Here come the brides (and the grooms) …

… and all their two-and-four-legged ring bearers.

I was kinda tough on the US last week.  Not trying to be mean or nasty, just expressing my feelings.  And they’re still my feelings, in case you’re wondering.  But since then the US Supreme Court has made some really good decisions, at least in my opinion.  So I think it’s only fair I mention it.  Can’t just dish out criticism without giving praise when it’s due, can you?

To be honest I wasn’t so sure they (the judges) had it in them.  But they did and both President Obama and the American public ended up having a very good week.  About time, if you ask me.  Joy has been in short supply lately.

Gay and lesbian couples are now finally free to get married in every state in the country.  All 50 of them.  Hallelujah!  

But while I’m on the subject of marriage, how is it that polygamy is okay?  Not to

Whatever happened to love at first sight?

I love reading the Sunday New York Times.  I look forward to it all week.  Sometimes it takes me the better part of the week to get through it all, but I read it from cover to cover.  Every section.  Well that’s not entirely true.  I don’t read the sports section. Occasionally I skim it, but I don’t even do that all the time.

What I never miss, though, are the wedding announcements.  Why, God only knows.  I don’t know any of the brides and grooms.  So why should I give a toss that they’re getting married, where they’re getting married, who their parents are or what any of
them do for a living.

But I do, it seems.

Does this mean I’m a real nosy parker?  A hopeless romantic?  Someone who needs a

Day 239. The Battle

It’s okay. You can put the history books away. This isn’t going to be a post about Custer’s Last Stand, otherwise known as the Battle of 1876. No, this is a story of men and women. A story that hasn’t changed in generations. A story I’m not sure will ever change.

I overheard a conversation yesterday. That’s what sent me down this road. But before you accuse me of being nosy, let me just say, I couldn’t help it. The two girls in question were sitting right next to me. And they were not speaking in hushed tones. The only way to avoid listening was to leave. And why should I have left? They chose to talk about a personal matter in a public place. In loud voices.

What more could a writer ask for?

Anyway, I figure they were both in their early twenties. What do you think they were talking about? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t the economy, or the new Pope. Boys. They were talking about boys. One was being neurotic, as only a female can be.

She’d recently met a new guy. She liked him. They went out twice. She hadn’t heard from him in four days. He said he’d call and he hadn’t. Now before you pass judgement and accuse him of being a dick, he had told her he

Day 21. Who’s Lonelier?

I have another WordPress blog — one where I talk about my day job as a writer, marketer and strategist.  About six months ago I wrote about how, just by looking around and being observant, a writer can find inspiration anywhere.  And everywhere.

One of the examples I gave was about a couple, having dinner a couple of tables away, from my then-boyfriend and me.  I spotted them the minute we sat down and I have to confess that I couldn’t take my eyes off them.  I was riveted.  They were married.  And there they were, at a small table for two.  But as intimate as the space they shared was, they might have been in different countries, let alone tables.

They said nothing to each other.  Not once.  Not even when they ordered their meals.  They never looked at each other.  Not once.  Although they were sitting directly opposite each other, they were ‘positioned’ at a slight angle away from each other.  So their bodies were facing in slightly opposite directions.  I’ll bet anything they were totally unaware of it, too.

They didn’t seem angry.  They didn’t seem upset.  There were no red faces, tear-filled eyes, longing looks, frowns,  sneers.  No clenched fists.  No negative body

Day 11. Aging. Disgracefully?

Okay.  Someone has to say it out loud.  Paul McCartney cannot sing any more.  Watching him perform (?) during the Opening Ceremonies at London 2012 was excruciating.  He sang (so to speak) somewhere else recently.  Again it was painful.  And embarrassing.  For him, for God sake!  Is this how he wants to be remembered?  Barely able to croak out a song?  Off key?  He has had a brilliant career.  He is worth millions and millions.  It’s time to pass the microphone.  Really.

I can imagine (no pun intended) how difficult it must be when that realization finally sets in.  “Yes, it’s true.  I have lost my voice.”  Whether it’s because of age, illness, booze, cigarettes, drugs, pollution, dust, damaged vocal cords or the Universe being cruel, one fact remains:  His singing career is over.

Do something else.  He can still be productive.  Start a record label.  Discover and develop talent.  Write a book.  Produce musicals.  Become an entrepreneur.  Travel simply for pleasure.  Relax, spend money and have fun with that new, young wife.

Just please, exit gracefully.

When food is past its prime we toss it without a second thought.  But we are reluctant to face this same reality about ourselves.  We hang on to relationships that are really over, and have been over for years.  We say it’s for the children.  Does anyone really believe that it’s better for kids to live in an environment where their parents argue, slam doors, cry, ignore each other, cheat, lie and settle for less than any of them deserve?

We cling to hope when there is none and insist on keeping loved ones plugged into respirators long after they are brain dead.  We tell ourselves it’s because we love