Age of Utopias

A few weeks ago I was sent an email that included the de-industrialization of America as a national crisis. In it were facts of the United States becoming the first “post-industrial” nation on the globe. All great economic empires eventually become fat and lazy and squander the great wealth that their forefathers have left them, but the pace at which America is accomplishing this is amazing. It was America that was at the forefront of the industrial revolution. And it will be the heavily mortgaged America that doesn't produce anything – other than garbage that will not have any kind of viable economic future.

One thing I saw time and again this past year was the obliteration of photographs. Having been shown this holiday season a photograph of my maternal grandfather from 1917, as a young man, I quickly asked to make copies, before the process is wiped out. Many of our possessions that we used to own are still in our lives, but we may not actually own them in the future. Today our computer has a hard drive where we store our pictures. But even that is changing.

Photo labs no longer process Kodachrome, they have stopped developing the iconic film forever. Most people believe that this is “progress.” It seems we are losing touch with everyone and everything that constitutes History and Art.

When I was a kid, I marveled at the thought that I would be able to command a robot to take on menial tasks, but now I see the advent of robots will come with a high price- this ever increasing amount of automation comes with an end to human contact for what may turn into many hours in a day or perhaps several days, or weeks at a time, and that comes with the psychological impact of social isolation.

Oodles and Oodles of Red

I'm in a flurry of preparations, I'll let Diana Vreeland share her holiday wishes along with my suggestions for you. They are culled from her longtime column in Bazaar, "Why Don't You."

This holiday season, why don't you...

Sleep-in

Have tiramisu for breakfast

Play “Jingle Bell Rock” and boogie in your pajamas until noon

Drink expensive champagne in the middle of the day

Bake and eat sweets to your heart's content

Snuggle up with a good comedy and a cup of cocoa

Get a professional massage

Splurge on a piece of fine jewelry

Read romantic poetry in the bare under the duvet

Call for take-out

Cuddle in front of a fire

Carry around mistletoe

See a Christmas tree lighting

Take a girly-girl's hot leisurely bubble bath by candlelight

Ice Skate; or if not possible get a bike, find a hill, ride down with your feet planted on the handlebars laughing all the way!

http://bit.ly/7J9NIa

Movies, a gold-rush business

In the holiday season, Hollywood releases movies, packing them in for year-end nominations. As any studio executive will admit, there have always been box-office failures, but successes counter the losses. But does Hollywood know what we want as an audience? Or do they only know what they are giving us? 

 

One of the losses we experienced moving to the desert was we no longer saw premieres at the Directors Guild, with a respectful audience, where talking was not permitted during the show, no snacks, cell phone rings, no shuffling around until the final credit rolled. Occasionally, after the film, one of the actors who starred in it, would be in attendance for a Q&A. Three actors stand out as memorable- Shirley MacLaine who is as comical as she appears on screen, Keira Knightley who is as smart as a whip and John Lithgow who is a wonderful orator.

But we moved, and the thought of not seeing movies was painful.

Being a cable subscriber for the first time, I saw movies I had never seen before. I'm even more demanding of film than I am of television. I sat there and saw generally a lot of movies where nothing circled the orbit, and there was no gravitational pull.

This morning I groaned at the Golden Globe nominations, I no longer pay them heed since they nominated Slumdog Millionaire, Sideways, Before Sunset, Dark Knight or Up in The Air. All bland, soon to be forgotten films, which had nothing unusual, but were a total waste of my time.

I haven't been stunned since Atonement, which had a beautiful plot based on a novel with a wonderful score. It made me think; once a moment is lost, it's lost. Another film of a lesser quality yet moved me was Australia, because there was a child element and the Aboriginal culture and its relationship with nature, that fueled an imaginative vision.

Don't the moguls know movies are an essential part of our culture? Instead of spewing out stories that denigrate the soul and bore the mind, when will they give us real stories? The kind that leave you speechless and in complete utter awe for hours after. Enchanting throwbacks to an era which strives to entertain its audiences with dazzling spectacle and melodrama, and all of the beauty and dark impulses that comes with it. 

 

Home to Vincent

I've never met a vegetable I didn't befriend, although I had to work at peas and lima beans but eventually chummed up to them. I like my vegies fresh and in season for optimum flavor. One thing about living and visiting different regions is your palate gets exposed to a novelty of tastes. A green that is currently available in your supermarket is Kale. I came by way of it during a trip to Amsterdam as a student, a time when I hardly ate, much less cooked. Although the Dutch use Kale in several ways integrating potatoes as a winter staple, I visited before the cold struck and got a simpler version of it. How I recall sitting in that homespun cafe, where staff brought their dogs to work. What impressed me about the country was how unpretentious the Dutch were. Years later, I made Kale adding lemon to brighten its flavor and enjoy it as a salad.

1 bunch raw Tuscan kale (sweeter than regular Kale)

2 slices country bread, or two handfuls of good, homemade coarse breadcrumbs

1/2 garlic clove

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/4 cup (or small handful) grated pecorino cheese, plus additional for garnish

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus additional for garnish

Freshly squeezed juice of one lemon (1/4 cup)

1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Trim the bottom few inches off the kale stems and discard. Massage a little with your hands to tenderize and slice into 3/4-inch ribbons. Place the kale in a large bowl.
Take bread and toast until golden brown on both sides and dry throughout. Tear into small pieces and pulse in a food processor until the mixture forms coarse crumbs, or to the texture of your liking.
Using a mortar and pestle, pound the garlic and 1/4 teaspoon of salt into a paste. Transfer the garlic to a small bowl. Add 1/4 cup cheese, 3 tablespoons oil, lemon juice, pinch of salt, pepper flakes, and black pepper and whisk to combine. Pour the dressing over the kale and toss very well (the dressing will be thick and need lots of tossing to coat the leaves). Let the salad sit for 5 minutes, then serve topped with the bread crumbs, adding a little more cheese, and a drizzle of oil. Can keep in the fridge and tastes even better the next day.

Juice Joint

We begin, in true 1920' style with a man in a three piece pin-stripe suit and black derby hat with his back to the camera. He stands at the shore with the azure blue sky in the horizon in the style of surrealistic painter Rene Magritte. His eyes flash, and the last shot of the opening credits, the camera pans to the tide that recedes but his regal two-toned wingtips remain clean, untouched, opposing realities and one of the coolest intro's I've seen. A strong visual hook, engaged, I had to see more.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBTjymxdweA

When I stated in a former blog that I went years without watching television, I wasn't exaggerating. The shows I missed read like a scroll; Hawaii Five-O, Miami Vice, Hill St. Blues, Cheers, Ally McBeal, Family Matters, 3rd Rock from the Sun, Friends. I could on and on; I am bored by sitcoms, and didn't feel I was missing out–I was studying, not putting myself to sleep, feeding my mind, feeding my soul. All these shows were on network television, and the programming styles from cable to network are radically different.

In 2009, I tuned in and discovered HBO, cable, which is like an art form, a visual cinema aesthetic, with stylistic authentic period pieces, wonderful sets, and excellent writing–storytelling with narrative and real acting. The pace is also slower not jumpy like network television because the close-ups require the actors to develop their inner artistic truth and convey their emotions--those of their character to the audience.

Last Sunday was the season finale of Boardwalk Empire, a show that takes place in 1920, during prohibition in Atlantic City, with the rise and fall of politician Nucky Thompson. In real life, Nucky Johnson's largesse was legendary, he was a benefactor to the poor, a power broker for the politically ambitious, and a staunch protector of mob interests -- all while serving the Republican Party.

Now I can catch up on the beginning episodes I missed and I'll stay tuned for the crime, politics and life on the boardwalk next year.

The Man in the White Suit Speaks from the Grave

Earlier this spring I saw a PBS documentary marking the 100th anniversary of Mark Twain's death. A few days ago I got an invitation to a literary event from UC Berkeley, since they published the three volume set of his autobiography. I imagine the set will be flying off the shelves for Christmas, since most people like to buy what's popular, doesn't matter what, then when they go to a party they have something to discuss that makes them hip and smart, hence a crowd-pleaser is born.

The Twain resurgence reminds me of how laborious it was to read Huck Finn, I guess I'm the only one who remembers that minor literary detail. And while I also read Innocents Abroad and Life on the Mississippi, that were also noteworthy, in my opinion they were a spin-off from his only masterpiece, Huck Finn, something that Twain admitted to. So why all the commotion?


This Twainness everywhere, marks how I would be mentally baffled and question–who says something that causes a trend and drives others? How does the initiator make their word stick and hone into the masses of psyches causing so much excitement? People love to fawn over writers once their dead. But acknowledging them while their alive, that would require a risk that rarely crosses anyone's mind. That's why book clubs like Oprah's are popular–people need and like to be told what to read. They either can't figure it out themselves, are too intellectually boring and robotic or simply don't have the curiosity to assume the task.


Regarding the autobiography, Twain forbid its official publication until 100 years after his death, which turns out to be a marketing ploy, sort of like a book embargo. In America it works, delayed gratification and exaggeration make consumers believe they have lived to see the pot of gold in the Promise Land!


While I admire Samuel Clemens theatrical nature, his prose, his publishing ventures, and jabs at social issues, I wonder if this book has not been rehashed and will it stand the test of time as being worthwhile?

An Irresistible Pathway

Wally World

I don't surf the Web as my news source but sometimes you run across a story that sparks something and makes you want to shout. Take for example the 100 year-old Walmart greeter who questioned a 37 year-old female shopper on a water bottle purchase and was pushed, causing her to injure her head in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

The customer is always right has gone too far; it encourages customers to believe they can bully into getting their own way. I've spoken my views on violence and can't understand where people get their motivation. One thing rings true; the younger generation is angry and they have not been taught to respect their elders.

What's at the core is a belief is that elders are not valuable, and should not work. With a focus on the youth culture, most elders are patronized, mistreated. They are not honored, and we have no modern rituals to bless their role.

Elders incarnate wisdom, which they happily share, in the form of stories. This wisdom can be our saving grace. Elders are helpful in providing perspective on the long-term consequences of any decision. No longer having the strength and energy for battle, they are able to see what is really important. Serving as peacemakers, they put forth solutions in which individual self-interest is better served through cooperation, promoting the best for all concerned.

This centenarian works five days a week, is self-supporting and needs her income. She plans on putting the incident behind her and return to work. Kudos for her courage. And I applaud Walmart for hiring her ten years ago.

Growing up one of my father's nicknames for me was “the Judge.” I'm going to take on that role for the sake of this post; I know nothing of the assailant; but if I were hearing this case; this is what I would enforce on the perpetrator: Jail time on assault and battery charges to learn to treat people differently. Community service in a nursing care facility to remind her that she too will age. And, last, a fine, attacking another over a purchase clearly indicates she doesn't know the value of money, a hit in the wallet will remind her of it's purpose. 

Here Comes...

Yellow Rose of Texas

As a vegetarian, in an act of compassion I did not want animals to suffer, so I embraced the vegan lifestyle. I enjoyed feeling light after a meal and honestly never took to meat. Despite all the legumes and beans I ingested I didn't get enough protein and consequently there were adverse effects.

Had I delved a little deeper I would not have bought leather goods. But somehow that didn't register as cruelty, yet it is.

As a former vegetarian, and now, I have never owned a vinyl handbag (with the exception of one or two that my mother bought me as a very young child), and I refuse to buy anything but genuine leather for my feet. I love the smell of leather and I insist on quality, preferring it over quantity.

My first adolescent handbag was not leather, it was made from wood, in the shape of a box given to me by my father as a Christmas present. Whimsical, it had colorful flowers made from bright jewels, hand painted stems and a handle. I was surprised by its uniqueness and knew I owned something that I would not see elsewhere. A true piece of Art, he purchased it at Neiman Marcus, he had fabulous taste and only bought the best. Returning to school after winter break, I knew I had to create an ensemble that would showcase “my purse” so I choose to wear light colors– my beige culottes with a baby blue angora sweater accessorized by my new pendant watch. The girls (even those who didn't talk to me), marveled at my purse, fascinated by the beauty and glitz of my treasure. As I swung it around, I'd say, “But wait, there's more”, I'd open it and give a peek inside; a built-in-mirror! 

 

Last night while perusing Ebay trying to find a replacement of the Guernica tile –my only purchase from Barcelona that Steven broke, I came across Enid Collins. Originally from Texas, she was the creator of the wooden purse. Astonished by her exquisite designs, that were so eclectic back then but would also work with today's fashions, especially in summer, which indicates that good things never go out of style.

Black Thursday

The definition of materialism is a preoccupation on the material world, rather than intellectual or spiritual concepts.

When I first moved to Europe, I was inconvenienced that retail stores would close during the week at 6 p.m. A year before my arrival, a law had gone into effect that made Thursdays a day in which retail establishments remained open until 8 p.m. Weekend hours were Saturdays from 9-1, and Sundays were closed, since it was a day of rest.

Adjusting to this new schedule I began to see things in a new light; people that worked in retail were treated with respect, not worked as slaves. With everything closed at the same time, it meant people could have leisure time together. Rather than seeing a family going to the mall on Sundays, I saw family outings at the park on bikes, including a grandmother pedaling her cruiser, or families hiking, or at the public swimming pools, physical activities at no cost took precedence. But then again, Europeans choose community over convenience and clearly do things differently from us. Yet their lives seemed in many ways richer and fuller. I know mine was. Additionally, many of the museums were free on Sundays which allowed an opportunity to learn about art and develop the mind and soul.

There's something inherently wrong with American businesses open and consumers shopping on Thanksgiving day. It's sick, and a moral degradation. It robs us of the fundamental issue of the holiday- gratitude and repose.  The Pilgrims who were fleeing persecution and created Thanksgiving day have been dishonored by advertisers and greedy retailers whose message is consumption over appreciation as the road to fulfillment.

Seize the Day

To commemorate my passage into adulthood, I celebrated my twenty-first birthday with friends by coming to Las Vegas to experience what all the hoopla was about. On Friday night there were neon lights and nightclubs. Saturday there was a trip to the Stratosphere for a view of the city, shopping, then dinner and a show. By Sunday morning, over breakfast the smell of mildew carpet mixed with cigarettes and the noise was driving me crazy, I heard keno numbers being called out, and I couldn’t wait to get back on the bus and go home. I had no interest in returning.


Decades later, Steven and I are driven here by a realtor and I don't see anyone outside. My husband Steven says, “you won't like the architecture” referring to the tract style homes. Knowing I could turn an ordinary house into a palace of beauty, I said I'd give it five years.


I never thought I would live in Las Vegas. I find casinos repulsive. They look like morgues for the half dead. I don’t like the light or the décor, or the pallor of the people, the look of absolute desperation and the lifeblood just draining out of them as they sit at these machines.


Next month, I will have fulfilled my promise. Hallelujah! I can hear the choir sing! As creative types, Steven and I have been two fish out of water. The good that has come from this adventure remains; it's kept me writing and working. And although it sounds schmaltzy there hasn't been a student that I've not tried to reach in some way. It's easy to fall in love with their enthusiasm and take an interest in them. They, along with the administrative support at CSN that I've received have been my salvation.  And when the time comes, I will leave this desert having found comraderie.


I love teaching; my heart is in it. I enjoy the immediacy of it and I have the opportunity to be a listener, a facilitator, a connector to people. And to me, the art of dissolving boundaries is what living is all about.

For the People, By the People

Abraham Lincoln was an idealist. Fast forward a hundred years later, and idealists gave voice to our government as to how things should be run, ethically and morally. However, the last few decades it's as if the masses lost their initiative and fighting spirits faded which paved the way for the nation to be in a financial crisis stemming from involvement in fighting two wars, thanks to George Bush. In the shadow of war, corporations got greedy. Our nation controlled by a system of credit was and is in the hands of a few, where we are no longer a Government of free opinion, conviction or vote of the majority, but a Government by the opinion and duress of a small group of dominant men. The truth is, when too much money got into the hands of only a few, it's as if we created a monarchy obliterating the middle class.


One man who has the courage to speak his mind and organizes others, and fights against the injustice behind corporate greed is Bruce Marks, a former union activist and currently the CEO of the Neighborhood Assistance Corporation of America (NACA). 

NACA aims to be a reformer of the banking and lending industry. There activities include enacting local and state legislation and regulations to address sub-prime and predatory lending. Ascending to Capitol Hill amidst a hearing watch the video of a fighter who questions if the nations foreclosures are done in accordance with the law, as he presses for the committee to hear from homeowners. A fight has to ensue and go on! Without it, it raises even a more frightening outcome- what will happen to a country filled with people deprived of their property and their children homeless in a country conquered by banks and corporations?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAqur27v_i0

Window on the River of Time

Teddy Roosevelt said that all Americans should try to see it. He visited it to hunt and enjoy the scenery. He also declared: “We have gotten past the stage, my fellow citizens, when we are to be pardoned if we treat any part of our country as something to be skinned.” He was referring to the steep-sided canyon carved by the Colorado River in Arizona known as the Grand Canyon.


When I visited it, we managed to park, and walked to the rim, the scale of the sight off the edge was so great it was hard to muster a response. It was so vast, and so familiar from pictures, it might just as well have been a picture. What impressed me most was the Babel of languages audible among the visitors pouring off the tour buses. It sounded like Times Square on a Saturday night, with every continent represented in the hubbub.


Although the canyon is a desert, it was spring and it was an oasis – a place of peace, sequestered from the rest of the world.


To experience the canyon, you have to leave the rim. The frustration aroused by the bigness, the grandness, on a rim-only visit becomes a liberation once you drop down. The modern world falls away. It’s a trip out of the human realm, deep into the geology of the earth. Layer upon layer of the earth's crust is revealed, stratum by stratum: the Toroweap limestone, the Coconino sandstone, the Red-wall limestone, the Tonto Group; the Vishnu schist deep down, close to two billion years old, nearly half the total age of the planet – the stuff that is under our very feet as we go about our lives is laid bare here. And in the silence and stillness, in the solitude of the canyon, it’s all the more impressive.


I have always found geology astonishing, beyond human comprehension pointing directly to our Creator. Standing before geological history makes me ask these questions silently- were these hundreds of square miles of limestone hundreds of feet deep truly formed by trillions of marine creatures dying? Could a river really carve out a gash this deep? How could the Colorado River in a single day before the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam, carry away 380,000 tonnes or more of silt?


It was such a vast landscape it seemed it might go on in pinnacles and gulfs for hundreds of miles. With endless new levels, new shears, shelves and tables to descend, then all of a sudden, there was the bridge again. I could see its individual railings, and as we approached, through a tunnel hewn straight through the rock, the thick, deep air beside the rushing river was like a balm. Whether it was the late afternoon light, the fatigue, or the relief of getting down, I found myself wallowing in a wonderful endorphin bath. The world went glassy. The canyon cliffs and trapezoids and pinnacles of rock all became resonant. I watched myself walk, as if the real me were a deep witness to my life, rather than the one who apparently lives it.


Once you’ve been down into it, you understand, at least a little and are humbled by its beauty, both haunting and magnificent.

Shakespeare Sonnet 73... "Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang”

After my visit to Stonehenge which included a lunch stop in Salisbury and shopping in Bath, where rows of buildings are made out of sandstone and nothing is painted except for doors, I headed toward my next destination. My flu bug going into full swing, I slept on the tour bus. A month prior, in keeping with English themes, I had devoured reading Holy Blood, Holy Grail, in one sitting until the wee hours, engulfed by the conspiracy theory with my taste for the occult and anything that concerns the unexplainable. With a fascination toward myths and legends I was on my way to Glastonbury, a city which has been a New Age community, rich in history.


A notable landmark is Glastonbury Tor, a Celtic word that means hill. It's where King Arthur and Lady Guinevere coffins were discovered, and may be a possible location for the Holy Grail, since Joseph of Arimathea is said to have arrived in Glastonbury, stuck his staff into the ground, and when it flowered miraculously it became Glastonbury Tor. Also, the presence of an astrological landscape zodiac around the town has been carved along the hedgerows and trackways along with a collection of ley lines. It's an enchanting place with amazing streets lined with alternative shops filled with crystals, gems stones, mineral baths, funky clothes, cafes with homemade food, books, paintings, and hand crafted products. I saw ads for healers, meditation, yoga, drumming classes, and festivals of just about everything imaginable.


After I arrived having spent a day in bed nursing myself back to equilibrium, I couldn't get myths and mystery out of my head and went for a walk to Glastonbury Abbey to visually take in the ruins. On the grounds I saw a tree that contained the Holy Thorn, pronounced dead earlier in the year and cut months after my fortuitous visit.

Lady of the Lake

After reading Mists of Avalon in 1991, I was enthralled with all things Arthurian, since author Marion Zimmer Bradley captured a layered story relating the legends from the perspective of the female characters. I was delighted that it was almost a 900 page read, since I was rooting for Morgaine, the main character and priestess to save her matriarchal culture in a fight against patriarchal Christianity. It was highly original and such a convincing Saga that it influenced me to buy myself an Edwardian ring, and to return to England with a special itinerary. Later that year, while visiting I got a stomach flu which dampened the visit, but I trudged on determined to experience as much as possible.

With a fever and chills I boarded an early morning tour bus (a testament to my determination) to southern England, to the plains of Salisbury and had my sights on Wiltshire, to see Stonehenge, a prehistoric monument and one of the spiritual wonders of the world. Built at the same time the pyramids in Egypt were under construction, Stonehenge contains a giant circle of thirty stones, some weighing as much as 45 tons, with five inner horseshoe stones, an incredible feat of engineering that were most likely built for some ceremonial use. Several yards directly in front of it is the Heel Stone. Why it was built and how it was used has puzzled Archaeologists and remains one of the unsolved mysteries of the ancient world.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qldJvDUO1b4 

Mortals cannot resist

Does Halloween make you think of things beyond the imagination? Like ghouls, goblins, monsters, vampires, witches, werewolves, and ghosts? For many it's a time to decorate the house with pumpkins, put up lights, hang animated props, listen to Monster Mash and tap into your childlike “spirit” by dressing up in costume, or living vicariously through the neighborhood kids while you hand them treats.

It's one of my all time favorite holidays. What could be better than costumes, playing a character, candy, kids and spooking each other out? A highlight of the year, especially when it's foggy. Since Halloween is a mix of ancient Celtic practices, where bonfires were lite and costumes worn to ward off roaming ghosts, befitting the tradition I spent Halloween or Samhain, once in England. In London, I visited one of the most haunting cemeteries: London's Highgate Cemetery, dug into a hillside overlooking London, with an imposing Victorian-era archway overgrown with shrubbery, it leads into a stone tunnel lined with catacombs. The darkness eventually gives way to a circle of sunlit vaults staged around a 300-year-old cedar. It's both spooky and Poesque eerie.

Highgate Cemetery has been the backdrop for numerous horror films, including Taste the Blood of Dracula and From Beyond the Grave, and it's accessible only by tours, which includes a visit to the newer graveyard sites, a maze of decaying tombstones covered in dense greenery and topped by oversize statues ranging from the carved-stone grand piano above one musician's grave to the gigantic bust of Karl Marx adorning his own resting place. For not being a proponent of materialism he was given quite a bourgeois tombstone! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkMBVbEUd7o 

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Like most, I sit in front of my television and watch the Senate campaign advertisements come on the air. It seems that the back room deals required to obtain the nomination, the dollars required to run a campaign and the use of slander and/or other acts to embarrass a political rival has made politics a corrupt game.

The current state of Nevada is in such bad shape that comparisons to the Great Depression are justified. It has the highest foreclosure rate, the highest bankruptcy rate, the highest unemployment rate in the country and proportionally the highest state budget deficit.

Every time my door bell rings it's a kid fund-raising (three came to my door last week) asking for money to help their public school. I recognized the neighborhood kids and gave them some cash, but by the third round I said to the child who sold me flower bulbs last spring, “Sorry, but I pay my taxes.” Today's collectors are between the ages of 6-8, they don't give you a receipt and don't accept checks. I don't doubt that the funds are going to the school, but I refuse to keep opening my wallet to support bad judgment. When I was growing up, only Catholic school kids fund-raised; but at least you got an excellent chocolate bar filled with almonds in return.

In Las Vegas, everywhere you look you see schools that were built literally back to back. The Clark County school district borrowed money in the form of a bond issue and now they're panicking. You also see empty buildings, abandoned construction sites with mounds of dirt, unkempt houses with for sale signs, and apartment deals offering spectacular move-in deals. The office vacancy is twenty-four percent. The construction industry has nearly disappeared and there are sixty thousand housing units are on the market.

Sharron Angle, the Republican nominee is short in stature and short in experience. She calls for abolishing the Department of Education and the Environmental Protection Agency, privatizing Medicare, Social Security and the Veterans Administration. She's plain, and toothy, but her politics come across as extremist and unpolished. She's an amateur with a folksy, batty manner similar to Sarah Palin. She said that she would have voted against Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan, as Obama's appointees to the Supreme Court, because neither of them understand the Constitution.  I said she was batty.

Her opponent, the incumbent and Democratic candidate, Harry Reid, has a bonafide political career. He's a bland man, and looks like he came straight out of the woods. And his speech reflects it; he praised Obama for not speaking in negro dialect. He also said he didn't know how anyone of Hispanic heritage could be a Republican. Reid reacted to the bust by extending employment benefits, gave aid to schools and secured money for alternative energy projects in the desert. But like Obama, he was in office when the State's depression arrived and is blamed for the current economic cycle.

What happened in Nevada is a reflection of what happened to America; the bonds of society loosened, a casino mentality took over where credit flowed far too easily, as if inebriated everyone lost their wits, got into debt and when the growth stopped, everything crashed.

There's no getting around it, the only way to reduce the State deficit is to impose a tax on businesses. Whichever way this election unfolds let's hope it gets Nevada on track doing what the Senate is suppose to do; to take responsibility, fund education, transportation, medicaid, medicare and the Children's health insurance program, reduce the debt and enforce a national message to stop squandering money and lives on war!

Taming the beast within

Yesterday as I was in the car looking for a space to park at the gym, I saw two men screaming at one another. Their hurling insults were so loud I threw out the possibility of a car bump. No one could get this angry over such a minor infraction. I wondered if this was a staged video, but the graphic looks of surprise and horror on their faces of attack would have challenged even the most brilliant Hollywood movie studio. They looked like soldiers engaged in battle. Camera mobile phones were out, a crowd had gathered, so I parked as far as possible, nonchalantly getting out of my car and headed to my class.

Zumba class takes place several doors down from the gym, it has large windows and feels open- it's one of the reasons why I enjoy being there, I can look out, unlike in the gym which is gray and dark and doesn't have any windows at all; like a dungeon.

While warming-up I felt I was watching a film, because the men (whoever they were) wanted the world to see them in a fist fight! And a video was serving its purpose, making its rounds. The class continued and I figured eventually these two after a broken nose or tooth would end the brawl, get back into their vehicles and drive away. I tried to put this incident out of my mind reminding myself that I live in a civilized country, with layers of moral conduct.

Then I saw the Internet recap from the television show The View. I watched and heard Bill O'Reilly offensively remark about the proposed Mosque near Ground Zero in a way to further fuel an irrational fear of Islam, and watched hosts, Whoopi Goldberg and Joy Behar walk off the set. However, since Barbara Walters was present, and can keep her head, she said we should be able to discuss differences without screaming, demeaning or wiping our hands clean of one another.

The day was thick with savagery oozing out, with some coated only a smidgeon more with layers of civilized and socialized behavior than others.

We have become a nation of ill-behaved, rude and angry people.

There is far too much violence on television. We need to be aware of not only what we watch but how it affects us and band together to establish broadcaster guidelines. I believe TV and movie producers would like to tone down the violence, but they don't want to be the first to do so. National standards would be able to achieve what individuals would not do by themselves in a competitive market.

And we need to go back to teaching character education in the school system like we had in the 1930's. Programs that focused on teaching honesty, fairness, citizenship and other virtues, like respect and concern for others. We need to re-learn the basics of civility, and combat fear to tame the beast within. 

Respect Yourself

Living In a Big Way

There will always be class taste and mass taste. Ligne Roset and IKEA. Where the privileged few are liberated from practical considerations. Why worry about furnishings or household goods when they could be bought time and again? Very rich means never having to be careful. At least that’s what I believed looking at old films. Where the lives of the extremely wealthy came across with an unbridled fancy that made everything possible.

Fast forward to when I was a set decorator, my goal was create film noir, but it was becoming an outcast. Rather than design, I spent the bulk of my time shopping. I hunted for furnishings and visited prop houses mostly for accessories and had to keep in mind themes; and I had to maneuver in mood. Did the script call for romantic dining? Was the couple married or was it a clandestine affair? What meal and what food were being served? Would I need a ceramic egg holder, corn-cob knobs, or a soup tureen? Food was never fake, and would be purchased in quantities replaced every two hours. Although the show centered around a family with a fashion based business, I did not get to reinvent the rich lifestyle, I had to follow existing trends.

I wanted to design in the taste of “old money,” not the traditional distinctive baronial look such as an all wood dark library, but to sink my eye and hands into creating a visual fantasy. To create a look for conventional sophisticates, like Nick and Nora the fictional characters created by writer Dashiell Hammett in his novel The Thin Man, that would blend contemporary with antiques, primitive and ethnic. And I could live vicariously in their opulence and extravagance.

Although the budget was more than adequate and no one ever blinked an eye on the vast amounts that were spent, the focus was on time and soaps began to create another look altogether, a trend in modernism. Both daytime and evening television were creating artificial landscapes on sound-stages, since going on location would require too much time and permits. The new locations took place outdoors– a back alley, a carnival, a rain-soaked street.

But only in Hollywood could there be the opportunity to illustrate both classic and modern styles, where make-believe leaves an imprint of an imagination.

Up-to-Date Report

Everyone has a treasure, that if an emergency were to break out, they'd grab and take with them. Although I have no problem throwing out paper, and am not a collector by any means, my treasure is a keepsake box, that holds a bundle of cards and letters that I've been given over the years. Some might label this as sentimental, I think it's an affirmation of my life and of something joyful; it's a boost to get mail and it's an act of caring when someone reaches out.

I remember the old days when we wrote letters to relatives and friends in distant lands, when we phoned the ones nearby to keep in touch.

A few days ago waiting for my bangs to be trimmed at a hair salon, as a father was called to get his hair-cut, he departed handing his six year-old his cell phone, instructing him to use it as a toy. Meanwhile, educational blocks that the salon provided that were age-appropriate to inspire a child's intellectual development sat in the corner gathering dust. As a child I went to the beauty shop with my mother. In those days children's toys were not provided, only at a Doctors office would you find children's books; but I was rarely bored, I relied on my imagination to keep me occupied and intrigued.

An opportunity to use your imagination, to sit with yourself and just be, or read the words of others; little of that today exists, because everyone is on the social network craze.

I signed up half-heartedly on Facebook and haven't done a thing with it. Out of the loop, I recognize the "convenience" of social networking but at my core, I believe it to be more of a hindrance to our future than a progressive step. Its privacy policies are confusing to most and it allows for information to be exposed in a number of ways.  I think that's over-sharing and sheer self-display. Mark Zuckerberg who is the face behind Facebook has a film coming out next week, with an unauthorized version of him.  He's known not to give interviews, we''ll see how he handles the exposure.

We are only Facebook's infancy stages, wait another fifteen years when it creates a massive amount of lonely, overweight and socially inept people who will grapple with how to make "real" friends, meet singles and see how the birth rate plummets.

Nor can I bring myself to finding out about new births through friends’ Facebook pages; or of people moving homes when the backgrounds of those pictures change.

No need for greeting cards, how about a poke instead – “Happy birthday, how are you?” No need to go to a birthday party any more – just have my friends upload grainy photographs from a wild party of one, captured on a cell phone camera, so that I could check them out and “be there.” No need to come to my parties either, I’ll just post pictures of myself on my Facebook page, blowing out twenty-nine candles on a supermarket cake, with only me in attendance.

Despite all this “social” networking, it must feel lonely out in Facebookland. Why is our culture obsessed with networking ourselves into obscurity?  To feel guilty when you phone someone and get the real person as if you disturbed them; instead of voice mail is now becoming a common human reaction.

Who would rather be sitting with their spouse on the same sofa and texting each other instead of conversing? I see it all the time in restaurants and at parties, so why not at home? We may get some peace and quiet (other than for those tic-tic sounds of keyboards or phone pads). And in fifteen years from now, our vocal chords wasted away and we will have ended up with a poor vocabulary populated with “Hi5, OMG, LOL, ” and other acronyms that I am trying hard to tune out.

In these days of cheap long-distance phone calls and free video conferencing, I think we need the face-to-face more than the face-book. I wonder when the tide will change; when our minds will yearn for imagination, when we have to re-learn to spell correctly, when our sore thumbs will ache for a rest, our vocal chords thirst for exercise, and our souls hunger for the presence of other souls to remind us that we exist, and are defined, only in relation to one another.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooupzNgybEo

El Grito de Dolores (Cry of Dolores)

By an amazing historical coincidence, this year, 2010 is both a centennial and bicentennial for Mexico. In Mexico, Independence Day, September 16 and Revolution Day, November 20, are both important patriotic celebrations. This year is extraordinary because it marks both the bicentennial of what became the Mexican independence movement in 1810, and the centennial of the start of the Mexican Revolution in 1910.


The dual anniversaries provide an opportunity to reflect upon the complex and intriguing history of Mexico. And who knows, perhaps even learn lessons for the future.


The bicentennial celebrates the independence of Mexico from Spain in the early 19th century. The uprising that became the Mexican independence movement began on the night of September 15, in 1810. That night, Catholic priest Miguel Hidalgo gathered the people in the Zócalo, or the main plaza, where he rang a bell calling the people to action. This occurred in the central Mexican town of Dolores, Guanajuato, now referred to as Dolores Hidalgo.


Hidalgo was executed in 1811, but the struggle continued. Eventually, Mexico became independent from Spain in 1821. And here lies another historical coincidence, since 300 years earlier, in 1521 was the year in which the Aztec Empire fell and Spanish rule began.


The Mexican War of Independence is not to be confused with the Mexican Revolution, which occurred a century later.


The Revolution began on as an uprising to overthrow President and  longtime dictator, Porfirio Diaz, on November 20, 1910. After Diaz was driven out of the country in 1911, revolutionary factions fought each other in a bloody civil war. The Revolution lasted from 1910 to 1920.


One of the most concrete results of the Revolution was the current Mexican Constitution, drafted in 1917.  Both Independence Day in September and Revolution Day in November are popular observances celebrated annually.


Since this year is both a bicentennial and centennial, in Mexico a number of observances are taking place. Current president Felipe Calderon has declared the entire year of 2010, as the Año de la Patria or Year of the Nation.


Presently, there are cultural, artistic and educational programs aplenty. There are conferences, historical commemorations, artistic exhibitions, and radio shows. Large digital countdown clocks have been installed in cities across Mexico. Major media companies Televisa and TV Azteca compete with each other to produce programming related in some way to the bicentennial and the centennial.


Motorists traveling in many parts of the country can see Ruta 2010, posted signs on the highway with routes that commemorate and follow military movements and historical figures in the Independence and Revolutionary periods. For the curious traveler, this is a fascinating way to map out the country and see where historical events took place.


All 31 Mexican states and the Federal District have their own Bicentennial/Centennial committees.


This past June, the Mexican port of Veracruz played host to an international regatta with ships that sailed in a five month long voyage. The fleet included vessels from 12 nations, including Mexico and other Latin American nations, several of which are also celebrating bicentennials within the space of a few years. The U.S., Portugal and the Netherlands also participated.


The Mexican Bicentennial/Centennial is expanding beyond the nation's borders. There are exhibitions of art from different stages of Mexico's history in various foreign capitals. Mexican embassies and consulates are also hosting cultural events abroad.


All these events reflect on Mexico… not only as an occasion for euphoria and collective gaiety that all of society should participate in but also that the introduction of history and culture bring a new understanding of Mexico's past and unity for the future.
watch?v=1O7K9AwR6Vo&feature=related

Mystique of the Forest

Anyone who saw the PBS documentary on Great Lodges of the National Parks knows the pioneering experience that being in nature will bring, its simplicity can enrapt wilderness lovers in a fervor of ecstasy that moves beyond transcendentalism.


It can also have you examine and challenge the enormous conceit, carelessness and short-sightedness of mankind.


The show highlighted the awe-inspiring beauty of America’s national parks. As a two part series; I watched the first episode a few days ago that took viewers to the edge of a volcano in Hawaii, to the Alaskan wilderness, to an oasis in California’s Death Valley and to the rugged mountain peaks and pristine lakes of the Rockies, to Grand Teton. But the park I jotted down as a place I would want to visit is in the lush Pacific Northwest, Lake Quinault, nestled in the heart of the Olympic National Forest, a diverse and stunning environment with abundant meadows and glaciers. I suggest you visit Wikipedia to learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Quinault


The image of lakes and trees combined embody an atmosphere of a fairytale-like glow with mist rising off of the lakes. It took me back in time; of the spectacular beauty of the Alpine landscape. I’m not exaggerating when I say I could never describe the majestic quality of nature that I connected with in Germany, it went beyond words. But another tree-lover’s haven can be found in California, just north of San Francisco.


Muir Woods, named in honor of John Muir, the Scottish-born naturalist, a tireless adventurer and early advocate of wilderness preservation, particularly in the mountains of California, devoted most of his life to saving the great Western forests. As founder of the Sierra Club, he petitioned Congress to create a National Park Service that would protect the Yosemite Valley and create Sequoia National Park.


Muir Woods, is one of the last remaining ancient redwood forests. Most San Franciscans are enamored by their city as I was; but have to break away from all the noise, density and concrete. To spend a day hiking the trails their is to connect to nature with an unavoidable reverence – and imagine the infinite.

Dress you up

Sitting in my living room with its 18 foot ceiling, every time I glance into my backyard I have a reoccurring thought. Because the window is 12 feet in height, it required a custom made drape. I love window treatments, and to add drama and invoke the colors of the desert, I choose a burnt orange fine Italian silk with flecks of yellow. I am determined to take it with me when I move. I'll make a dress from it, in true Tara style.

That thought gets me in a tailspin about dresses in general. A dress can take a life of it's own, it's as if she is wearing you. The closest I can come to think of as a similarity, is the clock that I hear behind me, in the kitchen. What must it be like to be the face of a clock, all that tick-tick-ticking behind you. To feel it, but not be able to stop it.

In 2002 when the height of fashion dictated plunging necklines and backlines, and shiny fabric, all of which are not my taste, I tried on a red silk dress. There was a bow on the left that needed to be removed, a minor adjustment, but I could take it to Evadney, my wonderful alterations lady, and presto. As I slipped her on, she gave a little shimmy, like someone who was waiting to dance. She was quick, and she was prepared, even in the dressing room. I knew I had the right underclothes, the right heels, both new and the single strand of Jackie O pearls. She was going to be positively certain of the effect she would have.

Whenever we walked into a party I felt her ticking. I felt her flirtations, she knew just how to laugh in a coquettish way. I don't know why she did it, except that she could. She never made a commitment of any kind; she just enjoyed the commotion, the whispers, the glares in the powder room.

Sometimes, if she concentrated just so, she could thwart me. She could be stiff where she ought to flow; she could catch where there was nothing to catch on. She could pull, or wrinkle, or shift. She could make me hesitate just for a second and make things less than perfect.


I wanted us to be one. For her to emphasize the way we move, subtly, hanging around me, like an aura. Sometimes I got distracted by her grace and other times I found myself cooperating with her whims. She knew I approved of her, that's why I bought her! She knows I've never had an unbecoming dress in my life!

When I put her on for the third time, it was a June evening. I put on perfume–Chanel, the pearls, the black suede peep-toes with the spindly heels, although I was surefooted in them, like a cat. I grabbed my small clutch bag and my pashmina, just in case the air got cool.

At the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, he was in the elevator. I noticed he was tall. He was vested in a tuxedo, and would be performing. As he shook my hand, I had a very unusual thought but pushed it away, since I wasn't interested in him. I could feel him staring; it felt like being next to a hot radiator.

After the concert, at Kendall's Brasserie she walked right in–the maitre d' gave her a nod as she went straight to a table in the back. She slid into the banquette. In the presence of the other three women, she commanded all the attention. He came in later with two men and removed his bow-tie with a smile.

He sank down beside me. A waiter immediately appeared, and asked to take the order. No one had looked at their menus yet.


"You look perfectly elegant," he said.

“Thank you.”

I didn't want to order a cocktail, but she likes them. She likes the graceful martini glasses, with the smoky olives lurking in their depths, or the tiny onions. "Like eyeballs!" She hinted once, and I agreed.

I gave in that night and rather than drink my usual club soda, I ordered a glass of champagne along with an appetizer of escargot.

She did all the talking. She was going to do this, she was going to do that, he listened quietly drinking his coffee.

A sense of levity dominated the scene, and he made us laugh.

He looked away, absent for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I think I will sing something new," he said. And he began to sing Broadway tunes.

There was a lot of applause.


I clapped, she just looked at him.

Outside the restaurant, there are two cars for seven people, as addresses were shuffled about, we discover that both he and I live in the same city. He offers to drive me home, smiling, and clearly smitten, "Ah, that takes care of that.”

On the ride home both she and I notice he is talkative. I was tired, and she could have gone on and on. But it was late.

Back in the closet she went, hung up nicely, on her padded hanger. She was pleased to have been worn, and to have had such a lovely evening. The other dresses want to hear the news. Then they all started talking. Maybe it was meant as a tease, or maybe it was just envy. They laid it on thick. I think maybe she exaggerated just how much she had done and what I could do for her. The other dresses just hang and wait but there not sure what for.

June Swoon

 

Most people love autumn in New York, but to me June is the most beautiful and pleasurable month. Winter boots get replaced with summer sandals, wool skirts go back in the closet and are traded for billowy crisp cotton pique and everywhere you turn women are no longer in black but instead are garbed in bright blossoms that you find in a garden.

Vacations are on everyone's mind. And fifteen years ago, I met a wonderful lady with a dog and a cat who invited me to stay at her home to take care of her animals while she went to Nantucket. The commute from New Jersey to Manhattan was long but feasible through public transportation. The idea of country living appealed to me since my mode of transportation would be a train. Her home was located in Glen Ridge, a small and charming affluent borough in Essex County, New Jersey, in a large 18th century farm house.

I had my choice of four bedrooms to sleep in, (five if you include the in-law apartment over the garage across the road),but choose the quaint and rustic guest room in the attic, since it was not anyone's personal domain, at least that's what I thought.

Molly, the dalmatian, was sweet, but not the sharpest of dogs. The cat on the other hand, let me know what she thought of me and of my intrusion by leaving her stool in the middle of the bed where I slept.

After that, I closed the attic door and banned the cat from “my room” yet she managed to make her desires known. Far from subtle, she would climb around on human eating surfaces, either the kitchen table or the kitchen counter-top. Even when I invited my friend Mary Ann over to join me for a Shakespearean festival, in the middle of our meal, the cat jumped right onto the dining room table, swishing its tail gaily and ever so nonchalantly depositing its hair on our plates as she sashayed by.

That cat and I never became friends but managed to tolerate one another for the next two weeks. 

Because the lady of the house was generous and trusting she handed me the keys to her van. So on the weekends off I went on side trips touring the tri-state area with Molly. The hissing cat, left behind.

My first stop was Princeton to tour the campus, after taking photos and a visit to the Library for lunch, I went to a Italian restaurant, nestled on a quaint block, where salamis dangled in the window, and sat at a table for two, with Molly nestled at my feet and ordered the lemon penne.

Going out to lunch or dinner has never been my idea of entertainment, however going to an event; and having an experience, such as seeing a play, opera, dance, art exhibition, hearing music or learning something new, now that holds my attention, followed by a meal where there is stimulating discussion, is a break from the ordinary and in my book, a formula for success.

One thing I do after I enjoy a restaurant meal is to emulate the recipe at home, like a test kitchen, to see how close I can get to replicating the dish. I surprise myself with my knock-offs, both good and bad.

This past weekend temperatures soared again so I brightened my dinner with my lemony Princeton recipe and offer it to you as a light summer starter.

1 cup Penne Pasta
2 tablespoons Olive Oil
3 cloves Minced Garlic
½ cup Green Onions (white & Green Parts)
3 Tablespoons Freshly Squeezed Lemon Juice
½ cup Freshly Grated Parmesan Cheese
Freshly Ground Black Pepper
Salt To Taste
Extra Fresh Parmesan For Serving

Preparation Instructions

1. Cook the pasta according to the package directions.

2. Drain the pasta, set aside, then use the pot to make the sauce.

3. Heat the olive oil and add garlic to cook for 15 to 20 seconds. Add green onions and sauté until just tender.

4. Put in the lemon juice and then take the pan off the heat.

5. Add in half the Parmesan cheese and half the pepper, followed by half the pasta.

6. Stir well.

7. Add in the rest of the pasta, cheese, and pepper as well as salt if desired.

8. Mix well again and serve immediately, adjust seasonings to taste. Serve on a bed of greens or romaine for color.

The ingredients in this recipe can be adjusted to whatever you have on hand, such as the addition of tomatoes, artichokes or mushrooms. Make sure you load up on the garlic otherwise your meal will sit there with no bark and no bite. And that would be a doggone shame.