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Film Person. Humor</description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>125</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-9150263464140660672</guid><pubDate>Sat, 14 Sep 2024 02:00:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2024-09-18T14:17:54.847-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Beach Boys</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">college</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">college coed</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Creepy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">film industry</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Inmates</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Park City</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Predators</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Rom-Com</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Star Wars</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Sundance Film Festival</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Surfer</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Titanic</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">When Harry Meets Sally</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Woodsmen</category><title>HOW I ALMOST BECAME A TRUE CRIME PODCAST EPISODE</title><description><p>&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggEIdIMdS6q0Dkg1Khm9yMHxGC1Rzwv7YwSU3ILnRIbtowoecX_6kn9Qm-V9Mga8qAluDi0cHVJwoJpAo5fgLOekvZhUK-xkyTund8rl-pigem9VxSthQ9qCOW_W7JoMqyQV-73IiWhB7SIi2wrJ5xokbYP3oJR2ZTAvjP9JRLQ_IRAdcKX-KwMr3B0c8m" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="500" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggEIdIMdS6q0Dkg1Khm9yMHxGC1Rzwv7YwSU3ILnRIbtowoecX_6kn9Qm-V9Mga8qAluDi0cHVJwoJpAo5fgLOekvZhUK-xkyTund8rl-pigem9VxSthQ9qCOW_W7JoMqyQV-73IiWhB7SIi2wrJ5xokbYP3oJR2ZTAvjP9JRLQ_IRAdcKX-KwMr3B0c8m=w640-h346" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="f68b" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">You know that moment when your life flashes before your eyes, and you’re like,&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">this is how I die</em>? Well, I hadn’t experienced such a thing until Surfer Dude Randy.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="c318" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">It all started years ago when I was a sophomore in college. Like many co-eds, I was a cocktail of naiveté<span style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">&nbsp;and unearned confidence and susceptible to making choices later described as “questionable.” That’s how I hooked up with Randy, a 30-year-old “surfer” who was less&nbsp;<em>Point Break</em>&nbsp;and more</span>&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Oops. I haven’t paid my taxes well, ever.</em></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="dc66" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">But Randy wasn’t your typical beach bum. He had&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">“ambitions.”</em>&nbsp;And by that, I mean he’d spent&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">nine years</em>&nbsp;working on a script he described as&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Star Wars</em>&nbsp;meets&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">When Harry Met Sally.</em>&nbsp;Otherwise known as: “Yo Beach: The True Story of Two Body Surfers That Re-Unite on Mars.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="2094" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">After two days, I learned more about his intergalactic rom-com than any information from my college courses. Like any self-respecting 19-year-old, I ran out of there and ghosted him like he never existed.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="72f3" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"><span class="lt fv" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;">Until Sundance.</span></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="8360" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Fast-forward two decades, and I’m now a film executive. Don’t ask me how — it’s a blur of favors, coincidences, my insane work ethic, and a serendipitous meeting in a Gelson’s parking lot. Part of the job involved attending The Sundance Film Festival every year, where I hung out with other industry folks and watched indie films in our puffer jackets.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5eb0" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">I was sitting in a giant auditorium, about to watch the latest buzzy film, when a man plopped down in the seat next to me.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5eb0" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"><br /></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5eb0" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXoXjrwgiUa8t89sGqqyyM-M6M5FX5epaM917WGwYl57GpifmHuKJ1S_iI8gHpI8FCnpEWHs7axgczW1tWTsKYnP522Ovyawsw6lTUH3x1O8OZ50MYMRfMPX-5zYqfddlKB8Wvdhdrj9HRoFwkcM0RW3IE7P97YslOiZThQPQ-gm61RE5GFM3Rq-QKYnjX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXoXjrwgiUa8t89sGqqyyM-M6M5FX5epaM917WGwYl57GpifmHuKJ1S_iI8gHpI8FCnpEWHs7axgczW1tWTsKYnP522Ovyawsw6lTUH3x1O8OZ50MYMRfMPX-5zYqfddlKB8Wvdhdrj9HRoFwkcM0RW3IE7P97YslOiZThQPQ-gm61RE5GFM3Rq-QKYnjX=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="0277" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“Hey, don’t I know you?” he asked.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="028b" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">I glanced over, mentally cycling through every horrible decision I made in my early twenties. I really hoped I hadn’t slept with him during my post-grad&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Party on Coke</em>&nbsp;phase.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="bac4" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“Randy. Ocean Beach. Remember?”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="c048" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Oh, for fuck’s sake. The beach bum from another lifetime. What is he doing here? The hair was grayer, the tan extra leathery, but he had the same dopey grin.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a394" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“Randy?”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="123f" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“Yeah! Wow, you look exactly the same!” he said, hoping I’d perked up at his lame attempt at a compliment. I scanned the auditorium for an empty chair. SRO.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="4782" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Before I could politely extricate myself on some pretend emergency, the projector busted.&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Perfect</em>. Now I’m stuck next to Mr. Rom-Com Mars, who immediately started monologuing about his life, Utah, and — you guessed it — that&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">same</em>&nbsp;goddamn script. After twenty more years, he&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">finally</em>&nbsp;thought it was ready.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="cd72" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">And that’s when things got weird.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5395" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">He invited me to his house — up in the mountains, away from town, a house he built and described in excruciating detail. He thought our sitting next to each other, the broken projector, me, now with a couple of free hours, was “magical,” “kismet,” and “meant to be.” I can’t explain why I agreed to go. Maybe I was curious. Maybe I just needed to see what kind of lunatic spends 29 years trying to write&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Harry Met Sally</em>&nbsp;in space.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="2423" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">The moment I climbed into his banged-up pickup truck, panic and common sense set in. What am I doing on a road trip with a stranger to some secluded location at an even higher elevation? My phone had no reception, and no one knew where I was. Great. I was going to die, all because I couldn’t say no to a former surfer with delusions of grandeur.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="06d4" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">We drove through snowy woods, up hills, and down winding roads. The whole time, I was calculating my escape plan. If I jumped out now, would I survive the fall? Could I tumble roll down the mountain? Was I overreacting? Was I experiencing mental altitude sickness? Maybe he was just a harmless eccentric and not a potential serial killer.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a317" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Randy skidded to a halt alongside a heap of wooded planks. I hoped this was his caretaker’s place. But no. This shack was Randy-built, something he deemed worthy of Architectural Digest. A cheap A-frame nightmare of a cabin that looked like it came out of a DIY kit. Logs, cement, a decent view of Park City, sure — but all I could think about was how far Park City was.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a317" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnrOeg1C0_8Y8vaYNXGHDMbAySB4ja2K_KTAJjKcKP72zfrKwXsEqmW5s9YrjFXoGbZOJ8YHSSVYHdeGEHY6QxH7pYtkTMlB5IWQ42SffuAXNGWCvD7byxrcct-y8yzVrM0_wbrHEbuouXzXmmGmWjPZNnLN8MaRrsUuNzCXzQWvTvr8A1BKltEdA8Vcwb" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnrOeg1C0_8Y8vaYNXGHDMbAySB4ja2K_KTAJjKcKP72zfrKwXsEqmW5s9YrjFXoGbZOJ8YHSSVYHdeGEHY6QxH7pYtkTMlB5IWQ42SffuAXNGWCvD7byxrcct-y8yzVrM0_wbrHEbuouXzXmmGmWjPZNnLN8MaRrsUuNzCXzQWvTvr8A1BKltEdA8Vcwb=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="1f1a" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Inside? Worse. The kitchen was a hot plate on top of mismatched cabinets, and the furniture salvaged from a dumpster fire. Ignoring my mounting panic, Randy handed me his printed script — a&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">250-page</em>&nbsp;monstrosity. “It’s finally ready,” he said, bowed, then went into his bedroom.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="1f1a" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbuA2IkQiikpaom0Lfy1ZW01gSeuIArm-8cyEEPdCdC_Uo_WKaIatbgzgFtB2qrThOWokXTzW5q-IrSDkXsKBOAsrB_mHmmghLmjNN0JVss7C3iJqEa3dDblp1jMWXnic8EXkzQ3XcwtU_-c1nQU6lt1MNhY2fKIh50fGKseXZwit2RXNEgwfrYQCZzy6M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="450" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbuA2IkQiikpaom0Lfy1ZW01gSeuIArm-8cyEEPdCdC_Uo_WKaIatbgzgFtB2qrThOWokXTzW5q-IrSDkXsKBOAsrB_mHmmghLmjNN0JVss7C3iJqEa3dDblp1jMWXnic8EXkzQ3XcwtU_-c1nQU6lt1MNhY2fKIh50fGKseXZwit2RXNEgwfrYQCZzy6M=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6058" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"><span style="background-color: #fcff01;">I immediately regretted every life choice that had led me to this point.</span></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="7edf" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">And then — because this couldn’t possibly get more bizarre — he reappeared in jogging pants, no shirt, and&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">flip-flops</em>. I nearly blacked out from hunger, lack of oxygen, or the surrealness of it all.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="e72c" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">That’s when he pushed me against the shredded wall to bulldoze me with a kiss. Oh, hell no. My brain went full&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">lizard</em>. I boxed his ears, kneed him in the groin, grabbed his truck keys off some creepy box, and bolted for the door.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="e72c" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF4BnMuPbT0QQagzeRk4L_UNv4PoD73PR8OqEZgbWMIVeeanFqWZ26sXisSvuVv1CHSfM_QQKOsSZUztuG4-bvMMV2hBvTsLtLTFkKE82JqxrLii80_Lf6PwExQJ5mauUW-0l2D3AosuB6yW1nXAmi85JDPlYSqVAtLHmdMv5403TxgzE8hYMb_Z1RlJXK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF4BnMuPbT0QQagzeRk4L_UNv4PoD73PR8OqEZgbWMIVeeanFqWZ26sXisSvuVv1CHSfM_QQKOsSZUztuG4-bvMMV2hBvTsLtLTFkKE82JqxrLii80_Lf6PwExQJ5mauUW-0l2D3AosuB6yW1nXAmi85JDPlYSqVAtLHmdMv5403TxgzE8hYMb_Z1RlJXK=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="4373" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">I climbed inside the tin jalopy, but Randy snatched the keys from the ignition before I could turn the key.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="b0b5" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“Come on, now,” he said. “Okay, I get it. You’re just not into me anymore.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="8b64" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“ANYMORE?! Dude, I was never into you! I barely remember you!”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="0ff0" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">His face drooped, and he put a hand over his heart.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a79f" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“Uh. That hurt. Well. Anyway. You gotta kiss a lot of frogs.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="24d1" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">That’s when I knew he wasn’t going to kill me. Randy wasn’t a killer; he was just pathetic.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="3240" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">We drove back to Park City in silence. I stared out the window into passing cars, wondering if I had been in any actual danger. Perhaps I overreacted. I almost felt bad for Randy. But I shoved open my door the second he rolled into Park City. Before I could make my getaway, he thrust the script into my hands again, his eyes wide and pleading.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="19e4" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">“It’s gonna be a blockbuster. Think&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Titanic.</em>&nbsp;There’s a shipwreck now! Do you know Leo?!”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="f9a8" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">I tossed the script in the nearest trash can.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="1684" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">I returned home to thirty — yes, thirty — Randy voicemails on my phone. “Had I read it? What did I think? Is the sinking Mars ship too much? He was open to notes.” I blocked his number and alerted all my friends in case he ever showed up in L.A.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="46e9" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Years later, I Googled him, and oh boy, turns out I really did dodge a bullet. Randy had moved. To prison. For kidnapping, assault, and battery. Apparently, I wasn’t the only woman he’d tricked into his creepy cabin. I’m certain the only reason he let me go was the possibility of getting his Magnum opus produced.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="2d94" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Oh, and by the way? He’s still writing. Now it’s a Wattpad novel called&nbsp;<em class="mp" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Yo Preach: The True Story of Two Inmates Who Found Heaven in The Milky Way</em>&nbsp;— because of course it is.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph lr ls fu lt b lu lv lw lx ly lz ma mb mc md me mf mg mh mi mj mk ml mm mn mo fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="2d94" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;">Rhonda Talbot weighs in on sexual predators, relationships, college sex, co-ed, film business, Sundance, weird surfer turned hermit dudes, and what was I thinking.</p></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2024/09/how-i-almost-became-true-crime-podcast.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggEIdIMdS6q0Dkg1Khm9yMHxGC1Rzwv7YwSU3ILnRIbtowoecX_6kn9Qm-V9Mga8qAluDi0cHVJwoJpAo5fgLOekvZhUK-xkyTund8rl-pigem9VxSthQ9qCOW_W7JoMqyQV-73IiWhB7SIi2wrJ5xokbYP3oJR2ZTAvjP9JRLQ_IRAdcKX-KwMr3B0c8m=s72-w640-h346-c" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-3355796289724956419</guid><pubDate>Thu, 12 Sep 2024 19:18:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2024-09-12T12:18:30.545-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">authenticity</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">college</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">confidence</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fake friends</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">family</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">high stakes</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Hollywood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">life</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">money</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">movies</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">phoniness</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">poker</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">poker face</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">risk</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">trust instincts</category><title></title><description><p><br /></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="80ea" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; word-break: break-word;"><span class="mi fz" style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;">How Poker Taught Me to Bluff My Way Through Life</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="990e" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvpdq-63PFPJ-WD4tGpeeObS5RP5hH_aZgL6Yai54VbEcZEJ9Arcz91h75AcNJc1rWTA3p7-rt5usJYPQv_aT1xmkFcMBSpw7cCVM_Bd6NgauiADSG0apgROjEQRu_ibCbZxtFcVZEKnXZO_SkCZCmqenR44Y1llOi0pVLfbTMyZJTj_gQ0aV-m-Ln4wYl" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvpdq-63PFPJ-WD4tGpeeObS5RP5hH_aZgL6Yai54VbEcZEJ9Arcz91h75AcNJc1rWTA3p7-rt5usJYPQv_aT1xmkFcMBSpw7cCVM_Bd6NgauiADSG0apgROjEQRu_ibCbZxtFcVZEKnXZO_SkCZCmqenR44Y1llOi0pVLfbTMyZJTj_gQ0aV-m-Ln4wYl" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="990e" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">1: The Hustle</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="c334" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">I didn’t grow up with a lot, which is a polite way of saying we were dirt poor. Not the wholesome “we grew corn and had backyard goats” poor, but the type where dinner often involved a can opener and a lot of hope. My mom, a single parent of five, had a way of turning powdered milk and roasted buckwheat into a culinary masterpiece. Our apartment, one of many still standing in burnt-out Detroit, was a cheap place that echoed a nighttime symphony of police sirens and drunken arguments outside the window.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5af9" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">So, when I got a full scholarship to an out-of-state school, it was like winning the lottery. I packed in one afternoon and arrived in San Diego the next. But this ticket was not the Powerball, mind you, just one of those scratch-off tickets that excite you for a moment before you realize you’ve only won five bucks. Sure, it covered tuition and books, but not the other necessities like food, rent, or the luxury toilet paper I insisted on having. I needed money, and I needed it fast.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a008" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">That’s how I found myself in a dimly lit poker room one Friday night. The place stunk like cheap cologne, masking highly offensive body odor. The players were mostly older men with pock-marked faces. They wore shabby tracksuits and penny loafers with names like Broadstreet, TwoBit Bill, Foxtrot, and Gumby. They looked like they belonged in a Scorsese film, not a sunny college town.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="9031" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">At first, I just dealt cards. The pay wasn’t great, but the tips were decent. I liked math, was quick in pitching cards, and understood the financial aspects of the game. But as I sat perched, night after night, watching the players’ every move, I realized something: I could read them. Every twitch, hesitation, and throat gack were all tells. Despite their gruff exteriors and blustery talk, these men were predictable.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="b0a9" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">2: The Bluff</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="530d" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">After watching Broadstreet bully his way to a win with another pair of twos, I decided to take a chance. I casually mentioned that I’d like to play a couple of hands. They laughed, of course. The idea of a young, naive girl playing against them was hilarious. But they let me in, more out of curiosity than anything else.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="f773" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;"><span style="background-color: white;">My first hand was a disaster. I was nervous and shaky, but I kept my poker face intact. I folded a set of fours — the winning hand. I had left the bravado I felt in the dealer's chair. Sitting among these gangsters face-to-face was another story. But what I learned from that hand would serve me a lifetime. </span><span style="background-color: #fcff01;">Trust my instincts and fuck fear.</span></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="97b2" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">By the third hand, I was in control. I didn’t have to rely on my cards; I relied on their reactions. I watched their eyes and hands and how they shifted in their seats. I created a set of fake tells, learned when to bluff, and never spoke. I tipped the dealer generously.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="8081" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">The men found it amusing at first — beginner’s luck. But as the weeks passed and I continued to win, their amusement turned into annoyance. They called me “Dumb Blonde” and “Honey Buns.” I ignored them and never showed them my cards. Gumby asked for his money back.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="3b87" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">TwoBit Bill decided I was a plant bankrolled by some bigshot called Fat Al. They refused to believe I could outplay them. Yet every sneer, snort, and hurled insult gave me precisely what I needed to win.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="07fe" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">3: High Stakes</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="9057" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">It wasn’t long before they switched up to higher-stakes games. They tightened their plays but were served free beer. They got lazy, made dumb mistakes, lost more, and started calling me “Toots.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="131b" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">I was making more money in a single night than most professors made in a month. It was surreal, but I kept my head down and stayed focused. I wasn’t in it for the thrill — I was in it for survival.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="1570" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">But the more I won, the angrier the men became. Gumby started throwing his losing hands at me. Foxtrot told me he knew where I lived and said, “You’re not sexy, but you're worth raping.” It was time to leave this joint.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="b762" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">4: The Breakthrough</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="5ddb" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">One evening, while studying in the library, Professor Daniels from the film department approached me. I had taken one of his classes out of curiosity, and it was an easy A for watching&nbsp;<em class="nd" style="box-sizing: inherit;">Casablanca.</em>&nbsp;Daniels considered himself a “hip” teacher and wore ripped jeans to prove it. He’d heard about my cardroom shenanigans.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="79e7" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">He asked me to meet him in his office after class. When I arrived, he got straight to the point.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="823b" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">“I want to write a screenplay about you,” he said.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="1457" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;"><em class="nd" style="box-sizing: inherit;">A screenplay? About me? What for? How stupid.</em></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="50ff" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">“Why?”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="4121" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">“Your story,” he said, leaning toward me, “is something people need to see. An impoverished girl who defied the odds, outsmarted men who thought they had the game figured out — it’s inspiring.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="078d" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">“You’re joking, right?”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="6c99" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">“No. And you’ll earn school credit without going to class.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="fd6c" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">We spent the next few months working on the script. I told him everything — the highs, the lows, the moments of doubt, and the thrill of winning. He turned my experiences into what he thought was a gripping tale, one that captured the essence of what I had gone through. He added a romance with some buffoon sailor that stopped in asking for directions, which led to a chase scene involving Fat Al and a suitcase filled with stolen cash. I kid you not. Ridiculous.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="adfd" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">After completing the screenplay, I felt relieved and set my sights on finding a new job.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="b082" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">A week later, Professor Daniels told me it had sold! A production company owned by a well-known movie star bought the script. She wanted to play me. I was flattered, but she had to be 30 years older. That’s Hollywood, I guess. They paid $125,000 for the rights and put the project on “fast track.”</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="d9c7" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">5: A New Beginning</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="99e3" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">By graduation, I had more money in my bank account than I had ever dreamed. And that is where it would stay. The lame poker movie went into “turnaround,” thank goodness.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="1e1f" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">With Professor Daniels ‘ connections, I landed a sweet-paying job at a film company. I enjoyed reading scripts but didn’t care for Hollywood’s glitz and glamour. These folks tended to be showy and unbearable in their need to feel important. They had the same desperation as the poker players, only in more expensive suits. I laughed at their tired jokes and dodged their advances.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="c6a7" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">I wasn’t interested in fake friendships, fancy parties, or status symbols. I&nbsp; focused on what mattered — building a career and making some bank.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a1ca" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">The first thing I did was buy my mom a tiny cottage outside of Seattle. It wasn’t much, but it was hers, and she didn’t have to eat buckwheat anymore. I checked in on my siblings, too, whatever they needed.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="bbe4" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">As the years passed, I had children of my own. I taught them the lessons I had learned the hard way: use your wits, save your money, don’t buy things you don’t need, and never let others intimidate you into thinking otherwise. But most importantly, I taught them to stay true to their authentic selves, no matter how high the stakes.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a743" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">Life had dealt me a tough hand, but I had learned how to play it. And in the end, I came out okay — not because of luck, but because I dared to bluff my way through, to take risks, and to believe in myself when no one else did.</p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a743" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;"><br /></p><p class="pw-post-body-paragraph mg mh fy mi b gw mj mk ml gz mm mn mo mp mq mr ms mt mu mv mw mx my mz na nb fn bk" data-selectable-paragraph="" id="a743" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #242424; font-family: source-serif-pro, Georgia, Cambria, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 32px; margin: 2.14em 0px -0.46em; text-align: start; word-break: break-word;">Rhonda Talbot weighs in on the importance of playing your cards right, facing down intimidation, bluffing, self-confidence, faking it, poker, Hollywood, bullshit, and life.</p></div></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2024/09/how-poker-taught-me-to-bluff-my-way.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvpdq-63PFPJ-WD4tGpeeObS5RP5hH_aZgL6Yai54VbEcZEJ9Arcz91h75AcNJc1rWTA3p7-rt5usJYPQv_aT1xmkFcMBSpw7cCVM_Bd6NgauiADSG0apgROjEQRu_ibCbZxtFcVZEKnXZO_SkCZCmqenR44Y1llOi0pVLfbTMyZJTj_gQ0aV-m-Ln4wYl=s72-c" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-4268678688622818981</guid><pubDate>Thu, 18 May 2023 04:44:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-11-06T13:13:02.131-08:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">ageism</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">beauty</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Capitalism</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">college</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">cultural consumption</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">daughters</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">depression</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">humor</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">McDonalds</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">mother/daughter</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">nature healing</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">patriarchy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">poker</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">self-esteem</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">self-worth</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sheriffs</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Sports Illustrated</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Starbucks</category><title>I'm Back To The Future So Just Kill Me</title><description><p>Before I launch into my “Hey, cop, take my life, please” story,&nbsp; here is why I disappeared.&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFm2-hAfGXMovMBDoQzYuYx_l7lXAuDNS0B7H9B4LphXqLWNO1S0bgEeSKpmWMFTFRG0h7CcJ4tA6i5s4q39iAw1ws5Lpna3KASEwhtt4XOheQ6GWmY_5tB9zTf-Ap0zjQ6wNhHASBwz7Qi8XTjItKJxnnxvH91IY31JUtntWiaXwBEQZQD6X6UT9xyQ/s1706/72AD0C21-2FCC-4565-B7BC-D9DB53EA3DFB.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1706" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFm2-hAfGXMovMBDoQzYuYx_l7lXAuDNS0B7H9B4LphXqLWNO1S0bgEeSKpmWMFTFRG0h7CcJ4tA6i5s4q39iAw1ws5Lpna3KASEwhtt4XOheQ6GWmY_5tB9zTf-Ap0zjQ6wNhHASBwz7Qi8XTjItKJxnnxvH91IY31JUtntWiaXwBEQZQD6X6UT9xyQ/s320/72AD0C21-2FCC-4565-B7BC-D9DB53EA3DFB.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br />&nbsp;<p></p><p>I stepped away from Trifecta to focus on a book I vowed to write/finish as soon as my two daughters entered the airport security line and off to college. I dropped into the cesspool, swam up two years later, and now have a very long first draft. The point is that I fulfilled a promise to myself. Moving forward, scythe in hand.</p><p><br /></p><p>///</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>A few days ago, at Starbucks, fueling up on my oat milk latte, two Los Angeles sheriffs entered, weighed down by 35 lbs. of equipment, and I often wonder how they can run. Walking looks arduous.&nbsp;</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFDeA5rDOK5IU9QiHAjkQK6UtsPhkKmjFcPdXZyIWa5yE7x83gYWWSxXD9_ka-K4nN467B0Bdfi16b-ArgIw33R0Sbh3_Y4V1BGzMJWXm41_Q4EKem7q9lXPx0oRn2JEB3dn2X87CKQJ2xGybxTvWNlEQU4h2E4nu1v1d4U3Xeu3wrO6tqiUrzXKDMEA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="336" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFDeA5rDOK5IU9QiHAjkQK6UtsPhkKmjFcPdXZyIWa5yE7x83gYWWSxXD9_ka-K4nN467B0Bdfi16b-ArgIw33R0Sbh3_Y4V1BGzMJWXm41_Q4EKem7q9lXPx0oRn2JEB3dn2X87CKQJ2xGybxTvWNlEQU4h2E4nu1v1d4U3Xeu3wrO6tqiUrzXKDMEA" width="192" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>They stagger, really, with hands rested on the rugged duty belt attached to protective body armor holstering their Glock firearm, ammunition band, baton, handcuffs, flashlight, OC spray, shotgun cartridge case, key ring, binoculars, two or three cameras, hobble restraints, and radios.&nbsp; &nbsp;</p><p>They also make noise, all the jingles, and jangles, chaffing and clomping. These two had perfect posture. I wondered how often they visited chiropractors.</p><p>We exchanged glances and smiled in that perfunctory way. As they waited for their latte orders,&nbsp;</p><p>I was drinking mine and blurted, “Could one of you shoot me if I ask nicely? Like If I requested in a calm, polite manner. Just shoot me dead. In the head. Maybe a bullet a piece. I can’t think of a better and more effective suicide attempt.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“You heard me. I’m just so tired of everything. Too tired to figure out a quick and better way to accomplish this task.”<br /></p><p>They exchanged looks and sized me up. And I must admit, I looked pretty good. I had no actual destination when I left the house that morning, so I had given thought to my outfit rather than wearing my usual pajamas and slip-on shoes. One never knows whom one might run into. I’d recently purchased a V-neck pullover and layered it over a crisp black halter, paired with crème slouchy pants for that LA casual chic look.</p><p><br /></p><p>&nbsp;</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMWGhhjNSvNWcp-SM8gVB5n4GBhWxltHHo5kncK9qtqdCfOO2qZ3uGJqZiUSGPP_DbXbD6xn68ebbp1weUPbKGU75deEL5LT-iBmdvcDTBSZeXD9_N-dx3NNdfgpBTw725vZJTciZN7bCL1DYrPXEaD8MMdnDSeE96QgxX-cl9fFiEHuA20P8bSyMRGQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="236" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMWGhhjNSvNWcp-SM8gVB5n4GBhWxltHHo5kncK9qtqdCfOO2qZ3uGJqZiUSGPP_DbXbD6xn68ebbp1weUPbKGU75deEL5LT-iBmdvcDTBSZeXD9_N-dx3NNdfgpBTw725vZJTciZN7bCL1DYrPXEaD8MMdnDSeE96QgxX-cl9fFiEHuA20P8bSyMRGQ" width="177" /></a></div><p></p><p>Someone must have taken my pic just before I walked in. ^ ^ ^&nbsp; Why not?</p><p>“So, what’s the verdict? Can we do this?”</p><p>“Ma, am. No. Is there someone we can call? Do you have a family? Should you need a hospital?”</p><p>“Oh, God, no. Not the hospital. They’ll put me in restraints, drug me, and I’ll probably get an infection, like sepsis. No one will care, and I’ll die a slow, horrible death. This is exactly what I want to avoid. I’ve never been in that situation, but I watch plenty of movies, and sepsis is on the rise, especially in hospitals. So, no thanks on that.”</p><p>“We need to know you’re going to be okay. It’s our duty.”</p><p>“Plus, you’re on duty.” I laughed. No one else did. “Come on. That was funny.”</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>These two needed a sense of humor and were bereft of how to proceed. Their lattes sat on the counter, fizzing and foaming, but I guess it would be weird to grab their drinks while talking to a well-dressed, possibly crazy lady with a death wish.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>“Guys, look. I’m just having a bad day. I’ve seen the suicide by cop thing and then wondered if I could not do anything criminal because I’d hate for that to get back to my kids and just have you shoot me. I know it sounds ridiculous. But why not ask? Also, I don’t really want to die. I’m just tired. Also, angry. Tangry. I’m fine. Anyway, have a great day.”</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>I left and checked to ensure they wouldn’t follow me out and jot down my license plate. They didn’t.</p><p><br /></p><p>I might as well be in hell on days when my mood dips below the self-help level. My brain is on fire, and my flesh melts. But I soldier on and get out of bed. After the morning coffee, and a quick meditation aimed to cover my beloved children in good health, safety, light, and love, I’m ready to face whatever awaits.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgshuPV2XGI_9c8UJT2WzJFR7GMP2mKkE2ketJmwbhetKvhX9ueskH8Gj58fe6GLOWJSew72i9xKNZnhPil0NqYbZ11eUX-_60BVnkVqyOThq18uhAf-rEfBsmSn0mYRbkJbsM4J_Lz17b1TBqqV2L08urxNAIV1I35S_xt4SthrulojeI2qqSIwn75tQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="320" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgshuPV2XGI_9c8UJT2WzJFR7GMP2mKkE2ketJmwbhetKvhX9ueskH8Gj58fe6GLOWJSew72i9xKNZnhPil0NqYbZ11eUX-_60BVnkVqyOThq18uhAf-rEfBsmSn0mYRbkJbsM4J_Lz17b1TBqqV2L08urxNAIV1I35S_xt4SthrulojeI2qqSIwn75tQ" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Yet, moods are tricky beasts, and I’ve learned to manage them well over the years. But some days, all my best tricks don’t work—for example, the go-to gratitude list. Phoning a friend who will remind me that blessings surround me, but honestly, this holds no water when you’re in the below-the-hell line low.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>Then like a bull suffering from a protracted death, weakened and tormented by spiked lances, I read the newspaper, and here the matador enters to administer the swift, clean kill by driving his sword into the neck to sever the spinal cord. To great applause, I might add.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8nVoYBWR0kbW1YRy6Fl2hNAXkc61_YO7BWLnGCPjj983vYcufJq0ZmgJWNOrU6RyIRIgF_qHf4K91PSbVJSbGHVH5UjBHlZ5IWn_JakZ_10Axwz3TzJ0dEx9vsXEbIL87vxuAG-hNOCgR6LLU44SN4Pp9qnUKfJv63y5aw1NnlAPG8dnz6HNcAd6d2Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8nVoYBWR0kbW1YRy6Fl2hNAXkc61_YO7BWLnGCPjj983vYcufJq0ZmgJWNOrU6RyIRIgF_qHf4K91PSbVJSbGHVH5UjBHlZ5IWn_JakZ_10Axwz3TzJ0dEx9vsXEbIL87vxuAG-hNOCgR6LLU44SN4Pp9qnUKfJv63y5aw1NnlAPG8dnz6HNcAd6d2Q" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>But most matadors miss and stab repeatedly until the bull falls. A despicable social pass time, but the comparison is accurate. Destabilized, staggering, then the final blow sent me out the door and onto Starbucks.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>We can all agree that the daily news can send anyone into a deep depression, but the report that sent me hurling into the fire tornado was not even news. It was an 81-year-old ex-con gracing the cover of Swimsuit Illustrated. “My motto has always been when you’re through changing, you're through… blah blah…I hope this cover inspires you to challenge yourself and try new things, regardless of your life stage.” Then something about how the whole “aging” thing is so boring.”&nbsp;</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-J-CgLjbPg-tvmqiCvDTfhnbD-VMOBbwShYNXW7af6-CeW9z_nkp4nj_40ZEUikVNREqmOl8CzZfmTeKh3F7krl5R6B19b7aYGOsCYeSjkynCFcjCxWD5Ul6A-sSLU2cE4HXZ-SaVMrY1fZMltJVUuRyGlkWVuw6lb8sesfgfrYXw0a1OnK1mZLCbXQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-J-CgLjbPg-tvmqiCvDTfhnbD-VMOBbwShYNXW7af6-CeW9z_nkp4nj_40ZEUikVNREqmOl8CzZfmTeKh3F7krl5R6B19b7aYGOsCYeSjkynCFcjCxWD5Ul6A-sSLU2cE4HXZ-SaVMrY1fZMltJVUuRyGlkWVuw6lb8sesfgfrYXw0a1OnK1mZLCbXQ" width="192" /></a></div><p></p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>Okay. In no world does her kittenish, cleavage-releasing, come hither, look at me pose inspire me. What is her message? If you make it to 81, you can be foxy? Is this sexy? Foxy? Is it AI? But also, huh? For heaven's sake, Martha! You can’t be serious!&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhv71hFnP016qlYQJKhgYCFs-bsj1zHjllsWzgZ-f9gcS4FWH2TM03gcHJptZuHIjawVw2BmMS9sTG9YH6FEa7rmH820rRMIOt2gOoMw3BgNcyrSX1b_UD7Ezo8Yh91U_3pxNcwBbyk9vYa0uZUJC28RMw4ZdK8y5RV9Dm3GN9wnNYIk8ZU57l873Z2ug" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1680" data-original-width="1120" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhv71hFnP016qlYQJKhgYCFs-bsj1zHjllsWzgZ-f9gcS4FWH2TM03gcHJptZuHIjawVw2BmMS9sTG9YH6FEa7rmH820rRMIOt2gOoMw3BgNcyrSX1b_UD7Ezo8Yh91U_3pxNcwBbyk9vYa0uZUJC28RMw4ZdK8y5RV9Dm3GN9wnNYIk8ZU57l873Z2ug" width="160" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Unreasonable beauty standards, youth, and hyper-sexualized ideals are hammered onto women before they are old enough to pay for their swimsuits.&nbsp; I thought we were making some headway. What the hell is the meaning of this? Why are you promoting equating a woman's worth with her physical beauty and degrading her for aging? 50 was never the new 30, and 80 is not the new, well, what, 78?&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p>If you get to be 100 years old, this resets the entire situation, and you're the new 20 all over again.</p><p>BUT WHY?!</p><p>How about: “You’re lucky to be alive!” Also, who wants to go back there?</p><p>When I was a freshman in college, I had a very high opinion of myself, all 130 lbs., but as I looked around campus at tight-bodied, athletic, energetic Amazons playing volleyball, racquetball, tennis, and steering tall ships, I immediately stopped eating. Well, for a week. I like food. Maybe I don’t care. I was not raised with this constant emphasis on physical beauty—quite the opposite. My mother drilled into me one idea, the only exercise that will ever serve me well must be one that will tune my brain. So that is all I cared about.</p><p>Of course, good eating habits plus McDonald's, plus jazzercise. But I’d examine these girls because they were another species to me.&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnRjj9_sKqF0bnRVBD3uWUVvpv0dmOgvcqbhNaMmuPulnjZLs_jDnf37ObIGws_WWP_Ac53FgkwRzS0oZ0zzWR4ZcFOyA963qdQmiZmIoNzf0-5GNqZvFxJ91g_9dA9qJQ5hA5JNXsZNkLnJs0imMKpEpqUS1LQ3UggQxp_CNSyybfxZK57ReBUnqlOg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="398" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnRjj9_sKqF0bnRVBD3uWUVvpv0dmOgvcqbhNaMmuPulnjZLs_jDnf37ObIGws_WWP_Ac53FgkwRzS0oZ0zzWR4ZcFOyA963qdQmiZmIoNzf0-5GNqZvFxJ91g_9dA9qJQ5hA5JNXsZNkLnJs0imMKpEpqUS1LQ3UggQxp_CNSyybfxZK57ReBUnqlOg" width="192" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I’d never look like them. Nonetheless, that damaging message crept into my head, “no man will ever want a woman he can’t carry with one arm.” I might have made that up, but you get the idea. So, I’d sit in school, surpass my peers in every class, always be the first to hand in my exam, then daydream the same dream.&nbsp;</p><p><span style="background-color: #fcff01;">I’m over 60, and this perfect body nonsense is finally behind me. I’m lounging on my veranda, eating a box of donuts, and admiring the endless horizon, nary a concern.&nbsp;</span></p><p>Well, here we are. I don’t eat donuts. I don’t lounge on my veranda because I don’t have one or a horizon to admire. I continue to exercise and eat healthy, but to stay alive.</p><p>With all of this on my mind, I get behind the wheel of my car. Depressed, sad, and anxious for my daughters (who don’t care about any of this). But daughters in the global sense.</p><p>By the time I reach Starbucks, I’m muttering, “Why doesn’t Martha invest in solving poverty, healthcare, or global warming? Why doesn’t she put on that silky swimsuit and collect trash in Santa Monica? She’d not only be “reinventing herself” she could still sell those ugly bathing suits. Why isn’t Martha putting her $400M to better use? A higher purpose.</p><p>But then I remembered who she was. A one-time model who sold Tareyton cigarettes on TV while majoring in art history. (Okay, I had to look that up. Beyond the folding napkins and wedding magazines, I had no idea who she was. I also have nothing against models. Maybe Martha was a disgruntled model with an ax to grind. Her career was short-lived; the competition was stiff. Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton, Cybill Shephard, Patti “Layla” Boyd.)&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmbHwrE5DncL-e30-ATOYt5kFQqLiD72Lq-U7IAmdr7EJg9DwBNjnmx9kn2vCzbZg-YoIZxAW6JSrl2YuTbmp64TbnRZH7Pgsum9RKzUEKJbXstaBDCxxako5ilMmkMYg50ByBdIdYZaxcpYySAn_XgCsVY2hfH6Qh2FzvYp8qBvB4LJeDhFbr6hwRCg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1333" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmbHwrE5DncL-e30-ATOYt5kFQqLiD72Lq-U7IAmdr7EJg9DwBNjnmx9kn2vCzbZg-YoIZxAW6JSrl2YuTbmp64TbnRZH7Pgsum9RKzUEKJbXstaBDCxxako5ilMmkMYg50ByBdIdYZaxcpYySAn_XgCsVY2hfH6Qh2FzvYp8qBvB4LJeDhFbr6hwRCg" width="160" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>She always enjoyed the farm life.&nbsp; Good for her. ^ ^ ^ Again, the competition had to be rough. Not to mention a grueling business and not for everyone.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhozFvqVdiq5eucETl5G0xV_ac8jWbaBQu6fVBbDfWl8oi1L9UwjcuPdLofUT28_cWW_7FCTeagHi-bufHMKNRJYh92dVLxX7Qa1aVY6OCaRyd3TGWSHBNGU4ga_Vt_6jBrotvYtZBNo7Gw5FZtka8mFywnfrk27bV8WZZc49_zR5b9HA4S4oyZjGQwGg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhozFvqVdiq5eucETl5G0xV_ac8jWbaBQu6fVBbDfWl8oi1L9UwjcuPdLofUT28_cWW_7FCTeagHi-bufHMKNRJYh92dVLxX7Qa1aVY6OCaRyd3TGWSHBNGU4ga_Vt_6jBrotvYtZBNo7Gw5FZtka8mFywnfrk27bV8WZZc49_zR5b9HA4S4oyZjGQwGg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>After these shenanigans, she announced she needed to put her art history degree to work and became a stockbroker at her husband's firm, restored an old farmhouse to what would become her TV show, sold books, more books, then divorced that guy so she can become the “definitive woman of our time,” whatever the hell that means. Her actions suggest decorating, cooking, hosting cocktail parties, and basically being a housewife. Then sell, sell, sell.&nbsp;</p><p>Then securities fraud and obstructing justice. Martha is an ex-con who defrauded the government and sold housewares. <span style="background-color: #fcff01;">And this has come full circle.</span> She’s a model again and now sells bathing suits. Yet, how can you not admire her? I only glanced at her resume, but this lady has accomplished a lot and became a billionaire with an art history degree!!&nbsp; Who cares that she cheated the government? Men do it every day and don’t go to prison. I guess I have no opinion about her as a human. It’s all the other stuff—obscene wealth used in the most meaningless ways.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>Apparently, back in the day, everyone put themselves through college, modeling on the side. Like that is so easy. I needed money, too. Modeling didn’t even occur to me, so I dealt five-stud poker at seedy card clubs, learned to play, and <a href="https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2013/09/my-semester-with-robert-deniro-er-sam.html">made a lot more money.</a> Older gambling men do not expect a teenage girl to bluff and rake in their dough. Some nights I made three/four grand. I had a house on the beach—a British sports car. But I moved because beach life seemed beneath me. I was a serious student. So, I got a house near campus and was a TA—kept the roadster.</p><p>I was muttering all this, shaking my head, and adding, “Just kill me already. I don’t belong on this planet. Ugh. Yeah, Yeah. Suicide is not an option as a parent. But thinking about it privately at Starbucks is fine.” Well, it seems my thinking has become noisy lately, with words tumbling out of my mouth like rockfall. I walked into Starbucks, now furious at Martha—then, oh, hello, policeman.&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>After my interaction with the cops, I felt 20 pounds lighter. I time traveled and rescued my college self, who had become a regular at Jenny Craigs, despite weighing 90 lbs. (They should have been sued) and promised we’d get that prairie vista, with the veranda, maybe a swing, and some willow trees, but only after the girls graduate. No one majors in art history, so anyone’s chances of hitting the 1% remain low. But I’m fairly certain we’ll be able to afford the occasional Starbucks.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhy3Bltm9UAETvpX7lLFv9k5V55h_OuYgd3AWz9dQqrIc_lalV8_u34X8I75_cfREgndMm2SuTVGB6g3bfitaZL7vUIWVF1or-PHnWfXiHDHngWow3ZXwln7iG0hlS0QTdaGeFLeYN1Xts0K6vTGroL0h-In_hN1Uuvkzmd1EgAEHXXp4t6gK4u5zOzQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="700" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhy3Bltm9UAETvpX7lLFv9k5V55h_OuYgd3AWz9dQqrIc_lalV8_u34X8I75_cfREgndMm2SuTVGB6g3bfitaZL7vUIWVF1or-PHnWfXiHDHngWow3ZXwln7iG0hlS0QTdaGeFLeYN1Xts0K6vTGroL0h-In_hN1Uuvkzmd1EgAEHXXp4t6gK4u5zOzQ" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>&nbsp;Capitalism and the patriarchy define beauty for cultural consumption--a multi-billion dollar business.</p><p>Rhonda Talbot weighing in on college, daughters, body image,&nbsp; depression, anxiety, running with the bulls, Martha Stewart, beauty standards, sexual idealization, capitalism, patriarchy, ageism, self-worth, Swim Suit Illustrated, Starbucks, McDonald's, L.A. Sheriffs, humor, nature is healing.</p><p>&nbsp;</p><div><br /></div></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2023/05/im-back-to-future-so-just-kill-me_17.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFm2-hAfGXMovMBDoQzYuYx_l7lXAuDNS0B7H9B4LphXqLWNO1S0bgEeSKpmWMFTFRG0h7CcJ4tA6i5s4q39iAw1ws5Lpna3KASEwhtt4XOheQ6GWmY_5tB9zTf-Ap0zjQ6wNhHASBwz7Qi8XTjItKJxnnxvH91IY31JUtntWiaXwBEQZQD6X6UT9xyQ/s72-c/72AD0C21-2FCC-4565-B7BC-D9DB53EA3DFB.JPG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-7307293847228129403</guid><pubDate>Fri, 16 Jul 2021 20:50:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T14:00:00.582-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Angie Dickinson</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Beverly Hills</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">car accidents</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Car Insurance</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Cash</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Connections</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">family myths</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Nancy Orr</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Road Rage</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Strangers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Talbot's Clothes</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">the kindness of strangers</category><title>I Meet The Best Strangers</title><description><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiic_ZRNwVdQs-KFBYFTPJ8dcfRB9C7woma02xmbbyYkOPbI3ozbUwm8vLRPbhUtbPzS4VEXmdK7nu-5hjdhAr_7n47xIetyvXCT3E_Q4xVYkp4gOM6OicCzKa2QDJTHrVgb53JSq9lzmlu/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="530" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiic_ZRNwVdQs-KFBYFTPJ8dcfRB9C7woma02xmbbyYkOPbI3ozbUwm8vLRPbhUtbPzS4VEXmdK7nu-5hjdhAr_7n47xIetyvXCT3E_Q4xVYkp4gOM6OicCzKa2QDJTHrVgb53JSq9lzmlu/" width="182" /></a></div><br />I must have been an incompetent and possibly maniacal school bus driver in a past life because it's staggering the number of times I get hit by out-of-control cars. Not me, my car. While parked!<p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirZC5Gb8MJ5Bp-xjWWtsbhy6UvQT-SDOAWzhkImnCQ6jAHhLsHrowSHMIqpDDteQ3mJeAvdNymY7y-qfyWsIe6k3yW_6BKTJi8y-N0GT7992ZPMljtgNsuD9MRVufGnMOW_Jc7zMgjoIhB/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="476" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirZC5Gb8MJ5Bp-xjWWtsbhy6UvQT-SDOAWzhkImnCQ6jAHhLsHrowSHMIqpDDteQ3mJeAvdNymY7y-qfyWsIe6k3yW_6BKTJi8y-N0GT7992ZPMljtgNsuD9MRVufGnMOW_Jc7zMgjoIhB/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Every single car I've owned or leased over the past 30 years has taken a brutal sucker punch. At least once. Usually, three times.&nbsp;</p><p>Wonkers Collision, my go-to auto repair place, is practically a 2nd home. I know them on a first-name basis, I know their children, their histories, their favorite Subway sandwiches, their bad romances. The last time I was there I was picking up a different car that had been pummeled by a drunk truck driver; exactly one week before the Covid shutdown, so it only makes sense that as soon as things start opening up, I'm back at Wonkers. In fact, when I called, Vera, the manager and more a less a relation, was not at all surprised.&nbsp;</p><p>"Rhonda! It's about time."</p><p>For the sake of brevity, this particular parked car scenario encompasses all the drama in one post.&nbsp; Story here.&nbsp;<a href="https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2013/07/gisele-bundchen-lady-gaga-lauren-conrad.html">here</a></p><p>Years, ten leases, and fifteen crash mishaps later:</p><p>This time, I had just parked on a side street off La Jolla and 3rd, preparing for a social distance outdoor lunch. Like many, I was quite looking forward to patio dining with a friend, maskless.&nbsp;</p><p>Collecting my bag, keys, and phone and feeling a sense of joy and calm, there is a very loud BANG. At first, I thought it was an earthquake, but then I looked in my rearview and saw a shiny white Mercedes moving alongside my car. It wasn't enough this person rammed into my bumper; they were intent on tearing apart the passenger side of my car.&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><p>"What the fuck!&nbsp; HEY!&nbsp; Stop already!"</p><p>Now doing a fishtail all over the road, the Mercedes finally hits the brakes. My side mirror hits the ground with an infuriating thud.</p><p>I'm reluctant to get out of my car because I have no idea what I'm dealing with. The Mercedes windows are blacked out, and this person is revving the engine. Suddenly I'm in a cheap TV horror movie where the car is the bad guy.&nbsp;</p><p>I reach under my car seat, where I keep a heavy flashlight or smash light. After watching my mother deal with years of road rage, and then experiencing years of my own, a girl, needs protection. I'm getting my Angie Dickenson on. Something my mother taught me as a child. Story <a href="https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2012/04/from-guns-to-archery-sets.html">here.&nbsp;</a></p><p>Just one of the many self-defense techniques my mother taught me.&nbsp;</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhG0Z_to8J7Dw4ufxGIvgCu6BBNbc44dr2vHZc3NYK-S8C6KIKizhSOpitYTaCrNVUjzgcoxxpPRYXzYgpAuC2Fma9LLip0x_Y55R4ZKYOjkzBEY9t_u4M6VozNr6ZGqzEdh091zkiGQmp/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="248" data-original-width="368" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhG0Z_to8J7Dw4ufxGIvgCu6BBNbc44dr2vHZc3NYK-S8C6KIKizhSOpitYTaCrNVUjzgcoxxpPRYXzYgpAuC2Fma9LLip0x_Y55R4ZKYOjkzBEY9t_u4M6VozNr6ZGqzEdh091zkiGQmp/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>This one also comes in handy ^ ^ ^&nbsp;</p><p>Anyhoo, just as I grip the smash light, I see this frail, elderly woman start walking toward me, apologizing, wringing her hands, shaking.&nbsp;</p><p>I get out of my car to help her.&nbsp;</p><p>"I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. Maybe I blacked out. It's probably a scratch. Let me give you some money. I have the tremors."</p><p>This poor woman had to be in her late 70s. Frail but lively, and truly sorry. She kept apologizing. I felt bad.&nbsp;</p><p>"Let's just exchange information and go from there." I was taking pictures and doing my due diligence. At this point in my life, I could be an insurance adjuster. My car had a few bad scrapes and looked like your basic cosmetic fix.</p><p>She was pulling hundred-dollar bills out of her purse.</p><p>"This should do it. I don't want my husband to know. Take as much as you need.&nbsp;Also, he's legally blind."</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHe1ZR2XEwmqz1ABYQ5cTp9vNXjiYHWjuouQTlwLK4EijMfBvs0IKt1hwsLrUU72dZyiC1fNojnKezJszvx9BpsLlewliEXLwRmB71x9s1lxkWGOY8Ws_SMeJrVWjkHOmmm9LWOIQLlbj/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHe1ZR2XEwmqz1ABYQ5cTp9vNXjiYHWjuouQTlwLK4EijMfBvs0IKt1hwsLrUU72dZyiC1fNojnKezJszvx9BpsLlewliEXLwRmB71x9s1lxkWGOY8Ws_SMeJrVWjkHOmmm9LWOIQLlbj/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Her hands shake so much that hundreds are flapping around, falling onto the ground. I know she wanted to get rid of me, but I felt an obligation to her, to her health, her well-being.&nbsp;</p><p>Had it been some young dude, I would've cut a deal, but not before calling my attorney. In exchange for not reporting, I will take many millions and an overall open-ended deal that matches Steven Speilberg's. Alas, those types never hit my car.</p><p>"I don't want money. Are you okay? Can I get you some water?"</p><p>"I'm fine. It's the tremors. I've got the tremors."</p><p>She had a thick New York accent, so it was "I've got the tremas." And she kept repeating this.</p><p>I didn't want to be rude, but who should be driving with hand tremors or any tremors. I knew enough that this was neurological, possibly Parkinson's, unless she was on heavy medication. In both instances, probably not a good idea to operate heavy machinery.&nbsp; But I get it; I mean, with the blind husband, and stacks of medical bills,&nbsp; I'm guessing they don't have a chauffeur.&nbsp;</p><p>She keeps pulling wads of cash out of her huge leather bag, dropping all sorts of items onto the street. I pick up lipstick tubes, pill bottles, piles of receipts, and dental floss.</p><p>"That's not necessary. We can have insurance handle it. Can I give you a ride home?"</p><p>I assess the damage to her front bumper, which is hanging on by a wire.</p><p>"Also I'm pretty sure your husband is going to notice. Blind or not, he'll hear the bumper dragging if you take him on a drive.&nbsp; Then... "How's his hearing?"</p><p>"Not so good."</p><p>My friend is texting me, "Where are you?"</p><p>I text back: "My car was hit. I'm fine, but I feel so bad for the elderly woman. Should I bring her to lunch? She's shaking."</p><p>Then:</p><p>"Are you sure I can't get you a cab? An Uber" I'll drive you home. Do you need a meal?"</p><p>"Thank you for being so nice. Most people would be screaming. I'm from the Bronx, I know. Anyway, I hit your car and just felt awful, but I was avoiding that huge garbage truck coming toward me. It could've been much worse."<br /></p><p>Yeah, okay, my elderly friend not only has the tremas, but she's delusional. First, there was no truck. Second, had I gotten out of the car, she would've dragged my ass to Melrose.</p><p>But I felt so bad, so we left it alone, and off she drove, dragging her bumper.</p><p>At first glance, it did look like a scratch on my car, which I had now owned for a full week as my lease had just expired. The car had 50 miles on it. I digress...</p><p>I met my friend for our lunch, and clearly, she's been isolated too long.&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mZ7aO1qiR-cwrTJbtVDnDnoeNZ4CrPTryEcBZNpr8QUu9ghluYxHcE7-WWFGXYXWod9zhpARvA6gwi8eoc55jQJmKfGSlWTsHX6KRw8r0xeIkSR1aCWvAVBVtHRBeJDEo5zLI7EtdOzK/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="240" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mZ7aO1qiR-cwrTJbtVDnDnoeNZ4CrPTryEcBZNpr8QUu9ghluYxHcE7-WWFGXYXWod9zhpARvA6gwi8eoc55jQJmKfGSlWTsHX6KRw8r0xeIkSR1aCWvAVBVtHRBeJDEo5zLI7EtdOzK/" width="230" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>After a fun lunch and our "the world has gone mad" shared experiences,&nbsp; I head back to my new car. I push the ignition button.</p><p>Every single bell, light, and whistle went off. It was undrivable. Locked down. This new car and all that spiffy technology won't let you drive if it senses there is danger. Which kind of pisses me off. Shouldn't that be up to me?</p><p>Back in the shop... Vera from Wonkers explains this frail woman who was avoiding an invisible truck rammed my car so hard that she cracked the axle, among many other hidden mysteries that lie beneath a car's underbelly. It would cost at least seven grand to fix.&nbsp;</p><p>***THIS is why you don't take money from people who hit you. Just sayin.</p><p>Nonetheless, it was like a reunion, not just with Vera and the gang but with my new friends from the Bronx.</p><p>The friendly Rubins came to the shop. Myra, with her tremors, and Irv, the blind husband. They wanted to be sure I was okay. The Rubins drove up in the Mercedes, the bumper taped together. Irv wore thick glasses, the kind you might kill bugs with under a hot sun. In any case, he seemed fit and alert. He was so grateful I had been kind to his wife. This apparently was not her first rodeo, and she'd been a victim of road rage many times.&nbsp;</p><p>"These people out there, yelling at my wife. I'm certain this is what gave her the tremas." He, too, was for the Bronx.&nbsp;</p><p>In the end, I would become friends with this couple. I heard all about their grandkids, their cruises to Alaska, their initial marriages, their divorces, six between them, and how they had met on Facebook after realizing they went to the same high school. What are the chances? Anyway, now they are basically newlyweds at 75. They invited me over for dinner.</p><p>Irv: You must come. Myra makes the pot roast of all pot roasts. My kids don't like her roast, but hers do. We all live in the same neighborhood. Come. Bring your family. Take my private number.</p><p>I take the number but with no intention of ever eating pot roast. Myra grips my arm.</p><p>Myra: Are you related to the Talbot Clothing Empire?&nbsp;</p><p>She so wanted me to say yes, that I am a descendant of the great Nancy Orr.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxc9bBPcw1jfeUB-abVyZm5-otqcbzBnHPBNM-IjWEtnMFe65AH2y8MVe-1G9MGPZvKaInrbdgtEf6NnNvNJ7uLlhgMC-KHVVL1FgOv-HDoM2DCrzGZCYuQ4lvXgtUclfY0yNMmfsV55l/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="600" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxc9bBPcw1jfeUB-abVyZm5-otqcbzBnHPBNM-IjWEtnMFe65AH2y8MVe-1G9MGPZvKaInrbdgtEf6NnNvNJ7uLlhgMC-KHVVL1FgOv-HDoM2DCrzGZCYuQ4lvXgtUclfY0yNMmfsV55l/" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>I had forgotten about this, the Talbot clothing line question. First, the clothes are hideous, and second, I have been asked this question many times throughout my life; after a while, I would slip into complete fabrications for my own entertainment.&nbsp; But I had not been asked in the last ten years. Usually, I would just say no, not that Talbot. But sometimes, I would say yes. I'm the heir to a great fortune. Nancy Orr Talbot was my grandmother.&nbsp; As kids, we'd go to their summer home in Charlevoix.&nbsp;</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglg7q-B-3z8sTrWk_e7_twVs1-D-Ncs7yTqAtIi9Ia-xZwiGv9lRrSfmSJ0MiGoMWQPudpm8luY1kmbw4zkHJ7jSEe5nHCtMuQ3UUOiYOHQIe3oLMHSgh1GoZoAYiqhWip-VorEIhUuixd/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglg7q-B-3z8sTrWk_e7_twVs1-D-Ncs7yTqAtIi9Ia-xZwiGv9lRrSfmSJ0MiGoMWQPudpm8luY1kmbw4zkHJ7jSEe5nHCtMuQ3UUOiYOHQIe3oLMHSgh1GoZoAYiqhWip-VorEIhUuixd/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>We'd swim, fish, boat, and bake. Nancy was an incredible fashion icon, a business maverick, and an amazing cook. Grandad Rudolph, not so much. Without Nancy's forward-thinking, Rudolph probably would have stayed in the UK's shining shoes.&nbsp;</p><p>Certain people that knew the Talbot history would always ask, "Is it true about the red doors?"</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp8ccmosXw1h9UqS7MbXZKSE_3858aocxpoL7PJp5DGCt4V-_9mWyMMTKLOZUJceppaNYjtvMcsirfBHeyvjXJA1oIt_AhEsQCBh-2EUbXl4NW53bpsQgq7Z8rjrHm8lU2pzLWh2shC0U/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="272" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp8ccmosXw1h9UqS7MbXZKSE_3858aocxpoL7PJp5DGCt4V-_9mWyMMTKLOZUJceppaNYjtvMcsirfBHeyvjXJA1oIt_AhEsQCBh-2EUbXl4NW53bpsQgq7Z8rjrHm8lU2pzLWh2shC0U/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Me: Absolutely. The red front door is a long-standing tradition in our family, including my own. I live in the Trousdale Estates, and we had one of the original red doors flown in from Europe, then used it at the front gate, just before you drive a mile to reach the main house. I'd whip out a picture.&nbsp;</p><p>Me: It's difficult to see, but the door is on the other side of the estate. Which leads to a barn next to the helicopter pad.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC-BkNcF6Q7u5iOUq-3UhGqDYxaPEFovWeafnDtoBxzzoTZubJ_Gvn4xbsO-v2BUu6bP7IJIQvKC1qA-gQ4ABlmvLrudxvdjipRk5IdoTkq3GAHTv9V3zdrMBqeB8iJ-tzAO1P6gnSUc6/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1136" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC-BkNcF6Q7u5iOUq-3UhGqDYxaPEFovWeafnDtoBxzzoTZubJ_Gvn4xbsO-v2BUu6bP7IJIQvKC1qA-gQ4ABlmvLrudxvdjipRk5IdoTkq3GAHTv9V3zdrMBqeB8iJ-tzAO1P6gnSUc6/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>But I saved my fables for a certain kind of superficial person that wants to know your <strike>status (</strike>worth) in life. The more detail I provided, the more ingratiated they would become. This avaricious moron inevitably would then say: "Oh, we must get together. Let's exchange numbers. I'll have you over for tea."</p><p>Why do these certain people think "tea" sounds more upper crust than "coffee or water?"</p><p>Meanwhile, I've known them for ten minutes. My reply is always the same.</p><p>Me: It's against family policy to invite strangers into our world. We put great emphasis on our privacy. (I pronounce this priv-a-see.)</p><p>The greedy interloper would always respond: "I know what you mean. But take my number. I'm discreet."</p><p>I mean EEWW.</p><p>But the Rubins were lovely people, so I told her Talbot was a common name.&nbsp;</p><p>Irv: "But there is nothing common about you."Then he winked.&nbsp;</p><p>I mean, how can you not love this couple?</p><p>Irv took my hands into his and teared up. "Thank you again for being nice to my bride. She has not had an easy life."</p><p>With that, the ordeal was over.&nbsp;</p><p>I sometimes wonder about them, hopefully not driving anymore, and hopefully now with an Uber account.</p><p>I also wonder who designs Talbot clothing. For the record, I may or may not be related, I will never give anyone a straight answer, but I will admit I have nothing to do with the clothing designs.&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtEJY_XJ_skU9HLIfUNEVILD_Q2LMGSxY79WO-te9vfu871kJGgMIrePGINSQfjJUmmTZBi69QkQyVT58zJjndUAZzh8l73ucyE3wlvmSmNFIWAuP_UtbPayq4Hm4BBs9vqRhZRykMsXd/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="580" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtEJY_XJ_skU9HLIfUNEVILD_Q2LMGSxY79WO-te9vfu871kJGgMIrePGINSQfjJUmmTZBi69QkQyVT58zJjndUAZzh8l73ucyE3wlvmSmNFIWAuP_UtbPayq4Hm4BBs9vqRhZRykMsXd/" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>The moral of this entire story is don't park on La Jolla and 3rd.&nbsp;</p><p><br /></p><p>Rhonda Talbot weighing in on car crashes, hit-and-runs, kindness, families, grandparents, pausing, road rage, Talbots Clothing, strangers, authenticity, superficiality, Nancy Orr, business maverick, red doors, fashion, Charlevoix, and ugly sweaters.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2021/07/i-meet-best-strangers.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiic_ZRNwVdQs-KFBYFTPJ8dcfRB9C7woma02xmbbyYkOPbI3ozbUwm8vLRPbhUtbPzS4VEXmdK7nu-5hjdhAr_7n47xIetyvXCT3E_Q4xVYkp4gOM6OicCzKa2QDJTHrVgb53JSq9lzmlu/s72-c" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-2555948759431071384</guid><pubDate>Tue, 31 Mar 2020 20:51:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-11-06T13:24:10.231-08:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Alanon</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">B&E</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">childhood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">crime</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">dysfunction</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">humor</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">latent adolescence</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">loss</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">love</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Marin County</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">men</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">obsession</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">parenting</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Relationships</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">self-esteem</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">self-preservation</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenagers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">women</category><title>My Childhood Breaking & Entering Spree Helped Craft My Expert Stalking Skills</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTDrJU-1lKy-Q4EEsAXbnnpzvTUSmlY6upfKw_ZWm1LT6Vf2gIi2EvLBdVmGdvlhxHNKT4TJpIkW0OlgjRJe_FKKUsvA2tTnHvlrmkQrAokVBbiK8ibm7xaxD_7zfH5NWVtrx6Iyty0J_/s1600/tumblr_b8aebf13236964078d3d270acdd7223f_8b5e967b_400.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTDrJU-1lKy-Q4EEsAXbnnpzvTUSmlY6upfKw_ZWm1LT6Vf2gIi2EvLBdVmGdvlhxHNKT4TJpIkW0OlgjRJe_FKKUsvA2tTnHvlrmkQrAokVBbiK8ibm7xaxD_7zfH5NWVtrx6Iyty0J_/s320/tumblr_b8aebf13236964078d3d270acdd7223f_8b5e967b_400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> Lately, I've been listening to many young women (this is called sponsoring in Alanon) as they go on and on about one heartbreak or another. I've been in 12-step programs since I was 18, so I have a good understanding, patience, and time, particularly now, given our present worldly circumstances.<br /> <br /> These young women are primarily struggling to be heard. None of them want actual advice or practical guidance. But I don't mind. There was a time when I did exactly the same thing.<br /> <br /> Like me, most come from broken homes, dysfunctional family dynamics, etc., and the prevalent condition they share, or something they all have in common, is fear of abandonment. I know all about that because I was abandoned emotionally, then physically, then altogether.&nbsp; A special breed of orphan with living parents, but neither seemed to think they had to take care of their children. As a child, I had no real expectations of either my mom or dad, mainly because they told me, "Don't ever get your hopes up about anything," so I didn't, but that didn't stop me from being envious of kids that had parents who had cottages at the lake, bought their kids bright red Mary Jane shoes, or took them to the Dairy Queen for chocolate swirly cones.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicg0CcLEklF4XgajtNThRLi7E8WUmtejKcZpxCY2wFxm6c3nLaFlS8wVKjCeiS269mhcUGL2CwMxPw2rwm0p5i7tSAH5kHNRXYe7Kk_P4CaC6weAjbo8T-L73vrkT8DCPGRQuXPep1GRu2/s1600/giphy.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="480" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicg0CcLEklF4XgajtNThRLi7E8WUmtejKcZpxCY2wFxm6c3nLaFlS8wVKjCeiS269mhcUGL2CwMxPw2rwm0p5i7tSAH5kHNRXYe7Kk_P4CaC6weAjbo8T-L73vrkT8DCPGRQuXPep1GRu2/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I did experience a sense of family to a small degree during my toddler years, but once my young mother had her sixth child, all pretense of family life flew out the window.<br /> <br /> But one learns coping skills, and as a kid, wandering into strangers' houses was quite high on my list. At age five, I started venturing down our tree-lined suburban block, hugging my stuffed bear, a security blanket trailing behind. I'd look at all the houses and was curious about who lived there, were they like us, a family of eight with a strict father who kept a false sense of control with his incessant schedules, chores, charts, and colored graphs. Every day was the same. We were rotation children, all lined up by height wearing our Catholic uniforms, marching off to school, then home for some vacuuming, sweeping, scrubbing, folding laundry, and saying endless Hail Marys. My mother, God bless her, wanted nothing of this lifestyle and stayed lodged in the basement oil painting, writing purple poetry, smoking Virginia Slims, and listening to rock music my father forbade.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaLSm9ehZmsuNnUopwoJJw2hSt6z38Y8LkcysPD5ECbqKzNEd2qbv76SeWkAeC3XlQLcZcJQUjbFSm4WFdXCT5K9s271pCL9WClvQhPZWgP261xREjMOzCeb2NqDU7JylsDSF-4pEYwUD5/s1600/a1386d504dbc7bfac1dd0e36d10b36b5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaLSm9ehZmsuNnUopwoJJw2hSt6z38Y8LkcysPD5ECbqKzNEd2qbv76SeWkAeC3XlQLcZcJQUjbFSm4WFdXCT5K9s271pCL9WClvQhPZWgP261xREjMOzCeb2NqDU7JylsDSF-4pEYwUD5/s320/a1386d504dbc7bfac1dd0e36d10b36b5.jpg" width="232" /></a></div> <br /> In any case, back to my criminal behavior, I'd simply walk in the front door. Front doors were always open back then. I liked one particular home, a two-story brick affair belonging to a young, shiny couple with salon hair and wearing colorful outfits I'd only seen in magazines. So glamorous. They were never home, no doubt visiting people like the Kennedys, and their house smelled clean and lemony.&nbsp; I'd plop down on a fluffy chair and pretend for a while I was an only child, home alone, while my parents worked interesting jobs that required fine minds somewhere off in the big city. They didn't believe in traditional education and allowed me to eat whatever I wanted. Which I did. I ate their Oreos and would often make a ham sandwich.<br /> <br /> This would continue until my parents divorced, and my mother,&nbsp; having zero interest in our neighborhood, dragged us off on her journey, one filled with music, laughter, hippies, and Patchouli incense sticks. So would begin our five-year odyssey of adults-only apartment hopping until my mother decided to move to California (where she was from), and as much as she loved her kids, it was just not feasible to take them along.<br /> <br /> When she decided to drive across the country and make a proper break from Michigan, I was now 14. There was no way in hell I wasn't going to California, so I told her I'd drive half the way, ensure we ate properly, and be an asset in Marin County because I could work. But I digress.<br /> <br /> During the apartment hopping, breaking into people's homes became a regular thing. It was much easier since I could just walk down the hallway. But now, it was out of necessity. Since my mother was never home (work, school, dating, protest marches, sit-ins), I had to feed her younger kids. These apartment folks were never home, so I'd jimmy the door, get inside, and help myself to their food, mainly bagged rice, canned soup, and peanut butter. Basic survival stuff.<br /> <br /> We had no money. Instead, I'd leave thank-you notes in their refrigerators. Looking back, I'm certain these folks knew it was me because sometimes they would save me the trouble and leave prepared meals outside our door.<br /> <br /> A few years later, when my mother managed to score an actual house, my sisters were by now heavy into their drug exploration and hanging out with various hoodlum types, the heroin addicts, the hungry musicians, and the street fighters. These guys broke into places for a living. Like it was their actual job. They would "pull a B&amp;E" and then fence whatever they found.<br /> <br /> I only accompanied them once because a member from the J Giles band was going, and I thought he was cute. He never noticed me; no one did, actually. My sisters were older, taller, prettier, and tougher. They could shoot heroin, chug a six-pack, and shave their legs all before leaving for school.<br /> <br /> The targeted home was a few blocks away. In fact, I knew the house because I sometimes babysat the kids who lived there. By now, I was twelve and earning money on my own. I always ensured my little sisters ate dinner between babysitting and doing various students' homework.<br /> <br /> In any case, the B&amp;E gang knew the family was on vacation, so while loading up stereo equipment, jewelry, and televisions, I was throwing Hamburger Helper and loaves of bread into my bag.<br /> <br /> Okay, so you get the idea.<br /> <br /> I stopped all this business in high school because I was making plenty of money in Marin County, as I said I would, working two jobs while attending school. I was making some great bank between pumping gas and selling area rugs.<br /> <br /> My mother had her own adventure, redoing the adolescence she never had. Somehow, she became a high-end interior decorator, dating all kinds of fancy men: architects, lawyers, and psychiatrists.&nbsp; Her shenanigans were really bothering me, though, drinking Pouilly-Fuisse all day at the yacht club and then dancing to Fiddler on the Roof on 40-foot sailboats into the night.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixwCXpdZnh-m2i-12DN8lO484zu7VNPqWOu8GnqTI5XXCU7YTm44jSkkMFU7jtO2PX_BbTlMgGSkrdPnDXq_SZWsEPQBD9lENvu7CuGJVAkC77P0zmfkDpJxhp5Q1OpQKCQOzB19MGnNQg/s1600/tumblr_nljxpfXCfh1qz7otto2_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixwCXpdZnh-m2i-12DN8lO484zu7VNPqWOu8GnqTI5XXCU7YTm44jSkkMFU7jtO2PX_BbTlMgGSkrdPnDXq_SZWsEPQBD9lENvu7CuGJVAkC77P0zmfkDpJxhp5Q1OpQKCQOzB19MGnNQg/s320/tumblr_nljxpfXCfh1qz7otto2_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> She was just embarrassing as hell, so I got my own place a few miles away. I just loved having my own apartment. You give yourself extra restrictions when you come from a home without rules or supervision. I worked hard, made good grades, and was in college by 17.<br /> <br /> Jumping WAY ahead, I only broke into another house once I was in my early 20s.&nbsp; And here is where the Alanon girls come in. They tell me how they cyber stalk their exes and obsess over what their exes "like," see who they "follow," and where they "comment." They read into emojis like tea leaves, looking for any explanation for why they were dumped.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmNi5K3RThK9WawZAG0zgkK7b64h14h_CZb32QTAOq3pDmb2lvcRpQPV7ATpol7FtEsdweZ03b3-tFvFMp6UuFbw_AhE64oejz58lz41wEJJV1cbdtY6ATJ50LIs7fXyy1-_7j1VQgj_q/s1600/2ba222dfbf4e7fff-iphone-emoticons-tumblr.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="427" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmNi5K3RThK9WawZAG0zgkK7b64h14h_CZb32QTAOq3pDmb2lvcRpQPV7ATpol7FtEsdweZ03b3-tFvFMp6UuFbw_AhE64oejz58lz41wEJJV1cbdtY6ATJ50LIs7fXyy1-_7j1VQgj_q/s320/2ba222dfbf4e7fff-iphone-emoticons-tumblr.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I totally get it. When my ex dumped me, I simply could not believe it. I'd never been dumped before, mainly because he was my first boyfriend.<br /> <br /> Well, I was not having it. I was furious. I needed clues. Why the hell did he dump me? I was the perfect girlfriend. Independent yet attentive, sexually conservative yet nonplussed over his porno addition. And so on.<br /> <br /> First, I just started following him in my car. Where in damnation was he going anyway? What could possibly be more important than spending time with me? I was way above his pay grade, to begin with, completely out of his league. I only agreed to date him so he would stop pestering me, and okay because he was rather handsome. When it came to men, I knew nothing. I worked with many of them, and we got along fine. If they took an interest in me, I rebuffed them gently. I had no interest in a relationship and figured after I had accomplished all the heady things I wanted to do, I could play house with a man and give that a test run.<br /> <br /> But this guy had abruptly entered my life. Because he seemed genuinely sincere about his affection toward me, I opened up to him, basically handed over my deepest secrets, and he shared his hidden bits with me. I'd never done that before. He knew my past and did not judge me. And I knew his. I did not lie to him. In that sense, it was quite his duty to never leave me. He had seen my inside world.<br /> <br /> But alas, I guess it wasn't as interesting as I thought.<br /> <br />I grew bored after a few stakeouts and watching him walk in and out of various restaurants and theaters. I didn't know what he was actually up to. So when he left town, I cracked open his bedroom window, pretending to the neighbors I had lost my key. Once inside, I went to work. I read every one of his 500 journals, went through every drawer, and collected various lipstick tubes (a brand one of his girlfriends had developed, a hideous red that caused severe chapping of the lips). I read all of his mail and listened to his voicemails. It took a good five hours but was not satisfying because I didn't learn much.<br /> <br /> Out of all those journals, the only new information I gleaned was about some girl he was dating and had decided to not sleep with her because he sensed she might have a bear trap in her "love tunnel."&nbsp; This made total sense, given what I knew about his fear of commitment.<br /> <br /> I was NOT that girl, the fool. I gave him so much space he probably thought I didn't care about him. Oh, you're going to Two Bunch Palms alone? Have fun...fuckhead.<br /> <br /> Then I would sit home and visualize him having mud orgies.<br /> <br /> This went on for two years. That is how long my stalking continued. I'd call my best friend, and we'd exchange stalking stories. Annie was more into the "hide behind his palm tree and peak in the window" type of stalking. We'd exchange stories at night and dissect our adventures.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzWmIClXsjfsC9GuGw6p0ej2GjPhW7fdjyd310pZiZWzbCfCBZ8vSTCAtQ_tj8KMRPP1speZvgGKrD2UiR9RHGXFstWHAoUyx4ZMzzzLs1cW9n7lY8EsZAdoNZ2ThmCMaMp_P6eHi7Lqe/s1600/phone_0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="774" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzWmIClXsjfsC9GuGw6p0ej2GjPhW7fdjyd310pZiZWzbCfCBZ8vSTCAtQ_tj8KMRPP1speZvgGKrD2UiR9RHGXFstWHAoUyx4ZMzzzLs1cW9n7lY8EsZAdoNZ2ThmCMaMp_P6eHi7Lqe/s320/phone_0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> I remember the exact moment I was done. I decided to do an "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by, and I happened to get us yogurts." Then, I would provide specifics about what I was doing in that part of town I hated and would never be in. But, as it turns out, my new boyfriend JACK lived just around the corner in the newly refurbished Craftsman, the one with the Harley parked in front of the koi pond.<br /> <br /> After I did all the exhausting explaining, he sheepishly told me he had "company." For fuck sake, the lipstick lady was cooking chicken in his kitchen. He smiled and gently closed the door in my face. I stood there holding two yogurt cups. I lifted his yogurt cup and hurled it against his window.&nbsp; I watched it splat and dribble down the cheap glass. The lipstick lady stared at me, startled, maybe panicked.&nbsp; There was no way to explain my behavior, so I just left.<br /> <br /> I was mildly horrified driving home. He must think I'm psychotic. No wonder he dumped me... and somewhere between Highland Avenue and the 405, as I was mentally beating the shit out of myself, I just stopped. My mind went calm. The months and years I spent stalking, I realized, had nothing to do with him. It was just an easy way to quell my anxiety; the 24/7 stalking merely shifted my mental focus. If I had put half that effort into something productive, I'd have won the Pulitzer in a category that had never existed. I was that special! I swung from facedown in the fishtank scum self-esteem, so you're such a genius we can't even figure out this level of superiority! Over the years, I'd find my middle ground.<br /> <br /> That was the last time I broke into someone's home and the first and last time I obsessed over another human.<br /> <br /> So, when relaying some of my stories to these young women who cyberstalk, I tell them what amateurs they are. If they really want to stalk someone, get off the computer, go to their home, break a fucking window, and do a thorough investigation. Go to their parent's house if need be. Buy some top-of-the-line surveillance equipment. Soon, you'll discover this person has no exciting secrets and is just a regular person with typical, if not pedestrian, imperfections.<br /> <br /> But you! Look how resourceful you are! All these dormant skills! Look at all this time on your hands that could be exploring parts of yourself that actually <b>are</b>&nbsp;exciting. Then I tell them to put their sleuthing abilities to better use. Dig up your inner self. Start journaling. Soon, you'll have 5000 entries, dozens of unique stories, an entire book, and a masterpiece.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9EVFJexBt_KJnKg4x-EjJyf9v4-t0v_LFt-b3AxUT7GhT2g4J9JOo1Q_arqeJCu3aYSq7Ybxpn60zlFiOjA7VYsjsXmo5rBwjF3Khyphenhyphenio-Jy5ZKwTwvnGAuLhO_Z_C8CBduPwb7mlVey8/s1600/fc7c8de621f827f8ce5689a8facf867e.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9EVFJexBt_KJnKg4x-EjJyf9v4-t0v_LFt-b3AxUT7GhT2g4J9JOo1Q_arqeJCu3aYSq7Ybxpn60zlFiOjA7VYsjsXmo5rBwjF3Khyphenhyphenio-Jy5ZKwTwvnGAuLhO_Z_C8CBduPwb7mlVey8/s320/fc7c8de621f827f8ce5689a8facf867e.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I've recently offered my services to one of these young girls for a modest fee. "Do you want me to find out why he dumped you? Do you want me to discover who he is sleeping with? Who he really loves? Because I'm better than any detective you'll hire. Just be prepared for what I might find because it's a mathematical certainty that 99 % of what I discover has nothing to do with you. That's the good news and the bad news."<br /> <br /> I hear a heavy sigh.<br /> <br /> And my darlings set forth on their journaling adventure.<br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighs in on adventurous childhoods, survival, breaking and entering, growing up, boyfriends, heartache, stalking, mental anguish, and becoming whole.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2020/03/my-childhood-breaking-entering-spree.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTDrJU-1lKy-Q4EEsAXbnnpzvTUSmlY6upfKw_ZWm1LT6Vf2gIi2EvLBdVmGdvlhxHNKT4TJpIkW0OlgjRJe_FKKUsvA2tTnHvlrmkQrAokVBbiK8ibm7xaxD_7zfH5NWVtrx6Iyty0J_/s72-c/tumblr_b8aebf13236964078d3d270acdd7223f_8b5e967b_400.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-5040399442519990546</guid><pubDate>Sun, 17 Mar 2019 20:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T14:06:53.419-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Anthony Hopkins</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">blood clots</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">carpools</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">film</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">film plots</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Gloria Bell</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Hannibal</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">health</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">hiking</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Julianne Moore</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">movies</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">parenting</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">podiatrists</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><title>How Julianne Moore Saved Me From Carpooling, Forever!</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwSxdW2g6QrwXddGYIoCpRoeUpIrgpI_WXVyLG7-g_j8Gfy6IzS7LOoGKxrWOt-RoQ0Sz2Pg4N7xxlRL-jLSre2G_kCQaPcYvLydTC3lzLLjHRLvh7HQj3RPsun95o9yaYIPAq5K_JyvU/s1600/AR-190319741.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwSxdW2g6QrwXddGYIoCpRoeUpIrgpI_WXVyLG7-g_j8Gfy6IzS7LOoGKxrWOt-RoQ0Sz2Pg4N7xxlRL-jLSre2G_kCQaPcYvLydTC3lzLLjHRLvh7HQj3RPsun95o9yaYIPAq5K_JyvU/s320/AR-190319741.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> After a long grinding week of work, juggling schedules, family activity and what seems to be nonstop carpooling, I took myself to a matinee to see the film Gloria Bell. After pulling into the dark, underground lot, I parked beside a dark car with darkened windows and noticed they had forgotten to turn off their headlights. I felt bad knowing they may return to a dead battery, but who hasn't?<br /> <br /> I and five other people in the theater enjoyed the film; there was applause. And, per usual, I wept tiny tears. Dark, empty movie theaters seem to be the place where I like to cry because it happens all the time. I'm guessing because 1) I'm alone, 2) No one can see me 3) I see movies with characters resembling actual people, their problems, and struggles. Also, Julianne Moore.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKX_1LzDlu82z9hcSIIB0Iuxewl4T4Jf-p8Hr2J3gBc61IfyeldGRsdTpWlxghyUFR7KcNgms3QfhYLDnwBqdhZOnSjrZT3p3BEToD6cK-8FG4dHurWPVR72jtnB6EXw582U5-EQnXSaV/s1600/vma-crying-9.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="500" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKX_1LzDlu82z9hcSIIB0Iuxewl4T4Jf-p8Hr2J3gBc61IfyeldGRsdTpWlxghyUFR7KcNgms3QfhYLDnwBqdhZOnSjrZT3p3BEToD6cK-8FG4dHurWPVR72jtnB6EXw582U5-EQnXSaV/s320/vma-crying-9.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> For example, I've seen Still Alice at least five times. Weep every time.&nbsp; I cried in The Kids Are Alright, The English Teacher, The Hours. I cried in Crazy Stupid Love! I see everything Julianne Moore is in, and every time I cry. I even wept in Hannibal.<br /> <br /> As a side note, I have a story about that movie, as I played a big role in changing the ending. There was NO way Julianne was going to run off into the sunset with Anthony "cannibal" Hopkins. Here is that-- <a href="https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2012/11/did-i-silence-ending-of-hannibal.html">No to Hannibal.</a><br /> <br /> In any case, I returned to my car and noticed this poor person's headlights were still on. Maybe they were seeing two films. I felt so bad. The right thing to do was to see if the car was open so I could turn the lights off.<br /> <br /> I peered into the back window and noticed a purse and a sweater. My eyes were fixed on this purse, with all the possibilities running through my mind. Did this person just take her money but leave the purse? What woman does that? No one I know. Had she reached the theater and realized she had no purse, but the movie was about to start, so her companion paid? I assumed she wasn't alone because I noticed two coffee cups in the console holder.<br /> <br /> Then I thought, jeez, someone could steal this purse, sitting there so vulnerable. I should take it and give it to security, they could find the rightful owner, and all would be well.<br /> <br /> Just as I noticed the car was idling, the front passenger window cracked open. An angry man was staring at me, aghast.<br /> <br /> "What the hell are you doing staring into my car? What do you want? Step away!"<br /> <br /> I was completely startled.&nbsp; "No. No... let me explain When I arrived, your lights were on, and I noticed they still were, and then I saw the purse....&nbsp;but then realized..."<br /> <br /> "What? That someone was in the car. Get the fuck&nbsp; out of here."<br /> <br /> At this point, even I realized how crazy I sounded, and any further do-gooder explanation was simply&nbsp;making me seem worse. He rolled up his window, and I got into my car.<br /> <br /> As I was about to press the ignition button, I noticed a phone charging cord hanging from the dashboard and various Scientology pamphlets on the passenger seat and realized this wasn't even my car. Not even close. I drive an SUV, and this was a Honda sedan. I was so flustered I just jumped in without looking. Weirdly the door was unlocked.<br /> <br /> The man is still looking at me. I sheepishly slink out of the car and head down toward mine.<br /> <br /> He cracked his window again.<br /> <br /> "What the actual fuck, lady!"<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC2NPWG21R2tQRlEE57SwoUYD3TvLjxFX86-FEBVGMxvf4FDX4kphTza_iImQQA7cOQ-9QthHLnXj518mh3aUNEJqYBm90kgSZCKvcSVz9UKyQ0VQxBTnIqCddkQA7oimP8pTZQt7rAH4M/s1600/68747470733a2f2f6d656469612e67697068792e636f6d2f6d656469612f516b4c68766f7764565a67666d2f67697068792e676966.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="500" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC2NPWG21R2tQRlEE57SwoUYD3TvLjxFX86-FEBVGMxvf4FDX4kphTza_iImQQA7cOQ-9QthHLnXj518mh3aUNEJqYBm90kgSZCKvcSVz9UKyQ0VQxBTnIqCddkQA7oimP8pTZQt7rAH4M/s320/68747470733a2f2f6d656469612e67697068792e636f6d2f6d656469612f516b4c68766f7764565a67666d2f67697068792e676966.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Okay, it wasn't Henry Cavill, but this was his EXACT facial expression.<br /> <br /> I picked up my pace, then sort of jogged toward my actual car in sandals, so I tripped in a kind of kick-the-cement action, smashing my big toe. But no matter. Was I even on the right floor?<br /> <br /> Finally, there it was, my car, a good block down the corridor!<br /> <br /> Prius man, rightly so, must have thought I came to parking lots and just rifled through cars all day. He was probably calling the police!<br /> <br /> In my defense, it was dark, I was wearing sunglasses, and I had just come out of a dark film filled with dark scenes in disco bars, with people wearing dark clothing dancing under mind-altering lights. I was disoriented.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGiFDtniFgpgNEYg467XMyRdJGMf-EpEpBpoLnqZ8avSrS4xTGWJfkuy9lNKHJnDJLYzXdziYm04G9h06VLHuPFL8NnkFcCZnDHtAqcmj3y_BTitTBz5ATWdc7F6FV_x3sw7fOHRfu-sX/s1600/giphy.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="396" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGiFDtniFgpgNEYg467XMyRdJGMf-EpEpBpoLnqZ8avSrS4xTGWJfkuy9lNKHJnDJLYzXdziYm04G9h06VLHuPFL8NnkFcCZnDHtAqcmj3y_BTitTBz5ATWdc7F6FV_x3sw7fOHRfu-sX/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I quite liked the film and loved Julianne Moore, but was all in my head about the plot. Why did she like John Turturro? Was she that desperate? Where was her daughter-in-law? Was her ex still in love with her? Who got married? I still don't know.<br /> <br /> I was wandering around the parking lot in a film synopsis daze. A Julianne Moore dancing daze. The song Gloria was still blasting in my head.<br /> <br /> But still, how could I have mistaken this idling car, a Prius, with two people sitting in the front seat, for the car that really was next to mine: an enormous, empty Flex?! Nonetheless, these things happen.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsINr5rO3Em75LCr6z3Wx6upr2IB0MJ8VnVmiU5up63JrHHc_lolXXB7lHxRalUnGaE5iK8JlO2Z1k7WdRKMLiHI_uydjR8SyvjIUlf3jFn3efAakvXu79iEOXl317PeebF4MvJ6Rpm9m_/s1600/influences-all-the-presidents-men-2-1523007232.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsINr5rO3Em75LCr6z3Wx6upr2IB0MJ8VnVmiU5up63JrHHc_lolXXB7lHxRalUnGaE5iK8JlO2Z1k7WdRKMLiHI_uydjR8SyvjIUlf3jFn3efAakvXu79iEOXl317PeebF4MvJ6Rpm9m_/s320/influences-all-the-presidents-men-2-1523007232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Dark, right? ^ ^ ^ ^<br /> <br />Fortunately, I had a podiatrist appointment to deal with various issues I had developed with my toes due to being a long-distance runner while in college. In any case, the timing was good, so I stopped thinking about Mr. Prius Man.<br /> <br /> During my podiatrist session, my doctor addressed the stubbed toe, which was fine, but he seemed gravely concerned with something else.<br /> <br /> "Your left foot is so swollen."<br /> "Oh?" And it was.<br /> <br /> He went on about how he'd seen this before and sent his patient to the ER, and by golly, he was right. The ER intervention prevented her from dying due to a blood clot. He told me it could happen to me.<br /> <br /> "That is ridiculous. I don't have a foot clot. I'll go to my doctor if it's still swollen on Monday."<br /> "I wouldn't wait. You'll worry all weekend. I'd go to the ER now."<br /> <br /> But I wouldn't worry. I wouldn't even think about it. Then he said:<br /> <br /> "Better safe than dead. You're not 35 anymore."<br /> "I'm not?"<br /> "This kind of thing you must take seriously once you're over a certain age."<br /> "Okay, thanks, doc."<br /> <br /> He handed me a slip of paper to give to the ER.<br /> <br /> I had no intention of going to the ER or even to my own doctor, but "better safe than dead" kept going through my head... to the beat of GLORIA.<br /> <br /> Sure, I was over a certain age, whatever that age is, according to my podiatrist. But I'm also incredibly healthy. I hike on average 20 miles a week and make healthy green shakes every morning (with my <a href="https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2018/07/ninja-your-way-into-gratitude.html">Ninja,</a> which I still love, in case anyone was wondering).<br /> <br /> Anyway... after relaying this story to the father of my teen children, who repeated the "better safe than dead" narrative,&nbsp; he eventually convinced me to&nbsp;go.<br /> <br /> I don't like the ER and haven't been to Cedars since I had my daughters 16 years ago. Anyway, it wasn't bad, very few people... was in and out with a lot of laughs.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUTB-ugF2NVW44jngZAo2rQUPzsdtwAQVjZc3S0P2zCQQK642wBawzQlXEJThX-n-26FQz7pDfCGKMSHL9RxrxExliqomvdkSgF-mgvnSGCpngQsVYEN_9dnTjA3zPVFDbX3ZxDXTdc-S/s1600/IMG_0315_Facetune_16-03-2019-19-33-55.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="1141" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUTB-ugF2NVW44jngZAo2rQUPzsdtwAQVjZc3S0P2zCQQK642wBawzQlXEJThX-n-26FQz7pDfCGKMSHL9RxrxExliqomvdkSgF-mgvnSGCpngQsVYEN_9dnTjA3zPVFDbX3ZxDXTdc-S/s320/IMG_0315_Facetune_16-03-2019-19-33-55.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Usual questions:<br /> Have you been on an airplane for over eight hours? No.<br /> A car? Oh, YES! Carpool.<br /> When?<br /> Yesterday.<br /> Hmmmm.<br /> <br /> I told the doctor just to amputate the fucking thing because now I'm missing my Saturday night routine. Which, btw, is none of anyone's business.<br /> <br /> After some tests, no blood cot, no nothing.<br /> <br /> Doctor: Well, it has been hot.<br /> Me: Exactly!<br /> Doctor: I suggest you cut down on carpool driving. Sitting in a car for hours, especially in the heat, can become a potential clot situation.<br /> Me: Can you write a doctor's note because I would love nothing more than to get out of the carpool!<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GdO8GNip1EC2I6zgtBH9T63kdLNtysQslmGf4WlrQUB2YHnPXQxKT47CNjVaf6OUezIaTrWMqjbZZqZtXb_FTvg0Bss8d1ARFh9Rekt371SCg8vErkIozhV2DisZlm65le9PrVJDapEo/s1600/IMG_0326.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="937" data-original-width="1600" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GdO8GNip1EC2I6zgtBH9T63kdLNtysQslmGf4WlrQUB2YHnPXQxKT47CNjVaf6OUezIaTrWMqjbZZqZtXb_FTvg0Bss8d1ARFh9Rekt371SCg8vErkIozhV2DisZlm65le9PrVJDapEo/s320/IMG_0326.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> So, all in all, everything went well. I saw a lovely film, spent time with one of my favorite actresses, had my feet fixed up to receive a proper pedicure just in time for beach season, and had some laughs in the ER. Most importantly, now I have a rock-solid reason to get out of my dreaded carpool.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZSYzjM5tiQya5CICOTW2o1o0hNNAFsx2EmiE-j6B5HkASOfz0zxcEdwDUi5rQssljt5C08L2P4Kds9vIkNMEOr_kgkuSCZp50c_BIEcq1Ovx1wGDwXIxP62zugxuEheR2Kqs0Mgcadpuc/s1600/woman_beauty_feet_treatment.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZSYzjM5tiQya5CICOTW2o1o0hNNAFsx2EmiE-j6B5HkASOfz0zxcEdwDUi5rQssljt5C08L2P4Kds9vIkNMEOr_kgkuSCZp50c_BIEcq1Ovx1wGDwXIxP62zugxuEheR2Kqs0Mgcadpuc/s320/woman_beauty_feet_treatment.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> WIN-WIN-WIN-WIN<br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on Gloria Bell, Julianne Moore, blood clots, emergency rooms, podiatrists, potential car theft, carpools, and sunshine.<br /> <br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2019/03/how-julianne-moore-saved-me-from.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwSxdW2g6QrwXddGYIoCpRoeUpIrgpI_WXVyLG7-g_j8Gfy6IzS7LOoGKxrWOt-RoQ0Sz2Pg4N7xxlRL-jLSre2G_kCQaPcYvLydTC3lzLLjHRLvh7HQj3RPsun95o9yaYIPAq5K_JyvU/s72-c/AR-190319741.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-2672205849891578543</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Jul 2018 23:02:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-03-25T18:36:55.460-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">bananas</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Blenders</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">David Lynch</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">family</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">gratitude</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Halle Berry</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">health</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">John Mulaney</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Kitchenaid</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ninja</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">politics</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Smoothies</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Tana Mongeau</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenage girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">traffic</category><title>Ninja Your Way Into Gratitude</title><description><br /> <br /> Given that life has turned into a surreal world even David Lynch couldn't conceive, I really have no business being so damn excited about my new blender purchase. What I mean by that is I sometimes feel guilty when I'm happy. Because:<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_ac8Ytvqs7X6anh-nh5Jc9d4w6Vpfxj_Qhyphenhyphen2JZdePubpPBy0IapVUROAEdI5HNfb6MQkYg8aCplbz4QIuFOMUAhLLa3xMsGnx8jJRoDngxNVfZGEbPt_-XqV_7enUdQyrdEeVrHZbCke/s1600/IMG_1773.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_ac8Ytvqs7X6anh-nh5Jc9d4w6Vpfxj_Qhyphenhyphen2JZdePubpPBy0IapVUROAEdI5HNfb6MQkYg8aCplbz4QIuFOMUAhLLa3xMsGnx8jJRoDngxNVfZGEbPt_-XqV_7enUdQyrdEeVrHZbCke/s320/IMG_1773.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> My old Ninja finally died sometime in the middle of last night. Therefore I could not make my frothy breakfast. I resorted to putting my potions in a cup and shook really hard. Not the same. But it gave me the energy I needed to go to one of my all-time favorite stores, Bed Bath and Beyond.<br /> <br /> I hadn't been there in a while; actually, the last time I attempted to go, everything went south because some crazy lady going 80 mph decided not to stop at a red light just as I was turning left. It's such a crazy story. You can read it here under <a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/search/label/Halle%20Berry">Halle Berry.</a> This is why we all have insurance because of assholes.<br /> <br /> Speaking of assholes that blow through red lights, I took a video last week while out for a stroll.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyo79yRAzkhUuJvZ6kR3XcG_KFFFk95yPH8_N_kY11oHVkgQFbQNt6_gE_qRLNOAt27PmvWUMLM9HD-hEZbCw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div> <br /> Yeah, this guy had his entire family, including a baby, in his car, and maybe he was thinking, fuck that red light, the soccer game is on, then he smashed into this lovely old lady. I hope she is okay. We carefully pulled her out of the passenger side. She seemed fine, but off to the hospital because weird ongoings happen to your body the day after a car accident. Out of earshot of the police, I said to the driver, channeling my mother: "Shame on you, risking your entire family! A small child, no less! You could've killed them all and this poor elderly woman.&nbsp; For shame!! Slow the fuck down, moron. Red means STOP!"<br /> <br /> <br /> What passes for "normal people" lately:<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4AEfahNlDJ8NrVXeYfl-MTic4EWO-E5ElD3AsldFHLOqhCNYqMm_L2g-SU5_BmD2cBVzzI0kP1fSOGNRdDg_J8NLPC-AJhCVdKsQb1Hx2mgRg-nZvUEJlC03bec4LAT9wAK-rATeBte1/s1600/main.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="843" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4AEfahNlDJ8NrVXeYfl-MTic4EWO-E5ElD3AsldFHLOqhCNYqMm_L2g-SU5_BmD2cBVzzI0kP1fSOGNRdDg_J8NLPC-AJhCVdKsQb1Hx2mgRg-nZvUEJlC03bec4LAT9wAK-rATeBte1/s320/main.png" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> I'm certain my admonishing him will have ZERO impact on his future driving skills, but it made me feel good. Since there were so many witnesses, maybe he would lose his license. I know they don't do this in the US, but it ought to be a law-- channeling my father. If you run a red in Germany, for example, you lose your license for life! But they get the autobahn! Fair trade.<br /> <br /> Back to the blender. Here's the thing. I use this baby for everything. Not just my incredible shakes and smoothies --<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GhCTPjRWBS4S5Ns3Hg9XROiEtOLlXftTNh1WMwgAqBzt0zAqb7JwjHa7BgQ6hPfSOOe_DuiYz9w-TrbKh1XGw5N5ncvdQrNFj-sy-FI9fLu669-kipZwJGpda8Xy214HR8EA_ySbRCHt/s1600/IMG_20160321_180028.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GhCTPjRWBS4S5Ns3Hg9XROiEtOLlXftTNh1WMwgAqBzt0zAqb7JwjHa7BgQ6hPfSOOe_DuiYz9w-TrbKh1XGw5N5ncvdQrNFj-sy-FI9fLu669-kipZwJGpda8Xy214HR8EA_ySbRCHt/s320/IMG_20160321_180028.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> (How awesome am I that I made that? ^ ^ ^ )<br /> <br /> --which&nbsp;I began making after this interloper crashed one of my BBQs.&nbsp; But Cesario changed my life. And apparently, many others read here --&nbsp;<a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2018/02/my-downward-insulin-spiral-to-near-death.html">nutrition.&nbsp;</a><br /> <br /> I use it to make everything free-banana bread, sugarless cookies, Gochuchang sauces, Pomme purees, lentil nut&nbsp;butter, coral worm dips, giraffe weevil floats, and metallic eyeshadows. It's endless. I hate cooking, so if all that is required is dumping the ingredients into this sucker, a pinch of witchery, then watching it whirl, my entire family is seriously indebted to me.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKh_mjWBpRzssKIyIzl0JqL3lR4f5hYWHhU4n-GEvWpCJlOsx7dXGAqgyxLV0cTn4jWIHyblcRda8E0ZfYoF935xS-jYYcDJg2XCFu05H1asZJhd-O7N4TKKLqw1m0qjGcTSRbKldgUKeP/s1600/minnie_1449039386.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="500" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKh_mjWBpRzssKIyIzl0JqL3lR4f5hYWHhU4n-GEvWpCJlOsx7dXGAqgyxLV0cTn4jWIHyblcRda8E0ZfYoF935xS-jYYcDJg2XCFu05H1asZJhd-O7N4TKKLqw1m0qjGcTSRbKldgUKeP/s320/minnie_1449039386.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Given they all have different food plans... lactose intolerant, gluten intolerant, meat intolerant, and just generally intolerant of my cooking, it's opened up a magic door. They will eat what I make as long as I use this blender. My daughters believe since I use the Ninja to create food, I had no involvement; therefore, eat they shall! Better still, they make their own damn food. Because it requires so little effort, not one Snapchat story or Tana Mongeau video will go unmissed.</div> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/NVl9Fpo_Qw4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NVl9Fpo_Qw4?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Look, the world has gone mad, mad! It's been so severely tilted I lost all my bearings, and food is one of the few constants I find comforting. Until I see this happen to the madman---<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3U3zfDAvy2hOROGFfd4i-zJpzFA7aoH4Cy4EUmNqYnQ5Q4O8HW27Qv4bS8v4-v4YHlkOyR8_bKcVey7AW_ohGhy0mrZRK_ujKRPNfvKkqre1O5eoXGDiFfClsIouetE3S8sH8MbnxTvH/s1600/tumblr_p0x65ocVz01qaeizvo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3U3zfDAvy2hOROGFfd4i-zJpzFA7aoH4Cy4EUmNqYnQ5Q4O8HW27Qv4bS8v4-v4YHlkOyR8_bKcVey7AW_ohGhy0mrZRK_ujKRPNfvKkqre1O5eoXGDiFfClsIouetE3S8sH8MbnxTvH/s320/tumblr_p0x65ocVz01qaeizvo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> --I really need my blender. The level of gratitude I have for Ninja, which then leads to a mental compilation of many things I am grateful for, is immeasurable. I take it when I travel, even if just the valley, because what if I get stuck there?<br /> <br /> Other tricks of the Ninja ----and unbeknownst to anyone, I can also toss about, say, Chia seeds, Flax,&nbsp; Maca, Tumeric, and Smart Paste.&nbsp; They never know and never will because they will never read anything I write. So it's a win-win.<br /> <br /> I used to laugh at parents that "snuck" spinach in their kid's pasta sauce. First of all, gross. But you can easily drop a tablespoon of green powder into an apple shake.<br /> <br /> I should mention I bought a super cheap one, on sale, this thing of beauty. Why on sale? Because a newer version is out. They do exactly the same thing. Plus, I can't stand all those buttons, dials, and instructions. Jesus.<br /> <br /> This young cute boy was helping me, and I saw one for $17.00. A Kitchenaid.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUXWc_dwqgIHwPcqce4ZRl4Qr95-mau-TbMU_O_DpyqLekjE5yIoNIRmgk2_jc3FNTM3BsWtK5zq80-5GYbSqSP4ADy6jO8WS8sNkSme8XrM_Q0PjS9ff8SIEk3f28sl2wb54kxWj4DyU/s1600/Kitchenaid-blender.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUXWc_dwqgIHwPcqce4ZRl4Qr95-mau-TbMU_O_DpyqLekjE5yIoNIRmgk2_jc3FNTM3BsWtK5zq80-5GYbSqSP4ADy6jO8WS8sNkSme8XrM_Q0PjS9ff8SIEk3f28sl2wb54kxWj4DyU/s320/Kitchenaid-blender.jpg" width="176" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Me: OMG! Look! It's so retro. I had that in college. How cute is that!!<br /> Boy: Oh, that doesn't work very well. I wouldn't get that.<br /> Me: It's vintage!&nbsp; I'm having all these incredible college memories. I can't believe you still sell it.<br /> Boy: No one buys those. It's really cheap and bad.<br /> Me: Stop putting it down! I want a new salesperson.<br /> <br /> I'll leave you with this. I'm not full-on Paleo, but this <a href="https://paleogrubs.com/smoothie-recipes">website</a> is great for ideas on mixing and matching all things smoothie.<br /> <br /> Since my gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free banana bread is gone in two days, I've upped my game. Onto Zucchini, shredded cauliflower, chocolate chip, cranberry, any berry, guess the berry bread.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikyDJDZwhMwUsKud175H2g8d2B1AmfvywU4GcbMBZxq_41DsmeiATXfNxXBiTChyphenhyphenJC4tzc_A2q6GotmnXJrwUA1tRCXYmaxFZxpPuWb4jTemsuUwA2WjMJHOR0H6WnwX5PHXAZXF7VUlrC/s1600/IMG_1612.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="718" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikyDJDZwhMwUsKud175H2g8d2B1AmfvywU4GcbMBZxq_41DsmeiATXfNxXBiTChyphenhyphenJC4tzc_A2q6GotmnXJrwUA1tRCXYmaxFZxpPuWb4jTemsuUwA2WjMJHOR0H6WnwX5PHXAZXF7VUlrC/s320/IMG_1612.jpg" width="224" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Until I have my beach house and the horse is out of the hospital (thank you, comic genius John Mulaney) this definitely helps get me through, and as a bonus, the family is getting healthy without their permission.<br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot on life, family, children, politics, food, comfort, health, smoothies, blenders, John Mulaney, and gratitude.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2018/07/ninja-your-way-into-gratitude.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_ac8Ytvqs7X6anh-nh5Jc9d4w6Vpfxj_Qhyphenhyphen2JZdePubpPBy0IapVUROAEdI5HNfb6MQkYg8aCplbz4QIuFOMUAhLLa3xMsGnx8jJRoDngxNVfZGEbPt_-XqV_7enUdQyrdEeVrHZbCke/s72-c/IMG_1773.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-6413390468684997386</guid><pubDate>Thu, 03 May 2018 23:45:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:54:34.517-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">animals</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">cats</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Crazy glue Motherhood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fleas</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">mornings</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">parenting humor</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sleep deprivation</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenage girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">twin girls</category><title>How House Cats Get Super Glued</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOukN9NVPxHHM1y8s3Wus2kx7QYRVwUN-oyZdKuDn_lvTjWM3PxeREP9ApFy9Sjz3dR8mPhfLt1VqJ-pgLjhf1unPk8NJOUrG96rbZtVTyVRORppH0hCjGdQ5dck9JBdezxx0OcE7InqD/s1600/tumblr_onfkd5WZNe1ra4318o1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOukN9NVPxHHM1y8s3Wus2kx7QYRVwUN-oyZdKuDn_lvTjWM3PxeREP9ApFy9Sjz3dR8mPhfLt1VqJ-pgLjhf1unPk8NJOUrG96rbZtVTyVRORppH0hCjGdQ5dck9JBdezxx0OcE7InqD/s320/tumblr_onfkd5WZNe1ra4318o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Every morning I wake up in a state of shock. I'm still here? The world has still gone mad? And also, I feel kind of crazy. Wait... this shit is still going on? Is that lunatic still in office? And this is still my life? I'm still raising kids? It's been 28 years? Does it ever end? NO!<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WBrxrG9OCM5BGfwpwBLPI1GOiScKprOJvncgjHWwakqUxSol7Qg5Oyu38lcuDiTteq0IOYvvobDVVPg2xx2UFyKqoJhKAwmoMxmc4t2Ovo5_qlDR9iqWdPA-Cr4VCLCsR8JhiOFL3VYn/s1600/giphy-1.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WBrxrG9OCM5BGfwpwBLPI1GOiScKprOJvncgjHWwakqUxSol7Qg5Oyu38lcuDiTteq0IOYvvobDVVPg2xx2UFyKqoJhKAwmoMxmc4t2Ovo5_qlDR9iqWdPA-Cr4VCLCsR8JhiOFL3VYn/s320/giphy-1.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> How do I know? Because some teenage girl is asking me to do something. At 7:30 a.m.! After a few seconds, I realized, oh, yes, that's my daughter, Audrey; this is my bed; I have to get up and start&nbsp;life.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIV6LiKW8oTdYxoZB0eWO8GEBiKiCy3NfaG7-XzMo3IQjmCHMDVQZuQ96QFO5ahJOlb9IqM4Dvlg_nfL4AUDd7X_pTsb5uBK6zuod2795HPhLLvLnnoT1hxC3WZBXvE74QtEaDrXz7_ez/s1600/anigif_enhanced-23106-1475589132-14.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIV6LiKW8oTdYxoZB0eWO8GEBiKiCy3NfaG7-XzMo3IQjmCHMDVQZuQ96QFO5ahJOlb9IqM4Dvlg_nfL4AUDd7X_pTsb5uBK6zuod2795HPhLLvLnnoT1hxC3WZBXvE74QtEaDrXz7_ez/s320/anigif_enhanced-23106-1475589132-14.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Audrey: Mom, wake up. I've covered in bug bites. Or fleas.<br /> Me: What? Who? Do I have to get up?<br /> Audrey: It's pretty bad. I have bites everywhere. Maybe you should look at them.<br /> Me: No, that's okay. Just try not to sweat today.<br /> Audrey: Oh, and I used all the Calamine lotion, so can you get some more?<br /> <br /> My head was back under the pillow. How is this a thing? She's an indoor cat. I hate fleas. Fuck fleas.<br /> <br /> Before I even attempt life, I have to have coffee. Stumbling down the hall zombie mom fashion, suddenly feeling all itchy, I'm sure I was grumbling under my breath, "If one person says good&nbsp;morning, I will stab them."<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Nh2P575QNo0YC0gBnd06tOA3hyphenhyphenbxiO_QRCseFw724lS84exf83OedbVeaCqSSeRQQixtnqWX7wD9MebUimmSXO0yHdaF919HBpWzOkrvT76weBUfBQ9quzg8lkCMuXCnt3X4DDj_yXOT/s1600/f5638099d274736bb874dcca83d52645.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="500" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Nh2P575QNo0YC0gBnd06tOA3hyphenhyphenbxiO_QRCseFw724lS84exf83OedbVeaCqSSeRQQixtnqWX7wD9MebUimmSXO0yHdaF919HBpWzOkrvT76weBUfBQ9quzg8lkCMuXCnt3X4DDj_yXOT/s320/f5638099d274736bb874dcca83d52645.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I was pissed off and on a mission. All I wanted to do was put that flea repeller on the cat. It must be done immediately. I boil water for the coffee, then open the junk drawer. This particular drawer is actually very organized. A few handy tools like a peen hammer and the cat crap exist.<br /> <br /> I yank the cap of the tube, scoop up Socks, and slather it all over the back of her neck. One crisis solved. I will have to wash/boil all the bedding, but coffee, paper, and a pathetic attempt at meditating, and then maybe.<br /> <br /> I notice the cat is squealing, but I figure that's normal. But then Socks gives me this death glare.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTVp5EXaLl5IcMq_AJMk0oKamccrVwSYazl6-cy3gFoYLws6gc7HoobuvKWM3vsW1ufXn0RkfREfFCGy89pAOM3FykbpYfKC5zmQWrcglgIgkdTHhDoTdhuZ1U26iE9wmC-i4GmRhyphenhyphenTRr/s1600/46102f36404b425903d4041f629d9c13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTVp5EXaLl5IcMq_AJMk0oKamccrVwSYazl6-cy3gFoYLws6gc7HoobuvKWM3vsW1ufXn0RkfREfFCGy89pAOM3FykbpYfKC5zmQWrcglgIgkdTHhDoTdhuZ1U26iE9wmC-i4GmRhyphenhyphenTRr/s320/46102f36404b425903d4041f629d9c13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> I notice my fingers have a sticky substance on them. Gross. I try to wash off the cat back poison, and it won't come off. Weird. For a second, I thought it might make a good facial mask.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-z1Xbh2D8nK-W04OMnJt_2cUz17le65TWVufnkaFDe2Ji1O4_-qgQbtoJgQQE6OeM92FBSIgoaS7ACkXOPfarvuZInH2y1W9DP7zShVU94uc5CGUaskQR5PyCidsYWedAeISm4qTNkNN/s1600/giphy-3.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-z1Xbh2D8nK-W04OMnJt_2cUz17le65TWVufnkaFDe2Ji1O4_-qgQbtoJgQQE6OeM92FBSIgoaS7ACkXOPfarvuZInH2y1W9DP7zShVU94uc5CGUaskQR5PyCidsYWedAeISm4qTNkNN/s320/giphy-3.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> The cat is still howling. My daughter is now getting upset. The cat is going berserk.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN02ytGNLEzT-xCMqqxId1dRCVmOs1nmistE7nN92I2QTxnfzzb09emE1_W4Qn3JOSwb-28GHs8ymX2gmvJt4VS5U85Oy7n82TWNo3fiqiyY01solXmcAl_mw5T46M1YHO742c4Vg3l916/s1600/001-funny-animal-gifs-cat-attacked-by-his-own-tail.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN02ytGNLEzT-xCMqqxId1dRCVmOs1nmistE7nN92I2QTxnfzzb09emE1_W4Qn3JOSwb-28GHs8ymX2gmvJt4VS5U85Oy7n82TWNo3fiqiyY01solXmcAl_mw5T46M1YHO742c4Vg3l916/s320/001-funny-animal-gifs-cat-attacked-by-his-own-tail.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Audrey:&nbsp; What is wrong with Socks? She's jumping all over. Why is her fur so hard?<br /> Me: I put that flee stuff on her back. That's a normal reaction.<br /> <br /> This daughter never trusts anything I say, so she checked the organized junk drawer.<br /> <br /> Audrey: Mom, it's super glue. OMG! She's going to die!<br /> <br /> Just then, her twin (Evelyn) rambles out of her bedroom. This girl is usually long gone by now, off in her carpool. I rarely see her in the morning because she's gone before I wake up.<br /> <br /> Ev: Mom, I overslept and missed the carpool.<br /> <br /> Me: WHY DID YOU DO THAT?<br /> <br /> Ev: It happens. Can you drive me? Also, fill my&nbsp;lunch&nbsp;card.<br /> <br /> Me: No! I'm having my coffee and need to calm down. Everyone leave me alone.<br /> <br /> Meanwhile, Audrey has been Googling,&nbsp;<span style="background-color: blue;">"<span style="color: yellow;">what happens when a cat gets superglued</span></span>?" Apparently, there are tons of websites and examples. This must happen a lot.<br /> <br /> Audrey: Mom, Socks could die! It's toxic. Dad!! Mom may be killed, Socks!<br /> <br /> Normally their father is already gone, but for some reason, he overslept! I didn't even notice him.<br /> <br /> Dad enters. "Why is Evelyn here?"<br /> <br /> Me: Okay, okay, I superglued the cat, and Evelyn missed the carpool. Can you quickly drive her to school and drop the cat off at the vet.<br /> <br /> Dad is calm and knows I'm the worst kind of morning person, so he treads lightly like this is no big deal. Maybe he once glued a cat. He checked the packaging.<br /> <br /> Dad: Yep. Super glue. I can't believe this doesn't happen more often. They look exactly the same.<br /> Me: See!&nbsp; The tubes look exactly the same!<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6F5rMrmQlg-pFQOJSP2we4LWieY4mC31V4qIQrg4_YkkLG6qeNaqb-AA5-9CxK2NBZqG_Rh-pBHeGKd9SF_4USB3mBeVOiEOgYjYD1_l7N-XN3EP1u0n19q4-EJghBoJbxBjTGFkSP5tV/s1600/hdx-super-glue-3190-64_1000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6F5rMrmQlg-pFQOJSP2we4LWieY4mC31V4qIQrg4_YkkLG6qeNaqb-AA5-9CxK2NBZqG_Rh-pBHeGKd9SF_4USB3mBeVOiEOgYjYD1_l7N-XN3EP1u0n19q4-EJghBoJbxBjTGFkSP5tV/s320/hdx-super-glue-3190-64_1000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> Audrey: No, they don't! You are just both blind. Put your glasses on. Oh my god!<br /> Me: Well, they should make the print bigger!<br /> Dad: I can barely make it out with my glasses on.<br /> Me: See! Also, that's the flea-repellent drawer, not the glue drawer.<br /> <br /> Ev: The fleas are probably dead in that one hard spot.<br /> <br /> I'm still in denial about even needing glasses. I wear reading glasses. But I don't put them on when I wake up. I take them off after I'm done reading for the night, then collect them around 8:00 the next morning after everyone is gone and I can read the paper.&nbsp; Who puts their glasses on first thing?<br /> <br /> Nobody! And that's how cats get glued.<br /> <br /> Anyway, I'm sure Socks is fine, getting a lovely bath and shave. Meanwhile, I'm getting the hell out of here before the kids get home.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXdEzJpDqBrQfusrhkbfgmid0HDT7ZizbV1Us0vnzrnnQwJyuhvGB2gUMgO0WAlfye6wQshcoL7a7EPgEdMLPXp5eKbX7kNuhSrFN2aaBO3zU3BkuQQ7Mx8CiagJLF6MPOxRPhpSHpKYJ/s1600/tumblr_mlf4tiGU461snmm1yo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="500" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXdEzJpDqBrQfusrhkbfgmid0HDT7ZizbV1Us0vnzrnnQwJyuhvGB2gUMgO0WAlfye6wQshcoL7a7EPgEdMLPXp5eKbX7kNuhSrFN2aaBO3zU3BkuQQ7Mx8CiagJLF6MPOxRPhpSHpKYJ/s320/tumblr_mlf4tiGU461snmm1yo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on parenting, cats, sleep deprivation, sight deprivation, teenage girls, superglue, mornings, and life.<br /> <br /> PostScript - Socks is home, fine, washed, happy... and has a little bald spot. Plus, bonus, she was incredibly happy to see me. I thought she'd be mad, but she's a good sport.</description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2018/05/how-house-cats-get-super-glued.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOukN9NVPxHHM1y8s3Wus2kx7QYRVwUN-oyZdKuDn_lvTjWM3PxeREP9ApFy9Sjz3dR8mPhfLt1VqJ-pgLjhf1unPk8NJOUrG96rbZtVTyVRORppH0hCjGdQ5dck9JBdezxx0OcE7InqD/s72-c/tumblr_onfkd5WZNe1ra4318o1_500.gif" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-6821939006110856030</guid><pubDate>Thu, 08 Mar 2018 19:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:52:08.687-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">communication</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">drama</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Dylan O'Brien</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">life</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">love</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Maze Runners</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Neil Young</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">parenting</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">serenity.</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Teen Wold</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenagers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">twins</category><title>What Does Raising Teenage Girls Have To Do With Dylan O'Brien?</title><description><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzm-7qTlzN0XCBs56rQFvjFB3gc8iJn3-Oi1iyjTXwRlcgksgjeK2lgAPyLrssmngaYhEGA4motPw2qFtBZlNtopixZ5BTcPgq8lVwwF7JhkYYgX9jPer3S2Qw7jNaAEMzlLg7Yjf1-7T/s1600/A+nd+E+Aug+09+our+culture.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzm-7qTlzN0XCBs56rQFvjFB3gc8iJn3-Oi1iyjTXwRlcgksgjeK2lgAPyLrssmngaYhEGA4motPw2qFtBZlNtopixZ5BTcPgq8lVwwF7JhkYYgX9jPer3S2Qw7jNaAEMzlLg7Yjf1-7T/s320/A+nd+E+Aug+09+our+culture.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Apparently Everything. He is Everything. But who knew? First, I had to figure out who he was. There was a popular TV show Teen Wolf, then other stuff, then a movie franchise concerning running through complex mazes, which I thought was a form of parkour.&nbsp; But I see this and get it. Every teen girl's poster dream boy.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzg7iv_iIyGy6ifEQU6INi9rAKVroXedBi39RHxbRm19e3HyY0yx9y7HEuQzPmLFyTxG3nb2IGl8URAL46M_fBubj6h-_WDe-1MzwRuyMYMX4lNlYSy7Tq3WQ0PA1E7I9_szSFyhChsUtI/s1600/we-had-dylan-obrien-play-with-puppies-while-answe-2-18271-1516985284-13_dblbig-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="625" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzg7iv_iIyGy6ifEQU6INi9rAKVroXedBi39RHxbRm19e3HyY0yx9y7HEuQzPmLFyTxG3nb2IGl8URAL46M_fBubj6h-_WDe-1MzwRuyMYMX4lNlYSy7Tq3WQ0PA1E7I9_szSFyhChsUtI/s320/we-had-dylan-obrien-play-with-puppies-while-answe-2-18271-1516985284-13_dblbig-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Or at least twin E and her group. I guess Dylan would be the equivalent crush I had on Neil Young when I was 14.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnxq6vGeaCJj4SQOAsDPimNqnkS20m2mkTHggd0HlCBjsAxoNfY-kUuUZwtu3VYqiZkJw8KQuu-0-Jq0dsJtY1E1RBOPRZDNlQi3-euESLw1MVNNfzgHaFkCgh49Ehw5a85H4UgtpIVVB/s1600/575278331bcd1ace89239b50127c9e8a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="640" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnxq6vGeaCJj4SQOAsDPimNqnkS20m2mkTHggd0HlCBjsAxoNfY-kUuUZwtu3VYqiZkJw8KQuu-0-Jq0dsJtY1E1RBOPRZDNlQi3-euESLw1MVNNfzgHaFkCgh49Ehw5a85H4UgtpIVVB/s320/575278331bcd1ace89239b50127c9e8a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Okay, now that the girls are rapidly approaching 15, I need to figure a few things out.<br /> <br /> So I thought I'd read a quick "How to Raise Teen Girls" post to ensure I'm still on top of things. After Googling, I settle on the first one on the search bar.<br /> <br /> The thing is, parents never know if they are doing a good job. If they boast of having a strong handle on parenting skills, they are lying. But love to them. Perfect parenting does not exist. Imperfect parenting is the best we can hope for.<br /> <br /> This post is about girls because that is what I'm raising at the moment. I'm sure these strategies can be applied to boys, I think.<br /> <br /> I already raised a boy and sort of forgot how I did this, so I recently asked him. He really deserves his own post, but for time management, he's a tech engineer computer science type working up in Seattle. He has many other interests, from playing drums to competing in Mario Smash Bro contests and everything in between. He was super fun to raise, but also I was super young. I even enjoyed Disneyland back then. Not so much now.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrc7dl7SXcF9RhG3MjyCAZN4swc-gvlYdmtgcPbb6upTZ9K1M9Z3MAGrMgJiwxcz7f6myz1vkPOmKlC3dtPUcnwGMRt7CkGKAW6EfRIYkUcrAm19JPrkd9ai6jUCf4AThIOQy3_dgZ9ai/s1600/cf759448907c0273fa8b00bcec10119e99a15fbe_hq.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="500" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrc7dl7SXcF9RhG3MjyCAZN4swc-gvlYdmtgcPbb6upTZ9K1M9Z3MAGrMgJiwxcz7f6myz1vkPOmKlC3dtPUcnwGMRt7CkGKAW6EfRIYkUcrAm19JPrkd9ai6jUCf4AThIOQy3_dgZ9ai/s320/cf759448907c0273fa8b00bcec10119e99a15fbe_hq.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Me: On a scale of 1-10, how did I do in raising you, or subtext "How do you rate me as a mom?"<br /> H:&nbsp; Eleven.<br /> <br /> See, he knows if he had said, say, eight, I would have kept him on the phone. "Why? What did I do so wrong? Did I forget something? I never lost you in the park! ... ad nauseum." He knows how to stay ahead of the people crazy curve; so there's that. He'll sometimes tag me on one of these.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMAdJa7L5OTCDGlcQUsrZh_8JQ-yfsZeb1HCFb_fv189PoQm2brNgaYX_sRS5tyQchw3gWlFZ72r2HoIgu1L8v35g_dfCAUV0m_QZdHbO7GkaFo6NU9XX3fVXFWtud1HIOOuhZNh1WToL/s1600/be4a17511e2988886dad33c367ee1dfa.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="618" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMAdJa7L5OTCDGlcQUsrZh_8JQ-yfsZeb1HCFb_fv189PoQm2brNgaYX_sRS5tyQchw3gWlFZ72r2HoIgu1L8v35g_dfCAUV0m_QZdHbO7GkaFo6NU9XX3fVXFWtud1HIOOuhZNh1WToL/s320/be4a17511e2988886dad33c367ee1dfa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Big ups.<br /> <br /> Anyway, back to the teenage girl twins.&nbsp; Might I just say I'm delighted they are healthy and they are doing just fine? By that, I mean my own personal philosophy regarding children is to keep them safe, alive and try to create a world where they can have a better life than you. Or, as Diane Ladd and others said so eloquently:&nbsp;<br /> <br /> Let them stand on your shoulders so they can see further than you did.<br /> <br /> Pretty simple. Yet this requires extraordinary sacrifice because you are no longer the priority. Your kids are. And I believe if you're incapable of lifting your kids up to your own possible detriment in every possible manner, then reconsider having them. For the love of god, don't have kids because you think they will keep you young. <a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2009/09/children-do-not-keep-you-young.html">Addressed here.&nbsp;</a><br /> <br /> Back to the article:<br /> <br /> It would be irresponsible of me to move forward until we address the obvious; &nbsp;they are the first generation of kids growing up where "gun drills" have replaced the more innocuous "fire" drills.<br /> <br />We, parents, can't actually comprehend this, but when talking to kids, YES, they are highly anxious. In case anyone is wondering.<br /> <br /> But this is only one small part of their forever-increasing anxiety. Forget the normal teen angst, social issues, hormonal insanity, and educational pressure, this added layer also has to wedge itself into their developing brains, and somehow they have to be okay with it.<br /> <div> <br /></div> In any case, let's see how I'm doing.<br /> <br /> Here are the suggestions to best raise teenage girls.<br /> <u><br /></u> <u>REMAIN CALM</u>&nbsp; --&nbsp; The idea being when they freak out over something or say something "crazy," they don't react. In fact, the article suggests counting to five. -- Okay, will do. As in, this has never happened.<br /> <br /> First, I could not think of one time my kid said something so whacky I blew a gasket, started foaming at the mouth, and then set my hair on fire.&nbsp; Plus, for me, I'm already super chill. I wish sometimes I could get more amped about anything, but no. I must like being calm. Even when I'm upset. Okay, I'm basically water.<br /> <br /> Like all kids, they occasionally complain, and with good reason, the insane piles of homework or a&nbsp; difficult teacher or some jackass at school that interrupts class all the time. If they didn't, I'd be concerned. Also, I happen to agree with the girls. I hate homework. I really do. All that busy nonsense when they could be working on their own interests or cleaning my house. Plus, I have no love for the apathetic teacher or the class clown with fire ants in his/her/they pants. So vent away.<br /> <br /> Nothing these two girls say I would interpret as "crazy," an overused word that's lost all meaning.<br /> <br /> I was raised in real crazy. We were not concerned with homework; we were concerned with when the eviction notice was about to arrive or what sister would overdose on heroin that day. Yet my mother did not react. She was always calm. When my 16-year-old sister said she was moving to Florida with her Hells Angel boyfriend, my mother yelled: "Wear a helmet!" When my other sister suggested she wanted to work at a bank to steal money,&nbsp; my mother said: "What a great idea. Why didn't I think of that!"<br /> <br /> To date, the most outrageous statement my girls recently uttered was probably:&nbsp; "I've never seen a cloud shaped exactly like an elephant. I'm calling bullshit."<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYvOJ-jZCCEP9TQIxlJ6W0d80Kd679uLgUvfrz8yF_OJLUBNVVS9g7rpOIrNIWDybs2l6jxdVmAe9U-8L3stSo49BVUBEN60qkF4vhruVx0KFSSelKEF-hJS2bmmHsWI5vWmwNsZZELBxE/s1600/jfiftnp0gxoxrvs5xee2.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="800" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYvOJ-jZCCEP9TQIxlJ6W0d80Kd679uLgUvfrz8yF_OJLUBNVVS9g7rpOIrNIWDybs2l6jxdVmAe9U-8L3stSo49BVUBEN60qkF4vhruVx0KFSSelKEF-hJS2bmmHsWI5vWmwNsZZELBxE/s320/jfiftnp0gxoxrvs5xee2.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Whatever the goings on, I retreat to my sanctuary; my beloved bedroom filled with soft pillows, clean lines, and perfection. This is my personal space, and everyone knows it, so they only enter when they consider their situation a true emergency. Like, "I'm starving!"<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3sbj1iHbMtnSxXdSCWyD3RaL1DVXObtJpITHI-y5utlCviyPgs3EIcs6lHbGeOw7csDLP2bCzb12z292M8KmWli3OIaJ3cF2pcCerAZTprt1hYy4GaE8S7BSIXqBAWaFgrmg6R8MBvuD/s1600/e36a60c9c673db9e0d871f779b79090a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="530" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3sbj1iHbMtnSxXdSCWyD3RaL1DVXObtJpITHI-y5utlCviyPgs3EIcs6lHbGeOw7csDLP2bCzb12z292M8KmWli3OIaJ3cF2pcCerAZTprt1hYy4GaE8S7BSIXqBAWaFgrmg6R8MBvuD/s320/e36a60c9c673db9e0d871f779b79090a.jpg" width="214" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfedvSX_HZv9-kLrk8_LU1yrMEYkl3qznlWXGSnJraocYTZtvhK5HYUK9HoB6m3ekw3vwG9h_2Elc-FYy9i7OtdrQz0Qt3F9ITeKcJw64A2GRLnDEV6axda-ik9zm2MNp2pw0n-Ylcyuf/s1600/b9c1ee19487e18e258a321ae26a6bfcd.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><u>LET HER SOLVE HER OWN PROBLEM</u>:&nbsp; &nbsp;Yeah, no pushback on that one. For example, go make your own dinner. As if I don't have enough of my own problems to solve!<br /> <br /> These two rarely ask for my advice. They might ask for some help, such as in, "Could you collate these 11,500 pages for me?" or "Can you spell check this 450-page poem and don't change one word? Thanks."&nbsp; I'm basically their&nbsp;assistant&nbsp;that does busy work we all hate to do, including me. But I love them, so I do their busy work.<br /> <br /> The last time I offered advice, one of the girls was upset about a friend who was ''beefing" her. (what?) Of course, I want to make her feel better, so I go on about how&nbsp;girls are so immature. Clearly, she's giving you the cold shoulder because she's jealous or something along those lines.<br /> <br /> E: "No, she's pissed because I stole her phone and threw it in the trash at school as a joke, but now it's gone. Also, she's British! This is beyond anything you can help with!" This daughter has a predilection for British folks but also loves all peoples;&nbsp; mixed peoples with various combinations of Asian, African-American, and Santorini Greeks but with a British accent.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TjsRuAeqH0ZSoT6t0lUfjWuS74lTC5IU5W5i6b-PiRhHYY2XTFzj2efh0jII6VM0StdYRj-InFvf5MJ5rOgFxjVScWt_g9dDdpdMLQHI0UONnPc1aU8QX9jnMUXmXBm9hgIg4YIOgFLs/s1600/92d175252371f91c0bac5c0e90106977.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="434" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TjsRuAeqH0ZSoT6t0lUfjWuS74lTC5IU5W5i6b-PiRhHYY2XTFzj2efh0jII6VM0StdYRj-InFvf5MJ5rOgFxjVScWt_g9dDdpdMLQHI0UONnPc1aU8QX9jnMUXmXBm9hgIg4YIOgFLs/s320/92d175252371f91c0bac5c0e90106977.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Her "dream" guy, whom she'll consider dating when she's in college, is a racial collage, a pinboard of sorts.&nbsp; Equal parts Asian, African-American, a bit Italian, and this splash of ancient Greek. And, of course, the British accent.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyABghgAHPCmba7b5vPlfLZ04TnYOng5k4r0GXHnjbCmazrdDlwEdho3fQEYRDlNTZ-fhExk3T3eIJxj3-UHo88_HPQytTCMI-v4I_J92I3f5oliQbRUEPJeAgeM0Byj6mawdfuVmIfi5/s1600/original.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="245" data-original-width="500" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyABghgAHPCmba7b5vPlfLZ04TnYOng5k4r0GXHnjbCmazrdDlwEdho3fQEYRDlNTZ-fhExk3T3eIJxj3-UHo88_HPQytTCMI-v4I_J92I3f5oliQbRUEPJeAgeM0Byj6mawdfuVmIfi5/s320/original.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> I thought these fellows looked interesting, but a funny thing happened when I put all of that info into Google. I came up with this guy, Laurence Coke. I mean, come on! How cute is he?<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYCHf3EJWCke2G12zC6pSdsZyUhYVA3J9B-e52-KggDPDeQWSatuMCmvdFj9uYCs9MnHiZN4k1yUndcMkHPzN6WZwDSl762A0XWqGeSKZPLPneElFCAOPc3z_cnI-wYo_uvefBtvFUZCA/s1600/tumblr_nelpm8ez8I1thuwuio1_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYCHf3EJWCke2G12zC6pSdsZyUhYVA3J9B-e52-KggDPDeQWSatuMCmvdFj9uYCs9MnHiZN4k1yUndcMkHPzN6WZwDSl762A0XWqGeSKZPLPneElFCAOPc3z_cnI-wYo_uvefBtvFUZCA/s320/tumblr_nelpm8ez8I1thuwuio1_1280.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <br /> In carpool today, I was telling the girls I was in search of a mixed-race teen boy for my blog, and I came across this guy. They were "shook." (Again, what?) Then screamed and laughed.<br /> <br /> "Mom, how did you find him?! He's so-and-so's cousin! You met him at their BBQ! He came up on Google? OMG!"<br /> <br /> What a bizarre coincidence. In any case, my daughter was rightfully mortified, as she is by everything I do. But her friend liked that I was writing this article. She is the sweetest.<br /> <br /> When it comes to boys, again, they will solve their own problems. We aren't there yet.<br /> <br /> I retreat to my room.<br /> <br /> <u><br /></u> <u>COMPLIMENT REGULARLY:</u>&nbsp; --&nbsp; As opposed to what? Criticizing them? Passive aggressive needling? Also, it's a mistake to compliment your kids all the time. They grow up thinking that shit is real.<br /> <br /> If I told my daughters how pretty there were, how smart they were, how amazing they performed at everything, they would go into the world so ill-prepared that the first critical remark might send them into a clinical depression.<br /> <br /> Instead, what I do is evaluate their progress and praise that or not. I also compliment a certain way they handled a situation or how they carried a difficult school project all the way through. When I do complement their appearance, it's with extreme caution. This is an area, particularly for girls, filled with subterfuge.<br /> <br /> I once suggested, "Maybe you should stop brushing your hair so much. I love the curls; you flatten them." Well, what she hears is --&nbsp; You think I don't know how to care for myself? Do you think I'm not taking pride in what I do? Do you think my hair is ugly? THEN: "Well, I hate curls. Plus, it's my hair, and I'll do what I want. Don't comment on my hair. Ever."<br /> <br /> I retreat to my room.<br /> <br /> <u><br /></u> <u>TAKE THEM SERIOUSLY</u>:&nbsp; That is, when they have an issue, don't just say, "Oh, it's high school, it will pass, it won't mean a thing in a few years. The most popular girl, also the main cheerleader and homecoming queen, now pole dances at a strip club."<br /> <br /> Okay, I would never say that and have never heard other mothers say it. Just no. It's a weird parenting throwback go-to. Who wrote this thing? Plus, who would say this to their daughters?!<br /> <br /> If there is a super popular girl at school who also runs the Latin club, is the drama club star, and excels at everything, good for her! Good for her if she's enjoying this and not doing it to please some helicopter parent.<br /> <br /> Of course, I take my daughters seriously. Do I care if those pants at Buffalo Exchange are no longer available? Hell no. But the girls do. They also both know this is not of import to tell me. Or anyone else not their age. But I do have a car. This is where I come in handy. We'll find those damn repurposed pants if it takes all day.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3bIzs0cCadhtSQSZvdwCxQ0rnPFXCLmkPJf9R3HMH6AOGTE2qQfCbHhse4K4q3-kT-SpGH1nvFsPSg_bR2o1us3nEmoudOoKmWR0cyg-ESQ4zODqq3k1By_M10PvOf7JIFZhMzd-B90D/s1600/05-denim-stacks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3bIzs0cCadhtSQSZvdwCxQ0rnPFXCLmkPJf9R3HMH6AOGTE2qQfCbHhse4K4q3-kT-SpGH1nvFsPSg_bR2o1us3nEmoudOoKmWR0cyg-ESQ4zODqq3k1By_M10PvOf7JIFZhMzd-B90D/s320/05-denim-stacks.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> Believe it or not, every pair is different ^ ^ ^. How do I know this? Because she tried them all on while I deleted 5000 emails on my phone. Five hours later, she "accepted" one, albeit not her first choice, then later slashed them with a razor blade. When I was 14, I had exactly two pairs of jeans. They had holes, not by design.&nbsp; Hanging around in vintage warehouses all day with my daughter is love. That is love!<br /> <br /> By the way, there was nothing in this article about trick questions. Which is what I get, more than actual conversation. Just yesterday, my daughter asked, in a long, drawn-out whistful way,<br /> <br /> "Mom, didn't you just love being a teenager?"<br /> <br /> Okay, this is fraught with all of it, trip wires, hidden explosives, poison darts, and flat-out trickery. If I say, oh sure, I loved it; she will think there is something wrong with her because she was probably hating her life at the moment, which is why she lobbed that at me. If I say, it sucked, she will no longer trust anything I ever have to say.<br /> <br /> So, I answer like this: "I must admit, I've loved all my years.&nbsp; Teens, 20's, 30's, 40's, and after that, I stopped rating."<br /> <br /> <br /> Then I retreat to my room.<br /> <br /> <br /> <u>LISTEN MORE</u>:&nbsp; &nbsp;Okay, now I'm just getting pissed off. All I do is listen. Not because I'm so incredible and patient but because they never stop talking when they are in a chatty mood. They invade my private space and talk and talk and talk. Until they figure out what the hell they are going to do. If I go to my office and shut the door, they come in and talk.<br /> <br /> If I put up a sign that says I'm working, they come in and talk. If I teach them boundaries about that, that's ignored because it's considered urgent talk.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jixGW45schFW96eWC6eHNmussxy82AmhZCEwmXaCXRrmiBUPyigJmAoedDc1LNT735T9U0EExaOApHdpO_NZtEnree6khxV8J8_SUXTSeRgOAH87ZWkucmbOv88VtvyxzSSSTF8ip1bs/s1600/giphy.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jixGW45schFW96eWC6eHNmussxy82AmhZCEwmXaCXRrmiBUPyigJmAoedDc1LNT735T9U0EExaOApHdpO_NZtEnree6khxV8J8_SUXTSeRgOAH87ZWkucmbOv88VtvyxzSSSTF8ip1bs/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I don't listen to validate or affirm her feelings, I listen because I'm trapped. But by the very nature of listening, I am validating their feelings. But I must admit, I do enjoy their trips into chatty-ville.&nbsp; There is no better way to learn about your daughter than to be on the receiving end of a long-winded rant. Or an epic observation about, well, anything.<br /> <br /> Unless... Unless... their conversation-at-me takes a deep dive into uncomfortable waters, like,<br /> <br /> "I'm not as smart as my friends in MATH."<br /> <br /> Well, then, I break all the above rules.<br /> <br /> I fly off the handle, say crazy shit, throw dishes, and try to solve the problem by figuring out which horrible girl said this to my beloved daughter, or was it one of the evil nun teachers?<br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nV67HMpvqLJw7A8YIMyM7V5H0KbKhfzYEQDzBR8a5G3KRus-quZ6RN4QXcjzJdp2oqWZ7Z-K1q_hChSkInislU8-teJrfCQlKwRlbQdmjYcQeHU4UIPspgkb54_nZWYFmqI0NHdaN8FK/s1600/lucille-bluth-003.nocrop.w529.h306.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="272" data-original-width="500" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nV67HMpvqLJw7A8YIMyM7V5H0KbKhfzYEQDzBR8a5G3KRus-quZ6RN4QXcjzJdp2oqWZ7Z-K1q_hChSkInislU8-teJrfCQlKwRlbQdmjYcQeHU4UIPspgkb54_nZWYFmqI0NHdaN8FK/s320/lucille-bluth-003.nocrop.w529.h306.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> In which case, I email that pest and ask ---<br /> <br /> "What's up? Do you want my daughter to go into the world and think she's stupid at math? Where is your female empowerment!"-- Then I resort to complimenting the daughter. ---"You're a goddamn genius. A goddamn genius! The rest of the world is stupid. Give me the math problem, and I will figure it out myself. Then I will get that kid expelled, and the teacher fired. This math is insane! Who can do this?"<br /> <br /> After my red rage rant-a-thon, having not listened to the girls, they lead me to my room, telling me it's no big deal and none of my business. &nbsp;"Take it easy, Mom, calm down; we'll work it out. Why don't you watch one of those Sandra Bullock comedies you like. Where she's super mean but then becomes super nice."&nbsp; Which is pretty much all of her romantic comedies, but I do love them.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFa99lLn4JtQrrbM6bEewYWaeTtVVH68ysTU-UoonGJwlhOr6RLntecxCr7S_zEWhqJn3-tNVznlcU71HpDGRgwQvqLgyQF38gUkSz8dtQbPdjlKC3-XLl4WSdL4iRKPPViUbySavIxjdo/s1600/anigif_enhanced-4396-1422401796-12.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="609" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFa99lLn4JtQrrbM6bEewYWaeTtVVH68ysTU-UoonGJwlhOr6RLntecxCr7S_zEWhqJn3-tNVznlcU71HpDGRgwQvqLgyQF38gUkSz8dtQbPdjlKC3-XLl4WSdL4iRKPPViUbySavIxjdo/s320/anigif_enhanced-4396-1422401796-12.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> After I'm calm, but kids. ^ ^ ^<br /> <br /> I retreat to my room.<br /> <br /> Here is the thing. When in doubt.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwg3OO62W4MxTX6xx9gMBwrL_bvIPQAXupx5d-IbkCvtXQmcXLhOFoV2ZayESN6ssA2scqnB51qkq8OdYAeuf2RRi-s8ILf5F75SjOHLbDYwEoPeH_n9tsjSoDElw68bMX0ZZseGkFoupj/s1600/tumblr_olkfoahAtI1t3ntjro1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="500" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwg3OO62W4MxTX6xx9gMBwrL_bvIPQAXupx5d-IbkCvtXQmcXLhOFoV2ZayESN6ssA2scqnB51qkq8OdYAeuf2RRi-s8ILf5F75SjOHLbDYwEoPeH_n9tsjSoDElw68bMX0ZZseGkFoupj/s320/tumblr_olkfoahAtI1t3ntjro1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on teenagers, girls, motherhood, parenting, emotions, love wins, Happy Birthday.</description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2018/03/what-does-raising-teenage-girls-have-to.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzm-7qTlzN0XCBs56rQFvjFB3gc8iJn3-Oi1iyjTXwRlcgksgjeK2lgAPyLrssmngaYhEGA4motPw2qFtBZlNtopixZ5BTcPgq8lVwwF7JhkYYgX9jPer3S2Qw7jNaAEMzlLg7Yjf1-7T/s72-c/A+nd+E+Aug+09+our+culture.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>3</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-3514542484112646095</guid><pubDate>Sun, 04 Feb 2018 03:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:41:46.926-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">BBQ</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">bread</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ceasar Tio</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">changes</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">food</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">food plans</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">gallbladders</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">health</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">interlopers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">lessons</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">nutrition</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Paleo</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">paleogrubs</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">pies</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">yum</category><title>My Downward Insulin Spiral to Near Death!</title><description><br /> Not too long ago, I had a BBQ gathering, stuffing my face and making jokes while getting into the spirit of the upcoming outdoor Karaoke&nbsp;contest. Then seemingly out of nowhere, a lovely fellow whom I had never met must have&nbsp;overheard me say, "Ugh, I feel so bloated," as I chomped into another burger.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59xLAmdRX9TgAhhwBebeK4LxBIHrrL0jDbx53qNZDHx_IqdMJCyiSdAvCPOcdZgqfn_nK6fzhBRrE1qMf1L-8XvFbxz2wEksfGsDHFW9s0gx9l45j1HhfnDhygKTXAKk1gz7dzhDe8UHC/s1600/charlotte-mckinney-carls-jr-busted-coverage.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="600" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59xLAmdRX9TgAhhwBebeK4LxBIHrrL0jDbx53qNZDHx_IqdMJCyiSdAvCPOcdZgqfn_nK6fzhBRrE1qMf1L-8XvFbxz2wEksfGsDHFW9s0gx9l45j1HhfnDhygKTXAKk1gz7dzhDe8UHC/s320/charlotte-mckinney-carls-jr-busted-coverage.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Here is what I heard:<br /> <br /> "Well, that's because you're on a downward insulin spiral! You're about to become a major diabetic. Chances are you'll have to have your gallbladder removed! Then develop liver cancer! Say hello to the Grim Reaper. He's standing beside you!"<br /> <br /> This lovely man, Cesario Tio, probably did not say anything like that, but that's what I heard. First, why is this stranger talking about my gallbladder? Also, do I really need a gallbladder?<br /> <br /> To save you trouble, readers, yes, you need it.&nbsp; You want to keep this thing happy. If you care, you can see more here --&nbsp;<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallbladder">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallbladder</a><br /> <br /> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Nonetheless, who was he to tell me anything about my life? He was about to get an earful.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlUt6EZ2GyX6JxHDjGKGihK61R4jOn0PRBDQupM4c5JLCaUVM3onrqeX2PtRbo42sBsEXcUy9h791y7ptr6wlu0cK9LIgw4tXdOIoHamBzf3z_VBzNnBJiNFYczBfyldE-muUjLOorJNZ/s1600/liz-lemon-gif.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="500" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlUt6EZ2GyX6JxHDjGKGihK61R4jOn0PRBDQupM4c5JLCaUVM3onrqeX2PtRbo42sBsEXcUy9h791y7ptr6wlu0cK9LIgw4tXdOIoHamBzf3z_VBzNnBJiNFYczBfyldE-muUjLOorJNZ/s320/liz-lemon-gif.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Most likely, he said, 'Maybe you feel bloated because of all the refined sugars you consume.'</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> I looked at Cesario, who is incredibly fit, runs marathons, and is devoted to clean eating/living, otherwise known as Paleo. In addition, he's very kind, helpful, incredibly educated on all matters of food, and entrepreneurial. He wants people to understand that what they eat is very important. More on Cesario <a href="http://paleobreakfast.me/">here</a>.&nbsp;</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> But I knew nothing of this person so I thought he was judging me, and insulting me and I was furious.&nbsp;</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> "Well, Mr. Paleo guy, I happen to eat very wisely. This little BBQ is a one-off. So I had a burger. And pie. And cookies. But I don't drink, I exercise, and I eat healthily."</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> "What do you eat for breakfast?"</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Who was this guy? Now my girlfriends are leaning in, seeing how I'll handle this nutrition-freak interloper.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> "I'll have you know I eat a trough of plain yogurt covered with oatmeal, sunflower butter, and a pile of fresh fruit. And some almonds. And coffee."&nbsp;</div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8UU7bMD2Cw0w_6t_RzcpM7qFOK8C0XupPzqjKEpVAPQbyniuZ4wnJR2sPHjpxSG604kYP0DCVtYpspMFrJli1GgzTXYpgUkrUJkPaIvtBSMAhszI5gyazqFxhGu9dXVPbWO6YNltCqZm/s1600/tumblr_op7mx5nuOH1r6k85ho1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8UU7bMD2Cw0w_6t_RzcpM7qFOK8C0XupPzqjKEpVAPQbyniuZ4wnJR2sPHjpxSG604kYP0DCVtYpspMFrJli1GgzTXYpgUkrUJkPaIvtBSMAhszI5gyazqFxhGu9dXVPbWO6YNltCqZm/s320/tumblr_op7mx5nuOH1r6k85ho1_500.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> I was waiting to&nbsp;be congratulated on my excellent food choices but:</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> "Then what do you do? For activity after breakfast?"</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> "Activity after breakfast? All the action happened before breakfast, kids, carpool, and possibly stopping for gas. After I eat, I write. For hours."&nbsp;</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Technically that's true, but often there is more sitting and staring than actual writing. Still, how was this Cesario's business?!</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> "So after consuming over 150 grams of sugar and probably 2000 calories, you sit down for hours?"</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> A <i>trick question</i>, this menace of a man.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> I went into some red rage and stalked off into my kitchen. One of my gal pals, Sydney, followed.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Me: "What the actual fuck? Who invited that guy? Fuck Paleo!"</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Sydney: "He has some serious issues. Why is he attacking your breakfast? It sounds great by the way and super healthy."</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Me: "Right? And I didn't even mention that I drink five glasses of whole milk a day. Not to mention bread. Loads of bread. Am I getting a gut?"</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> I was pulling on my excess stomach material.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Sydney: "Oh for god's sake, no. That's just baby fat leftover from the twins."</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Me: "They're 14. I can't keep using that excuse."</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> We dissected this poor guy, conjuring up some imaginary life he had with other Paleoites as they ate root vegetables, then ran uphill for 500 miles. Pathetic!</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EHrAWrj72gSMIDcRprKfHooyGQLHGx2lF0BfkcbO-eZqmTHhMNc67TgayDftDGXri0D_7BLyC6tmc-ApwB82cKhyGPC_kjHfK74QMZenjQrSPRQRMcun7RRryuYWWPfsDNsTCVrGrTlK/s1600/claire-coffee.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="500" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EHrAWrj72gSMIDcRprKfHooyGQLHGx2lF0BfkcbO-eZqmTHhMNc67TgayDftDGXri0D_7BLyC6tmc-ApwB82cKhyGPC_kjHfK74QMZenjQrSPRQRMcun7RRryuYWWPfsDNsTCVrGrTlK/s320/claire-coffee.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Sydney and I went back and forth, putting down the entire Paleo concept, and community and decided Cesario was simply stuck in a cult.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> The night was really fun, with lots of bad singing, dancing, and more pie.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> The next morning I was still angry. Out of sheer spite, I made a "green" protein shake, something I found on a Paleo website. It was delicious. Then for lunch, no bread, just chicken. For dinner, fish, yams, and spinach.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> I did this day after day until I forgot why. Suddenly I was off dairy, white bread, most bread, and sugar, save a few gummy bears. And I felt amazing. My pants started to fall off, my stomach shrank, and everything shrank. I had more energy than I had in years.&nbsp;</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Like this but not me: And I don't have an earring in my belly.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplnhiT0gVBBSGiVN6eJs11KyJBgJ2RFyyFFjdby06Sfe_AHrBREEOUiNiT_roRycX1zRAOrfhbnBHCuiuPcVcgkT_kGSmAoordxWaKmwBMYk28EdI4gRJ7UwP-5JBl1o6O3UTWfR1gmVZ/s1600/stock-footage-woman-eating-fast-food-time-lapse-9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="1044" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplnhiT0gVBBSGiVN6eJs11KyJBgJ2RFyyFFjdby06Sfe_AHrBREEOUiNiT_roRycX1zRAOrfhbnBHCuiuPcVcgkT_kGSmAoordxWaKmwBMYk28EdI4gRJ7UwP-5JBl1o6O3UTWfR1gmVZ/s320/stock-footage-woman-eating-fast-food-time-lapse-9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> I learned a lot about myself that night. 1) I can be overly sensitive to anything. 2) I can create scenarios about people to suit my perceptions of who I need them to be. 3) I can be a dismissive bitch.&nbsp;</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Okay, so none of this is new. I've been working on improving myself since birth. It's a slow process.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> But like so much in life, we only see what we want to see, and that's not a great thing at least for me. Deep down, I knew my food plan was lacking, but I just didn't want to hear it. So thank you, Cesario, for having the 'gall' to call me out. It changed my life. This one small BBQ inspired me to learn about food, find new ways to consume food and live healthier. Because I'm now practicing better eating habits, so are my kids. It's a win for everyone.&nbsp;</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> An interesting anecdote --&nbsp;<span style="background-color: transparent;">In the Chinese language, gallbladder&nbsp;</span>膽 -- is associated with courage, boldness, bravery, and heroism, and apparently is where you make your best decisions. Where you chart your life's actual path! Who knew?</div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-HjNEEzkO_PY_nn9xKKxEX4pFdmNGHL0a3JSo2rfFE6lHj9V1m7jQsyL2xO5gkXBrF69B4VAe2UBHwJPeLwYroWEsxs76OKDYkvGTZauytzrjGULmlKdOwJ1Wom3vi_ZeTQAL0RycmSO/s1600/tumblr_no5swdMBhC1spfwbbo1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-HjNEEzkO_PY_nn9xKKxEX4pFdmNGHL0a3JSo2rfFE6lHj9V1m7jQsyL2xO5gkXBrF69B4VAe2UBHwJPeLwYroWEsxs76OKDYkvGTZauytzrjGULmlKdOwJ1Wom3vi_ZeTQAL0RycmSO/s320/tumblr_no5swdMBhC1spfwbbo1_500.jpg" width="211" /></a></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Still on course to that big white beach house that awaits me.</div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> <br /></div> <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;"> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on health, diet, Paleo, BBQ, random men, inspiration, gallbladders, beach houses, and the kitchen sink.</div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2018/02/my-downward-insulin-spiral-to-near-death.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59xLAmdRX9TgAhhwBebeK4LxBIHrrL0jDbx53qNZDHx_IqdMJCyiSdAvCPOcdZgqfn_nK6fzhBRrE1qMf1L-8XvFbxz2wEksfGsDHFW9s0gx9l45j1HhfnDhygKTXAKk1gz7dzhDe8UHC/s72-c/charlotte-mckinney-carls-jr-busted-coverage.gif" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-7059255479425343204</guid><pubDate>Tue, 31 Oct 2017 01:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:38:33.328-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">A Rainy Day in NYC</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Chloe Grace Moretz</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Dakota Fanning</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Elle Fanning</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">films</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Hollywood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">I Love You Daddy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Lolita</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Louis CK</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Manhattan</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sex</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Woody Allen</category><title>It's Raining Daddies in New York or STOP With the Middle-age Male Fantasy Films!</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiJjV55LSb3e1YIgrMPav-TpYJH029ThazOx2mYxV9ApjfbMpuJruJ_XF-pyPm42VwelbMVSw0LrhuqZqwTb7O4t5qApdcRf_ykFztjMS3EDjTpYaYHg5z-dzhjZGy8Jv3mVMiJK_LrFF/s1600/Sue-Lyon-Lolita-1960-Look-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiJjV55LSb3e1YIgrMPav-TpYJH029ThazOx2mYxV9ApjfbMpuJruJ_XF-pyPm42VwelbMVSw0LrhuqZqwTb7O4t5qApdcRf_ykFztjMS3EDjTpYaYHg5z-dzhjZGy8Jv3mVMiJK_LrFF/s320/Sue-Lyon-Lolita-1960-Look-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> I can't believe I am addressing this again. Films where predatory, old, white saggy ass men lust after teenage girls. I was so outraged a couple years ago regarding the film <a href="https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-last-of-robin-hood-2014">The Last of Robin Hood</a>, which focused on Errol Flynn's (50) sexual relationship with Beverly Aadland (15), I had to make some noise. Here is the post under <a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/04/kevin-kline-and-dakota-fanning-under.html">GROSS</a>.&nbsp; They tried to gloss this ridiculous movie over by suggesting that that was how things were back then. WELL, here we were in 2017; so much for that rationale.<br /> <br /> And in a bizarre coincidence, one of the two films, <a href="https://www.avclub.com/you-have-2-guesses-as-to-what-the-new-woody-allen-movie-1819809398">Woody Allen's A Rainy Day in New York</a>,&nbsp;casts the lovely Elle Fanning as the supposed 15-year-old girl. Her sister Dakota Fanning played the 15-year-old Beverly Aadland. I have no idea what this means, but I love the Fanning sisters and all their 248 movies.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTT-WA60MQrmw41NtPSUzIWtqkfz0aNgY2WXDwdbPReNiXQnc4V2NX9cMzO7ulkIkZLwEpGC75dreGHwxt_fC-AF6O3wnf9zLdIZ7-3mQC9oNkZ8Bgllx62K3SLp8Wj9OwDH-by33LRxB/s1600/large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTT-WA60MQrmw41NtPSUzIWtqkfz0aNgY2WXDwdbPReNiXQnc4V2NX9cMzO7ulkIkZLwEpGC75dreGHwxt_fC-AF6O3wnf9zLdIZ7-3mQC9oNkZ8Bgllx62K3SLp8Wj9OwDH-by33LRxB/s320/large.jpg" width="256" /></a></div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyeXzTtnrBixTCWH2M9UfeyTpJkHAxFhg6MKUhPkNczo-U4QfIDJI26U4vmbmYpP8h_olugfsWxyPIOEIzJayOojuFzT_47F2ry194EzuoUy-GmLzA-wRsykZMvkvLsnfZjqEg9zfslOI/s1600/original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="500" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyeXzTtnrBixTCWH2M9UfeyTpJkHAxFhg6MKUhPkNczo-U4QfIDJI26U4vmbmYpP8h_olugfsWxyPIOEIzJayOojuFzT_47F2ry194EzuoUy-GmLzA-wRsykZMvkvLsnfZjqEg9zfslOI/s320/original.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> But, NO, just NO. You don't have to play these roles. Walk away. Run! Everyone in Hollywood wants to cast the Fanning sisters. So why say yes to this trash?<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkEJljLWLnL2ZKhT4BajXOsNCFYFJPR3UrnuikJpl41g4QzhvvdbPtJUyQBbeRArPm6KuNHC1oI5Csw9Qbhu6ccxi5CYzR1xMMLyLyZlZh5ACN0PLwCMCYRwn9fuHdo-SNf-VV9mrbsA-W/s1600/tumblr_inline_no96kewNqR1tsfgi8_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkEJljLWLnL2ZKhT4BajXOsNCFYFJPR3UrnuikJpl41g4QzhvvdbPtJUyQBbeRArPm6KuNHC1oI5Csw9Qbhu6ccxi5CYzR1xMMLyLyZlZh5ACN0PLwCMCYRwn9fuHdo-SNf-VV9mrbsA-W/s320/tumblr_inline_no96kewNqR1tsfgi8_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I'm not interested in bringing up the entire Allen history because this entry is not about that.<br /> <br /> How is it possible there is not one but <u>TWO</u> of these films soon to be released?<br /> <br /> The other one is Louis CK's <a href="http://www.indiewire.com/2017/09/i-love-you-daddy-review-louis-ck-chloe-grace-moretz-tiff-1201874611/">I Love You Daddy</a>. His 17-year-old daughter (Chloe Grace Moretz) is essentially stalked by a 68-year-old creepy film "god" John Malkovich. EEEWWWW. There is an unofficial tagline: "Everybody is a Pervert." Newsflash: Only perverts believe this.<br /> <br /> Woody Allen is not about to defend his next venture into Lolita-land, but he did defend Harvey Weinstein, calling him a "sad, sick man." Good lord. Well, okay then. That explains it.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECXrcHcdKrOEoc3j9TPBBDNygkFTsqW08R2HYfCnZJZLWInzh-dg30YiKhP5m8vE9l_UYbmqdYnrftWvQaUWA48s9zWtMuN9S5wPNx5PPEn7cOYs3CZw0GLV8uFdch1WpRGsidbYK56bL/s1600/excited-baby.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="500" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECXrcHcdKrOEoc3j9TPBBDNygkFTsqW08R2HYfCnZJZLWInzh-dg30YiKhP5m8vE9l_UYbmqdYnrftWvQaUWA48s9zWtMuN9S5wPNx5PPEn7cOYs3CZw0GLV8uFdch1WpRGsidbYK56bL/s320/excited-baby.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br />However, Louis CK is defending his movie, a very familiar defense. "I grew up with that. <i>Manhattan</i> is a movie I saw as a kid, and I was like, "Okay, that's what people do."&nbsp; Really?&nbsp; It is? People do this? What people? Do you mean people like you and Woody Allen? <i>Manhattan</i> was made nearly 30 years ago. Has Louis not changed his mind since he was a teenager? When will adolescent middle-aged men grow up? Oh. Never. Of course. Men like him and Woody and HW and on and on and on.<br /> <br /> It's as though men over 45 read or reread Lolita and think: "Wow. I want to make that film! I want to undress a gorgeous teenager and pretend to have sex with her, or at least watch!"<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5ADGvdYHVrSuz_0vWAhBTJThIMY9Rru_dFKzbDXa4maX4DX0I7B12yu0idqGIKgV-iYJ_BSV82gyRn1f8EzGKWtbTPhCDt_h90eI7Dpdg7oJnZXu-C7qa4YF7qAzj6RTGoRUyPa3uvs6/s1600/8282c7703bb51c2a79c983ae9e8d6e97.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="500" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5ADGvdYHVrSuz_0vWAhBTJThIMY9Rru_dFKzbDXa4maX4DX0I7B12yu0idqGIKgV-iYJ_BSV82gyRn1f8EzGKWtbTPhCDt_h90eI7Dpdg7oJnZXu-C7qa4YF7qAzj6RTGoRUyPa3uvs6/s320/8282c7703bb51c2a79c983ae9e8d6e97.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Also, who are these movies for? Certainly not women. I'm sure Louis CK hopes his huge fan base will come along for the ride. I got an email to that effect. Those casual emails he sends to his fans like we're best friends. "Hey Rhonda, I've been SOOOO busy. I made this flick. I really want you to come to see it. In fact, YOU can get a ticket early, like today, even though it opens in November. But you can claim your lucky seat now." AS IF and ----<br /> <style type="text/css"> p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Georgia; color: #353638; -webkit-text-stroke: #353638} span.s1 {font-kerning: none} </style> <br /> <div class="p1"> <span class="s1"><br /></span></div> <div class="p1"> <span class="s1">(I wanted to make you feel like you are “going to the movies.” &nbsp;I think you will really enjoy going to this movie)&nbsp; How the hell does he know what I will like?&nbsp;</span></div> <br /> This was the longest email I had ever received from Louis. TWO pages. Me and millions of others, basically begging us to see this film. Weird.<br /> <br /> Woody Allen did not send me an email.<br /> <br /> I don't plan on seeing either film. As much as I love the cast in both.<br /> <br /> But for two incredibly privileged filmmakers that can do whatever they want, stop with the old man having sex with girls trope because it's not a real trope! But it is a real fantasy that nobody but the filmmakers and "people like them" wants to indulge in.<br /> <br /> This is why I wish I was a billionaire. In addition to doing good works everywhere, I could own a studio and produce films ---- -written, directed, and acted in by women about matters that are interesting, reflect our actual lives, and are relevant to our culture. Films that have an impact. Films that are enjoyable. Films that could even make a difference. MEN, you've had your chance. FOREVER. Step down. Pass the baton. You're going in circles. You're making me sick.<br /> <br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighs on in misogyny, films, predators, male fantasies, Woody Allen, Louis CK, and all that crap.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2017/10/its-raining-daddies-in-new-york-or-stop.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaiJjV55LSb3e1YIgrMPav-TpYJH029ThazOx2mYxV9ApjfbMpuJruJ_XF-pyPm42VwelbMVSw0LrhuqZqwTb7O4t5qApdcRf_ykFztjMS3EDjTpYaYHg5z-dzhjZGy8Jv3mVMiJK_LrFF/s72-c/Sue-Lyon-Lolita-1960-Look-3.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-8307826414653604002</guid><pubDate>Thu, 12 Oct 2017 04:44:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:35:13.397-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Asia Argento</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">entertainment industry</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">female empowerment</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Harvey Weinstein</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Hollywood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Miramax</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">misogyny</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">power</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rape</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Rosanna Arquette</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Rose McGowan</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sexual assault</category><title>Women Have More Power Than They Know</title><description><div data-block="true" data-editor="47hbd" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <br /></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3iIjF9WKl7MG2aVFIOOcrN3dyfBMlPAJ7qW1KdWIhyphenhyphenKBuyvz47tFZTSo2xzF3olvZAhnyjcl1n_ClvQe8qf-WNwjARzVS35BO05_GiqwXfOEczPy3VucPDFwrOKrQVWVjhFaWxZ9e6CV/s1600/download.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3iIjF9WKl7MG2aVFIOOcrN3dyfBMlPAJ7qW1KdWIhyphenhyphenKBuyvz47tFZTSo2xzF3olvZAhnyjcl1n_ClvQe8qf-WNwjARzVS35BO05_GiqwXfOEczPy3VucPDFwrOKrQVWVjhFaWxZ9e6CV/s1600/download.jpg" /></a><span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><u><a href="https://womeninfilm.org/">Women in Film</a> </u>put out a statement today on the Weinstein catastrophe. As I was writing this, I checked to see what the victim count was. Thus far, over 25. From Rose McGowan to Asia Argento to <a href="http://mashable.com/2017/10/11/harvey-weinstein-accusers-list/#NbpM0jgjE5qt">Rosanna Arquette.</a> &lt;&lt; link My little rant here is on this statement. Lots of good ideas, but how to implement them?</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">While it's a very fine statement, how do we get men, male colleagues, to become our allies and speak out when they witness any discrimination? This is certainly a wake-up call for many, but the town is run by men, and until women make an incredibly bold move, not much will change. The men run the boardrooms, hold the keys, and have all the money and power.</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">But there are a lot of extremely powerful women with deep pockets that could create companies that promote strong female leadership. Women would sit on the board. Women would finance the movies and hold similar keys. </span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOab4204UrqfKyDAi_vqhvpD5xlcn_UDc6nG8UIrFozff3kz6iBq_5MN8XcGLGBaCtZnaY2tVC9N_Pnuaawb_Pvj9pQMwvRv0CnYRdjorNheIu4DJvkg9Yz2oKQPsYVAzjD1oxwwZCznYV/s1600/image.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="500" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOab4204UrqfKyDAi_vqhvpD5xlcn_UDc6nG8UIrFozff3kz6iBq_5MN8XcGLGBaCtZnaY2tVC9N_Pnuaawb_Pvj9pQMwvRv0CnYRdjorNheIu4DJvkg9Yz2oKQPsYVAzjD1oxwwZCznYV/s320/image.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">In a patriarchal world that goes back to the beginning of time, time then is what it will take to keep pushing the boulder up the mountain. Except that's the wrong metaphor and needs to be changed. Sisyphus was never meant to succeed. Women are not under some ancient curse. They can pull that rock and foist it over the top; they can do it together, and the men/allies that help will only benefit. </span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Am I, are we, reaching for the stars? Sometimes it seems that way. Speaking of stars:</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">What if female A-listers stopped starring in or producing tentpole movies, money that lines the pockets of various unsavory characters?</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">What if powerful female executives and financiers stepped back until there was some visible change?</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Women have more power than they know. More than half the movie's audience is female. Take women out of movies, and good luck with half an audience, a movie audience that is already rapidly shrinking.</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="frjm1-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">According to Hollywood Reporter, these are the most <a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/lists/thr-100-hollywood-reporters-powerful-people-entertainment-1013405/item/thr-100-2017-jon-berg-diane-nelson-geoff-johns-1013906">powerful people in 2017</a>. A handful of women. But a good handful. So MEN on this list, are any ready to make changes? To be stand-up guys? Think about the 52% of women that go to see your films? </span></div> </div> <div data-block="true" data-editor="47hbd" data-offset-key="726q5-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="726q5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="726q5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">The only thing this industry, like many industries, understands is money. </span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDWJazwrQGr__LEc-pT-MiP-nzJFddUkhStzcM34k67jQ8T1hSPc0Q8U4MxQn7X_zcNFAmRLs2bJNIvGMwqzERCd-WzGrP5RnOtns7Em6DxpiKvPORI-enR-Fstym-Fp45DhHxmFhoPzH/s1600/money-animated-gif-1.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="500" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDWJazwrQGr__LEc-pT-MiP-nzJFddUkhStzcM34k67jQ8T1hSPc0Q8U4MxQn7X_zcNFAmRLs2bJNIvGMwqzERCd-WzGrP5RnOtns7Em6DxpiKvPORI-enR-Fstym-Fp45DhHxmFhoPzH/s320/money-animated-gif-1.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="726q5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="726q5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Mess with it, take it away, threaten the bottom line, and men will suddenly pay attention. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe then men will start speaking out, stepping up, and stopping any assaults they see, witness, or hear about. Industry leaders may follow through on the mentioned excellent mandates.</span></div> </div> <div data-block="true" data-editor="47hbd" data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I also don't believe these male colleagues have to have sisters or daughters to be motivated to step up. Men don't need a daughter, sister, cousin, or aunt to know what sexual assault is.</span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Harassment is never acceptable. Women have the right to a safe work environment. Let's hope this did begin to turn the tide. But certainly, HE is not the only one. He may be the most vile. But it's the entire entertainment environment and sordid history of abuse that he has given a very public face to. A despicable human, I can only compare to one other, the one the leads the nation.</span><br /> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Also, why can't there be a YELP/Rate My-- for bosses and companies. There are in other industries. At the very least, people would know some of what others carry around as secrets. Currency. This town uses secrets and gossip is bargaining power. Put that business on a public forum rather than on hidden boards inside Hollywood. People might think twice before taking certain actions, knowing they may be outed. </span><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVELC-dt7ou-LdHLHSA1-Xwd7a9JH9WiOVDuiSd4EqZXZKzO_PxDOXUEIGaGMmIRGuMQb905OhftPmkUB5YByzpeyyVQiml8sYAlcVkzR7doD1VPkgLjNuAd37oLjzRj6juqlY6YfY7sSZ/s1600/ratemyboss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="979" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVELC-dt7ou-LdHLHSA1-Xwd7a9JH9WiOVDuiSd4EqZXZKzO_PxDOXUEIGaGMmIRGuMQb905OhftPmkUB5YByzpeyyVQiml8sYAlcVkzR7doD1VPkgLjNuAd37oLjzRj6juqlY6YfY7sSZ/s320/ratemyboss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">**makes decent films. A bully. A predator. Stay away. Not worth it.</span><br /> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> WIF statement:</div> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> <div class="p1"> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Women In Film encourages women to continue speaking up about sexual harassment, which is an all-too-common form of discrimination. That so many people, particularly other men in power, knew about Harvey Weinstein’s behavior and didn’t say anything is an indication of how deeply entrenched discrimination is in the film &amp; TV business — and in culture overall.</span></span></div> <div class="p1"> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">We are hearing more and more shocking accounts from women affected by Harvey Weinstein’s behavior; women are emboldened to finally speak up because others have before them.&nbsp; We will likely hear about other men in the entertainment industry who have harassed women because the problem is far more widespread than people have been willing to discuss publicly.</span></span></div> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br /> <div class="p1"> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">In order to do something to end sexual harassment, we must require industry leaders to (1) mandate gender-inclusive boards and decision-making groups and (2) mandate inclusive hiring practices from the top down, from executives to support staff. Ensuring that there are more women in positions of power will change the culture and result in decreased sexual harassment and discrimination overall (3) mandate that lasting legal penalties be applied without compromise, bias, or settlement, and these penalties be enforced for those found guilty and complicit in these crimes of discrimination. The bottom line is that no one should be held to different standards, regardless of their power, money, or fame.</span></span></div> <div class="p1"> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Women need allies. We need our male colleagues – who have mothers, sisters, daughters, and friends – to step up and speak out now and whenever they witness discrimination of any kind.</span></span></div> <span data-offset-key="76hrs-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /> </span></div> </div> <div data-block="true" data-editor="47hbd" data-offset-key="9e9k0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9e9k0-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on Harvey Weinstein, Miramax, Hollywood, sexual assault, the entertainment business, misogyny, discrimination, power, and women. </div> </div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2017/10/women-have-more-power-than-they-know.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3iIjF9WKl7MG2aVFIOOcrN3dyfBMlPAJ7qW1KdWIhyphenhyphenKBuyvz47tFZTSo2xzF3olvZAhnyjcl1n_ClvQe8qf-WNwjARzVS35BO05_GiqwXfOEczPy3VucPDFwrOKrQVWVjhFaWxZ9e6CV/s72-c/download.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-1214554653091289843</guid><pubDate>Sat, 01 Jul 2017 01:28:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:31:46.863-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">art</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">daughters</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Marvel</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">motherhood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">school</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">social anxiety</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sweetkids</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenagers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">them life themes</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">twins</category><title>Thing One and Thing Two - What She Knew</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1J2VgmZUsfpFElun4K5BFoJlAqHspaeVrCBE1uHPEKqTAg5ph0A7VOU-saOhjMV_WULTD_AVQQrfPZr2uH-KHrOQIGZfrnUnq-gUuStwp-F044v4Tlb9PxH8EGnVVIeBp32W4Yk4dfdw/s1600/IMG_0296+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1J2VgmZUsfpFElun4K5BFoJlAqHspaeVrCBE1uHPEKqTAg5ph0A7VOU-saOhjMV_WULTD_AVQQrfPZr2uH-KHrOQIGZfrnUnq-gUuStwp-F044v4Tlb9PxH8EGnVVIeBp32W4Yk4dfdw/s320/IMG_0296+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> <br /> Look how innocent back in the day. &nbsp;^ ^ ^<br /> <br /> Not that anyone asked, but when I had twin girls 14 years ago, while in the hospital, the incredibly kind night nurse that I wanted to take home with me forever also made a prediction about the girls.<br /> <br /> She had an uncanny ability to accurately read a newborn's face. This woman had superpowers. The way she swaddled those screaming babies into a sleep, how she carried one in each arm, roaming up and down the hallway with such crazy confidence, I never once asked where she was taking them.<br /> <br /> In any case, she said this.<br /> <br /> Nurse: &nbsp;Good news and not-so-good news. Baby A will be a very easy child. Even a delight. &nbsp;Baby B, well, she's got some attitude. She's got plenty of that attitude!<br /> <br /> What the hell did that mean? Was this secret maternity ward fun? 6th-floor shenanigans? Twin-time lunch break games? &nbsp;Then: Bye-bye and good luck with that.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVexxmjswG9cEsH5VAodUKt8-y62FbBn5ny3rqeKMGjOlBZUMuogw4fE_n5tUgxPM1qxt5ZMdx75Ijox0Aa-dk67knp03U5UB75ayTmy1K9IcoAqeoJxgl0EJdcAbDIjGsnPlZmhJEra1S/s1600/tenor.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="498" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVexxmjswG9cEsH5VAodUKt8-y62FbBn5ny3rqeKMGjOlBZUMuogw4fE_n5tUgxPM1qxt5ZMdx75Ijox0Aa-dk67knp03U5UB75ayTmy1K9IcoAqeoJxgl0EJdcAbDIjGsnPlZmhJEra1S/s320/tenor.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div> <br /> <u>How could she have known that when they were twenty-four hours old?</u><br /> <br /> I'm not going to summarize 14 years, so:<br /> <br /> Today --Baby A, out of school but fretting over homework due in 2 months, spends her time reading, writing, and making short films. I'm posting this one because it clearly identifies her life situation and what's wrong with public schools. Oh, wait. Did I write that? --She works her ass off, does everyone else's job to ensure her perfect 4.0 life status, and doesn't mind. So she's building a youtube site to vent. (Apple doesn't fall etc.)<br /> <br /> This here clue in&nbsp;<a href="https://youtu.be/69XBg6Xztb0">Rome Alone</a><br /> <br /> <br /> Baby B. &nbsp;She's outside on the hammock doing that teen business on her phone, chatting with the "squad" in a language I can't decipher because it's not language. It's words without vowels. She basically lives in her own fancy, butterfly-filled fantasy. &nbsp;(Apple doesn't fall far from the tree etc.)<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HVqE1Evs-gvkyJeTehuBe1UQpJu9IPpvTjnRBWK2qSSG-M-1P4atPiGZGRx4k9BREDyI4o3Y9wy1KXBg6HwugvUDItzhqD9AT-287RrpjGRYy3yDu9gUIWj6e008wLAhbOYB0_5sG96S/s1600/tumblr_mx5y2uZNGF1qj8mclo7_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="500" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HVqE1Evs-gvkyJeTehuBe1UQpJu9IPpvTjnRBWK2qSSG-M-1P4atPiGZGRx4k9BREDyI4o3Y9wy1KXBg6HwugvUDItzhqD9AT-287RrpjGRYy3yDu9gUIWj6e008wLAhbOYB0_5sG96S/s320/tumblr_mx5y2uZNGF1qj8mclo7_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> While A studies science exploration, action figures, and hiking with like-minded friends, B is Sephora, &nbsp;you tuber girls, Buffalo Exchange, styling outfits, going to all-boys "summer school" to study "Algebra." None of her T-shirts, for example, have a bottom half. What is that? &nbsp;Anyway... she's super sweet. She's either saying, SHUT UP or STOP TALKING...not sure.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw-zVXF2Cy1oY0i4CE_cjEF5055YxM1PuWN3AexnqTwC2tO2NyyUJSofvm1ddYCr6Q9xXw-GXja1Xw6uzGN7A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /> <br /> This is an example of her art, which I fished from the trash.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WhwTEk9DYMcMEimbqNq8_mkfqOTRQbeR_9ofy_dUIMAqCqm9uQwcjrvt95CfYGM3W7DQc9TzLFXEvoEQ3GF4_e0B2hZrx0MA4siVzPa6Cl30kRL7ikj1xb0VSuaoFHxqk1gjTYxXkvLc/s1600/15138381_1143421372378854_1349228046906809586_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="982" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WhwTEk9DYMcMEimbqNq8_mkfqOTRQbeR_9ofy_dUIMAqCqm9uQwcjrvt95CfYGM3W7DQc9TzLFXEvoEQ3GF4_e0B2hZrx0MA4siVzPa6Cl30kRL7ikj1xb0VSuaoFHxqk1gjTYxXkvLc/s320/15138381_1143421372378854_1349228046906809586_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Someone told me I ought to try and market some of their pieces for, say, coffee mugs or something... right.. that's me. Oh, hey you --getting your $15 dollar cold brew, you market person hipster guy/girl, put this on a T-shirt for me.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU93AT-RVEg53x254yg3z6_9j2p0jWekqVvpNmh2eBfklUjcLomAIxlgc0dufa8Fyi4A5wtl6lovB2TOv02SfeI0T6fCvACphW5ZeARW-WcmksWZ1qVEv0L1DV7Z6aqblpxnU99gIA0C48/s1600/15036661_1143426695711655_8369077272139247293_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="695" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU93AT-RVEg53x254yg3z6_9j2p0jWekqVvpNmh2eBfklUjcLomAIxlgc0dufa8Fyi4A5wtl6lovB2TOv02SfeI0T6fCvACphW5ZeARW-WcmksWZ1qVEv0L1DV7Z6aqblpxnU99gIA0C48/s320/15036661_1143426695711655_8369077272139247293_n.jpg" width="231" /></a></div> <br /> So, there you go. Little slices of A and B.<br /> <br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot reports on twins, children, parenting, haha haha, teenagers, art, public school, and private school.</description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2017/06/school-vs-social-anxiety-girls-twins.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1J2VgmZUsfpFElun4K5BFoJlAqHspaeVrCBE1uHPEKqTAg5ph0A7VOU-saOhjMV_WULTD_AVQQrfPZr2uH-KHrOQIGZfrnUnq-gUuStwp-F044v4Tlb9PxH8EGnVVIeBp32W4Yk4dfdw/s72-c/IMG_0296+%25281%2529.JPG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-1595788443214285416</guid><pubDate>Thu, 29 Jun 2017 16:29:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:29:25.012-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">communes</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Fire</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Heat</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ice</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">life</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Los Angeles</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Michigan</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">pocket neighborhoods</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Puget Sound</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ross Chapin</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">time</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Washington</category><title>Fire and Ice</title><description><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWWr1OlWfUNKRkijoqXOremmUZhyio3TI-j1Yg_0Lrz_urzLFLrqkZUNqNRoW6Dya2HFc92MKJdzfNmTLKay8rKPHl-HYfHOkvEofa7JD5h8mmf3UJjhYNP45PlOWNv9bHgjl-k_kXtL5/s1600/cohousing-image1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="1600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWWr1OlWfUNKRkijoqXOremmUZhyio3TI-j1Yg_0Lrz_urzLFLrqkZUNqNRoW6Dya2HFc92MKJdzfNmTLKay8rKPHl-HYfHOkvEofa7JD5h8mmf3UJjhYNP45PlOWNv9bHgjl-k_kXtL5/s320/cohousing-image1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Living in this little paradise could be an option. ^ ^ ^ ^<br /> <br /> <br /> I've sadly neglected my blog for over a year, though it does not seem like a year. Mainly because years pass by like days. I've decided to see what's what.<br /> <br /> I have a morning routine where I write in a journal, sometimes dozens of pages, most of it meaningless to anyone but me, but somehow combined with writing for money that never arrives, I've left poor Trifecta in the dust.<br /> <br /> Speaking of dust, I loathe the weather in SoCal. I woke up with grit in my throat. Embers from wildfires are flaring up all around the city - five in total. The reason there are so many has to do with a deadly combination of California's wettest winter in over a decade and the intense summer heat burning up what grew during the rain.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yyBKsZvgN6fHj0h9ojKZ25LsBZpXcw7KwgeBjXoW-z-watUe6gOXUOSxY9SAYiG0oNgE2U9fIkP2f66RLE1hnN4Q7OPXlnTtamfz6-APMLIT3BW7kRvHlBQYfQEh7lfsJh-1lMy1E_jR/s1600/chopper-burbank-fire2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="987" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yyBKsZvgN6fHj0h9ojKZ25LsBZpXcw7KwgeBjXoW-z-watUe6gOXUOSxY9SAYiG0oNgE2U9fIkP2f66RLE1hnN4Q7OPXlnTtamfz6-APMLIT3BW7kRvHlBQYfQEh7lfsJh-1lMy1E_jR/s320/chopper-burbank-fire2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> This is not too far away, Burbank. I walked out at 6am to get the Times; the sky was thick with yellow smoke. I've seen this many times and had to evacuate my home a few times, but somehow this year seems the worst. There is a correlation between the extreme heat rising in SoCal with my extreme dislike for living here. I'm not alone. My friends and I constantly discuss how we are all leaving together to find some piece of land, preferably near the water, maybe outside the US, but not too far from shopping outlets (heh...Jamie). A commune. With big trees and some deer. With a dozen or so English cottages, a community garden full of exotic lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, okay, a mixed salad, right in the center. Maybe a goat to milk and some chickens.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAl6dJTJhkN-5kJSu6hKUQh6DSY_ciKwPjJ71CQqZSWhJ2loaR5wQ_WxLkyfJZN28ZQjdYEimyckIBM9YKD8ojrgyt15U6MUsyFDGS0MD_wAD7ysvbwihVWkxBa63HRGpC2xG87IBJ5tB/s1600/tumblr_ocn62jlGiJ1r2hkcko1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAl6dJTJhkN-5kJSu6hKUQh6DSY_ciKwPjJ71CQqZSWhJ2loaR5wQ_WxLkyfJZN28ZQjdYEimyckIBM9YKD8ojrgyt15U6MUsyFDGS0MD_wAD7ysvbwihVWkxBa63HRGpC2xG87IBJ5tB/s320/tumblr_ocn62jlGiJ1r2hkcko1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> <br /> Just behind this lovely setting is the ocean, clean and breezy. Dolphins pass by; we all have wind chimes. Maybe that dog.<br /> <br /> Until we all get there, I dream of ice caves.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCj5qD8MKnuKtl7iCP_Vd76NoeVtUvIap9jjy1s8-tQMxCYlTO-ahkdYRHmHmZlLGa-Tj8fp8rNWFb2_1ZxwNA7dZnV17qF_QWmik4tTGH2KM5oAz9HRSXcm69iDfBGG7CNszaTnC5X_kx/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCj5qD8MKnuKtl7iCP_Vd76NoeVtUvIap9jjy1s8-tQMxCYlTO-ahkdYRHmHmZlLGa-Tj8fp8rNWFb2_1ZxwNA7dZnV17qF_QWmik4tTGH2KM5oAz9HRSXcm69iDfBGG7CNszaTnC5X_kx/s320/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> This is Northern MI, not too far from where I grew up. Couldn't wait to get out. To come to California. At age 14, that seemed like a great plan. I now see this journey as two polar opposites: fire and ice.<br /> <br /> Meanwhile, I'm running with what I got and fixing it along the way.<br /> <br /> UPDATE: &nbsp;OMG, so I found out this mind fantasy is a real place called pocket <a href="http://rosschapin.com/projects/pocket-neighborhoods/">neighborhoods</a>. This particular place is in WA, not too far from Puget Sound, where my mother is from and lived and died, and I've probably seen, so this now makes sense. Crazy. Click on the neighborhood link above. Now it's very real. It's on, baby.<br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighing back in. On Fire, Heat, Ice, Paradise, Life, Ross Chapin<br /> <br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2017/06/fire-and-ice.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWWr1OlWfUNKRkijoqXOremmUZhyio3TI-j1Yg_0Lrz_urzLFLrqkZUNqNRoW6Dya2HFc92MKJdzfNmTLKay8rKPHl-HYfHOkvEofa7JD5h8mmf3UJjhYNP45PlOWNv9bHgjl-k_kXtL5/s72-c/cohousing-image1.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-5179434741131957787</guid><pubDate>Fri, 25 Nov 2016 22:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:19:19.007-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Addiction</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">apartment fire</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">broken childhoods</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">children</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">LA</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Los Angeles Times</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">recovery</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Relationships</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><title>Broken LA Times Repost 2012</title><description><br /> <br /> <div class="mod-latarticlesarticleheader mod-articleheader mod-articleheader-with-kicker" id="mod-article-header" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> <h1 class="multi-line-title-1" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 25px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 25px; margin: 25px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"> The signs of a broken relationship were there from the start</h1> </div> <div class="mod-articlesubtitle" id="mod-article-subtitle" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"> <h2 style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> We had come together out of a desperate need. Though things didn't work out, the journey was very worthwhile for one reason: our son.</h2> </div> <div class="mod-latarticlesarticlebyline mod-articlebyline" id="mod-article-byline" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px; margin: 5px 0px 4px; padding: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"> <span class="pubdate" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://articles.latimes.com/2012/sep/08" style="border: 0px; color: black; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;">September 08, 2012</a></span><span class="separator" style="border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px 5px;">|</span><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">By Rhonda Talbot, Special to the Los Angeles Times</span></div> <div class="mod-latarticlessocialmedia mod-socialmedia" id="mod-sm-badge-top" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, &quot;Times New Roman&quot;, Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; min-height: 20px; padding: 0px; width: 660px;"> <div id="mod-sm-badge-top-defer" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> <ul class="socialBadges" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; height: 20px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> <li style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; height: 20px; line-height: 20px; list-style-type: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;"><ul style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; height: 20px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> <li class="socialHoriz addThis" id="mod-sm-badge-top-defer_addthisli" style="border: 0px; display: inline; float: left; font-family: inherit; height: 20px; line-height: 20px; list-style-type: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;"><div class="addthis_toolbox addthis_default_style" id="mod-sm-badge-top-defer_addthis" style="border: 0px; 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opacity: 0.8; padding: 0px 2px 2px 3px; vertical-align: bottom; width: 275px;"> (Johanna Goodman, For the…)</div> </div> <div class="mod-latarticlesarticletext mod-articletext" id="mod-a-body-first-para" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;"> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> From the moment we met, everything about our relationship was broken. I was bicycling at Gold's Gym in Hollywood, listening to Bob Dylan. I barely noticed the guy to my left. I'll call him Jay — tall, lumbering, utterly confused. He fiddled with the controls of his bike, trying not to look embarrassed.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "It's broken," I shouted, not bothering to remove my headphones. He sheepishly climbed off that bike and onto another. More fiddling with the controls. I sighed, pulled off my headphones, and pressed his start button.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Thanks," he said. "I just quit smoking. I also quit drugs, drinking, sugar, and white flour."</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> He was handsome in that helpless-boy way. I could tell he was an actor by the way he insisted on making eye contact. He kept talking — something about a motel in Del Mar, Miles Davis, Nietzsche, and a pig farm in Utah.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> He asked for my number. I could have slipped him a fake one. But I didn't.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> How I later found myself in his decaying station wagon — shredded floorboards, untrustworthy brakes, the scent of dead fish — remains something of a mystery. We would drive for hours into the desert to sit on sacred land, pick strawberries in Oxnard, or listen to an obscure jazz band in Thousand Oaks.</div> <div class="mod-latarticlesarticletextwithadcpc mod-latarticlesarticletext mod-articletext" id="mod-a-body-after-first-para" style="border: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;"> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> Jay was decent and thoughtful. He bought me unconventional gifts: a framed print of Ganesh and a book about the Chumash Indians.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> I would report to my girlfriends about this peculiar guy whose hidden potential came with tie-dyed shirts, pajama pants, and puka shells.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> After one night of constellation gazing in the high desert, we returned to his apartment. He tinkered with the broken lock, then laughed when the doorknob fell into his hand. "Oops."</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> By now, I expected things not to work, but I was still startled by the sheer quantity of broken items: televisions, toilets, and the refrigerator. Even his roommate, who appeared out of nowhere, walked with a limp.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> We drank some warm Cokes, then entered his bedroom. I lay on the futon and noticed Maharishi's face beaming down on me, his left eye askew because of a fracture in the glass frame.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> Just as Jay lay down, bam. The futon collapsed. We crashed onto the hardwood floor. I was horrified. Jay chuckled.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Normally, I'm much better at this," he offered. "I mean sexually. Do you want to meditate?"</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Thanks," I said, "but I better get going."</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> I left thinking I should just erase this entire episode of my life. Why did I even have feelings for this guy?</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> Back in L.A., I pulled onto my street in the Fairfax district and saw a commotion — fire trucks, ambulances, dozens of pajama-clad onlookers. Then I noticed the fire hoses were directed right into my second-story window.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "What happened?" I said. "That's my apartment!"</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Well, maybe you can tell us what happened," a firefighter said. My place was destroyed, he said, but no one was hurt.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> I looked at the crowd of mostly older residents, and my face turned red with shame. Had I forgotten to blow out the aromatherapy candle Jay gave me, which I stupidly left on the wicker table?</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Miss, do you have someone to call?" the firefighter asked.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Yes, I have a friend," I said.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> It was 3 a.m. Many people won't understand why I did what I did. I'm not even sure I do. But heading back to Jay's seemed like the only solution.</div> </div> <div class="float" style="border: 0px; clear: both; height: 1px; line-height: 1px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> <img alt="" height="1" src="http://articles.latimes.com/images/pixel.gif" style="border: 0px; display: inherit; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" width="1" /></div> <div class="mod-latarticlesarticletextwithadcpc mod-latarticlesarticletext mod-articletext" id="mod-a-body-after-second-para" style="border: 0px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> He answered the door like nothing was unusual. Homes burn down every day.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> I slept on his lumpy sofa, and Jay made me coffee the next morning. We read The Times and carried on. Just an ordinary day.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "Of course, you can stay as long as you like," he said.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "That's nice of you."</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> "By the way," he said, "you slurp your coffee." He winked.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> In two days, we learned that we had much in common. Broken homes, broken dreams. My heart cracked open.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> I knew we had come together out of a kind of desperate need — two halves making a whole. I told him that my family had disowned me when I moved to Hollywood. He said we should live together.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> Within a month of combining our households and mismatched belongings, he started bringing in all sorts of broken things. First, there was the stray cat missing a leg, then a wild green parrot that had lost its ability to fly. Soon he moved on to humans — runaways and pregnant heroin addicts.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> I eventually missed my old life. Clean. Organized. Predictable. But just as I was about to make my exit, we encountered a broken condom.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> Jay was adamant about wanting to make our little family work, so I went along to the Self-Realization Center, to the Buddhist retreats, to the couple's therapist who lived in a tepee — all efforts to fix us. None worked.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> By the end of our journey, there was the admission of defeat. But there also was one magnificent prize: a perfectly unbroken son. And for the first time, I understood what love was.</div> <div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;"> <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">L.A. Affairs chronicles romance and relationships. Past columns are archived at latimes.com/laaffairs. If you have comments to share or a story to tell, write us at&nbsp;<a href="mailto:home@latimes.com" style="border: 0px; color: #2262cc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;">home@latimes.com</a>.</em></div> <div> <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></em></div> </div> </div> </div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2016/11/broken-la-times-repost-2012.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-8578799364537637842</guid><pubDate>Thu, 04 Feb 2016 22:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T13:25:56.781-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Chanel</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Entitled Kids</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Gucci</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">High School</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">kids</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Los Angeles</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Middle School</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Overindulgence</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">parenting</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Prada</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenagers</category><title>Chanel Bags for Getting an A?! STOP</title><description><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xa9vHO3-3cOflZUVzdvT4RygetSLLvKjpYktVO52LyQiqp-EaurV5r-VNrDuFVlDEna_-J0kFMALAKwPD0n-26pKyMUtQpAIj58O4TEDwwJI5MaRHfYz5kw7Vj8k11jx0E3MX97fbE9l/s1600/BX6ZWWOCYAA6O-z.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xa9vHO3-3cOflZUVzdvT4RygetSLLvKjpYktVO52LyQiqp-EaurV5r-VNrDuFVlDEna_-J0kFMALAKwPD0n-26pKyMUtQpAIj58O4TEDwwJI5MaRHfYz5kw7Vj8k11jx0E3MX97fbE9l/s320/BX6ZWWOCYAA6O-z.png" width="211" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Open Letter to Parents ... Okay, Rant:<br /> <br /> I'm struggling here, pleading; this bribing your kids with fancy stuff to get them to do their school work is making problems in my home. &nbsp;I'm sure you're wonderful people, but this system does not seem conducive to raising healthy children who then go on to become responsible adults.<br /> <br /> Though I've already parented one child through the LA haze/maze of the private school network, there were pitfalls, rabbit holes, and plenty of snubs because we were not on a first-name basis with Steven Spielberg, but the entire ordeal worked out fine. But the world has changed since the last time I stepped into the hallways of a Middle School.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoG4-p5J-m3mATvWe12fP9GKFaiY7j4i9xcorZZlqRwazG9oLluv6nd69BHOrgougjBUGXGzJ9_0imnptf_-FE2d0SuLzssMMIYdAhOc05-acSgZYqmKhYjlbD0gK0XUtF-UiqRfCyg8LC/s1600/tumblr_inline_mo7akfQRAT1qz4rgp.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoG4-p5J-m3mATvWe12fP9GKFaiY7j4i9xcorZZlqRwazG9oLluv6nd69BHOrgougjBUGXGzJ9_0imnptf_-FE2d0SuLzssMMIYdAhOc05-acSgZYqmKhYjlbD0gK0XUtF-UiqRfCyg8LC/s320/tumblr_inline_mo7akfQRAT1qz4rgp.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> One could say nothing has changed; things have just amplified. But nostalgia, my constant, dreamy companion, will always illustrate otherwise.<br /> <br /> Back to my point. I raised a boy. It's different than raising girls, at least for me. Most of them, well, mine that is didn't care about clothes, fashion, cool cars, or cliques, instead he focused on what he liked, academics, science, video games, hanging with his local friends, and staying clear of the Westside where he attended posh school. There were problems, but nothing compared to what I saw coming.<br /> <br /> Now I have 13-year-old girls. Just getting them this far took Herculean effort. I should be dead.<br /> <br /> The girls have so many interests, dance, music, art, cooking, design, sewing, fashion, Legos, Marvel anything, collections of stuff... &nbsp;anyway suffice it to say every day is school, activity, homework, friend drama, problems/complaints with my dinner menu; then everyone goes to their own private pod to engage in some pastime. I go to my bedroom, a tiny slice of heaven, to read, write, scribble notes, talk to myself, and channel flip.<br /> <br /> Now the girls are getting into more complicated issues. Stuff outside my wheelhouse. Like fashion, boys, make-up, designer shit, and girl drama. Well, one twin, anyway. Her sister doesn't care about any of this.<br /> <br /> But E is the idealistic, sparkly artist, loves elegance and plush, knows designers, and studies Youtube tutorials on fashion, hair, and make-up. Her creativity has no bounds. She never stops. My house is an art gallery. The flourish of her paintbrush is also used on my face; I'm her subject. Everybody is her subject.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoVrEqD9GFkHGx1dXfTC1P8WNWY61xdhArG9mZXO7fb06Ri3X1Wqg4KqCk6PJ5bIoLyj4Q79_InVlgznruZtVlLc1zJFvWb-s6QLJAin-MC3jmFgga8fXDaYsSrAGnQFW5VkRWADd08ti/s1600/IMG_2664.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoVrEqD9GFkHGx1dXfTC1P8WNWY61xdhArG9mZXO7fb06Ri3X1Wqg4KqCk6PJ5bIoLyj4Q79_InVlgznruZtVlLc1zJFvWb-s6QLJAin-MC3jmFgga8fXDaYsSrAGnQFW5VkRWADd08ti/s320/IMG_2664.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> All of this is fine and dandy. She's also a good student and seems well-adjusted. And my make-up never looked better.<br /> <br /> But when it comes to schoolwork, my parenting style is hands-off. They're on their own. They always have been. They know this. They like this. And it works for us.<br /> <br /> THEN Yesterday:<br /> <br /> E: &nbsp;Suzie Q gets a new designer handbag every time she gets an A in anything. She just got a Chanel for English.<br /> Me: I can't listen to this. Who does this? Why not just work for the A, get it, and feel good you earned it? Why a reward? She's 12, for cripes sake!<br /> <br /> I'm sure my rant was much worse before launching into: 'My dad gave me a buck for every A at the end of a semester..." but she was already organizing her point.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2S0Fr4WUlH404kvw4oB5DCy9R1vAe069fATFZJfsUk9quNOaMO9YSsGVQhu-WkvdbD9hXRrrrQSL7j7SO47uzuoOAf7fVCscVqjUvHGZ-_sJWlFpMTq3MDSU9oK_nSQ8u41ZY0ZOz_v-C/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-11-06+at+8.30.42+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2S0Fr4WUlH404kvw4oB5DCy9R1vAe069fATFZJfsUk9quNOaMO9YSsGVQhu-WkvdbD9hXRrrrQSL7j7SO47uzuoOAf7fVCscVqjUvHGZ-_sJWlFpMTq3MDSU9oK_nSQ8u41ZY0ZOz_v-C/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-11-06+at+8.30.42+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div> <br /> E: Can I get a Chanel bag at the end of the year when I make the honor roll?<br /> <br /> This leads us to a conversation that you'll get some kind of reward for getting good grades. Which I don't have a problem with. For example, I took the girls to Waffles last year when they got on the Dean's list. It's more of a small celebration of their hard work.<br /> <br /> But they're upping the stakes. I'm not buying a 13- year old a Chanel bag! Ever! I don't care if one of them cures cancer. She can buy her own Chanel bag! Get me one while you're at it.<br /> <br /> To me, this is bribery, suggesting that education is merely a way to get "stuff," and if they work the system, <u>which they can,</u> they will get great "stuff." Alas, life does not work that way. The kid is being set up for disappointment and disaster. No employer will buy you a Chanel bag because you did your flipping job.<br /> <br /> But I need support. As in, PARENTS stop it! Read some articles or books on how this will backfire. As I've written so often before, they will fall apart in college. They will not be prepared.<br /> <br /> I am not talking about the kid who works hard and will do well no matter the circumstances. I'm talking about most kids who don't like school but will tolerate it if given material things.<br /> <br /> Many studies conclude that paying kids to learn decreases their intrinsic motivation to perform those activities, weakens their internal drive to learn, and removes their love, if any, for learning. Here is a good, short,&nbsp;<a href="http://www.education.com/magazine/article/pay-grades/">impactful article.</a><br /> <br /> Instead of Gucci bags, Prada flats, BMW's or fifty dollar bills;<br /> <br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQPLiWa550MVii-jd5vNS6bqW_Jh0ndbGdGJ3HFZjNmem9HqsbC2JlXwwzVuwlV1Nz1qVP4_hkLE6qVg-H6areQ1x52Dgj77UW9GtMphwXy0bfll0WwjK9uL0ephPkEhRC9Rn3Abrp7Cm/s1600/tumblr_ny7motcAOQ1ulqd0po1_500.gif"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQPLiWa550MVii-jd5vNS6bqW_Jh0ndbGdGJ3HFZjNmem9HqsbC2JlXwwzVuwlV1Nz1qVP4_hkLE6qVg-H6areQ1x52Dgj77UW9GtMphwXy0bfll0WwjK9uL0ephPkEhRC9Rn3Abrp7Cm/s320/tumblr_ny7motcAOQ1ulqd0po1_500.gif" width="320" /></a><br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> You might say, <span style="background-color: yellow;">'I have complete confidence in your abilities to achieve this task.'</span><br /> <br /> I don't even say that, frankly. Maybe I'm fortunate; my kids like school and like to learn. Sure, sometimes it's hard. Sure, they'd rather play Minecraft or watch Bethany Mota bubble on about her DIY "hauls."<br /> <br /> But you know what they hate more than anything? Getting a C or, god forbid, a D! When that happens, they get upset with themselves, then figure it out. Sometimes I get involved, but mostly not. What happens after that? They start getting B's, then A's. Along with the great satisfaction, it was all their own doing.<br /> <br /> In this world, most of the kids I encounter have everything. IPhones, IPads, IAnything. Many get allowances (mine don't.) Many get shopping sprees. They want for little. So, in addition, they get HIGHER end stuff if they get an A?<br /> <br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9kniTx122hGocPCzvp-y2tyoKmBuGk_Gcu0DwbEvXqxApl5XfD3oLIEmaqr3x4gxuNxm4WBLCtBQNR_HRO4Vw7E-4jMTLxPSg69eb92Ptcu0BC0-sPenNSc6PYJtqEgX5PbLmJDBlFvo/s1600/White-girls-basic-starbucks-coffee-iphone.jpg"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9kniTx122hGocPCzvp-y2tyoKmBuGk_Gcu0DwbEvXqxApl5XfD3oLIEmaqr3x4gxuNxm4WBLCtBQNR_HRO4Vw7E-4jMTLxPSg69eb92Ptcu0BC0-sPenNSc6PYJtqEgX5PbLmJDBlFvo/s320/White-girls-basic-starbucks-coffee-iphone.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /> <br /> Bewildered. And I get a sense this is just going to escalate. Hello High School. How can I bend you to my will to get into an Ivy? Lots and lots of money!!!<br /> <br /> Just after posting, I was sent this great article, including a saying: "Punished by Rewards," an excellent read. Perfect timing. <a href="http://www.inc.com/jt-odonnell/3-reasons-millennials-are-getting-fired.html">Read here.</a><br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighs in on spoiled kids, overindulgence, Middle School, High School, Rewards for Nothing, Parenting, Bribery, and Help.<br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2016/02/chanel-bags-for-getting-a-stop.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xa9vHO3-3cOflZUVzdvT4RygetSLLvKjpYktVO52LyQiqp-EaurV5r-VNrDuFVlDEna_-J0kFMALAKwPD0n-26pKyMUtQpAIj58O4TEDwwJI5MaRHfYz5kw7Vj8k11jx0E3MX97fbE9l/s72-c/BX6ZWWOCYAA6O-z.png" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-4612261895658456643</guid><pubDate>Tue, 10 Nov 2015 19:16:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T14:09:16.345-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">college</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">competition</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">depression</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">family</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">family dysfunction</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Helicopter parenting</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Millennials</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">parenting</category><title>Helicopter Parenting Destroying Entire Generations!</title><description><br /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: yellow; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><u><br /></u></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6biCCJspu6n3SOpBiMPUxMaRJPZoSKm6yyXVzal87jnSzFVKDKw1URRtMgOmgbufUGSstMQbGrP0Ttlj0ENqe5Np4xPA__NyA-3P97zYDg-BRVFCF_WvcgyQ7yIyCCDUXHIXDS3oAqEVB/s1600/24.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6biCCJspu6n3SOpBiMPUxMaRJPZoSKm6yyXVzal87jnSzFVKDKw1URRtMgOmgbufUGSstMQbGrP0Ttlj0ENqe5Np4xPA__NyA-3P97zYDg-BRVFCF_WvcgyQ7yIyCCDUXHIXDS3oAqEVB/s320/24.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: yellow; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><u><br /></u></span> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: yellow; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><u><br /></u></span> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: yellow; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><u><br /></u></span> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: yellow; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><u>Newsflash</u></span><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">: Doing your kids homework will never get them into a good school. If you buy their way in, they will fail anyway.&nbsp;</span><u style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><span style="background-color: yellow;">Side note</span>:</u><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">&nbsp;Because these kids come in lacking in any self sufficiently, yet are pressured to do well by their parents, more than 30% load up on the Adderal. Just letting you know. Many of them become extremely depressed because they know they had every advantage and are still failing. "Lurking beneath of whatever thing needs to be handled is the student's inability to&nbsp;differentiate&nbsp;the self from the parent." &nbsp;These kids can't problem solve, cope with minor setbacks, don't know what makes them happy and rarely know who they are.</span></span></span><br /> <span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span></span></span> <span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">I understand some parents do this to "protect" their kids and some others do this as an ego-extension of themselves. The bragging! And now social bragging. Endless. How much can we as a society tolerate? I don't care that your daughter won the gymnastic nationals, or she's doing print modeling in between piano recitals, or that your son has a 4.9 but working toward a perfect 5! I still don't respect you as a parent because your kid is miserable.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /> <span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span></span></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBEupHX1ivi_Um23ird_eGw1Ecud9ndF1XEK0oGZJkqGn4ZXzTjeR11bySsf7tfFdj5WtrkYF_gF3h6WYwq7GxaU65ayMWpwM0PjAvSC7ono0lTqZUZlll4n90CFbatOgfIGve6IcqGjy/s1600/tumblr_lmlhus4Cm51qbzb2mo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBEupHX1ivi_Um23ird_eGw1Ecud9ndF1XEK0oGZJkqGn4ZXzTjeR11bySsf7tfFdj5WtrkYF_gF3h6WYwq7GxaU65ayMWpwM0PjAvSC7ono0lTqZUZlll4n90CFbatOgfIGve6IcqGjy/s320/tumblr_lmlhus4Cm51qbzb2mo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span></span></span> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">I've written about this before, but this is a great article by an ex-Stanford dean who witnessed firsthand the overprotected kids that enter college only to fall apart. Read </span></span><a href="http://here./" style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">here.</a><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">&nbsp; I see it all around me, and we see this in the media, flooded with pictures of celebrities and their over-indulged kids who will never understand what it feels like to actually earn something. Then these same parents are&nbsp;surprised&nbsp;when the kids flail at school, away from mom, dad,&nbsp;tutors, assistants, etc.</span></span></span><br /> <br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjFnuDP924kPij1OvhH21oXGh6cy-kSmcv8PkSUfk2uXCp-Jy9uEl5a3_A9JZqp3lw3kWMg6Dnb6sq4xKxXxzhXacwWI1y8FY6mPyDYIbeyRz-4grf8_Nm_mjeFlEq1TT8iF0ARsN5wU0/s1600/enhanced-buzz-12815-1339448126-0.jpeg" style="color: #4d469c; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjFnuDP924kPij1OvhH21oXGh6cy-kSmcv8PkSUfk2uXCp-Jy9uEl5a3_A9JZqp3lw3kWMg6Dnb6sq4xKxXxzhXacwWI1y8FY6mPyDYIbeyRz-4grf8_Nm_mjeFlEq1TT8iF0ARsN5wU0/s320/enhanced-buzz-12815-1339448126-0.jpeg" style="background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></div> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Clearly, I am against any of this hyper-parenting. I know where it comes from ("I wasn't really parented by my hippy-dippy mom, and I will give Chuckles everything I never got") and also has seen where it goes ("Mom, tell me again how to work a subway because the cabs are ignoring me. I feel so rejected. Can you fly out here?")</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-dflPft-45AQXDQAHSFYhwta5unmIFVn_7Iwinlsyn3lZNsFvmWbkpo-ESjcxv05yEIk0-abomR-4qgDGObwuYJ89OY-3QfwLXvTgK3y-5jcbPH4kLwrZGed_NPAvV20eahsPMcaMXQP/s1600/Helicopter_Parent+Art_of_Manliness.jpeg" style="color: #4d469c; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-dflPft-45AQXDQAHSFYhwta5unmIFVn_7Iwinlsyn3lZNsFvmWbkpo-ESjcxv05yEIk0-abomR-4qgDGObwuYJ89OY-3QfwLXvTgK3y-5jcbPH4kLwrZGed_NPAvV20eahsPMcaMXQP/s320/Helicopter_Parent+Art_of_Manliness.jpeg" style="background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></div> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">I've been parenting for a while, and I suppose I'm what you call a "let them break an arm" parent. I told my daughters as much when they were age three:</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">"Girls, you need to understand I will not be a typical mother. In fact,&nbsp;consider&nbsp;me an aunt. You'll have to figure things out on your own." Guess what? They did. They're independent but also compassionate. They have weird hobbies like reptile collecting. They find outlets for all of their various interests. My house is messy, but there you have it.</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">They have zero interest, in my opinion, on most matters. They trust their own. They wouldn't dream of me ever helping them with homework.</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">"Honey, do you need help with that math that makes zero sense to me? I can switch you back to old school in no time."</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">"How about never!"</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">They laugh. They run circles around me. They steal my phone and make movies. They think I'm lame. And I happen to think that's healthy. But we also all adore each other, we bake, shop, go on adventurous hikes, look for wild animals in hiding, snare stray cats, surf (well they do), and Apples to Apples somehow never get old.</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Why on earth would parents NOT want their kids to learn from their mistakes, get disappointed, cry, bawl their eyes out, and learn to get over it, stumble, fall, and be okay? To experience life? It's called balance, and the kids will be fine. Let them get a damn D! Take the training wheels off before they are 12. How old is this kid?</span><br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdejhERWks7G3TmNV_kl11hJkqOsL5uTvCgRGHG5dorwTkIQ6US0sPVPywzF1Gj4X6xD4sldxL8tZKcXbhqemz0Y4HUzvKeKIyXlp2G1LQRYNcr0OgIf4u28_wmraqld3tn8_2MNKILyC/s1600/120511_FAM_TrainingWheelBikeEX.jpg.CROP.rectangle3-large.jpeg" style="color: #4d469c; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdejhERWks7G3TmNV_kl11hJkqOsL5uTvCgRGHG5dorwTkIQ6US0sPVPywzF1Gj4X6xD4sldxL8tZKcXbhqemz0Y4HUzvKeKIyXlp2G1LQRYNcr0OgIf4u28_wmraqld3tn8_2MNKILyC/s320/120511_FAM_TrainingWheelBikeEX.jpg.CROP.rectangle3-large.jpeg" style="background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></div> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">In this in-between place, I never have to worry whether or not my kids are spoiled, over-pampered, lacking in confidence, or incapable of taking care of themselves. What I get in return is a life. Everybody wins.</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">It will be curious to see what happens to this next crop of extremely over-indulged kids. This is the generation following the ones already out there.</span><br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4SuR_g6c3UNfnUAxLMMSTdr8At1sNC0J0fgBZM_c-dvIcuTebj3MgEOrmCC1c16yUnVTbinoOFtnK0Ct9iQchECJM6Wln_4Z4N1ZiCWhnUGYVtMlbti9lxcZKf0BajbvdS7IzUC9_IUY/s1600/imgres-5.jpeg" style="color: #4d469c; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4SuR_g6c3UNfnUAxLMMSTdr8At1sNC0J0fgBZM_c-dvIcuTebj3MgEOrmCC1c16yUnVTbinoOFtnK0Ct9iQchECJM6Wln_4Z4N1ZiCWhnUGYVtMlbti9lxcZKf0BajbvdS7IzUC9_IUY/s1600/imgres-5.jpeg" style="background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" /></a></div> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">In my opinion, one of the most loving things you can do for your children is&nbsp;</span><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="background-color: yellow; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">let them grow up.</span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /> <span style="background-color: white;"><span face="&quot;arial&quot; , &quot;tahoma&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , &quot;freesans&quot; , sans-serif" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Rhonda Talbot on helicopter parenting insanity, parenthood,&nbsp;millennials, raising kids, college, independence.</span></span></span><br /> <br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2015/11/helicopter-parenting-destroying-entire.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6biCCJspu6n3SOpBiMPUxMaRJPZoSKm6yyXVzal87jnSzFVKDKw1URRtMgOmgbufUGSstMQbGrP0Ttlj0ENqe5Np4xPA__NyA-3P97zYDg-BRVFCF_WvcgyQ7yIyCCDUXHIXDS3oAqEVB/s72-c/24.gif" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-6084375086021442024</guid><pubDate>Tue, 28 Jul 2015 19:21:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2024-04-16T09:21:09.916-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Amy Poehler</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Brain Science</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">daughtersFiremen</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">EMT</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">F.A.S.T</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">family</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fast-paced world</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">health</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Jason Stratham</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Neurology</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">strokes</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Suicide Fantasy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">technology</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">twins</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Young Men</category><title>Yes, You Are Having A Stroke!</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nbFbcoVIkZ2zrljTT_J_sR48LLB3nM1zit6G2Wy3ezSF9FjkK36SfTJSdRK1nTmVUvq_gllFDv0V-MsCfdgyvMC-DfULIEspg7_Mi9MppKKfuKeZB0dKFM9WUB_XJ0IwHDUFD8awWoEW/s1600/tumblr_m3rqv716fG1royfsbo1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nbFbcoVIkZ2zrljTT_J_sR48LLB3nM1zit6G2Wy3ezSF9FjkK36SfTJSdRK1nTmVUvq_gllFDv0V-MsCfdgyvMC-DfULIEspg7_Mi9MppKKfuKeZB0dKFM9WUB_XJ0IwHDUFD8awWoEW/s320/tumblr_m3rqv716fG1royfsbo1_500.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Leave it up to my husband to have a stroke to ruin my perfectly good mid-afternoon suicidal fantasy. I had already envisioned the white, beachy dress, maybe a bit sheer, that flowed to the knee; how I would walk along the Malibu shoreline in search of the perfect rock piling; how the waves would carry my lifeless body along some rip tide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrS-vg7lMj8WV1bhxOw0WrLERv2FZpVDHHeSCAqTgPOFOiYsPxmpQnWQN34DWX0joV9By_osCWrPtNieSe343EWZsRdCQgqSOIH1oUxTxRw12eOdMWzyWFapMC0URWDfEyXJpxRhltvrk/s1600/E6B3A2E8A5BFE7B1B3E4BA9AE8BF9EE8A1A3E8A39920E99BAAE7BABAE6B299E6BBA9E8A39920E6B791E5A5B3E6B094E8B4A8E4BFAEE8BAABE995BFE8A39920E5A5B328020short20sleeves20white20beach20midi20choffon20dress-1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrS-vg7lMj8WV1bhxOw0WrLERv2FZpVDHHeSCAqTgPOFOiYsPxmpQnWQN34DWX0joV9By_osCWrPtNieSe343EWZsRdCQgqSOIH1oUxTxRw12eOdMWzyWFapMC0URWDfEyXJpxRhltvrk/s320/E6B3A2E8A5BFE7B1B3E4BA9AE8BF9EE8A1A3E8A39920E99BAAE7BABAE6B299E6BBA9E8A39920E6B791E5A5B3E6B094E8B4A8E4BFAEE8BAABE995BFE8A39920E5A5B328020short20sleeves20white20beach20midi20choffon20dress-1.png" width="223" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Sure,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>morbid, but I entertain these imaginary events every few months and usually when I’m story thronged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Should I toss these eight chapters? Maybe I’ll kill the protagonist in a blood letting fashion.<o:p></o:p></i></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I love to daydream but the romantic plots or professional scenarios don’t really hold much grit anymore, not to mention they get repetitive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>But death: endless set-ups, intriguing developments, countless situations and picturesque results. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> In any case, I was lying about, coming up with a variety of ways to casual-toss my body off a huge, jagged cliff when my phone kept ringing. I normally never answer, but it was relentless.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “What?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Hey, I don’t want to alarm you but I can’t read. Words. Talk. And thinking. “<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Who is this?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Seriously baby, I had to leave a meeting, I wasn’t making less sense. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Then he started to babble about vegetables, shoelaces and Jet Blue. His mind was malfunctioning. He started to sound insane. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “I can pick up some Kale and put it in my briefcase for you.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Now, he had my full attention. I hate Kale and everything Kale represents.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7k2e6UD5gOgrhLzk97KGAtvnnMv6BaNjZeiBZGUw7jEJL6wGNsnx1p3Rjsf41w8F-uE5nw-MFlFNCiGdxKZnfQC9TkPcBUuFAnlvzPJylI3S_sPIUfvR9-cxk3lwR7NX3Jx1gz3C6DZND/s1600/kale.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7k2e6UD5gOgrhLzk97KGAtvnnMv6BaNjZeiBZGUw7jEJL6wGNsnx1p3Rjsf41w8F-uE5nw-MFlFNCiGdxKZnfQC9TkPcBUuFAnlvzPJylI3S_sPIUfvR9-cxk3lwR7NX3Jx1gz3C6DZND/s320/kale.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Think I should call the doctor? Might just be a thing.”<br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “What thing! Yes! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>And Call 911. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Now!“ I was shriek shouting. He needed him to hear me inside his clustered brain.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> But he hung up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I started researching top neurologists in Los Angeles. I knew Mark would never call his doctor; forget 911.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> He’s the type that loses a finger in a door jam and then sews it back on with a sterilized needle. Yes, that happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> He doesn’t like to waste time, which is why he also doesn’t sleep. He might miss something, even if just a random thought. He has a wild mind, is out of control, and never stops churning. Visible electrical bolts shoot from his skull.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Now, it exploded. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqhG8qBMlmNUP3PNO4DKeyeC4uiSbo_ad8F7grHgfcHgm6RN9HDFR_F8EfcLTGGW3K3vJYHvzSYoQZPGgU5XrXVj5paL3TGuh5TZCAw_62W1u9gEi7l6QBN73ZjXNUBE0MgSI_PE0WaPs/s1600/tumblr_nr4zx20Nej1qz9p03o1_400.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqhG8qBMlmNUP3PNO4DKeyeC4uiSbo_ad8F7grHgfcHgm6RN9HDFR_F8EfcLTGGW3K3vJYHvzSYoQZPGgU5XrXVj5paL3TGuh5TZCAw_62W1u9gEi7l6QBN73ZjXNUBE0MgSI_PE0WaPs/s320/tumblr_nr4zx20Nej1qz9p03o1_400.gif" width="250" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Crisis brings out my most efficient self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m calling his doctors, lining up appointments, researching his symptoms, and glancing through stroke chat rooms. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>His brain cells were dying by the second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Timing is critical. I had three hours to get him clot-busting drugs—after that, brain tissue dies, and body parts that they control die as well, potential long-term disability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>An hour had passed since he noticed.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Then I hear his car. He drove home in traffic. Of course. Why not?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at Cedars.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal">He was still babbling but in a cheery mood because he’s always in a cheery mood.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Oh my god. I thought the right was left, the left was right, and the red was green. I can’t believe I made it.” He let out a victory cheer. “My doctor&nbsp;told me to take some baby aspirin.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEoZ__nzVYoQYjvvv6_GlECzJyq-jNmzT1yHHRo_AYRRbpVLkWUWl4yTGgE33EAH9mENpNSC1vAK-hnXjkRhHt2efPdmJGD2CbsgUjCV4U8Ss5-pIVXI4v0sLsl2Dn-vYBkleAQuokvxgG/s1600/imgres-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEoZ__nzVYoQYjvvv6_GlECzJyq-jNmzT1yHHRo_AYRRbpVLkWUWl4yTGgE33EAH9mENpNSC1vAK-hnXjkRhHt2efPdmJGD2CbsgUjCV4U8Ss5-pIVXI4v0sLsl2Dn-vYBkleAQuokvxgG/s1600/imgres-1.jpg" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> THIS SAVED HIS LIFE ^ ^ ^ <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Our daughters were home, and I didn’t want them to see Mark. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Hey girls, want to play badminton? Or that mallet game?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Was he regressing to his childhood? What the fuck was happening?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Why is dad home?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> He started calling them the wrong names, Maple or Margaret, and he couldn’t find the most obvious words: “That’s such a fashionable sweatsuit, Ellen!”<br /> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I pulled him outside and parked his ass on a bench beneath the Pepper tree. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Don’t move. An ambulance is on its way.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “What’s wrong with dad?”</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I told the girls dad was having “male issues” because whenever a woman doesn’t want to discuss what’s going on, she says “female stuff.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “What? What happened? Did his junk blow up?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Where did you hear that word?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Mom, come on, we're 12.” <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “It’s complicated, but he’ll be fine.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “It’s complicated” is a phrase I use a lot when I don’t feel like talking. My daughters do the exact same thing. If I ask Girl X why she is choking on tears, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“Oh, you wouldn’t understand. It’s just so complicated.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>This happens every single day.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSROEG2M-eAAjFv5xzxc2v7zGBjl5P6x36G2GzTK_HftOO5o6kRn1iIG-AZz8chLYiwZOZVBNBs5UIrf5svOjL7vMtxZcJkwh-7C_qoQJWu3kdP5T36KxfsUNtW2En7RRUvEaJpC_Uv3K/s1600/IMG_1328.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSROEG2M-eAAjFv5xzxc2v7zGBjl5P6x36G2GzTK_HftOO5o6kRn1iIG-AZz8chLYiwZOZVBNBs5UIrf5svOjL7vMtxZcJkwh-7C_qoQJWu3kdP5T36KxfsUNtW2En7RRUvEaJpC_Uv3K/s320/IMG_1328.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p>&nbsp;"We're good; it's too complicated to discuss." &nbsp;^ ^ ^ ^&nbsp;</o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I heard the sirens, and then Mark was talking to the paramedics. I thought he was going to invite them in for lemonade. They were all laughing and carrying on, so I ran outside.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “So, where’s the patient.” The paramedics asked me, confused.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “I’m the patient. I’m having a stroke,” Mark blurted. Like he was proud.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I explained to the dozen very handsome men (why so many and why are they always handsome?) that he was having a stroke. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “He is?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-bgl7Dx1QRNBRilCgDUjaVyuOPCux_uC5gP8Ac9pp65HO9h7RO2Lv23Gdf5bka6XzG0T0D_O7ekYGrqiEpkY20Ox1NOk2DUqpW6BfEgbrZFWKlgHVvD2v5iBmJktHWq0DG52lbtm7KDj/s1600/tumblr_lpd32sA7g81qklbzxo1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-bgl7Dx1QRNBRilCgDUjaVyuOPCux_uC5gP8Ac9pp65HO9h7RO2Lv23Gdf5bka6XzG0T0D_O7ekYGrqiEpkY20Ox1NOk2DUqpW6BfEgbrZFWKlgHVvD2v5iBmJktHWq0DG52lbtm7KDj/s320/tumblr_lpd32sA7g81qklbzxo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> "Okay, let's get him on a gurney." &nbsp;^ ^ ^ ^&nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> They whisked him away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But not to Cedars; instead, to some ghastly hellhole. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>A place SO horrifying there are over 50,000 awful reviews on YELP. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Like: &nbsp; “<u>Yeah, go here if you want to DIE!”<o:p></o:p></u></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I was trying to track him down at this place of no mercy, but apparently, they don’t even have phones or doctors. The next morning, I got a call.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Hey, it’s me, what a cesspool! Not one person helped me. My brain is probably twice fried now!"<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Calm down. That will only make it worse. Where are you exactly?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I’m walking home.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “What?!”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> He had ripped out the heart monitoring business Jason Stratham style and was storming down Vermont Avenue. He had taped venipuncture apparatus on the backs of his hands, and his shirt buttoned, but his fly was closed, so that’s good. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaUwUUh0I7Rd_VgKhzbYL2sY72Hlr3Mtmz5KXm4vk0J_GePfkdUXx3XvdeM6M3jasPw-d4WcvHkQpa-526SN4D27zl3ZB94sEP-yEb_vfP6Oer1SN_gDQyUDA3nH7pRz-orAF9xvDPL8A/s1600/27455528-27455534-large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaUwUUh0I7Rd_VgKhzbYL2sY72Hlr3Mtmz5KXm4vk0J_GePfkdUXx3XvdeM6M3jasPw-d4WcvHkQpa-526SN4D27zl3ZB94sEP-yEb_vfP6Oer1SN_gDQyUDA3nH7pRz-orAF9xvDPL8A/s320/27455528-27455534-large.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I picked him up and drove him straight to Cedars, where a team was waiting; they immediately put him in intensive care. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> By the end of the next day, we learn he basically blew out a piece of his mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>The technical diagnosis is an <u>embolic stroke of undetermined sources.</u>&nbsp;But his brilliant neurologist explained it so I could understand: a part of his computer crashed, gone forever, but given the plethora of backup, it won’t really have much impact on his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Because the baby aspirin stabilized him, then again by the paramedics, he was very, very lucky. By lowering his blood pressure, the entire episode halted, or he could’ve died or, worse, become a vegetable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Dr. Neurologist also thinks Mark is an anomaly; he had never seen a stroke such as this. Quarantined to one section of the brain: the wordy part, the sentence structure neutrons, and only temporarily. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW71P9EnZjpHqHw5Hb3wjw9BU3f1ecsdjH6Df3f-75vyZa1Z9ODMxkPOo21hakyhKwwXgoGmUqw5i2xV-TojmY32NBuIJceHpAgwarkoS4qMXADuqvNXgTuRGCUuo9vLG0_m2cLG8mpmR/s1600/tumblr_m6b27rMPKf1r3l1qeo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW71P9EnZjpHqHw5Hb3wjw9BU3f1ecsdjH6Df3f-75vyZa1Z9ODMxkPOo21hakyhKwwXgoGmUqw5i2xV-TojmY32NBuIJceHpAgwarkoS4qMXADuqvNXgTuRGCUuo9vLG0_m2cLG8mpmR/s320/tumblr_m6b27rMPKf1r3l1qeo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> A team of neurologists wants to study his brain to learn from it. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I’m already knee-deep in my grievance letters against the other hospital. Had Mark not left, he would never have received the care he needed. They don’t even have a neurologist on staff. I'm yelling into the phone, pounding out accusatory letters, and making a paper trail. Meanwhile, Mark was laid up in the stroke ward, working and chatting up the nurses.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> He was home and back to normal in two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; But out goes the diet coke, coffee, tea, weekly cigar, Red Bulls, junk food, and anything else that helped to melt his brain.</span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> It’s a huge adjustment for someone who never stops, he’s a bullet train that has been now told he has to go 25 mph, change all of his habits, eat better, exercise and actually sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKa_0bZYe-Fjm5dR9Ia1_wjTdWNGlg0ED13LrkEcu5KmvUQj2gLYNALRc1FIim9HsCmg9b3RpW7AXcvHpXRrqw7MDj4-TlaeMjuDSwY25eXWigk5KTEA-Z_z80YXz01pEt-xZBbDNbtn78/s1600/tumblr_inline_mzrnjogVKV1qbolbn.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKa_0bZYe-Fjm5dR9Ia1_wjTdWNGlg0ED13LrkEcu5KmvUQj2gLYNALRc1FIim9HsCmg9b3RpW7AXcvHpXRrqw7MDj4-TlaeMjuDSwY25eXWigk5KTEA-Z_z80YXz01pEt-xZBbDNbtn78/s320/tumblr_inline_mzrnjogVKV1qbolbn.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> None of us are used to this. Mark sleeping is just plain weird. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>His nightly routine of working in his man cave until 4 a.m., then catching up on movies, then going grocery shopping, maybe a quick trip to Home Depot, and being there when the girls wake up… no more.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> After two weeks of Mark living a “normal” life, my daughter was so frustrated because he kept yawning during an intense game of Apples to Apples; she blurted:&nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Dad, snap out of it! That stroke was two weeks ago! Stop using it as an excuse to be lazy.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> We’ve had to come together as a family and accept that Mark is more like us. We have work schedules; we hang around, procrastinate, lounge, daydream, eat well, and exercise for fun, but now he does a bit of that, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal">It's not that I don’t understand the A-type personality; I used to be one. Billy Joel’s Vienna was written about me, and this much is true. Something changed after I crashed too many spinning plates with work, travel, kids, a house to run, a social life, running marathons, and on and on. Something like, “Forget this. I’m tired. I’m going to Vienna to chill out now. Bye.” <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfDwqIdxRIABKHC5fEZhDSz0g3cUyIfaQkJ06MWIpB2Xo8Dip4fYFrm7aM_LowHwxhzLuh2ZYi1fDz3cz2AJkTdrliCj7lIaAmy7Srzbc29Bq5x8vRqAMLaUhlNcENHd5ul9ZMDMpewoe/s1600/tumblr_mrzy4qIdoi1qftbz5o1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfDwqIdxRIABKHC5fEZhDSz0g3cUyIfaQkJ06MWIpB2Xo8Dip4fYFrm7aM_LowHwxhzLuh2ZYi1fDz3cz2AJkTdrliCj7lIaAmy7Srzbc29Bq5x8vRqAMLaUhlNcENHd5ul9ZMDMpewoe/s320/tumblr_mrzy4qIdoi1qftbz5o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> A month has passed, but he is already cheating. That is, he stays up late to finish work documents and makes night runs to Cactus, but he is not chugging Red Bull or returning to bad health habits. He’s paying attention to how far he can push it, which is normal for everyone else. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> So it really was a stroke of good luck, the clichéd wake-up call for him to change his lifestyle. I may have to pick up some slack, but I don’t want to think about that just yet.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I was out with friends at a movie, and he texted to bring home Rice Dream. It was past 11 pm, and just no way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I failed the Mark test. See, there isn’t a chance in hell he wouldn’t do that. But I’m selfish, and my sleep trumps freaking fake ice cream.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Since he is now more aware of everything around him, my behavior is getting called out, including&nbsp;this morning.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “How long does your morning cranky routine last? You’ve been up for hours.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Sometimes all day, sometimes until I go back to bed. Since when did this ever bother you anyway?”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxBJRsWEzovDS66o4osw01LnCF7KGOst4qiJtHdHk3ZurejMjGzhm2pJl8VOJDwr_BR7xtmVbSwym_QIe0hKjAMsQySlblUpZzwa1GFQ7E40Jq007mysrewZ4gtumfvIrNT35Y7bnhkP-/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-19415-1401452918-18.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxBJRsWEzovDS66o4osw01LnCF7KGOst4qiJtHdHk3ZurejMjGzhm2pJl8VOJDwr_BR7xtmVbSwym_QIe0hKjAMsQySlblUpZzwa1GFQ7E40Jq007mysrewZ4gtumfvIrNT35Y7bnhkP-/s320/anigif_enhanced-buzz-19415-1401452918-18.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Since I’m here now in the morning. You act like there’s no one in the house.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Exactly. I can’t just be someone else. Check back at noon.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> So here we both are making compromises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He’s going to slow down; I’m going to maybe speed up. The girls are happy to see us working it out. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> On a serious note, strokes can be very deceptive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; What may seem like vertigo or a mind lapse could, in fact, be a stroke.</span>&nbsp;Because time is essential, I found this visual guide quite helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><a href="http://www.webmd.com/stroke/ss/slideshow-stroke-overview">http://www.webmd.com/stroke/ss/slideshow-stroke-overview</a><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I know there is much on the Internet, most widely seen being F.A.S.T.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qmMnEelMTuDUCvGcBSqU6t9r_jVQkqenJZ3aC0dpV8AznNOdFQMr4cZFDCUsjTbfb2mQByoS_HZBj9GEmMZhthmxknUMBr_HwtP-hxnTOh8aA0mTRxhCu2_CutSe1EPeUdVMeVCjCyr_/s1600/imgres.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qmMnEelMTuDUCvGcBSqU6t9r_jVQkqenJZ3aC0dpV8AznNOdFQMr4cZFDCUsjTbfb2mQByoS_HZBj9GEmMZhthmxknUMBr_HwtP-hxnTOh8aA0mTRxhCu2_CutSe1EPeUdVMeVCjCyr_/s1600/imgres.jpg" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> No mention of sounding like a weirdo. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ &nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> The problem with this is it can be misleading, particularly regarding the speech. I talk nonsensical all the time, but I’m not having a stroke; I’m just strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Mark is also strange, but he is highly verbal; it’s his profession. He carefully chooses words and thoughts and edits a document a hundred times before sending it out. So, it’s about the actual victim. <u>That was his only symptom</u>.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> 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mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--><br /> <div class="MsoNormal">Further, strokes, particularly of the speech mix-up variety, are most common among young people aged 25-45 years old. No one seems to have answers yet, hence the study. But doctors are seeing this more and more…. And given how this "under age 45 having strokes" is becoming increasingly common, this has become a new concern in the medical community. I'm just putting it out there.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Rhonda Talbot on strokes, family, surprises, lifestyles, not your grandpa's stroke, the speed of life.&nbsp;</div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2015/07/yes-you-are-having-stroke.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nbFbcoVIkZ2zrljTT_J_sR48LLB3nM1zit6G2Wy3ezSF9FjkK36SfTJSdRK1nTmVUvq_gllFDv0V-MsCfdgyvMC-DfULIEspg7_Mi9MppKKfuKeZB0dKFM9WUB_XJ0IwHDUFD8awWoEW/s72-c/tumblr_m3rqv716fG1royfsbo1_500.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-8183477112846059688</guid><pubDate>Wed, 15 Apr 2015 00:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T14:13:53.721-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">adolescence</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">California</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">CPUC</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Drought</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Jerry Brown</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Los Angeles</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Marin County</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Patti Smith</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ryan Gosling</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Sam Shepard</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Sam's Cafe</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">The Down Hill Strugglers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Tiburon</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Walker Shepard</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">water shortage</category><title>On The California Drought Crisis, Flashback, Marin County, Jerry Brown, Sam Shepard and Me</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2aO9S8h-bUEYZibO-e6SVBLZlbEc6eA3sNg1DXcjnZ98eYbOHeEXhzPrqPd9zCPTSJILEpHXvGGI-IynTEUwL7IjthGhdU1Gcx4qZzB1u_zNr8bIz3uC8GeDUU2I2ccIyKp6QLSzvlpM/s1600/days-of-heaven-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2aO9S8h-bUEYZibO-e6SVBLZlbEc6eA3sNg1DXcjnZ98eYbOHeEXhzPrqPd9zCPTSJILEpHXvGGI-IynTEUwL7IjthGhdU1Gcx4qZzB1u_zNr8bIz3uC8GeDUU2I2ccIyKp6QLSzvlpM/s1600/days-of-heaven-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> "The California I knew is gone, doesn't exist... little pockets, farm country....fresh produce stands with avocados and date palms. An artichoke for a buck. All wiped out now."<br /> <br /> This post is not in any way to make light of our California <a href="http://www.thedailysheeple.com/california-water-authorities-using-smart-meter-data-as-evidence-to-impose-fines_042015">drought situation</a>. But it's impossible for me to not do the deja vu stumble. &nbsp;I'm a product of the 1977 Marin County "Emergency" drought, where drastic measures had to be taken or the state would simply burn to the ground.<br /> <br /> Jerry Brown was a younger, hipper Governor then. I was living with my mother in Tiburon, she was somehow an interior decorator and I was a kid plotting my move to anywhere else but Marin. For example, every morning, because my mother didn't believe in curtains I was forced to wake by sunlight at approximately 6:00am. <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6LSUYr6ScCXhvGyhlWG3VlHLOafSWWkjS4FbR2Ky7xDkwlJWNjhXumoDWS809zz98Hg1cDUyHSpixJl0aMeUw-NbSEW9nidpcZpIl6HKKWk3ygURjnUG_hRAal6dsyh7TS7S8cUS1uyx/s1600/bcd81418-1f18-443d-9400-671eb048d48a.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6LSUYr6ScCXhvGyhlWG3VlHLOafSWWkjS4FbR2Ky7xDkwlJWNjhXumoDWS809zz98Hg1cDUyHSpixJl0aMeUw-NbSEW9nidpcZpIl6HKKWk3ygURjnUG_hRAal6dsyh7TS7S8cUS1uyx/s1600/bcd81418-1f18-443d-9400-671eb048d48a.1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> As a pre-teen, I thought this was bullshit. I needed that extra hour before school. Get curtains!<br /> <br /> Mom: We are not shutting out the majestic glory we get to momentarily be part of.<br /> <br /> She was already drinking coffee and drawing blueprints for some boutique. She never attended design or architectural colleges, so her money-earning ambitions remained a mystery.<br /> <br /> Mom: &nbsp;Honey, get up. The sun is out. Splendor awaits. Take a one-minute shower, dash out, leave it running and I'll pop in.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSU7CWiuK3wtXi03eYspGsP-AQ8MLcuEvg91VoKFc86yTXktn4SYhDLRxpGj_QNtUS-Xm3ka7RRJxAlMU4aFVu79B0faQZytR9uTgj8LDNCvbHh85A2Lq1zQwTDfEZJdCWhgbZLLL7D2Pd/s1600/asking-confused-crack-damn-Favim.com-956430.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSU7CWiuK3wtXi03eYspGsP-AQ8MLcuEvg91VoKFc86yTXktn4SYhDLRxpGj_QNtUS-Xm3ka7RRJxAlMU4aFVu79B0faQZytR9uTgj8LDNCvbHh85A2Lq1zQwTDfEZJdCWhgbZLLL7D2Pd/s1600/asking-confused-crack-damn-Favim.com-956430.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> During this time, the new water rules were: basically, you couldn't use water. This meant, you were not supposed to flush the toilet until five uses, one quick shower a week, there was the same 25% cut in the water supply... or,<br /> <br /> "<b>The Family That Showers Together, Doesn't Go To Jail!</b>"<br /> <br /> The slogan might have been, "The Family That Showers Together Stays Together." &nbsp;That is so perverse; even by the low moral standards of the Mariners, the locals quickly changed it.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5EtSXw4Yy6eAv0fOAVUChhtQResCMvs3vakCYUr1WX18nueGfDEDRWTv5hNUsQrztV14jOvH3-XI_coH7B7-evccdB5z3BdagjaYtCo9C37e1UcH6p0xsIyLcKEGG096VW5UKCWCUqhxl/s1600/la-me-ln-new-drought-same-governor-20150401-001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5EtSXw4Yy6eAv0fOAVUChhtQResCMvs3vakCYUr1WX18nueGfDEDRWTv5hNUsQrztV14jOvH3-XI_coH7B7-evccdB5z3BdagjaYtCo9C37e1UcH6p0xsIyLcKEGG096VW5UKCWCUqhxl/s1600/la-me-ln-new-drought-same-governor-20150401-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Jerry Brown, 77, mandating the 25% ^ ^ ^ among other restrictions. ^ ^ ^ If you abused your water usage, not only were you fined, but you were potentially looking at 30 days in the slammer. &nbsp;My mother took this all very seriously and sometimes threw a nerf ball at my head if I showered too long. She also had a thing for Brown and a probable hook-up. Back then, he was like Ryan Gosling. But in the power seat.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyPplzFEErHTMOSQ3q0nK1gfRcr15Od2HX1oM-8XDhic0UB-mVzVyog2Bv1MPcaWXXyVvS4uR-2M7IV6m-6q6ohkojF3sWVDKJ_068NClf1UdMEJ9Pf1IIGW8szonCNs0KKDgpRNTvuRf/s1600/e1846_RyanGoslingFuckYeahTumblr.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyPplzFEErHTMOSQ3q0nK1gfRcr15Od2HX1oM-8XDhic0UB-mVzVyog2Bv1MPcaWXXyVvS4uR-2M7IV6m-6q6ohkojF3sWVDKJ_068NClf1UdMEJ9Pf1IIGW8szonCNs0KKDgpRNTvuRf/s1600/e1846_RyanGoslingFuckYeahTumblr.jpg" width="212" /></a></div> <br /> His water ration for the week. <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBeFgZBJWgUwzRkU5Vxt28qF_bc9FrvXqpbJK-Qvw8NssIwxQDjx_Pd6yYJ9whgrh8rd_4VbTlzmBLRNmf1YACDKNGYpnZloYK7lPqYPIUCMUhTHNAdu30rU5XAwXapI19LnrHe91TTa8/s1600/hearts_zpsa3916eca.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBeFgZBJWgUwzRkU5Vxt28qF_bc9FrvXqpbJK-Qvw8NssIwxQDjx_Pd6yYJ9whgrh8rd_4VbTlzmBLRNmf1YACDKNGYpnZloYK7lPqYPIUCMUhTHNAdu30rU5XAwXapI19LnrHe91TTa8/s1600/hearts_zpsa3916eca.gif" /></a></div> People were concerned about the water, but not that much. Many would wash up in a San Rafael city fountain and then go listen to Bonnie Raitt at Sweetwater in Mill Valley. &nbsp;The older folks just went to bed.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtU2csuV1eXsHDbfiwlQNIL8YAyt2CxuEznDdvIUvbQa0X8kXS83Rrh_KJZZDi-CVCqrk9_Jx1nPiMLuDRJiV1Caj9236lTEJc9tZuIvwK5rN-gPkXr9FxVZ9RyydCaxk1ceBFxwjE6Ut/s1600/fawlty-towers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtU2csuV1eXsHDbfiwlQNIL8YAyt2CxuEznDdvIUvbQa0X8kXS83Rrh_KJZZDi-CVCqrk9_Jx1nPiMLuDRJiV1Caj9236lTEJc9tZuIvwK5rN-gPkXr9FxVZ9RyydCaxk1ceBFxwjE6Ut/s1600/fawlty-towers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> The street signs kept going up; some were rather inappropriate, using images from the book <u>The Joy of Sex</u>. Some trying to be clever.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVeEabedandpe5uXyDzyJKglLvdSGt0V86lcp431Ay1ph_cSQXDEuZrp2L6sx-eOjInNxVZoM0V8FVlLgEF_DBwEcRtmV3YNNmK5sauysqdkgL0gkOeLq4HZZfl-2yXLh3Uqn7klwrIpK/s1600/classic_occupy_wall_street_protest_signs_640_06.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVeEabedandpe5uXyDzyJKglLvdSGt0V86lcp431Ay1ph_cSQXDEuZrp2L6sx-eOjInNxVZoM0V8FVlLgEF_DBwEcRtmV3YNNmK5sauysqdkgL0gkOeLq4HZZfl-2yXLh3Uqn7klwrIpK/s1600/classic_occupy_wall_street_protest_signs_640_06.jpg" width="249" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I don't think Jerry Brown sanctioned these signs, but people posted them everywhere, all over Main Street and into other cities.<br /> <br /> It appears he's using a similar handbook for our current crisis. &nbsp;This is not horrible; everyone needs to conserve and shut their fountains down. Over 80% of CA water goes to <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/wp/2015/04/03/agriculture-is-80-percent-of-water-use-in-california-why-arent-farmers-being-forced-to-cut-back/">agriculture,</a>&nbsp;but I suppose every drop helps. Other efforts, however, are mandatory. There needs to be a better long-term solution than short-term regulations. Listen up, engineers. Be a hero. Everyone gets involved. There needs to be more talk about <u>desalination</u>. &nbsp;Go <a href="http://ca.gov/drought/">here.&nbsp;</a><br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23ZjtZUe6o1y3EssnkHv11RJMW6j29I_F3pmIcbHvBh5uisGqZhwfQpf4MKADnhO45Br_uDLwEPiYlDJYu8GN91w5X6k05pyTtdmdM7RQEZM2vYW41r0C5skSr9DbWKOcMyNK3XZqRx6T/s1600/web_tiburon_main_street.57234056_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23ZjtZUe6o1y3EssnkHv11RJMW6j29I_F3pmIcbHvBh5uisGqZhwfQpf4MKADnhO45Br_uDLwEPiYlDJYu8GN91w5X6k05pyTtdmdM7RQEZM2vYW41r0C5skSr9DbWKOcMyNK3XZqRx6T/s1600/web_tiburon_main_street.57234056_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Okay, back to 1977, Main Street sort of looked the same, ^ ^ ^ minus the fancy stores. Incidentally, Mom created the interiors of nearly all those shops. Again, a mystery. She went on to become an unlicensed therapist with a decent book of clients.<br /> <br /> Mom: It's amazing what people will tell their designers. Now I'm in a position to help them properly and get paid.<br /> <br /> Of course, no one would shower with their family or not flush their toilets. But to do their part, everyone did carry around flasks of whiskey and sat in hot tubs. We all wanted a hot tub.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLAkdB9FGAhzww74r3YkJO0j3p4qk3qcrYGULpv_mnap2iYzXSuCN0F4aejyfLi9OcDmT88M_fZSTjInkflbqrb2Qs67EozIW3QY8gOukp_zCsAQwkTPUUrbPBsIQeK7Gbdkq7ZtXp2OoR/s1600/tumblr_mnykryLlgh1r5ni4po1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLAkdB9FGAhzww74r3YkJO0j3p4qk3qcrYGULpv_mnap2iYzXSuCN0F4aejyfLi9OcDmT88M_fZSTjInkflbqrb2Qs67EozIW3QY8gOukp_zCsAQwkTPUUrbPBsIQeK7Gbdkq7ZtXp2OoR/s1600/tumblr_mnykryLlgh1r5ni4po1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> The restaurants did not put water on the table unless you were Sam Shepard because he's god. And was also a regular at Sam's, the local watering hole. &nbsp;He was a great guy, and I talked to him often because my mom would drag me there so she didn't have to drink alone.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqoeE3VmwVyBdwkiQ74T7l-JlbUW3fTpButNXa3KU2Bp015riqnRuFEcM1ATEw4_PUuJaClOd1fhruw9owp5vfQHnNqilnq8ZdjLSCdTPe3JAfawi1ICfUxOSoDxisHIDna_AoXSph94z/s1600/SamsCafe5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqoeE3VmwVyBdwkiQ74T7l-JlbUW3fTpButNXa3KU2Bp015riqnRuFEcM1ATEw4_PUuJaClOd1fhruw9owp5vfQHnNqilnq8ZdjLSCdTPe3JAfawi1ICfUxOSoDxisHIDna_AoXSph94z/s1600/SamsCafe5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Sam often saw me in a corner doing homework while he was writing Pulitzer-winning plays. I didn't know who he was, just another sweet guy at Sam's. I was working on my college essay, yes, early, but I was anxious to move on.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAn9BucUPHiWbD0RWyFfcALfXmpCjL727eHi2Dvsx9lvdz6EOGe0iUMHVT3xaJ1mA2pspmCxgfMWBnOhMX9yaLAFLz39Xwvc5KKJPQKlPSsURbufczxgNlP3_Li2TqzcmxhtZEUBQK2yY8/s1600/IMG_1131%5B1%5D+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAn9BucUPHiWbD0RWyFfcALfXmpCjL727eHi2Dvsx9lvdz6EOGe0iUMHVT3xaJ1mA2pspmCxgfMWBnOhMX9yaLAFLz39Xwvc5KKJPQKlPSsURbufczxgNlP3_Li2TqzcmxhtZEUBQK2yY8/s1600/IMG_1131%5B1%5D+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Sam told me I was off to a good start. He told me to figure out what I find curious, then mention in my letter both the subject of curiosity and the professor who would be teaching this to the Freshman. I would eventually do that, and not on a napkin.<br /> <br /> I would later find out that a very young Sam had a romance with <a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/06/patti-smith-opened-my-world.html">Patti Smith</a>&nbsp;(connection one), and he also has a musician son, Walker, whose band, The Down Hill Strugglers, play "down home folk." There is a great scene in The Notebook with Sam Shepard; everyone is dancing to banjo/fiddle music (connection two.) These connections are the majestic fabric of my life.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vMpDcza0ikQlbKO9hicVl4QpsAsaD_ST4kmyswVnSKBhdX56tjv4XPmBLQ_mwsJhLvh6MmQPVYxw3lBCk4Ukt7KmwNyLAZYlzl-Ib4Ok2Yt-3bzRMNMJqSPat8J_GgP-_vhHGbKvgzIK/s1600/tumblr_m8lspkWmyr1r0iqavo1_500.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vMpDcza0ikQlbKO9hicVl4QpsAsaD_ST4kmyswVnSKBhdX56tjv4XPmBLQ_mwsJhLvh6MmQPVYxw3lBCk4Ukt7KmwNyLAZYlzl-Ib4Ok2Yt-3bzRMNMJqSPat8J_GgP-_vhHGbKvgzIK/s1600/tumblr_m8lspkWmyr1r0iqavo1_500.png" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> As a "teeny-bopper," I was curious why there was a water shortage at all, given we were surrounded by so much.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTErI8QVdfwyw5nHypirFnUtv-I39SxxTK9BPjmvzfvcRuEkjxVPB_15rFw6E42427lVJ57UbBV2IPALzS8EOHIE4oCXxyOgc_ghnTcoJe8gCwfNlVLGeU7FvfIkjUwUGOWjdUfKejGvu8/s1600/020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTErI8QVdfwyw5nHypirFnUtv-I39SxxTK9BPjmvzfvcRuEkjxVPB_15rFw6E42427lVJ57UbBV2IPALzS8EOHIE4oCXxyOgc_ghnTcoJe8gCwfNlVLGeU7FvfIkjUwUGOWjdUfKejGvu8/s1600/020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> My walkway to the bus every morning. ^ ^ ^<br /> <br /> My mother explained the difference between salt and tap. She preferred wine, so she wasn't part of the problem anyway. All of our ferns had long died from neglect. We were winning.<br /> <br /> Years later, here I am, all grown up, explaining to my kids why we are installing drought-resistant grass, but the kids seem to be armed with knowledge because I get yelled at the most.<br /> <br /> "Turn off the faucet, Mom!"<br /> <br /> When I tell my kids why there are no decent oranges or lemons, I sound exactly like my mother back in Tiburon. There have been subsequent droughts, but I didn't have kids then. Somehow the impact isn't felt as much. Because, well, pasta, laundry, long-haired twin girls.<br /> <br /> If it gets to that point of "The Family That Showers Together Doesn't Go to Jail!" just get yourself a hot tub like these fellas.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1F_nXc2_tQeIYYRYji7YkNHgC5J6L_wmQLS-iFIcnazfwUiVdPD1UNJDsudnSag11cE7cD11kjb3bRZ9pKH1iNgFSef9gn6kdVVFbfA_IsUqn7MDS-BD-NmboidnWsivGdd_AH8bePxj/s1600/giphy.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1F_nXc2_tQeIYYRYji7YkNHgC5J6L_wmQLS-iFIcnazfwUiVdPD1UNJDsudnSag11cE7cD11kjb3bRZ9pKH1iNgFSef9gn6kdVVFbfA_IsUqn7MDS-BD-NmboidnWsivGdd_AH8bePxj/s1600/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Maybe stick to coconut water.</description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2015/04/on-california-drought-crisis-flashback.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2aO9S8h-bUEYZibO-e6SVBLZlbEc6eA3sNg1DXcjnZ98eYbOHeEXhzPrqPd9zCPTSJILEpHXvGGI-IynTEUwL7IjthGhdU1Gcx4qZzB1u_zNr8bIz3uC8GeDUU2I2ccIyKp6QLSzvlpM/s72-c/days-of-heaven-3.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-3557514544148929418</guid><pubDate>Fri, 16 Jan 2015 16:46:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T14:22:30.045-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Albert Einstein</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">childhood</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">children</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">divorce</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">education</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">enlightenment</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">failure</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">genius</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">growing up</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">humility</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">humor</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">imagination</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">independence</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenager</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">the 1970's</category><title>The Mystery of Einstein </title><description><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X62PSPHg2LDjwPgXXoWwP4lM1qz5HMBNWl2ai2D4-jFP2xF8kcwUwTIJbD4oZjAWCfOKwrvtBqq4TQxO669TOAPYTZAlzHnkNCM8PDcMKYFenGLLJYnKIiesz1rrRLIjuq3vv7i73K7J/s1600/wilderpic-90b85ab1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X62PSPHg2LDjwPgXXoWwP4lM1qz5HMBNWl2ai2D4-jFP2xF8kcwUwTIJbD4oZjAWCfOKwrvtBqq4TQxO669TOAPYTZAlzHnkNCM8PDcMKYFenGLLJYnKIiesz1rrRLIjuq3vv7i73K7J/s1600/wilderpic-90b85ab1.jpeg" width="253" /></a></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> When I was eight years old, my mother handed me a slip of paper with an Einstein quote: “He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Why she gave this to me and not her other five children remains unclear. Perhaps she saw my disillusionment with the rat-a-tat, airless echo of school, the Catholic Church, the Sunday roast dinners, and our predictable life. I had been punished a number of times for staring out the school window and daydreaming about who knows what, maybe stink bugs. Then came the thwack of the ruler, held by a tight-fisted, chalky nun who sent me off to kneel on the concrete hallway floor for two hours. I would later go home and draw pictures of kidnapped nuns, held in dark closets, starved, and begging for mercy. I hid the stories under my bed, accompanying the other stacks concerning some level of inequality.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /> During this time, music and freedom called my mother to another place, a more hopeful existence where she wouldn’t be a “wife.” She was a hippy to my father’s buttoned-up businessman. My mother did not have many heroes, as they were fleeting and then dead: Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and the Kennedys. But there was something about Einstein that settled into her very core, then mine.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /> <img alt="" src="http://www.positive365.com/einstein5.jpg" style="float: right; height: 303px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 10px; width: 272px;" /></div> <h3 style="color: #a39382; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-top: 0.25em;"> <strong>A new life began, and I took Albert along as a companion</strong></h3> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> In the early '70s, she had had enough. She confided in me: “We are leaving. Tell no one; your sisters won’t understand. Your father will return to an empty house to complement his empty existence.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Then: “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Don’t forget that. Ever.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Thus began my own obsession with Einstein. I tucked these quotes into my grandmother’s jewelry box, which she gave me just before her death.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <span style="line-height: 23.8px;"><br /></span></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <span style="line-height: 23.8px;">Legions of people remain enamored by this brilliant man, not just for what he discovered, accomplished, and how he radically changed the world, but because of his childlike innocence, his unlimited curiosity, great humility, a legacy of words that continue to endure. When you ask a complete stranger who defines genius, they might reply, “Oh, Einstein.”</span></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> And he was a rascal, with wild eyes, a mop of hair, his crumpled clothes. This made him real for the rest of us. I began to collect quotes and read about him in libraries. His humor brought me great comfort. He wasn’t some impervious man one couldn’t access. He didn’t believe in separating himself from others and loved sharing his ideas while helping others expand on their own. He was approachable, both alive and dead.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Born with eternal intelligence, his curiosity about everything began to emerge at age four. While examining his father’s pocket compass, Einstein was baffled. What was causing the needle to move? The empty space made no sense to him. He began to build models and mechanical devices for fun. He wanted answers. At age 10, he met Max Talmey, a poor Jewish medical student from Poland, who introduced him to science, math, philosophy, Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, and Euclid’s Elements, which Einstein dubbed “the holy little geometry book.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <h3 style="color: #a39382; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-top: 0.25em;"> <strong>He was brilliant in his own way</strong></h3> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> As a boy, his father knew little Albert was gifted, and perhaps because the elder Einstein (an engineer) had failed at so many businesses, he insisted his son stay in school. He enrolled him in a school in Munich to pursue engineering, but Albert was frustrated with the educational system. He repeatedly clashed with the authorities, resented their teaching style, and wrote about how schools were essentially killing its students' creative spirit and curiosity. He was 15.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> “The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.” When I read this in junior high school, I could finally relax. The simple statement brought along a universe of vindication because I simply could not understand the entire educational process of rote learning. It was too boxed in, too impersonal. I realized I would have to find my own way intellectually alongside the traditional through books and lectures by Rollo May, Erich Fromm, B.F. Skinner, Timothy Leary, and Marshall McLuhan.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> I was no genius. Simply curious and bored with school. Given how often my gypsy mother moved us, staying on track in class made me weary. Another school, another teacher, another set of young people I would have to navigate somehow.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Why has Einstein resonated so deeply with me and so many others? Among the world’s most brilliant minds, he continues to inspire. What of da Vinci, Tesla, Newton, Hawking, Aristotle, Edison, Cervantes? The list goes on. They, too, share powerful minds and an endless pursuit through curiosity and instinct. They knew knowledge was important and had to be learned, but could only get them so far. The rest is a mystery.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Einstein embodies the mystery. So many of his ideas, beyond his incredible discoveries in the world itself, which ultimately turned the world on its head, contain room, empty space, and air to breathe. His equation, E = mc2, maybe the most famous equation in physics, eventually setting the stage for the development of the atomic bomb and nuclear power plants. But had he known where this was going, he said, he should have become a watchmaker.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /> <img alt="" src="http://www.positive365.com/einstein2.jpg" style="float: left; height: 215px; padding: 10px; width: 272px;" /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> To this day, his theories inspire advances in science, astronomy, and physics, as well as from philosophers. I keep a tip sheet of quotes near my computer and read one daily. It really doesn’t matter which one, as they all carry great meaning. With each read, I come away with yet another interpretation.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Einstein would go on to fail countless exams when applying to higher learning institutions. Yet, he continued exploring, reading, and taking great interest in others’ concepts and ideas. He did eventually get accepted into the Polytechnic in Zurich. He wanted more knowledge and continued developing his own theories and expanding others.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <strong>His instincts propelled him yet further</strong></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> He never lost his ability to stay curious, intuitive, and humorous. Despite his apparent genius, upon graduation, he could not get a job and landed at the patent office, only to be overlooked for a promotion because he had not grasped machine technology. But it was there that the 26-year-old developed further radical notions in his spare time by analyzing various patents. And he never stopped writing about his findings.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Finally, with some recognition, he left the patent office and, by 1908, was considered one of the world’s leading scientists. He became a professor in Prague and Berlin and became famous a few years later when his theory of relativity finally made a permanent impression on the world. Ten years later, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> For many years after, he traveled the globe, lecturing. “Of all the people I have met, I like the Japanese the most, as they are modest, intelligent, considerate, and have a feel for art,” he wrote to one of his sons. This is the statement that captures the man himself. He maintained his own humility until the day he died. He was a genius but also a gentleman, a humorist, an altruist, an artist, and a great believer in love. “How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love?”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> The entire universe was Einstein’s canvas, and he made this world relatable to all of us. He said so many things and has <a href="https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/01/the-definition-of-insanity-i-first.html">also been attributed to many.</a></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> </div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <h3 style="color: #a39382; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-top: 0.25em;"> <strong>Meanwhile, back in New Jersey</strong></h3> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Of all the great brains, his would be the one cut into 240 pieces, kept in jars, cardboard boxes, often hidden, studied under microscopes. Bits of his grey matter still remain at Princeton University. All those years of cutting, probing, and analyzing amounted to little new knowledge of the human mind.</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> The contradiction rattles the very jars into a pulpy mess, if only because it contradicts what Einstein tried to impress. Stay curious and questioning; love the mystery. Conventional knowledge, though essential, is finite. Imagination is not. This is what Einstein embraced. Perhaps the lore of his brain in a jar helps prolong the iconic myth. In his words: “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Recently, while driving my own ten-year-old girls to school, I said, “Remember, imagination is more important than knowledge.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> Through the rearview mirror, I watched them both roll their eyes in that “Please, mom, just drive” kind of way as they said in unison, “OK, Einstein.”</div> <div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px;"> <br /></div> <div class="article-footer" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(153, 153, 153); border-top-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); border-top-style: dashed; border-top-width: 1px; border-top: 1px dashed rgb(153, 153, 153); clear: both; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 23.8px; margin-bottom: 10px; padding: 10px 0px;"> This article appears in the&nbsp;<a href="http://www.positive365.com/Positive-Magazine/Spring-2013/" style="color: #c75b0e; outline: none; text-decoration: none;">Spring&nbsp;2013</a>&nbsp;issue of Positive Magazine</div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2015/01/the-mystery-of-einstein.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X62PSPHg2LDjwPgXXoWwP4lM1qz5HMBNWl2ai2D4-jFP2xF8kcwUwTIJbD4oZjAWCfOKwrvtBqq4TQxO669TOAPYTZAlzHnkNCM8PDcMKYFenGLLJYnKIiesz1rrRLIjuq3vv7i73K7J/s72-c/wilderpic-90b85ab1.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-3747405377977914593</guid><pubDate>Sun, 26 Oct 2014 19:21:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2017-09-12T14:44:49.207-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">aging</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Birdman</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Emma Stone</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">escaping</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">friendship</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">hope</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Michael Keaton</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mothers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">self-doubt</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">self-loathing</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">time</category><title>On Birdman, Illusions, Hope and I'm NOT 65!</title><description><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QKM-A8WSx5eJuVXKt-RNeBZ34Cjd61fV-s8wMrzmBiEcWZvX0LaWQSoVPObFCwjauQocy8ozdxKzOd1tuLJ-2oXvtzPSndTmjq0WHMsUMed8LIRkHjbUNetHxQ-E4xBYQP3rLYt1Q2-U/s1600/birdman-679x350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QKM-A8WSx5eJuVXKt-RNeBZ34Cjd61fV-s8wMrzmBiEcWZvX0LaWQSoVPObFCwjauQocy8ozdxKzOd1tuLJ-2oXvtzPSndTmjq0WHMsUMed8LIRkHjbUNetHxQ-E4xBYQP3rLYt1Q2-U/s1600/birdman-679x350.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> There is always hope...<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="MsoNormal"> I’ve written more than once my reluctance to engage with convenience store cashiers, particularly at Rite-Aid.&nbsp;I don’t know if part of their job requirement is to <a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/search/label/fake%20disabilities"><u>engage but I don't like it</u>.&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;This particular encounter was about MY need to engage. With a kid. Tides are changing.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Last night I was feeling friendly, open, had just seen Birdman with a close friend and we were all over the map in multiple conversations about life, ourselves, movies, kids, work, the world, &nbsp;the meaning of life, technology, kosher gummy bears, the dangers of pork fat, preservatives and toxic friends.&nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwD-1VaEscgQa0mqQd2faW1flK47OQ8Y6_-q6TYcbv4Fcf4Jo_4cicIO5J0gajXfUMd-AHVRebAL93H1PWZRaK3oLOD801op62uy8c5orsGq2ANgAFehVapFq6Hr-sUL_hXPvHU0yYzCSS/s1600/girls-talking-behind-someone-back-300x240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwD-1VaEscgQa0mqQd2faW1flK47OQ8Y6_-q6TYcbv4Fcf4Jo_4cicIO5J0gajXfUMd-AHVRebAL93H1PWZRaK3oLOD801op62uy8c5orsGq2ANgAFehVapFq6Hr-sUL_hXPvHU0yYzCSS/s1600/girls-talking-behind-someone-back-300x240.jpg" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> This is how we talk, lots of subjects overlapping but after 20 years we have rhythms and circles and understand exactly the other. If we hit on a particular subject of interest, we’ll stay there for a while, exhaust it, then move on. We were stuck on the kosher gummy thing.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNEqsw_R4igvMswuIFbR9aDq5UMNaUoj6YuD2Q6AuE_Z1KtA0I1y9L0Nd0mjfrRjcFdg2qxIjOaYqmLtfyDuCK2yfb-wBFRu1-6Mpmbw5YQ21-RQhWp92ixfO5IM5ONNlsCUfCqFPKyIJ/s1600/picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNEqsw_R4igvMswuIFbR9aDq5UMNaUoj6YuD2Q6AuE_Z1KtA0I1y9L0Nd0mjfrRjcFdg2qxIjOaYqmLtfyDuCK2yfb-wBFRu1-6Mpmbw5YQ21-RQhWp92ixfO5IM5ONNlsCUfCqFPKyIJ/s1600/picture.jpg" width="255" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> KOSHER ^ ^ ^ ^ ^&nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley is my only friend I have this relationship with, that is, we both think so fast and are somehow on the same wave, our entire universe can be jammed into 30 minutes at Rite Aid.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Meanwhile, here I was at the checkout by myself with a young girl, perhaps 17. Riley had run off to grab another item, which I had predicted. The “I’m only running in for one thing!” girl.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Oh, she always forgets something. But she has a mind like a steel trap. So smart, always thinking ahead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Such a smart girl.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> The checkout girl was grappling with the 20 pages of coupons Riley gave her. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSJtq-l2OSnZiovUxpNz_etqExxK0M4QYCmuYw69q7YBK7aa4jRpVyu55Hl_znNr2p2n8IS87xnTnkKUTlckNUqIzFf0wnGiVDVVZDC1gd8qdTqxQ8uWonzo3HhCNvWBUUjOOmEj3gW3R/s1600/binder2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSJtq-l2OSnZiovUxpNz_etqExxK0M4QYCmuYw69q7YBK7aa4jRpVyu55Hl_znNr2p2n8IS87xnTnkKUTlckNUqIzFf0wnGiVDVVZDC1gd8qdTqxQ8uWonzo3HhCNvWBUUjOOmEj3gW3R/s1600/binder2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Can you believe this? I don’t know how she does it. Somehow finds, saves, then compartmentalizes coupons for the proper store on items that are already inexpensive. Where does she find the time?? What, with a huge job, runs her own company!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She’s raising an amazing son, travels the world, helps others, oversees the construction on her home, is kind, lovely and adorable and yet organizes coupons. See, this is why she has money and I don’t.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I toss my sponges and a Hershey’s bar onto the counter. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Checkout girl: Wow, you really raised her well. You must be so proud.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMX5VjC2lHySrnYyxav2OydsOJ5CELXZ9w23RjS4yrR4X-Oa1xm2QG7_CcETgAuMa8hY0G7fLsUdzQHw4eWwZHT9IU_DkdFnPQmvbFuEwMxci7fgjd4wJ6fd0r177fiBiipwjjtuxhQCTR/s1600/tumblr_n1ts48xcEw1s7o7bdo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMX5VjC2lHySrnYyxav2OydsOJ5CELXZ9w23RjS4yrR4X-Oa1xm2QG7_CcETgAuMa8hY0G7fLsUdzQHw4eWwZHT9IU_DkdFnPQmvbFuEwMxci7fgjd4wJ6fd0r177fiBiipwjjtuxhQCTR/s1600/tumblr_n1ts48xcEw1s7o7bdo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Excuse me?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Checkout girl: Your daughter. You raised her so well. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: You think I’m her mother?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> She looked at me as though to confirm.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Checkout girl: Well, yeah. My mom brags about me too.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG89lUOE7KkFqDFyuE7xk-nPi6xVFVFxAaaDS8aOM6-LBXlSxBALpDsVtvWRVwgLZn2gcbinwPcioGUMI1B7I7d2h7txKGyms9VSFiOUW0vGQcpu_C70hOvBF9-bjQ2WR1d0rA1uLos_8y/s1600/Mamas-proud-enter-cece-drake.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG89lUOE7KkFqDFyuE7xk-nPi6xVFVFxAaaDS8aOM6-LBXlSxBALpDsVtvWRVwgLZn2gcbinwPcioGUMI1B7I7d2h7txKGyms9VSFiOUW0vGQcpu_C70hOvBF9-bjQ2WR1d0rA1uLos_8y/s1600/Mamas-proud-enter-cece-drake.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Of course I had to dig deeper because I love self-abuse.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: How old do you think I am?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Now, we all know this is basically a trick question and you get what you deserve, but I thought she might say 49… at the high end. She was already delusional.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Checkout girl:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Um… 65?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>65? Are you serious? I look 65? Do you keep a gun under the counter?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OTf9VViMmOdxkupFHORbQn3TxYvTxqaYMVWMEdjSWpBa3o41g17i_CyWKNFZSgVtkhSg6nPo3eV977KH5UBdnJEyk5VrGDfAt1jXpEIcrIh28dP5HXlARSxmeCxw8EwOKhJZaEhEtB2j/s1600/0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OTf9VViMmOdxkupFHORbQn3TxYvTxqaYMVWMEdjSWpBa3o41g17i_CyWKNFZSgVtkhSg6nPo3eV977KH5UBdnJEyk5VrGDfAt1jXpEIcrIh28dP5HXlARSxmeCxw8EwOKhJZaEhEtB2j/s1600/0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Blank stare. This is what I think 65 looks like. ^^^^<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3P_4jJMtvrYFk1k8ghDI3jF8q6zWBwpMfHLXypVLcEuhxz67kK18V-d5_Ld_F0pkJVWZ0-LOafMfu0m_4AtUUsziilaYlAIjW6qb3coSY911xZTEeEhaMhfEkQcgAp5SgqCmvsYaeLISb/s1600/Susan+Sarandon-DGG-033962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3P_4jJMtvrYFk1k8ghDI3jF8q6zWBwpMfHLXypVLcEuhxz67kK18V-d5_Ld_F0pkJVWZ0-LOafMfu0m_4AtUUsziilaYlAIjW6qb3coSY911xZTEeEhaMhfEkQcgAp5SgqCmvsYaeLISb/s1600/Susan+Sarandon-DGG-033962.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p>This is what 65 looks like being fabulous. &nbsp;Still, I feel I look at least 20 years younger than Susan. Seriously! This girl should get fired.</o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p><br /></o:p></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1HFGb2erD879xsNiWhMqORUoz9McELv84RZJRwAGJvxXTwY4ULMfYCPIsSXfTnVoHs4AbV-ERSQ_vq5gY3NlS7hgzpoTLA8DPzN-_HCscjzhaZiACBIp7kSk52FmshciF88iQxevjvv-/s1600/photo+copy+48.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1HFGb2erD879xsNiWhMqORUoz9McELv84RZJRwAGJvxXTwY4ULMfYCPIsSXfTnVoHs4AbV-ERSQ_vq5gY3NlS7hgzpoTLA8DPzN-_HCscjzhaZiACBIp7kSk52FmshciF88iQxevjvv-/s1600/photo+copy+48.JPG" width="319" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p><br /></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p>This is me on a sloppy day. I was in heels and pearls for cripes sake! I don't care that I'm aging, I mean who isn't?&nbsp; But hold up calling me a grandma until I am one!</o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley comes rushing up, her long hair flowing all over the place, gorgeous face, all legs, then shoving tons of items she “forget” onto the counter.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7jW4YMhaDRWtSmbK0HEgopJCOTj5F6jEszY7sVCuaqGyqdf6ZZPajbUzQ8dx7OKLjLAi_4qyDku4Vx5sSHL9N-oVPpQ8NUUr-CojPuw_gE3b4r8sbcJki6VBl4lk-3oT9qFXV3ePO8i8/s1600/tumblr_mm7uxzGMw91rcy99do1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7jW4YMhaDRWtSmbK0HEgopJCOTj5F6jEszY7sVCuaqGyqdf6ZZPajbUzQ8dx7OKLjLAi_4qyDku4Vx5sSHL9N-oVPpQ8NUUr-CojPuw_gE3b4r8sbcJki6VBl4lk-3oT9qFXV3ePO8i8/s1600/tumblr_mm7uxzGMw91rcy99do1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> She even looks like this girl ^^^ In fact it might be her.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: Sorry, I couldn't find the toxic free paper towels. We need to stop at Trader Joes.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Okay, get this. The cashier thinks I’m your mother.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>What?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Because I raised you so well miss coupon collector.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> You’d think the check out girl would show a little humiliation, maybe slight embarrassment, but no. Not even, “I’m not good with ages.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwB7hhWMqoMFV1PuLLP_CFCg5Yhn2EsnHy18_nTnwJ2LVQ0HUKGaH7sl9Gol9eUNGUq5Q75li9cP-ZoYa7aNo4maN2BjCjsSDwNNJvS2V_B8IEVe6Ze9yhjdcbz5LzoJ8OvpA_6MWVBCen/s1600/bored-girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwB7hhWMqoMFV1PuLLP_CFCg5Yhn2EsnHy18_nTnwJ2LVQ0HUKGaH7sl9Gol9eUNGUq5Q75li9cP-ZoYa7aNo4maN2BjCjsSDwNNJvS2V_B8IEVe6Ze9yhjdcbz5LzoJ8OvpA_6MWVBCen/s1600/bored-girl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p><br /></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Like I give any shits.</i>&nbsp; &nbsp;^^^</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I grabbed my sponges and chocolate.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> “Just get me home so I can scrub the house and shame eat. Can you help me to the car, honey.”<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> We were laughing too hard to strip it all down but Riley, who truly does look 20, needed to try and shore me up.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: It’s the hair. She didn’t even see my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We’re the same age!<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Who cares? She saw mine. 65? My mother doesn’t look 65 god rest her soul.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> By now we are hysterical with laughter throwing perfume free toilet paper into the car. I gasped.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: What the hell is that?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I didn’t realize our windows were open.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: Oh Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_OX_yLE1Sj6KYUZxR-pFu6qSi2OOUZIDwX2kywYCt2AxntV6v0CTSMrO6Riz2X0TcDx7BXVlZzhekDGYxzYaHahCnnS3NrKe9l_0MDzLQAcHDtmXW5JHDQSMRWeU3k9-ORZWy_fZ32TA/s1600/SayCheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_OX_yLE1Sj6KYUZxR-pFu6qSi2OOUZIDwX2kywYCt2AxntV6v0CTSMrO6Riz2X0TcDx7BXVlZzhekDGYxzYaHahCnnS3NrKe9l_0MDzLQAcHDtmXW5JHDQSMRWeU3k9-ORZWy_fZ32TA/s1600/SayCheese.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p><br /></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Basically Sasquatch was pacing in front of the car, wearing only tight underpants, his giant balls spilling out on either side. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: Is that a girl?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: No, Riley. It has a dick. I need to get a picture and Instagram him.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Hurry!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I’m scrambling for my camera, then realized he was staring at us, our windows were down. Was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I really just going to take a picture of a nearly naked mentally ill man? What was wrong with me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We had just seen Birdman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We were about to become the very people the film illuminates, forget reality, forget human emotion, but get the picture and make it go viral.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtn_lRMG2MyzKEALCJfR2T-QMWCu3nBGY6XMXHkdQkHpPcorbztFDjN7Y8iEBg6f8lW_b51xNcjrbfAouujwe30XVPHhq0Cg13rSbua4DQGOqoYUbw_PmMhlgLAUAy3mgUXAwSgzvB3ijV/s1600/michael-keaton-strips-to-his-underwear-for-birdman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtn_lRMG2MyzKEALCJfR2T-QMWCu3nBGY6XMXHkdQkHpPcorbztFDjN7Y8iEBg6f8lW_b51xNcjrbfAouujwe30XVPHhq0Cg13rSbua4DQGOqoYUbw_PmMhlgLAUAy3mgUXAwSgzvB3ijV/s1600/michael-keaton-strips-to-his-underwear-for-birdman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Let’s go, this is crazy.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> She was staring at her phone.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Look at this, he's still in line!<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: It’s a big deal, great actually. People wait for hours.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> She had been keeping track of her son who was waiting for the over-the-top scary Hayride in Griffith Park. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> As parents our children are now little red dots on our smartphones, we know where they are at all times. Soon we will be able to hear their conversations.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAaV9p5dA0WN68HJbHya-IDCPN1hdE808-LNkvP06UIek9sXnWZdkQqF7lzwcl7dWnwr4ElJ5TjEijqwVifdh_GWIntJJaWt482kszcid2MqY1DqD3RyiR63MZ-T_cIkUoZyBr_fd7hLs/s1600/SmartPhone-Location-Tracking.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAaV9p5dA0WN68HJbHya-IDCPN1hdE808-LNkvP06UIek9sXnWZdkQqF7lzwcl7dWnwr4ElJ5TjEijqwVifdh_GWIntJJaWt482kszcid2MqY1DqD3RyiR63MZ-T_cIkUoZyBr_fd7hLs/s1600/SmartPhone-Location-Tracking.png" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I had stopped counting birthdays after I turned 40, so oddly if you ask me my age; I just grab a number from the air.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Why 65? Why not say, 80!<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: You know kids, They think everyone is old.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: That is true. My girls (11) think my son (25) is an old man. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I wonder if she thought I looked GOOD for 65.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: You look amazing. Stop it.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: We’re so much more than our faces. Yet, wouldn’t it be great if there really was a fountain of youth? I’d be bathing in that business.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNCDdeToLMyGuGa9IXv0Y30Ca5CVKfUXsygNp7HXgZ7v5GrKcO9VLguCUlBC248NioPwFVb7Z8NszJvhmqRzJDkykd_tC2xcbMp8gzX_mGf_DqtngD_eMavf6488gQ90MLKtKnPhJOcv5/s1600/26Fountian-slide-PGD4-articleLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNCDdeToLMyGuGa9IXv0Y30Ca5CVKfUXsygNp7HXgZ7v5GrKcO9VLguCUlBC248NioPwFVb7Z8NszJvhmqRzJDkykd_tC2xcbMp8gzX_mGf_DqtngD_eMavf6488gQ90MLKtKnPhJOcv5/s1600/26Fountian-slide-PGD4-articleLarge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: There’s one in Rome. I found them all.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: Unicorns. Ever notice how they are all water based? We are water? Theoretically we could just take a bath. I’d rather get a blood transfusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>I should drink more coconut water.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: Do you think he died or flew?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: That’s the entire point of the movie, our interpretation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>He already flew into the sun. One of the recurring themes. He’s free. Finally. He says fuck you to the Birdman monster then controls his own fate. To me he integrated and ended it himself.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: I want to believe he flew away to maybe a tropical island. I mean his daughter smiles and looks up.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: For me, they finally bonded; she was smiling because he was at peace. Why look at a crumpled, bloody body when she knows his spirit is soaring?<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfM8n0Gn2R3fUn3DtBDOHu2U96xCwgWXVSj1D2gubURdJtmsIg4yGBcY8x9ePXpzQExAdYu7KMwtM4vZrvspGLVTKkBJ_XPjCUngR8yKWcb93Hz_aDHOA2LRw6ukEReajk3JyQUk805rs8/s1600/emma-stone-birdman.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfM8n0Gn2R3fUn3DtBDOHu2U96xCwgWXVSj1D2gubURdJtmsIg4yGBcY8x9ePXpzQExAdYu7KMwtM4vZrvspGLVTKkBJ_XPjCUngR8yKWcb93Hz_aDHOA2LRw6ukEReajk3JyQUk805rs8/s1600/emma-stone-birdman.png" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Riley: Yes but I want to believe he is off at some topical island, free that way.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyr2UTl2GKhYxQItFg0Z-RQ630qGEgSW3-9lWHlooVCJVNNl69TKhd4CAk33EG6z-p-LYZQNIr2Dt1dIymhzFi-GJ7kFrhgNd3JmFI8NHWgjThBPbOTTlqorZPlTN9Fhqno8ctKfX4qhQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyr2UTl2GKhYxQItFg0Z-RQ630qGEgSW3-9lWHlooVCJVNNl69TKhd4CAk33EG6z-p-LYZQNIr2Dt1dIymhzFi-GJ7kFrhgNd3JmFI8NHWgjThBPbOTTlqorZPlTN9Fhqno8ctKfX4qhQ/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Me: He'd drown himself. Anyway, this expands the point, that is if he flew away to someplace real, we as a society are being taken over by a viral reality, so soon there be no such thing as reality. May as well enjoy this one. &nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Of course we are now both checking our cell phones.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p>&nbsp;</o:p>&nbsp;</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Since age seven, I too have a &nbsp;Birdman voice that enjoys reminding me I’m a loser, no talent, worthless, fat, ugly cow that has nothing to offer so really, why try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Zq07l_f7yZKYIWO73VNKUvxDjuFnuGrisP9mL0DNsqeex0FMSiU_osLQkmvj0Y2xLglNij_BmWPtJ9RD1VOMOucJjhIW83gjQwUIiGD9reffGa4bwSLLZUj9g0zosBLV74s_Jo22945w/s1600/ct-birdman-20141022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Zq07l_f7yZKYIWO73VNKUvxDjuFnuGrisP9mL0DNsqeex0FMSiU_osLQkmvj0Y2xLglNij_BmWPtJ9RD1VOMOucJjhIW83gjQwUIiGD9reffGa4bwSLLZUj9g0zosBLV74s_Jo22945w/s1600/ct-birdman-20141022.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> But you do.</div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> One of the things I love about Riley is her honesty, and how she doesn’t give up. We are similar this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The self-doubt, the anxiety over our kids, and the impossibility of it all, then we end up laughing. The conclusion is we are humans in an insane world looking for good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And if someone tells me I look 65, and I see a hairy fat man in his stained underpants smiling at me with a toothless grin, while contemplating the 25 layers of brilliance that is Birdman, I will call that a good day. <o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> I finally arrive home, and settle into my comfy bed, channel flipped until <i>Prisoners</i>, a movie I love so much I can recite all the dialogue. I fall asleep eating my chocolate bar, so I’m guessing today I probably look 67.<o:p></o:p></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT47HUT_9m6wkubNHAh1kKIUhrYeOG70PpMqAjIRFhD3J9ShxKwpxWwaRorWSg6eQvwqZQ-IoZ-GnOsrAER-5rEU9bOlnRH3pq12-nGzcl8cP14vSvO07rArBfxF8rqcEgzEFQ7vzT_S8d/s1600/10274189_10152519185944379_1398129179965603594_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT47HUT_9m6wkubNHAh1kKIUhrYeOG70PpMqAjIRFhD3J9ShxKwpxWwaRorWSg6eQvwqZQ-IoZ-GnOsrAER-5rEU9bOlnRH3pq12-nGzcl8cP14vSvO07rArBfxF8rqcEgzEFQ7vzT_S8d/s1600/10274189_10152519185944379_1398129179965603594_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on brilliant Birdman, Michael Keaton, self-doubt, aging, life, humor, parenting, friendship, laughter, mirages and hope.</div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/10/on-birdman-illusions-hope-and-im-not-65.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QKM-A8WSx5eJuVXKt-RNeBZ34Cjd61fV-s8wMrzmBiEcWZvX0LaWQSoVPObFCwjauQocy8ozdxKzOd1tuLJ-2oXvtzPSndTmjq0WHMsUMed8LIRkHjbUNetHxQ-E4xBYQP3rLYt1Q2-U/s72-c/birdman-679x350.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-6978995122535798327</guid><pubDate>Thu, 07 Aug 2014 03:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2018-01-29T11:22:56.591-08:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">children</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">daughters</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">divorce</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Girls</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Judy Talbot</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Marin County</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mom</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Mothers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">my life</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">single mothers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">survival</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">teenagers</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">The 70's</category><title>How Are We Alive? (A short story written by my mother, rediscovered after her death.)</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbmcUtBwvVjMFV0vn_jVDTFQnRZ0XvmKABnYX2BOp7jPjOC1hMFJ1KiPaoK7jnZJtk3WiQcLtc7ZyD7L3N2w0SMSDgNuS8SRWGzHLm8N-1uzBx-Aw5ynZEjXuiKsJhHs4h33GGX5-g4pP/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbmcUtBwvVjMFV0vn_jVDTFQnRZ0XvmKABnYX2BOp7jPjOC1hMFJ1KiPaoK7jnZJtk3WiQcLtc7ZyD7L3N2w0SMSDgNuS8SRWGzHLm8N-1uzBx-Aw5ynZEjXuiKsJhHs4h33GGX5-g4pP/s1600/photo.PNG" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Hello my friends, have been busy with work, kids, the eternal quest for summer activities, sensible vacations, etc.<br /> <br /> I came across something my mother wrote in 1976, which I vaguely remember. This was published in the Detroit News, then quickly forgotten. Mom must have pulled it back out, reworked, and published again in a Washington State Lit Journal just before she passed away. She was an artist of many avenues, writing being one. She died before finishing her 2nd dissertation and sadly I have very little of her work.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitmsjlgUjFq0M9o9fu7UgfYtiZiU8q9tKFcFbTqEpv6ZuYT8Eu2zjZUcTVGcDeB8-fAjrgjtsfKETG3lfJXdlb774oWy_TA3bvmWrRVdukrZ1gQN9Zhj745JTHPv6-2mxdf1M5UIP7Rk1P/s1600/photo%5B41%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitmsjlgUjFq0M9o9fu7UgfYtiZiU8q9tKFcFbTqEpv6ZuYT8Eu2zjZUcTVGcDeB8-fAjrgjtsfKETG3lfJXdlb774oWy_TA3bvmWrRVdukrZ1gQN9Zhj745JTHPv6-2mxdf1M5UIP7Rk1P/s1600/photo%5B41%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Here is an excerpt of <a href="http://www.snreview.org/0208Talbot.html">The Joy of Six,</a> the only time I said yes to a "guest" blogger.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background-color: white;">Mom a few years after we hit the road.^^</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background-color: white;">____________________________________________________________________</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Of the daily challenges presented to a single mother of many children, none equal the energy expended in the perpetual search for money. A woman can either work two or three jobs at minimum wage or try to sell her body for a slightly higher scale of pay.&nbsp; With the relatively sexless body of a nine-year old boy, I could not imagine anyone buying it. Since I lacked promiscuity, education, a base of salient skills, and had six children under ten, I began to realize I was nothing more than a target.&nbsp; This particular target set out a few decades ago to find a job, become educated, and raise those kids alone.&nbsp;</span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">In a strange set of circumstances, due I am sure, to my physically overstressed, and deliriously stretched-out mentality I began to recognize the presence of more than just my own brood.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">There began to appear on a daily basis, metaphysical personifications with actual personalities distinguishable by their behavior. In spite of my intensified attention to their detailed intervention into my life, I found it strangely satisfying to attribute their unusual activities to that of my children. As such, I began to refer to them as "The Bodies"-- Nobody, Everybody, Somebody, and Anybody.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXBnkpL1utQQTnDt9Kg7T2MsSfuqfxApsQ30h2_0n5vkssX8mlx4ry06JqxDkEEU4RjLq0h_0J-262saNIJllhiWBAddwOfioAcO-71qGENJieMx-MZfAmnPhJNwyFkYeq-EJx1mQxNbI/s1600/Mahou+Shoujo+Lyrical+Nanoha+StrikerS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXBnkpL1utQQTnDt9Kg7T2MsSfuqfxApsQ30h2_0n5vkssX8mlx4ry06JqxDkEEU4RjLq0h_0J-262saNIJllhiWBAddwOfioAcO-71qGENJieMx-MZfAmnPhJNwyFkYeq-EJx1mQxNbI/s1600/Mahou+Shoujo+Lyrical+Nanoha+StrikerS.jpg" width="232" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">While learning their names and idiosyncratic proclivities, I discovered my favorite among the strangely non-physical beings temporarily inhabiting my home. <u>Nobody</u>. Nobody loved vegetables.&nbsp; Nobody completed assigned homework, and Nobody followed my organizational chart. Nobody was polite and cheerful and Nobody washed dishes. Nobody picked their clothes up from the floor and Nobody claimed ownership of the jeans thrown there. Nobody did everything.</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOHivMIiy43qvcXuPMqaFQQqu9Vo1_3uk2Z7RPyOTrg4UVJ2wbFhOL3VsAKkpbsXRzUXzlwGCQoUwIiZGV5yQs9arXyRvWPLkKRBmRq_aaRcucNeTHEUuiEGRx5w7UgAFVE-lqKwQEONG/s1600/tumblr_n982qbvyFQ1s5lf2ro1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsOHivMIiy43qvcXuPMqaFQQqu9Vo1_3uk2Z7RPyOTrg4UVJ2wbFhOL3VsAKkpbsXRzUXzlwGCQoUwIiZGV5yQs9arXyRvWPLkKRBmRq_aaRcucNeTHEUuiEGRx5w7UgAFVE-lqKwQEONG/s1600/tumblr_n982qbvyFQ1s5lf2ro1_400.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">In spite of my reasonable and pleasant nature, I was surprised by the specious presence of Somebody who lost my cashmere sweater, misplaced my opal ring, removed the covers and Down pillows from my bed, and in fact was a suspect in the loss of my favorite champagne flute, an elegant piece of crystal stem-ware I especially loved.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIU7pxNfiREKW6Ncd0usE4UBDxNDVpv4LU5B9OxzgQy37nWMghyVKxp95L8uFTsLle3p8ZEc2bq0kDUQBqdRKxaiuf1V4CIlG8eCMsyvH5aJ9Lyy3ARF-Z0hFWs0h3kFRBL0hpx559UV8F/s1600/il_570xN.269952322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIU7pxNfiREKW6Ncd0usE4UBDxNDVpv4LU5B9OxzgQy37nWMghyVKxp95L8uFTsLle3p8ZEc2bq0kDUQBqdRKxaiuf1V4CIlG8eCMsyvH5aJ9Lyy3ARF-Z0hFWs0h3kFRBL0hpx559UV8F/s1600/il_570xN.269952322.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">I often envisioned a world in which I might own two of them, and regularly hid money in a sacrificial sugar bowl, hoping to find a duplicate. The bowl, the money, and the flute were simply missing. The rhetoric went something like this:&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"Somebody broke my champagne flute, ravished my sugar bowl, and absconded with $3.42!"&nbsp; True, I was somewhat hysterical, and may have been screaming, however I demanded an immediate resolution. My eldest countered with her inherited ideological preference for non-biased accusations:&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"Why blame Somebody when it could have been Anybody?" &nbsp;Daughters two and three agreed, arguing for the defense, insisting that Everybody had access to the cupboard, and Nobody may have actually been the culprit.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuB9Cfwhxn3Mu7FXObIYmigKpu9VA_kVgoLryV-nDlsSFx5GUuatd6KkffXgzfhKWiMex76HAHI1vquxhyCWXl_F6Xj99xk4m8ITpuXQHnj9VXh0hj_4Esu_UXPuPcBsOyaF1OcOm7d7At/s1600/cartoon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuB9Cfwhxn3Mu7FXObIYmigKpu9VA_kVgoLryV-nDlsSFx5GUuatd6KkffXgzfhKWiMex76HAHI1vquxhyCWXl_F6Xj99xk4m8ITpuXQHnj9VXh0hj_4Esu_UXPuPcBsOyaF1OcOm7d7At/s1600/cartoon.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"Nobody?" I was stunned. "How could it be Nobody?!"&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">It was obvious to me that Somebody took these things because they were in fact gone, and perhaps had broken my one and only remnant of another, more promising life. For reasons beyond my control, the children blamed Anybody and Everybody, an outrageous accusation, however, I could imagine such an act of agrestic behavior by unscrupulous persons such as those referred to by my children.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Since Everybody hung out at the mall, stayed out past midnight, &nbsp;smoked cigarettes, talked incessantly on the telephone, and our home became a dance hall to all their friends, I could easily be swayed. There were, in fact, dozens of their pilfering pals whose fingerprints were wiped away daily.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJyYxUlOZW_-q7XFUPlq82aggVWGs1G-lloJCh0npfajuKeNVyRgMky_u-M_ARDoXJKN1gQDzHPBh-GlRRc8odIhaw9g49gEheImiRd7UmAnR2DCXqeZBuECH-mcXBBG0PVqyINOOP4yS/s1600/tumblr_n9bezdy7qz1ti4puzo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJyYxUlOZW_-q7XFUPlq82aggVWGs1G-lloJCh0npfajuKeNVyRgMky_u-M_ARDoXJKN1gQDzHPBh-GlRRc8odIhaw9g49gEheImiRd7UmAnR2DCXqeZBuECH-mcXBBG0PVqyINOOP4yS/s1600/tumblr_n9bezdy7qz1ti4puzo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;">The miscreant might just be Anybody, a mysteriously vague personification, not entirely trustworthy. At the end of the investigation, Nobody claimed responsibility.&nbsp;</span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Since Nobody confessed and with the evidence removed, we concluded that Nobody should be punished, however, when Nobody is liable, nothing gets done. When I confronted them, my children assured me that I was biased against Everybody, their favorite of the strangely iconoclastic representational bodies residing in our home.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"Since, as you say, Everybody always behaves badly," daughter's two and three proclaimed, "and Anybody could be guilty as charged, Somebody might consider your conclusions slightly confusing".&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">The clarity of my argument took a mercurial drop as my children turned it against me and I seemed to have lost another battle. Nobody seemed interested in the issues, and with Nobody as an ally, Everybody seemed to be satisfied.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKH2PMxJ1AdPnvs7him8fEr1eSxoLQFhVMKMyl3QMZvMRbMi1vvnkORddGy8zId6UPRWyZd1HUUmWQAetesZaDoN5en4JJzpZIEsmLhAUCi-cCSNILxov3bFbgiF7oklC8o6hKOT7AsTA5/s1600/01+Farrah+Fawcett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKH2PMxJ1AdPnvs7him8fEr1eSxoLQFhVMKMyl3QMZvMRbMi1vvnkORddGy8zId6UPRWyZd1HUUmWQAetesZaDoN5en4JJzpZIEsmLhAUCi-cCSNILxov3bFbgiF7oklC8o6hKOT7AsTA5/s1600/01+Farrah+Fawcett.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <span style="background: white;">When our dog produced eight puppies, Nobody came to my aid and Everybody hid behind Anybody with an alibi.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"> <br /> <span style="background: white;">In a moment of unforeseen frustration, I ran screaming through the house in an unprofessional, albeit succinct, non-prejudicial rant.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"I'm throwing all of these blue jeans into the garbage!"&nbsp; I stated further that, "Persons owning these jeans and those who knew the gender of that dog must be held liable for their actions."</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Emboldened, I added, "People must ultimately be held responsible for their actions."&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Unbelievably, daughters, four and five engaged in a strategy that included youth and innocence as a viable defense against sexual knowledge.</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Everybody said, 'It's your fault since we didn't know this stuff."</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Everybody claimed a significant victory. As for the jeans, Nobody claimed them and I laundered them in silence.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">The dog, apparently a female, was named Gretchen as my children seemed to think she was a "Dutch Brady Terrier," a previously undiscovered breed, and bestowed upon her a fabricated pedigree.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVbnNBPLxinWZAdQX3CAkl_Mk6jTxGiRi0q1YfKvvSpZ1lGrWmV5zSaP6NsZefN6DKVRVhYqtXHBDMesYSjpYPqdd8hmdGII5Jx15BbbGNldKCtB3Quhr0HNxn5h9aGlfaoBLFAlPFNCl/s1600/Tim-Flach-Photography-dog-white-braided-hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVbnNBPLxinWZAdQX3CAkl_Mk6jTxGiRi0q1YfKvvSpZ1lGrWmV5zSaP6NsZefN6DKVRVhYqtXHBDMesYSjpYPqdd8hmdGII5Jx15BbbGNldKCtB3Quhr0HNxn5h9aGlfaoBLFAlPFNCl/s1600/Tim-Flach-Photography-dog-white-braided-hair.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Gretchen, a dog with neurotic tendencies, was terrified by the presence of the children and slowly but surely, and unbeknownst to me, deposited all eight of her offspring under my bed.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Also unbeknownst to me was that I was allergic to puppy dander. Everybody blamed my extreme bronchial distress to the fact that I worked in a bar eight hours a night, and spent eight hours a day in a "sick" office building.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Somebody suggested I stay home, clean house and make cookies, an excellent, but thoroughly impractical solution. After much discussion, Everybody concluded we must remove the animals. Anybody could see the logic of it and although Nobody objected, the eldest daughter was sent out on her bicycle with a small lunch, a whicker basket, and eight "for-free" dogs.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMZsIpNyhiqJH2_9UOpk1oysh6UQQ6lpMncEga8eAxGO6AfCNSyKR5FFjdF3Z8WzuC4Mp9vZGteQwqnQLP_RXBwopfQsJJoaxYmSJSk1l_l3C1baKu76xWe0nv5Qdv9FJ7i3tGkHrmNEw/s1600/Bike_Basket_Dog_friendly-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMZsIpNyhiqJH2_9UOpk1oysh6UQQ6lpMncEga8eAxGO6AfCNSyKR5FFjdF3Z8WzuC4Mp9vZGteQwqnQLP_RXBwopfQsJJoaxYmSJSk1l_l3C1baKu76xWe0nv5Qdv9FJ7i3tGkHrmNEw/s1600/Bike_Basket_Dog_friendly-3.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">I was miraculously "cured," returned to work, and food was on the table again.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">When daughter number five began bizarre episodes of limping, and doctors suggested to me that her behavior was a production of symptoms associated with a psychoneurosis motivated by my neglect of her, I wondered if this child was emulating her sister who had also lost her ability to walk for a period of time. I pulled that one around in a red wagon because she said, "I can't walk anymore."&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">That child was often found napping on the sidewalk by neighbors, who actually believed her and considered me an unfit parent.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKwpmNIxxX_DpArUEDrQDqDAUfS2xjd3QOxrQk4Lon2xR1MFzH-MIbyG2vCzywV9-4O9mi4ye80w87vwyZjMxMPuGt4Sax0LjpI0hMW5jb_nEVbjQPnA6Dhxsm-6duxE_-6f_2pWwSR7a/s1600/Sleeping-on-the-grass1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKwpmNIxxX_DpArUEDrQDqDAUfS2xjd3QOxrQk4Lon2xR1MFzH-MIbyG2vCzywV9-4O9mi4ye80w87vwyZjMxMPuGt4Sax0LjpI0hMW5jb_nEVbjQPnA6Dhxsm-6duxE_-6f_2pWwSR7a/s1600/Sleeping-on-the-grass1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> </span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">There was also a cat. When the cat ran into a speeding car, I was in a hospital attempting to manage the operation of daughter number four, a child who required screws in her thigh.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;">The apparent theory for her slipping epiphysis was associated with a congenital factor however under sedation this child admitted to stomping aluminum cans into a kind of "shoe-heel," and stomped on them daily for fun.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;">The doctor who performed the operation lost his son on the eve of the procedure due to a broken neck achieved while performing on a trampoline.&nbsp; I had no money to pay the doctor and the doctor did not bill me.&nbsp;</span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Upon our arrival back home, we placed the crutches for my daughter at the bottom of the stairs. The cat, with a broken leg, and also wearing a cast, sat quietly next to the rather large barrier, a sentinel perhaps.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Visiting children came with their mothers and were amazed by the size of the crutches Tutu was given. She was a rare "Chocolate-Point" Siamese that no doubt was expensive in the past, but had fallen on hard times, landing on our doorstep and scooped up for play by daughter number five who dressed her in frilly doll's clothing and pushed her around in a broken stroller banging recklessly into the furnishings.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11TZK5BqTFDFkefLKQXQKtqAr5vP0naQfnH8b5M_-aBQHjUbqhg9CyHrja8OmFGW0AkuEBvJhNP5Z8-pJgnd1J1uKBmNedGb_A-nyaIwO2nHYuqJu8UdGYQgrl1h125BwZnnHJVIW0Gio/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11TZK5BqTFDFkefLKQXQKtqAr5vP0naQfnH8b5M_-aBQHjUbqhg9CyHrja8OmFGW0AkuEBvJhNP5Z8-pJgnd1J1uKBmNedGb_A-nyaIwO2nHYuqJu8UdGYQgrl1h125BwZnnHJVIW0Gio/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /><br /> <span style="background: white;">Tutu disappeared the same day as Gretchen, her eight puppies, and a few turtles the kids collected from various streams.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Daughter number five then introduced a Great Dane to our family; a dog so large I thought it must be a horse.&nbsp; I noticed it while painting the kitchen ceiling tomato soup red, a color that would work quite nicely with the yellow shag rug I had partly destroyed when attempting to create kinetic sculpture, ending in an explosive experiment.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <span style="background: white;">I snipped the "shag" down with manicure scissors believing that I might manufacture a kind of "short shag," or "golf-link-like, grassy carpet.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">The tomato-soup ceiling was almost a success but had a lumpy appearance, the result of the hardened acrylic thrown by the blast. While drying, pieces of pasta flung previously slipped a bit and created a bas-relief effect, creating an Art Deco over-all arrangement, an interesting almost sunburst look, useful perhaps in Xanadu.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhgvatLKdtCJEBi5y38s5iG4o-JYpUhIO2h4A_B_xRAYegKVTdcwoeHNeRzZ4bocRvJfXm-YYIw7IQIZTKdBKIi0o6zsoqUdMW0dEtcXt7obcmwt1gnQd4S9PBnxqx2MGPd6dXgC5gRwX/s1600/tumblr_l0b9lwzAcC1qzy0ygo1_r3_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhgvatLKdtCJEBi5y38s5iG4o-JYpUhIO2h4A_B_xRAYegKVTdcwoeHNeRzZ4bocRvJfXm-YYIw7IQIZTKdBKIi0o6zsoqUdMW0dEtcXt7obcmwt1gnQd4S9PBnxqx2MGPd6dXgC5gRwX/s1600/tumblr_l0b9lwzAcC1qzy0ygo1_r3_1280.jpg" width="211" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">One of my jobs involved the completion of 8"x10" detailed ink renderings with copy, of fashions shown in local boutiques. &nbsp;I hung the to-be-drawn clothing from the tomato-soup ceiling and often spent many sleepless nights engaged in the project. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibygvAgU0CrSNmkeP7wDKZAJHKCV53CnFYh0Dsa5uj7hUG0VOUzZF_BpgozAaikuSm1xodxZadZHi_yk9qy8OHpb8soO1g8zBZNFDEFV4wiS5-qxBiPmgXWF-CG_m-izVRr5iU20AAsrNt/s1600/89d70a96944739c6c4d1424c2901a9a0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibygvAgU0CrSNmkeP7wDKZAJHKCV53CnFYh0Dsa5uj7hUG0VOUzZF_BpgozAaikuSm1xodxZadZHi_yk9qy8OHpb8soO1g8zBZNFDEFV4wiS5-qxBiPmgXWF-CG_m-izVRr5iU20AAsrNt/s1600/89d70a96944739c6c4d1424c2901a9a0.jpg" width="211" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">While working off-premises, Somebody removed the expensive dresses leaving me with nothing to render and nothing to return. I was sued of course, but with no tactile resources, Nobody collected, reassuring me that of course Nobody would stand by me.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">In the meantime my children were adamant the Great Dane should live with us, an absurd notion given there was no money for food. Happily, that animal left through the back door a few days after he was dragged through the front.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOqnkzNWe2Y3aRBd3cJ0LdwCSi64hoVHZHvMz_IxFkVTNQc-Ro6wK-fXqIQcLOb2E72hyphenhyphen7VgLsbMpTdb-rMCsbkmU3dipynPY3UCbGoyT5waVS_Vp5gNBi5javyXzQB9CmvGL7jwsoQjo/s1600/qS6fh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOqnkzNWe2Y3aRBd3cJ0LdwCSi64hoVHZHvMz_IxFkVTNQc-Ro6wK-fXqIQcLOb2E72hyphenhyphen7VgLsbMpTdb-rMCsbkmU3dipynPY3UCbGoyT5waVS_Vp5gNBi5javyXzQB9CmvGL7jwsoQjo/s1600/qS6fh.jpg" width="220" /></a></div> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;">I began to look at these creatures as welcomed accidents, distractions to our otherwise impossible living situation. I liked them and remained positive in spite of the negative&nbsp;</span><span style="background-color: white;">behavior I attributed to them. I also liked blaming them for unruly behavior as this would buffer further rage toward my children's own unruly behavior.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white;">With the Great Dane gone and no further incoming pests, real issues could no longer be ignored.&nbsp;</span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">“Everybody uses drugs. If anyone tells you different, they’re lying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">This was an ongoing, circulator argument until daughter number one removed herself from the pharmaceutical infatuation. Nobody told her to quit and Nobody was amazed. <o:p></o:p></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Because my children were collectively against anything I advocated, I used whatever measures were available to me to police their behavior, including constant juvenile hall threats.</span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Everybody was angry, no one was speaking then Somebody threw a basketball against a dining room canvas; strange behavior I found both interesting and annoying.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">A commissioned painting requires a specific result, unlike creative adventures, which allow for spontaneous reactions, say serendipity. In the unlikely event of a sponsor spending money on a painting created absent that sponsor's particular investment in the ideation, most artists are unpaid. That Somebody could enhance my work with this basketball is no more unrealistic than my own expectations.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">The big sale of the painting provided an unexpected opportunity to move three thousand miles from the strange and often misunderstood neighborhood in which we lived.&nbsp; The patron, also the person I promised to marry, offered us an opportunity. Since we were about to be evicted, few decisions were made in less time.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Not only did I sell every piece of furniture not nailed to the floor, I sold furnishings actually nailed to the floor, including every appliance and all the bathroom fixtures. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">With an array of checks from an astounding number of accommodating neighbors, I found an agent of Cadillac who was happy to pay me to drive across the country in their slick, boat-like car, upon which I balanced two beautiful bicycles. <o:p></o:p></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">The experience will live forever in the minds of my children and I doubt anyone could ever reproduce such an event. I awakened my children at 3:00 am to see an extraordinary circumstance. In Salt Lake City, the sky created an umbrella of falling stars surrounding the available space with a spectacular show produced by the lack of artificial lights. &nbsp;Pure magic, something my children would never again witness.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmB2DHbg2O_70pH1IESoEdLsSvUaaKYuc-TxeJyebtM-U1MpqlWi_rgjY0mI56mp8yfEaAa36pNQxOfpFWFb05m-nyN0gaZMF8GVfBEZ4fG7J3XuMxDh9IusLumCTWeZLuYNWtD80rVMuK/s1600/tumblr_msgkblJCgF1sg7el2o1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmB2DHbg2O_70pH1IESoEdLsSvUaaKYuc-TxeJyebtM-U1MpqlWi_rgjY0mI56mp8yfEaAa36pNQxOfpFWFb05m-nyN0gaZMF8GVfBEZ4fG7J3XuMxDh9IusLumCTWeZLuYNWtD80rVMuK/s1600/tumblr_msgkblJCgF1sg7el2o1_400.gif" width="211" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">The trip to California was a bit of an illusion; something an intelligent person would refer to as a fantasy, however, in 1976, all things seemed possible, including a home for my children. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Nobody led the way and ended our traveling at the northern-most corners of a place in Marin County. Somebody found a place to stay and Everybody loved it. The really strange part of the process began the following day. Nobody was able to cash the deposited checks, a rather positive experience since all of the purchases including the rent were based on that transaction, however, the checks could not be verified. <o:p></o:p></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Since the bank was incapable of turning the deposits into cash, the account was in effect frozen, an operational, and strange effect of the deposited checks by persons who wrote them to me for the sale of items that did not all belong to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">It was becoming increasing clear that I was about to become a criminal. Of what nature was unclear, but I suspected Nobody would come to my aid and in the end I would require the assistance of Somebody or in fact Anybody with a legal background.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Further still, making the three thousand mile trek seemed to cool the professed ardor of my intended, and he simply disappeared leaving me free to wander for which I was grateful.&nbsp;</span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Finding a home for the clan proved to be a challenge.&nbsp; The home I chose to rent did not allow children, so I lied and said I had none. We moved in, all seven of us, along with our metaphysical recreations, three pillows and a coffee pot. The rent would of course become an issue due to the freeze on the account, and I was forced to sell the bicycles, my last hat trick. </span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">In the meantime I found a waitress position, which allowed me to steal food and toilet paper. Nobody objected, and I continued to become a felon, a career objective that Somebody considered difficult to comprehend, and a course of action perceived by Anybody as unwise. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">While slicing turkey one day I recognized the fact that Everybody was open to criminal behavior, and Nobody would protect them from prosecution. With my first paycheck I reimbursed my employer and begged to be forgiven.&nbsp; Nobody was, as usual, there for me and I was fired.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="background: white; color: black;"><br /></span> <span style="background: white; color: black;">My landlord, an unwilling participant in an ongoing lawsuit against him for allowing children to live in that complex, caved under the pressure and forced me to leave. By the time I returned home on Christmas Eve, the children were all sitting outside on the grass, the eldest held the coffee pot and a string of tree lights.&nbsp;</span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhyphenhyphen8lUQAjfdgJcdpTjtiFHzpGP1vRQ9N1-4aLkKhA6lUKqL6fYNToOvwd2KWmekSlmWjl4qSelXXYyMjmfEqduf0FCTcRh4TYpPMuJw7QMiK_z1Vd5wPkeWYrn06NMzzsmQx6Z4sUKRWW/s1600/double+digit+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhyphenhyphen8lUQAjfdgJcdpTjtiFHzpGP1vRQ9N1-4aLkKhA6lUKqL6fYNToOvwd2KWmekSlmWjl4qSelXXYyMjmfEqduf0FCTcRh4TYpPMuJw7QMiK_z1Vd5wPkeWYrn06NMzzsmQx6Z4sUKRWW/s1600/double+digit+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">If Somebody had an idea Nobody was discussing it and if Everybody thought we were beaten by this we looked to Anybody with a solution.</span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[endif]--><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">I decided to hide the children once again and find a home, this time with no money at all, a delicate task, but not entirely impossible. The kids and I were gathered at a gas station when it occurred to me that the bank might finally have released the checks written for the stuff I sold. And there it was, $3000.00.</span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">After renting a room at Howard Johnson for showers, clean sheets, and television, we snuggled into a discussion of room service. Somebody suggested that Everybody would benefit from a walk to the nearest fast-food joint, an option Nobody found satisfactory. In the end, the desire to eat actual food out-weighed all practical other-oriented solutions.&nbsp; <o:p></o:p></span></span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <br /></div> <div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="background: white; color: black;">Whatever happiness may be derived while raising children, the joy of feeding them trumps all others; the prospect of not feeding them is in fact the most deleterious.&nbsp;</span><span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Sitting in the booth of a fancy restaurant with a serious claim to the best seafood in the world, my darlings ordered hamburgers with cheese.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"We don't like fish," they proclaimed," especially fish with bones."&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Somebody suggested lobster, a fact Everybody agreed upon and Anybody could see that was the best choice. Nobody, once again came to my aid.&nbsp;</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">"Lobster it is," I declared, and lobster it was for our re-entry into the world of normalcy.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-tZCz9lHS1vjVb9qWVbLikQNtOlET_gUJ0ULKnIMtxrMXelS0ACnQtTTOD1MDoPcaKMiuLXV3d6XbSfA7sz8YjwnwXpaZ0K1iLtnPmS0TNJC4QvzcGpisDNZBVy5P-70Q6dM-Iy8x5PJ6/s1600/live-maine-lobster_1_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-tZCz9lHS1vjVb9qWVbLikQNtOlET_gUJ0ULKnIMtxrMXelS0ACnQtTTOD1MDoPcaKMiuLXV3d6XbSfA7sz8YjwnwXpaZ0K1iLtnPmS0TNJC4QvzcGpisDNZBVy5P-70Q6dM-Iy8x5PJ6/s1600/live-maine-lobster_1_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">Albeit dinner blew a magnificent hole in our funds it also produced a significant burst of energy and emotional well-being. We found a very simple home; a small, fishy cottage, the kind some might describe as "shack-like", available however to mothers with children.&nbsp;</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgjO73RipCorUL3Y9WMW_IW4sHvV-hUgk2TABYruLgtta_19ZC87jN4_OHObm3VFRv9ytCn2iNqGMXB3QpIB5RjPw0mWYk9DthaR5NGVww6he_gcFOhI_3GXaKBO7IRUNDxCWu9Pn4m7A/s1600/nicks-cove-restaurant-cottages.585x0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgjO73RipCorUL3Y9WMW_IW4sHvV-hUgk2TABYruLgtta_19ZC87jN4_OHObm3VFRv9ytCn2iNqGMXB3QpIB5RjPw0mWYk9DthaR5NGVww6he_gcFOhI_3GXaKBO7IRUNDxCWu9Pn4m7A/s1600/nicks-cove-restaurant-cottages.585x0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">By padding my resume with outrageous lies, I found a job, bought a car, and joined other working moms dropping their kids off at the school bus stop.</span><br /> <br /> <span style="background: white;">In the end, it was a simple project; a task devoted to the ordinary notion of keeping many children alive; an idea developed while skirting them through negotiations with an atypical parent and the evolution of an association with unrealistic and entirely imaginative personalities, all willing to support their creative endeavors, specific ideations, and loving pursuits. Through a prism of four decades past, I cannot see how it was done, but can only recall the joy of raising six children on my own.</span></span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><o:p></o:p></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">_____________________________________________________________________</span></span><br /> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="background: white;">Rhonda Talbot on a fictional version of how I was raised for a short time; told through the eyes of my mother.&nbsp;</span></span></div> </description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/08/how-are-we-alive-short-story-written-by.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbmcUtBwvVjMFV0vn_jVDTFQnRZ0XvmKABnYX2BOp7jPjOC1hMFJ1KiPaoK7jnZJtk3WiQcLtc7ZyD7L3N2w0SMSDgNuS8SRWGzHLm8N-1uzBx-Aw5ynZEjXuiKsJhHs4h33GGX5-g4pP/s72-c/photo.PNG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-6356923692781322844</guid><pubDate>Wed, 25 Jun 2014 00:32:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-11-06T13:25:53.394-08:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">1970's</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Bob Segar</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Detroit</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">female rocker</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Fred Sonic Smith</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">hippies</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Just Kids</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">MC5</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">New York</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Patti Smith</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rock concerts</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Young Mom</category><title>Patti Smith Expanded My World as a Kid</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc2NvAU4fO9suM01NoDoxo-hkUoQMTypjQ293Y1ayJi-_eV6s54P9xwQ89UHnm0OCOCiqiG-PC59gygD6Clseh9evEF7uspZfnX2sY5Ydlk56CFjLxgDnQVBTiFwCnac-Wqjr2v2MVUC2/s1600/ifacartsgruenPattiSmith1976_l-1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc2NvAU4fO9suM01NoDoxo-hkUoQMTypjQ293Y1ayJi-_eV6s54P9xwQ89UHnm0OCOCiqiG-PC59gygD6Clseh9evEF7uspZfnX2sY5Ydlk56CFjLxgDnQVBTiFwCnac-Wqjr2v2MVUC2/s1600/ifacartsgruenPattiSmith1976_l-1.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div> <br /> I was there ^ ^ ^! Mom took off in the station wagon loaded up with kids and bagged popcorn. Central Park.<br /> <br /> <br /> When I was a child, my mom took her large brood to many concerts, indoors, outdoors, the only way she could hear live music. In Detroit, there was a lot. Occasionally we had to venture out &nbsp;pretty far, driving for hours.<br /> <br /> She'd endure constant complaints, backseat fistfights and often motion vomit.<br /> <br /> "Grab one of your shirts and sop that up. We're making good time here."<br /> <br /> I was too young to appreciate the concerts but would later find the same artists on my own.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMlr1oK6eUf2bBFwE7OO8jo62CN_LB7XWD0trOb_3XN0QvHyMY0mBezBIaqlFwtt21XaBveR4QbFztNynIbQ8M0q3yuxf0m1ucBgOjrxrDo2dTHjCJejoRtJEsBjsCybDugCBpM9X8AlH/s1600/tumblr_n5v0opaYHk1ssdfcyo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMlr1oK6eUf2bBFwE7OO8jo62CN_LB7XWD0trOb_3XN0QvHyMY0mBezBIaqlFwtt21XaBveR4QbFztNynIbQ8M0q3yuxf0m1ucBgOjrxrDo2dTHjCJejoRtJEsBjsCybDugCBpM9X8AlH/s1600/tumblr_n5v0opaYHk1ssdfcyo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> Many concerts I've written about, maybe it was Mom's connection to<a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2012/07/bob-segar-my-babysitter.html"> Bob Segar</a> that allowed us into so many places. I do remember quite a bit of scandal and controversy about my "spicy" mother and her "hippy" friends.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LhCSICUtX26lM1QC9xiFjvA0vli9WxXtDR94vXVsvk54A2-SDrNu3IaI_jSBlPaXUUl3iX8JAenqnUJ3HNJFtgdTTW5bk5GdWG7y6StP1Tt61E41LAfoIsUaJIa6EC8pu1P8OOxDLq7q/s1600/tumblr_n0ft74CEmU1rc79ffo1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LhCSICUtX26lM1QC9xiFjvA0vli9WxXtDR94vXVsvk54A2-SDrNu3IaI_jSBlPaXUUl3iX8JAenqnUJ3HNJFtgdTTW5bk5GdWG7y6StP1Tt61E41LAfoIsUaJIa6EC8pu1P8OOxDLq7q/s1600/tumblr_n0ft74CEmU1rc79ffo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> "Just keep your girls away from my children. I don't know what you think you're doing but the wives are thinking of voting you off the block."<br /> "Look Mrs. Kapinsky, you should chill out. And maybe not so much Lawrence Welk."<br /> <br /> <br /> And off we went with our ski muffs and pockets full of candy. We were never sure where we were going but glad to get out of Detroit.<br /> <br /> BUT there was something about Patti Smith that would stay with me forever. And over the years as I've heard dozens of great females rockers, almost always I can connect them back to Patti.<br /> <br /> She had lived many lives before marrying Fred "Sonic" Smith of the MC5, a band we were also very familiar with.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx86RXN4d-AmN-wKPTIVBy9aQEN0kSfGbWgTUv521A_XY7cz6DNKJzT0qYeGvSIZ2wKZ8RkcvQVS7UM9zbz5WVM9dBBvsk2JYYr5qUOCuqU4StP55elVELjSH_VFPfssXLcbA7QD75kIEW/s1600/fred-sonic-smith.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx86RXN4d-AmN-wKPTIVBy9aQEN0kSfGbWgTUv521A_XY7cz6DNKJzT0qYeGvSIZ2wKZ8RkcvQVS7UM9zbz5WVM9dBBvsk2JYYr5qUOCuqU4StP55elVELjSH_VFPfssXLcbA7QD75kIEW/s1600/fred-sonic-smith.jpg" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> They were an integral part of the music scene in Detroit, early 70's, or what I most remember is my sisters screaming "Kick Out the Jams Motherfu**ers!"<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J9wWYTTH6YJveVcpjOShEOw47vjt6PSHYDjA_yATireGmDZIjjG4Ycv4-LxwRwCDQlZhazisB5d7eMUUrUCThFykGcJkAYSaZZUFRDoQv4PXydBSIpVRM5MzgUTEt2hwKYJgPNINZwqg/s1600/mc5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J9wWYTTH6YJveVcpjOShEOw47vjt6PSHYDjA_yATireGmDZIjjG4Ycv4-LxwRwCDQlZhazisB5d7eMUUrUCThFykGcJkAYSaZZUFRDoQv4PXydBSIpVRM5MzgUTEt2hwKYJgPNINZwqg/s1600/mc5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Back then, well, saying the F word was a pretty big deal, so young girls screaming profanity at school could get everyone suspended. &nbsp;MC5 often played with Iggy Pop, among others, at smaller revenues, which means everyone could get in for basically free. As children, though slightly aware, Mother made sure we didn't see the ensuing riots or aftermath.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKrIlg2KytnU1pXaNKDMi7_HqQyrYM3m_kbOc3RbVNNVh6BleiYnFsOsBALl7ZWpFCOyGUbp5TtdbJHt6JYjDCdp1-j34zKXXRaq525l6N8BtjFXsNT3m-YNq9xPsHO5ZX4wvg67ZfeWVK/s1600/1A.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKrIlg2KytnU1pXaNKDMi7_HqQyrYM3m_kbOc3RbVNNVh6BleiYnFsOsBALl7ZWpFCOyGUbp5TtdbJHt6JYjDCdp1-j34zKXXRaq525l6N8BtjFXsNT3m-YNq9xPsHO5ZX4wvg67ZfeWVK/s1600/1A.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> As an adolescent I would see plenty, it was painful to watch our great city being torn apart. We soon moved... but I digress.<br /> <br /> Meanwhile, how perfect are Patti and Fred as a couple?<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTYo8cHmLa7sMkui5pgekP4WTKeYcRn35dRhI8Nz-46tdAQb90Sz06fDsG5zqPGmMN3OZQ5lrJ2M0S1D7PiEYZMf2Z542VmUWmbmQ1bv-lU5tiIZTWUsIdwR_ZKDNjNYz4FzgCtHKjuOX9/s1600/tumblr_lty498h8U41r0iqavo1_1280.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTYo8cHmLa7sMkui5pgekP4WTKeYcRn35dRhI8Nz-46tdAQb90Sz06fDsG5zqPGmMN3OZQ5lrJ2M0S1D7PiEYZMf2Z542VmUWmbmQ1bv-lU5tiIZTWUsIdwR_ZKDNjNYz4FzgCtHKjuOX9/s1600/tumblr_lty498h8U41r0iqavo1_1280.png" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Her record Dancing Barefoot has always resonated with me, still. It's magic. So I leave it here.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/tRWSy3RhW0w?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /> <br /> Patti has achieved and contributed so much in her life time it's hard to fathom. If you haven't read Just Kids, well, you're missing out.<br /> <br /> I was listening to one of her records today so decided to jot this down. Sometimes I come across young people that don't know who she is. While I find this kind of astounding I also know, eh, I'm older. Her influence is already ingrained in all great music and art, so despite people's lack of understanding, they live under her influence.<br /> <br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot paying tribute to Patti Smith.<br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/06/patti-smith-opened-my-world.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc2NvAU4fO9suM01NoDoxo-hkUoQMTypjQ293Y1ayJi-_eV6s54P9xwQ89UHnm0OCOCiqiG-PC59gygD6Clseh9evEF7uspZfnX2sY5Ydlk56CFjLxgDnQVBTiFwCnac-Wqjr2v2MVUC2/s72-c/ifacartsgruenPattiSmith1976_l-1.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-3077186319830543277</guid><pubDate>Thu, 24 Apr 2014 00:21:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-11-06T13:26:11.274-08:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Animal Cruelty</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Anne Hathaway</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Big Pharma</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Brad Pitt</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Crones</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">death</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Jake Gyllenhal</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">James Franco</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">libido</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Lies</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Peri-Menopause</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Pfizer</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Premarin</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">rhonda talbot</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Seth Rogan</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sex</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Sex and Other Drugs</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Viagra</category><title>Women Are Dying To Stay Sexy; Just Get a Poster of Brad Pitt!</title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2GmkGpqiJjdsLFlytNAD-uByboe0dUELAl_xWV2M3Pe2xgPjthqv40Xw87d0RprwbuwRfBCy5oi01aOZhcv0U8872DpMcXnTMMWi21UwVZ6RuBh8cPrA7yay583lbsEz3NAx4kDAO99p/s1600/anne-hathaway-jake-gyllenhaal-love-and-other-drugs-movies-Favim.com-1286260.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2GmkGpqiJjdsLFlytNAD-uByboe0dUELAl_xWV2M3Pe2xgPjthqv40Xw87d0RprwbuwRfBCy5oi01aOZhcv0U8872DpMcXnTMMWi21UwVZ6RuBh8cPrA7yay583lbsEz3NAx4kDAO99p/s1600/anne-hathaway-jake-gyllenhaal-love-and-other-drugs-movies-Favim.com-1286260.jpg" width="306" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Jake Gyllenhaal and "I don't need anyone" Ann Hathaway in Love and Other Drugs. &nbsp;I recently thought about this film because I was channel flipping. Let's consider how awesome he is. &nbsp;This ties together, I promise.<br /> <br /> I knew nothing about Premarin until I saw this ad.<br /> <br /> <a href="http://ispot.tv/a/7GLJ">http://ispot.tv/a/7GLJ</a><br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrQXukG7-oDHEMbnq1o74idkUZBhdOgk-KQn7V77aanyUd0rAWXi5DAepfA55MWGmo-ZA2piDQmQTVJeeXafMJzyRR_WhBo-QqXEcp5lAF39W11vAVsiuBr-ndO03jOd-ZY_cGghXb6LN/s1600/enhanced-buzz-wide-5173-1360595244-13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrQXukG7-oDHEMbnq1o74idkUZBhdOgk-KQn7V77aanyUd0rAWXi5DAepfA55MWGmo-ZA2piDQmQTVJeeXafMJzyRR_WhBo-QqXEcp5lAF39W11vAVsiuBr-ndO03jOd-ZY_cGghXb6LN/s1600/enhanced-buzz-wide-5173-1360595244-13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> I sprang up in bed, HUH? &nbsp;There is no discernible difference between the before and after pictures of the women post Premarin. They remain miserable messes. So naturally I took to my computer to investigate.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-rQPuXpddWM9z4PiLstJljwzj0gbN0jETgP9j5Z2X9sj6gXYY6DcwanFhyphenhyphen1duEwuuKcrrsREKhcuvCQg9r05ne2LLlCGE7jAGDvaQnR1ZTjcrr9jMbfvnunffjcO5NIL5E6NocmY_Q5Q/s1600/bio-ident-sad1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-rQPuXpddWM9z4PiLstJljwzj0gbN0jETgP9j5Z2X9sj6gXYY6DcwanFhyphenhyphen1duEwuuKcrrsREKhcuvCQg9r05ne2LLlCGE7jAGDvaQnR1ZTjcrr9jMbfvnunffjcO5NIL5E6NocmY_Q5Q/s1600/bio-ident-sad1.jpg" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> AFTER SHE TOOK HER LIBIDO PILL ^ ^ ^ &nbsp;She looks terrifying.<br /> <br /> Premarin is a huge business, marketed to women with pre-peri-partial-post menopause. So basically any women with a pulse. But now it's being marketed as the female Viagra, because the world has caught on that &nbsp;Premarin actually kills women. Anyhoo...<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> MAYBE she is thinking about:<br /> <br /> <a href="http://www.medicinenet.com/estrogens_conjugated/page2.htm">Side effects: Common</a><u>:</u>&nbsp; &nbsp;Headaches, &nbsp;nausea, back pain, eye problems, breast and bone <u>cancer,</u> high blood pressure, gall stones, jaundice,<u> heart failure, blood clots, endometrial cancer</u>, heart attacks,<u> strokes, dementia</u>, <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbh5FUEU5ez55CQFTMslv1TSx62DUAv9Mv8MCPbxhwW0ZKD7nkDXn93ougrmd2TKxFM4IB4M5Vo8PxI-76ZPHqMNP-lxD6XnRg3j2isMj_iA3G1X6yrUNrG6GC5WX_e2Vb2fow5txa532O/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbh5FUEU5ez55CQFTMslv1TSx62DUAv9Mv8MCPbxhwW0ZKD7nkDXn93ougrmd2TKxFM4IB4M5Vo8PxI-76ZPHqMNP-lxD6XnRg3j2isMj_iA3G1X6yrUNrG6GC5WX_e2Vb2fow5txa532O/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> The un-common side effects? DEATH is pretty much the end of the line.<br /> <br /> It's male cousin Viagra just keeps on ticking. The Pfizer execs figuring out what to do. "Let's just dump her, that's our business model anyway."<br /> <br /> According to Pfizer, (who manufactures both drugs) these pathetic women are so upset they lost their libido suicide is really the only option. Hey, let's market Premarin as a LIBIDO DRUG! &nbsp;But what a marketing FAIL... since the company insists on showcasing these gals as angry, clinically depressed, and unapproachable.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRobjAL98d15B0BldrDTNPNoucgpMd7zwZkRaxtHDLKLd7-2h3tKHh_0US03tgoSx65hUvLAea-ZIhAM_m9E9aT2LZAPmaOblJqc-d-EnrmF3YLo1MRPkmv8GMnH6jGatY8YViVQJDjSp9/s1600/every-so-often-ever-so-once-in-a-while-somedays-a-woman-gets-a-chance-to-set-at-her-window-and-look-out.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRobjAL98d15B0BldrDTNPNoucgpMd7zwZkRaxtHDLKLd7-2h3tKHh_0US03tgoSx65hUvLAea-ZIhAM_m9E9aT2LZAPmaOblJqc-d-EnrmF3YLo1MRPkmv8GMnH6jGatY8YViVQJDjSp9/s1600/every-so-often-ever-so-once-in-a-while-somedays-a-woman-gets-a-chance-to-set-at-her-window-and-look-out.jpg" width="210" /></a></div> <br /> The ads suggest without Premarin, you may as well just jump. A contemplator: ^ ^ ^<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3b7hHWIcl7HycWJHdQth9th4TqH17WgHsRlGGC8u0oyVFZXtmYhqQsaknqg-oX0yWmXS0ribv7rXD2RTAjGXu0fEVp8Z1peBjI0pynt4hGl7xJYfVPiBovBk1OEqV9228T9V-DJQC_G7/s1600/tumblr_n2vbixdn3g1tnc4moo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3b7hHWIcl7HycWJHdQth9th4TqH17WgHsRlGGC8u0oyVFZXtmYhqQsaknqg-oX0yWmXS0ribv7rXD2RTAjGXu0fEVp8Z1peBjI0pynt4hGl7xJYfVPiBovBk1OEqV9228T9V-DJQC_G7/s1600/tumblr_n2vbixdn3g1tnc4moo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> If you hang it there, you'll be a bitter, resentful harpy. ^ ^ ^ &nbsp;So take your Premarin dammit!<br /> <div> <br /></div> <br /> YES, I am late to the party again, but who knew Pfizer makes billions knocking up horses to get that wonder urine-- PRE MARE and no one is stopping them. Big Pharma just loves to kill people. AND animals. &nbsp;Apparently they have been preying on vulnerable women for years.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHl6HO-bMl21u5u1BLbDLPywAbNYm2qAHfKtqaYSLgI_962jvdAbgNTJioIIesDHDrLvRv-dAWO17I7QTuupDn7PU4gO_F1u6rBXYtN31O5hYwzWxRu9yh9q6zsgDZYbphYZ2QyRH7zbL/s1600/HotFlashMama.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHl6HO-bMl21u5u1BLbDLPywAbNYm2qAHfKtqaYSLgI_962jvdAbgNTJioIIesDHDrLvRv-dAWO17I7QTuupDn7PU4gO_F1u6rBXYtN31O5hYwzWxRu9yh9q6zsgDZYbphYZ2QyRH7zbL/s1600/HotFlashMama.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> I forgot to pick up my Premarin. Just shoot me! ^ ^ ^<br /> <br /> Sex and fear SELL. It only makes sense after the public caught on to their nefarious tactics, Pfizer resorted to marking Premarin as a sex drug, the female equivalent to Viagra. So, hurry! Boost your libido, put on your French maid outfit so you don't lose your man. Or woman. But they focus entirely on heterosexuals.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtmthXWf9FBMo0NM9nl6YX_NCzWZnKtrQUZj9jGmD_xB11T1sB0_iw6Rp_M6TlSXht8a84PeHf6R78_pZJeI0srKYGNBsMKW4qabBVeIsWxgqwa_EjxSOz4qx5u86aGeKJ3g2vPMUlW92/s1600/971597_10151513137521423_795066538_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtmthXWf9FBMo0NM9nl6YX_NCzWZnKtrQUZj9jGmD_xB11T1sB0_iw6Rp_M6TlSXht8a84PeHf6R78_pZJeI0srKYGNBsMKW4qabBVeIsWxgqwa_EjxSOz4qx5u86aGeKJ3g2vPMUlW92/s1600/971597_10151513137521423_795066538_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <br /> Seriously? Who wants him? And why is <i>she </i>holding the flowers? I bet she paid for the tropical vacation too. Yet she bought into the BS. "Who will ever love me, I've over 40 with no fashion sense!"<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFL2C6fb_wjOQkUUz52ZkFywheMP0d-5PUj8t79HFw-M676_89gDv3fvPUscKmlFNOJ3wR4C9RDxTCqsdrL0Q9_0scNpsDPCgwqdb3P44l6P5Qw9Immqu_H0A5V39yU-rsv1ammkjdf9L_/s1600/15_09_2011---15_03_1600386a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFL2C6fb_wjOQkUUz52ZkFywheMP0d-5PUj8t79HFw-M676_89gDv3fvPUscKmlFNOJ3wR4C9RDxTCqsdrL0Q9_0scNpsDPCgwqdb3P44l6P5Qw9Immqu_H0A5V39yU-rsv1ammkjdf9L_/s1600/15_09_2011---15_03_1600386a.jpg" width="237" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Then compare to how they market Viagra. Hot, sexy. Also if that guy needs Viagra he clearly needs professional help. What is he, 20? I'm aware many young men take it for sport like Jake Gyllenhaal in that movie. I actually didn't know there was such a thing as a Viagra party.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQ3FrXSoxJsTJRNVXhrLiFlxknchmbpLN8gPi4QXR_Zd2jsw_EfzTsUXD6S3fBGKt5Vqo3RL0EI1PJKGzmrmttDn3gXkrJwEEBdXywkqJELXM_HoHkj9XuQw2Jkl4kXNodFZRMEuHWCVU/s1600/tumblr_lxcmrcVByb1qmt5mvo1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQ3FrXSoxJsTJRNVXhrLiFlxknchmbpLN8gPi4QXR_Zd2jsw_EfzTsUXD6S3fBGKt5Vqo3RL0EI1PJKGzmrmttDn3gXkrJwEEBdXywkqJELXM_HoHkj9XuQw2Jkl4kXNodFZRMEuHWCVU/s1600/tumblr_lxcmrcVByb1qmt5mvo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> NOTE TO MEN: Women aren't into ten-hour sex marathons. I don't care what Sting says.<br /> <br /> Too bad Clyde Barrow didn't have Viagra. Poor Faye Dunaway. It's possible if he did, these two would have never went on a killing spree.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy50EEmJnodh_CCChKygN-IhaDMCKRFocP9jXqmpVCT7ZXiDSuTDpYB9fXJZj7ml82k13Hfp2SNN5Z10KIv6COQZhmCTMyk7b_MZJUlt8zd0oEQo5ysL2lBag2_aIfW01-FWBLgNO20vOr/s1600/bonnie-and-clyde-erectile-dysfunction-in-movies-and-tv-05-pg-full.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy50EEmJnodh_CCChKygN-IhaDMCKRFocP9jXqmpVCT7ZXiDSuTDpYB9fXJZj7ml82k13Hfp2SNN5Z10KIv6COQZhmCTMyk7b_MZJUlt8zd0oEQo5ysL2lBag2_aIfW01-FWBLgNO20vOr/s1600/bonnie-and-clyde-erectile-dysfunction-in-movies-and-tv-05-pg-full.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Apparently Pfizer has changed their approach with this new, cowboy type man.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/c4W-OxfXp0g?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /> He's not angry, depressed, sad. In fact, he's camping, and getting his manhood on, stoking fires and stabbing fish.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5G_utC6i9VYLrD-0aYN5GSEIvi1S6lD6nwELuz6mpVuvmNnW872YrpncQtyxhe6rdDM8L0e0pYY-X5rk057B9bXa4kQrZ568FK_-0-AZb74RBWO4KsdXyUhVyJeNHCwc4LKY4iQudowW/s1600/viagra-the-age-of-knowing-how-to-make-things-happen-large-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5G_utC6i9VYLrD-0aYN5GSEIvi1S6lD6nwELuz6mpVuvmNnW872YrpncQtyxhe6rdDM8L0e0pYY-X5rk057B9bXa4kQrZ568FK_-0-AZb74RBWO4KsdXyUhVyJeNHCwc4LKY4iQudowW/s1600/viagra-the-age-of-knowing-how-to-make-things-happen-large-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> This is the Viagra poster dude. I thought it was Chuck Norris. Maybe it is. I noticed all the ads now are rugged men working on Brokeback Mountain, or looking under the hood of Mustangs.<br /> <br /> Gone are the days of white-haired old men strolling on the beach who have lost their ability to rub one out.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmrK6ZCNZFSuYdS0oFxAqiv-0GRMb7D5LBefBLhvAonpBNZR_g1Kgn7bN0giE-zudNFCK2UXI9lziDV1YE-_6Dkt4pgB-Et0HA2otLO08O0kcrR5WJtvRpv3TcBz70gvgj0xgVPLbjX_4/s1600/Brad-Pitt-photos-sexiest-man-alive-Vanity-Fair.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmrK6ZCNZFSuYdS0oFxAqiv-0GRMb7D5LBefBLhvAonpBNZR_g1Kgn7bN0giE-zudNFCK2UXI9lziDV1YE-_6Dkt4pgB-Et0HA2otLO08O0kcrR5WJtvRpv3TcBz70gvgj0xgVPLbjX_4/s1600/Brad-Pitt-photos-sexiest-man-alive-Vanity-Fair.jpg" width="231" /></a></div> <br /> Oh, my bad. But COME ON! Is he human? Also a glance at Brad would work better than Premarin.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrq3LW-a7WCu4dHdX6HuzcO26KxOTkkf7uOffesAphMYJrvNlwiBLhi3ouCtPZ8RdpJBvaUbv3YpS8vQ-m1ueo-yOmBXM0-vWaIMnOiFu8dCUXxIKHyQ03tWGmSRor99elkfjXZNbGSYZ/s1600/6C7695503-130516-exercise-4x3-619p.blocks_desktop_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrq3LW-a7WCu4dHdX6HuzcO26KxOTkkf7uOffesAphMYJrvNlwiBLhi3ouCtPZ8RdpJBvaUbv3YpS8vQ-m1ueo-yOmBXM0-vWaIMnOiFu8dCUXxIKHyQ03tWGmSRor99elkfjXZNbGSYZ/s1600/6C7695503-130516-exercise-4x3-619p.blocks_desktop_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Here's the sad sack. He is so happy &nbsp;he has a dog.<br /> <br /> <br /> <u>Side note</u>: Viagra has no side effects, unless you count extended erection or a mild cough. These boys don't worry about cancer or dementia. &nbsp;It's also created in a lab, not by torturing Rhinos.<br /> <br /> Because the company is run by men, naturally their main concern is sex, and by golly they need to keep women interested even if it kills them. And the horses they rode in on.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIalCylMl_Cyyh2qKe0V43E1ihcsqsS3mIOkFIr3cv8x6UQc3PIPRIJTbb23B_8jrJv3nyWJLq3QsN8lLagWgkJAlIK8Ek6NGNMHdL0JKhL1NJJrign1xAA8NGGzHg1ig5ESKbC31jR_e/s1600/confident-man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIalCylMl_Cyyh2qKe0V43E1ihcsqsS3mIOkFIr3cv8x6UQc3PIPRIJTbb23B_8jrJv3nyWJLq3QsN8lLagWgkJAlIK8Ek6NGNMHdL0JKhL1NJJrign1xAA8NGGzHg1ig5ESKbC31jR_e/s1600/confident-man.jpg" width="308" /></a></div> <br /> "Honey, I'm pumped up, take your Premarin or I'll go hang with the guys."<br /> <br /> Pfizer lost interest in Viagra as a solution to possible marital problems and now basically caters to men who just want to get hard. BUT if women want to come to the party, take the death pill.<br /> <br /> By the way Pfizer, you should use Seth Rogan for the Viagra, and James Franco for the Premarin. Sales would soar!<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Qbs7aq6Y3yhrA6PJq3lY27tuLq90E9vdi2mQBQiqzqu3hRbDG9-uX1ZWoQZ7sTNSVlLRoH15-XyK6ksXvRcW7J0Kq7vwljfYA-GFuKsTmRjFAGcV53iYYypCKx7a5fshR_Sm4nMgezep/s1600/tumblr_n4hpezLDf91qcm0m3o1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Qbs7aq6Y3yhrA6PJq3lY27tuLq90E9vdi2mQBQiqzqu3hRbDG9-uX1ZWoQZ7sTNSVlLRoH15-XyK6ksXvRcW7J0Kq7vwljfYA-GFuKsTmRjFAGcV53iYYypCKx7a5fshR_Sm4nMgezep/s1600/tumblr_n4hpezLDf91qcm0m3o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Instead they use the most lame adverts I've seen since scented douche bags.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/NyMXahpRVV4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /> Oh, but none of this is truthful. &nbsp;<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/11/erectile-dysfunction-young-men-age-40-younger_n_3405085.html">One in four men under t</a>he age of 40 can't get an erection. This increases as they age. &nbsp;Raise your hand if you've been with a young guy and he can't get it up? That's what I thought. &nbsp;But we don't hear about this! We only hear about horrible crones.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-hmRwuAhSh-n6C8LXDj71kP6NUopwIoDTyoH-9E5d4JAUMD7lIxgHBMHLHNfUiFacicfhpt0yIAJAWdok91YmYin4kpT1CfoE_YH22_4ytHt2JLPzkBD-32-JbQR41q_WhXbjj79sU8O/s1600/tumblr_mkxe6pnNfx1r2jnbbo1_r1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-hmRwuAhSh-n6C8LXDj71kP6NUopwIoDTyoH-9E5d4JAUMD7lIxgHBMHLHNfUiFacicfhpt0yIAJAWdok91YmYin4kpT1CfoE_YH22_4ytHt2JLPzkBD-32-JbQR41q_WhXbjj79sU8O/s1600/tumblr_mkxe6pnNfx1r2jnbbo1_r1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Then the poster boys:<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkk4O7pGQtDLOwdin4oqg2gBQ1dnvbXO8Q2io0jM8QtX_3lq9dE13FFM2DreW3qvzWY3nUZ3TGcTOEkNTWqPlV07JkZeNffH1LohoqSF7Dz_7BfrzHS90JTk0gOthbEaAX20hfWK3GvkUT/s1600/richard-branson-the-man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkk4O7pGQtDLOwdin4oqg2gBQ1dnvbXO8Q2io0jM8QtX_3lq9dE13FFM2DreW3qvzWY3nUZ3TGcTOEkNTWqPlV07JkZeNffH1LohoqSF7Dz_7BfrzHS90JTk0gOthbEaAX20hfWK3GvkUT/s1600/richard-branson-the-man.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> And Jack Nicholson who will be bedding the ladies forever and well into the afterlife.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezMd-C3_BZLS3e60qUkAKjAodqHFkbW2FMG-hG6h5VLhfwqhgFt3g83Ct_die4xBpFg32hBJhWizl2eTa_oB1t6YQB8PqQsRz5bhAQs2PVcn2ZkAHl6SgX5gB_cAnNef1Yxh9BccFFFu9/s1600/1828-jack-nicholson-1a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezMd-C3_BZLS3e60qUkAKjAodqHFkbW2FMG-hG6h5VLhfwqhgFt3g83Ct_die4xBpFg32hBJhWizl2eTa_oB1t6YQB8PqQsRz5bhAQs2PVcn2ZkAHl6SgX5gB_cAnNef1Yxh9BccFFFu9/s1600/1828-jack-nicholson-1a.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <br /> Pfizer even suggests your octogenarian milkman can offer more than just milk. Also who the hell has a milkman? Further, who would shag him? Oh, the Housewives of Beverly Hills. Of course.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOfD27M7dq5EluNVVnBkN2z5FSZKdtxjAEurN9LEiJmJhEkYE-Lspy-IyBQA7FIomEEBi_2k-GHc0Yvp_O2m1t7vir3o5rq_kVgxKBmqNwpQMTDriLzaTjvBLSO8Vqhtqb5ocWlmQUQX3/s1600/enhanced-buzz-wide-21047-1360595871-9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOfD27M7dq5EluNVVnBkN2z5FSZKdtxjAEurN9LEiJmJhEkYE-Lspy-IyBQA7FIomEEBi_2k-GHc0Yvp_O2m1t7vir3o5rq_kVgxKBmqNwpQMTDriLzaTjvBLSO8Vqhtqb5ocWlmQUQX3/s1600/enhanced-buzz-wide-21047-1360595871-9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> To create this <strike>amazing</strike> deadly drug so women will stop <strike>having emotions</strike> being bitches and start spreading their legs, Pfizer cages mares, impregnates them; &nbsp;keeps the poor things cold, shackled, whipped, and often beats them with an electrical prods before they are<a href="http://www.peta.org/about-peta/faq/my-doctor-wants-me-to-take-premarin-but-i-understand-its-made-from-horse-urine-is-this-true/"> tortured and slaughtered. &nbsp;</a><br /> <br /> Yet there is no law against this and Pfizer won't change their tactics because it would cost money.<br /> <br /> Of course most women have no idea. They are being told this miracle pill/cream will give them youth, energy, vitality, an insanely high libido and they'll be attractive to men forever. Right.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTszYDA_lXPklZH9CE0CD_NgHRdYnFMGZNkNZSV7gmaCJV06CR_Suft_OELEOdgYYC22oSLgfgyue3ga81O3xrl5EXCKHQbgEZGTA2DYS8pvObADb54ZsOzVUu7F8eiHtGI5IRoOgWDcM/s1600/viagra-vacuum-cleaner-small-15641.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTszYDA_lXPklZH9CE0CD_NgHRdYnFMGZNkNZSV7gmaCJV06CR_Suft_OELEOdgYYC22oSLgfgyue3ga81O3xrl5EXCKHQbgEZGTA2DYS8pvObADb54ZsOzVUu7F8eiHtGI5IRoOgWDcM/s1600/viagra-vacuum-cleaner-small-15641.jpg" width="319" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Mrs. Kravitz learned the hard way. She died of a stroke while vacuuming just after her daily dose of Premarin.<br /> <br /> MY BIG QUESTION is who the &nbsp;hell cares what men think?<br /> <br /> I guess I have never in my life given one shit whether men want to have sex with me. Let's put this into perspective. If I want to have sex with you, I'll let you know. If I don't it doesn't mean I suffer from some mental illness and need to be fixed. &nbsp;Note to men: <u>You're not all that. Get over your damn self.&nbsp;</u><br /> <br /> I also don't give one shit if a man threatens to have an affair if I don't want to have sex. Go. Don't forget your Viagra asshole.<br /> <br /> After I saw the horse cruelty video I was just appalled. But not really. Because like everything in this patriarchal world, many men want what they want and will go to any length to get it. They will kill animals and risk women's lives to <strike>encourage</strike> force their wives to have sex, or take Viagra to have sex with anybody (Oh she was 18, OOOPS) and continue to remain unconscious as long as they are thinking with their sex organs.<br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on Premarin, sex, Viagra, men, women, libido, Brad Pitt, Jake Gyllenhaal, Pfizer and Big Pharma equals well, small wiener.<br /> <br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/04/women-are-dying-to-stay-sexy-just-get.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2GmkGpqiJjdsLFlytNAD-uByboe0dUELAl_xWV2M3Pe2xgPjthqv40Xw87d0RprwbuwRfBCy5oi01aOZhcv0U8872DpMcXnTMMWi21UwVZ6RuBh8cPrA7yay583lbsEz3NAx4kDAO99p/s72-c/anne-hathaway-jake-gyllenhaal-love-and-other-drugs-movies-Favim.com-1286260.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>7</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7160459437885022087.post-5880574335865753633</guid><pubDate>Thu, 17 Apr 2014 04:53:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2023-05-18T14:24:02.990-07:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Brad Pitt</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Bridemaids</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Callie Khouri</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">feminism</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">freedom</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Geena Davis</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Gravity</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">patriarchy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Ridley Scott</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sexism</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Susan Sarandon</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">Thelma and Louise</category><title>On Why Thelma and Louise Will Live On Forever </title><description><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjkZ_GD4qp0P7v2HXdmkT14iObDqiiwaX91b6A3lyxMDnXtgV_3SIc6szIrEZlcQb6pDVW5PArUuWJMXf8c3jq-GMggU_T6jvt5pW_QI7fTSf1coe8TwkME8X1ypzGKkzxUzhxIU7cEJd/s1600/Thelma-and-Louise-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjkZ_GD4qp0P7v2HXdmkT14iObDqiiwaX91b6A3lyxMDnXtgV_3SIc6szIrEZlcQb6pDVW5PArUuWJMXf8c3jq-GMggU_T6jvt5pW_QI7fTSf1coe8TwkME8X1ypzGKkzxUzhxIU7cEJd/s1600/Thelma-and-Louise-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> So, it finally happened. My young daughters received their first wolf-whistle while we were walking to town. I was a good 20 feet behind them, but well, reacted as I'm wont to do.<br /> <br /> "Hey asshole! Get back here you spineless pr***!<br /> <br /> I threw my water bottle at his car but he didn't stop. Had he turned around I would have knocked him to the ground with my massive &nbsp;handbag then stomped on his genitals. Instead I just fantasized. Meanwhile my daughters were blissfully unaware of the entire ordeal.<br /> <br /> Which leads me to Thelma and Louise.<br /> <br /> Though I spent most of my professional career acquiring movies for large companies, be it through development, script, packaging, financing or an actual screening, nothing prepared me for or has since affected me as much as the film Thelma and Louise.<br /> <br /> This was early days in my career, about to see a picture I knew nothing about. I worked with the principals of a few large companies, so how it worked was--- I was based in Los Angeles dealing with movie people to find films, and when the principal/owners came to town we made the "rounds," meeting with agents, producers, etc or attended film festivals.<br /> <br /> One boss (will call him Q) and I were meeting with various people and decided to drop in on an old producer friend.<br /> <br /> Producer, in typical huckster pitch style: "Hey, I've gotta bunch of films in the can. Wanna have a look?"<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1P6Dxvq9Ar-S-mCUM0v5Fa3HDxaN_NqNEVpJ9kqaNkDhyphenhyphenWegEPinphmPN4NalEA_t61RCSMzkLSiwAHPxow7YkHFpDPRkO38OEHwHcMDOy0W90aZG-RQvta4H6aZaSi-o-mYuwrXUlhM/s1600/body-page-192.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1P6Dxvq9Ar-S-mCUM0v5Fa3HDxaN_NqNEVpJ9kqaNkDhyphenhyphenWegEPinphmPN4NalEA_t61RCSMzkLSiwAHPxow7YkHFpDPRkO38OEHwHcMDOy0W90aZG-RQvta4H6aZaSi-o-mYuwrXUlhM/s1600/body-page-192.png" width="262" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Q and I scanned his menu of movies, a number of them quite interesting, many looked like code, but I was stuck on one.<br /> <br /> Thelma and Louise: "A road trip comedy about two gals that get in over their heads. Lots of fun and soaring action." &nbsp;(The producer made up his own loglines.) Directed by Ridley Scott, starring Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis. He showed us the trailer, looked amusing.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/PRr0HY9MPZ0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /> <br /> Me: I like this one.<br /> Q: &nbsp;Fine. I like Ridley.<br /> Producer: Great. I can't unload it. This sure aint gonna win any Oscars.<br /> <br /> Q bought the film right there. &nbsp;The deal was closed in 40 seconds and we were ushered into a dark screening room.<br /> <br /> The film begins. I knew instantly this was a not a "funny road trip comedy." I was riveted from the opening scene of wide expanse before barging into a small town diner. As the movie progresses, I watched Louise, forthright, intelligent and full of helpful advice, stuck in some claustrophobic cafeteria, and then the vulnerable Thelma trapped in an abusive, oppressive marriage, acting out some 50's housewife version of a woman. They are about to embark on freedom, but in a world that does not allow that for women.<br /> <br /> I knew I was about to witness a revolutionary film.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQIZgmJxVfiFKc5oohIiBA-KR95nDsamW4pu_nRrkX0YpJoNns3719Us2hkpRVOWgr2c6QRMqBnKjgAhXum0dBf0QQoVvSFd3sK2cvSCVe7NFDdw2QYgYf8WaXUNhTIw6dfr9FIDU9TDP/s1600/Callie+Khouri+Being+a+Female+Director.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQIZgmJxVfiFKc5oohIiBA-KR95nDsamW4pu_nRrkX0YpJoNns3719Us2hkpRVOWgr2c6QRMqBnKjgAhXum0dBf0QQoVvSFd3sK2cvSCVe7NFDdw2QYgYf8WaXUNhTIw6dfr9FIDU9TDP/s1600/Callie+Khouri+Being+a+Female+Director.png" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> "Women who are completely free from all the shackles that restrain them have no place in this world. The world is not big enough to support them. They will be brought down if they stay here," Callie Khouri.<br /> <br /> I've loved everything she's ever written, including recent amazing Nashville. I also love T-Bone Burnett so it only makes sense the two would collaborate.<br /> <br /> So yeah.... It can be awkward sitting next to your big boss, in the quiet dark, choking on emotion. He knew I was crying and he also knew he had made the right choice. He loved the film.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwLVvF2mUkUdujWnWLSUPO4rQBwCvCwYqHMO3NBY2xM6jcPzoFP5fd1C_G7seqxhVsJqDItqhUpNo0t5tkAHMQummT4SpQZaGp0fsAlvdBX0YG0ZYXizqlHWI8yfYjqA5s-x8649NRNSW/s1600/tumblr_n3qwpj1Ztz1tv2ru7o1_500.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwLVvF2mUkUdujWnWLSUPO4rQBwCvCwYqHMO3NBY2xM6jcPzoFP5fd1C_G7seqxhVsJqDItqhUpNo0t5tkAHMQummT4SpQZaGp0fsAlvdBX0YG0ZYXizqlHWI8yfYjqA5s-x8649NRNSW/s1600/tumblr_n3qwpj1Ztz1tv2ru7o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> Why are men allowed to act out their base impulses and never be held accountable? &nbsp;Why do they rape and not go to jail? Why do they glorify the "perfect" women, objectify them, without considering what this might mean? &nbsp;All of this strongly resonated with me, as it did with so many.<br /> <br /> Q was much older, and was not only an amazing businessman, mentor, teacher and friend but also the first male figure in my life that honored women. He treated me with as an equal and respected my decisions.<br /> <br /> In any case, I missed the 20th anniversary of this film due to the on-goings of my own life, working and raising twin girls. The reason I write this now is because over 20 years, <u>nothing has changed. </u>Women are still treated like sex objects, and maybe even worse due to the media's bombardment of all things that sexually exploit females. Everywhere I turn I'm staring into another American Apparel pornification ad.<br /> <br /> Most women I know understand this:<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUPirT_HLZ1_4dYqx7gma8QusDN6nC9ZBhd-WNIkcXI-rA8KhAtZpjIOQakf7qdPPVPsJJfvEh8B4-3xOoxX2IxKqRK7o8_6KWukSJ3QszUKX5jUrPD5eM5O6JxVThcak1wcP3uVsuG1Y/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-1449-1381849603-19.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUPirT_HLZ1_4dYqx7gma8QusDN6nC9ZBhd-WNIkcXI-rA8KhAtZpjIOQakf7qdPPVPsJJfvEh8B4-3xOoxX2IxKqRK7o8_6KWukSJ3QszUKX5jUrPD5eM5O6JxVThcak1wcP3uVsuG1Y/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-1449-1381849603-19.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> It took me a while to comprehend that given this film was such a success, and unquestionably iconic, other films with strong female leads, laying out the truth of our world, have not been made. There was momentum, but then it stalled quickly. Since 1991, the women in Congress has dropped, women holding executive positions in Fortune 500 has dropped, and women in any kind of power <a href="http://www.womensmediacenter.com/press/entry/womens-media-center-report-finds-women-still-underrepresented-misrepresente">position in the media </a>is depressingly low.<br /> <br /> Number one reason remains: <a href="http://womenintvfilm.sdsu.edu/files/2013_It's_a_Man's_World_Report.pdf">It's a man's world</a>. &nbsp;Sure, we all know this, but somehow a part of me thought by now the tides would have turned. &nbsp;But sadly no. Women who step out of line are still severely punished.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAn6ASsldBOT4dJKnVf3FNRDr26XhYWzxinxHnSaeevD-1GOdxHcuTSar6SxTu1lT-WonepNh-YdomrBfCA5bouOUyIzv0zaKavl7ZUYAozKEHV3kVwWXCfD9uQz8SjjOJyoTdDLIpzVpf/s1600/thelma_louise__1221079288_5494.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAn6ASsldBOT4dJKnVf3FNRDr26XhYWzxinxHnSaeevD-1GOdxHcuTSar6SxTu1lT-WonepNh-YdomrBfCA5bouOUyIzv0zaKavl7ZUYAozKEHV3kVwWXCfD9uQz8SjjOJyoTdDLIpzVpf/s1600/thelma_louise__1221079288_5494.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> The brilliant political undertones of Thelma and Louise still hold, and when Thelma finally owns her sexuality in the scene with Brad Pitt, not only is she punished, but so is Louise. Now they have nowhere to turn. And here Thelma comes alive. Breaks free. Helps her best friend. Explodes with ideas. Unleashes a person that she had buried years before.<br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfko4KGImrozBJd4tvW9r_qEc-BfRtQpiDHkpNBAZPlSYrgayyZKpFXEtDZLgOv0JC_R7kHI8bMJJ6IZ0Ncw5pPQ545PWUfOjsok9nBWHNN12nCQWMDTV8YP-r6IOcd7KFa6lgsydRMlsq/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-3909-1381862940-41.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfko4KGImrozBJd4tvW9r_qEc-BfRtQpiDHkpNBAZPlSYrgayyZKpFXEtDZLgOv0JC_R7kHI8bMJJ6IZ0Ncw5pPQ545PWUfOjsok9nBWHNN12nCQWMDTV8YP-r6IOcd7KFa6lgsydRMlsq/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-3909-1381862940-41.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> When the film ended with their deciding to drive into the Grand Canyon, I burst into tears. Q be damned. He put his arm around me.<br /> <br /> Because I knew, and he knew, this was the only way the movie could end. &nbsp;They had both tasted freedom and could never return to their old lives. The world was never going to change. So metaphorically they triumph.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4z88U915uq8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /> <br /> Callie says it best: "After all they went through, I didn't want anybody to touch them. They flew away, out of this world and into the mass unconscious."<br /> <br /> Though we as writers try very hard to get movies made with strong female protagonists, it's a never ending game of defeat. "Can't she be nicer? Make her more sympathetic. What are you a man hater? It's a good script, but make the lead male. Maybe if it's a woman and a man. Put a wedding at the end and we can make a deal. But two women? And they don't care about marriage? Who is going to watch that? No. We can't get it financed." On and on.<br /> <br /> But we don't give up. Because we can't.<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUDXXSbmYNAIb-ycux1L00RA55_wpDMog7UPCHSQvj8Y5ieO_LpygMh79QjJq5DT-qB3VwRaC-OXCbdiW23tGC5ZjSq8oxYVlDe9_E2Ikyr1ugg1wNCAdO0wlX2LYECLr3Pq73ojYR5h6/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-17610-1381849547-13.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUDXXSbmYNAIb-ycux1L00RA55_wpDMog7UPCHSQvj8Y5ieO_LpygMh79QjJq5DT-qB3VwRaC-OXCbdiW23tGC5ZjSq8oxYVlDe9_E2Ikyr1ugg1wNCAdO0wlX2LYECLr3Pq73ojYR5h6/s1600/anigif_enhanced-buzz-17610-1381849547-13.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> This film resonates strongly because there is no other. No movies get made where women take control of their own lives and bodies; particularly when no men are involved. The female heroines now are out of comic books and there is always a love story. Sometimes they are pure sitcom. Better than nothing I suppose, but these films do not inform or leave a lasting impression.<br /> <br /> Everyone always points to Bridesmaids. But the underlying theme is -without a &nbsp;man, women are nothing. Furthermore, they ought to be abandoned like contagion if they speak their mind. Kristen Wiig shines a light on the hypocrisy<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aAXSrSJKWvyIO278GWmRloYwJxcGPUKGjV8EGMDNIuBydzTwP3m-hzeOGoB96PTkzTvM20cwPcHg_wlxanR4nDkxu5BiI74EdWAMra2uxrDQi9aGEUZfC4OgA8UBZmlzhlNVkHMEWeSz/s1600/tumblr_m4xb4bkl641rov8hj.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aAXSrSJKWvyIO278GWmRloYwJxcGPUKGjV8EGMDNIuBydzTwP3m-hzeOGoB96PTkzTvM20cwPcHg_wlxanR4nDkxu5BiI74EdWAMra2uxrDQi9aGEUZfC4OgA8UBZmlzhlNVkHMEWeSz/s1600/tumblr_m4xb4bkl641rov8hj.gif" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> <br /> but is well, ostracized for this. It's only when she plays by the "rules" she is once again accepted.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOEmOyk5U6pTWl27mD3h6IOPyAmJRMDu0tV8k2rjTheX0FzVTOykBluw-rBGNFaAIFFmwayp8ROI9r6McqwENykrI6qx7H-Swh0YZK9Llsxf0s1bjrfnOz9GGe-xWhCy2LBLc-43FbKDe/s1600/bridesmaids-movie-police-cop-men.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOEmOyk5U6pTWl27mD3h6IOPyAmJRMDu0tV8k2rjTheX0FzVTOykBluw-rBGNFaAIFFmwayp8ROI9r6McqwENykrI6qx7H-Swh0YZK9Llsxf0s1bjrfnOz9GGe-xWhCy2LBLc-43FbKDe/s1600/bridesmaids-movie-police-cop-men.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> Go with a good cop and you'll be okay and hold back any further impulses to speak your mind. I mean, they gave her a cop? That what she gets for stepping outside the norm. Cage that crazy lady!<br /> <br /> Many years, tons of books and lots of theories emerged concerning the feminism backlash. The internet shines a light to further entrench the notion that women with freedom are unhappy, careers give them cancer, they are neglecting their children, they become emotional wrecks, alcoholics and they certainly are not attractive to men.<br /> <br /> The backlash whispers into women's ears that they secretly yearn for servitude not power. Those who say otherwise will be shutdown. This is why Thelma and Louise will never be made again.<br /> <br /> And this is why we get movies like Bridesmaids, the deceptive <a href="http://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2013/10/why-gravity-is-105-million-dollar.html">Gravity</a> or name your "chickflick" whose soul purpose is the lead's finding the right man before she is "old" but bills itself as pro-female.<br /> <br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOqmfTzjvUOKGXJhxy-fQiRcA-xmpTauPfUUHyhVuHkEFg5kwQpTAtA4mgAGatr2U3HhA5IP7DJHwrQNoPTlvuBkFH_VaVcQC3PYv0yY6eYSYTMVG3fCYsa2-M86NJUNbWBQQsFi7xjx3/s1600/Sandra-Bullock-could-earn-an-astronomical-sum-for-Gravity.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOqmfTzjvUOKGXJhxy-fQiRcA-xmpTauPfUUHyhVuHkEFg5kwQpTAtA4mgAGatr2U3HhA5IP7DJHwrQNoPTlvuBkFH_VaVcQC3PYv0yY6eYSYTMVG3fCYsa2-M86NJUNbWBQQsFi7xjx3/s1600/Sandra-Bullock-could-earn-an-astronomical-sum-for-Gravity.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /> "Hang on Sandra, I'm coming to save you. Darn little women still think they can drive for god sakes," said Space ghost George Clooney.<br /> <br /> Despite all the efforts women made in the 70's, and there were some very good movies, now it's all perfect skin, leggy blondes, picket fence veneers, sex and popcorn.<br /> <br /> And the few good films made by women but rarely get a theatrical release.<br /> <br /> Thank god Callie Khouri exists. That we at least &nbsp;have this in the cinema realm. I see no end in sight in our misogynistic world, despite the many good men that exist. We still need culture to catch up, to change; as Gloria Steinem said, "I wish we didn't have to be nude to be noticed."<br /> <br /> Meanwhile, I will keep trying to get my movies made, my stories written and my books published. And direct my daughters to do what they love best; art, reptiles, roller skating, soccer, reading, sewing bohemian outfits and adding to their 30 plus and growing snake collection.<br /> <br /> Their father is a great dad, protects them, guides them and provides tools so they can protect themselves. And there are many fathers like him. But not enough.<br /> <br /> I rarely go to movies anymore. But when I'm low and can't take an other day of crassly sexist ethos that permeates Hollywood, the corporate world and politics, I pull out my Thelma and Louise DVD for relief. &nbsp;Even if momentary. After countless viewings, I still burst into tears.<br /> <br /> Rhonda Talbot weighing in on Thelma and Louise, sexism, patriarchy, female objectification and the never ending hope this will one day change.<br /> <br /></description><link>https://www.thedevilstrifecta.com/2014/04/thelma-and-louise-will-live-on-forever.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Rhonda Talbot)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidjkZ_GD4qp0P7v2HXdmkT14iObDqiiwaX91b6A3lyxMDnXtgV_3SIc6szIrEZlcQb6pDVW5PArUuWJMXf8c3jq-GMggU_T6jvt5pW_QI7fTSf1coe8TwkME8X1ypzGKkzxUzhxIU7cEJd/s72-c/Thelma-and-Louise-1.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>3</thr:total></item></channel></rss>