Friday, January 28, 2011
25 years ago today, I was a college sophomore in my dormitory room, blow drying my hair to get ready for class. It was morning, I remember, and I had the TV on. I had my head turned upside down as I was drying my hair, almost routinely watching the screen.
That's when I saw it.
That inexplicable, tragic poof that happened right before our eyes. From down here, on my TV screen, that poof looked like nothing much. I'm almost sure the people reporting on the space shuttle take off weren't immediately aware of what had just happened also.
Those are the moments that unite us as a nation. Tragedy has a way of doing that.
Twenty five years ago, we lost seven innocent people, an entire crew of pioneers, in the name of science. I know I'll never forget it.
Count you blessings bloggers. Happy Weekend!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
She then tirelessly tried to reach out to Oprah, to no avail. She finally got in touch with Oprah's niece, the daughter of one of two deceased siblings of Oprah, and was able to score some DNA and take a test that proves that she is indeed Oprah's half sister. They met for the first time at Thanksgiving and the entire story was filmed for TV which aired yesterday. I couldn't get it out of my mind. All night I kept thinking about the way the news anchors kept referring to this woman as, "Cashing in on her DNA" and how she "won the genetic lottery." And I thought for a moment about the tragedy in all of this.
Is this all we think of as a society? Oprah=money and lots of it? I was embarrassed to think this is all we could think of. Granted, Oprah is a billionaire. Fact, yes. But she is also a human and must be thrilled at the prospect of having a half sister to call her own. I must admit to even letting my mind go to that place where Oprah's money solves all of this woman's financial issues, but if only for a moment. Wasn't it Oprah herself who, back in the days when she had to work for a living, invented the televised secret family reunion? Didn't she herself make lots of people happy on the backs of unknowing siblings being reunited in the world? The irony is not lost here.
The broadcast went on to say that Oprah decided to reveal the news herself, on her own show, so that her viewers would hear it from her and not some tabloid, therefore making it less newsworthy. Yes Oprah's a savvy broadcaster and a media mogul, and now she's found out that she's a sister too. Personally, I don't think that there is any price tag you could put on that. So what if she is the richest woman in the world? This fact has nothing to do with this story, for she now has found something that her billions of dollars cannot buy.
Why do we need to cheapen it? This is most likely the reason that Oprah decided to handle the announcement. Because our world is a cynical place. We couldn't possibly think for one moment that Oprah's half sister's motives were pure. No, we had to go to that place that says she did it for the money. I hope God blesses them both with a wonderful and fulfilling relationship and if Oprah decides to give her half her fortune...SO WHAT? If Oprah decides to give her NOT one penny...SO WHAT? I think it's more about non-monetary things that these two can give to each other. It's now up to both women to write their own script to this screenplay.
I can only imagine the horrible can of worms the world has opened up on this woman. Her only consolation should be building a relationship with her sister.
Monday, January 24, 2011
I spent the day on the sofa, nursing a slight hangover, but here's the thing, I don't really remember drinking enough to be feeling that way. I scanned my brain for a clue as to why my body just couldn't move like it should. Is this what happens when you get old?? It started out innocently enough.
We went over to a friends house and she had concocted a wonderful home brew of hooch. The homemade Margarita. Ahhh heavenly, going down, and we drank them from tiny Grappa glasses. It seemed very innocent. Surely two or three of these small aperitifs were fine for a buxom blonde like me to handle? Right? But I forgot to mention the lethal factor to this hangover equation. Patron.
AH yes, Mexican rage, and when it hits you you are doomed...BUT, after three of four tiny shots, we'll call them, of Margarita, we were off to the restaurant where I proceeded to have two more. One while we waited for the table and one at the table. Again, Candy was feeling so Dandy, she ordered the drinks by name brand, "Petron Margarita, please." All was well by most standards.
I was having such a good time that I didn't really notice that I didn't eat my dinner. It wasn't good, I remember that, and I know I ate some stuff at the table, but not enough to sustain said buxom blonde. I must have really been feeling good because I then drank some red wine with the dinner and you know how the waiter keeps filling the wine glass when you buy a bottle? Here's where I must have gotten into trouble.
I then ate the dessert. SUGAR. Now I know I'm drunk because, even thought I had just a few bites, I don't eat sugar and here I am imbibing and eating sugar. Still, I'm fine and when I get home I see the kids, talk for a bit, then retire to bed. ALL FINE. No bed spins, nausea, nothing just a drift off to slumber but when I woke up? My head felt like a 100 lb anvil.
And that's how I spent the day yesterday, horizontal on the sofa and feeling heavy. Now I know I have hit the liquor harder than that and survived before. What the hell made this one so bad?
My only consolation on yesterday's events? I watched the Steelers whomp the Jets ass..
So not a total loss.
Friday, January 21, 2011
So in fine Daily Dandy tradition, Freaky Friday must accompany those freaks from Wally World. So feast your eyes on the Freak Flag Flying's finest....
Oooooooohhhh yeah, dead sexy......
He musta wurked mighty hard on them abs, cuz he dang sure is proud of em'. Yup.
Where is Waldo? and what the hell is wrong with some people?? At least they gave him some breathing room for goodness sake, forget the fact that a 23 lb frozen turkey is crushing his kidney somewhere under there. "He's sleeping so he must be fine"
Lady, the poor kid has passed out from the pain....
I think I just heard those sweat pants scream, "Help!"
And this is normal in what part of the world?
I know about 15 ladies who would reach for their cell phones and call the authorities if they saw this at their local Walmart.
And last but not least, in honor of our newest American Idol judge, YES this Dude certainly does look like a lady!!!
I gotta give him kudos, and style points on his FAB retro look even though, he broke the cardinal rule of no white shoes after labor day...Although I can see where he was going with this whole thing. Nice work.
Happy Weekend Bloggers, never be afraid to let your freak flag fly!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Gravel Gertie - former criminal and now wife of B.O. Plenty. Introduced in The Brow episode. In 1944 She is a widow for thirty years after her first husband sold her farm rights for a gravel pit and then died when his car backed into his own gravel pit. Tried to hide the Brow from the police after she found him in wrecked car; arrested when her hair from her clothes brush matched gray hair found near burning car. In a comic relief the Brow flees in terror when he catches his first glimpse of his guardian angel. In his struggle to escape an old fashioned lamp is knocked over; her shack burns down and her long hair is burned off. Later married B.O. Plenty and became mother of Sparkle Plenty. In a later continuity, it was established that Gertie had spent part of her childhood in an orphanage; while she was there, criminals shaved her head and tattooed onto her bald pate a treasure map showing the location of their buried loot, then allowed her hair to regrow to conceal the map ... which was belatedly rediscovered well into Gertie's adulthood. Dick Tracy was a popular strip for the railroad workers, and Gravel Girtie is the affectionate nickname of a part of the Clifton Forge line of the C & O Railroad. It stretches from Hinton, West Virginia to Clifton Forge, Virginia and delivered limestone gravel quarried from Fort Spring to the iron furnaces of Virginia as a fluxing agent.
Does this help to answer my age old question of who this character is and why I would never want to look like her? Not really. What I find fascinating is that I know Gravel Gertie at all. A minor player in the Dick Tracy comic strips, yet omnipresent in my life's script. Poor Gert, she didn't win the pretty olympics and was orphaned and abused. Her head shaved by criminals, it was tattooed with a treasure map then allowed her hair to re-grow to conceal it. Then after marriage and motherhood her hair is burned off in a fire. Tragic figure at best. I get it now, keep your hair coiffed and keep your enemies at bay. Kind of.
I once asked my mother who Gravel Gertie was and she told me that it was someone her mother warned her to never look like. A generational warning, passed down through the years. Have I passed on the tradition? I may have uttered those, "Good Lord Frick, you look just like Gravel Gert." warnings more than a few times, but I think it's safe to say the line ends her for the legend of Gravel Gert in my family. Just like the old Dick Tracy comics, my kids think Dick Tracy is a movie with Warren Beatty and Madonna.
But to me Gertie will always be something more and after today, I may just be proud to look like Gert every now and again. She was a survivor, a mother and wife, from another era who earned the right to look like a hot mess. Even thought she was a character in someone's mind, I now have my own picture of who Gravel Gertie is.
I gotta tell my mom. I just may wear the Gravel Gertie moniker as a badge of honor.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
I'm driving home last night and I see two, count them, TWO houses on my street with full on holiday, ho ho ho...Christmas tree still up, lights on the trees outside and candles in the window. Is this legal? Isn't there some committee made up of Rotary League women, who smell like Estee Lauder and knit coasters for their antique tables that decide how long is proper for Christmas displays to be up? Today is Jan. 18th for goodness sake, and I know that, for me, Christmas 2010 is nothing but a distant memory at this point.
There are those that would argue that the Christmas displays must remain up until "Little Christmas" has passed, but a quick Internet check tells me that this too, has come and gone. Now don't get me wrong, people can do whatever they want in the privacy of their own homes. After all, this is the land of the free and the home of the brave. I even will go out on a limb and say that I kind of like driving by and looking at the beautiful lights and especially the Christmas tree, since my tree is long gone. But how long is too long?
There's the wreath rule. The wreath rule states that, "after the Christmas holiday is observed the holiday wreath hung on the door must remain until the dawn of February." I don't know if that's true, because I just made it up, but that's what I always believed. But the tree and everything else? After the second week of January, it just begins to looks stale to me and I know I don't live in the swamps of Mississippi, where the Redneck rule is to leave it up all year so that you are ready come next year. So what gives?
Is it laziness or longing-ness? Do people want to stretch out the joy of the holiday and enjoy the beauty for one more day..too long, or are they so busy/lazy that they have no time?
What do you think bloggers??
Friday, January 14, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Yesterday was a serious snow day. I woke up around 7am and the snow was coming down at an unbelievable pace. By that time we already had a foot of snow and it looked like white out conditions outside my window.
Then the snow continued All. Day. Long. And did not stop. We ended up with probably 17-18 inches in total, and some places in MA got up to 2 feet or more.
I gotta tell you, it was AWESOME. With no where to go, the weather furious, everybody was home bound for the day. I couldn't feel that pang of guilt you sometimes feel when I make a decision to close the store. This one was a no brainer. No one could move for most of the day. Wherever you were, you pretty much stayed put and had to wait it out.
Today begins the messy process of clean-up.
And my home town never looked more beautiful.
The majesty of Mother Nature never ceases to amaze me.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
I grew up in the seventies. The youngest of five, my two sisters arriving first in the birth order, then my two brothers, my mom says a girl was a welcome addition to the brood. Since my sisters were already grown and gone when I reached my younger, formative years, my brothers became my closest playmates and as such, their world became mine. Safe to say that sports was at their epi-center. Cute, and pony tailed, if I wanted to hang with the boys, I had no choice but to become malleable and go with THEIR flow. I knew no other way and I lived to hang with them and do what they were doing. My brother, closest to me in age, was five years older and since I came into the picture, he made it his job to terrorize and torture me. To him this was almost better than anything, making his baby sister perform at his whim, and like a trained seal, I complied with his every command.
If we were playing hide and go seek, he would grab me for his team, hide me in the toughest of places, vowing I would never be found by our opponent, and then leave me there.... For what seemed like an eternity.... Eventually I would find my way out of the middle shelf of the closet, covered by the bath towels and perspiration and seek him out. Crying and angry, I played the only card I had in my deck of one. "I'm telling mom." It was like a magic "be mean to your sister" antidote and my brother would then turn on the charm and vow to never do it again.....until the next time I trusted him. Which usually wasn't very long after.
One of the games we used to play together he called, "The Juice", which is ironic because he killed me every time we played it. "You are The Juice, and I am the defensive line," he would say coyly. "You have the ball and you have to get through ME to score a touchdown and win the game." And I bought it, hook, line and sinker. I couldn't believe my good fortune! I get to be the star running back and win the game. I figured it wouldn't be too hard as I had seen it happen lots of times on TV, and my brother was playing with JUST me. What luck!
I'm sure I don't need to tell you that The Juice got knocked down more than a Mike Tyson opponent during his championship years, but I always got up and went back for more, ever unsure of whether or not I liked this particular game. I never let on and I continued to play this game for years, bruised and battered, never utilizing my Ace in the hole when mom asked where the bruises came from. Looking back, I really have to thank my brother. Not only does my love of sports supersede every other girl I came in contact with, but this little game we played every so often made me tough as nails. Although I never knew it until years later.
Flash forward, we are now in our twenties, and although much more mature, the big brother power he held still reigned. I'm not quite sure what we were arguing about or why, it seemed to be something having to do with Ramen Noodle soup and the microwave, but that detail is not important. What I remember clear as day, is the sheer terror of my brothers anger, directed at me and my running away from his clenched fist in the heat of the argument. By that time we had moved from the sprawling home of my formative years, one that housed five children, to a smaller more modern home with much less running room.
My brother chased me and had me cornered in our tiny bathroom downstairs and he looked to me like Ferdinand the bull, steam escaping from his flared nostrils. I had painted myself into a corner and I knew one thing for certain....I was gonna die if I didn't think fast. With no where to go, trapped like a rat, as they say, I turned around and clocked my brother square in the chin with MY clenched fist. The sound of imaginary bells began ringing in my head. I think my brother's eyes turned into two black x's and I might have even seen a tweedy bird or two fly around his head, but the chase stopped right there and so did my brother's reign as dictator.
The Juice was no longer ripe for the squeezing, and my brother and I ate the Ramen Noodle soup in silence. I think we both learned a valuable lesson that night. With every teacher/student relationship, eventually the student becomes the teacher. I don't think my brother has ever looked at a glass of orange juice with the same confidence again.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Ellen is amazing. Poised to step right in for Oprah, when she hangs up her talk show, Christian Louboutin shoes, Ellen was smart to end her American Idol judging gig and focus on taking the TV talk show throne as she is clearly the most logical choice. It has already been announced here in Boston that the Ellen show, which airs at 9am will be moved to Oprah's 4pm prime time time slot when the Oprah show goes black sometime later this year. Now all the mothers at home "putting the chicken in the oven" as Oprah says, won't be too disgruntled by the loss of the Oprah show.
Ellen's job is a dream job, as she gets to talk with celebs, feature new talent, play games, do funny segments, and did I mention she gets to dance? And she's dancing and laughing all the way to the bank. I wonder if she ever wakes up and actually pinches herself, because she is living the dream, just by being herself. I know it wasn't an easy road for her to get here, and she stumbled along the way, but despite it all, she has persevered and she is loved by a lot of people. And she's funny as hell. She's got a soft, kind way about her that endears her to the public. Love her or hate her, you gotta give her kudos. Yup, Ellen today is on my short list of people I'd come back as in another life.
And did I mention, I'd get to dance.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Well, it's looking like I may have spoken a self-fulfilling prophecy. While My Guy and I were on our little adventure, we went golfing. The starter at the club hooked us up with a man who was playing alone, so our twosome became a threesome. We met our golf partner, who was a nice gent from Dallas.
Dallas?? I thought. My Tommy radar hit it's target. "So maybe I'll be coming to Dallas soon," I told the man. "As I just so happen to be a PATRIOTS season ticket holding fan." He looked at me perplexed. I forgot for a moment that not everyone is as obsessed with The New England Patriots as I am. He was a football fan, though.
"I said I am a fan of the 12-3, New England Patriots. The team that has won 3 out of 4 World Championships in the last decade," I said. "You know, the team that had a 2007 perfect regular season. The team that has arguably the greatest QB to ever play the game, My Tommy. The team that seems destined to win one again."
"OH, that's what you're talking about." my new best friend said. Then the wheels started spinning.
My new friend fast started to tell me where we needed to stay and what we needed to do once in Dallas. I liked my new friend. His enthusiasm for his city all at once made him breath new life into his own football fan-ism. He is a Bears fan, he told me, and at the time he was holding on to his playoff hopes by a shredded piece of dental floss. He could only marvel at my team. We talked football for a while and he insisted that he would be our tour guide when in Dallas, if the football Gods see to it that we get there.
That was sign one.
Sunday, although meaningless, was sign two. But I'm not counting those particular eggs right now. I have been here before. It was 2007 and My Tommy and the boys were surging into the playoffs. We got excited and did not want to be denied when it came time to go to Miami. So we booked our trip before the AFC Championship game, confident that we would not be denied. And what happened? My Tommy lost to Peyton Manning. We ended up in Miami, with no ticket to a game we could have cared less about, watching it in the RAIN in a bar. You live, you learn. This time I approach with a quiet confidence. With my new friend in tow, I will keep my eyes on the prize, but be cautious. Dallas could be a reality, for sure, but I will take a wait, WIN, and see approach.
And this time, all signs seem to be pointing in the right direction.