♫So much to say, so much to SAY, so much to SAY, so much to SAY…

First among many famous Tweeters whose fleeting thoughts are memorialized in writing.  How much more would they have said if there were, first, alive today,  and “egonomically” Favrd clever?

Jack Handey

The World’s  First Tweets, though, continue to outlast even these venerable thinkers

9“…and so there is nothing new under the sun. 10 Does anything exist of which one may say: ‘See this; it is new?’” Ec 1:9, 10

Still rockin’ the Pithy. Succinct. Bound.

Remember when thoughts used to be fleeting?

♫So much to say, so much to say,  so much to sell, so much to say…

I deleted my Twitter account today.

I am just not all that clever.

little baby…♫

Wheel of Fortune

Ever wonder why Wheel of Fortune contestants scream the letters they want Vanna to reveal? Do the producers of the show encourage this bizarre bit of business? If so, why? Or why do I call my blog Moodz4Modernz? I don’t have an answer to the first question, but I can tell you a little something about the second.

In 1979 I was 22 years old and selling clothes in some retail store at the mall in Richmond, Virginia. The “hip” stores would blast hip music to show how hip and youth oriented their merchandise was and to attract hip, young people into the store.  I don’t even remember the name of the place but I’m certain it doesn’t exist anymore.

I was alone in the store that morning, folding sweaters and placing them on a table down front when it happened. I heard it once, that one day, that one time. This funky bass line and this funny bit of business with the Moog synthesizer and Funky Town-like guitar jangle. I didn’t understand a single word. I was blown away. You know, when a tune blows you away, you feel something serious is going on up in here. You’re overwhelmed with a need to just sit down. Everything starts to feel like it’s all happening in slow motion. It’s almost like being in love.

Somehow I learned the tune was by a punk rock band called Elvis Costello and The Attractions. I remember seeing a music video of this skinny white guy with oversized Buddy Holly like glasses, wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie, hopping about pigeon toed with a 50’s style mike to his mouth, knees pinned together like he needed to pee in the worst way but holding off until after he’d finished this performance.

When I finally got a real job and several years after my son was born in 1984, I started working on building my record collection. I would go around to record stores trying to find the tune. I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t even have a word to go on so reading the playlist was no help. Listening stations didn’t come into fashion until the nineties.

Money was always too tight for me to make a mistake and wind up spending $14.00 for a CD and only like one song. For years, I only ever heard that song in my head and all I remembered was the little bit with the synthesizer and the guitar jangle. And whatever that was he was saying in the beginning.

Then on Sunday, May 18^th, 2008, a date that will live in infamy, all that would change forever.

Hanging out in my local library one Sunday,  I noticed a section in the middle of the library with several racks filled with CD’s. You know, I have spent countless hours in this library on numerous occasions before this day, and I never noticed the modest CD section there in the center of the library. You can check out CD’s at the library! This is something I never, ever did, ever in my life.

This day I approached the rack and began sort of tripping through the shelves. I came upon a few Elvis Costello CD’s:
When I was Cruel, King of America, and The Delivery Man. I listened to and loved all the tracks, but the tune rattling around in my head almost 30 years now was not on any of these CD’s. Then I got a brilliant idea. iTunes.

I searched Elvis Costello in the iTunes Store. I remembered that he was in a band called the Attractions. That helped to limit my search.

The release dates were all wrong. There was nothing listed before 2007. I decided I would just have to listen to the sample clips of all the songs. I double clicked the first album cover image on the list: Armed Forces– and went down the line. I knew it as soon as I heard the intro.

My heart leapt, I actually cried. I couldn’t believe I was finally listening to the tune that literally blew me away nearly thirty years ago and had been occupying space in my memory ever since. I finally knew the name of the tune– Moods for Moderns.

I had a grand total $2.14 cents left to my name in my checking account. Remember, I became unemployed May 2 and I had no prospects for the future on Sunday, May 18^th. All I knew is that I had to have this tune. I downloaded it into my iPhone that very minute.

On Monday, May 20^th, Moodz4Modernz was born. I published my first post on May 20^th.

Moods for moderns (4 X’s)

I get hit looking for a miss
I never thought that it would come to this

Moods For Moderns (4 X’s)

Though we may never be the same again
I am so proud that you’ve been taken in vain

What if none of your dreams come true?
I can never run from you
There’s never been a how d’you do
There’s never been an ending
Soon you’ll belong to someone else
And I will be your stranger just pretending

Moods for moderns
Memory lingers
I let you into
Foreign fingers

Moods For Moderns (4 X’s)

I never thought that would see the day
I never thought that I would give you away

What if none of your dreams come true?
I can never run from you
There’s never been a how d’you do
There’s never been an ending
Soon you’ll belong to someone else
And I will be your stranger just pretending

Moods for moderns
Let them break us
Strong and sudden
Foreign fingers

Fortuitous, huh? Think Elvis Costello would approve?

Moods for Moderns | 1979

Ch.., ch.., ch.., Changes

Monday

Let’s see…

These are the men who have served as President of the United States in my lifetime so far.  Eisenhower was president when I was born.  The Kennedy election was the first election process I ever witnessed and experienced and felt I actually participated in, at least intellectually, anyway. Then he was assassinated.

Of course, I was in elementary school, too young, obviously,  to do anything but watch and look and listen.  In those days, that’s pretty much what most people did.  We didn’t have all the noise and hype and hysteria of present day distractions as they exist now.  We didn’t especially concern ourselves with who was sleeping with whom or what the First Lady wore.  Nobody much cared who Bill Cosby or Bette Davis or Bob Dylan supported.

We expected our president to be men who exemplified the best of our values, who could clearly and forcefully articulate our greatest aspirations, who could inspire our highest hopes,  protect and lead the country.  We expected our president to be men who were husbands…

“… of one wife, moderate in habits, sound in mind, orderly, hospitable, qualified.., reasonable, not belligerent, not a lover of money, a man presiding over his own household in a fine manner, having children in subjection..,” and having “… a fine testimony from people…”  1Tim 3:2-5, 7

Or in other words, a good rep.

Not be a practicer of the lie, or obfuscate and inveigle, or be lacking in personal self control and sound judgment.  Balanced.  We didn’t expect our president to be our drinking buddy.  He expected he should be something of an intellectual elitist, not a conceited, social snob.  We didn’t expect him to be “one of us,”  rather we demanded that he represent us.  All of us.

Things kind of rocked along at a pretty good clip there for a while, but as times change, standards get relaxed. The press starts to exchange more and more of their journalistic integrity and responsibility for ratings, pop culture recognition and expediency. Whenever I hear “NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams” now I also hear “Live, from New York, it’s Saturday Night!”  

The desire of the press to be accessible to the President and his power playa’s seems to overrule their duty to inform the public. Their fact finding seems less pugnacious, more guarded and self-conscious. They’re more worried about what the President will think rather than what the people ought to have to think about. 

Even the stories themselves seem more focused on them; how they think and feel about what they’re doing, where they are or where they’re going.  Are the media journalists writing and reporting for us, the American public,  or for each other?      

Men are more free with their emotions these days.  They readily reveal their feminist side. They cry. They take less personal responsibility, more reckless, personal risks.  They allow us to see their flaws. They cry. They seem physically smaller.

Gone are the flexing square jaws, the broad shoulders, the low, melodious vocal registers, the quiet, assertive, take-charge (not control) man, driven by the overwhelming sense of duty to provide. 

Where have all the real men gone?

Change.  Change is good.  Change is progress.  Whether seismic or subtle change is inevitable. Women can aspire to the highest office in the land.  A Black man stands on the precipice of being elected to the highest office in the land.  Perhaps even the press’ frequent examinations of itself will mean the American people will once again have access to all the information they need to make intelligent decisions based on facts rather than fear.  

Change.  Things can never stay the same so try and keep up.

Saturday

           

What a diff’rence a day makes
Twenty-four little hours
Brought the sun and the flowers
Where there used to be rain

These things never change like the sun rising in the east, the day passing into night, and  hope ever rising in the heart

These things always do like the evening turning into morn’, the sun giving way to the moon and hope ever rising in the heart

There’s a rainbow before me
Skies above can’t be stormy
What a diff’rence a day makes
And the difference is you.

What a Difference a Day Makes | Performed by Esther Phillips | 1975

Shut ‘Cho Mouf!

On the other hand, the fruitage of the spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faith, mildness, self-control.    Gal. 5:22,23

Brigitte Bardot was convicted Tuesday of provoking discrimination and racial hatred for writing, in her ardent defense of animal rights,  that Muslims are destroying France:

   ”tired of being led by the nose by this population that is destroying us, destroying our country by imposing its acts.”

Vice President Dick Cheney’s  joke suggests a generations long culture of incest in West Virginia:    

“So I had Cheneys on both sides of the family and we don’t even live in West Virginia,” 

Don Imus on the the Rutgers women’s basketball team:

IMUS: Awesome rough girls from Rutgers. Man, they got tattoos. 
UNIDENTIFIED MALE: Some hardcore hoes.
IMUS: That’s some nappy-headed hos. 

Don Imus,   on Gwen Ifill, distinguished journalist, moderator and managing editor of Washington Week and senior correspondent for The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer:

“Isn’t the ‘Times’ wonderful.  It lets the cleaning lady cover the White House.”

Barbara Bush on hurricane Katrina evacuees in Houston after having lost everything back in Mississippi or Louisiana

“What I’m hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas..,   And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway so this is working very well for them.”

 Hillary Clinton, on a 2006 trip to Bosnia on March 17, 2008:

“I remember landing under sniper fire. There was supposed to be some kind of a greeting ceremony at the airport, but instead we just ran with our heads down to get into the vehicles to get to our base.”  

Michael Richards on

‘Nuf said.

I could go on and on.  At the risk of channeling Marvin Gaye here–  ”What’s going on?”  Is the whole world in the throes of losing their minds?    Whatever happened to a little som’ sompin’ called self-control?

Dictionary.com defines self control as “control or restraint of oneself or one’s actions, feelings, etc.” It’s interesting to note synonyms include discipline and levelheadedness.  Aren’t these at least two attributes we look for and expect in our President?

You don’t have to be anti this or pro that to appreciate self-control.  It’s not about bible thumping or right wing conservatism or any of these descriptors tossed about to silence those we disagree with or disguise and justify “us” not liking “you.” People are just opening their mouths and letting the toads plop wherever they may.

What’s going on?

In the cases of Don Imus and Michael Richards, these men had deluded themselves into believing that just because they hung out with Blacks who use the “N” word and similiarly crass expressions to characterize women, they were in the fratority. They felt safe to use the expressions themselves because “everybody knows I’m not a racist!”   They actually believed they were not only one of us but one with us. Imus has said he’s learned his lesson.  Hmmm…  That’s easy for you to say, Don, now that you’re able to go on making a living.

More than racism is rearing its ugly head as these remarks and all the other recent verbal faux pas clearly demonstrate. These tiny thumbnails should be starting to switch on our collective alarm bells. These are no mere slips of the tongue. These are revelations, a heads up if you will pointing out what really lies beneath. Attention needs to be paid!  In the sixties, the hippies mantra was love, love, love. Today..?  What’s going on?  Where is the love?

1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4

People moving out, people moving in
Why? Because of the color of their skin
Run, run, run but you sure can’t hide
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth
Vote for me and I’ll set you free
Rap on, brother, rap on

Well, the only person talking about love thy brother is the preacher
And it seems nobody’s interested in learning but the teacher
Segregation, determination, demonstration, integration
Aggravation, humiliation, obligation to my nation

Ball of confusion
Oh yeah, that’s what the world is today
Woo, hey, hey

The sale of pills are at an all time high
Young folks walking round with their heads in the sky
The cities ablaze in the summer time
And oh, the beat goes on

Evolution, revolution, gun control, sound of soul
Shooting rockets to the moon, kids growing up too soon
Politicians say more taxes will solve everything
And the band played on

So, round and around and around we go
Where the world’s headed, said nobody knows
Oh, great Googamooga
Can’t you hear me talking to you?

Just a ball of confusion
Oh yeah, that’s what the world is today
Woo, hey, hey

Fear in the air, tension everywhere
Unemployment rising fast, the Beatles new record’s a gas
And the only safe place to live is on an Indian reservation
And the band played on

Eve of destruction, tax deduction, city inspectors, bill collectors
Mod clothes in demand, population out of hand, suicide, too many bills
Hippies moving to the hills, people all over the world are shouting
‘End the war’ and the band played on

Great Googamooga
Can’t you hear me talking to you?

It’s a ball of confusion
That’s what the world is today, hey, hey
Let me hear ya, let me hear ya, let me hear ya

Sayin’ ball of confusion
That’s what the world is today, hey, hey
Let me hear ya, let me hear ya
Let me hear ya, let me hear ya, let me hear ya
Sayin’ ball of confusion

© STONE AGATE MUSIC

Lyrics provided by Gracenote

Hey!  Sound familiar?

Craig Kilborn

I guess this is what you’d call a turn down day. Nothing’s on my mind. I expected my first unemployment check but it did not arrive. I expected it to be for two weeks but it’s only going to be for one. I’m encouraging myself and keeping busy even as the specter of Job’s wife (…curse God and die!!!)* is beginning to loom,  but I say No.., No.., No!

Another bother– I have been sitting and sitting in front of this computer and I realize I have a block. Could it be I’m not unhappy enough? Are there more words to express sorrow and pain than joy and happiness? I gave this some thought and now I have a theory. Sad and painful feelings need release and so these unleash a torrent of words, while happiness is its own release. Kind of like how the human body’s immune system gets rid of foreign matter it encounters.

Obviously, I am concerned about many things at this time, yet I don’t feel down hearted. In fact my thoughts have been sort of nonsensical. I thought about Craig Kilborn today. Craig Kilborn. Why? But since he has come inexplicably into mind, it begs the obvious question: Where in the world is Craig Kilborn? Anybody remember him?

Once upon a time he was the host of The Late, Late Show. He was sooo funny and not in that sophomoric, (well, ok, maybe just a tad sophomoric),  sorta sight gag, noisy, slap stick, pleading-for-a-laugh kinda way. His show was hip, his material and delivery fresh and caustic, and at 6ft 4′ he was a tall, lean, cool drink-a-water. Not to mention funny. I mentioned he was funny, right?

I went online and googled him. I was surprised there’s not that much out there on the Craiger. I didn’t expand my search to YouTube, though. I found out one thing I did not know: Jon Stewart was not the first and only host of The Daily Show. Craig Kilborn was. He left The Daily Show when David Letterman hired him for The Late, Late Show gig.

Now, I watch The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. He’s all right. I dislike his silly, annoying, girly giggle and his sorta mug-for-the camera approach to comedy. He’s sorta one note. It’s the peripheral cast members of the show who really bring it like Rob Riggle and that guy who also does the Apple commercials, and the guy with the British accent, and the adorable and funny Samantha Bee.

On a scale of 1-10, his turn as host of the Oscar telecast this year was a three. He was too in awe of the audience, not relaxed and irreverent like Ellen. He’s a good interviewer, though. Sharp.  Observant.  Smart.  I think he’s stronger as a political pundit. But I digress…

I figured out why I’m OK. Again. Even this trivial discovery was a learning experience. I experienced the same spike of exhilaration over this as I do anytime l learn something new. As long as you’re learning new things you never feel overwhelmed by self-doubt which leads to uncertainty which leads to insecurity, which leads to preoccupation with self, which leads to depression which leads to botox, pilates and an unhealthy attitude towards food. Or too many shoes.

Concern yourself more with the wrinkles on your brain, not your face.  Make that change.  Decide to become a lifelong learner and you’ll never feel let down. Oh, and a nice, brisk, daily forty minute walk doesn’t hurt either.  Yep, I’m back in the walking groove!

I heard Joel Osteen say “Even if you’re on the right track, if you sit down long enough, you will get run over.” Get it?  I say a change will do you good**.

*Job 2:9

**A Change (Will Do You Good)/Sheryl Crow

Viva Las Vegas!

I was watching Larry King seven or eight months ago. I love Larry. I love his little “Heh Heh” laugh. I auto tune in every night and will usually stick around if the topic or guest interests me. I have to tell you I had to step away from the Larry for a while when his bizarre preoccupation with Anna Nicole Smith’s baby daddy nonsense and then her subsequent tragic death got just a scotch too voyeuristic and creepy for me. But I digress…

On this night, the entire hour was devoted to promoting the first anniversary of The Beatles Love Cirque Du Soleil show at The Mirage in Las Vegas. His guests were Yoko Ono, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr , the widow of George Harrison, Sir George Martin, the manager of the Beatles since the 1960’s, and Guy Laliberte, the show’s creator.

Now I was always something of a French/Canadian sorta mime snob I’m ashamed to admit.  Freakishly contorted bodies, acrobatics and pantomime were never my cup-o-tea. I even dislike the circus!  But Yoko’s participation and enthusiastic endorsement of the project sealed the deal for me. I am such an admirer of her artwork. Right then and there I began to nurse a covetous desire to see the show.

I began stashing away money and planned the trip for April 12. This was my first trip ever to Las Vegas and the first time I had been on a plane in two years. I had one single minded purpose for travelling to Las Vegas. Casinos and gambling and stuff like that have no appeal for me.  The only thing I wanted to do was see this show.

I also entertained a secondary agenda. I wanted to visit Slots-A-Fun Casino and have one of those $1.50 colossal franks I had seen on Unwrapped or Good Eats– one of those Saturday afternoon shows on The Food Network. The plan was to leave SoCal early Saturday morning, get to the hotel and settle in, do some walking about, see the show and then hit the hay. I’m a morning person not a Vampire. I pretty much like to be home after dark.

Friends, the flight was absolutely fantabulous! April 12^th , at least weatherwise, was one for the books. Sunny, glorious. The Southwest Airline flight departed on time. The sky was clear.  The view of the topography of Nevada was just a joy to behold. The weather that weekend in Las Vegas surprised me in a good way. I expected heat, humidity–heat. Instead it was sunny, bright, 78 degrees, there was a pleasant, sustained breeze. The air was comfortable, dry, perfect! Wow! I fell in love with Vegas!

The only thing I have to say about The Beatles Love show is See It! You don’t even have to purchase tickets in advance like I did. You can walk right up to the box office and get tickets. It’s theater in the round and I was seated right in the front of the stage.  There was about two feet of space between my seat and the stage. Fantastic! 

There was an absolutely delightful couple sitting to my left. They’d travelled from New York state just to see this show, and they were huge Beatles fans and excellent conversationalists. I counted their being there that night a blessing.  I am still grateful for the goodwill they directed toward me.

It was good to be me the evening of April 12, 2008.  Elements of the show appealed to your sense of smell, touch, sight and hearing. I had never experienced anything like it!  The international cast of Cirque Du Soleil performers were uniformly excellent, even the young child performers cast as the four Lads of Liverpool. The production values for the music alone was worth the price of admission!  One really important bit of advice: Spend the $18 bucks for the program.  It’s worth every penny and it’s an invaluable tool that will help you appreciate the performances even more fully.

I had a nice time in Vegas.  The only disappointment I experienced the entire weekend was not getting to have that giant frank.

Mood: OK

It’s not about age or getting old. It’s about being and that with a qualifier: being content, not an unexplainable, grudging acceptance of some mystifying “lot” in life. Maybe there’s something wrong with my brain because I just don’t understand women who approach their thirties and forties and fifties with such fear and loathing and repetitively expressed angst. Growing older is inevitable. Complaining about it is like complaining about the weather– what can you do about it? Growing older is not synonymous with getting old. That’s something else.

I’m fifty-one. I still feel almost exactly as I did when I was nineteen. I still love music, I still love to dance. I still love Lucy and scream “EEE—yaba-daba-dooo!” at quittin’ time on Fridays. Bugs Bunny cartoons (not so much the ’60’s Toons) still make me laugh out loud. I still love Hershey’s Nuggets with Merlot. I still burst pimples and buy tampons.

I still wear A-line, knee length skirts with heels to show off my legs. I look in the mirror and I still think to myself ‘I still look good!’ I still get embarrassed and made to feel humiliated. Mean people still hurt my feelings and great ones are a balm to my soul. I still laugh, I cry.  I experience joy, I suffer shame.   I have good days and then there are the bad, but most of all I am grateful for a mostly good life, good health, a good meal, and a good condition of the heart.

Eighteen years a single mom, I successfully reared a son who does not drink (to excess), smoke, do drugs (not even behind my back; he does not lead a double life), mistreat women, has no children (he’s 24) or has had any trouble with the law. He works hard, has a good job, is well liked and respected by his colleagues and peers. He is a good son and a good man.  He pays his bills and his taxes and is a good citizen in our land. I am enormously proud of him and I make certain he knows it. I won the parent lottery when I got him but our journey wasn’t easy. I don’t feel alienated from him because I’m fifty-one. I don’t feel old or misunderstood or cast off.

I’m still learning and growing, and experimenting and passing and failing and trying new things. I’m blogging. I’m starting new businesses, meeting new people, making new friends. I’m letting go of the things behind and stretching forward toward the things ahead* with conviction, hope, and a trembling optimism.

My experience and rapt attention to the things that have gone on in the world during my lifetime have settled upon me like a baby’s blue blankie. I feel confident, powerful,  intellectually ambidextrous, valuable and secure. I feel good, not old. I am good.  I’m OK!

So Patsy if yer lissnin’*, please… Quit’cher bitchin’! There’s never going to be enough time, or money to do all the things you want or think you want to do. We don’t live forever. We’re not Mork from the planet Ork. Life does not get stuck in reverse. It only keeps advancing forward.

Stop whinning and complaining and comparing yourselves with men. Stop envying them. It’s better, (if, of course, you’re predisposed that way), to enjoy them.  Enjoy yourselves. Your life– your real life is only as short (or as meaningless, or unaccomplished, or empty, or scary, or loveless or failed) as you decide it is.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need

When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep

Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can’t replace

When you love someone but it goes to waste

Could it be worse

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

From high up above or down below

When you’re too in love to let it go

But if you never try you’ll never know

Just what you’re worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face a lot

Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face a lot

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Chris Martin/Coldplay

*Coal Miner’s Daughter    

Mood: The Agony of Defeat

Stress builds up right in my abdomen, the top part. Inside, it feels like a horrible, twisting, scrunching that’s quite painful after a time. I have to take deep breaths then sit bolt upright in my chair with Denise-N-Debbie pointed toward the heavens while I arch my back to relieve the scrunching, grabbing pressure in my upper abdomen. Walking briskly for at least forty minutes offers some relief, but lately, (well not since May 2 anyway), I haven’t been walking.

My stomach has been tied up in knots like this for at least six months. This happens whenever I am stressed. What brought on this internal tummy turmoil this time?  iTunes.

I love technology and all the stuff.  Yes it’s frustrating sometimes.  Blogging has become almost a full time job for me because:

a. I have to stop and read and learn as I go   and

b There are so many, many, many, many roads down which to travel with so much to say and so little time.

Then there are the Times Square like attractions: the widgets, the downloads, the animations, the ads. As I’m passing through I stop to study other peoples’ blogs. I am amazed. Objects are looping, spinning, spiraling, flashing. Colors are fading in and out. And the noises and music– luring you to Facebook, and MySpace and Friendster– the sensory overload is like trying to read a Dorling-Kindersley Eyewitness picture book .

Some people have multiple blog sites and web pages and still have time for “social networking.” I’m still trying to wrap my brain around del.icio.us. One can really begin to feel like Alice in Wonderland if one wanders aimlessly about in the blogesphere for too long. And with so many people talking, I wonder how many people are really taking the time to listen. Moodz depends on people listening. People who need people are rarely in a mood for disco balls and flashing lights.  It’s like a cyber-arcade–  a fun place to visit but I wouldn’t wanna live there.

Then there are the times when things go wrong. Now I have a low threshold for heat, pain and mean people. My sanctuary is my music. Sometimes you just need to plug in and crank it. Yesterday, I was compelled to download RealPlayer. I have enjoyed it in the past, after all it is one of, if not the pioneer Internet music players, but since I got this notebook about a year ago, I hadn’t bothered to download it. I have an iPhone and as you all well know, you have to have iTunes if you have an iPhone. Apple says so.

Today I double clicked on the iTunes icon on my desktop. Spinning blue circle. Then, poof! Vanish. I clicked on it again. Then again. Then, quite inexplicably, my stomach lining began to turn in on itself.. My world was rocked because I couldn’t open my iTunes!

It took several tries. I had to restart my computer twice, then download iTunes from Apple all over again. About a half hour later, I was whole. I haven’t synched up my phone yet. Film at 11.  Was it because I downloaded RealPlayer?  I wonder what happened?

As my stomach gradually began to relax, (the tightening sensation even now is still subsiding), my thoughts turned to Hillary. My tenacious spirit worked me up into a lather. Hers, too. Why else would she be coming out with all these ghastly verbal blunders? Only she is fighting for– Working class white people? On an otherwise successful trip to Bosnia, only she is fighting to– dodge sniper fire? Now this. Having read and listened to what she said about Bobby Kennedy being assassinated in June I get the point she was trying to make and I want to believe she really isn’t secretly hoping Senator Obama gets assassinated. That would be wrong.

Hillary is exhausted. She’s the only woman in our nation’s history who has ever campaigned this hard and for this long.  Even Shirley Chisholm didn’t have to last this long. Maybe that’s why no one is really paying much attention to the downside of this badger-like tenacity. Would anyone in the world community be able to negotiate with her on any level, or will it always have to be her way or the highway because she can hold her breath the longest? Obama’s breezy, breathy, quiet control looks like a cool drink of water next to Hillary’s stinging desert sand. Too bad.

Fierce competition sometimes strengthens character, hell it may even build it. More often than not, though, it simply just reveals it.

Mood: Belong

Ahh look at all the lonely people (violins, violins, violins, violins, violins)

Ahh look at all the lonely people…  Eleanor Rigby/Paul McCartney, 1966

I remember back in the ‘80’s, someone coined the phrase “The Me generation.”  Anybody else remember that?  Well, I dunno if all that’s true* when you page through the vast and seemingly endless numbers of people self publishing through blogs and see that many have gone uncommented on.

People, young and old, smart and not so smart, poor and not so poor…  every kind of people busting out all over with thoughts and feelings, baring these to the world (or so they think).  So much for the “me” generation.  All these invisible, unreciprocated, un-listened to, not-responded-to “me’s” out there just hoping to connect.  What do they all want?  I mean, what do they all really want?

“Well, I’ll tell you want I want, what I really, really want…”  Spice Girls

I want to feel belong.  No… not belonging.  Belong.  Belong feels effortless.  It’s like “Ahhh…”  It feels like always being in a state where giving others joy is not only more important than receiving it yourself,  that distinction doesn’t even come to mind.  No quid quo pro. No unrealistic expectations.  Automatic-pilot joy in giving.  The upside of this unconscious, unmanufactured, unselfish, un-self-centered, un-me oriented mindset is reciprocity.  Glorious, emotional needs fulfilling, not too hot, not too cold, but just right– reciprocity. 

I have a sense that people– that tiny percentage of the human population that is not overly preoccupied with me/ego snuffing daily pursuits like oh, not being car bombed, for example or sleeping through the whistle of scud missiles firing in the night, or picking through hard, cracked, barren soil for a seed to eat, or walking bare foot 20 miles to fetch a pail of water, or battling AIDS, or homelessness, or joblessness– who have it all just about covered in the life sustanance department– just want to feel belong.  Not belonging.  I said Belong. 

Like going to work every day.  This is the place I come to every day.  Belong.  Like managing the home and caring for minor children.  Belong.  Like not having to perform because these strangers that you’re lunching with may be potential new friends.  Belong. Like crying out “Help!  I need somebody.  Help!  Not just anybody.  Help!  You know I need someone.  Help!”**  And it arrives.  Belong.

People are blogging.  People are writing more than ever before.  But are people reading? 

“Is there somebody out there?  Is there someone who hears my…?”     Dear God/Midge Ure

This is how it feels not to have a job…

*I Got You, Babe/Sonny and Cher, 1965

**Help!/The Beatles, 1965