Paula, Interrupted...

"Sonya has a bald spot"

2013-01-16T21:57:00.000-05:00

YOU HAVE TO WATCH THIS VIDEO. The artists name is Sonya Renee, and if you haven't heard of her, allow me to facilitate. She is a writer, poet, actress, and singer. This is one of her performance pieces.

Having said that, all the white people in the audience annoyed me. It's like at professional sports events, where, shall we say, the players don't look anything like the audience. It always reminds me of gladiators in colosseums in some far flung era gone by, or not.

Then, I thought, "but art is different". It's important that people catch a glimpse, no matter how brief, of what it really means to not be a white male in America. It's lately become clear to me how the plight of women crosses over all racial barriers. Anyway, I sincerely admire those white guys in the audience. Bet their wives made them go.

At the same time, it reminded me of my own mother, and how frustrated she used to get with my long hair. Then along came "The Pixie" cut, and that pretty much took care of that.

I can't impress on you enough what a magnificent performance this is. Thanks to Snap Judgement who always has the best stuff.

So there you have it.

RWC and Wildfire

2012-11-17T15:42:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time a group of musicians while enroute to Chicago sparked up a big old hog leg of what passed for weed back then. Wildfire came on the radio. Van full of smoke and grown men signing wildfire at the top of their lungs we didn't see the highway patrolman who apparently had been chasing a few miles.pulling over we calmly rolled down the windows, smoke billowing out and as the police approached to ask for I.D. His first words were sir can you please turn that shit down. We had forgotten to turn down wildfire. It got worse quickly.

Dear Paula, ...A message from the Universe

2012-11-16T16:01:00.000-05:00

The Top 10 things about time and space, Paula, that most people seem to forget...

10. You chose to be here and you knew what you were doing.

9. There are no "tests" and you're not being judged.

8. Everyone's doing their best, with what they know.

7. You already have whatever you're looking for.

6. You are of the Divine, pure God, and so is everyone else.

5. Religion needs spirituality; spirituality does not need religion.

4. You're naturally inclined to succeed - at everything you do.

3. You happen to life, life does not happen to you.

2. Order, healing, and love belie every moment of chaos, pain, and fear.

1. Following your heart is the best way to help others.

The truth shall set you free,
The Universe

Elections Reflections

2012-11-04T17:27:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, Mitt Romney and Kid Rock (what the fuck is up with that?) rallying 20 minutes north up I-75, in West Chester, Ohio.

At the same time, the same day, 20 minutes south down I-75, Barack Obama and Stevie Wonder, (thereby winning the cooler than contest) are wooing voters in downtown Cincinnati.

Today, I hear tell of Laurence Fishburne sightings down at election headquarters getting out the vote. It's as if Horton has heard the Who's yelling from Ohio.

It's two days before the presidential elections and I am reporting to you from beautiful Cincinnati, Ohio, in what turns out to be "ground zero" in this years political race. Two of our counties, Hamilton and Butler, have been identified as the swing areas that could decide who wins the election of 2012.

As well it should be.

Hamilton County and Butler County are separated by just 10 miles down the I-75 corridor. Cincinnati is located in Hamilton County, but the northern suburbs are located in Butler County, known as Mason/West Chester, Ohio. It is absolutely striking how two places, so close to each other in miles, could be so different in political mind sets.

When the 1960's finally rolled around to Southern Ohio, sometime late in the 1970's, Cincinnati residents fled north from the city as it became more progressive (a big word for any part of Ohio), along with the urban blight that accompanied the changing economy of that decade.

Cincinnati has always been a contrast of black and white, always polarized, and frankly, somewhat confused by the recent influx of other ethnicities. Our lines had always been very clear, up until the last few decades or so.

You have to understand that Cincinnati, while the gateway to the south, is also, usually, a decade behind the rest of the world. Just ask Mark Twain. Up until the last 20 years, the regions idea of ethnic food was 16,000 Chinese restaurants. Sushi didn't arrive until the mid-eighties.

If Cincinnati is ten years behind, that would make its northern sibling, Mason/West Chester, at least 20 years behind. It remains solidly republican, conservative, and homogenous, which is my nice way of saying very, very white.

These are the children of the generation that jumped up the social latter during the great manufacturing years, when Ohio ruled the world in steel production and automotive superiority. This is where the Speaker of the House, John Boehner, a crazy mix of conservative rebellion and alcoholic melt down, comes to us from.

Meanwhile, Barack Obama chose to save the auto industry, thus saving the bread and butter of thousands and thousands of Ohio workers. At the same time, conservative voters tend to have short memories, except when thinking fondly of the 1950's, and will forever yearn to bring the sensibilities and social structures of those day back. Down south, in the Queen City, we seem to have acknowledged, finally, that times move on, and the only constant in life is change.

Suddenly, we are like the ugly girl that came back from summer vacation transformed and finds herself to be the belle of the ball. Never have I been courted so intimately for my vote. Ohio is the perfect breeding ground for indecision, and that makes us hot.

For me, November 6th, election day in the United States, can't get here quick enough. I'll check back in with you later.

My Favorite Uncle Bill

2012-10-04T22:56:00.000-04:00

By my favorite Aunt Binnie:
Everybody loved William. He was a man of great loving kindness, integrity, and generosity of heart. His life was dedicated to being a loving support for all those he encountered, not only in his family but every human being. He was the most successful man any of us ever knew. A light has gone out for us all.

William K. Williams was born in Childress, Texas on July 30, 1925, and came to live with his mother’s family in Hypoluxo, Florida, in 1930. He worked charter boats out of the Boynton inlet, and at seventeen was in Germany, liberating prisoners from concentration camps, mines and chicken coops. His feet were frozen in the snow, which affected the rest of his life. He came back determined to contribute to a world where such things could never happen again.

He earned a Bachelor’s degree from Drew Theological Seminary, and a Master’s from the University of Miami, and became a Methodist minister. He was the first head of the Florida Council on Human Relations under Leroy Collins, who called him in as a mediator when there were lynchings and cross-burnings in Florida towns, and he circuit-rode the state building an organization that would bring better understanding between the races.

He later became Asst. Director of the Illinois Council on Human Relations, headquartered in Chicago and being sent in to exploding communities from Chicago to Cairo, training State Police in humane riot control, mediating in race relations and enforcing human rights laws. The Governor of Illinois sent him to investigate complaints by students against the University of Illinois, and the President of the University of Illinois asked him to come on his staff to implement the suggestions he made. Through the ‘60s he was the University’s expert on race relations and student activism, responsible for the Urbana campus, the Chicago Circle, and the Medical School campus.

When he and his wife decided to move back to Florida to build a boat and he tried to resign, Black student protestors submitted a demand to the University that “William K. Williams be retained in a high executive capacity to deal primarily with Black people.” The faculty senate also voted to ask him to stay. Mr. and Mrs. Williams decided to stay and build the boat there on a Midwest farm, and the University created the office of Ombudsman for him.

Five years later, with a navigable hull completed and quieter campuses, Mr. and Mrs. Williams and their children went down the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers to the Gulf, and eventually built a coastal trading business around the west coast of Florida and the Bahama out islands, taking goods to families with a lot of children and no money, trading for handmade and natural goods that the Williams sold at docks around the Florida coast, including Bradenton. They were shipwrecked and wiped out in 1984, and after a year back in the Keys to start over they came and settled in Bradenton.

Middle Managers, The Real Proletariots

2012-06-02T14:09:00.000-04:00

When I was thirteen, Tam Tam and I got our first official jobs at the Baskin and Robbins in our neighborhood. It wasn't my first job, that would be the babysitting and snow shoveling I had been doing since I was nine. Looking back on it, who the hell hires a nine year old to babysit anyway? It must have been a very innocent time, or, more likely, nine year olds were the only people willing to work for fifty cents an hour.

Thirty years later, with no break in employment, just changes in employers, I consider myself an authority on bosses and suck ups. Some of my best stories involve them. If anyone ever asks you to become a middle manager, you should consider it an insult. If you don't, well, then you're perfect for the job.

The middle manager is a special breed, and the worst of all bosses. They are both boss and suck up, the latter being a prerequisite for the former. Companies love to take fairly dim witted personalities and make them into middle managers because of their never ending ability to say "yes" to everything. Middle managers have no idea that this is what's happening, but don't try to tell them because they'll make you their new project.

The average middle manager never manages work, only people. They consider breaking spirits and working out their baggage from childhood as part of the job. If they could manage work, they wouldn't be middle, they would be top, which most middle managers never become. When a suck up accidentally makes it to the upper echelon of management, it is generally a disaster. I'm pretty sure this is why most managers are "at will" employee's. Since most of them never make it to the top, they are the most bitter of bosses.....and dammit, you're all gonna pay!

As soon as a new middle manager says "we need to be good soldiers" you know it can only go downhill from there. This translates into "jump off this roof for me because I told you to", never mind the fact that the fall will kill you. They fixate on one employee after the other because it's the only way they can look productive because they really don't know how to do anything else. Middle managers are the true proletariats in our society. Just tell them that they're smarter than everyone else and give them an office where they can play some nice music and they're good to go.

Some suck ups never become middle managers. These are the ones that enable middle managers to feel good about how important they are, and are rewarded with salaries that far outreach their usefulness. The suck ups ruin others by gossip and innuendo, thereby providing the middle manager with a steady stream of scape goats. This allows the middle manager an ally in their stupidity. Non manager suck ups tend to be just smart enough to be dangerous to anyone the works closely with them.

Don't get me wrong, I have met brilliant managers, and I can always tell who they are because they don't fit into this description. But these are few and far between and never stick around long. Companies generally recognize these individuals and promote them out of middle management quickly. If you have been a middle manager for three years or more, it's probably all you'll ever be. The Peter Principle, which says that some people get promoted based on their inertia as opposed to their usefulness, was created in regard to middle managers.

I am creating an entire new label category for bosses and suck ups, because I've known so many of them. Most of them don't like me anymore than I like them, and when they delude themselves into believing that they're the ones that will finally "tame the shrew", it always results in great stories and never ending hilarity.

Feel free to leave comments about your favorite idiot bosses and suck ups, of which I'm sure you've known many. If nothing else, you'll know you're not alone.

Fascinating Rhythm

2012-01-15T15:33:00.000-05:00

fascinating rhythm
of the fickle missy lady
with all the wiles
and random piles
of an adolescent's room decor
pink and overstuffed
with self important puffery
and enough effulgence
to give indulgence
a Baroquish splendor plume
while she manufactures
attractions yet anew
with words she presses
along with dresses
on her giant loom
what does it spell
who does it mean
and in between you smell
the waft of cloudy notion
and the fog of certain doom
~Gary McGurk

The Church of Your Self is Steam

2012-01-09T19:04:00.000-05:00

"I never loved another person the way I loved myself."
~Mae West

Watching people is one of the few things that can hold my attention for more than 36 seconds. Sometimes I forget that I am not invisible and they can see me too. Eye-contact is not part of my people watching, totally ruins the show.

Having watched my favorite story, "The Peep Show", for years now, I've begun to notice the reruns. It's the same storyline, over-and-over, the human struggle for self-esteem.

What worries people the most is how they are perceived by others, the benchmark for normal. What their friends think. What their co-workers think. What their neighbors think. This is the stuff that fills the bottom of our luggage.

Do you want to be normal or do you want to be happy? Imagine if you really knew your true essence, the steam that runs your soul. You would have so much time on your hands to think of other things. Is that a bad thing?

Organized religion has no bedside manner and is therefore of no help. All this "if you do this, that will happen...it you don't do this..." etc., scaring the crap out of me. That's just so much negativity and it wears a person down.

So, I'm considering starting my own church and it's called "The Church of Your Self is Steam". All of my sermon's will consist of me looking at you and saying "You are good, you are beautiful, and you are worthy of happiness just the way you are". If you attend long enough, you will start to believe me, and then you won't need to attend at all. Religion should be like good therapy.

Try to remember: Your self is steam, with no boundaries. Steam can not be molded, and that's what makes you who you genuinely are. If you allow other's to dictate your worth, your steam will turn to water. Once your essence turns to water, someones gonna freeze you into shaped ice. That'll make you a frozen dog at someone else's salvation, and nobody wants that.

So there you have it.

Girls Without Fathers

2011-11-13T15:47:00.001-05:00

My father was a brilliant man. He loved science, the law, history, chess, and jazz. His untimely death, at the tender age of 36, left my sister's and our mother utterly and totally on our own. My mother, now well in to her seventies, never remarried.

So convinced our family is, that had he lived, he would surely have changed the world. To this day, we still hold his death on par with that of JFK and MLK. To this day, I still believe it. It's how his death touched me personally that I had never really thought about.

The last time I ever saw my father was during my ninth birthday party. He had been suffering from lung cancer for the previous several years, and on this evening, he couldn't breath. The ambulance was called, and off he went, and that was that, and the party went strangely on. It was a slumber party, and Tam Tam was there, and the only other thing I remember from that night is the hairbrush, comb, mirror, and little string of pearls she gave me for my birthday.

The last time my father ever saw me was from a fifth floor hospital window, as my sisters and I stood in the parking lot behind the building. I remember looking up, waving as if I could see him, pretending I could see him, when really I couldn't. Later, I had wondered what the point had been, since I couldn't see my father. Then I realized the point wasn't so we could see him, it was so he could see us, his three little girls, for the last time.

When he died several weeks later, I became a girl without a father. The implications of this didn't really hit me until the last several years, almost 30 years after the event. At some point, I just assumed that everyone lost their father somehow, and that was the way it was.

When I was getting divorced, my sister-in-law, who was also getting divorced at the time, handed me a rather large wad of cash. My utilities had all been turned off when my ex left, since I naively allowed him to put everything in his name. I was being starved out waiting for an agreement that would let me refinance the house, putting groceries and gas on my credit card, along with thousands of dollars in lawyer fees. Still, I have a ton of vanity and pride, and refused the money.

Then she said "Paula, you need to take this money. You don't realize the difference it makes to have your father behind you, and the impact it has on the outcome, because you don't have one. If you did, like I do, he would never allow you to be treated this way. So take this money and don't worry about paying it back."

I've been thinking about it ever since, and that she was totally right. So, maybe it's time to write about girls without fathers, and allow myself to understand what it truly meant to me. So there you have it.

Senate Bill 5 in Ohio, Issue 2 Seals the Deal

2011-11-07T21:02:00.000-05:00

If Senate Bill 5, in Ohio, is not voted down, it becomes the law.

Senate Bill 5, which strips organized labor in Ohio of most of their collective bargaining rights, is up for referendum tomorrow, Tuesday, November 8. It's important that you know what this is really about. Bargaining is not just about wages and benefits.

Nurses and teachers, for example, can negotiate patient and student numbers. Do you want your child in a class with 50 other students and only one teacher? Do you want to be in a hospital ward with 25 beds and only one nurse? Hey, it could happen, Ohio Governor Kasich is all about cost and control.

Senate Bill 5 was originally pushed through and made into law without a vote of the people. A huge part of the middle class in Ohio consists of workers who belong to unions.

Now, here's what I want to say to you about this. If you look back in history, when fascism came-a-knocking, it's always the labor unions the far right goes for first. The reason why?

Labor Unions are the only organized body out side of government big enough to support a dissenting view. If you have no vehicle to disagree with your government, you can not have democracy. Once you silence the labor unions, you silence all the millions of people that have no other connection in life for representation but that union.

So, if you live in Ohio, you really need to read the below article, and make sure you vote in November. You have no idea how much work went into just getting it on the ballot so you could exercise your constitutional rights.

The below article, released last summer, by the Associated Press, clearly explains the intent of Senate Bill 5.

OH Voters Will Decide Fate Of Union Law

July 22, 2011

By Ann Sanner, Associated Press

COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) — Ohio voters will get to decide in November whether to repeal the state's new collective bargaining law, which would let public worker unions negotiate wages but not health care, sick time or pension benefits.

The state's elections chief said Thursday that opponents had gathered enough valid signatures to put the question before voters. The measure is now suspended from taking effect until voters have their say.

The law signed by GOP Gov. John Kasich in late March affects more than 350,000 public workers, including police officers, firefighters, teachers and state employees. Aside from restricting bargaining, it bans strikes and gets rid of automatic pay increases, replacing them with merit raises or performance pay.

The group We Are Ohio delivered more than 1.3 million signatures to Secretary of State Jon Husted, though the opponents needed roughly 231,000 valid signatures to get the question on the ballot. He said more than 915,000 of the signatures were valid.

The opponents' successful campaign proves that the legislation was "a bad bill that was passed by extreme politicians who are out of touch with hardworking Ohioans," said Melissa Fazekas, a spokeswoman for We Are Ohio.

The measure was approved by the Republican-controlled state Legislature in March amid shouts and jeers from protesters in each chamber. But the overall response by protesters in the Rust Belt state, despite its long union tradition among steel and autoworkers, paled in comparison to Wisconsin, where protests topped more than 70,000 people. Ohio's largest Statehouse demonstrations on the measure drew about 8,500 people.

That difference has been attributed to Madison's labor legacy and the proximity of the populous University of Wisconsin campus to the state capital.

The fallout from each state's bitter fights over collective bargaining restrictions have also differed.

Unlike in Wisconsin, Ohio voters cannot recall state lawmakers, so opponents are pushing for repeal through a referendum.

In Wisconsin, nine state senators — six Republicans and three Democrats — face recall elections. GOP Gov. Scott Walker's collective bargaining law eventually survived a court challenge and took effect.

A Quinnipiac University poll released this week found that 56 percent of Ohio voters say the new collective bargaining law should be repealed, compared with 32 percent who say it should be kept.

The We Are Ohio campaign says 10,000 volunteers and some paid workers circulated petitions to get the referendum before voters. The coalition of labor groups and others contends the law is an unfair attack on workers.

Kasich, a first-term governor, and his GOP colleagues argue the legislation will help city officials, school superintendents and others control their costs at a time when they, too, are feeling budget woes.

Kasich has said he plans to play a visible role in defending the law. So far, he has directed his supporters to a website for Building a Better Ohio, a group that wants to keep the new law in place.

Jason Mauk, a spokesman for Building a Better Ohio, said Thursday that certification of the signatures puts the focus back on the law's merits.

"Ohio voters now have a choice to make," Mauk said in a statement. "We can keep the unfair, unsustainable policies that are bankrupting our communities, or we can change direction and give them the tools they need to create jobs and get spending under control."

The referendum's clearance for the ballot came as the head of the AFL-CIO met in Columbus with community organizations, religious groups and representatives from the Ohio Conference of the NAACP.

AFL-CIO President Richard Trumka would not say how much money the nation's largest labor federation planned to spend in the ballot effort, only that the organization planned to devote resources and people to help repeal the law.

"This is a battle of over the conscious and the moral character and the direction of the country," Trumka told reporters. "And we think that the people in Ohio and the people in America think that people like Gov. Kasich is going in the wrong direction — that he overreached, that he used a tough budget time to try to scapegoat public employees and try to destroy a ladder into the middle class."

Kasich spokesman Rob Nichols said the law was about restoring fairness and balance between the private and public sector employees.

"Mr. Trumpka does have to live in one of Ohio's cities or towns that are hanging on by their fingers, struggling with high costs," Nichols said.

The state's labor groups have turned to their members to help pay for the repeal campaign.

Ohio's largest teachers union in May agreed to a one-time, $54 dues increase. The move by the members of the Ohio Education Association was expected to yield an additional $5.5 million.

The Fraternal Order of Police also anticipated raising $1 million from their roughly 200 local lodges around the state. And the Ohio Association of Professional Firefighters asked its 9,600 members to voluntarily kick in $100 for the repeal effort.

Come As You Are

2011-10-26T21:00:00.000-04:00

For a short time, when I was 3 years old, my family lived in Kansas City. I think it was Missouri, but it may have been Kansas. It's all a vague impression

Anyway, something happened there that continues to haunt me my entire life. Haunt is the perfect word, because this is, if indirectly, a Halloween story. No, this is not a ghost story, it's a genesis of my neurosis story.

To this day, I can't dress up for Halloween.

Like, the anxiety of having to wear a costume is enough to make me turn off all the lights in my house and pretend I'm not home. It's so bad, I've been known to not show up to parties where such things are required.

So, here's what happened in Kansas City, Missouransas. There was a costume party at our synagogue, in addition to the regular Friday night service. It wasn't a Halloween party, it was a Purim party.

Now, with out getting into too much detail, Purim is a Jewish holiday...ugh, hang on, let me google this so I get it right and don't spread ignorance throughout the Internet....

...OK, I'm back, and I quote, copy and paste: "Purim is one of the most joyous and fun holidays on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a time when the Jewish people living in Persia were saved from extermination."

This makes me giggle because Judaism has so many holidays connected to extermination. It's all hugely depressing. I know, I'm not right, but let's remember, it's not racist till you say it.

To celebrate Purim, you're supposed to go to the party dressed as your favorite character in the bible. My parents, as far as I can remember, dressed my two sisters, and I, all as Queen Esther, who was a major player in the whole saving of the people. I can still see our little shiny satin dresses, each emblazoned on the front with a gigantic sequin Hebrew peace sign.

We were running late, and it was total chaos. We had made crowns out of construction paper, and on the way to the synagogue, somebodies crown blew right out of the car window. My father had to pull over, chase the blowing crown in traffic, to return it safely to its owner, who by now was in a full blown tantrum. My sister, that is, not my father.

After much ado, we finally made it, late as always. Nothing like making an entrance in full Queen Esther regalia times three. What happened next, is seared in my memory.

We were late and all eye's turned to us as we walked in the door. And then, we realized it. It was the wrong night. We were the only people in costumes.

To this day I can remember my horror, and to this day, the same mortification brain chemicals kick in at the mere thought of dressing up. This year, I might wear my pajama's to work, but that's really more of a statement than a costume.

So there you have it.

Bad Poetry

2011-10-21T14:54:00.000-04:00

when it's late at night
I think that I can smell you
sleeping sweetly in the bed beside me

when my mind is free
I think of the times you made me laugh
and stole my breath away

when I pulled myself together,
I thought I'd go unnoticed
until you kicked me in my funny bone

when the sun first came up,
it burnt the tips of my ears
I thought I heard you say my name
as if you longed to be forgiven,

when I dream, I dream of you
I know, even then, that it is just a mirage
smack in the middle of a really big puddle

A House Divided Serves No One

2011-09-25T14:12:00.000-04:00

Due to a "no strike, no lockout" clause in my labor contract, I was forced to cross a picket line to get to work for the first time in my life. I wish I had the personal, vacation, or sick days to use and just avoid the whole thing, but I don't.

So this week, there will be no sideline show, no arm chair quarter backing, no not getting involved. In Ohio, in academia, it's time to face the music and take a stand.

For the last twenty years, I have had the privilege of working up on the hill, where I get to witness the magic of people changing their lives every day. Transformation is our business up on the hill, and the city of Cincinnati is our muse.

Suddenly, all of this has changed. Election time is coming in November, and the rest of Ohio has found our secret wonderland up on the hill. We are not used to outsiders, and their manipulation, and we're caught off guard, like deer in headlights. Who are these strangers in our house?

The repeal of Senate Bill 5 is on the ballot this November. Our family is lead by grown-ups who are appointed by the Governor, who at this time is Kasich. This has never been a problem until Kasich, because he is vehemently anti-labor. On the hill, we are a micro-Cosm of democracy, and therefore have governing bodies, including organized labor.

Now, before we get off on a debate regarding organized labor, let me just say this. Organized labor is the only body out side of government large enough to take an opposing stand. Democracy can not exist with out an opposing stand, good, bad, or indifferent. Period.

I love the great lady on the hill. She watches over a troubled city as if it were her baby. God bless Cincinnati State, and keep her, because without her, Cincinnati is in a lot of trouble. Every person in this city, by virtue of living in Cincinnati, is affected by her success.

This November, drive out the politico's that aim to use our city for their own gain. Vote NO on ISSUE 2 to repeal SENATE BILL 5 in Ohio. Vote no to Governor Kasich.

10-10-10: Binary Code and a Nice Day As Well

2011-09-20T18:06:00.000-04:00

I was going through my drafts, which is collection of crap I write and never get around to publishing, and came upon this little ditty. Mostly, I wrote it in honor of the date, which makes it ironic to forget to publish it for a year.
October 10, 2010

Today, 10-10-10, which equals 42 in binary code, was what I consider to be a really great day.

First, I finally gave away my wedding dress. My friend Karla is an amazing seamstress and she loves used wedding gowns. She's waited almost six years for me to break my stone-cold, emotional grip on it.

What made me finally give it up was that another friend had a yard sale today. She was reluctant to let go of a few items, and I said "Look at it this way, you have to clear it out to get more". It inspired me to take my own advice and pass the wedding dress on to someone who would give it a new life.

Later this afternoon, RWC and I went to the local antique mall. While we were there, an old woman came up to us and asked if we had found her shopping bag. Inside the shopping bag was her purse, which she thought she had left sitting on a bench. I looked at RWC and asked "Do you mind if we look? This is just the kind of thing that charges my engine." RWC, who is always game for a psychic adventure, pointed the way towards the end of the aisle.

By now, the entire store was searching for the missing shopping bag. RWC and I get to the end of our aisle, and RWC starts to go right, and I say we should go left because it's somewhere at the end of these aisles. We go about 4 feet and RWC points to a stall on the left and says "There it is!" It was just so wonderful to hand it back to the woman, who was probably in her late seventies.

Then, this evening I talked to my friend Kevin, who is the only person I know that owns the same 20 year old car as I do. I've been having trouble with my tires, including a bent rim that needed to be replaced, and was looking at a good chunk of change that I didn't have. When I had left work on Friday, my back tire, not even the one with the bent rim, was totally flat.

RWC fixed it for me, but suddenly, I knew I had to get the tires fixed. With my budget, this has been sta-resssssing the hell out of me. Turns out, Kevin has two extra tires, with rims, that he'll give me for free. Hey, that totally fits my budget.

In the end, it all came out even. And so goes the universe...so there you have it.

September 11th in America, Circa 1984

2011-09-11T14:46:00.000-04:00

"He who gives up freedom for safety deserves neither".

Much has changed in the last ten years, and it certainly isn't 2001 anymore. Have you noticed the changes? No, silly, not just in the airport screening lines. I'm talking bigger, even more insidious changes.

You let that fear all up in your head and now it's living there rent free. Never let anyone or anything live in your head rent free.

Let's talk about your civil rights. These are the laws that this country based itself on. You know, the home of the free and what not.

First, you have to understand the Patriot Act. The Patriot Act was an act of Congress signed into law by George Bush after the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001. It was recently extended by President Obama for another four years.

The act totally and dramatically reduced restrictions on law enforcement agencies' ability to search telephone, e-mail communications, medical, financial, and other records. Yes, that's right, it's all about our privacy. Apparently, we are our own worst enemies.

The Patriot Act also expanded the Secretary of the Treasury’s authority to regulate financial transactions. The experts say this is mostly those threats involving foreign individuals and entities. Puh-lease. I think it's probably more for economic control in general.

The act also expanded the definition of terrorism to include domestic terrorism, thus enlarging the number of activities to which the USA PATRIOT Act’s expanded law enforcement powers can be applied.

It also broadened the discretion of law enforcement and immigration authorities in detaining and deporting immigrants suspected of terrorism-related acts. That cracks me up, I thought we were trying to keep "them" all out, not detain them. Are you still following this?

Seriously, look at the components. You're giving up access to your medical records just so you can feel safe. Hello? You're allowing people to listen to your private conversations because the enemy may be amongst us. Trust me on this, anytime you react out of fear, no good follows.

You know, now that I'm thinking about it, the Patriot Act is very much like the Marriage Agreement. Did I mention I once got married on September 11th?

Anybitter-is-me, the Patriot Act is bad for all of us. No matter how terrified you are of the unknown entity, taking back your civil rights will be a million times worse. Why? Because that is the stuff that revolutions are made of, and that's how we got here in the first place. Do we really need to do that again? Revolutions are a lot of work and that shit is the scariest.

New York City remains the greatest city on the face of the earth. You can bomb our buildings, but you can't bomb our spirit. Unless it's our own governing body, then all bets are off. So there you have it.

rk.

Voyage of the Damned

2011-09-10T12:36:00.003-04:00

Somewhere along the digital way, I stumbled on this picture of the members of the U.S. Figure Skating Team. For some reason, it stopped me in my tracks, and it has haunted me ever since, mostly because, just like them, I didn't see what was coming next.

The date was February 14, 1961. They were on their way to the World Figure Skating Championships in Prague. Look at their faces, every one of them full of hope.

Everyone is wearing their best clothes, except for the guy on the bottom step. He's standing front and center, collar proudly open. He is a maverick, both in sport and spirit. With that kind of confidence, he's at least three decades ahead of his time.

Look closer. Notice the tall beauty holding the sign, and the man standing next to her. He must be the coach, his face full of concern and angst. The fairy dust long wore off that one.

Further up the steps, we have the group comic who keeps the mood light. That's him hiding behind the black rimmed glasses, with his hand extended in a Shakespearian gesture. He is the original Drew Carey. That hand seems as displaced as he secretly feels.

Over on the right, at the bottom of the steps, are what I originally thought of as the "love birds", but lately wonder if they weren't brother and sister. She leans into him to remind herself that she is not alone. He smiles, wondering if she can feel him shaking with fear and uncertainty.

Then there's the boy who tried to hide. See there, on the left, between the beauty queen holding the sign and the girl on her right? Just a half of a face, peaking over, as if he were an uninvited guest. His lost expression leads me directly to the girl with the corsage and curly hair standing directly above him. Their aura's seem connected and I wonder if they sat together during the flight.

So much emotion. So very haunting. Did they know what destiny beckoned?

The picture was taken at Idlewild International Airport in New York, before boarding a Sabena jet to Brussels. The plane crashed on February 15, near the airport at Brussels, killing all onboard. So there you have it.

A Ride on the Metro with My Green Eyed Poet

2011-09-04T17:04:00.000-04:00

Bus Route 29
by O'Connor Quaino

I
Yackers at the back - of the bus
A.M. people on the bean of choice
Cutting is the voice most imposed
A colloquy, soliloquy, the hush
To rush and close
As each rank and file is deposed.
A clique a klatch of speech
This is a movable feast
And Who rides past their stop
To remain the weasel and not the pop?

II
Nook lookers quiet
As a mouse,
Their hobbies are secreted and mundane
Not so pedestrian their choise
To eschew the noise
Their overriding poise ever maintained.

III
Some are cheerful; some are glum
But no dead-beats on this run
Coifs are set
and hair is wet
Boots and laces
Done up for the day
Social graces
All but zipped away.

IV
In his turn, the driver—
Never more than stern--
Takes a jam or hops a curb in stride--
Our roles are set as distance met
And, oh, no transfers honored on this ride.

Why does Martin Luther King Jr. look Asian?

2011-08-28T16:30:00.001-04:00

This is a picture of the new Martin Luther King Jr. monument located in the National Mall in Washington DC.

Now, let's take a closer look, because something looks amiss. What's up with the industrial, dare I say it, cultural revolution flavor here?

Why does Martin Luther King Jr. look Asian? Frankly, he looks a lot like Mao. Something is just not right here. Who designed this crazy national monument?

This guy did. His name is Lei Yixin and he lives in China. Along with his design, came a 25 million dollar donation from the Chinese government.

CHANGSHA, China -- Inside a cavernous studio in this steamy inland city, Lei Yixin is molding clay into the shape of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. Lei scrutinizes every inch of the models ... For China's artists, the selection of Lei as the lead sculptor for the project, to be unveiled in 2009 on the Mall, is a triumphant moment.

That's right, kids, we literally outsourced the creation of a national monument to China. Now we have a monument that looks like Mao in our capital. That's just fucked up.

If I were Chinese, I'd be laughing my ass off. So there you have it.

Forty Years Ago Today and Still His Words Ring True

2011-08-28T16:09:00.005-04:00

Forty years ago today on the National Mall. Arguably, the greatest speech ever given by one of the greatest leaders of our time. Martin Luther King Jr. is OUR Ghandi. I am proud of all he stood for, and died for, and am honored to carry his legacy forward. A truly great American. Listen up children. Viva la relevance!

What Every Woman Wants to Hear

2011-07-31T18:07:00.000-04:00

Never let the book cover fool you. While the spine on this one is well read, the pages are full of romance and scandal. He knows what a woman wants to hear. And I like that, a lot.

"Who is this Leonard Cohen?" you may ask. Well, I've got that covered as well. Really great stuff.

The Timely's and the Godsend's

2011-07-31T14:49:00.004-04:00

The year before J1 was born, we bought the house we still live in today. I remember my sister telling my mother "Aw, he bought her a dollhouse.", and that's exactly what it is. She, referring to my dollhouse, sits proudly in an old neighborhood, that's nice and flat, and is covered in a canopy of Oak and Walnut tree's that are older than she is.

When J1 was 18 months old, he met his lifelong friend Z. They met at what I like to call "Baby Harvard" which is the best child care center in the city. The center is housed up on the hill, where both Z's mother and I work. Soon after we met, they moved their family to my neighborhood, and our kids have gone to all the same schools. They are the Timely family.

A year or so later, the Godsend's moved into the old yellow and white Victorian across the street. The house had been broken into two units for decades, and the Godsend's, with all their children, grandchildren, and extended family, restored it to it's original glory of a single family home.

Together, our village has weathered many storms, both figuratively and literally, and we've all been there for each other. Recently, the Godsend's announced that they would soon depart our sweet village, and while I know that change is the only constant, it's a day I've always dreaded.

Once, when we were teenagers, my sister told me she dreamt that I had gone down the drain in the kitchen sink as a big blob of slime. No surprise there, but then she said I suddenly flew back out as a butterfly. I've never forgotten that dream.

I think I'm ready to talk about the long storm I've weathered, because I believe I'm coming out the other side. But this I know for sure, I would have never survived without the support of my village. And for me to tell these stories, you've got to know who the Timely's and Godsend's are, because none of it could have happened without them.

Carlos Garcia aka New York Boy

2011-07-26T21:14:00.000-04:00

When I was in my early twenties, my sister was working on her doctorate at NYU. She lived in Greenwich Village right near Washington Square Park, at the corner of Bleeker and McDougal Streets.

She lived in NYC for about a decade, and while most of her apartments were the size of a cracker box, it was the best vacation destination ever. Location, location, location.

On this particular visit, I was with my friend Laura. We had a friend that lived in Brooklyn, so we were shuttling back and forth between his place and my sisters. One evening, we met my sister at St. Mark's.

St. Mark's is a street in the middle of the Village. It's kinda touristy yet funky good. The streets are lined with tons of little shops, restaurants, and street vendors. Laura, Beth and I were there strolling along and we saw this REALLY hot guy reading tarot cards for a couple of bucks. What does a gurl do when there's a hot guy giving card readings? Why, hell yes, she gets her cards read!

Let me try to do Carlos justice in my description. His skin was the color of caramel, he's wasn't thin and he wasn't fat, just beefy. He had the kind of soulful eyes that made you want to save him and be saved by him, all at the same time. He smelt the way the air smells right after it rains, with a hint of testosterone. And then he called me "mamacieta"

The only thing I remember about the reading was my sister standing behind me whispering "go back to school, go back to school" like she was the cards talking.

Laura and I agreed to meet him at a club later that night. We ended up spending the next 10 hours with him and his friend, just clubbing, and chatting and running around Manhattan. It was one of the funnest nights of my life. Carlos had lived in NYC all his life so he knew the insiders tour.

Finally, at like 7 a.m., they rode the subway with us back to Brooklyn. After exchanging phone numbers and addresses, Carlos and I had a very long goodbye. There was love in the air!

Unfortunately, Laura and I had to get on a plane home a mere three hours later. Ain't that how it always goes? Don't worry, it wasn't the last time I saw Carlos.

Carlos is a writer. He uses the alias Micheal Dantilleon, because, he said, "Carlos Garcia is Spanish for Joe Smith", but I'll tell you all about that later. I have the most incredible collection of love letters he wrote to me over the years. Perhaps, at some point, I will open the memory vault and share some with you.

Amy Winehouse and the Twenty Seven Club

2011-07-24T12:56:00.000-04:00

When I mentioned to RWC that Amy Winehouse had died, at the tender age of 27, the first thing he said was "Oh, she's joined the 27 Club."

"The 27 Club?" I ask

"Yes." RWC says, "It's a group of famous musicians who died under suspicious circumstances. The phrase "27 Club" was coined in reference to Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, and Jim Morrison, all dead at 27. "

"An auspicious membership indeed." I reply

"Well", apparently 27 is some kind of cut off for musicians. If you make it to 28, you're good to go. Take Keith Richards for instance." he laughs.

Below is a video of Amy singing my favorite song "Tears Dry on Their Own" live. The video was made in 2007, and the life is still in her eye's. It's the way I want to remember her. Full of piss and vigor. RIP sweet Amy Winehouse.

Intuition, Sympathy Addiction, and Defining Moments

2011-07-17T23:22:00.004-04:00

The other day, Dahmi and I got to talking about her summer vacation. The conversation took some interesting turns.

"I called my sister in law on the phone," Dahmi tells me, "two days before I went to South Carolina to visit her and my brother and told her that I was worried about the kids and the pool. I wanted assurance that they couldn't get outside in the early morning hours or at night and drown. I was obsessed with something happening to one of the kids. When I got down there, I got up three or four time a night to make sure they were okay."

"Billy and Autumn were also going to visit my brother and family, so...I was obsessed with something happening to one of them.The very day that I got there, Billy fell out of the tree house while I was washing dishes, looking out at the pool from the kitchen window.

Leah was no where around, per usual. Bryan, Jim's son, scooped Billy up from the ground and I ran over to him. Bryan put Billy in my arms. When I had him in my arms, he went limp, turned gray and his eyes rolled back.

I thought I was losing another grandson.

I yelled for them to call 911 and put Billy on the porch in a flat position, keeping his head and back from moving. He was crying that his back hurt. Thank god he was with me at that time. Leah comes walking out and in an irritated voice says…"what the hell is going on?". The ambulance arrives, they strap him to a board with collar on and take him to emergency to get xrays and scans.

Thank God he's fine. But the whole thing triggered something in me that's been hiding since we lost our Little Man.

After they left I completely fell apart. I have never fallen apart like that in my life. I couldn't even hold myself up."

I ask Dahmi, "What was it like? I mean, completely falling apart. Was it cathartic at all?"

"Not a comfortable thing I can tell you that.", Dahmi answers, "No. It made me feel like a freak, but like a human freak for once. know what I mean?"

"I always have to be the strong one, and true to form, Jim," who is Dahmi's life partner, " did not let me fall apart. What I mean is...my legs weren't supporting my weight anymore, I was shaking and some weird noise was coming out of my mouth and I felt like I was going to pass out, and then Jim says "Get it together..Autumn needs you", and I pulled it together."

"You know, Leah has treated me like shit ever since. She seemed more into getting sympathy from the whole thing." she finishes.

"Yeah, that shit can get addictive." I tell Dahmi.

"Sympathy?" Dahmi asks.

"Hell yeah, I realized it when I had cancer." I say

"Really?" Dahmi asks me incredulously, almost shocked.

"Absolutely."

"That's interesting." Dahmi says reflecting on what I just told her.

"Yup." I tell her. "I always felt invisible, and when I was sick, everybody was sooooo nice to me. On the other hand, it was miserable and totally not worth it but I still thought about it."

Dahmi looks at me and says "Yeah, it's nice for people to care, but then you have this label. Like, I'm the grandma who lost her grandson. You're the lady who had cancer."

"Yes, I know"

"I think I would rather be invisible." Dahmi says

"And," I add, "if you knew me earlier, I was also the little girl with the dead father and crazy mother."

"Sure...and I was the girl who got pregnant at 17."

"Exactly!", I proclaim, "Everybody has defining moments."

"I'd say...some not so great."

"Well, what would be the fun in that?" I ask Dahmi, "We'd all be stagnant."

"Oh yeah!" Dahmi remembers, "My point to the story was that I knew something was wrong but I was so off base. I focused on that pool."

"Well, you were still right there with your radar on. It made a huge difference." I tell her

"Well, I didn't stop it from happening. And guess what? One of the puppies drowned in the pool in the early morning hours. It was the puppy that my mom wanted me to bring home." Dahmi replies

"WOW, that's crazy!", I say "It distracted you, the puppy threw off your magnificent radar."

"I guess so...probably because the puppy was wrapped up in my Mom's emotions. I brought a different puppy home for her. I didn't tell her that hers drowned." she says, "I just couldn't. Needless to say, it was a pretty stressful vacation."

A message from the Universe sent to me via my email.

2011-07-16T02:09:00.001-04:00

Do you know what happens, Paula, when a dream comes true and you feel your joy bubbling over into wide grins, happy dances, and shrieks of "Holy @#$%!!" and the like?

Your energy actually spills over into the oceans of time and reaches into the past where it laps upon the shores of a former here and now, infusing a former unsuspecting self (who is still merrily living their life due to time's "simultaneousity") with a flash of inspiration or a burst of intuition; a hope for what the future might hold.

Whew... and that, my friend, is the truth about where dreams come from.

The Universe