Thursday, September 23, 2010

Lorrie Moore

Read 2 wonderful shorts from 'My Mistresses Sparrow is Dead' last night. One short was by Lorrie Moore. I loved it. Smart and cliched in a good way.

"We were in dialogue that was about something other than what we were saying."

"Hello, I am Charlene. I'm a mistress."
"It is like having a book out from the library.
It is like constantly having a book out from the library."

"When you were six you thought mistress meant to put your shoes on the wrong feet. Now you are older and know it can mean many things, but essentially it means to put your shoes on the wrong feet. "

 Lorrie Moore

Friday, September 17, 2010


There are common threads of humanity that are laced through everyone. A new baby (and fatherhood or motherhood), a wedding, and the death of a loved one. We can all relate to the universality of these concepts.

Last month, one particular thread was tugged within me; my Father died. After months of chemotherapy treatments and outpatient infusions, his body could no longer sustain life. He died peacefully in the company of his wife, father-in-law, and son-in-law. I was not there, but I had been with him the days and nights preceding this moment. I am thankful for that. There is no need to tell all the back story, the feelings I am left with, or the shape that my life now takes. Anyone that has lost a parent knows inside them what I feel. It is different than losing a spouse or a child. We all expect to bury our parents for that is the tide of nature. But, much in the same way, the death of those loved ones have their own thread.

And, the love and support that has been pulling on this thread from those around me has been amazing. From coworkers, family and friends there has been an outpouring that I was truly not expecting; nor do I fully understand how to appreciate (yet). My husband and daughter have anchored me to them so I cannot drift off in pain. For all of this, I am humbled and grateful. Each day begins in the present, but finds itself winding through my dreams and memories searching for that comforting and peaceful thought that can set my world back on course. I have yet to find it.

But what currently has me filled with regret is that I have several friends over the years that have lost a parent. And, while I stood behind them as they mourned the loss of their Mom or Dad, at that time I had no concept of the weight of such pain. I should have hugged more and sent less "thinking of you notes". I should have listened more and said " I am sorry" less. For it was my own fear of real emotion that kept me from just letting them talk, cry and just be. These are the true gifts of friendship. I hope to return this favor and many more in the future. But, for now, I have my own grief to embrace. It is changing how I look at the world and how I want to be perceived.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Bring Out the Gimp

Arg. Piss. Dammit.

We listened to the debate via streaming audio/video. I really wanted to be there. But I was not. I was in my home - gathered around the computer since we don't have cable. I so miss the time in my life where I actually contributed, rather than yelling from the sidelines. Alas...tonight was not a victory for The Mountains. I really feel that Don Blankcheck is an easy mark. He is not well spoken and he is a moving target for deceit, abuse and corruption. Did Bobby knock it out of the park? No he did not, fans. He gave impassioned debate that fell short and sounded more like Al Gore rhetoric than a Kennedy-worthy event.

I just want to stew in it. My anger. My disappointment. It could have been so easy to relate to West Virginians. But, once you correct ole Don's speech patterns - you get more folk on his side. Bad call, Bobby. You should have left that misspeak chuckle to the 10 people in the auditorium that caught it!

For now, the bits of sound bytes will be torn a part and dissected. I'm hoping that a few good clips raise some awareness and consciousnesses. If not, we are no worse than we were before.
Certainly no better off.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

God Bless Annie Leibovitz

Am I offended? Outraged? Suddenly Afraid? Shall I vow to never drink Gatorade again?
(he is a black man, he looks angry, he is wearing a black toboggan)

No I am not. I am delighted. I am having a hard time not wanting to sing BOTH of their praises - him for being that smokin' hot and Annie for being so damned talented as to be given access to the amazing faces she has photographed these past 30 years.

Thank you Annie. Since Tiger Woods first came upon the media scene I have wondered why I never was able to catch a glimpse of him without a shirt. I get to see photos of Matthew McConihotty running in Santa Barbara ALL the time! Tiger is physically attractive. He is fit. And, dare I say it: this is what a world class athlete's body looks like. And, lifting weights is what this athlete must do to stay at the top of his game. Let's face it...he is easy on the eyes and easy to think of as "one of the guys". You would drink a beer with Tiger - if he would drink one with you. And it would be a Coors Light. That is part of his appeal. Has he groomed his media persona so expertly that every racist in Georgia and South Carolina, who would rather spit on than speak to a black neighbor, wears their Nike TW golf gear with pride. It is amazing. He's OK; he's Tiger Woods.

Should I care if my favorite golfer cheats on his wife or has some penchant for young, slinky women? Sex addiction? Narcissistic? Should I care if my favorite late-nite talk show host slept around with his ever-so-willing staff (admit it, he has a quality)? Should I care of my President gets a bj in the Oval Office? Well, now you may have crossed the line - take it to The Comfort Suites like the rest of us. In reality, it seems that rather that watch our media darlings or hero's do good and set solid and inspiring examples, we prefer to laugh as they fall from grace. We feast on TMZ, Perez Hilton, and E! Online until we sit bloated, full of our own self worth and superiority.

I ain't perfect, I do it too. This year, I am going to try to be a little less quick to be secretly pleased that certain famous folk I admire have cracks and flaws. If Tiger Woods walked down Lancaster Avenue and needed directions to Capitol City Gold (locals will get that), I'd plug it into his smart phone for him, grab a Gatorade out of my fridge, a Sharpie, and ask him to autograph the drink and my new issue of Vanity Fair. Then, I would try like hell to get him to take off his shirt!

Friday, January 1, 2010


Are you Better at Life? Better than me? Better than The Taylors? Aaron Zom? Spinster Girl?

Prove it! Or burn in your pathetic hell of a life.