10 Best Lateral Career Moves for 2011

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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.

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Beware terminators from the outer Blogalaxy!

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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.

Summer heat wave

Today was a scorcher. Topped out at around 97 degrees. Yesterday, my on-board temperature reading was a fiery hot 101 by 12:30 pm. This evening is a warm 80 but the ocean breeze picked up due to the Coriolis Effect and the tradewinds wafting in from far off lands.

I spent my day indoors in a temperate 75 degrees. The cool, creamy leather, marble floors and glass and steel furnishings make the space simple and uncomplicated. The chocolate stucco walls and crushed voile sheers, citron green silk pillows strewn about and Flokati throws, create a Zen mood. I lit all the giant vermillion and sandalwood scented candles and took a cool, cucumber and lavender soak, waiting for the heat to return. I play Luna Muera and Max Melvin’s Seaside to complete my serene mood. Mmmm…

He walks in with a languid bounce and drapes his long legs and six foot frame onto the leather. He reminds me of a Palomino under saddle. Golden bronzed skin draping his chiseled shoulders and biceps, his thick blonde mane shading his eyes; he cocks his head to the side to brush the hair away. The voice, a sultry Southern hemisphere near Brit, calls out for me. Emerging damp and gleaming, my hair piled high, the wavy curls drip water onto his bare chest.

Bracing for exquisite coupling, the dance begins. Caressing my neck and finding his way to full breasts that hungrily await him. Twisting our lengthened bodies, our muscles squeeze one another gripping tightly to extract every ounce of sweetness. Crescendo after crescendo, there is no end to this symphonic tantric dance. Sugared and moistened, our tanned bodies and tousled blonde locks collapse onto iced satin sheets.

At midnight we stroll the beach as we nightly do, sipping wine and searching for Loggerheads coming ashore to nest. We commune at our beach and our favorite tiki and we dance again.

This is the heat. This is the cool blue sea. This is what I love.

In a New York Minute

It’s been raining here in south Florida all day. A welcome respite from all that damned sun and terminally blue sky. A time to relax and reflect. Believe it or not, I occasionally miss grey skies and cool temperatures. Even a good wicked snow fall would suit me well right about now. Perhaps it is the Autumn most of all that brings forth lost friends, old memories and the smells of a New York night, the brisk chill with smoke filled skies and dirty puddles.
I’ve spent the last few days watching Wood Storks, with their massive white wings that spread out 7 feet and tipped in black, as if they had fallen into a paint can, feeding on brine shrimp and tiny crustaceans. The leering alligator hovering just beneath the surface keeps nearby, worrying the smaller spoonbills and egrets at the water’s edge. A raccoon, boldly walked onto the sun porch late last night, looking for morsels. My twin white cats, Odin and Loki peered out through the sliding glass doors as if the raccoon was somehow a familiar friend. Yet with all of this exquisite Everglades menagerie and fantasia it has made me long for some gritty New York weather, honking horns, cold chills and sweaters and boots. And so I’m off. For a New York minute…
I have people to see and bands to hear. I need to put my feet into my boots, put on my Pea coat and step into a smelly darkened night club and hear the sounds of raucous rock and roll at The Stone Pony or maybe some sultry blues. Life goes by too quickly and while glorified in sunshine, I’m afraid I may miss something. And so I do.
I miss my children’s hugs, my son’s wonderful film making stories and my dear mother, alone now with nothing to keep her company but her own piss and vinegar and Burlesque tales. But still, she is my Mom and I love her dearly. I love her humor and her crazy politics. I love hearing her reminisce and being with her brings me closer to my father, now gone 4 years. I am the prodigal daughter returning for her yearly or bi-yearly trek. Although I have shunned the sun of late, they will all tell me how tan I am. And just when the noise, the frenetic pace and the weather has taken its toll, I will return. So I am off for a New York Minute.
While there, I will look up musician friends and maybe sit in on a few sets. I will continue to write and work remotely as I have been doing. And when I return I will bring with me the flavors and sounds of New York. The bright lights and the big city. I will don cashmere sweaters and darker lipstick. Things not appropriate here in south Florida. One can only don yellow sundresses and pink tanks tops for so long. Some may find it odd that I return north for the autumn. But why I wonder? I love the gorgeous maroon and gold treetops and black cold skies at night. I love the smell of a fireplace burning in the distance. I love the way the stars look piercing the black velvet heavens.
In Florida it is always summer. I long for winter now. I long to sleep under thick blankets and be so chilled in morning that only the hottest coffee can cure, for a New York minute. I look forward to sleeping late, no being blasted out of bed at 7 am because the sun has crept right into the room, emblazoning itself to your eyelids. I need a hibernation of sorts. A temporary hibernation from paradise. And when I return, just as the sun will wait for me here like a lover, I will open my arms widely, kissing my adoring hot seas, the sanguine palms and my home far south of the border. Both the cold bluster of New York and the sublime heat of the deep south, you fill up my senses, come love me again.
I will return soon my love.

Summer

Burly Q Girl

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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.

Spark of Genius

It is important to take stock of your life from time to time. When surrounded by ignorant and asinine people and situations, it is as though you won’t ever wriggle out from under them. As they say, “if you walk with a cripple, you start to limp”. What is fundamental is the ability to recognize the truly puerile and expose it for what it is. A spark of genius is then called for.
I want to take stock of the exceptional parents I had and the experiences and education they afforded me. It’s rare in today’s world. Our educational system is not what it was. Gifted and talented meant you really were gifted and talented. Today, everyone is gifted and talented. I beg to differ…

Sometime after 1977, during the infamous and heavily ridiculed “Carter” years, amongst a host of inept social programs and a massive deficit, our educational “tracking” system was eradicated. The kids that were slower to learn or in classes modified to meet their needs, were suddenly in classes with the “accelerated” group. I was one of those “accelerated” kids and it changed the face of American education forever and it also changed the direction I would take. Suddenly everyone was “regular”. Believe it or not, they actually instituted that label to differentiate from “accelerated” or “modified”, the latter meaning unusually slow to learn. Bless those liberals.

The kids destined for “vo-tech” and took “shop” class, in other words, the not-ready-for-prime-time-players, were now in my Algebra and English Lit class. While raising my own children and putting them through the public school system, it was common practice to lump all the students together and create a simpler curriculum that everyone could grasp. (Against my better judgement, I adhered to my then husband’s Canadian wishes and kept them in public school). It was brutal to watch. Smart kids sleeping, bored out of their wits while the poor little dumb kids were catered too. One of my son’s teacher’s took offense one afternoon and sent him home with a note that read,”Your son feels the need to “shine” constantly and it is not fair to the other students”. He was in the third grade at the time and had corrected her that on that particular year, Pluto was not furthest from the sun because every 12 years Neptune trades places. Vexed she was as I recall. (Readers, please don’t take offense here if I am hitting a nerve, I am not judging the less scholastically inclined nor the mentally acute, I am merely making a statement of fact.) Fortunately for my son, by high school he had one teacher that applauded his brilliance and had him teach the sophomore astronomy class the entire year. She was unable to explain dark matter, black holes, “spaghettification” or the time space continuum to 16 year old’s. And apparently, he could.

Liberal minded governing entities decided it wasn’t fair that some kids were labeled “smart” and others were not. Ask yourself this: How many people do you know with a college degree that got into college when they probably never should have graduated high school? Or take a look at a local newspaper, a sales ad, a real estate slogan or what some people refer to as art or music. Have you noticed the plethora of idiotic ramblings purported by so called specialists in their fields? College graduates now speak and write in juvenile mumbo jumbo as if it were grammatically correct and are no closer to realizing that,”wuz”, “cuz”,”wanna” or “i be” are actual words than my cat realizes his own sentience. Even while perusing job ads one finds typos, text message style abbreviations and absurd remarks. It’s disheartening to say the least.

We used to have structure in school. Our curriculum’s made us think and work. I studied ballet my entire life and played violin at the age of 4. We had mandatory language classes starting in the first grade. We had to WRITE our papers longhand. Which meant we needed to spell correctly and understand diction, phonetics, syntax etc., and not rely on spell check; which never works anyway because it cannot recognize the difference between “there”, “their” or “they’re” for instance. It is astonishing the drivel one runs into today. I refuse to watch any television for this reason, especially local or national news. I am fully aware that if you allow yourself to be duped and manipulated by the propaganda regurgitated by the corporate media whores, whose main interest is consumerism and not the welfare of the nation, you will mindlessly plod through life with the rest of the herd idling towards the slaughter-house sitting in an easy chair while watching Jackass or Jersey Shore. We should all be terrified of where the future of the American intellect and ingenuity is heading.

I suspect there is at least one social program afoot, (please note the inherent sarcasm) to blame in the dumbing down of our nation’s educational system. Having been raised by a Yale PhD, Columbia U professor and NSA/CIA father, I received an exemplary education. An education is not exclusive to being able to graduate from college and walk away with a piece of paper. A good education begins in the home and is cultivated by capable parents and a well rounded experience.

For a good idea of American intellect, ingenuity and strength, Alexis De Toqueville’s, Democracy in America outlines this superbly well and is one of, if not the best read and should be required in middle school along with classes in civics so our populace has a grasp on who is really in charge here. The Washington pundits have all read it. It’s required reading for anyone studying political science or law and somehow, they have tossed the book on the back of the shelf as if it were some sort of nasty little secret. Toqueville even prophecies on what will happen when capitalism and democracy fall into the hands of the ill-equipped, illiterate and  greedy. Smart populace=Strong nation people.

Did you read my post about the Social Disaster? How on earth can a person claim to be a specialist in the field of social work or in helping battered or abused women in a shelter, when they have never had children, been married or divorced, survived a battery or rape or have any practical social skills to bring to the table other than a piece of paper and a measly year in Africa at the governments expense? You’re kidding right?

Take the music industry today. Everyone thinks they can be a rockstar or get a signed record deal. All they have to do is either get the funding, (many times through illegal activities as in some Rap artists) or know someone, as in the nepotism running rampant in the music and film industry. Talent is no longer necessary nor is paying your dues. Everyone gets a free pass, makes a million overnight and gets their asses all over the television. Re: The Kardashian dolts.

Though, I must ponder. I’m a humanist, an animal and environment lover, with a brain and an extremely versatile education and background. Where are we going with all of this degradation? What do we have to look forward to 10, 15 or 20 years from now? A welfare, “socialist” state saturated with the socially and scholastically inept? Where is the spark of genius that America is known for? Our strength lies in our populace. Our populace is getting weaker by the second as millions gorge themselves on national news, the disasters and the mayhem, the fear and loathing and political scandals all designed to keep our eye not on the ball. Why are we taking political sides as if one is any better than the other or care about what Lady Gaga or Charlie Sheen are up to? Who really gives a crap?

Has not one person noticed that a bi-cameral system doesn’t work with over 300 million citizens and that Lady Gaga, (who actually is quite a talented pianist, go figure) and Charlie Sheen pay their publicists to start fires to increase their notoriety? Are the American people this inane? What happened to taking pride in our hard work and ethics? We were founded on that principle and farmers with pitchforks and 12 year old boys with muskets proved it to an entire armada of British soldiers.

Please America, wake up from this nightmare. Please bring back the genius, the spark and the reason that the entire world envies us and leans on us for leadership.

For those who do not possess this spark of genius, please refer to our neighbors to the north for assistance and asylum. They love to feed and house drug addicts, tax over 60% to your income, permit known terrorists entry and club baby seals. They certainly do send a mixed message to all those tree hugging liberals don’t they? Sure, they’re a pacified bunch I guess when it comes to having a military industrial complex, but then  why do they do hang onto our skirts, pockets, purses, technology and charm? And then have the audacity to snub their noses?

If something doesn’t happen soon, I am going to find a third world nation rife for a takeover, where its absentia inhabitants are here, getting American financial aid, starting businesses and getting college grants and start my own social reforms and government.

Screw it. 😦

Kindly ask Google to clear their cache

If anyone is wondering what to do about posts they find offensive once they have been removed from blogs but still show up in Google’s cache search, you may want to ask Google to clear their cache. I doubt they will honor your request, so you may just have to wait it out. It could appear in their cache for months even though they no longer appear here. I cannot control Google.But I do like them and they like me too. Sorry…
I have no need to be bothered with your filth or writing about your filth. I find humor in all of your despicable, sociopathic, twisted, lying crap. It has made for some really good material though. Don’t ya’ think? 😉 I mean honestly, people are rolling in the aisles. Shame, shame. You should have behaved more above board and maybe even a bit more like a man you complete asshole. I’m so done with all of your stupid bullshit. But I will write what I like and I will have fun while doing it.
In other words, FUCK OFF.
Fuck off with your Google searches of old posts, fuck off with Googling your name and fuck off with your constantly looking at and copying my photos you completely twisted dirtbag. Sometimes, actually most times, you get what you give. You gave it out and I gave it right back to you. So please, fuck off. My boyfriend thinks you need to go to Man-Up school. You sniveling wuss.
And just so you know, I see your searches, I get your clicks and I get your locations and IP’s. You have got to be the dumbest bastard I have ever known.
I think I will send you my medical bills by the way. At least my attorney thinks I should.

Here is the bottom line. You totally fucked up asshole. You know you did, I pointed it out, I called you on it. Get over it and grow up. I am allowed by law to write what I like and as long as I speak truth and can back it up, all is well in the US of A. This is America. You stupid left winged, socialist prick. Oh yea, I forgot, you hate Obama remember?
I wonder…Maybe you’re having an identity crisis. Why don’t you invest in some psychotherapy and some regression therapy. Apparently, you had a very screwed up childhood.
As my friend from New Zealand would say, “go fuck your dog”.