As Promised...

Halloween '07...

Lucas as Groucho...



Kelso and me, as Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf (disguised as Grandma!) He's such a good sport.

Never Say Never

I'll upload some corresponding images as soon as Blogger fixes their stupid problem.

This month marks fifteen years since I started working at the company I'm at today. At that time, in 1992, if a psychic had told me the following things about my life in 2007, I would have said "You're out of your fucking mind" and sworn off psychics forever:



~ That I would be living anywhere but within the boundaries of New York City.

~ That I would be driving an SUV.

~ That my third marriage would have ended in divorce, and subsequently death.

~ That I would have had a second child.

~ That I would learn to play golf and love it.

~ That I would learn to knit and love it.

~ That things like TiVO, EZ Pass, HD TV, blogging, Netflix, iPods, wireless Surround Sound, a Blackberry with a Bluetooth headset, online banking, Facebook and iPhoto would become staples of my everyday life.

~ That I'd have to take off my shoes before getting on a flight because someone had flown planes into the World Trade Center and they fell down.

~ That my daughter would be living in Manhattan as the guest of her stepdad, my 2nd husband and going to art school.

~ That her dad and I would be on amicable terms.

~ That I would not yet have been to Italy or France.

~ That I would be taking a cocktail of anti-depressant/anti-anxiety/mood stabilizer drugs on a daily basis, most likely for the rest of my life.

~ That my child would be taking a cocktail of anti-ADHD/mood stabilizer drugs on a daily basis, most likely for the rest of his life.

~ That I would have eventually become a full-time employee, manager, and still be at that same company, fifteen years later.


So, in a shameless exhibition of comment whoring, what would have been the most surprising thing the psychic could have told you fifteen years ago, about your life today?

Photo Friday: Silence

The days following 9/11 brought a silence to NYC unlike anything I've ever experienced before. The skies were eerily quiet, and a pall settled over people that brought the normal buzz of day-to-day activity to a virtual halt.

Inside the Blogger's Studio

Fans of James Lipton's "Inside the Actor's Studio" on Bravo can now read about his adventures in interviewing in his new book:



I love the show, but what I love best are the ten questions that are posed to every guest. I thought it would be fun to answer them here, and to ask you to answer them too... either in my comments box or on your own blog (linking back here, of course!)


What is your favorite word?
Ricochet. When I hear that word, I actually SEE it bouncing from wall to wall.





What is your least favorite word?
Moist. EW.





What turns you on [creatively, spiritually or emotionally]?
Traveling. Not getting there (unless it's in a car), but BEING in a new place is a total turn-on.






What turns you off?
Conservative politics. Ew. Moist.





What sound or noise do you love?
Thunderstorms. (Having been struck by lightning you'd think they'd scare me, but they don't. I still love them.)






What sound or noise do you hate?
Babies crying. (Can't blame this particular kid, though)





What is your favorite curse word?
Shit-hook. Best used to describe someone who is basically a dick (which would be my second favorite curse word).





What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Therapist. Although I'd have a hard time giving advice to shit-hooks. (See The Hand-Me-Down Shrink, my online advice blog. I think doing it for money would be more motivating.)



What profession would you not like to do?
Baseball stadium dugout cleaner. Self-explanatory.






If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"Welcome to the Republican-free zone."

A Tough Time for Yankee Fans!

So sorry to see him go, but one cannot blame Joe Torre for rejecting the insulting offer from the Steinbrenners. Sadly, we'll probably lose Mariano and A-Rod as well. The Yankees won't be the same without Joe.

The only thing we've got left is seeing the Red Sox lose. Go Cleveland!

That Was The Week That Was

Age check: Remember that show? I didn't think so.

As previously noted, I spent six days down in Atlanta at my sister's place over the weekend, highlighted by the celebration of my mother's 85th birthday. I've written a lot of stuff about my mother and repeat them from time to time, but in a nutshell (no pun intended), we're very lucky that she's so damned healthy and independent, but she is truly a wackadoo. This is not due to age or senility, she was always off-plumb.

She's sort of a cross between Yogi Berra and Joan Crawford (we've referred to her as Margie Dearest). She's been known to comment that visiting Rome was less than thrilling because "It's so old." On this trip, she told us that a friend of hers had gone to Sicily. "I have no desire to go there. All they have is scenery."

In a moment of sheer brilliance on my part, I bought her a birthday card...one of those new ones that play actual songs. It had a picture of an old woman saying "As a matter of fact no, I'm not wearing any underwear", and when opened it played Rick James' "Superfreak". My mother had already changed into her nightgown when she opened it and started dropping the shoulder straps in a mock strip tease. (This prompted whispers of "Put it on! Put it on!" by us, the horrified on-lookers.)

It was great to see my sister, her boyfriend and my niece and nephews. Both of my kids were there too, so my mother got to see all of her grandchildren. Truth be told, she likes her crossword puzzles more than she likes them, but she muddled through.

This is her smiling:



My son is on the far right...my daughter is next to her. Ain't they cute? And my niece and nephews are adorable too.

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I think I've finally figured Ann Coulter out. She's actually a performance artist...this is all an Andy Kaufman-style comedy act. I hope.

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TiVO Gone Mad:

Of course, being away for six days meant marathon TV-catchup upon my return.



Private Practice is a crap show. I watched the pilot last year and was unimpressed, but I gave it a chance this year and made it through half an episode. What is with the soft focus on Taye Diggs? Does the guy have acne or something? Anyway, I'm done with it. I'll watch the clips on "The Soup" instead.

Ugly Betty is great again this year.

My jury is still out on Grey's Anatomy. First impression? Everyone except Katherine Heigl and Ellen Pompeo seems to be overacting. I'm imagining the director saying things like "Be a little more George! You know, halting speech and all?" "Patrick, hold that bedroom eye thing just one beat more!" "Chandra! Hit Justin FIVE times instead of four, ok?" And the writing seems forced. OK, I'll stop.

Really enjoying The Bachelor, America's Next Top Model, Survivor and Dancing With the Stars, but mostly because I've got a fantasy team on Fafarazzi. (You know, one of your cast members refers to an "alliance" and you get 10 points? That kind of thing.)

I like Dirty Sexy Money but have only seen the first episode. I've still got Pushing Daisies to watch before I am too far behind.

And I'm almost finished watching the Boston Legal Season 3 DVDs so I can start the new ones.

Right now, I'm seriously depressed and no longer wondering why my suitcase has yet to be unpacked even though I've been home since Tuesday. I need a doctor.

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Last but not least, one of the reasons I've been a bad blogger is Facebook. That's right, I've gotten sucked into the vortex that involves not just social networking but online Scrabble games, TV trivia (see previous mini-entry) and Zombie fights. Don't ask.

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And why didn't I do a Photo Friday post this week? Because the theme was "Real Life", and clearly... I don't have one!

Men in Tights

I've been out of town for a week in Atlanta, celebrating my mother's 85th birthday. More about that, and a few choice quotes, later. In the meantime, a Halloween season rerun.

As noted in an earlier post, my family had an almost disturbing obsession with Halloween when I was growing up. Everyone would dress up, including my grandparents (who usually wound up with the same look on their faces that a cat gets when you put a bonnet on him).



There was always a party, with PRESENTS! And Halloween games like ducking (dunking?) for apples... although I couldn't bear the thought of touching my face to the swirling saliva. "We're FAMILY!", they'd squeal. I never quite understood what difference that made.



The costumes were usually anything but politically correct. My father dressed as a "Chinaman", my sister as Aunt Jemima. My uncle was a laugh riot when he showed up as a blind beggar. And all the men wound up in drag at one point or another.






My array of costumes ranged from the Virgin Mary:



to a gypsy (dig the 60s "finished basement"):



to Ringo Starr (gotta love my mother as a pack of cigarettes):



Of course, a much as I mock this obsession, I've clearly inherited it. Here are a few recent examples of what I mean:

Lucas and Kelso last year:


Me as "Old Spice" a few seasons ago:


And I even had a costume WEDDING in 1989! Who am I kidding? I love this stuff.

Photo Friday: Comfort

One of the beings in this photo is very comfortable...

Chock Full 'o Drunks

When I was a kid, mothers used to bond over something called the "coffee klatch" (not mine, of course, who thought bonding with anyone who wasn't a blood relative a complete waste of time). People owned huge percolators meant to serve the minions who showed up for holidays, or just Sunday dinner. Walking into someone's home for even five minutes would elicit a "wanna cuppa cawfee?" which was both required and sincere.

I could post dozens of photos of our family gatherings that include a dining room table dotted with coffee cups. Coffee in the morning, with lunch, in the afternoon, and definitely after dinner. I posted about the coffee addiction of my late ex-husband Tony.

At one point in the 80s, I quit drinking coffee altogether. At breakfast in a restaurant, the poor waitresses didn't know what to do with me. There was no time-killing coffee order prior to bringing the food. I disrupted their whole world.

Now, it seems, alcohol has replaced coffee as the beverage of choice in suburbia. I didn't experience this when I was raising my daughter in NYC, but here in the 'burbs, someone is always trying to shove a glass of wine or a cocktail in my face...at noon.

My son made friends with a kid a few years ago whose parents started inviting me over for various social functions. I was relatively new here and single, so it was nice to feel like part of the community. It soon became evident that these people had a serious drinking problem. The kids would be running around playing while the parents would blow through bottle after bottle of wine like it was water. No, scratch that. I couldn't drink that much water without having my bladder explode.

I gradually stopped going to their house because I just couldn't relate to all that imbibing. Then one night I ran into the dad and his son about an hour from our homes. He reeked of booze. Before I could do or say anything (and I'm not quite sure what I could do or say), he got into his car, with his kid, and drove. Lucas and his son drifted apart and that issue went away for us.

Lucas, who doesn't make friends easily, has bonded with a kid named Max over the past two years or so. But I find myself in the same situation. I went to drop him off at the kid's house on a Saturday morning and was greeted by the dad who was VERY happy and repeating himself a lot. He offered me a drink (it was 11:30 AM and I was literally dropping off my son and getting into my car). I politely declined and he badgered me until I finally said, "You know, I just really don't drink much."

Every time I see these people (intelligent, middle class folk) they have a drink in hand, and when I consistently decline their offers to partake they stare at me with the puzzled expression of someone looking to unload a winning lottery ticket. They have three young boys, a big aggressive dog, a swimming pool, and the father hunts so I know there are guns in the house. My son found a bullet on their patio. I view them and their house as a tragedy waiting to happen.

I don't want my kid in a car with them, and I'm not crazy about having him go there to play. But it's so hard to get him to socialize that I also know that if he doesn't play with kids whose parents drink he won't play with anyone at all.

So the friend comes here. Almost all the time. And when Lucas goes there, I drive him and I pick him up and trust that his instincts for danger will kick in if he sees something bad happening.

As for me, I'm going to grab myself a cuppa cawfee. Want one?

Shmorgasblog

OK, so the main reason I haven't blogged much is because the weather has been gorgeous and I've taken full advantage of that this summer. I'll be back in full blogging mode over the next month or so, but in the meantime a few sound-bites.



I had a birthday on Thursday. Although I didn't get a nifty plastic Barbie case this year, I did get some other cool presents including a Boom Bucket, nice lacey PJs, and Season 3 of "Grey's Anatomy" on DVD from my kids. I played a round of golf, had dinner with my favorite boys, and enjoyed the glorious sunshine and cool temps.





"The Biggest Loser" is back. I love this show, and I've gotten my son into it as well. He was weeping as he listened to each contestant tell the story of how they got to be, in some cases, 400 pounds. It's a great show, and there's a lot to be learned about healthy eating, exercise and how sheer determination can reap amazing results.


If you really want to see the Biggest Loser, just watch the video of Britney Spears from the VMAs. Bloated, lethargic and ready to topple off those stilettos, she has redefined "triple threat": Bad singer, bad dancer, bad parent.









I've gotten sucked into "Big Brother" since the first awful season. There is something so cheesy about this show and its contestants, but I always seem to get drawn in.

This season, Dick and Daniele Donato, an estranged father and daughter, have dominated the game. She is a terrific competitor and deserves to win. He gives me the creeps because there's something about him that reminds me of my late ex-husband Tony. If he continues to chain smoke, he's going to be Daniele's late-ex-father. Anyway, the season finale is next Tuesday and I'm looking forward to seeing Daniele win.





Lest you think I'm nothing more than a shallow reality-TV-show watcher, I've also been quite busy listening to the audiobook version of "A Thousand Splendid Suns". I loved "The Kite Runner", but I daresay that this book may be even better. Although written by a man, it is a story about women from a woman's perspective (similar to the amazing "Memoirs of a Geisha"). And although the characters are fictitious, the events that take place in Afghanistan are not. The fighting, the politics, the oppression... it is unreal to think that these things take place in the 21st century. There are moments in this book that will make you wonder if you're reading about ancient Rome or a modern-day nation.




Last, I want to call your attention to this sad news story about the death of a NYC carriage horse.

For years I've wanted to see the carriage horses gone from the streets of Manhattan and from Central Park (as a kid, I fantasized about starting an organization called "H.I.T.C.H. - Halt Inhumane Treatment of Carriage Horses"). They have died of heat stroke, lack of water and shade, and now this.

If you come to New York City as a tourist, do your part and do NOT hire these carriages to cart you around the city or the park. Walk. It's better for you, and better for the horses.

What Makes a Bad Parent?

There are two news stories this week about parents who have lost children, and the role that they may or may not have played in their child's death or disappearance.

For one of these parents, I have deep pity. For another, I have less. I am sure that where my sympathies lie, and do not lie, may run counter to what many others are feeling. But I can only relate to what I know as a parent, a single parent, a working parent... and a parent who puts the safety of my children above all else.




These are the parents for whom I do not have a lot of sympathy. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine leaving three tiny children alone in a hotel room, or apartment, for 15 minutes... nevermind leaving them alone while I go have dinner with my husband and friends. While I am not yet convinced that they played a role in Madeline's disappearance or sadly what may be her death, I hold them absolutely accountable for what happened.

In an attempt to portray them as intelligent, good people in the aftermath of them being named as suspects today, one news reporter pointed out that they are doctors. Who was it that said one can be intelligent without being smart? It may have been me.

I've seen them interviewed on The Today Show, and didn't hear any anguish over the choice they had made. Yes, they appeared to be distraught over her disappearance...but where was their deep regret for violating Parenting 101?

This is the parent I feel deeply for. I watched the video of her on the news last night, anguished and despondent over what happened to her child, and could barely sleep afterwards.

You see, this wasn't the case of someone who routinely left her kid in the car while she got her hair done, or while she shopped (like my parents did, btw). This was someone who was trying to do everything she needed to do, to be a good parent and good worker and good person, and she screwed up. Big time. When my son was a baby and I was taking him to daycare every morning before work, I often had to repeat over and over to myself that I had to drop him off before going to the office. My mind was applesauce, between a stressful job, raising two children, and having a husband who barely pulled his own weight. My biggest fear was that I'd drive to work one day and leave my son sleeping in the car, in the garage of my building, while I rushed upstairs to get to work on time.

And then I saw a news story about a woman who did just that, with tragic results. Like this woman did.

Honestly, I don't know how she will live with herself. But I also do not see why people are calling for her prosecution while pitying the McCanns. They intentionally and irresponsibly left their children alone. She, on the other hand, made a horrible mistake that will haunt her for the rest of her days.

Crash - The Real Story (Redux)

As documented in a previous post, I come from a long line of car lovers. My parents would get *almost* more excited to hear that I got a new car than they did when I announced the conception of a future grandchild. They'd squeal: "Congratulaaaaaaaaaaaations!!!!!!" (Then again, they used to say "Happy Bowling!" to my sister as she left to play in her weekly league game. Weird.)

Any-who, if you've read my 100 Factoids, you know I've been in 13 car accidents and one moped accident (I wasn't driving any of the cars). Most of these took place during my adolescence and teenage years, not so coincidentally because my father was the King of All Tailgaters. Several of those accidents were with him, one on the way home from the showroom with our brand new Mercury Lynx. I was about 9, and clearly remember him yelling "Son of a bitch!" when he rearended the car in front of us, also sending our groceries flying. Pears on the floor and my father swearing...vivid memories.

One incident involved my mother, stopped at a light in our 1967 Toyota Corolla. We sat paralyzed in horror as a truck careened out of control and crashed into us. No one was hurt, not even the truck driver. The rest were mostly fender benders, but I was always sitting in the passenger seat. I say "mostly" fender benders because there was one serious crash.

I was 16 and had gone to my cousins wedding, riding from Brooklyn to Connecticut with my sister C. (the one I don't speak to now). My parents and grandmother rode in my father's car. During the wedding my sister was drinking quite a bit, but no one hesitated when it was time to leave and she got behind the wheel.

As we drove down I-95, I was aware that she was swerving a lot and that we were going over 75mph. At the time there was a concrete divider on the highway, and I felt our tires hitting it several times as she raced on. Finally, just as I thought "Shit...the people behind us must really think this chick is drunk..." our left rear tire blew out. The car did a 360 (at least one) and flew broadside into a pole.

The next thing I remember was waking up, laying on the ground, unable to move. I opened my eyes and saw my sister stomping around in the grass, grabbing hands full of weeds and saying "My car! My car!" over and over. A group of people had stopped to help us, but what they soon realized was that the reason I could not move was because the car had done air time (there were scratches on the pole 8 feet off the ground) and landed on my HAIR.

My hair was pretty long at the time, but the tire had come to rest about 2 inches from my head. Probably against their better judgment, the good Samaritans collectively lifted the car to free me (How many people get to stare up at a car tire, hovering over their face? Hopefully not too many). And then, in another lapse of judgment, they lifted me and laid me on a board they found in someone's trunk. (Thankfully I had no internal or spinal injuries).

In fact, with the exception of some minor lacerations from the safety glass, a head full of leaves and twigs, and split seams on all of my clothing from the impact, I was fine. My sister hit her nose on the rearview mirror, but that was it for her. I was transported to a nearby hospital where my parents were notified (they had not gone straight home from the wedding, or they would have seen the accident as they went by).

My father went to the State Trooper station the following day to see the accident report. In a really bizarre twist, a neighbor of ours was a trooper. He had some reason to panic when my father walked into the station, but was probably relieved to find out I had been in a car crash and that my father wasn't carrying a shotgun. Anyway, he told my father that the cops at the scene knew my sister was drunk, but decided not to do anything about it. They were more appalled at the fact that she showed no concern at all for me, just cried about her car.

The car, a 1970 Mercury Comet (we called it the Vomit), was not just totaled...it was destroyed. It had hit the pole so hard that the chassis was broken in half. The impact was directly behind the front passenger seat, which is why I was ejected. I was not wearing a seatbelt, and in this case that probably saved my life, but I know that's the exception to the rule and would never ride without one now.

That was the last of the crackups until the honeymoon of my second wedding, where I became yet another statistic in Bermuda's long line of dopey tourists who crash their mopeds. I skidded on a gravelly road, crashing head first into a stone wall so hard that my helmet cracked along with my sternum. I managed to retain my sense of humor, however, when we went back to visit the scene of the crash the next day:

Could It Get Worse Than Bush?

Maybe. Or, just as bad... in a different way.

Watch this:

Giuliani Time.

We in NYC lived it. Other people need to get past the 9/11 images and see what Guiliani Time was really about. Al Sharpton comes off as reasonable in this film, which tells you something about the megalomaniac that is Rudy.

Car Tunes

There was a time when I discovered new music by listening to the radio. That time was about 30 years ago. Now I watch TV, particularly car commercials. I hate it when classic songs are used in ads (who wants to associate Led Zepplin with Cadillac, or Iggy Pop with some tacky cruiseline?). But I love it when I hear a great, obscure song and I can pull up Ad Tunes and find out what it is.

Some great ones over the past few years:

"Pink Moon" by Nick Drake (VW Cabriolet)
"Struggle" by Ringside (Dodge)
"Here Comes the Sun Again" by M. Ward (Cadillac... believe it or not)
"Ladyshave" by Paul Oakenfold (Mitsubishi)
"You Only Get What You Give" by The New Radicals (also Mitsubishi)
"Days Go By" by Dirty Vegas (Mitsubishi again... they're good at picking music)

And VW has apparently contracted with Wilco for their entire new album, "Sky Blue Sky".


While car commercials have been a musical goldmine for me, there are other ads that have driven me to download as well:

The Geico caveman on the moving sidewalk is serenaded by a Norwegian group called Royksopp, to the tune "Remind Me". I dare you to get that one out of your head.

Korbel champagne grabbed Bitter:Sweet's "The Mating Game" (which I also associate with Sara Ramirez's character, dancing in her underwear on Grey's Anatomy, another terrific source of new music)

"The W.A.N.D" by Flaming Lips (Dell ... ew... )

"All Will Be Well" by the Gabe Dixon Band. It was used on a promo for some very short-lived tv show about young lawyers. I don't remember the show, but I'm enternally grateful for finding the song.

Grey's Anatomy, as previously mentioned, is a great source of music (I've discovered Joe Purdy, Mat Kearny, The Ditty Bops, and Kate Havenvik there) as is "Six Feet Under" ("Breathe Me" by Sia, and various tunes by Jet, are standouts) and "Nip/Tuck" (who can forget Christian Troy caring for his little boy to Rufus Wainwright's "Vibrate". Or the season finale that ended with Art Garfunkel's "That's All I Know"?)

According to my daughter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Veronica Mars are also musical treasure troves.

Who needs a radio when you've got TV?

**Edited to add that yesterday, while watching The Golf Channel, they prefaced showing the current leaderboard by identifying the background music as songs from the new album by the Arctic Monkeys! To quote Jackie Gleason in "Smokey and the Bandit", "What is this WOYLD comin' to?"

A Man of Constant Sorrow - An Anniversary Rerun

My father died 12 years ago today. This photo was taken only a few weeks before his death, when Lucas was 8 months old. Although he could be a harsh father, he really loved babies and it shows here.

I thought it was fitting to rerun a post from March 13th.

One part Tony Soprano, one part Ralph Kramden and a pinch of Bugs Bunny...that pretty much sums up my dad, Sal. He grew up in the streets of Brooklyn, one of eight children (there was a ninth, but he fell from a fire escape as he played with his older brother, my Uncle Joey. Somehow I never trusted Uncle Joey). They lived in a tenement building above the barber shop that his father owned and next door to the woman who would become mymother. (and also "next door to Moider Incorporated")

A sweet, quiet man, my father served six years in the Navy during WWII, including a stint on the USS Lexington. He was at Pearl Harbor for a weekend of R&R when he and his shipmates were suddenly called back and they left, stealthfully, in the middle of the night. It was December 6th. Because of this incident, he was convinced that FDR knew the bombing of Pearl Harbor was going to happen, but allowed it as a way to get us into the war. During the Battle of the Coral Sea, the Lexington was torpedoed and poor Sal had to await rescue while bobbing around in the Pacific. As a kid, not realizing the magnitude of this event, I would tease him and call him "Chicken of the Sea" when he didn't want to join us in the water at Rockaway Beach.

Our relationship was a complicated one. For years I just thought he was a horrible, abusive father which in many respects, he was. He was generally sullen, having been forced to forego a dream of being a carpenter and moving to California in the 1950s by my mother: The Queen of Control and Manipulation. She insisted that he take the civil service exam, stay in Brooklyn near her mother and sisters, and get a job with a pension. He spent his working life delivering mail.

We paid dearly as a result. His hair-trigger temper and ill-fated attempts to control me, especially, resulted in aberrations of parenting that began with verbal lashings, humiliation and sadistic "discipline". We feared him. He never said much, but talked with his hands like Tony Manero's father in Saturday Night Fever. ("Hey! Watch the hair!") By the time I was a mouthy and wild teenager, he was hauling off and punching me full-fisted in the face.

It may seem strange to you, but after many years of psychotherapy I came to pity him. I realized that Sal was the puppet...and Margie Dearest was the puppetmaster. She'd instigate arguments between us, she'd put words in his mouth, she'd challenge him with "you're gonna let her get away with that?" until he had to take action to prove his manhood. He was miserable and he was trapped. I quoted him in my earlier post about marriage, where he said "If you wanted to be happy, what the hell did you get married for?" Sadly, this told me how low the bar had been set for him. He gave up everything to please a woman who could never be pleased.

I don't think I could have ever found it in my heart to forgive him had there not been moments of genuine love and affection that seeped through. Unlike my mother, I think he really did love us...especially as babies. This became evident to me when I had babies of my own and saw the warmth in his eyes. I knew, too, that by loving my children this way he was expressing a wordless apology to me. (My mother, on the other hand, once said "So sue me!" when questioned about her parenting style.)

I'm sad that Lucas never got to know my Dad. They would have adored each other. Thankfully my daughter did get to experience the "real" man...the one who wept as he held her as a newborn, who held my hand as an adult to make up for all the times he couldn't do it when I was a child. While I can never forget the mistakes he made, I am wise enough now to understand the grey areas.


My Dad and Emma at my wedding to Tony, 1993. Photo by Rob Fraser.

Windy City Soundbites

We're back from Chicago! It was business for me, but I brought both kids and made it a little vacation for them. Although I am a diehard New Yorker, I just love Chicago. Just wish it weren't so damned cold in the wintertime...otherwise, I could definitely live there.

Some of the high and low points of our trip:

Almost didn't make it: My secretary, in a rather typical moment of brain-fart for her, booked my kids' tickets using my last name although theirs are different. (I specifically gave her this info). Since my daughter is 21, she had to show ID and guess what? The name on her license didn't match the name on her ticket. It took about 2 hours to get this resolved (and it only got resolved because we were flying out of a smaller airport). Thankfully, I'm one of those people who needs to be at the airport hours ahead of time to reduce my stress-level.

Stayed at the Swissotel: My favorite place to stay. See above view from our room. The only downside? Two double beds in the room instead of two queens.

Had dinner with my cousin Mary at Big Bowl. It was so much fun...she's smart and funny and grew up in my crazy family, so we always have a lot of laughs. Wish we could see her more often. Go read her blog. She's great.

Got to spend a ton of time with my assistant, who is the greatest: We had dinner Tuesday night at Shaw's Crab House, where Lucas ate a 2lb. lobster by himself. When asked if he wanted any sides, he asked for a "side of a swordfish steak". That didn't happen.

Dinner on Wednesday night with a friend and his family: We ate at Scoozi! which was just noisy enough to accommodate our table of four adults and four kids. The food was great, but the high point for me was the pomegranate Mojito! And, they took Lucas home with them for a sleepover.

Thursday involved more work, but also a visit to the new Freedom Museum in the Chicago Tribune building. Do not miss this on your next visit there. It was terrific, interactive, educational and fun. Had an incredible lunch at Bandera. The Bandera roasted chicken with 90-degree rice (basmati rice with lime and cilantro) was so good I wanted to pick up my plate and lick it. Lucas finally got his swordfish steak.

The Blue Angels were warming up for their impending air show: Maybe it's the New Yorker in me, but I don't like to see speeding jets flying near skyscrapers.

I'll hopefully be getting out to Chicago more frequently this year. As you can see, the eating thing is big out there. Any favorite Chicago restaurants you'd recommend?

Show 'em Who's Boss - Redux

I'm in the gorgeous city of Chicago on business this week, hence the rerun. Re-enjoy!



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.

Photo Friday: Oddity

Maybe not for you, but for us to find a snapping turtle at the foot of our condo steps is certainly an oddity!!

Who's Fault Is It, Anyway?

There was a segment on The Today Show about this study, demonstrating the power of McDonald's branding and advertising on children.

The debate was between Donnie Deutsch, advertising icon, and a woman from some organization for an advertising-free childhood.

I've got to side with Donnie on this one. McDonald's can advertise all they want, but if parents don't want the message pounded into their kids' heads, it's their responsibility to make sure that doesn't happen.

Impossible? Hardly. I did it with both of my kids. First of all, they didn't watch commercial television until they were about 7. Sesame Street and movies ruled at our house! And not necessarily kid stuff that adults couldn't enjoy...no Rainbow Brite for us. They watched the Marx Brothers and Laurel and Hardy and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen.

Foodwise, we're a non-red meat house and a non-fast food house. Both of my kids ate things that would normally be viewed as "adult" food (sundried tomatoes, catfish, shitake mushrooms, etc.). As a little guy, my son would refer to his friends as "carnivores" (not in an obnoxious or judgmental way, but the way another kid might say "my friend is Irish").

When my daughter was about 10, I left her home alone for a while one day. I called to see if she had eaten lunch. Her reply? "Yes, I had capers and goat cheese." My son went to daycare with a packed lunch that blew away the lunches of the TEACHERS: salmon, cous cous and asparagus. He was two. While they were not "forbidden" from eating sugar, they didn't find it at home.

Eventually my daughter ate meat at school ("Mom, I have a confession to make. I'm not a vegetarian anymore." Pfffft!) and at 22, eats it from time to time. Lucas at 12 has still never eaten it, and has no desire.

She didn't step into a McDonald's until she was about 8, and Lucas has only been there a handful of times in his life.

My point? McDonald's can do whatever they want...they can't undermine me, they can't overpower my role as a parent. I would never take my kids there (not to mention the sexist toy thing), and I suggest that if other parents are disturbed by this study they should follow suit.

Photo Friday: Wet

Not an award winning photo... more of a snapshot, but it's a good excuse to post my "Myths About Greyhounds" entry. These two are cooling off at our annual picnic to raise funds for Greyhound Rescue and Rehab.


Myths vs. Truths about retired racing greyhounds:

MYTH: People who own racing greyhounds just keep them when their racing days are over.
TRUTH: When a racer is retired (anywhere between 18 months and 6 years of age), an adoption group will take the dog and find a home for it. No one knows the exact numbers, but in some parts of the country and at some tracks, dogs are still euthanized when they can no longer race. Thankfully more and more adoption groups are springing up every day.

MYTH: Greyhounds, since they were racers, need a lot of exercise.
TRUTH: Greyhounds, since they are retired, just want to lay on your couch. They don't need any more exercise than an average dog. During their working life they raced (for 30 seconds) every three or four days and slept in a crate for 16-20 hours a day in between. These guys were sprinters, not distance runners.

MYTH: Greyhound are high strung.
TRUTH: HAHAHAHAHAHA. Stop, yer killin' me.

MYTH: Since greyhounds are relatively large, purebred dogs, they must wind up with hip dysplasia and other genetic maladies and have relatively short lifespans.
TRUTH: Racing greyhounds are bred for health and performance, not for looks and "personality". They have a life expectancy of 12-14 years and do not suffer from the health issues that other pedigrees have. And they still have great personalities.

MYTH: Greyhounds were abused, so they must be skittish and spooky.
TRUTH: While we don't love greyhound racing, the abusers are in the minority. Practically speaking, you wouldn't abuse something that you are counting on for your livelihood. It would be more accurate to say that in racing, greyhounds are inventory. They are not pets while working, so they need to learn how to be the object of your affection. They are quick learners.

MYTH: Greyhounds cannot live with cats or other small animals.
TRUTH: This is true for some greyhounds, usually the ones who were excellent racers and have a high prey drive. However, many are retired early because they didn't care much about chasing the lure, and go on to live happily in homes with kitties and/or small dogs. Mine is not cat safe, but is fine with small dogs. The adoption group will tell you.

Other truths you may not know:
Greyhounds don't have a "dog smell".
Many dog-allergic people (like me) can live happily with greyhounds.
Because they are on a strict schedule at the track, many are very easy to housetrain.
They make great apartment dogs. They spend most of their time curled up in a little ball.
Most rarely bark. Some never bark. Mine only barks when he sees a dog who is not a greyhound. (He's a 'breedist". What can I say?)


And maybe the MOST important truth about greyhounds if you are considering adopting:

They can never, ever, EVER be trusted off-leash unless they are completely fenced in. They can see clearly up to 1/2 mile away, and if they spot something of interest (even a blowing paper bag), they will "lock on" and go for it, regardless of oncoming cars, trucks or trains. Oh, and electric fences don't work with greyhounds. If you don't believe me, put the collar on, get in your car and drive through the electric fence at 45mph. You'll be, oh, about a mile away before you feel the shock.
If you are serious about adopting, you will (or should) go through a pretty thorough screening. If the adoption doesn't work out, you don't give the dog away or bring it to a shelter...you return it to the group. So, they like to be pretty certain that the dog will be right for you.

Bottom line: If you want an incredible companion, don't have the time or energy to raise a puppy, and would like what is basically a cat in a dog costume, then a retired racing greyhound may be the ticket!

If you can't adopt but want to help (adoption groups have to pay for all medical costs when a dog leaves the track, including neutering and dental work but sometimes repair of broken bones as well) click HERE and be sure to say that panthergirl sent you!



And a thank you shoutout to the beloved Stephen Colbert for this
segment!!