Halloween

Why would anyone either want to host a party or attend one in the CV? This weekend, 2 men shot/wounded in my west end community, shooters still on the loose, and 2 men killed at the east end, with all the guests fleeing the scene when they heard the shooting. No witnesses; no one willing to talk; everyone just thankful they were not the victims ... this time.

This is a common event at a party -- any party, including baptisms! I cannot fathom that any parent would consent to host an event and/or allow their children to attend an event.

It's trick-or-treat night, and Lord only knows what will happen as the excited children run through the neighborhoods gathering Halloween treats. We used to have to worry about unsafe drivers and poorly lighted streets, but it seems that this week, we need to worry more about gangsters carrying real weapons and firing live ammo.

What a sad commentary on our communities.

UPDATING: I had the fewest trick-or-treaters at my door since I moved to this small desert town. The majority of them were young children, accompanied by their parents. The large groups of older teens were absent this year, which was, in some ways, a relief. Guess the word is out that it is NOT safe on the streets!

Hard to Believe

Last week, a homeless man dressed in dark clothing tried to cross the main street through town by cutting across the middle of a block. No street lights; no crosswalk; no success. He was hit by a passing car and left to die in the roadway.

The driver and the vehicle were found this week. Believe it or not, the driver said he didn't stop because ... (1) the car is not registered; (2) he does not have a driver's license; (3) he has no insurance; (4) he's blind in one eye; and (4) he was involved in another accident recently that he also did not stick around to resolve.

Any one of those factors should have kept him from driving, but in this area of the state, that's pretty much the norm, rather than the exception. We feel free to conduct sobriety checkpoints, but it has been determined to be racial discrimination to stop vehicles and check for ... registration, insurance, and a valid driver's license ... because so many illegal residents have none of the above, although all of those terms and conditions are required by law BEFORE operating a motor vehicle.

The man has now been charged with a string of criminal actions, including involuntary manslaughter for the death of the homeless man. Perhaps we all can breathe a sigh of relief that he's not on the roads aiming his death machine at other potential victims?

Ecstatic!

Out with the old; in with the new. What a difference a new power strip makes!!

My new TV began randomly turning off and then back on, beginning with the recent thunderstorm that rattled through our area. I didn't think too much about it until I also lost the "guide" function that allows me to look at the day's offerings and set up to DVR that which I will watch tomorrow. Curious, I got down on the floor, a huge undertaking when one cannot bend one's knee, nor put direct pressure on it, and saw that the power strip was blinking. Deciding that was, indeed, not a good sign, I drove across the freeway to the big box store's electronics' department and bought both a new strip for the media center and for the laptop computer--just in case, ya know.

Wow, I am totally ecstactic with my new strips! The picture on the new TV is so sharp and crisp, and the remote device works much quicker than it was. I know that bad weather affects the cable input off the surrounding poles, but I had no idea that a bad power strip could also affect electronic performance. Guess I just wasn't thinking in the viagra vein ... boosting the performance of an old, tired piece of equipment.

Also, I had the carpet cleaners come in, for which I believe I paid the technician's monthly mortgage payment. I had no idea just how expensive it could be to remove pounds of dog hair from carpeting, tile floors, and a huge wrap-around couch. The good news is that my house smells much cleaner than it has recently, especially since Crazy Dazy was reluctant to go outside to potty during the storms. The tech told me that the solutions used during the cleaning help to dissipate the odor of urine, but also discourage pets from returning to the spot again. However, in my living room, there are many acres of unspoiled carpet left to soil, and winter is just beginning.

I enjoyed sitting outside for the 2 hours the cleaning took, reading a good book by Rick Mofina, The Panic Zone. I picked up my first Mofina novel as I was drawn to the name (how fine is he? Mo-fina!), but I've read several as he writes a good story that would also make a good movie, especially if Matt Damon is looking for work. The Jack Gannon character is more clever than smart, and more determined than daring.

The dogs aren't too happy with spending the day outside, but until the carpets and the furniture are dry and I've brought back all the scatter rugs for their most favorite nap areas, they are staying outside. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and all too soon it will be too cold to enjoy so many hours sitting in the sunshine. Besides, I haven't quite finished my Mofina and still have a couple of hours of daylight left to do so. Priorities, people!

Refining Lies Into [Faux] Truth

Campaign reform needs to be a top priority before another election is held. A campaign is the model opportunity for both candidates and the media to create "truth" that is unique to the individual and/or the PR opportunity. Candidates and the media glorify the tiniest pieces of alleged truth into a campaign for "truth, justice, and the American way," while the falsehoods are shit spun into cotton candy. No one wins, and the biggest loser is people's belief in the government that no longer represents we, the people.

What I have gleaned from the current campaign is that it's okay to say whatever you want to say to discredit the opposition as long as you never have to say "I'm sorry." If you can walk away from the faux truth without admitting that it's a vague representation of the tiniest speck of the truth, you win. If you can find a dynamic way to spin and refine lies into a new take on the truth, you win bigger. This on-going process of refining lies into [faux] truth has been going on in Cally-phone-ya for well over a year, so it is currently impossible to ascertain who is lying, much less which candidates may be telling a piece of the truth.

Campaign reform could include a 90-day campaign with a spending limit of $1 million dollars that is deposited into a special account controlled by a federal employee. If you cannot sell yourself for office in 3 months, you aren't going to accomplish that goal in 24 months. It also should be illegal to use quotes out of context, such as the current side-by-side of our CA Governator and Meg echoing the same words, sound bites taken from past public speaking engagements that depend on uttering the same trite phrases endlessly in an effort to enfuse them with sincerity and import. Even President Obama finally had to retire the "slurpee" metaphor because he beat it to death and it lost its effect. Ditto the change to latte, as well as the on-going car being driven into a ditch, off a cliff, opponents sitting in the back seat, and taking away the car keys. An equally important reform is the ban on using any newspaper articles as "proof" of anything because the newspaper is a political organization that promotes not just its own agenda, but its own candidates. There is no fair and balanced, no impartial analysis, no political neutrality from any business and/or organization that either accepts money for media advertising or donates money to the candidate's campaign.

I am offended by the out-of-control spending of both government agencies and political candidates. CA legislators regularly receive new laptops so they can stay plugged in to their voter base, but our school systems cannot afford to replace the desktops used in the computer labs that were purchased with the big show of technology for all a decade ago. CA legislators have extensive staffs to help them to perform their jobs, while schools have laid off both full- and part-time staff. CA legislators have auto and travel allowances, while school districts cut busing sevices for school children.

Add to that entitlement mentality the millions of dollars that are spent to win an office, money that could be donated across the state to worthy beneficiaries, and it turns representation into reprehensible.

We're always willing to cut the other guy's pay and benefits, but it's time to look in our own lives for ways to reform the process that we created during the high-livin' times and set an example for what we'll do when we're elected. If Meg actually had multiple millions to spend to become the Governor, someone needs to ask her why: she's already a financial success, and the bottom line is that she will have no power to fire the elected officials who are in office to further their own agendas, nor to downsize the huge, inefficient workforce and ship the state's business overseas. If Meg had spent $1 million on her campaign and the other one hundred million in donations throughout the state, not only would I probably vote for her, but think of all the FREE publicity she would have been given in the process!

Talk about showing the people not just the truth of what you say, but what you do and who you are.

It’s Challenging to Run in an Race That Has Already Picked a Winner

Michael Costello has been on Project Runway this season, a local designer with big dreams for his fashion future. He was treated poorly by the other contestants vying for the top prize, accused of being a shoddy craftsman, a cheater, and limited in his design aesthetic. Thus, it was no surprise that although he made it to the Final Four, he was not one of the top three designers, even though he was heads and shoulders a better finalist than Granola Gretchen. The final insult: he got a “bye” from Heidi, not the traditional German farewell.

Gretchen came across during the show as a lying bitch. She was the one who made disparaging remarks about all the other contestants, while putting her “poor me” self out there as the only contestant who has given up everything in her life for her career. She was totally two-faced, while her designs were patently one-dimensional. She could talk up a piece of crap and make it sound like caviar, but what surprises me is that the panel of fashion experts always ate the crap! Her final showing of 3 pieces from her Fashion Week collection was dismal, with a look of ready-to-wear that was surprisingly mundane, but she was selected for the runway show at Fashion Week!

Mondo and Andy were the top 2 designers, almost from the git-go, but Michael was always the most professional of all the candidates. He did not disrespect the other designers, but wisely kept his own counsel and let the others do the dissing. Michael's designs were always evolving, and his use of fabric (even when he didn't know the name of the material) was skillful. His models always looked womanly, with none of the obvious cheap short-cuts taken by some of the other designers to catch attention, rather than be good. When it came time to pick who should go and who should be out, Michael recognized that the best were Mondo and Andy: go up against the toughest and do your best to win. Gretchen, on the other hand, disparaged Mondo, Andy, and then Michael, but picked Mondo and Andy as the competition to beat.

My opinion is that it hurt the selection of the Final Three to have no unbiased guest panelist: Heidi Klum, Nina Garcia and Michael Kors already knew their favorites and were going to send them to the Big Show! Heidi gushed over everything Gretchen did, while pretending that she was schooling Gretchen in the elements of design, even to the point of not booting Gretchen off the show when she admitted in one of the final challenges that she was emotionally defeated and just could not come up with a decent final design or execution. No matter her excuse for her failure to perform week after week, Gretchen was kept on all the way to the Final Three.

I think reality shows are rigged games for people who are willing to roll with what happens now to further their own agendas down the road. It amazes me that small people become big wage earners not because of who they are and what they can do in the real world, but because they play a reality show game and create a persona to draw the media’s eye. Elizabeth Hasselbeck is a great example of a “nobody” who pushed her way into the public eye and now represents an allegedly conservative demographic by out-shouting the other panelists on The [Very Biased] View. All of the current and ex-wives on all of the “Wife” reality shows are another black eye on the mores and morality of today’s viewing public: we watch, so it’s our responsibility that they are on-air and in the media. The Situation is now earning in excess of $1.5 by promoting his gag-me tagline, as well as his life philosophy: gym, tan, laundry. Meanwhile, the unemployment lines swell with well-educated, highly-skilled workers who cannot find a job, much less a decent salary that allows them just to keep their homes.

I wish Michael Costello the best in his future because I am sure he has a future. Rumor has it that he has teamed with Mondo for post-Project Runway, and the two designers will open their own design company. They are both good designers and have earned a future in their chosen career, but I sincerely hope that we’ve heard the last of Granola Gretchen and her failure to launch her line, her career, herself.

Doggone It

This has been a doggie week, with deposits on the living room carpeting by a dog who refuses to go outside when it's raining, but relishes playing in the sprinklers. Go figure. Mia doesn't get why Daisy hasn't been thrown outside, as she was when she was a puppy in training, but I can only do what I can do without injuring myself. Daisy is scolded, but that does nothing to dissuade her when it's raining. She also poops in the landscaped yard, rather than the dog run, so Mia has joined her in that new habit. Perhaps the good news is that I don't have to walk so far to clean it up? The carpet cleaners are coming this week, and I'll ask them how to keep Daisy from using the carpet as her potty, but nothing I've ever tried in the past has worked, so I'm not hopeful they have a remedy.

We also tangled with two dogs who came thundering toward us from under a slowly- opening garage door when we walked after work on Wednesday. Thankfully, the two men in the garage came to our rescue, but it was frightening! I grabbed the smaller of the 2 dogs, the brown one about Daisy's size, and hurled him off to the side, an action made without thinking, but which bought us a few seconds so the men in the garage could join the fray. The men made quick work of getting their dogs under control and apologized profusely, but it's just what dogs do. After the fight, Daisy strutted her stuff, proud of her aggressive defense of both Mia and me.

The next afternoon, our walk was marked with poop: my dogs' poop. Mia and Daisy never take a dump on our walks, so it was strange to use both the plastic bags I always carry and come up short when Mia did a really big job on someone's front yard. I had to drive back to the property to clean up as I'd already filled the other 2 bags from Daisy's donation. I'm not sure what I fed them that had such a strong reaction to their digestive systems, but whatever it was did a great system cleanse.

A small fluffy white poodle has been terrorizing the neighborhood, this time crawling under the fence next door and entering Brownie's world. Brownie barked his head off, so the fluffy ball got between Brownie's wooden fence and my wire fence, which really ticked off Brownie and also got my 2 girls barking. What a noise! The poodle runs all over the neighborhood, so it could be a stray, but calling the pound is an exercise in futility as what you hear is how short-staffed they are with all the job cuts, not that someone will come pick up the dozen or so stray dogs that roam the neighborhood on a daily basis.

This morning, Daisy did what I call her "searchlight" walk, where she crosses back and forth in front of both Mia and me throughout the entire walk. The problem with this is that I keep tripping over her because she'll stop suddenly right where I'm going to step. To avoid her, I pull up short, and the torn meniscus does not like that kind of sudden halt. I use a short leash to control her, but sometimes that is worse than just letting her roam at the end of the leash.

Life with two dogs is still a work in progress.

Wet Weather

We're at it again, assuring the tourists to come on down because it's barely raining and it'll be over soon; meanwhile, the desert is thriving with record rainfall since January.

The storm came up the mountain ridges from the Gulf area, by-passing Arizona on its way to the Coachella Valley. Yesterday, with the windows open and the dogs watching what's going on in the neighborhood, the storm paused over my little piece of the landscape. The lighting was brilliant and the thunder ferocious, shaking the house with boom after boom, and sent the dogs running for cover. Sand is porous, so it doesn't absorb the water, which creates running rivers, roadway lakes, and sandslides that move alarmingly fast through neighborhoods and across roadways. Today, roads are closed and more rain is on the way, but drivers who have their own agenda fail to accommodate their driving to the conditions.

Through it all, drivers push the accelerators harder, perhaps pissed because some of the old fogies slow down to avoid hydroplaning through the rivers and lakes where once was dry pavement. The law says drivers are to drop their speed 10 miles per hour during inclement weather, but the opposite effect is true more often than not. Yesterday, for example, a man was killed on the interstate after he was involved in a rain-related accident. When he got out of his vehicle to check the damage, another speeding driver hydroplaned and killed him. In a second incident, a news van covering the weather-related stories was parked off the side of a road, taping a warning for drivers about the danger of driving too fast and hydroplaning. As the news report was being taped, a speeding vehicle hydroplaned into their news van; fortunately, the crew avoided being involved personally in the incident. The occupants of the car ran from the scene, but were later arrested and booked for driving under the influence.

My yards are drinking up the moisture, rebounding from the recent manscaping B and his lady did for the fall clean-up. If there was doubt about some of the plants surviving the cut-back, it no longer exists, thanks to the rain. The dogs are still at the windows, watching what's going on and wondering why we're not taking our walk this morning. Perhaps we'll go when I get back from work today, but that will definitely depend on how much water is either falling from the sky or obscuring the roadway we share with the drivers. Because we don't have sidewalks, it's a bigger issue which direction we walk and what time we're sharing the pavement with the speeders.

Hammered

Mercury must be retrograde or some such nonsense for all the little irritations that fill life this week, including Sunday brunch at Denny’s. Yeah, I know: living la vida loco!

Jorge hastily seated us and took our order, then disappeared. Yes, disappeared. He walked out through the kitchen with the till drawer and we never saw him again. There were 3 other employees working the floor, refilling the condiments, cleaning the ice machine, mopping the floors, and talking to the cook, but no one came back to our table. Finally, I called to one of the busy-busy employees and asked her to bring my friend’s salad, but it was "not ready" after a full 25 minutes of prep time. At that point, I was glad I had ordered coffee, for which I receive $1 off as a senior citizen and all that. My friend was steamed, but shoveled her salad when it was finally delivered to the table. We never did get a bill, so had to spend the time at the register while the cashier fumbled through the automated system to find our bill, rather than the other 3 she was going to charge us.

I called the toll-free number at the bottom of the receipt to complain and was connected to Kahleel Hasmi’s (my phonetic spelling) voice mail. Nope, I don’t know who Kahleel is or where he lives or why his number is printed at the bottom of the receipt, but I followed up by going to Denny’s website and submitting a complaint. Really? Bad service at Denny’s? I'm sure that will be a shocker to the schmuck who has to read the email comments at Dennys.com.

This past weekend was also the motorcycle weekend in downtown, an event much anticipated by some businesses and dreaded by others, but I cannot find the reason for the thinking. Bringing business to town for one event brings business to town for many businesses: why would downtown business owners be upset to experience an increase in business? Oh, that’s right: it’s the loud, dirty motorcycles and their loud, dirty riders spending money. I forgot that it makes a difference whose money it is: some money does spend better, right? Maybe that’s why Denny’s has become a vast wasteland. After all, it’s on the highway, at an overpass, and lord only knows the riff-raff, senior citizens demanding their dollar off on a cup of coffe, and bikers who walk in the door bring with them their riff-raff, senior citizen and biker money!

I am also being bombarded by solicitations: charities, political organizations/ candidates, and former schools I attended are not just sending out the annual donation letters, but calling, calling, calling. Enough already! I cannot afford to donate numerous times to numerous charities, so I donate once each. I swear the organization receiving the donation uses it up by doing follow-up mailings and cold calls. How about putting my donation toward the cause, rather than the on-going solicitation campaign? You aren’t going to get more money out of me and it surely cannot be cost effective to send me a donation package every single month throughout the year.

Ditto to all the pseudo medical organizations that have lined up to sign me up for their MediCare package. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and voila! I am someone special to another organization whose senior patients stand on-line for hours to receive routine medical care. I already spent 6 months reading all that crap and made my decision, so it’s yet another waste of money to prepare all the brochures and host all the social gatherings to pressure me into changing my designated medical services plan.

And, dear God, why are the colleges I attended so very long ago still playing on my “former student” status and begging for a donation? I would gladly send each of them a check once a year if they would then ignore me for the next 11 months! I’ve actually sent back letters saying, “If you promise NOT to spend this donation on asking for more money, I’ll send you this amount annually, but if you persist in sending me monthly requests for donations, I won’t send another penny.” I keep getting the Dear Former Student letters, so I’ve stopped sending donations.

And, saving the best for last, the political campaigns. OH, my God!! Millions of dollars spent over far too many months for what? Both sides tell lies, shade the truth, slant the coverage, slander the opponent, and pray that their side wins, but what is the prize? A political office? No, the benefit of being elected to a political office is the set-for-life retirement income, as well as the life-time premier benefits’ packages. I was sick of the TV ads last June, but they continue unabated. I am tired of the “personal” calls from the candidates, the recorded tracks that are automated into my phone. I have never given permission to anyone to put me on an automated call list and I resent the hell out of paying for phone service that is taken over by companies who create automated call lists and sell the numbers to … political campaigns and charitable organizations. I bought that phone number, so it should be at my discretion who has free access to it!

I’m done hammering the world into submission this fine morning. The dogs are upset because this is a workday, not a walk day. I’m packing up my gear and heading out, counting down the weeks until the semester ends and the torn meniscus will be repaired. Life without a bulky knee brace is a goal worth pursuing.

Stuck on 7

What is it about our childhood that we are doomed to relive it endlessly until we finally die? Intellectually, we all know that is our past, but emotionally, it becomes our present every time something happens in our life that brings it back to the surface. If we didn't deal with it when we were a child, we have that chance over and over throughout our lives, but for some reason, we seem stuck on 7!

It's remembered emotion, not real anymore, but we still give in. We justify our actions/reactions on how we handled our lives when we were 7 and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that we may be 7 times that old today, as we regress to what we remember from our childhood and apply it to our adulthood. It seems silly, but it also seems right in some weird way. That was then, and perhaps there was a "something" that triggered the reaction and then embedded it into the long-term memory. It was a long time ago, yet we still cling stubbornly to it, especially in times of stress. Basically, there may be nothing wrong right now, but we still harbor the childhood action/reaction response just in case.

My youngest brother was a little boy when our father died. Yes, he lost his Daddy, but so did the rest of the family. Daddy didn't die to hurt his little boy, but his little boy is still using his Daddy's death as the starting point for most of his adult actions and reactions. The little boy is a grown man with grown children, but he's still waiting for someone to rescue him, to mother him, to give him back his Daddy and make his life all better. No one can do that for him, but it seems that he is not able/capable of changing anything about his life since age 7. Hence, he became dependent on drugs so he didn't have to grow up and/or take responsibility for his actions: my daddy died became his fall-back position for his life. My daddy died, so even though I am married, have 5 children of my own and own a business, I get to withdraw from all those realities of my life and drink myself into oblivion so I don't have to feel the pain from my past or deal with it. It does not matter that he is losing his wife, losing his children, and throwing away his business because he's emotionally 7 years old and stuck there, endlessly repeating the worst year of his life while hoping for a different outcome.

When my sister-in-law called to tell me about yet another motorcycle accident, I felt a rage inside me that threatened to explode into violent action. This time, he was arrested as he is filthy dirty, unshaven, and reeks of the booze he consumes endlessly throughout the day and into the night. He drinks himself into oblivion, puts himself and others into harm's way, and then thinks that he's doing the right thing for his family. So far, he's only physically hurt himself, but the pain he is causing his family is immense.

There is no way they would be better off without him, but when you're a drunk who also suffers from chronic depression, and emotionally stuck on 7 years old, that's as far as the brain can process. The problem with being stuck on 7 is that 7 is selfish: it's all about me, the I want syndrome wherein I want what I want, I want it right now, and I'll do whatever it takes to get it, including throwing a temper tantrum to get your attention. Most of us out-grow that stage of our lives, but some people are stuck on 7 forever, especially if they have the my daddy died excuse to justify their thinking, as well as their actions.

This time, I'm not going to jump in the car and go to him, reason with him, talk reality with him. Yes, our daddy died when we were children, but that was literally almost 50 years ago. Time moves on, and we have to move with it or be crushed by it. Yes, we were both viciously hurt by what our siblings did after our mother's death, but that is on them. We didn't do it: they did it. They move on, and we move on, and life goes on. Let it go. Let it be their lives to live, their guilt to handle. We need to live our own present lives with our own families, not try to relive the family life of our childhoods, all the while hoping that it will turn out differently. No one can change the past, but the past can certainly change a person's future if that's what they let it do.

It was a long time ago, so let it go into the past where it belongs. Stop being stuck on 7 and start living the life you have today. Don't make your children's lives be stuck on "my daddy was drunk when he ... ."

No Good Deed ...

My next-door neighbor is a single mom with a newly-14-year-old daughter. Mom has been out of work for about a year and also is without transportation. She signed up for college classes, but the second week of the semester she was contacted about a full-time position with a child care provider. Because she has completed many different training courses and earned several certificates, she is well-qualified to work in the field and did, in the past, before moving to this isolated little part of the world. Even though her primary goal is to complete a BA degree, she could not turn down the job interview and was thrilled to learn that she was selected.

When she called me to share her good fortune, I promised we'd go out to dinner to celebrate. Tonight was the evening we set aside for our celebration dinner, but I called it off when I arrived at her door to pick her and her daughter up and found them actively engaged in a screaming match. I listened for a minute, but then was done, over it, and interrupted them to tell them that I was leaving. No way was I going to go anywhere with either of them, especially if the tab for the evening was mine to pay. The mother froze in her spot, apologized, told me she understood, and that was that. The daughter, however, went for it, making it all about her: she had been with her friends and came home for "this," pointing out that she'd changed her clothes and it was all her mother's fault. She continued to scream invectives at her mother, her dog, and her life in general, as I backed out of the doorway.

I again told the mother that I am not going to be put into the middle of this kind of behavior and that she and her daughter could argue this out without me having to listen to it. The mom again apologized, and I told her I had some errands to run, but would pick up some tacos for them from the local fast-food place and drop them off when I returned home. The mother started walking out with me, so I asked her where she was going. She had an MP3 player that did not work and was going to walk to the store and return it.

Okay, I told her, I'm heading that way to stop at the post office and then fill my gas tank, so I'll drive you.

When we got into my car, she again apologized and I simply told her that I do NOT do that kind of behavior or language between a mother and her daughter. I told her I have been looking forward to our celebration for 2 weeks, but the tacos will have to do. She told me that was not necessary, and we both did our post office errand, then I dropped her off to return the MP3 player while I drove to the gas station. When I returned to pick her up, I asked her if she wanted me to pick up the tacos or pick up her daughter so we could have our dinner, and she said she'd like to take her daughter with us if we were going to celebrate her new job.

Her daughter had a smug smile on her face when we picked her up, and she tried that I'm not going to talk to you-all thing that teenagers do, but I told her she was welcome to wait in the car while we ate -- and I'd bring her a doggie bag when we were done. She knew I meant it, apologized to me for her behavior, and we ordered our dinner.

It wasn't a win, but it wasn't a loss, either. The mom deserved some recognition, as well as support for catching a bus at 6 AM and not arriving home until 8 PM for a job that has restored her dignity. The daughter needs to back off and realize that her mother may have made mistakes in her past, but she's still here, she's still mothering her child, and she's doing her best to make a living for both of them. I'm glad we shared this evening, but I sure hate to think of what goes on when there's no one around to see it or hear it.

Social Networking

Perhaps a half-dozen or so years ago, I fiercely debated the growing social trend of allowing young children, most especially teens, to lock themselves in their bedrooms and re-create themselves on the internet as avatars of who they wish they were, while effectively avoiding learning how to be who they are. I argued that social networks isolate kids at a critical time in their lives, a time when they need to be dragged, kicking and screaming if necessary, into appropriate face-to-face social situations so they develop the skills they need to function within the family, as well as on the job and in social settings that are part of the adult life experience. I was booed, called old-fashioned, and sent to my (class)room.

I was vindicated in a gruesome way when one of our very large student body population went home from school, refused to join his family for dinner, locked himself in his bedroom, communicated with his on-line family/friends that he was going to kill himself, and pulled the trigger. After his real family finished dinner and Mom was cleaning up the kitchen, some of the boy's on-line "friends" appeared at the door and asked if their son was okay. No, he was dead, and it was not okay, perhaps even more so because his family in the downstairs dining room had no idea their son was this isolated, this depressed, this desperate to be accepted.

Even more shockingly, after his death was made public, many of the on-line friends had to admit that they really didn't know him very well, although they had been classmates since elementary school. It's so much easier to be friends with someone you don't have to know, as the three film-makers of a documentary, Catfish, discovered as they recorded Nev's on-line relationship with a woman whose entire life is a fantasy that she creates so she can function in her real world. This is a condition I call virtual agoraphobia wherein the victim becomes a prisoner of the fantasy life created to avoid living in a world that may not accept or appreciate the reality self.

The recently-released movie, The Social Network, is outstanding in many different ways, and its lead character, Mark, the creator of The Facebook, reminds me in many ways of the sudden, shocking death of a student who felt socially isolated from real humans, but bonded to his virtual family. The film's opening scenario shows a socially awkward college student who desperately wants to be one of "them," the guys who know the moves, who wear the clothes, who get the girls. It is almost as if he has paid a young woman to be seen with him so he can blend in and partake of the college experience. The male is brilliant beyond the bounds of human comprehension, but that is another isolate, not a crowd-pleaser. He has limited understanding of social discourse, social behavior, and social networking, and he is a geek to the nth degree who opens his mouth and offends everyone in range with his blunt pronouncements, behavior somewhat typical of Asberger's syndrome.

He has one friend, Eduardo, who accepts that Mark is what Mark is. Eduardo tries to be a friend, but Mark has never internalized the concept of friend, much less friendship. When "those guys," the Winkelvoss twins, contact Mark to help them with a project, he leaps on-board because "those guys" need him. Mark sees this as an opportunity to become one of them and escape himself, but his basic (Asberger?) nature does not allow him to follow through on the deal he made to create the twins' Harvard Connection network. Mark's mind takes him to a new level. He previously crashed the Harvard computer network with a game he developed for rating "hot or not" college females, and with that success sitting in the back of his mind, he leaps beyond the Winkelvoss twins' limited concept and develops what he calls The Facebook. Social networking is released upon a world that will never be the same as "friend me" becomes the new "call me."

The darker side of Mark comes into the light when he meets The Napster, Shawn Parker, the teenaged wonder-whiz who distributed copyrighted music through the internet to anyone who wanted it. To avoid losing the fortune this grand theft created, Parker declared bankruptcy that he cashed in for a free-wheeling lifestyle of social networking in the clubs. Because he is a relatively attractive man, and because women want what women want -- fashion, shoes, and boy candy on their arm -- and are willing to pay for it with sex in a bathroom stall, Parker seems to have it all. Mark wants what Shawn has. Because Mark has zero social skills, he brings Shawn into his world to be the guy Mark can never be. In the process, Mark cuts off Eduardo, the one person who believes in Mark, the man, and works to make his idea a success, while everyone else in Mark's life believes in what Mark can do for them.

The movie is Gordon Gecko for the Me generation: bright kids from wealthy families who live as if there is no tomorrow because someone else always picks up the tab for their lifestyle. It isn't about what you know, but about who you know and how you can use them to advance your own agenda. Because Mark is so totally socially inept, he comes across as ruthless, but I believe that is the Asberger's, not the man who has it. Of all the minutes in the film, there are only about 3 minutes when Mark truly connects with another person on a one-to-one level, openly and without artifice, in the conference room where one of his lawsuits is being deposed. The person is a young female lawyer who seems to "get" Mark in a way no one else understands, and it's a perfect, poignant moment hidden in the glaring superficiality of the rest of the movie characters and action.

The Social Network is a movie I recommend without hesitation or qualification, and I plan to see it again. It's an important film in a way that some films are, capturing a moment in time when man has the opportunity to do the right thing, but fails to make that choice. The indictment against the colleges is strong, with booze/drugs/sex parties the norm for a mere $60k in tuition. A completely bumbling Harvard President, who has no idea what is going on nor really cares, has been put out to pasture in a position that obviously requires no talent in any area of either administration or education. He will retire quietly to bask in the glory of yesteryear; meanwhile, his students are already living far into the 21st Century.

The casting is outstanding and the actors don't just nail their roles, but they also get the nuances of their characters. Justin Timberlake pays his dues with this role, as well as the challenging and demanding performance turned in by Jesse Eisenberg, who portrays Mark with a fierceness that is beyond merely believable. Eisenberg seems to understand Mark in a way that outsiders perhaps never will, and that is what comes across on the screen. The supporting cast creates the superficial social environment in which this phenomena explodes, using the wealth Mark creates to their own personal advantage, while Mark sits alone, waiting for the world to notice him as "that guy." Remember that this is just a movie, not an autobiography, but loosely based on Mark Zuckerburg's rise to billionaire status with Facebook.

Interesting note: Mark Zuckerburg recently donated a large sum to the California campaign to legalize marijuana possession and use. Still trying to be "that guy," I guess.

Three-Blog Day

From the ridiculous to the sublime, my mind is processing information this fine morning, thanks to the new pair of shoes I purchased yesterday! My basically weeble-wobbly gait brought undue attention to my left hip area, so I bought a pair of the "rocking wedge" shoes to help stabilize my core. Bad move: the shoes really threw off my gait, forcing me constantly to self-correct my steps. I saw the TV commercial for NewBalance's competitive shoe to the Scetcher and went on an internet search to find a retailer, a process much easier to think than to do.

Yesterday, my coast friend knew of a shoe store in the same mall as the movie theater, so after an incredible lunch at The Islander, we went to DSW. If you want to put it onto your foot, you go to DSW, including 5" stilettoes, ballet slippers, and NewBalance's new truebalance walking shoes. The truebalance is designed specifically for walking and features what NewBalance calls its "balance board technology," which means goodbye to the rocking wedge and hello to a flat sole surface. I put them on in the store and grinned: immediately, I felt more stable. I wore one pair out of the store, with another pair in a box, and by the time I arrived home, my left hip was much less of an issue than it has been for many months.

This morning's walk was the least painful I can recall, with the severe pain waiting until we were about 3/4 of the way through our route. I'm not totally thrilled with the intensity of the hot pink accents on the shoes, but that's probably NewBalance's way of marking territory. If I were NewBalance, I not only would market to 20-somethings with hot bods who are turning heads in a power walk through the park designed to do just that, but also market to those of a certain age who are going through the knees and hips thing: we need the stability of the technology, but probably would appreciate a quick "you are hot" glance once in a while, too, which we'll get with the hot pink accents, right? It's a zero-sum solution.

Blog two has to do with our lunchtime discussion about Gloria Allred and the illegal immigrant effect on Meg Whitman's run for governor of Cally-phone-ya. I've never thought of Allred as either stupid or an ill-prepared lawyer, but it seems that she either made a backroom political deal or needs to fire her staff. No one of Allred's stature calls a press conference to make the kinds of charges she made involving Whitman's former housekeeper and NOT know all the facts, not just what someone told her. The illegal housekeeper is the one who lied, not Whitman. The illegal housekeeper possessed both a forged social security card and a forged driver's license that she used to obtain employment. The illegal housekeeper affirmed in her application to the employment agency that she was a legal resident of the state, knowing that she was lying. The employment agency sent her to Whitman, who insisted on legal residents in her employ, after the agency performed what they believed was their due diligence. When Whitman was made aware of her housekeeper's illegal status, she fired her.

If a rookie researcher at a local newspaper could find the facts, why did not Allred's staff? That question leads me to believe that Allred made a political deal to risk her professional cache to influence the vote for the next state's governor. It is glaringly obvious that "something" happened after Allred's scathing public denunciation of Whitman in the media circus Allred creates when she calls a press conference because she hasn't said a word since the facts of the situation were made public. Whitman was not at fault in this instance, but, perhaps, Allred was. Time will tell either how much this public gaffe costs Allred or for how big a pay-off she sold herself.

The other question about this incident brings the White House into the conversation via Janet Napolitano, who says that she does not know how the actions of the illegal housekeeper will be addressed. Actually, Ms. Napolitano, there is a process already in place for these specific illegal actions, a process initiated by law enforcement. An illegal immigrant who uses false documentation to get a job, including a forged social security card and a forged driver's license, as well as swearing under penalty of law that s/he is a legal resident, is arrested, spends lots of time in jail waiting for the trial, and is sentenced to prison. The actions are illegal, there are laws on the books to address these actions, so, Ms. Napolitano, what is there to discuss? to negotiate? to debate? to obfuscate? or to do, other than arrest the self-confessed criminal and take her to trial? Again, it makes me wonder what deal Allred made before that press conference -- and with whom. Hope it will prove to be worth whatever it's going to get her in return.

The third blog has to do with my rights as a homeowner. In brief, when I bought this house, it was a color that I do not like, a faded orangey buff that some people thinks represents the "southwest." After living with it for several years, I decided to repaint the exterior after having some repair work completed that led to gray patches on the exterior walls. I selected a deep green/gray that I love. If someone were to notify me after the fact that my color was not acceptable, I would laugh because this is MY house and I paint it the color I want it to be, the same way that I create my own landscaping plans. Evidently, my thinking is shared by other homeowners, particular one 84-year-old man in Palm Desert who was tired of his all-white house and had it painted a soft, mint green.

In 2004, the City Manager decided that the area had to present a certain image to passers-by, and although there is not a palette of approved colors, the green the 84-year-old man selected was seen by a Code Enforcement officer who drove by the newly-painted home. Code Enforcement alerted the City Manager to the color violation because the color was too garish, all that soft mint green, but the City Manager did allow in a follow-up interview that purple, red, bright blues and yellows, as well as certain other colors, could be pleasing as accent colors. He disavowed that the goal is for all residences to be bland in tones of beige and brown, but ... I think that really is the goal. The elderly man repainted, rather than face either a fine or a court appearance, and his home is again white, with some of the soft green as accent.

The charm of neighborhoods comes from the uniqueness of the architecture, not from the cookie-cutter sameness that strips individuality from ownership. If a person wants to live within the walls of a gated community and leave the homeowner's decisions to a committee, including both the exterior wall color and the landscaping, that's fine, but when people buy their own little piece of this world, each person should at least be able to pick the paint he puts on the walls of his home. Is it really that offensive for a driver traveling Highway 111 to see (gasp!) soft mint-green exterior walls on a well-maintained and beautifully landscaped property? How about spending more time with the peeling paint of vacant homes surrounded by dead vegetation? Now that is something of which to take notice!

Buena Dias?

No matter how you say it, a wrong number at 4:50 am is not a good start to the day! I would have cut the call a bit shorter, but she didn't speak English, which added to my irritation at being jarred awake so early because she didn't understand "wrong number." Okay, not "so early," as I'm usually awake by 5 am, but I have not been sleeping well for several months, possibly as a side issue with the pain meds, and had not yet awakened to greet the new day. Cranky, cranky, cranky!

Yesterday was a long day, compounded with backed-up traffic on the way to work (road construction), clouds of dense dirt from the same construction on the way home, and then pounding winds down the hill, where I live. The winds have not let up, so there will be no walk this morning, which will not sit well with the dogs ... again. I don't walk them on M-W, when I have to be on-site by 8:30 am, and believe me they know the schedule. A quick look out the windows as the sun is finally up reveals that I have a bit of cleaning up to do in the yards, and I also have to pick up poop before that gets out of hand again. I do enjoy having Tues morning to recouperate from Monday.

While most people enjoy a work week, I cram my work week into 3 days, and those days have not been easy with the knee issues. I'm making it, one day at a time, but I long for the day when I can take even one step without any pain in my knee. It's not a big thing, but it's constant, and that drains every bit of energy right out of me. I put in a full 12 hours Monday, 7 on Tuesday, and 6 on Wednesday, but if those hours were spread over 5 days, it would be much easier to keep myself physically energized. Realizing that this is the severalith time I've continued to work with physical issues impeding me, I'm taking the Spring semester off to allow myself to heal completely. I still don't know about the partial knee replacement, and will not know that decision until Thanksgiving, but I pulled the cord on the teaching train until all of this works out, one way or another.

When I need change, I make lists, ponder my options, then make new lists and do some more pondering. I've been pondering for a while now and know that I have to make changes before it's too late to change, so I'm going to leave the house and get back into more than just going to work. I've had my head too far up this knee thing, and that has to stop. With the series of injections complete, my knee isn't quite as sore and unstable as it has been, so I can navigate without the crutches once I'm on level ground, as long as I wear the knee brace. I haven't seen a movie in a long time because it's a hassel to do the crutches thing, but there are a few in release that I'd like to see, so I'm going to go during the day, when fewer people are in the theater. I also would like to go out to eat once in while, but talk myself out of both going alone and spending the money when I can cook pefectly well for myself ... yeah, I am my mother. Again, need to change before I won't change.

So Buena Dias to you, too. I'm starting the day over with a new frame of mind and going to make it work for me, instead of worrying so much about all the obstacles to having a nice day! Ah, the smell of doggie doo in the morning ...

Updating: the doggie doo is in the trash, all the plastic bags the wind brings in are in the recycling bin, the cacti that fell over and broke have been dealt with, and the dogs have been on a short walk. I love it when a plan comes together.

3-Legged Walk

Thursday night, about 10 pm, Daisy and Mia ran full bore out the doggie door to confront an intruder into their territory, probably the little white fluff-ball from down the street as it wasn't yapping like the little yapper a few more houses down. I heard a yelp from Daisy and, after about 30 seconds, Mia came thundering into the bedroom, barking at full intensity. She was upset and wanted me to come with her: NOW!!

Picking up a flashlight after strapping on my knee brace, I headed out behind Mia, who raced around the back of the house. Daisy was curled in a ball at the edge of the fence that separates my house from the house next-door. She was softly whimpering, so I leaned toward her and asked her what was wrong. She looked up at me with those big, brown cow eyes and actually allowed me to pick her up, something Daisy never does. I carried her into my bedroom, set her gently on the bed, and asked her again, "What's wrong, Daisy?"

Apparently, she hurt her leg, the one she curled up tightly against her body. I stroked her, wrapped her in a blankie, and settled in. At 10 pm, there's nowhere to take her, so we just had to get through the night. I couldn't see anything obvious, such as a snake bite, a cut, or a gunshot wound, which Mia had several years ago. Daisy spent the night curled up with me, trembling.

In the morning, she barely moved, so I called the vet's office when it opened at 8 am and scheduled an appointment for later in the day. Daisy spent the day either on my lap or curled up in the blankie next to me on the couch. When I set her down outside so she could go potty, she kept her injured leg curled up tightly against her body.

I should have taken Daisy to my former ortho surgeon because the vet had a hell of a time holding onto Daisy, much less examining her, then he concluded that he "wasn't seeing" what I was seeing, she was fine, and these things have a way of working out all by themselves. Really. So the trip wasn't a total loss, I had the vet give both dogs their shots and we left the office in a pouring rain, Daisy's leg still curled against her. More couch time followed our return home.

This morning, for the first time, Daisy put the leg onto the floor, briefly, and scampered toward the garage door: she wanted to go for her morning walk. I tried to reason with her, but when she limped around a bit, proving to me that she was ready for her leash and a walk, I got the girls ready and off we went. Daisy limped a bit at first, but once she started using her leg, she seemd to be okay. She did curl it back up by the time we were heading into the home stretch, but she does just fine on 3 legs.

The moral of the story is that I paid $150 for the dogs' shots this year because the vet was no help at all with the hurt leg. She's still favoring it a bit, but I guess it'll work itself out, the same way that my knee is "as good as it's going to get" and I have to learn to adjust to what is, not what I want it to be.

Always another lesson.