In the category of they must be kidding … more proof of the bourgouis brain
http://gawker.com/5536722/wall-street-journal-claims-ignorance-on-kagan+lesbian+softball-connection
Bennett, bikini babes, and the bourgeois brain
I could care less what Mike Bennett, the man, views or watches — whether it’s actual or perceived porn or not — (care to say which of these is pornographic: PETA’s attention-grabbing hijinks on a West Palm Beach city street; Desperate Housewives; Siesta Beach during Spring Break; or The L Word.)
Hey, whatever floats the boat. (more…)
A Boomer-licious birthday
If walks were presents, then Boomerang must have a birthday everyday — because he always gets at least one walk a day, and today — on his real birthday, he’s already had two walks and it’s only a bit past noon. (more…)
Smooth moves at the Sarasota County Fair
Hey, has anyone seen the Bird/Magic documentary on HBO? It’s so interesting. I’m only thinking about that because I’m thinking about dunking … and I thought, up until last Friday, that dunking only occurred in basketball.
Little did I know there’s dunking in baseball too. But I digress a bit.
Here’s the story … (more…)
Trust everyone … but cut the cards yourself
Finley Peter Dunne is the one who gets the attribution for the phrase “Trust everyone, but cut the cards.” But it’s an axiom I’ve adopted for myself for a long time now. I’ve just always added the “yourself” part to further clarify that the only trust that matters is the trust you have in yourself.
Ergo, have friends, be happy, fall in love, take that job … but don’t let anybody else cut the cards you’ll be playing with. Or else — in all likelihood, and all evidence supports — you’ll be short a few cards when you need them most.
People play to win. They protect themselves at all costs to get what they want when they want it. I’m not saying that’s necessarily a bad thing — as long as they’re honest about their pursuits and interests — but am most definitely saying understanding that truth should change the way we think and talk and act about trust and love and faith, in our families, our lovers, our friends, our elected officials.
And, in light of all the crap that passes for human interaction these days — name calling at the highest levels of government, people like Glenn Beck being given a platform — and the idiocy of the unthinking yokels who actually give him the time of day, Tiger Woods, JNadel, Madoff, even our own local Kathy Dent who couldn’t be bothered to audit properly, and yes, maybe even our own president and his minions who while they may have accomplished a great thing with health care reform, their behind-the-scenes turning of the screws didn’t exactly leave those of us who care about ends and their means with a happy afterglow — I’m fairly certain, in fact, I’m precisely certain, that while I may keep my cards on the table, while I may stay in the game … nobody’s every going to be cutting or dealing the cards of my life but me.
When Sandra Bullock stood up and gave her Academy award acceptance speech and ended it by giving props to her husband Jesse for “having my back” — sheesh, I almost faltered for a second. I almost thought, hey, maybe it is possible to find someone who will have your back unequivocally and in a stand-up, rock-solid way. She didn’t say he was her savior, or the love of her life or any bullshit like that. She just said he had her back. That simple. And that important. To know that come hell or high water, the person you sleep with is going to be careful and protective with your heart and your life, even if it costs them something in the process.
Well, by all appearances, looks like Sandra was wrong. He didn’t have her back at all … in fact, he was busy getting in back with another woman, possibly more than one. I have no problem with the guy if he wants to get laid elsewhere — but be a man and tell your wife first, so she can have the opportunity to protect herself and/or get out. Or at the very least, have the cajones to tell her what’s happened within hours of it happening. Don’t wait until she’s reached the pinnacle of professional success to let her learn about your dirty deeds done dirt cheap.
The thing about having someone’s back is that it’s not about love and promises and weddings and pre-nups. It’s about 100%, 24/7/365 — never, ever — screwing that person over. You don’t have to love them eternally. You don’t have to fake orgasms. You don’t have to lie to get them to do something you want them to do, or cover up something you want to do but think they won’t approve of.
You just have to be honest. Every time. Ahead of time. Behind time. All the time.
Stop! Oh, yes, wait a minute, Mister Postman!
Now, I hear the USPS might shut down Saturday service … I’m okay with that — as long as they continue five days a week. 
But what I lament is the idea that people just don’t write old-fashioned letters anymore. We’re losing something — an archive of loves, loves lost, travels, penmanship, the ability to coherently write down our thoughts without the benefit of the backspace button or cut and paste rearranging of our thoughts. (more…)
Quit ya whinin’!
Sheesh. Last night after I posted my “woe is me, I don’t got no fun” blog, I realized what a whiner I’ve turned into about this whole “365 days of fun” thing I got myself into for my New Year’s Resolution.
So, I’m going to quit whining about how I’ve frickin’ lost my mojo, or juju, or ya-ya, or whatever the hell it is and JUST DO IT. (more…)
Letter-writing makes for good, old-fashioned fun
I’m a sucker for the handwritten letter. For me, there’s nearly nothing better than walking to the mailbox in front of my house, pulling open the little metal door, and finding an envelope with my name scrawled across it. (more…)
Footsie fun
Remember awhile back I mentioned that I’d been given a gift certificate to a local spa for Christmas? Well, I used part of it to have a foot massage, but then recently went back to use the rest of the certificate and have a reflexology treatment. This experience took fun to a whole new — and different — level.
I was a bit skeptical — reflexology? But my feet have been bothering me so much lately that I figured I’d try anything. (more…)
My best friend’s wedding
Two weeks ago, my best friend married his best girl. Married in Boston, but they came down to Florida for a post-wedding reception dinner. That was last weekend. I went up to Tampa.
And … contrary to everything I’ve ever known or thought I knew about myself … I cried like a frickin’ baby when he and his erstwhile girlfriend, now wife, re-enacted their wedding vows for the Florida contingent. Like a baby. And, believe me — and those of you who know me well know this is true — I NEVER cry. Not any more, at least. Not very often, at least. But for Brian … I cried.
Cried out of happiness. Out of something. I can’t lie and say that Oscar Wilde’s words weren’t ringing through my head — “A second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.” Maybe it was that idea — of optimism — that was making me cry. Maybe it’s because the cynic in me was thinking for a moment … maybe I’ve got it all wrong — maybe love does exist. Maybe you can take a flier on somebody. Maybe you can fall in love and maybe it will stick. Maybe Wilde wasn’t being cynical when he wrote those words (though I rather think he was) — isn’t it possible he was applauding the nerve it takes to walk that aisle a second time? I can’t imagine doing that myself. Believing in someone that much again.
So, maybe. Maybe that’s why I was crying.
But I know one thing: I was also crying because I love him. He’s the best person I’ve known over the last 17 years. We met at Bucknell.
He taught me about philosophy, in fact, he’s taught me more things than I can remember … and I’d like to think I’ve taught him something as well. We’ve been friends ever since the first night we met at a poetry reading. Friends. The kind that people don’t believe can exist between a man and a woman … but which, most emphatically does exist. At least for us. We’ve lasted. (That’s Bri and me in the photo … a couple of years back at a New Year’s Eve party I threw.) Through my marriage and subsequent divorce. Through his first marriage, and now this beginning his second.
And I imagine we’ll continue to last until my dotage, at which point I fully expect him to support me and my book, cat, and martini habit for the rest of my years. Um, that might test our friendship … at long last. But only because he’s allergic. Not to cats, but to my relentless indulgence of their whims. (He’s already got a word for what he thinks ails me — anthropomorphimania.)
Maybe I cried because Brian has more faith in humans — more faith in love — than I do. (Yes, I admit, I reserve my faith for felines and birds, for the most part.) Maybe I cried because, underneath it all, I’m a big softie (though I doubt it) and I want to believe in people too. In love.
Maybe I just cried because wedding vows make people cry.
I don’t know. But I cried. And weirdly. Very weirdly … I was having fun at the same time.
