I Am Summer

I AM SUMMER

I am the chaos of breeze,
Stirring the myrtle crowned with blossoms.
I am the twig at the tip of the branch,
The elfin hummingbird clutching the twig.
I am the sharp-eyed hawk soaring thermals above,
And the mouse prey, cowering in shadow below.
I am the dove, mourning my mate,
The chittering sparrow, woodpecker rapping,
The blue jay, pounding peanuts in grass
Against winter’s dearth.
I am the honeysuckle and jasmine, capturing the fence,
Married with gardenia in heady perfume.
I am the gaura, posing as butterfly,
Hosting aphids to feed the finch.
I am geranium, hollyhock, rose and lavender,
Seducing all bees to my nectar.
I am the earwig, the beetle, the spider, the worm,
Dragonfly, moth, mosquito, army of ants;
I am the mockingbird, laughing, eating the bugs,
Battling a robin for the largesse.
I, oleander, spread flamboyantly scarlet,
Dangerous, deadly;
Unlike I, the tomato, swelling juicy and red.
I am the green of garden,
Azure and pearl of sky.
I am the water, the soil,
The river rocks, silent, but with ancient secrets to tell.
I am the garden, I am the Earth,
I am all that is living, and dying each day.

Click Link
Summer Garden

TrumpOphobia Syndrome

I'm sure some psychiatrist has already identified and named the trauma syndrome that mysteriously appeared in our culture last Inauguration Day.  I know I have it, with media fatigue and a general hopeless malaise sitting on my shoulders like Poe's raven. 

Unless one is a Republican (for whom things are going merrily along), there are suddenly SO MANY issues to care about -- and so few ways to actually change anything, given the GOP majorities in the House and Senate and the giant, unrestricted funding behind them.

How is it that we have suddenly become embroiled in so many real conflicts in just 11 short months?

I wasn't politically oblivious during Obama's administration, and I don't think he did everything perfectly given his inexperience and his obstructionist Congress, but I don't recall waking up at night in a cold sweat worrying about:

• DACA - and the 800,000 immigrants who were brought here as children and now possibly being deported to a completely unfamiliar country/
• ACA - and all those millions of people who will be left with either NO insurance or prohibitively expensive insurance, especially those who have a hard time with finances now. 
• EPA - currently run by a man who hates the very existence of his own agency and who is sabotaging its purpose and goals -- to the detriment of us all. 
• Climate Change - Not a priority for this president, and not even believed to be true by officials with budgetary power. 
• "Review" of national monuments, which will result in downsizing and being opened up for industrial exploitation. 
• CHIP - medical care program for children which has expired and has not yet been re-authorized. 
• ANWAR - drilling in the Arctic wildlife preserve for oil, when the market is already glutted.  Threats have also been made for offshore drilling in California. 
• Tax Reform - Bad enough for the average American in its current unfinished form but with potential devastation to Medicaid, Medicare, Social Security as "entitlements" will be targeted to pay for the corporate and one-percenters' tax breaks. 
• Every single political move made with an eye toward profit/gain instead of toward the welfare of the American people. 
• Gun control -- where is it, Republican Congress?  Five years after Newtown, concealed carry laws are about to be liberalized?  Really?
• Packing the courts with unqualified federal judges, some of whom have records of racist and homophobic remarks. 
• Racism and xenophobia at the highest levels, making their noxious ways into policies (Muslim travel ban, immigration policies, the stupid Mexican Wall). 
• Misplaced, unwarranted and dangerous pandering to evangelical "Christians," resulting in limitations to health care access, particularly for women, and imposition of religious values not shared by millions of Americans. 
• Actual nuclear WAR with North Korea, and God knows what violence now in Israel/Palestine. 
• Enduring complete humiliation by having an ill-informed, lying, racist president, completely without honor and integrity, who has supported an alleged pedophile for senator, who himself is accused by multiple women of sexual harassment and assault, who has called racists and Nazis "good people," who has likely colluded with Russia, and who has alienated most major countries by his despicable actions and speech.  I hate that this despicable man makes me hate. 
• ...and so much more.  

I wouldn't feel so hopeless and frustrated if I believed in an avenue to STOP this horrible direction.  We're told to look to 2018 mid-term elections and the 2020 presidential election -- but I haven't seen much evidence of dynamic, engaged leadership yet -- have you?  I do think people (libtards, like me) are rallying and coming together -- but an angry crowd is just a mob without effective leadership, enough money to make a difference, and political savvy to make a change.  Are there Democratic versions of the Koch Brothers...and all the rest of that cabal...who so effectively manipulate elections (e.g., Roy Moore)? 

Is this what happened in Germany in the 1930's?  I've always resented the ordinary German people who allowed and even championed Hitler's rise to power, and I personally remember the aftermath of his genocidal actions, but is this how it started?  I'm feeling a bit more sympathetic toward those German common folk these days as I just don't see how we are going to turn this around.  

Things are being done that will have lasting effects -- and not for the good of most of us.   

Things are being done in our name that a majority of us find anathema.  

Very bad things are being done by this Republican machine -- how the hell do we stop it?  

Whatever it's really named, I definitely have TumpOphobia Syndrome, and so far nothing seems to soothe.  

There's No Back To The Catholic Future

Every month or so there appears yet another poll detailing the dwindling number of people who report as members of organized religion.  Over the last 35-40 years, membership has dropped disastrously in the US, although accurate total numbers are confusing.  The Roman Catholic Church has no mechanism to really withdraw from the Church -- although the Church is quick to summarily dismiss women who seek ordination and those who support them.  Its numbers have also been inflated due to immigration from traditionally Catholic areas such as the global South and Pacific Islands.  That there are fewer numbers of pew-sitters, and from the remaining people much less money realized in donations, is not in dispute, however.  (For those who like fiddling with actual statistics, Google is your friend; I'm allergic to them.) 

What I find hilariously ironic are the assumptions made by conservative Catholics, including most of the US bishops, that these living, breathing people represented by the "fallen away" numbers will return if just the right words are said, just the right person elected Pope, just the right conciliatory gestures made toward one group or another.  

It ain't gonna happen.  

There will be no returning to a 1950's model of obedient, compliant, cleric-worshiping,  "Father, what should I do about birth control," confession-going, tithing, Mary-statue-crowning, bleating sheeplike Catholic.  

We've seen the wizards behind the institutional curtain.  We've seen and experienced the horrific flaws of far too many child-abusing priests and their sleazy, greedy, power-hungry bishops, and we've counted the billions of dollars spent in payment of (mostly) attorney fees for this scandal.  We've seen and experienced the corruption in Rome and its humiliating consequences.  Some of us have become as educated as many of our leaders AND all of us have more relevant life experiences than all of the ordained put together.  

• Many of us were taught and guided post-Vatican II to use our own informed conscience to determine actions with deep moral implications, including planning our own families and not remaining in toxic marriages detrimental to ourselves, our partners and children.  
• We've learned through science that homosexuality isn't an "intrinsic disorder" but simply a natural variant and that loving LGBT relationships are good.  Many of our own children are gay, and we're certainly not turning our backs on them simply because an outdated theologian thinks otherwise.  
• We've experienced the actual liberation and recognition of the equality of women in education, the workplace and culture -- not some bastardized version of it interpreted as "radical feminism" by Roman celibates. 
• We pay attention to science and have adjusted our creation and religious myths, as well as Gospel exegeses, accordingly.  We don't buy the fairy tales anymore; sorry.

 No matter what gestures of reconciliation Rome may extend to lure us back, if and when we do return to the practice of our faith, we won't be coming back with eyes shut.  We will still be people living and loving in the 21st century, and we're not leaving those current personae behind to rejoin a shuffling procession back to the 16th.  

It's time that Rome caught up to us, that Rome becomes more relevant to the people it's supposed to be serving in meaningful ways, that misogyny and exclusion are rejected, and that the Life and Gospel of Jesus be taught and modeled aside from the behemoth institution that (so far) has shown more interest in self-maintenance than building Jesus' Kingdom.  I don't think we'll be returning on Rome's terms, if we return at all.



 

The Lopsided Catholic Gene Pool

The Pope has flown the coop, leaving behind billions of commenters' words scattered like pigeon droppings on sidewalks and church aisles in D.C., NY and Philly, and millions of people who followed his every move in the US.  I'm one of those millions whose cabeza is filled with images and impressions from the hours I parked on the couch watching the wall-to-wall coverage.  

Overshadowing Il Papa's charming grin, his genuine tenderness for the unfortunate, his unfailing courtesy (even with personages like Dolan and fat cat contributors), his obvious and honest joy in meeting and touching ordinary people and babies dressed as mini-popes, is my impression of acres and acres of MEN. Men in clerical garb solemnly processing in and out, up, down and around aisles; men guarding and sheltering the Pope from all untoward contact;  men obviously "in charge" of everything (even though I'd bet my last nickel women organized and made it all happen behind the scenes as they do in every US parish); men glad-handing the Pope, so righteously full of themselves as masters of the Catholic universe.  

Except for an occasional sleek and stylish VIP's wife, a thimbleful of congressional representatives, a gaggle of habited nuns and those few, extraordinarily talented and token female cantors at various venues, the only women in evidence anywhere were among the crowd -- often shepherding children.  

Francis' only verbal references to women were a few kind words directed to religious sisters and "mothers."  

What a strange, sterilized, masculinized milieu this Pope (and every pope, from historical accounts) moves in.  

 Not even a shadow of femininity falls on this leader of the global Church if the hordes of male caretakers can help it.  Think of that and consider what a warped, twisted world it must be to encounter women only as servants or in positions of subservience -- never, ever, EVER as equals, for, in fact, there is no gender equality even possible within this ancient institution. 

All decisions made for and within the RCC are limited to the ordained -- and who can be considered for ordination?  Males only.  Apparently, the exalted XY chromosome carries the ontological requirement to perform the mysterious magic.  Women's XX chromosome is defective from the very instant of conception.  

Francis has sparked a bit of hope by calling for "a theology of women" and stating that women "should" be much more evident in the Church.  He has not, however, actually made that happen, short of a few minor appointments, and he has had ample opportunity to do so.  

After witnessing the preponderance of the XYs surrounding him this week, however, I am laying aside all my hopes for any kind of gender equality.  He is a product of his Italian/Latino cultural background as well as the all-male clerical culture in which he has lived for his lifetime.  Add that to the powerful presence of MEN that comprise his world, and the future is obvious.  Some things just never change. 

The Art Of Sloth; Or, How I've Learned To Adore Retirement

I wrote in early February about my angst in making the transition from productive business owner to retiree -- wondering whether I would make peace with a life without structure, without daily have-to's, without goals -- and without money. HAH! I've more than made peace with it -- I've learned to relish every minute of it!

There is just something so delicious about waking up knowing that the day holds no obligations other than doing exactly what I want to do -- for the very first time in my life -- and knowing that this isn't just a temporary state of being. The next couple of hours (spent with my iPad and iCoffee or iTea, while the iDog takes an after-breakfast nap on his iPillow next to me) ensure my minimum daily requirement of vitamin Internet and vitamin caffeine. The bad news is that nearly all of the stuff found on the internet is vitamin crap. The internet "news aggregator" app I use -- ZITE -- is a subsidiary of CNN and garners its offerings from many websites, including a kazillion blogs. While this guarantees mild daily entertainment (and many articles I can't resist sending to annoy a few lucky friends), the actual value of these writings is pretty low on the worth-reading scale, other than to exercise one's eyeballs.

ZITE sends me internet news and articles on geology (according to the preferences I set up), and even in this supposed scientific arena the amount of crap is staggering. Firstly, every article is written in the same Nova/Discovery Channel format of "it's not interesting unless there's a doomsday ending." Secondly, there is an unforgivable amount of "breaking news" stories that are actually recycled old postings from years (even millenia) ago. Thirdly, nearly every article is written using every qualifying adverb and adjective known to Mr. Webster. For example, "such and such event MAY/MIGHT/COULD/POSSIBLY/AT SOME FUTURE POINT/ occur, causing the world or entire universe to explode." This dishonest writing applies to every science discipline I read about, which is most of them. What this really says to me is that no scientist, nowhere, no how, knows anything about anything, or else is too chicken to state any fact for certain. Everything in science is in flux, all the time... which is why the "facts" we read or hear in actual news stories change polarity from week to week. Talk about taking news stories with a grain of NaCl.

But please don't think my iPad takes up my entire day. I've worked through almost four college-level lecture courses from The Teaching Company (A History Of European Painting, Dutch Masters: The Age Of Rembrandt, From Monet To Van Gogh: A History Of Impressionism, and The World's Greatest Paintings), with many more to go. These excellent courses have replanted a little seed in my little brain about returning to Europe, possibly next year, now that I at last know what to look for in great art. I've even finished my own masterpiece (below), although no museum has yet called about buying it.

Oh, and the rest of my day? I garden (see below) and work a few hours weekly at the local Food Bank, but having just had a distressingly significant birthday, I can no longer remember the other 15 hours. According to my Amazon and iTunes accounts, I buy a lot of books and music, and I think I walk Louis the dog and sleep, but I'm not sure. Whatever I'm doing, though, I'm certain I'm really happy doing it. Thank you, decades spent working, for having brought me this time of my life!

Happy Valentine's Day To All (Redux)

I'm re-posting a blog entry from a few years ago as my valentine to my Gentle Readers.  Don't stub your mental toes on the overused adjectives -- I was still young and foolish when I wrote this.

(The final paragraph is, sadly, not true this year as our snowfall has been far below normal -- whatever "normal" may be in these days of climatological mystery -- but spring is definitely on our California horizon.  Why does anyone live anywhere else, one wonders....)

Wishing everyone liberal doses of love and laughter foreverafter....xoxoxox

Clicky HERE.....

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Breaking News: Living Causes Death!

Well, the food "experts"  issued another warning this week -- we Americans consume vastly more salt than we should.  Last week sugar was the demon, and in the last few months we've been warned about e. coli in spinach and packaged lettuce (again), about villainous soup cans and plastic containers conspiring to kill us, fresh eggs and chicken ready to wipe out entire families, farmed fish (bad), ocean fish (badder), shellfish (baddest), alcohol (good/bad/good/bad), and white bread and all prepared food (THE WORST THINGS ON EARTH!).

Their message is clear -- eat anything and you die. 

I've got news for all these experts and for the news organizations that lead with their ridiculous pronouncements:  Life causes death.  Period.  It's the one constant of all life on earth, except for maybe bristlecone pine and redwood trees.

I'm SO tired of hearing this alarmist advice which is immediately challenged by food manufacturers (vested interests) and other "food experts," and often reversed in the weeks following the breaking news. I've fought my own battles with food and I'm no longer listening to "the experts."

I wrote here about my lifelong experiences with dieting, and I'm here to tell you that it only gets worse the older one becomes (if, of course, one survives all the nutritional pitfalls out there).

In 2003 I lost (mumble mumble) pounds and (harrumph!) dress sizes -- until my body went into absolute starvation mode and refused to accommodate any continuing efforts.  It may have been the longest "dieting plateau" on record, and I'll stick to my story that I stuck to my diet and exercise program over the next nine years with NO appreciable results.  Well, except that I gained back 20 of those mumble mumble pounds...the traitors.

I redoubled my efforts in January, tracked every single input calorie of food and every single output calorie of exercise with this dandy little free program, scavenged my Wendi Friesen hypnosis CD's from the depths of my closet and VIOLA!  I've lost ten pounds.  Hips, hips, see ya, hooray! 

I guess my metabolism -- the body's conductor of the weight maintenance symphony -- decided nine years was long enough to be on strike.  Seriously -- I'm doing NOTHING different than what I've done for the past nine years, so I'm befuddled at this recent success.  According to those same infamous "experts," roller coaster dieting can cause this kind of reaction and God knows I've been riding that roller coaster since I was a child.  Thanks, Mom, for those delicious pies, sugar sandwiches and your pork chops with country gravy.  Thanks, Dad, for your Lithuanian/Polish genes that made these thighs giant silos, eager to store every stray calorie. 

The bad news is -- at my mumble mumble years, losing even one pound results in the Catastrophic Aging Syndrome where one pound lost equals one year added to one's face.  Alert the media -- this is my own new algorithm, affirmed with every depressing glance into my mirror:  ten pounds exactly equal ten extra years tacked onto my already "mature" face.  Where before I had minimal and charming laugh lines, I now have ruffles of excess skin, and where I had actual wrinkles, I have chasms that rival the You-Know-What Canyon.  Dammit!  As this continues, I'm going to be known as the Anti-Olay Woman of the universe.  Those VERY expensive anti-wrinkle creams are not meant for someone my mumble mumble age -- they're meant for chickies approaching 30 who sport a tiny flaw on their perfect porcelain skin. 

What we need (are you listening, cosmetic manufacturers?) is thick, creamy spackle...true skin stucco, caulk or joint compound.  Just lather it on with a putty knife, cover with makeup and there ya go -- nearly human again.  It could be a whole new outcall service, similar to those makeup and hair artists for the richy rich.  I mean, we already have mani-pedis -- why not spackies?

Or, for extreme serial dieters,  maybe we could have little "eyes" inserted, like sexy piercings, into the skin at our temples, then insert hooks on the ends of elastic bands and pull the whole facial skin upwards and clip with a diamond-studded hair ornament.  No one would ever know.   (I suspect some of those aging movie stars do exactly this -- why, oh why, isn't this technology available to us ordinary wrinkly wimmin?)

I knew when I turned 50 that any further dieting would result in a choice between my fanny and face -- I just didn't know that the choice would be so devastating. I'm way beyond the age where anyone is checking out my fanny but, no matter how high I hold my head and tilt it just right, my face is out there for all to see.

OK -- no more whining.  I'm happy that the weight-loss factory is again working under full steam.  Maybe there are shorts in my future this summer ....(hahahahahahaha...uncontrollable giggles).... and maybe next year I'll apply to The Bachelor -- with a brown bag over my head.  In the meantime, I intend to add a little salt to canned soup, eat fresh spinach, and even buy an occasional loaf of sourdough bread.  Not being a redwood tree (well, except for the thighs) I have to die of something. 

Also...my favorite ZITE program brought me a link to this blog, which I'm sure many of you will find interesting -- I surely did.  It chronicles a man who has vowed to perform 366 acts of random kindness throughout this entire year -- pretty impressive so far.

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The Art Of Retirement

I've been semi-officially retired now for two months, and, in internet time (like dog years) that makes me an expert on the subject.  I wrote here about waning client work foreshadowing retirement, but the reality of actually being retired is very different than I imagined.

Since almost 100% of my adult life was structured around employment, I experience a mental "whoa!" each dawn as I realize the day ahead is free of all work obligations and worry -- in fact, free of any expectations whatever.  It's a little like those brief breaths when the Roadrunner charges off the cliff but still treads air -- reality takes a moment to catch up before he plows into the ground with a thud.  I still feel as though I should be doing something productive -- that all this leisure time is somehow slothful and I'm going to have to pay for it sooner or later -- that I'm treading air and facing the big thud.

I don't for a second regret my decision to chuck it in and retire, but I'm not too sure exactly how to do retirement, and I've been unsuccessful in finding any relevant answers online.

As I wrote in the above blog posting from last March:  

"The "advice" columns are so basic and contain such obvious and banal ideas that "duh!" is the only possible response.  "Learn how to budget your reduced income."  "Volunteer your time."  "Garden."  "Exercise."  "Spend time with grandchildren."  "Read."  "Start a hobby."  "Take a class."  "Travel."

DUH!  Thanks, anyway -- I was looking for something a little meatier -- like, how not to be seduced by trashy daytime TV, or how to make the kitchen literally disappear except at regular mealtimes, or what do you do with all these empty hours if you hate to shop, or how to avoid the constant temptation to add to your Kindle collection, or how not to go blind reading blogs all day, or how do you squeeze another trip to France from a non-existent vacation fund?  You know, the really important retirement issues." 

My house is packed with materials from various artsy hobbies I've explored over the years and those fill time;  my new iPad keeps my brain ticking and that fills time;  deciding whether or not to publish  my children's books fills time, especially with the seductive new digital opportunities;  domestic duties and doggy attention fill time -- but the question still nags me -- shouldn't this last, best part of life be more than just "filling time?"

Maybe I'm just too task- and goal-oriented to know how to live without working.  Maybe I've confused "working" with "life" and now that one's gone, the other doesn't yet know how to stand on its own little feet.  Or maybe there's a natural timeline necessary for adjustment from one state to another and, as usual, I'm rushing the process -- one more example of an Aries so eager to reach the destination that I miss the journey -- although this particular destination comes with a headstone.

All the articles I see on retirees (except those referencing the poor eating their cat's food) show toothy, silver-haired couples relaxing with a cocktail on a veranda that overlooks a lush golf course or enticing spa, or taking sappy photos of one another in front of an ancient monument, with their cruise ship in the background. They must represent the few couples who managed to safeguard their investments from the last two stock market crashes and somehow retain the value of their property.  I suspect, however, these depict simply the cannabis-induced dreams of a copywriter/illustrator living in the glorious past that included a richy-rich retirement.  Today's financial reality for the "99%" doesn't approach that luscious lifestyle.

I've believed for a very long time that we create our own reality and future through our thoughts, wishes,  dreams and persistence, which philosophy has proven true time after time in my life.  It's exactly this truth that I find a little scary, a little alarming.  What will my future look like if I can't define my dreams and thus have nothing left to achieve?  Treading air, even if it's very comfortable and secure air, isn't my idea of how to spend the next 25 years.

(Or maybe I just want to return to France for another extended visit and can't right now.  Hmmm...)

If any of you, my dear intrepid readers, have any thoughts, I'd be thrilled to read them in the comments.

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Hello Again, (again and again)

This poor orphaned blog has had more starts and restarts than the last two minutes of an NFC game -- but here we go again.  I read this morning that February is NaBloPoMo (or, National Blog Posting Month on a particular blog-hosting site), and that byte of information gave me just the motivation I needed to re-re-re-re-restart Cynwrites.  The fact that EVERY month is NaBloPoMo didn't discourage me, either -- it simply cautioned me once again to read below the headline.

The operative topic for this posting is contained in the first four words of the second sentence above:  "I read this morning..." as that activity has turned into the best part of my little retirement day -- well, second to going back to sleep at night.

The Retirement Fairy brought me an iPad2 (tablet computer) as a combo Christmas/retirement celebration gift, and, so far, Zite has been the best part of that gift.  Zite is a free app (program) for the iPad and iPhone which compiles a personalized "magazine" of internet articles based on one's preferences of categories, including special personal interests.  Zite serves my magazine up fresh each time I access it and, remarkably, it "learns" by what I actually read and focuses more articles on those subjects.

While it's also easy to follow specific blogs and websites through an RSS feed/reader, Zite brings me articles from hither, thither and yonder over all the internet, unlimited by individual RSS subscriptions.  With my little dog and a cup or two of French press coffee by my side, I read and learn all kinds of interesting things those first two hours of the morning -- not, of course, that my demented memory will retain any of it -- but the reading part is fun.

"Fun" seems to me to be the primary purpose of the iPad -- an expensive little toy to kill use all these available leisure hours.  As long as it's up and running, I get instant email alerts for my many email names.  I can send and receive text messages (since I NEVER turn on my cell phone), although so far my son is the only person who has texted me.  The whole internet is, of course, at my fingertips, although the Safari browser the iPad uses is far more limited than Mozilla's Firefox that I use on my other computers.  And, most important to anyone under 30 (which I'm not - HA) are the kazillion games that can be played solo or with your internet friends.  I have 340 games of Scrabble under my belt (with an 81% win rate) -- but another obnoxious word game (Word Seek) labels and libels me as damn near illiterate. 

Fotopedia brought me glorious photo albums of Above France, Paris, US National Parks and World Heritage Sites -- all free apps, except Paris, which cost $1.99.  (Of course Paris wasn't free!)  I can read all of my Kindle books on the iPad -- and all other ebooks through various readers.  If you also had an iPad, we could use it to talk face-to-face, although certainly NOT at 7 a.m. my time.  Video rentals and video streaming are available, all the music you could ever listen to is available, as are audio books.  There's no way you're going to be bored with this device, although you may end up with a sore neck. 

This blog post sounds like a commercial for the iPad, doesn't it?  This is my very first hands-on experience with any Apple product and I have to admit I'm impressed.  I don't have an iPhone with the app technology,  so you have to forgive my typical Aries enthusiasm for anything new to me.

I've found only three limitations thus far -- the only keyboard interface it comes with is on-screen, which is really, really inconvenient (you have to go to three screens to produce one little asterisk), although you can add a real wireless keyboard to the system.  The second annoyance is a serious handicap, in my opinion -- you can only access one application at a time.  Although some programs do link through to others quite nicely,  there is no real "windowing" that we are all so used to, with multiple programs open concurrently.  Since I'm not using this thing for work, it's not a big, big deal for me now -- but I think it would be a definite handicap were I trying to actually work on it.  And forget writing on it, unless I do add that keyboard at some point.  Printing, even over an existing wireless network, is difficult-to-impossible without more Apple stuff (special printers, special software), so I can't even print those enticing coupons Staples and Safeway keep sending, unless I use another computer.

No one promised that the iPad would eliminate the need for a "real" computer, although that probably isn't too far off.  Until then, I'm happy with Zite, Scrabble, France photos and handy email.  If you're looking for a new techie toy, you'd probably like the iPad...gauging by Apple's recent financial performance, a lot of people do.

So -- that's today's offering for NaBloPoMo.  As with every other resolution I've ever made, this will probably not last a whole Mo, but you never Kno.  Stick around and find out?

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Four Things I'm Not

I'm not a sociologist....
But I'm fascinated with the phenomenon of  the expanding compulsion to stay in near-constant electronic communication with something -- and that something not always human.  Did pod people land somewhere and assume our psyches so we're evolving into a quasi-human hive?  Is this the noosphere -- the universal Mind come to fruition, as described by the philosophy of Teilhard de Chardin?  Or are we simply so afraid to be alone, to face ourselves in solitude, that we somehow need to remain "connected" at all times?  Are our intrapersonal relationships so devoid of intimacy that we're replacing them with pixels and bytes?  Click here for one listing of the top 100 people followed on Twitter.   Except for President Obama and a few news and information services, most of these listed are some sort of pop celebrity -- with over ten million people following rock star Lady Gaga... which gagas my mind.  I'm assuming that the under-25 crowd accounts for this slavish attention to entertainment personalities -- but what does it say about our kids' allegiance to the overindulgent lifestyles of these overpaid and over-valued, under-talented, amoral, hypersexed, inane sleazeballs?  (No offense.)

I'm not a political pundit....
But I choked on my microwave popcorn the other night when NBC correspondent Miguel Almaguer reported on The (former) Governator's current pickle.  His wrap-up sentence bemoaned that Arnie had broken trust with his family and "the people of California."  Huh?  I'm one of the people of California and I don't feel that The Gov broke any trust with me by fathering -- AND acknowledging AND financially supporting -- a child by his housekeeper.  What the hell business is it of mine -- or yours -- or anyone's but the people involved?  It took the media less than 24 hours to find the hapless housekeeper's name, address, relatives and pictures of the child, and you can bet your last buffalo nickel that we've only heard the beginning of this sad saga... which isn't so different from all the other politicos who have done the same thing. 

I have to admit I long for the days of secret trysts, like Ike's, FDR's, JFK's -- and everyone else's -- before the media consumed our world and forced these undesired details down our collective throat.  In the week since he announced his candidacy for President, we've heard more about Fig Newt's love life and Tiffany bill than we have about his political ideals and agenda.  I can understand disclosing facts that would be pertinent to a candidate's character, but the slimy details that thrive in the underbelly of the media could be skipped. 


I'm not a theologian or psychic...
But I don't need to be either to see the writing on the Vatican wall if the Catholic Church doesn't get its act together soon and seriously (SERIOUSLY) address all the crises that are brewing among its billion-plus members (68,000,000 in the US alone, the largest Christian group).  I play daily brain ping-pong by following both a rigidly-conservative online forum (catholic.com) and a wildly liberal daily news source, National Catholic Reporter (www.ncronline.org).  (Membership is required on both of those sites to post, but you can read for free.  Slip on your Kevlar vest before clicking.)

The conservative wing has gained a bit of momentum recently as the backlash to the changes of Vatican II Council continues, with the Pope leading with gusto the charge back to the 12th century.  There are still Catholics around who long for the days of strict black-and-white rules that are never questioned, for fish on Friday and Latin masses with nary a guitar in sight, for never having to make a personal decision without the iron-fisted "guidance" of Holy Mother Church -- for everything that was safely in place from 33 A.D. until 1962.  I've seen many postings on the conservative forum stating much of the sex abuse scandal has been exaggerated and perpetuated by "the media,"  by those who are only after money, and by the great world-wide conspiracy to destroy the Church.  I've seen reluctance -- actually, a complete inability -- to find any flaw in anything the Church does, has ever done (except Vat. II) or will ever do. They appear to me to be more closely aligned with the Church than with its Founder...which I find ludicrous and alarming.

In postings from the lefty side (yes, my side), I see complete frustration along with virulent calls for immediate action against blind and arrogant Bishops -- including the Bishop of Rome -- for the abuse crisis that is still not solved or resolved, though progress has been made.  We lefties dream of the implementation of our liberal agenda, which includes women's equality, including priestly ordination, birth control decisions left to couples, priestly celibacy becoming an option, loving acceptance of gays, intellectual freedom for theologians without censure, and probably most important, decision-making power by lay people.  Currently, ALL decisions in the Roman Catholic Church are made by the ordained, which immediately excludes half of the human race -- my half.

The Middle East is not the only area where desire for freedom churns.  The Protestant Reformation of the 16th-17th centuries did not occur in a void but partially from desire to rectify what was seen then as corruption in the Church.  I'm a Catholic woman (which means an official nobody),  but I'm convinced 21st century Rome is about to get rocked by a new revolution if it doesn't recognize and reform the culture of triumphalism, clericalism, sexism and traditionalism that has constipated it since the counter-reformation of the last three centuries.  I just hope that Barack doesn't hear of these particular winds of change or he'll send in the troops to support this quest for freedom, also.

Grumpy Bits And Pieces

"Peace" April 25, 2011

I used to follow a blog (which name I can't remember) that consisted of several short, pithy sentences posted during the day -- something akin to today's omnipresent 140-character tweets.  These are my "tweets" for today.  Obviously, I've yet to master the art of brevity.

I followed, probably along with you, the blanket coverage of the Japan disaster.  Maybe it was my selection of news channels to follow and online sources to read, but I didn't see/hear/read ONE WORD comparing the earthquake/tsunami to the destruction caused by the United States' use of The Bomb in 1945 -- even when radiation complicated the whole mess.  I think it would have provided an interesting and ironic parallel to the nonstop commentary, particularly the segments praising the Japanese people's "extraordinary resilience" and ability to recover quickly.  I have to wonder..... hmmm.... why was this not discussed?  Even weirder was NBC's fairly extensive coverage of the anniversary of the Doolittle Raid over Tokyo -- smack in the middle of the current misery in Japan. 

I've never been a big fan of a certain talk show host who happens to be winding down her 25-year reign in May, although I've admittedly watched her occasionally over some of those years, including this final season.  She's recapping her favorite shows with her favorite guests, favorite surprises, favorite topics -- and the most favorite person of all -- herself.  With that kind of longevity in a medium not known for an attention span longer than a commercial, she's obviously given her public what they've wanted for 25 years -- surely a remarkable feat.  I just find it so completely ironic when this celebrity, with a net worth well over a billion bucks, tells her audience how the quest for wealth is not important and can only lead to a personal spiritual vacuum. The irony grows when she praises "simple living" yet relishes feeding the greedy with her flamboyant giveaway shows.  I also find irony when she, who has never raised a child, gives parenting advice; when she, with no credentials in the field, provides psychological counseling; when her "spiritual journey" (flavor of the month) becomes something we should all follow to achieve "clarity and enlightenment".  I find it distasteful when she tells her look-alike, dress-alike, think-alike cloned audience that humility is desirable, yet stands in an Australian arena drinking up the crowd's adulation like a plant sucking up Miracle-Gro and sunshine.  And don't even get me started on her diet advice.  While she's exercised admirable (and publicized) philanthropy over the years...the nasty, mean side of me wonders...how much more could she have done and still live comfortably in her seven homes? 

I'm such a dyed-in-the-wool little peacenik that war, police actions, uprisings and skirmishes that lead to war just make no sense to me.  None.  Zero.  I may be able to understand defending one's country against an actual attack or credible threat, but anything less is simple proof of old-fashioned barbarism to me.  Sorry, Republican friends...I really don't get it.  Which means, I've never paid much attention to our involvement in Vietnam, the Persian Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan, Libya -- or all the other places we've sent young men and women to die.  Nor have I followed other countries' similar actions.  Maybe someone can explain to me why Washington is threatening entitlement programs that are critical to the very life and health of various segments of our population yet ensuring our continued involvement in three military actions.  (And don't give me that BS about Libya not being our fight...of course it is, per our President.)

I've been trying for at least 125 hours to produce a "query" to submit to publishers and/or agents to sell my medieval-themed children's book.  The reason for the ridiculous amount of time spent?  The quirky format that "oh-so-busy" screeners require -- which varies from person to person, with no actual rules or conventions...AND...the need to condense a 41,000 word novel into a 250-word pithy, intriguing tease, similar to the brief blurb you find on the back cover of a book.  I've never in my life said, "I don't think I can write this..." but I'm coming to that point.  I may self-publish the damn thing.  At least I'd be certain that the screener (me) would be satisfied.  HA!

Yeah, I'm pretty grumpy today -- it's raining, and we really haven't had any true spring weather yet, although it's only a week away from May.  My roses are blooming like crazy, but they all think they've been moved to Seattle or, worse yet, back to Salinas.  Happy Easter anyway -- Alleluia!

The Joys Of Aging -- Part 3

Continuing my complaining about getting older and not smarter, here is my list of ways you know you're the old person you thought you'd never become.  I'm sure there are other lists floating around the Internet in those "forwards" that everyone passes on like the herpes virus of the 70's, but I swear these are original.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE OLD WHEN:

• You start saving bread wrapper twisties, plastic closures and rubber bands from asparagus, just like your mom did (and you thought for sure she was a nut case).
• You also save paper and plastic bags beyond reason, never remembering that you'll get another supply with your next shopping expedition.  
• Speaking of Mom... you look more and more like her and use more of her methods, and those two things make you a touch suicidal.  
• You forget...pretty much everything...at one time or another, especially:  movie titles, movie stars' names, your grandchildren's names, your phone number (yes, I did), why you were heading to the next room, even if you're not sure which room that would be, which day it is (but does it matter?  One day is pretty much like another.), that you've read your current book before or seen this movie or TV episode before, and where you've put the list of everything you didn't want to forget. 
• You can't see to drive at night so you carefully follow the car in front of you, even when it turns into a shopping center you had no intention of visiting.  Maybe they should make "scout cars" to lead us to our destinations. 
• You look forward to telemarketing or survey phone calls (to which you used to scream profanities) simply because you finally have someone to talk to.  Even if it's an automated call. 
• Ditto the missionaries from the LDS, Seventh Day Adventist and Jehovah's Witness churches.  It's particularly fun when you're Catholic and think you have ALL the answers to salvation. 
• Your shoes look like nuns' shoes from the 1950's.  Wait...they ARE nuns' shoes from the 1950's.
• Doctors' appointments are your only social outings -- and there are plenty of them.
• You have Facebook and Twitter accounts, but you're not sure what the hell to do with them.  Or why. 
• You might text on your phone, if you knew how, and if you could see the damn letters and numbers. 
• You're positive the school systems have not taught any English in at least 20 years.  You can't help but proof-read everything you see online, in magazines and newspapers (yes, you still read them,) and you remember with longing the days when subject/verb agreement was mandatory and when editors actually edited for accurate content and style.
• "I remember...." is the starting point for every conversations, especially when you're alone.  (But who are you kidding...you don't remember diddly.)
• You complain about your neighbor's stupid barking dog.  They complain about the volume of your TV. 
• The last decent pop music you heard was maybe in 1986, you still listen to TAPES of the Bee Gees and disco, you yearn for the 1970's and would also yearn for the 1960's but can't remember them... and this time it's not because you're old.
• The profanity and soft-to-medium-hard porn on TV and in movies makes you cringe -- even though your own language and past behavior couldn't stand up to any real scrutiny.  You also can't believe the lyrics in hip hop and gangsta rap "music."   (And you have to use Google to know how to spell both of those terms.)
• You wonder why the hell the government just doesn't legalize and tax pot, but you don't dare discuss it in front of your Republican kids and their kids.  How did they grow up to be so conservative, anyway?
• Speaking of kids and grandkids -- have you seen or heard of  helicopter parenting?  Does it make you crazy, too?  Do you worry your grandkid is going to want to take his/her wubbie (blankie) to college?
• You have plenty of time to blog and no end of subjects to write about, but most of your family and friends who would read your blog are either not computer literate or they're tweeting in the Great Beyond. 

And finally, you begin to wish you hadn't taken the advice so seriously to eat healthy foods and exercise...is there really a point to living until you're 90?  Email me at cynblogger@aol.com if you know a good answer to that question.

"Say Cheese" -- Then Slash Your Wrists

Continuing the whine from my last blog posting about transitioning to retirement, I had a most unpleasant experience this week -- a brush with reality.  In fact, Reality whacked the crap out of me and left me bleeding in an alley. 

In anticipation of selling and marketing my completed children's novel, I decided that now would be a good time (before I get one day older) to have professional photos taken -- you know, for the book cover, the magazine cover for my headline interview, the 10 x 20-foot still photo behind my interview with Oprah -- all the promotional stuff that goes along with enticing new readers. 

I happen to know, (by virtue of being his mother,) a young man who moonlights as a portrait photographer -- specializing in excellent pictures of individuals, families and school classes.  We set up an appointment for a sitting in a lovely outdoor setting with early spring light filtering through newly-green trees.  He brought his kazillion-dollar equipment, I bought a new outfit, slathered on the makeup, curled the freshly colored hair and whitened my teeth. 

The shoot was quick and easy -- pose, click, pose, click, smile, click, don't smile, click, turn, click, click, click, done.  By that afternoon the proofs were available, and Reality smacked me upside the head.

I wrote about "age dysphoria" here -- which posting I called "The Big Secret Of Life"  as no one EVER tells you that your self-image freezes at some particular age and you forever feel that same age "inside" -- no matter how the "outside" crumbles and decays.

What I found this week is that in addition to that skewed and flawed self-image, not only does your mind play this inimical trick on you, so does your vision.  Until I saw those proofs I had NO IDEA that saggies, wrinklies,  droopies,  puffies,  molies and spotties had, like creeping mold, taken over my once pleasant face. 

Who the hell stole that somewhat attractive woman and put this old bag in her place?  BRING HER BACK, I SAY!

I frantically emailed my son and begged (ordered) him to employ all the Photoshop skill he has -- which is considerable -- and take at least 10 years off my face.  So he did.  It didn't help.  I begged him to take me back another ten years ( to1991) and he did, and it still didn't help.  Apparently, there's only so much time traveling Photoshop can do, especially with a fatally flawed subject.  Where I had been expecting to see Princess Diana, what I got instead was Elton John. 

I finally figured out that for years I've only seen myself in my bathroom mirror (great lighting) without my glasses, and I'm so nearsighted I can't see my feet without them.  No wonder I hadn't a clue of what visage I presented to the world.  No wonder everyone calls me "ma'm" and treats me like a little old lady.  Apparently I AM a little old lady.  Who knew?  (Everyone else... but certainly not I.)

Those pictures have been consigned to Limbo until I can figure out a way, just this side of plastic surgery, to  seriously fool the camera.  Do they make filters that eliminate 30 years of living?  I'll have to check Google....

Also, I'm posting a comment on last week's blog about retirement that has some great advice, I think -- written by a friend who is SO much older than I and who has been retired, with his wife, for a few years.  Just scroll down to the end of the previous blog and click on "comments." 

Now Every Day Is Saturday

In the past couple of months, I've inadvertently almost retired and accidentally almost closed my business.  I still have enough client work to be able to shop for name brands, but my 55-hour work week in 1994 has dwindled to about 12.5 currently.

I'm not complaining, mind you.  I've worked since I was 16 (part-time for my parents) and that's plenty of years for anyone.  Retirement is an odd and difficult transition to make, though, when one's life has been defined by work.

As a single mom of two back in the days before single parenthood was a normal and accepted state, and deadbeat dads weren't prosecuted, my job had to come first or my little family would have become a sad statistic.  I was audited by the IRS for deducting child care long before it was legal -- and won the case.  I spent far more hours at work than I did being a mom, but somehow the kids became successful adults and great parents themselves -- more than a minor miracle.  (Or maybe a statement that they did better without me micro-managing their every move -- teaching a kid independence isn't a bad thing.)

After battling and clawing my way up the corporate ladder (a woman in a strictly male industry, before equal rights was the law), I still had to be better than every other manager.  Okay, they were all men so it wasn't that hard...but still...it meant longer hours, far-less-than-equal pay and very few of the perks the male managers enjoyed.  (So what if I wouldn't have played golf, rafted down the Rogue River or vomited breakfast vodka on a deep-sea fishing trip -- I still wanted to be invited!)  The day I resigned, threw my company car keys on the controller's desk and walked home was the third best day of my life.  Seriously.

Starting a new business in a new profession with new skills but no experience and no potential clients was NOT a piece of cake -- but within a month of initial marketing, there I was -- truly "in business" for myself -- the fourth best day of my life, especially since I worked from home in my jammies.  That was 17 years ago and my original client is my one remaining client -- the rest were given governmental incentives to convert to mandatory new technology.  Thanks, American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009.  My own taxes paid to eliminate my own business -- oh, the irony.

I now have to make a real adjustment in letting go of my overactive, compulsive, pain-in-my-ass work ethic in favor of trying to transition to retirement.  There's very little real advice online in doing this.  The "advice" columns are so basic and contain such obvious and banal ideas that "duh!" is the only possible response.  "Learn how to budget your reduced income."  "Volunteer your time."  "Garden."  "Exercise."  "Spend time with grandchildren."  "Read."  "Start a hobby."  "Take a class."  "Travel."

DUH!  Thanks, anyway -- I was looking for something a little meatier -- like, how not to be seduced by trashy daytime TV, or how to make the kitchen literally disappear except at regular mealtimes, or what do you do with all these empty hours if you hate to shop, or how to avoid the constant temptation to add to your Kindle collection, or how not to go blind reading blogs all day, or how do you squeeze another trip to France from a non-existent vacation fund?  You know, the really important retirement issues.

As I said, though, I'm not complaining.  In fact, I LOVE:

• Having time to write without checking the clock every 15 minutes.
• Having time to actually market what I write.
• Having time enough to do everything that must be done in my life, with a lot left over to just do nothing. 
• NEVER having to answer the damn phone for work.
• Cheering the day I unplugged and packed away my fax and discarded very old computers and software manuals. 
• Having time to actually learn how to use my cell phone
• Knowing I'll pay only itsy bitsy taxes on teeny tiny business income.  

 And the best part -- since I no longer have to structure my day and week around work commitments. every day is Saturday, except, of course, Thursday (trash day) and Sunday (church day).

Reviving CynWrites Blog

It's been a year since I've written this blog (actually my Paris blog during April, 2010), but as I'm standing on the edge of a new cliff, I'm reviving CynWrites.

The cliff I'm facing is (hopefully) publishing and marketing a children's book I've been working on for the last couple of years.  It's in the very final stages of revision and, if my 2011 horoscope is at all accurate, will be ready to face the world in about a month. 

It's apparently required that every author pursuing publication be "active in social networking" in order to have any chance at all of success.  We all know that the term "social networking" includes blogging, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and, of course, email access to every person in the world. Well...forget it.  Blogging is as far as I'm willing to go.

Having been online (to the near-exclusion of real life) since 1997, I know better than most the real dangers of plastering authentic personal information all over the Internet. I've had a business website for ten years, and even on that (which was designed as a marketing tool for potential customers) I don't have personal info posted.  "Yeah, I want your business, but I'm not telling you how to contact me.  Ha!"  A blind email contact form is as far as I'm willing to go.

Besides -- and this must be my age talking -- I simply and honestly don't understand this compulsion to "be connected" 24/7.  In fact, not even 10 minutes/7 days.  Have we as a people morphed into some kind of hive mentality?  Are we that hungry for 15 seconds (used to be minutes) worth of fame or recognition?  I just don't get the attraction of following someone's 140-character thought every time they have one.  No one is that fascinating... sorry.

My cell phone (the old-fashioned kind) handles texting, but there has to be someone on the other end whom I'm sufficiently interested in to text.  I'm not stupid technologically -- but my hand hasn't yet evolved to sport the IPhone attachment, either.  I think it's hilarious to sit in a theater or stadium or (name it) and see at least 35% of the attendees playing with their phone, coincidentally removing their attention from those who have accompanied them to the event... a simultaneous inclusion (someone or something out there) to exclusion (someone or something right here).  A conundrum in my mind -- as I said, it must be my age.

Anyway, CynWrites is back for all the thousands of people who have followed it the past years and the thousands more who will follow in the future.  I'll be writing essays on cultural issues, newsy issues, the adventures of publishing (or not), but this time around I'm leaving the political commentary to those who know what they're talking about.  I'm no pundit, and since I'm back on the political party fence, I've retired from punditry.  I hope you'll follow along even if I'm not tweeting or poking or whatever the heck else you do on social networking.

I've also posted some favorite pictures from my stay in France last year -- right hand column, you can't miss them.

Screwed -- And Not Even A Kiss

There have been as many words written about the Health Care Bill/Law as there are dollars stacked up in our National Debt, so I'm only going to add a few -- everything that could be said has already been said, anyway.

I wasn't around for the birth of Social Security,  retirement was so far off in 1965 that I don't remember any of the flack over Medicare, and I guess my memory has failed so much that even the recent fight over Medicare's prescription benefit has drained out of my brain.   Taken together, they provide at least a cushion of comfort and safety for retirees -- even more so if retirment planning wasn't possible or was ignored.  I know millions of seniors are thankful for that trifecta of government goodies.

Those entitlements have been a part of our landscape for some time now and I'm pretty sure each was a fight, although they did have some bipartisan support, unlike Sunday's House vote on Obamacare.

Every day In my business I see gruesome examples of the damage inflicted by the lack of medical insurance and the inequities of the current system.  I've experienced first-hand the frightening burden of my husband exceeding a lifetime medical benefit, and I worked my tail off trying to keep up with COBRA payments.  I've thought for a long time that "something" should be done about some of these issues, particularly with regard to the working poor and those who struggle every day to just barely exist.  I support on humanitarian and Christian grounds some sort of moderate solution to the obvious problems.

We did not get a "moderate solution" on Sunday night.  We didn't get a reasonable way to provide medical insurance for those without.  We got screwed by overwhelming reform, engineered by the dirtiest, sleaziest politics I've ever witnessed, as the Obamatank rolled over the majority of Americans' wishes. The idealist gasping its last breath inside of me wants to believe the Executive Order promise of no Federal funding for abortion -- the cynical realist says, right -- this from the most blatantly pro-abortion President ever elected.  There will be a back door to that EO and it will be revoked or circumvented at the first possible opportunity (all hush-hush and denied, of course).

The next few months will be interesting and critical as conservatives try to walk this action back to a more sensible solution than has been shoved down our throats (or up the other way, if you choose...).  I think Washington is in for a surprise at the resistance/revolution it has ignited.  I still bite my nails and wonder, though, where ARE the intelligent, committed, dynamic leaders that the Republicans hope will whip the Dems in the next couple of elections?  I hope they surface soon enough to get a foothold in the public consciousness before the next campaigns rev up.  

Here are three links for you that say it all better and more succinctly than I ever could.  Be sure to watch the video -- it's chilling.
HERE
HERE
and HERE.
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"...And The Gold Medal Goes To...."

...NBC, for achieving the record in cramming the highest number of commercials into an hour's viewing time in broadcast history!

I LOVE the winter Olympics and watch all the events that make sense (Curling?  Biathalon?) but this is the first year that I've sustained my own sports injury and had to be carried off the official spectator couch.  Yep -- I'm now sporting a wrist brace for acute carpal tunnel syndrome from running the "fast-forward" and "mute" buttons on my TV's remote.  Seriously -- I'm not kidding.  My  right hand/wrist/forearm HURT!

I record every single thing that I watch - no exception - as I refuse to watch even one commercial, EVER.  My DVR is set to record every minute of the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, which makes it easy to scan through the kazillion hours of events for my favorites.  (I don't know how people watch the Olympic coverage without recording it -- their brain must feel like a pinball machine after all the commercial bombardment.)

NBC's coverage of this Olympics, however, means that for every two minutes of an event shown, we are forced to endure at least eight (or more) 30-60-second commercials  (I didn't watch them -- I counted them on fast-forward).  Since most of the individual events take under five minutes -- many under two minutes -- there's a ratio in there that is appalling, even with my limited mathematical abilities.

Has anyone told NBC that DVRs exist and I can't be the only person skipping their revenue-producing commercials?  No?  Then let the selling begin! 

I've long thought that some electronics genius could make a Bill Gates'-sized fortune if he/she perfected a way to interrupt the telecast just before each commercial and then resume play when the actual program starts again.  I know you can't patent an idea, but if you're reading this, genius person, I want a cut of the profits.

I know nothing about programming or the economics of producing a two-week event in a remote location, so this is from a laywoman's perspective -- but holy cow!  I wish I owned stock in GE, which is NBC's parent company.  I suspect they're making big bucks for their mediocre coverage.

Mediocre coverage?  Yeah -- in my opinion.  I know we're the USA and we're supporting the USA Team -- rah, rah, and all that -- and we have garnered the highest number of medals so far.  Yay for us.  But the NBC coverage I've watched has been limited to US athletes with those few from other countries who were direct competitors.  We're seeing about one-third, or fewer, of the competitors in each event.  Doesn't it seem a little weird that they show wall-to-wall coverage of cross-country skiing but only the top eight or so of speed or figure skating competitors?  It does to me.  Coincidentally, these are also the media "stars"  (spoiled brats)  with the cloying profiles put together by -- you guessed it -- NBC.

And my injury with the mute button?  As long as I'm bitching -- why does the proximity of a microphone mean that the person behind it has to talk through EVERY SECOND of every event?  It's as bad as NFL football coverage.

I appreciate a brief explanation of technique, particularly in something as wacky as half-pipe snowboarding or the terrifying danger of downhill -- but good grief!  I don't need commentary about every edge of a snowboard or ski, and I resent the wiseass commentator pointing out each imagined "mistake" when he's not up on that icy hill risking that wise ass -- even if he is basking in former Olympic glory.

The notable exception has been the restrained and very gracious commentary from Scott Hamilton and Sandra Bezic, who have had little to say during the actual performance, not talking over the music and the skating.  Ice dancing, unfortunately, will apparently be a different story with blabbering Tracy Wilson at the mike.

On a kinder note -- who knew British Columbia was so fabulously beautiful?  Check out THIS link.  I'm saving my pennies for my next vacation -- if I have any left after my medical expenses for my Olympic injury.

P.S.  Don't forget THIS link -- my adventure is only six weeks away.  Vive la France!

The Noses Grow Longer and Longer

When was the last time you believed, without reservation or nagging doubt, one word that you heard from anyone in political office?  Is "oh, bullpoop" your immediate reaction?  Can you honestly say that you take at face value the televised statements from congressional and presidential spokespersons and the principals themselves? 

Exactly how stupid do those twisted souls in Washington and (insert the name of your state) think Americans are?

Or, even more frightening, how stupid are we to believe the downright lies we are fed day after day after day?

I choked on my tea last week as I briefly scanned the evening news.  Mr. Obamarama, having been soundly trounced in his efforts to ram down our throats his unwanted, bloated, outrageously spendy health care reform, suddenly changed his tune and addressed "jobs" for the jobless, amid new and depressing unemployment rates -- while at the same time spanking Wall Street for their continuing evil practices and outrageous compensation packages.  (Obama giveth and now Obama will taketh away, apparently.)

Obviously, some of his czars have decided (since the media has told them so) that the American public is most concerned about the economy, and that's what The Boss should be talking about.  He's also rehired his campaign manager, David Plouffe, as head cheerleader and chief manipulator of the Obamarama presidency. 

So, here we go again.  For weeks, months, and probably years, we'll be treated to Obama The Candidate -- which is the only successful thing he's done in his remarkably less-than-illustrious political career.  Like the Pinocchio he is (who, remember, was a wooden puppet long before he became a Real Boy), he will mouth pretty lies, repeating all the hopey and changey platitudes that got him elected in the first place, telling us over and over and over and over and over (etc.) what he and his "message crafters" think we want to hear. 

Raise your hand if you think this conversation takes place daily in the West Wing:  "For God's sake, don't forget that Americans are completely stupid.  Don't tell them the truth about anything, especially if it makes us look bad.  They don't have a clue about the country's real problems, but don't let them know we don't have a clue about any reasonable, practical options for solving them.  In fact, don't do anything, period -- but by all means make it look like and sound like we have all the answers.  Tell them anything -- they're dumb enough to buy it all.  Above all, don't do any real governing -- just splash about in the kiddie pool and play to the polls. Blah, lie, blah, lie, blah, lie, blah, lie, blah, lie, blah, lie and blah."


Probably, because this strategy worked so well in his last campaign, a portion of the wide-eyed, idealistic voters will swoon again and swallow his swill, Obama's polling numbers will bump up and President O will claim public support and a rousing success. 

Think back over the past few years of reprehensible political and personal scandals (both Republicans' and Democrats') that were perpetrated, denied, denied, denied, admitted to, apologized for and then forgotten. 

Think of the promises made by congressional leaders -- who then backtracked each one in the name of expediency.

Think of the promises made in the 2008 election that have not been kept (transparency of process, for one).

If you dare, take a look at the concerns the conservative media had regarding Obama's qualifications, experience and questionable supporters, then take a look at the lies we were told about each of those.

Lying is certainly not limited to those who work in Washington -- or in State capitols -- but the bullshit detectors certainly seem to work overtime in D.C.  I'm not by nature a cynical person, but following politics (even as casually and superficially as I do) can certainly turn an idealist into a prickly cynic in a very short time.

So, talk on, President O -- tell us what you think we want to hear -- give us another piece of pie in the sky -- move your lips to the puppeteers' dancing fingers.  It's the only thing you're really good at -- but be careful, those are your pants on fire. 
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Trying Not To Empty My Half-Full Cup

I've never known an Aries person who is negative by nature (and I've known more than my share of Aries -- including the one I see in the mirror).  We're considered the infants of all astrological signs -- self-involved, as children are -- but also idealistic and hopeful.  Even when the bluebird of happiness potties on our parade, we, like Scarlett, simply look toward tomorrow and know it will be better...and it almost always is.

I have to admit that this past year has been a trying one for my sunny outlook, and I don't see much on the horizon of 2010 that will keep a smile on my face, unless I turn up my mouth with my fingers.

Oh, I'm not talking about my personal life -- I live probably the most stress-free and comfy existence in the U.S.  But whenever I consider the national and international political landscapes, I can't help but feel a cloud of negativity descend.

I've lived through the "duck and cover" years of the cold war, the fear of imminent annihilation during the Cuban missile crisis, all the skirmishes, police actions, wars and assassinations since the 50's, the attacks of September 11th, and every other danger the 20th and 21st centuries have brought us.  I've never felt as uncertain about our government as I do now, nor as nervous about the competency of any President as Obama -- along with his circus troop of czars and czarinas..

Anyone who has followed this little blog knows my position on the 2008 primaries, campaign and ultimate election of hopey and changey.  The voting public was so completely hypnotized  by polished prose and  improbable promises, not to mention the completely blind and biased media, that critical thinking and cold reason lost the battle at the polls -- and, as it turns out, we will probably all be losers in the end.

I could go on and on in this vein, but I don't want to depress myself or you on the first day of a new year.  Instead, I'm giving you a couple of links to recent articles that will do that job very nicely... take a few minutes and read them, if you're so inclined --   THIS ONE  and THIS ONE.

If you like what they had to say, don't forget about THIS SITE for access to intelligent views contrary to what you see and read from the mainstream liberal media. 

If Gallup or NBC/WSJ pollsters called to ask my opinion on this administration's effectiveness to date, and my confidence in Obama's presidency overall, I'm afraid I wouldn't give Obamarama the B+ grade he recently awarded himself.  I'm pretty sure his grade would look a lot like my math grades in school -- pretty damn miserable.

On that note, let me wish you a Happy New Year -- that's "happy" as in let's pretend the coming year will see some gains in the economy for which taxpayers aren't footing the bill,  let's pretend Congress will do as the majority of their constituents want, not as the dictator in the White House demands, and let's pretend all of 2010 tomorrows will be better days.  I will if you will.
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A Personal Invitation

For those few but faithful friends who are kind enough to read these postings, this is an invitation to visit this blog's spawn,  "CynWrites: Adventure In France."

I'm sure you each know by now of my big adventure this coming April, when I will be spending that month in France.  The new blog will serve as a travel diary, photo album and postcards home during that vacation. 

I promise I won't bore you by writing about each meal, each time I can't communicate with a native and each time I get lost -- but you may find some of the places I visit interesting since they will mostly be off the usual tourist track. 

Also, a major plus according to some, I'll be writing on a tiny little notebook computer with itsy bitsy keys, so I promise the posts will be short.

Anyway, please join me on my trip.  The real fun begins on March 31st, but I'll be writing a few posts on that blog beforehand.  You can access that blog from this one (the link is in the right-hand corner above) -- or once you're on the Adventure blog, simply bookmark it and check in now and then.  I probably won't be sending email notices for every post -- that would be pretty damn annoying.

I'm wishing each of you a very Merry Christmas and sending you good thoughts for a wonderful year ahead.

xoxoxoxoxoxox
Cyn