Healing on the Full Blue Moon Lunar Eclipse, 13th Moon, WOW!!!

New Year's 2009, last New Year's in this decade, and we have a Full Moon, a Blue Moon, 13th Full moon this year, 2nd full moon in December, AND a partial lunar eclipse, visible in Europe. WOWOWOWOWOW!!!

Time for something special. Fall in love, have beautiful visions of the future, heal yourself, laugh, be kind to yourself and others, experience real inner peace, joy, passion, warmth. See the truth, tumble through the reality of your own pain into that indescribable joy that comes when the weight is lifted. Climb into that universal creative energy field, the basis of all life, or better yet, THROW yourself into it, and see where it takes you.

Let's hope for miracles! A sudden, world-wide change of consciousness--no more greed, no more war, no more cruelty, no more exploitation. Suddenly all of us seeing that we live in a MOST amazing paradise, and all the animals, fish, birds, trees, stars, weeds, wind, clouds, storms and sunshine are manifestations of the most intense joy and beauty possible. Let's worship the earth, bowing down to the beauty, protecting the beauty, loving the beauty, taking care and protecting from harm. Let us all Honor our Mother Earth and all her creatures, with all of our hearts.

And for those too wounded and damaged to love this earth, let's have compassion for them, but keep them from further harming the earth in a calm, caring spirit. When a person is healed, he or she no longer wishes gain for simple gain, or wants to harm for the sake of harm or the sake of power or the sake of revenge or the sake of old painful memories. So let us help the extreme greedy, war-mongering, cruel power-mongers among us to HEAL, and once healed, they will use their abundance for the common good, the good of all humanity and all the beautiful creature who cohabit this planet with us.

We have done tremendous damage to our planet, our nest. Maybe it is too late, and maybe the human species is doomed to extinction, along with so many other species who have simply been swept along in this tsunami of destruction.

But maybe it is NOT too late, NOT too late to save the beautiful species of birds, mammals, fish, insects, plants, amphibians, microscopic and macroscopic beings that inhabit this earth. Let's try to live according to this hope, and heal ourselves, and heal the earth.

I once saw a brief segment of a PBS program. It showed the most incredibly fantastical, strange creatures, ever-evolving, and inhabiting the very depths of the oceans. For no discernable reason, these creatures, all inhabiting the same environment, had evolved into a multitude of the most beautiful, remarkable unpredictable creatures—such variety the creatures could not be catalogued by science.

It was then that I fully understood that unpredictable, fantastic, incredibly BEAUTIFUL creativity is the ESSENCE of life. Those who try to control life, to bring the life force into predictability, to harness creativity and energy, to stomp out joy and spontaneity, to force homogeneity in Humans and other creatures, will never succeed. And the simple reason is that all of their efforts are contrary to the essence of Life itself. The very essence of life is creativity, spontaneity, unpredictable, fantastic beauty, passion, joy, untamed intensity.

A truly wild, crazily whirling spirit inhabits us all. We only need to touch it to see, really see, that so much of the "security" we have created for ourselves is nothing but a shadow of reality, a sham, a silly, unnecessary crutch. We can FLY!!! Really fly, in our dreams and in our lives. We only need love and joy and freedom to truly be happy in this life. And that is within our reach if we only open ourselves to it and release the pain within us.

I’m wishing love and beauty for myself and every other living creature in this New Year. And courage to speak up, to organize, to foster change, to reach out, to break barriers blocking peace in this world. Happy New Year’s to Everyone, especially all the wild and crazy spirits out there. Yes! I am talking to you. I always am, because you of all of these, you understand.

Holiday Miracles and of Course at least one Snark

A Few Nice Things Happened Recently—don’t worry, I will be back to my snarky ways really soon. I intend to write a blog about insane therapists, since I just saw yet another nut-case, passing herself off as a healer. Really, that profession should be better regulated.

Here’s my happier stuff. Enjoy it, cuz I guarantee I WILL be back to snarky SOON!

I left my wet laundry in the washer, as I often do, and went shopping at Star Market. When I came back, about 90 minutes later (I got side-tracked, as I sometimes do...) my clothes were washed AND dried. WOW!!! A laundry room good fairy!

My daughter came for Christmas, and after almost six months of refusing to see her in person, she really made an effort! So THAT’S what it takes to get decent behavior???? Just keep saying, no no no no no I can’t see you? I wish someone had told me that years ago.

Anyway, it was nice. We had a great dinner of seasoned pork chops with sautéed apple and onion, rice, rappini, baked sweet potato and Ginger-Spice Christmas pudding with brown sugar sauce and crème anglaise. Seriously! I’m not kidding, and we cooked it all, except for the pudding, which was found at Whole Foods and IS amazing!

I skipped my annual “New Lyrics” pilgrimage to a local religious establishment. “Joy to the World, Our Queen has come! Let earth receive her joy!” I belt out my words pretty loud, offering a nice alternative, I think. “Joy to the World, Mother Nature reigns.” Virgins become “women”, and sin becomes “fun”. Darn I guess I’m kinda sorry I missed this. I always have so much fun—I especially enjoy the glares of the good god-fearing folks around me.

FINALLY a couple of “women-folk-films” after all this crap about women who just love being treated horribly (“Knocked Up”, for example) and movies where everything gets bombed to smithereens and the teenage boys in the audience shout out, “AWESOME!” I went to see the Queen Victoria movie and the Meryl Streep-Alec Baldwin movie, and I enjoyed BOTH of them. So there!

Alec Baldwin may be chubby and have a bad marital history but wow he definitely has got some kinda charisma! I’d accept a date with that man for SURE. I think...

And the roommate I really could NOT stand, one of the most aggressive passive-aggressive obnoxious boy-men I have ever met, left a week ago!!! YAY!!!! I am SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO GLAD not to have his weird negative button-bushing energy around. Shoulda kicked him out months ago. Oh well, he’s gone, and I am HAPPY for that!

I have been missing someone I really enjoyed hanging out with last summer. It’s pretty special when you finally meet someone you can really connect to, you know? Someone you can tell some weird story to, a story about being a sugar shack tour guide for one day only, for instance, and they will get it, unlike some people, who would simply look at you like you are out of your friggin mind.

Both women movies I saw were really about that. Made me sad, kind of. Even if you can see the roadblocks and potential disasters straight ahead of you, and even if both parties are pretty much clearly off their rockers, it really is NICE to have a truly connecting laugh once in awhile. Especially in Boston, where it seems people are mostly bound and determined to NOT get what I am talking about most of the time.

At the Meryl Streep movie, a few women wanted to get into a fist fight with me, because I was on the phone for a minute. But I was calling the manager to let him know there was a problem with the sound! Instead of letting me explain that I was really trying to HELP, these bitches just got nastier and nastier.

Ooopppssss—well I guess that’s reassuring, isn’t it? I’m back to snarking again, without even trying.

Happy holidays, in any case. At least don’t let the family stuff get on top of you, or the insane buying frenzy. The SUN is coming back!!! That is really what it’s all about.

Time to Speak Up, NOW! Equal treatment for all!

So normally when a blogger finds people are checking out her blog, she should feel really happy, right? Hmmmm...and yet I find myself with mixed feelings.

Why? Well, ever since I wrote a blog about the fatal police beating of Ken Howe of Webster, MA, I have suddenly had a spike in interest. It doesn't take much imagination or intelligence to figure out why I might have mixed feelings.

But last night I saw an interview with his sobbing wife, and images of a bruise from a foot smashed into his back, and I was horrified. And glad that I wrote what I did.

What kind of country is this if we all bury our heads in the sand, and don't believe that decent behavior IS possible, from police as well as politicians or CEOs? And YES, these people NEED to be regulated, just like the rest of us. If you or I get into a bar brawl, even just one on one, with each party ending up with a black eye, there's a pretty good chance we will be arrested and charged with assault.

If someone steals a shirt from the Gap, arrest and charges are pretty darn likely.

So why should police who lose control and beat someone to death be exempt? Or some CEO who is consumed with his own power and decides theft just goes with the job? Shouldn't he be charged?

If I dump garbage on the side of the road, I will at LEAST be ticketed. So what about major corporations that use the ocean, air and land as a dumping ground? Why should they be exempt?

The people in this country NEED to stand up, to speak out, to demand that the people we hire to work for us really work FOR us and not AGAINST us. And let's stop accepting the lie that politicians are working for US, if it is blatantly clear that they are working for the fat cat rich guys.

The health of the earth, our HOME, is in dire distress. If NOW isn't the time to find the courage to speak up, when WILL that time come? Speak up for your children, if it's too scary to do it for yourself. You can do it. Just write ONE letter to the editor and you will see how GREAT it feels to follow in the footsteps of the brave, outspoken founders of this country.

Drone Attacks are BIG BUSINESS, who cares if they kill poor people?

OK. The issue of drone attacks is something that really makes me nauseous. But I am going to write about it anyway, briefly.

First of all, make no mistake, production of drone aircraft (Unmanned Aircraft Systems) is BIG BUSINESS. Forbes says $55 billion through 2020. And the US controls 77% of the market.

http://www.forbes.com/2009/07/29/aircraft-drone-market-business-oxford-analytica.html

Maybe this is why we "need" a war in Afghanistan? To pay the makers of these killing machines MORE MONEY from the coffers of US taxpayers?

What IS a drone, for anyone who is not sure? It is an unmanned aircraft loaded with bombs. Smaller unmanned missiles are also drones. With current technology, these drones are very "accurate" in their targets. But of course someone far away is determining the target. And perhaps the "targets" exist primarily to justify expenditures on these killing machines, and thus create more wealth for the people who run these companies.

Meanwhile, who are these drones actually killing? Extremely POOR people, living in mountain villages in the most basic of conditions. No, they will never kill anyone living in a mansion in the Hamptons. Those people COUNT.

Can you imagine sitting in your small village, nursing your baby, or making a simple supper on a fire? You hear the sound of an approaching aircraft, but there is no escaping it. There is no human being to face, to run from. This is not hand-to-hand combat. This is remote killing, cold and "efficient".

Forgive me if I don't believe Pentagon press releases about how the targets are terrorists. We already know that 30 members of a tribe (including women and children) were killed in 2007, and the ensuing outcry insisted the "terrorist target" was actually a wedding party.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/top-judge-use-of-drones-intolerable-1732756.html

We need to stop accepting lies, and start asking ourselves who and what constitutes the biggest REAL threat to our planet. Surely it isn't a few poor tribes people in some mountain community in Pakistan. How about looking at the giant corporations which poison our air, water and soil? Or the thieves on Wall Street and running Banks who steal our money and almost single-handedly bring down an entire economy?

American citizens need to DEMAND that the government reps we elect stop living in the past, i.e. the Endless War past, and start living in a PEACEFUL NOW!!! We need money for schools, health care, food, renewable energy, housing, and healing our natural environment. We do NOT need more WAR!!! Let Boeing, Lockheed Martin and others transition QUICKLY into the renewable energy market. Put the brain power of their employees into HEALING our earth, and STOP THE KILLING.

There are OTHER ways to make money than killing and maiming poor people. Believe it or not. It just takes a LITTLE imagination.

My Ancestors, Patriot Act Internet Surveillers and a Funny Thing

So, for any Patriot Act empowered Internet Surveillers (really, there ARE other jobs out there, even in this economy), I thought I would: 1. Remind everybody about the text of the First Amendment (Surely the Bill of Rights is one of the first TRUE original "Patriot Acts"), 2. Recount a brief history of a couple of my ancestors and 3. Just for comic relief (It must get really dull following up all these snarky blogs about injustice and chasing leads based on silly "key words" such as "redheads") I thought I would recount a funny thing that happened at the Grocery store.

So, for starters, here is the text of the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

Now, as to my ancestors. Well, two brothers showed up in New York harbor in 1732, having traveled all the way from Bavaria, quite a feat back in those days. They set up farms in New Jersey. Their sons or grandsons fought in the Revolutionary War. They are my great-great times ten or so grandfathers. My own grandfather served on the Ambulance Division in World War I. My father served in the Radio Corps World War II. I have put in many hours as a community activist for much of my life. Perhaps true patriots?

And the thanks I get for these members of my family (and me!) serving their country and upholding the ideals of democracy and this country's founding principals is that I get surveilled for expressing concern about a need for greater oversight of the police force? Thanks a lot, guys. Really appropriate.

But in any case, since I am sure you are bored out of your minds with this "work", here is that funny short story.

I went to the grocery store tonight. Wanted to buy some "Boursin Garlic and Herb Cheese". But there was none available, for the second or third day in a row. So I asked the Deli guys about it. They said I should contact Mr. "Ong" the following day. I heard this as a Chinese name, and said, "Mr. Ung. As in H-U-N-G?" The guy smirked at me and said, "No. Ong. As in A-U-N-G." I had to turn away quickly because I started to laugh really really hard.

Only yesterday I was reviewing some photos I took quite some time ago of a very charming (OK, not so charming, but pretty remarkable in other ways) boyfriend I had some years ago. I figure that may have been the reason for this slip of the tongue.

In the Mood to Kill Someone and Get Away With it? Consider joining the police force

It seems more and more clear that there is a PERFECT profession for would-be killers and thugs who want to get a paid vacation after killing an innocent person. Yes! Become a police officer!

Once again, an innocent person, Kenneth Howe of Webster, MA, has been beaten and killed by a gang of thugs, the cops. OK, he was allegedly smoking marijuana, which is now subject to a $100 fine in Massachusetts and something even US Presidents have admitted to doing. My god, half the cops smoke weed! This is NOT a capital offense, last I heard. Wanna place a bet that NO CHARGES WHATSOEVER are laid against any of the police in question?

http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2009/11/driver_police_b.html

In case you don't believe me, check the history. Victoria Snelgrove, a 21-year-old Emerson student, a bystander after the first Red Sox World Series win in 86 years died in 2004. Victoria was standing OUT OF THE WAY at Fenway Park, just watching the celebratory happiness, when she was shot in the eye by a rubber bullet and died.

Any charges against the cop who shot into this crowd of happy bystanders? No way. And yet her parents received a $5.1 million settlement from the city of Boston. How does that work? Oh right, the rubber bullet was at fault, not the cop who decided to fire into a peaceful crowd.

In 2008, David Woodman, a young guy full of life and happiness after the Celtics Championship, made the HUGE mistake (and committed an atrocious crime, it seems) of saying, off-hand to a bunch of cops standing around a corner where nothing was going one, “Wow. I guess there’s a lot of crime on this corner.” For that he was beaten and died. Any charges against the police? No my friend, none.

"http://jonathanturley.org/2008/07/01/boston-police-accused-of-beating-student-to-death-for-snide-comment/

Allegedly David had a pre-existing heart condition. But just in case he didn’t, health “experts” have now conveniently discovered a BRAND NEW CONDITION!!! It is called “excited delirium” and if you didn’t know you had it before the cops beat you to death, you will find out after the fact, or at least your next of kin will.

http://www.theprovince.com/Knipstrom+death+linked+controversial+medical+condition+coroner+says/2243323/story.html

There are many cases in Massachusetts where a non-lethal weapon could have been chosen, particularly when dealing with a mentally ill or severely distraught person. Instead, over and over again, these people are killed. Any charges? Are you kidding me?

Then we have Sean Bell, the NYC bridegroom killed in 2006 leaving his bachelor party, and Amadou Diallo killed in NYC in 1999 while reaching for his ID. Any charges? Not a one.

So if you are thinking of calling the cops for help sometime, think twice. You may find yourself charged with something (the first tactic, even when police are at fault) and end up dead. And if you do die, will your family find justice? Not bloody likely.

When will it be time to look at the toxic environment of the police force? How about a look at the courts, which almost NEVER find any guilt in these cases? And how about higher standards when recruiting candidates for the police force, including better testing for bullying tendencies or other mental health issues?

Or if in fact the police are no longer there to protect and serve but instead to beat and kill if they so choose, let’s put the cards on the table, and send a general press release to the community at large.

At least then we will all know where we stand.


Here are a couple more links. There are thousands. Just Google “police abuse”.

http://www.coldink.net/2009/11/24/Abusive_cops_are_the_norm_not_the_exception

http://bullcutter.blogspot.com/2008/02/copd-kill-innocent-person-again.html

http://www.gainesnet.com/police.htm

YAY!! I Survived Thanksgiving and Lived to Write About It!

Well, I made it through TG DAY. YAY!

And I didn’t:

1. Wander off into the woods in a huff after a TG Day annoyance, only to be found 24 hours later, alive and freezing, like the woman from Gloucester, MA.
2. Lock my kids in the trunk of my car, like the man from Fall River, MA (OK, this was Tuesday, but I think it counts as “Thanksgiving Week” behavior).
3. Shoot anybody, like the 76 year-old man in Colorado who shot and killed his 46 year-old son in an argument over chores.
4. Jump up and down on my mattress, fraying an electric cord, which then caused a fire, like the kids in Brockton, MA, resulting in 200K damage to two triple deckers.
5. Eat 3000 calories for my evening meal, like the average American at Thanksgiving dinner.
6. Crash a White House State Dinner (which really could have been interesting...maybe...although politicians DON’T strike me as the most fascinating people in the world...). Again, Tuesday, but it counts.
7. Crash my SUV into a fire hydrant pulling outta my driveway at 2:35 a.m. Thanksgiving night like Tiger Woods did, after an argument with his wife. (he’s OK, even though his wife then came running out to "help" him with a golf club in her hand)
8. See an image of Jesus in the bottom of my iron, like the woman in Methuen, MA (that woulda freaked me out, I’d say—although I have seen some pretty strange things in my life, such as a fish jumping for joy at a fish-less pond on Mont Royal in Montreal).
9. Line up at 3 a.m. for some cheap electronic junk from China that I really don’t need, like just about everybody did.
10. Get drunk or stoned, or call up some faithless ex-boyfriend for a "quick, let's avoid reality" booty call, or eat an entire pan of brownies in an attempt to space myself out on sugar.

So all in all, I am feeling pretty pleased with myself. All I did was get suicidally depressed for several hours, write some of the bleakest words ever to be put to paper, yell at the woman who works at the Harvard Square Theatre “You are HORRIBLE!!! You’re HORRIBLE!” after she was really nasty about letting me use the bathroom (I did it ANYWAY, so there!), shed a few tears on the bus, ate an entire bucket of buttered popcorn, sent a couple of guilt-tripping texts, and hated my roommate some more.

On the positive side, I met some nice people during my travels (including the British guy who buys an India ale every day from Cardullo’s and has lived here since 1967), made really fantastic homemade mince meat, realized again that I am SO grateful Werner Herzog and all his weirdness exists in this world, AND I didn’t jump off any bridges!!! So I consider this Thanksgiving a real success.

As a side note: I have a sign on the wall of my bedroom which reminds me to “Say YES to yourself!” and sometimes that involves saying NO to other people, including family members who might be inclined to use any get-together as an opportunity to have major screaming fits, as painful and difficult as that NO may be.

Next year I plan to be surrounded by love love love. Whatever it takes, I am damn well finding that in this world and making love love love the centerpiece of my life. That’s exactly what the extraterrestrials who landed in Africa in 1994 advised. OK, they said forgiveness is important too, but I’ll take this one step at a time. Here’s a link, for the skeptical among you:
http://www.ufoevidence.org/cases/case127.htm

Come on Boys, Get REAL!!!

I'm sorry. There are just some times when it is impossible for me to hold my tongue.

A couple nights ago on Carson Daly was one of the LEAST-TALENTED musicians I have ever seen in my life. But there he was, playing guitar and being adored by a crowd of mostly women, a few men (it was San Francisco, I think).

A flashing neon sign went off in my brain: "Hey, guys!!! I play guitar AND I have a penis, so I MUST BE AMAZING!!!" This guy was so damn pleased with himself it made me want to puke.

Really. Enough is enough. You guys are NOT entitled to be adored simply because you have YOUR extra flesh appendage exposed as opposed to protected (like we women do!). And women need to STOP participating in this LIE!!!

Robin Williams joked that he was so emotional after his bypass procedure that he thought the doctors must have given him a kitty cat (not his word, mine) rather than a valve.

GIVE ME A BREAK!!! People throw this "you're a pussy" insult around all the time, the implication being that vaginas, and the people who own them, are somehow weak, vulnerable, not too smart and just plain yucky.

Excuse me, penis-people, but have YOU ever tried to push the equivalent of a watermelon outta your exposed flesh? I thought not.

Did you know that one reason Einstein and his wife separated is that she was pissed that he "borrowed" so many of HER theories (including Relativity) and never gave her any credit?

And did you know that some artists, including the very famous Georgia O'Keefe, think vaginas are just plain BEAUTIFUL???? Funny how something that at least 75% of men chase after most of their lives can be reduced to an insult. Maybe the truth is, boys, it just BUGS you to be so obsessed with something so soft, beautiful, strong and powerful that YOU don't OWN!!!!

Really, I just cannot take this any more. The expression ought to be, "Wow, he's really got OVARIES" and "You da pussy" should replace "You da MAN" as a compliment.

And talentless guitar players are talentless guitar players, penis or not!

Dreading the Holidays

I know I'm not supposed to say this, but honestly, the period of time between now and January 2nd is just not something I EVER look forward to.

Let's see, first we have Thanksgiving. Well, Native Americans mark this with a Day of Mourning. That makes sense to me. Not only from the perspective of the horrible genocide Native Americans experienced at the hands of Europeans, but also because so many people dread, I mean DREAD, with fear and trepidation, the yearly trip to the family.

I tried, one year, to participate in the Day of Mourning at Plymouth, MA. I didn't feel really welcome. I probably have some Native American blood (two of my ancestors arrived in this country in 1732 and fought in the Revolutionary War, so I figure my blood is pretty mixed), but honestly I'm 90% non-NA. So I understood. A little like having men at a feminist support group.

I figure this might be the second year in a row that I just call off the holiday, in terms of spending time with any relatives. That helps, sort of. But one is left with a lot of sadness to deal with. Maybe I could just go on a bender for the next few days, and again around December 25th. Oh wait, I don't drink or do drugs. Darn.

Then, we get to Christmas. Well, aside from the fact that I am not Christian, but closer to a nature-loving Pagan, I also get really nauseous with the Buy Buy Buy money orgy of the season. I even wrote a song about it once. It's called "Buy Buy Buy"!!! I think most of the buying is really a bribe to that terrifying family. "Here, Uncle Joe, look at the great IPod I bought you! PLEASE don't get drunk this year and scream at everyone and knock over the Christmas tree like you did last year, OK?"

Or, "Here Mom, look at the beautiful sweater I bought you. Now, can you PLEASE not give me the third degree about my love life and remind me that I SHOULD be married to a doctor with a brood of snot-nosed kids by now, like you do every year?"

Oh, and never mind all the treacherous memories just lurking under the surface, like some blood-thirsty shark just waiting to attack. OK, I know sharks aren't really like that--Humans just aren't very tasty--but memories ARE!

Maybe the best Christmas I ever had was one year when I went to Mexico with my friend Wade. He wasn't really happy about it once we got there, because Wade is gay (or he was then--when I first met him he was straight, so I'm not sure where he's at these days). Wade found Playa del Carmen overwhelmingly straight and macho. He just didn't realize that some of the extreme machos were in the closet waiting for a lovely man like Wade to open the door. Patience is required.

For me, it was simpler. I'm pretty gorgeous, if I do say so myself. Also smart. I speak a little Spanish, and I love to dance. On top of that, I'm from a Rich Country, which means that I MUST be rich, right? Even if we were sleeping in hammocks at the Palapas Hostel on the beach, surely we had plenty of money back home. (nope, but hey, I was on vacation, in a foreign country, so I guess in some way that DID make me rich) So I had lots of attention from some very pretty boys. It was quite fun, for awhile.

Oh, poop. Even reminiscing about my Mexican adventures isn't helping. Maybe it's time to take up drinking.

When Old Codgers Call Me "Red" I Really LOVE It!

OK, all right. I'll admit it. I really LOVE it when some eccentric old codger calls me "Red". Makes me feel like I'm stepping right out of a 1940's movie.

One of my favorite is Charlie, a tall grey-haired conductor on the Fitchburg line train, which I take to Concord to go swimming at Walden Pond when weather permits (actually, I was just there a week ago and some crazy guy was swimming, but no, not me). The two vertical sides of Charlie's face don't match at ALL, so sometimes when I am tired I feel like I need to blink to get his face in focus. Only with Charlie it doesn't work. But I don't care! Charlie always calls me "Red"!!!

"Hey Red, how's it going?" he asks, as I hand him my ticket. I really LOVE that!

It helps that Charlie has a distinguished 1940's vibe going on, a little like James Stewart in his later years. Charlie is friendly and funny in a way that I think has almost disappeared from the face of the earth. He's actually kind of fatherly--which is something I have rarely found in any man of any age since I reached puberty.

But I remember another man, similar to Charlie. His name was Hank, and he was a tall, angular, craggy-faced cab driver who frequented the Greasy Spoon where I worked after school when I was a teenager. Hank had SUCH a beautiful face! He always reminded me of Humphrey Bogart--clearly his life had been difficult, but he had so much dignity and kindness, and a major twinkle in his eye behind the pain.

Hank came in almost every night in his worn leather jacket and ordered the special, which was usually mashed potatoes, peas and carrots and some kind of protein -- meatloaf, sliced turkey, hot roast beef sandwich, tuna a la king (OK I'm getting carried away--it's supper time and I'm hungry!).

After supper, Hank would order coffee to go with his cigarette, and that is when, in his beautiful baritone voice, he would say "Thanks, Red" and give me a really good tip. I was saving every penny to get my own place (and get the hell away from my mother's drinking "problem") as SOON as I finished high school, so that three dollar tip meant a LOT to me.

I always imagined that Hank had been in love once, maybe married, and his wife had run off with another man, and now he lived in a Boarding House with his own private bath but no kitchen, and watched the evening news while he smoked his cigarette and thought about Betty Jo and that scoundrel she ran off with. I really liked Hank.

And so, just now, a guy selling Spare Change, the "homeless" newspaper, called me "Red". "Hey Red, help the homeless?" Well, he had me at "Red". I bought the paper, and gave him a dollar tip, in honor of Hank and Charlie, and the few really NICE men in my life who have made me feel special in a really lovely, warm kind way.

Snarky Blog--Don't Read This if You are in a Good Mood!

Every time someone is executed in this country, I am sickened. Remember Rwanda? That country has abolished capital punishment, but the United States, alone amongst "Western Industrial" nations, continues to allow capital punishment as a state-by-state mandate. And in cases of federal law, states without capital punishment can sometimes be overruled by the feds. So the Washington DC sniper was put to death last week. Will it bring back the people killed? No. Just more blood spilled. So barbaric, really.

The US strikes me as such a medieval country in so many ways. Still running empire wars, enslaving the poor with impossibly low wages, denying health care to the less privileged, forcing poor young women to bear children they can never support (abortion access is NEVER an issue for the wealthy), handing over taxes to Corporate, Wall Street and Banker Kings, while about 15% of the country has no visible means of support, all the while claiming that "God wills it". Yeah. Sure.

OK next. Check the video of the woman who "accidentally" fell on the T tracks in Boston a few days ago. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P__S-OF0ezU

I hope someone who knows her is smart enough to realize she was actually "accidentally" trying to commit suicide, whether she realizes it or not, and gets her the help she needs. First, she goes to the corner where the train will first enter the station (greatest impact area). Then, she lights a cigarette ("casual"). The she looks down the track to see if the train is coming. Then, she doesn't just "stumble" onto the tracks, for goddess's sake! She JUMPS/stumbles (looks like part of her does NOT want to die, YAY). And to me, it looks like she intentionally touched the 3rd rail with her foot, maybe figuring it would knock her out so she wouldn't feel so much the impact of the train. Yes all of this could also be just a "drunken accident". But she admitted to having drunk FOUR TWENTY-TWO OUNCE beers in a couple of hours. WHY?

I knew a teenager in Montreal who committed suicide in exactly this manner, except that she was hopped up on psych meds and not juiced. After spending about 8 months at the loony bin for extreme manic-depression and NO ONE being able to figure out why this smart, beautiful 16 year old was so messed up, she was doped up on meds and sent home. Home to the father who had been sexually abusing her for years. A month later she jumped in front of a train. She died, and no one, least of all her father (or so he claimed, to the media), understood what had led her to such desperation.

Next comment: WHY the hell is it that almost every frickin (and by the way, this is NOT a polite word--it comes from "frigging" which means self-pleasuring, as I learned from Irish-Canadians I met in Eastern Canada; "fricking" or "freakin" is just a couched Americanization) time I sit down inside Au Bon Pain to work on photos, someone (usually male) decides to slam the back of his chair into mine. It's not as if I'm invisible. Or maybe that's what the message is--"You SHOULD be invisible" as in, get outta my space, you female encroacher, you.

Reference for "frig": http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/frig

Next comment: I still hate my roommate. He is so arrogant, condescending and passive-aggressive. I hate it when I hate a roommate. He is not so horrible that I have to kick him out, but I hate feeling like I just CAN'T WAIT til he leaves. Really hate it. And sure, I can try to talk to him, but he won't get it. Just like he doesn't get why I don't want him using my personal bath soap. Yuck!

Finally (not really, but I can only snark so much before it tires even me out): why is that I have met many a man who was initially SO ATTRACTED to me, for my red hair and feisty attitude, and then the second or third order of business (after meeting and charming me) is to try to get me "Under Control"? WHY IS THAT? Something else I just hate. Oh, it can take many forms. Sometimes very coarse, such as quick anger and jealousy. Other times more subtle, such as abruptly rescheduling appointments, or revealing a hidden addiction and insisting I be the rescuer, or being extremely secretive, or “juggling” a few women at once. The hook, of course, is that I, being the female, should not complain, pry, demand, get pissed or have a damn fit, even if I feel like it. Why is that? Why take something wild and crazy (which you LOVE for being wild and crazy) and try to tame the very thing you love? I don’t get it.

More About Ghosts and Goblins in Montreal

OK, so really I need to call Sprint and deal with the fact that they have once again screwed up the bill (in their favor, of course) but I HATE dealing with that crap, and I always end up yelling at someone working in the Philippines for two bucks an hour and then I feel guilty and exhausted. So here's my solution: procrastinate!

Sometimes procrastination isn't all bad. It can get you to take care of other stuff, like cleaning out the microwave, waxing your floors, enrolling in online banking--all pretty essential to modern living. Argh.......

So before I take a shower, bake some cookies, sort out my old files and practice my guitar (I am now ONE PERCENT BETTER than I was 6 weeks ago, haha!) in lieu of screaming at "Brittany" in the Philippines, I thought in honor of Friday the 13th, I'd write a little bit more about the ghosts I lived with in Montreal.

The first one, who was there most frequently, I will call Zachary. His story is in my blog about Cambridge Clones. So I won't repeat everything about him--but maybe just one anecdote about something funny that he did.

The second ghost, who I really don't WANT to give a name, hung out in the bathroom. Sometimes he would leave drops of blood in the sink (SERIOUSLY! No idea where that came from!) and more often, he would turn on the water in the bathtub. So of course, I had the bathtub fixture checked, and there was nothing wrong with it.

After living with him for a long time (I stayed in that place for 15 years!), I found out that someone had actually died in the bathroom, long ago. Apparently he had a heart attack and was calling out for help, but the insane family living there (relatives of the insane family who currently owned the place) ignored him, and he died.

Knowing the insane landlords (the Goldbergs, whose son had actually killed his own father but never been charged--true to Montreal justice, the case didn't proceed, because after the father died of a severe beating, the judge dismissed the case for lack of a witness!!!) I figure there is much more to that story, but honestly, did I want to know what it was? Not really.

OK so there may have been a third ghost, but I don't want to talk about that at all right now, because he was waayyyy too scary, if he existed.

Instead, let me finish this segment of my procrastination vacation with the anecdote about Zach.

At the back of my apartment (it was the third/top floor of a triplex in the Plateau area, not far from Mount Royal Park) was a room we used as a study. One day at about 5 p.m. I was in that room writing, with the door closed. I heard the front door of the apartment open, someone walk up the steps, through the living room and hall and into the kitchen, which was right next to the study.

I figured it was my roommate Karen, so I kept working. Karen (or so I thought) banged around with pots and pans, so I figured she was making something for supper. But after a few minutes, the banging stopped, and I heard the person walk back through the apartment and out the front door. I thought it was a little odd, but maybe Karen changed her mind and decided to eat at the Souvlaki joint on the corner instead?

Twenty minutes later I thought that was a good idea--great Souvlakis, and I was hungry. So I walked over to the resto, and sure enough, there was Karen, sitting there enjoying a plate of chicken kebob, rice and salad. It looked good.

I sat down with her. "Hey Karen, so you decided not to cook supper at home tonight?"

Karen looked completely baffled. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

I told her I had heard her banging around in the kitchen while I worked on my writing in the study. She shook her head.

"I haven't been home yet. I came from downtown directly here, to eat." I didn't believe her at first, but she was adamant.

OK, so did she give keys to someone else? She swore no, and I believed her, since no one had ever just walked into the place before, and she had been living there for four months. AND, because my landlord and family were so insane, I had secretly changed the locks without telling them and NOT given them a key. Not legal, I know, but I didn't care. They were truly dangerous.

Oh well, so I ordered a Souvlaki sandwich and figured hmmm, strange, but...

Well, so a couple weeks later I was sitting in the same restaurant about the same time, and who walked in but Karen.

We had the SAME conversation again, only this time she thought it was ME who came home, rattled pots around and then left. But, like Karen the previous time, I had gone to the restaurant directly from a Spanish class downtown.

So Zach had a sense of humor, I guess. Or maybe it was his wife? One previous roommate claimed to have seen both Zach and a woman, walking arm and arm down the stairs. So maybe Zach's wife Cecily came home to cook a nice meal for him, and then went out to get molasses to make cookies?

Whoever it was sounded a bit annoyed. Probably thought the kitchen wasn't clean enough, cuz it never was. I only started cleaning more after I did Vipassana meditation and heard the birds chatting, but that's another story.

Walking at Walden Pond and Avoiding Exhibitionists

So today I finally got out to Walden Pond again. It has been one month, and the last time I was there I was feeling pretty devastated because of, what else? Some person with that extra appendage who had let me down big time.

Maybe I will write a whole blog about that very soon. (Don't worry, Darius Leavenworth, of Main St, Arlington, TX, 888-555-1212, I will NOT provide any details about you!) But right now, let's talk about walking around Walden Pond at about 4 p.m. in November.

It was so beautiful and calm, peaceful cloudy and overcast. Seemed a bit lonely, as in, not a lot of people around so I thought, "Well, I'll just walk to the cove and back." I took a bunch of photos--branches and water, leaves and sky. I'll post one I took awhile ago with this blog.

Normally I feel pretty safe at Walden Pond, but it can get a bit eerie when there is no one else walking the path. I was weighing possibilities when suddenly Sophie Freud, the granddaughter of Sigmund, who is in her 80's, hoofed it past me, wearing headphones and a brace on her right arm. She smiled at me. We've talked before.

"Hi, Sophie!" I called out. "Are you going to walk all the way around the pond?"

She nodded. I asked about her arm. She said it was OK. Obviously not in the mood for a conversation. The parking lot gates close at 5, and it takes about 45 minutes to walk around the pond. So I waved her on, while I took a few more photos.

But now I figured, if Sophie can do it, so can I. So I took a deep breath and started my trek around the pond. I took a few photos, got nervous a few times, heard mysterious crackling in the bushes from time to time, made my detailed plan for escape from any ravaging beast, human or animal (it involves throwing my backpack at the ravager and jumping into the freezing lake), loved the sounds of snapping twigs and shuffling leaves, avoided a few madly dashing joggers, wondered where I could buy some pepper spray (just in case), thought about how anyone in the throes of new love should definitely buy a new generic wardrobe and NEVER EVER wear that special Che T-shirt, because if the person you love ditches you, then you will want to burn anything that reminds you of the pain, and it would be much easier to burn new generic clothing than a special Che Shirt from Chinatown, NYC, and then I thought about how great it would be to have a special ISLAND for people in the throes of new love, so that, once again, if one person ditches the other, for absolutely no reason at all, then the injured party would not be inclined to leave town to avoid painful memories surfacing all over the damn place.

Anyway, at about 4:45 I rounded the last cove heading to the Kids' Beach and then the parking lot. For some reason, I decided to have a look at the public bulletin board. Well, actually, the REASON was that I wanted to see if the Ranger had finally posted a warning about deer ticks, since I got bitten by one a few years ago and when I called to let park supervisors know, they breezily told me they were having an INFESTATION!!! But NO warning sign anywhere!

OK, I found a small tick warning, but THEN...right next to the tick sign on the bulletin board...a larger warning: "Please be advised that an individual has been spotted at Walden Pond exposing himself to park patrons. If you see this person, do not approach him." (of course, it's a HIM--how often do you ever hear of a female exposing herself at a park?) "Call the police."

Well, damn. I was REALLY glad I hadn't seen that notice before my walk. And who knows, maybe those snapping twig sounds in the woods...?

I immediately wondered if an acquaintance, let's call him "Bill" had finally gone off the deep end. Bill has a tendency to grab women's butts and other parts, right out of the blue. I confronted him about this in September. He denied having a problem. I suggested he get help before he gets in trouble. Maybe silly old Bill, like so many silly old men, didn't listen to me.

Time to buy that pepper spray. Or maybe hoof it after Sophie next time.

Exxon Mobil Gets Iraq Contract, Sam Says Americans Are Innocent

“I’m for anything it takes to keep innocent Americans safe,” said Sam, talking to me an hour ago.

“But most Americans are NOT innocent, Sam. Do you know how many truly innocent civilians have been killed in Iraq due to the American invasion and occupation? A million or more. For real.”

Sam was in the military himself, many years ago, so he doesn’t pay me any mind. He was also a guitarist in a heavy metal band, until he got shot in his left hand while arguing with a cocaine dealer.

Exxon Mobil and Royal Dutch Shell just inked an agreement with the Iraq oil ministry to develop one of the largest oil fields in Iraq. I mention this to Sam. His face goes blank.

“So the people who screamed at my ‘NO BLOOD FOR OIL’ signs were WRONG and my sign was RIGHT!!!! Follow the money, Sam. The whole POINT of that invasion was the oil. It was never about Saddam Hussein, other than the fact that he wasn’t willing to fork over his oil as quickly as Exxon and other World Corporate Leaders wanted.”

I don’t really know why I am talking to Sam about this. He’s a great mandolin player. Amazing, since the middle two knuckles of his left hand are held together by a metal pin. But, like so many Americans I’ve met, even most of the “liberals” seem to have been horribly brainwashed.

I told Sam I thought Osama Bin Laden was “selected” to be the invisible bad guy because his name is easy to pronounce. Sam insisted Bin Laden IS a truly bad guy and said, “Well if they put it in the paper, there’s got to be some truth to it.” Whaaatttt????? I seem to recall something about proof of Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction being published in the NY Times a few years back.

But here’s the thing. How stupid can human beings be? WHEN are we the people going to get together and INSIST that we don’t WANT to burn oil or coal any more? When are we, en masse, going to voluntarily leave our cars at home, and use public transit, walk, ride bikes, in order to REALLY put less CO2 into the atmosphere? When are we going to insist on government representatives who truly understand that we are on a path of extinction, and that the whole model of GREED and unrestrained development must go the way of the Dodo?

The people in charge of the wholescale destruction of our planet, our home, our nest (and US), are criminals and should be charged and imprisoned as such. The rest of us have a huge mess to clean up. Fast.

Trillium, Khanji, Dr. Thuna, The Diva and Me

I had a friend in Montreal, who broke up with her long-time boyfriend Paul to have a mad affair with a married older man, Khanji (and I THINK I keep seeing Khanji in Harvard Square and that he has relocated here, I guess I should just ASK the guy some day, "Are you Khanji from Montreal?"), but of course Paul was not happy about it and waited a long time to see what my friend would do.

Well, yes, eventually she and Khanji (who had left his long-time wife for her) did break up, and my friend moved by herself (poor Paul) to a ranch in Arizona and changed her name from Patricia to Trillium and as far as I know she is NOT now relocated in Cambridge but still lives on that ranch in Arizona. I imagine that she still has that pale Medieval face and that dark hair to her waist and wears long midnight-blue gowns, but who knows? Maybe now she is weathered and tanned with a blond bob and wears cowboy boots and chaps.

But the point I am trying to get to is that Tricia and I had a discussion once about how hard it is to break relationship patterns. We came to this analogy: If YOU finally tell your partner that it really BUGS you that he leaves the toilet seat up all the time, then HE is probably going to finally tell you that you snore at night, which will lead to YOU finally letting him know that his breath REALLY stinks in the morning, and then HE will tell you that he actually hates your hair short and always preferred it long, and well... the madness will just never end. Which is why most couples just keep their mouths shut and end up silently hating each other after 20 years together, and take vacations to Sanibel Island and go out to dinner at Gramma Dot's and barely speak a word during the whole meal, all the while staring at the one single woman in the whole place, who sits alone reading and actually looks happy (that would be me, a few years ago in Sanibel Island).

But sometimes, you know, you just have to take a chance, dive in, hold your breath, hope for the best and OPEN your damn mouth. And that is what I have done recently with a close relative who is, quite frankly, very often a total Diva Beyatch with me. She takes her stress and her crap out on me and I JUST HATE IT!!!!! So, I have started hanging up on her the minute she gets that attitude. I have also refused to let her set foot in my house for the past five months. And it's really interesting how, rather than trying to alter her behavior or even apologize, she has just gotten worse and worse, until I hang up after about thirty seconds, and sometimes less.

I figure something is about to break (as in breakthrough) or maybe we will end up with a relationship in short bursts of text only. But the harder I put my foot down, the more she just seems to want to stomp on it. Pretty painful, until I finally figured out that I need to not only put my foot DOWN, but move it the hell outta the way. We'll see what develops. I'll keep you posted.

As for Tricia or Trillium...well the other best part of her story is that we worked together grading papers for an herbalist correspondence course which was pretty much either bogus or stolen from other sources. A very old (85) crotchety mean man, Dr. Thuna, ran the place. But I think he was a figurehead, since he pretty much did nothing except complain and daydream. He was also profoundly deaf.

One day the fire alarm went off, which it had never done before. We worked in a basement office, twenty feet from Dr. Thuna, and there was only one exit. Dr. Thuna was daydreaming and had not heard the alarm.

Tricia looked at me and then Dr. Thuna, the wheels turning, and asked, "Do you think this is a real fire?" I answered, "Maybe. This IS a pretty decrepit building."

Tricia grabbed her knapsack and yanked my arm. "Then let's get the hell OUT of here!"

She ran for the exit. But I called after her. "Tricia, we can't leave Dr. Thuna!" Tricia turned to me, a burning dark fire in her eyes, some primal instinct I had never suspected nor seen before in her angelic alt-girl face. "Oh can't we?" she asked. "Just watch me!" And she ran up the stairs. To freedom. Alone. Without the Boss.

I didn't hate Dr. Thuna quite as much as Tricia, since I only worked 12 hours a week. Tricia worked 35. So I ran to his side, yelled, "FIRE" in his one slightly less-deaf ear, and helped him hobble out of the building.

In the end, there was no fire. But six months later Tricia ran off with Khanji. And poor Paul sat there shaking his head in dazed incomprehension, while I remembered that look in her eyes. She was just running for freedom, and honor or Dr. Thuna be damned. If the whole place burned down behind her, sobeit. Tricia was breaking patterns, and that takes guts. With a big helping of insanity, for good measure.

Jesse and Ben and Paranormal Activity

I keep running into Jesse Eisenberg. Why IS that? Am I meant to speak with him? And why Ben Affleck? Ran into him a couple times also.

Oh, I know they are making movies in Boston and Cambridge, but I have NOT been going out of my way to find them. I am just peddling down the street on my bike and suddenly there is Jesse in front of my face. Or I’m writing at Au Bon Pain, and there’s Ben looking at me while he takes a break from filming.

Maybe I need to finally FINISH my two screenplays. Or write a new one, all about difficult men and the havoc they can wreak in one’s life. Speaking of which—if you haven’t seen Paranormal Activity, and you are in the mood for a feminist revenge fantasy disguised as a horror movie, check it out! Really, it’s hilarious. Some kind of parable there. I noticed the main people saying "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight" after the movie were male. Sorry, but that did make me laugh...personally I slept fine.

I Need more Fun in my Life!!! NOW!!!!

Not really a blog, this. Just putting it out there. I realized today that I spend far too much of my life being serious, worrying, working, fretting, not liking my roommate, not really being able to relate well to Boston-type people, missing some guy who very RUDELY ditched me for no apparent reason, and what I really want is to have some FUN!!!!

So I'm putting it out there to the universe: I need to have some good clean (or slightly dirty would be fine too) FUN!!! SOON!

Like Nick explained about hooking Mariah. "Speak it so." So I am speaking FUN into my life.

OK, so what would that include? Laughing with someone I can really relate to. Dancing. Listening to some amazing music. Talking, exchanging ideas and observations, again with someone I can really relate to (which would be: smart, creative, unusual, quirky, open, funny, honest, compassionate, brave, silly, intuitive, deep). Feeling beautiful, and finding other people also beautiful. Giving and receiving physical affection, nice comfy hugs and kisses (and MORE with the right person!). Singing. Playing guitar, even if I am pretty much horrible at it. Traveling somewhere really interesting, even if only for a few days. (well, heck, a trip around the world would even be better!) Finding a great movie I want to see over and over again. Leaf-peeping NOW before all the leaves in these parts are blown off the trees. Walking around Walden Pond and seeing that beautiful blue loon again. Free money!! Yes! I WOULD like to win the lottery!!! Two or three million dollars should do it. But I will happily take more.

Wait a minute, universe! I just spoke FUN into my life and here comes Howie and his beloved wife, sitting right next to me. I meant fun as in REAL fun, not "drive me crazy til I want to scream” psychosis that sometimes passes for fun. C'mon universe!!! Listen to me for once! I need REAL, soul nourishing FUN!!!! And that includes depth, connection, fire (as in volcanic fire!), wind (as in wild thunderstorm wind), water (as in warm tropical), earth (as in moist, warm, smells GREAT earth), love (as in ALL kinds of wonderful real love), joy (as in gee I feel GREAT joy) and complete and utter silliness.

Thanks universe. Howie and wife have moved to another spot. I think I might just go see a movie. In anticipation of more REAL fun today and every day of my life.

PS I asked for fun and then 4 of the weirdest people in HvdSq sat near me. First Howie and Wife, then old chunky big Man who thinks he is the best of everything in the entire world (long annoying conversation with him a couple years ago at Starbucks while he drank whiskey from a flask), and now thin man with glasses in red jacket who obsessively cleans tables and chairs before he sits down and then looks at me like he hates my guts when in fact I don’t even know his name!!! Ay yi yi!!!! This is NOT exactly what I have in mind, universe!!!!!!! I know you have your own quirky sense of humor, but.... Come ON!!!!

Ben Affleck and the Brighton Electric Gigolo Van

So this is the second day I have seen Ben Affleck hanging out in Harvard Square. OK, he’s not just hanging out, he’s acting in and directing a film. Fortunately, it’s right next to my usual hang-out, the outdoor Au Bon Pain patio. So I can sit here and write, read, drink tea, while simultaneously watching Ben and his team prepare for a shot that will take two hours to set up, 7 minutes to film, and end up as a 30 second blip in his film, “The Town”.

One positive off-shoot of this film crew’s presence is that the normally cloned appearance of a Cambridge denizen seems to miraculously transform the minute the person catches sight of the lights and cameras. First, a quick hand to the hair to fix the locks. Then the face settles into character. I have noted quite a range: quirky character actor, romantic lead, Allston indy-type, intellectual snob, corporate criminal, homeless drunk or druggy, off-the-meds crazed schizo, studious but handsome nerd (male or female), worried mother, sad father, and on and on. Or maybe, these people are here all the time and they only look unique because I am seeing them through film-crew-colored glasses?

Now I notice a few people who look like versions of various movie stars. Here is a guy who looks a lot like Scottish actor Ewan McGregor. Now another guy, a shorter skinnier version of Denzel Washington. Oh, and there’s that woman who plays Sami on “Days of Our Lives”, my new favorite unemployed pastime. Just love it!

Did you know Sami is trying to HELP Nicole keep her adopted baby Sydney, who is actually Sami’s baby, although Sami thinks she buried her own baby Grace awhile ago (but Grace was really teenage Mia’s baby, switched by Nicole), and meanwhile Nicole is actually a former porn star who is married to EJ, who thinks baby Sydney is no relation to him, but in fact EJ IS the father, and EJ is the son of Stefano Dimero, one of Salem’s Mafioso-type patriarchs who lies on his possible death bed, knowing the truth but in a coma, so how can he help? And all that after watching this soap for only ONE week!

Man, THAT is my ideal job! A writer for a soap opera. They must have so much fun thinking up this stuff!!!

So now a cop makes us all move away from the Au Bon Pain wall so we won’t be in the shot. Like HOW am I going to be in the shot? This looks like a medium close up again. Anyway. They should be so lucky as to have me in their movie, and for free! I know I will bring luck. I usually do.

I have to admit I am getting a little tired of hearing that name...Ben Affleck Ben Affleck Ben Affleck. I never minded it before but it is starting to drive me NUTS. Sorry, Ben!

Yesterday a woman watching the scene with me noted that the PA’s (the grunts) didn’t seem to be “very talented”. Just as she made this comment, and I laughed, a young guy driving what looked like an adult-size open playpen with a motor almost ran into one of the bigger wigs on the set, an intense, slightly chubby curly-haired guy who keeps telling people not to take photos with their flashes on.

Most of the people wandering around this set are men, with a few women. I’d say 90% male, come on BEN! Give the girls a break! Hire more WOMEN!!!.

Now they are filming inside the maroon red robbery van which reads “Brighton Electric” and in smaller letters underneath, “Fast • Reliable • Professional” and then “Serving Greater Boston”. I am thinking this would be a perfect van for a gigolo from Brighton, not that I know anyone who would fit the bill. With a shag rug, a psychedelic poster and a disco mirror ball on the interior, the Brighton Electric Gigolo Service could function like a Bookmobile!!! But without books, maybe a few magazines, and of course specialized services...

OK so I see that Ben’s scarlet red Boston Red Sox toque has moved down the street. See what I mean, after all that time setting up, it took all of 7 minutes to film the shot. A lot like sex with a difficult man. And sometimes, after all that work, the 7 minute shot is just completely edited out, as though it never happened! And maybe it never did! Again, a lot like sex with a difficult man.

Ben was looking at me at one point (not that I think Ben is difficult, but then again...). Yes, Ben, I probably am one of the few truly interesting people you might meet here in Cambridge. But I have a headache, for real. Maybe next film.

Bob, Al Green and The Witch of Salem

So last week I met Bob, who was thin and drunk and mustachioed and shivering on a bus bench, after catching the Rev. Al Green in concert at the House of Blues. [Al was great, inspiring and charming, incredible band, two WONDERFUL drummers, but the show was a tad brief...sorry Rev. Al!]

I thought maybe Bob wanted the bench space to himself, so when he turned to me, I said, "Sorry--just waiting for the One Bus to Cambridge". Bob replied, "Do you have a cell phone?" Warily, I said, "Yeah. Do you need to use it?", hoping he would not abscond with it, or maybe worse, vomit on my phone. Bob said, "Can you call 911 for me? I'm dying here."

Wow. Now I felt like a jerk, for thinking bad thoughts about Bob. I'm familiar with that "I'm dying here" feeling, so I asked, "What's going on?" Bob held out his gnarled shaking hands and said, "I can't stop shaking. I don't know if it's the alcohol or the cold, but I feel like I'm dying. I need to get to a hospital." It was really cold and damp. Bob's short green jacket was way too thin for the weather. I figured maybe Bob had hypothermia, and I told him so.

Bob told me he felt like laying down on the bench and going to sleep. He leaned over. I tugged on his jacket and said, "I don't think that's a good idea. You really need to stay awake." That's what I remembered from Red Cross training in high school. Drugs, head trauma, hypothermia. Keep the victim awake til they get to the hospital.

As I fished in my backpack for my phone, Bob explained to me he had already asked several passersby if they could help by calling 911, but everyone had ignored him. Oh yes, Boston, that warmest and kindest of all places!

I called 911. I explained that I thought Bob had hypothermia, and could they get there ASAP? The woman on the other end said, "five or ten minutes".

To take Bob's mind off his distress while we waited, I decided to make conversation. I asked his name-- "Bob", his age "45", and where he was from "Salem". "I wish I was there now, " said Bob.

"Oh, yeah, the Witch Capital of the Northeast," I commented. Bob eyed my long red hair and black and red clothing and asked, "Are you a witch?" I said "No", but Bob didn't believe me.

"It's OK with me, I don't mind witches," he said, to reassure me.

I told him, "It's not that I don't believe in that stuff, I just think you have to be very, very careful with it, or it can come back and bite you in the ass." Bob nodded in agreement.

I looked down Mass Ave toward the Hynes Center, hoping the ambulance would arrive quickly. I didn't want to miss my bus.

"I know Laurie Cabot, the Witch of Salem," Bob announced.

"You do?" I asked.

Bob said, "Yep. I went to high school with her daughter."

I nodded, curious about what was coming next.

"Her daughter and I got caught smoking weed together one day at school. Sent to the principal's office. They called our Moms. My Mom got there first. Then a big black limousine pulled up in front of the school. Laurie Cabot got out, 6 feet tall, hair to her waist, long black robes, carrying a skull and a witch's staff."

"A skull?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yep," said Bob. "A skull...so anyways, my Mom started to speak up, but my Mom looked kinda normal. I took one look at Laurie Cabot, and said to my Mom, 'I think we better let Laurie Cabot handle this.' "

"So did Laurie Cabot 'handle' it?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," said Bob. "You shoulda seen the look on the principal's face." Bob made his eyes huge and terrified. "He was scared to death. They let us go home with just a warning."

I laughed, loudly. Bob laughed too. Passersby with zealously guarded cell phones looked over to see what all the happy ruckus was about. Bob and I laughed some more, while Bob shivered and I listened for the ambulance.

A few minutes, both the ambulance and the bus pulled up. Bob told me to go ahead and grab my bus, but I figured I should wait to make sure he was properly cared for. He wobbled badly getting on the ambulance, but the emergency worker didn't think he had hypothermia. She put a latex-gloved hand inside the top of this shirt to touch his bare skin. No explanation to Bob about what she was doing. I thought this was disrespectful. Bob was drunk, not comatose. But she said since his skin was warm, if he had hypothermia, it was mild. Bob looked a little annoyed by her hand on his chest, but I think he was mostly worried about dyin' at that moment, so he didn't say anything.

They had a heater in the ambulance and blasted it directly at Bob. I waited until they left in the direction of the Boston Medical Center. I hope the doctors there took good care of Bob. I hope someone gives Bob a proper winter coat. I hope Bob gets into detox, soon. And that it sticks this time.

Bob has some great stories to tell. I'm pretty sure that with the life he has lived, he has a couple dozen books inside of him desperate to get out.

Thanks Bob, for letting me sit next to you, and sharing your amazing story. I feel really lucky. Sorry for worrying about my stupid phone. Hope you are OK.

Cambridge Clones, Ghosts and Marching Bands

OK, So I have tried, I really have, to be more open-minded about the clones who populate Cambridge, MA. I have gone out dancing at Cantab on Thursday night. As long as I focus on the Chicken Slacks (the Thursday band) and my dancing, I'm fine. But the minute a blond Cambridge clone hits me in the head with her elbow and I'm therefore forced to look around to let her know she might want to NOT do that again, to avoid a bar brawl with me, I am dismayed to find that yes of course, the bar is filled with Cambridge clones. It's like some kind of "Village of the Damned" nightmare, vacant eyes and empty gestures with a great soundtrack.

Today I went to Oktoberfest in Harvard Square. Also Honkfest, plenty of small marching bands playing some funky tunes. Pretty good musicians, and WOMEN playing trombone and drums. YAY! But.......somehow even the Allston hipsters strike me as clones, in their own hipster way. Cool funky clothes but no vibe, no feeling, no depth, nothing there.

Someone told me once that the strange thing about people in Boston (which includes Allston and Cambridge) is that, although one can see they are PHYSICALLY occupying space, they actually don't seem to BE HERE at all. So I guess the problem is I am trying to relate to ghosts.

But wait a minute. I do NOT mean to insult ghosts. I lived with one for 15 years in Montreal. He was a sad thin twenty-something man, dressed in WWI army fatigues. When I first saw him, I thought maybe the shrooms from my teenage years were kicking up some dust in my brain, so I didn't mention it to anyone. But then a roommate, somewhat irate, demanded to know why I had not informed her there was a ghost living in my flat. When she described him, yes, it was the same man. And guess what? My ghost friend had MORE depth, more vibe, more gravitas, more LIFE than most of the Cambridge clones. Wow. How weird is that.

Maybe I need to move to Mexico. The people down there have light in their eyes and magic is in the air. Oh, but the police are horrible...that's another story. For now I'm just thinking of a long trip on a train (I love trains, traveling on them, meeting people, watching the countryside roll past) to unknown parts. Even NYC. Just desperately need to feast my eyes on a few REAL people, talk to some really smart NYC cab driver about how the economy is going to totally tank in a few years (this really happened in 2005). And try to erase the image of the sad, empty-eyed Cambridge clones from my brain. Vampire energy suckers, that's what they are. And I am really sick and tired of having my energy drained by these vampire clones. Maybe I WILL start wearing a garlic necklace to protect myself. Or, just move the hell out of Cambridge. SOON!

Condom Companies Should Pay, Not Me!

I hate anti-abortionists. I just had one sitting next to me in this coffee shop. After listening to her blow hot air for 45 minutes, blithely spewing how SHE would simply HAVE the baby, and go to grad school at Harvard anyway, how people who make mistakes should PAY, well, I just couldn't take it any more.

I stood up, on my way to get a 6 inch chicken submarine for supper, and I said, "I've done both, had a kid young, and had an abortion. And what I want to know is, where were all these "save the baby" people after she was born?"

That's right, not ONE of those hypocrites ever showed up at my door to say, "Good for you, you struggling, poverty-stricken single Mom! You kept those cells intact and had a baby without ANY resources to care for her. Well, let ME pay for those diapers, those school fees, her winter boots, her college tuition." Empathy for a group of cells is only good until the cells actually evolve from an embryo to a full-fledged human being. Then, it seems, the empathy and concern go out the window.

Why should I, and some human being who had NOTHING to do with anything, pay for a broken condom with a life of poverty--a child who will spend more time with babysitters than her mother, every heart's desire either impossible, or unbelievably difficult to realize? Give me a break! I didn't make that condom, and I WAS being responsible, using it. So I should pay for the poor quality plastic, the condom companies cutting corners, by being forced to raise a child?

The only people who really suffer from the efforts of the anti-abortionists are poor young women, often black or Latino, who don't have the means to fly up to Canada or New York city. Any comfy suburban girl will always have a choice, at least financially. So what is the idea here? That if you are poor and your boyfriend pressures you for unprotected sex to prove you love him, and you are only 15 or 16 and don't see this for the ruse it is, that you should PAY for your youth, your silly young heart, for affection from a ruthless boy who doesn't even love you, by being forced into a life of unbelievable hardship?

It is not easy being poor. I daresay most of the people screaming "Don't Kill the Baby" at Planned Parenthood have no idea of the hardship of simply being poor, never mind being poor and alone with a baby, child, teenager. In fact, most of the people I saw screaming at Planned Parenthood were 60 year old men, who will NEVER have any idea what it is like to go through such a painful decision and a difficult life.

I suggested to the young woman that she start by becoming a full-time nanny, and then try to imagine caring for these children with NO money, NO education, NO resources, NO help, and NO maturity. Then head on down to Downtown Crossing, Boston, and take a gander at the 15 year olds screaming at their kids, and try to convince yourself that this is the wonderful suburban outcome you imagine when you sit there judging people who had no other sin than to use an imperfect condom, listen to an abusive boyfriend, or maybe get drunk one night.

Man! Anti-abortionists are among the least compassionate people on the face of this earth.

One Smile Can Make You Feel So Much Better

So I have been sitting here at Starbucks in the Garage in Harvard Square (not an actual garage, as far as I know, but maybe it was in a former life?), so depressed I couldn't find even a single song on the radio to make me feel better. Then a guy I've never met walks in and sits across from me. And miracle of miracles, for Cambridge (one of THE most unfriendly places on the face of this whole wide earth) he actually smiled at me. My goddess, I almost fainted. Maybe it was just the shock of it, but my mood slowly lifted, and now, thirty minutes after that smile, I can listen to Milli Vanilli without wanting to do myself or someone else in. Amazing what a simple smile will do.

I Want a Bail-Out!

So yeah. I want a bail-out, too. Or at least, one of those one percent loans the banks are getting. That's right, one percent! The banks, which never in your lifetime or mine will EVER give you or me a one percent loan, are getting exactly that from US. By US, I mean, all the taxpayers whose pensions are being thrown at these greedy pigs who got us into this mess in the first place. Give me a break! We should be pursuing criminal charges against these con-artists, and that includes Bush and Cheney, who would like to quietly go away and hide with all the billions they stole from US taxpayers. How did they do it? Branch companies under Halliburton, the biggest umbrella corporation in the world (and Cheney's baby), got no-bid contracts to "rebuild" Iraq after bombing it to smithereens. They also inflated prices (who wouldn't, when there is no chance of any competition?) on everything from labor to hammers. So who pays now? We do! We are being told to tighten our belts--buy just ONE rose for Valentine's Day, and spread the petals around (no kidding, I saw this on a "news" item!) the dinner table, while you serve boxed macaroni and cheese. Meanwhile these thieves have absconded with money earned by our blood, sweat and tears. They should be prosecuted like any normal criminal, their assets frozen, and eventually, these billions put back into the US economy--health, education, social services, would be a good start. If you stole one loaf of bread for a hungry family, you would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Yet these greedy criminals and war-mongers (convenient way to make a BUNCH of money!) can rob billions and apparently, get away with it. TIME FOR A CHANGE!!!!!

Neysa Malone is AMAZING!

So yeah, Neysa Malone is my daughter--there's the disclaimer. She's a singer-songwriter, slogging it out in NYC. Day after dismal or sunny day, she gets up, writes her songs, finds dancers for her music video, heads over to a studio to tweak production on her latest song, or heads to the subway (and sometimes Union Square) to perform. Yes, she's a busker, for now.

She's also a former Berklee College of Music scholarship recipient. She's an invited member of SESAC. She has worked with some pretty famous people, including a producer who was Joss Stone's former musical director. Neysa fronted a back-up band for a couple years in NYC, performing her own originals at the Knitting Factory, Joe's Pub, Arlene's Grocery and S.O.B.'s, among other venues. Her band included a keyboard player and drummer who have gone on to work with Beyonce's all-girl band.

But the people who put money in her bucket don't know this. Neither do the people who take it upon themselves to spew their bad mood or worse day in vomitous words on the internet. On the other hand, the many MANY people who have stopped, emailed her, become a MySpace friend, just to let her know how she brightened their day, and how talented she is, also don't know anything of her background. They just like her, a lot. And that says everything.

Still, I don't know how she does it, honestly. I have a degree in music. I've performed in my life, but quite frankly I just don't have a thick skin. Lousy family background, zero support, in my case. Zero support coupled with constant put-downs doesn't make for a thick skin. I made a lot of mistakes raising my daughter, some like most people do, others unique just to me, or at least only a few of us, I'd guess! But I DID encourage her a LOT with her dreams.

So Neysa, my beautiful talented daughter heads out to the subway. She descends into the bowels of the earth, into the stench and smoke, the grime and dust, the screeching brakes, hauling her heavy amp and her simple bucket. She plugs in her MP3 player and, head held high, sings Madonna tunes, or her own originals.

Some days she makes bunches of money. Others, not so much. She started busking because she had no means to pay a back-up band. And understandably, I guess, people in NYC want money up front. And she needed to perform, needed to reach out. She asked me if I thought it was a bad idea. I said no--many musicians have busked, including Tracy Chapman, Beck, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton. Not bad company.

I do wish she had more chance to perform her own originals (and in a clean, fume-free environment). But she says (and she is probably right) that in the subway, it's a quick fix, and a little uplifting while waiting three minutes for the train, that people need. And that's what she gives them. Despite her own struggles, her periods of discouragement, Neysa Malone still has something to share, something to give. That's an amazing spirit, and it should be honored and cherished. And I do. Hats off to you, honey! You're doing great! And I love you with all my heart.