Week 2 of Fire Engine 2 down with a slight hiccup.
Yeah, we strayed a bit over Memorial Day weekend and tucked into a burger and some BBQ ribs. Not many mind you, but enough to make me feel mucho guilty.
However, back on track again and I'm not gonna worry about feeling guilty. Just had an excellent Japanese meal with mushrooms, carrots and bok choy done with ginger and mirin sauce.
Today has been eventful as I've just begun a new novel. I agonized for an hour about the opening paragraphs and now am out the gate. My Mormon protagonist has now got life. This time I tried a new technique. I actually outlined the plot on index cards and then sorted them in sequence and copied them into the Word document. As I complete each scene, I can delete the corresponding entry and on and on until the novel is written.
It's supposed to banish writer's block aka staring at a blank page. We'll see.
Sunday
Engine 2 -Week One complete
I've just completed Day 7 of the Engine 2 diet, which isn't a diet per se but rather a means of changing one's eating habits.
Engine 2 diet is basically a Vegan diet (consuming anything with a face or mother is forbidden) that was started by the head fireman from a Houston's Fire Engine 2. He persuaded a company of Texan red meat eaters to go Vegan. However, his father (who really devised it while doing heart research) is/was head of the Cleveland Clinic--a top heart hospital in the US, which was founded by his great grandfather. If you're interested to try it out, the book is called The Engine 2 Diet by Rip Esselstyn and there's a website.
Basically, the diet states we've been brainwashed by the meat and dairy industries and the USDA to believe we can only get good protein from animals and their by-products. This is not true as animals get their protein from plants--and meat and dairy are basically not good for us and that living a plant based diet can eliminate and in some cases reverse the damage caused by the western diet. The only vitamin not found in plants--largely as a result of modern day large scale food production--is B12 and that you can get from Nutritional Yeast, which looks like grated Parmesan and can be used in dishes as such.
I'm a meat and chicken eater, love cheese and yogurt and haven't missed any of it so far. The recipes suggested as part of the diet we have so far enjoyed, and the one we found a little bland was easily fixed with additional spices, etc. So far the one I enjoyed best was the Portabello Mushroom burger with sweet potato fries. Major yum-yum. That surprised me.
Real Men can also be Vegans. Who knew.
Report on Week 2 next Sunday.
Engine 2 diet is basically a Vegan diet (consuming anything with a face or mother is forbidden) that was started by the head fireman from a Houston's Fire Engine 2. He persuaded a company of Texan red meat eaters to go Vegan. However, his father (who really devised it while doing heart research) is/was head of the Cleveland Clinic--a top heart hospital in the US, which was founded by his great grandfather. If you're interested to try it out, the book is called The Engine 2 Diet by Rip Esselstyn and there's a website.
Basically, the diet states we've been brainwashed by the meat and dairy industries and the USDA to believe we can only get good protein from animals and their by-products. This is not true as animals get their protein from plants--and meat and dairy are basically not good for us and that living a plant based diet can eliminate and in some cases reverse the damage caused by the western diet. The only vitamin not found in plants--largely as a result of modern day large scale food production--is B12 and that you can get from Nutritional Yeast, which looks like grated Parmesan and can be used in dishes as such.
I'm a meat and chicken eater, love cheese and yogurt and haven't missed any of it so far. The recipes suggested as part of the diet we have so far enjoyed, and the one we found a little bland was easily fixed with additional spices, etc. So far the one I enjoyed best was the Portabello Mushroom burger with sweet potato fries. Major yum-yum. That surprised me.
Real Men can also be Vegans. Who knew.
Report on Week 2 next Sunday.
Tuesday
Smoke filled rooms
Just had a great laugh this morning. My sides are still hurting
The medical industry--doctors, insurers, hospitals, pharmaceutical industry--have decided they want to help the Obama Administration reform the industry.
They will hold costs steady for the next few years which will result in a loss of profits amounting to 2 trillion dollars.
In exchange they want a place at the table to reform the industry.
I can't begin to imagine how many secret meetings have been held among these industries.
Smoke filled rooms filled with different kinds of smoke are alive and well.
I guess the credit card legislation and public sentiment has spooked them.
Oh, and remember the pharmaceutical industry's promise to reduce the costs of drugs a few years ago. I'm sure somebody in the Obama Administration will do their research.
The medical industry--doctors, insurers, hospitals, pharmaceutical industry--have decided they want to help the Obama Administration reform the industry.
They will hold costs steady for the next few years which will result in a loss of profits amounting to 2 trillion dollars.
In exchange they want a place at the table to reform the industry.
I can't begin to imagine how many secret meetings have been held among these industries.
Smoke filled rooms filled with different kinds of smoke are alive and well.
I guess the credit card legislation and public sentiment has spooked them.
Oh, and remember the pharmaceutical industry's promise to reduce the costs of drugs a few years ago. I'm sure somebody in the Obama Administration will do their research.
Monday
Reconnecting
Out of the blue, I got a call from someone I haven't seen since I was 21 and living in Germany. The call came just as I was helping Larry hoist a brute of an aluminum ladder up on the roof so he could reattach a cedar shingle that had come loose in a recent storm.
Susan and I attended the Collegium Palatinum in Heidelberg--me fresh out of law school. Then, I had plans to become a bureaucrat and work for the European Commission--the group that oversees the business of the European community--in Brussels and I needed fluency in a second European language. Susan was a journalism major.
She and I and a bunch of friends spent many evenings in Heidelberg kneipes throwing back bootfuls of cold frothy beer (that's the German yard of Ale). I remember her sitting in a bar wearing a huge quilted maroon jacket writing furiously as the erst of us drank ourselves silly.
When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "Writing a letter to a friend back home."
It struck me as very funny then.
I met Susan and her hubby Eric at the Starbucks in town. Eric's an alum of the The Solebury School and they were down for the alumni weekend. We'd arranged to meet in front of a shop called Taste of India and I recognized her immediately. That pleased me. I ahte it when people change so much, you don't remember them.
A pleasant hour was spent drinking coffee and eating bananas on the Starbucks veranda watching the people stroll by. Our conversation wasn't about the past--well, other than asking about some people both of us had lost contact with straight after the course ended. That's when I learned neither of us are nostalgic people.
She and her hubby run a magazine out of Southampton, Long Island and they do a clown show which the local kids love.
It's great to reconnect. Highly recommend it.
Susan and I attended the Collegium Palatinum in Heidelberg--me fresh out of law school. Then, I had plans to become a bureaucrat and work for the European Commission--the group that oversees the business of the European community--in Brussels and I needed fluency in a second European language. Susan was a journalism major.
She and I and a bunch of friends spent many evenings in Heidelberg kneipes throwing back bootfuls of cold frothy beer (that's the German yard of Ale). I remember her sitting in a bar wearing a huge quilted maroon jacket writing furiously as the erst of us drank ourselves silly.
When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "Writing a letter to a friend back home."
It struck me as very funny then.
I met Susan and her hubby Eric at the Starbucks in town. Eric's an alum of the The Solebury School and they were down for the alumni weekend. We'd arranged to meet in front of a shop called Taste of India and I recognized her immediately. That pleased me. I ahte it when people change so much, you don't remember them.
A pleasant hour was spent drinking coffee and eating bananas on the Starbucks veranda watching the people stroll by. Our conversation wasn't about the past--well, other than asking about some people both of us had lost contact with straight after the course ended. That's when I learned neither of us are nostalgic people.
She and her hubby run a magazine out of Southampton, Long Island and they do a clown show which the local kids love.
It's great to reconnect. Highly recommend it.
Wednesday
The email
Yesterday I opened my email to see Sales Statement from my UK publisher, Legend Press. It was for the second half of 2008, but as A Son Called Gabriel only came out in mid-October it was only for two months. Excitedly, I opened it up and was amazed how simple the statement was to read and that sales had been brisk. Sadly no check is forthcoming as sales were credited against my advance.
I wish my US publisher statement had been as simple--in that case, I had to have it explained twice and even then I didn't fully understand the thing.
I must say Tom Chalmers is doing a great job at Legend. He's always approachable, courteous and a pleasure to work with--and he's ambitious and possesses vision. Legend Press is an Indie to watch.
I wish my US publisher statement had been as simple--in that case, I had to have it explained twice and even then I didn't fully understand the thing.
I must say Tom Chalmers is doing a great job at Legend. He's always approachable, courteous and a pleasure to work with--and he's ambitious and possesses vision. Legend Press is an Indie to watch.
Monday
A bit about research
I love when an idea for a new novel pops into one's head. That happened me a few weeks ago when I was thinking I'd start to write a different sort of book. It came fast and furious and unexpected. My initial thought was to kill it as I knew it would involve too much time doing research. As a lawyer, I've done my fair share of that--both at law school for exams, essays and with a girl called Patsy Monahan who was my 'moot' partner in a maritime problem we were given to defend and when I worked as an associate for a mean son-of-a-bitch boss who still gives me the chills when I think about him and who had me research for appellate cases he handled--and I dislike the amount of time it takes. When I do research, I tend to become fully absorbed in the process because I can't stand doing a half-assed job like lazy lawyers and some novelists whom I've read of late.
But the idea of the novel was strong and kept rising Phoenix-like from the ashes of rejection. So I have surrendered and am now immersed in the world of Mormonism. Yes, Mormonism. My as yet unborn and unnamed protagonist is a Mormon. I am Irish with no Mormon relatives. Nor have I as yet been baptized by them 'in absentia' so that I will get to the Celestial Kingdom. (I believe that happens upon one's death so my father may have been by now or is in line to be baptized by them at one of their temples.) I have only met a couple of Mormon missionaries from Utah who knocked on the door of the flat I shared with a very well-bred, very pukka dyke who was tres untidy, read two novels at a time and became my teacher of all things hedonistic--we drove to dance clubs in her shiny TR7, her 'babe magnet,' a vehicle so intensely magnetic she had to merely drive around the block where the Gateway club was situated rather than pay the entrance charge on those evenings she felt like going (alone) into Central London to drink at the only lesbian bar in town. Both she and I were in our very early twenties and our primary interests were our invincible youth, looking hot and acting cool, alcohol, disco and did I mention our invincible youth. We did not care to learn about Joseph Smith finding golden tablets deep within some NY hillside or Brigham Young or the Book of Mormon. Now I wish I'd listened to them instead of wondering what to wear that night to Heaven, the one at Charing Cross.
But I digress. I am finding my research fascinating and enjoyable. Writing is about the journey and I love to meet new people and learn new things about the ever-changing mosaic we call humanity.
But the idea of the novel was strong and kept rising Phoenix-like from the ashes of rejection. So I have surrendered and am now immersed in the world of Mormonism. Yes, Mormonism. My as yet unborn and unnamed protagonist is a Mormon. I am Irish with no Mormon relatives. Nor have I as yet been baptized by them 'in absentia' so that I will get to the Celestial Kingdom. (I believe that happens upon one's death so my father may have been by now or is in line to be baptized by them at one of their temples.) I have only met a couple of Mormon missionaries from Utah who knocked on the door of the flat I shared with a very well-bred, very pukka dyke who was tres untidy, read two novels at a time and became my teacher of all things hedonistic--we drove to dance clubs in her shiny TR7, her 'babe magnet,' a vehicle so intensely magnetic she had to merely drive around the block where the Gateway club was situated rather than pay the entrance charge on those evenings she felt like going (alone) into Central London to drink at the only lesbian bar in town. Both she and I were in our very early twenties and our primary interests were our invincible youth, looking hot and acting cool, alcohol, disco and did I mention our invincible youth. We did not care to learn about Joseph Smith finding golden tablets deep within some NY hillside or Brigham Young or the Book of Mormon. Now I wish I'd listened to them instead of wondering what to wear that night to Heaven, the one at Charing Cross.
But I digress. I am finding my research fascinating and enjoyable. Writing is about the journey and I love to meet new people and learn new things about the ever-changing mosaic we call humanity.
Friday
Chia Obama: But wait there's more
So now certain sections of the African American population are annoyed because a fried chicken joint in New York City has named its restaurant "Obama Fried Chicken." They said it's racist and must not be allowed. It's like linking African Americans to watermelon and collard greens is also racist. The restaurant said it is not backing down--the owner was Korean. Sure the Irish have been poked fun of for their fondness for potatoes and they don't get all upset about it. However, if a sign went up at a business establishment saying "No Irish need apply", that would be a horse of a very different color.
The objectors are also angry at the Chia Pet's "Obama" heads. One of the heads is lighthearted and the other a "serious Obama." Again, they say it's racist. (I must say anyone who buys Chia Pets needs to have their heads examined. They're ALL naff.) Already one drugstore chain, Walgreens, has bowed to the imaginary fear of a boycott or plummeting sales and stopped stocking the silly thing.
The official White House position is they discourage use of Obama's likeness for commercial gain.
With all due respect to the African American population, I think the dissenters need to lighten up a bit. It's not racism. It's poor taste--crass commercialism. That's it, period.
We poked fun at George Bush for the last eight years and enjoyed doing it. Before that, it was Bill Clinton and blue dresses.
This is in the same vein as Bush cards and nodding heads. Stop playing silly victim. Focus on what is truly racist and go after that full speed.
The objectors are also angry at the Chia Pet's "Obama" heads. One of the heads is lighthearted and the other a "serious Obama." Again, they say it's racist. (I must say anyone who buys Chia Pets needs to have their heads examined. They're ALL naff.) Already one drugstore chain, Walgreens, has bowed to the imaginary fear of a boycott or plummeting sales and stopped stocking the silly thing.
The official White House position is they discourage use of Obama's likeness for commercial gain.
With all due respect to the African American population, I think the dissenters need to lighten up a bit. It's not racism. It's poor taste--crass commercialism. That's it, period.
We poked fun at George Bush for the last eight years and enjoyed doing it. Before that, it was Bill Clinton and blue dresses.
This is in the same vein as Bush cards and nodding heads. Stop playing silly victim. Focus on what is truly racist and go after that full speed.
Monday
Are business schools failing us?
I used to share with a chappie in London who told me one day, "Damian, it's an Oxford world."
We'd been having a discussion about education and universities--I went to what's called in the UK "a redbrick university" and he went to "Oxbridge."
Of course, it was an arrogant remark and I told him so. But it seems to me that remark would now give him a huge bite in the ass.
Aside from the fact it would be more accurate to say "It's a Harvard world", I got to thinking this weekend about what the remark really meant in the context of our so-called elite business schools in the United States, places like the Wharton School, etc.
My conclusion is these business schools have failed this nation.
Why?
Because they have failed to instil values and morals into the men and women streaming out of these institutions into fat cat jobs in Wall Street. It's these same people in pursuit of the almighty dollar (an oxymoran) who caused the financial and world crisis we now finds ourselves in.
And I think I know of what I speak. Because, as a trained attorney, I can honestly say that courses on morality and working for the common good were scant, any teaching on them confined to a mere sixty minutes at most.
So American education needs to get back to the basics and expunge this whole glorified homage greed and 'Individualism'. It's time to teach the next generation attending these ivory towers about doing what's right in life and what;'s good for society.
And one aside. I do not like the Congress imposing punitive taxes against the greedy fat cats who received millions in bonuses not earned. I'd rather we started criminal and civil procedures against these people for negligence, theft and breach of fiduciary duties to their corporations. It can easily be done and that's how we get the money back and these rascals are made to pay.
We'd been having a discussion about education and universities--I went to what's called in the UK "a redbrick university" and he went to "Oxbridge."
Of course, it was an arrogant remark and I told him so. But it seems to me that remark would now give him a huge bite in the ass.
Aside from the fact it would be more accurate to say "It's a Harvard world", I got to thinking this weekend about what the remark really meant in the context of our so-called elite business schools in the United States, places like the Wharton School, etc.
My conclusion is these business schools have failed this nation.
Why?
Because they have failed to instil values and morals into the men and women streaming out of these institutions into fat cat jobs in Wall Street. It's these same people in pursuit of the almighty dollar (an oxymoran) who caused the financial and world crisis we now finds ourselves in.
And I think I know of what I speak. Because, as a trained attorney, I can honestly say that courses on morality and working for the common good were scant, any teaching on them confined to a mere sixty minutes at most.
So American education needs to get back to the basics and expunge this whole glorified homage greed and 'Individualism'. It's time to teach the next generation attending these ivory towers about doing what's right in life and what;'s good for society.
And one aside. I do not like the Congress imposing punitive taxes against the greedy fat cats who received millions in bonuses not earned. I'd rather we started criminal and civil procedures against these people for negligence, theft and breach of fiduciary duties to their corporations. It can easily be done and that's how we get the money back and these rascals are made to pay.
Sunday
American Country Home For Sale
This gorgeous French Country Style American Home's now For Sale. High ceilings, open plan for modern living, latest amenities and wooden floors throughout. Great local schools.
Situated in the beautiful quiet American Countryside on a wooded 4+ acre lot in famous Bucks County, an hour and twenty minutes from New York City and just under an hour from Philadelphia.
Area abounds with nature and talent--from actors, artists, authors and sculptors. Close to New jersey's Pharmaceutical corridor if you're a techie or corporate director.
And even better, it's in an area of the US that's stable and real estate prices haven't been affected by the recent bust.
Friday
On the wall
She was eighty-three, with sparse gray hair and liver-spotted, bony hands in mid transmute to distasteful claws. Polish on her manicured nails sparkled in the light of the overhead reading lamp and matched her crimson lips. She was rich but had had a hard life in the small Louisiana Bayou town she lived in since girlhood. Her husband was dead and had been a tough man and bit of a racist--a very successful businessman but didn't like 'the colod folk' She did not miss him. She had not grieved his passing. I could relate to what she said. My compassion reared like a cowboy's mustang.
Her granddaughter was living with a man who'd raped a teenage girl and she believed he should be hanged. I don't believe in the death penalty but I didn't object. Her daughter, living in Pennsylvania, is in her sixties and raising her granddaughters, a boy and his older sister, offspring from two separate trysts. She sends clothes and money and these children love their great grandmother. The Louisiana state wanted to take them after the rape verdict and she spirited them away to Virginia. I admired that. Louisiana rearing children? My compassion intensified.
She was an avid fisher woman in her prime. Her husband had a boat. She loved to fish. She loves to eat catfish, crayfish, salmon, orange roughy, has even tried a bit of sand shark. She also loves all animals and donates to the USPCA and Humane Society. She owned dogs and cats. She had six Labradors and still grieves the loss of the last one six years ago, a yellow female that contracted cancer. I sympathized. Spice came to mind and I stopped breathing for a moment.
"My greatest trophies I have on the walls of my living room," she said.
"What did you catch?"
"Two beauties," she said in her Southern drawl. "Real beautiful. Could even be mother and baby because I caught 'em the same day and place. And I brought them in myself. I fished good."
My interest was piqued. "What sort of fish?"
"Dolphins."
"Dolphins?"
Her eyes widened like mine, though with great pride. "Caught them off the coast of Florida thirty years ago."
"Dolphins aren't fish," I said.
"Sure they are. You can't eat 'em, but they is fish all the same. Company love them when they come into my living room."
I retreated to my novel.
Her granddaughter was living with a man who'd raped a teenage girl and she believed he should be hanged. I don't believe in the death penalty but I didn't object. Her daughter, living in Pennsylvania, is in her sixties and raising her granddaughters, a boy and his older sister, offspring from two separate trysts. She sends clothes and money and these children love their great grandmother. The Louisiana state wanted to take them after the rape verdict and she spirited them away to Virginia. I admired that. Louisiana rearing children? My compassion intensified.
She was an avid fisher woman in her prime. Her husband had a boat. She loved to fish. She loves to eat catfish, crayfish, salmon, orange roughy, has even tried a bit of sand shark. She also loves all animals and donates to the USPCA and Humane Society. She owned dogs and cats. She had six Labradors and still grieves the loss of the last one six years ago, a yellow female that contracted cancer. I sympathized. Spice came to mind and I stopped breathing for a moment.
"My greatest trophies I have on the walls of my living room," she said.
"What did you catch?"
"Two beauties," she said in her Southern drawl. "Real beautiful. Could even be mother and baby because I caught 'em the same day and place. And I brought them in myself. I fished good."
My interest was piqued. "What sort of fish?"
"Dolphins."
"Dolphins?"
Her eyes widened like mine, though with great pride. "Caught them off the coast of Florida thirty years ago."
"Dolphins aren't fish," I said.
"Sure they are. You can't eat 'em, but they is fish all the same. Company love them when they come into my living room."
I retreated to my novel.
Monday
A stroll on Bourbon Street
Just back a few days ago from a wonderful trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras--caught mucho mucho throws (that's a N.O euphemism for beads, flashing lights things and stuffed velveteen crawfish, etc.)
One Mardi Gras highlight was the Zulu Crewe's floats and I even managed to capture the elusive coconut--a black one with "I love New Orleans" painted in gold glitter.)
A funny sighting (or pathetic depending on one's P.O.V) was popping into a bar on Bourbon St in the French Quarter for an afternoon tipple and seeing a middle-aged, very drunk woman dressed like Miss Jean Brodie stuffing a muscular dancing boy's underwear with dollar bills for the privilege of groping his rapidly growing member. Replete with slender fingers, one adorned with a thick wedding band and very decent diamond engagement ring, I was astonished when she gave him ten dollars and asked him to sit on the counter before her. No sooner had he done so than she whipped down the front of his jockstrap and attempted to perform fellatio, which he immediately put an end to--that's not permissible even in the hedonistic FQ
Her friend turned to Larry and I and said after laughing, "Look at my friend, the big slut."
On being refused a mouthful of member, the lady released the overly muscled dancer's jockstrap and was then dragged away by her friend. The pair staggered full of mirth out the door toward another adventure.
A visit to Jackson Square for a rest on the benches proved equally colorful. There a group of religious zealots were brandishing huge 'hate' signs warning about homosexuals journeying to hell while screaming via bullhorn at the crowds about Jesus, getting saved and evil homosexuals. Countering their lecture were a bunch of spirited gay boys and lesbians, some of whom were busy making their own signs. Two portly lesbians staged a kiss-in about six inches from these holy rollers who were as clean cut as neo-Nazis, then were swiftly followed by two gays man dressed in Mardi Gras costumes who then proceeded to energetically faux shag--again inches from said, now bug-eyed evangelicals.
The biggest laugh, though, was on the night President Obama made his first prime-time speech. I can't begin to tell you how much I was entertained by Louisiana's Governor, Bobby Jindal, as he bullshitted and lied his way through a self-serving rebuttal speech that only the staunchest most loyal Republicans, Newt Gingrich and the guy on telly who buys prescription meds without having a prescription could swallow whole.
Lastly, I was very happy to see the city has really recovered from Hurricane Katrina and must say Brad Pitt is doing some fantastic work helping people move into spanking new accomodations in the Ninth Ward. Way to go, Mr. Pitt.
One Mardi Gras highlight was the Zulu Crewe's floats and I even managed to capture the elusive coconut--a black one with "I love New Orleans" painted in gold glitter.)
A funny sighting (or pathetic depending on one's P.O.V) was popping into a bar on Bourbon St in the French Quarter for an afternoon tipple and seeing a middle-aged, very drunk woman dressed like Miss Jean Brodie stuffing a muscular dancing boy's underwear with dollar bills for the privilege of groping his rapidly growing member. Replete with slender fingers, one adorned with a thick wedding band and very decent diamond engagement ring, I was astonished when she gave him ten dollars and asked him to sit on the counter before her. No sooner had he done so than she whipped down the front of his jockstrap and attempted to perform fellatio, which he immediately put an end to--that's not permissible even in the hedonistic FQ
Her friend turned to Larry and I and said after laughing, "Look at my friend, the big slut."
On being refused a mouthful of member, the lady released the overly muscled dancer's jockstrap and was then dragged away by her friend. The pair staggered full of mirth out the door toward another adventure.
A visit to Jackson Square for a rest on the benches proved equally colorful. There a group of religious zealots were brandishing huge 'hate' signs warning about homosexuals journeying to hell while screaming via bullhorn at the crowds about Jesus, getting saved and evil homosexuals. Countering their lecture were a bunch of spirited gay boys and lesbians, some of whom were busy making their own signs. Two portly lesbians staged a kiss-in about six inches from these holy rollers who were as clean cut as neo-Nazis, then were swiftly followed by two gays man dressed in Mardi Gras costumes who then proceeded to energetically faux shag--again inches from said, now bug-eyed evangelicals.
The biggest laugh, though, was on the night President Obama made his first prime-time speech. I can't begin to tell you how much I was entertained by Louisiana's Governor, Bobby Jindal, as he bullshitted and lied his way through a self-serving rebuttal speech that only the staunchest most loyal Republicans, Newt Gingrich and the guy on telly who buys prescription meds without having a prescription could swallow whole.
Lastly, I was very happy to see the city has really recovered from Hurricane Katrina and must say Brad Pitt is doing some fantastic work helping people move into spanking new accomodations in the Ninth Ward. Way to go, Mr. Pitt.
Thursday
He's Just Not That Into You--aka -Don't Go and save your hardearned bucks
I went to see He's just not that into you yesterday.
What a dud. What a bore. The only audience this might appeal to is teenage girls.
Based on a nonfiction book of the same name (if the film kept faithful to the book, then the authors are morons and it's not a surprise publishing's in crisis), the narrative thread (or lack of it) traces a number of twenty-something women in Baltimore trying to work out how guys minds work when it comes to dating.
No cliche is left unturned including the aloof and uncaring heterosexual, the boorish, farting heterosexual male, the effete homosexual with a sibilant affliction and the innocent young woman (think annoying Charlotte in Sex and the City) who has no clue how to interpret the blind dates and calls a bartender she just happens to befriend. Oh, and he falls in love with her in the end. YAWN, YAWN, YAWN.
It's self-indulgent piffle.
Ms. Aniston, whom I like, settles into the well honed role of slightly quirky, slightly befuddled, slightly scatty, lonely twenty something she's cut out for herself. She might like to rethink these roles now she's many nautical miles from that age.
Halfway through Larry turned to me and asked at the exact moment I was thinking the very same thought--"Is this ever going to end?"
At over two hours, it's value for money if you like the decidedly mediocre.
What a dud. What a bore. The only audience this might appeal to is teenage girls.
Based on a nonfiction book of the same name (if the film kept faithful to the book, then the authors are morons and it's not a surprise publishing's in crisis), the narrative thread (or lack of it) traces a number of twenty-something women in Baltimore trying to work out how guys minds work when it comes to dating.
No cliche is left unturned including the aloof and uncaring heterosexual, the boorish, farting heterosexual male, the effete homosexual with a sibilant affliction and the innocent young woman (think annoying Charlotte in Sex and the City) who has no clue how to interpret the blind dates and calls a bartender she just happens to befriend. Oh, and he falls in love with her in the end. YAWN, YAWN, YAWN.
It's self-indulgent piffle.
Ms. Aniston, whom I like, settles into the well honed role of slightly quirky, slightly befuddled, slightly scatty, lonely twenty something she's cut out for herself. She might like to rethink these roles now she's many nautical miles from that age.
Halfway through Larry turned to me and asked at the exact moment I was thinking the very same thought--"Is this ever going to end?"
At over two hours, it's value for money if you like the decidedly mediocre.
Tuesday
The crash
It all happened so quietly, so unexpectedly.
It began as flickering, something one dismisses as a quirk.
The next quirk was that the photographs I use as my screen saver disappeared--utterly.
When I next booted up, they'd returned.
And then on Monday came the belligerence. The disk simply didn't want to behave. It made the cursor disappear into corners of the screen, made Word behave like a spoilt child, made the Mac operate at a snail's pace.
And yet, I continued to think the computer is behaving quirky. I'm just going to keep switching it off until it behaves.
And then on Thursday, it became slow and slower and then didn't work at all. And when I switched it off, it didn't return and all I saw was a blinking question mark.
The silence was devastating, the consequences unbelievable.
Off I took it to the Mac dealer. Technicians really are a different breed.
"Oh, looks like it might be a failing disk. If it is, it'll be hard to get you another."
"Why?
"Old technology."
It was made in 2003"
"Old technology."
"How much?"
"We have to diagnose first."
"Okay?"
Next morning---ring, ring...ring, ring--ring,ring.
"Hello"
"Jason from the Mac shop"
"Hey."
"It's a disk failure. It'll be two hundred bucks. Do you have your files backed up?"
"No. I thought my flashcard was backing up and just found out yesterday when I checked it at a friend's that it wasn't"
"Not so good."
"Can you recover""
"Probably not. It won't mount. We'll have to end it to a outside date recovery people."
"How much?"
"$600."
"WHAT?"
"That's only if they don't have to use a clean room."
"Did you say 'clean room'?"
"It's where they wear white suits and work in sanitized room. You've seen them on CSI, no?"
"How much?"
"Up to $2000."
SHIT...F***. SHIT." Silence. "Listen, put in a new hard drive. I've gotta think about the recovery thing."
"Take your time."
"F***"
It began as flickering, something one dismisses as a quirk.
The next quirk was that the photographs I use as my screen saver disappeared--utterly.
When I next booted up, they'd returned.
And then on Monday came the belligerence. The disk simply didn't want to behave. It made the cursor disappear into corners of the screen, made Word behave like a spoilt child, made the Mac operate at a snail's pace.
And yet, I continued to think the computer is behaving quirky. I'm just going to keep switching it off until it behaves.
And then on Thursday, it became slow and slower and then didn't work at all. And when I switched it off, it didn't return and all I saw was a blinking question mark.
The silence was devastating, the consequences unbelievable.
Off I took it to the Mac dealer. Technicians really are a different breed.
"Oh, looks like it might be a failing disk. If it is, it'll be hard to get you another."
"Why?
"Old technology."
It was made in 2003"
"Old technology."
"How much?"
"We have to diagnose first."
"Okay?"
Next morning---ring, ring...ring, ring--ring,ring.
"Hello"
"Jason from the Mac shop"
"Hey."
"It's a disk failure. It'll be two hundred bucks. Do you have your files backed up?"
"No. I thought my flashcard was backing up and just found out yesterday when I checked it at a friend's that it wasn't"
"Not so good."
"Can you recover""
"Probably not. It won't mount. We'll have to end it to a outside date recovery people."
"How much?"
"$600."
"WHAT?"
"That's only if they don't have to use a clean room."
"Did you say 'clean room'?"
"It's where they wear white suits and work in sanitized room. You've seen them on CSI, no?"
"How much?"
"Up to $2000."
SHIT...F***. SHIT." Silence. "Listen, put in a new hard drive. I've gotta think about the recovery thing."
"Take your time."
"F***"
Friday
The mechanic's tale
Nothing worse than having car problems when you don't know too much about cars.
I wish I'd watched my Dad more as a kid when he did things under the hood.
Taking the car down to the local tire supplier--they've got great prices but they're die hard Republicans and seething about Obama's victory and his stimulas package--I was informed teh front two tires were shot and the back two had about a month left.
They gave me a quote and had them changed, then booked the car in for a wheel alignment.
Arriving the next morning, I said, "By the way, the car makes a strange knocking sound when I brake or it decelerates."
We'll check it out for ya'"
An hour later, I was summoned out to the garage where the car's raised high on automatic jacks and the mechanic pointed to things near the wheel called rods and said "they're broken. New ones will sort your problem."
What can you do? You've got to trust your mechanic and try and look knowledgeable at the same time so they don't smell "idiot."
Two hundred dollars later, I drive home very happy that it's not the transmission which even I know is tres, tres expensive. Halfway home, there's a noise....yes, the old familiar knock sounds again. And then it sounds again and again...only worse this time because there's an accompanying rattle.
This morning I arrive down and the lady at reception who knows every tire and bolt in a car says,"You're back."
"Yeah, it wasn't the rods."
"I'll get Fred."
While Fred examines the car, I wait and seethe as I listen to one of the workers talk about how he and his wife going out to dinner "tonight with their Democrat friends" and they are not going to talk about the stimulus package.
"I hear ya'" said receptionist. "And what about that woman in California who just had eight kids and has six at home and no man. Disgusting, that is."
Yeah, yeah," said her colleague. "Who's gonna pay for them?"
"We are," said a customer. "She's on welfare. Our tax dollars."
I realize this could be true and do have sympathy here.
"They need to lower taxes. That works. I want no government in my pocket," said the receptionist.
Thinking about Bush's tax rebate last summer and how ineffective it was, I just bit my tongue.
Fred comes in. "Can you come out to the garage a sec'?"
This means it's gonna cost me. Sure enough, I'm underneath the car again looking at some other curious bits and bobs that could be space shuttle parts for all I know as he tells me my transmission is leaking fluid and the mounts supporting the chassis are a bit dicey.
The logical side of my brain wonders why he didn't see and mention that yesterday but I nod sagely. I also wonder now the economy's in free fall, are they taking me for a ride. The other part of my brain, the wanna everybody to be nice and caring, thinks they're being helpful and doing the right thing.
"I see," I say as I look into the black oily guts of my car. I really wish I'd watched Dad more often and not thought it boring when he worked on the family car.
It's going to coast another $400.00 to repair ands even then it might be the transmission.
"Give me the quote in writing," I said. "I'm gonna get the transmission checked first.
"Not a bad idea." he said. "We don't do those."
So off to the transmission shop next week.
I wish I'd watched my Dad more as a kid when he did things under the hood.
Taking the car down to the local tire supplier--they've got great prices but they're die hard Republicans and seething about Obama's victory and his stimulas package--I was informed teh front two tires were shot and the back two had about a month left.
They gave me a quote and had them changed, then booked the car in for a wheel alignment.
Arriving the next morning, I said, "By the way, the car makes a strange knocking sound when I brake or it decelerates."
We'll check it out for ya'"
An hour later, I was summoned out to the garage where the car's raised high on automatic jacks and the mechanic pointed to things near the wheel called rods and said "they're broken. New ones will sort your problem."
What can you do? You've got to trust your mechanic and try and look knowledgeable at the same time so they don't smell "idiot."
Two hundred dollars later, I drive home very happy that it's not the transmission which even I know is tres, tres expensive. Halfway home, there's a noise....yes, the old familiar knock sounds again. And then it sounds again and again...only worse this time because there's an accompanying rattle.
This morning I arrive down and the lady at reception who knows every tire and bolt in a car says,"You're back."
"Yeah, it wasn't the rods."
"I'll get Fred."
While Fred examines the car, I wait and seethe as I listen to one of the workers talk about how he and his wife going out to dinner "tonight with their Democrat friends" and they are not going to talk about the stimulus package.
"I hear ya'" said receptionist. "And what about that woman in California who just had eight kids and has six at home and no man. Disgusting, that is."
Yeah, yeah," said her colleague. "Who's gonna pay for them?"
"We are," said a customer. "She's on welfare. Our tax dollars."
I realize this could be true and do have sympathy here.
"They need to lower taxes. That works. I want no government in my pocket," said the receptionist.
Thinking about Bush's tax rebate last summer and how ineffective it was, I just bit my tongue.
Fred comes in. "Can you come out to the garage a sec'?"
This means it's gonna cost me. Sure enough, I'm underneath the car again looking at some other curious bits and bobs that could be space shuttle parts for all I know as he tells me my transmission is leaking fluid and the mounts supporting the chassis are a bit dicey.
The logical side of my brain wonders why he didn't see and mention that yesterday but I nod sagely. I also wonder now the economy's in free fall, are they taking me for a ride. The other part of my brain, the wanna everybody to be nice and caring, thinks they're being helpful and doing the right thing.
"I see," I say as I look into the black oily guts of my car. I really wish I'd watched Dad more often and not thought it boring when he worked on the family car.
It's going to coast another $400.00 to repair ands even then it might be the transmission.
"Give me the quote in writing," I said. "I'm gonna get the transmission checked first.
"Not a bad idea." he said. "We don't do those."
So off to the transmission shop next week.
Wednesday
Onward
What a great day for the republic yesterday was.
What a delicious sight at the mall as over two million people gathered to weep with joy and celebrate and hope.
What a delicious sight to see a true middle class/working class family, an African American family with no wealth and privilege, move into the White House.
What a reminder of the fallibility of humankind to hear the Chief Justice flub the words of the oath of office and to see the President at first hesitate and also stumble...and how it brought smiles to even the most cynical.
And what an inspiring measured speech, one that let the people know he understood the people are hurting and change was going to come and America was immediately charting a different course to rectify the wrongs of the previous administration and would take its place as a leader in the civilized world, with the proviso that leadership is earned not automatically given.
And then came the executive order that implementation of all Bush executive orders given in last few days were to be 'frozen'. A standard policy, but still satisfying.
The first grain of sand passing through the neck of the newly turned egg timer.
Of course, the usual laments are in abundance today, that the President was short in information about how he would finance such an ambitious agenda.
Is that the purpose of an inaugural speech? I think not.
And the greedy reckless ones in Wall Street panicked and let the Dow fall by the largest number of points in any Presidential inauguration.
Maybe it was fear that the day of reckoning is nigh.
What a wonderful day for the restored democracy.
Onward.
What a delicious sight at the mall as over two million people gathered to weep with joy and celebrate and hope.
What a delicious sight to see a true middle class/working class family, an African American family with no wealth and privilege, move into the White House.
What a reminder of the fallibility of humankind to hear the Chief Justice flub the words of the oath of office and to see the President at first hesitate and also stumble...and how it brought smiles to even the most cynical.
And what an inspiring measured speech, one that let the people know he understood the people are hurting and change was going to come and America was immediately charting a different course to rectify the wrongs of the previous administration and would take its place as a leader in the civilized world, with the proviso that leadership is earned not automatically given.
And then came the executive order that implementation of all Bush executive orders given in last few days were to be 'frozen'. A standard policy, but still satisfying.
The first grain of sand passing through the neck of the newly turned egg timer.
Of course, the usual laments are in abundance today, that the President was short in information about how he would finance such an ambitious agenda.
Is that the purpose of an inaugural speech? I think not.
And the greedy reckless ones in Wall Street panicked and let the Dow fall by the largest number of points in any Presidential inauguration.
Maybe it was fear that the day of reckoning is nigh.
What a wonderful day for the restored democracy.
Onward.
Monday
Is there really a thing called women's fiction
So I took the plunge and decided to open the covers of my first 'women's fiction' novel. It's My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult.
I started reading it while on the elliptical at the 'Y'--the true acid test of a good book, because if it doesn't make the time fly, out it goes.
Astonishingly, my first fifty minute workout went by really quickly. I'd even done the five minute cool-down without realizing it--and I was stepping away and no 'burned calories' were being recorded because the damned machine had switched off.
Well and good.
As I delved deeper, I began to anticipate what was going to happen--not so good. But I have to say her writing is excellent. She can sure turn a phrase and some of her similies and metaphors are really good--if a bit abundant, something I was accused of by an editor on one occasion. And a few are a stretch, but every writer can't hit a perfect score on that count.
I find her woman characters are fantastically drawn, but am less convinced by the lead male character, Cameron, and Sara's husband. Their sensibilities and thoughts are too much what a woman would want them to be and didn't ring real for me.
However, these are minor quibbles and I will definitely read another Picoult novel.
Men looking for an ice breaker at the gym or wherever might consider carrying about one of her novels. It's extraordinary the number of women who've approached me to ask how I'm enjoying the book and then begin chatting as if I'm their best friend, even women who've ignored me at the gym for the past three years.
Yes Virginia, there really is a thing called women's fiction.
I started reading it while on the elliptical at the 'Y'--the true acid test of a good book, because if it doesn't make the time fly, out it goes.
Astonishingly, my first fifty minute workout went by really quickly. I'd even done the five minute cool-down without realizing it--and I was stepping away and no 'burned calories' were being recorded because the damned machine had switched off.
Well and good.
As I delved deeper, I began to anticipate what was going to happen--not so good. But I have to say her writing is excellent. She can sure turn a phrase and some of her similies and metaphors are really good--if a bit abundant, something I was accused of by an editor on one occasion. And a few are a stretch, but every writer can't hit a perfect score on that count.
I find her woman characters are fantastically drawn, but am less convinced by the lead male character, Cameron, and Sara's husband. Their sensibilities and thoughts are too much what a woman would want them to be and didn't ring real for me.
However, these are minor quibbles and I will definitely read another Picoult novel.
Men looking for an ice breaker at the gym or wherever might consider carrying about one of her novels. It's extraordinary the number of women who've approached me to ask how I'm enjoying the book and then begin chatting as if I'm their best friend, even women who've ignored me at the gym for the past three years.
Yes Virginia, there really is a thing called women's fiction.
Wintuk and more
We went up to see Wintuk at Madison Square Garden over the weekend. I'd never seen a Cirque du Soleil production before so I was quite excited.
It's the story of a Nordic boy's quest to have snow in his village for Christmas. At first I was apprehensive when the performance began and three skate boarders began doing tricks--having watched kids outside the National Theatre in London doing the same kinds of tricks, I wasn't very impressed. Fancy turns on skateboards just don't cut the mustard anymore.
But things soon picked up when the four streetlights came to life and an array of performers came on and did their acts, all accompanied to the ethereal musical scores and chanting one associates with Cirque du Soleil.
My appetite is now whetted for a trip to Las Vegas to see one of their truly spectacular shows.
On teh subject of appetites, friends had suggested restaurants to visit for lunch. But, wanting something different, I researched the net and found a great Indonesian restaurant in Hell's Kitchen just off Restaurant Row. Time Out had given it a good review so Larry and I went there with open minds and hungry tummies. As this was Larry's first Indonesian meal (I'd been to a really good one in Amsterdam), we settled for one of their special menu's, which contained samplings of various dishes from fish to chicken.
Excellent, and all washed down with crisp Indonesian beer. Well, all except teh delicious banana in a filo-like pastry desert.
It's the story of a Nordic boy's quest to have snow in his village for Christmas. At first I was apprehensive when the performance began and three skate boarders began doing tricks--having watched kids outside the National Theatre in London doing the same kinds of tricks, I wasn't very impressed. Fancy turns on skateboards just don't cut the mustard anymore.
But things soon picked up when the four streetlights came to life and an array of performers came on and did their acts, all accompanied to the ethereal musical scores and chanting one associates with Cirque du Soleil.
My appetite is now whetted for a trip to Las Vegas to see one of their truly spectacular shows.
On teh subject of appetites, friends had suggested restaurants to visit for lunch. But, wanting something different, I researched the net and found a great Indonesian restaurant in Hell's Kitchen just off Restaurant Row. Time Out had given it a good review so Larry and I went there with open minds and hungry tummies. As this was Larry's first Indonesian meal (I'd been to a really good one in Amsterdam), we settled for one of their special menu's, which contained samplings of various dishes from fish to chicken.
Excellent, and all washed down with crisp Indonesian beer. Well, all except teh delicious banana in a filo-like pastry desert.
Friday
Winning the 'Lottery'
Lottery "My name is Perry L. Crandall and I am not retarded."
So begins this debut novel I've just read that's best described as wonderfully quirky. It's called Lottery by Patricia Wood and it unfurls in a town by the sea in Washington State with a quick jaunt on vacation to Hawaii with his friend Keith and, oh, his grandmother's ashes.
As the title suggests, the plot revolves around the protagonist--who's slow but innocently smart--winning twelve million dollars in the state lottery. Of course, once the press reports the winner, out of the woodwork come a flood of letters pleading for help. There's also his avaricious family to contend with, including two brothers, their grasping wives and a mother who's abandoned him. Brought up by his hardy grandmother who's knowledgeable in seafaring and has home-schooled Perry, he's able to hold down a job at Holstead's and is remarkably skilled at coming up with new business ideas which flourish, much to the delight of his boss, Gary.
When his Grandmother dies, the fun begins pre his winning the Lottery when his family--whom he refers to as his brother-cousins--swoop down and make him sign the house she's left to Perry over to them. Matters escalate after the Lottery win, though Perry has Keith and his boss looking out for him as best they can.
An enjoyable, compelling first novel and a wonderful stocking filler.
And here's a Christmas/Holiday bonus--an interview with the author.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
DMN: You decided to make Perry, a young man with learning disabilities, your protagonist which was intriguing. What inspired you to do this?
PW: I have taught for many years and my PhD work was in disability and diversity and my brother in law had severe Down syndrome. I saw how people who are perceived as different are marginalized by our society. I purposely didn’t label Perry- yes he has cognitive challenges- yes he is slow and yes there are many things he doesn’t understand. He sees the world differently and I felt that would make an interesting and challenging character. Both one who was limited in terms of understanding yet astute in his observations.
DMN: His personality is well developed as the book advances and we do care very much about him, especially when we see how callous his family behave. Have you had experience working with people with learning disabilities or did you base the character primarily on research?
PW: While as I said before I do have experiences in these areas, essentially Perry came straight out of my imagination. In my work I did see students living with aunts and uncles, with grandparents, with friends and while generally people think it’s exaggerated for fiction’s sake, it really is how it happens to many children- especially to young adults who have special needs but who are able for one reason or another to live on their own. If you want to see how society still treats these people -- go to Good Will Industries and watch what happens to them when they get off work. There are still many unkind people in this world and it isn’t just confined to the school playground.
DMN: Much of the novel takes place around the world of sailing and it is clear the protagonist is extremely proficient in that world. I know you own a yacht. Have you always been interested in sailing?
PW: When you talk about me owning a yacht it sounds quite luxurious but I assure you the reality is far more pedestrian! I have lived by the sea most of my life and love it- and my husband has always been an avid sailor. Our 48-foot ketch ORION is quite ordinary by sailboat standards. We do most of the work ourselves. It’s our home and we live aboard which is a life style decision. It?s small and quite energy efficient. There’s something freeing about an unconventional living space that enhances creativity- ORION is where we live. She is our home. It was a natural extension of that to have Perry a sailor as well. It is an endeavor that rewards feel rather than intelligence. To be able to sense and feel the way the wind blows is unique and does not depend on ‘smartness.’
DMN: Perry's mother is a very unsympathetic character even though we do not get to know her in the book. Did you deliberately choose to have her absent and, if so, why?
PW: This is a little known reality in the world of special needs children- having both a mother and father is a luxury. Mothers and fathers - through divorce and poverty do abandon even normally abled children. Many of my students lived with their grandparents. I’m of the generation where we often have our children’s children AND have to take care of our own parents. I know those who reject this scenario and leave- It happens all the time. Oftentimes we chose not to see it.
With respect to the characterization, since my narrator is both unreliable AND cognitively challenged he sees many things in black and white- those people who he doesn’t have much to do with are sketchily drawn because Perry doesn’t do much conjecturing about what they’re really like or their motivations. I had to be true to this. I also wanted to give the book the feeling of a parable where good and evil are more distinct and there are fewer shades of gray.
DMN: I read you have gone to book signings by sea as well as land. Do you set up your signing schedule so you can sail from Hawaii?
PW: No not at all lol! It’s very difficult to make long passages like that. My home stays moored at the dock unless we do a short day or weekend sail. But I have done book clubs aboard boats and that has been great fun. Book clubs to me are a huge bonus. I enjoy interacting with readers and discussing aspects of my novel.
When groups contact me I can usually be present by speaker phone and sometimes ichat or SKYPE.
DMN: Do you write every day?
PW: Yes. I may not write on my current work in progress but I do write every day. I have several novels at various points in the editing process and tend to write a horribly disjointed first draft to get my ideas down and then spend copious amounts of time revising and rewriting.
DMN: What's coming next?
PW: A coming of age story about impossible dreams with an unusual narrator that’s set in the 1980’s.
Thanks Patricia, and good luck.
Saturday
Getting a grip
Yesterday we learned 500,000 people lost their jobs in November. And that the December figure will also be enormous. There's even talk that the unemployment figure will be over 3,000,000 by June 09.
Not good. There's going to be a lot of hardship.
But, on the other hand, the economy needs to realign--reinvent itself, even.
Isn't over-consumption also a blight?
WHY do we need to change our cars every two years, or buy the latest kitchen and electronic gadgets?
Maybe we need to let GM, Chrysler and Ford go bankrupt.
They've been arrogant, employed armies of lawyers to sue in state courts when states like California wanted to reduce emissions and clean our air. They fought the EPA.
They made the ridiculous Hummer for ridiculous customers.
WHY can't we get our washing machines and TVs repaired like they did in prior generations?
I burst out laughing the other day when I heard an airhead mother complain on the telly that her family have to cut back--they'd have to buy cheaper groceries and clothing and stop going to Borders and Barnes and Noble.
Hey, cancel your cable bill and throw away the cell phone plans--it's becoming more apparent they cause cancer of the brain anyway. Let your kids read. Encourage them to play outside instead of becoming obese couch potatoes.
WHY can't we use cash more often than we use credit cards and stop lining the pockets of MasterCard and Visa?
WHAT'S wrong with saving some of our money so we don't saddle the next generation and the next with our wanton debt?
Aren't we supposed to go green?
Going green involves sacrifice and true responsibility.
It means less Mercedes, Landrovers and Rangerovers and more compact cars. Europeans get it.
Is anyone really impressed by large or expensive cars nowadays?
I don't believe so.
Well, maybe the gullible or noveau riche.
'Let's get a grip' should be the motto.
Not good. There's going to be a lot of hardship.
But, on the other hand, the economy needs to realign--reinvent itself, even.
Isn't over-consumption also a blight?
WHY do we need to change our cars every two years, or buy the latest kitchen and electronic gadgets?
Maybe we need to let GM, Chrysler and Ford go bankrupt.
They've been arrogant, employed armies of lawyers to sue in state courts when states like California wanted to reduce emissions and clean our air. They fought the EPA.
They made the ridiculous Hummer for ridiculous customers.
WHY can't we get our washing machines and TVs repaired like they did in prior generations?
I burst out laughing the other day when I heard an airhead mother complain on the telly that her family have to cut back--they'd have to buy cheaper groceries and clothing and stop going to Borders and Barnes and Noble.
Hey, cancel your cable bill and throw away the cell phone plans--it's becoming more apparent they cause cancer of the brain anyway. Let your kids read. Encourage them to play outside instead of becoming obese couch potatoes.
WHY can't we use cash more often than we use credit cards and stop lining the pockets of MasterCard and Visa?
WHAT'S wrong with saving some of our money so we don't saddle the next generation and the next with our wanton debt?
Aren't we supposed to go green?
Going green involves sacrifice and true responsibility.
It means less Mercedes, Landrovers and Rangerovers and more compact cars. Europeans get it.
Is anyone really impressed by large or expensive cars nowadays?
I don't believe so.
Well, maybe the gullible or noveau riche.
'Let's get a grip' should be the motto.
Monday
Introducing Kerrouet House
My good friends Niall and Poul have opened their culinary school at Kerrouet House in Brittany, France.
Check out their link Kerrouet House on my General Blogs sidebar to see what's going on and how you can have a great vacation in rural France while at the same time learning to cook gourmet.
The first part's in French. Just scroll down to get the English parts.
Merci!
Check out their link Kerrouet House on my General Blogs sidebar to see what's going on and how you can have a great vacation in rural France while at the same time learning to cook gourmet.
The first part's in French. Just scroll down to get the English parts.
Merci!
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