Buffoons, morons and idiots - oh my!

Last night I half-watched part of an episode of a relatively new and extremely lame sit-com called Parks and Recreation and got really chipped off. The story line of this mockumentary involved a Valentine's Day Dance for senior citizens and reuniting Leslie's mother with a long lost love. Actually, the episode involved deriding senior citizens - period.  (Check out this clip which NBC lauds as a "HIGHLIGHT" : http://www.nbc.com/parks-and-recreation/video/ladies-love-mouse-rat/1200953/) 

Like what the hell is that all about? Don't we have anything better to do with our free time than ridiculing and marginalizing portions of our population?  How can we teach kids NOT to ridicule other students when they watch this happening over and over again and disguised as "entertainment" and assume that if all the grown-ups are doing it, then it must be acceptable. It's no wonder there is a lack of tolerance and empathy for others when our "role models" scorn the elderly (and the not-so elderly as well - since when is 63 old?  Seems to me that we are still working and supplementing our kid's-who by the way are pushing 40- incomes at that age . . .) all the while waiting to inherit.

Parks and Recreation is not clever, smart or funny.  What are they thinking?

Since adding "senior citizen" to the list that defines who I am is not that far in the future, I feel that I have earned the right to complain. . .

The morning after . . .

I usually walk on weekend mornings.  There is a 5 kilometer (approx 3 mile) esplanade near my home that offers a pleasant place to promenade along the shore. 

Due to the heavy rains Saturday, this morning's stroll was a shocker. A torrential downpour and high waves took their toll and left a path of destruction that I was surprised to see.  Clean-up crews were on hand at 9am to begin removing rubble and debris.

Too bad there's not a pill for this . . .

Happy birthday John

This song deserves a replay.

My favorite stanza is:
Saving up your money for a rainy day,
Giving all your clothes to charity.
Last night the wife said,
"Oh boy, when you're dead
You don't take nothing with you
But your soul - think!"

Good advice. . .

money, money, money

The Portuguese Prime Minister announced yesterday that in order to balance the budget for next year the State would be taking austerity measures a few of which include: freezing pensions, reducing salaries of state workers (between 3.5% and 10% based on monthly income), and increasing the IVA (sales tax) to 23%.  Looks like we are all headed for the poor house . . .

New life goal

Skinny jeans  . . .

Leadership

Derek Sivers: How to start a movement

Watch video before reading;-)

This is an interesting little video that someone passed on to me last week about leadership with Derek Sivers explaining how to start a movement. I found it really clever and thought provoking. Yesterday I had the opportunity to take this video one step further and try out the theory.

Last night there was a festival called "Endless Nights" in Cascais (which is close to me). There was animation of all sorts: a magic show, pop groups, a Brazillian Carnival show (complete with young girls in skimpy costumes), and stilt-walkers to name a few. Cascais is a touristic area with loads of outdoor restaurants and many of the shops were open to accommodate the crowds.

There was a roving brass band playing typical Portuguese tunes. We met up with them at one point along their circuit and we stood among a crowd of people who encircled the group and formed their audience. When all of a sudden an old guy (yeah, even older than me) jumped into the center and began to dance. It was totally unexpected and he must have been nuts. Well, I thought about the video and decided it was the perfect opportunity to conduct an experiment so I jumped in and started to dance with the nuts guy. I was really curious to see how many others would join us. A couple in their early 50's (tourists I'm sure - lol) were the next to enter. They were really good and showed off their jitterbugging skills. The piece ended too soon and the brass band moved on without us.

It was pretty funny and I wonder if more people would have danced with us if the music had continued . This experiment isn't over yet (lol). . .

The last days of August. . .

Carcavelos Beach, Aug 30, 2010, 9am

I can hardly believe that I have finished 8 weeks of summer vacation. It passed in the blink of an eye. Although not being paid until Sept 1, most of us have agreed to go into school for meetings these last 2 days of August.

I have a new route - an ocean drive - to my new job. This morning as I passed by I saw that there were people already on the beach enjoying these last days of August. . .

Forever fourteen . . .

Today would have been Sophie da Silva's 15th birthday.

Our school is truly international. Sophie was born in Zimbabwe in 1995 and immigrated to Portugal with her parents in 2005.

She was a great kid with a big smile. In addition to being a fab student she was a daughter, sister, dancer, swimmer, sailor, Christian, animal lover, friend. . .

Sophie passed away suddenly on July 6, 2010. A tribute to Sophie's zest for life can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/group.php?gid=138548346170598&v=wall&so=30

In the black summer night sky there is a new star shining brightly over the bay of Cascais.

Rest in peace Sophie da Silva. . .

Movin' on - again

It says a lot when an almost over the hill chick living in a foreign country looks for a new job during a global recession - hahaha. Today was the last day of school and my last day at the school. I'm movin' on.

It's been a hell of a year with too many students and too little support. I had an unreasonable workload and the senior school administration turned a deaf ear. There were so many things that I had to do and so many students that the rhythm of my week was exhausting. I never had time to develop my teaching practice and be innovative in my classes. I ran out of steam and patience by Wednesday. What a shame.

What's a girl to do? I heard about the possibility of a new international school coming onto the scene so I dusted off my resumé and knocked on their door.

Even as a child I would sit back and wait for the other kids to play nice. You can only push me so far and then I reach a point that I quit banging my head against the wall to try to understand and accommodate others. I would take my doll and go on home and play alone if need be. But not before telling you just what I think about you. I'm still like that - lol.

My Yearbook 2009/10 was a huge success with everyone saying that it was the best yearbook yet, so I finished the school year on a high note. I left on good terms with new owners (the school was bought by a business group 2 years ago), women in the admin, and the current principal.

I take with me 3 years of MYP experience, lots of memories and enough stories to keep me blogging for a long time to come.

I'm not goin' away mad, I'm just movin' on.

Again . . .

25 years later

This was my house. Newly married I moved into this house in January of 1985. It was bought in one of those movin' back to the city urban-renewal phases that cities and 30 somethings go through. It was a 9 room 2 1/2 story neglected Victorian townhouse in the National Historic District of Manchester. And you can just imagine how many coats of paint it took to give it a new lease on life.

I passed by on a recent visit to Pittsburgh when I took many a trip down memory lane. I was disappointed to see that it was once again on the decline. The peeling paint on the front of the house which seemed to be caused by water damage made me wonder if the roof was leaking somewhere. It cost a bundle but we replaced all of the oversized wooden windows on the front of the building because they were rotting/rotted and I worry that water damage will hasten this. The trim/door/brick colors are all wrong and I seem to remember that the city planted a tree in front of the house which is missing.

I moved to Cincinnati at the end of June, 1988.

I loved that house . . .

Descartes taken one step further. . .

I think therefore I drink

there's no place like home . . .

“Close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. And think to yourself, there's no place like home.”

I'm homesick . . .

José Saramago

The Portuguese Nobel prize winning author, José Sarmago, died today. He was 87. He was a natural "story-teller" but his ideas/views/books were controversial causing him to move abroad.

I attended a lecture that he gave a few years ago (2004) at a local library and you didn't need to be conversant in Portuguese to see that he was a good man. Afterwards at the book signing, he reassured those standing in a long queue not to worry about waiting as he would be the last person to leave the hall. He was that kind of person.

I cherish my copy of Baltazar & Blimunda signed by José Saramago. It was a pleasure to meet him.

May he rest in peace . . .

little black dress

It used to be that one needed to have a little black dress stashed away in the back of the closet. You never knew when an invitation to dine with friends at a new restaurant, a cocktail party, happy hour after work with co-workers or a date with the cute Price-Waterhouse auditor might arise. A girl just had to be prepared. . .

Fast forward 25 years (give or take 5) and the little black dress has taken on a completely different look. Now we need to have appropriate attire to wear to a funeral. Luis' cousin, who was in his mid 70's, died last night. His health has been declining during the past couple of years. Although home after a recent hospital stay, his death was totally unexpected and has taken us all by surprise. He was buried this afternoon.

May he rest in peace . . .

Before I do anything else today . . .

Before I do anything else today I would like to reflect on the moving situation. One thing that people don't take into consideration is the emotional impact that downsizing has. We are collectors; we spend a lifetime collecting things and memories. While I have moved more times than I care to remember and my transatlantic move forced me to leave behind lots of "things", I am once again facing that process of going through each and every item I own (paper/document/book/picture) and making a decision - pitch or keep, trash or treasure????? Although I've done this before, it's not any easier.

I've come across forgotten trinkets, revived silver earrings and bracelets, and looked at photos that have taken me back to parties and events long past. School books and papers that I wrote at Miami were revisited. And I began to feel a sense of loss. I was a non-traditional student who LOVED my undergraduate experience. Miami University was a world in which I flourished. My semesters included drama classes, horseback riding, buddhism, along with a semester abroad.

As third year students, a friend and I decided that we needed to also include a minor and we scrambled to find one that would compliment our majors. I finally graduated with a BA in History and a minor in Medieval Studies. In addition to studying the 12th Century and women in the middle ages, I took classes in medieval art and Chaucer. There was a time that I would discuss the iconography of tympanums, eat lunch in the remains of a Roman amphitheater, and go out of my way to travel to Autun (a remote town in France) to marvel at the sculptures of Gislebertus.

And as I write this I wonder what has happened to that woman. That woman who was filled with optimism and positive energy. That woman who was ready to tackle the world. That woman who had a sense of adventure and trusted her own competence. At the moment we are miles apart. I hope I rediscover her among the many boxes left to go through . . .

Summer is on the way . . .

The Jacaranda are in bloom!

Bad cat (part 2) . . .

The bird didn't make it.

Bad cat . . .

Bad cat . . .

It will be 4 years this August that we moved to this area. We went from living in a house to downsizing to an apartment. The house wasn't sold, it was left sitting, waiting. . . Waiting for us to clean it out, waiting for a new inhabitant. Cleaning, organizing, discarding, all that goes with moving on has been at the back of my mind for all this time but it was on the bottom of my long to-do list and well, we never got to it. Now the push is on because Luis' niece and her family will be moving in soon. As soon as we get our stuff out . . . So my Saturday for the past 2 months has been working in the house.

Today while there I heard a lot of loud birds in the front yard and went out to see what the ruckus was about and saw my neighbor's cat with a bird in his mouth. I shouted at him and he took off still holding onto his prey. Four birds chased him home. It was amazing. They were sooooooooo upset.

On impulse a few minutes later I went looking for the cat. I found him on his porch sans bird. As I started home I noticed that the bird was in the middle of the sidewalk - stunned. I picked him/her up and took him home. He/she looked like he/she was in shock. I sat him/her in the front yard (keeping an eye out for cat next door). After a while he/she seemed to be recovering and I hoped that he/she would fly away. All the while the other birds were nearby keeping an eye on their buddy. About 5pm we had to go and a decision needed to be made about the bird.

We put him/her in a small basket with a bit of water and set it on a high outside window sill safe from the neighborhood cats. We won't go back to the house until next Saturday. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he/she gets his/her second wind and flys away home.

Bad cat . . .

The Outsider

I live in a world that I don't belong to . . .

Kent State - 40 years later . . .

It says a lot about a people when they kill their young . . .

ain't that the truth . . .

" It's counter-productive to raise kids in a world without consequences." Temperance Brennan

this says it all . . .

new shoes

My first pair of Converse All Stars. All I can say is, "It's about time!"

what a day . . .

cold Lux winters

This café in Place Guillaume has the best chocolat chaud (hot chocolate) in Luxembourg City. You know the kind - smooth, rich and it's served with a spoonful of thick whipped cream. Just what you need to warm you up on cold afternoons.

Ah, yes, I remember it well . . .

This is way fab . . .

I love this song which was made popular years ago by Leon Redbone. I went to see Leon at Graffiti, a very small Pittsburgh venue, in the 80's expressly to hear him sing this. Guess what - to the chagrin of the audience he flatly refused. Go figure . . .

February 4

This is what happens when you have too little time and too many blogs. This entry was meant for my Year 8 kids. I wondered what happened to this (lol).

Let's build a storyboard using Word 2007.

1. Insert a 2-column table into a word document
2. Begin with the Narration
3. Incluce Motion; Music; Title
4. Color Code your information because

Wednesday afternoons . . .

The soccer team practice at a profession soccer school on Wednesday afternoons. I am the teacher that accompanies them . . .

OMG

This was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO Cool! A couple of my students were audience members for the Portuguese equivalent of American Idol.

AND they brought signs for ME!

Rub a dub dub

Window shopping . . .

How much is that kitty in the window?

Farmville. . .

Kids at work!

Everyone engaged!

rain, rain, and more rain. . .

Danger

Today was another cold, rainy day but we walked along the sea anyway in the late afternoon. Every now and again we spotted a surfer or two as the day gave way to night . . .

Remnents of days gone by . . .

Costa da Caparica

This is above a door of a house in Costa da Caparica:

Very rough translation: Welcome are those who visit with good intentions

Somewhere over the rainbow . . .

On Fridays there are "concerts" during lunch in the reception area at my school. Today, as I was walking back to my classroom after lunch I stopped a minute to listen as a music teacher was playing a Wizard of Oz classic . . .

Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high.
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue.
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

I gotta a feeling . . .

First day back after the holiday break and after seeing this rainbow on the way to work, I just knew that it would be a good day!

Mimosa - my local coffee shop

Even in January some people prefer an outdoor cafe . . .

50% off - Everything is on sale!

Nothing seems to fit. . .

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas!

Happy Birthday Joana

My grand-daughter turned 2 yesterday but she celebrated her birthday today with a party where she received lots of gifts making her a very happy little girl.

One of the great things about turning 2 is that all gifts are created equal. A MacDonalds happy-meal trinket is just as welcomed as a diamond tiara - and everything, treasures and trash alike, ends up in a heap on the floor (hahahahaha).

One woman's ceiling is another woman's floor . . .

We live in a fabulous neighborhood. It's along the coast and we are about a 15 minute walk to the beach. While we do have lots of hotels and visitors, this neighborhood is nestled between two bigger and better-known tourist areas so it's relatively calm for a holiday destination and traffic is not a problem. This community has more of a "village" feel to it, which I really enjoy. We have everything you need within walking distance: restaurants, coffee shops where the waiters know me and say "bom dia" and bring me my bica and mini bola berlim sem creme without my asking, banks, grocery stores, post office, dry cleaners - all the necessities of life.

This area was once full of wealthy people living in stately homes with plenty of room for the live-in staff. While only a few of these mansions remain (even after having been converted into apartments), it's still considered a good neighborhood and is full of charm. (You can just imagine that I like a bit of that!) And almost everyday I actually say (out loud), "I love it here!"

So it is coming from this perspective that I was surprised to see a "for sale" sign on the balcony of one of the upstairs apartments in my building. The woman whose apartment is for sale said that she hasn't been happy one day in her apartment or this neighborhood. She said that she is a "simple person" and that most of the people who live in this neighborhood are snobs.

I'm shocked. She's lived here for 23 years - that's a big chunk out of one's life. As I thought about this, I can only hope that she somehow feels that she "needs" to find a reason to move closer to her daughter. Oftentimes it's hard for us to make a change and we feel that we have to "justify" our choices so we indulge in negative thoughts which then warrant action. I hope that her flat sells soon, that she settles somewhere near her daughter in a neighborhood full of friendly faces and that one day she can look back on her time spent here in Mt. Estoril and smile.

In the meantime, I'm repainting the built-ins that I never finished painting before we moved in, and I'm listening to Jimmy Buffet, grinning ear to ear, and feeling lucky to be here!

Go figure - one woman's ceiling really is another woman's floor . . .

How does your garden grow?

Remember this old nursery rhyme?

Mary, Mary quite contrary

How does your garden grow?

With cats, of course!

To Catch A Thief. . .

In 2008 I was fortunate enough to travel to 2 amazing places - Dubai (UAE) and Morocco. This Dubai thing was a once in a lifetime work opportunity and Morocco, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Portugal, has been on my list for quite some time now. But life is full of lots of ups and downs and when I returned home from Morocco last July I discovered that I had been robbed. Any jewelry that was valuable was taken, including Luis' watch. While there weren't any Fabrege eggs among my trinkets, I had a few nice pieces including a ring that my mother had left me. All gone, just like that.

The pisser is that we had had the locks changed earlier in the year and NOONE had a key to the apartment. We didn't have a housekeeper or even a friend or relative who had an extra key (just in case we locked ourselves out). Nor had anyone been left alone in the house long enough to rummage through our things - no painter, cable guy, chimney sweep, delivery boy/girl, repair person, NOONE. There were no signs of forced entry either. We live on the 2nd floor so it would be pretty tricky (not to say conspicuous) breaking into a window that high up on a quiet residential street.

Nope, it was someone we knew (I knew) and (for all intents and purposes) trusted. It was someone who I invited into my life, into my home. The only person who had the occasion was a work colleague who lived nearby. When the need arose we fed each other's cats, watered plants and brought in the mail as "neighbors" often do. She had full access to my place while I was travelling. At some point during my absence she had the time to calmly and quietly rifle through my belongings and help herself to pieces of my life. There was a story and a memory attached to each article that made it a treasure.

The policeman we spoke with said that most burglaries were committed by someone you know and most cases remain unsolved and unpunished. We confronted the person we suspected and she denied any involvement. As we had no concrete proof (who would have thought that I needed a nanny-cam), we chose not to pursue the matter legally. Gotta say that that didn't make it any easier though. It was hard seeing her at work and I am glad that she will not be returning to school this coming year and is moving out of my neighborhood.

There's no moral to this story. There's no happy ending either. There's no advice that I can offer to guard against this. But while I do know that you can't live your life protecting yourself against all of the what if's, I still haven't haven't replaced any of the missing pieces . . .

Mirror, mirror on the wall . . .

I love my mirror!

Yesterday I walked into a hairdresser's. It's brand spanking new and is full of natural sunlight and has lots of oversized mirrors. As I gazed into the mirror an overweight older chick stared back. This certainly does not happen at home.

At my apartment the mirrors allow me to see myself as my "best" self. They make me look slimmer than I actually am. I have pulled Luis into the bathroom on serveral occasions and asked him to "look into the mirror, then look at me". I then asked him if I looked thinner in the mirror. As a survivor of "does my bum look fat in this", he won't be drawn in to another similar situation but it's a fact - I look cute at home.

In Feb, 2007 a prominent British retailer was accused of using that tactic as a marketing strategy. The Telegraph article lays it all out for you here. There was a complaint that the mirrors were tilted or angled to make the customers look slimmer.

Well, on my list of things to do in 2009 as my number one priority I intend to get rid of an extra ten pounds that I have been carrying around with me for some time now. Then every mirror will be like my mirrors at home.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
whose the fairest of them all? Why me, of course (hahahahaha)

2009

WoW! Another year up and running!

New beginnings - ya just gotta love them and we are afforded the opportunity to start afresh every January. New Year's is a time where we focus on being our "best" selves and this year is no different.

I guess this is the time and place to talk about New Year's Resolutions. . .

I'll make it short and sweet - more play, less carbs.

Hope your 2009 is crisis-free.

Farewell "green receipts"

Here in Portugal one option for a worker is "freelance".

A "freelancer" (doctor, architect, writer, translator - you get the idea) provides a service and receives payment after submitting a "green receipt" to the client. The green receipt serves as an official document and is proof of payment.

After earning somewhere in the neighborhood of €12,000 per annum this system becomes more complicated. The client must pay a tax (20%) to the freelancer. The freelancer then passes these funds along to the state quarterly.

It's not like a pay raise or any kind of benefit. What it boils down to is just one more thing to do as the freelancer is required to file a form online and submit the funds. (You might remember my bitch, I mean post, last year as a result of NOT filing IVA at a time when I had no income . . .)

This whole IVA system was once again in the news. Seems that you are now obliged to file an end of the year form that nobody knows about. Evidently this law has been in place for a couple of years now and the fines for the 200,000 people who have not complied with this piece of legislation (because they didn't even KNOW about it - duh!!) have been cancelled (isn't that generous).

I was once-again reminded that ignorance of the law is never an excuse for non-compliance but this seems a little ridiculous to me. I think that most people would file all the governmental forms they need to IF they are AWARE of them.

Since these forms are all filed electronically and the govt has our email addresses - wouldn't it be in their best interest to send out an email explaining what needs to be done? Or could they maybe (and forgive me if I'm wrong but I'm just thinkin' out loud here) create a pop-up when the freelancer logs into the system to pay their quarterly fees? How about a video? a mass-marketing email? a podcast? a cartoon? a PhotoStory? an e-newsletter? an e-card?

Anyway enough of my bitching about that because I have just cancelled my status as a "freelancer" and have a book of green reciepts if anybody needs one. . .

Boo!

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday (even though it's not technically a day-off kinda holiday). Dressing up and collecting goodies appeals to the kid in all of us. Imagine - costumed you shout "trick or treat" on someone's porch and you are immediately given candy. (Can life get any better than that?)

There were "good" Halloweens and "bad" Halloweens. I remember a really old couple on my street who gave out taffy apples (that they made in their kitchen). This was the ultimate and we often walked out their back door only to run around to the front of the house and get in line again hoping that we weren't memorable enough to be noticed. I remember another Halloween where a neighbor of mine dressed up as a bride. Her gown was beautiful and was handmade by her older brother who was attending art school (don't ask!). She was reduced to tears when during the evening the hem of her dress ripped. Not even a pilow case full of candy could consol her.

My most memorable Halloween was the year I turned 7. My older brother who was 8 (my only brother at the time) had gone out early (as usual) and came home with a bag full of candy. My aunt arrived with my cousin who was 9. The three of us set out on our own. This was quite something as it was the first time we went trick or treating unescorted and we ventured further than we should have.

Somehow after the time changes in late October evening not only comes earlier but seems DARKER as well. The three of us were not too far from home as we were near school which we walked to every day but we had walked beyond the school. It was way dark and although it couldn't have been more than 7:15 or so most of the porch lights were off and we found ourselves alone.

We started to walk back when out of the blue (or should I say black) older boys (who couldn't have been more than 12 or 13) appeared and grabbed my brother's bag of candy. We were stunned. We didn't know what to do. They towered over us. We were no match for them and we all knew it. Then one of the older boys grabbed my bag and we began a tug of war. He pulled one way and I pulled the other. Then I let out a wail that would wake the dead. The boys took off and we hurried home, my brother crying all the way.

It still makes me wonder whatever possessed these tweens to take advantage of three little kids and ruin their fun but that's another post.

The moral of this story is that when someone is trying to take what's rightfully yours - hold onto your bag/idea/valuables/scruples and SCREAM (at the top of your lungs) and then watch the culprits scatter into the night. . .

Games people play . . .

I was recently reminded of a boy I knew the summer of 1967.

There was a big world out there but we weren't a part of it. As dysfunctional as our lives were back then we still had 10pm curfews during the week so you couldn't get up to much. Marty was one year older than I was and in my brother's class. He wasn't my "boyfriend" although I liked him a lot and wanted him to be (hahaha). No it wasn't like that, we just kinda hung out together the way kids do. We smoked cigarettes and laughed a lot and we played cards under the streetlight across from the swimming pool on hot, summer nights.

We played all kinds of traditional card games including rummy and poker that summer. I don't remember exactly what prompted this but one night Marty asked me if I knew how to play a particular game. I said that I didn't so Marty set out to explain the rules to me.

I was winning at this new card game and Marty seemed surprised. He added rules (that he said he had forgotten to mention) as we went along that were always in his favor. It didn't take an Einstein to realize that Marty was making this game up as we went along. AND he didn't like losing. I never let on and to be honest I really didn't mind because I liked him a lot and liked the time that we spent together.

But as I look around the world today, I have the feeling that the powers that be are pullin' a Marty. It seems as if a lot of people are making up the rules as they go along. And every time you start to win at their game, they change the rules again. . .

I'm in love again. . .

Well, there it is. I've said it, "I'm in love again (and it's not even spring!)"

My first love was Cary Grant, then when I was a little older I fell in love with Paul Newman and my last big love was Warren Beatty. Yes, I took an occasional fancy to others over the years. Burt Reynolds, Tom Sellick, and John Lennon were each on my list at one time or another, and while I was smitten, they were merely crushes - (hahahaha).

Well I thought all that was well behind me and whammo Cupid's arrow strikes again. This time the object of my "intellectual" desire is Alan Shore. Yes, Alan Shore from Boston Legal. No, not James Spader who by the way is a great actor and is doing a fab job making this character come to life. But not James Spader. I'm in love with the with fictional character of Alan Shore.

For those of you who don't know Alan Shore is a character on Boston Legal one of those lawyer shows so popular in the States. His character is a wealthy, eccentric widower in his mid 40's. He is also a womanizer. Blah, blah, blah . . .

The most important qualities of Alan Shore are that he is: intelligent, well-educated, informed, articulate, passionate, and honorable. And more importantly, he isn't afraid to say what he thinks. (Listen to him speak here). He takes on the tough issues - he asks everyone to be accountable and to hold our leaders accountable. He talks about what it really means to be "American".

Yes, I'm in love again. The thing that bothers me about all this is that Alan Shore is NOT a real person but a fictionalized character. That for one to find an honorable man we must look to fantasy.

It bothers me that we live in a "me" society in which we shove and snatch what we want much like the pre-schooler who grabs a toy from another child - only now the stakes are higher.

It bothers me that the people who started this current economic crisis are the sames ones who will be given the funds to correct it.

It bothers me that the fox is guarding the henhouse.

It bothers me that it's not our business or political leaders who are trying to make the world a better place and that people like me who are looking for a better day for humanity are resigned to flights of imagination with characters like Alan Shore for 1 hour per week less adverts . . .

20 Years Ago

On a sunny September morning 20 years ago I received a telephone call asking me to come immediately to the hospital.

I was staying with my friend Sandy who lived a "walk across the park" from the hospital so I was able to shower, dress and get to the hospital in no time at all. It's times like this that you want to linger to avoid the inevitable . . . You know the feeling. It's like when you were a kid and you wanted the walk to school to last a decade because you hadn't done your homework.

But you hurry because the call was from one of the nurses at the hospital and without being told you know. You know that the end is near - and you rush to be with your loved one - one last time . . .

You are greeted by hosptial employees with downcast eyes who usher you into the ICU and there you are permitted to stay until all hope has faded and your life has changed yet again.

It was 20 years ago that my mother died on a sunny September morning; 20 years ago that September took on a whole new meaning for me.

I'm glad that tomorrow is October. . .