Gratitude: The Dark Side

As I ponder the magic and beauty of wintertime and the individuality of each snow flake there is much to be thankful for as the year comes to a close. There's a smart new President getting ready to move into the White House... The constitution-ignoring, love-it-or-leave-it extreme right-wing numbnuts have been made to say uncle... We can be friends with France again (Yay! and, Yum!)...the scandal involving the Governor of Illinois has erased much of the stain New York Governors left on the national psyche this year...and we all learned a new curse word care of an Iraqi journalist ("Son of a shoe") that comes with a physical gesture that simultaneously allows us to express our distain for public figures while also unloading the unwanted dregs from our closet floor.

On a more personal note I am grateful that I finally rediscovered the name (Steve S.) of the guy who lit my hair on fire at a party back in high school. No adults were present and I never ratted him out. I just pushed the whole thing to one of the farthest corners of my mind and forgot about it. But being lit on fire has a way of gnawing at one as the years go by.  It was especially irksome since even though I was completely sober at the time and still remember the friend who helped me cut the burnt end of my pony tail off in the bathroom afterwards, I couldn't remember who had done it. Thanks to the long tentacles of Facebook, I now know who he is and where he lives should I ever choose to track him down and light his ass on fire. I'm just keeping it as an option and possessing that nugget of imaginary power alone has quieted down some long- restless part of me.

And I think to myself: what a wonderful world.

2008 Holiday Bad Gift Guide

With so many opinions to guide you through your holiday shopping what you may really need is a guide of what not to buy. Some of us remember the bad gifts we've been given even more than the good ones if only because the trauma was so extreme. Keeping that in mind, here's a preliminary assortment of some really bad choices. Don't say you weren't warned if you choose to purchase some of these items for your nearest and dearest. 1. Tired Old Ass Cream. It claims to be effective for exhaustion but it doesn't say whose tired old ass it was made from. $10.95 (Wholefoods) 2. Vulva Balm. Not sure what its purpose is or why the manufacturer thought that it is a good idea for vulvas to smell like gypsies or jasmine. (Though I did notice that there are no vulva-scented products on the market. So, perhaps that explains something.) $16.00 (Wholefoods) 3. Carbolized Mutton Tallow. It is made from sheep fat treated with phenol, a strong corrosive poison and a derivative of benzene. Mmmm, try slathering some of that on your chapped lips. $8.95 (Lehmans.com) 4. Pure Emu Oil. Made from real live (or maybe dead by now) emus. It supposedly thickens the skin and reduces the formation of wrinkles. The writing on the bottle doesn't explain how they got the emus to give up their precious oil. Can one actually squeeze an emu? However they get the oil, it probably isn't pretty. $17.95 (Lehmans.com)

New Luxury Kills Old Beauty

I know just how these two buildings feel: The new guy moves in and tries to squeeze you out with his parvenu insensitivity. (Try Trader Joe's any day of the week and see how long your ankles last after being pounded from behind by your swanky new neighbor's shopping cart.)

If the Landmark Commission really protected old New York instead of bowing down to developers we wouldn't now have two old brownstones on Lexington Avenue crumbling from the new construction between them. (Check out the serious cracks on the front of both brownstones.) But what can one do? Well, short of joining Earth First and getting one's name on the FBI's most-wanted list, one can take photographs to serve as a record for the sad piecemeal destruction of our City. And like mice laughing at elephants, we can also continue to make fun of powerful ignoramuses; we will always have petty ridicule to comfort us. Can anyone say, combover? Doughy offspring?  Wilted cuckold?

R.I.P. Leftist Elfin Tree Art

For those who can't read the sign, it says, "Total Republican Failure." What will the rural leftist tree elves do with their time once Obama has been sworn in? And how did they get this sign all the way up there in the first place? I can barely be bothered to climb a ladder to change a light bulb. Still, I like the incongruity of it. Traveling down a country road and -whoa!-what's that?! Why, it's art! I predict that since most fine artists are left-leaning, dem-like creatures and since most modern art is born out of discontent, there just won't be a whole lot for them to do for the next four years. So, check out the forest art while you can, folks.

Return of The Cuteness

The Dow is down and people are freaked out but here is proof that in some places things are getting better. Recently, physical anthropologist Sharon Gursky-Doyen rediscovered a tiny primate in central Sulawesi, Indonesia. Four inches long and weighing just two ounces, the nocturnal pygmy tarsier was long thought to be extinct. No one had seen them in over 80 years. Its reappearance reminds me of the old story of Ground Hog Day and how if the ground hog fails to see its own shadow that means that winter will soon end. Could the reemergence of our tiny cousin with the elfin hands mean something good is on the horizon? One thing that is especially cool about this creature is that it can turn its head 180º. I think that it has come out of retirement as a message to our new President: Good things can still live in this world but as Bush reportedly told Obama when he first became a Senator: You've got to watch your back.

Doors Of Brooklyn Heights

Though it's tempting to prattle on these post-election days about the symbolism of doorways and opening ourselves to new opportunities, I will spare you. There's just something nice about photos of doorways and Brooklyn Heights has some good ones:

Balcony For One, Part II: The Outer Boroughs

I actually spied a lone smoker on the 3rd floor balcony two weeks ago. He was on the phone and looked most exiled from his nouveau Brooklyn digs. The balcony became almost like a floating phone booth. It had been my contention that such a balcony was for the social outcast, the lone wolf, the hater. But, while passing below I listened hard for sounds of angst but nothing about the fellow's presence seemed misanthropic. He was mellow. Just a mellow dude smoking his cigarette and talking on the phone. Yet, something about his behavior in the confines of his small aerie made me see this architectural oddity in a new light. Perhaps it should be looked on in the same way we swaddle babies and autistics: a comforting tightness that encapsulates the individual while keeping the total amount of sensory input to a minimum. Perhaps genius strikes in such places. Or, perhaps it is just a place to get away from your pumpkins and everyone else.

R.I.P. Miriam Makeba

Pata Pata is one of the best songs to dance to. Here's a video of Miriam Makeba, a tireless entertainer, musical heroine and speaker of the truth. In this age of complacency, Makeba stands out as a true believer and supporter in the cause of justice for all people. Nothing could be more appropriate than to honor her memory today by getting out of your chair and shaking what you got and speaking up even when it might be easier to lie low.

Scottie:1, Reporter:0

As the handler says just a too late and everyone should remember with any dog, "You can't put your hand in his face." It could be that it was the annoying cooings of videographer April D. Ryan that really pushed Mr. Barney over the edge. 

And though dogs are non-partisan, it is clear that being on the losing side of things has taken its toll on the patience of the little Aberdeen.

Yes We Did

A funny thing happened on the return to democracy yesterday - we got a President and a First Family who in the course of just one day restored much dignity to our tattered nation. Even the defeated John McCain seemed like his old self and not the man we saw on the campaign trail pulling all those dead rabbits out of his hat. It was as if McCain not only yielded to Obama's victory but also as if he (if not his booing supporters) understood that the truly best man had won the race.

Beyond the noisy revelry that was Grant Park last night, for the first time in eight years decency, intelligence and true grace permeated millions of hearts and minds all at once. It was an astounding moment. Not once during his acceptance speech did Barack Obama really smile. He was serious and grounded and exemplified the ideal man for the job. He wasn't one to preen for even a moment. He knows that he has won the toughest job in the world and restoring our good American name will take many long hours and many years. My heart is filled with gratitude towards this man and also his family who have had to live without him for much of the past two years. Thank you Michelle. Thank you Malia. Thank you Sasha.

Friday Soapbox: Tax Relief for Women

There has been so much talk about socialism in these last days of the Presidential race you’d think it was a dirty word. But, the U.S. has many allies which embrace its close cousin; social democracy. England is a social democracy. So are Sweden, France, Germany, Italy and Australia, too. This does not mean that it would be the right thing for money-loving capitalist pigs like us but, we might just learn a thing or two by seeking to raise the standard of living for those with the greatest need. Case in point: Both Presidential candidates claim to be for working families. But so far neither has offered any help for the unmarried childless woman. Since women still routinely make 75% for every dollar men make for doing the same job (otherwise known as the gender pay gap), any woman who is childless and unmarried and without a trust fund or substantial investments (100k or more) including real estate, or other valuable assets or unlikely to inherit such, should pay lower taxes than their married counterparts. Furthermore, any childless woman over the age of 60 should get an immediate tax refund for all the monies they paid into the system during their childbearing years. They helped pay for the education of children they never had and the basic upkeep of infrastructure like roads, bridges, etc their non-existent children will never use. And since they do not stand to have any financial protection or help from offspring they are particularly vulnerable in their later years. It goes without saying that after the wealthy and very wealthy, working families need tax relief the very least of anyone. After all it could be argued that they have the benefit of the love and care of spouse and children whereas single adult women do not have any of the same protection. They are on their own. They don’t have the same social network as married women with children do and they don’t have the same interdependent relationships with other parents that foster bartering or free help in times of need. Put plainly, it is poor and middle-class single adult childless women who are bearing more than their fair share of the burden for the rest of society. Lest you think that such an idea would send childless couples into divorce court in droves in order to save a bit of cash from the taxman, the provision for tax relief for single childless women needn't be so enormous that it engenders envy from smug married couples. But, make it something not too small, either. Twenty percent less seems about right. And as for the refund? How about ten percent of the average tax paid paid over the past thirty years? It's time to give something back to working women who've earned their day in the sun.

Some of My Best Friends Are....

Even in the best of times it's hard to find anyone in New York City who admits to having any Republican friends. But nowadays? Fuggedaboudit. In the ever-rising wave of The Year of Obamalove, many Dems are all but proclaiming victory for their candidate. But the real dirty little secret no one wants anyone to know is how many of us have Republicans in our own families. Crazy, I know, but true. What can one do but keep deleting the Internet-sourced e-mails that tell us that Obama is a socialist-leaning, terrorist-loving Muslim who is not even sure he was born in this country? We can fight fire with fire and send them the YouTube videos of the best gaffs of John McCain but that tactic seems so very...Republican.  Instead we sigh and chalk it all up to an undiagnosed brain disorder. It's the only plausible explanation we tell ourselves. They used to be so much fun.  They painted pictures, they played guitar and sang songs. They danced naked down the hallway playing air guitar to Jimi Hendrix. What the hell happened to them once they moved out to the suburbs? We wonder. Is it the isolationism of commuting by car? Is it the lousy restaurants? The short bubble jackets? The answer eludes us. Then we remember back to Christmas Eve 1969 when they told us that Santa Claus didn't exist. We were too young to be told such a terrible thing. Immediately estranged from our own parents, and untrusting of the older sibling who had broken the news, the line in the sand was drawn. The world was irrevocably divided into those who spoil things for no reason other than to be cruel and those who would keep looking for beauty and magic and free stuff  for the rest of their lives. 

Feelin' Ungroovy

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It's always been my contention that the only thing stiffer than Republican rhetoric is the hairdos on their women. Now I know what it feels like first hand.

Hey! Back off with that cigarette, mister! Whaddaya want? A nucuulaar explosion?! Geez!

What's This?!

That's what I've been asking myself so many times this Fall. There are many things I do not understand. Here are just two: What's this? Number 1: was the speech by the ever-elegant Ice Queen, Cindy McCain at the Republican National Convention in which she stated to a nearly all-white audience: "This convention celebrates a special and exceptional Republican Party and the hand we feel on our shoulder is Abraham Lincoln's. Our country was born amidst the struggle for freedom and our party arose from a grand battle for human rights, dignity and equity for all people. We give way to no one and no other party in that cause." Note to Cindy: There is a reason the RNC was nearly an all-white affair: It's because black people don't trust you, your husband or your party. And using your friend Ernestine, a survivor of the atrocities in Rwanda who was in the audience to further your myth of the Republican crusade on behalf of the downtrodden and mistreated: "...She was made to watch appalling horrors..." ( The RNC audience actually clapped right after she said this like it was a good thing to be made to watch appalling horrors) was a new low for a politician's wife. What's this? Number 2: This linen-wrapped little creature with the buggly eyes looks to me like it might bite. At the same time it allowed itself to be snuggled up in fabric and have its photo taken. Anyone who can explain either of these mysteries wins a one-year free subscription to the Gamoo. (Actually, anyone can already have a free subscription.)

Ooopsie Daisy!

Did John McCain really call Americans, "My fellow prisoners?!" 

Why, he's even funnier than Ronald Regan!

Rest in Music

I went to a funeral today. I sat behind Carl Bernstein and looked through sides of the lenses of his glasses wondering what it's like to need such a strong prescription and wondering too, what happens when he can't find his glasses. People who wear glasses seem to lose them a lot. Then I regarded Bernstein's ears while the eulogies -all sixteen of them- were given. As far as ears go, they weren't bad. Just thought you ought to know. I have an entire movie in my head of Carl Bernstein looking for his glasses in his rather nice apartment. So, if you don't want me making mind movies during your funeral I suggest that you do not have sixteen people get up to speak. Play more music instead. One thing I did tune in for was that one of the favorite songs of the very interesting deceased person we were there to honor was, People Will Say We're in Love. You can listen to it on my playlist below. Here are the lyrics:

Don't throw bouquets at me Don't please my folks too much Don't laugh at my jokes too much People will say we're in love! Don't sigh and gaze at me Your sighs are so like mine Your eyes mustn't glow like mine People will say we're in love! Don't start collecting things Give me my rose and my glove. Sweetheart they're suspecting things People will say we're in love. Don't praise my charm too much Don't look so vain with me Don't stand in the rain with me People will say we're in love! Don't take my arm too much Don't keep your hand in mine Your hand feels so grand in mine People will say we're in love! Don't dance all night with me Till the stars fade from above. They'll see it's alright with me People will say we're in love.

Say you are dead and are somehow able to listen in on your own funeral. Which would be better: to listen to all the people you knew say nice stuff about you or to listen to some good music? If it's true that all angels play are harps, violins and trumpets I'd rather have two or three really excellent speakers and then a whole lot of amazing music. It might be the last I get to hear for a long time.

Balcony For One

For all you urban misanthropes, here's some city architecture to soothe your senses: the balcony for one. It's about a block away from the Jacob Javitz Convention Center and a whole world away from anyone else. So whether your pleasure is sulking on a cigarette or, just taking some time to contemplate your own angst, this building can accommodate the hater within.

More Ladydog Loo

No, I do not know why the animation begins with Senator Obama's face. It just does.  PS: I know it goes on a bit too long, but it does end eventually.

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

F is For So Many Things

F is for Flower. It is also for what the F is up with Blogger's Formatting? Here I spend hours (not really)  carefully composing a post and putting the photos just so and then Blogger software rearranges everything and won't let me design my own blog page the way I want. For example, the captions on the previous photos are all over the place!

F is also for the Frosted Sarah Palin who hates bloggers who don't like her. As you probably know by now, Palin aide Ivy Frye went after conservative Wasilla blogger Sherry Whitstine by calling her up on the phone and demanding that she, "Stop blogging right now!"

If the Alaska Disasta actually makes it  to the White House - mark my words - Alaska will become one giant oil spill of an American Gulag. I'm getting my base layers packed just in case. Fellow bloggers take note.

Ladydog Loo

All the recent blather about "Lipstick on a pig" faded as the country collectively realized what a near total financial failure looks like. We have $400 billion dollars in national debt thanks to the current presidential administration and the Congress. Now, there are ongoing talks about the proposed $700 billion dollar bailout plan. There are lots and lots of smart people and not-so-smart people offering solutions. I don't have any answers. What I do have is one very cute dog so, I thought I'd just share some pics with you:

Ladydog Loo appreciates Fall foliage.

Loo knows how to wear a feather with elan.

Loo appreciates the outdoors and fine art, too.

Loo knows how to make a heart with her paws...

Loo makes an excellent napping partner.

Good-bye Summer

I could not resist a little photo homage to the male bikini. Summer officially ends in one week. Good-bye day-glo! Good-bye leopard!

 

It's A Sign

Sometimes life reaches out and shows us unexpected wonders: it's not often I get the chance to pose by a random sign on the side of a country road that sums up the feeling I'd most like to have towards the campaign of Vice-Presidential nominee, Sarah Palin.

(Note the still-living woodland creature just to the left.)

All-American

Normally the Gamoo does not comment on celebrities or bother to quote them because celebrity culture is kind of like the Pied Piper of Hamlin: it melodically sweeps up not only the hungry rats but also the the minds and hearts of the children and impressionable adults and they disappear into mediocre reasoning rarely to return. 

But, megastar Glen Campbell who has sold more than 25 million records during his career was on NPR's Fresh Air yesterday and said something which was so absurd that it deserves a second look:

"I don’t think I’m in the music business to, you know, try and save the world. Or to focus my opinion….That’s why they (the Smothers Brothers) got thew off CBS. They stepped over the line a little bit, I believe. That shouldn’t even be a factor as far as music goes. There’s a war going on. Well, you know, your life’s got to go on. There’s a lot of people try and get their influence to stop this and stop that. They’re not going to stop anything." 

Campbell was referring to the Smothers Brothers and others like them who used their talents and sometimes their celebrity to voice their political opinion in hopes of changing the status quo and stopping the war in Vietnam in order to save human lives and prevent further suffering and devastation to humans, animals and the environment.

It just goes to show that just because one slips on a cowboy shirt it doesn't make one a patriot.

A patriot isn't someone who just says "Why bother?"  But, someone who fights to improve their country based on a solid understanding of ethics. To put it in terms that a man like Mr. Campbell and his ilk might understand, here's Gene Autry's Cowboy Code:

1. The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage. 2. He must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him. 3. He must always tell the truth. 4. He must be gentle with children, the elderly, and animals. 5. He must not advocate or possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas. 6. He must help people in distress. 7. He must be a good worker. 8. He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action, and personal habits. 9. He must respect women, parents, and his nation's laws. 10. The Cowboy is a patriot.

If celebrities can do anything for the rest of us and actually earn some of the enormous sums they are paid, they can speak up to increase compassion and alleviate suffering on our planet. They can educate themselves on the value of civil liberties. They won't just love it or leave it. They won't move to another country in hopes of escaping reality here back home or the harm that our government has caused. They will be patriotic; they will speak up and do more than pose in haute couture on red carpets. Or cowboy shirts on album covers.

Image:  www.evolvefish.com

Truly Fowl

By now we all know how disgusting the American meat industry is. We've all seen the pictures of filthy factory farms with diseased animals being slaughtered and packaged for your next lunchtime Thai chicken wrap sandwich. But, who knew about the 11-year European ban on U.S. chickens? One of the reasons they ban our fowl? Chlorination. That's right, the U.S. bleaches their chickens to kill salmonella and other harmful bacteria.

 So, the next time your waiter asks, "Would madam care for a bit more sodium hypochlorite with her Coq au vin?" Just remember to wear gloves and don't drink that ammonia cocktail.

Really gives white meat a whole new meaning.

Two-in-One

For all those busy drunks on the run, here's a product that's both novel and convenient. Now boozers everywhere can travel with the frozen drink of their choice and when they're done, they can puke in the same container and just toss it away! No muss, no fuss!