Where Did The Time Go?

It’s graduation weekend for Jordan. Where did the time go? We are so lucky to have a colorful, if not exactly normal kid. Theater kids are never normal because if they are they simply don’t do as well. Could a normal young person stand ongoing rejection? It’s probably the worst career your child can choose. There are a million billion kids who want to be actors, and their lives are all about audition after audition. Even if they land a terrific part in a great show, when the curtain comes down for the last time, they are back in the line to get looked at again.

JK and her BFA pals..
Nevertheless, if it’s what they want to do, the only thing you can do as an indulgent parent is support their decision and make it clear that they ought to get a bartender’s license. Anyway, sometimes you forget how fortunate you are until you run smack into someone who hasn’t been quite so blessed. Last night we had about an hour before Jordan’s BFA showcase. (That’s Bachelor of Fine Arts. It’s a very expensive degree – and I mean that in the nicest possible way.)

JKB, her last day at the Beacon St apt.
There was one seat at the bar and another off to the side. I told David he should move the chair over to the bar. He thought he would rather stand. Then the guy sitting next to me asked everyone in the immediate vicinity to move down and he insisted David sit. Which he did. When we were all comfy, the bartender came over to our new friend and said “You got barred—what are you doing here. And don’t bother these people. They don’t want to hear you yap.” He took our order and walked away. “I didn’t know I got barred,” he said, looking quite forlorn. “Am I bothering you folks? I don’t want to bother anyone.”

With Jordan at Durgin Park
David assured him that he was not bothering us, so he immediately started to talk and bother us. We learned more about this guy than I know about any of my relatives. He confessed that he was drunk and that he was a drunk. He went on to say that he had won $140 playing Keno scratch off tickets that day, felt flush with it, and he was going to use the money to drink some more and then he was going to buy his mother and dad a few Keno cards, so they could win a few bucks. We learned that his daughter had started school at American University but it was too expensive so now she’s a junior at Curry College and she wants to major in accounting. Well, she doesn’t exactly want to, but when she dropped out of American she was majoring in International Affairs, which he thought was much better because it was “international.” We assured him accounting was fine and we were sure she would be a success.

Iris and JK's pal Sammy
“My parents have custody of my daughter”, he said sadly. “But it’s Ok. She’s just fine. I’m going to go to her graduation next year. She told me I could. I didn’t know I got barred from here. I’m going to go someplace with music where the beer is cheaper. Hey Ron, bring me a check.” He yelled at the bartender.

We had to leave to get to the showcase.

And speaking of fortunate. When we arrived in Boston it was raining. We pulled up in front of Club 70 - that's our dear friend Tom's apartment, and the place we stay on most of our trips. David took the bags inside and I went to find a parking place. Street parking is usually a nightmare in that area but I have good parking karma and garaging the car is expensive. I found a wonderful spot where we only had to pay from 8am to 6 pm. It's a dollar an hour. Since we are incredibly frugal this one act of finding a good space (as wonderful as it is) makes us a prisoner of the car. We have to put coins in every two hours no matter where we are and what we're doing - which we did for the better part of two days. But when we were confronted by having to decide between taking a picture of Jordan's BFA group (which he had waited to years to do), getting to the show on time, and moving the car from behind the Club 70 - it got to be too much. “Are we out of our minds?” David said. The answer was “yes.” So we bit that financial bullet and we were prisoners no more. It was quite an expensive relief, but since we weren't paying for a hotel, we felt genuinely unburdened - and remember the answer to “our we nuts?” was a resounding “yes”.

The showcase was spectacular. The thirteen graduating seniors put together an incredible production. This will now go to NY for three more shows next Thursday. They will present themselves to agents, casting directors, producers, people in the business with an interest in new talent, parents and friends. As I watched them appear in their final performance it took me back too, not only the day we dropped her at school - which turned out to be three days because she kept finding reasons for us not to leave - but to the first time we ever saw her perform in an elementary school production. I can still see that little face with sparkling eyes and hear that beautiful voice - which we now realize was a gift from God. And I wonder every day. Where did the time go? We're just sayin...Iris
and now... without further ado, Jordan Kai Burnett and Greg Kanter
(Jordan is the puppet!!)

Catchin' Up

Just inside the BOLTbUS entrance, DC
Way behind. I know I'm way, way behind. Where did I leave my bumper sticker: “The Hurrier I Go, the Behinder I Get.” Yeah, it's been one of those weeks, though I have to admit, I'm not sure exactly where the hell I was, or what the hell I was doing. Not a lot of High Class photography, I suppose. But there will always be time for that. You just have to make it. In no particular order, recent days have included:

Taking the new BOLTbUS from New York to DC and back, just days apart. Owned by Greyhound, but clearly meant to be more upscale, BOLTbUS is an attempt to bring a little big of luxury to the world of bus travel. I know, “bus” and “luxury” are words that never appear in the same sentence, but I was pleasantly surprized: lovely grey, 2 x 2 seating (“...rich corinthian leather, Tatoo!”)

"...rich corinthian leather.."
actual leg room for someone as tall as 5-9 (that wouldnt be me, but I met someone who WAS 5-9 and they didnt complain. I'm 5-8 ½, and I had a lovely seat, too. In front of the seat is a double whammy electric outlet, smartly arranged so that the big slots DON'T line up (which I guess means if you have one of those big IBM portable power blocks the both of them might fit there. Fortunately, like all things travel, the bus wasn't yet full, so I have two seats to myself. Like the train, this vastly improves the attitude of the passenger, and creates such a feeling of spaciousness that you are almost willing to over look the 4 hours of putting your tuchas in a seat. Every now and then, you stand up walk a few steps this way or that, and try to stretch a tendon so you don't get an Interstate Charlie Horse. Those are the worse kind, for I fear they won't stop for help unless you are really in bad bad shape. But there was no real issue on either direction for this ride. The cool thing is, you can arrive 5 minutes before blastoff, and just get on the bus; it's positively 1972 all over again. No stupid inane security wanding; no standing in line for days; no having to tip three porters to make sure your bag arrives. Then, just hop on, and ride that sucka. No stops. No MarylandJerseyDelaware resting stations.

Power to the People
You can make your way to the pissoir in the back of the bus... no running water just a very ominous looking squeeze bottle of that sticky translucent antibiotic handwash that politicians use after they shake 100 hands in the crowd. On one of the buses on the Clinton campaign last month, there was one of those hilarious pictographs next to the mini throne in the back of the bus. It had a stick figure standing in front of the toilette (like Larry Craig, stability required a 'wide stance') with a diagonal line through it. Next to it was a stick figure of a happy camper, sitting on the john, in typical “take your time you have to read the whole newspaper before you leave” fashion. That had no diagonal. What were they trying to tell me? That the only known advantage men have over women (i.e. being able to stand and pee without hindrance) was being taken away by legions from the Interstate Commerce Commission and the D.O.T. Gimme a break folks: If we have to ride in this bus to begin with, the least you can do it accord us a simple chance for a quick getaway. Let's face it, if there IS a problem with the bus, hitting something or rolling over..that LAST thing you want to be doing before the lights go out, is to be sitting on the Bus crapper. I mean really.. who thinks of this stuff?

That said, the BOLTbUS is a great deal. Forty bucks round trip. And, since they leave you near the metro/subway, you just walk a few steps, hop on a train and youre home in fifteen minutes. I'm happy, in this day of four hundred dollar shuttle tickets, and $1550 round trip flights (same day, out and back) to Cincinnatti from DC ( a total of 3 hours in the air), that there is someone wiling to try and bet on quality, and reasonable price points. Oh, and did I mention they have free WiFi? It actually bears a strong resemblance to a Starbucks near any big college. Tons of people with laptops open, sipping tea and coffee, and tapping away on the 'net. The WiFi thing really makes it so 21st century, n'est-ce pas?

And the groovy stuff you get to see firsthand!
And the fact that you can get to, and leave from, the underground really speeds things up, especially in this day of $4.00 gas.

Four hours later, you're back on 6th Avenue
Each end of that trip provided something worth noting. Well, worth noting if you like Wet-Vacs. In December, when I migrated my office from the “messy” basement to the first floor studio, I ended up storing lots of old pictures, contact sheets, negatives, and tear sheets in big plastic tubs. Water proof, dust proof, trip over proof: they are the next best thing to actually getting things organized. At least the 'stuff' will be there in six months or a year or five when you actually have the time to sort through them. All the better, I noted, when my foot squished onto a rug in the basement. That's a sure sign of water, folks, and after four straight days of rain in DC, the water had finally broken the spell of the cinder/concrete and was slowly drifting in. Water never loses. It may take a while, but living down stream from Hoover Dam, Three Gorges, or Umatilla, should give you pause. God has been doing this water thing way longer than we have. Anyway, maybe it was my charming countenance, but Tuesday morning, the spell broke, the sun came out, and beauty was beheld. And the water stopped coming in, saving me another full and antagonistic day using my new Wet Vac. So, I headed back to BOLTbUS and scored a ride back to the city, in time to see my Cousin of Choice, Joe Oppedisano, who'd just arrived from Italy, for dinner. Joe is one of those folks who is a victim of the new electronic age. Somehow, there is another photographer (I use the term loosely) who has the same name as Joe. Joe, for reasons of simplicity, chose www.JoeO.com for his website, seeing as nearly everyone spells his name incorrectly. The one guy who got is right, is the other Joe Oppedisano, who not only is a photographer, but a photographer heavy into the brightly lit, oiled body ero-notReallySure what to call it, scene. I really don't think the pictures are much, but I give the guy credit, there are a helluva lot OF them. Meanwhile, when my Joe O makes a new contact, people do what they always do: they type your name, add DotCom, and see what youre up to. In his case, it's uniformly shocking, disappointing, and unhelpful. Some people actually think it IS our Joe's work. Nope, but try and tell that to someone online. People Online know everything, right? Sure they do. Can't tellem a thing. Well, JoeO has been trying to work something out with this fella, but .. so far, no go. Too bad.. I mean it's one thing to be taken to task for uninteresting pictures, but it's another when those pictures aren't even YOURS!

New York & red stuff: it goes together
OK...I think I am rambling: but I'll add one thing: On a walk downtown the other day we passed by the Flat Iron building, and even a hundred years after Stieglitz shot it, the perfect picture, even at 4pm its a joy to behold.

It's not always such a fine outcome. Walking on an eastside street the other day I saw what is probably the most ironic touch I've seen in ages: a heavy metal fence to protect a Gotham City tree, only the fence is a little late. Sorry bout that.

So, go find a building, preferably something with a little age on it. Maybe something with some beautiful Edwardian touches. Stare for a few minutes. Make it your own. And then move on.
We're just sayin' David.

Mother's Day Past

Aside from increasing the number of greeting cards that are sold and restaurants that sell out for brunch, what exactly is the reason for Mother’s Day? My mother always said there was no reason to pick one day a year to be nice to your mother, because every day was Mother’s day – she didn’t mean it. She would make us suffer if we didn’t acknowledge her aptitude for parenting. Mostly we acknowledged her ability to create frozen food. She was famous for cooking a meal, freezing it, and defrosting it later that night for dinner. In fact, there was a time when we renamed her Delores Defrost—and we meant that in the nicest possible way.

Parents were different when we were kids. They were not our friends. The closest I ever came to intimate conversation with my mother was when I got my period and my mother whacked me so hard I fell off the toilet. It was not done in any malicious way, so don’t go putting it in the same category as female genital mutilation – geez, where am I going with this? I’m not sure if it was a family or Yiddish custom, but when a girl becomes a woman, the mother is supposed to 'knock' the child out of her. It was not among my favorite family events, but I never thought she meant to hurt me. I never thought of anything beyond that single act of whack. Humiliating and frightening as it was, it didn’t damage me. Of course, if she had done it today she would have been arrested. Actually, when we talked about it recently we decided that maybe if we all turned our mother’s in for the things that would be considered abuse today, they would all be in jail getting three meals a day, a place to sleep, TV and additional activites. It would save all of us the cost of assisted living, aides and nursing care. 'Nevermind', as my ‘mothers’ (I had eight of them) would say, “what was, was.” They would also say “dead’s, dead” And “go... know” which meant; who actually knows, or who can ever tell? But “go...know” was a kind of colorful short hand. Eight mothers you’re thinking. No I wasn’t in foster care. My mother had seven sisters and a sister-in-law, and they were all my mothers. Four lived right around the corner and four lived in Newburgh, N.Y. It didn’t matter where you were in your life, or physically located, one of them would be there to guide you on your way. The guiding wasn’t always welcome but it was relentless – and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

And speaking of ridiculous. I think Obama should just say, “Look. If Hillary wants West Virginia so bad—she can just take it. We’re not going to win it in the general anyway.” What are these people thinking—or maybe that’s the problem—thinking is not in the picture. And speaking of not thinking, do you think Bill Clinton knows how ridiculous he looks when he wags his finger at the public. Does he not get that it takes everyone back to those terrible times when he lied to the American people about “that woman, Monica Lewinsky”. And speaking of Monica Lewinsky, let’s not.

But back to Mothers. A few years ago I got a call from a friend that was a little disturbing; it started as follow: “Iris, all I can say is when I opened my eyes I had my hands around her throat and I was squeezing.” Admittedly, I was a bit taken back by the call. And I said, “are there marks that will identify you by your fingerprints?” We both laughed hysterically. I understood what she felt and how she chose to explain it. (The Mother was untouched and lived happily ever after—until she died peacefully last week.) When we become the caregivers for our parents it is not without any number of frustrations. The task is daunting and sometimes we just don’t know how to deal with it. This phone call was the culmination of many months of horrifying episodes, including paranoia and accusations that my friend was stealing money and jewels from her beloved parent. In fact, my friend had spent a fortune supporting her mother for years. Obviously, choking her parent was not the answer. But if you have ever been a parent you can relate to this situation. There is bound to come a time when you are so frustrated by the behavior of your child that you do understand how it can lead to child abuse. The difference is that crazy people hurt their children when they discipline, and normal parents don’t. Anyway, it was shortly after this that they recognized the dementia and dealt with it. NY Times columnist Tom Friedman said his mother put the ‘mench’ in dementia, and that was certainly the case with this truly lovely lady. Unfortunately, we are a generation and a country unprepared to deal with aging or the old. And both the health care system and are attitudes about illness do nothing to support our reality—our parents are getting old and if we don’t have tons of money, they are not going to be able to do it gracefully. Nor are we. Hopefully, this next generation of leaders will help us to find some solutions.

Hillary appeared with Chelsea over the weekend for a special Mothers’ day push. I was sorry they didn’t just stay home and cuddle. I sometimes do that with my daughter and never did it enough with my son. But it’s a great way to spend some quality time and it can put things in perspective. Hillary may or may not stay in the race or win the nomination. These are things about which no one knows today. Chelsea may or may not be the first child again – even though she is not a child anymore. But the one certainty they have is their love and support for one another. For one day, I wish it had not been a public display, but rather just quality time off the campaign trail hugging and assuring one another that everything would be alright. It appears this might be a smart alternative to a schedule of political events, because what appeared to be a small crack in the inevitability of her candidacy seems to have become a lake. And she’s sitting in a boat in the middle of the water, but everyone else has rowed away.

Barack has moved on. He can’t spend the day with his mother, but can spend the day with the mother of his children. When I looked at the schedule it appeared that it was exactly what he was doing. Talk about smart. There’s nothing that better helps us to set priorities than understanding the value of our families and, of course the passing of a loved one.

I’m not spending the day with my mother, who is across the country, or my children who are in Massachusetts. I miss them all and hope they missed me, but I have been reflecting about times passed, and I pray that whoever is elected to lead this nation has their priorities in a place that helps the rest of us to cope with what is to come. We're Just Sayin...

Short, Sweet, & To The Point (I hope!)

How often is the phrase “run don't walk” overused? Probably way more than we are aware of. But for once, I can assure you that “run don't walk” is the right way of approaching a new show which has just opened on Broadway. It has one of those titles which gives you pause “Passing Strange”, but from the first moment that author/narrator Stew (don't you just love one name handles?) walks on stage, grabs a guitar, and starts the story rolling, you are riveted by the music, the theatricality, the oozing of raw talent on stage. It's a wonderful narrative, beautifully performed show, the story of a young guy who moves from South Central L.A. to Amsterdam (who hasn't done THAT trip?!) in the 70s/80s. The story is what it is (I do hate that phrase but everyone seems to have some clear idea what the hell it means... ) but what is really the key to this show, is what makes any show memorable. Being in the company, how ever briefly, of extraordinary talent interpreting wonderful music and lyrics.

I don't want to go on and on...but I'm tempted to (see how I can restrain myself when necessary), but like any great piece of theater, it wraps its arms around you and doesn't let go. You cannot keep your hands, your feet, still for an instant. Stew is a master, writing, singing, creating. Thanks for this gift.

Attention All Blobbers Who Think This is The Computer Age

For those of you who are unaware of the fact that the Computer Age isn't actually here yet.. (hit your ESCAPE Key now, its the one next to the Ejection Seat!), we would love to inform you that we're only a week behind Iris' appearance last Friday on Morning Joe, the surprisingly watchable morning Politics show on MSNBC. (Who ever would have that it could be better than Imus, but alas, it is!) Anyway, after numerous adventures with Firewire cables, vhs tapes, and two trips to the conversion studio... (Can't there just be ONE standard, PEOPLE?!!!) we now present, for the first time ONLINE... Iris Burnett, co-author of "So You Think You Can Be President" (with Clay Greager)... on (almost) live TV:

enjoy...

No They Won't

This afternoon I heard a disturbing statistic. 31% of the People who support Obama say that they will vote for McCain rather than support Hillary. What does that tell you? Never mind, I’ll tell you what it tells me, because I am writing and you are not—and I mean that in the nicest possible way. If Hillary wins the nomination, and there is certainly serious question about her numbers, the people who say they will vote for McCain are most likely young independent voters. They were brought into the process because they wanted to believe there could be a change that would make their future better. They were inspired by the Obama rhetoric and the idea. My guess is that they will not vote—but they certainly won’t vote for McCain. No grown-up real Democrat would vote for anyone who would put another conservative on the Supreme Court or perpetuate the ongoing succession of incompetence in running the government.

The Pundits are still discussing the Reverend Wright. This time it is in the context of the Primaries tomorrow. The Chicago media is non-stop Wright and that is spilling over into Indiana. What could they possibly be saying that the people in Indiana haven’t heard? In case you are groping for an answer, the answer is nothing. So let’s look a little deeper into why it doesn’t stop. Why is it that people are still going to use Wright as a reason not to vote for Obama – if they need a reason.

There are a few possibilities. The first is obvious. They are racists and despite any explanation Obama might give, they will not vote for a person of color. Maybe that’s over simplifying, but there are misogynists and racists endlessly roaming the streets looking for a reason not to be co-opted by a man of mixed color or a woman who is nothing if not relentless. But those people are probably McCain supporters so they do not have impact on this primary. Another is what I blogged about yesterday. Obama hasn’t finished the sentence. He started with, ‘I am not Reverend Wright’ and that’s where it ended. But I think he needed to continue by saying, “Here’s who I am, and this is why you should vote for me”. There’s a third possibility. They believe what Hillary is saying about a gas tax break and they don’t want to admit it because it is so ridiculous. It is ludicrous to think the Congress will pass some law that will make the oil companies pay for any American to go on a holiday. The oil lobby and too many Congressmen are “slap on the back” pals. In case no one noticed, there haven’t been any hearings to address the issue of oil gouging. Hillary is in the Senate. Had she wanted to do something she would have asked for hearings. But nothing would have happened. It’s not like the gas crisis started last week – she had plenty of time to demonstrate how serious she was before the people in Indiana, North Carolina and Pennsylvania had to cast their ballots. Anyway, the Reverend Wright controversy provides a reason for them to vote for the spunky woman who apparently will never give up.

The candidates are tired. It shows in different ways. Hillary seems a bit strident—you can hear it in her voice. Obama is a bit lackluster, you can hear it in his voice as well. It seems this nasty race is never going to end. It reminds me of a scene from the movie “Gandhi”. The British were beating the Indians with sticks and rifles and whatever they had handy. The Indians were not fighting back. They just lined up, were physically abused, fell down and got back into line to take some more abuse. In the movie there was a reporter who was calling in the story—or maybe telegraphing it – but his description was “And still they came... on and on ...” That’s how I feel about the primaries: And still they go on and on... And Hillary – still her attacks go on and on. And here’s the last reason I think the Wright stuff is working. Obama doesn’t fight back. He has had plenty of opportunity. For example, when Hillary said, “I wouldn’t have stayed in the church listening to those sermons” He could have said, “and I wouldn’t have stayed with my wife if” ... well, you get the picture.

Obama has not had great training for the debates or many interviews. He has not learned that he does not have to answer all the questions he is asked. He needs to understand that you go with your strengths. You answer the questions that you want to answer and that meet your needs. Oh if only the candidates read my blog they would be so much wiser.

There are people who think that the primaries still matter. They don’t. No candidate is going to get the number they need before the Convention. What does matter? Harold Ickes is working the Duper Delegates. That matters. And the Clinton campaign no longer thinks the truth is more important than the win. Obama is surrounded by people who appear to still be running a local election, and the pundits are never going to sit down and shut up. No they’re not, no they can’t, no they won’t. We're just sayin... Iris

Finish the Sentence

Once Upon a time there was a beautiful Queen who had two children, but they grew up and moved away, so the Queen had no one to talk to ... oops that’s the wrong story.

Once upon another time, there was a terrible King who ruled a powerful nation. The King was so awful that the people threatened to overthrow the throne. Well, he certainly didn’t want to sit on a broken throne so he declared he would pass the crown on to one of his children. The older child was a female and under ordinary circumstances she would not have been in line to take over, but she was very smart and also relentless in her pursuit of the title. The younger child was a male. But he was also not what the King or the country had in mind. You see, he did not believe that only the royals could have a say, so he was apt to make trouble. The King was in a quandary, but since no one cared where he was, it didn’t matter if he was in a quandary or Atlantic City.

What to do? What to do? This was a question pondered by the elders, the wise men and the sorcerers—it is always important to have the sorcerers on your side because the serfs think the sorcerers have a direct connect with God—or some great power. Anyway, the Princess went and talked to the people tirelessly about her qualifications. The Prince talked about his vision for the future. Over time, it appeared that the farmers liked the promises the Princess outlined, while the scholars thought the Prince made some sense. Finally, it was clear that the race to be King, was too close to call. And that neither the brother nor the sister were willing to serve in a roll subservient to the other. So the Princess got her bow and arrow and shot the Prince. He was wounded but not mortally, and eventually he retreated to his own little castle and lived happily ever after. What am I talking about? I have no idea. But I like the idea of this election cycle as a fairy tale—and did you get the part about sorcerers? It doesn’t matter because we’re moving on.

This week, Obama started the sentence with “I am not Reverent Wright”. But I don’t think he finished the sentence. The end of the sentence should be, “Here is who I am and here is why I should be the next President.” In a Presidential campaign you simply should not assume that people know anything. And I mean that in the nicest possible way. You have to walk them down that ‘ole’ path and take them where you want them to be. Preferably to inspiration point where they are ready to pull that lever or punch that chad in your favor. I think you can see by the polls that people are still not sure about who Obama is or why he would be a better (more electable) candidate than Hillary.

But enough about them, what about me? I was on the “Morning Joe” (MSNBC) show this morning to talk about my book, “So You Think You Can Be President”. Are you sick of hearing about it yet? Anyway, after a night of awaking every half hour to think about a witty and pithy sound bite, (my old pal Bob Beckel once said, if you wake up with a sound bite TV networks will call you because they know they can count on you to say something broadcast worthy). I finally gave up trying to sleep and read through the notes I had prepared as a study guide. It looked something like what I would have prepared in college for a final exam. If they asked me, how I would describe the book I would say, “it’s a funny introduction to the overwhelming job of governing the nation.” If they asked me... Well you get the idea. But, as with anything I prepared in college, once I began to study I oft got my answers confused. With sound bites (memorable answers without any substance), it was especially confusing because I kept forgetting which answers went with what questions. By 3:30am when I imagined that they asked me what my favorite job was in the Clinton Administration, I was thinking about a totally different question. “Well Iris”, they would say, “What would you advise the President?” And my answer was, “Clay and I met on e-Harmony.com for lonely writers”. You see now why I was incapable of staying asleep or even in bed.

I was up and studying for about an hour before David stirred. “If you’re tired” I said waking him, “you don’t have to come.” When he didn’t answer I repeated the question—maybe just a little louder. It took about ten minutes before he actually responded and felt guilty enough to agree to be part of my posse. We arrived at the studio at about 7:30. I was still practicing possible scenarios. Almost immediately they took me into hair and makeup—one of which I had, and the other of which I needed. It’s been years since I have had someone “make me up” because I always feel that make-up makes me look older. But without it the cameras were not going to be as kind as the young woman with the non ending blush brush, so I succumbed. And to tell you the truth, I looked great. They determined my hair was fine so I walked back to the green room, (there is not green room in the country that is painted green). According to Wikipedia, “ the most widely accepted origin of the term dates back to Shakespearean theatre. Actors would prepare for their performances in a room filled with plants and shrubs.” Whatever the derivation, it is a place with coffee and usually some treats. It would have been terrific to have a cup of coffee, but my lips were glossed and I didn’t want to lose the luster. (We all know from the Reverend Wright experience what happens when you lose the luster.)

At that point I didn’t know who would be conducting the interview. When I realized it would be all of the hosts I figured that with three people asking questions, and the interview lasting 4 minutes, I would never get a word in. Then I heard Clay in my head saying “have fun and sell the book”, so I knew where I was going.


Mika, Willie and Joe couldn’t have been nicer. And here was the best part, they treated me like a colleague instead of a guest. So I relaxed, decided to have fun and answered any questions with a smile and good humor. I was pretty and damn good.

Iris and Willie Geist
Of course what happens when it’s over is that you want to do more. “Please”, I begged. “Let me stay”. It was not to be. We gathered our belongings and headed over to the “Today” show to meet Peter Greenberg, a wonderful friend and “The Travel Guy.” What started out as a simple visit became an Altman movie – but that’s another blog. Right now I have to get on line and see if there’s a site called e-Harmony.com for wanna be TV co-hosts and, of course, I have to finish the sentence.

Another Simple Pleasure

Far too often in the blitzing around of our lives, we skip over those things which fall into the category of “simple pleasures.” By their very definition they conjure up something which is special, particularly in the sense of serendipity or surprize which accompanies. Big Movie Premieres, Lavish Meals at top restaurants, Grand Soirées in fancy clothes. All of those are rich in experience in their own way. Yet for me, the kind of joys in life which I cherish most are the ones which are, essentially, served up to you on a silver platter, if only you take the time to notice. Taking time is crucial, for the essence of a “simple pleasure” is that for all its lack of complexity, obligation or expense, you give up enough time to properly behold it.

Making your way to the Grand Canyon, and not hanging out an extra couple of days, just to wander aimlessly along the canyon's rim, and watch a vulture or two do a low, elegantly sweeping pass, is tantamount to dissing the whole Canyon structure. Walking by, as I did recently, a virtual forest of Rosemary plants, draped across a fake Italianesque lake side, next to a fake Italianesque version of Ponte Vecchio (Las Vegas, of course), but which, in their own right, present a dizzyingly powerful aroma which literally stops you in your tracks.

The sweep of Rosemary bushes, several hundred feet in length, made me conjure up a giant brick oven, with dozens upon dozens of chickens, lightly oiled, and swirling on imaginary rotisseries..the essence of mildly charred Rosemary leaf wafting throughout. I suppose it's not something the chickens would enjoy so much, but for one who delights in fresh herbs, it was an unavoidable image.

In our front yard in Arlington, there has been a wonderful old tree, which accompanied the property when we bought it 1985, and continues to this day to spread its boughs. It's a non-fruit bearing cherry tree, several feet around at the base, and which spreads broadly across the front yard, touching both the edge of the street, and the rim of the front roof. It's a full earthy shape, barren in winter, and dense from March through October, with is greenery. The lawn underneath doesn't get much sun in the summer, due to the thickness of the branches, but the tree does give the yard a kind of stateliness otherwise uncommon in these smallish post-war Arlington homes. The real treat, however comes in April, when the tree presents us with a magnificent gift of pink blossoms and petals. Thousands and thousands ( this is the sort of thing that makes you think “Mass Media”... as if each of the blossoms is ONE TV set somewhere in the heartland... millions of them together create a real 'community') of the softest pinkest blossoms, delicate petals somehow perserved through what must be a rather traumatic birthing arrangement on the tiniest branch of the tree. It's quite a sight. And every year, as the blossoms dominate the front yard for a few weeks, neighbors wander by, slowing their step, to gaze at this minature piece of Yosemite, right here on Upton Street. As the wind blows or the rains pour, pink petals start to drift off the tree onto the yard, creating a gorgeous, pink, and truly unrakeable mat over the lawn. And if a car is parked on the road under the tree, it too, will suffer a new coat of paint, softer, pinker, and richer than mere lacquer. Some neighbors bring their children by on the way to the park, and let them play in the pink snow. And who wouldn't want to.

The other day I was arriving home from a Hillary campaign trip, to see the Miata, (Merlot in color) covered by the petals in front of the house. I had to make a trip to the lab, and wanted to see if the leaves would fly like fairy dust off the car as I drove. Rain the night before had weighed down the blossoms enough that few of them flew from the car, and when I parked at the lab, hundreds were still stuck. I dropped off film, picked up some contact sheets, and sat in the car briefly to peruse my work. As I sat there, talk radio in the background, I noticed a figure approach the car, a man of Eastern lineage (Indian, perhaps?).

Our front path to the street
His shadow passed over me, as he came near the car, and he ended up standing at the back of the car, by the trunk. I felt a little sense of doom, for who approaches a car not their own, and invades that space? Then quickly he reached in a pocket and retrieved a small plastic ziploc bag, the kind you put your shaving cream and toothpaste in at the airport security line. He opened the bag, and started to fill it with the pink petals. With gusto, as if they were freshly crushed tomatoes and he was making a sauce, he grabbed handful after handful, and filled his bag. I wanted to say something, to ask what he was doing, but it almost seemed like for that moment I was the intruder. He was so intent, and precise in his movements, it was astonishing. And though the Miata is about as big as a tennis shoe, he seemed neither to notice nor car that there might have been an occupant. Once the bag was filled to bursting with the petals, he turned and walked back up Wilson Boulevard, disappearing within seconds. Was it for his daughter's wedding? A centerpiece for his wife's dinner table? A vase for the steam room at his health club? We won't ever know.

All we might surmise is that like the folks for our little neighborhood, he was, when he first viewed the petals, moved to act. To keep, preserve, and enjoy those little pink beauties which God had happily draped the car with. He understood the meaning of “simple pleasure” and as quickly as he saw them, he wanted them preserved to be shared.

The view from inside the car
If each of us would take a little time to look, to see, to notice, it just might take the edge off the harshness we face. There is really nothing simpler than what grows on trees. Not money perhaps, but as rich as gold for the soul. We're just sayin'.... David

And Tonight, Set Your Satellite Radio

Yes.. a mini blob Announcement:
Tonight (Wednesday 30 april.. or if you are in France.. 30 Avril).. Iris (and Clay via phone link..) will be on the Wise Guys Radio show on Sirius Radio to (horrors!) speak about the new book "So You Think You Can Be President"... at 7pm eastern (5 pm in Montana, and New Mexico... go ahead, do the math!) The WISE Guys include an all Italian-American cast of former Sopranos actors (Vincent "Big Pussy" Pastora, Steven Van Zandt) and some other "wise guys" from Jersey... and who actually, blessem, play Jerry Vale songs from time to time. Sounds like way too much fun.. so if you are blessed with a Satellite Radio, be sure and flick it on at 6:59 tonight... Channel 104.

We're just sayin'.... David

It's Viral TIme in America..

Yes, faithful readers.. it's time for a major Viral Marketing Hit! The good news is, you won't have to get a shot of Penicillin, or promise to send $5 to the person at the top of the Chain Letter list. Just send this little paragraph to everyone you know, who is on your email list, and let's get the word out about the OFFICIAL Publication Date of So You Think You Can Be President, the hilarious Test, written by Chief Blobber Iris Burnett and her madcap writing cohort Clay Greager.

Clay and Iris, in "author" mode
The book is officially OUT, now, available on Barnes & Noble.com and Amazon.com and maybe even a swell independent book store near you. We're starting the big surge this weekend... so.. don't be afraid to pass on the word. The book is 200 Questions, designed to a) be amusing b) determine if you should run for President and c)clear the air about what governance is really about. (Well, "c", not so much.) But it is very funny, and who, in the middle of a madcap set of Primaries, doesn't need a little boost these days.

Check out the website here, and let us know what you think. "See you at the Polls!" We're just Sayin'.... David

And He Can

What happened to “Yes We Can”? I mean other than Hillary stealing a version-which is benign at best. I loved when Obama asked a question and everyone yelled, “yes we can”. That was the kind of enthusiasm and hopeful rhetoric that resonated with a discouraged and sometimes disenfranchised public, and with cynics such as myself.

If you saw the ad for the Governor’s race in North Carolina, you know what the Republican’s are planning for the fall. This ad was about Reverend Wright and the candidate. Obama has his arm around Reverend, then Obama has his arm around Democratic Gubernatorial candidate, and the voice over connects the dots. I don’t think it’s necessary to tell you much more. You can write the script. Hillary should denounce it - but she won’t because it works for her - only right now.

There isn’t a person who watches TV, reads the newspaper, or listens to the radio, who doesn’t know what the Republicans are going to do an Obama candidacy. So do we think he should throw in the towel, take his bowling ball and go home, or simply disappear into the morass of a do nothing senate. Which by the way reminds me of a Clinton speech I heard a few days ago. Hillary said if she’s elected President she will investigate the oil companies for gouging. I may be wrong, but can’t a sitting Senator call for a hearing? What’s she waiting for?

Anyway, I don’t want him to go anywhere. I like primaries. As I have said many times, I do think they tell you a great deal about the candidates, the campaign, and the staff people who might be running the government next January. But more than primaries I like a good, clean, feisty contest. So how does Barack get back in the game-if you hadn’t noticed he’s been treading water rather swimming strokes since the last debate. It is clear that people want to believe he understands the problems they face daily. He needs to address those issues of concern to the public (as well the media) and there can be no secrets. He can do this by getting back to what has worked repeatedly…. Yes he can!

Suppose he took a list of those issues, (the flag/lapel pin, misspeaking ‘bitter’, the real estate scandal, the Reverend Wright nonsense, etc.) and designed a vocal riff that ended up with, “Yes We Can” , or a version like the ones he used to get to the political place he is now. Suppose he cut off all this noise at the knees with his incredible ability to articulate the passion people feel. I’m not very good at this and I changed the riff a little, but here’s an example of what I mean:

“They are trying to tell you that I don’t love this country. But you know that’s not true, and together we need to make it clear that this is a lie. Yes We Can. They say that Michelle isn’t proud of her country. This is also a lie, so we need to talk louder and clearer. And We Can. They say I sat in church and listened to the minister preach hate. So we talked about it as a nation, and still the lies continue, the hate mongering has become sport. But we need to bind together and get beyond the hateful rhetoric. And We Can. They tried to connect me with thieves, and terrorists and who know what else. They know it’s not true but they think if they say it enough times in enough ways, people will believe it. And maybe they’re right about some people. But not the people who want real change. We need to win this election because the world is in trouble, people are suffering. And We Can. They take a word like bitter and twist it and maybe I misspoke but people are angry about paying high health costs, high food costs, high oil costs, high costs of education. We need to tell the people who have friends making money from all the high costs we pay, that it has to stop. And We Can.”

OK, These examples may seem a little lame, more like the "Daiyanu" chant at Passover than a preacher at a sermon, but I’m not writing speeches anymore. My point is that the high road was working for Obama. Over the last six weeks he has allowed his opponent to define the terms of the debate. You can never win when you are fighting with someone else’s definitions. Further, he needs to have surrogates do the mud slinging. He should never do more than say he is angry, outraged, indignant, about something terrible that’s been done or said about him by an opponent. A Bill Richardson or a Lanny Davis- like colleague needs to do this. He cannot in any way afford to appear smug, elite, or unfeeling. The campaign should determine what their definition of a leader is and every time he appears he needs to talk about what that means. Consequently, it will define what he can be as a leader and what his opponents are not. I wish I was getting paid for this incredibly good advice. But, as they say, you get what you pay for. Who says that? Anyway I am happy to offer suggestions. And I hope what I think, makes everyone feel better about going forward with a candidate about whom they still have concerns. But if he does a few simple things it will answer the questions that Super Delegates are asking, he will be the nominee and he just might be the next President. And He Can.

A Major Blobbing Event

“a thing that happens, especially one of importance”


That is how the dictionary defines “event.” I suppose, as someone who minored in History (or at least thinks he did), I could assign that term to something very memorable, important, and that ultimate definition: one that keeps on giving.

In broad terms of course, World War I was an Event (as were the many key moments which became the war... the battle of the Somme – hardly a moment – the fight in Belleau Wood, the signing of the peace treaty in the rail road car.) The assassination of Lincoln was surely an event. And there are those amazing improvised ones, where total surprise and unlikely outcomes create a sense of drama and lingering excitation which are palpable. Bobby Thompson's Home Run in the 1951 Pennant race (if you are younger than 55 this will probably sound like Teddy Roosevelt racing up San Juan Hill, but trust me on this one, it's tear wrenching everytime you hear it. That was an event. You could mark the time, the second, the moment that ball cracked on the bat, and in the hearts and minds of millions of New Yorkers, and even people from Utah, as it turned out, their lives could be said to drive a tent stake into the ground of Time, something to forever mark it in their own memories.

We have no doubt lived in times which had Events, both positive and terribly negative in nature. They are the kind of things that can often be described in conversation as “where were You when....?” Kennedy was shot. The Marine Barracks in Beirut were bombed. Martin Luther King was shot. You first heard about the Tet Offensive. Nixon fired the Attorney General in the Saturday Night Massacre. The Chilean Generals killed Allende in a coup d'etat. 9/11: the Second plane, the one that confirmed it wasn't an accident. The first Cruise missiles launched (and which missed) to try and nail Saddam at the beginning of the war (you know which war, I'm sure.) Philippe Petit walking between the two World Trade Towers 30 years ago, on a tight rope. The naming of a Polish Pope (even in Brasil that was big news in '78.) These are Events. These are the linchpins of the history we live in. In the 1950s, CBS had a wonderful series on Sunday called You Are There, one of the first of the programs which took news footage and tried to make some 'current history' sense of it. Walter Cronkite hosted it, and led with “June 6th, 1944: What kind of a day was it? A Day like all days, filled with those events which alter and illuminate our time.. and YOU ARE THERE...”


So you'll pardon me if in this age of overly consuming consumers, and overly marketing marketeers, that I stand up for just a minute and say, “Give Us the Hell BACK our Events.”

Just in the last few days – while you might have thought the Events of import were the Primary in Pennsylvania, the Surge/nonSurge in Iraq, the Love Life of the newly wedded French President, the nearly dangerous landing of the Soyuz Spacecraft after undocking from the Space Station, the Capitols being eliminated from the NHL playoffs. Whew, there are actual Events, arent there. But here are a couple that you have probably been bombarded with the ones that are so starting to tick me off:

The Mercedes Benz Pre-Owned Event. Unlike the bombing of the Nairobi Embassy, this one lets you purchase a used Mercedes automobile and get up to 36 months warranty. Or the ongoing Fox Television Event, wherein some incredibly lousy movie (i.e of the “straight to DVD” quality) is billed as “a major television event.” I thought major television events were things like the Shuttle launch, the swearing in of a President, or maybe even a Congressional hearing with Ollie North. What an idiot I must be not to comprehend that real events are the kinds of things which lead to the sale of something important, like 'air time' or used cars.

Six years ago when Jordan's high school chorus went to Orlando for what was billed as a Choral Festival, we had one of those Event moments. (First of all, since our kids were seen only by one set of judges and at a time when no other visiting schools were around, it wasn't much of a festival. I'm just old hat enough to imagine that “festival” usually has something festive associated with it.) Our second night, we were all taken by bus to a horrible few hundred acres adjacent to the Disney parks (full disclosure, we own a few shares of Disney stock, but they don't actually care what we think about these things) called “Downtown Disney.” Filled with stores such as ESPN's sports bar, Emeril's Take Out, a few crummy t-shirt shops, the official program called for:
“6pm-9pm: Visit Downtown Disney and partake of Marketing Opportunities.”

I kid you not. Someone is selling the idea of 'Marketing Opportunities' to high school kids. Not that they need them. But it was for me one of those watershed moments, where I realized that Selling is all that matters anymore. Doesn't really matter to whom, or how; just Sell, please. It kind of creates its own nauseating sort of 'Event.' Not the kind I'd like to capture and replay on my iPod on the train to New York. I wish they'd just leave “Events” alone, and let the “Events” happen of their own accord. They can do all they want with Marketing Opportunities – somehow it fits both TV and used cars just right. We're just sayin'.... David

Running Away? Oh, Spare Me

For the next two weeks we are going to hear every Clinton surrogate say that Obama is ‘running away’. He’s running away from the debate, the vote in Michigan and the vote in Florida. It started today with Carville and Begala—people I always liked and respected. The next thing you are bound to see is a chicken popping up at Obama events. You may recall there were chickens used quite effectively when Bush tried to avoid debate with Bill Clinton (who was at that time an inexperienced Governor from Arkansas, a year younger than Obama is now.)

The appearance of chickens at times such as these is something with which I am quite familiar. You see, (and this may be my first public confession), I hatched the chickens in 1992. We worked independent of the Clinton campaign and the DNC. And we presented to the nation, in a very funny way, the reasons why George Bush shouldn’t be the President. We delivered a serious message in the most amusing ways possible. When President Bush refused to debate we commented on courage with chicken appearances at all his events. After he agreed to debate we transitioned into Pinocchio—and talked about his ability to tell the truth. Then there was the ‘Harry Truman truth squad’ and on Halloween we asked ‘witch’ George Bush. My own personal favorite was a 20 foot banner that simply said “Hey, George, your lie is open”. I believe we marched that past the White House about a year ago and didn’t get arrested.

To his credit, President Bush the senior wrote a note to one of the Pennsylvania chickens that said, “What you are doing is in the best spirit of American politics. Keep up the good work”. Despite everything we did, he remained a classy guy. And although every message we delivered was serious, we were never disruptive and we were always funny. Humor is often the best way to make a point. But Senator Clinton and her minions are neither good spirited or amusing. They want this win so much that they are willing to sacrifice the election to have their way.

So what does Obama do to get through what will be an onslaught of ugly? First of all, he shouldn’t have to do it alone. But where are the Obama surrogates? Bill Richardson was on Larry King tonight going toe to toe with James Carville. Richardson was terrific, but it’s hard to get beyond “Obama’s running away” because that resonates while reasoned argument does not. On another show, an Obama spokesperson (not a surrogate – and there’s a big difference) was double teamed by Begala and Carville (I wish he were more of an ice cream). The Obama people need to identify ten surrogates who appear everywhere and take the Clinton surrogates to task. The argument about Michigan and Florida is easily argued by the Clintons as “people voted and their votes should count”. The right to vote is important. But the other candidates agreed not to campaign. The people voted without getting to hear or know the other candidates. Of course they voted for Hillary—at that point she was the only name they knew. And name recognition is no small matter in a political campaign. But Hillary, who has a record of problems with the truth, also seems to have a problem honoring a commitment. In this case the one she made, not only to Obama (who they never expected to be viable), but to all the candidates and the Party.

Don’t you think that works better as an argument than ‘you can’t change the rules.’ One appears to be whining and the other presents questions of character.

As voters (and women are voters, not a constituency group) we have to decide what it is we want in a President. Is Obama running away. I think not. There have been at least 21 debates. Should he agree to another debate? I think so. But he needs to insist they address issues that impact on the future of this country. And that is not a lapel pin. Should the votes from Michigan and Florida count? Not unless there is another voting opportunity—one in which both candidates participate. That’s probably not going to happen. But given the party rules, I doubt it would make much difference.

If the Obama campaign allows the Clinton campaign to define the argument i.e. “he’s an elitist who is both unpatriotic and has no courage (he’s running away),” then they may not be able to convince the super delegates to get on board the Obama ship. (I ordinarily despise seafaring analogies. I must be desperate.) But if they use the tools that have been most effective – such as ridiculing the Clinton ‘noise’ without being either nasty or ugly, they stand a terrific chance of being the nominee. Let’s get back to ‘hopeful’. It worked on me, and I have tried never to run away. We’re just sayin...Iris

And From Guest Blobber Dick Swanson... another submission

Rites, Ceremonies, & Customs

While sitting at one of 20 round tables in a hotel banquet room over the weekend, I realized I was the only round-eye in room of 200 Asians celebrating the engagement of my niece (my brother-in-law’s daughter).
One thought led to many others: how comfortable I am with cultural rites, celebrations and customs that are mine only by association…the only gentile at a Seder; the only Caucasian at a black church; the only male in a girl’s locker-room (more comfortable, in fact, than in the Wizards’ locker-room where I was at eyelevel with “you know what” of naked 7 foot basketball players…I am 5’ 9”); the only septuagenarian at an elementary school surrounded by inquisitive 9 year olds; living with Karen guerillas in the Golden Triangle in the ‘60s.

33 years ago this week, I rescued my brother-in-law and eleven other of his family members during the fall of Saigon. (Online here) As I looked around at the engagement party, I realized that I was directly responsible for the presence of at least 25 family members directly associated with the original 12 family members fleeing Vietnam. In a real sense the presence of the other 150 or so celebrants were also connected to that rescue many years ago.
It made me weak at the knees.
It has turned out that the rescue was mutual. My life, in a real way, was saved by the exposure to my wife’s family members. I am an only child raised in poverty in rural Illinois but I was never exposed in any meaningful way to the importance of family, especially uncles, aunts and cousins. The exposure to an extended family, in many ways, is more fruitful than parental input.
On some level I knew this but it was confirmed a couple of years ago when I edited a documentary, “The Gefilte Fish Chronicles.” (http://www.gefiltefishchronicles.com/). During the weeks of editing, it became evident to me the importance of growing up with your relatives, not just your parents.
As more and more family members revealed themselves to me via video tape it became apparent that although my own family didn’t come out of Egypt, we are part of the human Diaspora and I will always be grateful to the gods of my life, whose ever they are.
And, appropriately enough, Passover week, the engagement party and the 33rd anniversary of my family’s rescue have converged to present me with the affirmation that, from time to time, life works as it’s supposed to.
Or in other words, the meaning of Pesach: sacrifice, freedom and acceptance of our families.
I’m just sayin'…Dick

A New Disease

There are new statistics that reveal women are not living as long as their mothers. Is it any wonder with all the tumult in our daily lives. Along with breast cancer, heart problems, obesity and strokes, we suffer from a disease I like to call ‘I’mperfection’. You may think you’ve never heard of it, but that’s because it is often so deeply ingrained in our whole person, that it should be considered a ‘hidden killer’.

Regardless of age, race, size or education, it is impossible to have a conversation with any woman without discussing how to be ‘better’ or how to be ‘perfect’. Women all over the country are struggling to look like Gwyneth Paltrow or Halli Berry, aspiring to make a bed like Martha Stewart, have a career like Oprah Winfrey, and magically acquire the insights of a Dr. Phil. It seems that everything we do needs to be immediate, accelerated, and perfect. Our history, circumstances, genetics, the TV shows we watch, the magazines we read and the people who have become our role models, have led a new women’s movement based on an endless search for perfection. Ironically, we want a shortcut to the road of perfection despite the fact that, almost without exception, we agree that perfection doesn’t exist. So how do you cure something that doesn’t exist? Aye, there’s the rub (I agree, most pirates do not suffer from this affliction, they have other problems).

As if this is not bad enough, in my family we have an additional condition. It’s called, “nothing is too much for me.” This disease is a combination of, ‘I can never say no’ and ‘no one will be able to do what I can do.’ In other words, we have expectations of what we can physically and emotionally achieve, that may be impossible but are certainly exhausting. And we are not always wrong about our capabilities. I remember when I was in India producing the world premieres of the film ‘Gandhi.’ Included in my responsibilities was to coordinate all the invitations, design the look of two theaters (from lighting to tea at intermission), be the press secretary, (coordinate press parties and two press premieres, handle VIP’s, work on visas for the cast, provide logistics for all the celebrities and guests including cars and hotel accommodations, throw an after-party, deal with the diplomatic community and Prime Minister Gandhi’s needs, work with the director... you get the picture. We were a staff of four. I was in charge of the other three inexperienced people. There was a 12 hour time difference to NY so any Columbia Pictures decision making was impossible. I worked 24/7 non stop for three weeks. When my boss arrived (we were subcontracted to Columbia Pictures) he never said a nice word about anything I had accomplished, but rather complained about the fact that I was not nice to some little twit who we were paying, but she never even came to New Delhi to work—that’s where the premiere was. He was an absolute ass, but still he took me to task. In his rant he said “you think you can’t be replaced. You think you’re one of a kind.” He was right. I did think that ... and I was right. Oh maybe someone could have completed the tasks but the only people who could have done what I did with the limitations we had, were my cousins. The disease we have is genetic—passed down from generation to generation of zany women. Hopefully, some brilliant therapist will find a cure before our daughters are equally debillitated by it.

This week, as we celebrated Passover and watched “The Gefilte Fish Chronicles” in real life... I don’t mean to be cute here, we hocked and shopped and chopped and baked and set the tables, and did whatever needed to be done in order to host over seventy people the first night and over twenty the second. You don’t get much realer than that.

Rosalie and the Pesach 'spread'
Anyway, my incredible cousins, Rosalie (she hosts the events with her adorable husband Dick) and Honey, completed the Herculean task of getting everything done. I participated, but not like they did. (Which my aunt Peppy mentioned any number of times—she had to, my mother wasn’t there.) It was while watching the dynamic duo that I realized they we were suffering from the “nothing’s too much for me” syndrome. And nothing is too much for them or for me, so we continue to do stuff for friends, kids, parents, family members, whomever asks, until we are ready to drop.

Dickie, leads the service
Is it possible to get beyond wanting (not having) to be a super everything? I guess when you’re dead. (Yech!! I didn’t mean to be unpleasant.) But up until that point a change in the way one operates, is not likely to happen. However, we do not have to despair. Being I’mperfect is a bit tedious, but not a life threatening ailment. You just have to take a breath, separate the word, and acknowledge that although “I’m perfect” most of the time, it is just as OK to be imperfect the rest of the time. We’re just sayin...Iris

Spinning Til We're Dizzy

What’s going to happen in Pennsylvania? Will Hillary win by double digits? Will Barack come from behind and surprise the media and the pollsters? What’s it all about? Did you expect an answer to that question? It’s all about the candidates—it always is.
There’s not a great deal of difference between the candidates in terms of policy. They both say they want to address the important issues—of course there’s been so much noise that you can’t hear how they want to address those issues, but at least they know there are problems – unlike the President of the United States whose most memorable response this week was that the Pope’s speech was “awesome”. I still can’t get over the fact that he doesn’t know that gas prices are high – but he doesn’t fill his own tank, and he probably doesn’t look out the window when he’s driving past a gas station.

However, the real question is: the candidates. Do people want another four years of Clinton drama – because that’s not going to stop. And do people believe that Obama is an elitist who doesn’t understand what real people are suffering. Is this election about Reverend Wright, Hillary’s inability to remember whether she was in a dangerous war zone or McCain’s decision to embrace, actually seek the endorsement of a hateful Reverend Hagee, and explain that he loved the guy but didn’t embrace what Hagee says about Catholics.

This was an extraordinary political week for any number of reasons. The Pope talked openly about sexual abuse. He refused to discuss women as priests or priests as women, but he did talk about sex. I guess that’s taking a real step forward if you are mired in 18th century thinking. OK, now you’re thinking, the Pope is not about politics, he’s about religion. Really?, I retort. Well what do you call the decisions about who gets a ticket to the Mass and receives communion? How was it decided that Rudy Giuliani, (divorced twice) not only can receive communion but gets it from the Pope. Everything is political about the church, or the synagogue or the mosque or any ‘organized’ religion. Religion is why we fight wars, it’s why we hate our neighbors, and it’s why we don’t want our children to intermarry. Whew!

Anyway, back to Presidential politics. Hillary did a few shooters, Barack dusted off his shoulder and off they went to find ways to decimate the other. I have said before that I have no problem with the Primary season lasting until June. I think the longer it goes on the more opportunity we have to get to know the future Commander-in-Chief; additionally, it gives them the chance to grow and to mature as candidates. Unfortunately, they appear to be shrinking instead of growing. Take their performance at the controversial ABC debate. Sure, I thought the questions were foolish and certainly not what I expected of Charlie. And sure, it did appear that George was ragging on Obama— and some would say that was because he worked for the Clintons – which I think is just not true. But here’s the bottom line. They are TV people. Right or wrong, ratings (and entertaining), are important to them. They clearly thought those were the questions the public wanted answered and that would keep the audience interested and tintillated. However, there is no law that says the candidates have to answer those questions. It would have been so much better if Obama had said, “you know people want to hear what we think about the war, the economy, foreclosures, and health care. We should not be wasting our time on the word 'bitter,' and how I feel about a lapel pin.” If you are running for the highest office in the land you need to be able to either answer any question, or explain why you shouldn’t have to. I think it was more a missed opportunity than a bad performance.

And, although she finally admitted that he could win the election, Hillary was still talking about Barack’s character. There is a prayer Jews say at their Passover Seder called “Daiyanu”. It means 'enough.' Everytime I hear her talk about what Obama doesn’t understand or what kind of person he is, I just want to shout “Daiyanu”. I want to say, “tell us something about you. Don’t give us a list of what the problems are, we know them only too well. Tell us how you are going to solve them. On day One, what will you do that’s going to make any difference in my life?” There are so many people with Clinton fatigue that it may start to rank right up there with the flu as equally debilitating.

The pundits are all using analogies to describe the difference in candidates. He’s a cell phone. She’s a hard line. He’s the internet. She’s a fax machine. Is that a way to say he’s young and hopeful, she’s old think? I’m tired of technical analogies but seriously grateful that they are not using sports analogies—he’s a bowling pin and she’s the ball.

The truth is, most of the pundits are old think and those young pundits don’t know much about national politics or campaigns. Combined, the two groups may actually be able to make some reasoned predictions, but they will have to really listen and learn. Never mind. They won’t. They are in it for the attention and money and it only matters if you care what these people have to say. What’s important is that younger voters seem more concerned about hope and change, than about race or gender. The TV pundits are still talking about these two factors as if this election was being held in 1960. Things have changed. Attitudes have changed. First time voters, and they are certainly not all Democrats, understand that they can make a difference. The candidates better watch out. There is more to this voter than an appearance on “Colbert” or “SNL.” But they do get that they have had enough of an impact that the next President feels it is important to do ‘shtick’ on shows that they watch.

This whole thing reminds me of what Moses said to the Pharoah. He said, “Look Pharoah, if you don’t let my people go there’s going to be some hell to pay. I’m sending locusts, plagues and boils. If that doesn’t convince you, I’m taking all the first born sons.” You are probably saying, “What is she talking about?” Indirectly -- you may say circuitously, I am talking about spin. The Clinton people say, 'if Obama can’t win after all the money he has spent in Pennsylvania, then he’s not going to be able to win a general election.' The Obama people say, “We were twenty points behind. We came from nowhere. We can certainly win a general election.” I say, “The Obama campaign raised and spent it’s money wisely. Clinton was so sure that the election would be over in February, she did not make any long range plans.” Although governing and campaigning are different, running a good campaign is a sign that candidate, as well as the staff, know what it takes to affect change. I just hope we’re all smart enough to know that boils, plagues, and locusts are not the route we want to take to make that change. We're just sayin...

Hocking

There were a number of things I considered blobbing about today. Like, I miss shopping with my mother—the discount queen, otherwise fondly referred to as Delores Defrost. We called her that because she would freeze everything. In fact, she often cooked in the morning, froze it and defrosted it for dinner. Who knows why, or even wants to guess. For years I discouraged her from buying me anything (unless we were together), because we didn’t have the same taste in most clothing—although admittedly I did love her stuff with sequins and feathers. But if we went shopping together we would both try on stuff and, even if we didn’t buy anything it was always hilarious to see what she would pick out – for both of us.


Then I thought I might blob about the arrogance of the next generation of Clintons. I guess if you grew up never living anywhere but a Governor’s Mansion or the White House and now you are 27 and making a six figure income at a hedge fund in NY, you might have an aggrandized opinion of just who you are and what you can do. But every time I see her or read about her, her behavior seems arrogant. It may be that she is painfully shy, or even afraid of campaigning for her mother – but I don’t think it humanizes her mother, I think it shows that Hillary will do anything to get elected, including putting her kid in very uncomfortable situations.

Then I was going to blob about the moron who put pornographic comments on the “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” web site. My guess (based on the lack of sophistication –OK stupidity—of what he left), is that it was some fifteen year old kid who is so desperate for attention, or to find someone to talk with, that he looked for a loving, meaningful place, and decided to do something ugly. It took us a while to get it down and now we have to rethink the comment section so that David can edit it and people will feel protected.

I even considered writing about the fact that I worry all the time about everything. Soozie calls it glass half full, and maybe it is, but I can’t seem to just let things happen without fretting. This, however is a book, not a blob so I moved on.

Karen and Iris with the perfectly shaped GFs
When I started to write about each of these things, there really wasn’t more than what you just read to complete the thoughts. I felt like Bill Finn, a wonderfully talented musical theater writer, producer, director, who said there was a show he wanted to write based on a song he had written. No matter how hard he tried, there was never more than just a song he could think of – so he stopped trying to make it more than it was. Unlike Bill Finn, there have been too many times when I continued to do something even though I knew it was a bad idea. But not his time. I’m just going to write about something that can be more than a paragraph.

We “hocked” gefilte fish yesterday. It wasn’t exactly like it used to be because the “Aunt’s” always seemed to know what they were doing. And we had, (after a million years of watching and assisting), only some idea. Honey arrived at Solly’s Fish Market (so clean you could eat off the floor) in Poughkeepsie at 7:00 and was at Rosalie’s by nine. In the old days Solly delivered the fish to Newburgh, but since Aunt Peppy moved to Massachusetts, there seemed no point in dropping it off at someplace where no one lived. Aren’t I silly—but a little levity never hurt anyone who is going to “hock” for at least an hour. You may think an hour is not very long. But imagine what it’s like to chop 20 pounds of ground fish, onions, and eggs until they are not only mixed together but the consistency is like -- well I can’t explain it because there is nothing like it. Even a French quenelle, although sometimes compared, is different because it’s pureed – and that simply wouldn’t do. What can I say. If you look at the ingredients on a jar of the already prepared fish, you will see it has some kind of filler. Our job is to get the g