I’m not into bumper stickers and other forms of vehicular conversation. I prefer to blog. Be that as it may, I was shocked at what my friend encountered when she tried to obtain a vanity plate. All she wanted was “S.V.G.” on her plate. The state of PA couldn't approve it on the grounds it might be offensive. Isn't that a violation of her right to free speech? She explained that it stood for “Secret Vette Girl.” Well, that sensitive matter has to go to a supervisor. There’s our taxpayer dollars at work.
SVG. Hmm. Come on everyone. Join in. Come up with offensive matter that fits the acronym. It’s not that easy. I came up with one. Share amongst yourselves. This is fun.
Anyway, how about those flapping balls (testicles) that truck drivers hang off the back of their rigs? That’s what I call offensive. "Mommy, why does that truck have boy parts?" Maybe my friend should add big rubber boobies to her grill or a vagina muffler? Let’s have motorists remove sex parts before we start worrying about the now maligned letters S, V and G. Somebody quick alert Sesame Street. The alphabet better start flying under the radar.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Powell's Endorsement
I’m thrilled Colin Powell articulated so specifically what I think about the upcoming election and candidates. I’ve been arguing the same points, but felt as if I was missing something. I sometimes feel like I’m at the kids’ table when it comes to politics. Not so surprising given my family (Uncle Chris is host of MSNBC's Hardball and Uncle Jim is our county commish). The only thing I was missing was confidence in my beliefs.
I’m not a political junkie like my best friend. She’s a die-hard Democrat addicted to MSNBC. She’ll tell you what she thinks loud and clear. Our differences go back to college. While she was reading the latest edition of Mother Jones, I was rallying with the young Republicans at Temple University. There were about five of us. It was a liberal school to say the least. I ran for student council on a ticket that included an African American male and a homosexual white male. You’d think we would have had it wrapped up on diversity alone – a regular rainbow coalition. We lost because we were young Republicans. Even the Democratic white supremacist students got more votes. So, even when it was super unpopular, I was a proud Republican.
But this administration’s execution of the Republican ideology has fallen woefully short and has been reshaped into something unrecognizable. McCain is guilty by more than just association. So, I’ll be a Republican voting for a Democrat.
God, I miss Ronald Reagan.
I’m not a political junkie like my best friend. She’s a die-hard Democrat addicted to MSNBC. She’ll tell you what she thinks loud and clear. Our differences go back to college. While she was reading the latest edition of Mother Jones, I was rallying with the young Republicans at Temple University. There were about five of us. It was a liberal school to say the least. I ran for student council on a ticket that included an African American male and a homosexual white male. You’d think we would have had it wrapped up on diversity alone – a regular rainbow coalition. We lost because we were young Republicans. Even the Democratic white supremacist students got more votes. So, even when it was super unpopular, I was a proud Republican.
But this administration’s execution of the Republican ideology has fallen woefully short and has been reshaped into something unrecognizable. McCain is guilty by more than just association. So, I’ll be a Republican voting for a Democrat.
God, I miss Ronald Reagan.
Door-to-Door No More
Unless you’re a cute little kid selling something tasty or a politician, don’t knock on my door. Ever. It’s an invasion of privacy and annoying. How come we can put our phone numbers on do not call lists but any old psycho can come to our home and knock on the door?
Years ago I would share polite discourse with Jehovah Witnesses on the merits of Evangelization. But after several magazine sales pitches from prison release workers, I’m done with the niceties. I miss my German shepherd.
Do you know any landscape companies that specialize in moats and drawbridges?
Years ago I would share polite discourse with Jehovah Witnesses on the merits of Evangelization. But after several magazine sales pitches from prison release workers, I’m done with the niceties. I miss my German shepherd.
Do you know any landscape companies that specialize in moats and drawbridges?
Oh, Deer
On my way into a 3 a.m. show at QVC, I hit a deer on the highway. It was horrifying. I thought for sure I had swerved into the path of a tractor-trailer. The poor deer didn't fair so well. Let's just say Bambi is out there looking for his mama.
Black with fur trim looks very chic, but not when it’s your car. Five panels of my car were destroyed and I couldn’t open my door. The amount of damage was amazing. I managed to do my airing and sell demilune cabinets. The show must go on. Dedication or dementia?
A psychic told me it was karma - or would that be carma? I feel like all the good will I built up with animals from being a vegetarian has been erased. Since the accident I've had to avoid several more deer. Are they after me? It’s pretty darn dangerous out there.
Last year in Pennsylvania, there were 2,487 deer-related auto accidents (eight were fatal for humans). I was lucky and the thousands of dollars in repairs will be covered by my insurance.
Here are five tips AAA Mid-Atlantic offered in the fall issue of Philadelphia Power Drive.
1- Observe deer crossing signs. Decrease speed and drive defensively in areas with high deer population.
2- Be alert. Honk your horn to scare deer away from roadsides.
3- Never swerve (like me). Slow down and brake instead.
4- If a collision with a deer is unavoidable, slow down and release your foot from the brake before impact. This raises the front end of the car during the crash and increases the likelihood the deer will go under the car instead of through the windshield.
5- Wear your seatbelt.
Black with fur trim looks very chic, but not when it’s your car. Five panels of my car were destroyed and I couldn’t open my door. The amount of damage was amazing. I managed to do my airing and sell demilune cabinets. The show must go on. Dedication or dementia?
A psychic told me it was karma - or would that be carma? I feel like all the good will I built up with animals from being a vegetarian has been erased. Since the accident I've had to avoid several more deer. Are they after me? It’s pretty darn dangerous out there.
Last year in Pennsylvania, there were 2,487 deer-related auto accidents (eight were fatal for humans). I was lucky and the thousands of dollars in repairs will be covered by my insurance.
Here are five tips AAA Mid-Atlantic offered in the fall issue of Philadelphia Power Drive.
1- Observe deer crossing signs. Decrease speed and drive defensively in areas with high deer population.
2- Be alert. Honk your horn to scare deer away from roadsides.
3- Never swerve (like me). Slow down and brake instead.
4- If a collision with a deer is unavoidable, slow down and release your foot from the brake before impact. This raises the front end of the car during the crash and increases the likelihood the deer will go under the car instead of through the windshield.
5- Wear your seatbelt.
White Wedding
My brother’s wedding was a blast. The reception was one of the best I’ve ever attended. The only thing more beautiful than the weather was the bride.
A lot of money is spent on weddings, but you can’t buy good vibes. They had those in abundance. The evening ended (all too soon) with a rousing rendition of John Denver’s “Take Me Home” to honor Jessica’s home state and family. Everyone circled around the couple and belted out “West Virginia, mountain momma….”
A lot of money is spent on weddings, but you can’t buy good vibes. They had those in abundance. The evening ended (all too soon) with a rousing rendition of John Denver’s “Take Me Home” to honor Jessica’s home state and family. Everyone circled around the couple and belted out “West Virginia, mountain momma….”
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Blessings, Monkey Business and Brooms
My baby brother is getting married this Friday. I say “baby” because there is a 15-year age difference between the two of us.
I’ll never forget when my mother told my brother Chris, who was 11, and me that she was expecting. He burst into tears and I burst into laughter. I suppose the little prince was saddened he would no longer reign as youngest. My response was, “And you were worried about me?” I had just gotten “the talk.” I followed it up with, “Aren’t you a little old for this?” Fortunately, my mother’s hormones weren’t raging that day and I didn’t get the smack I deserved.
At that time, being pregnant at 39 was considered very high risk. But the surprise, or “blessing,” turned out well. I can’t imagine our family without David. He added fun to the mix. This was before ADHD was the diagnosis du jour, so he was simply described as high energy. He climbed everything and anything. My parents had to install bars on his bedroom window. Once, my friends and I even handcuffed him to a chair to keep him still for a few minutes.
Besides being a monkey, he was a matchmaker. At age five, he helped set me up with my husband – our family dentist. During an appointment, with teddy bear in hand, David informed Damian that I was bringing my boyfriend to his Chuck E Cheese’s birthday party, but that next year he was expected to be there. He proceeded to firm up plans for us to meet out one night.
While we were engaged, David referred to my husband as “my sister’s new daddy” and the “broom.” He told everyone he was going to be the “ring bear” and wondered where he was going to get his costume.
He did a great job on my wedding day. I can still remember his smile as he danced into the reception to “Meet the Flintstones.” David grew up to be a great kid and made up for those terrible toddler years. He became an Eagle Scout, graduated college and is gainfully employed. Today, one would never guess the lazy lug on the sofa was that hyperactive kid.
Now, it’s his turn to be the “broom” and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be a part of his big day. I already love his fiancée Jessica like a sister. They complement each other in every way and they are off to a great start.
David, Chris and I have excellent role models in our happily married parents. They make it look easy. The problem is that it isn’t always easy. There are surprises - like David! I suspect he is a romantic like me and I want him to be prepared for the inevitable ups and downs.
The following is from Plato and I had it read at my wedding ceremony. When I’m disappointed by flaws in the "fairytale,” it reminds me that we’re not striving for perfection – just our own individual brand of love.
“Perfect love is a god, divine, everlasting, and as unattainable by human beings as the stars. In that form, love has existed in the universe since the beginning of time and will endure forever. On the other hand, there exists also the individual brand of love, which strikes us here on earth like a glint off the sun, making us suffer, pine, rejoice, and sometimes, marry. – Plato.
Congratulations David and Jessica!
I’ll never forget when my mother told my brother Chris, who was 11, and me that she was expecting. He burst into tears and I burst into laughter. I suppose the little prince was saddened he would no longer reign as youngest. My response was, “And you were worried about me?” I had just gotten “the talk.” I followed it up with, “Aren’t you a little old for this?” Fortunately, my mother’s hormones weren’t raging that day and I didn’t get the smack I deserved.
At that time, being pregnant at 39 was considered very high risk. But the surprise, or “blessing,” turned out well. I can’t imagine our family without David. He added fun to the mix. This was before ADHD was the diagnosis du jour, so he was simply described as high energy. He climbed everything and anything. My parents had to install bars on his bedroom window. Once, my friends and I even handcuffed him to a chair to keep him still for a few minutes.
Besides being a monkey, he was a matchmaker. At age five, he helped set me up with my husband – our family dentist. During an appointment, with teddy bear in hand, David informed Damian that I was bringing my boyfriend to his Chuck E Cheese’s birthday party, but that next year he was expected to be there. He proceeded to firm up plans for us to meet out one night.
While we were engaged, David referred to my husband as “my sister’s new daddy” and the “broom.” He told everyone he was going to be the “ring bear” and wondered where he was going to get his costume.
He did a great job on my wedding day. I can still remember his smile as he danced into the reception to “Meet the Flintstones.” David grew up to be a great kid and made up for those terrible toddler years. He became an Eagle Scout, graduated college and is gainfully employed. Today, one would never guess the lazy lug on the sofa was that hyperactive kid.
Now, it’s his turn to be the “broom” and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be a part of his big day. I already love his fiancée Jessica like a sister. They complement each other in every way and they are off to a great start.
David, Chris and I have excellent role models in our happily married parents. They make it look easy. The problem is that it isn’t always easy. There are surprises - like David! I suspect he is a romantic like me and I want him to be prepared for the inevitable ups and downs.
The following is from Plato and I had it read at my wedding ceremony. When I’m disappointed by flaws in the "fairytale,” it reminds me that we’re not striving for perfection – just our own individual brand of love.
“Perfect love is a god, divine, everlasting, and as unattainable by human beings as the stars. In that form, love has existed in the universe since the beginning of time and will endure forever. On the other hand, there exists also the individual brand of love, which strikes us here on earth like a glint off the sun, making us suffer, pine, rejoice, and sometimes, marry. – Plato.
Congratulations David and Jessica!
Monday, September 8, 2008
Ode on a Mac
“Truth is beauty. Beauty is truth.” – John Keats, Ode On a Grecian Urn. I wrote this in my journal when I was about 15. I didn’t get what it meant, but I knew it was important.
Keats was probably referring to universal truths achieved through artistic expression. Those moments of shared connection and clarity are absolutely beautiful.
Most of the time, finding truth while writing happens organically for me. It grows on its own – if I let it. Those four words are my challenge. “If I let it.” So much gets in the way - perception, distraction and ego.
In the search for truth, pathological lying or even white lies aren't the main issue. It's self-deception. There are tons of self-help books dedicated to living authentically. Getting to the beautiful truth, our own and that of others, can be awfully ugly. It's easier to detour into denial.
My subconscious seems to have a larger capacity than my front-load washer. Will all my truth bubble out one day? Will I come clean in a catastrophic manner? I can see my neighbors on the 11 o’clock news saying, “She seemed so nice. I didn't even know she had guns.” For right now, it just emerges in eye twitching, stomachaches, hives and migraines. I'd rather it come out in a novel.
Don't get me wrong. I’m a happy person. I’ve got a good life. The eternal optimist, I think everyone has the best intentions and everything will work out in the end. I rarely cry and it takes a tremendous amount to get me angry. I don’t think these traits are necessarily bad. It’s just that sometimes they get in the way of the truth. Some people are idiots with the worst intentions. It’s OK to cry when someone hurts you and sometimes anger is the right response.
Someone once told me I hide behind diplomacy and politeness. He said I avoid confrontation. I didn’t believe him. But I didn't want to argue - proved his point.
I had shared my thoughts at the loudest decibel as a teenager. But perhaps spending an inordinate amount of time grounded tamed my tongue. I’m not sure.
The problem with denial is that it can easily lead to those white lies and worse. My Aunt recently called lying a subservient act. By not telling the truth we are saying our feelings and thoughts don’t count as much as the person to whom we are lying, she explained.
That’s an interesting take. In sparing someone, we sacrifice ourselves. In deceiving, we receive an inauthentic life in return. It’s saying we don’t trust others to accept or love us as we really are. That's not so beautiful in life or writing. The best prose is raw and honest. If I want to be a good writer, it's time to allow the truth in.
Keats was probably referring to universal truths achieved through artistic expression. Those moments of shared connection and clarity are absolutely beautiful.
Most of the time, finding truth while writing happens organically for me. It grows on its own – if I let it. Those four words are my challenge. “If I let it.” So much gets in the way - perception, distraction and ego.
In the search for truth, pathological lying or even white lies aren't the main issue. It's self-deception. There are tons of self-help books dedicated to living authentically. Getting to the beautiful truth, our own and that of others, can be awfully ugly. It's easier to detour into denial.
My subconscious seems to have a larger capacity than my front-load washer. Will all my truth bubble out one day? Will I come clean in a catastrophic manner? I can see my neighbors on the 11 o’clock news saying, “She seemed so nice. I didn't even know she had guns.” For right now, it just emerges in eye twitching, stomachaches, hives and migraines. I'd rather it come out in a novel.
Don't get me wrong. I’m a happy person. I’ve got a good life. The eternal optimist, I think everyone has the best intentions and everything will work out in the end. I rarely cry and it takes a tremendous amount to get me angry. I don’t think these traits are necessarily bad. It’s just that sometimes they get in the way of the truth. Some people are idiots with the worst intentions. It’s OK to cry when someone hurts you and sometimes anger is the right response.
Someone once told me I hide behind diplomacy and politeness. He said I avoid confrontation. I didn’t believe him. But I didn't want to argue - proved his point.
I had shared my thoughts at the loudest decibel as a teenager. But perhaps spending an inordinate amount of time grounded tamed my tongue. I’m not sure.
The problem with denial is that it can easily lead to those white lies and worse. My Aunt recently called lying a subservient act. By not telling the truth we are saying our feelings and thoughts don’t count as much as the person to whom we are lying, she explained.
That’s an interesting take. In sparing someone, we sacrifice ourselves. In deceiving, we receive an inauthentic life in return. It’s saying we don’t trust others to accept or love us as we really are. That's not so beautiful in life or writing. The best prose is raw and honest. If I want to be a good writer, it's time to allow the truth in.
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