Adopt an indie artist! They’re housebroken and well-behaved.

 

I’d like to help promote indie artists by “adopting” them or promoting them on my blog by posting a video, mentioning an upcoming event, and then placing their picture with a link in the sidebar for a week. To start things rolling, this week I’m adopting Elza, an award-winning songwriter, who performs a spicy blend of blues, jazz, and folk-rock a.k.a. Acoustic Soul.”

Elza will be performing Fri, Apr. 9 – 6:30-9:00 PM in Ridgefield, CT at the Cutting Board Cafe in the dingy dark outer world that can only be found with night vision goggles or artificial intelligent back seat drivers. I hope all of you tri-state music and endorphin junkies will head for the hills into the CT boonies, or the Ozark of the east, where streetlights and sewers are a rare commodity and deer are regarded as vermin instead of Disney characters, and stop by the Cutting Board Cafe to see Elza perform. She has toured extensively and has shared the stage with such icons as Grammy Award Winner, Charlie Colin of Train, Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead, Martin Sexton, and Catie Curtis.

If you can’t make it to Ridgefield, CT from, let’s say, Long Beach, CA or Venice, Italy, enjoy the video of Elza’s gritty hard-core club performance. No Blue Ray or HD quality technological perfection here. This is off the rack and heart-on-the-sleeve stuff. No martinis or champagne. Only beer and wine and an occasional scotch or Margarita with salt.

If you’d like to join me in promoting or adopting an indie artist every Tuesday, please copy the below picture with link and place it in your sidebar for a week to help get the word out and then recommend an artist that you’d like to help promote, and I’ll place the picture and link in my sidebar for a week and also post the video.

Let me know what you think of my “Adopt an Indie Artist” idea, as long as it doesn’t involve going to hell before my planned departure date or the use of really, really bad language. And please, don’t throw eggs. I bruise easily.

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Exercising poor judgment while working out.

Atomic bombing of Nagasaki on August 9, 1945.Image via Wikipedia


Want to Exercise? Pick Your Poison.

Sweat by Jog, Gym, or Treadmill?

(previously posted in 2007; revised and repackaged)

JOGGING THE WALLET

There is something glamorous about jogging in a Moxie Skirt and Fizz Tank Top until you run for sixty-seconds, then stumble into your neighbor’s yard gasping for breath, falling onto their newly-paved driveway, leaving a CSI body outline there after EMS certified masons extract you from the tar. An unsightly stain of sweat and tar now indelibly marks your tank top and pride with a Rorschach like blotch that signifies “failure.”

For me, jogging is too damn hard and undependable, as it is intrinsically affected by whether the weather is perfect or not. I’m a perfectionist. Perfection is a myth. Jogging is a mythstake.

EAU DE GYM

Gyms are self-contained rubber rooms impervious to outside weather conditions and stimulating conversation. I love human contact as much as the next person but would rather not pay for the sadistic spewing of empty words, while under the influence of endorphins, when my heart is about to explode.

In addition to the expense of joining a gym (or la de dah health club), I refuse to get in shape next to people with toned hard bodies, who, I’m convinced, work out in a secret gym in a bunker somewhere in Wyoming, to get in shape before joining a gym . . . to get in shape.

While those hard-bodied people can wear stylish form-fitting workout clothes, I have to wear flabby gal clothes with fancy flap traps to hide a sagging stomach and drooping butt. I worry every time I lift my arms that the fat folds hidden inside the trap will unravel and deck the gal next to me doing 195 mph on her stationary bike.

And why, may I ask, isn’t there a gym cop handing out speeding tickets to overachievers?

No. Gyms are too stressful. Besides, I’d rather not have to smell other people’s sweat.

TREADING THE TREADMILL LIGHTLY

I already have enough stress from the treadmill that glares at me from the family room, a technological marvel that is accessible, as well as evil, since it eliminates the need for any human contact at all. It glares at me because lately I’ve been avoiding it. After only exercising for a month or two, I started skipping days, then weeks, and finally skipping past the treadmill completely and heading straight for the couch where I routinely exercise my thumb on the remote.

I’m officially on an exercise hiatus while I reevaluate my pudgy doctor’s advice to “shape up or die!

”

Frankly, both my doctor and working out scares me. Stretching and straining muscles is masochistic. In fact, I believe that exercising is more like exorcising and that its only purpose is to keep the mind in shape by working out limitless creative ways in order to avoid the harmful effects of exercising.

How do you tread on the mill – on foot or on wheel?

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The Metamucil Club.

Old People SignImage by rileyroxx via Flickr

 

No elderly were harmed in the creation of this blog post.

On my lunch hour,15-minutes removed, I raced over to the library for some much-needed quiet, or so I thought, since library’s are supposed to be quiet, right? Well, not this one. You see, I stumbled into a gathering of seventy-somethings blathering loudly at a library meet up where they discussed the addendum to their condo bylaws, in addition to hanging out at the corner pizzeria in the old days during the Jurassic period.

Okay. I’ll give the “one foot in the grave gang” the benefit of the doubt and factor in hard of hearing as a reason for the high decibel vocal effusions. However, since the library does have wireless, I think the elders should have used email as a means of communication rather than their high screechy voices or just met at Starbuck’s in the first place, which is loud anyway. I once had a writer’s meeting there at night which is apparently the time they like to do their vacuuming.

Perhaps I should have stayed in my car and tried different laptop positions. Now, now, before your thoughts to turn to sludge, the front seat is cramped with car essentials: steering wheel, center console, and dashboard, which makes maneuvering difficult. Car manufacturers would consider a laptop a non-essential item; I would have to strongly disagree and suggest that they indulge our laptop obsession by improving its accessibility in the car whenever it’s stationary. I’m talking about the car.

In fact, I wish that one of the geniuses who invented GPS would find a way to develop an adjustable swivel laptop holder that fits onto the console for times when supposedly quiet public institutions, or institution like places where they hot wire your brain, undergo hostile granny takeovers. Blue hair as far as the eye can see or squint, depending upon your age and/or eyesight.

At least the grannies minds are sharp enough to carry on heated debates on the positive and negative effects of using assorted pizza toppings and that the grannies, as well as the grampies, can still drive to the library without ending up inside a mall atrium trying to find a parking space behind the counter at the Sharper Image store. Oh, that only happens in Florida where all roads lead to sidewalk valet parking and hanging dimpled chads.

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Happy 101, a precursor to Happy 102 for credit.

A belated posting of the Happy 101 Award from Sally Lee by the Sea. Thank you so much for including me in your list of ten. I’m deeply touched by the gesture. Please stop by Sally Lee by the Sea, filled with Sally’s passion for life and all things by the sea. Her comfortable beauty will inspire and enlighten your world.

Another thank you to James at Zeitheist and Vault of Stories, two really cool dark and quirky blogs. James is a wonderful writer and is working on a speculative fiction novel. James also handed me the Happy 101 Award. Thank you, James.

One more thank you to Reforming Geek, who recently gave me the Beautiful Blogger Award. I feel that I wasn’t effusive enough in describing the delight and happy, warm fuzzy feeling I get every time I read her wonderful, quirky blog. Please get on your board and surf on over to Reforming Geek’s place and feel the love, as well as the spine tingling chills from her Evil Twin, who gets into all sorts of trouble. Dark. Very Dark and yet belly laugh funny until it hurts. Just like Evil Twin intended.

My Happy 101 List (cliff note version)

Sun
And warmth, 71.0 degrees. No dandelions, crab grass, or any genus of weed. No bugs, i.e., mosquitoes, gnats, or flies, or foul odors wafting over from the neighbor’s yard. Just happy odors like flowers, cut grass, and morning dew, not doo.

Family
My husband and son, especially when things go The Brady way and not the Weeds way or the Six Feet Under dark, messy conversationally moanful way.

Dog park days of summer
When my mutts run with other free range pups in a fenced in park with guards posted at check points packing 38-caliber cookies and DOA (dropped on arrival) doody bags.

Rain in moderation
No floating houses or ten-foot water walls cascading over my deer masticating, buffet vegetable garden.

5:01
And off I go: Zoom, zoom, zoom, past prickly bushes that just miss scratching the paint off my car, down the drive way into bumper-to-bumper traffic, where drivers sleep or stick their rubber necks out the window to view wreckage from a daily crash on the side of the highway.

Saturdays and Sundays
Quiet time in the Brady household when Jan isn’t pulling Marcia, Marcia, Marcia’s hair, and Mike isn’t too pensive and professorial rambling about the differences between good and evil and why Satan is hot and God is not.

My Mom and Dad
Chatting on the phone about them and not me. Me talk gets messy. They talk is happy and about tennis and golf, not Tiger’s immoral golf, but moral golf with shiny clubs and clean bright balls, and things not golf related like early bird dinners and Wednesday matinees.

Movies
Funny, scary, quirky, not boring when your finger hovers over the eject button during the opening credits.

Friends
Happy, not whiny, but red or white winy, laughing, not crying, unless laughing until crying.

Writing, writing, writing
Blogging writing and story writing that is weird and wacky, funny, dark, and moody but always a surprise to my readers and me.

Dog licking my face
As long as I know where his/her tongue has been.


My blogger ten list to whom I bestow the Happy 101 Award

The Screaming Me-Me
Stir-Fry Awesomeness
I Do Things So You Don’t Have To
Bonehead
Man Over Board
Unscripted Life (back at you)
MrsBlogAlot
Speaking From The Crib
Quirky Loon
Dog in The Water Pipe

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WTF? I Received the Eternal Sunshine Award of the Spotted Mind.


I thought it fitting to post this on Friday, the day of Ivy’s great meme, WTF Friday, which you can find at her site Unscripted Life. In Ivy’s words: Every Friday, I bring you a true story that will leave you asking (as we say in the Unscripted family) “WTF mate?!?”

Ivy has poured her heart and soul into her site and recently redesigned it, at times slipping into darkness before finding her way back into sunlight. I was so honored to have Ivy guest post here in January and write an article about her experiences in reworking her site. Here’s a link to the article, Unscripted Web Design and the 404 Sanity Drainer. It’s funny and informative. A great read!!!!

Please swing by Unscripted Life, where Ivy blogs in her warped, yet heartwarming, unscripted way about  life, or the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

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Tweet and Repeat were sitting on a fence . . .

Tweet got off and then who was left?

Repeat.

Tweet and repeat were sitting on a fence. Tweet got off and then who was left?

Repeat.

Okay. Enough of this twit talk. You get it. But now that you’ve got it.. Get with the tweety bird brain trust and follow the sound of tapped out beer stained keys and join the twitter of excitement from the throngs of Tweet Thursday memers. 

But how do I twitter with excitement? You might ask, or think, or tweet. And what is this Tweet Thursday thingy all about?

I’m glad you asked. As a matter of fact, the Tweet Thursday meme dropped on my head at Me-Me’s wacky bloggy place called The Screaming Me Me!! which is like a carnival. She’s got a caption contest going on . . .

Now back to twits and tweets and the Twitter Thursday tutelage.

All you have to do is comment on this post, follow me on Twitter, and I will tweet your latest blog post. Sound easy? It is! And it’s every Thursday. If you’d like to join us, copy the blue bird of happiness onto your blog, repeat the instructions, and then rinse. Since I’ve probably mangled the instructions, I would strongly suggest that you swing by Me Me’s place, The Screaming Me Me!!, and read the instructions.

Note: I’ll likely be tweeting into Friday since I’ve got to get up at dawn with the birds and garbage trucks.

Now, flap your wings together several times and repeat after me, “There’s no place like meme.”

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A Walk Down Cemetery Lane: A Post Mortem.

headstones

 


If a headstone falls
in a cemetery, does it make a sound?

First Posted July, 2009

 

 

Only a medium with a reliable spirit source could answer such a question. Unfortunately, most ghosts are flighty, show up unannounced, and leave cold spots on the living room rug. If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t even hang out in a cemetery; I would haunt a five-star hotel in Cozumel.

Lately, death has been on my mind because I’ve been temping at a headstone company. It’s been dead. – Couldn’t resist – Quiet as a tomb.

No ghosts so far. This isn’t a rest stop for spirits. It’s more like a weigh station for words, tweets in stone, as it were. Just the bereaved visit here to create a lasting memorial for a loved one and to ensure the cemetery marker is prominent enough to find amid a gaggle of graves.

Traveling down the wrong path in life is an inconvenience. In death, a lost soul would have an impossible task negotiating his way down a graveyard path to locate his headstone, unable to distinguish one from the next among all the clichéd inscriptions like “Here lies a dead guy” or “Beloved husband of who gives a shit.” I think gravestone captions should be more insightful, like “Our Loss. Hell’s gain,” or “She would never shut up until now.”

I never realized how many expressions incorporated the word “stone” and that their meanings could be interpreted in many different ways.

Expressions such as . . .

Just a stone’s throw away – Horrible method of measurement for a stone the size of Mount Rushmore.

Nothing is written in stone – A pad and pen are more convenient to carry around in a purse.

Leave no stone unturned  – OCD person’s greatest nightmare.

You can’t draw blood from a stone – First Medical Journal abstract.

Man, am I stoned – Villager having rocks thrown at him for being high.

A rolling stone gathers no moss – Just add Crazy Glue and the moss will stick.

Most stones found in yards are dull and colorless, which is also true of headstones. They are so gray and dreary-looking and add nothing to a cemetery’s ambiance, already lacking vibrant décor. Perhaps something whimsical, like a lawn jockey or gnome would make a cemetery more appealing. Colorful yard statues would eliminate the problem and stress of locating a family plot, while providing a more festive-setting for graveside eulogies. Improving a cemetery’s surroundings may even encourage a ghost to hang out there, instead of popping in and out on a loved one at home.

However, neither scenario would appeal to me. My afterlife itinerary would not include a family haunt-getaway or a scenic cemetery stroll. I’d rather spend eternity vicariously sipping Mai Tais on the beaches of Cozumel.

A little backstory: the headstone company was located in an old house with a living room (really), where I sat behind a large mahogany desk answering the five phone calls I had all week. If I turned around to admire the scenery outside the window, I would see a small yard filled with headstones. I had to climb squeaky stairs in order to get to the bathroom on the second floor. Really, really creepy. One of the phone calls I fielded was from a woman concerned that her gravestone wouldn’t be done in time for her family to see when they visited her in the fall. She wasn’t dying. She was just prepared for the worst.

 

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Parallel parked on the couch and other beautiful bloggy things.

[Beautiful_Blogger.jpg]
In keeping with the caffeinated version of the Academy Awards that aired this past Sunday night, I’d like to move this along at rapid heart beat speed and thank Confessions of a Reforming Geek for this esteemed award. Confessions of a Reforming Geek is a hilarious geeky lady with an evil twin that lurks somewhere deep inside her compose window and wrecks havoc upon her blog and readers’ minds. Funny stuff!!!!As the lights have already started blinking and the hook is cradled snugly around my neck, I need to quickly segue into my list of things that I think are beautiful.

  • Plane ticket to Tahiti
    • I don’t have one, but if I did, I would bow to its beauty as I hurtled thirty-three thousand feet above the earth toward island bliss.
  • Fully-stocked refrigerator
    • I’m talking about a year’s worth of ready-made dinners, drinks (be creative), condiments, staples, i.e., ketchup, etc. and not the silver goal post shaped thingies that fit into a stapler and jam at critical times, like when stapling.
  • Closet filled with new clothes arranged seasonally
    • I’ll take clothing from any designer outlet store: TJ Maxx, Marshalls, etc. I’ll find someone who physically matches my body type and have her try on the clothes for me, while I sit at Starbuck’s sipping a Mochachino Coffee.
  • AA shoes in any color and style
    • I’ll take anything! Shoes never fit me. I was born with bird’s feet.
  • A pizza delivery
    • Shiny white boxes (there are four of them perfectly aligned in stacking order) glimmer beneath the incandescent outdoor lighting, as the pizza delivery boy approaches my front door while sweating onto said pizza boxes (and you thought that was pizza grease).
  • An empty sink with matching empty dishwasher
    • I don’t want to see any dirty dishes ever again. I only want to see clean dishes neatly piled inside the cabinet, glasses and coffee cups separated (they cannot cohabitate), forks, spoons, and knives placed in their proper slots. Absolutely no intermarriage of silverware.
  • The inside of my eyelids
    • Eyes tightly shut, thinking of zzzzzzzz’s, dreaming in 3D Technicolor.
  • A hot cooked meal that I was not involved in preparing
    • I can’t afford to take a sick day.
  • A bowl of chocolate chip mint Häagen-Dazs ice cream. Hell! A bowl of any flavor Häagen-Dazs ice cream
    • Give it to me, baby!
  • White sand squished beneath my toes
    • See Plane Ticket to Tahiti.
  • An hour lunch.
    • Forty-five minutes is not enough for writing, eating, and driving to where I’ll be writing and eating.
    • I need my blogging fix or otherwise I get cranky. Eating is also mandatory. Driving is not, but gets me to my lunch destination faster than my bird feet.
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