This morning I read an article titled, “Titters, Snickers and Guffaws, With a British Accent,” in NY Times. Its byline belongs to Ben Brantley and I suspect the article, about the British TV and summer theater season in London, has also ran in the Times. Although the author snickers about some British productions, he admits to enjoying their penchant to provoke laughter. He also addresses the differences between the American and the British sense of humor.

I agree there is a difference. The difference, however, is not in the silliness or seriousness or the understanding of comedy. It is in the originality.

Anything original, here in US, we use it non-stop and abuse its originality until it stops being original. British, on the other hand, try to find novel ideas and approaches to comedy, taking it to new heights while we hash and rehash same formula with nauseating frequency. I believe this is true because our right-wingers are also tight-wingers, and their raised eyebrows can scare away brilliance. Accordingly, since they mostly own the media, their approval or disapproval halts artistic expression in its conception. The British, on the other hand, are not afraid of rattling a few sensitivities.

In US, we do create different situations and settings, but the general formula usually stays the same. Do not the British stoop to formulaic situations? Surely, they do, but with what little I saw in their productions, their reverting to a formula stays inside the same production or sit-com series.

I adore the British comedies on TV. Since I can’t go to London for theater each season, I watch or tape the British sit-coms when we run across them on PBS or on a cable channel. One of my old favorites is “Alo, Alo,” a sit-com series, starring a Frenchman, a resistance-aiding but greedy café owner. About ten or more years ago, I used to watch it on the PBS channel. The storyline of the series were repetitive but cleverly and candidly repetitive, within the same series’s framework.

Coming back to the article, although the author hints at Shakespeare’s lack of inventiveness for not coming up with original plots, he also says, in comedy, the tale does not count as much as how it’s told. What he has so eloquently said on this subject made me smile, because it so corresponds to the way we revise our items in this tiny cyber community of ours in order to learn writing. “Adjust the volume, tweak the contours, refine the timing and, if need be, fiddle with the setting, and the hoariest yuck-fest can seem as dewy as a morning in May.” Still, the author's faulting Shakespeare did not sit too well with me, but to each his own.

Maybe in US, we needed to come up with our own Shakespeare, or at least, some version of him. Maybe then, our response to the hunger of our citizens for comedy would not stop at producing a horde of stand-up comics who think shocking the audience with foul language can mean a solid sense of humor.

At the end of the article, after wondering why the hit play “Boeing, Boeing,” shown in London’s West End, did not survive Broadway, the author says about London: “Who knows? Maybe it’s something in the water here, a microbe that breeds receptivity to silliness.”

I must be as silly as the British, even if I don't drink their water.

 

According to AP news, Tacoma, Washington transit workers are busybees installing speakers into Tacoma Mall Transit Center, to stop drug deals at the bus stop and other troubled sites. The idea comes from a psychologist and will serve to shake the routine to throw criminals off balance.

A city bus driver thought the idea could stir things even more. “The reason we don't have music on the buses is that you can't please everyone. It would just cause drama,” he said.

This makes me think that maybe psychologists should learn to drive buses to avoid false reasoning.

Not that I don’t appreciate sonatas, concertos and the like. I listen to them quite often when I write, especially Bach, Brahms and Beethoven. So far, they haven’t prevented me from bad writing.

On the positive side, drug dealers may learn to appreciate classical music, making their deals to, say, Diabelli Variations. Then, we might call their practice 'Highbrow Dealing.'

I just love funny news!

 

Sometimes--though not always--when I write in first person, a few readers here think the story is real. I’m so flattered, but if the story were to be my real-life story, I would choose personal or experience from the genre selection.

The funniest example of this took place about four or five years ago when a character at the end of a story announced her pregnancy. Following that, a few people e-mailed to congratulate me on my pregnancy. I told them a pregnancy would be a medical miracle at my age, although I admit some women older than me have given birth during this last year.

Now, the latest story "Invalid Item"  managed to make me of Mexican descent. I assure everyone, I have no Mexican blood in me that I know of, even if I adore Mexicans, but I am flattered and immensely flattered that four out of six reviewers thought so. As a matter of fact, the only true incident in that story I managed to sneak from my childhood memories into the writing is the recollection of a pond in the backyard with red fish in it and of a cat scooping out a fish to eat it alive. I remember bawling my eyes out for not being able to avert that catastrophe. That’s it.

But then, first person point of view does that. It gives intimacy with the readers, even if, when it comes to plot and motivation development, it may fall short. That is the reason most teachers advise writing students to use the third person, because then, the narrator is inside the minds of all the characters in the story. On the plus side, first person POV captures the personality and the voice of the narrator fully.

Probably, the most popular variation of the first person point of view is when the protagonist is the narrator, telling of the events that occurred to him from the way he sees things, subjectively. Sometimes this POV may be objective, but the feat is almost impossible to accomplish, even when it may be assumed that the protagonist has used and can use some introspection into his own psyche and into other characters effectively.

The other first person narrator can be a witness. Remember, “Call me Ishmael.”

Alternately, the third type of first-person can be a re-teller or the gossip monger who is relating a story he has heard.

There is yet another first person and not just one person but a group who tell the story from the first person plural point of view. This rare POV is also called the first person collective.

Maybe an untold pitfall for using the first person can be this: the limited nature of the first person may instigate the confusion of the writer with the character, even when the treatment of the story is less than perfect.

Oh well, I am flattered anyway.




 

Is social etiquette more important than one's individual rights? I asked myself this question after a comment to my Rat Meat entry.

In China, etiquette is, the commentor informed, you have to eat everything offered by the host. That should do it for some people and for the Olympic games that are going to be held in China. Not that I was planning to attend, but even if I were, I would have canceled the trip.

Yet, I shouldn't talk big, because this is not new to me. During a trip in Middle East, a few decades ago when Americans were not deemed as ugly, a host and hostess acted as if they were wronged by me, when I refused to eat more than my stomach could hold. "I cooked for you with my own two hands, and you are not eating. Maybe my cooking is not to your liking," the hostess said, acting slighted as if I murdered a member of her family.

This wasn't only with one household, but everywhere I went. Not only that, but people uttered the same refrain as if they were made to memorize it as soon as they learned to talk. Some even added a little more drama to it; others apologized for their ineptitude with the food. "I bought it only this morning. I swear it is fresh." "Did I make a mistake in cooking that dish?" "If you didn't like that dish, I have another one in the kitchen. We could order what you like, also." "You must have much better food in your country.So I understand you won't like ours..." etc,

Insistence by the hosts that you eat up, whether you like it or not or whether you can hold it or not, seems to be the accepted norm in quite a few places.

I believe, since everything is going global, a global etiquette's existence or at least its preamble is in order. If we had observed the global etiquette to start with, we would not have traipsed into other people's rights to eat, to dress, to believe, in short, to exist as they choose to; thus, in return, neither would they have into ours.

Something to think about!





 

I just read this in Yahoo News.

"As tasty as a truckload of rats

BEIJING (Reuters) - Live rats are being trucked from central China, suffering a plague of a reported 2 billion rodents displaced by a flooded lake, to the south to end up in restaurant dishes, Chinese media reported."

It seems a flood has hit Northern China where the rats have abounded. So they are being brought by truckloads to the Southern chic(!) areas.

There is more...from the Chinese news:
"Guangzhou people are rich and like to eat exotic things, so business is very good," it quoted a vendor as saying,"

I like exotic things, too, but not that exotic!

Now I'll go through the day, saying "eeeewww!"

I guess some in India are saying the same "eeeewww!" about our butcher shops.



 

When the news broke that Romney could take the new Florida governor as his running mate, I was delighted beyond belief. I am sure our governor will make a wonderful running mate, and God willing, a vice-president, which will mean Florida will need a new governor.

That is the idea! If only we could get Jeb Bush back!

After Jeb Bush, the new governor scared away the spineless property insurance companies by putting a cap and provisions on the rates. Then, several new fledgling insurance companies surfaced to make a mess of everything. Our new (!) insurance company changed our rate three times after we paid them in full. They still keep sending new stuff and confusing the population and themselves. Although we have paid up for the next year, I can’t trust this company or any other youngster company. The mature well-established companies have left the state or are on the verge of leaving.

The state’s insurance reform plan lowers rates by selling insurers discounted reinsurance. But the first few companies--ours included--to make rate filings have canceled announced rate reductions and instead are raising rates. If so, why did the governor scare away the good ones?

The new proposed rates are waiting for the state insurance commissioner’s review. After that, who knows!

I know it is easy to blame the companies for price gouging, because they do gouge the prices at every chance they get. Yet, isn’t it easier to pay a little more for insurance from a respectable company and feel safe in a state where almost every town is within the possibility of a hurricane hit each year than paying just as much or more money to a fledgling company that probably will not fulfill its promise?

The state is--supposedly--offering the insurance companies cheap reinsurance, and also is promising to provide every company in the state with a golden umbrella that will cover them in the event they have to pay for a real catastrophe. The reality is, in the last hurricane event, even the Florida-government-backed Citizens insurance has given a lot of trouble to its insureds.

Now that everyone is talking against the big insurance companies, it seems heresy to be siding with their greed. Still, as much as I don’t like to pay too much, I’d rather feel safe. After all, a $250,000 average home’s $3000-4000 yearly insurance rate in a hurricane zone should not have been any reason for carping. Imagine losing your entire home and belongings and getting paid two years later 20,000 for a 200,000 home and wasting your life in the courts, after you've paid up all your premiums through many years. Stories like this did happen quite a few times over.

At the end, our fledgling, not-so-believable new insurance company is still charging us much more than the old, stable company that promptly paid up for our losses, and the deductibles of the new company are much more. To start with, they are not covering the outside structures like the pool enclosure, the covered porch and the outside bathroom and storage area. The old bad(!) boys covered everything and paid up promptly.

All this insurance confusion is the result of new Florida governor’s doings. And I feel bad because I voted for him.

So, please, take Charlie and put him in the vice-presidential seat. He’ll be safe there.



 

Writing deserves the best possible emotion: passion. People who practice some form of Zen say: “The idea of writing is to be eager, to have a sense of wonder.”

Especially the professional must take care here; for he develops a mind-set that everything he does must be perfect the first time out. “Forget about it!” as the great Soprano man says. Any writer shouldn’t expect to be perfect at first draft.

“Be open. Don’t have expectations. Don’t think, do.” Yup! Don’t think, do! That’s why we have "Invalid Item" .

But, still, do we? Nope! I try, but do I? That is a question I ask myself every writing day.

We all want to be perfect right from birth, the first breath, the first word, the first sentence. Yet, the impulse that everything has to be perfect is a huge creativity killer. If you can’t fight your impulses, go for the opposite. Write several crappy pages. The world doesn’t stop and no one really notices, especially if you make at least one note-book or one book item “first draft only.”

Then, through the following revisions, you may pick out the good stuff, season the unpalatable, spice the combo and do what you want with your work. Then and only then, you’ll need to expect to stomach sincere criticism.

Picking out the good stuff may be tricky, too. At times, it will be like prospecting for gold. Sometimes you’ll have big chunks; other times you’ll need tweezers to pick out your good stuff.

Never say I only write in the bumblebee genre. Let yourself go when you write. Let your genre flow into other genres. Make mud, if you will. Mixing colors always brings a fresh approach, and even if it is only mud, it will be your mud.

You can be the most talented writer in the world, but if you are not sitting down and writing, what use is that talent? Or do you think your talent will blossom when it goes into hiding? Fat chance! I can’t tell if it is the same for everyone, but stopping for too long kills the daring and the enthusiasm. Given enough rope, unexpressed desire and creativity may shift shape into lowered moods and anger. That anger may even turn inward. Why chance it?

So write everyday. Write even if what you write is just a paragraph or one thousand paragraphs.

If your computer is down, if your hand is hurt, if you can’t see, you can still write. Use a pencil and paper. Use the back of a napkin. Write inside your head. Dictate something into a tape recorder. Creativity is active like water, for like water it needs to flow. If kept still, it turns into a mildewed, stale pool, attracting flies and disease.

Now that I have yakked and yelped on the subject…if I can only go and take my own advice…

 

Finally! I can write even if for a short while.

I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to put any two words together since I haven’t written in such a long time. A month really, but it felt like a century. It was the eye thing. Worst is the doctor says the eyes will take a year to fully recover. He is reluctant to prescribe glasses, yet.

He must have been expecting me to stay put. Haha! Fat chance! I bought two over-the-counter reading glasses. They are a big improvement over the magnifier. I raised the font size to largest and increased the dpi, which I suspect did a number on the mouse, but I can write; although the eyes need to take a rest every few minutes.

I did try to write during the whole ordeal with pencil on paper without seeing well. Some of the writing surfaced with lines all jumbled up. Later, they got a bit better, but by then, I felt disgusted and gave up.

Aside from the writing dilemma, other funny things happened. Since I kept breaking dishes and glasses in the kitchen, hubby suddenly got the urge for us to eat out. If I knew this was the trick, I would have thought of breaking things earlier. I have been feeling like a princess, now, although a useless, clumsy one; for on top of getting driven around, people suddenly have put themselves at my beck and call. Not bad! I don’t work anymore, or answer the phone, or take messages since, starting with me, no one can read what I write.

During the last month, I listened to books-on-tape, which means quite a few book reviews are glimmering on the horizon. Since I can see the distance much better, I can watch TV. TV viewing was never a favorite thing for me, but some of the extended cable channels are interesting and thank God for the DVD’s and music CD’s.

I might not have liked it at all, but this has been an experience which may have produced some material for writing. Well, each cloud has a silver lining, and I am glad to be easing myself into writing again.

 

No kidding!

I am worse than you know who, for I am going to throw a tantrum and rant in my old age. Paris Hilton cried her eyes out, not to face jail time. I am mad because my eyes are keeping me out of WC.

A few days ago, I had an eye surgery. I thought I would be perfectly okay, give and take a couple of days. Those who went through the same stuff (my husband and my cousin) chirped about their splendid sight right after their patch was removed: “I see so much better!”

Well, I don’t. I see so much worse.

I told the doctor to do something so I can at least go online. “For some, it takes longer,” he said like a frozen fish filet.

“I need to be on a certain site,” I begged.

He asked, “Which site?”

I answered, “Writing.com.”

He looked at me like I pulled a kangaroo out of a hat. “Oh, that… find something else to do.”

“You don’t understand. That is my oxygen,” I murmured.

“I can see how it can be important for some,” he said absentmindedly, pushing my chin onto the chin plate. “All the way over. Rest your forehead here, all the way up.”

As he shone a cobalt blue light into my eye, he murmured. “Some like online sites. I really cannot find time for such (pause) things.”

Afraid a four letter word that wouldn't be "love" or something like it could escape my lips, I shut up, replacing the pause in his last phrase with “frivolous.” Although he didn’t say it, now I am fuming at what he might have said, on top of the frustration over my wayward right eye.

The expression on my face must have threatened him, because he allowed me half an hour to an hour computer time and put hubby in the sentry shack.

Unfortunately, when this eye heals, I’ll have to go through the same thing with the left eye, and I can’t help remembering Shakespeare: “Kill all the lawyers!”

Today, I can replace “lawyers” with another profession easily.

I wonder how Paris Hilton got that sheriff to break out of jail.

I might need a sheriff after all this or the sheriff might come after me for replacing the profession Shakespeare named (ahem!) with another certain one.




 

During the 1970’s on Long Island, my husband and I bought tickets to a Tony Bennett concert. When we went there, they announced that Tony Bennett had come down with the flu and Julius La Rosa was going to take his place. They said they’d return the money to those who didn’t want to stay. Nobody asked for a refund and everyone stayed. We all had a wonderful time with Julius La Rosa's magnificent voice, then dancing and dinner that was part of the deal.

At the time, Julius La Rosa was a show host on the radio and I used to listen to him. During the dancing we met many people we knew among the crowd. Among them were a finance advisor and his wife, a couple of good friends, my appliance repairman and his wife, several couples from my husband’s job, an old neighbor, and several other people we had met here and there.

The reason I am telling all this is because on the local PBS channel tonight they have a program of oldies going on, called “Moments to Remember,” and Julius La Rosa sang a few songs, his fantastic voice still intact. As soon as I saw him, curiosity killed the cat. I asked my husband the name of the hotel this event was held. I even told him that a part of the place was being renovated and they had separated by a curtain the stage and the hall where the tables and the dancing took place. He barely remembered it, and neither of us could remember the name of the hotel.

When something like this--no matter how insignificant--starts to bug me, I have to find it out. Not one word we tossed in between us sounded right. A simple Google search didn’t produce any results, not even on LongIslandHistory.com.

We dared to call a friend who still lives on Long Island. He and his wife didn’t remember it, either, but they said Marriott has a hotel in its place. Googling Marriott didn’t give any results. By this time, I was going nuts. If I had Julius la Rosa’s or Tony Bennett’s phone numbers, I’d have called them; no kidding!

Then, suddenly, the name Motor Lodge popped into my head. When I googled Hauppauge Motor Lodge, I found someone had a page on it, but called it motel from hell and he had a picture. This motel’s name was Olympic Motor Lodge and it didn’t look anything even close to the fancy place we went. Then hubby reminded me that we had dined with another couple at a Greek restaurant called Olympic Restaurant around that place, and that’s how I remembered it.

I still wouldn’t give up. The curiosity was killing me. I googled Hauppauge 1970 Lodge. Bad bait; nothing bit. While I was struggling, wallowing, lurching, and reeling with any name that popped into my head, I found a tiny entry that showed a lawsuit by or against a Colonie Hill Complex. That was it! I screamed. I checked with hubby if he remembered the name Colonie Hill. He said it had to be, because it was so, so familiar to him.

Then I googled 1970 Hauppauge Colonie Hill Hotel NY. Yessss, it was there. Actually there were several entries, some of them obits; nevertheless, that was it.

Phew!

The things I do to myself!

I wonder if Koontz can come up with a horror story related to forgetting names and titles.




 

I am reading Inés of My Soul (Inés del Alma Mia), Isabel Allende’s latest book. I love the book; however, it seems to me the women writers of today are writing historical fiction with almost accurate historical facts, but by giving a stronger voice to the women of older eras. Laura Esquivel, the writer of books like Like Water for Chocolate and The Law of Love, too, has written such a book called Malinche. Malinche was a real woman and a mythic figure as Hernán Cortés's interpreter and lover, and she accompanied the conquistador on his travels in the New World.

Malinche is on my reading list. The preliminary introductions to the book Malinche claim that Laura Esquivel, too, wrote her novel by making the woman heroine sound stronger than and almost as liberated as the women of today.

Yet, I doubt that these women could be as strong in those days. The understanding then was misogynistic in the entire world, because cultures deemed women to be nuisances and impediments to the success of men who were made to undertake “serious” tasks and responsibilities. True, in the literature of earlier centuries, women are sometimes thought of as being more compassionate and understanding of the suffering of others, but this was hailed as a weakness, not a virtue (Schopenhauer - "On Women")

If we remember the witch hunts of European nations between sixteenth and eighteenth centuries and the accusations of all kinds against women by the entire societal structure with men and women alike, Inés Suárez’s witty, knowledgeable, brave, and conquistador-like actions and her handling of men bordering on control appear to be wishful thinking by Isabel Allende.

This is not so bad if Inés Suárez were to become a role model; however, the concept in the novel feels to be very far from the truth and it may minimize the original problem. The question is: Wouldn’t it be more serving to women’s rights efforts to tell the truth as it was and show how women were underrated in history?

My belief is--inside the general apology of the Roman Catholic Church--Pope John Paul II’s apology for the actions against the dignity of women and minorities helped more than the fictionalized characters of strong women in history. Making a woman so strong--as she had not been in real life--may reflect a society’s tolerance for women. Yet, it wasn’t so in those days. There was no tolerance toward women's success. That is not to say that there weren’t strong women in those days, but maybe they used more cunning and wits to get their way; otherwise, they would be done away with.

Anyhow, I mean no disrespect to Allende’s writing prowess, and she is one of my favorite writers. The book is well written and I hate to put it down. I’ll write a book review as soon as I finish reading it, even if the characteristics of this historical heroine may be more fictional than real.

 

Someone mentioned this morning that European Union had decided some time ago to put the Europeans on diet because they were getting so fat. And we thought we were the only ones!

A search gave this information from April 23 from Reuters: “Europe is facing major health and social burdens and the rise in obesity is reaching "epidemic" proportions, the 15th European Congress on Obesity in Budapest was told on Sunday.”

Budapest, maybe, but I can’t remember seeing so many obese people in Western Europe. A very few plump and happy ones here and there, and that was it. Not as much as I have been observing the overflowing girths around here during the recent years.

If terra firma had built-in weight scales, our country’s measure would sink the continent. When it comes to putting it on, we must be breaking all the records. Otherwise, why would Jay Leno start or finish quite a few of his quips with “How fat are we getting?”

Comics know everything. They have to. If they didn’t, they couldn’t find any material to make fun of. Maybe it is a better idea to just listen to comics to get the current news. Real news has turned tabloid and is either trying to scare us or modern newscasters are, in reality, fiction writers.

Coming back to the fiction of fat in Europe, I wonder if size zero, one, two, and three French models have managed to reach to size four. Now, that must be alarming. I wonder if this is why some of the diet pills first originate in European labs.

But then, if Europeans are getting chubbier, why did the publications on the subject of French women never getting fat become best sellers? Also, what happened to the famed Mediterranean diet? Or is it do as I say and not as I do?

Maybe what is happening to Europe has something to do with us. Maybe we are the new super-sized invaders super sizing everybody.


 

Apaches have detailed names and lists for animals and plants and any one land’s topography. Eskimo speech contains several different words for snow’s surface. European languages have two second person pronouns whereas English has one. It is amazing how the language of a group or a nation reflects its culture, especially the part of it that concerns family relationships.

Aborigines who are said to have social control through kinship have a long complex vocabulary for kinship terms. It was surprising to me to learn that in some Middle Eastern languages the uncles, aunts, and grandparents were given different names according to their kinship as for being on the mother’s side or on the father’s side.

This may mean that the language reflects the structuring of reality pertinent to the group one comes from. This may also mean that linguistic patterns limit sensory perceptions and thinking.

The question is: Can we really judge another nation’s realities objectively, if we do not completely understand or know their language well?

This line of thought came to me because of the stoning death of a Kurdish girl who fell in love with a man her family did not approve.

Now that we are all up in arms over this and the other side takes the defensive approach, how do we close the gap where human rights are concerned? How do we stop the unnecessary bloodshed and unhappiness successfully, without stepping into other people’s bounds?

I am thinking maybe language has something to do with it. Maybe those languages need new words and new concepts introduced to them.

Take the computer, for example. Every nation understands our basic computer terms, even if they have substituted their versions of those terms. Since computers and most computer terminology can be said to be more tangible--compared to social mores, rites and rituals--this might have been easier.

I wonder if we can do that same revolution with the intangibles, those concepts that we could demonstrate and also those we could learn from others. I wonder if we can apply what we did with the computer and internet terms to the solution of human rights problems.

Just a thought.
 

With pairs of love bugs (the tiny flies) ending up splattered all over the place but especially on the cars, all the cars around here make South FL as if the place was doused with black rain. For some reason or another, the bugs choose the roads and highways as their mating ground, ruining the finishes on the vehicles as well as losing their lives.

This is the way they do their stuff according to Phil Koehler, the urban entomologist at the University of Florida: “"Love Bugs are small flies that are in the process of mating when they swarm over the roads. So usually there are two individuals: the large one is the female and the small one is the male. The female usually gets her way and she drags the male around with her." Smart lady! Even if half of the time they are both flattened on the cars’ windshields and grills…

Luckily, this is only seasonal and lasts a few short weeks. Usually, we take this on the chin with patience, but this year with the drought and water restrictions, we can’t even hose the cars down.

Florida’s Environment Studies people say the bugs don’t do well during a drought, but someone must have been assessing something wrong, because this year, they are impossible.

Controlling them is impossible, too, because one: As beneficial insects, the immature bugs help break down organic matter. And two: No control methods exist. Anything that could control them would kill bees and butterflies also.

Anyhow, in our town, houses with the odd numbers can water the lawn or use the hose between 5-7 PM Mondays and Wednesdays, the even numbers get Tuesdays and Thursdays. Since half the population is in their senior years, most forget which day of the week we are on. To be on the safe side, no one on my street waters anything.

This was one of the reasons we told ourselves why we took the car to the car wash today. The real reason is sloth.

Car wash establishments are exempt from the water restrictions. Luckily this is not the type of carwash place where you sit inside the car as it goes through all that sudsy scrubbing and spraying. $11:99 for full service sounds like a great deal and we usually take the car there. Today, they had a sign up. “Removal of love bugs is $4 extra.” But if you add to it the gas used up while waiting in line for forty-five minutes with the motor running, it becomes a pricey posh job.

I was cracking jokes like, “The Arabs must have started these car wash businesses,” but when our turn came and we exited the car, a horde of people who looked as if they were from south of the border dashed through all four doors, vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing. God, they were so hard-working…really. I have half a mind of inviting them to my house.

Then, we entered inside the store to pay and to watch from the large glass windows the cars sliding through as they got a thorough cleaning. The store offers a multitude of bric-a-bracs, mostly cutesy stuff, for the car owners. I am not a thing person, because things need dusting and I rather keep the dusting to minimum in my house; however, it was fun watching them as if I was in a museum of sorts while hubby paid up. The car came out perfectly clean.

Then, on the way home, it got splattered with love bugs all over again. This time it was WD 40 to the rescue, because that is just about the only thing that takes them out. We can’t leave the remains of the love bugs on the car. They eat into the finish.

Did we really need to go to the carwash place if we had to work on the car again? You bet. I enjoyed the whole thing and all the people in the store I made small talk with.
 

I received a Mothers' Day card from an old friend who advised me to do something nice for myself. She says in the card, "Gift yourself a specific time, during which you let go of e-mail and let your voice mail answer any phone calls."

Hahahahaha! As nice as she is and as well as this may work for her, not answering my mail or phone would kill me, being the wacky person that I am. Anyhow, most of the time, I don't feel rushed, and when I do, I like the rush. I guess to each her own.

This brings me to the advice books that come in nice, neat, little packages with meditations etc. These I believe are money-making gimmicks for their writers, but are not really useful for the public. If they worked, one book or one CD or tape of relaxation would be enough for the entire population.

On the other hand, each such book I glimpsed into lately is the boiled over, stale revision of the same idea. I have to say, "Writers, beware! You are turning into the bad reruns on TV."

For me, what works is listening to music, or walking on the beach, or because of the storm Andrea's washing out our beaches, walking through a nursery and enjoying the flowers. Then, I like to sit and enjoy a good book, also. And if in the middle of it the phone rings, I can answer that, too.


 

I asked hubby not to get cut flowers for me, because when they die off in a week or so, I feel abandoned. Poor me!

So on mothers day, yesterday, he brought two roses bushes instead. I was so happy that I felt I had to put them in the garden right away.

Surely, the thorns got me. One may say I deserve it since I don't like garden gloves too much. They have a way of getting in between the soil and me and also the flowers and me.With things I love, I don't want middlemen in between.

So while I was trying to get the thorns off the top of my hand, a spider bit me on the arm. I don't know what is with those spiders and me. There may be a thousand people and one spider. The spider will leave 999 people alone, but it'll bite me.

They say spiders are ancient animals that go back millions of years and they are useful since they control the insect population. Maybe it took me for an insect or maybe it thought I was as ancient as it, so it didn't want my rivalry. Weird thing is, I didn't feel the sting at first, although I saw the thing scurrying away.

Next thing I know, my arm became Popeye's arm without eating the spinach. Luckily, we always have a cortizone cream and Benadryl at hand.

Then a friend dropped by with his little daughter in tears. It seems that an alligator ate her pet ducks. Alligators are getting braver around here since we are having a drought and they are looking for other ground, and also, maybe the smoky air from all the fires is making them crazy.

Anyway, while looking at the balloon that says "world's greatest mom" floating from the back of my chair, I am glad that my children, too, came to visit with gifts and their precious smiles.

I am also glad that at least spiders like me and not alligators.

There's always a worse thing that can happen to you.

Although it has been an itchy Mothers' Day, I loved it all. It was just like life in general.

 

Today I wanted to write a book review, but since we have roofers on top of us working on the leftover problem from hurricane Wilma, it will have to wait, because I escaped to the other side of the house, away from my computer on account of the noise on top. I am now writing on the laptop that I take out once in a blue moon, but writing on this one is no fun.

We are lucky that the roofers are here again, before the hurricane season starts on June1, or did it already start? Remember Andrea, which has been eating at the coastline?

When it comes to roofers, people advise to get three estimates and choose the best one among them. This makes me laugh so hard...After a hurricane, you are lucky if you can get one roofer to come.

Our roof, not exactly the one on top of the house but the side roof on the extension, was totally redone after Francis and Jeanne (isn't it something that I am on a first name basis with the hurricanes!) and was refixed after Wilma, but then, we got a few drops of rain coming in inside the porch, in a season where rains are scarce and we have a serious draught to boot.

At the moment, the noise is inside the house because the extension's roof has to be reattached to the main roof. Let's hope they leave the main roof intact.

When this roofer showed up after calls to several of them in the yellow pages, I think five or maybe seven (Yellow pages because the roofers we used in the past have skipped town), my husband said okay to the price he gave, right away. "Draw up the contract," he said. Even the roofer was surprised.

I would have done the same thing though. You don't think about these things. When it comes to roofers, there is no time for contemplation. If you find a roofer around here, you hang on to him for dear life, even if they sell you the Verrazano bridge.

Not that I would buy the Verrazano Bridge...For one thing it is too far away from where I live. But then, maybe I could resell it for a week's stay in Marriott Marquis. Hotels in NYC are a hoot.

All this noise is getting to my head. I am also annoyed at myself to be hitting two keys at the same time on this laptop.

So the review for "Whale Season" and whatever I need to write on a computer has to wait.

I think I'll go sharpen my pencils now.

 

Last night I went out to eat at a seaside restaurant with hubby, son, and daughter in-law. Hubby always says I hear everything going on around me and he is right. I can’t help being interested in my surroundings, and when I overheard someone giving a salsa recipe to another person in the next table, I had to write it down.

The lady says to start with half a bottle or measure of your favorite salsa and add to it chopped onions, crushed red peppers, basil and garlic seasoning blend, minced garlic, half a carrot, half a red onion, half a bell pepper and half a white onion grated. Stir it together and you’ve got a healthy salsa for Cinco de Mayo. Then don’t forget to use corn chips for dipping.

As to Cinco de Mayo, it happened after Mexicans lost the Spanish American war, but declared independence. Since during the war Mexico had incurred war debts to a few European nations, mainly England, France and Spain and was not at the moment to able to pay them back, then Mexican president Benito Juarez declared a moratorium for two years against paying debts.

In 1862 the three European countries dispatched their fleets to Mexico to collect what was owed to them in land rights. A Mexican government official met them and explained that Mexico accepted its debts, but at the time was unable to pay them and offered payment warrants in exchange.

England and Spain accepted Mexico’s offer, but the good ole’ France, the nation that carries the flag of freedom only in jest, decided to invade Mexico and put a French monarch as the head of state abolishing the newly constituted Mexican Republic. To do that French armies had to cross the state of Puebla to get to the capital of Mexico, Mexico City.

Ignacio Zaragoza, as the general, fortified the city of Puebla to repel the well-equipped, powerful French army. Zaragoza led 5000 people with barely working arms and defeated the French on the 5th of May 1862. This victory became the holiday celebrated all over Mexico where each city has its square for the fiesta to animate the people with music, laughter, and vibrant colors. There are mariachi bands, dancing, fooling around, and shows.

At Peñón de los Baños, a small barrio in Mexico City, the people organize a representation of the Cinco de Mayo battle. During most of the celebrations “mole” is served. Mole is a popular, thick spicy sauce that comes from blending more than forty ingredients, and is spread on top of turkey or chicken and Mexican style red rice.

Going back to the French invasion: Later on, French invaded Mexico and imposed Maximilian of Hapsburg as Mexico’s emperor in 1864. As an ironic turn in the events, Maximilian loved Mexico and valued its liberal party but was executed at the end when the Mexican generals and Benito Juarez took Mexico back. The last words of Maximilian were: "I die in a just cause. I forgive all, and pray that all may forgive me. May my blood flow for the good of this land. Viva Mexico!"

Happy Cinco de Mayo to the Mexicans and their American friends!


 

We are having a severe water shortage in Southeast Florida. They say even if we go into the rainy season, which took its time showing up this year, the shortage may continue for a few more years.

The few clouds that show up on the radar screens, float out to the ocean. Every day, the weathermen tell us it will rain, but we don't get a drop. Okeechobee Lake that provides water to the area is several feet lower than the drought level and that is scary.

It isn't just we don't have enough water that is worrisome. Dry brush and other vegetation catch fire on its own under the hot subtropical sun. A few years ago, in our town, forty plus homes were destroyed. Just yesterday, fire from the everglades burned two homes.

Luckily, officials are on the job. We under water restriction laws. Watering the lawns is limited to one day a week for within four hours between 4-8 AM. Yesterday, someone was arrested and put to jail for flicking a burning cigarette on the ground. Burning anything is out.

We are not turning on the faucets full blast. Letting the water come threadlike does as much cleaning, anyhow. I started saving the water from washing the produce and giving it to the plants. They say any water we use should go on the ground, so it could seep underground.

On the west coast, Tampa has a plant that takes water from the ocean and takes the salt and other impurities out of it for use in the homes. I think those types of plants should start showing up in every coastal city in this state.

Although we get the highest amount of rain yearly here, most of it evaporates due to the heat. I remember, about ten years or so ago, we were getting so much rain even sudden showers from a cloud or two that used to emerge abruptly out of the blue sky. The rainy season used to start sometime in March. Now it is May...and nothing. If we get rain, it is like a drizzle, which immediately evaporates.

Although subtropics sometimes show inexplicable weather patterns, I am wondering if this year's draught has something to do with the climate change. In the meantime, we are keeping our fingers crossed for a little bit of rain.


 

Yet another man is in trouble for not keeping his mouth shut.

“Oh dear tongue, I should cut you in pieces,” my mother used to say when she blurted out something unwittingly. Maybe the venom, if it is venom, should stay inside the mouths, but is that what we really want?

I am not going to defend Imus for what he said. Even if it is indefensible, it is one man’s opinion, but what Imus said might be said in jest a la Lenny Bruce.

Also, it isn't likely that those college girls will be scarred for life because Imus said what he said.

Possibly it was offensive; I can’t tell, since I didn't know what ho or nappy was. We weren't thought these things and I don't listen to those awful rap lyrics either. And who made the rule that greens can utter some words freely as “culture,” while purples cannot mention those?

I used to listen to Imus on the radio until a couple of decades ago in New York. The man did not have a racist cell in him, then. I stopped listening to "Imus in the Morning" when we moved away. Later, I saw him a few times on the morning TV briefly, but what I heard was bitter and nasty. So I stopped.

Lots of people say lots of nasty things on the airways. What Imus said could have been ugly and distasteful. The man has gained a nasty aura lately anyhow. While similar things have been spilling out of him for years as he cantankerously attacked people right and left, why do we assail Imus now for this one thing?

Whether Imus said whatever he said knowingly or not, I think the matter is overblown. There was no need to make this the event of the century like the way it was done to a police officer because of one politically incorrect word in the OJ Simpson trial, which resulted in an unjust court decision.

What really makes me question the motives is, when we have so many problems lurking over our heads, why so much importance had to be given to this.

Also, I worry about silencing people. What will be next? Shall we start jailing the news reporters as in third world countries? Or maybe we are already doing that.