The Meanest of Times: A Review

Dropkick Murphys – CD Review, The Meanest of Times
Born & Bred Records
Release Date – September 18, 2007

A couple years after the 2005 release of The Warrior Code, the Dropkick Murphys have left the comfort of their label Hellcat Records and have started their own imprint, Born & Bred Records. The Meanest of Times is the first project on Born & Bred, and it’s a helluva success.

One might wonder at the wisdom of leaving something that was obviously working well; two tracks from Warrior Code found their way into the hearts and soundtracks of some mighty big directors and their films. The Farrelly Brothers used “Tessie” in Fever Pitch and Martin Scorsese saw fit to add “Shipping up to Boston” to The Departed soundtrack.

And here’s an open plea to Darren Aronofsky, director of The Fighter, the boxing flick about “Irish” Micky Ward that is currently in production. Keep the lovely synchronicities going here – the title track Warrior Code was written about Ward. And you’ve got the cool combo of Matt Damon and Mark Wahlberg who were last together in The Departed. And the movie is based, not in Boston, but just about 30 minutes north, in Lowell. Come on man, do I have to spell it out for you?

But on to The Meanest of Times.

There is something about Dropkick Murphys’ brand of Celtic craziness that gives us the best kind of punk paradox. The in-your-face attitude and relentless tempo – sometimes peppy, sometimes frantic – coupled with lyrics that not only speak of anger, mischief, whiskey and death, but of heartbreak and God, home and hearth, and family, with all its inherent love and pain.

Of course, many of these Times offerings speak to the Irish diaspora, especially the Murphys’ childhood Boston years. DKM front man Al Barr says, “…it’s about redemption. It’s about coming up in the world and the way it shapes you. It’s about not taking your family and friends for granted and living in the moment.” Bassist Ken Casey adds, “Growing up, I saw my share of hard times...I think a lot of us did. But looking back on it, I wouldn’t trade them for anything, because those hard times made us all who we are today.”

Several tracks are anthemic, the sort of sound that will surely produce foot stomping, fist pounding and the rowdy sing-along. “State of Massachusetts” begins with a pretty banjo riff by Tim Brennan, but shortly launches into an unapologetic look at the realities of life: “…the poison stole your babies/the judges took your rights/you can have your children/or the night.”

“Vices and Virtues”, another hard driving tune, would sound fun, if it were played on a karaoke machine sans lyrics. But you start to hear the story of “four brothers in the ground” – the effect is jarring: “ …He froze in a South End alley/Behind a gin mill left to die/and another died by the bullet/at the hand’s of a sniper’s gun/in the valley of Nha-Trang for a/war we never won…”

Other tracks on Times are the Murphys’ re-worked versions of traditional Irish tunes. “(F)Lannigan’s Ball” is a special one, particularly because this recording was graced with Spider Spacey from The Pogues and Ronnie Drew from The Dubliners. “Fairmount Hill”, a typical Boston barroom ballad, is an adaptation of Michael Considine’s “Spancil Hill”, but with an updated arrangement and lyrics.

But what gives this album its deepest flavor are the original works like “Rude Awakenings.” The melody line is grim and deliberate and the tempo is quite slow on the first few verses of this song about ‘the morning after’. But when the beat speeds up, it makes the words even more profound: “I pulled on my clothes still half in a dream/as I struggled with my conscience & a multi-directional stream/…I buried my loneliness with her for the night/then left with new symptoms no anti-depressant could cure.”

My only complaint of this CD would be that there are not enough of Scruffy Wallace’s pipes. A girl with the maiden name of O’Dougherty does have a hankering for those sorts of Celtic trappings, luckily for me the tin whistle, accordion and mandolin do find their way throughout the album, along with the earthy vocals. And overall the songwriting is exceptional, the lyric examples given here so far are just a glimpse at the genius of The Meanest of Times.

My Boys will Return for Season Two

Previously Posted on Blogcritics.org

On September 10th, TBS broadcast the hour-long season finale for the superb comedy My Boys, and on the 11th Variety reported that the show will return for a Season Two. Excellent news, this. We didn’t realize that Season One had been divided into two parts; the pilot and subsequent 13 episodes aired in November and December of 2006, and the remaining nine episodes aired in from July to September 2007.

The Boys’ appeal comes’ from the best places – the writing, directing and acting all combine to produce a witty, yet unassuming show. The finale was a perfect example; while listening to P.J. and Stephanie discuss last minute Italy trip details, Andy suggested that they all spend a special day right at home in Chicago seeing the sights, “like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

With that mentality in mind, the day included a stop at the Art Institute of Chicago. Interestingly, instead of stopping to ponder Seurat’s Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, the gang checks out a different impressionist’s work, Paris Street, Rainy Day by Gustave Caillebotte. It was a nice reference to the John Hughes film without trying too hard. Of course, when Andy later manages to commandeer a tour bus in order to sing Danke Schoen to Brendan – there’s not a lot of subtlety there – but it’s still great comedy.

Also, in a genius bit of un-credited casting, the episode “D-Bag in the City” had the fantastic Ryan Reynolds (Amityville Horror, Van Wilder, Blade: Trinity) playing the part of “Hams”, Brendan’s new friend that brings out all his nasty “douchey-ness”. The “D-Bag” episode also went for an obvious gag; a subplot parody of Sex and the City. P.J.’s old college friend arrived from New York with a mini entourage of women folk who all seemed like Quantum Leap-alternative dimension versions of Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte and Carrie. (Read – quite scary)

The only problem fans now have is the “who shot J.R.?” type conundrum as Season One ended with the “who did P.J. bring to Italy?” cliffhanger. Fan forums and message boards are filling up with guesses and conjecture. I’m picking Thorn, he probably had the money for the first class upgrade, and he and P.J. have the strongest emotional history, with the exception of Brendan – but ‘Brando’ lacks the funds and the emotional wherewithal to handle it. So, I and many, many fans will be awaiting the answer come Season Two. See you at Crowley’s!

BOOK REVIEW

Power Play by Joe Finder

St. Martin's Press

New York, NY

Release Date: August 21, 2007

What happens when a group of executives set for a weekend off-site meeting are suddenly trapped in a remote hunting lodge in the wilds of British Columbia? No cell phones, laptops or Blackberrys to be had. Guns have been fired and blood has spilled and this is just barely after dinner on the first night. The fleeting promise of team-building exercises is laughable in the face of this new danger.

Hammond Aerospace, a powerhouse of an aircraft company, holds an annual off-site retreat for its highest level executives. This year, a few changes are already in place, the new CEO is not only someone from outside the corporation, it’s a woman. This doesn’t sit well with the mostly misogynistic executive team. And on the day of departure, there’s a last minute substitution. Jake Landry, the chief assistant to one of Hammond’s executive VPs, is asked to go place of his boss. Jake is not thrilled to be on the trip, and things take an even stranger turn when he finds that his ex-girlfriend Ali now reports directly to Cheryl Tobin, the CEO, and that Ali has come along on the trip.

Debuting on the New York Times Bestseller list at number seven, Power Play is probably the fastest moving and darkest of Finder’s novels to date. Although his other well received corporate-set stories employ the use of a ‘bad guy’; Power Play’s antagonists are as nasty as they come. And the hero, Jake Landry, has past that isn’t exactly neat and tidy. As a matter of fact, when Finder gives us glimpses of Jake’s time spent a juvenile detention facility, the effect is disturbing:

He showed me his bloodstained undershorts, told me that Glover, the chief guard on D Unit, was coming into his room at night. He’d switch off the surveillance camera and do things to him that he couldn’t talk about.

The use of these flashbacks gives an eerie but effective balance to the narrative. And overall, I was left with the feeling that this story will translate extremely well to film. Was it written expressly with that conclusion in mind? Finder has said that he knows some of his books would make terrific movies, but that’s not why he writes them. He feels that if someone writes a novel expressly for film, it’s already lacking something from the start. And the film-making industry is fickle – they may pass on a fantastic project or they purchase rights, but end up not making the movie.

But Finder has had his work hit the big screen; High Crimes (James Caviezel, Morgan Freeman, Ashley Judd) was released by 20th Century Fox in 2002. In 2004, Paranoia was sold to producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura as a project for Paramount studios. But as things sometimes go in Hollywood, it was shelved due to changes in studio hierarchy.

In the vein of Firewall and Inside Man, the tensely paced Power Play is truly a story that you’ll be compelled to finish in one sitting.

The Sky Blues

Break Up Music -

“In My Dreams” – The Sky Blues (now known as Bird Mancini)

This hidden gem is smack in the middle of a great blues CD, Blues from the Hub (Boston Blues Society, 2001). It’s a blatantly sexy song, and if you let it, it’ll evoke the dark smoky jazz club with the sultry and sage torch singer performing for one bartender and one lone patron. Yeah, that one bar-fly who keeps putting bills in the smudged glass bowl sitting at the edge of the stage. That one sad man, who has dulled the ice cold stabs of a broken heart with the heat of bourbon and the voice of Ruby Bird.

Or maybe it’s a couple – finding relief and release with each other, their inhibitions sent packing by this powerhouse of a song.

Either way, it’s fantastic.

Smoke 'em if You Got 'em (But Seriously, You Should Quit)

In the news a while back was a story how Massachusetts might join other states in legislating a ban against smoking in private vehicles – specifically vehicles that have car seat age children riding in them. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Those little lungs need cleaner air, and I’m all for that.

So, why did this information give me a strange creepy feeling?

I’m not a smoker. I did smoke when I was in my late teens and early twenties, luckily I stopped. I don’t like being around smoke, it gives me more than a strange creepy feeling, it makes me sick. And I know children fare much worse when exposed to second hand smoke.

But this idea of government coming that much closer to controlling our actions – is extremely unsettling to me. Strange, I didn’t mind the seatbelt law, it made sense. And obviously cutting down kids’ exposure to nasty smoke makes lots and lots of sense – yet I wonder if we’re that much closer to the fictional world inhabited by the likes of Wesley Snipes, Sandra Bullock, and Sylvester Stallone, (1993’s Demolition Man) where we’ll start getting demerits for cursing.

I’m not a Libertarian, I’m not much of anything – I tend to vote candidate rather than party. But I feel queasy at the idea of closer and closer surveillance into what we think is our personal lives
.
Go ahead and laugh right now, for here comes my naiveté – Why can’t cigarettes themselves be outlawed?

I am serious.

They serve no good purpose, none. Other vices have either some merit, or are less harmful. Alcohol, gambling, pot, even prostitution could be argued to allowable or legalized in certain circumstances. Firearms too, well – they can be used for target practice – right?

But why are smokes still legal? Why does our federal legislature continue to cave to the unholy tobacco lobbyists?

Anyway, questions to ponder, yes?

Technology

My computer taunts me. You think I’m paranoid? Come watch while I play Spider Solitaire. I realize I’m not winning and am ready to bag it all and start fresh. Computer though, has another idea. “Are you sure you want to start a new game?” it queries. “Hell yeah”, I answer. Yes, I’m aggravated at the computer. Admittedly, perhaps I’m just a wee bit defensive, I’m thinking the computer is calling me a lazy wimp. Anyway, I’m sure I’m not alone in my paranoia.

Somewhere along the way, we let our machines get too big a piece of the pie. Now we find ourselves paying homage to the Hard Drive, bowing to the Bandwidth, and placating our PDA’s. We sweat (no pun intended) over climate control for our CPU’s. We insure our mobiles are charged up religiously. Our refrigerators are so smart; they are one step away from making the perfect martini. And television can pause live programming? Crikey!

Ah, television. I do so love my nice large screen High Definition set, but it is really still a reminder of our dependence on advanced technology. I think it was the five remotes that sent me over the edge. Five remote controls all lined up at the ready, like soldiers in a high tech war. Now, my husband will argue that we really need just one. As soon as he programs the Onkyo remote to control all the other soldiers, ah - I mean remotes, and then it will be a beautiful thing. Will that make Onkyo like George Patton?

I will not, absolutely not, deny the pleasure that technology has wrought for me, and the world. I am kind of jazzed that my cell phone has a GPS function, and my new dishwasher is ever so quiet. Online shopping, remote vehicle starting, optic fiber and the Segway are innovations that are bringing more good than bad into our lives.

What about the Bad? The stuff of which movies are made and jail terms served? Ever see Enemy of the State? Talk about paranoia! How about I Robot? Yes - I know - Will Smith was in both. You know what they say though, truth is stranger than fiction. There are some very real things going on in the world of science and technology that are both fascinating and chilling. I plan on making my way into the Brave New World, but will I VeriChip? More importantly, will I have a choice?

Just Because We Can, Does that Mean We Should?

Many of us are writers. Some of us have our work formally edited, and at the very least we edit ourselves. How many times have we realized or been told that a word, a phrase, or a whole paragraph just has to be cut out? It hurts, doesn’t it? Sometimes we feel like greedy children (who seem to live by the opposite of the credo, “less is more”). No, we want – we need that pretty word, that perfect analogy. But luckily common sense or editorial vision tells us that things are better without the side bar story – you know, the one with grandma’s wart removal technique.

But whether its warts or excess verbiage, some things do need to be cut out. I’ve been training in Kenpo karate for nine or ten years now. What I’ve learned could be easily fit in a tea cup, and what I’ve forgotten, or not quite grasped, could fill a freight car. But a few things have stuck, and one little nugget is why do more than you need to? I remember one time a few years back I was working some technique that involved a kick to the opponent’s body. Now that in itself is not too difficult, although I was in my 40s, and had bad knees and a questionable spine. But this particular class I was feeling good and spunky, and was attempting kicks at my opponents head. My sensei took one look and promptly questioned me, “Why are you kicking so high?” And since I was feeling like I was Bruce Lee or Cynthia Rothrock, I replied, “Because I can!”

Uh – no. That’s not what he said, but that was the meaning. His first concern was that I’d injure myself, he knew my limitations. But mainly he saw cockiness and excess, neither of which have a place in the dojo. The martial arts are all about humility, a lesson that doesn’t always sink in with enthusiastic students. Also, the arts, generally speaking, work with economy of motion. Kenpo in particular, is a fairly hard (as in impact, not necessarily difficulty), direct, spare style. There are not as many flourishes as in certain Kung Fu systems, or high kicks as in Tae Kwon Do. My fancy kicks were an unnecessary flourish.

But if arrogance in karate training were the only problem I – or the world – ever faced, no big deal. Unfortunately, there’s much more overindulgence and overkill in life, and I just don’t get why.

Hummers – for a fine example of glut – I am trying real hard to find the redeeming quality in a Hummer purchase. I did read somewhere that there’s a Red Cross program that certifies Hummer drivers to respond to disaster situations, as the vehicle is well suited for nasty off road driving. Which is pretty cool, truly. But the amount of Hummer owners that are actually certified through the HOPE program, is quite a small percentage compared to the rest of the owners. And really they do look silly circumnavigating a mall parking lot.

So, along with these superfluous behemoths on wheels, there are other things that come under this category:

Breast implants. Unless perhaps the person needs reconstruction as a result of disease or injury, why bother?

Price gouging at the gas pumps. Sure, kick the little guy while he’s down and out. (Even the Hummer owners). This is all about greed.

RFID implants on humans. There’s a lot of controversy here, and I can see the rationale behind the advancement of this technology – but still, do we really, really need this?

All I can do is close with the caveat last mentioned in Spiderman, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

Social Conscience

For some time now, a word has been floating in and out of my awareness. A word like Alzheimer's, Hiroshima, sarcoma, or September 11th. A word grown heavier over time with the weight of tragedy or just plain bad news.

It's Darfur.

Ah, there's she's said it. Add another one to the heaving bandwagon of concerned citizens who have just unwrapped their brand spankin' new social conscience. There's gotta be a wristband for this, right? A magnetic ribbon?

No, it's not really like that. I'm not trying to be a do-gooder poseur. But enough about my intentions, that's not going to help anyone in need right now. This was all just build up to an thoughtful piece by Sports Illustrated's Rick Reilly. And with a mighty flourish I was all set to include a live link to his May 14th article. But no. I cannot produce one, so I can do this instead.

This is a link to Rabbi Brant Rosen's blog, Shalom Rev. There he links to the Reilly article.

They say it better than I ever could.

Out.

Unexplained Absences

Meaning my own. So, here's the explanation. Not that you need any explanation - as a matter of fact - it's none of your damn business!

Ah, you think I could or would just leave it at that? No, I'm a little too neurotic.

So, here's the thing. My son graduated High School!





Yippee!



So, that involved all kinds of this and that - not to mention Prom the week before, picking up tux, dropping off tux, parties, cakes, and on and on.



And my sixth grader has his own "Moving On" ceremony next week, as he leaves a terrific school, The Englesby Intermediate - and prepares for Jr. High next fall.



So, life has been piling stuff on, a bit relentlessly for my liking, but I'm trying to persevere. I was lucky to have a great breakfast with my good friend Judy this morning at Brew'd Awakenings Coffeehaus.



In other news, I've been working on a review of the Matrix Ultimate Collection in HD.


It's quite a lovely set, but there's so much to go through, it's easy to be overwhelmed. Here is an excerpt of the forthcoming article:






When Morpheus tells Neo that the Matrix is “the world pulled over our eyes”, he could very well be describing the movie itself. The entity that the Matrix Trilogy has evolved into is not a fraudulent cover up however. It is a world that an eager audience has willingly drawn down and around them, the mantle of questions, of enlightenment, the shroud of a thought experiment of vast scale.





So, speaking of all things Matrix, I must be off and working again.



Later ----

The Simpsons to Spoof 24

Sunday night, May 20th, The Simpsons will air their 400th and season finale episode. Called “24 Minutes”, this event will be done in 24 style complete with multi frames and nerve-wracking ticking. Guest stars Kiefer Sutherland and Mary Lynn Rajskub will play their Monday night alter egos, Jack Bauer and Chloe O’Brian.

Seems like Springfield Elementary has set up a CTU of its own. Yes the educational Mecca of Springfield for lo these last 18 seasons now runs a Counter Truancy Unit, manned by CTU agents Bart and Lisa Simpson. Set up by Principal Skinner, the CTU faces uncertain times as rumors of a stink bomb to be detonated during a school bake sale has everyone on edge. Or, as “on-edge” as a cartoon character could be.

Now, Jack and Chloe will just play themselves; but naturally, one might guess which CTU staffer, White House worker, or Terrorist du jour would be portrayed by the rest of the happy Springfield town folk. Though I doubt they’ll go that route, it’s a fun idea to play with – so here are some of my offerings:



Jack Bauer --- Bart Simpson
Chloe O’Brian --- Lisa Simpson
Vice President Daniels --- Chief Wiggum
Tom Lennox --- Waylon Smithers
President Wayne --- PalmerCarl Carlson
Bill Buchanan --- Principal Seymour Skinner
Karen Hayes --- Edna Krabappel
Terri Bauer --- Maude Flanders
Kim Bauer --- Christian Charity
Phillip Bauer --- Montgomery Burns
Graem Bauer --- Krusty the Clown
Josh Bauer --- Milhouse Van Houten
Mike Doyle --- Groundskeeper Willy
Milo Pressman --- Apu Nahasapeemapetilon
Morris O’Brian --- Dr. Julius Hibbert
Edgar Stiles --- Comic Book Guy
Cheng Zhi --- The Great Humungous
Any Fox News Reporter --- Kent Brockman
Nina Meyers --- Patty Bouvier
TAC Team --- Rod and Tod Flanders
Audrey Raines --- Marge Simpson
Erin Driscoll --- Judge Constance Harm
Ex President Logan --- Sideshow Bob
Former Sec-Def Heller --- Mayor Quimby
Assorted Goons & Hostiles --- Kang and Kodos


These pairings could be rearranged all sorts of ways, what would your ideal portrayals be? And while you are mentally re-writing the scripts for both 24 and The Simpsons, don’t forget to tune in to Fox on the 20th to see how it all goes down.

XKCD Comics

There's this quite clever gent named Randall Munroe that does these wonderful and bizarre comics. This one makes me laugh, it has a bit of the same sort of zen sensibility as the AT&T / Steve Colbert video.

And actually, they all make me laugh.

Little Jack?

Fellow BC-er and 24 fan, Vic Lana just sent this to me.

Thanks Vic, a good laugh!

A Simpsons Sky

Yesterday, and the day before – the sky has looked EXACTLY like the blue colored, puffy clouded rendering in The Simpsons opening credits. It’s so strange to look out and see the thick cotton sky-shapes and not hear the happy theme song that has brightened many a Sunday night.

Which reminds me:




Woo Hoo!!

AT&T History

This is timely, given the recent frustrations with my tax filings. Plus, gotta love that Terminator synchronicity

Terminator 2: Judgement Day

Though I’m struck with the beauty of the younger Arnold and Robert Patrick, how tight and fresh they look; something else needs to be addressed. Why would the future John Connor send back a cybernetic organism to Southern California – with an Austrian accent? Why not Chicano?

OK, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s just have fun with random T-2 observations
Love the T 1000 masquerading as a housewife with that mimetic polyalloy arm. Never drink from the carton again! Brilliant too is when T 1000 just comes out of that floor at the Pescadero State Hospital, that checkerboard linoleum suddenly rippling and forming into something unholy. A beautiful bit of filming -lovely!

How about when Sarah clobbers the face-licking orderly with a broken mop handle turned huge shank/tonfa. Nice! Then she exchanges it for a the orderly’s real tonfa and she’s set to go. Yeah, about Sarah, she’s a different girl this time out. She’s buff and paranoid. Don’t much care for that too long fringe of bangs over her eyes, but yet it fits. She can’t really looked too coiffed in the nuthouse!

You forget how good something is like the scene when Sarah confronts her nemesis The Terminator. When the elevator doors open, her terror evident in her skidding on the floor all nice and slo-mo.

And of course, Robert Patrick as T 1000 – his movements; spare and single-minded, usually in pursuit of Sarah and young John. Good, good stuff.

Music Delivery

Another Hot Topic for discussion at The Mondo Project - involves our chosen method of music delivery. Below was my unabridged contribution:

Ah, I don’t have any one special preference of my music listening experience. Vinyl is out, for no more reason than our turntable just stopped working, and with the advent of the CD, there seemed no reason to resurrect the process of listening to a vinyl recording.

Now, the CD is all purpose, it’s fairly transportable and the quality is fine – that is until it gets scratched. Then you have to endure the disdain of anyone else in your listening area. Typically what happens to me is that I’m driving along, windows down, and whatever CD in question moves to a beloved track, for example “Run Like Hell” from Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Of course, I raise the volume and hit the accelerator simultaneously.

Then either one of two things happen; I have to screech to a sudden halt at a traffic light, and the CD decides to stat skipping. Heads swivel in my direction, and I pretend to find something important in the backseat. OR – as I’m driving along merrily, red and blue lights flash behind me, I am pulled over, and as the officer approaches à la Robert Patrick’s motorcycle cop in Terminator 2, the bloody CD skips all over the place. At that point, I wish I were terminated.

But I am also delighting in the absolute special kind of internalized joy and musical fidelity that is provided by wearing headphones. I was just commenting to Sir Saleski recently that music, especially when delivered by headphones is so friggin motivating! This works by either plugging headphones right into the computer, or by carrying the music with me. Now of course, wandering around the house carrying my laptop and cleaning is just a mite unwieldy, so that’s where the mp3 player comes into the picture.

And how can someone NOT want to scrub their toilets just a bit brighter when hearing Mahalia Jackson’s “Didn’t it Rain” or for that matter, Lily Allen pondering the sights and sounds of London as only she can in her Pop/Ska offering “LDN”. I mean, seriously! And I swear to God that I wouldn’t have trained so hard for my black belt if it weren’t for Greenday’s “Brain Stew”, or Mighty Mighty Bosstones’ “The Impression that I Get” queued up on my little Rio Nitrus.

But one of my favorite ways to hear music is at an outdoor concert, on a perfect sunny 78 degree day. The sound system may not reproduce the music as well as those methods I just spoke of, but there’s something about this setting that raises the endorphins sky high.

Lost Words

It’s a shame when I as an artist start to resent all and everything around me. It sucks when I am blessed with the nub of an idea, but the opportunity to expand on that idea is wiped away. It’s more then frustration – for me, its grief.

I had so loved that idea that developed in the shower, while driving to the grocery store or helping with homework. I could see it develop in my mind’s eye, like a time-lapse film that shows the transformation from seedling to flower blossom. And I get excited and hurry through the rest of the task, itching to sit down and work through whatever beauty of a concept or anecdote that I had just conceived.

But something stops me. It doesn’t matter what that thing is; it could be a child’s request or a phone call. No, it doesn’t matter what blocked my path to creative Nirvana, something else grows inside me: resentment. I am losing an idea, again. I feel like an emergency room doctor in the most disease ridden, or war-savaged location on earth. A doctor who has seen too much loss, who feels like “time of death” is part of her vocabulary way more then something like, “and now you can have ice cream, and go home tomorrow.”

And just like our doctor’s frustration with lack of resources, political climate or corrupt governments, I am discouraged by lack of time, respect and privacy. Discouraged and saddened because those oh so pretty words that formed in my head hours ago are missing. Oh sure, if I got that one good idea, chances are I’ll come up with another one. And I do! But I still hold a little empty place in my heart for that sweet turn of phrase that spent only the briefest of moments alive in my right brain.

Time of Birth: 11:46 AM
Time of Death: 11: 52 AM

Some musings from my friends and I over at The Mondo Project on the state of the Sitcom.

Winds Over Boston

We’re in the middle of a Nor’easter here in New England. It also happens to coincide with the annual running of the Boston Marathon. In the past, the race would start at 12:00 noon, from Hopkinton, MA and continue on the 26 miles into downtown Boston.

Pictured is the Women's Wheelchair winner, Wakako Tsuchida of Japan.

Right now there are reported 50 mph winds blowing around the Copley Square finish line area. I’m not sure how strong the winds are around here, but over night a neighbor’s very large (35 – 40 feet) evergreen was brought down. Luckily it fell in the direction of no houses or power lines.

I know all the talk of flood warnings makes everyone around here shiver, and not from the high winds. Last year we had the horrible Mother’s Day floods and personally I’ve never seen anything like that. Not even hurricanes Gloria and Bob seemed to bring that much destruction. I’ll never forget driving by someone’s flooded house, and even at night, you could see the water in their basement was at least 3/4 of the way up the foundation. The mighty Merrimack River welled up and over its banks, and flooded the boulevards on either side.

Amazing!

Jack Bauer and Ari Gold

Can you dig this? In some version of reality (and reality is used loosely), I see a beautiful pairing of these two kick-ass kinda dudes. Now, their educations and skill sets are quite different. Jack has extensive training in weapons and hostage negotiations; he went to SWAT school for crying out loud! He does have a Masters in Criminology and Law, but his book learning is more than supplemented by time spent in the Army Special Forces.

Ari on the other hand benefits from the special kind of combat training that is unique to Hollywood; feeding the hungry press, dancing with impatient studios, and cultivating actors. Interestingly though, along with his MBA from the University of Michigan, according to Wikipedia.org, he picked up a nice little JD. Somehow this makes sense.

They are both direct, brutally so. They say what needs to be said, although Jack delivers much less BS than Ari. And since Entourage airs on HBO, Ari and the rest of the boys can fling the f*cks, sh*ts…well mostly it’s the f*cks…and get away with it. In style, I might add especially in Ari’s case. To borrow from A Christmas Story, he can work “in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay.”

A sampling courtesy of IMDb:

“Is that the way they drive in Tiananmen Square, bitch?”

“The next one after "Queens Boulevard" is a studio picture: I'm talking franchise, baby. We'll get you the lunchbox. And an action figure with a monster cock.”

“You can have it if you want to live in Agora fucking hills, and go to group therapy, but if you want a Beverly Hills mansion, a country club membership, and nine weeks a year in a Tuscan villa, then I'm gonna need to take a call when it comes in at noon on a motherfucking Wednesday.”

Although Jack Bauer is constrained by the sensibilities of network programming, he therefore must resort to more violence than swearing. He may only be able to say “damn”, but he’s quite gifted with sticks, stones, and breakin’ bones. Though Ari may talk about cutting off someone’s Matzoh balls, you’re pretty sure that Jack would actually do it.

They don’t dress the alike, although Jack cuts a fine figure in a proper suit, he tends to do his best work in Levis and a hoodie. Mr. Gold dresses beautifully; surely he’ll keep Mr. Blackwell at bay. But they accessorize the same; they both favor the Treo 650 mobile.

Mostly what they have in common; is a lot of brains, never enough time, and the ability to make snap decisions without a lot of fuss. Probably what’s the most crucial shared trait is a sheer force of nature that can tame terrorists, Washington and Hollywood bureaucrats, and all the office assistants in Southern California.

This is the Power Couple of the new Millennium.

The other day I was searching through TicketMaster, hoping to find some interesting shows coming up. I ended up on some national pages, so I was viewing venues across the country, and their offerings. It took a minute, but I eventually noticed that the theaters, arenas, and other centers all looked way too…too, oh what’s the word – stupid.

U.S. Airways Center? American Airlines? Continental? Are these bloody airports or entertainment venues? How about the Allstate and Nationwide Arenas? Sure, it’s a sign of the times, commerce, capitalism; all those things that make the world go ‘round, I Get That. But surely there has to be a line drawn somewhere?

Seeing these names, Verizon, Xcel, RBC, 1st Mariner, and Dunkin Donuts? – I am left feeling as I just consumed too many donuts and washed them down with sugary Pepsi (yet another center in Denver). I feel ill and a victim of over consumption. Just who the consumer is – is unclear.

Here in New England, two of our major sports centers were totally rebuilt, and renamed. It took a long time to get used to changing the name of The Boston Garden to the Fleet Center. But Bostonians got used to it eventually; having a large center named after a bank wasn’t that bad. And we got used to Gillette Stadium replacing Foxboro, (even though the stadium was still in Foxboro). But although Fenway Park could use some refurbishing, I can’t imagine the uproar in on Lansdowne Street if that piece of history was renamed.

As I continued my perusal of TicketMaster’s offerings, it was refreshing to see familiar names such as Dodger, Giants and Dolphins Stadiums still surviving. But McAfee Coliseum? Is this for real? Oh sure, they still call it “The Coliseum”, and ignore the McAfee, (or previously Network Associates Coliseum – which they just called “the Net”), but what was wrong with the original Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum for a name, besides being a little unwieldy, it made sense, for crying out loud.

A few years back, I wrote this piece on professional sports and renaming rights as part of a larger chapter on sports in the U.S.

“In the “old days” athletes might indeed stay on a team for the length of their career, much like in any employment situation of the same era - you stayed with your company until retirement. Things changed though. A new reality surfaced and many fans wondered if the ‘bottom line’ was becoming more important than the goal line. The last few decades in sports have seen players signing contracts worth millions of dollars, huge ticket increases, labor strikes, and corporate marketing that seemed to jeopardize what sports used to mean.

Gone were the days of The Boston Garden, Candlestick Park and Jack Murphy Stadium. Those revered old institutions were replaced with The Fleet Center, 3Com Park, and Qualcomm Stadium. True, these older ballparks or arenas were aging and not as structurally sound as they used to be. But what these and many other cities gained in new shiny new stadiums, they also gained in corporate labeling.

Re-naming rights were a bitter pill for fans to swallow. They sometimes fought back however, like the citizens of Denver, CO., to stop the renaming of their much-loved “Mile High Stadium” to “Invesco Field at Mile High”. Though the name was eventually changed to Invesco, even the Denver Post newspaper had stated reluctance to use it in their sports reporting.

In more recent years though, those cash-rich companies started to fade, as the expenditures of owning sports stadiums wreaked havoc on balance sheets. The Walt Disney Co. who - in their search for the elusive business synergy - had purchased both the Angels baseball team, and established the NHL’s Mighty Ducks. Hoping for tie-ins from merchandising and film projects, Disney’s plan lasted about five years. Since revenues did not meet expectations, they have now since sold the Angels to an Arizona businessman for the bargain price of $183.5 million and would like to sell the Ducks as well.

The sale of the Angels illustrates a change in the business of professional sports. As corporations not only had to answer to fans, players and coaches, they also had to answer to shareholders. Recently both business and sports analysts have reported on the trend of teams returning to family ownership. This makes American fans happier, enforcing what they love so much about sports.”

I fear most times I am the simpleton, not fully aware of the ways of the world, not savvy about sustainable competitive advantages, aware of aggressive advertising strategies or a brainiac about branding. But I’ve learned a thing or two about greed and avarice.

Corporate renaming of all these big beautiful venues smacks of both.

Goodbye D.J.: Former Celtics Guard Dead at 52

I heard the news last night, one of those moments that bring instant nostalgia mixed with sadness.

Dennis “D.J.”, Johnson, dead at the so very young age of 52.

Now, many are more qualified to write about his stats as player and coach, but I know as a Boston Celtics fan from the ruling days of the mid 1980s, I am just as qualified to write about what #3 meant to me and the rest of the NBA. You see there was this extraordinary group of players, way back then, who worked parquet chemistry that has rarely been replicated since.

I never followed professional sports much before or after those glory days, but to me the band of brothers known as Ainge, D.J., The Chief, McHale, Bird; these men absolutely defined ‘Dream Team’, even before the ’92 Olympics. And now the dream has been diminished as if there was a funky rift in a sports version of the space-time continuum.

Of course, Dennis Johnson was not a cancer researcher or on his way to be canonized for selfless work in the name of humanity, he was just an average guy from Compton, but he developed into an outstanding ball player, an outstanding team player. One of the best moments of Celtics lore (and memorably called by the iconic Johnny Most) was during game 5 of the 1987 Eastern Conference finals. Larry Bird stole a pass from the Detroit Pistons’ Isiah Thomas and whipped it to DJ, who laid the ball in the net for a one point lead in the final seconds of the game.

“…Oh MY, this place is going crazy…”

I remember that moment so vividly – but now the overall image of those days has just had a significant piece ripped away.

Dennis Johnson leaves his wife Donna; and three children Dwayne, Daniel and Denise.

The Cancellation of The OC: Ryan, I hardly Knew Ye

Yeah, there was this show, not sure what network – but it sure generated some buzz among generation – what is now, Y? Z? OK, anyway, the kids liked it. Being the sort of person who at least pretends to be up on all things current, I had an inkling, a whisper, a gauzy bit of cognizance that this was some new show, starring some young hot things, and that sort of handsome guy with the eyebrows, Peter Gallagher. Mischa Barton was another name that floating in and out of my awareness, either for her achievements in being thinner than an 8 ½ by 11 sheet of copy paper or for the fetching purse she carried to some happening Hollywood fête. Other than that, I paid little attention to the show.

Now I hear it’s being canceled, and strangely the news gives me a little pang.

Why? I won’t exactly miss it. Now, please don’t get up in arms about this statement. I barely watched it – so I can really not miss something I didn’t see. And, it should be made clear at this juncture that I had no pretensions or snobbish intent. I wasn’t above watching it – I just didn’t feel I should make time for too many extra shows. I already have a few favorites that I feel I have already ‘committed to’ and it’d just be a bit too much to add one more show to my schedule.

But here’s the thing, one night a week or two ago, I watched nearly a whole episode. It was especially freaky, because two of the characters were yakking about alternative universes, or something equally nutty. I kept checking the ‘info’ button on my remote control. Yes, this was The O.C. No, this wasn’t Charmed. Nor was this an old episode of Sliders, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Quantum Leap where those kinds of popping in and out of ‘multiverse’ situations are common occurrences. And it certainly wasn’t The One with the wonderful Jet Li and the delicious Jason Stratham.

So, there were those two young-uns, typical privileged California types carrying on as if they were stuck in one of the above-mentioned Sci-Fi classics. Not that I minded either way, just trying to get my bearings. Thankfully, because of a much needed scene change, I realized that these two kids were actually lying in hospital beds, each in some state of coma type non-awareness.

Wow!

Hey, this was neat, if not a little – or a lot – contrived. I knew that because of the extra monkey wrench of the whole parallel world deal that I may not actually figure out who was who, or why they cared or hated one another. But in that short 40 minutes or so, I found that I actually had begun to care about those bright shiny kids and their parents and assorted other peeps, alternative or not.

So, though I’m not greatly saddened by the cancellation, I’m hoping that some version of The O.C. will live on in television’s answer to the multiverse – the re-run.

Half Time Show:

Prince.

Or should I say, Austin Powers. Though I thought it was a pretty good show, and "Purple Rain" was pretty cool with actual rain - the whole phallic symbol guitar playing behind the scrim sheet thing - was preettty damn phallic. Who knows if it was intentional, and suggestiveness aside it was an interesting effect.

The glow-stick marching band was a nice touch too.

Coke is having some kick-ass commercials. Career Builder dot com's new campaign is good as well. Very funny.

Superbowl:

First thoughts.

Didn't like the pre-game show. Not sure why. Had definite strong points. Colorful (though the color combination grated on me.) Cirque du Soleil - looks good on paper. But I was not impressed. What was wrong? I'll have to work on this.

Commercials though, looking good. Even that Ford pick up one. Especially that one. Visually tight and intiguing.

File this under: Didn’t See That Coming.

This hasn’t been the best week. At all. I feel as if I’ve had a few of these lately, but this week had some totally new challenges. Yes, I guess we can call them that. No need to elaborate on everything now, but let’s say that self confidence has been sizably compromised of late.

Now, what I want to relay next is something I debated about posting. I really am not fond of confrontation and fights and I don’t see the need to make a big who-ha out of this. Seriously. Yet something about this whole thing makes me angervated. (This being a ‘sniglet’ I came up with on my own. A mutation of ‘anger’ and ‘aggravated’. When you’re not full on angry, but you’re more than aggravated.) I guess throw in a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and a healthy pinch of sadness.

Anyway, one day this week I had to pick up a sick child at school. This pick up was coincidently at the regular dismissal time. My son was feeling nauseous, and didn’t want to take the bus home for fear of the big public upchuck. Never a cool thing at any age. As was discussed with the school nurse, I would drive to a particular section of the parking lot, and meet my child there. OK that’s fine. I drive to school, and as I’m pulling into the parking lot, I see parents outside their vehicles, waiting for their children to be dismissed.

Now, the thing is, this ‘parent pick up’ is all new to me. I’ve either picked up my kids before the end of school, or more commonly, after the regular hours, due to this activity or that.

So, I’m having a running conversation in my head.

“Hey, do I get out and go get him?”

“Hmm, maybe I do, I see other parents there.”

“OK then, I better find a parking spot.”

Now, granted this dialogue happened a lot faster in my head, no matter – the point was moot – my son was in sight, walking over to my truck.

“OK wow, here he is.”

I slow down, and wait for him.

Now, here’s where it gets weird. All of a sudden there’s a police car behind me, lights flashing. I don’t remember if the siren was going, but I think it was.

“Oh man, what’s going on? Hope there’s not a bomb threat or something; I better get out of the way”

Then I am confused, why didn’t she go around me? There was room. I wait for a second, and I figure that I better drive a little further down, to ensure a wide berth. And I should add that driving away from my son, even just a few feet away, weirded me out. Sure, he’s not a little tiny kid, he’s nearly 12. He can figure out that I’m not far. I don’t even consider myself especially over-protective. But still, the mom in me hated that I had to do that.

The officer does not go around; she follows me until I am further away from the other cars. Then she goes around and is rolling down her window, and I roll down mine.

“You cannot double park back there, you must park your car and go and get your child”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I never do this Parent Pick-up and wasn’t sure”

“Well you were given a notice at the beginning of the school year”

“But he saw me and was coming over!”

By now, my son is getting in the truck. “My stomach hurts” He looked pale. I turned back to the officer.

“I’ve never done this before”, I repeated. “My son is actually sick, that’s why I’m driving him home.”

“You were doubled parked” “You can’t put the children’s lives in danger” (I’m paraphrasing that last part)

Well heck, she had a good point. And I know ignorance of the law is no excuse. (OK, I think it should be an excuse sometimes) But my point was, not about right or wrong, just a little understanding. But she was so stern – so…well, I can’t actually think of the right term (strange for me!). I guess this was unsettling because there was a sense of – ‘dear God, this got totally one-sided, I’m not being heard, I am not being understood.’ And this, dear friends, is like a knife in my gut.

To be in the middle of something of import, to be deep into an emotionally charged situation – whether that situation lasts for 5 minutes or several years – and to be not understood, is the worst kind of frustration. It’s distressing, to say the least. Even in this mini-event with the police officer, that feeling was there.

But to her last statement, I knew that it wasn’t worth getting into a whole big deal with, she was right.

“You’re right, I am sorry.”

“Damn right.”

Well, honestly, I’m not sure that’s what she said, but, it sure sounded like it. And I was incredulous. I actually stared at her for a second or two. And so help me God, I nearly called her on it. So bad I wanted to say, “Did you just say damn right to me?” Damn Right. Wow. I was beginning to feel a little pissy, right then and there.

Now, of course there’s a chance she didn’t say that. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Why would she want to get snarky with me? But if she had said it, that was totally uncalled for, and there wasn’t any reason for me to be treated like that.

Now, I suppose I’ll never know IF she said that. Whatever those last words of hers were, it wasn’t coming from a place of “OK, M’am, just don’t do it again” or even a “Thank you”. Whatever she finished up our tête-à-tête with, felt just as bad, just as embarrassing; as the vibe of the whole episode.

Actually, this frustration of not being understood, not given a chance to explain just a hair of what was going on, reminded me of that odd, nearly one-sided, but hilarious conversation between John Candy’s Buck Russell and Amy Madigan’s Chanice Kobolowski in the 80’s classic, Uncle Buck:

Just let--

No, but-- You don't--

Would you just--

Give me--

Let me get--

You're not-- Give me a--

Good-bye.

The exception being that that bit from the movie was funny. What was happening in the school parking lot wasn’t funny at all.


Cops aren’t perfect. The Shield aside, we just know this because we know that no one is perfect, it’s part of the human condition. But I try like hell to not give grief to anyone (except tele-marketers), and I want my kids to remember that the Police truly are our friends, even when they are writing up a speeding ticket. They’re trying to save lives by this sort of thing; it’s not always just to fill a quota

To close, this was yet another challenging parenting moment. How do you talk to you child about your frustrating interaction with a person in authority, retain honesty, yet not corrode their sense of respect for the law? Nobody likes being disciplined. Nobody. However, if there’s any modicum of maturity, we’ll maybe grumble a little, but accept, pray learn from it, and move on.

And hopefully, treat each other a little nicer.

As I was sitting around eating bon bons, I started reflecting on the show 24. Now, as many of you know, I've been covering the show for Blogcritics Magazine, waxing ever so eloquent on the comings and goings of Jack and the rest of his Scooby Gang.

I thought about the show, and the dialogue, and what fun I and my fellow columnists have with it. Now, 24 is fairly jargon heavy, and we have had many a giggle at the expense of the poor "perimeters", the harried "hostiles", and the woebegone "work-arounds".

I don't know why we do this, I've never dreamed (or McDreamed) of making fun of my favorite medical shows, and their "lactated ringers", "gastric lavage", "Chem-7", or "IV push". Or cop shows - I mean, really "Book 'em" is like every day talk, isn't it?. Or the legal shows too, seem fairly ordinary, just about everyone I know can utter AND understand "writ of habeas corpus" sure as they were ordering a hot dog from a friendly street vendor.

I suppose it could be that doctor, cop, and lawyer shows been around for as long as we have - and we're used to them. Also, we have a personal connection. Everyone and their brother has either been to a doctor's office and/or a hospital. Many of us have spoken with a lawyer and served on a jury. And plenty of us have had some sort of interaction with the boys in blue.

But who all hangs out in a counter-terrorisim joint?

Colts 38
Patriots 34


After the late touchdown, with a minute or so to go in the game, we still could have done it - but Marlin Jackson intercepted Brady's last pass of the 2006 -2007 season.

Oh well. I guess there's next year.

Back with the action. My Adam - OK, he's not my Adam anymore, but he just evened things up with his own damn FG.

Damn!

OK, a few sips of beer later (Yes, a Corona with Lime. Shut up Sir Mark.) and a few Rosemary and Olive Oil Triscuits later - Gostkowski kicked a close field goal now we're 34 to their 31.

I am having hot flashes. Of course, it could be due to this lap top cooking away here, and the nice fire going in the fireplace.

Oh man - this is nerve wracking.

In case anyone wonders why lil Frodo's pic is here on this blog, I took a liquid generation test and found that as far as movie heros go, I'm Frodo. And for villians, I'm Jack Nicholson's alter ego in The Shining, Jack Torrance. Sweet, eh?

So, I'm watching the Pats VS Colts, and the Colts just scored again. 21 to 19 - not good. Oh, and now they just got the 2 pt. conversion. Double Drat.

But at least Ellis Hobbs just ran a ton of yards. Nice!

And now Gaffney just caught a nice touchdown, and got pushed out. But Tony Dungy didn't like the looks of the play, so he threw the challenge flag. But thankfully, they ruled to keep the touchdown. Whew!

Sheesh, I toggle away for a few minutes and Indy scored again.12 minutes left in 4th quarter and we are 28 - 28.

I think I'll have a beer.

Great, while I'm gone - Caldwell dropped the ball in the end zone. Again.

Gostkowski kicked us a 3 pt. field goal, but Indy just got first down. Grrr!

Be Kind to Yourself

A friend, Eowyn, has asked me to post this piece I wrote, reprinted from Hot Psychology's November issue. It's titled "Be Kind to Yourself", though I don't think I'm really thrilled with that title. However, I am OK with the actual article - anyway, here you go Dear Readers.

I don’t remember the year exactly; it was in the mid 1980s. I think I remember what I was wearing though, at least the pants, gray linen-type slacks. I remember that because after it was all over, the pants were bloodstained.

What I do remember first – was the shrieking. The sound of a man being zapped by over 200 volts of electricity was definitely out of the ordinary. The next thing I remember was the quiet. A roomful of 10 or so women was stunned and silent. It seemed as if they too, were rendered immobile by electric shock. But it wasn’t something physical keeping my co-workers motionless – it was fear.

We had been sitting at our desks toiling away at paperwork or data entry. A maintenance worker – and I don’t remember his name, but I’ll just call him Bob – was on a stepladder doing some routine repair work to an emergency light fixture. He was at the front of the room, but his presence wasn’t all that disruptive, that is, until his tools made contact with a wire connected to a live circuit. Then he started howling.

His legs were thrashing, knocking over the stepladder. He was attached to the fixture by virtue of the electricity that was charging through him. And the rest of us were attached to our spots. The scene seemed to go on forever, Bob being hit with this current, and no one doing a thing. I looked around at everyone, disbelieving that not a soul was reacting. Finally, I got up and ran to the front of the room. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew that it wasn’t the time for inaction.

First I knew that Bob had to be released from the source of the electricity. I also knew that I couldn’t just grab him, or I’d get zapped too. I looked around, trying to find something non conductive. The closest thing was a roll of paper towels. Not very strong, probably wouldn’t be all that effective – but I was panicked, and didn’t have many options. As I picked up the roll Bob fell to the floor, the charge had released him. I gradually became aware that there was movement in the room, and others were beginning to give assistance.

A woman was next to me as I knelt by the non-responsive Bob. We saw he was bleeding; his arm I think. I directed her to take some paper towels and press them on his wound. I was trying to remember everything I could from a college First Aid course. The ABC’s. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Bob seemed to be breathing, no obstructions. The blood we were dealing with.

But he was unconscious. I called his name, and loosened the belt at his waist. This is when I started to feel helpless. I just didn’t’ know what else do to! Thankfully, others had been taking action outside of my immediate awareness. While I was rushing to assist Bob, others had started calling for help – on the phone, and into the warehouse below. So by now, Greg* from Shipping & Receiving had joined us.

I remember him calmly asking me if I was a “certified First Responder”. I was thrown by the question, and all I could answer was, “I took a First Aid course once”. Turns out that Greg knew what he was doing – he was also an EMT. He noted that I had done pretty well, but he thought that Bob might have been going into shock. I wonder if I too, went into shock, because I don’t remember a lot of what happened after that. Greg pretty much took over until the firefighters arrived.

Bob survived fine, and was released from the hospital, and actually came back to the warehouse that same day. We found out later that circuits had been mislabeled and he was supposed to have been working on a disconnected device. I’m assuming the company we worked for had since made the appropriate safety corrections in the electrical system – but who knows. It dismays me to admit it, but the whole affair left me with a sour feeling towards my employer – and not just for their negligence.

Within a few weeks, the owners of the company made a big deal about recognizing the warehouse worker, Greg, who had given first aid to Bob. Which is great. Greg did a wonderful job; he was calm and thorough. But yet, I couldn’t help but wonder, what about me? I know, my ‘reward’ was really that Bob had been OK. But yet, I couldn’t help but feel very disappointed by the higher-ups – especially since the owner of the company actually saw me at Bob’s side, doing what I could. Anyone could have told him what had happened, that I had been the first to reach him and actually had started first-aid procedures. I tend to believe that the boss, Mr. J., was a chauvinist. Or maybe that the fact that Greg was the better trained aid giver impressed him more than a young woman who tried to take action, when everyone else around her was in panic.

What then, was I going to do with that feeling, that realization that I would have liked a little recognition? Did that mean I was grubbing for ceremonies and certificates of merit? To that part, I honestly can answer, “no”. But yet, what bothered me so much? I remember that Greg had approached me later on. He told me that he tried to explain my part in the whole episode. I do appreciate that. He too, felt that something wasn’t quite fair in all of this.

We are all taught the values of altruism as children. As I was brought up in a Christian family, I learned the Biblical lesson of the Good Samaritan. Without getting into the nitty-gritty, basically the Good Samaritan was a man traveling from A to B, and came across a fellow traveler in trouble. This other man had been beaten and robbed. Now, unknowing to the Samaritan, other travelers had previously seen the poor fellow at roadside, yet ignored him and continued on their respective journeys.

The Samaritan, being a good sort of man, immediately stopped and gave aid to the traveler. He brought him to an inn, cleaned him up, fed him and left money for his care with the innkeeper. The thing of it was, in those days, the Samaritans had a long history of not getting along with the Jews and were thought to not have pure lineage. To put it in a more modern context, a Samaritan today represents a social group that is feared or misunderstood – say, someone from a biker culture, or Islamic sect.

Thinking back now, that story seemed, if not scary, at least a little exotic. It certainly wasn’t the only story in either Testament that involved doing good, ‘for goodness sake’. Yet, it’s the one that sticks in my mind the most. And for me, it creates a most interesting parallel. The novelty of the story wasn’t all in the fact that someone gave of himself without expecting compensation – what surprised the people of the day, was that someone of an supposedly objectionable group was capable of doing this. Of course the Samaritans were capable of good. We know that now. We also know that today the odd Hells Angel, ex-convict, or homeless drug addict could show kindness and compassion.

What is also unexpected is what goes on inside the “Samaritan’s” head. In my case, I felt slighted. And I hated that feeling. But, human that I am, I understand that we are not built to be pure good, nor pure bad, and I’d do the whole thing over again, if I had to. Even knowing I might get slighted again. Helping someone who desperately needs it overrides any pride I might have to deal with. But still, there are consequences.

A distressing phenomenon tracked over the last few decades, is the occurrence of rescuers and first responders suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and other troubles such as depression or alcoholism. Those who are involved in rescues or other heroic gestures can have trouble coping with either all the attention, or the “Hero” brand. In 1987, Richard O’Donnell pulled 18-month-old Jessica McClure out of the 20-foot well she had fallen into. The paramedic’s patient efforts at pulling and nudging Jessica out of the well gave him much more than 15 minutes of fame. Problems with migraines and depression eventually tore up his marriage and ultimately he sought relief with a shotgun in 1995.

The Quecreek, PA mine disaster of 2002 left the survivors grateful, yet still having problems adjusting to life after the Disney movie, and all around media flurry. Robert Long, the man who was most visibly instrumental in the rescue, killed himself 11 months later. Similar stories in the aftermath of other events such as the Oklahoma City bombing and the attacks on September 11th are just as heartbreaking.

Undercurrent themes of these and other disasters are fear and panic. Also at play are the triggers of PTSD, factors such as fatigue, hunger, and sleep deprivation. But there is an emotional component that cannot always be measured, that affects our long-term outlook, either as victim or rescuer. Whatever human frailties or problems we have before such an event, will carry through and influence our reactions. The hero brand may be too difficult to wear if we can’t reconcile our self-views with the world’s views.

It can’t hurt to strive towards doing good, while not expecting a reward. If we truly embrace altruism, we don’t expect compensation or even a thank-you. To borrow from the Bible again, “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Matthew 6: 3-4) But as true as that is, it is still important to remember and acknowledge that we do need to be appreciated. And when we are not valued the way we’d hope; as humans, we’re going to feel the hurt.

Life is random. We don’t know when a car will crash, or a bomb will drop. We cannot live in constant fear of the world, nor of our own reactions. So, as we give aid to others, we need to remember to be kind to ourselves.




*Not his real name

Hot Psychology, November 5, 2006.
Page 26, Volume 2, Issue 11

New York State of Mind

Who would have thought that I'd enjoy it so much and want to go back so badly? Ah, let me explain. Family and I went to NYC this weekend (Friday to Sunday). I was glad to come home, but I want to go back.

Please - don't get me wrong. Home is fine, home is great. The Merrimack Valley area has lots to offer, and beyond that, there's Boston and what a fine city it is. I'm glad to live here. I don't want to live in New York, but I want to go back soon.

It's a kind of place, for me anyway, that takes so much time to absorb and enjoy.

New York is BIG.

Not just big in acreage, population, and number of taxis, NY is enormous in concept.

Entertainment - how many novels, movies, television shows or plays were set and/or filmed in this city? So many. Songs inspired by this place? You get the idea.

Finance - I walked on Wall Street. No, I'm not a closet financier or day trader. But man, Wall Street!

Advertising - I didn't get to Madison Avenue, but still --

Publishing - No one was as interested as I, but still, for me it was cool to walk right by McGraw Hill.

Museums - Now, Boston has some super museums. I've been to the MFA a few times, and of course the Science Museum in Cambridge is always a good visit. Didn't get to ANY museums in NY, save the 9/11 Tribute Center (more on that later). But if I had been to the Morgan, I could have seen Charles Dicken's original manuscript for A Christmas Carol. Imagine that!

Obviously I could go on and on, but I don't have a NY size blog.

A California Christmas

No, not in Cali. I'm right here in good old New England. It's December 1st - and damn it, I feel like putting out my Christmas decorations. Actually, I've been putting out a few things here and there, but today I'm really feeling the joy. Got some holiday CDs in the player - set on shuffle.

So, big deal, right? Well no, not a big deal. But I must discuss the irony of this day, as the temperature is an unseasonable 67 degrees. It's been rather warm the last few days but the forecast calls for dropping temperatures, and perhaps snow by Sunday or Monday.

So, warm temperatures and decorating for Christmas. What's the big deal? Nothing really, but it just feels funny. It's been gloomy all day, very dark and looking like rain. It'd be easy to let the grey seep in and start some serious seasonal affective disorder type baloney. But perhaps because it's been warm, or because of the tasks of arranging evergreens and holly, and lighting candles keeps away the Grinch, but this just feels good.

Joann Weber

The co-owner of The Lowell Spinners, Joann Weber lost the game to pancreatic cancer this Wednesday night, November 29, 2006. Before owning a Minor Leauge team with her huband Drew, Weber was involved in charties and the arts in New York.

The Webers' love of community continued as their team grew in both talent and popularity in the Lowell, MA area, and they were both very visible at the games. Through the Spinners organization, the Webers became involved with various charitable groups, and Joanne Weber's loss will be felt by so many.

Random Thoughts.


Just like a day ago, I either read or heard someone referring to Dan Brown and his novels Angels and Demons and The DaVinci Code. The comment had to do, not with religious controversy, but with the protagonist’s penchant for being a frickin’ know-it-all. Robert Langdon is this neato cool Harvard bred symbologist that ends up in all kinds of predicaments. But because of his experiences, for example with – and I’m not kidding here – water polo, he is able to prevail in an underwater struggle with a bad guy. Or, Langdon’s extensive knowledge of Renaissance Masters ended up being more than useless trivia. So, this makes me wonder, what do I bring to the party? What can a 40something mom offer up in a pinch if things got dicey?

Taking stock, I begin with the obvious:

Panic.

Yeah, I can do that one very, very well. But that gets old quick, and when my fellow, ah, victims, comrades, or people I’m stuck in an elevator with get bored with slapping the white out of me – what can I do to help?

Well, the next obvious thing is my martial arts training. Sure, I’ve been doing it for over eight years, and learned a thing or two to be sure. But what if I’m on a runaway freight train? What am I going to do, use the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique on the rail lines? Hop into a crane stance in an attempt to channel my chi and calm down the other passengers?

And what about the ‘Mom’ thing. I can yell at people – ohh yeah. I suppose you want me in your group if we all fall in a cave or something. I can yell for help, and yell at everyone else to play nice and share the water – or else I’ll have to pinch the disobedient castaways, or something.

But what about all those little life experiences, like my horseback riding lessons. I really can’t see me having to saddle up anytime soon. What about my several years spent in the warehouse/office of a national mail order lingerie company? Besides causing some chuckles and nudges at parties, my ability to discern between “Home of the Whopper”, and “Home for the Whopper” is not going to get me any closer to an incarnation of MacGyver.

And sadly, my love of movie and TV trivia probably won’t get me any closer to Alex Trebek nor keep me from being voted off the island. I’m just not equipped to run with the likes of Robert Langdon, James Bond, or even Nancy Drew.

TV Review - 3 LBS

(Originally posted on Blogcritics.org)

Television audiences love a good medical show, comedy or drama, from M*A*S*H to ER; they always seem to go for the unique mix of healing and the human condition.

3 LBS is a visually captivating show. The opening scene of a string recital is lush in its lighting and setting. We see a young woman, Cassie Mack, playing her violin superbly, accompanied by her mother on the cello. Suddenly, the girl falters and her fingers stop working properly. Next, the camera begins to slide through Cassie’s layers: clothing, dermis, subcutaneous tissue, bones, and then travels the path of nerves from her fingers to her brain.

So, we see that this girl’s brain is ailing, as lights flash around her gray matter. Then, the camera backs out just the same way it went in, until we see Cassie’s worried face, as she too realizes something is very wrong. Finally, the focus settles on her violin, slowly falling out of her hands, and dropping to the floor. The beauty of the gleaming instrument striking the floor produces not only discordant sound, but image as well. Simple, but powerful.

As the scene cuts to a busy New York street, we are jolted back to reality. Dr. Seger (Mark Feuerstein) has just arrived from the West Coast. Seger is to join a neurosurgery team headed by the famous (or infamous) Dr. Doug Hanson (Stanley Tucci). Seger is greeted by one of Hanson’s assistants, who politely, but pointedly remarks that “he’s late”. She brings him into the hospital, and as she guides him to the Neuro wing, she casually mentions that the staff turnover is high on Dr. Hanson’s team, and advises him not to unpack all his things just yet.

Even before Seger enters the patient conference in Dr. Hanson’s office, we already know that there will be conflict, or at the least, tension. Dr. Seger has been portrayed as the empathetic eager beaver; while we’ve been made aware that his soon-to-be mentor has sent lesser men packing.

Oh, and we are not disappointed. Tucci’s Dr. Hanson is not a bad guy, nor boor, yet he states his findings and his solutions without handholding or any evident compassion. Dr. Seger senses Mrs. Mack’s growing alarm and confusion during Hanson’s discussion of her daughter’s condition, and he attempts to translate the medical terms into simpler language, and to inject a little comfort into the situation.

While Drs. Hanson and Seger prepare for a mapping procedure on Cassie, a side plot is introduced. A beautiful neurologist, Dr. Adrianne Holland (Indira Varma) is examining a patient in her office. While he submits to some standard tests, he quizzes the Dr. on why she does her exams barefoot. So here, we learn that not only is Dr. Holland is not only beautiful, but a bit eccentric as well. We also find out that her patient, Mr. Wills has been getting lost, and becoming forgetful. He also cannot distinguish between certain items when held in his hand. Dr. Holland used a fancy term for that problem; I’ll just say his tactile sense is messed up on the left side of his body.

Now we have two patients who need top-notch care, or is it three? The great Dr. Hanson is evidently mortal, he suffers from visual hallucinations, and during his brain scan (to test a new piece of equipment), an abnormality appears. However, he seems to be on top of his game, until his patient Cassie loses her expressive language skills after he completes his mapping procedure.

Again, the creators of 3 LBS use some unique and beautiful visual techniques to illustrate Cassie’s loss of speech. There is a dreamlike scene here that is very compelling. The camera work is one of the strengths of the show, right along with the writing, direction and acting. Feuerstein and Tucci are set up to play a bit of Good Cop – Bad Cop, but neither is drawn to such extremes.

Dr. Seger is kind and articulate, but is not above flirting with Dr. Holland, despite his acknowledgement of his girlfriend back home. On the other hand, Dr. Hanson is distant and abrupt. As much as I adore Hugh Laurie’s portrayal of the over the top grouchy Dr. House – Dr. Hanson is a bit more palatable, and is very capable of showing humanity when it is needed.

I shall not give spoilers, but there are some very intriguing twists at the end of the episode. One gives a sort of closure, and the other, makes us ask more questions. Those questions, along with the fine work helmed by Peter Ocko (Boston Legal) should bring viewers back for more.


3 LBS makes its network debut, tonight at 10:00 PM (ET)

Coffee

Ah, the great elixir, savior to man-(and woman)kind, a treat for all the senses (gotta love those scalding drops on one's thighs while navigating rush hour traffic).

I have received much teasing, scorn even from my Mondo Project and Blogcritics brethren for my taste in coffee. As much as I love coffee, I try not to be a snob about it. Yeah, I drink 'light' beer too. But I have my limits.

I do not care for the flavored stuff. French vanilla, hazelnut, apple-fricken-strudel? Now, sure, I have had a flavored coffee. It's OK. But for me, it's like food scented candles. Aside from cinnamon, I really don't want to smell food unless it's acutal - like - food. Too damn frustrating otherwise. I'd much rather have pumpkin spice in a muffin or bread, rather than in my damn coffee.

If i'm going to indulge in flavors, I'd rather discern from the nuances of Sumatran, Kona, Columbian, Arabica, or Jamica Blue. Today I wandered into a local bakery, not looking for a pastry, just a cup of New England Coffee. I've had this brand before, and it's OK. Sure enough, on the board listing of flavors, I see all the fancy hazelnut, pumkin and whathaveyou. So, naturally I picked 'Breakfast Blend'. Nothing fancy.

More like, nothing like coffee. I took my first sip on the way home. Not only wasn't it hot, but it wasn't even coffee. Now, no matter how comforting warm milk is for some, there is nothing at all appetizing about warmish half 'n half, that had a distant, vague relationship to something that might have been (in a former life) a coffee bean.

Ugh.

So, I poured it out when I got home, and brewed up some Dunkins. I have to go teach karate to some six, seven, and eight year olds - and I need something more than lukewarm, weird, fake coffee!

I just read an excellent piece by the excellent Rick Reilly. Reilly is a long time columnist for Sports Illustrated - and he's one of my favorite writers. In this column, Reilly is apparently dealing with writer's block or some variation of such - until he reads a letter from an athlete's dad.

Please take a moment to check it out.

I’ve been meaning to make some sort of grand announcement here about the Godspell performance that my son and I are going to be a part of this fall. (November 3,4,5,10,11,12) More on that later.


Godspell Notes

So, last night we had our rehearsal at the Tewksbury State Hospital. Sounds strange, but they did have a great stage, and it was wonderful to have a whole stage to move around on, instead of a church basement. (Actually our stage movement wasn’t all that wonderful, as our fearless director kindly pointed out to us – but that’s another story.)

I find the place relatively OK. Luckily a few other cast members arrived at the same time, so we could walk in together. Confusion is best when shared, I always say. The guards laughed off our earnest requests of badges and ‘signing in’. “Naw, there’s too many of you – just go down stairs take (left or right, I forget now) and there you are.” Easy enough, but then when one of our group preferred the stairs, so the guards said, “OK fine, but take (right instead of left – or whatever) or else you’ll end up in the morgue.

Ah, the morgue. Now there’s a grand place to visit, if you’re a coroner. For the rest of us, not so much. We all made jokes, but I know that deep inside, the ‘hospital queasiness’ that we all felt was just compounded. Shiver.

So, as we are trying to find the auditorium, we move past shiny, but queerly empty hallways. Scenes of Nightmare on Elm Street, or just about any other horror movie I’ve ever watched raced through my over-active imagination. I don’t know about the others, but I think I sang “Bless the Lord”, and “Light of the World” with a little extra vigor.

Cut to the end of the night. We stayed even later than usual, I’m guessing we reached the exit doors at 10:45 – give or take. So, it’s late, and it’s absolutely pouring. Pour – ing. As in rain. As in, oh great, all our stuff is gonna get wet now.

But after a minute of whining, Mike and I start hiking towards the parking lot. Of course, I don’t quite remember where I parked, and it is pouring. And – we manage to find a nice ankle deep puddle, but not the car. All those creepy feelings from earlier start to nudge their way back into my brain.

Where the fuck did I park?

Tewksbury State Hospital is not where I want to spend the night. Oh, whew, there it is. I finally get to the car, plunk everything in, and off we go. But, how do we get out of here?

Now, I’ll admit, I’m not the best at these sort of things. I try like heck, I really do, but I can get lost pretty easily. And it’s STILL pouring. So, I just drive where I think I need to be, and hope for the best. But my defroster is a bit glitchy, it’s not really defrosting. I have to keep pulling over because I literally cannot see anything ahead of me.

We drive on this very narrow, winding road. Part of me imagines that Freddy Krueger will pop out from behind some tree, with his crazy claws glinting in my headlights. My heartburn comes back, and my head aches. I kind of think I may end up near Andover, but when I finally reach some sort of civilization, I’m further south in Tewksbury than when I started. But I know where I am, and get home without any other mishaps.

It’s now 11:30 PM.

Mike heads right to bed, he’s got school in the morning. I take a shower and go to bed about an hour later, after unwinding from all the happenings. I actually fall asleep pretty quickly – but around 1:10 we are awakened by some strange cry. “What was that?” I ask my husband. “I don’t know”. Then I hear my 11 year old open his bedroom door. “Mom, I puked”.

Now, the real nightmare begins.

[A good place to end, as I still need to finish my Jericho review, as episode One airs like – tonight]

Off the top of my head –

THEFT

A mix CD of mine was stolen over the weekend. I can re-create it easily enough – well not that easily. I don’t remember the order that the songs are in, but I should have all the songs still in me sweet little library. So, the loss of the CD is not so horrible. But still that was a little piece of me. Or, hmm – let’s see – 12 or so tracks, more like 12 little pieces of me. And someone stole it. The fu%*er.

Of course, they also made off with a couple of my son’s PS2 games. Now, there’s about $100.00 right there. And neither games nor CD should have been left outside the cabin of the campground we where in. But – there ya go, that’s the way it was.

Luckily I have not had a lot stolen from me. Not even my innocence. (It was given away with pleasure, mixed with a little guilt – of course) But it’s happened to people in my family. Houses, garages, vehicles, that sort of thing. What a lousy feeling. Someone poked around your stuff and decided what was valuable and what wasn’t. And what does that even mean? Would we be a little insulted if someone didn’t take our stereo or plasma?

“What, this isn’t good enough Mr. Thief? Just because I got it as a half price floor model, is no reason to get all snooty. My stuff is JUST as good as the neighbors!”

THE EMMYS

Loved watching Conan making his way through the sets of the ‘biggies’ like Lost, House, 24 even South Park. Very clever stuff.

Barry Manilow looked like he was in pain. Not talking about the poor hips that were to be fixed up – but his face. There wasn’t a visual resemblance, yet I keep thinking of Jack Nicholson’s version of The Joker in Batman. The whole grimace thing.

Anything is more fun when Kareem is there.

Kate Jackson was eloquent – but I kept getting distracted by her bone structure. Farrah did OK too, she seemed much more lucid than she did on the William Shatner roast (Comedy Central). Oy!

I can’t remember who she was – but one of the presenters, though very beautiful, well - something was awry. She had long pointy eyelashes that looked like they needed to be registered with the L.A. police department. Fairly scary, those.


WILLIAM SHATNER ROAST

I don’t think any stone was left unturned that night. Nothing was taboo. If anyone didn’t already hear the news that George Takei (Ensign Sulu) was gay, then it was drilled into them that night. (Wait – no, not like that). Ditto for Andy Dick. What a night! What laughs! What jabs! Ouch!

BORROWING A LINE

Whoever said that (paraphrasing) they didn’t understand why cereal boxes were SO freakin’ hard to open – yet light bulbs are packaged in lightweight cardboard, with cutouts! – Anyway – so true!

BIG TV QUIZ ----- ANSWERS


1. "I feel like I swallowed a hot mitten"

This is from the beloved classic, The Mary Tyler Moore Show. The news crew were feeling the effects of food poisoning, and this was Murry Slaughter's response. Sadly, no one got this : (



2. "I'm OUT!"

Now, here most of you shine. Of course, this is from Seinfeld's famous ep - "The Contest" - Kramer was the first to cave.


3. "I saw this in a movie about a bus that had to SPEED around a city, keeping its SPEED over fifty, and if its SPEED dropped, it would explode. I think it was called, "The Bus That Couldn't Slow Down." "

Y'all did pretty good here too. Everyone's favorite dope, Homer Simpson keeps us laughing. Rock on Homer!


4. "Hi, I'd like a Cheeseburger, please, a large fries and a Cosmopolitan"

Damn, must be more of a chick thing, Sex in the City.


5. "I didn't swear. GD. The first word is God. How can that be a swear word? It's the most popular word in the bible. The second word, damn, that's a perfectly good word, you hear it all the time, like they dam the river to keep it from flooding it. And you read in the Bible that some guy was damned for cheating or stealing or having sex in the family. And who damned him? Who else? God. God damned him. Edith, beautiful words right out of the Bible."

All in the Family. I didn't love this show, but it had some fabulous TV moments.

6. "I love it here. You can sing as loud as you want. That dude wails away on the organ. That dude up there tells stories. It's almost a religious experience!"

Tommy Chong's character Leo, and his observations about church in That 70's Show.

7. "...do you have any idea what happens to a butter-based frosting after sitting 60 years in a poorly ventilated English basement? I have a feeling that what you are about to go through is punishment enough. Dismissed!"

Seinfeld #2. Elaine had gotten used to the late afternoon office parties, so she was craving sugar. Sadly, in her managerial frenzy, she banned the parties, but retained the cravings. So, she snuck into boss J. Peterman's office to sneak a snack. What she thought was an Enterman's cake was really an expensive piece of history. The Duke of Windsor's wedding cake.

8. "I'm having a good ass day"

Mad About You. Fran's glib comment to Jamie regarding some nice jeans she was wearing.

9. "Hey, you know, I have had it with you guys and your "cancer" and your "emphysema" and your "heart disease." The bottom line is smoking is cool and you know it."

Not that I agree, but it was cool when Chandler Bing ranted this on Friends.

Below is a piece I originally posted on Blogcritics. It was my official "stance" on the scams, spams and slams that I was dealing with in the Life Electronic. Also, was a little something I zipped off to one of my new 'friends'.


As part of life on the Internet, most of us have received strange emails. They are a nuisance at best, and at worst, could lead to real trouble. If we believe that a little child is dying somewhere, bereft of joy, balloon animals and our email wishes we might think that sending a harmless cyber cheer-up is the way to go. But no, we’ve just provided our email address to potential phishers, spammers, and other no-goodniks. We also helpfully added an invisible label that proclaims, “SUCKER!”

When eBay sends me an email to tell me that my account will be suspended because I’ve been abusing it – am I going to go rectify this matter by replying with an account number, social security, or mother’s maiden name? Gates-All-Mighty – NO! One, because I’m lazy, and two, because I don’t have an eBay account!

And so it goes, a different twist is the “I am Somebody connected with Something Important. In a former life I was related to Prince Abdullah Droola – I am rich/used to be rich/dream of being rich/need to unload some dough” I have started a collection of these entreaties on my own website, just for fun. Here’s a sampling:

“I have the tendency to invest this money in a company with good line of product like your own company and with potential for good capital returns, since your country is one of good investors friendly nation in the world, I would therefore like you to help me in every possible way in securing the fund in your country”

What product am I selling? Besides my superb writing that is. Perhaps they think I’m The Mary Kay. (The fact that she’s passed on probably doesn’t matter)

And another:

Meanwhile, my plan is to withdraw just some amount from the accumulated Interest, which will not even affect the main fixed deposit, I will Give you the details of procedure and my full ID when I receive your reply and indication of partner. Your reward and amount to withdraw will be our mutual agreement to avoid any misunderstanding. We have nothing to lose, we only courage to do this

In this case, the sum was the interest (at 7%) of $150,000,000.00. My eyes did roll around for a moment, not unlike the free-flying pupils of Coach Comet in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer when he saw the real glowing red nose that poor Rudolph had been hiding under a black rubber thingy.

I can’t flatter myself to think I am alone in the receipt of these scam emails. But vanity ensnares me – and I like to think that these people see something special in me. So, finally I fashioned a response, which will most assuredly fall on deaf, um – IPs. But I had fun anyway!

"Naw, not going to help you steal there, Ms Woodward. Or whoever you are.

Assuming you are a person, and your inquiry is not generated from a machine, I need to inform you that these emails are such old news. Evidently there are all kinds of monies languishing in various bank vaults or safe deposit boxes all around the world.

And I - lowly non-financial-background me seems to be the ONLY person in the good old capitalistic USA (or any other industrialized nation) with a pulse that is capable of receiving said monies. To do what with though, that always changes. Sometimes I'm asked to open up accounts, sometimes just put the money under my mattress. I assume it's all start up capital for a cleaning business - must have something to do with laundering - I guess?

That is a bit sad, don’t you think?

Not that I count myself to be among the great unwashed of the world. I don't see why a disposed prince from Fill in obscure African Country here or an official of Fictional Asian Corporation wouldn't want to become my pen pal. I'm kind to animals and I've been told that I'm a decent conversationalist.

So, Ms Woodward, as delightful as this current proposal seems, I'm content with staying on THIS side of the law, at least for today anyway."