a couch potato I have watched endless hours of television programming depicting the stories of survivors of all sorts, disease, accidents, crimes, loss of loved one, loss of income and life. I watch as they somehow overcame, witnessing what I called the resilience of the human spirit. No matter how well produced and edited it was always inspiring. I would sit awed at the courage and perseverance of these folks, and wonder why I couldn’t seem to pull my ass of the couch and get my shit together.

I have waited for decades to be jarred into another way of being. Perhaps I thought that some great loss or tragedy would propel me into a more proactive state of consciousness- I mean how many New York Times bestsellers are about that sort of thing? Take A Million Little Pieces for instance (Whoops bad example , but you get my point) I have lost, those dear to me, great chunks of my soul have been amputated however the tragedy seems only to embed me deeper into the mire of despair, solitude and a craving for alternating salty and sweet high carb, high fructose foods, which is when the only thing that keeps me from Googling the fastest, least painful ways to off myself is the idea that in an instant your life can change. Even though the statistics are grossly in favor of it something horrible – that doesn’t mean that something incredibly phenomenal can’t happen. With hope springing eternal I check my email and phone compulsively with the baseless hope that some incredible news will be in my inbox or voicemail, and a new better life is just a click away. So far, no luck, at least none that sticks.

So I have come to this conclusion: if you wake up, then you have to do life, there is no choice, and if you have do it then you might as well to make the best of it that you can and take it day by day, moment by moment. As misanthropic as I might be, I have to say that I am not a pessimist- no a pessimist would never believe in the romantic comedy syndrome element of "in an instant" (with positive ramifications) no, I am what I like to refer to as a Realistic Optimist, A professional Lemonade maker if you will. I have found life to be a bit tart and at times bitter, but with the delicate sweetener of hope it can at the very least be salvaged. And where Lemonade not quite my drink of choice- if that’s all you have well then…Cheers.