Category Archives: appreciation

I Steal and Feel No Remorse

What happens to someone when all of their ideas become stale or regurgitated?

What if they are so unindustrious  that everyone else alive today can seemingly take a common theme and work it so masterfully that it resounds with others but even with a shiny spin and some skillful smoke and mirrors moves you STILL can’t get it to develop properly?

Notice that initially the mystery person in question here could have been anyone and now suddenly it’s mutated into me?

Yeah, I’m out of steam. So what?

It happens every single year at the same time just like clockwork. There’s the inevitable whining about how busy my life is and how difficult it’s become to type out a couple hundred measly words that don’t even have to conform to any sort of well written standard.

Or maybe I give you the sob story of a difficult year, with difficult kids.

Then I get a huge God complex where I INSIST that the rules of grammar and nature don’t even apply to me because I’m trying to bear my soul to you goddamnit and you will NOT entwine me in your meaningless minutiae!

Whah whah.


Last month my buddy at 20 Prospect crafted a post about the Invisible Sun, (which gives its heat to everyone, RIGHT STING?) and I found myself scratching my matted head, dumbfounded because I too had a post titled “Invisible Sun” in my draft section.

What are the odds?

 Realistically, the odds for me are slightly higher due to the deeply felt love and adoration I harbor for the three divinely talented and  impossibly adorable members of the STILL defunct POLICE.


But I digress.


So here is the original post that I kinda stole from Gordon Sumner and sorta pilfered from Tom and I don’t really fucking care because there are people starving somewhere. Or so my mom says.

Did you ever happen upon one of those people who has heat radiating out from every pore, warming everyone they come in contact with during the day? Like a compact version of your own personal invisible sun? You can almost see the little joy explosions erupting from their surface and the little baby magma splatters hit your arm and become instantly infectious rendering you powerless to stop their migration straight to your cold, hard, jaded innards.

There is nothing not to love about these guys. In a world overrun with life vampires who try to suck the wind out of your sails and the happy from your soul these sparkling gems of humanity are a rare and delightful find. Like the caramel milk chocolate prize in the fruity gel filled crapfest that is the Whitman Sampler.

When I find one of these people, I just marvel at their goodness and then I latch on to them and try to ride the well-tailored hem of their coattails for as long as humanly possible in the hopes that some of it rubs off on me.

Who wouldn’t want to be attached to someone who will fill your world with YES and can simultaneously override the inborn Moro reflex that tries to prevent you from taking the inevitable fall you will have when you let go of this fast-moving dynamo?

There are days I feel that only a truly industrial sized steel wool pad could scour the rot from my soul but then the invisible sun comes along and scorches it to ash with the blinding heat of positive thinking and the intensity of twin stars going super nova.

You gotta love a bitch who burns with such brutal ferocity and the conviction of righteousness! I should knit her a cape.



Filed under 20 prospect, analogies gone wrong, andy summers, appreciation, are there any new ideas, aspirations, back to regularly scheduled programming, Do sociopaths feel remorse, I'm shallow, people who radiate goodness, stealing isn't as bad as it sounds, the police

We’ll Make It Up As We Go Along


Today I’m supposed to miraculously appear in three place within the window of one hour so I’m finding myself taking deep breaths and continuously repeating the phrase “where do you belong?” just to make sure I’m on track.

It’s easy to understand why anti anxiety meds would be beneficial at this juncture to prevent my head from walking right off my shoulders and exploding in the corner .

The whole gang is in transit as I write this in my mind but as soon as we get to stop #1 I am considering authorizing the youngest childs expulsion from the itinerary. The song he is singing about “woodchuck penis” just won’t fly during brunch.

Someone is trying to talk me into extending this bizarre traveling circus for an hour or two by adding a fourth place they would like us to be today, but I’m closing the curtain on this performance for good.

Our little troupe of acrobats and high fliers are burnt out and they need a well deserved rest. Their leader has long forgotten paperwork and important documents piling up in skyscraper type mounds that threaten to fall over and become hopelessly out-of-order. That woman really needs to get it together.

Soon, close friends will be boarding planes for trans Atlantic flights, we will be shaking hands with strangers and welcoming them to DC and suitcases will be zipped up and thrown in the back of cars for yet another road trip.


Filed under adversity, appreciation, overscheduling, running around, saying goodbye, saying hello

This Is My Life

One hamburger off the grill. Served with love.

Greetings from the sandy shores of Sandbridge!

Right now I’m bent over sideways on my balcony to suck up all the internet connectivity humanly possible since service for my iPhone among other things has been spotty at  best during our stay here but my cramped neck and twisted spine shouldn’t be a cause for concern as I’ve got two  bottles of wine and all evening to kill them.

Holy run on sentence. How to write well clearly not an influence on that last one.

My husband and oldest son are grilling marinated meats while the rest of my extended family (aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.) are rocking the pasta with marinara from an ancient Sicilian recipe passed down from the decidedly more violent side of the family.

I’ve handcrafted  a miniature Stonehenge with a Jenga knock off game called “Timber” and my shoulders have come down from around my ears as the stress ebbs away.

Sand, surf and seagulls for a few more days and then  back to my regular grind…I promise.

waiting for the perfect wave while mom drinks wine


Filed under appreciation, beach vacation

For Those Who Helped Us Rock, We Salute You

We're with the band. Or at least we like to pretend we are.

It’s been over twenty years since I last ran screaming down an alley after a hastily retreating tour bus hollering for its occupants to validate my existence with a wave or a smile. So tonight in order to honor the girl I was and the bands that played on the soundtrack of my youth, I plan to eat a generous helping of humble pie. I’ve spent so much time demanding my pound of flesh from defunct 80’s supergroups that I forgot to take a moment to say thank you. That’s right, I stand before Stewart, Sting, & Andy and give thanks for all the albums, the rigorous touring schedule and  the peroxide. You were the cherry on the cake of an almost perfect decade. While I wish I hadn’t been outfitted in wool jumpers, knee socks and pig tails so that I could have whored around backstage with the rest of the  groupie skanks that  hung barnacle like in the  concrete hallways leading to the dressing rooms, I still had a great time stalking them under the watchful eye of my befuddled parents. This also gives me the added advantage of NOT being riddled with numerous STD’s , so for that I’m also grateful. The Cure, R.E.M., the Go Go’s, The Smith’s, Squeeze, the B-52’s etc. thank you for all the fun. 

After careful consideration I also realized I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to the brothers Copeland, hell the ENTIRE Copeland family for having a hand in crafting the careers of over half of the bands I listened to as a kid. 

Warning: Uncalled for off topic rant coming….. 

Here I would like to go off on a massive tangent related to the above mentioned family. The Copeland family connection is clearly the vital missing link in the history books between overwhelming  band success or failure. Clearly, being a Copeland carries with it the implication that it is genetically impossible to fail. I think they even tried it once or twice, but it didn’t work. Failure = sticky eggs. Copeland’s= teflon pan. It just falls off of them and onto the floor. Sunday brunch with this clan must be hell. Can you imagine how fraught with boasting and one-upmanship this meal is? Hey, I single-handedly changed the entire middle east! I just wrote two well received books-WHILE I WAS SITTING HERE! Oh yeah, I composed two operas, founded a band that took over the world, wrote a book , produced seven kids, and wrote and directed a movie! I just quietly prevented Armageddon using only the power of my mind (that last one was   Miles, he scares me). 

I hate to think what would have become of me had I not had all this great music to distract me from my school work and what could have been a higher calling. I suspect that I could have amounted to something fairly important (doctor, lawyer, missionary?) or I could have just flailed around blindly and become a classic rock fan with bad hair and too much Covergirl charcoal black eyeliner.  But, it is as it was meant to be. New Wave and I found each other and the rest is history.


Filed under 1, andy summers, appreciation, brain waves, crazy ramblings, fun, groupies, music, new wave music, powerful families, saying thank you, stewart copeland, sting, the police

What’s Up Buttercup?

40: Oh hi 12-year-old self it’s me twenty-eight years in the future, how are you?

12: Holy crap ,are you kidding me?!

40: No, no not kidding .I’m here to let you know that in the future you will type on a computer and be able to communicate with people from all over the world not just play pong on your Atari gaming system or asteroids on the Intellivision system that your mom, whoops I mean Santa, is going to bring you next Christmas!

12: What? Wait, there’s no santa? FUCK, I knew it! But Intellivision, that’s awesome, Cathy Fermaint will shit her pants when she finds out! She thinks she’s so hot with all her Atari games – well screw her and her mastery of space invaders. NO ONE will be going over THERE after school anymore. Has been.

40: Also 12-year-old self ,I have some news about The Police.

12:You mean the biggest band in the universe? You should see the new poster I just got at Sam Goody….so dreamy…..

40: Yes. After the Synchronicity tour they just vanish in a puff of smoke with no real explanation. They go their separate ways and it takes them over twenty years to tour again. And….I have more bad news…

12 : Oh god what? Does one of them die?

40: No, no. But.. you miss the tour.

12:WHAT?! What kind of stupid moron misses something like that? It’s bad enough that you look like this at 40, I mean, don’t they have super ray guns in the future to blast off those wrinkles and destroy that grey? God, what type of horrible fate is this? Can I prevent this from happening?

40: You are getting off track 12-year-old self. Ignore what I look like, it’s been a rough day in 2009 and I had like NO personal time today, otherwise I would have at least colored my hair. I’ve got, well I guess we’ve got, three demanding kids, two dogs and a husband.

12: OH.MY.GOD. Please tell me it’s not Dominik Leonetti!!!

40: Oh lord no. And for what it’s worth I was glad to see you cold cock him after that incident with Jennifer White and the kickball team. No you , well we, marry a wonderful guy. He’s a musician!

12: Oh shit is it Stewart Copeland!?? Please tell me we get married!!!!

40: No 12-year-old self it isn’t Stewart, he’s happily married with like four hundred kids.

12: Four hundred!?

40: Well more like seven, but still as anyone with kids knows that can feel like four hundred. But listen 12-year-old self we digress, I need you to do something for me.

12: What is it?

40: All those albums, cassette tapes, photo books everything you’ve got- keep them.


40: And another thing, make sure you pester your parents to take you to see The Police live instead of that dreadful Duran Duran concert you will be seeing with your friends. Heed my words for this will be your biggest regret.

12:Fine, but can I ask you a question?

40: Sure.

12: What has happened to my ass?

40: Well 12-year-old self, it has fallen. That shit happens after three kids and no amount of propping it up or stair climbing will help. So enjoy that body for all it’s worth for about eighteen more years.

12: Wow, that freaking sucks. Okay then, it’s been great talking to you but Vicky and Julie are waiting for me so we can walk to Stout Steve’s and buy Creem magazine and maybe even Tiger Beat.

40: You know it wasn’t exactly easy getting here to tell you this, maybe we could just sit and chat for a bit. There is so much going on in the future, it’s spectacular.

12: So , they can’t figure out a way to get rid of fat, wrinkles or grey hair?

40: No.

12: Did anyone find a cure for cancer?

40: Well no, but there’s….

12: Ah, ah, ah. I think I’ve heard enough about this “future” you speak of. Be gone scary lady with your bad hair and ill-fitting clothes. I want no more bad news.

40: Okay then. Good luck you plucky little metal mouthed girl. Enjoy the ride!

12: I will!


Filed under 1, 40 year old self talking to 12 year old self, 70's and 80's, appreciation, being prepared, crazy ramblings, music, stewart copeland, sting, Stony Point, the police, time travel

Be Prepared and Be Scared

My Girl Scouts are hardcore. I have been a Brownie/Girl Scout leader for over four years now and there is a new found appreciation in this house for all things green. These chicks have gathered their own firewood, cooked their own meals, caught their own fish, removed numerous bloodsucking ticks from their bodies, paddled kayaks and canoes, fearlessly chased what appeared at first to be bigfoot (but turned out to be a massive long haired dingo type wild beast) into dark woods, brushed their teeth with bark and relieved themselves in a hand dug trench just outside the encampment. I salute you Girl Scouts of America.

Don't cross us.

Don't cross us.

Leave a comment

Filed under Adventure, appreciation, girl scouts, respect, tough cookies

Genuine, Real and Right on the Money

Generally gatherings of two or more of any of my current girlfriends (lifelong, newly acquired, work related or neighbors-it makes no difference) starts with drinks, laughs and funny stories.  Then, seemingly out of nowhere comes the age old sport of the husband smack down. This bitch fest covers everything from a spouse forgetting an important holiday (birthdays, anniversaries, Valentines Day) to shirking familial responsibilities (my long time friend Jenn gave me that line- and included in her rant was the lack of laundry, kid rearing, cooking and cleaning that her husband did). I usually twirl my baton of hate and resentment along with the others for a little while, but then I find myself starting to drift away from the pity party as I realize that my husband is not suffering from many of these shortcomings.  He cooks, he cleans, he does virtually ALL my grocery shopping and he has bought me tampons every month for the last ten years.  The cherry on the ice cream Sunday of  this good husbandry is his willingness to do his own laundry and to put my kids to bed religiously every evening so I can take a breath after a long day. Who among us hasn’t occasionally looked down at their snoring uncommunicative spouse collapsed next to them and wondered “Who is this guy?” “Why is he snoring so loud?” “Why should I have to leave the room to hear my television show because he’s such a buffoon?” but I’ve got to admit that for me the good FAR outweighs the bad. I’ve had my moments where I found myself so furious over a minor infraction that I thought I heard a chorus of “Sisters are Doin’ for Themselves” as I marched down the alley toward my car fuming. Then all of a sudden,  the needle jumped a groove and screeched across the whole LP as reality set in and I admitted to myself that we really do have a 80/20 household. I’ll give you a hint who has the 20%. Shamed, I turned around, walked back up the alley and into my house where my husband was waiting with the iced tea he had just purchased for me at 7/11.

So it is with shock and horror that I share this bit from an email I unearthed while going through old items to archive. It was originally sent five years ago to my cousin Beth and showcases what an angry whining princess sounds like when she is hormonal ( I was pregnant with Sam) and not getting everything she wants the second she wants it. After I read it, I sat back and took the time to be truly aghast. What really struck me was the murderous tone it had and how skewed my sense of reality was.

Email to Beth

The Kite

It all started with a simple purchase from the toy store while on vacation at my sister in laws house and grew to represent everything  from ignoring the responsibilities of fatherhood to excessive drinking, smoking and oversleeping while I dragged my pregnant ass around taking care of two kids from dusk until dawn.

Every time I saw the eagle kite go soaring high in the air on the other side of the fence in their yard I felt a swelling of violent rage as I imagined him leisurely unfurling it and watching it lift quietly and serenely into the sky.  In reality, I wanted to be the free one on the opposite side of the fenced in yard  with the Olympic pool, spending hours not being responsible for anything. I suppose I wouldn’t have had such blinding hatred towards the kite and all it represented if it hadn’t been suspended in quiet tranquility for hours at a time over my head mocking me and my inferior parenting skills.  I also had to endure the laid back laughter of Chuck and his extended family out there gazing along with the neighbors at the gently billowing eagle kite that gave so much joy to the whole block.  Everyone was on the other side learning lessons I imagine only the kite could teach, while I remained festering poolside watching Elizabeth and Gavan try not to drown.  

  Nice, negative Nancy.  Later on I attributed all this negativity to the hormones of pregnancy but it is hard to ignore the facts.  I spent an entire week isolated from all the wonderful adults in the house, not getting any kind of break and without anyone really noticing.  That remains a lesson for me to this day. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, or you too may pen an email like this where you are  fantasizing about putting cigarettes out in your husbands eye sockets when he clearly has done NOTHING wrong.  So lets hear it for the good guys, who work like dogs and try desperately to do everything their wives ask, even if those gals want fairy tale things like sprawling beach houses, spa bathrooms and ten trips to DisneyWorld a year. I actually LIKE my spouse. He’s funny, nice most of the time and is so handy that I would trust him to keep us alive with running water and electricity during the apocalypse (don’t come to my house if this really happens because we can only take care of ourselves in this survival mode- we will have to kill you and eat you). 

So next time I’m out with my girlfriends at the risk of being pelted with furniture and hissing sounds, perhaps I’ll interject a positive little nugget about my hubby who deserves at least that little bit.

Leave a comment

Filed under appreciation, good husbands