Letter to the editors

Dear Editors

Back in the day, you’d buy the Sunday Sarasota Herald-Tribune and be assured of curling up for an hour of juicy reading, drinking one or two cups of coffee while fending off the cats who felt it was their duty to hold the paper down on the floor by sprawling languidly across it, flicking their tails with measured insouciance as you tried vainly to get to the next page.

But now, you can read the H-T faster than you can flip its pages practically, because it seems to be in a frantic free-for-all of diminishing returns on all fronts, and the major loss is to and of the reader. What papers like the H-T are missing is that people will — still — willingly pay for that experience of getting ink all over their hands and fighting the fold. But they want substance for their trouble. (more…)

Five hundred words of foreplay

This column was written back in my Pelican Press days when I’d just been given a reduced word count for the Reality Chick column … . Given the decreasing size in newspapers across the country (have you seen the Sarasota Herald Trib lately?) this column still feels germane.

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I’ve recently been given a word limit for this column. Five hundred words versus the average 700 I’ve been writing for the past year.

It’s nothing personal, my editor says. They’re cutting back the length of every column. Why? It’s the same story newspaper writers and readers are hearing everywhere: readership is down, money is tight, ad space is king. So what gets cut? (more…)

Falling on my ass … ad infinitum

Not too long ago, I had an interaction with someone that, well, didn’t break my heart exactly, but definitely left me wondering just how much I “matter” in the world.

Isn’t it something we all ask ourselves? When you think about it, doesn’t the question – do I matter? – subliminally inform nearly every action we take, or don’t take, and nearly every word we say, or don’t?

Isn’t so much of what we do each day an unconscious attempt to gauge or assert how much we matter – to ourselves, to the world? (more…)

A man fan

I’ve never been a sports fanatic, but I’ve always been a big fan of men, especially men who play sports.

When I was little, I was my brothers’ biggest fan. Both older, they were outstanding athletes and taught me sports essentials – like how to tuck a football in the crook of my arm and run like hell, how to throw a lateral, how to fake left. They taught me how to shoot hoop – how to aim for that sweet spot on the backboard, how to go in for a lay-up. (more…)

The happy hangover — the final Inauguration/Inebriation post

I spent Inauguration Day glued to my television, working only intermittently on the client work piled up on my desk and in my Outlook e-box. That night, I went to a couple of Inauguration Day parties, beginning with one at the stunning home of A & F — one of the smartest, funnest (yes, I know it’s not a real word!), most hospitable couples in all of SRQ. After spending an inappropriate length of time drooling at their amazing art work, which I do whenever they’re kind enough to let me cross their threshhold, I made my way into the party gathering and found an old — and I mean that in both senses, but kindly — friend about whom I’d written previously in a column entitled Sarasota’s Real Rich.

I hobnobbed with some of the coolest, most interesting folks in Sarasota — including my friend, Ingrid, drank a bit too much (yep, still confusing the word inauguration with inebriation … but I’ll get it right one of these days), inadvertently kissed a complete stranger cum new acquaintance on the lips when I was aiming for his cheek (damn those phony French air kisses anyway!), and left the party early, stopping only to lust after the paintings again as I exited this belle maison and tripped along the way to the next party.

The night was massively windy, as you might recall, and en route, I managed to flash a car with a Marilyn Monroe-esque glimpse beneath my skirt when the wind quite naughtily pulled its own version of a subway grate gust. My flimsy satin skirt flew up to my neck right as I was crossing the street, catching me frozen deer-like in the headlights of a newly arriving party guest. Luckily, I was wearing the blackest leggings to save me from total mortification. Moving on.

Next arrived at the WSLR Inauguration Extravaganza — the People’s Potluck Party for Change — held at the Art Center near Van Wezel Hall. I got another fabulous inundation of art (some very good stuff on the walls — have to go back when I’m less UI) and ran into quite a few people I know. One acquaintance said “Geez, you look ten years younger.” After I got over the implied insult that I must have previously looked ten years older, I decided I AM ten years younger!

Again had the good fortune of running into Sarasota Democratic Club President, Nancy Feehan, who was maddeningly chic in a hot, hot, shiny leather trenchcoat. I basically wanted to kill her. This is me, leaning over her Join the Sarasota Democrats table, politely ignoring her chicness.

Chic? Who cares about chic when you're the Reality Chick?!

By the way, if you want to join the Sarasota Dems — you can easily do so HERE!

So, enough of my rambling. I’m stone cold sober and I better be, right? For the work ahead? For my cats, my self, my community, my clients, my friends and family, the strangers at the gate, and for my country.

Sober, single (still!), and spectacularly happy.

Sarasota’s real rich

This column first appeared in print in 2006.
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I know some really rich people here in Sarasota.

George, for example. (That’s his nom de column.) I met George and his wife at a salon-style dinner and discussion group I attend from time to time. He’s a hot ticket.

George is unbelievably au courant when it comes to world happenings. He can discourse on any topic from history to philosophy and religion to politics and sociology. He’s funny and gallant, and seems to know everything there is to know about, well, everything.

He can talk, a lot. But it’s always interesting, I usually learn something, and he always makes me think. I admit to a wee crush on the guy. (more…)

My pledge … want to join me?

A year ago, I saw Jane Goodall speak at the Town Hall Series. Since that lecture, delivered in a no-nonsense manner, woke me up, I’ve managed to stick with a few changes inspired by Goodall. For example, it’s been months and months since I used a plastic bag at any grocery store or market (read my column about being the “right kind” of bag lady) In fact, I eschew them — plastic bags — in general no matter where I am — bookstores, Macy’s, the drugstore. I’m proud of the change, but know I can do more.

Since Obama’s inauguration yesterday, I’ve been thinking what more can I do for my country right now? There are all sorts of things I’d LIKE to do (more…)

Lessons learned on loving the Earth

This column appeared in print in April 2007.

I support the World Wildlife Fund, avoid animal-tested products. There’s no SUV in my driveway, and I’ve never once watered my lawn. So I was feeling a tad smug a couple of weeks ago as I settled into my seat at the Van Wezel and waited for Jane Goodall to talk.

But in less than twenty minutes, Goodall had wiped that self-righteous smugness right off my face. With elegant simplicity and plainly presented truths, Goodall had accomplished what no Earth Day celebration or PBS documentary had ever managed.

She made me feel ashamed. (more…)

An Obama high

Pretty much all day — I’ve been on an Obama high. Well, actually, that’s not accurate. I’ve been on an American high. Wicked proud of my country today. Wicked proud of the man who stood up there and addressed a nation in challenging, but inspiring terms. Just what we needed.

What I’ve been thinking about most since a bit past noon is this: what can I do? Obama can’t turn this country around — it’s me. It’s you. It’s us. What can we do? (more…)

Less than six degrees of separation between MC and Obama

Hey — did you know that there are less than six degrees separating me and our new U.S. President? (more…)