Please Help!!

OK, this is a case of good news/bad news: The greyhound racetrack at Plainfield, CT is closing. That's good. About 1000 dogs need homes. That's bad. PLEASE click this link to Greyhound Rescue & Rehab and read the story. Pass it along to anyone you know who MIGHT be considering greyhound adoption.

And, if you can, donate even just $1 to GRR for the interim expenses of kenneling and housing pups in foster homes. If you know who your local greyhound adoption group is, make sure they know about this crisis!!!

If you donate, please add a note that says "The Dog's Breakfast". Thanks!!!

If you can, PLEASE also link to this post on your blog...the more people who can see it, the better!

EDITED TO ADD LINK TO ARTICLE IN TODAY'S NY TIMES: Plainfield Track Closes

The Dog's Blabfest

A few random things I need to post about today:

~First, I want to thank my friend Elle at True Blue 4ever for including me in her cool post ... go check it out!

~Next, I've been tagged by turboslut to do this meme that's been making the rounds in the blogosphere:

Pick five of these and finish the sentence (I'm thinking this should be used in next year's Miss America Pageant.)

If I could be a scientist
If I could be a farmer
If I could be a musician
If I could be a doctor
If I could be a painter
If I could be a gardener
If I could be a missionary
If I could be a chef
If I could be an architect ... I would change my name to Art Vandalay.
If I could be a linguist ... I would be a cunning linguist.
If I could be a psychologist ... I would save myself a lot of money.
If I could be a librarian
If I could be an athlete
If I could be a lawyer
If I could be an innkeeper
If I could be a professor
If I could be a writer
If I could be a llama-rider
If I could be a bonnie pirate
If I could be a service member ... I would ask myself, "What the hell is a service member?"
If I could be a photographer
If I could be a philanthropist
If I could be a rap artist
If I could be a child actor
If I could be a secret agent
If I could be a comedian/comedienne
If I could be a priest ... I would have a lot of fun driving the Pope crazy.
If I could be a radio announcer
If I could be a phlebotomist
If I could be a pet store owner
If I could be a computer programmer
If I could be a police officer
If I could be a politician
If I could be a mom
If I could be an underwater basket weaver
If I could be a reality tv host
If I could be a forensic pathologist
If I could be a TV show writer
If I could be a dictator of a small country
If I could be an ice cream store owner
If I could be a teacher

~ And finally, I'm a participant in Jim's "Mixmania" even over at Patriside. The basic idea is to create a CD mix, remove all the tags (any song title or artist info), and send it to someone who is chosen randomly by Jim. Then, each participant has to post the list of songs on their own blog, for the recipient to figure out who sent them a CD. Sound confusing? You're RIGHT! Anyway, here is my mix with some brief explanations:

1. Cry Me a River - Joe Cocker ... because every mix should include the best of the spastic rockers.

2. 634-5789 - Jonny Lang, Wilson Pickett & somebody else I can't remember right now from the Blues Brothers 2000 soundtrack. ... because I like it, and because even though this isn't the greatest movie ever, I had a great time watching it.

3. Drowning in the Sea of Love - Eva Cassidy ... Love her voice. EDITED BECAUSE I MADE A MISTAKE...I thought for some reason that she had committed suicide, but learned that she died of cancer. Sad, either way!

4. Spooky Girlfriend - Elvis Costello ... Love him. Have seen him live a bazillion times, including one concert at Radio City Music Hall, where an entire Indian family was in line in front of me. Mother, father, grandmother, three children and a baby in a stroller. I'm not sure if they thought they were seeing "Elvis", or maybe Abbot & Costello.

5. Vibrate - Rufus Wainwright ... This is just such a cool song, and it reminds me of an episode of Nip/Tuck that I loved.

6. New Slang - The Shins ... From the "Garden State" soundtrack, this makes my list of "Top Ten Unintelligible Songs That Make Me Cry". (ok, it's really just the "Top One".)

7. Somebody to Love - George Michael & Queen ... Because, well... somebody to love is a good thing.

8. Telephone Call from Istanbul - Tom Waits ... This is my son Lucas' favorite song and it's great.

9. Woke Up This Morning - Alabama 3 ... Theme from "The Sopranos", and all we're going to get until September.

10. Send Me on My Way - Rusted Root ... Included in "Top Ten Unintelligible Songs That Make Me Jump Around". (ok, it's really "Top One Hundred")

11. I Want You - Rachael Yamagata - She's like Fiona Apple, gargling. My favorite line in this song is the one about London.

12. Creep - Radiohead ... Because if more men in my life had been this honest it would have saved me a lot of time & energy.

13. Sex and Candy - Marcy Playground ... Because I like sex and candy. But candy is bad for you.

14. Something in the Air - Thunderclap Newman ... A throwback to my youth, and the best band name ever.

15. She Bop - Cyndi Lauper ... What ever happened to BlueBoy magazine, anyway?

16. Santeria - Sublime ... A happy little tune about shooting people and slapping women. Another dead artist.

17. Across the Universe - Fiona Apple ... Wait, weren't the Beatles on APPLE Records? Wow...spooky, man. This is one of my favorite covers ever. Ever.

Wednesday's Child

This week's blog that, IMO, does not get enough attention is Micah's World. Micah always writes snappy posts, sometimes funny sometimes snarky but always entertaining. Although he's misguided politically (haha) I still love him. ;)

Go see Micah!

Twelve Years Ago Today...

copyright Rob Fraser 1993, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

...I was married to Tony at his parents' house. I'm really just posting this because I think every bride should have an ass-grab photo.

For newer readers, you can read about all my weddings here. It took three failed marriages (this being the third) for me to learn what love is (and is not). It's funny, because I'm usually a quick-study, but this was a case of bait & switch!*

*Credit to a good friend who described her marriage that way, and I thought it was a perfect description of mine!

Photo Friday: Fancy

emma's fancy hat, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

This week's entry, a few days late because I had to find the perfect picture.

This is Emma when she was about 6 years old. She was a hat FANATIC and absolutely loved this find!

Hide the Salami

ew, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

This was Marge's first true love, George. I can certainly understand the appeal. After all, IMAGINING his belly button is so much sexier than actually SEEING it. And is it just me, or does it seem like he's squeezing his goods between his legs?

The poor chick on the left seems to show up in all these pictures. I think my mother must have gotten her from Rent-a-Homely-Friend. ("Be the prettiest girl on your block!") I bet her name was Lori Davis (remember that SNL skit?).

Looking at this photo again, I suppose I could have titled this post "Socks on the Beach". God, I crack me up.

Show 'em Who's Boss

I have a love/hate relationship with horses. I love them, they hate me. We didn't have a lot of first-hand contact with horses in Brookyn (except for this one who was used as a prop for a photographer outside the local Thom McAnn shoe store), but I did have an uncle who lived in the country who had a few horses that we were completely crazy about.

In the city, my sisters and I would pretend to gallop up and down the block, whipping our butts and yelling "Yah! Yah!" The '60s was a big decade for television Westerns and I watched every one of them, falling in love with the lead cowboy in each show. Bronco, Sugarfoot, Maverick... I was going to marry all of them.

When I was about 14, my friends and I decided to go horseback riding at a stable near a park in Queens. "Dixie Dew" had quite the selection of nags, er...steeds. We would go out weekly, with the trail instructor screaming "Show 'em who's boss!!"

I was usually terrified, and apparently this fear is something these animals can feel or smell or something. One week, a horse brought me under low branches so I arrived home with a scraped up face. Another time, he walked into a deep pool of water, stirrup-high, and refused to move. The trail crossed a pretty busy highway, so of course another horse I rode decided to stop dead in the middle while drivers in both directions were forced to wait. (the car horn was invented in New York, so we like to use it as often as possible. That day was no exception.) Every week my mother would ask me WHY I kept going back, when it seemed like one disaster after another. I sort of agreed, but I was still determined to show at least one of these horses who was boss.

Finally, we went back and everything seemed to be going along just fine. My friend Andrea and I were riding side by side, clopping along like a couple of seasoned cowpokes. Suddenly, her horse began to do "the bump' with my horse. He swung his big fat hips right into my guy, and mine returned the favor. Andrea began to scream. The trail instructor calmly told her to please stop screaming because...Too late. At that point, my horse took off, galloping at full speed blindly through the woods. Off the trail. I lost the stirrups and was hanging on for dear life, arms wrapped around his neck. My body slid forward and I dropped to the ground in front of him. I looked up and saw his hooves as he stepped on my legs. (I had the presence of mind to think "wow...this is just like those stampedes on "Wagon Train'!)

Before I could get up, the horse stopped and turned around, apparently determined to run me over again. ("I get it! You're the boss! Alright already!", I thought.) In the meantime, the instructor had found me, grabbed the horse and hoisted me and my balloon (formerly known as a leg) onto his back. My injuries were limited to contusions in my calf and the unpleasant task of saying 'You were right." to my mother.

I don't ride horses anymore, but I still love them. And Andrea is still my friend.

The Sign Outside My Office

Just doing a drive-by post. I put this sign up high, outside my office door...usually good for a chuckle or two.

Who's Your Daddy?

I've written a lot so far about my mother, and a little bit about them as a couple, but not too much about my dad. That's partly because while I have a lot of pretty horrific memories of him from my childhood, I know now that much of his bad behavior was driven by my mother and maybe even by clinical depression, and I have forgiven him.

At heart, he was a very warm guy. He really liked us as babies (good thing, because my mother handled us like we were radioactive), until we got old enough to block the TV. He had a really strong Brooklyn accent, which made me laugh even as a child. He said "Oil" when he meant "Earl", and "earl" when he meant "oil". I remember pointing it out to him once, but I think he clocked me one. He was a gadget freak. We didn't have a lot of money...he was a mailman afterall. But we always had new cars (see below), air conditioning before anyone else, more than one TV before that was the norm, and electric EVERYTHING. Electric can opener, card shuffler, back scratcher...you name it, we had it. He even bought an electric cigarette-roller. That didn't work so great. (He didn't score the first COLOR TV on the block, though. My grandparents did! )

I think because I was the third girl and he was probably hoping for a son, he taught me everything I know about baseball, boxing, engines, and of course it was Sal who taught me how to handicap racehorses (a talent I displayed to a nun for Show & Tell in 6th grade). He even brought me to the track once and let me pick his horses, but I did so well that he thought it better not to bring me back.

One of the best things he left me with, although unknowingly, was a collection of bawdy 78rpm records by a singer named Ruth Wallis, the queen of the double-entendre. Her songs went something like this:

I took in a boarder and I treated him right
But he got into my pantry...one fine night
Now my house is out of order
How can I take care of a husband and a boarder?
What am I gonna do?
Mr. Boarder I put it up to you...

You gotta stay out of my pantry, Mister
That stuff don't come with the rent
You gotta stay out of my pantry, Mister
You're makin' too big a dent...

Other songs were called "Johnny's Little Yo-Yo" and "Loretta's a Sweater Girl" ("...how does she steal away each fella's heart? She's got two outstanding reasons...she's cute and she's smart!").

I played them, memorized them, and entertained the "troops" by belting them out on High School bus trips.

So, while there are a lot of mistakes he made that will stick with me forever (I cannot listen to the 10,000 Maniacs song, "What's the Matter Here?" without blubbering), I can also say that he gave me valuable gifts...humor, a penchant for trivia, a love for sports and movies and Soupy Sales...and he made his peace with me by loving my children.

A few years before he died, I found the perfect Father's Day card for him. On the outside it said: "Dad, you know how I drove you crazy for so long?" and on the inside..."I'm almost done."

Wednesday's Child

As many of you know by now, "Wednesday's Child" refers to a blog that I read that I would like to see "adopted" by other readers. Lots of blogs on my blogroll are wonderful, and I read them every day, but they already get lots and lots of traffic (deservedly so!). The recommendations for Wednesday's Child are little jewels that you may not have discovered yet.

Today's "orphan" is daddychip2. Chip's "2" site is different from his main daddy-blog. It focuses on gender and social issues, two subject that are very close to my heart (see factoid #60), especially on the eve of "Take Our Daughters to Work Day."

Read Chip. Weigh in. Enjoy.

Photo Friday: Famous

A rerun, but appropriate for this week's Photo Friday theme

emmas_hero, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

My daughter Emma (now 21) was a quirky child. Her favorite film at age five was The Adventures of Baron Munchausen. She was introduced to this film by Arthur, her gay babysitter (fodder for a future blog post), who made her the pop culture queen she is today.

She'd watch the movie over and over and over, and memorized the credits so she knew every character and every actor who played him or her.

At the timeI was married to husband #2 who is a Broadway stagehand and was working at "Miss Saigon"...starring Jonathan Pryce, also a star in that film! Although not her dad, husband #2 was wonderful with my daughter (probably the reason I married him...sadly our marriage only lasted 18 months). He arranged for Emma to go backstage and meet her idol. This was, for her, what meeting Barney would have been for other kids her age at the time. She was totally freaked out! and nervous! She wanted to do it, but to her this was the rock star of all rock stars. She finally built up her courage and this photo is the result.

Family Jewel

OK, kids...watch out. I'm organizing pictures today and scanning as I go.

This particular photograph always makes me laugh. It's my mother's family, taken probably in the mid 1930's.

Bottom left: My grandmother, Lucy, previously seen sitting on a donkey. Probably the kindest person I've ever known. Kept us laughing with these attempts at English:

"Aunt-a Mary went to the Poconuts on vacation..."

"Aunt-a Jo Ann got a new car...a Veal Cutless."

"It's-a time for bed. Putta you pinjamas on..."

"I like-a candy, 'specially Hemena-Hemena Peanoots." (M&M Peanuts)

She cut the ends off most words, so "children" became "chill", etc. Once, when she asked me if I liked my aunt's new house, I said "Yeah, except for the living room floor." (which was vinyl) She bristled and said "Whatsamatta? You no like-a linol?"

Bottom right; My grandfather, Sal, who looks so mean in this picture...what a joke! Nice try, grandpa. He smoked those gross little Italian Panetela cigars that would make you puke if you just touched one to your lips (Yeah, that's right. I thought that was a good idea at the time.) He'd pronounce my name (Marian) as "Muddiyan", which spawned my childhood nickname: "Mudd".

Upper left: My Aunt Ginny, who is the only sane one of the four sisters. She's given me a lot of insight into why my mother is so nuts.

Upper middle: Aunt Mary and Aunt JoAnn, in this photo known as "The Fugly Twins". They, along with my grandparents, lived upstairs from us and got married very "late" (in their 30s). Apparently what they heard from the marriage downstairs made them a little gun-shy. (getting rid of those hair bows helped too. They look a little bit like Wendy Willcox in this picture.)

Upper Right: My mother, Margie-Dearest. The oldest of the four, and already in complete control of the clan. Here, she's thinking "That's right, Mom and Pop...someday I will be your LANDLADY!"

Photo Friday: "Soft"

Soft Paris, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

My entry: Lucas cuddling a friend's Italian greyhound named Paris. (In case you're wondering, IG's are NOT couch potatoes! More like whirling dervishes!)

Damn You, Hallmark

kitchen, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

I hate this time of year. Mother's Day this, Mother's Day that. All I know is, I have to go pick out a card to send to my 83 year old mother (you know, because I have to) and there isn't a damned one that tells my truth.

What is a dysfunctional child to do? Maybe I can write my own card, wtih little snippets to take her down memory lane...

....the adorable way she'd say "Who's gonna look at you anyway" to the pre-teen me as I'd brush my hair or look in a mirror before going out.

...the nightly game of "spin the knife" that my sister and I would play, to decide which of us was going to get to kill her.

...the loving way she said "Don't you have any respect for your body?", after my father beat the crap out of me for holding a boy's hand when I was 12. (it was so absurd that I actually laughed through my tears)

...those homecooked meals that were supposed to "taste better than they look."

...the way she tossed my favorite stuffed poodle into the back of a garbage truck as I sat, stunned and five years old, on my front stoop. She said it was dirty from me dragging him on a leash up and down the street.

...her sloppy technique when holding a towel in front of us at the beach, insisting that we take our bathing suits off before getting into the car. (cue "Who's gonna look at you anyway." It's a multipurpose expression, useful for humiliating children in countless scenarios.)

...and of course, her penchant for finding innumerable methods of inflicting physical pain when my father wasn't around to do her dirty work.

I've often looked at this photograph and compared it to those of my own children at about the same ages (I am 2 and my sister is 6 1/2). Thankfully, I don't think any pictures of my children show them as sullen as the faces you see here.

Maybe there's a card that says, simply, "Thanks for the memories."

Wednesday's Child

As you know, 'Wednesday's Child" refers to a blog on my blogroll that just doesn't get enough attention, so I put it up for "adoption".

Today's child is Artsy Science. Tracy is the fucking COOLEST geek on the planet, turning science into riveting and beautiful pieces of art with his trusty microscope.

Go. Now.

An a-pope-priate time...

...for a rerun.

Apologies to those who have read this already. Having a mentally shitty day...a rerun was all I could manage. Thankfully, I had a good AND perfect one!

Pope-a-Dope

I had the funniest visual last night, while watching all the "false Pope" news. They really should apply reality TV techniques to electing this guy.

They could have Jeff Probst pull the votes out of a greasy cauldron.... "Cardinal Guiseppe Ricotta Lasagne...the tribe has spoken."

Or, Tyra Banks could stand up and scream at the cardinals who didn't try hard enough, and tell them to take responsibility for their lives. "I have NEVER had to yell at a cardinal like this before!!"

Best yet, they could have Ryan Seacrest call out "the bottom three", and then fake out the one who gets elected by saying "Cardinal Token-Third-World-Candidate...you....are....going...............................TO BE POPE!!!" [WILD APPLAUSE]

Clearly, I need other things to think about.

Oh Look!

Cardinals, originally uploaded by gfilm.

It's the new "He-Man Woman Hater's Club"!

(sorry for the drive-by blog post...it's too gorgeous out. I'll write something more substantial later!)

Angel Face

There is a term used amongst people who adopt greyhounds called "chipping". It refers to the old Lays potato chip ad, "Nobody can eat just one". Of course, we are not EATING greyhounds, but the idea is that you always want another.

We adopted Kelso in February of 2003, and by July we were ready to "chip". A friend directed me to the website of a NJ group where I saw a picture of the most angelic grey I'd ever laid eyes on. She was in a foster home waiting to be adopted. I made the call. They told me that Rosie had suffered from heat stroke when she was transported from the Plainfield track in CT to south Jersey, but unlike some of the other dogs she made it through ok. (the dog haulers do not have to be airconditioned, and this one got stuck in traffic in the middle of summer). I spoke to the foster "parents" who told me that she was an amazingly loving dog...great with kids, easy to walk, affectionate. It was a 2 1/2 hour drive to get her, but I knew Rosie was the pup for us. Even Kelso seemed to like her, although she wasn't too sure about him at first.

Lucas fell in love with her immediately, and the feelings were mutual. Although Kelso had been a great dog, he was not a cuddler...Rosie could not get close enough. She was everything we were told she was.

In early November, about two weeks after Tony died, I was walking both dogs and we encountered a man who lives in the same complex who is slightly retarded. Rosie went crazy...barking and pulling like she wanted to kill the guy. I thought it was kind of weird, but figured it had to do with the fact that he walks funny. Still, it was behavior very uncharacteristic of greys. They rarely bark at all.

As the days went by, she began to bark at anyone who approached us. It became impossible for me to walk the dogs together, so in the dead of winter I was having to take each one out separately. (argh) Rosie and Lucas developed an amazing bond, but when my daughter Emma would come to visit for a weekend Rosie began to bark viciously at her as soon as she arrived. She'd calm down until Emma tried to go upstairs (which was weird, because the dogs don't use the stairs...it's a spiral staircase), and then she'd go crazy again.

At first I thought the barking was just that: barking. But the next time Emma came, she made a sudden move and Rosie lunged to nip at her.

I called a trainer that was recommended to me and she began to work with Rosie, but she was quickly aware that she was out of her league. She brought in another woman who tried using a bitter apple spray in the dog's face when she barked, throwing chains to startle her, and at one point she attempted to make the dog sit by pushing her butt and Rosie bit her. Drew blood. The woman wasn't upset, and admitted that she had been too aggressive with the dog. After spending about a thousand dollars, I knew we were getting nowhere.

I was at my wits end. By February of '04, Lucas could not have friends over. I couldn't go out, because I couldn't have a babysitter in. Emma refused to come to the house. Finally, I was walking Rosie one day and a neighbor approached to give me something she had found of ours. I told her not to come any closer, but she said "Oh, I work for a vet. I know animals." and kept on coming. Rosie got quiet, but as the woman got close enough she lunged and ripped a hole in the idiot's sweatshirt. I couldn't believe it. She insisted that it was ok, she was ok, and not to worry.

I knew better. I called the condo president and said I was taking Rosie to the vet for a thyroid test. That night, the neighbor went to the condo president with the sweatshirt. This was getting serious...I could lose my homeowner's insurance, and worse...Rosie could hurt someone.

The thyroid test was normal. Our vet works with hundreds of greys, and told me to call Mary Ellen Walsh who would know what to do.

Mary Ellen arrived and Rosie greeted her in the usual Cujo fashion. I kept Rosie on a leash, by my side, and she calmed down. We sat to talk about the problem, but Rosie would make a deep gutteral growl every single time Mary Ellen spoke to me. Then, when I'd speak, she'd gaze up and stare at me lovingly. Finally, the trainer said "I love dogs. I have worked with hundreds and hundreds of dogs with all kinds of behavioral problems, and can usually find a technique that works. This is not the case here. This dog has a dysfunctional attachment to you. I don't know how else to describe it. What I can tell you is that you are a prisoner in your home, your child can't have friends in, and your daughter and your neighbors are at risk. AND, there's no telling if she will decide that, as much as she loves him now, LUCAS is in her way as well. You need to return this dog." We also talked about the heat stroke, and she agreed that it could have left Rosie a little "off" in the brain.

I was crushed. I knew that Lucas would be crushed. But I also knew that she was right, and that I could trust her unquestionably. The eerie part is that the behavior started soon after Tony's death...a person who had a dysfunctional attachment to me. [insert Twilight Zone music here]

When a greyhound adoption does not work out, the dog MUST be returned to the adoption group. They don't want these dogs to end up in the pound, or with someone who doesn't understand the "rules" of keeping one. Poor Lucas was beside himself when I told him what had to be done. He had just lost his dad, and now was going to have to lose his "heart dog". I had to explain that Emma could be hurt, or we could lose our home if she bit a neighbor. I told him that Rosie would have to be put down if she bit a child. That sealed it for him...he knew we had no choice but to bring her back.

Incredibly, an amazing young woman that I knew only through a greyhound bulletin board drove 2 hours to my condo, to accompany me another 2 hours to the group's kennel. She knew how difficult a drive this was going to be. I couldn't have made it without her. And thank god she did, because the people at the kennel could not have been colder and acted like I was totally irresponsible for bringing Rosie back.

In the end, she was placed in a home way out in the country with a woman who has five other greyhounds. I email periodically to get updates, and it seems that she has done well. For whatever reason, our home was not the right one for her.

Since she has been gone, Kelso has become a snuggler and Lucas has become closer to him. Still, there was something about Rosie...

Photo Friday: "Rest"

Rosie Resting, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

One of my favorite photos of a greyhound we had for a few months (a story in itself), Rosie. She absolutely adored Lucas.

Line Drawing

DontFallForthis, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

Thanks to Tara for this little gem. Like her, I could NOT stop laughing when I saw it.

And the Golden Cojones Award Goes to....

...Last Girl on Earth!

Deni, my fellow New York crazy-chick, has taken blogging to a whole new level. She roamed the mean streets of NYC (a silly moniker made more hilarious after you see her video), asking random strangers to say things requested by her blog-readers. She has posted the video and it's a piece of working deserving of many views and COMMENTS! Did I mention that she did this alone?

The last person in New York to become famous for asking people on the street to do strange things in front of the camera was Ugly George. (I will spare you the link.)

So..........I hereby award Deni her Golden Cojones. Watch the video, listen for the panthergirl part, and tell her I sent you!

The Dog's Brag-fest

I'm so excited! I won a little contest over at "been there". I had to submit the best piece of parenting advice I ever got. If you want to read it, go there!

AND...somebody reviewed my little blog. Check this out!

OH and I also won Easy's "Randomeme 504" (where you have to guess what songs certain lyrics come from). I guess I should buy a lottery ticket this week, eh?

My Little Tiger

Luke's Finish!, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

Well, this Tiger is definitely back after winning at Augusta today, but I've got quite the golfer on my hands as well.

Lucas is just not a team-sports kinda kid. Ironically, Tony was a major athelete in school: baseball, football, diver, golfer, basketball player (at 5'9"). I think he was a wee bit disappointed that Luke just never showed much of an interest.

After Tony died, Luke asked if he could join Little League. He played one season and hated it, except for hitting the ball. I decided that golf might be the game for him.

This past October, I took him to the driving range (when this picture was taken). I got him lessons right away, and he LOVED it. He's a lefty, like his dad, and an absolute natural. Although only 62 lbs., he has driven the ball as far as 170 yards (in winter!).

This week, on Thursday evening, the pro is taking him to the golf course for the first time. It's bittersweet for me to see him do so well...when I know how much his dad would have loved to see it too.

Great Book by a Great Friend

Since I know a lot of you have kids, or know people who do, I feel it is my duty as your blogfriend to tell you about this awesome, hilarious, disgusting and totally gross book. The author is a great friend of mine, Joy Masoff, whom I blogged about when I was going to tennis camp in February. She's a brilliant writer who REALLY has her finger on the pulse of what kids are fascinated by: snot, pus, vomit, poop, farts...you get the picture. But it's educational! Really!

The great news is that Joy is also working on a sequel, called Oh Yikes!, which is best described as an encyclopedia of gross historical facts (executions, etc.). I've helped with some research and now know lots of horrific facts about gladiators and Vikings and even the US Presidents.

Check out the "Oh Yuck!" using the link on my sidebar (and check out Amazon Associates while you're at it! I had no idea about that until I saw it on another blog. MUCH better than Google ads).

***What was up with Haloscan today? Comments have been down periodically, so if I haven't commented on your blog today that's why!****

Villainess of the Week

Michelle Gertz, originally uploaded by panthergirl.

Unlike my good buddy Brando, I watch a ridiculous amount of TV. When I hear the word "Survivor", I don't think about eyes of tigers. I blogged about "Supernanny". I gave my TiVO box a card on Valentine's Day. Get it? I heart TV. Even when I hate it.

My current guilty pleasure is season three of "Project Greenlight".


This year, they are making a horror film and have hired a director whose contest reel was incredible. He's John Gulager, the son of actor Clu Gulager, and a very eccentric dude (think Hitchcock, only less effusive). His work is dark and almost Fellini-esque...totally different from anyone they've chosen in the past.

One of John's idiosyncracies is that he has only worked with his friends and family, and wanted to cast them all in this movie. The casting director (the woman in this picture) fought with him tooth and nail over the fact that this is a BUSINESS, and you can't just hire your friends. You need to cast name people who will put asses in seats.

Well, guess what happened on last night's episode? This chick managed to get HER friend hired in the lead female role, after the director and the producers had all rejected the actress as totally wrong for the role. The actress? Navi Rawat. Yeah, a real box-office draw.

Gotta love Hollywood.

Fallen Angel

See? I wasn't always the crazy wild child from two posts ago. In 1962, I was a devout communicant with dirty knees and Edith Prickly glasses.

There were three things that eventually drove me away from the Catholic Church:

Inspired by I-don't-know-what, I went through a very pious year when I was 10. Attended Mass every single morning. I shit you not. One day, I was at morning mass with a good friend, and decided to tell her a joke that my sister had shared with me the previous day. (What is it about being in church that creates the uncontrollable urge to tell a joke?) It went like this:

"There's a new man in our office. His name is John Benjamin Hind, but since he has red hair we call him 'Red B. Hind'."

This was, by far, the MOST hysterically funny thing we ever heard and we couldn't contain ourselves. We couldn't even look at each other without bursting out laughing. After Mass, the priest sent an alter boy to grab us. We had to kneel on a hard block of wood with rice sprinkled on it for about an hour while he changed his clothes in front of us. Strike one, Catholic Church. You have no sense of humor and your priests are all perverts. I guess we dodged a bullet with that particular guy, but at least one other from our parish was outed as an abuser later on.

The next serious blow to my "faith" came later that year. From the time I was about five, my parents had thoughtlessly left me to fend for myself against two much older male cousins on a weekly basis. Marge and Sal were busy engaging in Sunday afternoon penny-poker games with my aunts and uncles while I sat in one of my uncle's locked Cadillac getting a reluctant biology lesson from these two monsters. I distinctly remember staring at my white anklets and black patent leather Mary Janes as a way to disassociate while they argued over penis size and who was going to get to do what to me, or me to them.

I was wracked with guilt over this activity (even more so than when I chewed a piece of gum that my friend Andrew had stolen) so I decided that the only course of action was to march myself over to church and confess. Saturday after Saturday, I made my way there, stood outside and rehearsed the words I would use to describe my "sin", hoping that I didn't have to spell it out for the old guy behind the screen. Each time, I became consumed with anxiety, turned around and ran home.

Finally, a Saturday came when I mustered up the courage to enter the confessional:

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been six weeks since my last Confession..."

I got no further than that. Six weeks?? SIX WEEKS? Did I have ANY idea how heinous that was? The priest lit into me, my little, devout, 10-year-old church-going self, with such venom that once he finished I kept my sins to the standard, "Lied, cursed, disobeyed my mother", did my 10 Hail Marys and got the fuck out of there. I never went to confession again. (Well, I did go into a CONFESSIONAL one more time, but I'm saving that story for the book.)

That was strike two. Strike three came that same year, when I sat in my fourth grade class and listened to Sister Mary Fill-in-the-Blank pontificate about the evils of communism: "Everyone has to dress the same, and think the same..." I raised my hand and asked her why that was any different from what we were doing, right there in Catholic school. I was sent to the principal's office for "insubordination."

I stopped going to church, figured out that the Golden Rule was as effective as anything they could teach me, and decided that "I don't know" was a perfectly acceptable answer to all the hard questions that religion was supposed to sort out for us. I've never looked back.

My cousins grew up to be used car salesmen. I grew up to provide multiple therapists with down payments on houses in the Hamptons and a couple of Ferraris. Quell surprise!

Wednesday's Child

Ah, almost forgot that it's WEDNESDAY. The day that I direct you to read a blog that hasn't established the readership it deserves just yet.

Please go read Ilsa, She Wolf of the Blogosphere. Another cyberfriend from the world of greyhounds, Melissa is an awesome writer and takes no prisoners when it comes to her views about politics and religion (go Melissa!). Her post today is gut-wrenching.

No Fear of Flying

Looks pretty innocent, doesn't she?

My parents fancied themselves to be just about the strictest ones around. I had absurd curfews ("be home at 9 o'clock!" when I was leaving the house at 7 pm, for example), rules about not riding in cars with boys...they even marked the liquor bottles when they were going to be gone for any length of time (by then, my friends and I were smoking pot and taking Qualuudes, so the liquor was of no interest to us. We just laughed when we saw the little pencil lines.)

As "strict" as they were, they were equally clueless. When this photo was taken, I had told them that I was spending the weekend with my friend Mary Beth who lived in Queens (about 10 minutes away). I was 16. Instead, Mary Beth drove me to LaGuardia Airport where I got on a plane (having never flown before) and rendezvous'd in Portland, Maine with a 28 year-old guy I had met at my part-time job in the city.

A few months later, my parents and I flew to Atlanta to visit my married sister as I feigned excitement and anxiety about getting on an airplane for the first time.

Needless to say, my antics as a teenager have in turn made me a very tuned-in parent (I would never have my kid spend the weekend at anyone's house without talking to a parent, for example). What it also did was teach me the importance of trust.

My parents began to accuse me of drinking and drugging and sexing at such a young age (around 12) that by the time I was 13-14 I figured I may as well be having some fun. After all, I was already in trouble! I had nothing to lose, and lots to live up to. With my own children, I have chosen to expect the best from them, trust them to make good choices, and catch them when they fall.

So far, so good. No one has left the state without my knowledge, anyway!

Where I'd Like To Be Today

While we're talkin' vacations... give me the island of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. Unspoiled, beautiful, safe (oh, ok...ONE person was killed there in recent years, but probably by someone who popped over from St. Thomas).

The people are amazing and they welcome tourists because they actually BENEFIT financially from tourism. It's not unusual to go somewhere for lunch, chat with the waitress, and then have her serve you dinner at a completely different restaurant later that night.

We would lay on this beach in Cane Garden Bay, leave our stuff (including our cameras) to stroll down the sand to Stanley's Welcome Bar for a drink and some spiny lobster or conch fritters.

By 5PM, you have to decide on a place for dinner and make reservations, but not because the restaurants will fill up. It's because if you don't call, they just won't cook! When you call, they say "chicken or fish?", you place your order and when you arrive your table is set and they already know what you're having. Too cool.

The US Virgin Islands cannot shine the shoes of the BVIs. Pure unadulterated paradise.

(This was a Polaroid, taken in 1983, hence the funky color. But I like it. I have not been back since, but I understand that everything I've described remains true today.)

Making Memories

Lucas on the Wild Jeep Tour, Sedona AZ 2002




Over the past five years, I have tried to take each of my kids on vacation. Sometimes together, but often separately. They are ten years apart in age, and my daughter Emma really prefers walking through cities to road trips or beaches (as I discovered when I took her to Bermuda for a week in 2000, when she was 15. She spent almost every waking minute in the air-conditioned room, reading 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy".) She did deign to come to Orlando with us that year (that's her at MGM). She also traveled to Europe with my mother in 2001 (my mother was 80 years old but they had a great time together) and went to London with her dad. She and I also went to Atlanta, where she loved visiting the Margaret Mitchell house.

Lucas is a great traveler. We went to Jamaica in 2001 when he was 6 (stayed at a place called "FDR Pebbles" which assigns you a family nanny when you arrive. She entertained and watched after him the whole week, whenever I wanted time to myself. It was incredible. Not the greatest beach, but great for traveling with small kids). Like my cornrows?




In April of 2002, Lucas and I flew to Phoenix and met up with my sister Loretta. We headed north to Sedona, which was like visiting another planet. After driving for miles along dry, dusty and brown landscape, the road turned and suddenly we were faced with enormous red "rocks" (mountains, really). While there, we took a drive up to the Grand Canyon but it was so windy I was afraid Lucas was going to be blown into oblivion. Here's a picture of us atop one of the red rocks.




The year 2003 wasn't a travel year for us. Tony (Lucas' dad) had gotten sick and I was reluctant to go too far from home.

Last year was a BIG travel year for Luke and me. In February, we did our now-famous marathon drive to Florida. Then, in April (he had two weeks off last year), we took Kelso to a dog-friendly bed and breakfast in the Catskills. We were the ONLY people there, which was great. Even the owners were away on vacation, so we only got to meet them on the last day. The woman who owns the place was SO affected and strange! As it turns out, she had been Klaus Von Bulow's girlfriend during his trial for killing his wife.




In August, we decided to take a "Science and History" trip to Boston for a long weekend. We stayed in Cambridge and visited the MIT Museum and the Museum of Science. We walked to Faneuil Hall, went to the Aquarium, and saw Spiderman 2 at the IMAX theater. We walked through all of the historical cemetaries. It was a blast. Lucas loved eating at Legal Seafood every nght, too.




I honestly think my primary job as parent is making great memories for my children. Based on all of the nostalgic posts we see here in blogdom, my blog included, the things that are burned into our brains as kids stick with us forever. For better or worse. For all the bad memories I have of my own childhood, one of the very best has to do with a major road trip we took when I was five. That, however, is fodder for a future post...

Read It Now...

... before Oprah turns it into a crappy made-for-TV-movie. This book is amazing. I finished it yesterday and can't stop thinking about it. (as opposed to the Jenna Jameson book, which is getting pretty repetitive after page 300...I mean, how many times can she pretend to be shocked/uncomfortable/surprisingly turned-on by another woman's advances? I find myself flipping back several chapters, thinking "Didn't she do this already?") This book , however, is an incredible survival tale written by a woman who managed to make it to adulthood, in spite of two brilliant but clearly mentally ill parents. She not only made it, but she's a successful columnist AND she has two greyhounds. ;)

Comments That Count

Please go visit my friend Greg at The California Hammonds. He is running a comment-fundraiser to benefit the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Greg lost his young wife to breast cancer just one year ago.

Go. Comment. Donate if you can. You can even win some cool prizes along the way! (I was the 300th comment, so I won a $10 iTunes Gift Certificate. Wheee!)

Photo Friday: Hot

Lucas on a raft in Jamaica in 2002. Not "hot" in the way that a lot of other entries are today, but believe me...it was hot. ;)

"Wednesday's Child"

Does your local news station do a segment called "Wednesday's Child", featuring a child in foster care who needs to be adopted? Mine does. So, here at TDB we are introducing our own weekly segment. The difference is that it features a BLOG that, in my humble opinion, does not get nearly enough attention.

Today's "Wednesday's Child" is Two Chemists and Their Greyhound Sidekick. I've known "pinky" for a few years through a greyhound message board, and she found me here in the blogosphere. She's a wonderful writer and very, very funny. (She and her husband are chemists and they just bought a Honda ELEMENT. Anyone who would spend over $20K to make a pun is ok in my book.)

Go visit Pinky. And feel free to send me ideas for future Wednesday's children.

Picked up on the Glory Road

Swiped this from my friend Easy. Let me know in the comments if you're posting your answers on your blog, so we can come over and check them out!

Name the most unusual object you possess.
Letters from Alfred Hitchcock's secretary, Suzanne Gauthier. When I was 10 (in 1965), I was obsessed with Hitchcock. I wrote to him regularly and she always replied. I even invited him to my sister's wedding but "Mr. Hitchcock will not be in Brooklyn the week of May 7th". Good thing. My sister broke her engagement 2 weeks before the event! I would have been SO embarrassed!

Name three things you like about yourself. Name three things you don't.

Like:
1. I'm quick witted.
2. I'm a very nurturing person.
3. I have a killer backhand.

Dislike:
1. I'm disorganized at home.
2. I am a procrastinator.
3. I am too trusting.

Name three things you'd like to learn.
1. To sing, for real.
2. To speak Italian.
3. To do "illumination" (you know, the very detailed illustrations around a letter in old books?)

Name three things that comfort you when you are stressed
1. Exercise
2. My dog
3. Having a good, calm friend nearby.

Stardust Memories

There was something about that concoction of smells...the Old Spice, the Chanel No. 5, her pressed powder, his freshly cleaned suit...I loved it when they got dressed up to go out. They seemed different. Young. When I was little my older sisters and I would do silly stuff while they were gone...we'd dance on the coffee table and try doing cartwheels in our tiny living room. In my teenage years those smells meant that I'd have a boyfriend over, who'd run out the front door as they came in the back way.

They'd always come home with a centerpiece of wilted flowers or little pink and blue candied almonds bundled in white netting. The delicious perfumes from the early evening would be replaced by stale traces of rye and vermouth. He would have danced to make her happy. She'd complain that her feet hurt. By the next morning, they'd be snarling at each other and everything would return to ... normal.

Lick the Habit

Seeing yet another ridiculous Phillip Morris TV commercial about quitting smoking (or about preventing kids from taking up the nasty habit) prompts me to post a link to my FAVORITE jab at the tobacco industry site. Great stuff. Enjoy.

Zoom Zoom Zoom

Since we're not Easter-y types, Lucas and I have an annual tradition of going to the International Auto Show every Easter Sunday. We'll take the train down to the city this morning (always a fun ride), have breakfast in Grand Central Station and then take a cab over to the Javitz Center for the show.

It's a crappy day, so it's perfect for an indoor event like this. Last night, I watched "Maria Full of Grace", an incredible film about a girl who works as a mule (drug trafficker). See if if you haven't.

I also watched "Dr. 90210", one of those train-wreck shows about plastic surgeons that leaves me needing surgery: jaw replacement after it has dropped to the floor. Mrs. Dr. 90210 gives a little speech about how people treat her differently now that she has breasts, how they are more friendly and willing to give her directions and stuff. Uh huh. Note to self: Never, ever, move to LA.

Photo Friday: Tiny

Lucas on the Smokey Trail, Sedona AZ

(for Photo Friday )

Made it Back...Barely!

Thanks for all the comment-love while I was gone! I was able to check in a few brief moments here and there...and it was great to have some connection to the blogosphere!

The trip was great, although we flew up and back on an 18-seater (not my favorite thing to do). Coming back we flew into a blizzard (even less fun, and I kept thinking of that Twilight Zone episode where the ghoul appears at the window of the plane. That was SO comforting...NOT!). The drive home from the airport was even hairier, but at least I had my boss who is a longtime great friend with me so I wasn't as freaked out as I would have been.

We stayed at a crap Marriott Hotel in Yorkville, because it's two blocks from the office. Unfortunately it was about 10 blocks from the room to the elevator (or certainly seemed like it). Yorkville is nice, though, and we ate (twice!) at Sassafraz...a gorgeous and amazing restaurant on Cumberland. I even drank a little (unusual for me)...two Mojitos in three days! Woo hoo! What a boozer.

My meeting went really well (made a presentation to about 30 people, telling them about a packaging artwork management process that I designed for the US). They loved it and are going to adopt it as well. I actually love making presentations and doing training...It's fun to be the "teacher" ("Class! All eyes on me!")

Did a ton of walking, went to the Royal Ontario Museum to see the Feathered Dinosaur exhibit, bought a couple of Woody Allen movies ($10 Canadian! Cheap!), and got a little break from the kids/dog.

Have a lot of reading (blogs and otherwise) to catch up on. I'm off most of next week so I'll be a busy blogger. I promise!

O Canada

I am going to Toronto on business for three days (yeah, I know. I JUST went to Chicago on business for three days. I don't travel that much, normally, but I like it when I do. I get to be a grownup for a few nights).

To keep you busy while I'm gone, I'm directing you once again to reruns. If you are a relatively new reader, chances are you haven't seen these:

The Adventures of Wendy Willcox and Her Dog Willis This is the most hilarious "scam the scammer' story you will ever read. Bar none.

These are the Good Ol' Days My answer to that infuriating chain email that goes around every few months about how much better things were in the 50s and 60s. This is one of my personal favorites.

I'll be back on Wednesday night. Some of you were surprised by the boxing post...if so, you're gonna love what I've got planned for later in the week!

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

The government intervention in the Terry Schiavo case should scare the shit out of all of us. The law is very clear when it comes to decision-making in cases like this: spouse, adult children, parents. The Republicans have turned this very PERSONAL matter into political fodder...a bogus "right to life" case. At the same time, they have redefined "slippery slope". And now BUSH is getting involved? Shouldn't he be busy getting our troops the hell out of Iraq?
LET THIS WOMAN DIE ALREADY. These so-called loving parents are so selfish...I can't even begin to relate. The bullshit propaganda about how she would 'suffer" if allowed to die from starvation is crap. People in a permanent vegetative state do not have the ability to suffer.
I know there are a lot of "blogs for Terri" out there. This is one of them. Let the poor woman go. There are some things worse than death.

The Playground of My Youth

The Plaza Hotel may be converted to condos. For many of you, this might be big-yawn news. For me, it means the end of an historical landmark...the Beatles stayed there, for chrissake. I've had drinks at the Oak Bar, saw Andy Warhol at Trader Vic's, spotted Muhammed Ali as he hailed a cab from the side entrance. I protested against the inhumane treatment of the carriage horses.

But most of all, The Plaza was the place where three of my closest friends and I made mischief as teenagers. We'd take the subway from Brooklyn, buy tickets to see a movie at the Plaza Theater, and amuse ourselves before the show by running around the hotel. We'd change the "Do Not Disturb" signs to "Please Make Up This Room". We'd look for leftovers on the room service trays left outside the rooms. Never did anyone see us or stop us. Until one night.

There was a bathroom in the hallway on one of the upper floors. We decided that the two guys, Andrew and Kevin, would go in and smoke a joint while Andrea and I waited outside, on the lookout. When they were done, we switched places. She and I were doing our thing when we heard muffled voices from the other side of the door. The guys were talking to someone...a man. Panicked, I wanted to flush the roach down the toilet, but instead Andrea stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans. We opened the door to find the house detective and our two petrified buddies.

The detective took us to his office, where we showed him our movie tickets and tried to explain that we were just innocently killing time before the movie. He proceeded to take down our personal info, one by one. As he was scribbling Andrew's parents' names and phone number, I could see Andrea maneuvering the roach out of her pants. What the heck was she doing? Trying not to look directly at her, I could tell that she was opening the zipper of her upholstered chair and cramming the evidence in there. Fucking brilliant. Still, as each home phone number was collected we knew that we were dead meat...pot or not.

Then, the detective got to Kevin: "Where do you live?" "Greenpoint." "What is your last name?" "Sullivan". "Sullivan? In Greenpoint? Are you related to Nancy Sullivan?" "Yes, she's my sister.' "Oh man...I was in love with her in high school. How is she?..." and on and on it went, until he told us to get our skinny asses out of his hotel and never come back.

Let's hope that this plan falls through, or we may start hearing that the Metropolitan Museum of Art is being converted to a Wal-Mart.

Photo Friday: Glow

Submitting a photo for Photo Friday taken by my son Lucas, crack photographer.

A Die-Hard Pacifist Confesses

I love boxing. There. I said it. I can't quite resolve it in my little dove-head, but I do. My recent fixation with NBC's The Contender is just a confirmation of what I've already known: I love watching guys beat the crap out of each other. Well, I mean in a semi-controlled, art-form kinda way.

This show is amazing (although I'm one of a relatively small TV audience who seems to think so). There are some cheesy moments with Stallone and Sugar Ray, but the show itself and the desperate boxers and their families are really compelling. The two guys who "wanted each other so badly" on last week's episode were either going to kill each other or make out before the show was over. What can I say? Tensions run high!

If I have a criticism, it would come from my undying impulse to protect every child on the planet. I cannot STAND seeing these little 2 and 3 year old (or even 5 and 6 year old) kids watching their fathers get and give a pummeling in the ring. Last week, a little girl dressed up like a piñata was covering her eyes as her daddy's brains rearranged themselves in his skull. C'mon...this stuff is GREAT to watch, but there needs to be a height requirement to enter the 'gymnasium'. There would be plenty of human drama without permanently scarring these poor children. If they would just get the kids out, this show would be my favorite guilty pleasure.

A Little Something...

...to keep you entertained while I'm gone.

This site is amazing...don't forget to play the What Kind of Dog Are You? game. I am, believe it or not, a toy poodle!!

Enjoy!

Saturday Sound Bites

Still not quite back in full typing mode, but better. There are just a few things I want to throw out there. Discuss.

1. When you comment on someone's blog, would you rather that person email an answer to you, or answer it in the comments? I get a lot of email responses which is nice, but on some blogs the comments seem to spur a conversation which is nice too.

I'm really not sure what's better! Help me out here.

2. I sent off our packette to the Today Show. They will make a decision early next week as to whether or not Lucas' room gets their Spring Makeover. We took pictures and made a video, which I turned into a really fun iDVD. For some reason, I tend to get responses when I apply for these things. When Emma was in High School, I wrote to the Dr. Phil show about dealing with a gifted underachiever and they called me almost immediately. The had to speak with Emma before they'd book us, and she didn't want to discuss her school issues on national TV. Oh well!

3. Belly dancing class was really fun and unbelievably hard. But I'm really good at the boob-shake. (I asked if we'd get to do the tassle thing. She said I might be in the wrong class.)

4. I'm off to Chicago on business for three days next week. God, I love that town. So gorgeous.

5. I'm going to do some scanning this weekend. I have a few good posts planned. Between my hurty finger and being really busy at work this week, I've fallen behind in my blog writing AND READING. Hopefully I can get caught up today.

6. I'm reading the Jenna Jameson book (see sidebar). Very interesting...could have been me, if I hadn't made some pivotal decisions along the way...

7. This week in Reality TV: I love The Contender (even though Sly Stallone is an ass), I'm so happy The Amazing Race is back, I was bummed that Wife Swap wasn't on, I'm getting bored by Survivor and The Apprentice. Anwar should win American Idol. And then marry me. [note: this is what happens to a person who does not have an actual life of her own]

8. The best thing about Reality TV? Joel McHale on "The Soup" on E! I'm going to marry him after I divorce Anwar.

9. I hate snow.

10. That's all, but I couldn't leave it at 9.

Photo Friday: Faces

The faces of the "missing" on September 16, 2001.

Holy Makeover, Batman!

Last night, before I went to belly dancing (which was great, btw...I can bump and grind with the best of them now. Well sort of. Thank god there are no mirrors), I got a call from the Today Show. You know, the Katie Couric Today Show? A few weeks ago I had spotted something on their website asking parents to write a short essay on why their kid's bedroom needed a makeover. I wrote it in my usual smart-alecky style, and lo and behold...they came a-callin'.

We had to take a ton of pictures and make a video and send everything to them today, and they will make their final decision next week. My only fear is that if they do Lucas' room it's going to make the rest of my house look like crap!

Keep all your fingers and toes crossed! I sure am, which is why my typing might look like akddlaa;dhaianruhgn;alm!!

Shake It 'til You Break It

Tomorrow night, I'm starting belly dancing class. How mid-life crisis can you get? Or is that mid-riff crisis? All I know is that I had a friend, years ago, who was in her 50s and had been taking belly dancing for years. I actually saw her perform in a Middle Eastern restaurant and from the neck down she looked 20! I'm not kidding...her body was unreal. So what have I got to lose?

I can't write much tonight because I have an infected cuticle on my index finger and it HURTS to type!!

The Results are IN!

And the winner of the GRR Donation Raffle is..... Sharron!. She wins the $50 Gift Certificate to buy some cool jewelry at Jakk's Magic Bean Workshop!.

Please go visit Sharron and congratulate her!

The good news is that between my donation and the ones from my readers, GRR will be able to pay for 2 spays (the adoption groups pay for all of the veterinary work when the dogs come off the track, including the repair of broken bones). The less-than-great news is that although the comment turnout was GREAT, the donation turnout was teeny.

So, I'm not doing my malaprop post today! (I'll save it for another day, though...it's too good not to.) I will, however, go back to our regularly scheduled silliness a little later in the day. Right now I have to get my butt dressed and off to work!

Thank you again for participating in the comment fundraiser! If you missed it, I'll do it again later this year.

Slip Slidin' Away

I am one unhappy puppy tonight... it took me THREE AND A HALF HOURS to get home from work (normally a 35 minute drive.) After a 60-degree day yesterday, we had a major blizzard with icy slush and 50mph winds. A real festival on the highway. Cars were spinning and sliding everywhere (I like to amuse myself by thinking of them as the "June Taylor Drivers", something only the oldest bloggers will get.)

Anyway, the only thing less fun than driving home was attempting to walk Kelso. Positively miserable. So, no funny posts from me tonight. I need to recharge my personality. It will be back tomorrow.

What is the Opposite of "No Comment"?

173 COMMENTS left on yesterday's fundraising post for Greyhound Rescue & Rehab!

Since some people accidentally put their comments on the previous day's post, and some emailed me because the "line was busy" on my haloscan comments, I'm going to round up to 180...which translates to $280 that I'm forking over for the greyhounds!

You guys are awesome! Thanks also to many of you who cross-posted about the event on your own blogs.

Remember, although the "comment fundraiser" is over, you can still donate something...doesn't have to be much...directly to Greyhound Rescue & Rehab. If you do it before 9PM tonight, and put "TDB" in the memo field of the Paypal form, you will be entered into the drawing to win a $50 Gift Certificate from Jakk's Magic Bean Workshop. There you can choose a lovely pendant or earrings designed by Jul of Jul of the Day.

C'mon...do a little something for the pups. I promise you a VERY funny blog post for tomorrow...but only if we get some action today! I'll give you a hint: I collect malaprops. Now...go donate!

How Life Should Be...

...for the hounds. As I mentioned yesterday, tomorrow, Monday, I will be running a comment fundraiser to benefit Greyhound Rescue & Rehab.

Tomorrow morning (or at midnight tonight if I can stay up that late!) I will make the official benefit post. Then, I will donate $2 per comment for the first 100 comments, and $1 per comment thereafter (wouldn't it be great to get more than 100 comments?).

In addition, anyone who goes to the Greyhound Rescue & Rehab site and donates directly should put "TDB" (for The Dog's Breakfast) in the Memo field on Paypal. You will then be entered in a raffle to win a $50 Gift Certificate for jewelry at Jakk's Magic Bean Workshop donated by Julie of Jul of the Day. You can do that any time between now and Tuesday at 9PM.

Please promote tomorrow's comment fundraiser on your blog. If you want more information about retired racing greyhounds, and why we need to raise money for them, read the GRR site and my previous blog post.

Photo taken by me, of my pup Kelso and Riley and Jabari, of Greyhounds Living in Paradise. Riley and Jabari have moved to Hawaii...the stinkers.

MINI Driver

I love my MINI. (I also love to look at this photo, taken in October, when there was NO SNOW.) This is an amazing car to drive (it's a 6-speed S, with 195-hp...for an itty bitty car, that's fast.), but there's also a whole sub-culture of MINI people. I don't think Taurus drivers flash their brights at each other in recognition. Or do they? Anyway...just another peek into my world. (I still have an SUV, but I'm getting ready to trade it in for something smaller like a RAV-4. The MINI is the dog-free zone.)

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Speaking of dogs, on MONDAY I will be running my comment fundraiser for Greyhound Rescue & Rehab, our local non-profit greyhound adoption group. I'll post more info tomorrow, but basically I will donate $2 for every comment posted to a particular blogpost on MONDAY. There will also be a prize drawing for those who donate to GRR directly, a gift certificate donated by Julie of Jul of the Day. To see what you can get, go to Jakk's Magic Bean Workshop. (just put "TDB" in the memo field on the Paypal form to be entered into the drawing). More details about the Gift Certificate will be posted tomorrow.

Please promote the fundraiser on your blog...we've all done some great work for Tsunami Relief and other charities, but that also makes it harder for some of the less well-known non-profits who need help.

Again, the comment fundraiser starts MONDAY. Direct donations to GRR, with "TDB" in the memo field, will be entered into the drawing from today through Tuesday at 9 PM. For more info on the Greyhounds, see my previous post.

Thanks everyone!!!

Only Because You Asked...

Here's a pic of me in my HS Uniform. ( I thought it was cool to substitute the penny loafers with lace-up dominatrix boots.) This was pre-Brooke Shields, hence the lack of eyebrows.


I like this one, though. It was taken on "Recollection Day", which was one of those goofy events where we didn't have to wear uniforms, but had to sit through "folk Mass" and sing Kumbaya. Then we'd break up into small groups with a few teachers to talk about deep stuff. As you can see, we didn't take it too seriously. In the background is the "Love & Pinches" guy, and next to him is a teacher I loved. We thought he was hilarious because he'd say stuff like "Many were cold, but few were frozen." And, ironically, he once told me: "Marian, you're not the marryin' kind." HA! (check out my friend on the left with the Italian Afro!)

The Plight of the Only Parent

I used to think that being a single parent was a really, really hard thing, especially a single working parent. And in many ways it is. But as with most things in life, a little perspective goes a long way. Now that I'm an only parent (to my 10-year-old son, since his dad died), I ache for the days when I had someone else to lean on, talk to, fight with, and generally share responsibilities with when it comes to Lucas. And I long to have a couple of nights a week when he was with his dad and I could go to a movie or have dinner with a friend. (there is a part of me that always thought joint-custody parents had the best of both worlds, and it did work that way for awhile)

Lucas is sick this week. He's had a fever since Monday and it doesn't seem to be quitting. Took him to the doctor today and there's nothing obviously wrong, but if he's still got the fever on Friday they are suspecting pneumonia. That's a very loaded word in this house, since Tony had pneumonia a few months before being diagnosed with lung cancer. I won't even speak the word to Lucas, who has become very nervous about sickness of any kind.

But as it relates to my plight, his being sick means that I cannot go to work. There's no backup...no one I can say "you do it today, I'll stay home tomorrow" to. No one to bounce things off like, "Do you think we should give him [insert drug here]?" We'll get through this week, and my job will still be there whenever I get back. I'm lucky that way. But any sense of shared responsibility is gone.

The irony here is that Tony and I did disagree about a lot of things when it came to Lucas. What we shared, though, was the depth of love for our child that only a parent can feel. When he does something cute or amazing, I want to tell his dad...knowing that it would never be boring or trivial to him. And sometimes I do.

Jamie's Ode to Whoop-ass

Am I the only one, after listening to Jamie Foxx sing the praises of his grandmother's beatings, who was left with the visual of him beating the crap out of his sweet little girl? Maybe convinced that it will help her land an Oscar winning role someday?

I came across a post on MetroDad's blog about "spanking". Now, MetroDad's the new father of an infant daughter, so I'm going to cut him some slack and hope that by the time she's old enough to misbehave he will have learned that you can, in fact, raise good children without pummeling them.

What is really scary, though, are the comments that other bloggers left...together they sound like a frenzied crowd anxiously awaiting their glimpse of a public execution. "Yeah! Beat them! Kids only understand pain! I really needed that belt to keep me in line!" What the fuck??

I suppose I should not be surprised. We read about children who are killed every day by a "spanking" gone wrong. I hate the word, for one thing. It's nothing more than a euphamism. If you're so comfortable with whacking your children, then call it what it is: hitting. But who really writes the definition? Where is the line between this thing called spanking and child abuse? Or does it even matter?

My father's definition of discipline ranged from the back of his hand (wedding ring included) across the face, to the snap of a dipstick across bare legs, to a full fist in the mouth when I was 16 years old. And everything in between. If he had ever been challenged (he was not, as my mother often pushed and prodded him into it) he would have thought he was exercising his parental rights. No wonder I cannot listen to the 10,000 Maniacs song, "What's the Matter, Here?" without blubbering.

More importantly, though, is the long-term, life-altering stuff. Right before I married Tony, my mother tried to rationalize her method of parenting (saying that "changing husbands is child abuse, hitting them is not"), and I finally decided to lay it out for her. I told her that when I moved out of her house at 17, immediately after high school, the man I lived with had hit me so hard that he broke my ribs. She was shocked. "Why didn't you tell us??", she asked. My response was simple. "Because I had grown up in a house with a man who was supposed to love me who hit me, and I left to live in a house with a man who was supposed to love me who hit me. I didn't think it was that weird."

It is not easy to raise children without hitting them. You have to THINK. You have to control your animal instincts to grab them by the scruff of the neck. Sometimes you have to walk away. But isn't this what we're trying to teach our children, when it comes to dealing with adversity in real life? That you can't haul off and punch the kid who destroys your Lego creation, or flatten the neighbor whose dog shits on your lawn? How do you teach those things if hitting is a part of your family culture?