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Move That Money, Stick It to ‘Em

5 Nov

Gotta say, this Occupy Movement is growing wings, talons, capes, roots.

I wonder, wonder, wonder where it’ll end up.

It’s “Ditch Your Big-Time Bank” Day. As in move your money into smaller locally owned banks and credit unions.

Photo credit: HuffingtonPost.com

A delicious thought. And I swear, if I had money to move, I’d be moving away.

Dirty, Dirty Writer

29 Apr

Friends, I’ve been working on a book that I actually wrote about four years ago. I’ve probably edited it about nine times now. It never ceases to amaze me how many mistakes one can still find after a gazillion edits.

This time around, the book WILL BE PUBLISHED. Period. My inner renegade has awakened. And it’s only April.

When I get into this writer/editing mode it consumes me. I sleep four hours a night. I can’t watch an entire television show without thought bubble interruptions. I’m constantly scribbling notes to self. It’s a dark world but not so dark because whenever I delve in to my literary-ness I sense hope.

But while in the midst of this right brain-ness I become a loner who mumbles a lot and forgets to change my clothes or brush my teeth.

I feel a film forming on them. I think it’s mold.

‘Til next time.

Gone body cleanin’.

The Craigslisters

24 Feb

Tell me, have you browsed or posted ads at craigslist.com?

Have you randomly clicked on sections out of sheer curiosity slash boredom?

Have you ever, in a desperate attempt to obtain legal finances, responded to one of those “GIGS” in the “GIGS” section usually tucked way at the bottom of the front page of your town? Has anyone ever responded back to you?

Let me inform you, Friends, it can be creepy.

I mean, there are people who post these wonderful sounding ads that sound so legitimate and so timely when you’re in need of “$100 this weekend!” or an “easy job; just talk to people and pass out fliers Sat & Sun” or “just drive my kids to and from practice for a week.”

I won’t even delve into the sheer freakiness of the “romance” seekers. (Honestly, I clicked on it once doing some P.I.–ahem–work.) And though I didn’t run into a congressman or a soon killer, I was horrified. I suddenly found myself wanting to go to a church and pray.

There was a time when I never went on craigslist. Never. I lived a Washington Post life, a community newspaper life. I obtained jobs through real companies with real employees and when I had a raggedy sofa to sell I did so with posterboard strategically stapled on random telephone poles near my current residence.

NOW? Now I find my posture withering before those freakola ads on Craig’s List, the creepy, predominantly weirdo central where it seems every other person needs/wants a “female massage TONIGHT” with “no strings attached” or some lady who lives in an “upscale” community doesn’t mind a stranger showing up at her doorstep to drive her kids to soccer practice “for a week only.” Perusing craigslist can be like entering a dark underworld of virtual strangers who may or may not be involved in a cold case file. I have no doubt that there is recently poured concrete in many of these folks’ back yards.  Responding to information on craigslist is like taking your shirt off in one of those undoored fitting rooms with a bunch of random eyeballs eyeing your usually covered skin. Sending your resume and e-mail address in response to an ad can be like welcoming ten years of spam from concocted companies promising to make your schlong larger even when you clearly don’t have a schlong especially when your e-mail address is something like NancyGirl @ e-mail . com.

Me no likey random weirdoes. Sure, I can appreciate controlled weirdness–people I know, people I can see face to face on a crowded street in Georgetown during daylight but un-faced posters are starting to creep me out.

Sure, I know. I know ions of people have success on craigslist and the likes. I get it. But I’m not talking about the smoothies; I’m talking about the darkness. I’m like the evening news. Hunky dory stories aren’t what freaks us out. The headline is in the underbelly.

I miss the ’80’s.

Small Confession

27 May

Though I am mostly/primarily a right brain(er) I wish that I was a tad more–ok, a lot more–left brain so that I could contribute to the dire need the U.S. has for math/science scholars in order to compete globally.  I mean, we need more than one Bill Gates or Steve Jobs. And speaking of which, where is our current Einstein? We haven’t had one since Albert. 

Sure, I dig, cherish, even honor the artist in me, the writer, the right brain weirdo that I’ve become, but gosh, I wish I was better equipped in the science world.  Oh boy.   There’s nothing like an entire generation of kids falling behind THE WORLD with their guitar hero slash StayStation slash cell phone obsession slash everything that keeps them from learning global skills. 

I think I’ll start brushing my teeth with my opposite hand.