Kristen Wiig one ups herself

Okay, this'll be my last Kristen Wiig SNL sketch post, but I couldn't just let it go without showing you this one. This one is just a bit longer, but worth it I assure you! I'm dedicating this to anyone who has ever reacted differently to life than the "normals." Sue is just a chick who can't hold back her enthusiasm for surprise parties....haven't we all felt like the oddball at some point? Okay, maybe it's just me.....

Funniest SNL sketch in years

Kristin Wiig is so super hysterical, she kills it in every performance! This is my favorite sketch of hers, but she has created so many awesome characters that just blow my mind. She's the new Molly Shannon, but with more subtlety. You'll love it!

The real Halloween

Halloween has always sent shivers all over me, mainly because I've always scared really, really easily. I'm a product of the 70s, when even the most conservative parents saw no harm in their kids running the streets in cheap plastic costumes depicting some super hero or underworld creature. The masks that came with the costumes were hard plastic with holes for eyes, tiny holes for breathing, and a little slit at the mouth which served no rational purpose; these masks were held very UNsecurely around our heads by a single, thin rubber band stapled to Spiderman's or whomever's cheeks. We ALL used plastic pumpkins with black eyes, noses and mouths which we held by the black plastic handle. And we kept them from year to year, just like we did our Easter baskets. We did not replace them with disposable WalMart crap every year, as there was no WalMart. Those really were simpler times, at the risk of sounding like my grandparents. No one took it too seriously, it was just kids begging their neighbors for candy. Nowadays people are afraid of everything, and many parents don't allow their kids to celebrate Halloween in the belief that it is an evil, Pagan holiday. Pagan in history, yes. Evil, NO WAY! There's a very interesting and rich history behind Halloween and I thought I'd look it up for myself this year, so I could stop the goosebumps that plague me every October 31st. The ancient Celtic culture that thrived in more parts of Europe than I ever imagined was especially active in Ireland. It was a Pagan culture which was still very agricultural, and their lives depended on their crops and harvest. On one day of the year they believed that since the crops were in, and the green around them was turning to brown, there was one night when the season of life met the season of death. It was on this night that the dead could walk among the living and wreak havoc if they so chose, and this day was held in such importance that some say this was celebrated as the Celtic New Year. Samhain, the Celtic word for summer's end, was the name of this celebration which was also feared. So to try to scare off or placate the spirits walking among them on this night they wore demonic disguises, or scary costumes and burned great big bonfires to ward off evil. Well, as the Celtic culture gave way to Christianity, the Irish kept their Halloween traditions and beliefs. The Catholics, feeling the need to bring religion to the people, took a feast celebration formally held on May 13 (which was also the date of an earlier Pagan holiday known as Feast of the Lemures) called All Saints' Day and moved it to November 1st, the day after the old Pagan holiday. Halloween is so named because now it was the Eve of All Saints' Day, and became All Hallows Eve, or All Hallows Even, both Eve and Even short for evening. So All Hallows Even became Halloween. In early America Halloween was not celebrated, due to the Puritan values upon which it was built. But in the mid-nineteenth century, thousands of hungry Irish descended upon New York City and brought with them their old traditions, including Halloween. The bonfires turned into the burning of carved gourds, or pumpkins, and children became the primary practitioners of the holiday, still enjoying the costumes. Some believe that trick or treating came from the old Irish practice of peasants going from house to house praying for its owners in exchange for a small piece of cake. By the mid-20th century Halloween had become one of the most profitable holidays in the US. This history lesson has given me a whole new outlook on Halloween, and an appreciation for a culture of which I was totally unfamiliar. I've done some reading on the Celts and they seem like pretty awesome folks. So now you know!

Choice?

The landslide brought me down

My 34th birthday is quickly approaching, and now more than ever I'm aware of the reality of change and the necessity of it as well. Change isn't a thing to dread, as if it will take you down and ruin you, leaving you a confused shell of your former self. If I'm honest with myself, my former self needed changing, no matter the cost. And what is that cost? Pain. My heart aches for people and places that don't even exist anymore, and has held on by the last thin, invisible string just in case the loss is an illusion and I'm only dreaming of the present. It's most incomprehensible to let go of the hands you grasp that are no longer holding on to yours. And to realize that time and distance have not been the only factors in changing the relationship you revere the most, but rather an organic change in that person him/herself that in no way is a reflection of you, but in spite of you and your magical, colorful and bonded past. 33 was a year of amazing and blossoming growth, and its fantastic surprise has made me more hopeful than ever before, b/c I realize the unpredictability of life can work for good, not just a random episode of my bad ole, faithful ole mental illness. I've come to see the fragility of life and its many layers and colors as beautiful and tragic all at once. And waking to a day with another year almost behind me makes me realize that it's worth it- every single tear and giggle has been worth it and I never thought I'd be able to say that even just a few years ago. This song has always conjured up a million epiphanies for me, its words and melody never fail to draw emotion from deep within me. And the questions it asks are so real it's an almost palpable request to take a closer look, have a good cry, linger on the past for a moment and let go. It's about moving on, and I can do that.

Shame on you, China!

During the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, a super-cute little girl brought down the house by singing a beautiful song. So talented, right? Wrong! The precious, fresh-faced, picture-perfect girl who performed did not sing the song at all---- she lip synched. The girl on the right is the one who lent her lovely voice. A Chinese Official said, "The main consideration was the national interest. The child on the screen should be flawless in image, in her internal feelings, and in her expression." Can you imagine the rejection and humiliation that budding singer feels? I'm not pretty enough to represent my country? I sincerely hope that we would not resort to such extreme discrimination and harsh judgement based on a child's particular FACIAL FEATURES. Though I'm not so sure we're above it considering the children featured on TV programs. Another thing China is being called out on is the fact that the majority of professionals in the field of gymnastics believe at least half of China's women's team are underage! By quite a few years, even. Have you seen these girls? Some of them look like little children, and the only proof of age required is a passport issued from their country of origin. Do we believe China is above faking passports? Not if they'll reject and take advantage of an innocent little girl whose voice was perfect, but her face just didn't make the cut.

Bit of trivia: The colors of the Olympic rings are purposeful and not arbitrary. They represent the colors of all countries' flags, b/c every single country in the world has at least one of those colors on their flag.

Karate Kid

Can you believe this guy? Ralph Macchio is 46 and still looks like a frat boy. Just thought you might like a blast from the past. Sorry about the lack of posts, it's terrible, but I'll be back soon!

American Hustle -- Luenell (NOT FOR TENDER EARS)

Anyone who knows me knows I love comedy better than just about anything. If you can make me laugh, I'm putty in your hands. If you can make me laugh until I cry, I will sing your praises forever and shout it from the mountain tops. And because you are that good, you deserve recognition! This woman could break down the sourest of the sourpusses. I haven't laughed so hard in who knows how long! If you do not laugh at this (don't listen if you are easily offended) check your pulse, b/c you might be dead.

Since when did fast food become dangerous?

People of Charlston, SC, beware! You have a cannibal (of sorts) in your midst! 38-year-old Gary Eastwood of Fleming Road, is in jail for biting most of a man's nose off in a fight at the Folly Road Burger King. Some poor, hungry 32-year-old guy was sitting in the drive-thru waiting on his Whopper when out of the blue a white pickup truck struck him in the rear. Both men burst from their vehicles and hit the ground in a brawl. A witness saw Eastwood (must think he's Clint or something) come up for air with a face covered in blood, and spit out a piece of flesh. Paramedics at the scene recovered the guys nose and it accompanied them all the way to the Medical University Hospital, where he is listed in fair condition. Meanwhile, Gary Eastwood is sitting in jail, charged with Assault and Battery of a High and Aggrivated Nature, with $100,000 bond. Gory Gary told the deputies he bit the man's nose off because they were "in a war," then proceeded to enlighten the deputies with a graphic description of the taste of blood. You know this story just makes Evander Holyfield grab his ear and flinch! What kind of life has led Gary Eastwood to tear someone's flesh off with his teeth over fast food?

*Got this story from Perezhilton

When the mics are left on.....

There's nothing funnier to me in this world than when a newsperson or politician thinks his/her microphone is off, when it is actually on. Love it! The honesty!! The true colors! Here's a very candid clip that I'm sure you've already seen of Jesse Jackson making some not-so-nice remarks about Obama on Fox News. Of course he apologized, but....... Hey! Check your mic! But if you don't, please let me hear what you had to say. Please!

We're all getting old

Can you believe this? Shelley Duvall, the poor, tortured wife in "The Shining" is 59 today! From the looks of her bio on IMDB, this was pretty much her claim to fame. "The Shining" came out in 1980, and is still the scariest movie of all time, hands down. Of course, I'm not one to make an accurate judgement of horror movies, considering I can't watch them. They scare me to the point of misery, and it took me years to get all the way through this one!! This face says it all.....RED RUM! Happy Birthday, reserve this face for next year when you hit sixty.

Amazing....

Lori and George Schappell are conjoined twins that lived the first 24 years of their lives in an institution, due to the fact that their parents could not give them proper care. George, (a woman, despite the masculine name) was born Dori, and for a while preferred to be called Reba. She is an entertainer, a country singer, and Lori says she remains as quiet as possible so as not to distract any attention from her sister while she's performing. This video is amazing!! I've seen them on TV before, years ago, on a show on Discovery Channel. Check out this video, it will definately make you forget that pity party you might have thrown for yourself today!
http://perezhilton.com/tv/?videoid=4ad539faf35bc

Oh, and I had some trouble posting something really cute on the Fourth, so it's been a while.

Struggle

This little guy won this round of the ongoing battle between hummingbirds at my grandparents' house in Louisiana this weekend. Their struggle for domination of the feeder was fascinating to watch; tiny, buzzing creatures angrily chasing after one another to secure their place as the head and only resident of the table, which could easily seat 5 with equal shares of nectar. I haven't contributed anything to this blog in a few weeks, my mind has been so occupied with issues to contemplate that I've neglected writing here. And these little birds seem to be on to something in their diligence in fighting for their needs, regardless of their blindness when it comes to the actual non-threat of their friends. Over the past week or so, I've become aware of the difference in my life today and my life one year ago. Last June I was crying to my Mom that I felt so isolated, knew virtually no one here, had no options when it came to getting out and doing any kind of work that I could be proud of, had no support system and affiliation with any mental illness advocacy group, was lonely and bored. The other day I felt a little nervousness about some things I've committed to doing, and I let myself think about that nervous feeling, really let myself focus on it, and realized that I don't run from my emotions anymore. Nervousness in the past would send me running, I looked at it as a sure sign that something was to be avoided and made a detour around that something. I've involved myself in some very meaningful programs and organizations, taken on just enough responsibility to keep my mind occupied and myself useful without biting off too much to chew. And I'm very proud of where I am in my life now, and how far I've come this past year. So I notice I handle problems differently, and a few have aggressively tackled my brain over the past week and I've been affected. As I was walking Baggins the other night, when I rounded the corner from my side of the street to the other, the frogs chirping became so insanely loud and intrusive I almost panicked! For four years I have not had any psychosis, no hallucinations, extreme paranoias, etc., but when I heard those frogs I suddenly, b/c of the abrupt change in the sound, thought maybe it was in my head. The fact is, the other side of the street has a swampy area behind it, so the sound had a very real origin based in reality- the sound was not in my head. When I got home I talked it over with my parents, and cried about it, b/c I hadn't had that fear in so long. As a person with a serious mental illness I can never let go of the fear of sliding backward into that dark chasm of pain and confusion, but this incident was no indication of that, and for that I was thankful and relieved! Then we take the trip to my grandparents' and I see how Parkinson's disease has taken so much from my grandmother. My Mamaw Hildy and I have been unusually close all my life, she has always been a person I could depend on for unconditional love and support, and friendship and companionship. As I looked at her face I could see some of that person has been removed by her illness and age, and despite the reassurance we all give her, she no longer has the sense of assurance of safety that we all need to live well. And she is full of self-pity, self-doubt, depression, and anxiety. She watched her own mother wither and die in a hospital bed in a nursing home for over 20 years, eventually being unable to speak or move, and her brother in almost the same shape. She trembles badly, but the tremors in her voice and throat and chest bother her the most, and she cries. My grandmother has never been one to cry, and has never had any weakness. I remember only about 4 or 5 years ago, she was well into her 70s, I bought her a hibiscus, her favorite flower, and she got a post-hole digger out to dig a hole to plant it. "No! Let me do it!" But she watched me struggle for a minute, making no progress, and she took it from me and dug the hole skillfully and quickly, both of us laughing after it was over. Now she is quiet mostly, but still the sweetest woman on earth, and still can cook a vegetable out of my Papaw's garden with experienced perfection. Also while I was there, I found out that my brother's childhood best friend is now a drug addict, and he tried to kill his mother recently, both of whom I loved dearly. My brother and his friend, his mother and I, ended our friendship years ago b/c of a nasty lie told which was ugly enough to ruin everything. But finding out that their lives are so miserable, I could not help but cry. So now, in this past week or so, I've been so full of emotion that I've cried several times, which is not something I do very often, I've been occupied with issues that have required time and effort to think through, but I come back to this realization: Finally I have so much going on in my life that I have things to think through and deal with and work on. Last year at this time I was bored and unfulfilled, waiting. Now I'm ready to struggle for my place at the bird feeder, and you're welcomed to join me.

Youtube sensation......Tina Chen

For the life of me I cannot figure this one out. This kid (she's like 16) seems so....borderline retarded, she's unaware of her shortcomings, which is so opposite of a normal teenaged girl. Most judge themselves so harshly and have a unrealistic and disproportionately negative view of themselves, a lack of self-esteem. This girl must bathe in self-esteem every night, and gargle with it in the morning. Watch for yourself, but this clip does not include the shot of her boobs which she showed and asked if she was sexy!! I just can't figure the whole thing out, and it's so amusing that I have to keep up with what she's doing! See for yourself....

What did they do?!

I cannot believe what they did to Strawberry Shortcake! The tragedy! The outrage! Sweet little Miss Shortcake went from wholesome, innocent, rag doll naivety to tight-fitting clothes and a headful of hair extensions. Nobody's hair is that long and thick on its own, and they even used a straightening iron on her! I loved her yarn hair, perhaps b/c my own hair is curly. Where are her freckles? Who tripled the size of the berry-scented girl's eyes? Who took off her brown clunkers and put on hot pink ballerina shoes? I'm 33 and grew up with Strawberry Shortcake and her sweet-smelling friends, back when it was okay to have a round face, wear clothes cut by the designer (someone at JC Penney or Sears where layaways still existed) for a child's body, with fabric that didn't sparkle, without exclamations and proclamations of being a princess, or a hot chick, or a heart breaker. There was no Paris Hilton to emulate, there was Wonder Woman and Mary Lou Retton. Where did it all go wrong? And when? My clothes never looked like an exact replica of my teenaged cousin's girlfriend's, and I had no idea what they were doing in the back seat of his car. I saw a onesie at the store the other day with a picture of a chick that said, "Hot Chick." A BABY'S clothes! And one for a boy that exclaimed, "Mothers, lock up your daughters." Needless to say, this one frightened me the most. I don't have children of my own, and it's just as well, b/c I would not indulge my daughter's modern, peer-pressured demands for everything hot pink, or refusal to play outside. I would not lie to my daughter and tell her she is a princess and that life is all poofy fru-fru boy craziness. Instead I would teach her to use her mind instead of her body, and that getting dirty outside is awesome. Goodbye Strawberry Shortcake and hello Princess Shortcake, I'll miss you!

News reporter goes off, NSFW, could be very offensive

What do those mild-mannered newscasters do and say on their breaks and time off? How do they behave and what comes out of their mouths when they think the camera is off? We get to know our TV journalists pretty well over the years, watching and listening to them every day, tracking their hair styles and clothing choices, counting their pregnancies, and watching them go grey. But in reality we don't know them at all, we just know the personality they represent every day on our TVs, as we assume since they are in our homes daily that they must be that polite and cheerful in real life. Well, lately I've seen several clips of newscasters that prove differently, VERY differently, and this one takes the cake! Watch at your own risk, b/c the language is pretty bad. But it's funny as hell!
Here's the link: http://www.dlisted.com/node/26528

Michelle Duggar

This woman is a machine- a baby-making machine, called by God (she believes) to bring as many children into this complex world as humanly possible. You know, b/c God likes kids and dirty diapers and screaming and teething and endless sleepless nights. Michelle's husband, Jim Bob Duggar, is a former state legislator from Tontitown, Arkansas, who served in the Ark. House of Representatives from 1999-2002. They are both real estate agents and claim to live without debt. Wonder if that has anything to do with the big bucks they get from the shows on Discovery channel and TLC, etc.? This whole "mission from God" started when in the mid-eighties Michelle was on the pill and miscarried. The Duggars grieved as their "selfish actions had taken the life of their child." They've been making up for it ever since, producing 17 children, 10 boys and 7 girls, with another on the way due to be born in January of 2009. Oh, and all their kid's names start with the letter, J. Jim Bob (I swear that's his real name) reports that all their children are blessings from God. Hmm.... (things that make you go...) this disturbs me on all sorts of levels, not the least of which is their inevitable inability to give each of these kids the proper attention they need and deserve! And on the subject of all the handouts the receive, if God is behind your self-produced orphanage, wouldn't he drop diapers and formula and groceries on your doorstep? For some reason this causes me a lot of skepticism, especially when I read how they break down the household chores into gender-specific roles, forming a subordinate, submissive role for each of these 7 girls before they can even roll over in their hand-me-down crib! I saw an interview with Michelle Duggar where they were asking all sorts of questions about pregnancy: what do you crave, do you get sick, what do you eat, how do you know you're pregnant.....? She has her pregnancy routines down to the day almost, she's a freakin' expert, and she said for the first three months she's sick and eats protein several times a day and can't stand the smell of frying ground meat (so her girls perform this task- Little Orphan Annie comes to mind), from three months to six months she just enjoys being pregnant, and from six months to delivery she waddles like a duck. How can the human body withstand this kind of torture? Seriously? How does her whole female anatomy not just fall out when she's bending over getting 30 boxes of cereal from the grocery store? Was she hypnotized or something or is she really doing this of her own free will? Her rapport is like a robot as she answers an interviewers questions, like a Stepford wife without the unorthodox beauty and beautiful clothes and polished, refined manner. She appears more to me like a desperate woman trapped in her own hell of gynecologists, lullabies, poopy diapers, casserole making, laundry folding, free-will repressing, slavery. Frankly, the whole scenario scares me silly, and I just hope they love their kids and teach them that it's okay to be an individual in a house full of kids that look, talk, act, and think just like you do.

Test

This is just a test, b/c my last post was sent to the bottom of the page for some reason. Just testing!

Hounddog

It's funny how things work out, how life is like a ball of yarn weaving itself into patterns, some turning out as beautiful pictures, some ending up pretty ugly. When I found out my precious friend, Alfred Sisk, had been moved to Oxford from his longtime residence at the community home for mentally-challenged men where I worked some years back, I grieved more than a little, filled with doubt that I would ever be able to tell him goodbye. Alfred is an elderly man with Down's syndrome, and due to his decline in health and their inability to give him the proper care his condition demanded, he was moved to the agency's main campus in Oxford, MS. As it turned out, I ended up in Oxford last week for a conference, another wonderful new picture being woven into my life's tapestry, surprising and satisfying. Thursday afternoon I made some calls and found out it would be fine for me to go visit my old friend in his new cottage, and some warnings about his condition were issued to me, preparing me for what was about to come. The cottage is for very low-functioning clients, most in wheelchairs, and they were moaning and making all sorts of disturbing noises, and even though I worked with the mentally challenged for many years in two states, I had forgotten the sadness in the sounds of those with the inability to verbally communicate. The cottage was clean and, mostly, the clients were, too. Staff was bustling about, young and energetic, immune to the disarming noises that filled the main room. As I was led to Alfred's room I felt dread build up in my gut, fear of seeing my Hounddog in pain and isolation. The DCW turned on the lights, shifted Alfred's position to wake him and allow him to see my face, and as he began to cry and groan, I wondered if this was the best decision for him or my own self. I got close to him and picked up his soft, white hand, began to stroke his nearly-bald head, and felt all the love and affection for him return to me tripled and quadrupled. Alfred Sisk is absolutely and without question the most gentle and pure soul creation has ever produced. He was every staff member's favorite, if it came right down to it, because he was never, ever any trouble, always helpful and cheerful, and more loving than any "normal" person, unaware of the risks people take to love. His family did not take up much time with him, but he was never alone or neglected, always a joy to be around, funny and affectionate. As I bent down and got close to his face so that he could hear me well, I told him how much everyone loved him because he had the ability to make every single person feel special, in ways I've never seen before or since. When I would take him to the store, he would always know the women who needed a pick-me-up, a boost to their self-esteem, and would tell them they were cute in his own language that somehow everyone understood. These strangers would always immediately perk up, faces erupting into a smile, and tell him thank you. He could force the sourest of all sourpusses to feel joy, even if for a moment, with his uninhibited love dished out equally for all around him. He was nonverbal, but he had his own made-up language which I knew perfectly, like "magetty," for dinosaur. He loved dinosaurs, so I would buy him plastic ones from Wal-Mart, one with a button that when pushed made a loud roar, which he imitated, then giggled. But Alfred's main love was Elvis Presley, and he loved to sing Elvis songs! "Hounddog" was his very favorite, and it was his nickname, probably used more than Alfred. A friend and former staff member made him a real Elvis costume, complete with the cape adorned with a huge, rhinestone-and-sequined eagle on the back, and he would wear this to Graceland every so often when staff would take him there, giving him the thrill of his life every single time. He could dance like Elvis too, and insisted on giving an impromptu show for anyone new who came through the door. We both had ample bellies and would bump them together and laugh at each other, each time harder than the last, and it got to be a routine source of fun for us. I had to leave the community home when I had my big episode four years ago, my major meltdown, and missed Alfred and the rest of the clients so badly. I visited them two years ago when I went to stay with my dear friend whom I met there, she worked a different shift, and we became fast and very close friends. So the last memory I had of Alfred was of that visit, where he showed me his Elvis costume, sang some tunes for me, danced, and hugged me generously. My friend, Fran, said he would still bring her to a picture of me that hung in the hallway, long after I was gone, and point to my picture and actually say my name. That is the reason I knew he would remember me, even if everyone assured me he would not. So as I talked to Alfred last Thursday as he lay in that bed, with each word I said he seemed to become more responsive, and after about 5 or 10 minutes his eyes were completely opened and he was speaking to me with them, those blue, kind eyes I love so much. I told him everything I ever wanted to, about how much people loved him, how he made everyone around him happy, how even strangers wanted to be with him because he was so perfectly real and unassuming. He would cry with me when I talked about bumping bellies, and when I asked if he knew me he did his best to nod his head. I stayed with him as long as I could, and my heart broke to hear him labor for every single breath, clearly in pain. When it was time for me to leave I told him again how much I love him and forced myself to walk out that door, and out the door of the cottage, into the beautiful day full of blue sky, breeze, and magnolia trees. And I know that Alfred heard my goodbye, and felt my hand in his, and felt the love I have for him and his sweet, sweet soul.

God help me, this is true

"Ooh, la la, I'm THE feline fashionista, the world's only kitty trendsetter, my perfect pink flowing locks mystify you and leave you breathless....." That's what she looks like she's thinking! Scary as this is, this photo is of a very real cat with a very real wig designed just for the kitties. The company is called, fittingly, Kitty Wigs, and you can search for your own cat's new hairstyle at kittywigs.com. Does this disturb you? Because it freaks me out a little! I love the cocked head pose, though, giving it a thoughtful, almost human appearance! Cats are cool, but.....

Reason #1 to have a designated driver

This year's Annual Matamoros-Bagdad Cycling Tour in Mexico turned tragic when Juan, "Jesse" Campos, ran his 1989 Mercury Marquis head-on into the cluster of determined cyclists, killing one and seriously injuring 10 others. 30-year-old Brownsville, TX, resident Alejandro Alvarez, died on the scene, senselessly killed by a fellow Brownsville resident, Campos, when he fell asleep at the wheel after partying all night with liquor and cocaine. Campos claims to have no memory of the incident, saying he woke up after the catastrophe. He is being held in a Mexican jail until they can figure out what to do with him. This picture says it all! How often are we able to see such tragedy closeup in such detail? It is gruesome, but it is brutally honest, and makes the picture of the effects of drunk driving clear and human. We've all done it, some of us more than others, but if only to avoid having something like this on your conscience, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE!

Dr. Jesse Chatmon, Stigma Buster

Moment of truth: what's your first reaction when you see a homeless man? Do you immediately lock your doors? Look away and avoid eye contact? And what is your first impression of the often dirty, hungry, desperate man? Pity? Superiority? Anger, even? At least 25% of the homeless population has a serious mental illness, but 100% have names and birthdays and parents and hopes and dreams and pasts, so let me introduce you to a fascinating and brilliant man who has just recently overcome his homelessness- Dr. Jesse Chatmon. Yes, I said Doctor Jesse Chatmon, a stereotype-basher if I've ever met one. A real life stigma buster! Dr. Jesse and I met at the MS Leadership Academy, and from the first time I heard him speak I was captivated and shocked by his unapologetic honesty, intriguing observations, gentle humor, and surprisingly confidant dignity. Upon my request he shared with me his life's story and gave me permission to pass it on to you. Dr. Jesse was born 59 years ago and grew up in Atlanta, spending much of his time playing piano and worshipping in the Southern Baptist church. The National Science Foundation gave the 16-year-old HS graduate an academic scholarship to Howard University in Washington, DC, where he chose to study his passion, mathematics. Drafted to Vietnam immediately after receiving his bachelor's degree, he served as one of the relatively few black officers, facing fierce resistance by his white subordinates. He said he got around this resistance by becoming their friend. Like many veterans, he is still haunted by the 62 men he killed, and suffers, believing the deaths were unjustified. He developed PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and also began having the first symptoms of the schizophrenia that would plague him for the rest of his life, affecting his relationships, career, and sense of self. Once home from the war, he married his college sweetheart, and they both returned to Howard University to pursue their Masters' degrees, his in math and hers in psychology. Along with his PTSD and schizophrenia came visual and auditory hallucinations, and the usually kind Dr. Jesse began to attack Asians on the street, unable to distinguish them from the Asians he was instructed to kill in the war. To cope with these voices in his head, he began (like so many others) to drink and do drugs while still functioning in school, eventually getting his Masters degree and taking a high school teaching position in NY. It was during this time when he began to wake up in the middle of the night with his hands around his wife's neck, choking her in his sleep. They went back to Howard once again, Dr. Jesse obtaining his PhD in mathematics, and his wife graduating in psychiatry. His violent attacks persisted, and they eventually decided to separate for her safety, though Dr. Jesse continued to love her passionately, believing they would one day reunite. He took a sabbatical after the separation and began talk therapy with a psychiatrist twice a week for four years, getting on Haldol reluctantly, only after reading the drug trials. He believes, "armed with the proper information the brain can heal itself." Dr. Jesse eventually went back to teaching at a public school in Brooklyn, NY, and started his own internet-based computer company, writing custom programs and building computer infrastructures. A firm believer in the important need for black people to learn IT skills, he began lecturing on the black college circuit. His life and career success came to a screeching halt when he found out his wife had died, his best friend and fierce supporter. He suddenly developed a stutter, and told me, "my brain said I had nothing worth saying. I shook my fist at God and man, and allowed my disease to consume me. I didn't care if I lived or died." So he started "bumming around the country, living with friends I'd made over the years, taking odd jobs, still keeping the computer company going." Back in Atlanta he started working with a nonprofit organization which trains persons with mental illnesses for jobs, then Katrina struck. He graduated the last class, and spent his money on a bus ticket to Biloxi, thinking he could strike it rich reconstructing computer networks at casinos, etc. This turned out not to be the case. Now he was out of meds and completely broke, so on a suggestion from a man for which he had repaired a computer in the Salvation Army, he came to Jackson. No one would hire him to do the very work in which he is a specialist, just odd jobs here and there repairing a computer or creating a company's website. So Dr. Jesse became one of the surprisingly many homeless men in Jackson, MS, hungry and ignored, all the while having a better education than the vast majority of the privileged who snubbed him. Discovering the location of the MS Dept. of Mental Health, Dr. Jesse walked in and asked to speak to the person in charge, and eventually got to talk to Aurora Baugh. She helped him get into a group home facility, which he is currently managing, and they have become fast friends. Everyone I know who has gotten the chance to actually talk one-on-one with Dr. Jesse will tell you what an amazing person he is, how impressive his intelligence is. And he is also a very kind-hearted man, a fatherly type, calm and reassuring. In my own struggle with mental illness I have also lost people I loved, lost the career I dreamed of, and lost all my self-esteem. I have not, however, lost housing, or I, too, would be one of the one-in-four you see and ignore every day. When you look into Dr. Jesse's face, what stares back at you, after the years of schizophrenia and its torturous hallucinations, violence-inducing delusions (remember the Asians and his hands around his wife's throat at night,) poverty and homelessness, is not what you expect the face of a PhD in mathematics to look like. But it is, indeed, the face of brilliance and determination, the face of a man who fights the stigma of mental illness every day by getting back up, dusting himself off, and trying again. And I am very proud to call him my friend.

Maxine's regrets

Kitty: "I've got you now, Maxine! Always torturing me with disgusting, dry cat kibble while you indulge in tuna casserole right in my face. We'll see how YOU like using a filthy, clumpy litter box, and from now on you can sleep on the foot of the bed with no pillow and smell my stinky feet! Ha! No more hairballs!"

Maxine: "Oh dear, I should have never ordered that magic cat nip Kitty wanted. It was so easy since she'd already filled in the order form, I just had to send $5 for the potent powder! This must be what they meant when they said, "just like Freaky Friday.......Freaky Feline Friday, starring Maxine and Kitty. From now on I have to LICK where it itches?"

Sorry it's been so long

For the past 3 days I've been catching up on my sleep after mentoring a Peer to Peer class in Newton, MS, which is why I haven't posted. When I don't post something every day I have a feeling of loss, like an opportunity lost, as well as a bit of failure mixed in to top it all off. But this blog has become so close to my heart that I don't want my natural tendency to judge myself too harshly to overshadow that positivity I've gained from sharing my opinions! So I forgive myself for not posting in quite a few days, and will go easy on myself in the future when I need some time to let my mind relax when it doesn't feel quite like focusing on an opinion, etc. I tend to isolate myself for a couple of days after any significant sleep loss, but this isn't a sign of weakness or a warning sign for my illness. Quite the opposite, it is a coping mechanism that allows me to focus my energies on myself, reflect on what I've just experienced, and just get some unlimited sleep without a red-light-numbered alarm clock taunting me in the middle of the night, and waking me with a start while my newly-awakened mind throbs with its unnatural and damn-near offensive honking. This Peer to Peer was a pleasure, and I met some cool and interesting people with amazing stories of their own. It's the stories of my peers with mental illnesses that draw me in and enthrawl me, whether it be in a support group, Peer to Peer, or just hanging out with a friend. We have all been around the block, so to speak, some of us more than others, and we all have mind-boggling stories to share with whomever we trust to listen without judgement. Listening to these stories from people with histories so like my own often makes me laugh with understanding and acknowledgement, realizing experiences which I thought to be limited to myself are not just mine and mine alone. With that comes a sense of belonging and relief, and I see that, relatively speaking, I AM NORMAL! HA! Though I know a lady who proclaims, "Normal is just a setting on a dryer," and I'm inclined to agree.

Evening opposites

Tonight I saw two of the most opposing creatures that, in my eyes, were equally beautiful. Mom called me into the backyard to take a look at a baby bunny hiding under one of the flower pots, and on Baggins' nightly walk I came across this beautiful slug on the sidewalk. As soon as I got home I grabbed my camera and ran back halfway around the neighborhood to get a couple of shots of the shrinking, slimy, but intricately decorated, antenna-eyed slug. And as I was squatting on the sidewalk in front of someone's house, I realized that it is things like this that make me odd, b/c most 33 year old women don't do such things. And then I remembered why I'm cool with it- b/c when people expect you to be odd you can do pretty much anything and no one is surprised! It works out nicely, really! But I can't escape the metaphor of the bunny and slug, the fast and the slow, the beautiful and the ugly. It's all in the eye of the beholder, because I truly cannot make a distinction between the furry, doe-eyed rabbit's beauty and the slick, moist, striped slug's. Maybe it's just me....

Miracle

Webster's dictionary defines "miracle" as "a marvel ("a wonder, something very astonishing",) a supernatural ("being above or beyond nature") event." A marvel or supernatural event! I read an article in a magazine recently given to me by a man whom I respect very much, and the topic was the relatively new idea of recovery from mental illness. There is a huge consumer movement in this country, consumers of mental health services, and I am a part of it. We are no longer willing to be mistreated, ignored, joked about and not taken seriously. Until just less than one year ago I was unaware of this snowballing movement, and unaware of the concept of recovery from mental illness. This recovery idea is elusive and misunderstood, and not clearly defined by either consumer or mental health professional, such as a psychiatrist or psychologist. There is no universally accepted, definitive answer or model for recovery, just the budding, exciting proof of resilience within the world of consumers, who are taking a stand and demanding to be listened to, as well as the professionals who believe in our future. Of course, until there is a plan, a written and popularly understood, mapped out and researched model of what exactly recovery means to the mental health world, it is perhaps impossible to strive for. If no one can agree and understand exactly what recovery is, how can one strive for it and achieve it? In the ten years I've been diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder, I've never been urged to believe I could recover, just perhaps be as comfortable as possible. Four years ago my illness reached its pinnacle, its terrifying head, and I was not functioning in even the slightest way. The psychosis I had feared and dreaded all my life, the sort that is accompanied by auditory and visual hallucinations and horrifying delusions, the king of them all, had landed firmly in my brain and just insisted upon staying there and making a cozy spot in which to build an eternal home. My depressions and manias were so staggering and destructive, the need to end my life so deep, that I lost every single thing I had in this world, simply because I had lost the ability to be human and recognize myself. After relieving myself of the unattainable duty of working by getting on disability, changing my geography and living situation entirely, getting and staying on a regimen of medications that relieved my symptoms and let me relax, I began the four-year migration from insanity to sanity, from non-functioning to functioning. Slowly I remembered who I was, slowly my personality and sense of humor returned, slowly my attention span was lenthened, and slowly I craved social interaction and was ready to step out of the shadows. This is when, as I said was less than a year ago, I joined NAMI and attended the MS Leadership Academy. I'm still unsure about the concept of recovery, I mean, am I recovered? Not fully, if you consider the determining factor to be full-time employment, but again- there is no recovery model that lays out what it means to recover from mental illness. But I do have part-time employment, and mentor a class, as well as help with the MS Leadership Academy. Then there's the matter of this little blog, the outlet for me to share with whomever is reading my opinions (which are many) and feelings about whatever I choose! It's part of how I contribute to the consumer movement, how I put my best foot forward to tell the world that I am not ashamed of my illness or my life. Yes, mental illness has snatched some precious things from my hands, but it has taught me compassion, tenacity and strength that I am proud to live with every day, and I know that nothing can break me. This makes for a woman ready and willing to take up the cause of my peers and stand up for our rights as people living with serious mental illness. And the miracle is that after living a lifetime with mental illness, I know how to appreciate my happiness when I hang out with a new friend, or wake up realizing I can't wait to participate in my own life.

Guess who!

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter's nemesis at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is a budding musician! Who knew?! Okay, so his real name is Tom Felton (I wonder if he likes Draco Malfoy better, b/c I certainly do!) and his real passion in life is fishing. But I'd like to picture him as Malfoy, arrogantly waving his wand around, inevitably losing to Harry's natural talents, then later going to some private room and strumming the guitar while singing these silly little numbers. It's so much more fun than listening to Tom Felton, Fishery Management major in some British university (seriously). Oh well, I'll use my imagination!

Big ole hypocrite (video could be offensive)

If there's one thing I cannot deal with, cannot swallow, and cannot accept, it's hypocrisy. Around a certain age a person is endowed with the sudden and unexplained gift of discerning hypocrisy. Luckily or unluckily, I had a wealth of material to choose from, a virtual hypocritical playground to romp around on, as I was raised very religious and practically lived at church. This provided me with enough practice to hone my hypocrite-detecting skills down to an art, and the first time I laid eyes, and ESPECIALLY ears on Bill O'Reilly, I knew I'd found me a good one! This man has criticized and demoralized nearly every person, on his show or not, who looks differently than him, sounds differently than him, acts differently than him, and thinks differently than him. I have seen clips of his shows where he is downright verbally abusive, name-calling and picking apart without mercy those who are guests of his own show, just to impress and amuse the millions of viewers he has in mostly red states, but that's just an assumption. He insists he is of high moral virtue, much higher than you, might I add, even though he's been accused of sexual harrassment and accused a teenaged victim of sexual abuse of enjoying it. So for all his lofty standards, we've come across a clip of him at his former show, caught on tape ripping apart an intern, and cussing like the man he insists he is not. This is definately NSFW! Thanks Kirbi!

Shout out to Noemi

Sometimes when you love someone you find yourself taking them for granted, especially when you know the relationship is tucked safely away in a special place- a place reserved for those particularly solid friendships that live happily on their own, requiring little effort and toil to keep them healthy and thriving. It's magical to know my friend Noemi is always there, but I have been very neglectful lately, and I need to say, "Hey, Little Miss Doo Doo Curl! I miss you!!" For the short time we're here on this spinning sphere, we encounter thousands and thousands of people, ending up tied in love and trust and respect with a relative few. Most of those relationships are by default, we're simply born into them, and we call those "family." But sometimes the planets line up and strange occurrences take place which change people forever, and my random and unbelievable encounter with Noemi literally changed my life and helped shape me into who I am today. What are the chances of meeting an adorable, dimple-cheeked, curly-headed Spanish girl in the blazing, dog-days-of-summer, MS sun, in the bleachers of the football field, during a bomb threat the first day of your senior year of high school, which happens to be situated in a tiny town barely on the map?! Fairly low, I'm certain. From the moment I met her, I was fascinated by her new and amazing perspective on everything, turning the stale and bland into fresh and delicious! Never one to shy away from a discussion of any kind, always with an opinion, an intelligent opinion none the less, she and I turned over every rock with our words. Noemi taught me, an unexposed, sheltered girl from MS, the simplest, but most important lesson of my life: there is a world out there that I've never seen! There are people out there living their lives, and I must witness it! That summer I visited her world for the first time, and I fell in love with Spain immediately. She wasn't the only opinionated Spaniard, I found that out pretty quickly, and her family treated me as if I was one of them. Through the years, as life rolled along and I rode its waves, we maintained our friendship, seeing each other every now and again. But for the past 3 years I've been lucky enough to spend some time there with her and her family, and even though we don't look quite the same as we did back in 1992 when we met, we still have our bond. Noemi is easily one of the most interesting people I know, a melting pot on her own, having lived and studied in many countries and speaking many languages, with an opinion on everything, a keen observation ready at all times. She has shown me many beautiful and perfect places that I would have never seen without her, and she has been there for me when others closer to me have not. Because I have only a small window of time to call her (appropriate time!,) it seems I just can't make it line up lately! But tonight when I saw on perezhilton a music video of Willy Nelson and a new country singer from Norway, of all places, I had a rush of emotion come over me, and I missed my friend. She loves country music better than any American I know, and this Norwegian guy, cowboy hat on his head while singing a duet with Willy Nelson, reminded me of her uniqueness and ability to make me smile, which reminded me what friendship is really about. At least 5,000 miles separate us, but when I close my eyes she's right here, right where I need her.

Here is the link to that music video- it is beautiful, the guy sings like an angel, check it out:

http://perezhilton.com/2008-05-13-watch-listen-to-this-on-the-road-again

"50% Warrior, 50% Lover"

Walt Disney has outdone itself this time! "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" is coming soon to a theater near you, and it's going to be like attack of the taco bell dog x 10,000! This trailor is SO PERFECTLY OVER THE TOP and bizarre, just like you've come to expect from Disney, and it's going to be a cult favorite, I feel it. Ancient Aztec ruins swarmed by tiny, rat-sized dogs performing song and dance routines without shame. The whole freakin' country is in an uproar about the border-crossing situation, and Disney (who caters to middle-American, cookie-cutter families willing to spend their savings to wait hours in line in blistering heat to ride a 5 minute round and round in a tea cup) spends millions to deliver a film in which, if you close your eyes, by the accents you'd swear you were in your local Mexican restaurant sucking down margaritas and burning up your lips eating salsa chock full of jalapenos and possibly laced with a secret Mexican radioactive substance! But I'm a sucker for an anthropomorphic Disney dog movie...remember the original black and white "Shaggy Dog?" Loved it! Thanks Disney, I think I'll wait for the DVD, but there can never be too many talking, dancing, singing and prancing dog movies!

Most popular man on the "other side"

Irvine Robbins, ice cream guru and co-founder of Baskin-Robbins has passed away. He is responsible for this country's first and largest ice cream empire, and their deliciously famous "31 Flavors." This man lived to be 90 years old! From these facts can we make a fair and correct assumption that ice cream will prolong your life and assure you a timely demise following decades of enjoying your favorite frozen confection? They say you can't take it with you, but aren't they talking about the money? Surely you can take the secret recipes for the 31 flavors stored securely in your old noggin after a lifetime of cooking up the good stuff, and share it with whomever you meet when you get there, wherever that is. I hope so, because when I get there I'm going straight for the Rs in the directory, and I plan to get the inside scoop (bad pun) on how they get that peanut butter to maintain its integrity as it lives and peacefully coexists in the creamy, melty chocolate ice cream. My favorite! Rest in peace Mr. Robbins!

Putting High Times out of business

DAILY, on the Internet I come across offensive and depraved stories of citizens of the world behaving in ways that I'd love to believe does not come naturally for most humans. But some people, for one reason or another, whether it be a lack of guidance in childhood or a predetermined defect in their character live among us with a complete lack of respect for themselves and the rest of us. Matthew Gonzalez and Kevin Jones, according to the Houston Chronicle, have been charged with a misdemeanor offense of abuse of a corpse, along with an unnamed juvenile. These 3 less-than-stellar-examples-of-humanitarians chose on March 15th, to dig up a man's grave in Humble cemetery in Harris County, TX, decapitate the head, and use it as a bong to smoke pot. Now I'm not an easy one to shock, but......

MS Leadership Academy

Serenity is the setting, positive the atmosphere, energetic the mood, and united the front of this season's MS Leadership Academy. As a member of the staff, my experience has been that of an observer, and what I've seen and felt has been astounding. To my left is a table-full of men, black and white, tied together by mental illness, budding friendship, and Spades! Held at the Episcopal retreat, the Gray Center, it's easy to lose yourself in its bucolic beauty and restful rural placement overlooking a lovely lake, complete with turtle-covered logs and goose families. When I leave here tomorrow, I'll do so armed with a renewed sense of pride in my position as a survivor living with mental illness, and I'll be in good company.
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We're all in this together

I received this story via email today from KK, and was so happy with its obvious truth and the way it is told that I had to share it!

"A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. "What food might this contain?" the mouse wondered, and was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap. Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning: "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, "Mr. Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it." The mouse turned to the pig and told him, "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The pig sympathized, but said, "I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers." The mouse turned to the cow and said, "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The cow said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse, I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose." So the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer's mousetrap alone. That very night a sound was heard throughout the house, like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital, and she returned home with a fever. Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient. But his wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig. The farmer's wife did not get well; she died. So many people came for her funeral, the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them. The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness. So the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn't concern you, remember...when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk."

Toughest chick on the block!

Meet Xochitl Parra, toughest chick ever. The 17 year old hid her pregnancy from her family, and while alone in her home she gave birth to 8lb. 3oz. son, Alejandro, in the shower. Since the phone was disconnected she was unable to call 911, so she walked 4 blocks searching for help with the baby still attached by umbilical cord! I hope little Alejandro gets some of her spunk.

"Nothing exceeds like excess!"

Okay, I'll be the first to admit I love excess as much or more as the next person, but come on......fried macaroni and cheese? When Michelle Pfieffer said in Scarface, "nothing exceeds like excess!," she was not only giving me material for a lifetime of quotes in moments just like these, she was summing up the American lifestyle in only four words! Living the high life as the wife of a self-made millionaire Cuban immigrant, she correctly expressed the sentiment by which we live, now more than ever. Three of our country's successful restaurant chains: Sonic Drive-In, The Cheesecake Factory, and TGI Fridays all have fried macaroni and cheese balls on their menus! Mac and cheese is an American favorite, from coast to coast, sea to shining sea, you can order up a side with your Blue Plate Special, right next to your fried chicken or pot roast. Or you can go to your favorite supermarket and pluck any number of boxed varieties off the shelf, ready in your kitchen in a jiffy, and enjoy the gooey concoction at home. I've never witnessed a person turn their nose up at cheesy sauce and elbow macaroni living together in perfect harmony, and I've never heard one complaint as to it being unfulfilling in its original form. Who, then, decided to take the already over-the-top caloric atom bomb and morph it into an even more dangerous dish, one that justifiably should be accompanied by a warning label: "Owners and proprietors will not be held responsible for money or time lost due to inevitable triple bypass surgery following your meal." How could we be so discontent and bored as to have nothing better to do than rebel against Mom's advice and play with our food, turning it into an unrecognizable ball of crust that eerily resembles every other item on the appetizer menu? Or maybe I'm being too harsh, maybe I should look at it like this: Americans are inventive, creative people, competitive and upwardly mobile in every way. Maybe this is why we cannot leave well enough alone, but if we don't cut out some of the excess in our diets, our mobility will rely on our super-sized scooters! But it's fun to live in a land where life is so good and plenty that our toughest choice is the fried mac and cheese balls or the fried cheese sticks. Don't forget the dipping sauce!

Here is the recipe for Fried Mac and Cheese is you have the inclination-

FRIED MACARONI AND CHEESE BALLS 1 pound elbow macaroni 2 tablespoons unsalted butter 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour 2 cups milk, warmed, plus 2 tablespoons for egg wash 1 pound grated Cheddar 1 pound grated smoked Gouda Salt and freshly ground black pepper 2 large eggs 3 cups seasoned bread crumbs Vegetable oil, for frying Marinara or Alfredo sauce, to serveCook the macaroni according to package instructions. Drain and rinse with cold water to stop the cooking. Drain again and set aside. In a saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Sprinkle the flour into the butter and stir it with a whisk. Cook for 2 minutes. Whisk the warmed milk into the flour mixture, working out any lumps. Cook until the sauce thickens, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat, add the cheeses, and stir until melted and smooth; season with salt and pepper. Fold the cheese sauce into macaroni. Pour the mac and cheese into a shallow pan and refrigerate until cold, at least 2 hours. Shape the cold mac and cheese into meatball-sized balls and place them onto a waxed paper-lined tray. Freeze the balls overnight. Beat the eggs and 2 tablespoons milk together to form an egg wash and pour it into a shallow bowl. Put the bread crumbs into another shallow bowl. Remove the mac and cheese balls from the freezer. Dip the frozen balls into the egg wash then into the bread crumbs. Put the balls back into the freezer until you are ready to fry. Heat the oil in a deep-fat fryer to 350 degrees F. Fry the mac and cheese balls until they are golden brown and center is hot, about 5 minutes. Serve hot with your favorite marinara or Alfredo sauce or combination or both for dipping.

Jalapenos anyone?

Spicy much? Barrel full of mouth sores and watery eyes, Madison must have a much lower pepper demand! Buy in bulk, it's the (latin?) American way!
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IMG00058.jpg

Today I fell asleep on the beach, a feat of trust I'd deemed impossible, regardless of my brother's advice to just let go. Making new friends in this odd and unusual situation I first found myself in 4 years ago hasn't been easy, just by its very nature. Finally the social aspects of my life are catching up to the wealth of joy and stability that have filled the cracks of my formerly broken life. Nowadays it seems unnecessary to blindly chase happiness, you can't find it that way anyway. I've been surrounded by the sights and sounds of the ocean since Monday, even into the night by leaving the balcony door open as I watch TV and drink ungodly amounts of water. Somehow I wasn't strategic enough in my sunblock-applying stragedy and have ended up with a nasty burn on my shoulders. The clear, aqua water, the sugar-white, stick-to-everything, powdery sand, the mild heat and sweet Gulf breezes, the just-out-of-the-water-fresh seafood, and the company of a friend are making this week a thing of real relaxing pleasure. Tomorrow morning I'll get back in the ocean and play, but the 8 dolphins I saw today forced me out of the water immediately, because dorsal fins, curved or not, take the fun out of everything! Paradise awaits!
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Beach Bound

A cool new friend from NAMI invited me to hang out with her in Florida this week, so tomorrow I'm going to the beach! I've had some concern over body-image issues, of course, but have decided to forgo the worrying and just enjoy this awesome opportunity to have fun. Deciding on a book to bring has been difficult, so my beach bag will be heavy with several- it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind! I'm looking forward to walking on the beach, looking for sea shells and sea creatures, listening to the water speak, and taking pictures. Maybe I'll come home with a tan! An exciting adventure awaits, and I'm ready for it, ready to experience the vastness of the ocean, and its effect on my body and soul.

Also: Notice the change in the layout of my little blog? I like it, it's fresh!

R.I.P. Polaroid Instant Cameras, 1947 - 2008

Bye bye Polaroid instant cameras, you're just not instant enough by today's standards. These days "instant" is common, demanded, and universal. Sure, the picture was magically developed and delivered in an instant, but the quality was pretty pitiful. Today's consumers expect immediate gratification with uncompromising, perfect results on a consistent basis. Poor old Polaroid just couldn't compete, so he's been retired to the land where all our used-up, expired, and forgotten junk resides: ebay. There are still plenty of Polaroid Land Camera lovers out there, collectors and fans whose nostalgia draws them to search out the plastic boxes which spit out a blurry, oddly-colored image best hastened on its way to development by the waving back and forth method, or better yet, the warming-it-up-in-the-arm-pit method, preferred by men. Edwin Land founded the Polaroid Corporation in 1937, and in 1947 released the first Polaroid Instant Camera, or Polaroid Land Camera, onto the market. The idea came from a question posed to him by his daughter, Jennifer, "why can't I see them now?" Why not, indeed, I guess he thought, and the cameras were wildly successful until quite recently, when digital cameras became the norm, and expectations of consumers changed. Polaroid doesn't produce the cameras anymore, and in February they ceased production of all instant film, shutting down 3 factories and laying off 450 workers. In this decade, there has been a 25% drop in chemical film sales of all kinds, and the market for this antiquated equipment will continue to shrink. When I was a kid, I thought people who had Polaroids were rich. My mom had one of those ancient cameras whose flash was a glass cube that attached itself onto the top of the black box, and made a sad little sound when it blew. Truth is, the majority of pictures taken by my parents back then never even made it to the developers, and we never saw the pics of cousin whomever's birthday. Years later Mom would find old rolls of film, not one single clue whose images lived in the plastic capsule, and get them developed just for fun. We'd laugh and remember what a great time it was, and remark on how things have changed since that time that was special enough to use an entire roll of film to capture, and swear we'd never let another roll of film wait like that again to be appreciated. We as a society have forgotten how to wait, and even as I write this I glance at my Blackberry looking out for the flashing red light that tells me I have an email waiting in my inbox, realizing just how impatient I have become.

Only blue will do

Since before I was capable of rational thought, I have connected the sensations of dissolving ice and the taste of flavored sugar water on my tongue with summer. It is this rite of passage that signals the beginning of other joyous behaviors belonging solely to summer like going barefoot, enjoying the camaraderie of strangers linked together by the collective suffering brought on by the moist MS heat, maniacal mosquito swatting and slapping, hummingbird watching, porch sitting, yard strolling, flower bed picking, pruning, and admiring, picture taking, and childhood revisiting. Living half my life in southeast Louisiana and the other half in north, central and south Mississippi has taught me that snowballs are not a phenomenon to take for granted. North Mississippi was a barren land where the crushed ice, deliciously sweet, unimaginably-enormous-flavor-optioned treat was concerned, and I complained about its absence quite frequently. It seems the further south you go, the more snowball stands pop up, serving summer's most appreciative participants, children. Most snowball stands are a mom and pop deal; tiny shacks colorfully painted with a gargantuan menu of flavors in front, with room inside for only one or two adults to grind the ice and force it into a white styrofoam cup, shape it to a point with a cone, douse it liberally with neon-colored, flavored sugar water, and if you'd like, condensed milk. Blue bubble gum snowballs with cream (condensed milk) are my life's most delicious and decadent treat, as well as the most coveted. As accessible as its ingredients are, snowballs are impossible to duplicate at home, forcing one to snatch up the opportunity to eat one when you come across one of those happy little stands that seem to be slowly disappearing. Its genius lies in its simplicity, its sweetness conjuring memories of warm days, waiting in line and deciding what flavor to choose, whether or not to be adventurous and pick a new flavor like cake batter or stick with what you know, blue bubblegum that tastes like nothing else on earth, just pure bliss, summertime perfection.

FYI: This picture is of me and my Aunt KK, (with whom I used to stay in the summer and help peel squash and eat the plums off her trees) in Tylertown, MS, at Little Alaska snowball stand. They have a new item on the menu this summer: frozen pickle juice! Apparently it's really popular with the kids!

Family

In case you didn't know, there are different rules for living in the country than in the city. An impromptu family reunion took place here at Mamaw's house this evening, distant relatives appearing almost at once, and from seemingly nowhere! Eight in all, and for 2 hours, a couple of which I'd never even met. A little cousin with a frog on her shirt and a tiara on her head taught me the proper way to cut an orange; another informed me he'd been here earlier and seen us napping in our chairs, and jokingly asked if I'd caught any flies in my mouth! There's a casual feel, a laid back atmosphere with far less distance between people than I'm used to, but it lends itself to a cozy sort of feeling that's kinda nice. The lack of planning ruined the opportunity for the best aspect of a reunion: the FOOD!
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Over the river and through the woods....

Tomorrow is my first Spring trip to my grandparents' house! Every year I anticipate the ease of Spring and Summer country living, in a place so secluded that in order to find it you have to know where you're going, warm and breezy on the front porch, bursts of color everywhere you look. My camera will be my companion on my walks around the yard, surprising the butterflies and spiders and frogs that are usually ignored by us cumbersome humans that bound through their secrets spaces, always with our own agendas that seldom include them. Baggins lives for his trips to Mamaw and Papaw's house, especially our walks in the field down to where the old pond used to sit, before Papaw decided he should fill it, years ago. Mom and I will stroll down the narrow roads, admiring the wildflowers now showing their faces anywhere dirt will hold them, and look for the spots where blackberries will grow in the quickly-approaching summer. I think I've pretty much figured out how to post from my Blackberry (the seedless, digital kind,) so I hope to be making a few short posts along the way. Here's a picture of me and my Mamaw Hildy, the sweetest lady in the world, at my Aunt BB's house at Christmas. She and I have some catching up to do, and we're going to do it on the porch!

"American Idol" does "Ave Maria,"

Schubert's ode to the Virgin Mary, "Ave Maria," regardless of its religious implications, is one of the world's most beautiful songs. When sung by a woman with an angelic voice, it stirs emotion in my guts, even though I haven't a clue what they're saying. Celine Dion's version brings tears to my eyes; it's perfect, flawless. Kelly Clarkson sang this masterpiece for the Pope just the other day, and I'm sharing it with you because it is so moving and powerful, I think you deserve to experience it! "Ave Maria" seems otherworldly when I close my eyes, there's a serenity that I can't explain.

2nd try

Trying again to blog from email!
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Top that, Jeopardy!

Be sure to tune in to NBC this Monday night and catch president Bush on "Deal Or No Deal!" Captain Joseph Kobes, who has served in Iraq three times and has been the recipient of the Purple Heart as well as the Bronze Star, will be trying his luck at the popular game show in hopes of winning enough money to pay off his parents' home. A pre-taped video clip of Bush will air, thanking Captain Kobes for his service and wishing him luck in the game. Can you even believe this? I find it bizarre, yet strangely fitting in these days, when Comedy Central has our presidential hopefuls interviewed on parody shows which are followed by "South Park," or "Kenny Vs. Spenny." I remember in 1992 when I saw Bill Clinton play the sax on "The Late Show" and, for the first time in my short years, realized the president was human. This new accessible president idea still shocks me sometimes. After giving it some thought, I believe it to be a good thing, a narrowing of the gap maybe, and damn fine breeding ground for jokes!
FYI: This picture of the president dancing with the Kankouran West African Dance Co., was taken at a Malaria Awareness Day event at the White House.
Factoid: 66 countries across the world are currently airing a version of the game show we Americans call, "Deal Or No Deal," including China, Poland, Zimbabwe, and Morocco!

Cock of the Walk

While sipping sweet tea out of my little silver tin cup, I began reading the short bits of information on the walls and brown-paper-bag type menu of my favorite catfish spot, Cock Of The Walk. These folks have perfected the art of frying the infamous bottom-feeders, one of the loves of any real Mississippian's lives, and they serve it up with hush puppies, fries, cole slaw, greens, marinated onions, and cornbread that has, prior to being served, been the star of a table-side show put on by your server. Your server is decked out in garb reminiscent and reflective of this information that, once you notice it, seems to cover the wooden half of the partly glass walls of the joint, which look out onto the moving water of the reservoir. Mike Fink is a name that's printed on many of these wooden signs filled with quotes and tidbits and factoids, and the one that first caught my eye says, Fink liked to say he was, "half horse and half alligator, with a fire-eating devil thrown in." Wow! Those are mighty big words from an awfully self-confident man, so I decided to do a little investigating and see where this information takes me, and it has taken me all the way to the Natchez Trace. Men like Mike Fink made their livings by moving merchandise up and down the MS and Pearl rivers (among others, like the TN) and the only ground route North out of MS to Nashville, TN, and beyond, was the Natchez Trace. The Trace got its start as a path made from bison travelling North to Nashville to find salt licks in the area. The Native Americans, specifically the Cherokee, Choctaw, and Chickasaw, broadened the path by using it extensively and introduced it to the Europeans who began to trickle in. At that point it was simply a path, and in 1801 the US Armed Forces claimed it for a postal route and major work began on the Trace to prepare it as a main artery for travel. By 1809, the trail was finally fully functioning and navigable by wagon. Thus began much of Mississippi history, from Washington, MS's first capital, "old Greenville," which was made famous by Andrew Jackson, Natchez, and Port Gibson. Men poured into the area motivated by personal desires, each and every one looking to gain something from this new opportunity, and many of these men were tough when they got there, but maybe not as tough as they thought. The vast majority of the hopeful men who came to work the rivers left defeated or in a pine box. The Trace and the rivers I referred to held hands in many respects, for they were used by the same people much of the time. The keelboatmen, like Mike Fink, who were running merchandise up the rivers, were dangerous men, known for their hard-drinking and trigger-happy lifestyles, as they had to fight continuously for their lives and livelihoods, and the baddest of them all was known as the Cock of the Walk. He wore a red turkey feather in his hat, and was respected as the leader, and to buck the system meant not returning home. Many of these men who worked the rivers would take their goods to "Natchez Under-the-Hill," (as opposed to the real city of Natchez atop the river bluff) which was where the MS river boats docked, and get their pockets stuffed with cash, which they promptly spent at the many brothels, bars, and gambling halls that lined the streets. It was the same on the Trace as it was in the old West, the killing and drinking and debauchery, though you never hear of it or see movies with ole Mike Fink, Cock of the Walk, portrayed by Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. Of course, the missionaries came, hoping to save these men of sin, and they became large in number, converting anyone who'd listen, including the Native Americans. Large gangs began to run operations outside the cities along the Trace, forming the country's first real organized crime rings. But the Natchez Trace was short-lived because of the popularity and modern improvements in water-bound trade and travel, and in 1830 the Trace was officially abandoned as a road. Now we as Mississippians know it as the Natchez Trace Parkway, 444 miles of modern road that follows a close approximation of the original route, parts of which are still accessible. So as I washed down the last of my tarter sauce-dipped fish with my sweet tea and got ready to leave, I pictured my waiter, a young guy of about 20, with the rest of the vast majority of dejected, disappointed men who failed in their quest for money and notoriety, heads bowed, travelling back up the Trace towards home. I imagined them trying to make sense of it all, and trying to figure out how to explain their failure to their wives and families when they finally saw them, as they attempted to avoid bandits and danger on their return travel, eventually telling their grandchildren about Mike Fink, and how he could "out-run, out-jump, out-shoot, out-brag, out-drink, and out-fight, rough and tumble, no holds barred, any man on both sides of any river, down and back again."