MtnGrl Musing

The Silence Breaks

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 03:22:00 +0000

I've had a few notions to blog in the past few weeks, but you see what became of that. Today, though, I'm doing it because, clearly--I need help. My favorite seven year old asked me to play Scrabble with her on a cute and handy board that stores all your tiles and racks inside and has a convenient carrying handle.

Three days later, I bought my own; The Diamond Edition.

My son and I began a ritual of playing Scrabble at meal time. On the upside, I began to ~~nuke~~ cook more often, and that was nice--and even edible mostly. What wasn't nice was when bonding became pestering. There's only so much Scrabble he's going to play, after all, even to indulge his beloved mom; he's a chess fiend. I had to find another way to get my fix.

I've never been the least compelled to respond to any of the game requests I get on Facebook for Farmville, Mafia Wars, Bejeweled Blitz, whatever. However, I am a word nerd from way back, so when my childhood best friend kept ~~nagging~~ inviting me to play, I eventually succumbed, and followed her down the path to vice, yet again.

Before you know it, I'm playing Words With Friends in the wee hours, then on my phone --at work-- (on breaks, of course). Next I started trolling for Friends to play with, (after said childhood best friend stopped responding to my REMINDERS TO PLAY) sending people the dreaded unsolicited invitations, having 3 or 4 simultaneous games going, and when THAT wasn't enough, I began playing random opponents. In a few short weeks, I'd crossed the divide eagerly; without a second thought, nor a glance back, from Words with Friends, to Words with Strangers.

What finally brought me back to blogging was not the fact that it's THEIR move in all 7 of my current games, nor that I've sent all my reminders out. What brought me back to blog was another cultural icon, Don Cornelius.

Don Cornelius was the big afroed guy with the beautiful baritone voice who hosted acts like The Bar Kays, Kool and the Gang, Rick James and Teena Marie, Rose Royce and The Jackson 5 in my living room every Saturday. Soul Train was the source for the latest grooves and dance moves--but it wasn't the Soul Train line that drew me (my standard move on the Soul Train line is the fastest walk to the end of it--while clapping. People with 'two left feet' have threatened--aggressively--to sue me for slander.)

What drew me to the TV on Saturday mornings, even more eagerly than Friday night's back to back Brady Bunch and Partridge Family offering, was the opportunity to see on TV, folks who were Black like me. In a town with a 6% Black population, that was not a small thing.

Thanks, Don Cornelius. Wishing you Love, Peace and SOOOOOOOUL! May you rest in peace.

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 06:14:00 +0000

Season for Lists

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 05:56:00 +0000

I loved the view of the Petit Piton from our room at The Mago hotel in Soufriere, St. Lucia. It was majestic; this singular mountain jutting up against the sky from the sea. At some point each day, it gradually disappeared behind a curtain of clouds, heralding sporadic rain showers. Later, the clouds would dissipate as the showers passed, and the mountain would re-emerge in the distance. It was magical. I felt every manner of privileged, doing sun salutations on the balcony facing the mountain every day; wealthy, blessed, nourished, powerful.

This memory was inspired by a friend's blog post that motivated me to list the places I want to visit, and those I want to revisit. I'd revisit St. Lucia, it's a good place to reflect and regroup.

I 'm in a bucket list time of life--

I'm a single mother of a single child who's soon to go off to college or other adventures beyond my daily oversight.
I got an invitation to join AARP and a membership card in the mail yesterday, a clear indication that it really is high time I changed the name of this blog.

I've ticked the typically expected things off my Grownup list:

graduate from high school,
graduate from college,
get married,
buy a house
have a baby.

Now the baby's raised and starting to tick things off his own list. I have to refocus. What am I going to do now?

I've got to make a bucket list. Let's see.

Words for your Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 06:04:00 +0000

I Really Should Write Something

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 01:16:00 +0000

Why?

Well, because I've got this blog, see--the one that persists-- and it had become a bit of a habit, and then with Entrecard and BlogExplosion and other similar great things, there are even readers of the blog sometimes. An audience.

Imagine.

Besides; it's much fairer to my Facebook Friends and even my actual friends, to blather on on whatever soapbox I'm on at the moment to perfect strangers who've come to expect, and precisely to read these ~~blatherings~~ musings. Status updates are for what's for dinner, Happy Tuesday greetings or lemmingly posting some plaint or plight because allegedly 92% percent of people won't.

There. I wrote something.

Now back to spouting off--

The weather's been great here! (Thanks? Climate change!) I'm a newbie and proud to say (as of today) I've run 30 miles outside this month.
Which is sadder, that Rep. Barney Frank embodied any hope there was for a return to civil service and policymaking on the Hill, or that he too is getting out?
I have not watched any of the Republican Presidential Candidate debates. Not just because there are too many. Not just because they're not debates. It's mostly because the debates foment the notion that some of these people should be seriously considered as prospective leader of The United States, when they're really just about generating swill to feed the ravenous infotainment industry.

Come on now, seriously. Rick Perry? Herman Cain? Ideally, a Presidential candidate should KNOW stuff about history, policy, world affairs, etc. and be conversant in them; minimally, one should STUDY to get to know stuff. At the absolute least, know that you should study to get to know stuff. (The latter was working for John Edwards, remember? )
that and the cuteness
But he succumbed, alas, to the delusion that his political ambitions would be unhindered by his extramarital dalliances. Silly man. Sexual scandal is to the infotainment industry what conspicuous consumption is to a capitalist economy.

The one at the helm of policymaking and enforcement in these critical times should have the integrity of Bernie Sanders or Brooksley Born, the forthrightness of Elizabeth Warren, the work ethic of Sheila Bair and Eliot Spitzer, the political instincts of Bill Clinton, the charisma of Barack Obama and the courage to lead, like... Ronald Reagan of Lyndon Johnson with the humility of Jimmy Carter. And there should be actual civil servants in Congress...and the Supreme Court should be apolitical--

(When, exactly, will pigs fly?)

SHORT OF ALL THAT--how about campaign finance reform?

And here were are again. No matter what I start to write, this is where I end--and that's not fair to YOU!

Sense from Senator Sanders

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 05:00:00 +0000

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 05:00:00 +0000

Lexington Avenue, Asheville, North Carolina

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 04:08:00 +0000

Is Resistance Futile?

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 16:16:00 +0000

RT: timsmithwp Timothy Smith
John Lewis: "Martin Luther King Jr must be looked upon as a founding father of the New America"
-----------------------------------------------------------
Forty some years ago, the Poor Peoples Campaign occupied much of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr's time and energy. After the dangerous and deadly marches and boycotts that led to the passage of Civil Rights legislation in 1964 and 1965, Dr. King focused on human rights, championing an idea called the Economic Bill of Rights and called for "radical changes in the structure of our society". If you rely on media accounts and history texts, you'd think that Dr. King disappeared after 1965 until he was shot dead in Memphis in 1968. Long before the near-monopoly ownership of mainstream media and its manipulative dirty tricks detailed in the depressingly informative film, Orwell Rolls in His Grave, King's efforts on behalf of poor people, opposition to the war in Vietnam and U.S. foreign policy, in general, were studiously ignored by the media. Fortunately, the lenses of Swedish filmmakers provide some insight into this period via The Black Power Mixtape.

Today, in bittersweet coincidence, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr's memorial in Washington, DC is being formally dedicated at the same time that resistance to the "global system of bullshit" is manifest in countries around the world: Italy, Croatia, South Africa, Australia, CANADA, Belgium, Greece, Spain...
Check out streaming feeds from around the world here: http://occupystream.com/

Forty years later, the "Poor People" includes increasing numbers of the formerly middle class: at least 45 million Americans on food stamps, 14 million Americans unemployed and thousands more with decimated retirement savings. Throughout the world, increasing numbers are jobless, homeless, and deeply indebted while a relative few make out like the bandits they are, taking home in bonuses enough to feed entire populations. This time, though, the resistance will not be ignored, despite the mainstream media's valiant, dismissive efforts. Committed, technologically savvy collaborators work diligently to keep this resistance publicized. Donate! Send mittens, hats and blankets, hand sanitizers, food. You can even VOTE HERE on what you think should be included in the demands. IMO, (the broken record) it's all for nought, without sweeping campaign finance reform, so that elected officials' constituencies are actual PEOPLE (one wo/man one vote), not lobbyists for industries.

Without sounding too cliché, the Internet really is the birth of some kind of global mind--Terrance McKenna

Check out Occupy Madrid:

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 16:16:00 +0000

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 04:00:00 +0000

Music Monday: Adagio in G Minor

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 12:44:00 +0000

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 04:00:00 +0000

Stew

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 03:54:00 +0000

Being a woman of a certain age presents so many opportunities. (Really? I sound like I'm writing through clenched teeth? Interesting.)

I had an opportunity to visit a 'medical spa' recently, where, just like at the doctor's office, I waited well-past my appointment time--at least an hour--before I saw the doctor. Bustling in and apologizing for being late, we'd barely made eye contact before the doctor slipped some kind of fabric eyeband over my head and told me to pull it over my eyes. The doctor then took a breath, got some equipment humming and launched headlong into a hard sell discussion/description of a regime and products...exfoliation...salyicylic acid...sunscreen...anti-aging. roducts -- none of which I'd asked about--while attending to my flesh. The room smelled a little like a hot comb on the stove.

Second-guessing myself, thinking maybe she's trying to bond--you know, get to know me (since, apparently, I'd have to come back for a "minimum of 8 visits") I tried to converse-
but no; my instincts were right, it was a spiel.

After the ordeal, when I when to check out, an assistant motioned me over to a counter where she had what looked like an invoice slip, and a suite of products that she began describing, ones the doctor had suggested would be useful for my teenager's acne.

I never suggested to the doctor that I wanted to buy the acne kit, but I listened politely to the assistant--until she went to write on the invoice/receipt slip -- "How much is this?" "The Acne Kit is $150" she responded before returning again to the pen and the slip of paper. Then I asked about the little bottles to her left, "The regimen?" Yes, apparently these were what the doctor was speaking of when I tuned her out. I hadn't inquired about any regimen or products, nor displayed any real interest when she went on and on about them, yet here they were, all ready for my presumed purchase-- "And how much is that?" I asked, looking at the four tiny plastic bottles, " all together it's 150 dollars." Then I was just pissed.

FIRST, I was left waiting in a treatment room for over an hour before the doctor came in. Over an hour. No head popped in periodically to assure, explain or apologize; no head popped in. Still, I was chill I've got my blood pressure to think about; I'd meditated that morning, and I was playing some of my best Beyond Tetris ever.

But still.

THEN, once the doctor is in, I'm subjected to a rapid fire sales pitch (she denied it being a hard sell before I'd even realized she was trying to sell me something!) while prone and blindfolded-- an opportunity which was neither free nor cheap--

and on top of all that they're trying to hustle me out of three hundred more dollars and into a financing plan? I was done.
Yeah, times are hard all over. I'll stick with Cetaphil and Nair.

6203 High Score.

Music Monday: Nina Simone

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 04:00:00 +0000

Remembering Joe Bageant

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 20:52:00 +0000

Among sentient people everywhere there is a deep, visceral unease, and among those most aware there is genuinely acute suffering. -- Joe Bageant

During my research of distant lands for prospective expatriation, I've met quite a few interesting people. Some are wannabes, some usedtobes;some are expats who've done their level best to export their North American lifestyles fully intact to gated communities in developing countries where The Help is relatively cheap; some have sought to abandon a life of conspicuous consumption for a sustainable one, living off the land among locals insted; or at least a cheaper, less stressful one,of teaching yoga, tending bar or running a hostel.  One expat that I unfortunately never had the pleasure to meet since stumbling across his writings (he passed away in March), was Joe Bageant.

I thought of Joe today when I learned of the latest backtrack...er sidestep, of the Obama Administration, "delaying" implementation of climate change rules. (No, not the ozone standard ones that were shelved last month; these are whole OTHER ones that have been delayed before, and maybe will again, before they're abandoned altogether. When is this dude going to learn there's no amount of caving that's going to make Congressional Republicans like him?  He may be only half Black, but it is the half that's visible, after all.)

Not that the "deep,visceral unease" is attributable to the President, or his complexion (well, my unease isn't, anyway) but it is exacerbated by his (in)actions. As Joe put it, "the great mocha hope turned out to be a Trojan horse for Wall Street and the Pentagon."

But I digress--

Joe Bageant was described as a 'redneck socialist', reared in Winchester,Va as a member of what he called the 'white underclass'. You can read what he has to say about himself in About Joe but his essays, blog posts, and interactions with readers is more revealing.   He wrote and spoke unflinchingly about capitalism and classism-- and that *might* be why his books are more widely read elsewhere than in America (ya think?).   One book seemed aptly titled to be a bestseller here, right up there by Palin's or Beck's: Deer Hunting with Jesus -- until you get to the subtitle: Dispatches from America's Class War.

His commentary, biting, witty and often longwinded, refreshingly tells it like it is, to wit:

As an Anglo European white guy from a very long line of white guys, I want to thank all the brown, black, yellow and red people for a marvelous three-century joy ride. During the past 300 years of the industrial age, as Europeans, and later as Americans, we have managed to consume infinitely more than we ever produced, thanks to colonialism, crooked deals with despotic potentates and good old gunboats and grapeshot. Yes, we have lived, and still live, extravagant lifestyles far above the rest of you. And so, my sincere thanks to all of you folks around the world working in sweatshops, or living on two bucks a day, even though you sit on vast oil deposits. From Waltzing at the Doomsday Ball.

In America: Y ur Peeps B so Dum? he writes: Purposeful ignorance allows us to enjoy cheaper commodities produced through slave labor, both foreign, and increasingly, domestic, and yet "thank god for his bounty" in the nation's churches without a trace of guilt or irony.
...
Our hyper capitalist system, through command of our research, media and political institutions, expands upon and disseminates only that information which generates money and transactions. It avoids, neglects or spins the hell out of information that does not.

also from the Doomsday Ball piece, this little gem:
Compounding our ignorance and naiveté are the officials and experts, politicians, media elites, and especially economists, who interpret the world for us and govern the course of things. The go-to guys. They don't know either. But they've got the lingo down.

Joe and Noam Chomsky are featured in a documentary coming to an art house near you, The Kingdom of Survival. Here's a clip:

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 04:00:00 +0000

Music Monday: Ozomatli

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 12:28:00 +0000

"Just raise your head up and stand up, no fear in your eyes.
Tell me love and hope never die.
So raise your head up and stand up, no reason to cry.
'Cause your heart and soul will survive."

What I Said on the 1st Anniversary of 9/11

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 21:23:00 +0000

This Is Your Life 9/11/2002

Last year about this time when I found myself suddenly and resolutely awake--snap! just like that, I interpreted it spiritually, feeling summoned for intercessory prayer. For who or what, I had no idea, so, that being the case, I prayed that much more fervently.

Jesus; look what happened a scant five hours later. The emotional magnitude of the devastation was absolutely beyond my imagination. Keauki was away from New York when it happened; she was in the Midwest somewhere I think...maybe on an Indian reservation, and she mentioned how sympathetic the people were, but how they clearly perceived it as something that happened to you all", in New York, or on the East Coast, I guess.

I was surprised that anyone in this country could suffer such a luxurious delusion; distance. But then again, I'm here, a good percentage of my time well within collateral damage distance of here, so...quite contrarily to the folks she met, I felt like a sitting duck. And I was one--and not because my VP encouraged it, (which he did, in a pep rally in the hall a half hour or so after the Pentagon was hit ("this is news! this is why we're in business!")minutes, perhaps, after the rumors about the fires at the State Department, the felling of USA Today.
(USA TODAY?!, I thought. Right. Either that was a purely logistical consideration, a symbolic gesture of an attack on American media or, the start of hitting all the high profile members. In the latter case, I'm reluctant to admit, I then thought: any second now...)

I stayed because I figured the traffic getting out of the city would be so bad; it would be tied up and emotionally charged for hours; and also, because, at that moment, I couldn't be deprived of any source of information. I wanted and had, frequent, easy access to a tv, and a radio, and the Internet, and phones, (cell and landline), plus my beeper. The phone was of little use, but the information, knowing whatever could be known, was critically necessary at that juncture. It was the best time to get any real grasp I'm sure, of what was happening, while it unfolded, before it got the chance to be propagandized, stylized, packaged and marketed for sublimated desired effect. Raw. Real. Realer than ever, for every American. This wasn't over there , somewhere remote and fantasy-like, like Hawaii(ah, sweet luxury of generational distance), but the financial and political founts of the lord of the world; where peasants were going about their working lives! Where I live.

After a few days of constantly attended television--I practically had MSNBC and CNN on speed dial;--augmented by NPR, I cut back to nearly constantly, and life interceded. But I didn't want to forget. I didn't ever want things to return to the status quo (an illusion at best) where this horror became "an Event", its sweepingly cross-cultural heaving emotional impact, relegated to memory. Things get lost back there.

So here I am, a year later. Up again in the wee hours(the dog pestered), I began to remember.
I can't decide whether the delayed recollection is courtesy of my boycott of news and information media since Sunday or so, or by a degree of spiritual dissonance.

I mean, I got a kind of "heads up" last year; this year, I'm remembering to remember?

In either case, remembering, I made this prayer:Bless the souls of the slain, nurture the spirit of the stricken, comfort the pain of the aggrieved, cleanse the hearts of the guilty.Forgive us all.Let there be mercy, peace. NO FEAR. Let us not need be reminded to love each day-- not in passive appreciation, but as a manner of being;to live the day, every day-- actively, consciously, interpersonally, with great intention, in all aspects, in every way, to the nth degree-- as though it were the last day.Namaste

Try to Remember

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 04:30:00 +0000

I remember my brother overdramatically singing this song-

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.

As it turns out, as long as you have the faculty to remember to search for what you forgot, and the capability to do it, Can't Remember Sh--Stuff syndrome (aka growing older), is not as frustrating as it could be. Any answer you seek is just a few keystrokes away on the Net, it's practically instant recall.

I used to daydream about owning a place that sold tea and had morning sunlight filtering through windows on overstuffed armchairs in random places--kinda like Idle Time Books; little nooks where people could read or write for hours on end, and sometimes-- maybe-- there would be readings too, like at Food for Thought--(was that the name of that place in Dupont Circle, with the green awning and all the vegan and veggie options crammed in barely legible handwriting on the chalkboard behind the counter?)

Am I remembering this correctly?

[Google 'food for thought dupont circle', press Enter. Click Images]

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am remembering correctly. Thanks to Incorrigible Curmudgeon for the photographic validation (shown right); ~~I'm not that nuts. O~~bviously I still can both:

remember to look up stuff I thought I'd forgotten or misremembered- AND
maneuver to do so!

So, hey, it's all good! This seasoned woman's got the agile mind and nimble fingers of a MtnGrl. F**tysomething is the new thirtysomething-- wait.
What was I talking about?

Oh, yeah-

One time I was daydreaming out loud, only to be interrupted by a coworker-friend scoffing, 'How are you gonna make money?!' Good point, I had to concede, seeing as how my trust fund never existed. Letting folks linger for hours with tea and books was not likely to be a big revenue generator. I've been bookish for as long as I can remember, and love bookish places; libraries, bookstores. My former husband and I used to happily spend hours and hundreds in bookstores. I remember being pregnant and mollified by the thought a book's title suggested: having a child who doesn't like to read.

This recollection tickled me yesterday, right after I finished bellyaching about how far away the nearest bookstore was--and the cost of gas--to my nondriving, one and only beloved youngun who'd asked to go to the bookstore.

The nearest bookstore is so far away because there ~~(has hardly been any in PG County, at least not in the 12 or so years I've lived here)~~, are fewer and fewer. Even the one we went to yesterday, in Silver Spring, was plastered with STORE CLOSING and FOR SALE signs -LAST EIGHT DAYS!
Being in the middle of so many books at such low prices due to a store's imminent demise--really takes the kick out of it, though.

I bought four books-- (two of which were actually on my To Read list--YOU guess which two):

I also got a 2012 calendar and a cuddly throw, all for $40 and change.

Rest in Peace, Borders.

I'd like to turn a page in homage to all those that have gone before: Crown Books, Super Crown, Olsson's Books and Records, Karibu Books, Vertigo Books, (I *so* loved that Dupont Circle space), The Trover Shop (in neighborhood news, another Capitol Hill institution, Hawk n Dove, will soon also bite the dust) and in advance, for the Georgetown Barnes and Noble, slated to go by year's end.

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
....
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

If you don't remember, GOOGLE IT, but you can still follow me. ;-D

Music Monday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 14:40:00 +0000

Tell Me Thursday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 04:01:00 +0000

All Cracked Up

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 17:28:00 +0000

I had just surfed to Weather.com to check out news re Hurricane Irene when the floor started shaking. At first, I thought it was the guys doing construction outside thewindow by my cube on the fourth floor. I looked to my left; they weren't there. It got a bit stronger and in my peripheral vision, I saw someone walk by. I figured they were running. Then, I thought, 'wait a minute, nobody here is big enough to cause such a commotion by running'. I got up to walk around the corner to see if anyone else was experiencing what I was, and that's when I felt the floor rolling; it felt like being on a boogie board. I instinctively outstretched my arms, but was befuddled by the lack of doorways nearby; it's all open space and glass. 'I don't know what to do, what are we supposed to do?!' My coworker said 'run downstairs' and so we did, joining other confused folks from our office building and others, out on the island that separates the service lane from K street, well in striking distance of any falling bricks, glass, trees or anything else that Mother Nature might have dislodged.

I'd left everything upstairs, and none of my coworkers iPhones seemed to be working (AT&T); I borrowed one anyway, and got through to my son at school a couple of miles away in Georgetown immediately.(BOOSTMOBILE!!) He was okay; they'd evacuated. I returned the phone to my coworker who resumed frustratingly futile attempts to reach other iPhone users.

I worked at The Washington Post on 9/11, and I remember feeling like a sitting duck as we heard rumors of the State Department being hit and USAToday; the plane being diverted from the White House. (The Washington Post is merely blocks away from The White House.) Fortunately, The Post was not hit that day, though there were other scares and anthrax in the mailroom days later. What happened in the weeks and months after 9/11 at The Washington Post was a model of preparedness, though. Each employee was provided with provisions to use in case of another emergency event (I remember a whistle, a flashlight, bottled water, batteriess) in addition to the cafeteria being fully stocked to feed 2000 or so of us, for some period of time, should 'sheltering in place' become necessary.

We regularly had random drills. There were Emergency Coordinators for segments of each floor, coworkers who donned brightly colored vests and bullhorns, corralling us outside. We knew were to meet our group (outside in a nearby location away from the building), and then when all (or most) were accounted for, we walked a specific route to a more remote location.

Those were the days. I now work a couple of blocks from The Post, onsite at a government client. I'm glad I have the information and emergency preparedness experience at The Post to call on, and hope I remember to, next time, because at my current work site, it's clearly every person for himself.

I've lived in this area for 30+ years, and the first earthquake I ever felt jolted me from my sleep last year; but it was just ONE unmistakable jolt. This quake was something else entirely. It went on for what seemed like quite awhile, leaving four floot long fissures in The Washington Monument; flinging angels and spires from The National Cathedral, hurling bricks through car windshields. Even an aftershock in the weehours of this morning danced furniture around my bedroom a bit.

It's been an enlightening experience in several ways, the most poignant summarized by two comments made to me:

"You can pick your friends, but not your family." Given the choice, I might've opted for a non-psychic family, ~~or one that at least feigns giving a rat's ass~~ since not one of the legions I'm related to by blood has yet to reach out to see if I'm okay; and
In response to my tweet that the Mayans are on to something, I got this response: "I think they're a year off, personally."

OMG!!! I hadn't thoughta that... "I don't know what to do, what are we supposed to do?!"

Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 04:00:00 +0000

Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing

noreply@blogger.com (MtnGrl) — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 15:12:00 +0000

Half of a legendary songwriting duo has died.

Nick Ashford, who with his wife Valerie Simpson, wrote hits for others (including Marvin Gaye, Ray Charles, Diana Ross, Chaka Khan) and themselves ("Is it Still Good to You?", "Solid", "So, So Satisfied", "Found a Cure") for decades as Ashford and Simpson, passed away Monday at the age of 70 from throat cancer.

Ashford and Simpson were a rarity among celebrity marriages. They married 10 years after they began working together, and stayed married--continually-- for 37 years. They were living testimony to the song they penned in the 60s: "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing". The Real Thing endures.

Here's Valerie singing Happy Birthday to Nick a few months ago at their restaurant, Sugar Bar, in Harlem. R.I.P Nick. Thank you.