Wednesday, December 15, 2010

It was the Best of Times...Oh, Who Am I Kidding?

2010 without a doubt, has been the mother of all years for me.  And, it seems that this pinnacle year began to flex it's muscle almost immediately.

While it seems that 2010 has ground my emotions and psyche up like hamburger meat, I've taken a look around and I'm not the only one.  People that have been involved in longstanding relationships are now standing as one.  The usual is now unusual and the norm is now on it's ear. 

It's been strange to observe all that has happened and that is happening as I speak.  As for living my life, it has been difficult at best as I find myself struggling to find "my new normal."  The end of this traumatic year has my attention and my thoughts.  I can only wonder what is ahead in 2011.

Whatever it is, I hope the path is a bit more level and that we can all find our new normal.

More Musings Later-

Saturday, November 13, 2010

An Open Letter to Randy Moss

I remember watching the NFL station one evening not too long ago when the commentators were discussing the fact that your contract was coming up for renewal with the New England Patriots.  I watched you as you answered questions for reporters.  You reiterated that you would work your butt off regardless of come what may with your contract.  I thought it was a fair and succinct statement given the circumstances.  I'm not sure why the Patriots didn't come clean with the contract negotiations, but hey, professional football is a business, right?

Suddenly, you are sent to the Minnesota Vikings.  Things don't seem to be working well there either.  Why?  Who knows.  Office politics is an ugly game that most people don't care to participate in.  I'm one of them.  In fact, I'm willing to bet that if I had been dealt the same hand as you, I would play them the same way as you did too. 

You probably feel like once again, you are shuffled off to another lame pro football team.  Let me fill you in on the Nashville fans and the Tennessee Titans.  We WANT you here.  That's why Fisher snapped you up as quickly as he did.  Do we already have great players?  You bet we do.  Adding you to the roster only makes our team better, not a liability. 

Nashville is beyond excited by having you on the team.  We may have a "country bumpkin" reputation due to our musical history and geography, but we are also a metropolitan city with an exciting football team that just got better within a blink of an eye.  We want you to work your butt off.    

In exchange for your hard work, expect to see:
  • Fans snapping up jerseys with your name on the back.   
  • A rowdy, supportive crowd at the games
  • A fiercely loyal fan base.
  • A sold out crowd at our home stadium, as well as  every sports bar in town to be packed to the rafters cheering for you and the rest of our guys.

We may be "boring" or not "metropolitan" enough for some players, but we're loyal, rowdy and we're dying to win a Super Bowl.

Ya With Us?   We need to go just ONE MORE YARD.
Welcome, Randy Moss.

Monday, October 18, 2010

The Color Purple

Watching the news can be a depressing endeavor some days.  So full of violence, political idiocy, hate and religious persecution. 

A week or so ago, I watched a story where several teens were bullied at school because they were gay.  I suddenly was thrust back in school and was the butt of jokes, mean spirited remarks and other forms of taunting once again.  Yeah, I was one of those kids that was bullied.  I hated school.  I wondered how long it would take before the comments and taunts would stop.  The school yard filled with children shouting filthy names at just a few soon grew into junior and high school students where the shouting was replaced with whispers, stares and false rumors traveling at the speed of light.    

The first time it happened, I was in elementary school.  I was wearing a lacy dress, shiny leather shoes with lacy socks along with a hair ribbon  pinned to the the curls in my hair via rollers, Dippity-Doo, Aqua Net and bobby pins  for safekeeping.  I looked like every other little girl back in the day.  But, apparently my secret was out.

During class one day, my teacher was writing on the blackboard and I raised my hand.  The boys had been calling me a name and I didn't understand why.  My teacher acknowledged me and gave me permission to ask the question.

"What does the word, 'queer' mean?"  She thought a moment trying to second guess my reason for asking and simply stated, "It means, 'odd' or 'unusual'.  She turned around and continued writing on the blackboard.  I felt vindicated as I just wanted someone else of authority to tell me what I already knew.   My teacher turned around again and looked at me expectantly and asked, "Did that answer your question?"

I decided to push my luck a bit further.  "Does 'queer' mean the same thing as 'homosexual'?"  She laid the piece of chalk in her hand onto the blackboard tray along with the erasers.

"To be absolutely clear, the words, "queer" are slang for the word homosexual.  This slang term is meant to be hurtful towards others when used.  The word, "queer" will be used properly in this classroom, out in the recess yard and in my presence.  Have I made myself clear?"  My teacher wasn't particularly well-liked so the emphasis of her words was missed by most of the children.  I realize now that she could have gotten into a lot of trouble making that remark to a class of 3rd graders. 

The next morning I walked to school and saw that our school had been vandalized.  Across the main entrance, someone had painted the words; "TARYN IS A QUEER."  I was mortified, highly embarrassed and ashamed without knowing why.  I felt like I was the only one to endure this type of bullying.  As I think of it now, it's amazing to me that people are STILL being persecuted for being gay.  You might as well condemn me for having brown eyes.

I tell you this story so that other kids that have gone through similar, not as drastic or even more extreme bullying will know they are not alone.  I lived through it and discovered that life can be quite wonderful as an odd duck.  So, I am asking that everyone that has read this blog to pass this post on to friends and friends of friends.  As Shug Avery mused to Miss Celie, "I think it pisses God off for people to walk by the color purple and not even notice."

We're here, We're Queer and there's no need to Fear.

Wear purple on October Time Wednesday, October 20 · 12:00am - 11:30pm

Location Everywhere

More Info On October 20th we will wear purple to bring awareness to, and put an end to intolerance in honor of the 6 boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse at home and in schools. Purple represents spirit on the LGBT flag and that's exactly what we would like all of you to have with you: spirit. Please know that times will get better and that you will meet people who will love you and respect you for who you are, no matter your sexuality. Please wear purple on October 20th. Tell your parents, friends, co-workers, neighbors and schools.


Tyler Clementi

Seth Walsh

Justin Aaberg

Raymond Chase

Asher Brown

Billy Lucas

Zach Harrington

and all other victims of homophobia

More Musings Later-

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Trying to get it down

For those who follow this blog, you know that I have been working on a book for quite a long time.  I'm not able to work on it for long periods of time as my fingers and hands tell me how long I can work these days.  So, when my hands aren't shaking, having neuropathy or having sharp arthritic pain, I work as quickly as I can to write this book.

For the first time, I'm really pleased with the content thus far.  While sometimes I am able to take the time necessary to really craft a good story, sometimes I am forced to rush through just to get the story down as I think of it.  I use an outline, but sometimes working as the inspiration comes is much better.

I've read alot of the greats and classics and saw myself becoming frustrated and discouraged because it seemed that writing was so easy for them.  It's like watching a virtuoso musician play a difficult selection without even breaking a sweat.  No struggling, just the production of smooth genius.  I was harrumphing to myself this morning as I thought of great books that read so gracefully, profoundly and yet, simply.  I hope my book will be one of those classics one day, but I can only wish at this point.

I was heartened to read a quote from a literary master who was harrumphing as I was regarding his writing.  Who would have thunk?  In any event, I hope that one day if I am designated a master, that someone will find a quote from me saying the same thing so that writers won't quit the journey.

“I write one page of masterpiece to ninety one pages of shit, I try to put the shit in the wastebasket.” ~ Ernest Hemingway in conversation with F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1934.

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Andrea Chenier

 Last evening, I attended the Nashville Opera's production of Andrea Chenier.  I browsed through my program before curtain call and noticed that the productions for the year offer well-known classics such as Carmen, The Marriage of Figaro and others, nonetheless, I was pleased that I would be exploring unfamiliar territory in Chenier.

Andrea Chenier is a poet who found his own written words to be at odds with his country's political and social struggles.  While Chenier was well acquainted with aristocratic social circles in the beginning, his battle of words through France's political upheaval both literally and figuratively lead him back to accepting the consequences for his moral conscience of words.  A unique perspective considering that the working class, martyrs and disadvantaged are at the forefront of this story, ala' Victor Hugo's Les Miserables.  Along the way, Chenier falls in love with Maddalena di Coigny, a prominent socialite's daughter who has gone into hiding during the French Revolution. 

While the story is centered on Andrea Chenier, the true drama and weight of emotion is portrayed by Carlos Gerardo, a former servant to the upper crust di Coigny family.   Social roles have reversed and Gerardo has become powerful in his political role within the French Revolution and abuses his power by attempting to force himself upon his former employer, Maddalena di Coigny.  After listening to Maddalena tell of the murder of her mother and the burning of her home, the realization of his newfound power is simply an illusion. 

As with most previews or "final rehearsals," there were a couple of miscues between the orchestra and vocalist(s).  A few misspellings on the subtext screen were glaringly apparent as well.   There were also  some problems with 2 of the male roles being able to comfortably sustain notes in the lower register against an exuberant orchestra.  I couldn't help but wonder if adjustments in blocking and or subduing the orchestra could alleviate this problem.  Then again, many of the singers were wisely saving their voice for opening night.  Let's face it, Nashville in early October can be an overwhelming cocktail for throat issues. 

Kudos to the Nashville Opera for keeping this medium fresh and alive.  I was both amused (at first) and incredibly impressed with the promotion of offering both temporary and permanent Opera tattoo's in the lobby.  It's just one of 30 ways to celebrate the Nashville Opera.  In the land of facebooking, twittering and keeping up with the ever growing technology, the Nashville Opera is doing their part and more.  Interested in providing a school with an intro to Opera?  For more information, click here: Education Programs.

While sitting in the dark watching these cast of characters,  I found myself mesmerized in particular by  Lori Phillips (Maddalena di Coigny).   Prior to last evening's performance, I listened to several arias of this opera to become more acquainted with the story, emotion and characters.  I found the haunting and moving aria "La Mamma Morta," sung by Marie Callas and listened to what I would use (quite unfairly) to benchmark Ms. Phillips' performance.  A very unkind measurement of perfection that would be virtually impossible to overcome.

Phillips' was able to act her part complete with the slightest of gestures, emotional breaks in her voice that reached well into the back of the theater.  The feathery nuances of her restrained voice describing the horrors of her mother's demise grabbed this audience as the power of her chest voice climaxed in revealing a gut-wrenching mournful loss which reverberated throughout Jackson Hall.

I'm not qualified to speculate whether Maria Callas's "La Mamma Morta," was superior to Lori Phillips' version.  I only know that moments such as these which are draped in darkness inside a theater is a gift from the composer.  The stirring of the soul from Lori Phillips' vocal performance is a gift from the singer, complete with star power.


More Musings Later-

Saturday, October 02, 2010

The Allure of Id

I don't mind telling you that I have become a junkie of the worst kind.  My thoughts inevitably lead to when can I watch more of it?  Each day's challenges along with mundane occurrences are met with a renewed analysis.  The child's most incessant and irritating question:  Why?

If the above sounds familiar to you, then you've been watching HBO's In Treatment along with me.  I never saw the series until recently as they are catching viewers up on past episodes so that when Season 3 is throttled into gear, everyone is on the same page, or couch as it may be. 

I've always been intrigued by psychology and how therapists are able to decipher and untangle the wires of emotion within us.  HBO has taken this series which was originally a successful Israeli television program and tells the story of a fifty-something therapist who allows the demons of his patients to rear their ugly head for answers along the path to clarity.  The viewer of this drama becomes the voyeur seeking gratification to our lustful interests as we are allowed into this sacred, yet raw vulnerable area of the patient's psyche. 

Never mind that the therapist is that of brooding Gabriel Byrne, an intriguing and attractive Irishman who is able to settle back into an easy chair and engage either silently or quietly to the rumblings of his patient's emotional debris.  I guarantee you will find yourself examining his face for any nuance of discovery.  Even though his own life is as shattered and disturbing as his patients'.  His lilting brogue serves as the voice of reason or further self exploration of your emotional mine fields, indicated by a hmmm or referenced with a forefinger to his forehead.  

In any event, I've been consumed with this program.  Just yesterday, the phone rang and as I held the receiver to my ear, I heard the words of a man stammering, "Hi, I'm your Dad."  Words I hadn't heard for at least 20 years.  He wanted to speak to my mother.  As I handed the phone to her, I silently corrected his choice of words from "Dad" to father.  A very large difference in my mind.

I wonder what the good doctor would say?

Friday, September 24, 2010

Letting Go

This morning, I got up to the smell of Fall.  And, when I think of Fall, I immediately think of changes.  Both literally to the weather and to each of our lives. 

Think about it, Fall is when the new school year begins, learning new things, reading and listening to new writers and music.  It's football season, ordering or chopping wood for the fireplace, thinking about the holidays that will spiral out of control and be here before you know it, shopping for sweaters and coats all in preparation for the Fall season.

Not only is it an onslaught of "newness," it's also a time for letting go.  Although the give and take of letting go should be done seamlessly throughout our lives, if you're like me, it's a struggle and causes noticeable commotion within our lives.  I bet it wouldn't even take the game of 6 degrees of separation to find people who have lost or gained a relationship, felt the loss of a child and gained the presence of an adult in their place.  Perhaps it is the loss of self without anyone or thing to replace it.  Or, the worst case scenario, the loss of emotion which leaves the soul dry and brittled for the length of life.

On the other side of the coin, I find it interesting that when a brave soul is able to expose their innermost feelings either personally or to an audience, you will undoubtedly find people cringing at this display.  Is it because they have never felt these emotions of letting go and don't know what to make of it?  I'm betting no.  I think it edges too closely to the barriers we all have that protects our vulnerability. 
No one is perfect and it is usually pointed out quite graphically during one's school years.  Whether it's bullies who have their way with those who resemble their insecurities the most, or those who don't measure up to the school's most popular, athletic, best looking etc,  we're all taught to protect our shortcomings with our life.  Enter stage left, Fear of revealing Self. 

It's a shame, really.  Instead of wincing when observing the act of letting go, we should be applauding it.  The smell of Fall is upon us.  It's time for Letting Go. 

Don't wince, embrace it.  Life is awful boring when all of your time is spent protecting yourself.

More Musings Later-


Thursday, September 16, 2010

Art and Music

When people find out that I have played with symphony orchestras, inevitably, the question is always asked; is a conductor really needed?  It appears that they are simply waving their baton while the orchestra is already doing their job of playing in tempo with each other.  So what is it about the conductor that is so necessary?

While I'm probably not the most qualified person to speak to this question, I think I am able to provide some insight of why someone is needed to jab and slice the air with a baton in order to create order of musical notes.

I remember from my college days that our small southeast Texas music department was now home to a brilliant musician, Dr. Edward Schmider and his wife Laura.  Dr. Schmider and his family lived in Russia and defected to the United States and landed as a violin instructor at Lamar University.  I remember listening to stories as he recounted leaving his world behind in order to live a free life in the U.S.  This included leaving his beloved violin behind.  Leaving an instrument to some may seem insignificant in the big scheme of things, but to an artist, it is the same as leaving a part of your soul behind to fend in your absence.  And, so he did.

One fall semester, Dr. Schmider taught me why a conductor is necessary for an orchestra.  Our orchestra was attempting to learn a piece by Shostakovich.  At the time, my musical awareness was severely stunted.  Most people have heard this composer's name and realize his fame, but there isn't a personal connection between a person and this great composer.  Most budding musicians are guilty of this crime, the names are well-known but the connection is void.  Enter Stage Left, Dr. Schmider.

Our conductor at the time thought it would be interesting to have Dr. Schmider work with our orchestra in learning this piece.  Not simply to sing troublesome parts to those struggling with the technicality of producing the music, but to really learn this piece of music.  I'm grateful to this day that this incredible opportunity presented itself as it did.

Our group expected the usual, explanation of musical terms, learning difficult rhythms and preferred bowing patterns.  Ah, but this is the art of music.  Where technical proficiency is necessary, but heart and soul is needed more.  Dr. Schmider didn't bother to teach this piece of music in the typical way.  He gave us the connection of Shostakovich by recounting his own experiences with the composer.

As a younger man, Schmider was 1st violin under Shostakovich, the conductor.  The words Schmider gave to us were the same that Shostakovich gave to him.  In the silence of listening to his quiet direction, we all knew an incredible moment was happening.  Make no mistake, Schmider wasn't a metronome, his crumpled facial expressions and barely there movement of his baton brought us to the moment of Shostakovich's grief, sadness, anger, joy and a plethora of other emotions.  Those emotions which hung heavy in the air proved to be timeless as the music evolved as it was meant to evolve.   Somehow, a rehearsal hall in a small Music department of a southeast Texas college became connected to a rehearsal hall in St. Petersburg, Russia where a conductor/composer jabbed and sliced the air to release the music.

This video reminds me of that moment in time.  Where boredom of repetition and tried and true are replaced with the enlightenment of magic.  The cellist/singer is technically proficient, but most importantly, he has connection to his soul.  Bravo, Travis Booker.

More Musings Later-

Monday, August 30, 2010

Sounds in the Night of Long Ago

The other evening, I was lying in bed watching television.  It must have been around 9pm or so and as I watched a tired Nick at Night rerun, I suddenly heard a familiar reverberating bass line dancing between the chord progression of I, IV and V. 

I muted the sound and listened closely.  A smile crept to my lips as I listened to a garage band honing their craft.  The crash of cymbals and the plinking of keyboards provided a throbbing accompaniment behind a tentative yet wailing lead guitar pulling simplified riffs of Carlos Santana.  It brought it all back to me.  While neighbors were making a beeline to the nearest phone to complain to the cops, I was in my bedroom thinking about when I was a young teenager. 

I was friends with a young man who lead a band similar to the one I was listening to that evening.  I remember he invited me to listen to them rehearse and that I did.  I got to know his Mom, Dad, little brother and sister.  His Dad worked at a refinery by day and played in bands at night.  He knew his son was talented and mentored the young musicians into a polished band.  I've written about them before, and while I should probably set that memory aside, it's nights like these when sounds in the night bring me right back to those wonderful days.

Little did I know that the musical genes continued on to Barry's little brother, David.  I've lost track of Barry Piggott and what he is up to these days.  But, through the powerful medium of the internet, I see that David Piggott is doing quite nicely for himself.  And, Barry and David's dad, Johnny Piggott is still playing in bands.  I've seen photos of Barry's son and it is astounding to me how much he is like his Dad.  From the way he stands to his hairstyle, he is his father's son.  It appears that he is destined for a musical career as well. 

As I listened to the continuing fugue of sound from next door, two things occurred to me; the Piggott musical dynasty will continue on and I hope the neighbors will hang up the phone, turn off their tv's and listen. 

Something special is happening right next door.  In fact, someone may write about it in the future.

More Musings Later~

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Wisdom of an Old Friend

I've had the priviledge of collecting friends throughout my lifetime.  There are those that are dearly departed, some have moved on and some niggle at me to pick up the phone more often than I do.  Then, there are the ones that come to me in the most unusual of ways. 

Consider my friend, Alan Solomon.  I wrote a novel with this man who once lived near the jungles of Chiang Mai, Thailand.  It may seem impossible for people to understand how that happened, but it did.  I've never met Alan, only through emails, instant chats and the like, via internet.  I've never even heard his voice.  That feat alone, makes the accomplishment of "The Mango Tree Cafe, Loi Kroh Road" a memorable one.  I feel very fortunate to meet Mr. Solomon, that's for sure.  As writers, it's as if we were seated next to each other at a pub somewhere mapping out our novel.  Sometimes people just CLICK.

Then, there is another friend that I've had for quite some time now.  She's a writer as well, only her wordsmithing doesn't rest within the confines of a page, the bonus is the delivery of her words within a melodic package sung in her familiar alto.  We've never met, although I did quite literally bump into her at a radio station on Music Row alot of years ago after she completed an interview.  I wanted to say something to her and couldn't.  I was too shy.  Yet, however many years ago that we first bumped into one another, it is her music and thoughtful yarn that I listen to in the wee hours of night.  As a writer, I can see the care she takes in crafting her thoughts and making sense of them during the most difficult of times.  Whether it comes within a melody or resting neatly upon a page.  She "gets it." 

Right now, I'm going through alot as most people on this planet tend to do from time to time.  It's during these times when I am most grateful for my friends...ones that I've met and ones that I haven't met.  Especially to the one that I was too shy to even say hello. 

More Musings Later-

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Comment on my Blog

Last evening, I was checking my email and I noticed that I had a notice of a comment on my blog.  My first thought was "Who did I piss off now?"  When I opened it and read on, I was surprised (and pleased) that I was given an award: "The Versatile Blogger" by one of my fabulous followers, Lloyd.  He's located to the right of this scribbling.  MUCH thanks, Lloyd!! 
Apparently, this is a nod from others that read your blog and like it.  The kicker is that once you are awarded, it's your turn to nominate others and reveal 7 quirky things about yourself.  So, without further adieu, I am going to follow suit for this prestigious award.

  • I have an uncontrollable urge to buy wallets and purses.  The strange thing is that I despise shopping.  I break out into a cold sweat if I have to step foot into a store.  I think I would rather have a good ass kicking instead of going shopping.
  • My hair sucks.  It has cowlicks and it is straight as a board.  It's thick, yet fine.  I once had a hairdresser tell me, "Your hair gives your head character, kid."

  • Speaking of hair, when I asked my hairdresser to perm my hair, she put her hands on her hips and replied; "If I'm rolling that hair that pops out of the curler, I've gotta take a valium."
  • I look at life with a strange slant.  For example, when I woke up this morning, I walked over to my chair and noticed something odd.  I stared for a moment and then went to get my camera and take a picture of it.  I downloaded it to my computer.  My chair has an outline of my butt.  Look for yourself.  Strange things like that intrigue me.
  • I'm a writer.  You would think that I would be a voracious reader.  I'm not.  I just love writing.
  • When I laugh, I snort.  There, I said it.
  • Ever since I co-wrote "The Mango Tree Cafe, Loi Kroh Road" with Alan Solomon, I am absolutely obsessed with Asian Culture especially Thailand. 
Well, there it is.  The gritty side of me.  Now, to nominate some worthy blogs!

Award Winning Blogs!
Book or Bust - Linda Della Donna
JMTohline  - JM Tohline
PimpThisBum - Sean and Kevin Dolan
WishYouWereHere - Senor Enrique
Every Problem has a gift for you in its hands - Tanya Touchstone

More Musings Later-

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Signature Tag Lines

I was reading an email from a good friend of mine that I've never met last night and she stated that she was going to use my signature tag line quote on her next post on her blog.  I know I've always like that quote and I find it to be very true.  But, I never thought others would take the time to read it and think about it. 

To me, it's one of those mottos that if I was one to get tattoos (and, I have thought about it more than once), that would be the one I would use.  I suppose it wouldn't be your average tattoo verbiage...nothing like "Write or Die!" or something along those lines.  It's just a simple statement. 

When I first started writing, there were times when I was hesitant or shy about writing what I really felt.  For those of you that are movie goers, the scene in "Biloxi Blues" where Matthew Broderick's journal is snatched by a fellow soldier/misfit describes my sentiment perfectly.  In it, he writes of his experiences during boot camp, interesting characters he's met along the way and some rather brutally harsh, yet honest comments regarding a few of his fellow soldiers.  As the misfit reads these passages, his face reflected anger, humiliation, embarrassment and a plethora of other emotions of being so...well, exposed.  When he confronts Broaderick about his comments, Broaderick shouts that he will rip out the pages and throw them away in frustration.

The misfit soldier reaches beyond his humiliation and advises Broaderick that if he is to be a writer, he can't be afraid to write his true feelings.  At the same time, his words should have more substance than to simply be a commentary of unexplored observations.  In other words, if you're going to write it, dig deeper.  You may put yourself in a vulnerable position by doing so, but that is what art is all about .

"It takes talent to be a good writer, it takes courage to be a great one."

More Musings Later-

Monday, July 05, 2010

Let's Get Ready to RUUMMM-BLE!

Ladies and Gentlemen,
In this corner, Vienna Sausage; The bleached blond bimbo from ABC's The Bachelor, weighing in as a empty-headed, petty, money-hungry, always-stirring-the-pot of adolescent drama, grade A, Valley Girl asshole.  (Applause, applause)

"I'd like to thank all the little people for this bad acting award..."

And, in the other corner, Jake, the Crying Bachelor; A middle-aged, dancing crybaby who enjoys dancing in his tighty-whities from ABC's The Bachelor, weighing in as a smug, controlling, sexually confused ex-pilot, trying to make it in Hollywood who has become the voice of reason in this ridiculous fight match with Vienna Sausage aired on this evening's episode of The Bachelorette

(I'm still reeling over this one)

Is this what it's come to?  Really?  People enjoy watching this crap??  I purposely watched it tonight to see if there were any valid arguments between them.  I began to dislike Vienna Sausage even more because her atrocious acting, complete with running off the set with her crocodile tears intact were laughable.  Then, not to be outdone, Jake's expert command of smug and pompous retorts made me gag.  I couldn't decide if I should laugh or stare at the tv screen with a bewildered look upon my face. 

More uncontrollable sobbing. Medic?

I think I mostly sat in disbelief that people really watch this shit. 


More Musings Later-

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

A Smattering of Musings

It's been a long while since I last posted.  Yes, I am guilty of getting caught up in living.  I also noticed that I'm sick of looking at a dark blog.  While some of the things I post about are serious or dark, it makes sense to have a dark color draped over the words to set a mood.

Well, I'm sick of dark moods.  While I have struggled with 2010 thus far, I am ready to take the boxing gloves off.  I'm punch drunk and ready for peacefulness to ensue.  Fighting an invisible foe is exhausting.   So, I am dedicating myself to finding the lighter side of life and doing some much needed reflection. 

Life is different and change is inevitable.  All I know is that I have been preparing for change long before I was conscious of it.  As they say, the only constant in life is "Death, Taxes and Change."  Amen.

So, look for lighter posts in the future.  To coin Maya Angelou's title; "My arms are too short to box with God."

Goodnight Mrs. Callabash, wherever you are.

More Musings Later-