A breath. A kiss. A taste. A tear. Feeling one minute, void the next.
I read a phenomenal (and highly disturbing) blog post today which poignantly captured the delicate balance between life and death.
Every day that we don’t think about mundane things like breathing, loving, and just being, we take life for granted. You can be going about your daily routine, running to the grocery store, taking the kids to soccer practice, when without any warning your time may be up.
Throughout my life I’ve always worried about death—never so much about what waits on the other side, but losing someone we love here. When I became a parent, the fear multiplied a hundred fold. I agonize over keeping my kids safe from themselves and from others. I worry about them when I drop them off at school or watch them play a sport. I hope for their sake that my time won’t come until they’re adults and able to live without me. Though it’s not a sadistic or oppressing part of my daily thoughts, death is ever-present thanks to experiences like my car accident which could’ve been a lot worse and a little girl in our neighborhood who was struck and killed by a drunk driver as she crossed the street a few months ago.
After rereading my manuscript over the weekend, death is preying heavily on my mind. Though “Eternity is not Enough” touches on many topics, the unavoidable idea of death shapes the entire series and even grabs the reader in the preface.
The vampire storyline pushes the basis for the plot into paranormal fiction; however, the theme of losing those you love is something which everyone can understand. Ultimately, the lesson learned (in both my fictional and real worlds) is that we’re all at the mercy of fate and, one way or another, life goes on.
Life is precious. Life is fleeting. Make every moment count.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Diet Secret #2 - Everything in Moderation
That’s what my mom used to say. It rings truer now than ever before. Why? Because dieting stinks. Perhaps if I would’ve lived according to this philosophy, I wouldn’t find myself in this current predicament.I never had to worry about what I ate. With a fairly high metabolism and involvement in cheerleading and ballet, I got plenty of exercise as a child and teenager. Of course, that all changed after I had kids.
It’s been nearly a year since I began dieting seriously for the first time in my life. Diets and exercise routines never lasted before; I inevitably gained back the weight. The toughest part of this past year was adjusting my food intake.
As I’ve said before, I love food. I’d nearly lick my plate clean because as my dad says, “Eat while it’s fresh.” A great sentiment, but unhealthy.
Learning to listen to the inner voice which whispers, “I’m full,” has been a matter of rewiring my brain. I don’t need a second helping of pasta. Though it tastes like heaven, I don’t need a huge slice of chocolate cake. Hell, I don’t need to even fill my dinner plate the first time around.
Everything in moderation—had I actually learned this years ago, it wouldn’t be such a tough adjustment now. The good thing is that it’s never too late to learn this lesson (or any lesson for that matter).
The first three months of the diet were the hardest especially considering they straddled Halloween (candy!), Thanksgiving (turkey, pie…Mmmm), and Christmas/New Years (an endless abundance of food, cookies, pastries, and sparkling wine). This baptism by fire of sorts forced me to determine what I needed to eat, not wanted to eat.
‘Eat to live, not live to eat’ is my motto now. I’ve managed to minimize relapses by giving into my sweet tooth everyday. I avoid packing on pounds because I make healthier choices throughout the day and I’ve replaced after-dinner treats with fat free/low fat brownies, yogurt with granola, fat free/low fat ice cream, and berries with a sprinkle of sugar or dollop of fat free whipped cream. Sure it would be ideal to eliminate the unnecessary sweets all together, but nothing would break my diet faster than being forbidden from them.
I take each day one at a time. The struggle with eating wisely has lessened over the months, but sometimes nothing satiates the cravings more than giving into them (loaded nachos, Mmmm). At least now I can stop from eating a whole plateful. Five chips are more than enough. After all, too much of a good thing isn’t good at all.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
There’s So Much More to Wine Country than Grapes
A quick trip to Sonoma offers an easy diversion from the daily blahs. 
The land’s natural beauty is even enough to excuse the two lane “highway” often filled with snail-paced sightseers.
As you drive past the rolling, golden countryside of Sonoma County, the endless, undulating hills and valleys of lush green vineyards mask a deep history. Long before world famous grapes grew here, ages before Mexican soldiers camped here and the Padres established Mission San Francisco Solano here, this area was home to countless Native Americans.
For thousands of years, Native Americans (Wappo, Pomo, Miwok, Cainameros, and Satisyomis tribes among others) settled in the Sonoma area which reaches from the Pacific Ocean teeming with fish, oysters, crabs, and more, through the Russian River valley which is abundant with vegetation.
From the mid-1500s through the mid-1800s, the Spanish, English, Russians, Mexicans, and Americans laid claim to parts of Sonoma. Ultimately (as we all know), the United States gained control of the area and California became the 31st state in 1850.
While the loss of the ancient Native American cultures and traditions is deeply regrettable and tragic, their past is not entirely forgotten. A little digging beneath the twisted grapevines of wine country reveals a rich history filled with intriguing (and disturbing) tales of humanity’s growth, struggles, perseverance, and spirituality.
Sources:
http://www.kstrom.net/isk/art/basket/pomohist.html
http://boxer.senate.gov/nah/tribe_group.cfm#UTO
http://ceres.ca.gov/nahc/califindian.html
http://www.sonomacountyrealestate.us/living/sonoma/history/
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=479
Sonoma State Historic Park Brochure
The land’s natural beauty is even enough to excuse the two lane “highway” often filled with snail-paced sightseers.As you drive past the rolling, golden countryside of Sonoma County, the endless, undulating hills and valleys of lush green vineyards mask a deep history. Long before world famous grapes grew here, ages before Mexican soldiers camped here and the Padres established Mission San Francisco Solano here, this area was home to countless Native Americans.
For thousands of years, Native Americans (Wappo, Pomo, Miwok, Cainameros, and Satisyomis tribes among others) settled in the Sonoma area which reaches from the Pacific Ocean teeming with fish, oysters, crabs, and more, through the Russian River valley which is abundant with vegetation.
From the mid-1500s through the mid-1800s, the Spanish, English, Russians, Mexicans, and Americans laid claim to parts of Sonoma. Ultimately (as we all know), the United States gained control of the area and California became the 31st state in 1850.
While the loss of the ancient Native American cultures and traditions is deeply regrettable and tragic, their past is not entirely forgotten. A little digging beneath the twisted grapevines of wine country reveals a rich history filled with intriguing (and disturbing) tales of humanity’s growth, struggles, perseverance, and spirituality.
Sources:
http://www.kstrom.net/isk/art/basket/pomohist.html
http://boxer.senate.gov/nah/tribe_group.cfm#UTO
http://ceres.ca.gov/nahc/califindian.html
http://www.sonomacountyrealestate.us/living/sonoma/history/
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=479
Sonoma State Historic Park Brochure
Friday, August 21, 2009
Cough, Cough, Sneeze, Sneeze, Congress Wants to Hear from Me?
With all the partisan rhetoric flying around Obama’s healthcare proposal, I have no idea how to separate fact from fiction. I know what changes I’d like to see personally but don’t know how that fits into our president’s framework or congress’s changes.
To my utter surprise, when I opened my email this morning there was a survey from a California congressman waiting for me. (Just this once I’ll ignore the fact that someone sold my contact info.) The survey asks (these are just the questions/statements. I’m not listing the multiple choice response options for all of them.):
1. A government option should be a part of any healthcare reform passed by congress.
2. Government should remain a neutral regulator of the healthcare industry and refrain from taking greater control over the payment of or provision of healthcare services.
3. In order to insure all Americans, I would support a plan which increases taxes for: middle class and working class families / upper income families / my own family / none of the above.
4. I support Obama’s plan. (Yes / no / Don’t know enough about it)
5. Do you support the proposal that the same health plans provided to members of congress and federal employees be made available to all private employers and workers?
I wonder if my responses will have any impact whatsoever. Still, reaching out to the community requesting its opinion is a step in the right direction.
I think most of us would agree that we’d like to see high-quality healthcare at an affordable cost for all that also guarantees care for those who can’t afford it. What’s my personal beef with the current system? The list is endless and there are lots of grey areas in the points below. Here are my top three:
1. Annual increases in insurance premiums that outweigh or negate pay increases.
2. No affordable healthcare options for those who are unemployed. (I never understood how COBRA was a viable option for those who don’t have jobs. If you don’t have an income, how can you afford healthcare that's more expensive than regular healthcare?)
3. Quality healthcare and options for elderly and children who may not have insurance.
I understand that insuring the uninsured means someone else has to pay for it. Still, shouldn’t the government figure out a way to help its people? Or have we entered an era of survival of the fittest (aka survival of those with money)?
Whatever the grand plan the government comes up with, I fear the following:
1. Government Only Plan – Too communistic for my taste. I want choices.
2. Government Options – Do the poor get different treatment options (or no treatment) than the rich?
3. Tax Increases – Will tax increases outweigh more affordable healthcare options?
4. Lack of Reasonable Industry Regulation – If private options will continue, will reasonable rate increases or government imposed caps on costs be created or enforced? Or will the skyrocketing costs from private insurers force a government style HMO to be the only affordable option?
5. The Goldilocks Syndrome – Too much government intervention or not enough
6. No plan – Heaven help us all.
Whatever is decided, I don’t want it to be pushed through congress just to fulfill a campaign promise and save face. It has to be a viable, long-term solution that will benefit everyone.
Then again, this is Washington we’re talking about. Time to get my head (and hopes) out of the clouds.
To my utter surprise, when I opened my email this morning there was a survey from a California congressman waiting for me. (Just this once I’ll ignore the fact that someone sold my contact info.) The survey asks (these are just the questions/statements. I’m not listing the multiple choice response options for all of them.):
1. A government option should be a part of any healthcare reform passed by congress.
2. Government should remain a neutral regulator of the healthcare industry and refrain from taking greater control over the payment of or provision of healthcare services.
3. In order to insure all Americans, I would support a plan which increases taxes for: middle class and working class families / upper income families / my own family / none of the above.
4. I support Obama’s plan. (Yes / no / Don’t know enough about it)
5. Do you support the proposal that the same health plans provided to members of congress and federal employees be made available to all private employers and workers?
I wonder if my responses will have any impact whatsoever. Still, reaching out to the community requesting its opinion is a step in the right direction.
I think most of us would agree that we’d like to see high-quality healthcare at an affordable cost for all that also guarantees care for those who can’t afford it. What’s my personal beef with the current system? The list is endless and there are lots of grey areas in the points below. Here are my top three:
1. Annual increases in insurance premiums that outweigh or negate pay increases.
2. No affordable healthcare options for those who are unemployed. (I never understood how COBRA was a viable option for those who don’t have jobs. If you don’t have an income, how can you afford healthcare that's more expensive than regular healthcare?)
3. Quality healthcare and options for elderly and children who may not have insurance.
I understand that insuring the uninsured means someone else has to pay for it. Still, shouldn’t the government figure out a way to help its people? Or have we entered an era of survival of the fittest (aka survival of those with money)?
Whatever the grand plan the government comes up with, I fear the following:
1. Government Only Plan – Too communistic for my taste. I want choices.
2. Government Options – Do the poor get different treatment options (or no treatment) than the rich?
3. Tax Increases – Will tax increases outweigh more affordable healthcare options?
4. Lack of Reasonable Industry Regulation – If private options will continue, will reasonable rate increases or government imposed caps on costs be created or enforced? Or will the skyrocketing costs from private insurers force a government style HMO to be the only affordable option?
5. The Goldilocks Syndrome – Too much government intervention or not enough
6. No plan – Heaven help us all.
Whatever is decided, I don’t want it to be pushed through congress just to fulfill a campaign promise and save face. It has to be a viable, long-term solution that will benefit everyone.
Then again, this is Washington we’re talking about. Time to get my head (and hopes) out of the clouds.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
God Isn't a Diamondbacks Fan?
It started in CYO basketball and cheerleading. Our coaches would say a quick prayer before games. I understood asking for God’s help to play to the best of our abilities, but I often wondered about why they asked the all mighty to help us win a game or event. Did God have favorite teams? Did he prefer St. Margaret’s basketball team over SCS? What did SCS do to piss Him off? How could we get in His good graces again to end our losing streaks?
The praying didn’t stop there though as it featured prominently in high school and college sports as well. I didn’t think much of it through the years as it was as commonplace as singing the national anthem before a game.
Watching Phillies baseball over the past few weeks, I’ve been surprised at how often a player (on our team or elsewhere) makes the sign of the cross after a good play. Tonight a Diamondbacks player made it to first base after getting a rare hit off of the Phillies’ Cliff Lee. As soon as he touched the base, he made the sign of the cross.
Does God care who wins? Doesn’t He have more important things to worry about than overpaid jocks hitting a change up or making a game saving catch? If everyone is praying for a win, how does God choose? Does he trip a player or send an extra gust of wind to carry a ball into home run territory?
Apparently God is a Phillies fan (at least today) because no matter how hard they prayed tonight, the Diamondbacks were destined to lose 8-1.
The praying didn’t stop there though as it featured prominently in high school and college sports as well. I didn’t think much of it through the years as it was as commonplace as singing the national anthem before a game.
Watching Phillies baseball over the past few weeks, I’ve been surprised at how often a player (on our team or elsewhere) makes the sign of the cross after a good play. Tonight a Diamondbacks player made it to first base after getting a rare hit off of the Phillies’ Cliff Lee. As soon as he touched the base, he made the sign of the cross.
Does God care who wins? Doesn’t He have more important things to worry about than overpaid jocks hitting a change up or making a game saving catch? If everyone is praying for a win, how does God choose? Does he trip a player or send an extra gust of wind to carry a ball into home run territory?
Apparently God is a Phillies fan (at least today) because no matter how hard they prayed tonight, the Diamondbacks were destined to lose 8-1.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Diet Secret #1
I love food. Let me say it again. I LOVE food. Like Joker to Batman, it’s been my evil arch nemesis throughout my year long quest to get back into shape.
Early on I figured out that the key to my diet is moderation. I can’t give up chocolate, cookies, and pastries. I won’t give up potatoes, bread, and pasta. And, while it’s not necessary, I thoroughly enjoy a glass of wine or a cocktail.
A diet of bland crackers and four paper thin cookies just wasn’t going to work for me. Dinners were the biggest challenge. I grew up on full meals, which included meat, starches, and veggies. These alone weren’t bad. However, vegetables were coated in butter, meats tended to be fried or roasted, and the starches oozed with greasy gravies. To top it off, I added salt to everything. Clearly, I was one big heart attack waiting to happen as I reached adulthood.
My biggest coup was figuring out how to make tasty “diet” food. One of my favorite experiments began with the grill. Considering California’s grilling season lasts about ten months each year, I figured this would be the best place to start. I nixed the roasted potatoes and corn on the cob from the grilled chicken’s side and replaced them with a large portion of spring salad. The trick was substituting the dressing. I tried the Wishbone low calorie/low fat option and didn’t care for it. Since I chopped a half-breast of BBQ chicken onto the salad, I figured I’d keep the taste consistent and drizzled about a tablespoon’s worth of BBQ sauce onto the salad instead. Presto! Low calorie, NO fat solution.
In honor of my first diet creation, I listed the recipe below. The marriage of salty and sweet flavors works surprisingly well. There are enough flavors and textures in here to keep your taste buds interested and enough food to keep you satisfied.
BBQ Chicken Salad
• ½ grilled chicken breast (sprinkled with season salt, lightly coated in oil to keep from sticking to the grill [keep the skin on so the meat doesn’t burn, but remove the skin before eating for less fat and calories.]
• Your favorite salad mix (2+ servings worth)
• 1 tomato (chopped)
• 1 apple (chopped)
• 1/4 chopped cucumber
* Handful of pimento stuffed green olives (chopped)
• Handful of dried cranberries
• Handful of slivered / chopped almonds (optional)
• 1 – 2 Tablespoons of Jack Daniel’s Honey Smokehouse BBQ Sauce
Early on I figured out that the key to my diet is moderation. I can’t give up chocolate, cookies, and pastries. I won’t give up potatoes, bread, and pasta. And, while it’s not necessary, I thoroughly enjoy a glass of wine or a cocktail.
A diet of bland crackers and four paper thin cookies just wasn’t going to work for me. Dinners were the biggest challenge. I grew up on full meals, which included meat, starches, and veggies. These alone weren’t bad. However, vegetables were coated in butter, meats tended to be fried or roasted, and the starches oozed with greasy gravies. To top it off, I added salt to everything. Clearly, I was one big heart attack waiting to happen as I reached adulthood.
My biggest coup was figuring out how to make tasty “diet” food. One of my favorite experiments began with the grill. Considering California’s grilling season lasts about ten months each year, I figured this would be the best place to start. I nixed the roasted potatoes and corn on the cob from the grilled chicken’s side and replaced them with a large portion of spring salad. The trick was substituting the dressing. I tried the Wishbone low calorie/low fat option and didn’t care for it. Since I chopped a half-breast of BBQ chicken onto the salad, I figured I’d keep the taste consistent and drizzled about a tablespoon’s worth of BBQ sauce onto the salad instead. Presto! Low calorie, NO fat solution.
In honor of my first diet creation, I listed the recipe below. The marriage of salty and sweet flavors works surprisingly well. There are enough flavors and textures in here to keep your taste buds interested and enough food to keep you satisfied.
BBQ Chicken Salad
• ½ grilled chicken breast (sprinkled with season salt, lightly coated in oil to keep from sticking to the grill [keep the skin on so the meat doesn’t burn, but remove the skin before eating for less fat and calories.]
• Your favorite salad mix (2+ servings worth)
• 1 tomato (chopped)
• 1 apple (chopped)
• 1/4 chopped cucumber
* Handful of pimento stuffed green olives (chopped)
• Handful of dried cranberries
• Handful of slivered / chopped almonds (optional)
• 1 – 2 Tablespoons of Jack Daniel’s Honey Smokehouse BBQ Sauce
Monday, August 17, 2009
IKEA: American Microcosm?
Ironic? Yes. Surprising? No. The question is how a Swedish company figured out consumers so well when other American operations struggle to retain their market share.
Hell bent on reclaiming the living room from my children, I was determined to redesign and upgrade my child-triggered-tornado danger zone. Lofty dreams of an adult-friendly space were hampered by a restrictive budget. The solution: IKEA.
Jeff and I made the forty-five minute trek to the IKEA in Emeryville yesterday. As I wandered through the sample living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms, my attention shifted from the furniture and decorative accessories to the unique clientele.
Parents with children could be overheard discussing budgets and options while more mature customers, wearing attire fresh from New York runways and bejeweled in gold necklaces and fancy watches, sought high-quality, chic designs. The store’s offering ranges in value and cost to meet pretty much any budget and home need.
IKEA’s true understanding of American capitalism lies in the layout of their store. Reminiscent of Oz’s yellow brick road, the main path through the store is marked with yellow arrows pointing you in the “right” direction which happens to wind through every department. Don’t think about exiting the main road or you’ll spend a good 20 minutes on a detour trying to find your way back. The scenic route through their entire product offering, which can easily fill a football field, leaves you feeling tired and disoriented. But then, just as you’re about to collapse from exhaustion and regretting forgetting to ask how your ruby slippers work in case you need to escape, the path clears to the entrance of IKEA’s cafeteria. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee are too enticing to resist. You promise yourself you’ll only sit for a few minutes to catch your breath.
And they’ve got you.
With furnishings to meet any budget, kiddie play areas and babysitting on-site, and restaurant quality food at half the cost, IKEA caters to consumers of every class, ethnicity, and background. Unlike many retailers who thrive on niche markets (low end = WalMart; mid-tier = Macy’s; high end = Neiman Marcus), IKEA figured out how home furnishings can appeal to everyone. The answer lies in customer service, quality levels with reasonable costs, and simple, European designs.
I didn’t intend this post to turn into an IKEA ad, but I was remarkably impressed not only by the store’s diverse customer base but also its ability to “trick” customers into shopping. After all, the cost of a $1.49 candle here and a $7.64 breakfast for two there added to a new bookcase adds up fairly quickly. Smart marketing.
Did I find the Emerald City? Yup. And I left my wallet there too.
Hell bent on reclaiming the living room from my children, I was determined to redesign and upgrade my child-triggered-tornado danger zone. Lofty dreams of an adult-friendly space were hampered by a restrictive budget. The solution: IKEA.
Jeff and I made the forty-five minute trek to the IKEA in Emeryville yesterday. As I wandered through the sample living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms, my attention shifted from the furniture and decorative accessories to the unique clientele.
Parents with children could be overheard discussing budgets and options while more mature customers, wearing attire fresh from New York runways and bejeweled in gold necklaces and fancy watches, sought high-quality, chic designs. The store’s offering ranges in value and cost to meet pretty much any budget and home need.
IKEA’s true understanding of American capitalism lies in the layout of their store. Reminiscent of Oz’s yellow brick road, the main path through the store is marked with yellow arrows pointing you in the “right” direction which happens to wind through every department. Don’t think about exiting the main road or you’ll spend a good 20 minutes on a detour trying to find your way back. The scenic route through their entire product offering, which can easily fill a football field, leaves you feeling tired and disoriented. But then, just as you’re about to collapse from exhaustion and regretting forgetting to ask how your ruby slippers work in case you need to escape, the path clears to the entrance of IKEA’s cafeteria. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee are too enticing to resist. You promise yourself you’ll only sit for a few minutes to catch your breath.
And they’ve got you.
With furnishings to meet any budget, kiddie play areas and babysitting on-site, and restaurant quality food at half the cost, IKEA caters to consumers of every class, ethnicity, and background. Unlike many retailers who thrive on niche markets (low end = WalMart; mid-tier = Macy’s; high end = Neiman Marcus), IKEA figured out how home furnishings can appeal to everyone. The answer lies in customer service, quality levels with reasonable costs, and simple, European designs.
I didn’t intend this post to turn into an IKEA ad, but I was remarkably impressed not only by the store’s diverse customer base but also its ability to “trick” customers into shopping. After all, the cost of a $1.49 candle here and a $7.64 breakfast for two there added to a new bookcase adds up fairly quickly. Smart marketing.
Did I find the Emerald City? Yup. And I left my wallet there too.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Beer & Dogs (Not the Ballpark Kind)
When you’re at the top, someone’s got to tear you down. Sometimes it’s an outside force. Sometimes we bring it upon ourselves.
Forget that the Phillies are the reigning World Series Champs and that the Eagles and Flyers made it to their respective playoffs last season. It seems that sports thrive on negative press. Then again, as the marketing industry says, no press is bad press.
This week’s fodder is brought to you by a Cubs fan, who prefers
showering an All-Star with his $9 beer instead of drinking it (talk about throwing your money away), and the Eagles franchise, who signed a felon to quarterback when the team already has a hometown favorite (McNabb) in said position along with an heir apparent (Kolb) and backup (Feeley).
The Cubs fan, who attacked the Phillies’ Flyin’ Hawaiian as he made a catch on the warning track, is lucky he didn’t commit his crime in Philadelphia territory. Phillies fans won’t take the high road if one their own is assaulted. There are times when I’d love to hurl a beer, bottle and all, at prima donna celebrities, but not while they’re working and not at someone as down to earth as Shane Victorino.
Kudos to Lou Piniella, the Cubs manager, and the Cubs franchise for apologizing and filing the complaint. If our teams can act civilly on the field, why can’t we off of it? And props to Victorino for handling the situation with class when he probably wanted nothing more than to deck the guy.
In other news, Eagles’ fans have drawn a line along the 50 yard mark. One camp stands strong against Vick for his past sins (aka you served your time, but don’t deserve a second chance in the game); the second willing to give him a shot at redemption.
For me, the Vick challenge is more of a social issue. Kids look up to athletes, especially celebrity athletes. While Vick may be a solid player (though he’ll need to re-prove himself before any Eagles fan stands in his corner), he’s got to realize that serving time behind bars is one thing, but having people, kids specifically, idolize you brings with it a whole new territory of responsibility.
If Vick wants my approval, he needs to shed his image by doing PSAs, working in the Philly community—not because he has to, but because he wants to, and truly showing fans and kids that taking responsibility for your mistakes is admirable. I get this wish list is lengthy and totally unrealistic, but only Vick can change his own image and public perception.
I’m in no way condoning what he did, but the justice system doled out its punishment and he served his time. Now, he needs to rebuild what was lost. I just don’t want my kids looking up to someone like him unless he proves his worth off the field and outside of a jail cell.
Philadelphia fans are renowned for their obnoxious, albeit passionate, behavior. They’ll turn on their hometown golden boy if he turns in a shoddy performance just as quick as they are to defend their team from others. Though they may bicker amongst themselves, Philly fans stick together. [A word of advice: If you’re not a Philly sports fan, then don’t pick a fight with those who are. You won’t win. Seriously, you won’t.]
The true test will come in February. Will Philadelphia fans forgive and forget Vick’s shady past if we walk away with rings?
Sources: Victorino Pic (Jonathan Daniel/Getty Images)
Vick Pic (Barry Williams / Getty Images)
Forget that the Phillies are the reigning World Series Champs and that the Eagles and Flyers made it to their respective playoffs last season. It seems that sports thrive on negative press. Then again, as the marketing industry says, no press is bad press.
This week’s fodder is brought to you by a Cubs fan, who prefers
showering an All-Star with his $9 beer instead of drinking it (talk about throwing your money away), and the Eagles franchise, who signed a felon to quarterback when the team already has a hometown favorite (McNabb) in said position along with an heir apparent (Kolb) and backup (Feeley).The Cubs fan, who attacked the Phillies’ Flyin’ Hawaiian as he made a catch on the warning track, is lucky he didn’t commit his crime in Philadelphia territory. Phillies fans won’t take the high road if one their own is assaulted. There are times when I’d love to hurl a beer, bottle and all, at prima donna celebrities, but not while they’re working and not at someone as down to earth as Shane Victorino.
Kudos to Lou Piniella, the Cubs manager, and the Cubs franchise for apologizing and filing the complaint. If our teams can act civilly on the field, why can’t we off of it? And props to Victorino for handling the situation with class when he probably wanted nothing more than to deck the guy.
In other news, Eagles’ fans have drawn a line along the 50 yard mark. One camp stands strong against Vick for his past sins (aka you served your time, but don’t deserve a second chance in the game); the second willing to give him a shot at redemption.
For me, the Vick challenge is more of a social issue. Kids look up to athletes, especially celebrity athletes. While Vick may be a solid player (though he’ll need to re-prove himself before any Eagles fan stands in his corner), he’s got to realize that serving time behind bars is one thing, but having people, kids specifically, idolize you brings with it a whole new territory of responsibility.If Vick wants my approval, he needs to shed his image by doing PSAs, working in the Philly community—not because he has to, but because he wants to, and truly showing fans and kids that taking responsibility for your mistakes is admirable. I get this wish list is lengthy and totally unrealistic, but only Vick can change his own image and public perception.
I’m in no way condoning what he did, but the justice system doled out its punishment and he served his time. Now, he needs to rebuild what was lost. I just don’t want my kids looking up to someone like him unless he proves his worth off the field and outside of a jail cell.
Philadelphia fans are renowned for their obnoxious, albeit passionate, behavior. They’ll turn on their hometown golden boy if he turns in a shoddy performance just as quick as they are to defend their team from others. Though they may bicker amongst themselves, Philly fans stick together. [A word of advice: If you’re not a Philly sports fan, then don’t pick a fight with those who are. You won’t win. Seriously, you won’t.]
The true test will come in February. Will Philadelphia fans forgive and forget Vick’s shady past if we walk away with rings?
Sources: Victorino Pic (Jonathan Daniel/Getty Images)
Vick Pic (Barry Williams / Getty Images)
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Exploitation of Women – a 'Light' Dinner Conversation
The first 15 minutes of dinner last night were wonderful. It was just Jeff and me on our first dinner date in over ten months. Sitting at a little, square table tucked into the far corner of the restaurant’s deck overlooking San Francisco Bay, the setting was beautiful, the fresh air and ambiance ripe for romance.Then, she arrived.
A couple took their seats directly behind me and not ten seconds later, a young woman began talking so loudly I couldn’t hear myself think. This alone wouldn’t have been a problem; with two kids I have plenty of practice at drowning out irritating noise pollution. It was her topic of conversation that got me. Would it bother you? You decide (Imagine a Valley Girl accent with “like” interjected after every other word. Her one-sided conversation is summarized/paraphrased below):
• So I’ve been working on this calendar. I pay the models $10 - $12 an hour. I’m not giving them anything else. It’s my calendar.
• I don’t have a distributor yet. This thing cost me $30,000 to make. I need to sell them. So I sent several boxes (for free) to Fort Bragg and I got some of the girls to dress up and hand them out after the police academy graduation.
• I learned everything from my dad. He’s an excellent photographer. He took me under his wing and taught me everything I know. He told me I should print more calendars, but I thought he’d help me figure out distribution. We fought a couple weeks ago and I haven’t talked to him since then.
o Yeah, he invested several thousand dollars in my project.
o He helped take some pictures for me (for free) but they were flat. I want the girls more “out there.”
• My mom doesn’t really approve of my work. We don’t get along and I can’t stand her. She happened to see the cover of the calendar and knew I needed cash, so she gave me a thousand.
• My mom asked about the models’ safety. I really don’t care…Yeah, we’ve got to be careful. I was worried the police might arrest us.
• I really want to establish my brand. Expensive accessories. I needed these designer boots that cost several thousand, but I found knock offs for $160. So the girl wore them for the shoot on the Harley and then I returned them. My marketing strategy is to put beautiful (naked) girls in expensive jewelry and shoes. I just hope the people who buy the calendars won’t know the stuff is fake. (Commentary: what man staring at naked women will know/care about her accessories?)
This is wrong on so many levels, not the least of which is that she doesn’t have the faintest clue about marketing. All kidding aside, I’m irritated that whatever “almost illegal” photography she was conducting would not in the least bit benefit the models taking their clothes off so she could make money off of their skin. Maybe the girls were desperate (then again, they could get a job in fast food/retail and make close to the peanuts she was paying them). Maybe they think this will launch modeling careers. Maybe they don’t care who sees them naked. Maybe they like it.
When I was younger, I felt any models participating in nudie pictorials were immoral, self-disrespecting bimbos. As I got older, I came to believe that it’s a matter of choice. If the models want to participate, then who cares? At least they’re willing participants and, if they make it to Playboy--if that's what matters to them, they’ll make millions and become household names (at least, in select male-only households). But what irritated me about my oblivious dinner non-companion was her cold, callous take on the situation. She readily admitted that she was in it for the money and that the “girls” wouldn’t get anything else from her entrepreneurial business profit. What makes her better than a pimp?
I could go on endlessly about why this bothers me. Then again, instead of complaining, I could've confronted her. But why? Apparently, everything was consentual and, quite frankly, it's none of my business. I'm just being an uptight, judgmental soccer mom.
What bothers me most is that I let this selfish, immoral woman cloud my time alone with Jeff. So, ultimately, who’s the stupid one? Don’t reply; I know the answer.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Concert Memories
I intended this post to be about tonight’s Depeche Mode concert in San Francisco. Unfortunately, the band cancelled due to medical reasons. While I’m disappointed, the mere idea of sharing the first live-music event with Jeff in about seven years reminded me of some of our favorite concert moments.
• 1994 Pink Floyd - Division Bell tour at the long gone Vet in Philly. Jeff bought our tickets in December 2003, I believe. I held off on paying him back for months, because I was certain he’d break up with me before the June show. By late spring it was apparent that nothing I did would scare him away, so I paid for the ticket. The show was memorable for many reasons, not the least of which being my first encounter with "high" people (not my friends) and flying pigs (and no I wasn't high either; it's a PF thing).
* 1995 REM concert – Jeff got front row center tickets. Due to a glitch with Boscov’s Ticketmaster station, I got tickets for the next night, which happened to be Senior year’s Homecoming—Jeff and I were on the court, so clearly, I had to attend. By the time I figured out the mistake, the only seats left were in nosebleed. All night I could see Jeff and his friends bobbing up and down right in front of Michael Stipe while my friends and I were stuck getting high off of second-hand pot smoke from the completely-out-of-it fans around us. Yes, I’m still bitter.
• 1997 David Bowie’s 50th birthday bash – We drove through a blizzard from Reading, PA to northern PA to meet up with our college friend, Joe S., who scored tickets to the event. When we arrived at Madison Square Gardens in NYC the next night, we were pleasantly surprised to find out that our tickets gained us access to the general admission floor area right in front of the stage. Watching Bowie and his who's-who-in-rock guests perform a handful of feet away from us is not something we’ll soon forget.
• 1998 Depeche Mode concert – We went with a few of our college friends to the Spectrum. Our seats were in the front row of the first level. Considering I’m so short, this was the first concert where I actually saw the entire performance. The band and audience’s energy level was through the roof.
• 1999 Billy Joel – The show was rescheduled. However, due to a miscommunication, Jeff and I showed up on the wrong night. We got into the venue and to “our” seats until another group showed up claiming the seats were theirs. What a mess. Once we got to the right show, the Piano Man put on a fabulous performance.
• 2000 Filter – Jeff and I worked backstage. Show attendance was low as this was a college concert at SJU. Richard Patrick (lead singer) walked off stage and finished singing “Cancer” to me and Jeff.
• 2002 Lisa Marie Presley - Seven summers ago, Jeff and I attended our last concert together—Lisa Marie Presley at The Stone Pony in Asbury Park, NJ. The venue was cozy but the location was a combination of beauty and horror. The Stone Pony is right off of the beach, which was gorgeous. However, the eerily empty boardwalk could’ve been plucked from a John Carpenter flick. This was one of her first shows and, although she was still testing the waters, her songs were as wonderful as she was/is beautiful. Still, I was scared to death that someone was lurking in the shadows waiting to kill us on our walk to the car after the show.
• 1994 Pink Floyd - Division Bell tour at the long gone Vet in Philly. Jeff bought our tickets in December 2003, I believe. I held off on paying him back for months, because I was certain he’d break up with me before the June show. By late spring it was apparent that nothing I did would scare him away, so I paid for the ticket. The show was memorable for many reasons, not the least of which being my first encounter with "high" people (not my friends) and flying pigs (and no I wasn't high either; it's a PF thing).
* 1995 REM concert – Jeff got front row center tickets. Due to a glitch with Boscov’s Ticketmaster station, I got tickets for the next night, which happened to be Senior year’s Homecoming—Jeff and I were on the court, so clearly, I had to attend. By the time I figured out the mistake, the only seats left were in nosebleed. All night I could see Jeff and his friends bobbing up and down right in front of Michael Stipe while my friends and I were stuck getting high off of second-hand pot smoke from the completely-out-of-it fans around us. Yes, I’m still bitter.
• 1997 David Bowie’s 50th birthday bash – We drove through a blizzard from Reading, PA to northern PA to meet up with our college friend, Joe S., who scored tickets to the event. When we arrived at Madison Square Gardens in NYC the next night, we were pleasantly surprised to find out that our tickets gained us access to the general admission floor area right in front of the stage. Watching Bowie and his who's-who-in-rock guests perform a handful of feet away from us is not something we’ll soon forget.
• 1998 Depeche Mode concert – We went with a few of our college friends to the Spectrum. Our seats were in the front row of the first level. Considering I’m so short, this was the first concert where I actually saw the entire performance. The band and audience’s energy level was through the roof.
• 1999 Billy Joel – The show was rescheduled. However, due to a miscommunication, Jeff and I showed up on the wrong night. We got into the venue and to “our” seats until another group showed up claiming the seats were theirs. What a mess. Once we got to the right show, the Piano Man put on a fabulous performance.
• 2000 Filter – Jeff and I worked backstage. Show attendance was low as this was a college concert at SJU. Richard Patrick (lead singer) walked off stage and finished singing “Cancer” to me and Jeff.
• 2002 Lisa Marie Presley - Seven summers ago, Jeff and I attended our last concert together—Lisa Marie Presley at The Stone Pony in Asbury Park, NJ. The venue was cozy but the location was a combination of beauty and horror. The Stone Pony is right off of the beach, which was gorgeous. However, the eerily empty boardwalk could’ve been plucked from a John Carpenter flick. This was one of her first shows and, although she was still testing the waters, her songs were as wonderful as she was/is beautiful. Still, I was scared to death that someone was lurking in the shadows waiting to kill us on our walk to the car after the show.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Numbers Game of a Weighty Issue
I have a love/hate relationship with food. I love to eat it but hate the weight gain that comes with it.
It’s ironic that over the past few months several people told me that I haven’t changed a bit since high school. I’ve gotta admit that makes me feel pretty good, but a lot has changed over the past thirteen years. Other than the obvious—marriage, kids, career—my appearance has fluctuated quite a bit, from pixie haircuts and burgundy colored hair to health issues complicated by increased weight.
I had always been muscular—thanks to dance classes and cheerleading. Plus my competitive streak had me rivaling the boys in my high school weight training gym classes.
Then I went to college. No more ballet. No more cheerleading. No more will to get to the gym for fear of being stared at and judged by the people who knew how to use the equipment.
By the time graduation rolled around, I had gained ten pounds. Within six months of that, I gained another eight. Still, I didn’t look bad. I looked half decent in my bathing suits—at least I didn’t feel like I’d blind anyone on the beach—and I wasn’t overly self-conscious.
Of course, all that changed after baby number one arrived. I lost all of the pregnancy weight except for the last ten pounds. Not bad considering I didn’t exercise. Then four years later, baby number two threw a cosmic imbalance into my teetering system.
I gained 40 plus pregnancy pounds (I stopped looking at the scale after I topped 185). Assuming I’d drop the weight just as easily as after baby number one, I was in for a rude awakening. Of the 40 plus pounds, I only lost about 15. My weight ebbed around 170 for about three years.
Though the weight bothered me, the number wasn’t what hurt. I was constantly exhausted. I couldn’t play with my kids outside for more than a few minutes because my asthma would kick in during spring and summer. And, I was generally miserable. For the first time in my life I actually felt fat. My legs were heavy. My butt dragged me down. My back hurt.
Irritated, I recalled my high school days and how I thought I was chunky back then. (Typical teenage self-confidence issues, I guess.) The days of the six-pack abs were long gone and I missed them. I considered exercising and dieting, but it seemed like such a long, painful road. It was easier to pop another Hershey's miniature and complain about the situation.
As I stated in yesterday’s blog, last September I spent five days devouring the Twilight book series. Having eaten virtually nothing during that time, I dropped ten pounds (Jeff fondly refers to this as the “Edward diet”). While I don’t recommend that crash course, it provided me with the impetus to get moving.
I decided I was going to take charge of my health and make a change. After all, no one else could do it for me. I alone controlled what went into my system and how to take care of it.
Brushing off the thick coating of dust covering my long unused exercise tapes, I popped them in and began exercising 15 minutes a day, three days a week. No it wasn’t enough to make a difference, but it was just the right amount to get me motivated to do more. Today, I exercise 30 – 75 minutes six days a week and I feel GREAT!
It’s been about 11 months since I started chiseling the soft mush that defined the ‘Andrea’ of the past seven years. While I still have a way to go, I’m proud of my progress having dropped from a size 14 to a 6. Not bad. Despite this success, I still have good weeks and bad weeks. It's a day-by-day effort. Sometimes cravings outweigh all sense of logical reason, but I wake up the next day with increased resolve to try again.
Truth be told, I don't want the body of a size 0 celebrity. It’s not about the numbers. It’s about how I feel. The fact that I can outrun my kids and keep up with their over charged, out-of-control energy is an accomplishment in my mind. I’ve rediscovered the joy of living life actively instead of having it lived for me by fear and a lack of will power.
It’s ironic that over the past few months several people told me that I haven’t changed a bit since high school. I’ve gotta admit that makes me feel pretty good, but a lot has changed over the past thirteen years. Other than the obvious—marriage, kids, career—my appearance has fluctuated quite a bit, from pixie haircuts and burgundy colored hair to health issues complicated by increased weight.
I had always been muscular—thanks to dance classes and cheerleading. Plus my competitive streak had me rivaling the boys in my high school weight training gym classes.
Then I went to college. No more ballet. No more cheerleading. No more will to get to the gym for fear of being stared at and judged by the people who knew how to use the equipment.
By the time graduation rolled around, I had gained ten pounds. Within six months of that, I gained another eight. Still, I didn’t look bad. I looked half decent in my bathing suits—at least I didn’t feel like I’d blind anyone on the beach—and I wasn’t overly self-conscious.
Of course, all that changed after baby number one arrived. I lost all of the pregnancy weight except for the last ten pounds. Not bad considering I didn’t exercise. Then four years later, baby number two threw a cosmic imbalance into my teetering system.
I gained 40 plus pregnancy pounds (I stopped looking at the scale after I topped 185). Assuming I’d drop the weight just as easily as after baby number one, I was in for a rude awakening. Of the 40 plus pounds, I only lost about 15. My weight ebbed around 170 for about three years.
Though the weight bothered me, the number wasn’t what hurt. I was constantly exhausted. I couldn’t play with my kids outside for more than a few minutes because my asthma would kick in during spring and summer. And, I was generally miserable. For the first time in my life I actually felt fat. My legs were heavy. My butt dragged me down. My back hurt.
Irritated, I recalled my high school days and how I thought I was chunky back then. (Typical teenage self-confidence issues, I guess.) The days of the six-pack abs were long gone and I missed them. I considered exercising and dieting, but it seemed like such a long, painful road. It was easier to pop another Hershey's miniature and complain about the situation.
As I stated in yesterday’s blog, last September I spent five days devouring the Twilight book series. Having eaten virtually nothing during that time, I dropped ten pounds (Jeff fondly refers to this as the “Edward diet”). While I don’t recommend that crash course, it provided me with the impetus to get moving.
I decided I was going to take charge of my health and make a change. After all, no one else could do it for me. I alone controlled what went into my system and how to take care of it.
Brushing off the thick coating of dust covering my long unused exercise tapes, I popped them in and began exercising 15 minutes a day, three days a week. No it wasn’t enough to make a difference, but it was just the right amount to get me motivated to do more. Today, I exercise 30 – 75 minutes six days a week and I feel GREAT!
It’s been about 11 months since I started chiseling the soft mush that defined the ‘Andrea’ of the past seven years. While I still have a way to go, I’m proud of my progress having dropped from a size 14 to a 6. Not bad. Despite this success, I still have good weeks and bad weeks. It's a day-by-day effort. Sometimes cravings outweigh all sense of logical reason, but I wake up the next day with increased resolve to try again.
Truth be told, I don't want the body of a size 0 celebrity. It’s not about the numbers. It’s about how I feel. The fact that I can outrun my kids and keep up with their over charged, out-of-control energy is an accomplishment in my mind. I’ve rediscovered the joy of living life actively instead of having it lived for me by fear and a lack of will power.
Summer 2008 - weighing in around 170
Spring 2009 - weighing about 135
Monday, August 10, 2009
What the hell is "Eternity is not Enough?"
My baby. My dreams. The product of personal, spiritual, and intellectual growth over the past 15 years.
"Eternity is not Enough" (aka EINE) is my dream come true.
I always wanted to write a book and although it is currently unpublished, EINE represents a personal accomplishment I certainly never thought possible with a full time job, two kids and the myriad of other responsibilities chasing me through the day.
Though this is embarassing to admit, I stopped reading fiction years ago primarily because I lacked the time. However, I was also envious of the writers whose witty prose was intellectually stimulating, the authors who were able to create a believable world of fantasy, and those whose published works should've been stored in the circular file instead of wasting shelf space. So, I've spent the past decade hiding behind non-fiction. I occasionally crawled out of the history and new age literature hole to read a few books which reminded me of the mysterious, paranormal, and suspenseful young adult novels and authors of my youth--Agatha Christie, Edgar Allan Poe, Carolyn Keene, R.L. Stine, Christopher Pike, et al.
Last September, a dear friend of mine insisted I read the "Twilight" series by Stephenie Meyer. Considering it was both popular and fictional, it had two strikes against it. Very reluctantly, I pried open the book's hardcover, sighing at the futile promise I made to my friend. How was I going to get through the torture about to take place? I suffered through the first chapter and then somewhere in the middle of chapter two I fell in love with Edward Cullen.
The formula of Meyer's flawed protagonists, who happen to be star-crossed lovers set against the world of vampires and werewolves, exploded successfully. I devoured all four books of the series and her unfinished fifth manuscript in five days. I barely slept. I barely ate. I HAD to know what happened to my fictional love, Edward.
And then, as I read the last line of "Midnight Sun," anger percolated in my veins. I craved more. I wanted to know more about Bella and Edward's worlds. The anger quickly turned into an all too familiar and overwhelming emotion.
Jealousy. I wasn't envious of Meyer's success. I envied her ability to capture an idea and just write it down.
I'd been dying to write a vampire novel since high school. I had started and stopped so many stories over the years that I just dismissed my writing ambition as yet another passion I'd want for a day and then abandon because it was overwhelming.
But what if this time I actually wrote something? The thought floated in my mind for a couple of hours as I wondered where to start. Amidst the playful screams of my rowdy kids, an old, nagging nightmare popped into my consciousness. This fearsome childhood dream became the story's cornerstone.
By the time my husband got home from work, I had gone from working mom and housewife to aspiring novelist. He listend to my plan patiently, nodding in all the right places, questioning the logistics of time and family commitments. By the end of my sales pitch, he was hooked.
Three months later, EINE was complete. The proverbial blood, sweat, and tears poured from its pages. I did it!
As I began my hunt for agents and publishers, I discovered that at about 227,000 words, my baby was about 130,000 words too long for a first-time novel. I trimmed about 57,000 words, but it's still over the industry's standards. Needless to say, this hurdle alone makes it nearly unpublishable.
Where does this leave EINE? Paranormal plots have always had a strong following, and I do believe my novel is commercially viable. So I'm continuing my search for a publisher.
As much as I want to publish the work (and I won't give up until I figure out a way), I'm just happy I set my mind to something and made it happen. Finally.
Click here for more information about "Eternity is not Enough."
"Eternity is not Enough" (aka EINE) is my dream come true.
I always wanted to write a book and although it is currently unpublished, EINE represents a personal accomplishment I certainly never thought possible with a full time job, two kids and the myriad of other responsibilities chasing me through the day.Though this is embarassing to admit, I stopped reading fiction years ago primarily because I lacked the time. However, I was also envious of the writers whose witty prose was intellectually stimulating, the authors who were able to create a believable world of fantasy, and those whose published works should've been stored in the circular file instead of wasting shelf space. So, I've spent the past decade hiding behind non-fiction. I occasionally crawled out of the history and new age literature hole to read a few books which reminded me of the mysterious, paranormal, and suspenseful young adult novels and authors of my youth--Agatha Christie, Edgar Allan Poe, Carolyn Keene, R.L. Stine, Christopher Pike, et al.
Last September, a dear friend of mine insisted I read the "Twilight" series by Stephenie Meyer. Considering it was both popular and fictional, it had two strikes against it. Very reluctantly, I pried open the book's hardcover, sighing at the futile promise I made to my friend. How was I going to get through the torture about to take place? I suffered through the first chapter and then somewhere in the middle of chapter two I fell in love with Edward Cullen.
The formula of Meyer's flawed protagonists, who happen to be star-crossed lovers set against the world of vampires and werewolves, exploded successfully. I devoured all four books of the series and her unfinished fifth manuscript in five days. I barely slept. I barely ate. I HAD to know what happened to my fictional love, Edward.
And then, as I read the last line of "Midnight Sun," anger percolated in my veins. I craved more. I wanted to know more about Bella and Edward's worlds. The anger quickly turned into an all too familiar and overwhelming emotion.
Jealousy. I wasn't envious of Meyer's success. I envied her ability to capture an idea and just write it down.
I'd been dying to write a vampire novel since high school. I had started and stopped so many stories over the years that I just dismissed my writing ambition as yet another passion I'd want for a day and then abandon because it was overwhelming.
But what if this time I actually wrote something? The thought floated in my mind for a couple of hours as I wondered where to start. Amidst the playful screams of my rowdy kids, an old, nagging nightmare popped into my consciousness. This fearsome childhood dream became the story's cornerstone.
By the time my husband got home from work, I had gone from working mom and housewife to aspiring novelist. He listend to my plan patiently, nodding in all the right places, questioning the logistics of time and family commitments. By the end of my sales pitch, he was hooked.
Three months later, EINE was complete. The proverbial blood, sweat, and tears poured from its pages. I did it!
As I began my hunt for agents and publishers, I discovered that at about 227,000 words, my baby was about 130,000 words too long for a first-time novel. I trimmed about 57,000 words, but it's still over the industry's standards. Needless to say, this hurdle alone makes it nearly unpublishable.
Where does this leave EINE? Paranormal plots have always had a strong following, and I do believe my novel is commercially viable. So I'm continuing my search for a publisher.
As much as I want to publish the work (and I won't give up until I figure out a way), I'm just happy I set my mind to something and made it happen. Finally.
Click here for more information about "Eternity is not Enough."
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Criminal Paradise Celebrates Anniversary
Isolated in the middle of San Francisco Bay, Alcatraz unites history and nature in an uncomfortable paradise of sorts for criminals. This world-renowned penitentiary housed America's famously infamous, including 
Capone, the Birdman of Alcatraz, and Machine Gun Kelly. Despite its history as a military outpost and jail, "The Rock" is beautiful in its eerie island setting. Stuck between San Francisco to the south and Angel Island and Tiburon to the north, it's caught in the frigid Pacific wind gusts that beat the dilapidated remnants of the once impenetrable fortress.
On a trip to San Francisco, one can't miss The Rock which is visible from many spots around the bay. Even on the foggiest days which are typical in the area, the lighthouse provides a beacon for ships and people alike. It's hard to imagine the island without the jail, though in 1775 a Spaniard "discovered" the rocky land (I say "discovered" because there were plenty of Native Americans who lived in this area prior to the Spanish "discovery"). Juan Manuel de Ayala named the island "La Isla de los Alcatraces" which translates into "The Island of the Pelicans." Following the US acquisition of California after the Mexican-American war, President Fillmore set the island aside for military purposes in 1850.
During the civil war, the island was used as a defensive outpost filled with artillery and imprisoned Confederate sympathizers. Post war, it was used to protect the Bay Area and its interests. By 1867 the first jailhouse was built on the island for use as a military detention facility. After numerous renovations and expansions, the island was designated as a federal penitentiary on August 9, 1934.
Though the island was only used as a federal jail for 29 years, there were 14 escape attempts and one battle between inmates and guards that left five dead. Evidence of the escapes and violent fights are still visible in the structure today. (If you haven't seen the Clint Eastwood movie, Escape from Alcatraz, I highly recommend it.)
From left to right: Alcatraz dock with burnt out home in background; nature reclaiming Alcatraz; old cell; view of San Francisco from Alcatraz
Capone, the Birdman of Alcatraz, and Machine Gun Kelly. Despite its history as a military outpost and jail, "The Rock" is beautiful in its eerie island setting. Stuck between San Francisco to the south and Angel Island and Tiburon to the north, it's caught in the frigid Pacific wind gusts that beat the dilapidated remnants of the once impenetrable fortress. On a trip to San Francisco, one can't miss The Rock which is visible from many spots around the bay. Even on the foggiest days which are typical in the area, the lighthouse provides a beacon for ships and people alike. It's hard to imagine the island without the jail, though in 1775 a Spaniard "discovered" the rocky land (I say "discovered" because there were plenty of Native Americans who lived in this area prior to the Spanish "discovery"). Juan Manuel de Ayala named the island "La Isla de los Alcatraces" which translates into "The Island of the Pelicans." Following the US acquisition of California after the Mexican-American war, President Fillmore set the island aside for military purposes in 1850.
During the civil war, the island was used as a defensive outpost filled with artillery and imprisoned Confederate sympathizers. Post war, it was used to protect the Bay Area and its interests. By 1867 the first jailhouse was built on the island for use as a military detention facility. After numerous renovations and expansions, the island was designated as a federal penitentiary on August 9, 1934.
Though the island was only used as a federal jail for 29 years, there were 14 escape attempts and one battle between inmates and guards that left five dead. Evidence of the escapes and violent fights are still visible in the structure today. (If you haven't seen the Clint Eastwood movie, Escape from Alcatraz, I highly recommend it.)
After a century of salt-water erosion and expensive upkeep, Robert Kennedy closed Alcatraz for use as a federal penitentiary. From 1969 to 1971, a group of Native Americans occupied the island demanding justice for their treatment as a people and for payment for the land which was taken from them over the centuries. Although their occupation here led to the further damage and deterioration of the remaining buildings, as a group their efforts raised awareness to their plight and helped usher in an era of change.
Today marks the 75th anniversary of the opening of Alcatraz as a federal jail. Former inmates, prison guards and their families are reuniting on the island to share their stories with visitors.
Although I wish I could be there today, I was lucky enough to visit the island twice. Though its dark past mars its current beauty as nature reclaims the skeletons of its once foreboding structures, an unspoken charge of energy is undeniably present there. While you smell the salty sea air as the cold wind smacks your face, you can almost feel the desperation of the men sent here to suffer for their crimes. There's a story that on New Year's Eve, some of the windows would be left open around the cell blocks to taunt the prisoners who could hear merriment from the free city dwellers ringing in the new year. The Rock is a lonely, empty place surrounded by California's natural beauty which remained just out of reach for Alcatraz's inhabitants.
If you find yourself in San Francisco and you happen to like history as much as me, Alcatraz is a worthwhile trip filled with mystery, intrigue, and a few ghosts--not to mention beautiful photo opportunities around every corner. Check out a few of my shots below (forgive me, these were taken pre-digital camera).
Note: For those planning a trip to the Bay Area, tickets to Alcatraz are limited. It is recommended that you purchase your tickets in advance. Click here for more information or to buy tickets.
From left to right: Alcatraz dock with burnt out home in background; nature reclaiming Alcatraz; old cell; view of San Francisco from Alcatraz
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Forty Years of Crossing the Street
It's not just any street. It's the street. It's the only street that's recognized by people around the whole world.
Forty years ago today, the Beatles marked the beginning of the end of their rise to universal stardom as a group by taking the cover picture for their final album.
Marking the height of the shift from classic rock-n-roll to the era of landing on the moon, Woodstock, and free love, the 1969 image of John, Ringo, Paul, and George strolling confidently across Abbey Road is iconic, capturing them--and a generation--looking and moving forward.
Though four decades have passed, this image inspires young and old alike today as evidenced by the thousands of fans who flock to the Abbey Road crosswalk in London's St. John's neighborhood each year.
Thirteen years ago this past week, I had the pleasure and honor of walking in their footsteps "with the help of my friends." I don't remember much from that day except the thrill of finding the right spot and standing there staring at it in awe (and probably irritating the countless locals sick and tired of fans holding up traffic in the busy intersection). As we walked across the street, I couldn't help but wonder, "Did my feet touch the exact spot where John and Paul stepped? What were Ringo and George thinking that day right here?"
The energy of the place fills visitors with exhiliration. To those who don't care or don't understand its importance, it's just another street. To fans, it's a place of worship. To those who fall somewhere in between, it's a historical location where we can actually follow in the footsteps of music's finest.
I can't quote every Beatles' song. Heck, I can't even name half of them, but I can recognize their significant contribution to the music world and to a generation caught between the clash of political and social ideologies.
The unforgettable Abbey Road shot lives on in the minds and hearts of millions--not just because it was made timeless by the Beatles but because of what it represented. Hope. The picture and the band are as valid today as they were back then. As one of the album's songs says:
Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right
("Here Comes the Sun," The Beatles, Abbey Road)
From left to right: "George," "Paul," "Ringo," & "John" (aka me) -- Picture taken by John Perrotto
Sources: Forty Years On, Beatles Fans Flock to Abbey Road Crosswalk
Abbey Road Album
Forty years ago today, the Beatles marked the beginning of the end of their rise to universal stardom as a group by taking the cover picture for their final album.
Marking the height of the shift from classic rock-n-roll to the era of landing on the moon, Woodstock, and free love, the 1969 image of John, Ringo, Paul, and George strolling confidently across Abbey Road is iconic, capturing them--and a generation--looking and moving forward.
Though four decades have passed, this image inspires young and old alike today as evidenced by the thousands of fans who flock to the Abbey Road crosswalk in London's St. John's neighborhood each year.
Thirteen years ago this past week, I had the pleasure and honor of walking in their footsteps "with the help of my friends." I don't remember much from that day except the thrill of finding the right spot and standing there staring at it in awe (and probably irritating the countless locals sick and tired of fans holding up traffic in the busy intersection). As we walked across the street, I couldn't help but wonder, "Did my feet touch the exact spot where John and Paul stepped? What were Ringo and George thinking that day right here?"
The energy of the place fills visitors with exhiliration. To those who don't care or don't understand its importance, it's just another street. To fans, it's a place of worship. To those who fall somewhere in between, it's a historical location where we can actually follow in the footsteps of music's finest.
I can't quote every Beatles' song. Heck, I can't even name half of them, but I can recognize their significant contribution to the music world and to a generation caught between the clash of political and social ideologies.
The unforgettable Abbey Road shot lives on in the minds and hearts of millions--not just because it was made timeless by the Beatles but because of what it represented. Hope. The picture and the band are as valid today as they were back then. As one of the album's songs says:
Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right
("Here Comes the Sun," The Beatles, Abbey Road)
From left to right: "George," "Paul," "Ringo," & "John" (aka me) -- Picture taken by John Perrotto
Sources: Forty Years On, Beatles Fans Flock to Abbey Road Crosswalk
Abbey Road Album
Welcome to Moon Shot
Welcome to the inaugural blog for Moon Shot--the place to celebrate individual triumphs, share disappointments and pain, and wonder at the amazing, ridiculous, and amusing.
Posts here will chronicle my venture into the writing industry as well as my love of food, technology, travel, and interesting tidbits of information. Each day will bring something special to share or at least my two cents.
Why call the blog "Moon Shot" if it's not a baseball journal? The name captures my life's ambitions. I always strive for the moon even when it seems unattainable. Secondly, the moon is tied to nature and ancient religions, which inspired the main character of my first novel, "Eternity is Not Enough." Lastly, I LOVE baseball (Go Phillies!). I don't know the stats of every player. I don't even know the names of most players (all of my guy friends just rolled their eyes and shook their heads in disappointment). But I love the game. The sounds, smells, and experiences of a live baseball game capture a slice of historical Americana that is second to none.
A baseball moon shot--a long, high home run--is like this blog. Whether or not it reaches the stars is irrelevant as long as I'm always aiming for them.
Posts here will chronicle my venture into the writing industry as well as my love of food, technology, travel, and interesting tidbits of information. Each day will bring something special to share or at least my two cents.
Why call the blog "Moon Shot" if it's not a baseball journal? The name captures my life's ambitions. I always strive for the moon even when it seems unattainable. Secondly, the moon is tied to nature and ancient religions, which inspired the main character of my first novel, "Eternity is Not Enough." Lastly, I LOVE baseball (Go Phillies!). I don't know the stats of every player. I don't even know the names of most players (all of my guy friends just rolled their eyes and shook their heads in disappointment). But I love the game. The sounds, smells, and experiences of a live baseball game capture a slice of historical Americana that is second to none.
A baseball moon shot--a long, high home run--is like this blog. Whether or not it reaches the stars is irrelevant as long as I'm always aiming for them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
