Scraps & Bits

Monday, November 28, 2005

Stressed, Obsessed, and...Blessed(?): ...One of those "ess" words. The holidays are upon us so my inner analyst has been released. It isn't a bad time to start gathering my thoughts. It actually seems like perfect timing to score my year in review, my shortcomings, my goals for the coming year, how to achieve greatness and inner peace, et cetera, et cetera... Leftovers: Like a meal from the night before, life's issues linger. I still need to figure out how to tackle each in order to feel truly nourished. One at a time. But there are so many ideas that I have that I need to narrow them down or my plate will remain over-full. The possibilities are endless, my choices varied. Potential for change. So okay, my thoughts read like the tarot. I actually read my own tarot this weekend just to see how I'm doing. Oddly enough, the same issues keep coming up. Even in my dreams. And always a sucker for dream analysis, I am noticing some images attempting to drive itself from my psyche into my collective consciousness. Is it working? Will I ever be satiated? Will I conquer my subconscious?? Will I?? Hmm??? Stay tuned... Raining on My Parade: Why not share and indulge in my habit-forming love-in? The large mattress of revealing secrets and treasured memories? Instead, it seems like the winter drudgery is beginning. Otherwise known as, "The Holiday Blues". I had it last year and took a vaccine to prevent it from resurfacing this year. So why are others so dang blah? I dunno. Why don't they just share in the joy that Jessica Simpson and Nich Lachey are finally kuputs? Why not just feel the warmth I feel when I wrap myself up in a comforter like a mummy? And why can't people just feel the thrill I can't conceal when I bite into a cheesburger I've been hankering for ALL DAY?! Huh???

Friday, November 25, 2005

Thanksgiving: A Messy Blessing After waking up way past the proper time for planning a feast that would shame the gods, and after freaking out over the conundrum of which item to cook first (hmm...turkey or ham) in my smaller-than-an-average oven, AND after contuniously muttering, 'the horror, the horror' to myself before I could gather my thoughts, began the day we euphemistically title: Thansgiving. Only I wasn't very thankful that I was in the middle of a verbal whirlwind: one of Carlos' timeless chatterbox banters that can go on for days. DAYS, people. The noise could shatter any semblance of reality. And no, I AM NOT EXAGGERATING... Throw in visits from friends, Carlos' niece, Carlos' daughter and son, and my grandmother--which only added to the insane drama that only true Puerto Ricans can appreciate--and mix. Stir. Boil. Mmm, mmm...Now that's what I call cookin'! But now that I can calmly gather my thoughts on the evening, I can focus on the blessing that is Dia de los Pabos. Insert hilarious flailing turkey here for the full effect. Yes, it's time to assess what I am truly thankful for. There are more but I didn't want to get too boring or sentimental.

  1. Carlos - OK, so he talks incessantly and has these crazy schemes and random ideas (think: I Love Lucy). But I love him and even if I've heard him tell a story over and over and over again, I still let him tell it. One thing I will say, he's never boring.
  2. Blogging - While I am a firm believer that some things should remain sacred, for a person like me, random thoughts often get discarded and slip into oblivion. Now, I have the ability to capture these wonderful masterpieces of the mundane. A forum for shameless self-promotion. I do it for my loyal readers...my fans...my public, how they love me.
  3. My Boss - A true gift to find a boss who'll put up with your daily ramblings. An even truer gift to find a boss who'll--albeit begrudgingly-allow me to burst into song, random acts of dancing and doodling. His great humor in times of stress, along with free lunches and generousity have made him a pleasure to work for. Alas, I shall be retiring from this job soon, but even then, I wouldn't trade what I've learned for the world. Who else could impersonate "A Little Old Lady Crossing Queens Boulevard?" C'mon! When I grow up, I could only hope to be a bit of what my Boss has been for me.
  4. Freedom & Human Rights - Ok, this should go without saying, but everytime I visit my birthplace, I become acutely aware of how cool it is to be able to walk in flannel pajamas to the corner store and go relatively unnoticed. When I post to my blog, sing at work (See #3) and whistle, the reality is so overwhelming I want to slap myself silly. Not literally of course. Did you know that in some Arabic countries it is illegal for women to eat ice-cream in public?! True. True and sick. It's just an ice-cream, people! So when Prez Bush and the FCC talk about setting back the clock to the controled programming of the 1950's, I am aghast. Shocked and awed. Rights are what made America the kick-ass nation it is today. I want to be able to drive in my rollers barefoot, eating ice-cream while listening to Howard Stern. That is my dream. American as apple-pie.
  5. Age & Wisdom - Your parents may have dropped you on your head as a kid. You may have injured yourself in a mosh-pit in your formative years. And you may have delayed the adult process while putting yourself through college. For the surviving few, there is much to be said about getting older. Now your brain is fully formed and is in prime condition to make rational and educated judgements based on (ack!) EXPERIENCE. That's right, folks, we can become wiser. We can evolve. We can analyze. For those who say age is just a number just remember all of the kooky things you did as a teenager. Isn't it better now that you realize that egging your next-door neighbors house on Halloween is wrong; fun, but just wrong. Maybe you are on the verge of buying or have already bought a home. Is it really funny to have to scrape off the egg goop? Not so funny when it's you, is it? Well, is it???
  6. Warm, Fuzzy Sweaters - Oh my dear, cashmere. I adore-a, angora. The most idyllic? Acrylic! And other pathetically lame rhymes. I love winter so I could wear large, fuzzy sweaters. Ones that swallow you up whole or you can swim in. The comfort I feel is akin to being in the womb (I imagine, at least).
  7. Celebrities - Without the paparazzi, the snapperazzi, the stalkerazzi, where would we be? It is a guilty pleasure, I'll admit. Such shows like, Inside the Actor's Studio can tell us what each celebrity wants to hear God say, if they ever make it to heaven. Barbara Walters specials can show celebs crying about their rough lives. The entire E Channel wouldn't exist if it weren't for such notables as Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Hillary Duff. What would we do with our boring lives if we couldn't once and awhile turn to the fabulous lives of the rich and famous? And idolize them...or mock them without the repercussions of a lawsuit. It's too bad that Robin Leach is no longer showing us celebrity lifetsyles aymore. I used to love that freeloader.
  8. Daily Hot Chocolate Runs - My fellow co-worker and I have developed an excuse better than a brief jaunt to the water-cooler. What is better than hot choco with whipped cream drizzled with gooey chocolate? Nothing, people.
  9. The Lifting of Writer's Block - The worst thing for a writer is not being able to find a word or idea that is conducive to the creative process. I suffered for almost a year with a blank, bland view of the world. I am very thankful that I've re-discovered my verbiage and creative Muse. Now let's say that together phonetically: "MEW-Z". Dontcha love it?!
  10. Connection - I am thankful that I have managed to reconnect with the outside world once again, to embrace it, to breathe, to live each day. But it wouldn't be fair if you didn't share...

So go ahead, people...WHAT ARE YOU THANKFUL FOR? I'd like to know...

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Happy Birthday, Mommy: Paying homage to this incredible lady is not easy, thank you very much. As multi-dimensional and complex as any puzzle, my mother is a contradiction. Let me describe to you what she was: She was one part, Betty Crocker and one part, Martha Stewart. She doted on her children. Now, she's a little more self-involved but no less amazing. C'mon, who else could possibly raise me and my sis? We certainly gave her a run for her money... She paid for her luxury and peace of mind She marveled at the convenience of being finely tuned Like her favorite upright piano The keys glaring white Inviting busy fingers to press down Yeah, a slow jazz song swelling The trumpet cupped and stifled; choking to be heard But oh, that New Orleans sound… Creole and country Seasoned by years of stay-at-home motherhood Kept quiet by duties and a husband’s diatribes She was lost and she paid—dearly Swallowed and ripped by weathering tides Scores rising and washing over her You see, they were un-invited But they came quick and convenient And weren’t tuned into her station She was played like a beloved trumpet Caressed and seduced by idle hands And left there like a bad note to die Pressed down on that bridge Until the composition was complete But like a good melody, she lingered Long enough to be hummed Your Loving Daughter, ~ Lisa

Monday, November 21, 2005

Fatherly Advice: "Quien quiere medio taza de cafe, se le da taza y media." ~Author Unknown (Loosely translated: Whomever wants a half-cup of coffee, give them a cup and a half) When pondering the neverending issues with Sara, I turned to the only person who could give me the proper perspective: my Dad. Well, to be fair, I turned to my mom first and she also gave me her advice which was indeed useful, but I wanted the masculine viewpoint to give my thoughts some scope. I tried my mom's advice first: Letting Sara know that I was there for her no matter what. Opening the lines of communication. Much to my chagrin, it hasn't worked. So today, I spoke with Daddy. Sometimes the best advice you can get in your life happens quite by accident. A series of words that when placed together, manage to reach you from the inside out. Dad's words gave me some startling clarity because I think I understand my Dad's language. There are many times over the course of my life that my father has influenced me. One instance in particular sticks out in my mind. It was the year that the New York Mets won the 1986 World Series. My parents were both intensely engrossed in baseball at that time. They watched almost every game leading up to it. And although I remember the 7th game miracle win, that wasn't the only thing amazing. The memory I carry with me happened long after the game-winning base-hit by Howard "Ho-Jo" Johnson. In celebration, my Dad tucked me and my sister into bed (on the floor because we were too excited to sleep in our beds). Now, my Dad wasn't a guitar player by any means. He used the instrument much like Sherlock Holmes used his voilin. He tinkered through the notes and would find a pleasing sound and then would stick with it. Well he knew that me and my sister dug on this one riff and he played it...a lot. He played it even though his guitar was never in tune. He played it even though he was probably sick of us asking him to play it. He played it even though it was real late at night. Either way, it taught me what the act of kindness was all about. He maybe secretly wished he really could play. I imagine he would've liked to strum some kind of fabulous song that he wrote in honor of the birth of his daughters. Or, in honor of the greatest World Series EVER. Instead, he just chose to accomodate us and our demands despite being weary or regretful. Dad played because we asked him to. And to me, that was the coolest thing. But onto the advice. Now, Sara's a stubborn young colt. She argues, she lies, she's carfty. I've mentioned all of this before, ad nauseum. But my Dad's idea what simple: Give her what she wants. An odd concept, right? One fights so hard to get themselves heard. Then they fight some more to get their points across. Both of these steps have had little to no impact on Sara because she wants to do things on her own. She wants to believe that she can be completely self-sufficient at sixteen. So I have to get her to go ahead and move forward on being self-sufficient. She'll have some decisions to make, but they will be hers alone. I have to remove myself from the equation. So...that will be my next strategy. Hopefully, it will be enough. I won't know how it all turns out until she's gone. Let's just hope that this works. Fingers crossed, eyes closed...

Friday, November 18, 2005

I got honorable mention...ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,HA! Thanks once again to my fave blog, www.jamelah.net! A wonderful, wonderful place to be. Here was my submission (since I reserve all rights to it, except for the actual photo of Chris Cornell)...so here it is...Enjoy! Cornell 101: So I splurged. So sue me. Thought I'd never *gasp* write again. Having trouble viewing written word on the page only because I am simply inundated with words, words and more words! I am currently swimming in pages of crumpled-up sheets, discarded cans of Red Bull, and half-eaten kung-pao chicken. First Period (Home Economics): My saving grace and the object of my adoration-my Muse, Chris Cornell. Like a yummy candy as I make my way through the halls. A Cornell-dog with icing. Hmm...that thought just made me hungry. Wish I had some leftover kung-pao... Second Period (English): Why do I genuflect and pray at the Cornell shrine? LOOK AT HIM! C'mon! Perhaps it's just that like most other girls I like bad boys. They intrigue me with their broody, sexy eyes pensively looking far away at something extremely important and meaningful. Am I right? Those damn blue eyes are like...pools I could drown in. Or is it dive in? I dunno. Third Period (History): Chris is like the guy every girl wants to save or the guy she wants to *ahem* screw. Maybe some just want to read his tarot or ask him an insanely in-depth question that would somehow make all of life worthwhile. Odds are, given his uncanny ability to withhold speech for extended periods of time, he wouldn't have very much to say. (Big letdown after a pilgrimage to get to the top of some Tibetan mountain with a limited amount of food and hiking boots...but, I digress...) Fourth Period (Spanish): Chris Cornell es guapo y sincero. Me gusta los ojos azules. Me gusta mucho que guapo eres. Tengo hambre todavía. Mucho hambre. ¿Donde esta el kung pao? Homeroom: So since we're swapping notes, thought I'd be creative and write a poem using Cornell's own lyrics from both Soundgarden and his collaborative effort with Eddie Vedder, "Temple of the Dog". Why? Because I can! So there. The Day I Tried To Live (Soundgarden, Temple of the Dog ©) I wait for you there like a stone In disguises no one knows To wash away the rain Save me, I'm together with your plan, save me! Looking California and feeling Minnesota The day I tried to live without you, without you Stealing bread from the mouths of decadents But I can't feed on the powerless when my cup's already over-filled And whomsoever I cradled Alone in the super-unknown Nothing seems to kill me no matter how hard I try- Blow up the outside world Hang my head, drown my fear, till you all just disappear Outshined-- Will I get it right? I will pray to the gods and the angels I wait for you there alone Will I get it right? Sixth Period (Art): Shoot! Caught doodling again...I know, I know I will never be "Mrs." Chris Cornell. But I can always try to play the matchmaker game to see if we're compatible or the origami fortune teller game. Will he ever love me? Y-E-S. Will he ever marry me? N-O. Will I ever meet him and find a lovely house in the country to live in sin with him? N-O. Lift the flap and you're worst nightmare has been confirmed: "Try again." Ugh. Well, there's always the hall monitor...On second thought: uh, no. Final Period: Well, enough dawdling and daydreaming for one day. Maybe tomorrow I can immerse myself in another fantasy relationship. Till then, I will bask in the afterglow of Cornell's beaming, intense gaze. Ah, that's much, much better! As a result of much intense gazing at an empty computer screen, this was the result. Thanks to Jamelah for at the very least dropping a line about the pic. Thanks, Jam. Pimping the Pimp (aka Whore-a-holic): In answer to a question that Jamelah asked: Yes. Pimping your wares DOES make you a whore, albeit a successful one. Assuming people do purchase what you're selling and assuming that it gives them *ahem* a bit of satisfaction or euphoria. That being said, I would like to take this opportunity to ask my bloggy fans out there to read Jamelah's blog and hopefully buy some of her hand-made jewelry in support of her ever increasing talent.

It's easy...just go to: My Etsy Store and drop the bucks...c'mon...you know that this is an impulse purchase, but it can potentially do the following:

  1. Get You Laid - Single Fellas, give this gift to your woman and you'll be reaping the benefits. TRUST ME.
  2. Confirm Self-Love - Ladies, you know that you always love getting yourself gifts if for no other reason than to appease yourself. Only you know what you want and you know all of your relatives never had good taste anyway. You're tired of getting socks from your Uncle Henry because he never knew what you liked. You've also had it with grandma's gifts which were things that she knitted in her sewing circle. Ugh.
  3. Provide Perfect Bribery - To all the married folks, this'll be the perfect bribe. You could say things like, "Do you know how much I paid for this?!" Or, "I paid this much, as PROOF of how much I love you..." Followed by a pause and a request for what you want.
  4. Encourages Your Support for the Arts - I'm not saying to stop making your annual payments to Channel 13. Of course not. But what better way can you celebrate young talent without any effort on your part? This way you can buy something artistic and thereby offer your support without making a phone call or licking an envelope. Let's face it, some of us just don't have this type of talent. At all.
  5. Promote Healthcare - No one is saying that your money to lend a hand to Hurricane Katrina victims wasn't well spent. But the healthcare system in this country is ridiculous! There is no affordable health care anymore. This jewelry will be your statement. So much cooler than those blase wristbands everyone is sporting nowadays. So maybe it's not tax-deductible..so what? Drop Jamelah a dime. C'mon, you were gonna spend it anyway...
  6. Be The Perfect Gift - Holiday Season's Right Around the Corner so buying one of these lovely items is a no frills way of buying the perfect gift. It'll takes the thought process out of the way completely and finally please your Aunt M who is always such a pain-in-the-ass to shop for.
  7. Become A Collector's Item - When Jamelah finally becomes Queen of the Universe, you will own a one-of-a-kind item that she created! Isn't that rewarding in itself??
  8. Supports Tree-Huggers - A lot of the materials that Jamelah uses to create her masterpieces, comes from good ol' Mother Earth. That's right, the same Mother that gave birth to all of us. So the least you can do is buy a semi-precious stone necklace or bracelet...Mom would do it for you!
  9. It's a Great Conversation Piece - It is not some nameless, faceless piece of jewelry that you bought in some department store. This is your chance to don a beautiful, delicate item that has a story behind it. I'm sure Jamelah will be happy to divulge her inspiration, her dedication, her blog-i-licious-ness
  10. You'll Go To Heaven - For just a mere $47, you can take on Jamelah's cause. And even though it's a stretch, I want you to follow along with me here... Look, when you buy you'll know that you're supporting Jamelah, which will fill you with a sense of accomplishment. And when you die and go to Heaven, God or Allah or Buddha or Shiva or whatever will know how nice this gesture was. You will be rewarded with Eternal Life and live in blissful splendor. Or not. But at least you'll look cool.

Let us rejoice and unite, all ye peddlers of wares! Dance and sing and be merry! Come forth all of ye and purchase what we're selling, for what would the world be without its artisans and craftmakers I tell you?! Nowhere, people. So dip in your pockets, dig deep and shop! Go on...

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Drama and Raising A Sixteen Year Old Girl: Having had experience raising three boys (in an now defunct relationship), let me just say now that it was NO COMPARISON to raising a sixteen year old girl. Believe me. How many? Just one. How is that possible you say? Well, here is my take on it: Boys Are Simple I hate to admit it, but boys are simply delightful to raise. They almost--dare I say--raise themselves. They are less complicated, less defiant, less stubborn. A boy can be molded and whiddled down to an accepting, self-sufficient, wonderful young man without much effort from his parents. As long as the boy is willing to listen, you need only direct him to do certain things once. Ok, maybe a few times. But once he figures things out and finds his own way of doing things, he plods on without your input. Girls Lack Initiative Unlike their masculine counterparts, girls have a tendency to sit around and wait for life to hit them over the head. Young teenage girls laze about crying about how unfair their parents are, while munching out and staring at the television set. They fight the urge to hurry through their chores (to get them out of the way) and opt instead for the multiple mind-numbing requests. Their hope is that you forget about the chore altogether while they sort out much more pleasant issues like what nailpolish color goes well with their complexion. Priorities, priorities. Boys can almost always compensate for their lack of initiative with physical labor until they catch up. Girls Are Obsessive She wants to know what boys are thinking, so she stares endlessly at posters of hearthrobs. She doesn't want to be Mary-Kate Olsen thin, but will still worry about the caloric content of a candy bar. She listens to music in the car, at school, in the kitchen, on television, and while in the shower. Her monster showers can take hours because she's either: a) singing along with the music b) daydreaming about some boy [real or imaginary] c) primping in front of the mirror. She likes to analyze the day's events with her bff's on the phone, in the lunchroom, at recess, in her journal and school notebooks. She passes notes in class about how lame her teachers are (Note: can be substituted with any adult authority figure here). She picks on the other girls at school that don't subscribe to her ideologies. How do I know? I was one. Boys, however are really nonchalant about everything. Most of their focus is on whether some girl likes them and whether they're going to get up the nerve to ask her out. That's when they stop fishing through the pile of dirty laundry. For the first time in months, the clean shirt (they thought was "dorky") comes out of the closet. Girls Are Fussy Whether it's styling their hair to make sure the natural highlights shame the sun or picking out their school clothes in the morning, girls love to fuss. They change their tastes, they try new ways of doing things--much to their parent's chagrin. At any given moment, the same task that they enjoyed last week, is now passe. The instrument they absolutely loved to play last month no longer holds their interest. The boy they were passionate about last week is a has-been. A lengthy, grueling argument ensues. What do girls really want?! Boys experiment too, but not to the same degree. They may like their hair pulled back with tons of mousse one day, then go au natural the next. Their concerns often bend on more pressing issues like scoring a goal in the next soccer game or having the girl in homeroom notice their great new hair (sans mousse). Girls Are Clingy The brighter the girl, the more creative her rebellion. Girls need guidance and hand-holding such as the world-at-large has never seen. Her ingenuity is clever, her cunning impressive. She'll hold tight to the apron strings even when you have long since cut them off and sold them to the highest bidder. Boys can flee and occasionally visit without lingering. Girls set up shop, prop their legs up on your easy-chair, and eat you out of house and home. Sometimes, you have to push them...hard to get them to motivate themselves into setting short-term then long-term goals. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. Girls Are Vindictive Their multi-layered moods can swing from pleasant to super-bitch mode in a matter of seconds. The look that they've perfected is one of quiet servitude, all the while they are plotting their revenge. Secretive and natural manipulators, they use your own comments against you. They use the docile, hurt puppy-dog look at you. When you dodge that defense, they become cruel tormentors with biting words that cut you like a thousand knives stabbing you in the heart all at once. That's on a good day. Boys generally avoid confrontation at all costs. If a serious conversation promises to extend longer than an hour, odds are the boy'll bail before it gets to that point. You, as a parent'll win based on time-constraints alone. If I've missed any of the steps, I'm sure that I will discover more as I go along trying to raise Carlos' daughter, Sara. She is the challenge of a lifetime. Stay tuned...

Monday, November 14, 2005

Not good at Goodbyes: Or changes or regrets. Not good at packing my bags and pounding pavements. Not sorry for tears that were well-spent, the visions, the notions. Not sorry for the ideas that passed into oblivion; never having been fully realized or brought into fruition. Unapologetic, I will gather all I've learned and persevere...eventually. I am not every woman, it's NOT all in me.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

...And the Award goes to... Announcer - The Award for Best Supporting Pooch in Lisa's Hour of Need (ok it was more like 1o minutes) goes to...Chico! Way to go! *Cue clip on the overhead screen of Chico laying calmly on the kitchen floor* Announcer - Chico was unable to be here so accepting the award on Chico's behalf is his owner, "Mema"! Mema - "Thank you, thank all of you. Chico would so love to be here with all of you, unfortunately he had other engagements. Well, what can I say about the best dog in the world? When the Super's wife said that she was coming over to pickup my rent check, I was secretly hoping the dogs would behave. "Lady" was easy, staying behind a closed bedroom door. Now, I knew that I had received a verbal warning before about keeping the dogs quiet and maintaining silent pets. That's when "Bear" decided--in all of his wisdom--to bark incessantly from the bathroom, while the Super's wife stood in the hall nonchalantly, pretending to be interested in speaking with me about random topics. If it weren't for this lovely dog laying down comfortably on the floor while "the mole" scoured and scrutinized my kitchen, in an effort to witness the dogs misbehaving firsthand, I don't know what I would have done. I would like to give a special thanks to, Sara whose effort, at responding to Bear (still in the bathroom) and calming him down, was invaluable. I would also like to give a sincere thanks to "My Own Patience" for allowing me to keep my cool in an otherwise pressure-cooked situation. I still managed with "My Own Patient's" help, to maintain my composure while the Super's wife had the nerve to stand in the hallway a few minutes after the awkward kitchen conversation just to make sure her suspicions--that I was keeping the dogs quiet--were correct. So thanks, "My own Patience"! And thanks to all of the Chico fans out there who believed in him when no one else would. Finally, I'd like to thank my wonderful dog for without which, this award would never be possible. I know that if Chico were here he would say..." *Orchestra begins to play* Mema - Wait! Wait! I still have a few more seconds... *Audience laughs politely* Mema - "I'm sure Chico would like to thank Mighty Dog and Camilla canned dog food. Thank you and Good Night!"

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Covet my footrest: I know that you want to emulate me, but let me just say that you cannot have it this good. A footrest like no other, bringing less strain to the lower back. A massage footrest. A blessing in these troubled times of flourescent lighting, carpal tunnel syndrome, and stale air. Ah, a formidable little contraption that elevates me to "Diva" status. Yes, it shall be called, "Schmoide" and all day long it will allow me to rest my foot upon it's weary back. The loving plastic will yield to the touch of my feet. It will be good.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Re-discovering Johnny Cash: On the wings of what will be a new Johnny Cash resurgence as a result of the Joaquin Phoenix portrayal of the Legend, let me first assess the overall magnitude behind my connection with good ole Johnny... "Don't take your guns to town, son Leave your guns at home, Bill" Back in the days when I was working out of a trailer, I remember walking to a hidden dust-ridden shelf. There, I cam in contact with a stack of tapes which were left behind by one of my bosses, Joey, who used to breeze in and out of the trailer like a man on fire. One of the tapes happened to be Johnny Cash's latest at the time: "American Recordings" (released in 1994) It became my wandering anthem, a lonesome accompaniment on my journey through life. A mantra I could hear on the wind as I trudged to work every day. Thus my love affair with this mysterious stranger began. "I keep a close watch on this heart of mine I keep my eyes wide open all the time I keep the ends out for the tie that binds Because you're mine, I walk the line." Oh everyone's heard of Johnny Cash's troubled past. His mystique as "The Man in Black" could not be denied even then. And at one point or another in the 70s you knew Cash's most famous song of EVER..."Ring of Fire". "I fell into a burning ring of fire I went down, down, down And the flames went higher And it burns, burns, burns The ring of fire, the ring of fire." A music buff, I have been known to have quite an eclectic taste. Classical music to country, Broadway to Rock & Roll, Blue grass to metal. I love all types. But there's something about the bass, shakiness of Johnny's voice that makes me feel like I'm at home. "Tell me Lord...what did I ever do? That was worth loving You or the kindness You've shown? Tell me Lord...if you think there's a way I can try to repay all I've taken from You Maybe Lord, I can show someone else What I've been through myself On my way back to You" Now I'm a little bit rock and roll, but I'm also a little bit country thanks to some of the greatest performers which sprung up from the 80s scene. C'mon, you must admit that you used to watch the Mandrell Sisters Show just to see 'em bicker. And if you were a girl you fell in love with Donnie's baby face and envied Marie's teeth. Puh-lease! Back then, Kenny Rogers dueting with Dolly Parton was a dream. And if you are a woman who has the nerve to tell me that "9-5" wasn't your favorite 80s Feminist Anthem, you'd be lying. "Sometimes it tries to kid me that it's just a teddy bear...And that is when I must be aware Of the Beast in Me that everybody knows They've seen him out dressed in my clothes." There's something about classic country that is appealing. For me, a raised Jersey-ite, I naturally to gravitate to the folkiness of classic country. Anyone who's ever heard down-on-your-luck titled songs like, "Tear in My Beer" or "Here's a Quarter Call Someone Who Cares" knows that there is a mystique to blue-collar hardship. And if you've lived in Jersey City as long as I have, you know that this is a tough town, even if we are one of the happiest places to live in (according to a recent article sent by my friend who lives in Chicago ~ Thanks, GK4!). I guess I have a proclivity for the "do-si-do" set. Any song that reminds me of the daily struggle to survive often gets me to weeping like a willow. That's a good thing, really. "Bad luck wind been blowin' at my back I was born to bring trouble to wherever I'm at Got the number thirteen tatooed on my neck When the ink starts to itch, the black will turn to red." If anyone saw the video for "Hurt" (Johnny Cash's version of the NIN hit) you'd know what I'm talking about. The man just had a way of making you feel the blues. Not just the blues but this unforgiving guilt-trip and overwhelming sadness that made you evaluate your life even if it only lasted as long as the song played. Lyrics that were universal life experiences and almost an unusual insight on what the future held for himself, a man who always lived his life between the living and the dead. "Tell the gossipers and liars I will see them in the fire Let the train blow the whistle when I go" There are even hymnal tunes that would turn off most folks that somehow got to the center of my being, curled up into a wonderful ball and slept there. It lies there still.

Touching Juliette: My friend got to touch the hand of the Divine Miss Juliette Lewis this weekend and I'm so jealous!!! I tried to act like all "whatever", but I was real bummed. Why? Because even though this envy is completely irrational, I wanted to touch Juliette Lewis. The fact that he got to touch the woman who has been affiliated with my favorite director EVER, Quentin Tarantino (aka QT) is a sickness! Not to mention that I began to seriously fantasize--after watching Natural Born Killers--that I could be the one standing on some random bridge wearing a white veil and blue jeans professing my love to my man (minus the blood-brother pact and matching skull wedding bands). You gotta admire a girl who can go from sucking the thumb of Bobby De Niro to being the center of a band aptly titled: "Juliette and the Licks". Dammit! Why can't we all just touch a little greatness?

Saturday, November 05, 2005

"Bear": An Introduction: My people!! How I've missed you all. I've been trying so hard to reach all of you, but let's just say I've been beyond busy trying to introduce a new addition to my ever growing family. This is...(drum roll please) BEAR. Carlos' big baby Saint Bernard-mix has quite the personality as this photo clearly shows. Easy-going and well-trained. Now let me allow Carlos' daughter, Sara describe her dog to you. Take it away...Sara... Bear is a tough dog and always has been and he sometimes has his moments but I love him even more than when I first got Bear. I got Bear when I was nine years old. I didn't think that sweet little puppy would grow up into this. He's a very loving dog but sometimes can be a pain in the ass but look at that face could you ever get that mad at him? Very eloquent. The aforementioned is quite a character and it's taken quite a bit of patience on all of our parts to care for the Marvelous Three. Just in case you were wondering just how do we do it? It isn't easy, but it is strangely rewarding. As long as we follow these simple rules, the dogs can all "just get along".

  1. Bear needs one person to take him out - While Chico and Lady can go out together, Bear is a bit of a challenge because he's so big. If you're not careful, he can drag you several blocks.
  2. Bear needs alone time - We have designated the bathroom as Bear's "Me Time" spot. Hey, animals are people too!
  3. Serve all dogs their meals at the same time - In order for them to understand that they are equals, they need to have lunch served in the cafeteria altogether. "Lunch Lady" Sara can serve while I referree to make sure the dogs aren't sneaking a snack from one of the other doggie bowls.
  4. Make sure the serving fits the dog - This may sound simple, but when you're trying to serve the larger dogs in huge bowls and then you serve Lady, it's easy to over-feed. Lady, since she's the smallest, gets a Mighty Dog serving of soft food. The others get Camilla brand or Purina-size portions.
  5. Special Instructions Are Key - Just like humans, each pet has their own way of doing things. Lady, for example can't have large kibbles--her teeth can't chew them down anymore because of her age. Bear and Chico need kibbles mixed with canned food to help their digestive systems.
  6. Punishment For Their Misbehavior - Like children, dogs sometimes act up...a lot. In our case, Bear and Chico are males vying for dominance so it can get messy. Squabbling over attention and petting rights can be tricky. But let the punishment fit the crime. You wouldn't deny a three-year-old meals, but you can time-out. The same goes for dogs.

Oh sure, there are times that I want to jump off the nearest cliff, but I wouldn't trade any of these pooches for the world. I guess it's the caregiver in me.