Losing My Dog Jack


This is a testimonial to man’s best friend. More than my best friend, my dog Jack, was my champion.

First, let me describe him to you. Johann vom Jagermeister, Jack, was just a baby at 6 and 1/2 weeks when he came to my home.His father Gustl Schwarzen Drachen was an international champion. His blood was of the purest East German bloodlines from the best bred German Shepherds the world over. He was stunning. His ears stood straight and erect at just weeks old, and his coat was solid ebony. He reminded me of a tiny Black bear cub. Precious and darling. But soon to grow into a fierce and formidable canine.

We lived on 3 acres, with a huge grassy yard front and back. The rear of the property was lined deep with oak trees. Over time, I transformed this plot of land into a small “gentlemans farm”. We grew a huge organic garden, with everything from artichokes, thyme, basil, mint and rosemary, to several varients of tomato, eggplant and pepper. We had corn, squash of all shapes and colors and strawberries. Lettuces, arugula, chard and collards. Rabbits shared the garden with us and often the tiny new spring bunnies would emerge to nibble. I didn’t mind. We had more than enough to share. And it was fun watching them as I weeded, poking their little noses out around the stalks of corn or the vining curcubits.

Jack commanded this parcel standing only 8 inches high. His ears pricked straight up as he would stand guard, at our circular drive, alerting when a visitor pulled in. As time went on, the neighbors, the mailman, the landscapers and tons of friends and family all new and loved Jack and watched as he grew bigger and stronger each passing day. Restaurant owners personally dropped off prime rib for him.

We decided to dig two ponds. We grew ginger and purple ornamental grasses and gorgeous lillies at the edges and had tiny mallard ducklings that we raised by hand with Jack as their sentient. Giant Koi swam and delighted us all. Jack grew and 4 children, as they grew as well, learned the circle of life as it came and went season after season on our mini farmette in the New Jersey countryside.

Within a year, the tiny 8 inch pup was a big, black wolf that had a zest for life and a presence that would not be ignored. He reigned supreme like a king over this land and ever so gently allowed children, ducklings and tiny yellow baby chicks to climb upon his back. As the chicks grew into hens that provided us with fresh eggs, their friendship endured. Lying prone as he sunned himself, sprawled out upon pine needles at the properties edge, they would snuggle with him. It was a sight to be seen. I don’t believe a dog, yet a German Shepherd would allow chickens to roost on their backs without consuming them for lunch. But Jack did.

Jack was a very powerful dog. He weighed in at 130 pounds and his stamina and strength would wear a grown man out. Bred from champions, he wore the crest of blue bloods. Never have I heard of a dog being referred to as a gentleman, but Jack was. He was a polite dog. He knew precisely what to say and when to say it. And no one ever took Jack for granted. When you met him, he garnered respect. He had rules. And under no uncertain terms was anyone going to break them. He was a mans mans dog owned by me, a girl. And so he tendered himself, for me. Gently nudging me for his attention. Cuddling me and licking away my tears. following closely at my heel wherever I went. Proudly he walked by my side. Always assuring me that I was safe under his dominion. My whispers could command him and he would always obey. His love and his loyalty were unquestionable.

Fearless and evoking fear in others, he was a big mush. His biggest joy was to play endlessly. Whether it be a football, a stick, a huge fallen log deep in snow covered woods or a coconut in south Florida, Jack would catch it in midair and return again and again for more. If you were to toss a pebble into a pathway filled with a million pea stones, Jack would find just that pebble and return it to you. His instincts, his play drive, his obedience, his intelligence, his charm and his strength were unlike any other dog I have ever known.

I called him Jack. Not Prince or Rex or anything ostentatious. Just Jack. My dog Jack. He was a part of me and will always be a part of me until the day I die. Losing him has shown me the importance of friendship and love. A love so deep and a bond so thick that even death will not, cannot break it. That through his passing, my grief will reanimate his life in each moment, in each sunrise, with each season. I hear him in the wind, I feel his warmth in the cold. I will know he is beside me as my protector and my companion, my champion, my friend.

Words can never convey the deep emotion that was felt between he and I. No one can imagine a love like this between a girl and her dog. His beauty and grace cannot be painted nor sketched. No pen or brush are able to bring his true spirit to light. It is only feIt in my heart where his love lies and will remain always. Though I try to tell his story, I cannot accurately do it. You would have to know Jack for the true story to be told. And one day, should I happen to find a new pup only 8 inches high at my doorstep, he or she will be directly descended from this great animal, this king of dogs. My dog Jack. God rest in Peace my best friend. I love you and miss you most dearly.

Johann von Jagermeister


My Ten I Don’t Make Resolutions Resolutions


I could write about making New Year’s resolutions. I could make promises to enact 10 I don't make resolutions resolutionschanges within myself and then try to implement them all year long. I could go out and get dressed like nine miles of Broadway to be seen in the hippest joints with the coolest cats and awaken to a freight train rumbling through my head. I could.

But that’s stupid and pointless.

My promises and resolutions were made a long, long time ago. If I really want to have a night out on the town, I’d probably do it on a quiet beach somewhere. And it would probably be in the afternoon. Around four p.m. I don’t need to watch a ball drop at midnight. I’ve seen the ball drop and the other shoe drop, plenty of different times and on plenty of different days. One day does not a difference make.

1. Live truthfully.

I don’t need to make a promise to myself to diet or begin an exercise program. I don’t need to to proscribe to a strict regimen of vegetarian or vegan eating or militaristic exercise routines. I eat what I like and what makes me feel good as my body instructs me and I follow my natural cravings. I eat healthy foods and engage in activities that keep me fit doing the things I enjoy. Making a promise to become a gym rat seems counter productive. A healthy and physically fit rat. What exactly is that? A slave to a sweat covered machine that probably harbors MRSA.

2. Live in moderation.

I don’t make resolutions to work harder or to be more focused on my career. I do not make money the prime reason for employment. I do not force passion into my life.  I am steadfast, tenacious and hard working. Because I love what I do, there is no need to get focused or try harder. Love is what motivates me so no changes or promises are necessary. If you love it you will do it lovingly. That’s my motto.

3. Follow your bliss.

There is no need to apologize to anyone, make restitution or make changes to my inner being. I live my life openly and honestly. I follow the path that the Universe shows me and as it unfolds at my feet. If anything, there are others that need to apologize or at least look deep inside themselves and come to terms with their own patterns of deceit, jealousy and self-misery. Live openly and honestly always. Make no exceptions.

4. Be nice.

I don’t eat like a pig and gorge myself or drink myself stupid or imbibe in a narcotic infested drug culture. I don’t get completely deranged and fall victim to my desires. I haven’t taken advantage of anyone’s kindness or love for self aggrandizement. I can’t manipulate something or someone for ego gratification.  I haven’t stepped on toes to get ahead in life or to get a better job.

5. Control yourself.

I am aware of who I am and what I want. I clearly see the past and the future simultaneously. I recognize the patterns in life and in the Universe.  I look deep inside myself to understand the meaning of life; mine and the world I live in. For I know, all the answers I ever wanted to know are already within me. I make no excuses for bad behavior nor do I expect anyone else to.

6. Know Thyself.

I don’t need to make a promise to volunteer to help homeless women and children or war veterans. I already made a covenant to take more time to understand and help the broken hearted, the hungry and the lost. I know we must all put ourselves in others shoes and never put ourselves first. Gaining from someone else’s suffering is a prescription for failure. You can never gain when someone looses. Eventually, you will be in that situation.

7. Give selflessly.

They say New Year’s Day is a day to begin anew, make a fresh start and move on from the past. If you lived a life of honesty and kindness, made decisions and choices that bettered not just yourself but others as well, then the new year will be one of fresh beginnings. But only as good or bad as any year prior. A new year is not meant to wipe the slate clean or get absolved in some way for wrongs done. Simply forgetting doesn’t make it go away. If you do what you did, you will get what you got.

8. Believe in karma.

Don’t make a list to stop a bad habit like drinking or smoking. Don’t make a promise to change after the stroke of midnight. Don’t think that a destructive pattern you have held tightly onto for many years will suddenly change simply by virtue of time or place. Don’t transfer your own failings onto someone else believing that your own salvation is in their hands. Take responsibility for your words and actions, past and present. Do it everyday. Live it. Be it.

9. Live Now.

We are not above the laws of physics. We cannot force things to happen in our favor. We shouldn’t expect to achieve good results when we act badly. We need to accept that the world, the Universe and all of us operate as one and that every thing we say and do causes an effect that will alter millions of lives. The things we do one by one, we pay for two by two.

10. We are One.

2012  brings me a new career. A new home in a new city. A new life and a new love. Happy New Year’s begins everyday. One at a time.

10 Best Lateral Career Moves for 2011


I have recently landed a dream job in network programming and am extremely grateful. 10 best lateral career moves for 2011I’ve been waiting an eternity for an opportunity like this. Please however, do not think for one minute that I haven’t shuffled along with the rest of my fellow Americans during this economic maelstrom. I have.

But I made the best of it.

Certainty, being what it is, forced me to dig deep into what I knew and what skills I could bring to the table. Not once did I shirk any opportunity that came my way. I guess you could say I’m resourceful.

Media and news pundits have been advising us for over 2 years to look to our latent talents, develop new skills where applicable and not to be afraid to step out of the box. Try something you have fantasized about but never dared attempt. You may find your dream job is out there waiting for you.

So I took Madonna’s advice,Express Yourself and her incredible ability to re-invent          herself over and over and over. And voila! With that in mind, here are the10 best lateral career moves for 2011 that you can make during this financial landslide.

Many of these skills you already have and can be easily transferred to land you a very profitable means of income during these trying times. You may think your skills are very niche specific, but I beg to differ.

1. Pet Groomer/Farm Hand: Dominatrix (Consider the possibilities of switching species)
2. Inner city school teacher: Drug Rehab Counselor (Hey, you’re already half the way there).
3. Pharmacist: Drug Dealer (no brainer).
4. Pastry Chef: Drag Queen (c’mon, you know you’ve thought about this one at least once).
5. Housewife, Divorcee or Prima Ballerina: Stripper (obvious choice).
6. Insurance Agent: Gigolo (You’re already selling stuff that has no future, real value or pays in the end).
7. Human Resources Administrator: Organ Transplant courier (Human beings are replaceable to you).
8. Mortgage Rep: Repo Man/Woman (Indian giver: One who gives then takes away).
9. Corporate CEO: Superfund landfill backhoe operator or grave digger. (The perfect transitional career for sociopaths looking to make career changes).
10. Banker: Lethal Injection supervisor at San Quentin (You’re nickname at work was The Grim Reaper).

Well there it is folks. There’s plenty of jobs out there. Just keep your heads up, a stiff upper lip and consider stepping sideways.

Beware terminators from the outer Blogalaxy!


I admit it. I am not very good at reading lots of blogs or commenting on them. When I have any spare time at all, (and I am always surprised to find that so many people have so much of it), I read and comment on blogs I find interesting, provocative, humorous or even just cute and furry. I am always very happily surprised at the amount of excellent content that is out there. It inspires me to write more better and it makes me appreciate that we’re all one big happy family living in some Sibylline Blogalaxy together.

I try to be a team player but those kindly suggestions by our unflappable Happiness Engineers to get more readers by commenting on other blogs, never really spurs me into action. Plus I feel like I am being ordered to do something and I hate being bossed around.

I don’t even have a Gravatar. Just the “unknown man icon”, which is probably reserved for hackers, geeks and freaks hiding from the FBI and trying to keep their web footprint down to a bare minimum. Every time I see one of these, I shudder. Probably some kind of psycho serial killer I reckon. Nevertheless, this is what I chose to represent myself. So what does that say about me? Perplexing to say the least.

Today I clicked the, “Comments I have made”, link in my dashboard, and unbeknownst to me, I had several replies to my previous comments and even a few requests for my url dating back months ago. When I tried to respond to these blogs, a big mailer-daemon type thingy appeared, admonishing that the blog had been deleted! Dreaded horror engulfed me. My cyber-digit friends from planet Blog had been vaporized!

I won’t envisage anyone self-terminating their blog. After pouring out your heart, posting your favorite photos, making friends with fellow midnight writers; What would cause someone, with such riveting, well thought out and even researched material, to simply evaporate?

At first I pondered some type of planetary abductor from Blog, maybe whisking the blogger away to be forced to send out massive emails for all eternity via AOL with nothing but dial-up because they broke some kind of cardinal blogging rule. Or worse yet, they wrote something against the Proletariat and are now languishing in a frozen cell on Pluto with some anthracite and a slab of rhyolite. See, this is why I have my blog. If I told a therapist this stuff, I’d get locked away for sure or at least be put on psychotropic meds. Fo Sho...

I couldn’t do it. My blog is my baby. It’s  a part of my anatomy. It’s my friend when no one else is around to listen to my prattle and my demented stories and therefore my therapist. I love this doggone thing more than most people. That sounds really bad doesn’t it? Maybe that Gravatar is a good representation then…

So now, I’m really getting nervous wondering where those bloggers went. Some of my blog posts are about the truly bizarre and peculiar people that have crossed my path and how the revelation of their irksome strangeness came as quite a shock to me.

Does this mean that even in the blogalaxy I cannot correctly assess a cogent entity? That I am completely unable to recognize the lunatics, the fruitcakes and screwballs and now this? Alien terminators from planet Blog? What’s the world coming to?

Well, at least I’m partially safe, hiding behind Unknown Man icon. No QR codes for me folks. No aliens are terminating or vaporizing my blog. Heck, Big Brother doesn’t even know my real name.

Pick of the litter (box)


Somewhere in my attempt to understand human relationships, I made a connection one day several years ago that choosing a mate can be quite similar to choosing a pet. That realization came back to me last week, while tending to my mother’s cats’ litter box.

I have driven far and wide and paid a fair penny in my choice of animal companions. Once I drove to Fredericksburg, Virginia from the Jersey Shore to purchase a puppy. Not just any puppy mind you, a top bred Bloodhound from a long line of man-trailing hounds whose lineage harkened back to the Civil War. The breeder was an FBI agent at Quantico. The puppy I chose, tripped over his ears and weighed in at 17 pounds at a mere 7 weeks. He was  gi-normous. His Auntie Jemima, had given testimony in a murder trial. She uttered  a “Woof” when presented with the scent of the perpetrator and helped to convict the assailant. (I was informed at the time that when it comes to canines, it is only the Bloodhound whose testimony is accepted as a forensic science in a court of law. I swear I couldn’t make this up).

He was an incredible hound, with ten miles of ear canal and feet the size of a saute’ skillet, upon which he typically carried the entire backyard’s mud into the house with. He also deposited what I affectionately coined, “shoestrings” on the ceiling. Mucous drippings that averaged over 2-feet in length. It was reminiscent of the Gak that kids poured over each others heads, a ‘la,  Nickolodeon kiddie programming. Or at the very least, Alien slime. My days were spent dodging slime covered ceilings, counter tops and door jambs. I wanted everyone in the house to call me Ripley, as I felt we had a common bond.

To this day, I refuse to be a serf to a beast who needs his ears cleaned or toileted day in and day out. If you are unskilled in these minor tasks, our relationship probably will not last.

But how I loved this dog. Who tracked my missing three-year old one day with the help of local law enforcement; only to be found in a neighbors basement eating an entire pizza by her tiny self. We were never able to ascertain if the hound had tracked the child or the food to the hidden location. Either way, we were happy she was all right and he gorged himself on cheese.

Jean-Luc lived to the ripe old age of 11. He died after delicately, surgically even, removing 2 ears from 2 different human beings. Oddly enough, this Civil War lineage, FBI trained hound, was the pick of the litter.

My second choice in animal companionship was a German born and bred, solid black German Shepherd who understood and spoke, German. Achtung, der Hund wirklich verstehen Deutsch! Weighing in at 135+ pounds, he is the exact replica of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. But, it was not the breeder at Jaegermeister Kennels  that convinced me of Jack’s  linguistic abilities, even though all of my dog’s forebearers were international Shutzhund champions that only responded to German commands. It was the day he sat in front of the television, mesmerized by old black and white grainy WWII footage, cocking his head sideways like the Victrola phonograph dog Nipper. Listening to Adolph Hitler’s agonizing German rhetoric and propaganda, I was simultaneously entranced and terrified. Again, my choice was the pick of the litter and it cost me nearly 2k.

Nowadays, I keep my menagerie much easier to handle. I have 2 white cats. What is wonderful about them is that I am not reduced to being a litter box maid. They are trained to do their business outside. I refuse to manage a plastic container in my home filled with foul smelling dukie. Anyone with cats needs to understand that this is simply not a viable solution to a habitual problem. Cats prefer to poo in the bushes out of doors, where they can dig a hole to bury the stuff and wipe their paws on the surrounding fauna. A box, to which you must regularly purchase litter for and then scoop the poop to maintain the thing in the laundry room or some other place within the home, is weird to say the least. Honestly, why would anyone keep a box of poo hanging around anywhere? So I will have none of it and we are all the better for it.

Last week I found an old boyfriend’s sweatshirt buried in the back of a closet. At first I believed he was perfect in nearly every way. Handsome, polite, charming and intelligent. If you have read any of my posts about sociopathic relationships or narcissism, you probably know him by now.  It turned out, he was none of these things. A liar; a married cheating womanizing thief and someone who can only be pitied for his inability to be a human being with a conscience. He was not the pick of the litter. He was the pick of the litter box. Coining that phrase years ago, it had not occurred to me I had met one until the sweatshirt discovery. Ranking far below a man trailing Bloodhound, the slime he produced, a Hitler fascinated canine linguist or 2 pussy cats. He ranked right next to a cat turd.

I found myself laundering this sweatshirt and while I folded it without thinking, I came to my senses. Aghast, I took the sweatshirt, with his diving company logo emblazoned on the front, and promptly tossed it into the garbage. Since I was visiting my mother at the time, who has the nasty habit of being a litter box maid, I lovingly took out a pooper-scooper, and added a nice mound of cat poo to the sweatshirt, bagged it up and took it to the garbage can outside. It seemed a fitting end to that ugly sweatshirt, the nasty cat poo and decidedly to the only pick of the litter box I’ve ever known.

“Pick of the litter box” is a Summersaid Registered Trademark  😉

Untamed Heart


“The greatest thing, you’ll ever learn, is just to love and to be loved in return..

From Nature Boy, written by Eden Ahbez and sung by Nat King Cole. The most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.

There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy…

When you look over your life and all of the relationships you have had, certain shining qualities stand out amongst them all. After much reflection, the lack of human compassion, the absence of truth and the games people play, it is but a small percentage of us that ever really feel or experience love at its highest vibration.

Many relationships teeter on financial or familial obligation. Many others are brought together by even more sinister or selfish reasons. I’ve spoken in my posts of sociopathic and narcissistic relationships before and thankfully, I was shown the truth and no longer allow those experiences into my world and what’s more, I recognize them. My eyes are and continue to be wide open.

It is not the sweet whispers and promises of love, the exalted physical bond that entraps or even the grand gestures and gifts that stand out in my mind or in my memories. It is not a world wind romance that sweeps you off your feet or the diamonds, gifts and exotic dream vacations that I recall. They mean absolutely nothing where love is concerned. To experience true love, there needs be none of these things at all. You need nothing. And yet you receive it all.
Just one strange tiny connection can happen in one brief moment. In a world filled with pain and chaos, no matter the outcome, no matter the events that transpire, it can often be the most fulfilling, the most transcending.  Deep down in your heart and soul, when you recall this moment, the tears run forth readily.  I have had this magical moment and am better for it.
Have you ever had someone love you just the way you are? Or had someone watch you while you slept because the peace that came over your face soothed their weary soul in a world fraught with indifference and isolation? Instead of making large plans to fly someplace remote and exotic, have you had moments of complete connectedness with someone while photographing spiders? Or slept on the beach to awaken to a band of surfers?
I think it is these small miracles that spell out love. I have experienced so many forms of love in my life. Many of them destructive and many others not as much but yet none nearly as memorable as the simple moment of lying in bed watching a favorite love story on a laptop. Or going for pancakes at IHOP at 4 in the morning after laughing so hard your belly ached. In these moments when you stare into one anothers eyes, you will know each others souls and not matter who or what may try to disrupt those moments, you will know you have found love.
Being present for someones tears, hearing their past transgressions, adoring the peculiar differences and wanting to grow together and walk the same path is love. And if even for only a moment, to experience this, is worth all the other loves combined. I wouldn’t change a thing except to experience this again.

There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy
And sad of eye
But very wise
Was he

And then one day
A magic day he came my way
And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings
This he said to me
“The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return”

“The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return”.

Burly Q Girl


I have been extremely busy with a theatrical production company here in Palm Beach Florida. Having walked into what I thought was going to be a wine and cheese networking event with a best selling published author friend of mine, I inadvertently walked into a casting call and was practically forced to get up to the mic and audition. Once I did, giving my smoky, bluesy, rendition of Connie Francis’ big hit, “Where the Boys are”, I was cast in a show I was totally unaware of. A month and a half later I am having the best time of my life singing and dancing. However, I am wearing so many hats and switching them so rapidly, that I forgot to pop in here to write and I do apologize for that.

While doing all the media production, set design, marketing, choreography and performing, I received some rather nice news concerning my mother. I may have mentioned that though my Dad was an intellectual, my mother was in show business. My mother was quite a big star of Burlesque a very long time ago. As a kid not only did Noam Chomsky bounce me on his knee but so did Dean Martin, Red Foxx, Tempest Storm and a host of others. Needless to say, I was raised in an intellectual environment  but also had the priviledge of getting a wonderful dose of the performing arts and so I studied ballet, tap, jazz, piano, violin and voice.

Recently, Hollywood  tried  to reinact the real days of Burlesque, with Cher, Christina Aguilerra and Catherine Zeta Jones. It was not remotely close to the real thing and missed the mark completely. I tried to watch it and did catch some good choreography and dance sequences periodically, not done by the stars of the film themselves of course, but other than a few moments here and there it was a trite and rather lame attempt to bring back the glory and the glamor that was the real Burlesque.

While in production for a remake of the hysterical musical comedy, Beach Party, (in which I play a dancing and singing Erick Von Zipper female motorcycle devotee clad in a leather bra and thigh high boots), I was informed that my mother is being inducted into the Burlesque Hall of Fame. I am so excited that finally in her golden years she is being recognized for the glamor, entertainment and beauty she brought to the world. In fact, she was referred to me as a ,”Queen of Burlesque”, to which I cried. I guess since she’s my Mom, I never really understood who she was as a woman. Now that I know, I can say my mother was truly something else and she is being recognized for it in Las Vegas later this year.

I was so torn growing up. By my mid-twenties I had decided to leave the performing arts  all together. I had gone to college for English Literature but then found myself married to blues keyboard player and that brought the performing arts back into my world again. It was then that I realized I could play the drums. It came quite easily to me as I play by ear and have metronome timing. For me, it was tap-dancing with my hands and a phenomenal whole body work out much like in dancing. But I felt a bit out of place, being a female percussionist until someone reminded me of the great female drummers like Sheila E and Stephanie Eulinberg.  Now I feel more at home playing and love sitting in on a jam when I can.

It seems that no matter where I go or what I do I always end up in the performing arts so I have decided to make it my business and I have been combining my writing, graphic and web design and other artistic talents along with my musical and dancing attributes and I could not be happier. Like Dad always said, ” Do what you love.”

This is to you Mom, thank you so much for all the gifts you gave me and for all of my talents. I am honored to be you little Burly Q girl.

How Blogging alters Life as we know it…


One Brief Moment: Permutations in Impermanence has been an incredible journey and vehicle for me. It has provided guidance through every inquest I have had about people, places, words and thoughts and the personal experiences I’ve had from the past to the most recent. This blog is my godsend and it literally has sent me some incredible opportunities, healed my past and set me free to discover and live in the world I have always envisioned.

What began as a blank canvas has permutated into a living, breathing life-force. It is my friend, doctor and muse and now my lover as well. I saw it in my head, I wrote about it here and just as an explosion in the far reaches of space can produce a sun to shine its light on distant worlds, so has this blog shined its light on mine.

A deceptive relationship was realized on my blog.  I came to understand narcissism, sociopathic relationships and pathological lying on my blog. It helped me get to the truth about my own father and mother’s lives and hence, much of my own. I have seen more in this past year than I wished I had, but this blog has opened my eyes to the deceit, the false intentions and much negativity and destruction that my eyes had been otherwise closed to. Blogging has allowed me to cry out loud, laugh until I cried and most importantly to heal and redirect my energies to bring to fruition my own Europa. One Brief Moment became and is my life script.

In the past six months my world has magically transformed itself and I owe it all to One Brief Moment; the infant born in January, 2011 and quite possibly the daughter of an Aquarian Age. In the chaos of life’s changes, upheavals and swirling destruction, this cataclysm of thought, word, emotion and energy, has collided, bringing forth a beautifully perfect Universe both in time and space. The tiny microcosm I call my world.

I embrace chaos and so should you. A new life form grows within that chaos and its new beginning must first come from the destruction of all that ever was. It creates from fire to produce a new world just as a phoenix will rise from the ashes or the birth of a star will create a distant world.

I am busy working on website content and my writing is moving in the direction I had always hoped it would. I write everyday and am getting paid for it. I have lost loved ones and found that the deepest love of all exists inside of me and so long as it does my world is a beautiful and magical place. I have etched out a brand new path that will take me down roads I had only dreamed of before. Now is my constant companion, not the past and not what lies ahead. I have my feet firmly planted in the now and I will never look back.

I am convinced of the power of intentions and especially in writing them.  I have not been writing just for me. This was not an exercise in personal development or discovery.  I have been writing directly to the Universe and someone or something has been paying close attention. The synchronicities have been appearing for over 6 months. 11:11 time stamps occurring daily, weekly and monthly, alerting me to the portal I was about to enter. I still see them everyday. This approaching event horizon brings with it a new world and I welcomed it with open arms. I am engineering a new destiny and creating a new world.  The synchronicities are the signs; an ETA time stamp, ticking down to the birth of a new world of my own making.

Pussy Talk


A purrrrfect morning with twin brothers, the fabulous snow white felines Odin and Loki of Norse legend, find themselves attempting to catch lizards in the morning light. It often goes something like this:

Odin: Pppppuuuurrrrhappsss we should eat that lizarrrrrrd Loki, he looks like a grrrreeaat sourrrrrce of pppppabulummmmmmm….. Prrrrrrrrr.
Loki: Okay Odin, I’ll wait for you. I’m prrrreety comforrrrtable rrrrrright here. You go get him. Pppprrrrrrr….
Odin: We are the pppppaaaalllatinesssss of the hood you know! Grrrrrrr….
Odin: The entirrrrrre herrrrrrrpetological kingdom fearrrrrrr us! What are you afrrrrraid of brrrrrrooottthher? Prrrrrr….
Loki: I’m not afrrrrrrraid of anything! I’ll eat him afterrrrrr I bat him arrrrrround a bit. You go get him. I’m still enjoying my morrrrrning Joe.
Odin: You lazy bastarrrrrrrd! I always do all the hunting and you just sit back and watch. Then you rrrrrelish the fun of torrrrrtuurrrring my prrrrrrey!
Loki: Parrrrrdon me Odin, you may catch lizarrrrrrrdssssss but I maintain the perrrrrimeterrrrrr….I keep an eye on all the trrrrrraffic and make surrrrrre your head doesn’t end up under a tirrrrrrre. Grrrrrrrr…..
Odin: Fine. I’ll trrrrrapp him in the corrrrrrner. When I grrrrrrrrab him in my teeth, you corrrrrrdone off the arrrrrrea. Pppprrrrrrrrr…..
Loki: Grrrrreat! Knock yourrrrrrrself out! Prrrrrrrrr….
(Meanwhile, Loki, who is always filthy and fails to maintain his lovely snow white coat on his own, feigns prrrrrrreeeeenning).
Odin: (Under his brrrrreath) That lazy prrrrrrrrima donna, he’s useless anyway. I’ve got this pppppppalinola down to a science. I’ll crrrrreep up behind the lizarrrrrd, and when he darrrrrrts to the left, I’ll pounce on his hind quarrrrrrterrrrs. Grrrrrrrrr…
Loki: Nice move brrrrrrrrother! OH NO! GRRRRRRRRR!!!!!
Odin: Damn thing released his tail from his body Loki!! I’ve got only the tail! Only the tail! Rrrrrrruuuunnnn….Go get him Loki, he’s running forrrrrrrr it!!! Grrrrrrrrrr!!!!…
Loki: All rrrrrrright, all rrrrrrright, rrrrrrrelax, I got him. I’ll swing arrrrround the house and catch him on the otherrrrrr side. Get rrrrrready to pounce!!!
Odin: Yeah! That’s it! You got him corrrrrrnerrrred!!! Grrrrrrrrrab him!
Loki: I got him, I got him, I got him, I don’t got him….I got a fore leg. Crrrrrapppppppp!!!! Not even a snack Odin! This lizarrrrrd is verrrrrry verrrrrrry smarrrrrrtttt!
Odin: Well so farrrrr, we have a tail and a foreleg. Which parrrrrrt do you want to eat firrrrrrrst?Prrrrrrrr…..
Loki: The forrrrrreleg. Grrrrrrrrr. I don’t eat tail. You should know that by now Odin. Grrrrrrrr……
Odin: I don’t either brrrrrother. What arrrrrrre you trrrrrrying to imppppppply???
Loki: Save it for the Palmetto family. Theirrrrrr brrrrrroke and theirrrrrr kidsssssssss arrre starrrrrrrving since the economy collappppppppsssssssed. Mom feeds us pate’, we don’t need to eat no stinking lizarrrrrrd. But I’m going in for anotherrrrrrr trrrrryyy anyway. Grrrrrrrr.
Loki: Neverrrrrr quit Odin! It’s not about the destination! It’s about the jourrrrrrney Man’! Grrrrrrrrrrr….
Odin: Hey man, look I got him! Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow!
Loki: Dude, it’s dead. He’s limp in your teeth. You scarrrrrred the ssssssshhhhhhit rrrrrright out of him.
Odin: Oh well, neverrrrrrmind then. Let’s go have a snack of sarrrrrrdines and turrrrrrkey. I’m rrrrrrready for a napppppp now anyway.Prrrrrrrr…….
Loki: Yeah, that was rrrrrrrrealy harrrrrrrd work. Prrrrrrrr….

Pussy Talk is a registered trademark of Summersaid. As you can clearly see, anyone can act and speak like an animal. 😉

Narcissists want to know about narcissism too


I had an epiphany. Call me a late bloomer if you want or maybe I just had too many margaritas tonite  but I just realized that it isn’t just women that are interested in reading about narcissism. It’s narcissists as well. I’m sure they find this information riveting. Afterall, I am talking about them. I am giving them what they truly want and so desperately need; adoration, attention and an audience. Hence narcissistic supply.

All this mumbo jumbo about their psychotic manipulations and evil machinations to cover the fact that they are really just very insecure and lonely, even tormented human beings, is driving them into an orgasmic frenzy. Me, me, me, me! It’s always about me. Even if it’s bad or horrible or sociopathic, still, it’s always about me. I am a super star. Or so they think. Those poor, pitiful souls.

Dear N,

I am writing about your disorder, your psychopathic, unconscionable selves. I am writing to alert women primarily to your sick and twisted games. Read my posts if you like. You are even entitled to bask in the limelight, which you will do time and time again, because you are a narcissist. That is the nature of the beast. It is a vicious cycle and I am feeding into it. So be it. Maybe we will all learn something here.

After doing this research, absorbing the clinical material in the DSM IV and reading the pages of true accounts and the very sad tales of broken families, broken and shattered dreams and the  total devastation that you cause, I really pity you. It is the saddest thing to know that you must live with yourself. I have empathy as a normal human being and perhaps even more so in my case, which is something you are unable to grasp. However, disordered and damaged souls such as yours do deserve pity. Just as we do not understand you, you do not understand us. We are of the same species, but yours is of an alien genus. Something to do with a missing part of your amygdala I think…I’ll get back to you on that.

Your mother idolized you so you grew up believing you could do no wrong. You learned at an early age how to get around all the “rules” we all had to play by. You learned early on how to charm others to get your way. You mimicked others responses and behaviors and mirrored them back to seem just like them. How unbelievably sad for you to endure a life of torture that is repeated over and over in your own head.

At some point in your childhood no one was listening to you. No one noticed you. Someone discarded you so badly in some way that you reverted to this monster that sought to exact revenge on the rest of us unsuspecting mortals for the rest of your life. Every mirror in your home reflects an image back to you that is of your own making. You have no idea of what you truly look like. You have no idea whose soul inhabits your body. You could never benefit from the words of the Oracle of Delphi, know thyself, because you are a created and tormented soul.

The saddest part of all is that there is no help for you. Even a crack addict when faced with what he truly is can get help. Even if it takes an intervention. Your psychopathy is so engendered that you cannot escape you. How terrifying. And to think, we the victims, cannot comprehend what you are. But it is so simple really. All we need to do is to think and become just like you. Just as you mirror us, we can mirror you. That is how we can understand you. That is how we can battle your destructiveness and protect ourselves from the pain and misery that you inflict.

This is that aha! moment. What better way to understand you than to employ the same techniques that any decent FBI criminal profiler would employ. Emulation. Get your head inside the killer so to speak. To understand a narcissist, is to become one.

I hope you are reading carefully and taking copious notes. Maybe even trying to perfect your craft. We are doing likewise; studying, mirroring, guarding our secrets and covering our tracks as well. When you attempt to employ your manipulations and lies to us in the future, we will be ready for you.

Very sincerely yours,


Islands in the stream


Something magical happens as soon as you get to Florida City. The United States of America ceases to exist. It is where, at the first gas station, it is a common ritual to crack a beer and head towards the Overseas Highway with a Keys state of mind. You are now entering the Conch Republic. Mind you, I don’t condone drinking and driving. But this is different. This is a rite of passage.

If ever there was a place to let the world slip away it is the Keys. You only need a few bathing suits, some shorts and tees and maybe a little sundress or wrap. In fact clothing is optional all together in many places. Where I just spent three days, it was.

The “Rugby” camp is located on the ocean. In the Keys you have two options, be on the ocean or be on the gulf of Mexico. Since I had never been to the “camp”, I assumed we were staying on the ocean side. I was surprised to find that the camp is literally on the ocean with the deck hanging over and into the ocean. We are abutted directly against a small sea wall. It’s the closest thing to being on a boat while still being on dry land. Waking  every morning on the ocean is intoxicating. Watching the sun crack through the horizon is a sanctifying experience. A comforting solitude.  A great heron greets me and my coffee. Water is all around you from every angle except for a small point of land stretching out a few hundred yards. It’s more of a jetty than anything else and just slightly breaches the vast turquoise briny sea all around you.

There is no one at the camp now. The entire place is deserted and so we had the whole place to ourselves. It’s a great place to come to get centered with who you are and to let your mind wander free. My cohort on this excursion is an ex pro Rugby player from New Zealand and I recently found out a pretty darn good photographer. Although he wasn’t interested in taking photos of the natural surroundings like I was, he prefered to do a partially nude photo shoot of me with the ocean and coral scree as a backdrop. I must say they are the best and most aesthetically pleasing shots I’ve done to date. I’d place them here on my blog because they really are so beautiful and so artistically done but I think it may come as a shock to many of my readers. He captured something in me I haven’t seen in quite some time. Au naturelle in Islamorada. He wants to submit them to Conde’ Nast. I’ll have to think about that. For now, they’re safely tucked away on my hard drive.

For three days we lived on cracked conch, fresh fish and “dark and stormies“. We visited some museums but I was most impressed by a full sized model of Ernest Hemingway’s boat, Pilar. I could visualize him, motoring in the back bay catching snook or mangrove snapper, or to and from Cuba smoking his pipe and plotting his next great novel. I felt the wood, the decking and all along the transom. It seemed to vibrate back to me the words and images so that for a second or two, maybe I could tap into it; tap into Papa directly. Even though the real Pilar is in Cuba, I still picked up his essence and imagined even more vividly his adventurous and colorful life. I strive to live life just as he did. There’s always an adventure waiting.

Islands in the Stream was part of a trilogy, the last being The Old Man and the Sea,  and was published post-humously. In the novel there were to be three parts, “The sea when young“, “The sea when absent” and the “the sea in being“. Somehow they are indicative of me as I’ve grown through the many changes in my own life. I feel now I am the sea in being.  A knowing, a constant flowing. Vast and fertile. To place my dreams within this vessel and to know that they teem with life.

How the narcissist picks his prey


He looks for a nurturing, conscionable person. The more innocent, honest, humble and kind hearted the better. These type of people cannot recognize the narcissist’s ulterior motive. How could they? The facade he presents is nearly perfect in every way. Charming. Successful. Well liked. Charismatic. Great sense of humor. He says all the right things at all the right times. He is able to do this adroitly because he takes an inventory of the victim. Their likes and dislikes, their behavior and the emotions they reveal. He mirrors all of this back to the victim. He becomes “just like you”.  Each and every time with each new victim, conquest, mate or spouse. It is the narcissist’s modis operandi.

He always has an answer and it is always reasonable should you question his motives or intentions.  To think otherwise would be an aberration. This is not a person that has a bad bone in his body. Kind, caring and considerate. Oozing charm and charisma. You believe him and so do many others. He keeps a collection of supporters (minions), near and dear to him. But they don’t get to see the inside of the narcissist’s world. Only a victim who is pliant enough, trusting enough and humble enough will get to see that. If he senses that anyone is on to his games, they are abruptly discarded in cold, cruel callous fashion. He never looks back. He never apologizes. He has no conscience so he feels no remorse. His motive is for complete and total adoration. He is a dictator, an oligarch, a tyrant. His motive is to find someone that makes him look good in the world’s eye. Someone he can continue his charade with. He believes he is a king that deserves complete reign over all his kingdom, including the subjects in it. But, the king wears no clothes. And he knows it. He hopes no one else will notice.

He repeats the same patterns as he has always done before. For a narcissist, a sociopath who knows his victim better than they can recognize the predator, the above is the perfect scenario. Con men cannot con another who can see through the mask they project or who may have the audacity to question what is or isn’t real. The narcissist will  back up their lies, with more and more lies. They are very charming. Extremely convincing, and the victim believes wholeheartedly, that this tale he spins is fact, not fiction. It will be a rare day to ever find any proof of his true colors. Covering their tracks is a natural behavior. They are very predatory. But rarely violent. They kill differently.

They do not marry or get involved in relationships for love. They do it to appear “normal” to outsiders. They look for a cleat to tie their boat to; an anchor to make them feel safely secured in a turbulent sea. It is not properly anchored however, the boat is adrift. They don’t care whom they hurt or manipulate for their own ends. They do not feel what normal people feel. Once the victim is in place, in the drifting barge, the narcissist goes about his merry way, engaging in promiscuous sex and extra marital affairs, appearing to be every man’s man, every woman’s dream, covering their tracks well and leaving a wake of devastation behind them. They brush the dust off and move on swiftly. Other people mean nothing to them. They possess no moral code or conscience. They do not answer to a higher power like the rest of us mere mortals. They do as they please always and even brag about how they “always get what they want”.  If the victim does not abide by the game the narcissist plays, they will be severely maligned, abused, and destroyed.

Once the victim is safely secured in the narcissist’s prison, there is no escape. The narcissist will consume the thoughts, the functions  and beliefs of the victim. In their own conscience, the victim recognizes all the red flags, that something is very wrong. Something is not natural and the gut instinct that all is not true about this person, infects their thinking. There is a war going on inside the victim. A constant roller coaster of emotions. Hot and cold. Charming and cruel. The voice is tiny though. The louder voice, proclaims, he is wonderful, a prince, my soul mate because this is what she needs and wants to believe. He knows this. He knows because of their good conscience and moral compass, the victim can only believe absolute good in the narcissist.

The narcissist is a professional at appearing to be a soul mate to everyone he encounters. When caught in a lie or anything that negatively may impact the narcissist’s facade he projects, he cries. He pleads.  The tears and pleas for forgiveness are merely a ruse. Another disguise. The narcissist only cries for himself. The mask is slowly falling away and he knows this and he cannot bear being exposed. In time, he ultimately will discard and abandon the victim.  At first through a devaluation phase. He begins to see the faults in that person and clings tightly to them. A sublte shift in emotional attachment. Then the snide comments and insults. There are more waiting in the wings that the narcissist already is priming and will quickly move on to, to obtain the only thing he seeks. Narcissistic supply.

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing


Knowledge is Power. I am not a psychologist but I do study people. We all do this consciously and after awhile you tend to notice similar traits and behaviors that the majority of human beings possess. This common- man knowledge is applied when we make choices on whom to befriend, work with or for and whom to develop intimate relationships with.
People generally like what is familiar to them. We tend to gravitate towards people that somehow remind us of early childhood relationships, like our parents, for good or for bad. For instance, if your mother was a stay at home mom, wore glasses and liked to bake cookies and go to church, you may be predisposed to finding a wife with similar traits. I for instance tend to blend my parental figures together. I like extremely intelligent men like my Dad but who possess artistic and creative qualities like my Mom. I also like a guy who looks dark and exotic like Keanu Reeves or Johnny Depp like my Dad or Leo DiCaprio or Matt Damon, fair, like my Mom. This patterning we do seems to be innate as far as I can see.
Throughout my life I’ve been fairly accurate at perceiving traits I find desirable or not. Except once. For the life of me I could not figure out how I could inaccurately perceive traits and behaviors that seemed nearly perfect but on closer inspection turned out to be anything but.
The reason is the sociopath. Normal human behavior simply cannot be applied when trying to understand the nature of the sociopath. So in addition to researching sociopathic behavior on several clinical websites and reading a lot of literature on the subject, I reached down deep to tap what I know. Animal behavior. Ace predators to be precise. Predators like sociopaths share very common behavioral traits whether it is a wolf, lion or great white shark. They all have highly developed sensory mechanisms and they are finely tuned to weed out the weakest, most vulnerable prey. They do not seek out the biggest or strongest in the herd to kill.
Like a predatory human or sociopath, ace predators choose weak newborn calves or seals or older sickly gazelles and zebras.
Being vulnerable or weak puts you at risk to be predated upon by a sociopath, both the violent and non-violent kind. When we are at our weakest moments in life,the predator strikes. I was victim to a sociopathic relationship because my father had died. I did not even know I was in a vulnerable state of mind. Also, I could not recognize predatory behavior. As I said before, a predator knows you better than you know yourself.
Many women who are intelligent, educated, business owners, talented, beautiful or wealthy, can be victimized by a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Perhaps you know a sociopath. Perhaps you know his victim. They will always look or be similar. Mousy,timid or a shrinking violet. Maybe suffering from low self esteem. Someone weakened in some way from past childhood issues or a recent trauma. It could even be something as insignificant as a womans clock ticking down. Maybe she’s desperate to get married or she’s older and afraid or not particularly attractive and overweight. Once you understand an animals behavior and your own vulnerabilities you can avoid or escape their grasp. If you apply even those attributes described above to animals you can see how the ace predator will pick them out of a herd.

Indie Rock Profiles: Woodfish (New Jersey Quintet)


It has been my pleasure to become well acquainted with a group of musicians  from the New Jersey shore for the past several years. Hailing from Red Bank, NJ,  the band Woodfish is comprised of two brothers, bassist Steve Kalorin and  drummer Dominic Kalorin, Don Honeycutt on saxophone, John Samuel on guitar and  Luke De La Parra, vocals; up front and center.

Upon first meeting, I was asked to listen to them play and in all honesty  after hearing bands perform several times as a talent agent, I was not overly  excited to go and frankly not expecting anything spectacular.

Having come from a background in music, as a classically trained violinist  and drummer, I not only hear every note, chord, riff, pick up, break, beat and  tone, just the slightest aberration will send me running out of a venue after  the first three chords. I can also tell if what I am about to see has good stage  presence and a good stage vibe and has a hooked out, marketable talent. Woodfish  has all that and more.

When I walked into a small venue in Belmar, NJ, to hear Woodfish perform for  the first time, I was more than pleasantly surprised. Not the typical rock band,  this was a super funk, jive, jam, jazzy party band with a wailing sax player. I  wasn’t sure if it was a Red Hot Chili Peppers revival or a seasoned and  funky NYC jazz band with a ragtag bunch of guys in flannel shirts and torn  jeans. I was about to have my socks rocked.

WoodfishWoodfish is led by Steve Kalorin who plays the bass like nothing I have ever  heard. And, he writes the material. Trying to put him into an appropriate group  of contemporaries, my best guess is he is the newest version of Flea or a  reincarnated version of Jaco Pastorious.

Steve is to the bass what Eddie Van Halen is to the guitar. Not only is Steve an  accomplished bassist, he puts on a stage show (sans clothing, unlike Flea), in  which he slaps the bass with a beer bottle hitting all the thick, hard driving,  bending bass lines and melodic chords without a hiccup. It is truly something  that needs to be seen as well as heard.

As one might expect, you will also hear some very funky jive riffs a la  Bootsy Collins of  the Parliament-Funkadelic. Steve has won the Best Musician  Award several times at the Asbury Park Music Awards annually held at the  infamous Stone Pony in Asbury Park, NJ where I have had the honor of attending  on a few occasions.

Rounding out the band is Domenic Kalorin, Steve’s brother on drums. Together  they produce a sound and resonance, heavy bottom end and a driving force that is  highly unusual in any of today’s indie rock bands. With an unusual mixture of  the sounds of Stuart Copeland of The Police and Buddy Rich, plus the precision  of Neil Peart of Rush, Dom’s drumming is imbedded into his soul and you may  wonder if he is ever absent from his kit. When I listen to the Pennsylvania band  Live’s song, “Insomnia and the Hole in the Universe,” I am always reminded of  Dom playing drums. The lyrics, “My brother kicked his feet to sleep,” must have  been Dom as a child.

Luke de la Parra is up front as vocalist and brings a swarthy, gritty Joe  Cocker-style of bluesy vocals to the band. Don Honeycutt playing sax brings an  eclectic, jazzy, NY retro sound reminiscent of Stan Getz. John Samuel’s adds guitar leads and rhythm on cue  and perfectly orchestrated to fully compliment this bass driven quintet.

On their first CD release, Bamm Didley and their newest CD release, Starlight Remedy, Woodfish manages to blend effortlessly sounds like  surfer music icon Dick Dale and funk icon Bootsy Collins along with killer  ripping Flea-esque bass lines. The vocals are sometimes reminiscent of Darius Rucker and always gritty  like Joe Cocker, but newer and more rocked out like perhaps Scott Stapp of  Creed. There’s ’70’s style guitar riffs like Bachman Turner Overdrive and newer  alternative rock with Stan Getz styled sax overtures lilting throughout.

Overall, I would say Woodfish is virtually impossible to define musically.  They have created their own music genre and the only way to understand their  sound is to hear them live and experience the deep, eclectic mélange of their  vast musical repertoire with decisively rock and roll roots.

Woodfish is a very talented and hard working group of musicians and it is my  honor to profile them. And I must say, being backstage with them when they  opened for Foghat at the Blender Theatre in NYC was a pure  treat and one of the best times of my life as well as an incredible show.

You can check out its current tour schedule and download Woodfish tunes at woodfishmusic.com.

This article was published first on Blogcritics.

Read more: http://blogcritics.org/music/article/indie-rock-profiles-woodfish-new-jersey/#ixzz1Muu4dDp0

The ***hole


I really didn’t know what to call this guy, this archetype, so I figured I’d get my head IN  the gutter for this one. I am referring to a lot of different personality traits here, concerning  The ***hole, but what I am not referring to, is the occasional, intermittent, temporary,  ***hole. Everybody can act like that at least once in awhile and usually with good reason. I am strictly talking about someone who is and ALWAYS has been, an ***hole. Let’s see how many we can count.

1. The ***hole who is pugilistic. He is always picking fights everywhere and with anyone for no good reason. You can’t go anywhere with him because at the slightest provocation he will go balistic. He has road rage, all the time. He has a very short fuse. He hollers and shouts when speaking. He cannot shut up and the idea of thinking before speaking or acting is an alien concept. He picks on you for wearing something sexy even though he likes it and when you go out and get looked at by other men, he goes bananas. Total ***hole. Thank god I’ve never dated anyone like this. But I have friends who have.

2. The ***hole who is a mama’s boy. He was coddled as a young boy, so he needs to be constantly catered to. Women will run around like a slave cooking, cleaning up after him and tending to his every need like a baby, foregoing their own desires.  He has very specific foods that he will only eat. He has temper tantrums if you overcook, undercook or are late with a meal. He whines that his 30 million has dwindled to a mere 10 million. He blames everyone around him for his problems, no matter what they are. He will blame his siblings, girlfriend and friends for his loss in income or his gain in weight. He is very prone to having a midlife crisis because he needs to feel like a little boy all the time and toys are important to him. Unfortunately, I did date someone like this and oddly enough, he was a heavy metal guitarist and owned a large engineering firm.

3. The ***hole who cannot be honest.  He lies about his whereabouts, his music tastes and food preferences. He lies about his relationship with family members and his friends. He lies about going to counseling for his issues. He lies about his multiple blackberry accounts but sends you a picture from one blackberry with the other out in plain view. He lies about his relationship with his children. He lies about being married. He lies about sleeping with other women while away on jobs, under your nose and even in the same town. He lies about his feelings, he lies before, during and after sex. He lies about his religious beliefs and pretends to be  intelligent. Yup, I dated one of these. What a loser. Thank god he’s not my problem.

4. The ***hole who thinks he’s perfect. He is bragadocious, chest puffing and truly believes he is better than other people. He is condescending, insulting and just plain ignorant. If you drive a Mercedes Benz, or a convertible, he’ll tell you you are a snob. He believes he is some type of 30- something, yuppy, urban hipster living in a tiny hotel room, but he thinks he’s modest and humble.He will even lie about electronic equipment and how he has no use for them. Calling himself a “luddite” but then his tiny hotel room apartment is loaded with the stuff.  He has an opinion, (just like an ***hole), about how to raise children properly, when he knows nothing about it and has no parenting skills whatsoever. He is so unsure of himself, he will show you off to his friends like you’re some kind of prize posession, much like a 15 year old who might be getting laid for the first time.  He is envious of other men, and you, if you happen to be smarter or better looking or more talented or get more attention then he does. He is so full of himself, he thinks he can pick up a saxophone and start wailing, no matter that he cannot hold a note or stay in key when trying to sing-a-long to Michael Row the Boat Ashore…Tra la la la la…He thinks no one is aware of his silly parlor tricks, (smoke and mirrors) and gimmicks. He also thinks he is such a good liar, that everyone believes his ridiculous stories and excuses. Oh, and one more thing. The crocodile tears. Even he believes they are real. Please refer to ***hole number 3. Same ***hole.

Well, that pretty much sums it up.  As far as I can see, once an ***hole always an ***hole!   😉

Dodging New Jersey for Southern Solace


Growing up in central New Jersey there was a lot to be grateful for. It was not the industrial waste zone most visualize when thinking about New Jersey. Surrounded by farmland, open spaces, and the Pine Barrens just to the south, our childhoods were filled with sunshine and fresh air. Our yards were spacious and there were woodlands to hike and explore. Monarch butterflies and Baltimore Orioles filled the trees during their migration turning them ablaze with color. To the north was New York City, entertainment mecca of the world. Its flavors filtered down to us in the piedmont and beckoned us to come taste its wares. In summers, our seashore drew millions of visitors for salty surf, splintered boardwalks, and sugary taffy.

Soon though the large spaces were invaded by subdivisions and strip malls. The pastoral life living lakeside would present largesse to tax collectors seeking monies from landowners in order to fish or ice skate in their own backyards. And so the exodus began.


Longing for “greenspace,” I moved to my college state, Florida. Everglades and Spanish mosses weaving through tropical breezes, sunsets offering inspiration to the painter, poet, or songwriter, and tranquil warm seas that soothe the weary soul.

It too has become but once upon a dream. The Miami sound machine, its newer populace and cultural fragmentation have altered the Floridian landscape. The disenfranchised arrive seeking asylum from the stressors of life and inadvertently add to the chaos. Gone are the days of serenity and solitude in a southern oasis. No longer the charming and sultry days reminiscent of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings and Ernest Hemingway; bright lights, fast cars, and faster lifestyles permeate the languid coastal towns and farther out to the center of the state. It is heartbreaking to bear witness. May we yet find comfort in some corner of the world with which to commune? Even the Everglades does not see the dark of the moon.

Shall I run forevermore? Straight from childhood visions to rummage a bit of quiet to embrace. To seek a simple corner to lay down a weary heart and head. Where birdsong drowns out the frenetic pace. Where will you go? they will ask. Another planet, perhaps, I will answer.

This article first appeared on Blogcritics.

Read more: http://blogcritics.org/culture/article/dodging-new-jersey-for-southern-solace/#ixzz1EMlwjp7I

The Lover


The Lover archetype encompasses everything of what you might imagine and more. He is attentive and caring. He is romantic and passionate. He is an insistent boyfriend. He is an ardent and supportive mate. He will pursue you to the ends of the earth. He has the ability to make you feel loved and will have you falling in love in no time flat. He is an adroit lover, his skill and sexual prowess is astonishing. You will pant, quiver and shake in his presence. Your femininity shines and is mirrored through him. He takes you to heights unimagined. He loves you. He adores you. He can’t live without you.  And he really does.

Unfortunately, he loves your girlfriends, sister, mother and any and all females in his breathing space. One of his opening lines will be, “I love women”.  At the outset you take this to mean he is in touch with his feminine side and appreciates women. He probably has grown up with sisters and his mother idolizes him. This furthers your belief that this is a male understanding of the female dynamic. Do not be fooled or lured into this line of thinking.

What he has gleaned having been raised with females are our vulnerabilities. Our differences to our male counterparts. He has watched his sisters go through relationships and dating, in high school, college and beyond. Witnessing the ardent teen age romances he took notes. What makes us tick, what we find attractive, what gets our panties off….He has acted as guard, administrator and counselor. He is a surveyor. A purveyor, of women.

He is almost perfect in every way from his lifetime of study. He has perfected his role. He will go shopping with you nary a complaint. He will spend hours on the phone listening to your drivel about the neighbor, your colleagues at work or even past boyfriends. He can weep in front of you shamelessly and will, no matter the subject, be it the loss of your grandmother, your job or even while watching the abuse perpetrated on Animal Cops: Jersey City. This performance wins him an Oscar in the eyes of his latest conquest.  

This behavior in addition to the intimacy you share with him convinces you of his undying love. Your mother likes him. Your friends like him. (Not so much your male friends but you tend to ignore that), believing instead they are envious he has gotten into your knickers and not they. After some time you will notice he does not have many male friends in general. He has buddies at work but they rarely get together. He is not invited to their outings because none of these guys wants him around “their” women. Of course, he makes excuses for this and you fall for it ever time.

He has gaps in his whereabouts and although he has reasonable explanations your gut tells you something is off. He keeps his phone out in plain sight and it rings only from his coworkers or his doting mother. This may assure you he is on the up and up. The doting mother is a dead ringer you’re dealing with The Lover. Months from now you will find he has two other phones, multiple email accounts and is registered on several dating sites. He is not a predator. His intentions are good. He loves you. He really loves the singular female etiology.

Do not fall in love with The Lover. If you do, it will take some time to reveal who he really is. Be extremely watchful of your sexual antics with him. You will find yourself sexually addicted. I recently read an article on, the mind control properties of semen. I had to read it because initially I thought it had to be some kind of a  joke. I was shocked to learn how scientific this stuff really is. In a nut shell, male semen contains biological properties that when the female anatomy comes into contact with it, chemical reactions occur making  HIM the only mate you will want to bond with sexually! It gives the male the assurance of your fidelity to only him and promises his progeny will in fact be his.  This is a biological function and all males have this power over the females of their species. It is why female wolves, swans, bald eagles, bonnet head sharks, prairie voles and beavers, (no pun intended), stick with one guy. In many ways it is a good thing. For a monogamous female that is. Unless you are a humpback whale of course. But having tons of sperm from multiple suitors simultaneously swimming around inside you at any given time is never a good thing.

The Lover used to be called a Don Juan or a Cassanova. Today he is referred to as “The Player”. Call him what you will, but be mindful of the animal in your midst and always, always remember, to him you really are just a beaver.

The Dreamboat


The Dreamboat archetype is the easiest to recognize because he doesn’t exist. However, it is the oldest of male archetypes and synonymous with Prince Charming and Mr. Right. This male creature is as common as a unicorn. A mythical beast of untold legends and tales, passed on generation to generation. Perfectly white and glistening, living shrouded in mystery, high atop a mountain no human can reach. Or living in the sea spray where your eyes cannot focus long enough to catch a glimpse of him.  No one has ever seen him but many swear they have and so the tale goes on infinitely. We are hardwired to the Dreamboat. We played the Dating Game and tried to win a date with the Dreamboat. Well, I honestly didn’t. I could smell a rat. But many did. You can thank Mattell for that and not just your Grandmother or the Brothers Grimm.  We all believe that this animal exists and so he does in our mind and therein lies the danger.

Somewhere deep inside a little girl’s psyche resides a magical fantasy world replete with a Prince Charming who will rescue her from Mommy and Daddy and everyone and everything that may be wrong in her world at any given time. Our mothers and grandmothers pass down this pipe dream probably to shut us up and give us hope that we are waiting for something wonderful. A mother’s curse or maybe some Jewish guilt? Whatever. Walt Disney made him a fixture in the lives of millions and to this day little girls dream of him sweeping in and swooping her off in his arms to a land of magic and fairy tales where she is a Princess and all her dreams can come true.” If you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are….” For centuries this myth has been proselytized and it is a dangerous one.

It is dangerous not so much as it is a fable, but because many men you see have figured out a way to pose as The Dreamboat. Clever and charming and always there to fix problems. Making pie crust promises that women fall prey to because the myth is so engendered into the psyche that on first meeting, we are certain we are seeing a real live  Prince. I’ve fallen for it and I’ll bet you have too.

Sometimes the Dreamboat can be an amalgamation of two or three archetypes lurking just beneath the surface. The first and most frightening of all is The Predator. The Dreamboat facsimile posing as a predator only has bad intentions. Steal your love, get sex or kill you. The Dreamboat is often mistaken for kindly gentlemanly behavior when in all honesty if you see him you need to run for your life before it’s too late. The Swindler posing as The Dreamboat is really all about money and material possessions or sometimes power and prestige. Both are tough to spot due to thousands of years of conditioning.

The Diamond in the Rough can appear to be The Dreamboat underneath. You must watch very closely for this one as well. This one can really get you. He is not truly an archetype but more like an accident. The Diamond in the Rough may take you years to discover he is in fact not The Dreamboat but just a lump of coal. You could lose countless years waiting for the unicorn to emerge. He won’t. It really is a donkey.

I know it is disappointing. I wanted to believe my whole life that this man truly existed but I finally gave up and lowered my standards. Criteria like good looking, witty, successful, intelligent, creative, tender, loving, passionate, kind, Blonde hair and blue eyes scare the bejesus out of me anymore. Lest not forget Prince Valiant. He is a darker version of The Dreamboat.

The Dreamboat is a nice dream I suppose. It’s wonderful to fantasize. Wearing rose colored glasses makes everything seem so nice. Realizing it is merely a dream is critical though. He cannot hurt you if he lives in your mind. Beware however because The Dreamboat really is The Titanic. And that was no dream. That was a nightmare. Don’t go down with the ship. Instead, get a good fishing boat. Trust me, you’ll have plenty of of sea worthy trips to enjoy.

The Daily Scrum and the Journey back from Oz

The Miami Herald

Image via Wikipedia

You will not believe this! But corporations lie. What you say? It cannot be you say? You must be living under a rock then. So sorry for your oblivion.

People lie. All the damn time. About everything. Obnoxious really isn’t it? On the microcosm level the narcissist is but a speck of filth arbitrarily fibbing his way through life taking prisoners down into a dark deceptive cavern from which there is no escape much like the way light cannot escape the grasp of a black hole. But this is singularly only a bumper or movie trailer of a corporate ideological film we have all seen over and over again.

Politics is making headlines. Again. The same damn story with the same bad actors, as the audience eagerly awaits a revolutionary outcome. C’mon folks, this movie has been made about a million times. You already know how it will end. Stop pretending or at the very least, open your eyes and keep them open this time. I promise I will too. In the political as well as the corporate arena, mords are getting wixed up.

I just spent about $2000 bucks to learn two new vocabulary words. Produce and Telemarketing. Oddly, believing I already knew the definition of each, I could have sworn that those definitions were distinctly different but apparently I was wrong. Or, could it be that yet one more lie has been perpetuated upon the least suspecting. Me. Somehow I thought “produce” meant, to cause something to happen, creatively. Wait a second, let me refer to Websters. Be right back…

Ok, I’m back. Here is what Webster’s says:
1375–1425; late Middle English producen < Latin prōdūcere to lead or bring forward, extend, prolong, produce, equivalent to prō- pro-1 + dūcere to lead.
— vb
1. to bring (something) into existence; yield
2. to bring forth (a product) by mental or physical effort; make: she produced a delicious dinner for us
3. ( tr ) to give birth to
4. ( tr ) to manufacture (a commodity): this firm produces cartons
5. ( tr ) to give rise to: her joke produced laughter
6. ( tr ) to present to view: to produce evidence
7. to bring before the public: he produced two plays and a film last year
8. to conceive and create the overall sound of (a record) and supervise its arrangement, recording, and mixing
9. ( tr ) geometry to extend (a line)

And my query…

selling or advertising by telephone.

EXACTLY. So I was right. One has nothing to do with the other. One is creative and positive. The other is abysmal and banal and puts you in danger of being sued or if nothing else, conjures up supreme hatred on the other end of the phone. No worries. I found something much better.

A darling cottage on the edge of the woods where nearby a lake gently laps the shore. Odin and Loki, the two phenomenal white felines prance in the leaves. I can smell a fireplace burning in the distance. Jack, god rest his gentle soul, frolics with my father in heavens garden. I know this because I saw them there together just recently. They are keeping one another company and Dad loves my dog and they watch out for one another. Dad magically let me find something today. A 1943 Nippon Ginko 1000 yen. I know he placed it where I could find it. It is his way of letting me know that he is still here.
My stunning, ethereal auburn haired daughter is recreating a new life for herself and my Hollywood-handsome leading-man son just finished editing his work for Fashion Week in NYC. For the baby Sophia, the angel with a star instead of a belly button, I brought her a Capiz shell wind chime. Lovely lavender, turquoise and pink shells cut to resemble the wonderful creatures of the sea that she loves just like her Nona. I am home doing the most important job I have ever held. I don’t need to search the world over for a place in the sun, for gold or for love. It was always right here.

My daily scrum is the continuation of my writing and producing the best and only way I know how. Content, copy writing, websites, music management and my manuscript. It is a labor of love and as I have always maintained, we must always do what we love no matter what.

I recently read a really good book, Live Like a Fruit Fly and I would like to shout out to the author, Gabe Berman, editorial writer for the Miami Herald. Mr. Berman, I have always lived like a fruit fly. Your book was genius. Thanks for reminding me that time is of the essence.

(-1)(-1)= 4y Solve for y

I would like to talk about how everything comes around. Usually in 4 years.Why?

I have no idea why it is a 4 year turn around time frame, it just is. Things that occurred in 2008 are now coming full circle and to those who would not heed good, heartfelt advice, I am sorry for your current suffering. Just as I suspect that things occurring now will come ’round in 2016 give or take. So mind your P & Q’s.

I also know this: What you do will come back to you threefold. Not fourfold. As God is my witness, it will. I am seeing the results of some pretty shitty deeds done a few years back by a couple of pretty shitty people, come around to those individuals in a pattern of 3. I have also found that if you are very, very good, exemplary even, you will receive no such return in goodness. Why? Because it is expected. If you are a good, honest and true person, do not wait around for a lottery win. If you love people, the entire animal kingdom and volunteer your life’s mission to save sea turtles, abandoned puppies and children, feed the homeless, house the indigent, expect nothing in return. Consider your self lucky to be healthy, happy and alive. And that you spread cheer and good will to sea turtles, puppies, kids and homeless indigent folks.

Positive energy creates positive energy. No more, no less. You would have to make a global positive effect to receive the same like Mother Teresa or Ghandi. But don’t stop spreading positive energy and joy because you’re not going to win a Nobel peace prize or the lottey. The world, the Universe, thrives on it. Without it, the cosmos would implode.

But, and I swear this to be true, if you lie, cheat and steal, if you purposefully deceive, if you malign and harm an innocent, you’d better prepare yourself. There was a reason those old relics in China, Greece, Egypt and Jerusalem wrote proverbs and commandments. They watched the world turn and noticed the repetitive cycles not only in the seasons or in the night sky, but in the energy that human beings were constantly putting out and seeing it’s return a few years later. Oh, and if you know you were shitty, don’t bother looking for penance or forgiveness with the wave of the hand. You can seek all the absolution you want in the form of apologetic nuances. The energy has already been dispersed. And it is on it’s way back to you as we speak.

And those ‘no gooders’ really despised the good doers way back when and they still do. They hung them, burned them and crucified them. Even that came back to haunt them in more ways than one. Not only were their despicable actions martyred by the goodly and proven ill fated through the millennia, but the do gooders, were revered. For eternity.

So without sounding pompous or religious, for I cannot proscribe to any organized spiritual belief system, just know that your actions, words and thoughts will reverberate, will resound around the world and affect many,many lives. Whether or not you pray to a Celtic druid god or goddess, a Hebrew prophet or Chinese sage, a Tibetan monk or an Indian chief, those old fellas’ had it right the first time. Do what you did, and you will get what you got. They had many different ways of telling the same story.

Live each day as it were your last. Smile at a stranger. Help someone in need. Be forgiving. Why you ask? I’ll tell you why. Because when you forgive someone, it doesn’t let them off the hook, it lets you off. Forgiveness frees you from carrying around a lot of bad and negative energy which you will in turn send out to the world. The key is, you must really forgive from deep inside your heart and sometimes that takes a while. But don’t beat yourself up over it, just work hard at getting to a point where you can see that the negative actions of others, has no bearing on you and hence, forgive them. Even if you  have to forgive them for being assholes. It works. Try it. You’ll be smiling in no time.

Heal the world one person at a time and begin with yourself. Forget the greed, forget the lust and desire to obtain a thing or person at the expense of others. Save a life, whether it be a child’s or a fruit fly. We are all one on this blue planet. We all share the same energy. We all bleed, we all cry and we all need one another. Don’t let selfishness dictate at the expense of those around you. If you do, you will be sorry one day.

I wrote once, if you took away all that you had; your home, your beautiful wardrobe and jewelry, your vehicles, your bank account, your polo ponies…. and you stood naked to the world, what would you have left?

If your answer is nothing or not much, then you need to work on yourself.




I’ll Have a Green Christmas

all i want for christmas is a 2012 garden2011 has been a very good year but it has also been a proving ground. Many wonderful and enterprising things have occurred and in some cases a stoppage that proved painful initially, opened doors to a much brighter future. As they say, when one door closes another opens. After the drought, a deluge.

The economy and the vast changing face of America have left many jobless, homeless and desperate to hang on to their way of lives. Longstanding careers have gone up in smoke. Secure financial futures have dried up and families have been uprooted and torn apart, now standing barren in the wilderness.  Many have suffered enumerable losses from the direct result. I personally know of 3 suicides directly related to this economic strain and its widespread carnage. It’s the Dust Bowl all over again just in another form.

2012 offers us hope. If we planted the right seeds in 2011 those seedlings should begin to emerge soon; through the frozen landscape, bursting forth seeking the warm sun. For many, their timing to plant seeds was not just right and they may have more composting, tilling and plowing to do to get their gardens ready. I always found that the hard work I put into my organic gardens did not only produce wonderful, edible results, but it kept me very fit. This year, I was quite fortunate as I got the ground ready quite some time ago and now I am seeing those little bits of green peeping up through the snow.

The lessons we learn in life whether they be personal, financial or career oriented can all be learned through organic gardening. For what works in the soil and with nature will work in our lives as well.

For nice big fruits and vegetables, the earth needs to be rich, black, loamy and friable. This takes time to produce.The proper amount of sand for drainage, the leaf mold and peat, the organic manure and kelp and the trace minerals must be added in increments. The ground must freeze over to sterilize the soil and allow the roots to rest up for their hard work ahead and to eradicate pests that try to wreak havoc come spring.

But the hard work you put in is worth all the effort in the end when you bite into the juiciest, freshest produce imaginable. When your roses climb higher and cover the arbors and fill the air with their scent, you will know all the hours of work was for this moment of glory. When the Magnolia tree you planted grows tall and bears blossoms in Spring, the back that broke planting it will thank you every day.

So in retrospect, my 2011 was good. I had some incredible highs and experiences most could only dream of. I give many thanks for those moments. It had a few pitfalls here and there but I came out of it all unscathed. I never gave up and kept plugging away at my organic garden, mixing the right ingredients of minerals, time, patience and love. Lots of love. For without passion there can be no garden.

In my garden there are many things. There are many people and far away places. There are thousands of words and hundreds of pictures. In 2011, I toiled and tendered and in 2012 I will reap the rewards of an organically grown life; sprung from seed planted long ago, many right here on One Brief Moment.

Happy Gardening Everyone. May all your seeds grow big and strong in 2012.