My Menopausal Musings

The Time is Now

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 06 Nov 2017 01:27:00 +0000

Is it time yet?

Exactly 5 weeks ago a man opened fire on the crowd at a music concert, killing 59. When voices rose up to protest current gun laws, Republican lawmakers suggested it was too soon. Too soon because the nation was hurting.

We have waited to long too have that discussion. We have waited too long to come out in support of sweeping gun control legislation. We have waited too long to make a change.

This morning, in Sutherland Springs,Texas, a young man walked into a church and began shooting. He killed at least 26 men, women, and children before fleeing. That is what comes from waiting.

Each time we face a tragic shooting Americans pause and grieve and wonder how something so horrible can happen here. Sadly, the only place shootings like this occur with such regularity is in the United States of America.

We are divided, and for the life of me I cannot understand why. What is so wrong with discussing gun control? I do not own a gun nor will I permit anyone to bring one to my home. If you want to own a gun for self protection or in order to hunt, I support your right to do so. BUT, there is no reason on earth anyone needs to privately own a military-style weapon. Please, give me one good reason why someone might need one.

We do not need to discuss security in our churches, as suggested by pundits today. We need to discuss gun control. The time is now.

#MeToo

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 19 Oct 2017 13:52:00 +0000

It’s not just Hollywood. It’s big business. It’s small business. It’s walking down the street. It’s all over America. It’s the President of the United States.

I’m a woman of a ‘certain age’ so I remember when sexual harassment and discrimination were not only legal, but expected. Decades ago the laws changed allowing for women to make a legal stand when they were victimized, but they didn’t. Did the abuse stop? No. The bad boys lawyered up and new ways were found to keep women in their place.

I was once an actress and singer and I can attest to the fact that the casting couch was a very real thing. I also worked in the business world for most of my life and can tell you that the abuse was just as unbridled there.

I am sure that most women have experienced some form of harassment or discrimination, we just don’t know exactly what to do about it. We whisper in hallways, hinting at wrongdoings and guiding those women coming up after us. Some men stand silent and some join in. My story is not unusual and I won’t bore you with every detail. Here are just a few personal examples:

At 19 a professor suggested I should share his room on a college acting tour.
At 21 I was asked to show my “tits” at one of my first professional auditions.
At 23 I was force fed alcohol by two partners of a reputable law firm in the reception area for all to see. One held my head back and the other poured the brandy down my throat. They thought it might change my mind about drinking with them in a private office.
At 25 I quit a job because of unwanted advances from the business owner. My options were unemployment or sex with him in a dark office above the Ed Sullivan Theatre. I chose unemployment.
At 28 I was groped by a work superior in a taxi ride home from a holiday party.
At 30 an older man that I barely knew put his paw on my thigh and offered me a Manhattan apartment and a generous salary to live there. He didn’t name specific duties, but they were clear. I never saw him again.
At 35 I was denied a promotion because my “tits” were distracting.
At 40 I got a much-deserved promotion, but had to report to a man who made twice my salary because people would better accept a man in a technology role.
At 45 I lost my job to another man because men were better-suited to technology, even though I had been the innovator at that company and in the field.
At 45 I sought the help of counsel. The lawyer looked at me and said, “You were there a long time and you’re an attractive woman. You must have had a few affairs there, what dirt do you have?” I asked him if he had daughters and walked out the door.
At 50 I was too old to get a job even though men who were my peers seemed to be able to get a job. I was asked out on a few dates.
At 55 I was co-host to an educational seminar where foreign heads of state were present. I was the only woman. While I was ‘permitted’ to be at the table, when I spoke, the foreign dignitary actually waved his hand as if swatting a fly away. When I responded, it was as though I wasn’t there. None of the other men said anything either.
At 60 (actually a week before my birthday) I was ‘laid off’ and my job was given to a man that had no experience in my field at a significantly higher salary. Two points of interest here: 1) within a few months the man was fired for not being able to do his job; and 2) the small business owner had on several occasions shared sexually explicit stories with me and would tell me I was sexy, saying he’d hit ‘that’, referring to me, with other colleagues present.

An avalanche of women are posting #MeToo, flooding social media sites in an effort to remove their shame. And yet, there are still those that blame the women. They were dressed too provocatively. They didn’t speak out loudly enough or soon enough, or with enough conviction. The blame is misplaced. It is the men who are the perpetrators that are to blame. It is the men (and some women) who are silent when they see and hear inappropriate behavior.

There must be both criminal and financial consequences for the perpetrators and for those who stand with them in silence or there will never be parity. Victims cannot be made to account for the transgressions of their perpetrators. All of us, the countless #MeToo’s, must not be afraid. I fear that those who go first will lose a lot. They will lose all the things that made them not speak out. They will lose their livelihoods, their credibility, and their professional standing.

I wish it wasn’t true, but I am sure that it is. I am a strong and respected woman who has been a victim time and time again, and yet, in spite of the current climate and the distance of more than a year, I feel that making a stand against my last perpetrator would have no impact on him or his business and only harm me both emotionally and financially.

It is hard to imagine that I am alone.

I Bury Your Backpack at My Wounded Knee

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 04 Dec 2013 17:41:00 +0000

Backpacks have a place: wide open spaces with trails for hiking; mountainsides where men and women have climbed to great heights; a handy small travel bag when going to grandma’s house for the holidays. I’m all for that. I don’t like to wear them myself, the wear and tear on my shoulders and back make them seem more like torture chambers to me, but I understand if you find them to be comfortable.

Backpacks do not have a place on the busy sidewalks of New York. They do not belong on rush hour transportation. I know, I know. You love your backpack. You love the convenience of carrying your burden on your shoulders and keeping your hands free to shop and text.

What you have forgotten is that the svelte picture you have nestled away in your brain of how good you looked when you left the house couldn’t be further from the truth!

Your girth has doubled.

Even worse, you are completely unaware as you zip through crowds leaving crying children in your wake as your bag meets their faces. What about the old man nearly knocked off his walker as you slip in and out of the crowd as though you were the thin person you are without the offending backpack?

Today a young man, with the need to be ahead of me on the escalator, zipped around and then landed on the step in front of me. His backpack made him the size of 2 men and he knocked me backward off my step. He didn’t even notice. How could he, protected as he was by 2 feet of padding? Luckily for those behind me on the escalator, I only fell back one step before catching myself.

If you really need to wear one of those things, put it on and then look at yourself from all angles. Try to understand that your back side has just become a weapon.

27

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 16 Dec 2012 16:50:00 +0000

This week a troubled young man first shot and killed his mother then killed twenty children and six more women at a nearby elementary school.

The facts are still unfolding.

What we do know is that the killer shot his way into the school. We know that six of his murder victims were women devoted to the care and education of children. We know twenty children, hoping Santa would visit them soon, were murdered before they had even lost all of their baby teeth.

The killer used a semi-automatic weapon to inflict multiple wounds on all of his victims at the school.

Semi-automatic weapons.

As I struggle to make sense of the tragic shootings in our nation over the last several years, I grow more tired of self-important politicians; political pundits and shock jocks ricocheting through the airwaves like so many bullets the language of hate and fear.

Banning semi-automatic weapons will not end the tradition of the first Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas.

Banning semi-automatic weapons will not be an affront to the US Constitution.

Banning semi-automatic weapons will not make us un-American.

It is true that there will never be a gun in my house. I made that decision nearly 40 years ago and stand by it. You can have a gun in your house, but you are not welcome to bring it to mine.

I believe with all my heart that guns have no place at a grocery store parking lot, a University campus, a movie theater, a church, a hospital or an elementary school and challenge anyone to explain why I might be wrong.

I have no answers, and only one question:

What is the argument for owning a weapon designed to kill man?

The Freedom of Speech in Troubled Times

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 03 Sep 2012 05:25:00 +0000

We the people of the United States of America seem to have lost our way.

While it is true we stand far apart on the issues that face our troubled nation, what I find troubling is our inability to have an open dialogue about what is most important. It is not the first time in our history the people have been at odds, nor is it the last, but I am finding the recent loss of civility to be distressing.

For those of you who don’t know me well, or at all, I am a typical baby boomer. An odd combination of Janis Joplin, The Monkees and Stevie Wonder form the soundtrack of my early years. The Vietnam War, civil rights, space travel and Andy Griffith helped shape me.

My father was a career military man, a proud NCO in the US Air Force, and I was raised on domestic military installations. I always stand for our National Anthem and am appalled by those who cheer at ball games before the song is over. I cringe at tattered flags flapping on car windows and have been known to stop workmen taking down a flag at the end of the day, asking them to fold it properly.

I went to 12 schools before I finished, but claim North Dakota as my childhood home. New York City has been my home for most of my adult life. I tread the boards in NYC and sang with my band in CBGBs. I spent 20 years hard time working with litigators. Now, I am a writer and real estate broker extraordinaire.

I am a woman.

I am a patriot.

I am a liberal.

I am a believer in freedom of expression and the freedom to organize and the First Amendment, which says:

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.

I believe in a woman’s right to choose, gun control and gay marriage. You can disagree with me but you cannot judge me.

I have been called foolish.

I have been threatened.

I have been called un-American.

I was raised to believe that it was my civic duty to question my leaders and to honor and protect those that that disagree with me. While I would never burn a flag, my father defended and I support the right of those who feel it is a necessary form of protest. We need to try to understand and not to stand in judgment of each other. Disagreeing with the GOP does not make me un-American. In fact, my right to do so is American.

We are tweeting and texting and updating our Facebook statuses to stand in judgment of others. I love having a forum to express my opinion and where I can see opposing points of view.

We are so divided; I doubt we will ever win over the opposing side. Yet, I am hopeful we will make an effort to at least understand the other point of view and stop the ridiculous name-calling and condescension. Come November 7^th we will still be neighbors.

I welcome your thoughts and comments.

Delayed Gratification

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 03:44:00 +0000

The cyber dating world can be a funny place.

This afternoon I received a playful (and a little bit forward) e-mail from a prospective date. When I opened his profile I knew in a second that it was someone I met 3 years ago. Our first date was not good, but I decided to respond. These things can take time.

To my chagrin, he had absolutely no memory of having met.

Good, bad or indifferent, I remember the most ridiculous details of life's smallest moments. I goaded him on. We exchanged a few e-mails and I supplied him with details of our meeting. Finally, the light bulb when off. He remembered! How could this quirky little man have forgotten who I was?

What he remembered had nothing to do with my memory of our one and only date. He took the opportunity of my response to tell me how grand he had been and how awful I was. I have no idea how long it took him to compose his missive, but wonder why he bothered to expend the energy. I suppose I could have let sleeping dogs lie, but I decided to respond making suggestions about how he should NOT greet future dates.

For those men who still in the dating pool who may be reading this......

1. Never arrive late.
2. Never arrive for a first date in exercise clothes.
3. Never arrive sweaty, unless you look really good in a wet t-shirt. Even then it's a really bad idea.
4. Never refuse to talk about yourself.
5. Never ask a woman her opinion and then tell her she doesn't understand what she's talking about. It doesn't actually make you look smart in makes you look like an idiot. There is never room for condescension.

There Is No Superman

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 03:54:00 +0000

Handguns.

Semi-automatic weapons.

Automatic weapons.

Street sweepers.

A mentally ill young man was able to buy a terrible weapon of mass destruction and used it to destroy several lives this weekend.

I struggle to make sense of the recent tragic shooting in Arizona as I hear the words of self-important politicians, political pundits and shock jocks ricocheting through the airwaves like so many bullets, each one believing they can repel those missile-like words like Superman.

There is no sense to be made of it.

There is no Superman.

It is true that there will never be a gun in my house. I made that decision 37 years ago and stand by it.

You can have a gun in your house, but you are not welcome to bring it to mine.

I believe with all my heart that guns have no place at a grocery store parking lot, and challenge anyone to explain why I might be wrong.

I have no answers, and only one question:

What is the argument for owning a weapon designed to kill man?

Words of Wisdom from South Texas

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 19:15:00 +0000

There will always be tragedy and it will always be our job to try and make things better. Sometimes it’s difficult to know just what to do or say.

In recent weeks the tragic deaths of young teens have been on the news and the issue of tolerance is back on the table for discussion. It seems we have lowered the bar. Both sides of the aisle are following the anger of the media and our politicians. We are too quick to judge.

Today my friend Arthur Wooten posted the most extraordinary video on Facebook. The words of wisdom from a young City Councilman from Fort Worth, Texas overwhelmed me and left me in a flood of tears.

I have no words, no review, simply a request that you watch and hear every word of wisdom this gentleman from South Texas has to say.

Councilman Joel Burns
@joelburns
joel.burns@fortworthgov.org

Cutting His Losses

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 26 Sep 2010 22:30:00 +0000

I was excited to see The Irishman and his daughter this weekend. To my surprise, he came over alone on Friday evening and called it quits. Despite my own fears and doubts, I confess I didn’t see it coming.

“I just can’t,” he said.

As it turns out, The Irishman’s steamer trunk is filled with rocks and is sinking fast. He is too overwhelmed to be in a relationship at the moment, so he wants to be my friend.

What is our ‘relationship’? I was waiting to talk about it, to give it a name we both felt comfortable with; he had already named it, become overwhelmed and needed to rename it.

I didn’t know it, but I had been dubbed ‘girlfriend’. His friends knew. He told his sister. He had even told his mother! No wonder his mother was eager to meet me during her short visit from Ireland last week. The Irishman brought his sister and mother over for tea. I made sure the house was sparkling and baked a picture-perfect apple pie. I loved meeting them and had a fabulous time. Before they left, cameras came out and many photos were snapped with the promise of sharing them in the future. There were questions about whether or not I would be visiting Ireland.

There was no way for me to know, but apparently The Irishman had already decided.

“I just can’t,” he said.

I asked why he had gone to the trouble of introducing me to his family if he felt we should ‘end’ things, and he said that his mother wanted to meet me, his girlfriend, and that he wanted her to meet me. The introduction to his family only made my fantasies run wilder than they had the week before. He should have never allowed that meeting to happen and I am angry about it.

I cried this morning when I put away his daughter’s toothbrush for safekeeping. I supposed I should have thrown it away, but that seemed to final an act. I’m in love with that little girl and her big blue eyes that look so much like her Daddy’s.

My fantasies of being whisked away by a pair of strong arms have been dashed.

I am sad and so is The Irishman. We both cried as he left.

He hopes that we can still be friends.

He hopes we can still be in each other’s lives.

He wants to know if we can meet for drinks after work.

Cutting My Losses

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 23:04:00 +0000

I had a great first date with The Irishman and things seem to be going pretty well. He’s fun, kind, helpful, hardworking, sexy, and he’s a single dad with more baggage than I could dream of having. In spite of his very heavy steamer trunk, I decided to climb aboard his ship and test the waters.

Before I knew what was happening, I fell madly in love with his little girl. The first time her big blue eyes looked up at me as she hugged me and said, “I love you,” I was a goner. Of course, she is too young to understand that Daddy is dating. Frankly, I don’t think she should know. She still dreams of her parents’ reconciliation and The Parent Trap is her favorite movie. Of course that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about him grabbing me in his strong arms, telling me he can’t live without me and whisking me away to his precious Emerald Isle.

I have asked myself over and over again whether I would have continued to see The Irishman if I hadn’t fallen head over heels with his daughter. There is no way to know. They are a package deal and he has the same eyes.

I am caught between a rock and a hard place.

The passage of time has made my doubts grow deep and my fantasies grow strong. My own life is upside down these days and I am looking for the key, buried ages ago, to my own steamer trunk. The Irishman and I have only been seeing each other for a short while, yet the involvement of family and child and the shared details that have been locked up tight in his steamer trunk of baggage seem to have accelerated the opening of my heart, my need to know where I stand, the need to declare “us.”

I want to pack my own bags of baggage and brace for the ride, but he has not offered a ticket and I think that, for this leg of his journey, he must sail alone. Should I be patient, enjoy the ride and wait for him to be ready, or is it time to cut my losses and run?

Fair and Balanced? Not on Your Life!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 22:32:00 +0000

I am a news junkie. Despite my 'lefty' leanings, I try to hear all sides, whether I like them or not. I find myself watching hours of coverage trying to distill the real news of the day. CNN, Fox, MSNBC, ABC, NBC, CBS... The list goes on and on.

Not so long ago, network anchors were a trusted and respected source for news. That no longer seems to be the case, and with today’s news the line between the truth and the almighty dollar seems to have completely vanished. This summer Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporation donated a million dollars to the Republican Governors Association.

Randi Rittenberg, a well-respected analyst and reporter, published the following report today on the impact of corporate donations to political parties. Now this is an example of fair and balanced reporting.

You can bet your life on it.

Rupert Murdoch, who has never been shy about making his political views known, has voted with his sizable checkbook.

Murdoch's News Corp. has made a $1 million donation to the Republican Governors Association, triggering swift criticism from Democrats that a contribution of that magnitude casts a shadow on his media properties, particularly Fox News.

"For a media company -- particularly one whose slogan is 'fair and balanced' -- to be injecting themselves into the outcome of races is stunning," Nathan Daschle, executive director of the Democratic Governors Association, said Tuesday. "The people owning Fox News have made a decision that they want to see Democratic governors go down to defeat. It's a jaw-dropping violation of the boundary between the media and corporate realm."

Jack Horner, a spokesman for News Corp., said in an interview: "It's patently false that a corporate donation would have any bearing on our news-gathering activities at Fox News or any other of our properties." News Corp., which also owns the New York Post, Wall Street Journal and Times of London, said in a statement that the company "believes in the power of free markets, and the RGA's pro-business agenda supports our priorities at this most critical time for our economy." Two RGA spokesmen did not return messages.

It is hardly unusual for media companies to support candidates and political parties. General Electric, which owns NBC, has given $245,000 to the Democratic governors and $205,000 to the Republican governors since last year. Time Warner, which includes CNN, Time and Fortune, has given $70,000 to the Democratic governors and $50,000 to the GOP governors, sums matched by Time Warner Cable.

Disney, which owns ABC, donated $20,000 to committees associated with Republicans and $11,000 to Democratic committees. CBS gave $13,000 to Democratic PACs and $1,000 to Republican ones.

Asked whether such donations raise questions about other networks' coverage, Daschle said: "The Fox contribution is in a completely different league. Other media firms' donations are generally small and about equal to the many committees that receive money." His group spent Tuesday trying to drum up interest in the issue, unsuccessfully pitching a dozen Fox producers and hosts to get Daschle booked on the channel. "Our executive director would be happy to come on the show tonight to discuss this contribution," one e-mail said.

General Electric spokesman Gary Sheffer, asked if the donations affect news coverage, said: "GE does not get involved in the editorial decisions of NBC News." A Time Warner spokesman did not provide a response to the same question.

The $1 million donation by News Corp., made in June and first reported by Bloomberg Businessweek, is among the largest contributions to the GOP governors in this campaign cycle. The Republican group, headed by Mississippi Gov. Haley Barbour, a possible presidential candidate in 2012, has raised $58 million in the past year and a half, compared with $40 million for the Democratic group. Thirty-seven governorships are up for election this fall.

A seven-figure donation is not a first for Murdoch; he gave $1 million to the California Republican Party in 1996.

"The way the rules are written, he is playing by the rules," says Tobe Berkovitz, an associate professor of communication at Boston University. "This just reinforces for liberals how evil and manipulative Fox and Rupert Murdoch are. For the civilians out there, I don't think they're going to see this as particularly relevant or particularly important."

Fox News, the home of such hosts as Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly, has long been at odds with the Democratic Party. During the 2008 campaign, Murdoch and Fox News Chairman Roger Ailes held a secret meeting with candidate Barack Obama in an effort to clear the air. "I wanted him to understand that we're a real journalism organization and we're going to cover what's there. We're not out to get him," Ailes said in a subsequent interview.

But the relationship blew up last year. The White House refused for months to make top officials available for interviews and assailed Fox as an arm of the Republican Party -- an attack that was revived Tuesday.

"Any pretense that may have existed about the ties between Fox News and the Republican Party has been ripped violently away," said Hari Sevugan, spokesman for the Democratic National Committee. "Any Republican that appears on Fox should now have a disclaimer that they are financially supported by the network and any coverage of the elections this fall on Fox should be reported with disclaimer for what it is -- partisan propaganda."

The Rittenberg Report

The Irishman

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 20:27:00 +0000

My first date with The Irishman was a quick after work drink with a time limit. I’ve had a lot of practice dating and realize that there is absolutely no such thing as cyber chemistry. We had exchanged a couple of e-mails and chatted on the phone but it was time to see if there was really anything there.

We agreed to meet for a drink and both had someplace else to go when our hour was up. I of course arrived first and ordered my favorite smart cocktail, a scotch and water. He arrived with a big smile on his face, sat down next to me and then ordered a beer. I was surprised how easily we chatted. We covered everything from politics and religion to children and love. As he teased me about my liberal leanings a big grin appeared, letting me know he was pulling my leg, and he leaned over to kiss me. Just a lovely little kiss that made me keenly aware that I’d like to have a few more of them. Suddenly it was time to go. The Irishman paid for our drinks and then we walked for a couple of blocks before we parted with another quick kiss.

The following Friday morning he called to say that he had the day off and wondered if I could meet for breakfast. Work was too busy, but I let him know I would be free for a late lunch and a walk in the park. Friday finally came and I was excited to see The Irishman again. As I watched The Irishman walk toward me on the street he seemed more attractive than I had remembered. Perhaps it was his height and strong gait or perhaps those quick, sweet kisses had been working their magic behind my brain. Whatever the reason was, when we were finally walking up the street together and gabbing away, I realized how lovely it was to be in the company of The Irishman.

We stopped at a local restaurant for a snack then made our way to the park. As we walked, chattering away about this and that, I directed him to a spot where the view was particularly lovely and he leaned down to kiss me. It was soft and lovely and I kissed him back. We walked a bit further and he kissed me again as we wound our way out of the park and back on to the street. I took his hand for a while, enjoying the feeling of his large rough hand in mine.

As he walked me home I knew we had a few more minutes before he had to go, so I suggested getting some water and sitting in the back garden until it was time for him to go. The Irishman accompanied me upstairs and then as I was taking bottled water from the fridge he kissed me. This time it was a long and wet kiss and I fell into it. I tried to restrain myself and stiffened my body beneath his touch. It was ridiculous really. I found him remarkably sexy. He was funny and handsome and easy to talk to. I wanted nothing more than for him to have his way with me, but I didn’t want to screw it up by screwing him too soon.

“Leave him wanting more,” was the only thought in my mind....

The Last Lecture

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 02:15:00 +0000

It is a beautiful evening. It’s twilight, and looking out my window I can see how the remaining low light is dancing on the surface of the Hudson River making it the most remarkable color of blue, a blue that matches the top of the sky. In between the river and the top of the sky, the black outline of trees is covered by a thin layer of orangey-gold, moving to yellow to green to deepening shades of blue until you get to the top of the sky that matches the river below.

I am lucky enough to see how the sky is different each time the sun sets. Even though it only takes a moment to take in the awesome changing sky Mother Nature paints for me each night, most of the time I don’t take the time to really look. Perhaps it was the tears in my eyes this evening that changed the light and made the colors more vivid. Perhaps it was the fact that I had just finished reading an extraordinary affirmation of love and life that my eyes were merely open.

I watched Randy Pausch’s ‘last lecture’ ages ago. I saw him interviewed on Oprah and cried, and then cried again as the news of his passing was broadcast. Last year I was walking through Barnes & Noble, and thought perhaps the purchase of his book, THE LAST LECTURE would help support his family or give money to a charity benefiting those suffering with pancreatic cancer, the same cancer that took my dad from me.

Since then his book has been on my bedside table. I assumed it was merely the transcript of his final speech, so I thought it was old news. Last night, feeling like I needed a little inspiration, I cracked it open before bed. I couldn’t have been more wrong. This was not a speech transcript, but an incredibly moving compilation of lessons on how to live. THE LAST LECTURE is a book to be read over and over again. I picked it up after spending days feeling sorry for myself, struck down by a cold! It’s joyful tone made let me know that it’s okay to indulge on occasion; and more importantly that one should always find their bliss. I plan to talk to all of my friends about it and to encourage them to read it. I want everyone to read it. I want to read it again when I’m happy and feeling good. I want to talk about it.

Run to the store. Buy THE LAST LECTURE and read it as soon as you can. Then, let’s get together for a smart cocktail and talk about what we dreamed about as children.

I Love Bobby Rivers

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 00:24:00 +0000

Bobby is a new friend, but I feel as though I’ve known him for years. His face and voice, coming from the television in my early days in New York, provided the background and soundtrack of some of my best memories. He always seemed to be on TV and I was amazed that he was so easy when talking to the likes of Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep. He was a celebrity in his own right, but there was something about him that made me think we could be friends. Bobby was warm and funny and I knew he would be fun at a party. I loved coming home, putting on my pajamas and watching Bobby banter with my idols.

Life is funny. All these years later and we have actually become friends and I’m beginning to understand why he was so good on TV; why we all wanted him in our living rooms and bedrooms; and why some of the most amazing people in the world have been interviewed by him and feel the same way I do about watching Bobby Rivers.

Bobby is a smart man with an encyclopedic knowledge of film and can talk to a post. I love that about him. Bobby listens because he really wants to know what you have to say. Listening is a special gift. A lot of people ask questions but few actually want to hear the answer. The end result? You'll tell him anything.

Today I was struck by a piece Bobby wrote about growing up. The piece is called Bobby Kennedy: Watts 1968. Read it.

Our childhoods couldn’t have been more different. Even so, I felt closer to him as I read his story about growing up. Bobby Rivers has a way of intertwining our history with culture and making us more the same than we are different.

I am baffled that NBC News has hired Cody Gifford to review movies when there is someone far more entertaining and knowledgeable available.

All I can do is quote Whoopi Goldberg – “ What the hell?!?”

I Wiped My Mouth

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 21 May 2010 00:58:00 +0000

Once again, I’ve got my eye on the prize. I am focused. My mother would say that I’m ‘on the prowl.’ I say that I am looking for the last great love of my life. I have begun to date again.

About a month ago the Wino, a wine importer, asked me to join him for a drink. I agreed to meet him and gave this date a quick twenty minutes – just long enough to sip a glass of wine and decide whether or not I wanted to meet again for a full-length date. The bar he selected was dark but homey. We had just enough time for him to tell me how wonderful he was and to regale me with his vast knowledge of wine. I was a bit concerned that I didn’t get a chance to really get a good look at him in the low light and then realized that the light was probably more than flattering for me.

There certainly wasn’t a spark, but as I ran out the door I agreed to meet him again for another date. The Wino diligently called and e-mailed for 3 weeks until I agreed to meet him at a museum. I had been on my feet all day, and arriving less than five minutes before the appointed time, plunked myself down on the bench in the entry letting out a deep sigh.

The Wino walked in and spotted me immediately. In this light he was clearly much of a much older vintage than he had claimed. He swaggered over and frowned.

“You were early,” he chided.

“I like to be on time.”

His face was a bit crooked and gnarly so I couldn’t be sure if he scowled, smirked or smiled before he darted into the crowd toward the entrance, expecting me to follow. He directed me through the museum pointing and lecturing as though I had never seen art before.

“You see, this is a painting.”

“Ah,” I cried.

“And this. This is called sculpture.”

"Ah,” I cried.

“Here we have a drawing.”

“Ah,” I cried.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Yes,” I cried.

As he led me out of the museum I thought briefly about cutting and running, but decided that at the very least the Wino could select a lovely glass of wine before I went home.

While he claimed to be just a couple of years older, I was sure that he was much older than I. The Wino ordered a couple of appetizers as he ordered our wine selection. Clearly he thought the date was going well.

By the time the date was over, I was bored out of my brain. He rambled on about God knows what and never once even pretended to listen to a word I had to say.

When we parted he kissed me and as the door to my cab closed, I involuntarily wiped my mouth. I don’t think I’ve done that since the Seventh Grade.

No more dates with the Wino for me.

I wiped my mouth!

My Vlog

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 18 May 2010 01:26:00 +0000

I love that you guys follow my blog and my dating exploits. I especially love those of you that have bought my book, I Thought I Grew Up.

Something you may not know about me is that, while I'm waiting for Hollywood to call and beg me to turn my book into a movie, I sell real estate. Here's a little bit about me ;-)

How to Date on the Internet

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 17 May 2010 03:34:00 +0000

I have been working on a series of articles on how to date on the internet. I've been dating on line for ages, and God help me, I'm back.

As I began to re-enter the dating pool I thought I should take a bit of my own advice. I've been taking stock and decided I'd share what I've learned. Here's the first in the series on How to Date on the Internet: Getting to the HEART of the Matter.

I look forward to your thoughts on this mad world I once again find myself a part of.

Michelle xxx

One Woman’s Leap

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 11 May 2010 02:30:00 +0000

One woman’s leap. No truer words were ever spoken.

I can’t believe I haven’t blogged about this yet.

What am I saying?! I can’t believe I did it!

I have jumped out of a plane.

I have put on a harness, strapped myself to a stranger and hurled my body out of a plane at 13,800 feet toward earth.

There are really no words to express how it felt. The best word I can come up with at the moment is magical.

Those of you who are not yet my fans on Facebook, probably haven't seen this yet.

The video says it all.

I am sooooooo doing this again!

The Real Scientist Returns… Again

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 02:54:00 +0000

Last year, after a very long absence, the Real Scientist was back in touch. Spurred on by the release of my book and hearing me on the radio, he called and asked me out to lunch. I hadn’t heard from him in ages, but was delighted.

We met at a bistro in Hell’s Kitchen and had a lovely time. Neither of us was at a loss for words. I confessed that he had a chapter in my book, and happily the conversation continued rather than coming to an abrupt end. Our date was followed by several lengthy phone conversations. We made plans to meet again and he sent me a charming birthday e-card. I was beginning to believe that there was real chemistry with the Real Scientist.

During our date he had alluded to health issues, and in one phone conversation he discussed his surgery although he never disclosed what the issue really was. We continued to make plans and then suddenly he disappeared. There were no more calls. There were no more e-mails. Typically responsive, the Real Scientist seemed to simply fall off the face of the Earth. He had so diligently stayed in touch before, that I became concerned. I reached out and had no response. Months passed.

I concluded that he was dead.

It made perfect sense. The Real Scientist was in his late 50s. It could have been anything. Perhaps he had a bad ticker. I wondered if his surgery had been for something more serious. I could only conclude that this man who had been so attentive must be dead. And so, life goes on.

To my surprise, after a six-month absence, The Real Scientist appeared on Facebook requesting to be my friend. Stunned, I accepted his invitation, sending a note asking where the hell he had been. Days passed and finally he responded. He apologized for being absent and rude, offering to begin to pay his debt by taking me out for dinner. Not one to hold a grudge, and the fact that I had always found this man to be rather attractive, I agreed that it would be a good place to start.

I never heard from him again.

It has been a month since his last missive. So, why did he bother to reach out? Is Facebook just another place where he can NOT communicate with me? Any insight from the male perspective would be greatly appreciated.

In the meantime, for those who continue to seek out new ways of non-communication, I offer this brilliant sentiment….

Community

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 20:51:00 +0000

While it’s true that my blog is typically for matters of the heart, those of you who know me also know just how unusual it is that politics has never made an appearance here.

I am passionate about a lot of things.

Art.

Men.

Education.

The theater.

Dinosaur bones.

Thanksgiving dinner.

And last, but certainly not least… POLITICS.

I am a news junkie. I am a politics geek. Last night I was thrilled to see history unfold in front of my eyes as Congress voted on a new healthcare bill. The rabble-rousing that followed with an attempt to send the bill back to committee was surprising, but I was happy to witness it unfold and to watch the votes as they appeared on the television screen. What troubles me is how Americans are not talking about issues. There is no discourse, no attempt at understanding, merely talking heads shouting that the other side is wrong.

When did we decide that the right thing to do was to stand in judgment of someone because they have a different opinion? Isn’t it freedom that we Americans claim to live and fight for? Doesn’t freedom include freedom of speech and thought? I may not agree with many of my fellow Americans on a lot of very emotional issues, but I do believe we have the right to disagree. I do not believe it gives anyone the right to incivility.

I love to argue the issues of the day. Arguing has gotten a bad name.

To argue = To state reasons for or against a thing.

We spend so much time texting rather than talking that we have forgotten how to argue; how to listen to each other. We spend too much time shouting out what the ‘talking heads’ have told us. We need to hear what we are trying to tell each other.

Name calling is never an answer.

Assuming that the other side is just plain stupid makes no sense.

This morning my friend Liz posted a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that I believe is right on point. While we have not been hitting each other, we have been partaking in violence of thought.

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. – Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (1967)

I hope we choose community.

Up In The Air

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 19:25:00 +0000

Last night, as part of my pre-Oscar movie-going frenzy I went to see “Up In The Air.” I remain haunted by Ryan Bingham and the look on his face when his lover tells him he is a parenthesis.

In the beginning of the film Ryan and Alex seem to be cut from the same fabric – embracing aloneness; looking for entertainment; going back to their corners.

Then something happens and Ryan’s heart opens up to possibilities beyond his own private universe. He begins to fall in love. Even more, he decides to share the news with the woman he loves only to discover that she was more like him that he was.

Ryan: I thought I was part of your life.

Alex: I thought we signed up for the same thing… I thought our relationship was perfectly clear. You are an escape. You’re a break from our normal lives. You’re a parenthesis.

Ryan: I’m a parenthesis?

I’ve been on both sides of that conversation. In years gone by I have been like Ryan and Alex – cool, falsely compassionate, struggling to mitigate my own shortcomings and failures in the eyes of the world and finding myself lonely and alone. These days I’m more often on the receiving end of heartache.

I’ve decided to not look for a parenthesis. I’ve decided to not be afraid of what might happen if I am more than a parenthetical in someone else’s life.

I’m hoping that Mr. Right is out there and that he is ready for me. In the meantime, like in the movie, I am up in the air hoping for a smooth landing.

On The Radio

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 08:25:00 +0000

I often find myself sitting on the subway holding my book, not really reading, but watching what everyone is up to around me. Today I hoped no one was watching me.

I left my office around four-thirty scurrying like a rat to get to my five o’clock appointment. I was busy today, but not so busy I couldn’t have left a few minutes earlier. There was no reason for me to be flying down the street grousing at the people who weren’t walking quite as fast as I was on my way to the subway.

I ran down the stairs and slid my MetroCard through the turnstile just as the uptown 1 Train pulled into the station. The train was crowded, but I managed to get a seat. I should have been embarrassed as I rolled my eyes because the woman next to me took up a little more space than the plastic molded seats allowed.

At the 96th Street station a tired-looking woman entered my subway car. She was probably ten years younger than I and looked five years older. Her expression was flat; the look of a woman who struggled to forgive those who felt it was their privilege to be mean to her throughout the day. Her head bobbed down and I heard a crackle – the crackle of a wire being plugged into an amplifier. I was beyond annoyed.

The sound of a disco beat filled the subway car. I never liked disco, even when it was popular, so the thought of being held hostage under ground as the train rumbled its way uptown was unbearable.

And then she sang.

I’m sure I scowled when she started singing “On the Radio.” The thought of listening to a bad rendition of this Donna Summer ‘classic’ from my first year in New York was beyond annoying.

And then I listened as she sang.

Her voice was sweet and clear and pitch-perfect.

Just a few notes into the song she had won me over. The train was pulling into the next stop and I worried that she wouldn’t finish her song.

She sang the song and offered a bit of patter, as she passed her hat, worthy of any nightclub in New York. She came back and sang a bit more of the song.

Her act was timed perfectly. Just a few stops after she boarded the train she left. As the doors opened at 137th Street I felt a pang of sadness that I may never hear the round tones of her voice again.

I took a moment to look at myself and realized just how foolish I’d been – taking myself too seriously, even on a subway ride. And then I realized just how happy this woman, this stranger, had made me with the sound of her beautiful voice.

Pink Glove Dance

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 00:36:00 +0000

Who says kids don't have a thing or two to say? My best friend’s daughter is an extraordinary 11 year-old. I am proud to call Katya my friend as well. This afternoon she sent this video that has been making the rounds and I wanted to share it with you.

In order to raise breast cancer awareness, Providence St. Vincent Medical Center in Portland, Oregon produced the Pink Glove Dance for Breast Cancer Awareness. Their hope was that they could get 1,000,000 hits to help raise money. In just one month they’re nearly at the 5.5 million mark.

It’s fun and inspiring. Take a moment and let it make you smile ;-) xxx

Menopause and HRT

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 02:50:00 +0000

For the past few years I have been reading articles and interviewing woman about menopause symptoms and remedies. We've talk about trying everything from tincture of sage to hormone replacement therapy.

Today the NY Times published "Menopause, as Brought to You by Big Pharma," by Natasha Singer and Duff Wilson. It's certainly an eye-opener. Lawsuits and internal documents show how Pfizer and its predecessors promoted the idea of taking hormone drugs.

If you or someone you love is careening into menopause, have them talk to family, friends and doctors. Be informed. For me, the cure for my hot flashes was sex. I highly recommend it ;-)

Stand By Me

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 03:11:00 +0000

Support comes from the most surprising places.

A lover’s look.

The sound of a friend’s hello on the other end of the phone.

Giggles from a child.

The glorious sound of voices around a holiday table.

Music.

Art.

A hug.

A kiss.

It has been a trying year.

It has also been an exciting year.

In May my first book, I Thought I Grew Up, was published and I have heard from people in 3 continents who have purchased my memoir.

This weekend I have meetings out of town about new possibilities.

I am hopeful.

Send me a hug, a kiss, a giggle….

I am nervous but am sure that the Universe is sending a new beginning to each and every aspect of my life.

Stand by me and help me open up to the infinite possibilities of the Universe.