Meandering Mouse

Why I won't leave California, reason #134

2012-01-27T13:21:00.000-08:00

...the hawthorns which blossom in winter.

Strangely enough, this is also the state flower of Missouri (but good luck finding it there now!).

Meandering in new directions

2012-01-21T15:04:00.000-08:00

The first two posts of 2012 were quite different, weren’t they? One was a “word doodle” about the possible unintended consequences of a unisex definition of “actor,” and the other was practical, specific writing advice.

You may see more of the latter this year. I plan to become more of a wisdom broker as I tell stories about how we can act to bring more happiness, satisfaction, and thought to our daily lives. After all, as I wrote in the very first post, I don’t just want to bleat out rants of insignificance.

What is a wisdom broker? A wisdom broker is different from a teacher or a guru. A teacher will show you how to do practical things, such as assemble a shoe or figure out what x means. A guru – in the Western world – gives wisdom but demands loyalty above and beyond his due (yes, this type of guru is almost always a “he”).

The wisdom broker shows you how to love life, but never pretends to stand above you. The wisdom broker shows you the way not just to a better life, but to a happier life. You feel joy after encountering a wisdom broker (whether in person or through a book or recording), not guilt or inadequacy. You come out knowing that yes, you can do it too.

I admire the wisdom brokers – visit this link, and this one, and this one, and this one, and this one, and this one, and this one, for starters.

Why shouldn’t I be one, too?

The most important writing advice

2012-01-19T20:30:00.000-08:00

What do you believe is the most important writing advice?

All of us who are writers have, at the very least, one shelf reserved for writing how-to books. All of us who are writers know that most of these books contain a variant of this advice:

“You’ve got to write every day if you want to call yourself a writer! I mean it – every damn day!”

I agree that it’s important to keep the butt in the chair. Sometimes. But I know something that is even more important than writing every damn day. No, really – I mean it.

It’s called finishing what you start.

Whatever you write – whether it be a book, article, essay, short story, stage play, screenplay, blog post, review, press release, etc. – needs to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Successful writers get this – whether success means writing multi-million dollar blockbusters or being the most-viewed writer on a Twilight fan fiction site.

If you don’t end your work, it’s not going to satisfy the reader – or any middleperson who’s going to show it to the reader. It’s like putting half a bra in the window of Victoria’s Secret. That thing won’t get the job done.

We all have notebooks and/or Word documents filled with pieces of writing – a hastily scribbled plot, a sentence as cool and dainty as salmon sashimi, an essay about an idiosyncratic idea that petered out before concluding. (I have all of these, including a piece called “Respecting Your Bowls.” Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. And yes, I finished it and put it in this blog.) Some of these are potentially publishable – but only if they are complete. The only writers who can get away with having unfinished work published are dead legends, like Ralph Ellison and the incomplete Three Days Before the Shooting. (Even that book would have been better finished.)

Getting back to those every-damn-day writers, if they don’t outright boast about their fortitude, at least they smirk with Puritan pride at their work ethic. But mere output is not what counts. We shouldn’t write to be an example for other writers. We should write for our readers.

Readers who do not care whether or not you write every damn day.

They are not going to read you because you get up at 6 a.m. and write non-stop until midnight (with a giant-sized bag of Lay’s on your desk and a bedpan under your chair). Readers do not care if you write eight hours a day, four hours a day, an hour, half an hour, or fifteen minutes. They do not care if you write every day, every other day, twice a week, or on Saturday afternoons only. They do not care if you write 1000 words a day, or 250 (the average amount of words on one double-spaced, Courier New font page), or a paragraph, a sentence, or even a single word a day.

Readers do care about endings. Your works had better have them.

Just finish what you start, please. If you just can’t pull it off with one idea, toss it and finish another one. But finish.

Once you’ve finished, you’re more than halfway to your readers.

I don’t think I will ever get used to…

2012-01-12T10:23:00.000-08:00

…the word “actor” being applied to females.

It stops me cold every time I see it in print. It just feels weird…like putting the left shoe on the right foot.

I would find it strange if I read the word “aviatrix” or “doctress” in a current newspaper. Why, then, is “actress” so acceptable to me?

Maybe it’s just the word I grew up with.

Years ago, I read a review of a play based on the Delaney sisters’ story – remember them? – in OC Weekly. The reviewer was peeved that the Delaney sisters used the word “colored” instead of newer, more socially acceptable words. Well, “colored” was the word they grew up with – why was that so hard to understand?

I am also concerned about an unintended consequence of “actor” becoming unisex. If anyone can be an “actor,” why not have just two acting categories in awards shows – “Best Actor” and “Best Supporting Actor,” open to both males and females?

Sometimes, there might be more males than females nominated – and, sometimes, the guys would take both awards.

If you are the kind of person who insists that everyone is an “actor,” you will probably not like that scenario very much.

Think about it as movie awards season begins this Sunday (the 15th) with the Golden Globes on NBC.

Why I don’t buy year-end issues anymore

2011-12-26T00:00:00.000-08:00

Year-end magazines – they bloom like poinsettias at this time of year. From Time to People, editors feel a need to eulogize the ebbing year – even though the year doesn’t actually end until 11:59:59 p.m. on December 31st (so there’s still time for major news to pop up – it’s like writing a book about a television series before the last episode airs).

These issues used to mean much more to me. When I was 14, I was really excited about the end-of-year issues. I remember buying this issue of the newly revived Life magazine in December 1979 – which was not just the end of a year, but the end of a decade.*

When I was 14, I was just becoming aware of the parade of progress – and it was exciting, like riding a sailboat and feeling the splash of the ocean. I felt that I was a part of history, even if my participation only consisted of buying year-and-decade-end issues.

Thirty-odd years later, however, the parade of progress has lost some luster. It’s not that I don’t care about news anymore. It’s just that I am seeing a truth that doesn’t come to light until you’ve ridden the merry-go-round a certain number of times: the more things change, the more they remain the same.

What is going to happen in 2012?

• Crimes will happen that will shock and disgust us.
• Stories of personal triumph will bring tears to our eyes.
• Famous people will die.
• People not previously famous will become so.
• Celebrity couples will get together, marry, have babies, and break up – and some of those breakups will shock us.
• Politicians will unleash their inner fools (especially in this election year!).
• New words will enter the lexicon (and be so totally out by next year).
• A public figure will say something outrageous and then quickly give a P.R. apology.
• Disasters, natural and man-made, will bring upheaval to thousands of lives.
• A few sports fans will have good reason to cheer – but most will not.

Check back here on December 31, 2012 (at 11:59:59 pm!), and tell me that not all of these have happened.

My days of collecting year-end issues are long over (which is a blessing, because the amount of paper already in the Hakim household has passed the “sufficient” category). Now it’s time to keep an eye on my personal parade of progress – to make some history of my own!

* Yes, I know that 1980 was the technical end of the decade – but come on, nobody thinks of it that way. Not even mathematicians.

What's the true meaning of Christmas? It's the gifts after all

2011-12-21T00:00:00.000-08:00

This week, most of us will hear well-meaning newspeople and pundits lecture on the “true meaning of Christmas” – which is as amorphous as a fast-moving cloud. Is it the birth of the man most people know as Jesus Christ? (No one really knows when “Jesus” was born; his birth is celebrated in late December because Christianity needed a celebration to compete with pagan solstice rituals). Is it getting together with family? (That is where many problems start.) Is it a feeling of warm fuzzy goodwill towards all? Maybe.

At the bottom line, though, it’s all about the gifts.

If you don’t believe me, take a look at any given Christmas television special. In the plots of so many of these, the distribution of Christmas gifts (almost always from Santa Claus) is endangered by one threat or another (snowstorm, toy-hating baddies, Santa just being tired of it all) – but lo and behold, at the last minute the gifts come through as they are supposed to in this materialistic nation.

One of the key case studies is The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, a special near and dear to the Hakim household. You know the story – a mean green Grinch tries to “steal” Christmas from the Whos down in Whoville by taking away all of the gifts. However, Christmas comes anyway, personified by a gleaming star that takes the place of the town Christmas tree.

Now, if the true meaning of Christmas was something other than gifts, the special would have ended right there. But, no – the Grinch is so moved that his heart grows three sizes and he brings back the Whos’ gifts – so they get the warm fuzzy goodwill and the material goods.

What if the Grinch had not brought back the gifts?

I’ll bet that CBS would have shown this just once, instead of thirty-five times (and counting).

Do you think that Walmart, Target, Sears, Best Buy, Home Goods, Old Navy, ad nauseam would sponsor a Christmas special which celebrated the “true meaning of Christmas” – without gifts? How would they feel if even one-quarter of Americans decided to just give warm fuzzy goodwill this year?

All I can say is, I’d hate to be inside their underwear.

At this point, I don’t put too much stock in the “true meaning of Christmas.” I am content to enjoy the holiday lights and the egg nog ice cream and the gingerbread latte and, yes, the warm fuzzy goodwill.(The crappy songs, such as “Jingle Bells” – not so much.) Hey, it’s a holiday, after all – how much meaning does it really need?

Speaking of holidays, enjoy yours - whatever one you celebrate!

My first picture

2011-12-18T20:09:00.001-08:00

Long-time Meandering Mouse readers know that I share lots of photography here.

It's only proper that I share the very first photo I took - the Fort Pitt Bridge that crosses the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh. Not bad for a ten-year-old mouse!

Taking the murder out of mysteries

2011-12-12T16:23:00.000-08:00

Would Mma Precious Ramotswe approve of this vicious red skull? I think not.

See this stack of library books that I recently checked out? See the scary-looking red skull at the bottom of the book I’m pointing at? That is how the city of Orange’s libraries label books in the mystery genre – including mysteries that contain no murder whatsoever, e.g., the works of Alexander McCall Smith.

That little red skull got me thinking: is the link between murder and the adult mystery genre unbreakable? (Thank goodness it does not show up in mysteries for kids, such as the Encyclopedia Brown series.) Is it moral to use this crime as a form of entertainment?

Despite all of its great reviews, I never read and never will read Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones because it’s about a fourteen-year-old girl who gets raped and murdered. That is my deal-killer (no pun intended).

I respect the mystery writers who treat this crime with the gravitas it deserves – even though it is highly unlikely that I would read those books. On the other hand, some folks write books with titles like these:

Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos
Fatally Frosted
Pleating for Mercy
The Chocolate Frog Frame-Up
Shoe Done It
Sew Deadly
Pepperoni Pizza Can Be Murder
Slay It with Flowers
Murder Most Frothy
Fatally Flaky
The Cereal Murders
Cream Puff Murder
Murder Boogies with Elvis
A Stitch in Crime
Back to School Murder
Murder of a Chocolate Covered Cherry

If you don’t believe these titles, go to your local bookstore or favorite online seller. They’re all real.

Now I understand that we all have different perspectives, but if I knew someone who had been murdered – or had even viewed a murder victim as part of my job – I wouldn’t be laughing. Would anyone publish, or even write, a book called Cream Puff Rape or Pedophilia Boogies with Elvis?

Mysteries are like puzzles, and I do respect puzzle creators. However, why can’t there be more books in which the puzzle is who stole the pepperoni pizza? Or who painted the wrought-iron flamingos black? Or who peed on the chocolate-covered cherries?

That’s entertainment without guilt – and without red skull labels.

Fun with old ads

2011-12-12T16:09:00.000-08:00

As you could tell by previous posts (here and here), one of my hobbies is collecting old periodicals. Looking at old magazines and marveling how things have changed (sometimes for better, sometimes for worse) is far more fun than watching any reality show. (At least, I think so.)

Some of the best pages are the advertisements. These two, from Reader’s Digest of December 1966 and March 1969, respectively, stood out.

First, Life Saver WHAT???

Isn’t it amazing how words change in only a couple of decades?

And here’s a mouthwash with an odd promise in the last sentence:

I guess getting “closer to people you don’t even know” wasn’t that much of a bonus – when was the last time you saw Purify at your local supermarket?

Why can't Thanksgiving be every day?

2011-11-23T08:50:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving in 1942. (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.)

Tomorrow, Americans will celebrate Thanksgiving Day. Most will gather around a table with family and friends, feasting on stuffing and cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole and pumpkin pie and, in nearly all cases, a big roast turkey.

It has been some time since I participated in Thanksgiving the traditional way. The holiday is not an entirely benign event, as Two Dogs always reminds me this time of year. It is a day of infamy in Native American history - Natives saving the lives of European settlers by giving them seeds and teaching them how to fish - only to have the Europeans bite the hands that fed them, figuratively speaking.

While I believe that we must stay aware of historical truth, it is meaningless and even counterproductive to punish ourselves for the sins of our ancestors. It's better to perform acts of generosity in the present.

I love the idea of sharing meals with the people you care about most, and giving thanks for all of your blessings (and we all have them). I ask why we don't do it more often - say, once a week if not more.

If we did, though, would we still need a Thanksgiving Day?

I say yes.

Happy Thanksgiving, and safe travels for all.

A note for the discouraged

2011-11-16T20:26:00.000-08:00

There are scores of stories about people doing the work you love to do – and not only surviving, but thriving quite nicely, thank you. However, you are more likely to read about the unemployed and underemployed in the mainstream media.

Why? It’s the same reason why functional, psychologically healthy people rarely show up on reality shows – trouble makes a story. Things that go wrong are the bread and butter of what we call "the news."

If you feel discouraged in your job search, read stories about people who are succeeding, whether or not they are famous or super-rich, and avoid reading stories about people who are failing. This may sound cold, but when you are vulnerable you need the powerful vitamins called good news more than ever.

Please pass this along to everyone who needs it.

I knew it...

2011-11-11T21:15:00.000-08:00

...my chromosomes are made of preztels!

What fanatics really want

2011-10-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

In fact, often the fanatic is more interested in you than in himself. He wants to save your soul, he wants to redeem you, he wants to liberate you from sin, from error, from smoking, from your faith or faithlessness, he wants to improve your eating habits, or to cure you from your drinking or voting habits. The fanatic cares a great deal for you; he is always either falling on your neck because he truly loves you or else he is at your throat in case you prove to be unredeemable. And, in any case, topographically speaking, falling at your neck and being at your throat are almost the same gesture.

Amos Oz, from How to Cure a Fanatic (excerpted in Utne Reader, November/December 2011)

(I think I'm going to buy Mr. Oz's book . And check out the superb cover illustration by Tom Richmond!)

Kick the ass-trology, already

2011-10-30T14:34:00.000-07:00

No matter how long I stick around, I fail to understand some aspects of human life. I don’t understand why Gimme a Break lasted six seasons while the original Star Trek lasted three, why anyone enjoys the taste of bell peppers, and why horoscopes persist in magazines and newspapers long after science has put to rest the notion that stars millions of light-years away have any effect on our lives.

The Los Angeles Times, one of the few American newspapers I respect, still has a horoscope – every day – and I scratch my head. A horoscope just does not belong in a Pulitzer Prize-winning paper. If I were the chief editor of the LAT, I would quietly and with no fanfare remove the horoscope one Monday morning – considerately adding a brief note of explanation to readers:

We at the Los Angeles Times have concluded that a horoscope is unnecessary and is incongruous with the logical thought that this still-new century demands. In this space, we will now have quotations from great thinkers and books.

What do you think would happen? Would most readers nod their heads and think, “It’s about time”? Or would they light their virtual torches and storm the Readers’ Representative Journal, screaming for my head?

Even more disheartening, horoscopes persist in women’s magazines. (Never, ever in men’s magazines.) Why does my sex tolerate ass-trology in its publications? Is there a meme that women just aren’t that into critical thinking? If the media can convince women that it is mandatory to wear shoes that cripple and distort the feet and to spend hundreds of dollars to remove perfectly natural (and necessary) pubic hair with agonizing hot wax, perhaps getting them to believe in ass-trology is child’s play.

Here is a sampling of three different horoscopes for my “sign,” Cancer (June 22-July 22) in three different women’s magazines dated October 2011.

Marie Claire – October 2011

CANCER

The Mood: Homey
The Forecast: As the weather continues to cool off, you’ll become a domestic goddess – brewing hot apple cider, cooking a fall stew, even carving a pumpkin. After the 23rd, a guy will want in on this low-key fun, so make room in the kitchen. In money matters, Mars in your house of finances has you working hard, so splurge on a crazy Halloween costume.
Power Day: 23rd

Glamour – October 2011

CANCER

The new moon in your pleasure sector in October 26 tempts you to grab onto something that’s not yours. Keep yourself in check with values you learned growing up. If it (he!) doesn’t belong to you, walk away.

Cosmopolitan – October 2011

CANCER

Homey Pluto suggests inviting people over to watch the World Series on the 19th. Some juicy gossip will come from it – the stars predict a hookup between two of your single pals.
Dating tip: Alluring Venus recommends you rock a pair of sky-high heels on a date near the 7th. Grab his arm if you feel wobbly – he’ll like the chance to show off his chivalrous side.
Love advice: Playful Saturn says have a Guitar Hero showdown on the 13th. For every new song, strip off a piece of clothing.

What do these horoscopes have in common, besides being narrowly focused on a superficial notion of romance?

Nothing!

If ass-trology was a real science, researchers would most likely come up with similar results, even if they do not meet and/or confer with each other. If ass-trology was a real science, all people born under the Cancer sign would have similar experiences during the month.

No sky-high heels for me on a date near the 7th, or a Guitar Hero showdown on the 13th (who needs the Guitar Hero game when I have a real-life Guitar Hero?). We didn’t watch the World Series on the 19th. I didn’t do anything significant in the kitchen on the 23rd (that is Two Dogs’s domain), and I didn’t have a lick of temptation to grab into something that wasn’t mine on the 26th.

If you’re not into ass-trology, you don’t have to ass-ume what your days are going to be like. That’s the mystery of life. Why not just let things be as they will be?

Scary television logos (just in time for Halloween)

2011-10-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

What do you remember when you remember the television of your youth?

Do you remember the astounding stupidity of Lost in Space’s Dr. Smith (which makes you ask 1. What hellhole of a university gave this asshat a doctorate, and 2. Why, oh why did he survive so long – you can’t be stupid in space, people!) Or is it the seamless cool of the Fonz, a cool that makes even vending machines obey? Or is it Pee-Wee’s happy household of talking, singing thingamajigs? (You wouldn’t fart in a talking chair, would you?)

Or is it the heavy, hairy hand that brings down this hammer?

The logos which are the closing punctuation of TV shows can have lasting effects on our memories – for better or for worse.

Type in the words “scary TV logos” in the YouTube search engine, and you’ll be amazed at what you’ll find. You’ll also see that “scary” is highly subjective.

I grew up in the pre-home video era, so I guess it’s hard for me to see the fright in this logo:

It’s only a mouse, after all. (And he's not even meandering!)

The following two logos are more annoying than scary. This one concluded cheesy 1970s sitcoms:

And this one ended cheesy syndicated 1980s sitcoms:

This one is nicknamed “Closet Killer”, and when you hear it you will understand why:

That’s the sound an orchestra would make if a killer jumped out of your closet. Ironically, this often ended the supposedly family-friendly Brady Bunch.

This one from across the pond is spooky:

This one from NTA (National Telefilm Associates) is not too scary on its face, but it gave me goosebumps because it often kicked off some eerie sci-fi movie on Pittsburgh TV’s Chiller Theater.

I don’t remember any television logos that really scared me in childhood, but I found one on YouTube that scares me now at age 46. I would not want to watch this alone at two in the morning:

BИD (VID in English) is the undisputed king of all scary logos. I am exceedingly grateful that I didn’t grow up in Russia!

P.S. Are you reading this blog at two in the morning? If so…I hope you’re not alone! (And don’t watch BИD twice!)

Is everyone a cheater?

2011-10-21T21:58:00.000-07:00

I don’t know about you, but I thought I knew the definition of infidelity in relationships – sexual contact with anyone other than the one you’re supposedly monogamous with.

Not too long ago, the they who define culture came up with the idea of “emotional infidelity.” Michael Formica, one of those experts with a trail of letters following his name and a blogger at the Psychology Today website, defines emotional infidelity thus:

Although the implications and consequences are similar, emotional infidelity as a construct is a bit more murky, as it does not simply apply to sexual or romantic interpersonal relationships. . . .

The notion of emotional infidelity can also apply to platonic same- or trans-gender relationships, as well as activities, work, exs, siblings, extended family, hobbies and even kids. Many women in the part of the country where I live and work ruefully refer to themselves as Wall Street Widows - non-interpersonal emotional infidelity in full flower.

Emotional infidelity is any situation that creates or causes some degree of emotional unavailability on the part of one partner that interferes with one particular aspect of the relationship, along with the quality of the relationship as a whole.

According to a recent survey by the Kinsey Institute , 23 percent of men and 19 percent of women in partnerships say that they have cheated on those partners. If we use Formica’s definition of infidelity, those percentages go up to 100 percent. What person in a relationship doesn’t also have other people and goings-on in his or her life?

If everyone cheats – if everyone can’t help but cheat – then “cheating” means nothing, and why should anyone care?

This kind of definition creep bothers me. In the absence of real trouble, some minds go in search of worry and offense. The idea of emotional infidelity is a gift to this kind of mentality. Instead of a clear, specific definition of cheating, anything and everything in your partner’s life outside of you can become a threat. Talk about crazy-making. People who not only trust their partners, but have self-esteem that is unassailable, do not worry about emotional infidelity.

Formica ends his blog post with this non sequitur:

Here's the rub - in the case of emotional infidelity, you're stealing from yourself.

Actually, if you believe in emotional infidelity, you’re stealing from yourself – and your partner.

Don’t forget to enjoy what you eat!

2011-10-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, most of us didn’t think much about what we ate. We’d trudge to the grocery store after the workday and grab a foil-wrapped “TV dinner” (meant to go into the oven, not the microwave), a few boxes of pasta and powdered cheese ready for their ground beef or tuna “Helper,” a box of sugar-coated cereal for the kiddies, and the cheapest meat in the newspaper ad.

Today, such ignorance seems almost luxurious. The experts who “know better” than us are shaking us by the shoulders like desperate doomsday seers and screaming at us to ask! Is your food organic? Local? Free-range? Green? Packaged? Genetically modified? Raw? Pasteurized? Artificially colored or flavored? How many calories? How much fat? How much sodium? Were any living things harmed in the making of it? (The unfortunate and unavoidable truth is always “yes” – the living must depend on the living for sustenance; it’s easy to forget that plants are living, too). Every encounter we have with food is now ideologically booby-trapped.

To paraphrase John Lennon, food is a concept by which we measure our fear – and our impulse to make sure that our habits are better than theirs, whether they are our family members, our neighbors, or our concept of “average” people.

Whatever happened to enjoying what we eat?

Speaking for myself, I’ve gotten just as much of a kick of joy from a lunch of a cupcake and cappuccino at the Barnes and Noble Café as I have from a lunch of spring greens and sliced pears. I do try to keep most of my meals on the healthy side, but I say a life without ever once sitting in front of the television with a bowl of popcorn is a life that has missed out. I feel sorry for those who insist that food is mere fuel, as if we are just spiritless machines.

See this bowl of stew? It has two slices of white French bread sticking out of it, which will not please the whole-wheat fetishists. The potatoes will turn off the starch-haters. The carrots are just too cooked for the raw foodies. And get ready to scream, vegans, because there are chunks of lamb meat in the bowl, too.

So what?

This stew, created with love by Two Dogs, gave me the best nourishment I had all day after a long Wednesday of running around. I felt joy and gratitude with each sip and bite. I was glad to be human and glad to be able to love this dish.

It is not enough for our food to be “correct” – nutritionally, politically, ecologically. Our food needs to touch our humanity as well. I dare say it may be better to share fried chicken with loved ones and laughter than a raw vegetable smoothie while running towards your horribly stressful job.

Food for thought.

#BAD11

Prosperity for you = prosperity for the world

2011-09-30T20:38:00.000-07:00

There is a belief prevalent in America and other Western countries that being successful, making money, is somehow wrong for people who are trying to lead a spiritual life. In Buddhism though it is not the money which is in itself wrong; in fact, a person with greater resources can do much more good in the world than one without [italics mine]. The question is how we make the money; whether we understand where it comes from and how to make it continue to come; and whether we keep a healthy attitude about the money.

- from The Diamond Cutter by Geshe Michael Roach

Read it for the words

2011-09-24T14:11:00.000-07:00

Here is the September 2011 issue of Playboy. It is not a magazine I pick up often (at least, not in its current form – more on that later). Why did I buy it now? (Hint: see what the little gray mouse is looking at.)

There was a time when Playboy didn’t need to interview a favorite actor to get me to read. I have collected issues from the early 1960s to the 1980s – and if any interesting issues cross my path at the right price, I will add them to my collection.

It’s not because I find pictures of naked women all that interesting. Oh, no. I am that creature that most people think is as mythological as the Easter Bunny: the person who reads Playboy for the words.

Those little black things in between the booby pictures aren’t ants.

If you’ve got Playboy in your house and you’re not reading the words, you’re missing out. (The same can’t be said for Juggs. Juggs doesn’t have any words. At least that’s what I think – I’ve never even touched an issue. You tell me!)

My personal favorite section is the Playboy Forum, which investigates current events in a way you almost never see in major newspapers, much less on TV. This month, I read about why the “War on Drugs” is no palliative against terrorism, and the somewhat-no-definitely-less-than-successful results of Alcoholics Anonymous. (It’s hard to expect much from an organization who urges people to “Keep It Simple, Stupid.”)

However, the September 2011 Forum consisted of just five pages. I can’t say for sure, but in earlier issues (up through the 1990s) I remember it being longer. Did the Forum lose pages to extra Playmate pictures? (A future post will discuss where the gravitas went in commercial magazines – did it get brushed away, like the “yellow,” with Pepsodent?)

Oh, well, back to the past!

I can’t wait to have my old Playboy collection nearby again. I need to read decades-old but timeless debates about censorship and prudery and homosexuality and drugs and the perpetual battle between the individual and the state. I need food for my mind, and not just my eyes – witness the rainbow of clothes and shoes and jewelry and makeup that today’s women’s magazines throw at us.

(I need to end this post. It’s Saturday!)

That day

2011-09-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I woke up – reluctantly, as usual on weekdays – at 6:25 in the morning. My alarm clock awakened me with KROQ-FM, which at that time was the one saving grace of the morning, for that was the time for Kevin and Bean and their motley crew. The first thing I heard was a commercial for the Latin Grammy Awards, which were to air that evening, and I wondered why the Grammys needed a separate Latin ceremony.

After the commercial aired, Ralph Garman, the KROQ entertainment reporter, spoke in a tone unusually serious. He told us about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center in New York.

I went to the bathroom and washed my face quickly during the commercial break, imagining a small Cessna-type plane crashing into the pavement between the Twin Towers.

When I was done washing my face, Ralph told us that two planes had crashed into the Trade Center. At that moment, radio had become inadequate. I went to the living room and turned on the television.

On every channel that mattered, I saw the Twin Towers on fire. No Cessna could do that much damage. The planes were commercial jets, jets carrying tens of people.

When jets run into buildings, people die.

And then, something was happening at the Pentagon. Another plane – or maybe it was a helicopter? – had crashed right into the hub of America’s military.

At that moment, I felt the icy grip of pure fear that hadn’t been experienced in America since the Cuban Missile Crisis.

What was going to happen next?

Was this just the advance guard of a fleet of planes traveling across the oceans, carrying bombs that would destroy everything that was precious to us?

Was this the end?

I was alone. I had no friends nearby. I had to be with people.

All I could do was drive to my job as I normally would have.

The Twin Towers disappeared from the Manhattan landscape during my commute. I was stunned and nearly silent for the rest of the day. Almost everyone else was, except for those whose job it was to speak.

I was too scared to cry. Too worried to grieve.

For the next days, I flinched when birds zipped through the plane-free sky. I left the TV on all the hours I was at home, something I never did otherwise. Comforting imaginings of golden-haired angels holding large white eggs for me to sleep in were now impossible. And, for the one and only time, I found comfort in the words of President George W. Bush.

In Orange County, far, far away from the rising ashes, everything looked normal. The late-summer sky still shone brightly on us all. But whatever was normal had left us forever.

On the Internet, other people expressed themselves in myriad ways, ranging from syrupy sentiment to targeted rage. I saved some pictures from that time which illustrate this point:

The slim golden lining was my hope that this would purge inanity, bickering, and partisanship from America. The détente between Democrats and Republicans, liberals and conservatives, was a sight to behold.

It didn’t last long.

Ten years later, we are more divided than ever before, more angry, more willing to express that anger. If America was adolescent before 9/11, we have now regressed back to kindergarten (“You stink!” “No, you stink!”). In too many areas of life, whining and blaming others brings not scorn but more attention.

Where did we go wrong?

Do three thousand more people – or more – have to die to bring the American people back to peace? I hate to say this, but I think not even that will be enough.

I want to write that America is a great place. Compared to too many other nations, it is. But the days after 9/11 showed me a glimpse of a better America, a kinder and more understanding America.

I hope we will get back to that place – without another tragedy.

Today, let’s be not just better Americans, but better people – and keep on being better tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

A photo + a quote = a post

2011-08-31T20:19:00.000-07:00

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk: every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and away from every illness; I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it… – Søren Kierkegaard

So this is why these are called the “dog days”…

2011-08-29T18:57:00.000-07:00

…because you feel like the laziest dog on earth!

If you want to move, better do it early in the morning or just before the sun goes down, or else it will be too Hot! Hot! Hot! (which is only fun in a pop song).

You won’t feel like doing the things you need to do (like write a new blog post to maintain your monthly quota), and you won’t feel like doing the things you want to do, either (like go to the café for an afternoon croissant and Chardonnay).

You want to spend all day in an eggshell filled with water.

You question why summer is your favorite season.

You will miss this time when the next chilly, rainy day comes along.

You will stop writing this to watch the sun set.

Fear not profanity

2011-08-21T18:07:00.000-07:00

This is the essay about "strong language" that I promised in the last post. I originally wrote it for the This I Believe program on NPR – which is why there is no actual profanity within.

* * *

I believe that it’s long past time for people to get over their squeamishness over words. Especially the words I can’t write in this newspaper.

A writer should not be afraid to use all of the words in the vocabulary toolbox – and that includes profanity, when appropriate for the character, setting, genre, and market. Sometimes, words like “nonsense,” “jerk,” “harridan,” and “make whoopee” don’t pack the needed punch. Try using these instead of the profane words and listen to the difference.

One of the canards that I despise is “if a writer has enough imagination, he shouldn’t have to resort to profanity.” That is such a can of succotash on so many levels.

First, it’s the character who’s doing the swearing, not the writer. I rarely curse in my real life, but I happily let some of my characters let rip. Do you think that, say, Dean Koontz is a homicidal maniac?

People who say that profanity and imagination don’t mix are only putting a guilt trip on writers because of their own discomfort with certain words. It’s easier to point the finger at the writer – “How dare you use those words!” – instead of yourself: “I just don’t like seeing those words in print.” But when you conclude, “I don’t think anyone else should see those words in print, either,” you have crossed a line that makes me stand up to fight, because your rights end where my pages begin.

One of the most wildly imaginative writers I’ve ever read is Harlan Ellison. In both his fiction and non-fiction, he takes the reader to unearthly worlds of terror, absurdity, and delight, his words spinning dizzily in a fractal explosion. And he’s not afraid of the judicious use of profanity. On the flip side, you can go to any bookstore in the country and find prose as flat as a can of Pepsi left opened on the dock from sunup to sundown -- but it’s A-OK to some of you out there, because it’s free of that awful profanity.

For those who say that profanity is the proof of a dull mind, I give you Quentin Tarantino and his screenplay Pulp Fiction, in which the profanity adds flavor to the prose like Lawry’s seasoned salt does with white rice. For those who believe that cursing just sounds ugly, open your mind and taste the tart hard candies that shoot from Steve Buscemi’s mouth in Fargo.

“But what about the kids?” you ask. What about them? The material mentioned above isn’t meant for them. And if your kids are eight years old or over, it’s too late anyway. They’ve already learned all the profanity they need to know in the schoolyard. Or at home.

And these are only words. Words that float in the air and feel like nothing. They are not fists. Not guns. Not bombs. Do you really think that a rapped profanity drifting out of a driver’s car window is going to scar your children for life?

Grow up. Please.

Does my vocabulary suck?

2011-08-21T18:01:00.000-07:00

The difference between the words I use when I talk and the words I use when I think is similar to the difference between a genteel talk show airing early in the morning on PBS and a reality show in which the grand prize is dating a Z-level celebrity on VH1.

While I give the words in my mouth a security check before I let them out of my mouth, my mind is far more spontaneous. For example, if I hear something as obvious as the I.Q. of someone who would wear a hat with teabags dangling from the brim (aside: what a waste of tea bags!), I think: No shit, Sherlock! I don’t think a day goes by without my synapses going, NS, S! – but I have never said it out loud. (I think.)

I also have the same relationship with the word sucks, as in something being notably subpar (not something engaged in the act of suction). The words That sucks! pop into my head like toaster pastries whenever I am in stuck in glue-speed traffic, listening to a stultifying lecture, or gazing down at a flat iron-less meat section at Ralphs. (If you live in California, Ralphs sells a great flat iron steak.)

I have to admit that I sometimes feel shame for my thoughts. Why? Because as an English major and a (for now) semi-professional writer, I should be able to form thoughts without the use of, um, “strong language”. At this point, my rational side will stand up and scold me for taking the cursing-is-a-sign-of-an-unimaginative-mind canard seriously. (I wrote an essay about cursing a few years ago – maybe that will be my next post.)

Just what is wrong in thinking, or even saying, the word sucks if it fits? As the T-shirt from the 80s said, poverty sucks. So does war, fundamentalist religion, abuse, and rotting shellfish. What is wrong in thinking or saying No shit, Sherlock! if someone on the radio says, “Consumers lack confidence due to uncertainty over the economy,” or, “Fried Twinkies are a uniquely American treat.”

If the word fits, use it!

Look for inspiration, not mere information

2011-07-31T09:35:00.000-07:00

Alexandra Stoddard , one of my most-trusted wisdom brokers, wrote this in her book You Are Your Choices (Chapter 5, “Information Is Not Inspiration”):

“One hundred years ago no one could imagine the flood of information that would be available today. You could drown in it if you’re not careful. The Information Age first dawned in the 1970s. An abundant amount of publications were available, along with manipulation of information. Through the use of computers and the Internet, we can learn about anything we choose to know. We can collect facts and data in an endless stream. The Internet is limitless; it is overwhelming. . . .

Bob O’Brien, a prize-winning journalist and writer, advised me when I first began to write not to read the newspaper before I began my work. The human mind has limits to how much it can absorb. We can know everything, but not know anything about how to live. We have to be careful not to clog our minds with bad news that cannot inspire.”

The Huffington Post is at the top of my news bookmarks. I pay a visit nearly every day. But recently, I do not stay as long as I used to, mainly because (with few exceptions) it is filled with “bad news that cannot inspire”, celebrity “news” that cannot inform, and trivia that does nothing but take time away from the inspiration that I really need. I still admire Arianna Huffington for her political courage and good works, but I must be honest about the site. I do not leave the Huffington Post feeling better about myself and my world.

Sometimes mere information is helpful – such as knowing if the library is open on Sunday, or mapping out the location of a coffee shop that you’ve wanted to try. Other times it is not helpful, or even worse – when you turn on your local news to learn about the weather, you hear about a murder case that darkens the rest of your day.

The answer may be to ask yourself, before you open a web link:

Is this something I really need to know?

Will I be more inspired, more energized, more hopeful after reading this?

Is this the best use of my precious time?

Don’t get tangled in the briar patch of information – reach for the sweet, healthy fruit of inspiration.

Things I used to think were glamorous

2011-07-28T09:55:00.001-07:00

Calgon bath salts
Hollywood (the idea)

Charlie’s Angels
Rhinestones
Perrier
Marina del Rey
Frederick’s of Hollywood
Little guest soaps shaped like roses
Holiday Inn

Shrimp cocktails
Makeup kits with lots of colors
Barbie (and Dawn) in fancy gowns
Beauty pageants
Gigantic mansions
Rodeo Drive
Designer jeans

Shopping malls
André sparkling wine
Mirrored walls
Star sapphire rings
Camay soap
Cosmopolitan magazine

Sizzler restaurant
Day-of-the-week panties
Bubble bath in ersatz champagne bottles
Poodles

Discos
Gold lamé
Glitter
“Beautiful people”
Piaget
Los Angeles magazine
Foreign flags used as decoration (as in the International House of Pancakes)
Air travel

Jockey underwear
Newsstands
Entertainment Tonight
Pat Booth novels
Judith Krantz novels
Being a rock groupie
The Jolly Roger restaurant
VIP rooms
Robinsons-May
Surf and turf

Cookies the size of teacup plates
Long acrylic fingernails
Being a trophy wife
Shoes with pointy toes and heels
White zinfandel

Rembrandt toothpaste
The Hungry Tiger restaurant
Esquire magazine
Sequins
Nightlife
Strawberry daiquiris
Eyeshadow
Tight clothing
Going to Lakers, Kings, and Ducks games
Marrying a professional athlete

Teased hair
Wearing a suit to work every day
Satin shirts worn with high-waisted black pants
Sitting at the bar with “the girls” and gossiping about other people
Ultra-shiny lip gloss
Letting other people tell me what is glamorous
Thinking that good things are out there, far away, and will come someday

Farewell to an old friend – for good

2011-07-21T06:28:00.000-07:00

The first Borders bookstore in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Alas, I never got to go there.

Earlier this year, I lamented the loss of two local Borders stores. This week, the shoe has fallen off the other foot.

Borders Stores was unable to find a new investor, and so it will liquidate its assets and go out of business altogether by September 30th.

No more the joy of finding Rewards coupons in my e-mail: 20, 33, or even 40% off regular prices. (Those coupons were why I was able to afford new books, including hardcovers, relatively often.) No more the excitement of dropping by non-local Borders in Mission Valley and Santa Barbara and Westwood and Las Vegas, it was the cherry on top of the sundae called travel. No more the search at the kiosk for my new favorite book. (It’s not always easy to go up to an employee and ask for directions.) How many of the books in my collection were purchased at Borders? I remember every one.

When a small independent bookstore goes out of business, it’s like the fall of a single tree in the forest – a loss to be sure, but the other trees keep the forest strong. Now, a mighty chain – once 1200+ stores strong – is going to disappear. This says something about how we’re reading now.

Last year for my birthday, I received an Amazon Kindle. It has changed my attitude towards books. I have to say that unless a book has color pages (an exception that might go away when I get my iPad), or is unavailable on Kindle, I will probably be spending many more of my book dollars on e-books – perhaps the majority of them. When the independent stores went away, it forced readers to the chains; when the chains go away, more people will choose e-books.

I will never stop reading, of course. The loss of Borders, however, closes the door to a gateway to the magic world of books. That is worth mourning.

When the priority is beauty

2011-07-11T15:23:00.000-07:00

Take a look at this mobile:

It’s Four Boomerangs by Alexander Calder, an American artist most famous for his mobiles (metal sculptures made to hang from the ceiling and move with the air) Calder is one of my personal favorite artists. Perhaps it started when I saw his mobile Pittsburgh in the old Pittsburgh airport (I remember it being orange, but Calder originally created it black and white and it’s only recently been restored to its original colors; read this story).

I saw Four Boomerangs during a recent visit to the Orange County Museum of Art. (I have made a resolution to visit more museums.) I loved it and all of the other Calder mobiles which will be on display until September 4, 2011 (if you live in Orange County, go!)
In addition to Calder, other artists are on display who have been Calder-influenced.

This is Martin Boyce’s mobile, Fear Meets the Soul:

Which mobile looks better?

Which mobile would you rather put above your dining room table?

I thought so.

When comparing the Calder works to the others in the museum, I saw that there was more of an effort for the work to end up beautiful with the Calders than with the more recent art.

This has nothing to do with laziness or lack of effort; I do not doubt that Boyce put in just as many hours for his mobile as Calder did. The priority for beauty starts in the artist’s mind, not the hands. (IMHO, the priority for beauty is a great motivator!)

Maybe the notion of art as pure beauty is not popular these days. Maybe artists think it is more important to make a statement, protest a social wrong, and/or give the viewer something to think about. It is okay to use art to make a statement, protest a social wrong, and/or give the viewer something to think about – but it’s also okay, more than okay, to create something that is just beautiful.

Artists are creators of worlds. Why not make them pleasing to the eye sometimes?

Creepy old schools in my hometown

2011-07-05T14:37:00.000-07:00

The Internet is a rabbit hole, isn't it?

I won't get long-winded here, but last night a search for outdoor movie screenings in my area turned into an in-depth mining expedition for photos of my hometown, Washington, Pennsylvania. I looked for the Route 19 Drive-In (closed, alas, in 1986), the Gee Bee department store across the highway (also closed), the Cinema 19 which was next to Gee Bee (closed - so many things I remember are closed! That's what happens when you stay away for 35 years).

And then I found these clippings at the Bealsville Cemetery blog.

These are the old elementary schools, numbered by "Ward", of Washington. Evidently, they were already getting old way back in 1954.

I have seen some of these school buildings in my lifetime. I have even been inside a couple.

Tell me, what do they look like to you?

Mental institutions?

Jails?

Would you have wanted to step foot in any of these buildings as a child?

Would you want to step foot in any of these buildings NOW?

Just saying.

(I am not sure if any of these Ward buildings are still standing, but Washington is using a new facility for education. Lucky kids!)

Sorry for the lack of blog posts in June...

2011-07-01T13:23:00.001-07:00

...but Two Dogs and I have been helping a neighbor take care of his cancer-stricken wife; she died on June 24.

Sometimes, one discovers an opportunity to do good in a visible, direct way. We have no regrets.

Because I had only 32 posts in 2010, I had a goal of writing at least four posts a month. I only wrote two in June. That means in July, I will write six. (Fortunately, that is not too difficult for a Meandering Mouse!)

A little story you must read

2011-06-03T19:41:00.000-07:00

I read this small piece by Paulo Coelho in the June 2011 issue of Ode magazine. The last line made me scream (inside) “Yes!”

Who is to blame

A couple went on vacation. When they returned, they found that their home had been burglarized. The robbers had taken everything they owned.

The husband blamed the wife, saying the doors had not been secured. She affirmed that he had forgotten to lock them. A long discussion took place, until the neighbors called a priest to calm the couple down.

“It is her fault. She has always been negligent,” said the husband loudly.

“No, it is his fault. He never pays attention to what he does,” answered the wife.

“One moment,” said the priest. “We are always blaming one another for things we never did, and we end up carrying a burden that does not belong to us. Did it occur to you that the robbers are the ones to blame?”

YES!

WTF? of the month

2011-06-01T22:10:00.000-07:00

June’s barely gotten started, and already someone’s dropped a big, smelly WTF? on the public.

Peter Moskos, an assistant professor of law, police science, and criminal justice administration at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York City (a strange name for a college, but that’s the least offensive aspect of this story) has written a book called In Defense of Flogging. No, it’s not a love letter to BDSM. As a cure for prison overcrowding, Moskos says it’s time to bring back the practice of flogging convicts (except for the ones which must be imprisoned to protect the public) in lieu of a prison sentence. The convict would have a choice, say, between ten lashes or five years.

Unlike Jonathan Swift in A Modest Proposal, Moskos is not messing with our heads.

In an interview on CNN’s “In the Arena” blog, Moskos says that one benefit of flogging is that it’s “cheaper” than incarceration. I can tell you what's even cheaper – releasing everyone who is in jail just for using/possessing/selling drugs, and decriminalizing drugs altogether.

Here is the flogging process, according to Moskos (reader discretion is advised):

I propose we flog as they do in Singapore and Malaysia. Basically, they tie a person to a large flogging stand, pull down the pants, protect the vital organs and lash the behind with a rattan cane. A doctor tends to the wounds. It’s a horrible, brutal, and bloody process. But it is over in a few minutes.

Does American justice need a “horrible, brutal, and bloody process” that leaves scars that last a lifetime? Does this bring to mind the awful old days of slavery? (Can you imagine white prison guards flogging black convicts?)

The results of flogging

During the years when flogging/whipping was a common punishment in America’s prisons, black people were treated like a plague through segregation laws, women were under the thumb of an insanely repressive social code, and if you were a child being raped by a father (both the literal and the Heavenly kind), you had no recourse whatsoever. The future is supposed to be better than the past, right?

Whether or not anyone would choose flogging over prison (I frankly doubt that most people would) is beside the point. America is (supposedly) a civilized country. Civilized countries do not flog their citizens. I don’t care how clean the streets of Singapore are. Moskos says that it’s “facile” to think that flogging is too cruel to consider.

It’s not facile – it’s right.

TV shows that should not be remade

2011-05-27T16:09:00.000-07:00

Some people are addicted to Starbucks. Others are addicted to Farmville. I am addicted to The Karel Show, and no, I’m not going to a twelve-step program for it.

Here's Karel!

The Karel Show is my favorite radio show, even though I can listen to it only through downloads (and days after the original broadcast). It’s hard for me to describe it in few words – let me just say it’s politics, it’s outrage, it’s comedy, it’s humanity, it’s life.

Karel is on KGO-AM 810 in San Francisco and on various markets during the week. You can listen to and download Karel here (KGO) and here (weekdays).

On the May 15th program, Karel brought up the topic of television shows that were so good the first time that it’s bad form to remake them. ABC is going to bring out a new set of Charlie’s Angels this fall, and Karel wasn’t jiggy with it. “They should just show the repeat of Farrah, and Kate, and Jaclyn,” he declared. Other listeners cited The Love Boat, Good Times, Sanford and Son, Three’s Company, and I Love Lucy.

Karel also brought up Gilligan’s Island. Now, I watched my fair share of Gilligan, mostly when my age was a single digit, but I can’t say it was one of my favorite shows. Still, it would be a hard one to remake. Can you imagine three single guys, two single gals, and one married couple stuck on an uncharted desert isle – and nobody’s having sex? Bring that premise to 2011, and having sex is all they’re going to do.

After thinking about it, my show that should not be remade is Batman. It’s pitch-perfect camp sensibility is a pure product of its debut year, 1966. Today’s showrunners would load down the camp with enough irony to suffocate the humor. That would not be a pretty sight.

(I wish I could encourage you to go out and buy the Batman series on DVD. Unfortunately, it’s not available on DVD – unlike lesser shows such as Punky Brewster and Tyler Perry’s House of Payne – because of various and sundry and tangled reasons. I can’t understand why these people are caging a golden goose – I know I’m not the only one who would run, not walk, to the store to get Batman. Let’s hope they can get together and put this series out, not just in my lifetime, but in Adam West’s – we need his commentary! At least we have a feature film which will show you the tenor of the series.)

Are there any other shows that you think the remakers should keep their greedy little paws off of? Feel free to comment below!

And thanks, Karel, for a great post idea!

And speaking of Jughead...

2011-05-24T18:47:00.000-07:00

Did you know that his real name is Forsythe Pendleton Jones III?

I can’t decide which one is worse.

(At least he didn’t spell “Jughead” with two “g”s!)

A journey to the Zonk World of Jughead

2011-05-23T10:59:00.001-07:00

Watch out! It’s the new ZAP! BAM! POW! ZONK! World of Jughead!!!!!!

Secret agent! Superhero! Mr. Jones is kicking ass and taking names! All right!

A timely visit to a local flea market re-introduced me to the mad side of Archie Comics, specifically the October 1966 issue of Archie’s Mad House. In Batman-crazy 1966, everybody knew that when super hero fist met super villain jaw, it was the birth of a starburst with a colorful three- or four-letter word inside. And we knew that all superheroes wore their underpants outside of their tights (why, we’re still trying to figure out).

In this goofball alternate Archie universe, Archie became Pureheart the Powerful, Betty was Superteen, Reggie (who else?) was Evilheart, and Jughead was a Captain Hero with a hamburger crest.

I like books that make me ask questions, and these ones give me a pair:

1. How did Jughead get so buff in his Captain Hero uniform? I hope it’s just good old-fashioned carnivorism, because I don’t want to think that Jughead’s ordering from the Barry Bonds menu.

2. Even in cape, tights, and outside underpants, Jughead just won’t take off that damn hat. You probably never, ever saw anyone in real life wear a hat like this, unless you are over eighty years old. (Though I would rather see teens wear Jughead hats than, say, tattoos.)

For more about the Archie superheroes, visit this informative link at the comic book site Dial B for Blog. Be prepared to spend some time – I was up past midnight last night looking at the “Sickest Covers of All Time” and reading the saga of Scooter, a Beatle look-alike who invited us to swing with him. On his scooter.

It’s so fun to read a comic book that doesn’t drop a boulder of dark, dank, depressing issues on you, don’t you think? I can’t wait for the Archie’s Mad House book which will be released this July – just in time for my birthday (hint, hint).

To everyone who thought the world was going to end today...

2011-05-21T23:58:00.000-07:00

A time to reflect…not celebrate

2011-05-03T16:00:00.001-07:00

Last Sunday (May 1st), U.S. forces found and killed Osama bin Laden in a mansion in Pakistan. Bin Laden was the head of Al-Qaeda, who carried out the terrorist attack on America on September 11, 2001. From then until the hour of his death, bin Laden was the face of terrorism for many Americans, a shadowy and frustrating enemy lurking in the darkness of a world not our own.

When word came of the dispatching of bin Laden, New York’s Times Square filled with cheering people. New York, of course, was particularly targeted on 9/11 via the World Trade Center Twin Towers.

Headlines from two of New York's less tasteful papers.

It’s okay to feel relief that bin Laden has been found and will never cause harm to anyone ever again. It’s okay to feel relief, even though his death doesn’t solve the terrorism quandary once and for all. However, cheering feels wrong to me.

The shooting of bin Laden is the inevitable end to a tragically wasted life. With the resources he was born with, bin Laden could have been a force for good, showing people the best side of Islam instead of dragging it into a pit of revenge and violence. He chose a life of violence, and in the end he reaped what he had sown.

It’s hard to compare this to the end of World War II. Back then, we knew we had ended a particular villainy, and it meant the return of so many more troops and the renewing of a prosperous way of life that the war interrupted. Here, we do not know when our troops will come home (though they probably should with no clear mission now), and national prosperity remains uncertain. The “war” on terrorism will continue, though it may never be definitively won.

One villain gone, a few more to go.

Make room for time to watch ducklings

2011-04-30T15:40:00.000-07:00

I used to live in an apartment complex which had artificial lakes populated by mallards. Every April, I looked forward to seeing fluffy little ducklings appear with their moms. It was a sign of spring, a sign of life beginning anew. (Sometimes, I would see ducklings in June, which I would call "late harvest" ducklings.)

I have since moved away from the complex, and I miss seeing ducklings in April. I know of few places where I know mallards congregate - the Fullerton Arboretum, for one, and a few parks not too close to where I live now.

So what? Despite high gas prices, a view of ducklings is worth the drive. It's a small joy that comes and goes before one knows it. Maybe tomorrow I will find a place to view ducklings.

("Maybe tomorrow"...doesn't that sound so sad?)

Soap snobbery

2011-04-28T14:55:00.000-07:00

I’m a soap snob, and I’m proud of it.

I am the kind of person who is extra-particular about what kind of soap will enjoy the privilege of connecting with my skin. For example, I will pay $5.99 for a single bar of specialty soap instead of paying the same for an eight-pack of a brand I would find at a supermarket. Yes, one bar of good is worth eight bars of mediocre.

Where did my soap snobbery begin? Where nearly everything else does, in childhood. The only soap that my mom would buy was Zest. Why, I have no idea, but those aqua-colored bars were the only ones we used – and I got tired of them real quick.

I hoped for some Dial once in a while, or Ivory or even Safeguard (see how low my standards were back then?), but when you are not in charge of the shopping, you have to accept whatever’s in the bag. To this day, I not only will not buy Zest, I won’t even touch it. Now, I doubt that Zest is significantly worse than any other brand of supermarket soap. But I have had more than my fair share of it in this lifetime, and enough is enough.

Years later, when I was in college and had little disposable income, a bar of soap became an affordable luxury. I haunted tiny boutique stores in Santa Monica, often carrying away one small bag containing a single bar of rose- or lemon-scented soap, or several guest-sized servings of same. Under the influence of Alexandra Stoddard (author of “Living a Beautiful Life” and other MM Best Books Ever), I chose soaps with ground vanilla beans and fluffy flecks of oatmeal. (It didn’t take much to make me happy.)

I would collect soaps when I traveled – often, it was the only item I wanted that I could afford in the store. I bought soaps faster than I could use them, and it took some thoughtfulness to make sure most of them got their turn in the bathroom. In time, nearly all of them did (and those who did not, Two Dogs and I gave away to friends).

Today, there are no bars of soap in the Hakim bathroom. Only shower gel. Two Dogs is fond of Avon Naturals, and I buy it in bulk when it is on sale. We have a lavender shower gel with an overpowering scent (Two Dogs said he could taste it in his beer).

I also bought two 24-ounce bottles of combination shower gel/shampoo/bubble bath from Ulta (above). It was a buy-one-get-one-free deal. As with many things in life that don’t work out in the end, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Two Dogs likes the orange one, so he can have it. As for the chocolate…I know now that chocolate is something best experienced in 72% cacao squares and ice cream. Not in shower gel.

I’m going back to soap. I’ll be smart about it, buying one bar at a time and not buying another until the one I have is almost gone (unless I travel and go into a gift shop and see something special…I need to make room for surprises!). I will alternate between fruit and flower scents, and anything else that’s interesting. I will not buy soaps from regular supermarkets. “Natural” supermarkets, like Mother’s in Orange County, Sprouts, and Whole Foods, have excellent selections, but nothing that comes in an eight-pack. (That’s a good thing.)

The "good guys" at the natural supermarket...

...and the "bad guys" at the regular supermarket. (Notice the Zest in the bottom right-hand corner.)

P.S. I bought this lemon verbena soap from Trader Joe’s. It makes our bathroom smell like lemons. Yummy!

A little time machine from a yard sale

2011-04-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

At a neighborhood yard sale not too long ago, I picked up this little gem:

I may be one of the minute percentage of people who would call a TV Guide dated March 18-24, 1967 with a drawing (a actual pencil drawing, by Bernie Fuchs) of Jackie Gleason (Generation Y asks, “Who the hell is he?”) a “gem”.

It is so from way back then that programming in color is specially noted. It is so from way back then that NBC had a series called “Experiment in TV”, and one of its shows spotlighted intellectual Marshall McLuhan.

An hour-long show featuring an intellectual on network television? Where can I hitch a ride to March 19, 1967? (Meandering Mouse was around back then, but at one year and eight months old I was not yet prepared for the mind-blowing McLuhan experience.)

But 1967 wasn’t a good year for meandering mice of the four-legged variety. Take a look at this ad for D-Con:

Somehow, the words “amazing mouse-killer” offend me much more than the imagery of a woman jumping on a chair at the sight of a tiny rodent. Maybe a dose of Midol will help:

It will change something more than your mood!

And look…what’s this?

It’s text! Text in TV Guide! Text in TV Guide…that tells an actual story!!!

When was the last time you saw so many words on a magazine page?

Popular magazines are far from being scholarly journals, but in the golden age of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, they gave people so many words – and so many ideas. Life and Look may have put celebrities on their covers, but underneath those famous faces, readers found well-researched stories and in-depth analysis of the issues of the day. Magazine publishers assumed that not only a.) you could read this much text, but b.) you wanted to read this much text.

What you will find in a 2011 TV Guide can barely be called reading at all. It’s word filler, much like those meat “extenders” that fast-food restaurants use to add heft to their hamburgers. If you try to “read” it, its meaning will slide right out of you, just like a fast-food burger slides out of your digestive system. You will have gained nothing, but have lost time.

This is why I will never stop collecting old magazines. Reading them is so much more intellectually enjoyable than reading (most) new ones.

Yard sales, for the most part, are not too rewarding for the prospective customer. These are the items that most people want to banish from their households for good – old clothes that haven’t reached the vintage stage yet, VHS tapes (how boxy and bulky they were!), and stacks of once-read Danielle Steel paperbacks.

Yet we always stop and look.

We never know when we will discover a gem hiding in the trash…a little time machine to a more thoughtful time (“I Dream of Jeannie” notwithstanding).

Look, Ma, no Surgeon General’s warning box!

Savagery for stupidity: a bad trade

2011-04-10T09:24:00.000-07:00

Terry Jones, a Florida pastor who famously threatened to burn a Koran last September 11th, made good on that threat on March 20, 2011. As proof, he videotaped it and put it on his website (I’m not putting that link on here). Jones and his followers pronounced the Koran “guilty” of “death, rape, torture of people worldwide whose only crime is not being of the Islamic faith.” (It has long been a crazy conservative tactic to blame the book.) Jones said that he has no desire to be in an anti-Islam movement. That is like someone saying that he has nothing against my husband and me, and then setting a match to a photograph of us. Jones is old enough to realize that it’s what you do, not what you say, that matters.

The world media ignored this event for the most part, except for the wire service Agence France-Presse. The news of the Koran burning eventually reached Afghanistan, and after that angry men ran amok, resulting in the deaths of 24 people, including seven UN workers.

Burning a Koran is lame and pointless. First of all, it’s far from the only copy – you can’t kill a religion by destroying a single so-called “holy book.” Second, it’s needlessly provocative. I am an atheist, but I know I won’t bring people over to my side by burning a Bible.

If I did, though, how responsible would I be for what happened next?

Jones said he was not responsible for the riot deaths in Afghanistan. He is right. Why couldn’t those Afghan Muslims have thought: “Well, an American jackass has burned a Koran. So what?” We can only be responsible for our own behavior (unless we are mentally ill); we cannot be so for that of other people, whether it be those in front of you or those on the other side of the world. Stupidity is bad enough, but to respond with savagery is like setting fire to a pyramid of feces. (If you’re reading this during a meal, pardon me for the gross imagery – but it is so fitting, isn’t it?)

Evolve already, people.

Snapdragons!

2011-04-05T11:20:00.001-07:00

A beautiful sign of spring.

What does the word “oldies” mean now?

2011-03-27T16:30:00.000-07:00

Some of you have gone through it already. Some of you have not.

If you’re lucky, you will go through it. But you probably won’t like it.

I’m talking about that not-so-magic moment when you hear a song from your high school days…on the oldies station.

For me, it was even worse. I was listening to K-EARTH 101, the premier oldies station in Los Angeles, and “Fresh” by Kool and the Gang came on. I was in college the year it came out (1985).

Suddenly, I felt that much…older.

If you listen to K-EARTH, or any other oldies station, you’ll find that it’s now full of 1970s and 1980s songs. When I was in high school, “oldies” meant the 1950s and 1960s, sometimes reaching up to the early 1970s. I was way into 1960s music back then, far more than what was currently on the radio, and in addition to listening to K-EARTH and KRLA 1110 AM, I bought oldies 45s from a small record store on Venice Boulevard, not far from my high school. I still have most of those 45s somewhere.

What joy I heard in “Summertime” by Billy Stewart, “Groovin’” by the Rascals, “Let’s Live for Today” by the Grass Roots, “Friday on my Mind” by the Easybeats, “Come on Down to My Boat” by Every Mother’s Son, “Laugh Laugh” by the Beau Brummels, “Winchester Cathedral” by the New Vaudeville Band, and so many other songs that you don’t hear on the radio anymore, even oldies stations, unless you subscribe to Sirius XM.

The line that divides oldies from “today’s music” moves slowly, but it moves. Back in the 1960s, “oldies” meant songs from the 1930s and 1940s. Where does one go when the oldies are the songs you once tried to escape from with older songs?

To talk, that’s where. (The good kind – the kind you’ll find on NPR, Pacifica, and progressive radio stations. The opposite of “progressive” is “regressive”. Think about it.)

Now I’m as eager a collector of radio podcasts as I used to be of 45s. Rarely does a day go by without listening to talk in my car, on my computer, and even through the radio sometimes. I have all but stopped listening to the songs I loved.

Maybe that is why I feel so dull and dry inside too often.

What does the word “oldies” mean, anyway? If songs make you feel young and happy…are they really that old?

If songs can make me feel excited and fresh again…why aren’t I listening to them?

Farewell to the “last star”

2011-03-23T16:05:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning, I looked over Two Dogs’s shoulder and saw the television on. Two Dogs had woken up early and turned it on, but had come back to bed. I listened, and the commentators were speaking about Elizabeth Taylor.

I froze in shock. There is only one reason why news commentators talk about old-time movie stars at the top of the hour. I listened and watched the screen even though it was blurry through my astigmatic eyes. I didn’t want to put on my glasses and read the words on the screen. I knew what those words would be.

Even hours later, it is still hard to believe. I am not ready to live in a world without Elizabeth Taylor. Even though she was seventy-nine, an age which is near the average American lifespan – and more years than she may have expected given her epic struggles with health – this is more than the death of a movie star. It is the breakage of one of the last strong threads between now and Hollywood’s Golden Age.

Ms. Taylor was a role model for me growing up, even though I had missed her heyday of the 1950s and 1960s. Reading her biographies took me away from my surroundings of unpopularity and financial struggle and into a world of glamour, beauty, fantastic wealth, and never having to worry about finding love. Back then, I thought it was fabulous to have been married so many times.

Now, multiple marriages don’t sound so “cool” to me (especially when there’s no loving spouse to be there at the end). Ms. Taylor’s life was filled with physical suffering, weight problems, addictions, and furious public disapproval as well as diamonds, gowns, and worldwide fame. Perhaps the modest joys are the best ones.

I have seen a few of Ms. Taylor’s films, some not too long ago – The Sandpiper, The VIPs, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? No doubt, I will be renting more from Netflix soon – perhaps I’ll even muster the courage to take on the four-hour-plus Cleopatra.

Take some time to think about what Elizabeth Taylor means to you – and remember a time when even great scandal didn’t eclipse great beauty and mystique. (You never opened a fan magazine and saw a photo of Ms. Taylor going to the supermarket!)

Farewell to a good friend (part 2)

2011-03-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

When I went to the Tustin Borders last month, it had still not started its liquidation process, and thus still looked neat inside. When I went to the Orange Borders (at the Block), those dreaded “Everything Must Go” signs were already in the window – and I should have known what that meant.

The store was all but gutted inside. Whole shelves were denuded of books, the magazine section had nothing left but the ones people don’t want (including Grit – it’s been decades since I’ve seen an issue of Grit), and the once-charming Paperchase section felt more like an abandoned ghetto.

I remember watching with eager eyes as this store rose from the ashes of the old City Shopping Center. I passed by it to and from work, hoping that the store would open soon so I would have a more convenient book-buying experience. And once the store opened, it was great to stop after work, especially when it was after nine p.m. and I wanted to reward myself after a hard day. (Books or not, I never want to commute after 9 p.m. again.) The Block had other places to enjoy, such as the now-closed Hilo Hattie, the now-closed Virgin Megastore, the AMC movie theater, Café Tu Tu Tango, and Koji’s Shabu Shabu restaurant. But it was the Borders which kept me coming.

It was a downer of a shopping experience. I did not find what I was looking for, most notably the March/April 2011 issue of Writer’s Digest, which had some important freelance information. The one thing I might have purchased was this exercise video, “The Flat Belly Workout”:

But at the time, it was that or the Writer’s Digest issue, and the Writer’s Digest would potentially lead me to hundreds if not thousands of dollars of income, so…I went to the nearest Barnes & Noble to purchase it.

Now, Barnes & Noble is not having stores liquidated. It is still a functioning bookstore, and coming there after leaving the Borders was like seeing the difference between the Getty Museum and the average Greyhound station. If you don’t believe me, go into the closest B&N. Especially if you live in Glendale. The three-story B&N at The Americana at Brand is a book palace, worth saving to shop in.

I used to think that it was a poor marketing practice for B&N to charge $25 per year for its rewards card, while the one for Borders was free. Now I think this is just another case of “you get what you pay for.”

I can still shop at Borders – the one at South Coast Plaza is now the nearest one to me, and I can always go online as well. But without the stores in Orange and Tustin, it will no longer be as convenient.

P.S. I went back to the Orange Borders when I had money to pay for the “Flat Belly Workout,” and it was gone. It bothered me more than it should have. I did want to buy one last thing here, but I could not think of anything else I wanted here, and the store was even more empty than it was the last time. So I walked out of the doors, most likely for the very last time.

I think of the old saying, “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.” I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to buy so many great books at these two stores, even as I know that because of my Amazon Kindle (and the iPad I plan to get), my book-buying habits are going to be different from now on. I see myself buying more e-books and less physical books, even in functioning B&Ns. My bookshelves will be full of old favorites and books that don’t translate well in e-form (such as art books), while everything else hides in my e-readers.

Books will always be with us, just as music will. It’s only how we connect with books that will change. And that’s OK.

LAT's FoB folly

2011-02-27T18:00:00.000-08:00

The Los Angeles Times Festival of Books is an outstanding springtime ritual. Every April, authors, booksellers, readers (and, sometimes, a Meandering Mouse) come together on the splendid campus of UCLA to celebrate the joy of the written word. We listen to writers discuss their books and craft, buy out-of-the-way books from rare and independent booksellers that we would never have found otherwise, eat iced lemonade at the top of Janss Steps…

Not in 2011, we don’t.

It seems an earwig has crawled into the ear of the LAT which is telling it wrong things.

The Festival of Books will not take place at UCLA this year. Instead, it’s going to be at…wait for it, I’m trying to write this without headbutting the keyboard…USC. (At least there’s no earwig telling me wrong things, because I’ve resisted the temptation to forget the caps shift and type “usc”.)

According to the “official” explanation, “The move allows for increased attendance due to USC's central location, proximity to public transportation, abundant parking and newly enhanced campus facilities.”

Wasn’t Westwood “central” enough? How many buses stop at UCLA? (Nineteen, from seven different bus lines.) Weren’t these facilities good enough???

Can USC offer the experience of climbing towards the sky via Janss Steps?

How about these benches, perfect for sitting a spell and browsing through your purchases?

Or going into the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden and looking up, way up, at Gaston LaChaise’s “Standing Woman”?

And Deborah Butterfield's "Pensive" horse has far more character than that Trojan horse:

When you step off the campus of UCLA, you enter the charming town of Westwood. What happens when you step off the USC campus? You’re in the south part of downtown L.A…where the houses have bars on the windows .

I had been thinking about going back to the FoB this year. (The last time I went was in 2008.) But now…it’s not looking like a good idea. (As if Two Dogs would even let me go to downtown L.A. by myself.)

I’m bummed. I feel that something special has been taken away from me, and there’s no place to shout at about it…except this blog. Of course, why can’t I visit the UCLA campus without the lure of the FoB? (It still has an excellent student bookstore.) Beats spending one bitty penny at u…um, USC.

Good luck with this year’s FoB, LAT. Remember, if this USC experiment doesn’t work out, you still have a home in Westwood.

All photos taken at the 2008 Los Angeles Times Festival of Books at UCLA by Jennie Brown Hakim, except the one of the bottom of Janss Steps, which is courtesy of Wikipedia.

Respecting your bowls

2011-02-26T18:52:00.001-08:00

These are the bowls my husband and I use for soup, ramen, and stews. They are all the same size, but different colors. Because there’s only two of us in the household, these four bowls rarely get used all at the same time. Often, we use only one because my husband sometimes skips lunch and/or dinner.

Here’s what happens when it’s time to put a bowl back on the shelf:

1. I pick up the bowl that has been used, washed, and dried.

2. I take it to the shelf, and...

3. …put it at the bottom of the stack.

This is what I call respecting the bowls, or being fair.

I’m a person who lives by logic, not superstition. On the surface, the idea of “respecting” inanimate objects seems as silly as believing in ghosts. But that is just the surface.

Cycling the bowls is a logical idea. Each bowl receives equal use, washing, and risk. I won’t end up with one well-used bowl on top and three barely-used bowls below. I bought these four bowls at Ross Dress For Less. Yes, they sell housewares, too, and most of them are of good quality. But the “Ross Rule” still applies: If you see something you like and you can afford it, buy it now, for tomorrow it may not be there. The last time I went to Ross, I found bowls of the same shape as the ones we have now, but not the same colors. So if I break one of these bowls, I may never again find one like it. By cycling the bowls, each bowl has the same chance of being broken. I do the same with plates, glasses, and cups.

I like having a fair cupboard – it is something that I can make fair.

Farewell to a good friend (part 1)

2011-02-20T18:50:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was a small child, going to a bookstore was more exciting than going to Disneyland. From the living-room sized, fluorescently lit boxes in suburban malls to the double- and sometimes triple-deck stores of the booming 90s, I have spent many a happy moment meandering around bookstores – even when I couldn’t buy that day.

Borders is one of my favorite bookstores – “one of” standing proudly in a long row of favorite bookstores of all kinds, from chain to independent to used. (I like bookstores that contain books I want to read.) I feel special pride when I have the opportunity to purchase from an independent bookstore like Latitude 33 in Laguna Beach or Small World Books in Venice, CA. However, these two stores are not conveniently close to me. It also helps that Borders has a free discount card (the Barnes and Noble card costs $25 per year) with which one can receive discounts of up to 40% off.

This week, Borders announced its bankruptcy and will close about one-third of its U.S. stores, including two that are close to home – the one in Tustin District (which opened not too long ago, in August 2007) and the one at the Block in Orange (I saw it being built on the way to and from work in 1998).

I feel melancholy about these closings. Even though these are not the only two Borders close to me, I believe I spent more time in these two. I can see a book on my shelves and remember (for the most part) exactly where I bought it. Many of my books came from the shelves of the Tustin and Orange Borders stores.

I also feel guilty. For the past couple of years, I haven’t been buying books at Borders as much as I used to – mostly due to financial reasons, but also because of my Amazon Kindle. These days, when I am able to buy a book, Kindle is my first choice – unless a book has colorful illustrations. (That may change when I get my iPad.)

Recently, I visited the Tustin store with a buy one paperback, get one more at 50% off coupon. As I walked toward the storefront, I expected gigantic red and white signs screaming STORE CLOSING, but they weren’t there (yet).

Inside, it looked normal for a weekday afternoon – not that many customers, shelves full of current books and magazines. I looked for the book The Anti-9-to-5 Guide by Michelle Goodman, but it wasn’t there. (A store fails, if only a tiny bit, when it doesn’t have what you want.) I did find Hell’s Angels by Hunter S. Thompson. I have a semi-official rule not to buy new books by deceased authors (because they get no royalties), but I couldn’t find it at the library and it’s not available on the Kindle, either. (I think this is the kind of book that needs to be read on paper in Times Roman font anyways, just like it appeared in 1966.)

Now for one more paperback to satisfy the coupon requirements. I had a hard time with this. I looked for a useful book, one about the Chicago Style of writing, but the one in the computer was a.) not in the store, b.) not in paperback, and c.) cost $65.00. I looked in a few of my favorite sections, Biography, Self-Help, and Sociology. (Notice the multiple books about food in the Sociology section.)

Then I scanned Literature, and was about to take home a small paperback copy of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus (which, again, is hard to find in the library – and redundant because we have not one but two complete volumes of Shakespeare, but they’re hidden in our storage space), when I turned into the Spiritual section and found Creating Money by Sanaya Roman and Duane Packer. I remembered this title because SARK had talked about it in a radio interview with “Mary in the Morning”. It was not the kind of book I’d thought I’d find at Borders – but I was grateful for the miracle, as it were.

In the next few weeks, I will visit the Borders in Orange and buy something (and take pictures, too). Life goes on, and sometimes things and places you love just aren’t there anymore – you know this, Flex shampoo fans. But somehow, you’ll still find what you essentially need.

Why do we watch the Super Bowl?

2011-02-06T10:58:00.000-08:00

You don’t have to care about either of the two teams playing to watch the Super Bowl. You don’t have to even care about football itself to watch the Super Bowl.

What does the Super Bowl do for us?

1. It gives us a reason to get together with our friends.

2. It gives us a reason to cook and eat nutritionally incorrect food, food that is salty and greasy and fatty and tasty.

3. It gives us commercials to laugh at and talk about later.

4. If you’re a gambling person, it gives you something else to bet on.

5. If you go to work on Monday, it gives you something to talk about with your co-workers.

6. And, of course, it gives us a reason to drink intoxicating beverages.

Of course, any given NHL or NBA game from now until the playoffs can fulfill these same purposes. But it’s the NFL’s final game of the season that makes our “Super” day.

Do we really love watching oversized men knock each other down? Maybe we have loved that since we walked on two legs.

I am hardly a football fan (the above graphic notwithstanding), but I will be watching with Two Dogs and friends. I will probably be eating nutritionally incorrect foods and drinking intoxicating beverages (not too much!).

I will take advantage of this temporary distraction from regular life – life which can be worrisome and stressful and dull – and I will probably talk about it later.

I will most likely forget the details about the game, but not the food and the fellowship and the commercials.

I will probably do it again next year.

The Impala – Bel-Air – Biscayne game

2011-01-30T12:23:00.000-08:00

I approach this post with trepidation. My last post was my 100th on this blog, and this post will break that perfect symmetry.

But I don’t want a blog that ends at 100 posts. Would you? So, on to 200 (and beyond!).

I’m going to discuss one of my special childhood pastimes. At the age of 10, I became obsessed with – ahem, interested in Chevrolet vehicles – specifically, Impalas, Bel-Airs, and Biscaynes.

Now, I was no gearhead then, and am not now – if you asked me right now, I cannot tell you what a carburetor is for. My best guess is I became interested because my maternal grandmother drove a sky-blue Biscayne that was way cool (before I knew what way cool was). Decades later, Flickr helpfully informed me that Biscayne and Bel-Air were "poor man’s" Impalas. I’m not buying that. To me, Impala and Bel-Air and Biscayne were and are triplet brothers, riding boldly side-by-side from 1958 (when Impala and Biscayne joined Bel-Air in the Chevy lineup) to 1972 (when Chevy discontinued Biscayne in America).

In the 1960s and 1970s, the three models looked alike for the most part, except for the taillights: Impala had six (three on each side), while Bel-Air and Biscayne had four (two on each side). This was an important detail for identification.

You see, in the mid-1970s I carried a notebook and pen with me at all times, and I counted all of the Impalas and Bel-Airs and Biscaynes that I saw. From the school bus, from the backseats on cars, and on foot, I dutifully recorded each one with a single straight scratch mark.

(Impalas were always most plentiful, and Biscaynes rarest.)

It was amazing how many I could count in Washington, PA, population approximately 20,000 (in 1975) – even while following the rule of not counting the same car twice. If I passed a Biscayne walking up a hill, I would not count it walking down the hill.

What was the purpose of the Impala – Bel-Air – Biscayne game? It got me to keep my head up and look around. It gave me something to do, something to distract me from my small childish problems. It was there when I needed it, and for that I will be forever grateful.

It is practically impossible to play the Impala – Bel-Air – Biscayne game today. In 1975, it was easy to find cars that were three to seventeen years old (1958-1972). In 2011, Impala is the only one of those three models that Chevy still builds. Bel-Airs and Biscaynes have all but disappeared “in the field”; the last Biscayne I saw was this one rusting in a driveway in Orange:

You can play the game with a different set of cars. I would choose cars that are distinctive, easy to spot from yards away, and not that common – say, the Mini Cooper, the Toyota Prius, and the new Volkswagen Beetle.

If you decide to play this game, I suggest these simple rules:

1. Don’t count the same car twice.

2. Only count cars you see in real life – not on TV, not in the movies, not on the Internet, not in pictures.

3. Don’t play while you’re driving. This is one reason that keeps me from playing. That, and having so much more to think and care about now.

I can’t help but feel a little sad. What kind of person am I now who has no time to play an innocent car-counting game? Has my sense of play deteriorated into digitized versions of Mahjongg and Chuzzle?

I hope not. There is still so much to look at in the wide world of life, even while driving. And beautiful objects do not need to be counted to be remembered. Their “is”-ness is one giant, splendiferous scratch mark in the universe.

Those minor annoyances

2011-01-28T18:58:00.000-08:00

I often get annoyed with other people’s list of pet peeves. Some of the stuff that grinds gears out there sounds so petty. People who use cell phones in supermarkets? (I am one of those; I sometimes need to ask Two Dogs what to get. A supermarket is not a theater.) People who don’t take off their hats when the national anthem is played? Biodegradable chip bags that are too noisy? Get a grip.

Then I remember that I have pet peeves of my own which may sound petty to you.

When I visit the supermarket on Fridays (or sometimes on Thursdays, if I’m at Bristol Farms) in the third week of the month, I see new magazines on the rack. Magazines like Sunset and Self and Bon Appetit and More – all of which I subscribe to. I see the fresh new issues in the supermarket, and look forward to seeing them in my mailbox promptly.

To the powers who run magazines, “promptly” means three to seven days – or even more – after the newsstand appearance.

I remember a time when one of the privileges of subscribing was receiving the issue before it showed up on the newsstand. It was like receiving a Christmas or birthday present. Now, I feel like a chump as the shiny covers of the magazines I subscribe to mock me in the supermarket for days.

(As of this evening, January 28, I am still waiting for More – and it’s hard because it has a new “book club” feature. I hope it gets here tomorrow – it’s a good magazine for “tub night.”)

P.S. I just realized that this is my 100th post. Somehow, I feel a little proud today.

My contribution to a most contentious debate

2011-01-21T22:13:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art

(No, not the "tiger mother" debate...we all know that this is not the way to raise the people we have been waiting for. So shut down the publicity machine for this woman, already!)

The question of whether people should eat meat has become another American infinity debate, like those regarding abortion and the death penalty. You can see this debate in full flower in Alternet's "Food" section. At this point, this is becoming just as boring as abortion and death penalty debates.

If you reach back into the past, say, 288 years ago, you will find wisdom you can use today. As a teenager, Benjamin Franklin read a book about vegetarianism and decided to follow the diet. His motive was mainly financial: a meatless diet allowed him more money to purchase books (a good reason indeed). A boat trip from Boston to New York, during which the crew fished for cod, was an eye-opener for young Mr. Franklin:

I balanced some time between principle and inclination until I recollected that when the fish were opened, I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs. “Then,” thought I, “if you eat one another, I don’t see why we may not eat you.” So I dined upon cod very heartily and have since continued to eat as other people, returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet.” – Benjamin Franklin, quoted in Walter Isaacson’s Benjamin Franklin: An American Life(page 36)

Young Ben had an excellent point. I have come to this same conclusion: it is not inherently wrong for humans to eat animal products, whether flesh or milk or eggs. Animals eat other animals. It’s a fact of life. Who watches nature channels and scolds “Bad lion! Bad shark! Bad eagle!” when they see predators predating? Why are humans special?

Torturing animals, killing just for sport, waste – those are all evils. But we can kill animals for food respectfully and humbly.

Ideally, we would slaughter our own meat and catch our own fish. Modern life keeps most of us too occupied, and so we must rely on middlemen. Ideally, we would all buy organic meat. Organic meat is prohibitively expensive for Two Dogs and me at this point in time, so we get our flat iron steaks and cooked whole chickens at regular supermarkets. (If more people bought my e-book Goody Ideas, though…)

I am happy with meatless meals – macaroni and cheese with spinach, grilled tofu and brown rice, eggs on top of asparagus and ricotta cheese. But a life without shrimp, scallops, tilapia, halibut, salmon sushi, chicken (and its liver), thin ham slices (chipped ham in Pittsburgh), lamb chops, and flat iron steaks will be difficult for me.

The vehement species of vegan would think me a monster. The vehement species of vegan says you cannot be a good person and eat meat. The vehement species of vegan wants the whole world to stop eating meat – yesterday.

(For an audio example of this species, listen to Bob Linden’s radio show Go Vegan. It’s the most annoying radio show you can’t stop listening to.)

The vehement vegans say that everyone going meatless will save the world because it will reduce greenhouse gases. (I think it’s the industrialized farming, not the presence of cattle, which causes the greenhouse gases – what kind of greenhouse gases came out of the dinosaurs?)

But what if the whole world went vegan?

What if we all woke up tomorrow and promised to give up eating beef, chicken, fish, eggs, and dairy from that day forward?

Well…

1. Some of us would starve to death. It’s easy to forget this when you live in a country where fresh produce is practically in your face, but some people live in places with little or no arable land. Think of the Inuit (whom we used to call Eskimos), or the Tibetans.

2. What happens to the “food” animals if people decide not to eat them anymore? Will we just turn them loose from the farms and let nature take care of them? (That would make for some happy foxes.) Can they survive in the wild? Do vehement vegans even think about this?

3. Do we have enough farmland to feed 6,895,052,894 people (and growing fast?) Can we feed everyone on organic farming, or will we have to resort to unnatural interventions such as industrial farming and genetically modified seeds? I remember watching an episode of Penn and Teller’s Bullshit! in which they claimed that if we relied on organic farming alone, it would feed only 75% of the people. I am not sure if this is true, but I wouldn’t want to chance it. The next time you are in a crowd, divide whom you see into groups of four, and then decide which one should die from too little food.

Of course, there is also nothing inherently wrong with being a vegan or vegetarian. Remember, though, that the meat eaters help make this choice possible. You know what meat is? Food.

They will not thank us for this

2011-01-06T16:18:00.000-08:00

I shouldn’t read the news as often as I do.

It rarely informs me of what I need to know (an rare exception today: my individual health insurance rate is about to go up, and I may need to find a new provider), and it tells me things that do nothing but piss me off.

NewSouth Books, an Alabama-based publishing company, is coming out with a version of Mark Twain’s 127-year-old classic, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” with every instance of the word “nigger” transformed into the word “slave”. (There are 219 in all, or slightly less than the “niggers” you can count on the average gangster rap CD.)

Now, NewSouth Books is just one publishing company, not an agency of the government. People around the world will continue to be able to buy and read the unexpurgated Huck Finn. Alan Gribben, the Auburn University at Montgomery (Alabama) who suggested the project to NewSouth, claims that a “nigger”-less Huck Finn fulfills a need in the marketplace: to make the book more acceptable to students. “[E]ven at the level of college and graduate school, students are capable of resenting textual encounters with this racial appellative,” he writes in the introduction to this new edition. Well, Professor Gribben, many of these students have no problem with audio encounters with the same racial appellative.

I don’t like the idea of a neutered Huck Finn. I wouldn’t read it, and if I were a teacher I wouldn’t use it in my class. First of all, I object to this for the same reason I didn’t like the colorization of black-and-white movies and TV shows (a practice which, I am happy to say, has virtually disappeared): we should view historical documents in the manner of their original creation, so that we see the past as it really was. A child watching colorized episodes of “I Love Lucy” will think that color TV was the norm in the 1950s, and a child reading Huck Finn without the word “nigger” will not understand the casual way the word was used back in the mid-1800s.

Secondly, without “nigger”, Huck Finn readers will lose a necessary lesson in contextualization. Yes, Huck says “nigger”, but his actions – befriending and protecting a runaway slave named Jim – prove he is anything but a racist. Huck says the word because he grew up with people using the word, and it’s the only word for black people that he knows. When well-intentioned scholars try to demonize a single word – and it is still just a word, not a blow to the head – it cheapens the value of education. Our young people will not thank us for hiding the truth from them.

Let us hope that this bowdlerized Huck Finn will fail, and fail hard; this is a trend that must end. Otherwise, a century from now people might be going through our blogs and picking off the “offensive” language. (and who knows what words people will think offensive then? “Salt”? “Hamburger”? “Coca-Cola”?)

Six “ifs” for 1-1-11

2011-01-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

Today, many of you will resolve to make significant changes to make your life better. Some of you will aim to lose weight. Some of you are looking for new and better jobs. Some of you are hoping to be less stressed. I say, good luck to all resolvers.

I will not be among them, though.

I have made resolutions in the past, nearly all of them having to do with writing. Trouble was, I forgot them before January 31st came along. The tasks of daily living have a way of making you forget grand plans.

Today, I make resolutions for the day. On December 30th, my resolution was to write this post so it would be ready for you today. Making resolutions for the day is working for me – at least in this instance. Maybe it will work for you, too.

Here are six “ifs” (not resolutions) for 1-1-11:

1. If you don’t have a job, and want one…don’t call yourself “unemployed.” You’re actually “worksearching.”

2. If it’s sunny outside…go out and take a walk. Or, at the very least, look out the window. Sunshine in winter is a gift!

3. If you see a jerk on TV…change the channel. (Or turn it off.)

4. If big sweet navel oranges appear in your food store…buy them. (They are sunshine for your tastebuds!)

5. If you get a chance to taste anything flavored like egg nog…take it!

Egg nog cookies from Trader Joe's

6. If you see some good words in a book, in the newspaper, on a blog, or in your own head…share them with the world. Here’s mine:

Life is meant to be lived facing forward. – Jennie Brown Hakim

Happy New Year, everyone!

Some Goody Ideas for the holidays

2010-12-18T15:30:00.000-08:00

1. Go on a holiday light walk in a neighborhood that has lots of them. Bring a container of hot coffee or chocolate, wear good walking shoes, take your time and enjoy the electric art! (It’s one of the best nearly-free attractions around – well, nearly if you need to drive.)

2. Imagine you are a bird or a mouse living in a Christmas tree. Look way inside your tree, all the way to the trunk. Imagine living inside the trunk (or a little house in the tree), and then stepping outside and seeing all of the lights and decorations. Yes, that would be magical indeed. You might even buy or create a little house ornament (plus small animal occupants!)

Life inside of a Christmas tree, courtesy of Vons Supermarket

3. Even if it’s not a house, make a homemade ornament for your tree anyway. (Why should kids have all the fun?) Imagine the genuine pride you’ll feel when you look at your tree and see something that is uniquely yours.

4. Buy John Waters’s Christmas album. Come on, aren’t you tired of “Jingle Bells” already (and it’s not even a Christmas song; it’s a Thanksgiving song – look it up)? It’s time for some new carols – such as “Santa Claus is a Black Man” (c’mon, how do we know he isn’t?) and “Fatty Claus” (anyone who’s ever paid a post-holiday bill will raise a burning credit card in tribute).

5. What was your favorite toy as a child? I can name a few – Etch-A-Sketch, Spirofoil, a Fisher-Price “movie” camera, a Show’N Tell (record player with slide show) Why not safari for one online and give it to a special child in your life? Don’t think that all kids want the latest gimmicky gadget.

Show'N Tell from the 1960s

6. After that, why not give a little gift to yourself? My e-book “Goody Ideas" is only $5.00, and available for immediate download at my website. It will be a gift that will never grow old or stale.

Happy holidays, everyone!

It’s the season for giving – let’s do it well

2010-12-03T14:37:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art

It never fails – in November and December, charitable appeals rev up like nothing else. Even though need has no season, a spirit of goodwill fills our Thanksgiving and Christmas hearts (and our Hanukkah, Eid, and Kwanzaa ones, too), and that same goodwill spikes our generosity.

Nothing wrong with that – but we have so many important needs in this world that it’s overwhelming to imagine them all. How can we give without melting into a puddle of despair? Here are some guidelines which I believe will help:

1. Remember, it’s a gift, not an obligation. The basic duty for human beings is to live as harmlessly as possible. If you are a hermit living quietly alone, you are already fulfilling your duty. Everything after that is gravy. You don’t have to give a penny to charity. Just like giving myself permission to eat a cookie gives me the power to say “no”, remembering that charity isn’t mandatory frees me from resentment and allows me to be more generous.

2. Don’t give to solicitors outside grocery stores, post offices, banks, malls, etc. I know it’s hard to say no to a living person smiling at you and asking you to help the homeless. I know it’s easy to pull a stray dollar from your wallet and push it into the slot on top of the wooden box such solicitors have in handy. The true way to help the homeless, or any other kind of need group, is to know where your money is going. Legitimate, rock-solid charities almost never solicit in public places. Many public solicitors are also associated with religious groups whose values you may not be completely okay with. (Question for churchgoers: Does your church ask you to sit on a chair in front of a grocery store and ask for money all day?) Keep your spare dollars in your wallet and save them for a charity you know and agree with.

3. Research before you give. How do you find out which charities are legit? The same way you find out which airfare is lowest or where to find an out-of-print book – research. The Huffington Post alerted me to the American Institute of Philanthropy (AIP), which recently posted a slide show on the nine worst charities. Of course, they will tell you about the good ones on their site. Charity Navigator is another great resource. Knowing that your donation will actually help the needy, and not fill the pockets of administrators, is a great feeling indeed.

4. Think small and/or local. Besides researching, another way to learn about a charity is to actually see it in action. Look up all of the charities in or near your hometown. A food bank is an especially good choice, because you will see how many people get help as they pick up food. I tend to trust small charities more, too, because they don’t spend money on expenditures like, say, TV commercials. Small charities also fulfill needs that are not immediately obvious. One good one that I’ve heard of recently is Guitars for Vets , which gives guitars and music lessons to veterans. (Two Dogs likes this, too!)

5. Give to organizations you really care about, not the ones you think you should care about. If you think that your local opera company is worth paying for, or if you love a tiny Internet radio station that plays songs you haven’t heard since age thirteen, that’s where your money should go. Some people insist that feeding people, preventing disease, and/or protecting the environment must come first – of course, those are all vital. But creative expression, both ours and others’, make this a world worth saving.

6. Pick a charity per month. Given that there are so many avenues of need, it’s hard to pick just one – or even a handful. To make it easier, concentrate your giving on one cause each month. For example, give to people who make blankets for the homeless in January, the American Heart Association in February, the March of Dimes in March (can’t help it, it’s too fun to be seasonal).

7. Give to organizations that aim to solve problems. You know the old saying, “Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime.” Of course, if a man is starving, you’ll need to give him a fish now so he will be ready to learn to fish later. But I agree with the basic premise. Giving people food and blankets day after day and year after year does not address the need of jobs (for those who are employable) or affordable housing. I like charities whose goal is having their helpees not need it in the end.

8. Put the “fun” in fundraising. Writing a check and putting it in the mail or donating via PayPal are relatively dull activities. Why not make fundraising sparkle? Last year, I suggested that the people in my Sun magazine group get together at a local vegetarian restaurant (some of the group is veggie), and bring $20 each to donate to the magazine. (The Sun doesn’t accept advertising, just high-quality writing and photography. In this country, this means it struggles financially). If you dining room is big enough, why not host a similar fundraising dinner with your friends? Good people, good food, good talk, good cause – good times!

9. There’s no such thing as a totally selfish purchase. Sometimes I have blushed with shame when I buy a book or go to a restaurant. That money should have gone to charity! my guilty voice screams. Then I remember that I am not the only one who benefits. When I buy a book, I support the career of a hard-working author who brings great ideas to life on the page. When you download music, you help keep a roof over your favorite artist’s head. Even when you buy a laptop or big-screen TV at Best Buy, you preserve the employment of the people on the floor and behind the cash register. Spending keeps money flowing and helps others not need charity. That money flow will come back to you when you create things that people buy – and yes, that applies to Excel spreadsheets that your employer pays you $X per hour to create.

With that in mind, let’s make this season great for our communities, our nation, and our world!

Glad...no matter what

2010-11-21T19:45:00.000-08:00

Ever since the mid-1990s, I have been a dedicated reader of SARK, the author of colorful, handwritten, life-affirming books. If you haven’t read SARK (acronym for Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy), start with Succulent Wild Woman(as I did).

Earlier this month, SARK’s 16th book came out: Glad No Matter What. SARK describes how she faced losses large and small in her life (the large ones included the death of her mother, the death of her cat, and the loss of a love relationship). Even inside these big losses, SARK insists, you can find a piece of gladness that gleams like a rainbow.

Glad No Matter What came along at just the right time for me. Lately, it has been hard not to feel depressed about my career, with most of my applications and inquiries falling into a black hole (and not even a “thanks but no thanks” reply). Coupled with the chill and clouds of November, I’ve been feeling small and vulnerable and meaningless. Is there really a place for my work out in the world? How can I bring in some bacon (real bacon, not penny-a-word beggin’) for my household? Who should I be contacting for good, well-paying work?

Where’s the gladness in all of this? I have the time, means, and opportunity to find those good “whos”. I have Two Dogs by my side, and can go to him for the right answer when I have a question. I now know what I want and what I do not want, and am now able, at last, to say “no” to the “do not want”. When I remember this, I feel large and powerful and real.

Thanks, SARK! (And thanks also to Two Dogs for the photo of me with the book.)

A penny (per word) for my thoughts? I don’t think so

2010-11-21T11:13:00.000-08:00

Meandering Mouse is my blog for personal thoughts. As of now, I don’t get paid for writing it. I do, however, search for paying writing jobs each week. A few days ago, I received this reply from a blog post company:

Dear ********* applicant (not Dear Jennie or Ms. Hakim),

Thank you for your interest in writing for *********. Before we move forward and hire you as a freelance writer we need to confirm with you a few things.

As a new writer you will typically be assigned campaigns that will be on a payment level of 1-2 cents per word. You will have the possible opportunity to receive higher paying campaigns as time progresses and after your work has shown quality and consistency. The campaign pay levels can vary from .01 to about .05, this is never a permanent amount We also ask our writers to be able to commit to writing 3,000 words per week. This does not guarantee that all writers will be provided at least 3,000 words a week as assignments are dependent on campaign availability, but we feel that a writer should have the capacity to contribute at least this much when situation demands it. Overdue work is unacceptable and we ask that you only commit to writing for us if you can provide your work on time and consistently meet your deadlines. Please keep this information in mind when responding to this email & committing to working for us.

If you are still interested in writing for ********* (under the above terms), please respond to this email message at your earliest convenience. Please note this is the next step in the process and does not necessarily mean you will be selected. However, we need to receive your personal acceptance of these terms in order to move forward in this process.

Please let me know if you have questions.

Thank you!

After reading this, I turned to my calculator. I found that as a beginning writer at ********* – at one to two cents a word, 3000 words a week – I would earn $30 to $60 per week. (Remember, there is no guarantee of any writer being allowed that many words per week.) At the maximum rate, five cents a word, I would earn $150 per week.

Now, $30 to $150 per week might be an acceptable pay rate for a ten-year-old. Or someone with a breadwinning partner who wants to earn some Christmas Club money. Or someone who has traveled back to fifty or more years ago.

It’s not acceptable for someone in 2010 who aims to bring in at least half of a two-person household’s income. And it is absolutely not acceptable for any professional writer who cares about art and craft, who will take the extra time to make sure the facts are right, who does sweat the stuff small and large.

A penny a word is an insulting wage. Period.

I can hear the blowback now: That’s the way the business is. We’re competing with Third World countries now. Beggars can’t be choosers. Shut up and take what you are given. Don’t be a job snob. Don’t act so entitled.

Excuse me?

Wanting to be able to pay my bills and live a modest but comfortable lifestyle makes me a “job snob”? Wanting to be paid like a professional adult (and by doing so, making it easier for all other pro writers to have good wages) makes me “entitled?”

So be it. People who just shut up and take what they are given don’t become heroes, or role models, or wisdom brokers.

People who say “no” to insult? As far as I’m concerned, they are all three.

As I say, act like a character you would want to read a book about.

(Thanks to Two Dogs for lending a hand to the photo above.)

If you needed just one more reason to avoid chain restaurants…

2010-11-21T09:37:00.000-08:00

From In Pursuit of Silence by George Prochnik:

Customers exposed to slow music spent significantly longer at table: an average of 56 minutes as opposed to 45 minutes.…Stoked with data of this nature, chain restaurants, such as Dick Clark’s American Bandstand Grill, developed computerized sound systems that were preset to raise the tempo and volume of music at hours of the day when corporate wanted to turn tables. ‘A lot of the managers try to turn music down because they think it’s too loud for people eating,’ said Don Blanton, who developed the system for the grill. ‘So we’ve put in an automated system.’

In other words, even if every single customer complains about the sound volume at Dick Clark’s American Bandstand Grill, the manager can’t do jack because “corporate” is hell-bent on reaching into customers’ brains and playing puppetry of the senses.

I have written about the subject of unwanted public sound here before, but this paragraph lit my fuse. I am tempted, oh so tempted, to say that if you eat at a restaurant named after a TV show, you deserve what you get – but really, no one deserves this insidious kind of mind rape. Yes, that’s the right word – rape – when marketers invade your consciousness without consent.

Sounds much more horrifying when you think of it that way, doesn’t it?

Dancing in the dark

2010-11-14T19:01:00.000-08:00

It’s going to take some time for me to get used to the return of Standard Time, which happened a week ago. I’ve missed every hour of extra sunlight like Disneyphiles miss the Skyway between Tomorrowland and Fantasyland. Five o’clock was once a pleasant hour to hang out in; now it’s the first hour of darkness, which makes this meandering mouse scurry back into her (figurative!) hole. Except for occasional forays with Two Dogs and other loved ones, I stay indoors when it’s dark outside.

(What happened to the person who drove out to Ducks hockey games and Meetups and mall trips without thinking of it?)

I need to remember that in has its unique joys. In is the world of home-cooked meals from Two Dogs, usually with a glass of wine that costs less than one I would get at the bar. (As in a bottle of wine costing $22 at the restaurant and less than $7 at the grocery store. We pay a premium for out.) In is the world of reading on the couch or on the bed, drinking herbal tea with Splenda and nibbling on dark chocolate squares (sometimes with kosher salt sprinkled on them). In is the world of bubble baths, sometimes alone with a stack of magazines, sometimes with Two Dogs and a bottle of sparkling wine. Our modest little bathroom becomes a spiritually healing spa. In is where my shell renews itself, so it’s strong when it’s time to be out again.

Years ago, I used to dance in the world of in. I would twirl and jiggle to the sounds of Smash Mouth’s Astro Lounge and a soundtrack of James Bond movie themes and anything else my Emerson 5-CD changer was carrying. My Emerson is now tucked away in storage, and we don’t have much space for dancing (a situation which is changing bit by bit). Maybe dancing is a habit I should renew this fall and winter – it is but one way to give light to darkness.

Remember...

2010-10-26T21:41:00.000-07:00

Which way, voters?

2010-10-25T16:55:00.000-07:00

Image courtesy of jdurham at MorgueFile.com

Eight days from now, most of us (at least I hope) will exercise the right to vote for our government representatives. I often feel anxiety at this time, because while I do my research and try to make the right choice, I worry that not enough of my fellow voters will do the same.

Two years ago, I believed that decency and rationality was going to take a foothold in politics. Sadly, dark forces have sprouted up, conjuring up straw boogeymen to make the people frightened. These forces pretend to be the voice of the “common folk”, but their true agenda is grasping power, and the people be damned.

A frightened populace is one that is likely to make hasty, ill-informed decisions – decisions that could have damaging consequences that can last for decades. Now is not the time to make things worse.

So which way, voters?

Are you going to listen to your fear…or your hope?

Are you going to help make America great…or easy to hate?

The answers are in your hands.

Vote on November 2nd.

Put a filter on it!

2010-10-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

This is the filter that I bought and Two Dogs installed for our kitchen sink faucet. I bought it at Walgreens on sale for $8.99. The average price of a faucet water filter ranges from $16.99 to $60.00 and up, but knowing that your household is helping to reduce demand for bottled water is priceless.

We used to buy 24-packs of 0.5-liter bottles because we have a small refrigerator. We are pleased that many large bottled water manufacturers (Arrowhead being the pioneer) are reducing the amount of plastic used for their bottles. Still, it’s best to wean yourself away from bottles, because eight out of ten of the 29.8 billion water bottles Americans buy each year end up in the landfill, according to Earth911.com.

To reduce our bottled water use, Two Dogs and I first bought a Brita Slim pitcher , the smallest one available (40 ounces). However, it was too small for the amount of water we use. We not only need straight drinking water, but water for cooking and making coffee and tea. Pouring water into the Brita pitcher and waiting for it to filter took too long.

The faucet filter (made by Culligan for Walgreens, model WFM-17) is far more efficient. When we pull the long button on the side, regular water turns to filtered water. The water comes out as easily as it always did.

Now, some of you out there live in communities that have good-to-great tap water. Even so, it’s hard to get over the warnings about tap water we’ve heard all our lives. (It’s just like getting over the fear of large dogs if one of them bit you.) Buying a faucet water filter will give you the peace of mind you’ll need to break away from the bottle.

I have to admit that we haven’t stopped buying bottled water completely. We have polycarbonate bottles that we refill constantly at home, but if we take a really long trip, those bottles will invariably run out. If we must purchase bottled water, we choose bottles with less material such as Arrowhead’s. (I would really like to see fresh, filtered drinking water available on tap at gas stations and convenience stores!)

Two Dogs and I are happy with our trusted water filter. If you don’t have one already, make this your next household purchase. You will save money, make less waste – and you’ll be a better Earth citizen!

(This post is part of Blog Action Day 2010: Water. Please sign the petition below for safe water for everyone!)

Change.org|Start Petition

John Lennon...if

2010-10-09T14:13:00.000-07:00

John Lennon would have been 70 years old today if he was still alive. It’s hard to believe, and even harder to accept.

What would John have accomplished if he’d had the past 30 years? What songs would he have written, what words would have made us wiser? Dare I think that we would now be living in a more peaceful world…if?

No death has affected me more than the death of John Lennon. The more time separates me from that date, the more I miss him and the angrier I get at the injustice. In the time it takes to blink an eye, a small person can take the life of a great one.

Why should that be so?

Grief counselors, both professional and amateur, would advise me to stay focused on happy memories of John – which is a good idea, because I don’t want to have anger be the center of my life. Even if it is justified.

As it stands, what John left us was more than we have a right to expect from anyone. So if you have “Double Fantasy” on hand, play it (and don’t skip the Yoko tracks, please), even if "(Just Like) Starting Over" and "Beautiful Boy" make you cry. For tomorrow, we can sing – and give peace a chance.

Meandering Mouse to the rescue, in dreams and in life

2010-09-11T20:56:00.001-07:00

Last night, I dreamt that I went into the ladies’ room and entered a stall. For some reason, I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I put them on and saw something shocking in the bowl – several small white kittens and a whole bunch of mice of varying colors in the water.

I kneeled down, reached into the water, and brought out every animal I saw. Miraculously, all were breathing and still alive. When I had all the mice and kittens on the tiled floor, I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t want to leave them alone, because whoever had put them in the toilet in the first place might come back and do it again.

That’s where the dream ended.

Often, when a dream ends in uncertainty, I imagine a happy ending. I hope that the dream me found a container to take the mice and kittens out of the bathroom and to a safe place.

Fast forward a few hours later, when Two Dogs and I went to a local park so he could participate in a weekly musical get-together.

One of the guys was holding a black-and-white kitten, approximately six weeks old. It took me some time to realize that it was dirty, its eyes sticky with the infection that neglected cats get. It was a sad-looking creature.

I knew that if I did not do anything to help this kitten, I would regret it all my days.

I called 411 to get the number of Animal Control. They told me that I needed a box for the kitten to stay in. I sacrificed a cardboard box from my trunk that was holding a small blue pillow, an extra jacket, and a white Frisbee.

But as I was putting the black-and-white kitten in the box, I saw other people feeding and giving water to other stray kittens and cats. Striped, gray, calico. Most with sticky eyes, some of them skinny.

This was going to be more complicated – especially since none of the cats wanted to stay in my box.

When the guy from Animal Control got to the park, he said he couldn’t take any of the cats because they were feral, and therefore unadoptable. I was personally not sure about that, because a family came by and took one of the kittens home, but I had no basis for argument.

So the cat family is still in the park this evening, taking care of each other. I left my box there, because cats like to climb in and out of boxes.

Is there a lesson in all of this? Maybe.

Perhaps there are ideas of mine that are in an unsafe place and need to be brought up to the light. Perhaps I need to be more courageous in doing what is right.

Perhaps…it was just a strange coincidence.

Sleep well, wild kitties, and watch out for each other...like I will watch out for my ideas!

What’s the real problem?

2010-08-14T21:41:00.000-07:00

I would rather listen to a tape of javelinas farting – recorded on a 1970s era cassette player, the one shaped like a shoebox – than any syllable from Dr. Laura Schlessinger’s mouth. Dr. Laura (isn’t it a continent-sized red flag when a doctor is referred to by first name?) is a nagging, bitching radio show host with a voice like Edward Scissorhands groping a chalkboard.

Unfortunately, I have to link to this audio because it’s the soundtrack for my post (in two parts):

The mainstream media is calling this a “N-Word Rant”. However, such headlines ignore the real problem with Dr. Laura’s response to the caller.

As a writer and First Amendment (near) absolutist, I don’t accept the concept that people of certain skin colors are allowed/forbidden to use certain words. I don’t object, per se, to white Dr. Laura’s saying “nigger,” even eleven times. She didn’t use it as a direct insult to the caller. Context is everything when it comes to controversial words.

The issue I have with Dr. Laura is that she failed miserably in doing what she is supposed to do, i.e., help people. The caller, a black woman, wanted to know what to do about her husband’s friends who were making racist comments in her presence. Instead of giving the caller advice in how to talk to her husband, Dr. Laura dismissed her as “hypersensitive” and goes off on a tangent about who is and who is not allowed to say “nigger.” In other words, not answering the question.

To add insult to injury, Dr. Laura adds these charming quotes:

“[W]ithout giving much thought, a lot of blacks voted for Obama simply ’cause he was half-black. Didn’t matter what he was gonna do in office, it was a black thing.” (as if blacks are incapable of thoughtful voting)

“Don’t NAACP me.” (turning the name of a revered civil rights organization into an insult)

“You know what, if you are that hypersensitive about color and don’t have a sense of humor, don’t marry out of your race.” (you’ve got the problem, lady, not your husband’s friends)

That, to me, is far more offensive than any utterance of “nigger” ever could be.

Predictably, Dr. Laura realized that she had screwed up royally, and offered the by-now familiar media apology. The person she had really hurt, the caller, was a mere afterthought at the end. Call me unforgiving, but if I were the caller, I would not be impressed, and I would not call back.

We have freedom of speech, but that does not protect us from the consequences of our speech. I would hope that this would make Dr. Laura stop and think about how “moral” it is to tell people who are asking for help that they are the problem, but I am not holding my breath.

I will not post about this individual again. All wise people should simply ignore her and go take on their days.

Living 12’ x 12’

2010-07-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

I just finished a fascinating book called Twelve by Twelve: A One-Room Cabin off the Grid and Beyond the American Dream by William Powers. Powers, an environmental writer and activist, tells of his experiences staying in the 12’ x 12’ house (technically, a shed) of his friend, “Dr. Jackie Benton” (not her real name) in North Carolina. “Jackie” (a woman of such modesty that she doesn’t use her professional title) lives this way because in North Carolina, a structure 12’ x 12’ is legally too small to be a house, and therefore not subject to taxation. “Jackie” refuses to fuel the American war machine. Of course, if your house is not really a house, you won’t receive electricity or sewage from the state, either. (Powers used candles at night, a solar shower for bathing, and a composting toilet under the porch.)

One of my goals is to live a simpler life. I want to live with less stuff overall. The less stuff you have, the lighter you live and the freer you are. I could be content in a 1 BD/1 BA condo or apartment. But I cannot live 12’ x 12’ with no electricity and no plumbing. Well, in theory I could, but I would not be a very happy Meandering Mouse.

Not quite 12' x 12'. (Photo courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art)

Practically speaking, I need electricity so I can do my writing and graphics work on my computer. Emotionally speaking, I want to be able to take a bath indoors once in a while, open the refrigerator for cold drinks, and watch movies on DVD. Viscerally speaking, I do not want to deal with “humanure” (even if it is good for the garden).

Plus, 12’ x 12’ gets even smaller when divided by two. It is easier for a single person (like “Jackie” and Powers) than a couple. I know without asking that living 12’ x 12’ is a NFW for Two Dogs.

Even for those who will not take simple living that far, Twelve by Twelve is a beautifully written book that will open your mind to asking: What do I really need to be happy? Is there more to life than being a consumer? Are American exceptionalism and individualism insurmountable obstacles to making sustainable living the norm?

I love books that help me to ask questions.

I can be like this…or I can be like that.

2010-07-19T17:13:00.000-07:00

I take pride in the fact that I am practically immune to the lure of TV commercials. I can appreciate a catchy tune, clever humor, or the dichotomy between what was important then and what is important now when I watch the old one – and still not be tempted to buy.

Pay special attention to that word “practically”. If I were in the market for a new vehicle, I would definitely consider the Kia Soul, just because of this:

What is cuter than a rodent? Human-sized rodents wearing hoodies and getting all hip-hop in your grill.

Strangely enough, I relate more to the hamsters cruising along in the toasters and washing machines. Not because the car I drive now (Toyota Corolla) is in any way comparable, but because professional rejection makes me feel toasted and tossed in circles.

Why don’t I see myself as one of the dope hamsters rolling in the Soul, taking charge of life? Maybe self-depreciation is something else that I have no more time to waste on (see previous post ).

Black Sheep is still right: The Choice is Yours.

The time to waste on waste is over

2010-07-19T10:05:00.000-07:00

Today I turn 45.

This post is not going to be one of those maudlin, no-one-cares-about-this-but-me essays. At least, I hope it doesn’t come out that way. (I’m writing this early in the morning.)

But it is highly possible that I have passed the halfway point of my lifespan. That means the time to waste on waste is over.

Waste in the form of watching television I’m not really into (which means about 99% of what spews out of the glass teat* these days).

Waste in the form of reading text online that doesn’t give back. (That is especially true of comments sections – but not for this blog!)

Waste in the form of not listening to the audio files I download.

Waste in the form of not spending enough time outdoors.

Waste in the form of not making bold statements out of fear of other people’s blowback.

Waste in the form of not having confidence in my professional abilities.

Waste in the form of not charging enough for my work.

Waste in the form of worrying that I might end up in a Wal-Mart uniform.

Waste in the form of not spending enough time with Two Dogs.

Waste in the form of making this post longer than it needs to be. (I have so much more to do and be today!)

* Thanks to Harlan Ellison for this metaphor. Find and read his books The Glass Teat and The Other Glass Teat, please.)

Happy 70th birthday, Ringo...

2010-07-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

...and many more!

I don't care what Social Security says - I say it's at 70 when one crosses the line into elderdom, and I am glad our Ringo is there. (He did say in the New York Times that he felt 24, which is OK, too. Sometimes I feel 16, and sometimes when my knees creak I feel 55!) Let's all hold up the peace sign today.

I can't help thinking, if only John Lennon could have crossed this border in October of this year. One comforting thought is that people do not really "die" as long as the living remember and keep their ideals alive.

Peace (that means an attitude of calmness and serenity in the face of adversity) and love (and if you can't swing love, at least respect).

Those uncomfortable gray areas of life

2010-07-06T21:25:00.000-07:00

“I have a really good friend who was convicted of killing two innocent people when she was nineteen years old on a horrible night of 1969 cult madness. Her name is Leslie Van Houten and I think you would like her as much as I do.”

So writes John Waters, director of such cult classics as “Pink Flamingos” and “Hairspray”, in his new book Role Models (which I read a few days ago). Reading the story of Leslie Van Houten pushed me into the moral gray zone, where the thinking is hard and uncomfortable – as thinking should be every now and then.

I aim to keep outright ugliness out of my blog, so I will not give explicit description of Ms. Van Houten’s participation in the murders of Leno and Rosemary LaBianca. Although her role was not as vicious as that of the other participants, it is still bad enough. You can look it up yourself if you wish.

Leslie Van Houten is now 61 years old and has spent 41 of those years behind bars, save for a six-month period of freedom between trials in 1978. She has taught fellow inmates how to read, recorded books on tape for the blind, worked in high-responsibility clerical jobs, and earned a master’s degree in philosophy from Anitoch College. She has gotten clean from drugs, completely repudiated Charles Manson, and has apologized for her crimes time and time again.

I would not be afraid if Ms. Van Houten were to be paroled. However, I will not get a chance to not be afraid, at least not for three more years, because today she was denied parole for the nineteenth time. Robert Doyle, the chairman of the California parole board, gave this reason, according to the Huffington Post: “[S]he had failed to gain complete insight into her crime and its motivation.” Whatever that means.

Countless others have served far less time for murders just as cruel, if not more so –such as Steve “Clem” Grogan, another Manson Family member, was paroled after serving 14 years of a life sentence for the murder of ranch hand Shorty Shea. Countless other murderers have been paroled without the mitigating factors of brainwashing or drug influence. I believe, as many others do, that the only reason Ms. Van Houten has yet to be paroled is because this is “Helter Skelter” we’re talking about – tied with the O.J. Simpson murders as the most notorious of the 20th century. It’s a psychic stain as red as the lettering of the title of Vincent Bugolosi’s book .

Now comes the gray part.

Would I even think about parole for Ms. Van Houten if she had done that to someone who I loved?

Would I even think about parole for Ms. Van Houten if she had, for example, drowned five of her children in a bathtub?

Would I even think about parole for Ms. Van Houten if, instead of someone I admire like John Waters vouching for her, Sarah Palin was calling for her release?

If parole is justified here, why not for Ms. Van Houten's co-defendants, Charles "Tex" Watson and Patricia Krenwinkel? Weren't they just as brainwashed? Aren't they just as sorry now? (Charles Manson should never be paroled, will never be paroled, and probably doesn't even want to be paroled.)

It's as gray as a January morning in Seattle.

Apology is nowhere near adequate when it comes to murder, and forgiveness nowhere near possible. (The only people who truly have a right to forgive murder are the victims.)

But what about fairness? Is it possible to mention such a word in this case?

Does Leslie Van Houten deserve parole?

I don't know.

But it's a thought that will keep me up tonight.

Why it's just not cool to say "God Bless America"

2010-07-04T12:33:00.000-07:00

Today is America’s Independence Day, and I know that all of us will be hearing the songs of patriotism, including our national anthem “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I don’t think that was a good choice of anthem for three reasons:

1. It describes one tiny piece of our history (the Battle of Fort McHenry in Baltimore during the War of 1812),

2. It contains the “rockets” and “bombs” of war, and

3. The music is grating and often hard to sing.

I think “America the Beautiful” would be a better national anthem; it is musically superior and describes exactly what is great about our country (“spacious skies,” “amber waves of grain,” “purple mountains’ majesty,” etc.)

Some people want to have “God Bless America” as the national anthem. I think this is a bad idea, because “God Bless America” (both in song and statement) is offensive and arrogant. This has nothing to do with my atheism.

(Graphic courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art)

Think about it: The same people who believe in a God that is capable of blessing America are also most likely to believe that America is the greatest country in the world. If that is so, that means that God has already blessed America – thousands of times over. Hundreds of thousands of times over.

Those who believe in a God that is capable of blessing nations should be more Christian and ask that God to bless a nation that really needs blessing. Like Afghanistan, for example. Or Iraq. Or Sudan. Or Haiti.

“Christians” who have “God Bless America” bumper stickers on their cars, and who insist that America is the greatest, suffer from the same disconnect that people who boast about going to church every Sunday but refuse to give a dime to the homeless people they pass by on the street – outer piety that is obviously failing to hide inner selfishness.

To close this Independence Sunday sermon, think about what is great about America (such as the freedom to rent of John Waters movies from Netflix), enjoy your barbecues, and don’t even think about lighting firecrackers. It annoys the dogs, the cats, and the mice. Especially the mice with two legs.

BILB – Part Two

2010-06-15T20:38:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I wrote about BILBs (Because It Looks Bad) commonly found in websites. It occurred to me that some of them were painfully obvious (what professional uses tiled graphics in the background of his/her website these days? Well, some of those who use Twitter).

Bad design in print, however, is more ubiquitous – you see it in free newspapers, advertising postcards, low-class magazines, and even the Yellow Pages. The designer in me cringes at rows of glossy tires and poorly kerned prices. But the consumer in me will go, go, go if I need the service and the price is right. I hate to have to say it, but sometimes good design does not matter in the big picture.

The issue gets grayer and grayer as the prestige of the job goes up. When I was in Borders today, I pondered all of the different book covers:

All those fonts. All those pictures and/or drawings. All those colors.
What makes a good book cover? What is it that makes the publisher (I’ve heard authors have little input) say, “Yes, this is the look for this book?”

One of my graphic specialties is book cover design. I know in my heart that I can design a new cover for nearly every book in any bookstore. But can I design one that will earn a publisher’s “yes”? What is BILB for book covers?

I have a sampler of book covers at my design portfolio site. I did my best to avoid BILB in these covers. The question is, are they BILG enough for the marketplace?

As a professional book cover designer (among other things), I have to believe that is so. Perhaps a client may say “no” or want to make changes. The belief that I can, though, must and will not change.

This will be my summer of sisu. If you don't know what that is, ask any Finn. Or read this.

The BILB Factor

2010-06-11T07:59:00.000-07:00

For the past month, I’ve been getting my “official” website, www.jenniebrownhakim.com, ready for its Internet closeup. I’ve tweaked the text, checked it twice, created a product page for my e-book, Goody Ideas, and uploaded the HTML files to my web hosting provider (whom I’m quite pleased with so far).

Before I felt comfortable showing the world my site, I needed to make one last change. Paying for the domain name gave me free hosting privileges with my provider. But these privileges were not completely “free” – they came with the cost of having my provider post its ads on the top of all of my pages.

Way back in 2002, I took a website class, and my final exam consisted of creating a website with Tripod (remember that?). Back then, I didn’t mind so much having other companies’ ads on my pages. Now, I do. Very much so.

This site is my business face on the web. This is what people who would pay me their hard-earned money for my writing and graphics services will get as their first impression of me. No other website that I admire has hosting service ads on top. Why? BILB.

BILB?

Ever heard of the acronym BILC (Because It Looks Cool)? BILB is its opposite – Because It Looks Bad. In our professional and personal lives, we should all try to avoid BILB as much as possible.

What else do I consider BILB?

1. Using Comic Sans or Kristen fonts in e-book text.

2. Unnecessary, illogical capitalization and multiple exclamation points (as in, “This new Freelance Writing site will Knock your Socks Off!!!!!!!”).

3. Goofy cartoon .gifs and flashing buttons.

4. A sudden burst of loud, disruptive music the instant the site comes up.

5. Photographs/logos tiled in the background.

6. Times New Roman Bold on top of a bright color background.

7. Linking to my old Tripod site anywhere on this blog. (Yes, it does break some of these BILB rules.)

BILBs are not just for websites. Here’s a list of some lifestyle BILBs:

1. Dirty dishes left in the sink while company is over.

2. Dirty dishes left on the coffee table when company is over.

3. A bra that is visible in public.

4. A potato chip bag left open overnight.

5. Food residue left on the dining room table.

6. Spongebob Squarepants anything.

7. An unflushed toilet (perhaps the ultimate BILB).

This post is a turning point at Meandering Mouse. With the launch of my new website, I expect to be posting more often, and posting more practical advice. To those who like the blog as is, don’t worry – no matter where my career takes me, I will always make time for meandering, and I will tell you about it here.

As Chris Guillebeau, one of my favorite bloggers/travelers/entrepreneurs, wrote recently,

You’ve been coasting along in the present, then all of a sudden—the future! Is here! There’s no going back, no matter how much you want to. . . . [change] is the constant, and things are going to be different from now on.

Things are going to be different for me from now on, and I hope I’ll be strong enough to live this new working life. What helps is the love of Two Dogs and the knowledge that other people are doing this and are doing great – why not me?

Odd facts about me

2010-04-28T20:17:00.001-07:00

I was going to put this on my official website (coming soon, really, and I will let you know when), but then I decided that MM was a more appropriate venue:

1. I can’t stand the sight of food that is shaped like small balls. That means peas, capers, garbanzo beans, melon balls, Kix, Trix, Cocoa Puffs, etc. It doesn’t matter how these foods taste, if they come in the form of small balls, I won’t even look at them, much less taste them. (Strangely enough, caviar is the exception to this rule.) Don’t ask me why I feel this way.

2. Cinnamon Crunch (a spinoff of Cap’n Crunch) was my favorite childhood cereal. I have heard that Cinnamon Crunch is despised in other circles. I can’t understand why. Then again, I am far from being Ms. Average. If I were editor of People magazine, I would choose Steve Buscemi as the Sexiest Man Alive. (Actually, the sexiest man alive is my husband, but I don’t want to share him with the world!)

3. I like to watch intermission snipes – the short films shown between double features at drive-in theaters. These are not the same as trailers (previews of upcoming films). Intermission snipes welcomed the “folks” to the drive-in, reminded them to turn their headlights off while parking, put their speakers back on the post before leaving, and, most importantly, exhorted them to rush to the concession stand for popcorn, hot dogs, hamburgers, candy, and sodas (sorry, vegans, no steamed broccoli). It’s more than nostalgia for the Big Three pop cultural decades – the 1950s, the 1960s, and the 1970s. I also like the non-narrative quality of these films. No violence, no tragedy, no upsetting surprises – just the good news about the good food. Go to The Drive-In Exchange to find intermission DVDs and other groovy drive-in stuff. (I bought the complete "It's Intermission Time!" collection of snipes last summer, and it was one of the best purchases I made all year.)

4. I won’t eat whole tomatoes, but I like ketchup (Heinz only), pizza sauce, and tomato paste.

5. I like orange and lemon candies far better than red ones. I’d even choose a lime Life-Saver over a cherry one. (I told you I wasn’t Ms. Average!)

6. I haven’t had this in years, but my favorite sandwich is bacon pieces, snapped in half, inside one slice of a white, fluffy bread (such as Wonder) folded in half. Michal Pollan would not approve, but this is a delightful taste treat.

7. Don’t ask me why most of this list is about food.

8. My favorite attractions at Disneyland were (and I use the “were” purposefully; these all all extinct) Adventure Through Inner Space (the ride which “shrank” you to the size of an atom), and the America the Beautiful film shown in Circarama. I also like visiting the RV and houseboat exhibits at the fair. I don’t like rides that drop you down and spin you around and turn you upside down. But I do like to watch.

Environmentalism + optimism? Yes, really.

2010-04-28T20:07:00.000-07:00

Environmental news usually comes in three flavors these days: bad, worse, and stupid (such as KFI-AM’s John and Ken’s grating denial of climate change). It’s gotten so that I reflexively turn away from mainstream environmental news – yes, I know it sounds bad, but it’s a human instinct to flee from the apocalypse.

Then I read an interview with Alex Steffen, creator of the “bright green” environmental group Worldchanging, in the April 2010 issue of The Sun magazine.

According to Steffen, we can stem the tide of environmental degradation - without regressing to a primitive, pre-technological lifestyle – by living in denser communities where nearly everything that people need (work, school, stores, etc.) is within walking or biking distance. A can-do attitude is key, he says:

Despair and cynicism are a large part of what’s preventing us from solving our problems. Among my more political friends, optimism is seen as something you have before you find out the truth. But I think choosing optimism says to your opponents, “I can see a better way of doing this.” We can rally people around a vision of a better future for ourselves and our grandkids and our great-grandkids.

What would you do if you were convinced that a situation is absolutely beyond your repair? Would you keep working to change it – or would you throw up your hands and say, “Why bother?”

Our precious Earth doesn’t need “why bother.” It needs solutions, and solutions only arise from minds that believe they exist. The dense communities (and “dense” does not mean overcrowded) that Steffen proposes will give people more time, more health, more freedom, and more hope.

I recommend that you read the whole interview. The Sun is not easy to find at newsstands (though I have seen it at the Borders in Tustin Legacy); you can order individual issues at its website.(And if you like what you read, why not subscribe?)

Revival theaters – Orange County (CA) needs them

2010-04-28T19:54:00.000-07:00

If you are reading this blog and you have a revival theater in your town – by “revival” I mean one that

1. shows older movies, most often on a two-or-three-night basis,
2. plays so-called “midnight movies” on Friday and Saturday nights (see MM post of 6/17/09), and
3. has a colorful flyer that you can pick up near its box office,

then for the love of Rocky Horror, go there as often as you can!!!

If you are reading this blog and you have a revival theater in your town, do not forget how lucky you are. Think of people like your Meandering Mouse, who do not have such theaters within reasonable driving distance.

A revival theater is an asset to the community. Never mind that Netflix now allows people from Yuma, AZ to Washington, PA to see films like Cleo from 5 to 7 and The Seventh Seal. I enjoy home viewing as much as anyone, but the experience of sitting in a theater that has braved the ravages of time (for most revival theaters are of the vintage sort), on seats with threadbare velvet in all the right spots, looking to your left and to your right and feeling the comfort of being in a community that can appreciate and love films that are more than 30 years old (that means 1980, now) - you haven't lived until you've been there.

Once upon a time, I was lucky enough to live within walking distance (yeah!) of a really fab revival theater, the Fox Venice. At the Fox, I enjoyed a panorama of exotic films, from Allegro non Troppo to 200 Motels to The Exorcist to The Groove Tube. The other great part about the Fox was its daring concession stand – it’s where I tried a particularly tasty carob bar. (Raise your hand if you ever bought a carob bar at the concession stand.)

Unfortunately, the Fox Venice closed in 1988. The building still stands, but it’s now a swap meet, a repository of worthless things instead of worthwhile movies. (Sing along with me: “We don’t need another swap meet…”)

Photo of Fox Venice Swap Meet (formerly Theater) courtesy of Martin Schall.

Yes, Orange County does have theaters that play current independent and foreign films – thank you, Regency South Coast Village Theatre (Costa Mesa), Edwards University Town Center 6 (Irvine), and Edwards Westpark 8 (Irvine). But we have no revival theaters showing the good old films, no equivalent to Santa Monica’s Nuart Theater or Los Angeles’sAmerican Cinematheque.

I think that is neither fair nor square. I know I’m not the only one who would glow like a firefly if a revival theater came to be in OC.

It’s hard to imagine a revival theater in a multiplex. It should have one screen, or (at most) two. I considered the Lido Theater in Newport Beach and the South Coast Cinema in Laguna Beach as possible sites, but the drawback of both locations is the availability (or, more accurately, the lack thereof) of parking.

Here would be a great location for a revival theater:

Yes, I know that this property is already occupied by an institution called the Son Light Church. You will have to agree with me, though, that Orange County has enough churches (“We don’t need another church…”) and not nearly enough revival-worthy theaters. I want to live to see the day when this building is once again used for the purpose for which it was built, and in doing so raise both the IQ and the CQ (Cool Quotient) of the Orange Plaza.

What say you, Orange County? Where is the best spot for our revival paradise?

Let's not live in an "Idiocracy"

2010-04-15T20:14:00.000-07:00

This week, Two Dogs and I watched the movie Idiocracy on DVD. It was directed and co-written by Mike Judge, the creator of "Beavis and Butt-Head" and "King of the Hill" (note: the next time you watch KOTH, notice that the characters have five fingers on each hand, not four. Just like real people.)

Without spoiling it too much, it shows what could eventually happen when crassness, grossness, and lack of craftsmanship overwhelm a culture. It's funny, but it is scary as well. Once you're finished watching it, you're going to want to read a good, complex book with real meat on its bones. And I'm not talking about this one:

Q: So why haven’t you been blogging lately, Jennie?

2010-04-15T20:07:00.001-07:00

A: You know, that is an excellent question.

Q: That is far from an excellent answer. You only wrote one post in March. You ought to know that real bloggers post at least several times a week.

A: I am a real blogger. It’s still here, isn’t it?

Q: You’re being more evasive than a cat on bath day. Why haven’t you been sharing your wit with the fans lately?

A: I hope there are still fans out there! Please be patient, fans. I can explain my lack of posting thusly:

I have been looking for work and worrying about work. I have been thinking about money and worrying about money. I have been melancholic in this unusually cool and rainy California spring. I have been trying to “escape” from these problems through reading and watching movies and taking baths and walking (when weather and time permit), not to mention the usual errands such as grocery shopping, post office, laundromat, library, etc. Plus, taking care of Two Dogs.

None of the above really help me create new blog posts. But today, I have figured out what does: Finding a project and working on it.

Such as my “buzz piece”, as the authors of The Wealthy Freelancer suggest I create. (I just finished the book – excellent reading!) Or the personal website that is just about finished on Adobe Dreamweaver (don’t worry, I will announce when the site goes live). Or new business cards that match the design scheme of my buzz piece.

I believe that it takes awareness, and then action, to pull yourself out of a rut. Action without awareness usually ends up as just another trip to the grocery store. Awareness without action is just watching the wheels inside your head. Bring the two together, and good things start to happen. Just like now. Behold the new blog post!

Q: Finally.

A: I have been looking through old notebooks of mine. I plan to use some of the material in there to create new posts, as well as events that are happening in the here and now. So expect some great new posts this spring. Hey, I sound like a drive-in theater marketer, don’t I?

Q: That’s a great model.

A: And now, on with the show!

Having cool friends

2010-03-16T17:54:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, I checked out Pamela Des Barres’s book Let’s Spend The Night Together. The subtitle is “Backstage Secrets of Rock Muses and Supergroupies.”

It’s been happy reading so far. Back in the day, I thought it would be a smashing great time to be a groupie, wanted and desired by a phalanx of smoking hot rock gods. That dream will forever be in the past tense, though, for three reasons:

1. I no longer have the stamina nor the inclination to be up in the wee hours pursuing said rock gods;

2. The rock god is, most likely, an endangered species – can you name a musician who has become famous in the last ten years who has the magnetism of, say, Robert Plant? David Lee Roth? Mick Jagger, thick lips and all? I didn’t think so;

3. I have already found (and married!) my own rock god – he’s not famous yet, but he’s all mine and I will never stray.

The thought I will take away from this book has nothing to do with the names of the men whom the rock muses and supergroupies, um, “associated” with. It was the bond that Ms. Des Barres has with these women, many of them who have been her long-time friends. Even though most of them are no longer active in the scene, they still live freewheeling, out-of-the-ordinary lives, with a boatload of great memories.

Who wouldn’t want friends like Tura Satana, a 1950s burlesque dancer who taught Elvis how to French kiss? Or Cynthia Plaster Caster, who took an idea from an art class lecture and turned it into the ultimate in subversive art – namely, plaster molds of rock stars’ penises? Or Gail Zappa, the groupie who married her man (Frank), and will probably give mainstream relationship advisers a heart attack with this quote: “We didn’t talk about mortgages, ever.”? These women did what they wanted to do, and screw condemnation from the religious fundies and the professional feminists.

(There’s a big difference between feminism, which simply means women having the equal rights and opportunities to be what they want to be, and professional feminism, which has a list of new rules every bit as oppressive as the old ones. That’s a post for another day, though.)

I wish I had cool friends like that.

It has been hard for me to make and keep friends throughout my life. Shyness, bad treatment from peers (and the distrust it gave birth to), dedication to reading and schoolwork, and a natural tendency toward solitude have not helped. As of now, I have few friends except for husbands, ex-husbands, friends of the first two categories, and a few people that I know online but live far away (shout-out to Diana). I am happy with these dear friends, of course, but sometimes when I stop being busy and have time to think about it, I wish that I had more.

How do I define “cool friends”?

1. They are members of the creative class.

2. They have out-of-the-ordinary interests – such as intermission clips or collecting fortune cookie fortunes (two of my own interests).

3. They don’t watch much TV, unless it’s good (like Star Trek in all its forms – yes, even Enterprise).

4. They read books outside the best-seller list.

5. They know who Vanilla Fudge are.

6. They are fiscally responsible (yes, that is possible in the creative class).

7. They are free of destructive drama (as opposed to cool drama, such as painting the walls with glitter-infused magenta paint, or cross-dressing).

8. They make their dwellings cool no matter what their budget is.

9. They enjoy good food without guilt.

10. They have a love of life, and don’t try to drag anyone down with their political/religious/ideological agenda(s).

11. They love us, and we love them!!!

I could add more to the list, but it's getting late and I don't want to sound greedy.

I have heard the old adage, “To have a good friend, be one.” I hope that I follow the list above as much as I hope that my cool friends do. I guess I will have to make finding cool friends as much as a priority as finding work. Wish me luck!

And now, a few words about apology

2010-02-19T11:54:00.000-08:00

…no, this is not me apologizing for not standing during the national anthem!

I don’t often write about popular news topics on this blog, for two excellent reasons:

1. Popular news tends to be boring and banal and base, and

2. You’re sick of hearing about it, too – that’s why you’re here instead of CNN/MSNBC/Huffington Post/your city newspaper site, isn’t it?

Today, I’m going to make an exception to this rule. I’m not going to wonder if you heard the Tiger Woods apology this morning – most of you have. The fact that an athlete apologizing for marital infidelity is considered a SPECIAL REPORT by CBS, NBC, and ABC – and more important than the man who flew his plane into an IRS building yesterday – says something about America, and it is not good.

What we saw was a professional golfer standing at a podium, looking like a kid waiting for the principal to see him, reading a pre-written statement that was heavy with the clichés that a flyover state sportswriter might reach for at 2 a.m. – “I have let down my fans,” “I convinced myself that normal rules didn't apply,” “Achievements on the golf course are only part of setting an example. Character and decency are what really count,” and so on.

Is Woods truly sorry? Is this another step in his rehab? Or is this just another one of those BS PR apologies that makes thinking people yawn? I do not know, and it doesn’t matter to me. But it did make me ponder the meaning of apology.

An apology is a gift – not an obligation. Tiger Woods does not owe the press or public an apology. I would go so far as to say that he doesn’t even owe it to his wife – the one person to whom this matters the most. He should apologize only

1. If his remorse is sincere, and

2. If he is going to stop the offending behavior.

Issue #2 is most important. Don’t waste your breath or my time with an apology if you’re going to keep on keepin’ on.

Suppose I was driving down the street, and from out of nowhere a pink paintgun pellet strikes one of my car doors. (This actually happened years ago.) If I had to choose between an apology and the money to repaint the door, I would choose the money. (In real life, I received neither, and the pink stain remained on my car to the day I traded it in.) Words are only words – it is action that counts. Please do what you can to alleviate the wrong.

We the public will not see, and should not see, whether or not Woods will change (unless he errs again in the same spectacular way.) I say let’s all keep an eye on ourselves and our behavior first, not a puffed-up SPECIAL REPORT. (Remember when SPECIAL REPORTS were actually special and announced events of world-shaking importance? But that’s another post for another day.)

Sit down for freedom

2010-02-02T13:47:00.000-08:00

One of the gutsiest blogs I have read is Penelope Trunk’s Brazen Careerist. In between the practical, career-oriented posts are Ms. Trunk’s startling POVs about big-picture topics. How could you not look twice when the blogger Tweeted about her own miscarriage?

In her Martin Luther King Day post (1-18-2010), Ms. Trunk wrote about going to a rodeo in Madison, Wisconsin with her children and male companion (labeled “the farmer”). Ms. Trunk isn’t fond of the spectacle of animals risking injury for mere entertainment’s sake, and neither am I, but that’s a rant for another day. The sentence in the post which got my attention is as follows:

I really hated it before there were any animals. Before there were animals there was the flag, rising above the dirt ring, and the announcer saying everyone should sing the Star Spangled Banner to honor “the flag that protects our troops, and our churches and our great country.”

I looked over at the farmer for churches, and before I could roll my eyes, the announcer said, “Everyone please rise in the name of Jesus and sing the Star Spangled Banner.”

I told my kids to stay seated.

What was with “rise in the name of Jesus”? What is the connection between our national anthem and a rabbi who died more than 1700 years before the United States came into being? How can the American flag – a rectangle of cloth – protect a soldier or a church or anything from a bomb?

Why is the "Star-Spangled Banner" invariably played before sporting events in this country? The last time I stood for the national anthem was the last time I attended an Anaheim Ducks game, back in October 2005. I don’t recall ever feeling a swell of patriotism; I instead concentrated on staring down at the players before they covered their handsome heads with their helmets. I stood solely because of habit. It didn’t occur to me not to stand, even though these were the days when Bush and Cheney allowed some not-very-American happenings to go down in tiny cells around the world.

I now think that habit is the excuse that timidity gives itself.

Try this – the next time you go to a sporting event, do not stand for the national anthem. This has nothing to do with your personal feelings about the nation, the flag, and/or the troops. This is an exercise in doing something difficult. An exercise in not following the crowd. An exercise which might be practice for telling someone some tough words, or for making a decision that is right but unpopular. An exercise which is a true expression of what America means.

Most people are going to stare at you. Some might stare at you as if you just mutated into an open bag of fresh manure. It is possible that someone will dump his cup of beer on you – or worse. That is their problem, not yours. Sitting while the national anthem is being played is NOT illegal. Assault (which includes beer-dumping) is.

Sitting down for the anthem may feel strange. But so does asking a client who is overdue with his payments to send you a check immediately. Or telling your 80-year-old mother that her driving is too dangerous for herself and the other people on the road. Or going public as an atheist.

If you attend a lot of events where the anthem is played, you can make this a new, good habit (like brushing your teeth), every fifth time you hear the anthem, or even every tenth.

After Penelope Trunk’s post, a slew of commenters lined up for the attack – the kinds of people who think America is so fragile that a seated bottom during the national anthem is a grave wound. Actually, America cares just as much as Jesus does (who, as you remember, died about 2000 years ago) whether or not you stand or sit. Think about it.

(And this means that the next time I hear the national anthem played, I will have to stay seated lest I prove myself a rank hypocrite. We shall see when and if this plays out, for I don’t anticipate attending any sporting events in the near or far future.)

Just like browsing the record bin at Goodwill

2010-01-21T20:14:00.000-08:00

I have been amiss in not hipping you to this site before: WFMU’s 365 Days Project. WFMU is a New Jersey-based radio station that (among other things) searches for weird and wonderful sounds, whether it’s from the record in the back of the bin at the thrift store or a cassette that hid in a shoebox at the bottom of your closet for a generation – and they share them with the world via MP3 files. Yay, WFMU!

I spent one Saturday night searching the 365 Days Project (actually, two of them, in 2003 and 2007). It was a lengthy process searching through each month and day, reading each blurb, and deciding what files I were “keepers.” But it was totally worth it – it was just like looking through the record bin at Goodwill!

One of the best finds was Bobby and Betty Go To The Moon. I had this record once upon a time. What joy for a Star Trek-loving girl to listen to the adventures of two kids of about the same age traveling to the moon all by themselves in the far-off year of 1985!

Next time stormy weather keeps you indoors, may I suggest spelunking in the 365 Days Project? (Beats Googling Heidi Montag!)

Bring back that sunny day

2010-01-21T20:11:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, we in SoCal have been patiently suffering under a series of major rainstorms. I write “suffering” because because even though we have been in a drought the past few years, four straight days of rainfall isn’t fun. At least, not for me.

I don't like it. Not one bit.

I am grateful that the apartment we live in has a solid ceiling and windows that are watertight when closed. I have lived in places with leaky ceilings and windows, and it’s just terrible when your shelter doesn’t shelter. I am grateful for my umbrella, warm clothes, and space heater for the bathroom. I am grateful that I didn’t have to drive too far this week and that there were dry patches that allowed me to go to the laundromat and grocery store. As always, I am grateful that Two Dogs is here with morning tea and cozy dinners and cuddles at any time.

Still, the lack of sunlight does turn this mouse’s fur blue. When it rains, it takes away favorite activities like walking, driving to places that make me happy, and visiting friends in person. The gray sky is dull, and the dull echoes back within me. I feel inhibited and reduced.

The good news is that we should be getting a break this weekend. I can’t wait. I hope the ground gets a chance to dry out, and I can take at least one good walk. I also hope that we’ll see some extra blooms this spring. (Two more months until the vernal equinox! I’m glad February is a short month!)

Something else to worry about (if you choose to)

2010-01-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

Quick, name one thing that the mass media is good at.

Spreading helpful information? Telling the whole truth about news events? Making us a more educated populace?

If I knew how to add sound effects to this blog, you’d hear three loud game-show buzzers after all of the above – the kind of buzzer that says loud and clear, “HELL, NO!”

What is the mass media good at? Giving us more and more things to worry about. Now it’s your “online profile” and how it looks to potential employers.

Beware the photo of you drinking margaritas with your friends in Cozumel back in the summer of ’06! Beware the pointed comment you left on a political website! Beware your own blog, because you might have written something that other people may not like! Beware being modest and having five or less Google hits to your name! Beware people who tell lies about you on Facebook!

Now, sayeth the mass media, you need to Google yourself every day and pay companies to “clean up” your Web profile, or else you run the risk of being unemployable.

I say the hell with all that.

If a potential employer cares more about the content of my blog than the quality of my work, that’s an employer I want nothing to do with. What is the point of having a blog if you’re going to censor yourself?

If a potential employer is offended that I’m an atheist (4-12-09), that I don’t volunteer (8-31-09), that I emphasize with the Misfit Doll (12-22-09), or that I even mentioned Bill Ayers (12-3-09), I can’t care too much about that. My blog first and foremost is a place to speak my mind. Not a place to “promote” myself or sell things. (Ever notice that blogs whose primary purpose is to sell things are often as boring as beige?)

I have work to do and meanders to walk and pages to write and books to read and baths to take and Two Dogs to love. Not a lot of room in my life to go cleaning up my web profile or jumping on any worry trains. I say turn off the TV (and the computer, even though I know it's hard) every now and then and see what is right in front of you.

The most difficult month of the year?

2010-01-03T19:31:00.000-08:00

January, in my opinion, is the most difficult month of the year. It starts off nicely with New Year’s Day and the Tournament of Roses Parade (and a smattering of bowl games, if you’re into that). After that, though, January is one tough group of thirty-one days to endure.

Its other major holiday, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, is not exactly one of fun and frolic. The worst of winter usually crashes down on us in January; even in temperate climates such as California, gray and rainy days are more likely. You have to wait patiently for Valentine’s Day (unless you’re a retail store). Catalogs mock you with their spring fashion issues. In other words, you want to go to bed and not wake up until February 1.

Well, January doesn’t have to be that bad if you use your imagination. It’s the start of a new year. Why not let January be the month where you try new things that will make you smile?

Such as…

1. A new exercise video. Since some of you are using this month to start new health resolutions, why not try a workout that burns boredom as well as calories – such as Hemalayaa's Bollywood fitness series, Zumba Fitness, Soul Sweat Dance, and Nia.
2. New foods. Think about all those old Bon Appetit magazines you’ve saved, or the manila envelope of printed recipes that’s tucked between the cookbooks in your kitchen. Justify your saving those and actually try a new recipe. It’s good to stay home with some good food on a January night.
3. New movies. The films that are most likely to be nominated for Oscars this month will probably still be playing at the cinema. If you aren’t interested or have already caught them during the holidays, amp up your Netflix renting (take full advantage of not having to go out to rent movies!)
4. New books. The trees of January are barren, but the bookstores of January are ripe with new fruit. This Tuesday (January 5), I look forward to buying the new memoir Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote the megaseller Eat, Pray, Love. Even a year later, I still consider myself a newlywed, and I think I can learn something from Committed. (FYI, I bought Eat, Pray, Love for fifty cents at a library bookstore, so I owe Ms. Gilbert a new book purchase!)

Fill your January with joy, and it will seem to go by pretty quickly. Oh, and don't stare too long at those leaveless trees!

Resolutions that are easy to keep

2009-12-31T09:43:00.000-08:00

At this time of year, many of you will be making New Year’s resolutions – most of then having to do with losing weight, quitting smoking, or spending less.

I wish you good luck with those, even though I won’t be joining you. I haven’t made New Year’s resolutions in years. I have figured that 1) if I need to make a good change, I can do it on any day of the year, and 2) I forget all about my resolutions come February. (A little mouse tells me I’m not the only one.)

However, here are some resolutions that you may find easier to keep than the big three:

1. Notice and appreciate the good things in life.
2. Don’t run towards suffering.
3. Be aware of the issues in your life, and take action to alleviate them (but always be gentle with yourself).
4. Read good books.
5. Learn something new.
6. Don’t take responsibility for problems that aren’t yours.
7. Don’t sweat the small stuff (tip of the hat to Richard Carlson). For example, if you don’t like football and the people around you do, it’s OK. Go and take a walk around the neighborhood while others watch football.

Sounds more enjoyable than losing weight or quitting smoking, doesn’t it?

This will be my last post of 2009. Even though the “official” first anniversary of Meandering mouse is January 20, 2010, I’m so glad that I posted more than once a week on average (63 posts total). If I can post at least twice a week in 2010, I’d be happy with that.

Today is also our first wedding anniversary. Two Dogs and I will share breakfast soon, and I look forward to being with him and our friends today. Maybe we’ll go to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream. I haven’t had my egg nog cone yet. Two Dogs is and will always be one of my “good things.” I love you, swee-dee-luv!

Readers, enjoy your New Year’s Eve, be safe, and enjoy a happy and prosperous 2010.

What’s with all the hate towards Kwanzaa?

2009-12-28T20:47:00.000-08:00

Graphic courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art

It's a holiday mystery right up there with "What's wrong with the doll on the Island of Misfit Toys?", "How does Santa deliver toys to homes with no chimneys?", and "Would anyone even like the song 'Jingle Bells' if it wasn't associated with Christmas?" (FYI, "Jingle Bells" is a Thanksgiving song, people. It would be nice if I didn't hear it after the turkey has been digested.)

What is this unfathomable question I'm thinking of?

"Why do people hate on Kwanzaa?"

Turn on any AM talk station at this time of year, and sooner or later you’re going to hear somebody say, “Well, Kwanzaa’s not a real holiday.”

Real to whom? If even one person celebrates it, that makes the holiday real as far as I am concerned.

You might also hear this: “Oh, Kwanzaa is just a made-up holiday.”

All holidays are made-up, even those that are centuries old. We do not have an instinct to celebrate ritualized holidays. As proof, read this New York Times story about people who have stopped celebrating Christmas.

What is it about Kwanzaa that pisses people off?

First, let’s take a closer look at the holiday itself. According to Wikipedia, “Kwanzaa is a week-long holiday celebrated in the United States honoring African heritage and culture, marked by participants lighting a kinara (candle holder). It is observed from December 26 to January 1 each year, primarily in the United States. Kwanzaa consists of seven days of celebration, featuring activities such as candle-lighting and pouring of libations, and culminating in a feast and gift giving. It was created by Ron Karenga and was first celebrated from December 26, 1966, to January 1, 1967.”

Each of the seven days of Kwanzaa represents a principle: Umoja (Unity), Kujichagulia (Self-Determination), Ujima (Collective Work and Responsibility), Ujamaa (Cooperative Economics), Nia (Purpose), Kuumba (Creativity), and Imani (Faith).

Now, what could possibly be wrong with those values? I thought about it, and here’s my take:

1. Some people don’t like Ujima and Ujamaa. Collective? Cooperative? Sounds a bit too much like (duh duh duhhhhh) socialism!

2. Some people think that Kwanzaa is in competition with good old-fashioned ‘Merican Christmas. Who knows, people might celebrate this mumbo-jumbo instead of turning to Christ, as they oughta! (FYI, according to the official Kwanzaa website, this is not so: "Kwanzaa was not created to give people an alternative to their own religion or religious holiday. And it is not an alternative to people's religion or faith but a common ground of African culture...Kwanzaa is not a reaction or substitute for anything.” Those who bitch about Kwanzaa are also more likely to bitch about the “War on Christmas.” Think about your last visit to a mall or big-box store. Does it look like Christmas is losing this “war”? (But’s that’s another post for another day, probably in 2010.)

3. Some people don’t like it when black folks do something for themselves without asking for white folks’ approval. Yes, that's right. Even in 2009.

It is easy to dismiss Kwanzaa-bashing as just more noise from the conservative whine machine. But it’s not so easy to dismiss the 1971 conviction of the creator of Kwanzaa, Ron Karenga, for beating and torturing two female members of United Slaves, a militant cultural organization which rivaled the Black Panthers. The women were ordered to strip, and then were whipped with an electrical cord and karate baton. One had a hot soldering iron placed in her mouth, the other had one of her big toes placed in a vise. Disgusting stuff. Karenga spent four years in prison for his participation in this crime. No matter how culturally righteous you may be, there’s no justification for this.

Still, Karenga’s crimes do not erase or negate the values of Kwanzaa. It’s just like knowing the difference between the words of the man known to most of the world as Jesus Christ and the horrific acts of those who acted in his name throughout the centuries.

If I had the choice to erase from the earth either Christmas or Kwanzaa, I would erase Christmas. It’s a holiday of a single religion, and one of those repressive paternalistic ones to boot. It’s a holiday that’s a servant of consumerism, and no pious TV special about the “true meaning” of Christmas will ever change that. Its “true meaning” becomes doubly false when we learn that we don’t really know the day that the man we call Jesus Christ was born.

Far better to ponder unity, self-determination, collective work and responsibility, cooperative economics, purpose, creativity, and faith than mythical red-suited gift-givers, reindeers with shiny red noses, and dreadful songs played over and over again.

So let the Kwanzaa corn stand alongside the Christmas cookies and the Hanukkah chocolate coins as holiday treats, and instead of wasting a kilowatt of energy in complaining, acknowledge that it's a big world, not a small one, after all, and it can contain multitudes of holidays.

Sometimes I feel like the Misfit Doll on “Rudolph.” Don’t you?

2009-12-22T09:34:00.001-08:00

I never know where my next thought is coming from. For the past few days, I have been pondering the Misfit Doll on the Island of Misfit Toys in the 1964 TV special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Remember her? Unlike the other Misfit Toys, she didn’t have any outer flaw. The question of why she was on the Island of Misfit Toys in the first place has puzzled viewers for decades. Finally Arthur Rankin, of Rankin-Bass (producers of Rudolph), explained that Misfit Doll’s problem was psychological in nature. In other words, she was depressed because she was unwanted.

How sad. It makes me cry just thinking about it. Really.

I want to pick Misfit Doll up and be the friend she needs. I know what it is like to be unwanted, to be lonely, to not have “any dreams left to dream.” As a writer and graphic artist searching for work, I feel the sting of doors closing. I don’t know what I would have done if Two Dogs wasn’t here.

I try to feel better by imagining a happy life for the Misfit Doll after Rudolph. After the elf dropped her from Santa’s sleigh with the umbrella, she found a good home with a little girl who took care of her so well that she was passed down to two generations (so far), and was able to be reunited with her Misfit friends for this 2009 commercial:

I felt the need to search for a doll who looked just as gentle and kind and ready to love and be loved. Unfortunately, such dolls are hard to find in big-box stores. Because it was too late to obtain a real Mistfit Doll before Christmas, I chose this pretty purple octopus from Toys R Us. I will deliver her to a toy drive soon.

In the meantime, I suggest that you love and protect the misfit side of yourself. Imagine a safe place for her, perhaps a little yellow cottage with a vegetable garden and noodle trees around it.

Enesco/CVS "beanie" version of Misfit Doll (1998)

Give her a porch to watch the sun rise and the sun set, lots of books to read, and a fluffy bed to sleep in. Above all, let her know that she is wanted unconditionally. Be kind to the vulnerable pieces of yourself – don’t deny, ignore, or try to make them more acceptable to society. That is a key to happiness.

The winter solstice

2009-12-20T16:28:00.001-08:00

Photo courtesy of Microsoft Clip Art

The winter solstice – which in 2009 happens tomorrow, December 21st – is a day of celebration for societies around the world, from Sweden to Polynesia to Australia and Japan. In America, hardly anyone notices except for a handful of neopagans.

It’s hard to think about the solstice, or even realize that it exists, when the greater society relentlessly shoves Christmas in your face, as well as the mandate to make that holiday perfect for your family.

I say, don’t stress. You can celebrate the solstice without neglecting Christmas. The solstice is only one day – actually, only half a day if you start celebrating at sunset.

The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year, so the moon will be up for longer. Why not have a dinner that’s as white as the moon? Serve it on white plates against a white tablecloth.

I suggest these dishes:

1. White fish such as halibut, cod, and scallops.
2. White vegetables and side dishes such as parsnips, cauliflower, potatoes, and rice.
3. White drinks such as water (with seasonal navel orange slices for flavor), milk, white chocolate, egg nog, and sparkling white wine.

Nighttime puts me in a mood to watch movies. Perhaps this longest night of the year is a great night to watch a lengthy classic such as Gone with the Wind, Ben-Hur, or Doctor Zhivago. (If you dare, you can even attempt the four-hour-plus Cleopatra, where you can see Elizabeth Taylor being a movie star.)

Nighttime is also a good time to slow down – and to think about slowing down. What are the stresses that are weighing you down? How many of them are really self-inflicted? Do we worry too much about problems instead of thinking about solutions? Do we realize that we are not as helpless as we think? How can we slow down the way nature slows down in winter? It is possible – even a few days before Christmas.

It’s true that all holidays are man-made. Pausing to celebrate the winter solstice, though, doesn’t feel quite so artificial – because it’s the day of a natural phenomenon that happens every year. And think of this good news – after the 21st, the days will start to get longer again.

Happy solstice, everyone.

The night of moral disgust

2009-12-14T19:02:00.000-08:00

My brother Jim is staying with Two Dogs and me until he can find an apartment of his own (or until we find a new place for us to stay together – homesharing is not out of the question for us).

Not too long ago, Two Dogs showed the DVD of Reservoir Dogs (the 15th anniversary edition in the mock gas-can packaging) to Jim. It gave me a chance to re-watch the movie, too. This time, I didn’t enjoy it as much.

I bought the movie during the Steve Buscemi phase of my life, shortly before I met Two Dogs. Of course, Mr. Buscemi is still great as Mr. Pink, and so are the other actors – Tim Roth, Harvey Keitel, Michael Madsen, and the late Chris Penn and Lawrence Tierney. The director/writer Quentin Tarantino’s inimitable style still zings and crackles, and who couldn’t love K-Billy’s Sounds of the 70s?

What’s wrong with this movie now? When the final credits came on, I was permeated with moral disgust.

I use those words, “moral disgust”, very carefully. It’s hard not to associate that terminology with people who have the FCC on speed-dial just in case they hear a fart (the word and/or the sound) on television. Believe me, I do not want Reservoir Dogs, or any other movie, taken off store shelves and TV screens. I have no problem with strong language, explicit sex, bathroom humor, and non-traditional lifestyles.

So, what was it in Reservoir Dogs that I found morally disgusting? It wasn’t the blood. It wasn’t even the realistic depiction of what really happens when you shoot a guy in the belly (Hint: First he screams. Loud.). It was the casual attitude towards violence.

With two exceptions, the characters of Reservoir Dogs are at best amoral criminals who think it’s just fine and dandy to shoot people who get in their way, and at worst cheerful psychopaths who torture victims while dancing to “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealers Wheel. This may have been cool back in 1992, but today it just makes me sick.

Story is the number-one factor when I decide what movies I want to see. When I say story, I mean human beings deciding how best to live life. In his 1973 book, The World of Star Trek, David Gerrold lamented that the original series (which was all the Star Trek there was on TV back in 1973), contained too many “Kirk in danger” stories and not enough “Kirk has a decision to make” stories. Too many moviemakers think that conflict = danger = guns, explosives, killers, monsters, ad nauseam.

I’d rather see real stories about real people who will live to use the insights they gained through the action of the movie. I’d rather see movies that tell us that life is weird, funny, sad, bad, and ridiculous – but we can get through it without giving up our selves (or for that matter, our guts). In other words, the kind of movies that mainstream Hollywood is afraid to make anymore.

So be it. Leave the toy movies to the boys of all ages. I will go to the art houses and the Netflix in search of meaningful cinematic experience. As for Quentin Tarantino, if I could ask anything of him, I would ask him to write a movie with no blood and no violence and no killing. (But the strong language can stay in.)

The blog entry I hesitated to post

2009-12-03T19:45:00.000-08:00

I hesitated to post this entry, because it’s about a controversial person and a controversial book. I worried that if I wrote what I felt, some people would think that I supported terrorism. The attitude of Elizabeth Taylor (see last post) is poking me in the back of my head, telling me to damn the torpedoes of criticism. So, here goes.

Earlier this year, I read the book Fugitive Days by Bill Ayers. (Interestingly enough, I bought it on September 11 at Small World Books in Venice, CA. Every time I go into Small World, I buy something. You should, too – it’s one of the best independent bookstores in Los Angeles County. And it’s near the beach!)

It’s the story about how a typical middle-class kid from Illinois became liberalized, and then radicalized, simply by paying attention to the world around him. In the 1960s and 1970s, Ayers was a member of the Weather Underground, who reacted to the atrocity of the Vietnam War by attempting to “bring the war home” – giving America a taste of the agony it was inflicting on the Vietnamese. The WU claimed credit for about 25 bombings overall in the U.S., including one at the Pentagon in 1970 – though the only people ever killed with WU bombs were three members of the WU itself, while they were handling explosives at a Greenwich Village brownstone. Bill Ayers and his fellow WU members spent most of the 1970s as fugitives, but when he turned himself in, the charges against him didn’t stand because of illegal surveillance on the part of the FBI.

Fugitive Days forced me to ask myself questions – how far am I willing to go to fight injustice? What is the proper response when your government is the criminal? Does answering violence with violence work in the long run?

It’s hard not to cheer a group of ordinary people wanting an end to war, racism, sexism, and other steamrollers that crush the human spirit. It’s hard not to cheer when this group strikes back against a monolithic, heartless war machine.

On the other hand…

The WU and other radical groups could be just as dogmatic, rigid, and tunnel-visioned as their enemies – a fact that Ayers makes painfully clear.

And then, there’s the bombs.

What, empirically speaking, is the difference between the Weathermen who plant bombs in the Pentagon and the anti-abortion activists who plant bombs in Planned Parenthood offices? Had the WU had made good on its threat to “bring the war home,” people who didn’t cause, affect, or even approve of the Vietnamese conflict would have died.

Uncritical approval carries with it moral risk. Bombs, no matter who throws or plants them, tear people apart – figuratively as well as literally.

Bill Ayers and the other WU members who stayed on the right side of the law since 1980 have enjoyed peaceful and productive lives since then. I have no problem with that. When certain members of the right wing tried to smear then-Presidential candidate Barack Obama because Ayers hosted a campaign event for Obama back in 1995, I rolled my eyes. (Most other voters did, too.)

Fugitive Days is a harrowing story of people who tested the limits of their values. I recommend it no matter your place in the political spectrum. If it makes you think that planting bombs is a great idea, you didn't read it close enough.

How to be a movie star (or at least think like one)

2009-12-03T19:40:00.000-08:00

I just read a book called How To Be A Movie Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood by William J. Mann. This was not the first book I’ve read about this subject – for an escape-starved girl, Ms. Taylor’s saga of movies, marriages, and money was one of the greatest ever told. This new book, however, is not the conventional Hollywood bio.

It’s the story of how Ms. Taylor (and the entourage around her) grew, nurtured, and fought for that invisible but knockout-punch-powerful quality called stardom – fighting (and winning!) against the patriarchal studio system, vindictive gossip columnists, and the suffocating moral conservatism of Middle America.

I have new admiration for Ms. Taylor after reading Mr. Mann’s book. Of course, my fantasies have evolved over the years – I don’t want eight husbands, diamonds the size of golf balls, or cigarette holders that go with my dress and my tablecloth. (But I would be happy to take two candlelit baths a day.)

The greatest legacy of Ms. Taylor is her “fuck-you” attitude towards the obstacles of life. I, too, seek greater independence in my work life, being able to pick and choose worthy projects instead of being tied down to the rules and needs of just one company. I want to no longer care about pleasing people who wouldn’t extend the same toward me. I want to say, “This is what I’m going to do, and you’re just going to have to wait.” I want to be strong without degenerating into bitchiness. (I don’t care what anybody says – “bitch” is not a good thing to be.) I want to enjoy life without reservations.

Read the book, and learn more than you ever imagined.

(P.S. From this post on, I’m only going to capitalize the first word of a blog entry, unless there are given names involved. It got too tiresome to figure out which short words to capitalize or not. As much as I am a stickler for grammar, I’d rather concentrate on expressing my thoughts than worrying about capitalization minutae!)

Question: "Do Two Rudes Make a Polite?" Answer: No.

2009-11-29T13:18:00.001-08:00

This morning, I came upon this two-week-old article in the New York Times: As the Rudes Get Ruder, the Scolds Get Scoldier.

It's about so-called "etiquette vigilantes" who think that the best way to deal with rude (or at least what they think is rude) behavior from other people is an equally strong counter-offense. One Amy Alkon, self-described "manners psycho" (isn't that an oxymoron?), after overhearing a cell phone conversation at Starbucks, wrote down his cell phone number, called him, and said, "Just calling to let you know, Barry, that if you’d like your private life to remain private, you might want to be a little more considerate next time."

That is:

a. Creepy,
b. Creepy,
and c. Just as rude.

Since when is it okay to fight rudeness with rudeness? I thought that politeness was an act of kindness to your fellow beings. You hold the door open for other people because it's nice, not because you expect to be thanked every time. If someone is rude to you or behaves rude in front of you, rise above it, and maintain your high standards anyway. Don't get down and dirty to their level.

Speaking of rudeness, I don't see nearly as much of it as these "etiquette vigilantes" (another oxymoron) and the complaining commenter class does. (Hey, I just created a new term! "Complaining commenter class" means the people who post negative, soul-sapping comments after Internet news articles.)

I have never been bothered by public cell phone conversations. They are no more loud than public conversations between two people standing or sitting in front of each other. At the movie theater, I have never heard a conversation (cell or person-to-person) loud enough to distract me from the movie. And where are all these beastly, running-amok children that Ms. Alkon and others say are ruining restaurants, stores, and other public spaces? When I see children in public, 99.9% of the time they are acting okay. When you form opinions, it's best to base them on what you see than on what "they" say.

People aren't that rude these days. It's just that complainers have gotten noisier, and have more outlets to do so. It's unfortunately easier to whine about what others do than to watch what we do. I say, watch yourselves first and foremost.

And While I'm Thinking About Holidays...

2009-11-19T19:12:00.000-08:00

Here is a list of places where you can buy non-commercial toys for your kids (or yourself!) for Christmas, including web links:

Chinaberry
The Vermont Country Store
HearthSong
Back to Basics Toys
Cricket
MindWare
Museum Tour

If I had kids, I'd definitely stick to these merchants. Not a Spongebob, Dora, Transformer, or Barbie to be found -- just hands-on, evergreen toys that help kids think and dream.

Jerk the Turkey (From Your Thanksgiving Table)?

2009-11-19T19:09:00.000-08:00

Quick, what are you going to have on your Thanksgiving table a week from now? If I could stand on top of my roof and see your thought bubbles, I’d probably see acres and acres of turkeys, golden brown and resting on oval plates.

Where is the law that requires you to drop a ten-to-twenty-pound bird on your table every Thanksgiving? No matter how many variations the food magazines throw at us – no matter if you bake, grill, fry, butterfly, chop it up into pieces or roll it up around stuffing, no matter if you coat it with sage butter, fennel and coriander, clementine peel, apple-cranberry glaze, paprika, rosemary and garlic, or plain salt and pepper, turkey carries with it two inconvenient truths:

1. Its meat is bland and dull, and
2. Unless you have a shipload of guests, the leftovers are going to linger longer than Sarah Palin.

Think about all the Thanksgiving dinners you have experienced. Was the turkey ever the most delicious item on the table? Turkey is just not a feast-worthy bird. Really.

What is? I would suggest duck, for starters. I’ve heard good tidings about goose, though I have never tried it myself. Cornish hens are an alternative that was on the table when Two Dogs and I had our first Thanksgiving together (actually, he is philosophically opposed to the holiday, but that’s a story for another time). Even a good-sized chicken or two will give you more flavor per pound.

Then again, why does it have to be a bird? Why not a flat-iron steak, or a pork tenderloin, a whole salmon, or lasagna? Even a stuffing casserole with butternut squash and cranberries sounds great, whether or not you’re a vegetarian.

Even if you are dead-set on turkey, why roast the whole big bird? Why not buy it in pieces? I got this idea while looking at turkey legs at Sprouts market. A single turkey breast can feed three, perhaps four people.

In the big picture, though, it really doesn’t matter what is on the table. What matters is the thanks giving– thinking about and discussing all you have to be grateful for. But it certainly does help when you have a feast that is delicious, not just abundant.

Why I Won’t Go See Precious

2009-11-05T14:32:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, the movie Precious will be released in certain cities across America. It is based on the 1996 novel “Push” by Sapphire (the title was changed due to another movie called “Push” released earlier this year). It is the story of a sixteen-year-old girl in Harlem who is the victim of horrific abuse from both her mother and her father. Eventually, she learns to read and write at a special school, and finally learns to use her (figurative) voice. It may be the best movie of 2009 that many people are not going to see. Including me.

As a writer and an artist, I am very nearly a First Amendment absolutist when it comes to content. Nothing should be off-limits when it comes to telling a story. Violence, rape, mental illness and degradation are all legitimate (and sometimes necessary) subjects. But a writer/artist’s right to expression is not mirrored with an audience’s obligation to read or view.

What good will it do me – or anyone else – to watch a girl being abused on an 80-x-30-foot screen? Yes, I know there’s uplift at the end, but it’s like walking on a path of nails, all points up, to get to a bowl of ice cream. The suffering/reward ratio is overloaded on the wrong end.

I would go so far to say that instead of going to see the movie, you can better help girls like Precious by donating to inner-city tutoring programs and rape education programs (which must speak to potential perpetrators as well as victims), being watchful for signs of abuse in your neighborhood, and raising the level of dignity and culture in your world (starting with you as a good example). Illiteracy is not a permanent condition, poverty does not excuse degeneracy, and even when we live in an ugly world we do not have to become one with it.

As I wrote before in an earlier post (“Why I Don’t Volunteer”, August 31), I absorb negative energy way too easily. Avoiding movies like Precious, while remaining aware of the issues behind them, is part of the self-defense I must do in order to be at my best. Don’t feel like you’re shallow or insensitive if you would rather see, say, The Men Who Stare at Goats this weekend. Only you can decide what you can take.

Buying Local and Natural – One Small Step at a Time

2009-10-26T10:38:00.000-07:00

Like most of you reading this blog (I hope!) I strive to buy local and natural as often as I can. Two Dogs and I do most of our shopping within a five-mile radius of our home. We either go to several supermarkets, two within walking distance, or we go to our weekly farmer’s market. I am becoming more aware of ingredients, too, and I try to avoid unnecessary chemicals in my cleaning and grooming products. I recently made some homemade glass cleaner with water and vinegar, and eventually I’ll be making more homemade cleaning products as we need them.

One product I like very much that is both local and natural is Sturley’s Organic Soap. As of today, it sells four different scents: Café Brulot (made with coffee, cocoa and cinnamon), Naked Aloe (a aloe-based, almost scentless soap), Sweet Lavee (with lavender and orange oils) and pure Lavender. They also sell bath salts, bath bombs, chapstick, and soap-making tools. I think the next one I want to try is the Café Brulot -- it sounds like a great wake-up soap!

Sturley’s Organic Soap costs $6.99 a bar at the website. The company is based in the San Diego area.

If those pastel-colored, overly perfumed blocks you find at the supermarket give you an uneasy feeling, move on up to Sturley’s and get back to nature!