Monday, January 31, 2011

PUT ON YOUR OWN OXYGEN MASK FIRST

Gentle Readers,

You drag yourself, your carry-on bag, your child, and your child's FAA approved car seat onto the plane, while your husband casually walks on and takes his seat. You get the car seat in place, child safely buckled into the car seat after tolerating yet another argument from a flying waitress who tells you that you can't have that seat because you didn't buy a ticket for it and you show her the ticket and the boarding pass for your child and son of a bitch you mutter under your breath as the sky waitress wanders off vanquished but determined to have revenge, you stuff your bag into the overhead bin while the businessman behind you who is so important suddenly decides he must have something from the bag he already stowed and while pulling it from the bin he whacks you in the head with it

and
then
you
finally
sit
down
and
try
to
catch
your
breath
while
you
struggle
with
the
stubborn
twisted
seat
belt
and
you're
trying
not
to
cry.

Then it's time to get the flight underway and the sky bitch gets on the intercom and gives the little demonstration about what you should do if the oxygen mask falls from above and she says, In the event of an emergency, place your own oxygen mask over your face first and adjust it before putting an oxygen mask on a child or someone else in need of assistance.

So now the plane has taken off. Oh no! You encounter turbulence. The plane is rockin' and rollin' like you've never felt it before. You've flown straight into a huge storm. And for the first time ever, the oxygen mask is in front of you. The oxygen mask is in front of your child in the car seat. And the oxygen mask is in front of your husband who has bumped his head and is unconscious.

Whose mask do you put on first?

Nine out of ten women (so I have been told) will say that you put on the child's mask first, your husband's second, and then your own.

Now that's not the safe, correct thing to do, is it?

You need to be able to breathe if you're going to help anyone else.

You need to be able to breathe if you're going to help anyone else.

You need to be able to breathe if you're going to help anyone else.

How many times do you need to hear it before you understand it? Will you ever get it?

I am the one person out of ten who answered that question correctly.

And yet I didn't do it in my own life.

I didn't make a life for myself.

I allowed myself to be dominated and manipulated because I was so afraid I would be alone. And now I am alone and I will always be alone because God forbid I should ever have a man in my life who would love me, or even just like me for who I am, because I would lose my maintenance. I've been conned, dumped, and divorced. I live alone.

But he still calls the shots.

Please don't do this to yourself. Put on your own oxygen mask first. You can't take care of anyone else if you don't take care of yourself.

He told me to get a life. But every time I tried he snatched it away from me. I have to keep going to school because I'm going to invent something that will change the world, so forget about your education. We have to move and it's your fault because you complain all the time that we don't have enough money, so forget about your home and your friends. I cheat because you aren't enough for me, and never mind that I don't shower or brush my teeth. We don't have enough money for you to go to your family reunion because you go out for lunch, and never mind that I've lost thousands gambling. I don't want you because you've gotten fat and you snore, and never mind that I've been fat and snoring for 30 years. Never mind that I'm sick and I won't take my medicine. I'm not the one who's in the hospital. You are fat; you are ugly; you make me sick. It's not my fault you're depressed. Not my fault not my fault not my fault yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultgetout

My fist has to punch you because it's your fault. My knife has to cut you because it's your fault. My hands have to shove you because it's your fault. My mouth has to threaten you and belittle you because it's your fault.

For God's sake, please put on your oxygen mask.

And breathe.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Sunday, January 30, 2011

KINDERTRANSPORT

Gentle Readers,

I recommend an excellent documentary: Into the Arms of Strangers: Stories of the Kindertransport.

During 1938 and '39, the Kindertransport allowed 10,000 Jewish children from Germany and Nazi-occupied countries to travel by train to England, where they lived -- sometimes in camps and youth hostels, occasionally to be used as servants -- but mostly with foster parents. Organizers accompanied the children on the trains, but if the organizers had not returned, the Kindertransport would have been stopped. Additionally, children were not allowed to take anything of value with them.

The aging children of the transport tell their stories themselves -- how their parents said, Don't worry, we'll join you soon; how some children were given the daunting task of finding employment for their parents as domestics (the only way for adults to get to England), and some kids actually managed to get their parents to safety; how many of the children cried themselves to sleep for years in a time when people didn't understand the emotional damage caused by separation and no grief counselors were standing by to help; how few of the children were reunited with their parents when the war ended because they had no parents. The majority of the children lost their families in the Holocaust.

I am ashamed that the United States accepted no additional refugees. Many countries reduced the number of Jews allowed to emigrate during the days leading up to the war and after the war began. Anti-Semitism ran rampant all over the world. England and England alone took in these children and would have taken more if the transport hadn't been ended by the beginning of the war between Germany and Great Britain.

Deborah Oppenheimer produced this outstanding film. Her mother was a Kindertransport survivor who was unable to tell her daughter what she had been through. Oppenheimer learned more about her own family through making the film. Listening to the DVD commentary on Into the Arms of Strangers is well worth your time as Oppenheimer and director Mark Jonathan Harris add their insights into the story and discuss the research conducted to make this 2000 Academy Award Winner for Best Documentary.

A story that stood out for me was that of Lory Cahn, who was a 14 year old on the train headed for England when her father could not bear to let her go and actually pulled her out of the moving train's window as he ran alongside on his crippled legs, the result of injuries incurred during World War I, when he fought for Germany. Young Lory was deported after a time -- but not to England. She went from concentration camp to concentration camp to concentration camp, until at last, her liberation. She weighed 58 pounds. Her mother had been killed, but her father survived. She seemed to bear him no ill will.

Oppenheimer and Harris ask toward the end of their commentary: Would you be able to let your children go? And would you take in a child if asked?

Taking in a child would be much easier for me than letting my children go. As much as I would want my children to be safe, I do not know if I could send them away into the unknown. And so many of us would probably be afraid but we would think: Things will get better. This will not last. Someone will stop this madness.

But of course, no one stopped the madness, not until Hitler and Germany were defeated.

And the war was not fought to save Europe's Jews.

What about you? Would you let your children go? Would you take in a child?

Something to ponder.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Saturday, January 29, 2011

PARTY X 2 = AR

Gentle Readers,

I have just returned from a very special young lady's second birthday party. What a joyous event. Little AR marveled at every gift she received. How wonderful to watch an intelligent little girl grow up and learn about the world.

She opened packages with clothes and toys and then, it was time for the big gift. She received a helmet, purple and sparkly, and  Daddy wheeled out her little pink trike/bike, with a handle in the back for Mommy or Daddy to hold. The handle even controls the steering. I wish such a thing had been available when my children were young.

So many people were there to enjoy the big day, including plenty of children milling around and helping Little AR open her gifts. How lovely to see these children, bright and loved and well-cared for. A darling little boy named Jamie made a very carefully study of all the tiny sticks and bits of dry grass on the steps to the house and then chose one gift for me, and then another. What made those little sticks so special? I wish I could see my surroundings from the perspective of a two year old and be as fascinated by a stick as that little boy and then share my fascination. And this little boy didn't know me - had never seen me before, but he was willing to share his precious gift with me: the gift of wonder.

A diamond and a ruby couldn't have been better gifts than those sticks.

But if anyone wants to send me jewels, then please feel free.

HEY, MY KIDS - Yes, you two.

GET MARRIED AND GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN. Don't forget to achieve your own goals. I will help raise the children, no problem. But give me the gift of grandchildren. When I had you I was so busy I didn't take enough time to watch you wonder. Grandchildren are a parent's opportunity to do better.

Thank you so much, LL and RL, for inviting me today. I had such a good time.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Friday, January 28, 2011

INTELLIGENCE TEST COMPLETE WITH ANSWERS

1. How Do You Catch a Unique Rabbit?
Unique Up On It.


2. How Do You Catch a Tame Rabbit?
Tame Way.


3. How Do Crazy People Go Through The Forest ?
They Take The Psychopath


4. How Do You Get Holy Water?
You Boil The Hell Out Of It


5. What Do Fish Say When They Hit a Concrete Wall?
Dam!


6. What Do Eskimos Get From Sitting On The Ice too Long?
Polaroids

7. What Do You Call a Boomerang That Doesn't work?
A Stick


8. What Do You Call Cheese That Isn't Yours?
Nacho Cheese.

9. What Do You Call Santa's Helpers?
Subordinate Clauses.

10. What Do You Call Four Bullfighters In Quicksand?
Quatro Cinco.

11. What Do You Get From a Pampered Cow?
Spoiled Milk.

12. What Do You Get When You Cross a Snowman With a Vampire?
Frostbite.

13. What Lies At The Bottom Of The Ocean And Twitches?
A Nervous Wreck.

14. What's The Difference Between Roast Beef And Pea Soup?
Anyone Can Roast Beef.

15. Where Do You Find a Dog With No Legs?
Right Where You Left Him.

16. Why Do Gorillas Have Big Nostrils?
Because They Have Big Fingers.

17. Why Don't Blind People Like To Sky Dive?
Because It Scares The Dog.

18. What Kind Of Coffee Was Served On The Titanic?
Sanka.

19. What Is The Difference Between a Harley And a Hoover ?!
The Location Of The Dirt Bag.

20. Why Did Pilgrims' Pants Always Fall Down?
Because They Wore Their Belt Buckles On Their Hats.

21. What's The Difference Between a Bad Golfer And a Bad Skydiver?
A Bad Golfer Goes, Whack, Dang!
A Bad Skydiver Goes Dang! Whack.

22. How Are a  Texas Tornado And a Tennessee Divorce The Same?
Somebody's Gonna Lose A Trailer.

 
 

Thursday, January 27, 2011

THUS SPOKE GOD

Gentle Readers,

God once spoke to me, and He didn't say "You are going to hell" and He didn't say "You're a Nazi." No, he told me I wasn't going to die. Favorite Young Man was a busy two-year-old and I found myself in quite a bit of pain that worsened as the day went on. My husband took me to the doctor, where I fainted, so the doctor passed me off on the hospital and my husband hauled me out of the doctor's office with the help of some nice woman in the waiting room. (Isn't it amazingly wonderful how so many people will step in to help without even being asked?) I was in my hospital bed in screaming pain, worse than being in labor, and I bet and hope most of you women didn't know it was possible to experience more pain than labor. The thought entered my head that I was going to die, and as soon as it did, the thought was deposited in my head, No, you are not going to die. You will live to raise your son.

God didn't speak to me from a burning bush. He simply planted this knowledge in my head and went about His business. A few other people had need of him too. I was in the hospital for a long and unhappy ten days, but obviously I lived to raise F.Y.M., with whom I drank a margarita just a little while ago. 

I think God speaks to us all the time. Fortunately, I don't need the drama of a hospital bed and impending death to hear him every day. If I pay attention, he pokes my brain and lets me know what to do. What's right in this or that situation? I pray and ponder. He tells me -- not always as quickly as He did in the hospital, but when He's ready, He reveals the plan to me. 

Dr. Robert Schuller of the famed Crystal Cathedral in Anaheim has written that oftentimes when things become difficult, Christians think that God doesn't want them to embark on a project. Ha! I say to that and so does Dr. Schuller, though he doesn't use Ha! We need to look at the situation and pray and ask what the Lord wants us to do. A challenge can simply mean that He wants us to try harder. And there's no shame in trying and failing if pleasing God and walking in His footsteps is your aim. But if you fail, then often some good will come of it. A door closes; a window opens. But failing at first can also be exactly that -- failing at first. Keep running the race, or walking, or crawling if need be, and you can bypass failure like the tortoise passing the hare and give God glory for every minute of the journey.

And I got kibble today, so we're o.k. here. Lord, please let me sleep tonight. But if I don't, I'll find something to do. There's always prayer, or prayer, or some prayer might be a good idea, accompanied by some reading of the Bible. A little digression: Have you ever noticed that in the Bible, Jesus doesn't accuse people who try to do good of being Nazis? I thought President Obama gave a good, solid State of the Union Address. The one thing I wish he would have said, and the thing I would like to hear a heck of a lot of people say is the following: Let's stop calling each other Nazis. Being a Liberal or a Conservative does not make a person a Mein Kampf-reading follower of Hitler. Cut the Nazi crap, America. Nazis are on Lola's Mob Rule shit list, but I do not personally know any Nazis, and I promise you I will not call you a Nazi just because you disagree with me politically or religiously, as long as you are not spouting the rhetoric of Herr Hitler. Plus, a brown shirt can simply mean that someone works for UPS.

Infinities of love,

Lola

NEVERENDING

Gentle Readers,

Your Lola awoke again yesterday wondering where he was. He wasn't in the bed, so where could he be?

When will I ever stop waking up and looking for him?

How long has it been? Two years? He's not coming back. He was never really there. So why do I wake and wonder?

The night goes on forever, the time won't pass, 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 . . . and on and on it continues. The attempt to have true intimacy with another person -- is it just a fantasy or is it possible? I have no more close relationships and few friends, just some people who are kind enough to tolerate me. No medicine takes away this pain.

Take the darkness and the daylight away and let me sleep the sleep of the dead forever. Death is a continuum.  Out of the cradle endlessly rocking. When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed. I miss you Dr. C. I miss being special to someone.

I don't want to leave the house, my cocoon, but we need dog food.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

MOB RULE

A is for Abu Ghraib.
B is for Glenn Beck.
C is for Lt. William Calley.
D is for Dachau.
E is for Execution.
F is for Scut Farkas.
G is for Guns.
H is for Adolf Hitler.
I is for Iran.
J is for Steve Jobs.
K is for the Ku Klux Klan.
L is for Rush Limbaugh.
M is for Dr. Phil McGraw.
N is for Nazis.
O is for Bill O'Reilly.
P is for Sarah Palin.
Q is for Queer-Haters.
R is for Rush to Judgment.
S is for Martha Stewart.
T is for Tianenman Square.
U is for You who love extremism.
V is for Michael Vick.
W is for Wal-Mart.
X is for American History X.
Z is for Zeus.

Friday, January 21, 2011

VOICES OF MY LAI: PART III

When The Killing Was Over

The cover-up of My Lai began immediately. Captain Medina called Headquarters and said 123 people had been killed.

Squad Leader: Captain Medina told us, Do not answer questions from anybody about this last mission.

Team Leader: We all thought we were going to get in big trouble so we didn't talk much about it. We were ordered to move onward but Captain Medina said, Don't go past the wire. There's a Korean bunker there and it's heavily mined. So as soon as we got to the wire, Calley said, You, you, and you. Come with me. We're going up. And almost right away Meadlo stepped on a mine and blew his foot off. As they MEDIVACed him out Meadlo yelled back at Calley, God got me and he'll get you for what we did.

Squad Leader: Following the My Lai incident, Charlie Company was sent out in the jungle for two months straight. It was almost like they put us there so we wouldn't talk to anybody.

Helicopter Gunner: It was either the same day or the next, I was still in my fatigues that were covered in blood, that Mr. Thompson took me with him to see Colonel Douglas. He went in and came out and just motioned toward the door. I went in and told Colonel Douglas there had been unnecessary killing of civilians. He made a few notes on a legal pad and dismissed me. We got outside and Mr. Thompson smashed his helmet and tore off his wings and said he'd never fly again. But they kept sending him out on missions alone in dangerous places. He crashed four or five helicopters in a few months. He thought somebody wanted to get rid of him. 

Squad Leader: Fifty-four days. Fifty-four days we were without hardly a change of clothing. We were all sick. We got dysentery. It stuck in my mind, Why are they doing this? Why are they sending us out at night? To get rid of us? The company changed after. Nobody cared anymore. It had all been a game and the game was over. 

Aspiring Journalist Who Later Befriended Members of Charlie Company: We traded war stories. One day one of them said, Hey, did you hear what happened at Pinkville? I said, No, what happened? He said, We were ordered to kill everybody there. I got as much information as I could and when I got home I wrote a letter that said it needed to be investigated. I made 30 copies. Then the photographer sold the pictures to a newspaper. They became ubiquitous -- a symbol of violence. 

Machine Gunner: An unmarked limousine came to our houses and picked us up and took us to the Pentagon and we went down and down and down into a War Room and sat at the end of a table in front of a microphone, feeling very small.

The Charges

Colonel Henderson

Dereliction of duty
Failure to report a war crime
False swearing

Major McKnight:

False swearing

Major Calhoun:

Dereliction of duty
Failure to report a war crime

Captain Kotouc:

Maiming

Colonel Parson:

Dereliction of duty
Failure to obey lawful regulation

Captain Medina:

Assault with a deadly weapon
Premeditated murder

Lieutenant Calley:

Premeditated murder


Machine Gunner: People say you shouldn't obey an illegal order, but trust me, during war there's no such thing as an illegal order. You disobey an order and they put you up against a wall and shoot you.


President Nixon intervened. Calley served four months of his life sentence at Leavenworth.


Army Prosecutor: Calley got away with it and that made it clear that everyone would get away with it. The other charges were dismissed or resulted in acquittals.


Five hundred seven people were murdered at My Lai.


Squad Leader: It hurts me now, thinking about the innocent people dying. It hurts me now more than it did then. Because then we were thinking about not dying.

My Lai Villager #4: It's been a while. Now I can sleep at night, but sometimes I dream about my dad. How my sister died. How they died next to me. I remember all the time.

Squad Leader: I remember what went on, all the sleepless nights we had. My Lai. All the people we killed. I thought I could make it easier by drinking but every night I lay down and whether I drank, it didn't make it easier. It's still the same thing. The memories kept comin' back, kept comin' back.

My Lai Villager #1: I will never forget. When I am reminded, I suddenly feel the pain. A chapter in the book opens. There is no way I will ever forget. I will never forget.

Monday, January 17, 2011

VOICES OF MY LAI: PART II



March 16, 1968


Squad Leader: The morning started early on the 16th. This was going to be an all-out war, shades of Iwo Jima.


Machine Gunner: We began hearing radio chatter that the helicopter's were being fired on. We hit the ground and almost immediately began firing into the village area.


Team Leader #1: I remember somebody yelling, There's people moving in the village. So we all opened up.


Grenadier: We went in further and people started coming out of their houses. We went, What is this? They're not supposed to be in here. A crazy guy says, They must be VC. Some of the guys started shooting 'em. 


Radio Operator: Once the first civilian was killed, it was too late.


My Lai Villager #3: Around 8:30 three American soldiers came to my house. They pushed six of us down into the shelter and threw a hand grenade in behind us and then they used their machine guns to shoot us down. My entire family was blown into pieces. The only person left alive was me.


My Lai Villager #1:  My brother younger than me, only three years old, one shot blasted his head onto the floor.


Squad Leader: We were a unit that was full of anger and frustration. We wanted to fight the enemy and we were told we were doing it.


Team Leader #1: I am a soldier and I receive and obey the orders that are issued to me by my superiors. Their order was to kill or destroy everything in the village. The children happened to be there. The people of that village were Viet Cong or Viet Cong sympathizers. Maybe some see it differently. That's the way I see it.


U.S. Army Photographer: I was the only photographer on the operation that day. I just photographed everything I came upon. I was coming up to a group of people and they had some American GIs surrounding them. One soldier spoke up, Hey, here's a person with a camera. And sure enough the soldiers backed off and I moved up and I took a photograph of these people. You can see the fear in their faces, especially the older woman trying to protect the daughter. Then all of a sudden automatic fire. I saw them all drop to the ground.


Helicopter Gunner #1: The morning of My Lai it was crystal clear. We came in and strafed the ground in case anyone jumped up and offered resistance. We were never fired upon. It was Saturday morning. We thought, Good, people are going to market. When we came back 10 or 15 minutes later those same people were dead or dying along the road. At some point during the day we started seeing bodies accumulate in the village, women and kids. I'd never seen anything like that. It was bad. 


Helicopter Gunner #2: We lingered by one of the bodies. It was a young woman with a chest wound but still alive. Mr. Thompson decided to move back and hover and watch. Then we saw a captain walk up and kick her and then step back and blow her away. Later we learned it was Captain Medina, Captain Ernest Medina. 


Squad Leader: As we got into the village orders changed. We were to stop firing. We were moving people we found and pushing them into the center of the village and they were being picked up by Calley's platoon more or less and moved onward.


My Lai Villager #4: I directed my kids to go with me, but they still hit us and kicked us.


Helicopter Gunner #1: We saw the people, about 150 of them, old men, women, and children gathered at a drainage ditch. Mr. Thompson landed his little scout helicopter and said, We gotta help these people. A soldier said, Yeah. We'll help them out of their misery.


Suddenly Calley gave the order to begin firing.

Meadlo: So we just pushed 'em off and began firing.

Squad Leader: Paul Meadlo had a strong sense of duty. I like to think if I'd been in his place, I would have said, You've got to be kidding me and walked away and taken my chances that Calley wouldn't have shot me.

Team Leader #2: Calley yelled at me to come help him and I just walked on like I hadn't heard him. That was disobeying an order and he could have done anything to me he wanted, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to help him kill people in a ditch. To this day I always think to myself, What could I have done to stop it? And I don't know the answer to that. 

My Lai Villager #5: To survive I lay under my mother's stomach as the ditch filled with blood.

My Lai Villager #4: To protect my daughter I covered her mouth with my breast. I saw my dad walking around and I wanted to call out, Lie down Dad, or you will be shot. But I didn't dare say anything and they shot him. Half his head blew away.

Helicopter Gunner #1: Mr. Thompson was just beside himself. He got on the radio and just said, There's people down here killing civilians. That's when he decided to intervene. He said, We've got to stop this. Are you with me? And we said, Yes. We saw a group of people running toward a bunker. Mr. Thompson calculated they had less than 30 seconds to live. He said, I'm going to go get those people out myself  and if these American soldiers fire on me or the people while I'm getting them out of the bunker, shoot 'em. I remember thinking, How did we get into this?

Squad Leader: I saw these helicopter gunners and they were pointing their guns right at me, and I thought, Oh my God, what are they gonna do?

Helicopter Gunner #1: Three people came out, six people came out, 11 or 12 people came out and Mr. Thompson got on the radio and called his friend, a gunship pilot, and said, Danny, I need a favor.

Gunship Pilot: We landed and picked up those people and we never landed in the boonies like that. I don't know why we did it other than those people needed to be out of there. 

Helicopter Gunner #1: We went back to the ditch and I saw some motion down in the ditch. I saw this child move.

My Lai Villager #5: I lifted my head up and saw a helicopter landing at the rice fields. I was really scared. Wasn't sure if they would shoot again. But when I lifted my head, I saw three American soldiers approach. I pretended to be dead. But the Americans, the three of them came down into the ditch and they came and pulled me out. 

Helicopter Gunner #1: We left the boy with a nun at a hospital. We told her, He probably doesn't have any family.

Squad Leader: After a while the order came: Cease fire! Cease fire! You'd hear a couple guns still going off and then they'd stop. And then it was quiet. 

My Lai Villager #3: They left my village in blood and fire.









Sunday, January 16, 2011

VOICES OF MY LAI: PART I



The Beginnings of Charlie Company




Army Prosecutor: Who did it? Who killed these people?


Radio Operator: There was nothing special about us.


Squad Leader: I didn't go over there to be a hero or nothin. I went over to do my job.


Investigator: Calley was always trying to do things to show that he was a real officer.


My Lai Villager #1: When I was young I saw American soldiers. Whenever they came they'd gather up everyone. They'd bring cake and candy for the children. Everyone would have some and then they would let us go home. 


My Lai Villager #2: I never would have imagined, never would have thought Americans would kill us. Americans don't kill. 


My Lai Villager #3: When I was eight years old, I realized the war had come. There were many times when the American soldiers would set up operations around this area and raid and shoot. So my mother brought me and my siblings together and taught us to flee. Every night we had to crawl into the shelter to sleep. We had to avoid the American bombs and shootings. That was our misery -- war from the Americans. 


Radio Operator: We started pulling regular patrols end of January, beginning of February. Once we started down to the Pinkville area we started to lose people. They were being picked off one by one. This is when we got our initiation into the realities of Vietnam with booby traps, mines, snipers. Weber was the first member we lost. It was like losing a member of your family.


Soldier: Pinkville took on associations for us far beyond a color chart. Pinkville meant death.


Radio Operator: Your attitude toward the villagers now: Everybody's an enemy.


Squad Leader: You begin to hate, and the hatred is very intense and very real. Finally you just throw the rule book away.


Machine Gunner: We were told the innocents had been warned out. If they're there, you gotta assume they're enemy. There are no civilians. They're all Viet Cong.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

IT'S A GREAT DAY







Good_Day.wmv

Good_Day.wmv
5868K   Download  





I wish I could take credit for this video. Someone sent it to me in an email and I thought it was very enjoyable. Just click on download or the little box that looks kind of like a piece of paper with the corner folded down.

Love,

Lola

Friday, January 14, 2011

DOGGIE, DO

Gentle Readers,

TGIF!

All right. Let's get down to business. I have two potential DVDs for your viewing pleasure this weekend.

The first is called Year of the Dog, and it stars Molly Shannon as Peggy, but this is not the silly, wildly funny Molly Shannon of Saturday Night Live. This is Molly Shannon sweetly amusing and then Molly Shannon in mourning.

Peggy's dog Pencil is her beloved companion, and when he dies, her life falls apart. She grieves, tries adopting a difficult dog, falls in love with a person (gasp!), becomes a vegan, gets involved in animal rights, takes in far more dogs than she can handle -- and her life spins out of control, until she puts a leash on it.

Peggy: If you all didn't think I was crazy, I'm sure you will now. How do I explain the things I've said and done? How do I explain the person I've become? I know I've disappointed everyone and I'm sorry for that. I wish I was a more articulate person. I believe life is magical. It is so precious. And there are so many kinds of love in this life. So many things to love. The love for a husband or a wife, a boyfriend or girlfriend. The love for children. The love for yourself. And even material things. This is my love. It is mine. And it fills me and defines me. And it compels me on.

When Peggy knows what she truly wants, when she finds her love, she is transformed. I was quite impressed by this movie.

The second DVD for your consideration is Heavy Petting, starring Malin Akerman as Daphne and Brendan Hines as Charlie. If these two are successful thespians, I don't know anything about it. I'd never heard of them before, but they're cute as can be, and so is this movie.

I admit that while watching about the first 10 or 15 minutes, I thought, I'll have to give this movie a negative review. It's stupid and raunchy and it sucks. But when Charlie changes his tune about Daphne's dog Baby Doll and moves from hatred to love, I changed my tune too. As Charlie and Baby Doll become the best of friends, the movie becomes adorable. I especially enjoyed a sequence when Charlie took Baby Doll shopping and watched her model various outfits as if he were taking a girlfriend or wife shopping.

But when Daphne realizes how much Charlie likes Baby Doll, she worries that Charlie doesn't care for her the way he does for the doggie. How will they work it out? I can't tell you; it would spoil the movie. But I also recommend this movie if you want a really light comedy and you can put up with a little bit of moronic movie making at the beginning.

Year of the Dog will lead to your interest, enjoyment, sadness -- it may even lead you to think about making some changes in your life. Heavy Petting will chase your cares away.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Thursday, January 13, 2011

WHO AMONG US . . .

Gentle Readers,

Earlier today I wrote an email to a beloved friend and asked the oft-heard, Who among us has not said that if women ran the world there would be no more wars?

Immediately after sending the email I pondered what I had written and realized I am no longer sure it's true.

With the likes of Sarah Palin in the spotlight, I fear we are no longer safe in the hands of a woman.

I thank the Good Lord that McCain was not elected president and we do not have Sarah Palin in line to be president. I will be surprised if she is elected president in her own right, but America is a strange place that's getting stranger all the time.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

MY CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND, PAT

Gentle Readers,

I have experienced a whirlwind of emotions since the shootings in Tuscon, so Favorite Young Man very kindly packed me up and whisked me away for a vacation in St. Augustine, Florida, America's oldest city. It is lovely here, albeit rainy and chilly. It's certainly not as cold as the hinterlands.

Everything in St. Augustine is historic -- churches, all sorts of buildings, even the Ramada Inn claims to be historic, though I have no idea why. Did the Ramada provide housing for the Spaniards who arrived in Florida so long ago? If so, I hope they've updated the hotel since then. St. Augustine is also filled with charming little shops and restaurants, such a nice place to wander when one feels brokenhearted.

But last night, F.Y.M. gave me a surprise that still has me walking on air. We got in the car and he finally said, I have to tell you where we're going. There's a little school here called Flagler College and Pat Conroy is there and we're going to hear him read from his newest book, My Reading Life.


I burst into tears, and I assure you they were tears of joy. I loved Pat Conroy when few people knew who he was.

As we drove past the auditorium at the school we saw hordes of people walking toward the doors. F.Y.M. said, I'll drop you off here and I'll find a place to park.

I was quite happy to take advantage of the offer, but when I got inside a young woman asked if I had a ticket. No, I answered, I didn't know anything about tickets. She told me they were free and handed one to me. They were giving out the tickets so they wouldn't go over over capacity and obviously, there was quite a crowd to see Mr. Conroy.

But she did not want to give me a ticket for F.Y.M. because he wasn't there and a crowd was forming at the door and she had given me Ticket No. 9 of the final nine tickets. I whimpered and whined a bit. She made a face and handed me Ticket 8, to my joy. The final seven tickets were gone within sixty seconds.

I stood near the door, watching for F.Y.M., fearing he would see and hear the crowd of people complaining that they couldn't get in and would think he was in the same boat. Thank goodness he's so tall because after about ten minutes I saw his head at the back of the crowd and called to him, F.Y.M. I have your ticket. The crowd parted like the Red Sea and in he came and we entered the auditorium where we got the last seats. We had to split up, but it was o.k. We were there.

After a few minutes Pat Conroy was introduced and he said he does not read from his works -- he likes to tell stories. And tell stories he did. Each one was funnier than the last. Out of great pain comes hilarity, I thought. He said nothing to denigrate his Marine fighter pilot father who beat the holy crap out of him when he was a kid. Rather, he spoke of how everyone has someone crazy in the family and because of the craziness in his family he has become a success.

His father once told Pat that if he had beat him more he would have been a better write. Pat replied, Dad, if you had beat me more I would be Shakespeare.

Although I would love to try to recreate the stories Conroy told, I will spare you the agony of my feeble attempts to tell you every little thing the great man said.

When he was finished speaking, the announcement for which I longed came: Pat Conroy would be signing books in the lobby of the auditorium. I slithered out and slunk into the front of the line at the table of books to be purchased, thinking No one will notice the pushy woman in the black cape. And no one did. Then I thanked the Good Lord that they were taking Master Card.

I bought the new book, My Reading Life, and two of my favorites, The Great Santini and The Prince of Tides, along with Conroy's excellent memoir of his senior year playing basketball at The Citadel, My Losing Season. It was a gift for F.Y.M., who also thinks it a wonderful book. I was only disappointed that they were out of copies of my introduction to Conroy, The Water Is Wide.

Then we took our places in the long line and waited our turn. This time I did not try to use my cape as a cloak of invisibility. I could see Mr. Conroy's pen moving in the distance and as we got a bit closer, I saw him posing for photo after photo taken with the folks whose books he had just signed. He seemed unusually pleasant and patient.

After a while, though, my back got the better of me and I told F.Y.M. I felt faint. He suggested I sit down while he stayed in line. I said I would rejoin him when he got closer to the table where a young woman wrote down the name of the person to whom the book was to be inscribed before passing it to Conroy.

When F.Y.M. was almost to the table, I went back to him and when we were next in line, I heard Conroy say quietly to the young lady, I have to get up and stretch my legs. After he stood, he said he had an announcement to make. Gasps went through the crowd and fans feared he would say he was finished for the night. Instead he said that contrary to popular belief, we were his favorite part of the line. I actually had not been concerned because I knew he would never make such an announcement himself. Some lackey would have said it after the celebrity trundled away.

So then it was my turn to chat with Mr. Conroy, who told me to call him Pat, shook my hand, and thanked me for coming. Referring to a story he had told about two best-selling authors who had told him why he wasn't successful (Irving Stone said the secret to his success was "heart" and some romance novelist told him he needed sex in his books), I said, I don't know who Irving Stone or the sex book lady are, but I've loved Pat Conroy ever since The Water Is Wide came out. He said he had been 24 when he wrote it.

I think it quite the accomplishment for a 24 year old. I also told him that my son had brought me to see him as a surprise, and he immediately shook F.Y.M.'s hand. He then inscribed my books, writing, Lola, I have seldom encountered a more brilliant and beautiful woman at a book signing. Please meet me later at my hotel and we'll read together. I love WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME, Pat Conroy.

And if you believe that, I have a bridge I want to sell you. However, he did write lovely inscriptions in my books, and then I tottered off so F.Y. M. could enjoy his moment in the sun with our hero.

I believe I have now doubled my small collection of autographed books. The thing was -- he was so darn nice. I've gotten autographs before from a few big deals who couldn't be bothered to look at me or speak to me while signing. Everyone else has signed and shoved the item back at me and ignored me.

I left no longer simply loving Pat Conroy, the writer. I now love Pat Conroy, the person.

Then we walked to the rental car and as we returned to our historic hotel, we passed the Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum. I said, Son    of    a     gun.  We could have have gone to the Ripley's museum and instead you take me to see Pat Conroy.

Thank you, F.Y.M.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Monday, January 10, 2011

BULLIES

"European reaction to the Gabrielle Giffords Arizona shooting is seen strongly through the lens of the tea party rhetoric and as symptomatic of a superpower in decline and at the mercies of 'radical' politics."

Dear Ms. Palin:

You and your buddies who are all over radio and television preaching negativity are nothing but school yard bullies whose antics have gone too far.

I have no way of knowing if your "targets" in cross hairs on your Web site encouraged the gunman in Arizona to kill six people and injure 14 others, with political assassination of someone YOU targeted as his main intent.

But if you truly think you did nothing wrong, then why did you immediately remove the map of targets with cross hairs from your Web site after the shooting? And it came off your Facebook page soon after. Someone who believed she had nothing of which to be ashamed wouldn't hide the evidence.

You know, if you were a student in school who drew up such a hit list, you would be suspended at the very least but more likely expelled, sent to "alternative school," or whatever was required to keep you from being a danger to other students or from urging others to commit mayhem.

When I was a reporter, I wrote stories about a middle school student in Pennsylvania who had a hit list and was showing it off to other students, some of whom laughed, and some of whom were frightened. Fortunately, the principal found out and the student, who had a troubled past, was removed from the school. I can't tell you where she is because of privacy issues, the principal said to me, but she's gone.

Sarah, you need to attend "alternative school" so you can be taught that denigrating humankind and encouraging violence are not acceptable ways to solve problems in these United States. So, get your book bag, Sarah, clean out your locker, and get ready to learn. The staff at your new school will treat you with all the love and understanding every person deserves. You will learn how to problem solve by building up people, not tearing them down -- because tearing down people doesn't get us anywhere. It just leaves us with shattered human beings who are incapable of helping anyone else.

I have a story for you Sarah. This incident took place some years ago in an elementary school where I was a volunteer. A girl in the fifth grade was attacked by a boy who used a kick boxing move to leave her bruised, while students who were watching laughed and cheered for him. What was this girl's crime? She was too smart for her own good, people said. I even heard parents gossip about the incident and praise the behavior of the boy.

The girl did nothing to harm anyone. She was never violent; she didn't call the other children names; she didn't brag about her good grades. But the other students knew and they hated her for her superior performance because they were insecure and because America is a country that worships the uneducated bully.

Sarah, you are that bully.

Stop it. Stop it now. You have the opportunity to repent and shine a light for Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, and the other ranters and ravers to follow.

Do it, Sarah. For once, do what's right.

Lola

Sunday, January 9, 2011

LATER, LATE

Gentle Readers,

I cannot sleep.

I tremble with shock and fear and a chill that has settled in my heart and turned it to ice. Perhaps my heart will shatter and require rebuilding. I am so cold and I cannot get warm. I am bone weary and I cannot sleep.

I heard one television news commentator say that the gunman's beliefs were highly similar to those stated over and over ad nauseum by Glenn Beck. Another asked if the shootings were politically motivated.

Will we ever really know?

What is the truth?

Is there such a thing as truth, or is there only individual reality?

All I know is that eighteen people have been shot, six are dead (one a young girl), and I want Palin, Beck, O'Reilly, et.al., to use their power and influence for good, for the betterment of humankind, to build up and not to tear down.

I tremble with shock and fear and a chill that has settled in my heart and turned it to ice. Perhaps it will shatter and require rebuilding. I am so cold and I cannot get warm. I am bone weary and I cannot sleep.

I cannot sleep.

Love,

Lola

Saturday, January 8, 2011

WE DO NOT LIVE IN A CIVILIZED COUNTRY

Gentle Readers,

I think my greatest fear tonight is that there are people in this country who are pleased that Sarah Palin's wish was granted when someone shot Arizona Representative Gabrielle Giffords today. Out there, someone is laughing with delight because a lunatic took Representative Giffords in his cross hairs and shot her in the head. Of course, Sarah Palin quickly removed the cross hairs image from her Web site, but I saw it on MSNBC and I tell you I felt sick.

Do I believe that Palin literally wanted someone to shoot Giffords?

Of course not.

Do I believe that some people took it literally?

Of course.

I do not know how Palin and Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly and others of their ilk put their heads on their pillows and sleep at night after they spout their rhetoric of violence.

True, politics has always been violent. Bigotry and ugliness are deeply entrenched in many minds. But I fear that the naysayers of Fox News Channel and some members of the Tea Party and other extremists are too visible, too accessible with their positions on television and their Internet presence. I do not advocate that we curtail freedom of speech, but I advocate that these people who are so in the public eye take responsibility for the words they utter. I advocate positive words and deeds. If criticize you must, then do so in a mature, rational manner.

When President Obama was elected I thought we had taken a turn for the better. We had a brief shining moment when we overcame racism and elected the better man for the job.

But then Palin, Beck, and O'Reilly started in and made the administration ugly and made Democrats ugly and made the thought of kindness and compassion ugly. I name Palin, Beck, and O'Reilly  because I hear about them more often than other commentators, but I know they're not alone.

I want to live in a civilized country, not one where, as Favorite Young Man so wisely put it, the more conservative side of the lower class seems to want to take up arms against the very people who are trying to protect them.

And the people who are trying to protect them are repeatedly denigrated by Palin, Beck, and O'Reilly.

From Roget's Super Thesaurus: civilized a. cultured, refined, sophisticated, educated, civil, acculturated, polished, bred, tamed, humane, socialized, socially organized. "To have some quality of consideration for all who cross our path." -- Agnes Repplier

These words, this quotation, this is what I wish for our country and tonight I pray for Gabrielle Giffords and the people around her who were attacked today and their families who suffer grief at the loss of loved ones, and of course, I pray for the man who shot them because he knows not what he does.

And I pray for Palin, Beck, and O'Reilly and everyone else who promotes social terrorism.

Let this be a turning point in our country, Lord.

Infinities of love,

Lola

THE WORRIED WARRIOR

Gentle Readers,

My beloved Faulkner, the conniving canine who stole the marshmallows from my cocoa, was a worrywart.

As I've said before, he had an intuitive intelligence. Perhaps because he had only us to herd (Favorite Young Woman would get off the school bus and I'd let him out to herd her up the driveway and into the garage because he was convinced she couldn't handle this task alone), he also made it his job to take care of us and when we adopted other dogs, he took care of them too.

If I dropped something and didn't notice, he would stare and refuse to leave the item until I took care of it. He made sure the doggie water bowl was always full. If it lacked water, he jerked his head toward it to tell me to get up and fill it. He alerted me when it was dinner time. If the other dogs needed to go out or felt ill in the middle of the night, he made sure I knew. He touched my nose with his cold wet nose to awaken me, and if that didn't work, he used his collie proboscis to pick my head up off the pillow.

He was my protector. Once when we were out walking late in the evening, he saw a small snake in the street and jumped to attention, ready to strike and keep me safe. I had nothing to fear when I was in Faulkner's gentle paws.

And he was a worrier. Oh, such a worrier. If things weren't right at home, he knew it. A disagreement, a voice raised in anger, and the worried look appeared in his eyes and he immediately sat and offered his paw for a handshake because that was a surefire people pleaser and he wanted his people happy.

A noise during the night caught his attention immediately. Storm on the way? He knew before the weather channel. School bus parked out front. What was wrong? He used his emergency bark only when he was really concerned. The rest of the time it was his normal bark or collie talk, which if you've never heard it, is hilarious. I have no way to represent it in words.

He liked Beck. He went up to the speaker and listened so carefully when the donkey brayed on Odelay, one of my all-time favorite CDs. He was tolerant of cats. He slept on the bed with Milhous and liked it when Milhous stood on tiptoes to rub the top of his head on Faulkner's chin. He simply looked perplexed when F.Cat Fitzgerald, the smallest adult cat I've ever seen, slapped him on the nose.

No matter how hard he worked, though, to keep everything under control in his house, the slightest problem upset him so horribly. Favorite Young Woman was upset about something several months ago and she described her feelings as that of a worried collie who wants to shake hands. Perhaps we shall always think of ourselves in terms relating to the King of Collies.

I think it was a bit of a relief for him when he went deaf and he no longer heard what used to worry him. He seemed to lose the feeling he was responsible for everyone.

And now he flies on the wings of the angels, the best worried warrior that ever lived.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Friday, January 7, 2011

Bedlam Farm

Gentle Readers,

After reviewing the movie A Dog Year yesterday, based on the book by Jon Katz, I decided to take another look at his Bedlam Farm Web site, and once I began reading and looking I found it difficult to stop.

Katz takes lovely photographs, which adorn his blog. His posts are brief and intelligently written. I love the photos of his dogs and other animals, and I love it that he, too, knows it's not a good idea to watch very much news and he doesn't care for Wal-Mart. He supports his local stores.

He sells note cards with his photos on them and also sells prints of his photos. They're very tempting, but alas, I have no extra money for these luxuries when the electric bill must be paid and there is no job.

I don't know if he has remarried. He refers to Maria, and there is a link to her site where she sells quilts and other pretty things she makes. She seems very talented, but it's Katz who interests me.

If you have some time to peruse Bedlam Farm, I recommend doing so. It's a lovely, lovely distraction, but be careful because once you get there you won't want to leave. I'm so impressed that I'd like to hop in the car and drive there to see it myself, but it's too far away, too expensive to take a trip, and I'm not leaving my dogs in order to visit Katz's dogs.

But I sure like the look of those dogs. And there's a lovely video of Bedlam Farm life too.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Thursday, January 6, 2011

DOG AND KNIGHT

Gentle Readers,

I watched two recently released on DVD movies available for your possible enjoyment -- or not.

The first movie is A Dog Year, starring Jeff Bridges. Although this is an HBO production, it wasn't too well done. I wonder if there was so much in the book by Jon Katz that somebody had trouble turning it into a screenplay.

It began pretty well. Jeff Bridges plays Katz himself, to whom I could relate: back problems, spouse departed, depressed, loves dogs. Katz takes in a border collie named Devon who has been abused. Devon's early antics, while frustrating for Katz, are pretty funny. If nothing else, I hope this movie convinces people that border collies are not for just anybody. People want these dogs because they are the most intelligent canines, but these are working dogs who need a job to do, preferably herding something, usually sheep. If they don't have jobs, they can become neurotic and quite difficult to handle.

But when Devon proves to be too much for Katz, the movie turns into a series of whys. Why does Katz give his yellow Lab to his daughter? Why does Katz move to a farm? Why did Katz's wife leave? What is wrong with Katz's back? Why does Katz obediently "take his anger out on the hay" by pitchforking it around when the dog trainer tells him to do so? Shouldn't he say, "Lady, listen, I have a really bad back"?

Most importantly, why does Katz build a little tiny pen where Devon runs in non-stop circles because he is the Energizer Bunny of dogs when they are on a 42-acre farm?

Why is Katz doing what he does at the end of the movie? (Of course I won't tell you what he's doing in case you want to see the movie.)

Perhaps I would understand this movie if I read the book, and I just might do that. I liked Soul of a Dog, by Katz, who now owns Bedlam Farm, which he seems to have turned into quite the industry, churning out books, and I believe he found a new wife who churns out crafts.

I don't really recommend A Dog Year unless you want to see how funny poor Devon is when he chases a car, catches it, and rides on top while the driver and his passenger wonder why a weird old man is running behind their car yelling STOP!

However, I can happily recommend Knight and Day, starring Tom Cruise as Roy Miller and Cameron Diaz as June Havens. The cast also includes Paul Dano in a supporting role. He is in one of my faves, Little Miss Sunshine.

I confess that when I started watching this movie last night that it seemed ridiculous and I couldn't stand the sound of Cameron Diaz's giggle after about ten minutes. So I turned it off and read and then I went to bed and read and then I went to sleep, and when I woke up, Knight and Day was a much brighter place.

Tom Cruise manages to be goofily funny and Cameron Diaz goes along for the ride very nicely. Roy Miller is a secret agent man who runs around shooting people and blowing things up, but it's not gross and graphic. It's amusing. And when things take a turn for the worse, Knight and Day only gets more interesting.

Which agent is the good guy and which is the bad guy? What's going on with the battery? Will Roy and June end up together?

Happily, all questions are answered and the movie has a happy ending.

I've been pretty peeved with Tom Sanctimonious Cruise for a while, and after watching this movie, I'm not quite as irritated with him. Shorty is still pretty hot and looks goooooood without a shirt.

I think I'll end on that happy note.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

THIS SKINNY WIFE MISSES HER MAN

Gentle Readers,

Pardon me for stealing time away from you to write an open letter to the author of one of my favorite blogs -- WorkForced.

Dear Joe Don Juan:

What is it with you man? You get me hooked on your office humor and then you leave me hanging -- dumped yet again. You haven't posted since November 10th. You had more than 1,000 followers (I think you've lost some because you haven't posted) and you have an obligation to them, to us. I have six followers, including you and I doubt if you ever read me, but I take my obligation to the other five followers and people who sometimes drop in very seriously. The world cares what I think about it, and I can't let down the world.

You got me addicted to your tales of The Riled High Club, Senior Management, and who will ever forget The Jargon Dictionary? Commenting wittily or stupidly on your posts makes my week. Hell, sometimes it makes my entire month.

Jon Don, if you are ill or have a family emergency, then at least mention it on your site. We want to offer you support and lots of sex in your time of crisis, if that's what it is. If you don't have an emergency, then how could you abandon us so easily?

Joe Doe, don't you realize I'm in love with you? You got me all worked up and . . . now, sigh, I don't know what to do.

Jon Bon, I love you more than crack or smack.

Well, maybe not smack.

But I definitely love you more than Vicodin, Percocet, Percodan, Lorazepam, Klonapin, Xanax, and yes, I'll admit it: I love you more than Valium.

I've never said that to anyone before.

Imagine your Lola all dressed up ala Britney Spears in a little Catholic school girl plaid skirt and a white blouse, hair in pig tails, singing Hit Me Baby One More Time.

But don't hit me one more time. Hit me baby every week. I need you. You get me through the night, Joe Don't Blow It. This is supposed to be your road to an early retirement. An early retirement you can spend with a woman better looking than Britney and ten times crazier.

Bring it on Don Joe. Post again. I'm beggin' you please, baby, please, don't hurt me anymore.

Infinities of love,

Lola

Monday, January 3, 2011

QUIRKY RELATIONSHIP MOVIES

Gentle Readers,

I present for your enjoyment two movies about relationships. I call them quirky because "quirky movies" is a search term that draws readers.

First movie for your consideration: The Special Relationship, an HBO movie now on DVD. It's about the so-called special relationship between the United Kingdom and the United States, a relationship that apparently is highly valued by other countries. Sometimes I think we should be grateful anybody puts up with us.

More specifically, the movie is about the way the relationship is fostered through Bill Clinton and Tony Blair. Blair is played by Michael Sheen, who was also Tony Blair in The Queen and looks more like Tony Blair than Tony Blair. Dennis Quaid portrays Bill Clinton. Quaid is a bit long in the tooth to play Clinton yet pulls it off admirably.

The film begins with Blair about to be elected P.M. and desiring the special relationship with the U.S. and then learning that Clinton is not all he's cracked up to be. Blair is also presented as believing that Clinton's behavior during Lewinsky Business should be a private matter, while Blair's wife Cherie is appalled by Mr. Can't Keep His Pants Zipped Up. Interesting.

As our movie concludes,  Clinton is leaving office, while Blair remains prime minister and begins a new friendship with the late, great George W. Bush. Sigh. How I do miss having such an object of hilarity as our president.

I liked this movie more than I thought I would. HBO produces some excellent movies, and if you have any interest in politics whatsoever, and you should, you will probably enjoy The Special Relationship and learn something from it.

The second movie is laugh out loud funny but quite naughty: Going The Distance, about Drew Barrymore (Erin) and Justin Long (Garrett) trying to have a long-distance relationship. I must stop here to mention that Justin Long has a very nice muscular butt. I like a man with a nice butt.

Christina Applegate plays Erin's sister. She hilariously suffers cleaning up after Erin and Garrett's sexcapades.

Going The Distance ultimately becomes tough going for Erin and Garrett (one in San Francisco, one in New York). I'm not going to tell you if they end up together, but I will tell you something that made me really happy: Erin doesn't give up everything she's worked for to be with Garrett. After seeing one too many holiday movies in which a woman whacks her head and comes to realizing she's a mom with little kids instead of a high-powered exec and when she has the chance to return to her old life she discovers she would rather have her adorably obnoxious children and lout of a husband -- Oh Save Me Jesus. I was about ready to pull an Elvis and shoot the TV.

So, I was extremely happy that Erin gets a good job and doesn't give it up, except in very funny ways in bed.

Drew Barrymore looked and acted a little more mature in this movie, and I liked it -- almost as much as I liked Justin Long's butt and the sex scene on the dining room table.

Let's close on that happy note.

Infinities of love,

Lola

***WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME Stats Alert: U.K. -- South Korea bypassed you by two hits on New Year's Day, but then you caught up again on January 2nd. Watch out United Kingdom or South Korea will whip your bums and have more Lola knowledge than you do. Whoo hoo!

Sunday, January 2, 2011

ROMANCE?

He grasped me firmly but gently just above my elbow and guided me
into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were
alone.

He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low,
reassuring voice close to my ear.

"Just relax."

Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused
hands start at my ankles, gently probing, and moving upward along my
calves slowly but steadily. My breath caught in my throat. I knew I
should be afraid, but somehow I didn't care. His touch was so
experienced, so sure.

When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder, and
partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing
fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm,
full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply. Probing, searching,
knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid
them down my tingling spine and into my panties.

Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and
expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge.
A man not used to taking `no' for an answer. A man who would tell me
what he wanted. A man who would look into my soul and say ...

"Okay, ma'am," said a voice. "All done."

My eyes snapped open and he was standing in front
of me, smiling, holding out my purse. "You can board your flight now."




Gentle Readers,


I wish I could take credit for writing this post, but alas, I cannot. It came to me in an email and I don't know who wrote it. I will take credit, however, for recognizing that it's hilarious.


Love,
Lola