tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77692025584384155432024-03-12T22:33:14.802-04:00Random RealityMusings by Kathryn Quigley: writer, teacher, mommy. Philadelphia native. Villanova and UMD grad.
I write about my life, my kid and my students.
My Fantasy Boyfriend is George Clooney. My favorite music group is U2.WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.comBlogger514125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-73923512344898980182020-11-26T14:56:00.005-05:002020-11-26T14:58:41.124-05:00Remembering Kim Oriole<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicc4V_dupHyNBMqes_eBBiemMyg7as9RF-1kclvigimycNZQ-3s-Nawo-ses460-n5ozA0l6kABQUGrQYF5LUNJoDOfpGf8SQjMrkkO6fqyEfw_2SvD2v4QjHB4XlvBAtOPFMzKMjrcK5c/s604/IMG_0559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="604" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicc4V_dupHyNBMqes_eBBiemMyg7as9RF-1kclvigimycNZQ-3s-Nawo-ses460-n5ozA0l6kABQUGrQYF5LUNJoDOfpGf8SQjMrkkO6fqyEfw_2SvD2v4QjHB4XlvBAtOPFMzKMjrcK5c/s320/IMG_0559.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWuOa6oUXywOtpyu4EIO38mvzWiqMXL_A4GsrbbGx4HI9sc2sDHPwNb7D7NxkVHDafliDa3lXY9CeeMmtLpS2dsw3ZCHTYCoYmL-hSe0N5QXPnImdH4swJdIr48DQn1c0E3XN5vBmGBiA/s479/1D331702-DF25-48B2-882A-EEE3244D7EB2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="458" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWuOa6oUXywOtpyu4EIO38mvzWiqMXL_A4GsrbbGx4HI9sc2sDHPwNb7D7NxkVHDafliDa3lXY9CeeMmtLpS2dsw3ZCHTYCoYmL-hSe0N5QXPnImdH4swJdIr48DQn1c0E3XN5vBmGBiA/s320/1D331702-DF25-48B2-882A-EEE3244D7EB2.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Eleven years ago tomorrow, my friend Kimberly Ann Oriole, died of stupid lung cancer at the age of 48. Kim never smoked, loved to mountain bike, kayak and white water raft.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Kim Oriole was one of my first friends at the Fayetteville Observer in 1993. I soon learned she was a kickass reporter, athletic, a wonderful friend and loved guys with nice eyes. Kim was so thrifty that she squeezed a nickel til it bled. She had two cats, Waylon and Willie. In the 1990s, I made her watch “Beverly Hills 90210.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Kim was a reporter in Arizona, North Carolina and West Virginia. She wore down sources with her persistence, friendly nature and laugh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She found love in 1999 and had 10 years with Bob in Ohiopyle, PA. I only met him once, at her wedding, but he made her happy. She was very brave as she battled lung cancer and tried experimental treatments.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I miss her all the time and think of her out in nature, head thrown back, having a good laugh.</div></div><p><br /></p>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-9812756673051189462018-02-11T11:04:00.002-05:002018-02-11T12:01:10.103-05:00Euology for my Dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Eulogy for Dr. Robert E. Quigley</b></div>
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<b>Dad</b></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Eulogy for my Dad</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Thank you all for coming to this funeral for my dad, Dr. Robert E. Quigley. My family and I truly appreciate it. I am giving the eulogy because according to Jenny and Patrick, I am the one who “likes to talk the most.”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">This eulogy will be somewhat historical in nature because as you know, my Dad was a historian and college professor for more than 40 years. There WILL be a quiz later. Take notes!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Dad was born in 1927, the 7</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 9.33pt;"><sup>th</sup></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;"> of eight children to Sarah and Tom Quigley. He grew up in a candy store that my grandfather owned at 51</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 9.33pt;"><sup>st</sup></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;"> and Chester Streets in Southwest Philadelphia. Dad’s lifelong love of chocolate candy and ice cream began in that store.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;"> He attended Catholic school and graduated from West Philadelphia Catholic School for Boys in 1945. Just a few days after graduation, he marched into the Army recruiting office and enlisted. He was determined to fight the Japanese and end World War 2. On his own. Well, it must have worked because the Japanese surrendered just two months later. Dad spent the rest of the war in occupied Germany.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Dad used the G.I. Bill to get an education, earning a bachelor’s degree in history from Catholic University and his master’s and doctorate in history from the University of Pennsylvania.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">He was a history professor at LaSalle University, Cabrini College, St. Joseph’s University and Holy Family College – where he met my mom, Barbara. He spent the last 27 years of his career at Rosemont College where he was chairman of the American Studies program. He loved his students, except when it came time to grade their papers, which I can relate to. He talked about historical figures as if he knew them. He knew all the details, all the minutiae, but also, all the scandals and gossip.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">One time, my sister needed to know the last name of the British royal family for a homework assignment.</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"> Ever the historian, he got out books and traced their entire lineage for her. It took an hour. She never did get the last name. Jenny then asked Mom the same question. Mom answered, "Windsor.” Thus, Jenny was able to complete her homework assignment,</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Dad retired in 1995 and spent the next few years watching British comedies on TV, like: </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">"Yes Minister,”"Father Ted,” "Are You Being Served,” “The Vicar of Dibley" and "Ballykissangel.” </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">He also </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">loved opera, classical music, and bagpipes, The Clancy Brothers and Hal Roach, the comedian. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">He loved spending time in Stone Harbor, NJ and Avalon, NJ where his family owned a house for many years.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">One of the best things about Dad is that he was always THERE, present and dependable. He drove us kids to school, dance lessons, dance recitals, scout meetings, scout trips, dances at St. Tim’s and Father Judge, our theater performances and our graduations.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">When I was a new foster mom, as a single woman, I was terrified and weepy. He was with me at my apartment, calm and steady.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">He also used his retirement to travel to see us kids and to eat at diners. His favorites were the Mayfair Diner, the Red Robin Diner and the Olympia Restaurant on Frankford Avenue. Every lunch and dinner he ate there involved soup. He was a terrible tipper, though. The three of us kids were all once waiters and tried to get him to tip</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"> more than $2, but no luck. This is probably why he always carried approximately a pound of change in his pants pocket.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">My sister, Jenny, loved the musical “Annie” so my Dad took her to see various performances all over the area. She tells the story of becoming dreadfully ill from a stomach virus on the way back from a production at the Hedgerow Theater. She </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">threw up the whole drive home, and luckily he had a random stockpile of plastic bags in the car, which came in extremely handy. Come to think of it this may have been where he decided to begin collecting plastic bags??? He also – for reasons we do not understand collected: rubber bands, paper clips, plastic containers that Chinese won ton soup comes in, empty boxes from small appliances and newspapers.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Throughout his life, Dad read five newspapers a day and revered Walter Cronkite. It is not a stretch to see why I became a reporter and then a journalism professor. The news of the past year, however, would completely stress him out. My brother, Patrick, said the only blessing to my Dad’s dementia is that he had no clue Donald Trump got elected president.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Dad’s dementia was dreadful because it is a dreadful disease. But throughout it all, Dad retained his kind spirit and loving nature. He loved when we kids visited him at the Philadelphia Protestant Home with his grandkids, Nicholas, Sean and Jack. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">He kept his sense of humor, too. A few years ago, I took him out to eat for his birthday – at a diner. Ever the journalist, I interviewed him.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">“Dad,” I asked. “What life lessons do you have to pass on?”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">He looked up from his meal, which probably included some kind of soup and answered: </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">“Duck! You never know what is coming at you!”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Solid advice. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 14pt;">Thank you. </span></div>
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WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-25127515817301755622013-09-11T22:00:00.000-04:002013-09-11T22:53:23.795-04:00September 11, 2001<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I woke up early because I was on the courts beat at the Palm Beach Post and had to check the courthouse docket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I turned on Howard Stern on my car radio, because I liked to hear him make fun of the news. Within minutes, he switched from talking about the hotness of Pam Anderson to yelling that planes had hit the Twin Towers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"It's terrorism!" Stern said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gLefr8jegPKNmuTlYp03TyjfpMczbWp5FgO153CbCSTSxPYmGXK-MiPMuL0HaIF-z-PChgvSqZXRvmUPDQ6EvriHP5ZOb7vTWjDcOhVkH9QQQqCsYdoBm92BCg8jLHrxbij9sE7aFwcV/s1600/9+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gLefr8jegPKNmuTlYp03TyjfpMczbWp5FgO153CbCSTSxPYmGXK-MiPMuL0HaIF-z-PChgvSqZXRvmUPDQ6EvriHP5ZOb7vTWjDcOhVkH9QQQqCsYdoBm92BCg8jLHrxbij9sE7aFwcV/s400/9+11.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He was right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I called into the newsroom, thinking it might be a joke. Jane Smith was the day editor and answered the phone. It wasn't a joke, she said. It was real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I called Lisa L. Colangelo, my friend at the NY Daily News who covered City Hall. It was primary Election Day and she was still home because she was working the late shift. She hadn't turned on the news yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"NY is being attacked!" I yelled into my cell phone. "Put on your jeans! Get extra pens and granola bars! You won't be home for hours!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Wait, why hasn't my editor called me about this?" Lisa asked, confused. This was because all the phone lines in and out of Manhattan were down. She went to work. She wasn't home till 36 hours later. Her beloved city was under attack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I started interviewing people in the Palm Beach County Courthouse for man-on-the street reaction. A woman in the Law Library told me the State Department building had been bombed. That turned out to be false, but I didn't know it at the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My stomach turned. My brother worked in the State Department building. I called my brother at work and home. Couldn't get through. Then I called my Mom, Barbara Wetzler. She was watching TV and saw the second plane crash into the WTC. The tone of her voice was awful. I called my Dad. He hadn't heard from my brother either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I called into the Post newsroom and burst into tears with emotion from it all. I stood on a street and cried. Because I sounded somewhat whacked out, they sent Christine Stapleton out to the courthouse to work on the story with me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I pulled myself together; I was a journalist and had work to do. Lisa called me, with a note a horrified disbelief in her voice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Kath, can you believe the Twin Towers collapsed?" she said. "They're gone. They're gone."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I said something reassuring like "I am sure everyone got out in time." Because I could not fathom - who could fathom - that they did not. That they were dead. That the dust cloud spreading over Manhattan was full of their bodies and souls and dreams.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the courthouse, one prosecutor told another that the Pentagon had just been hit. I tried my brother again. Couldn't get through. An hour or so later, my brother called my Dad and said he was okay. His office got evacuated and he had to walk home, to Virginia. But he was okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I called my friend Jill DeForte in New York City. She was okay, but shaky and sad. I called my friend Maryanne Murray Buechner. She lived in Brooklyn but had been uptown that day with her young son. Her husband, Terry, was still in their apartment in Brooklyn and saw the towers collapse from their window.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Back at the office, it was full of purpose and pressure to get out the story. Only later did we find out all the very many Florida connections to this tragedy. Some of the hijackers trained at flight schools in Florida. They lived nearby. They went to restaurants and bars and had been among us. (The next month brought deadly anthrax to the National Enquirer in Boca Raton and fears of biological terrorism. We didn't know that then.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My very best college friends - Tina, Chris, Luci and Nancy - were supposed to visit me that upcoming weekend. All the planes were cancelled. They couldn't come.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My most vivid memory was scrolling the Associated Press wires. There were so, so, so, so many stories. My mind could barely keep them straight. Four planes down. New York, Pennsylvania and D.C. Each city, each plane had a story. Later, each victim would have a story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Eventually, I had to tune it out and write my story and go about the rest of my work day. But deep day, something had shifted. I liked my job, but didn't love it. I liked living in Florida, but missed my hometown of Philadelphia. I kept thinking: "If I had died today, if it had been me, what would I regret?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Within 10 months, I started a new career as a college journalism professor at Rowan University and moved back to the Philadelphia area. I love my job. I love being in my hometown.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">To the dead of September 11, I say to you: I remember you. I think of you today. I hope you are at peace.</span></div>
WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-41287770168070206282013-09-11T20:56:00.001-04:002013-09-11T22:09:24.771-04:00"The Dead of September 11" by Toni Morrison<br />
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<span dir="ltr" id="sites-page-title" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: small;">The Dead of September 11 - Toni Morrison</span></span></h3>
<div class="sites-canvas-main" id="sites-canvas-main" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: #f0eccd; color: #323229; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; min-height: 150px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-top: 15px; text-align: left;">
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<table cellspacing="0" class="sites-layout-name-one-column sites-layout-hbox" style="margin: 0px; table-layout: fixed; width: 703px;" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><tbody>
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Some have God's words; others have songs of comfort<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />for the bereaved. If I can pluck courage here, I would<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />like to speak directly to the dead--the September dead.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Those children of ancestors born in every continent<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />on the planet: Asia, Europe, Africa, the Americas...;<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />born of ancestors who wore kilts, obis, saris, geles,<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />wide straw hats, yarmulkes, goatskin, wooden shoes,<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />feathers and cloths to cover their hair. But I would not say<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />a word until I could set aside all I know or believe about<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />nations, wars, leaders, the governed and ungovernable;<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />all I suspect about armor and entrails. First I would freshen<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />my tongue, abandon sentences crafted to know evil---wanton <br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />or studied; explosive or quietly sinister; whether born of<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />a sated appetite or hunger; of vengeance or the simple<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />compulsion to stand up before falling down. I would purge<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />my language of hypberbole; of its eagerness to analyze<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />the levels of wickedness; ranking them; calculating their<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />higher or lower status among others of its kind.</span></span></div>
<div style="padding: 0.5em 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Speaking to the broken and the dead is too difficult for<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />a mouth full of blood. Too holy an act for impure thoughts.<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Because the dead are free, absolute; they cannot be<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />seduced by blitz.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To speak to you, the dead of September 11, I must not claim<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />false intimacy or summon an overheated heart glazed<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />just in time for a camera. I must be steady and I must be clear,<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />knowing all the time that I have nothing to say--no words<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />stronger than the steel that pressed you into itself; no scripture<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />older or more elegant than the ancient atoms you<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />have become.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And I have nothing to give either--except this gesture,<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />this thread thrown between your humanity and mine:<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><i style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">I want to hold you in my arms</i> and as your soul got shot of its box of flesh to understand, as you have done, the wit<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />of eternity: its gift of unhinged release tearing through<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />the darkness of its knell.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://www.legacy-project.org/index.php?page=lit_detail&litID=83">http://www.legacy-project.org/index.php?page=lit_detail&litID=83</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.234375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.234375); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.300781); -webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Originally published in Vanity Fair magazine.</i></span></span></div>
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-49422589933986198852013-04-08T18:25:00.003-04:002013-04-08T22:49:53.921-04:00Boomerang: A Short Story<br />
Once upon a time, Little Dude got a boomerang. His Mom bought it for him at the Air & Space Museum in Washington, D.C. It was multi-colored and all the way from Australia.<br />
<br />
He can only play with it outside. This makes him sad. He would like to play with it inside. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y5s7jEEYwbM/UWNDjQfZOLI/AAAAAAAAAo8/Cg7hLK7Xy50/s1600/boomerang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y5s7jEEYwbM/UWNDjQfZOLI/AAAAAAAAAo8/Cg7hLK7Xy50/s1600/boomerang.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Little Dude let Twerpy Neighbor Child play with the boomerang.<br />
<br />
Twerpy Neighbor Child threw the boomerang in a tree. His Dad got it down.<br />
<br />
"Do NOT throw the boomerang near the trees or the neighbors or the roofs!" Mom told Little Dude and Twerpy Neighbor Child.<br />
<br />
They listened, for a bit. Then they threw the boomerang at the front glass door of the 86-year-old neighbor lady. She was not pleased.<br />
<br />
Today, Little Dude could not find his boomerang after Twerpy Neighbor Child came knocking, asking to play with it.<br />
<br />
"Where is the boomerang? Where is the boomerang? Where is the boomerang??" Little Dude cried.<br />
<br />
"Look around," Mom said. "Keep track of your toys."<br />
<br />
He looked and looked and looked and couldn't find the boomerang. He was sad.<br />
<br />
Mom found the boomerang. It was in the living room, next to the computer, in the open.<br />
<br />
"Do not throw the boomerang near the trees or the neighbors or the roofs!" Mom said.<br />
<br />
Five minutes later, Little Dude came in.<br />
<br />
There was a problem. The boomerang "somehow" landed on top of the neighbor's roof.<br />
<br />
"We should get a ladder!" Little Dude said.<br />
<br />
Uh, no, Mom said. You were told not to throw the boomerang near the trees or the neighbors or the roofs. And where is it now?<br />
<br />
"On the roof," he said.<br />
<br />
Mom and Little Dude went to the neighbor's house to tell him there was a boomerang on his roof and when it eventually fell off, to please let them know.<br />
<br />
This did not satisfy Little Dude.<br />
<br />
"We need to call 911 and ask the fireman to get the boomerang down!"<br />
<br />
Uh, no, Mom said. You were told not to throw the boomerang near the trees or the neighbors or the roofs. And where is it now?<br />
<br />
"On the roof," he said.<br />
<br />
And that is where it will stay, Mom said, until the wind blows it off.<br />
<br />
"When will that be? When will it rain? when will there be wind?" Little Dude asked.<br />
<br />
Soon, Mom said.<br />
<br />
She hopes.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, she is keeping Little Dude away from ladders and roofs. Where the boomerang remains.WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-51053456179254855052012-03-19T22:39:00.001-04:002012-03-20T14:27:28.937-04:00"How Did I Get Here?"In the car, driving on Tyson Avenue, coming back from the doctor.<br />
<br />
"How did I get here?" Dad asked.<br />
<br />
"Where? Tyson Avenue? I didn't want to take Bustleton the whole way," I said.<br />
<br />
"No, to this place I'm at," Dad said.<br />
<br />
Ah, a more existential "How did I get here," coupled with memory loss. He meant how did he wind up in an assisted living home.<br />
<br />
"Well, you were having trouble with the steps in your house. You kept winding up in the hospital for your tube and bag (catheter). You fell down the steps. You weren't eating right. And you didn't like being alone," I answered.<br />
<br />
I left out the part about him being robbed in the middle of the night.<br />
<br />
"Oh, I see," he said.<br />
<br />
"You were very stubborn," I told him. "You didn't want to leave your house. You told me 'They are gonna have to carry me out of here!'"<br />
<br />
"I did?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Oh yes," I said. "You did. But you like where you are. You like your room and TV and the meals and the nurses."<br />
<br />
"That's true," he said.<br />
<br />
"It was just hard getting you there," I said.<br />
<br />
"I am sorry about all that," Dad said. "I'll remember you in heaven," he joked.<br />
<br />
"That's good, Dad, but while you are up there, send me some winning lottery numbers, too," I said. "That would be a bigger help."<br />
<br />
"I'll see what I can do," Dad said.WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-40266510834808399122012-03-19T22:17:00.001-04:002012-03-20T14:38:09.653-04:00Life As A SandwichHere is an <a href="http://issuu.com/glassworksmagazine/docs/glassworks_issue_1_spring_2012?mode=window&backgroundColor=%23222222" target="_blank">essay I wrote for "Rowan Glassworks</a>," the graduate literary magazine at Rowan University. It's about being part of the "sandwich generation" - women who care for their young children as well as their elderly parents.
My essay starts on Page 9:
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
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<div style="text-align: left; width: 420px;">
<a href="http://issuu.com/glassworksmagazine/docs/glassworks_issue_1_spring_2012?mode=window&backgroundColor=%23222222" target="_blank">Open publication</a> - Free <a href="http://issuu.com/" target="_blank">publishing</a> - <a href="http://issuu.com/search?q=art" target="_blank">More art</a></div>
</div>
<br />
They asked the writers to <a href="http://www.rowanglassworks.org/issue-1.html">reflect on their essays</a>: <br />
<br />
"Life as a Sandwich"
My essay, "Life As a Sandwich," came out of my daily experience caring for my young son and my elderly father. The phrase "sandwich generation" is often bandied about as an apt description for those of us who care for children and parents at the same time. I remember thinking to myself: "This is a rotten sandwich."I just re-read the essay and am struck how honest and blunt I was. That is how I am as a journalist, but I usually write about things from my own life with a veil of humor. I am glad this essay came out as raw as it did. Clearly, I needed to say it. And people in my life needed to hear it.WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-29412326378998262382012-01-10T21:58:00.001-05:002012-03-20T14:54:50.160-04:00An Ode to My 20s<br />
I like these scrunchy ankle boots<b></b>
<br />
I like Philadelphia<br />
I miss Villanova<br />
Do I like this guy?
<br />
Should I date this guy?
<br />
When will he call?
<br />
Screw it, I will call him.<br />
He wasn't home.<br />
Fuck him, I am going out dancing!
<br />
Beer
<br />
The Cure
<br />
Laugh<br />
I like this guy
<br />
I love this guy
<br />
He dumped me<br />
I hate myself<br />
I hate my body<br />
TV<br />
Movies<br />
Beer<br />
I will now call all my friends and cry<br />
Depression<br />
More crying
<br />
Feeling better
<br />
Fuck him, I am going out dancing!
<br />
Shoes<br />
U2
<br />
Travel<br />
I like myself<br />
I like writing<br />
I love writing<br />
Laugh<br />
Beer
<br />
U2
<br />
Why the hell are my parents so weird?<br />
I like this guy<br />
But I also like THIS guy<br />
I will date both these guys!
<br />
Wait a minute, they both came to see me tonight at my apartment!
<br />
At the same time!
<br />
I think I will drink this whole bottle<br />
Wine
<br />
Pick one guy<br />
That was wrong
<br />
Pick the other guy<br />
Move to a new apartment<br />
Then another<br />
Travel<br />
I love him
<br />
He loves me<br />
He dumps me
<br />
Cry
<br />
Call all my friends and cry<br />
Beer<br />
Write<br />
Write more<br />
Travel<br />
Work<br />
Work more<br />
Why won't they fucking edit my story already so I can GO HOME?<br />
Oh my God. It's the copy desk calling at 11 p.m.<br />
The mall<br />
Move to a new city
<br />
New job<br />
Move again to another city<br />
Beer<br />
Karaoke
<br />
New job
<br />
New friends<br />
Lots of friends<br />
Laugh<br />
Is every single one of my friends getting married?<br />
Bridesmaid seven times<br />
Sang "Ave Maria"<br />
Sang it again<br />
And again<br />
I like this guy<br />
Now this guy
<br />
Dumped<br />
I hate him<br />
I hate myself<br />
Write a personal ad<br />
Date<br />
A lot<br />
This time, I do the dumping<br />
Beer
<br />
More writing<br />
Am I any good at this?<br />
Am I any good as a writer?<br />
As a journalist?<br />
I just wish I knew<br />
Maybe I stink at this<br />
I think I stink at this<br />
No, I am good at this
<br />
My boobs look good<br />
My boss hates me
<br />
Insomnia
Anxiety
Depression
Therapy
<br />
No more beer
<br />
No more guys who make me cry<br />
I like myself more now<br />
I can write
<br />
Fuck it, I am gonna sing show tunes!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>(My birthday is coming up soon. While I am not all that thrilled to be aging or to be over 40, there are MANY aspects of being older that are great. For one thing, a lot less angst! I know who I am, and what I am capable of, and how strong I am. I know I will survive. Hey, hey.)</b></span>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-63816219505671712812011-11-29T12:10:00.001-05:002011-11-30T13:46:45.695-05:00Sean Holton's Half-Assed Guide to Journalism Mediocrity<div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cw196ankiTY/TtVODzpLP_I/AAAAAAAAAik/tvKf92uR_hU/s1600/66391809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cw196ankiTY/TtVODzpLP_I/AAAAAAAAAik/tvKf92uR_hU/s200/66391809.jpg" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sean Holton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black;">My former <a href="http://www.orlandosentinel.com/">Orlando Sentinel</a> colleague, <a href="http://seanholtonmedia.com/">Sean Holton</a>, died today after battling brain cancer bravely and with an intact sense of humor. Sipping Jameson's probably helped too. Sean was a great editor, funny guy and very nice man, among many other things. He kept a funny and honest blog while he was sick and <a href="http://seanholton.wordpress.com/">you can read it here</a>.</span></div>
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<br />
Here is <a href="http://craigcrawford.com/wp-content/uploads/SeanObit.pdf">Sean's obituary</a> from his friend Craig. Here is Jeff Kunerth's <a href="http://www.orlandosentinel.com/features/os-sean-holton-obituary-20111129,0,5504025.story">detailed and awesome obituary</a> in the Orlando Sentinel. (There is also a <a href="http://www.legacy.com/guestbook/orlandosentinel/guestbook.aspx?n=sean-holton&pid=154818761&cid=view">Guestbook to sign</a>).<br />
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;">In 2003, he created his "Half-Assed Guide to Mediocrity" and passed out copies to his fellow reporters and editors at the Sentinel. Thanks to Lisa Cianci and Mark Schlueb at the Orlando Sentinel for passing this along. It is good advice for my fellow journalists and my journalism students. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Your goal for today is to neither be half-assed nor mediocre. Oh and maybe to sip some Jameson's. Do it in memory of my friend, Sean. </span></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt;">SEAN HOLTON’S
HALF-ASSED GUIDE TO MEDIOCRITY</span></b><span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt;">(Version 3.0:
Release date, Jan. 6, 2003)</span></b><span style="color: #1f497d;"></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;">40 ways to
promote mediocrity</span></b><span style="color: black;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">1.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t care.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">2.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t try.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">3.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
negative.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">4.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Tolerate mediocrity in others.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">5.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Rationalize mediocrity in yourself and others.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">6.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Hide
out in your job.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">7.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Build up a small piece of your job into more than it is,
and hide behind that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">8.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
blithe about your mistakes.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">9.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Hide
your mistakes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">10.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Make
people afraid to admit and correct their mistakes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">11.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
connect the quality of everything you do to the quality of the overall
paper.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">12.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
connect the quality of your colleagues’ work to your professional
self-interest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">13.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
respect deadlines.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">14.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
learn and respect the newsroom process all the way through the copy
desk.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">15.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
make that next phone call.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">16.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
read that story printout one last time to make sure everything is exactly right.
</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">17.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Believe
“good enough” is actually good enough.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">18.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Dwell
on the shit that flows downhill, and don’t set the fires that will burn
uphill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">19.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Kid
yourself that mediocrity deserves an “achieves standards” review.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">20.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Take no
responsibility for your decisions, especially the stupid ones.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">21.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Cultivate your own martyrdom and encourage martyrdom in
others.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">22.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be a
duplicitous backstabber.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">23.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Relish
the blame game.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">24.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
afraid to speak your mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">25.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
afraid to think big.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">26.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
afraid to be an aggressive editor.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">27.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
afraid to kick back a story when it’s not good enough.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">28.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Be
afraid to be edited aggressively.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">29.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Throw a
snit when a story is kicked back to you.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">30.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Hoard
power.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">31.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Confuse
power with leadership.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">32.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Manage
through fear and control.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">33.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Kiss up
to your bosses and kick down at your subordinates.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">34.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Treat
full-grown adults like children just because they happen to work for
you.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">35.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Forget
about all the people around you who are working their asses off.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">36.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
treat colleagues with professionalism and respect.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">37.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Don’t
get reviews finished on time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">38.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Make
everything personal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">39.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Take
everything personally.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="color: black;">40.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Bitch
about the law of gravity.</span></div>
</div>
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<link href="http://o.aolcdn.com/cdn.webmail.aol.com/34889/css/microformat.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"></link>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-68184615303431305942011-10-28T14:58:00.000-04:002011-11-29T12:28:58.736-05:00I Want a Journalism Internship<div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/12415972/i-want-a-journalism-internship" style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;" target="_new">I want a Journalism Internship</a><br />
by: <a href="http://www.xtranormal.com/profile/4884033" target="_new">RandomReality</a><br />
<a href="http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/12415972/i-want-a-journalism-internship">Here is a funny video</a> I made about my sometimes-silly college journalism students.<br />
<br />
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The video has been viewed nearly 3,000 times (!!!). It was re-tweeted a bunch of times and the awesome <a href="http://www.poynter.org/author/jromeneskopoynter-org/">Jim Romenesko</a> did an<a href="http://www.poynter.org/latest-news/romenesko/145066/i-need-to-work-this-journalism-internship-around-my-pizza-hut-schedule/"> interview with me</a> for his column.<br />
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</div>
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KQ 2/22/12<br />
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<br />
I ate meat yesterday. I was raised Catholic and knew it was Ash Wednesday but I willingly and defiantly pulled up to the Wendy's drive-thru and ordered a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. It was delicious and according to the Church, it was a sin.<br />
<br />
I knew that and didn't care. Here was my reasoning: If dozens of priests in the Philadelphia Archdiocese can't keep their hands off the private parts of children and teens, and Church leaders protect priests over children, then I am going to eat a damn hamburger.<br />
<br />
There I said a curse. Another sin. You know what else is a sin? Priests in a position of power taking sexual advantage of children. It is wrong and it is evil. I know that. The priests know that. Millions of Catholic all over the world know that.<br />
<br />
The Archdiocese SHOULD know that. But if they do, why did it take so long for them to respond to these allegations? Why did it take years of abuse claims, investigations and two scathing Grand Jury reports before 21 additional priests were removed from public service this week.<br />
<br />
On the TV news last night, I heard a nun say the discipline of the 21 priests "was a persecution of priests." HA! Persecution is what thousands of abused children went through for years, when no one heard their cries and no one stopped the abuse.<br />
<br />
I realize my hamburger protest is small and silly. I definitely do NOT think I am going to hell for eating meat. But it is perhaps the first time in my life that I have willingly broken Lenten tradition, even if I haven't been devout in years. But it is my small protest, my personal rebellion against a screwed up Philadelphia patriarchy.<br />
<br />
I was raised Catholic in Northeast Philadelphia and attended 16 years of Catholic school. Aside from the folksy "guitar Masses" in the 1970s, I never really experienced a deep sense of love or peace in my parish church or school. Instead, the priests (with the exception of one, who later left the Church) were stern and severe. Confession was intimidating. There were no Saturday night Masses in Philadelphia because it was "wrong." We didn't know why. Masturbation was wrong. Premarital sex was wrong. Heck, mostly everything was wrong.</div>
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</div>
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In religion class, we learned that Hell was painful because we would be on fire for eternity. We were taught that our souls were like white paper dolls and when we sinned, God took a hole punch and left a black mark. Really, teachers? REALLY? Yes.</div>
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In my parish grade school, the slow learners were placed in "F" level - "F" for failure. Looking back, I am sure most of those students probably had learning disabilities. But I don't think they were ever helped.</div>
<div>
</div>
<br />
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But I kept my faith for two reasons. For one, the two priests in my family - my uncle, Father Jack Quigley of Kansas was a good and kind man. So is my cousin, Father Leon Hutton of California. My high school was St. Basil Academy of Fox Chase, Pa. run by an order of Ukrainian nuns who love their students with all their hearts and each day demonstrate the goodness of Jesus.</div>
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I went to Villanova University on as scholarship (not my first choice - I wanted to go to secular Swarthmore). At Villanova, I found a progressive and caring community where Mass was one of the highlights of the week and many students worked for peace and justice. But Villanova is run by Augustinian brother, not the Archdiocese and I bet that made all the difference.</div>
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</div>
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During my years living as a reporter across the country, I found welcoming parishes such as St. Patrick's in Fayetteville, N.C. and St. Juliana's in West Palm Beach, Fl.</div>
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Now I live in South Jersey, where I went to a parish church that felt like home. Well, it did until the Bishop of Camden closed my parish. Now I struggle to reconcile my deep doubts about the Catholic Church with how I want to raise my son. I consider becoming an Episcopalian, where women can be priests and priests can marry. Or a Unitarian, since they seem to welcome everyone and judge no one.</div>
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How am I supposed to tell my young son that he needs to follow Church law when many of its priests - God's Representatives on Earth - can't keep their hands to themselves? And Church leaders cover it up.</div>
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I don't know the answer. But I do know I am eating meat all throughout Lent.</div>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-78396667699854400572008-04-21T15:13:00.000-04:002011-10-28T15:43:20.651-04:00Me and Dan Rather<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3sawjsAZ21K6uRx4Xe46alQVuJQVP9WjaWqiFex_RBZnzHNEULzhQEpNm6y-RaKqKT84uUSfOFqHBCG9E7hFx6L5GrtQs24AKjmXPoUT7Z9Z5lpPWiPtgyKy4L3I7p7jIl1oBJ27LgPRw/s1600-r/pic%3Fid=46d0CdTREmZXPxlga7B7WRcOZpNz8IZCLVDd&size=m" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKb_aMx2j25tT3x-L3mkAJcRlmTlW_ZC9VGsrhQITgdNaz-jOJA7R1N3dsmuuaaaRh0dhFT6iHrgJWM_xmfdt7ZTWz6rxYJKDoxR9ifgtY3VOfLA0OUkYEob4oqFtdOl0ScJK_5n4AzEih/s1600-r/pic%3Fid=46d0CdTREmZXPxlga7B7WRcOZg-tAyM0GjeY&size=m" /><br />
Dan Rather came to Rowan University on April 11, 2008 as part of the school's 41st celebration of the Hollybush Summit. That was the event in 1967 where President Lyndon Johnson met face-to-face with Soviet Premier Kosygin. It was a pretty big deal during that time (Cold War) for those two to sit down together.<br />
Rowan - then known as Glassboro State - was selected as a meeting site because it was halfway between NYC and DC. The school had just a few days to get ready and was quickly thrust into the spotlight.<br />
As part of the anniversary of the Summit, former CBS anchor Dan Rather was brought in to moderate a panel on nuclear proliferation. He also took the time to teach a class for our students, including some of "my kids." It was great. He was great. All Dan Rather haters can just shut up.<br />
I heard him speak at the IRE convention in Denver in 2005 and he was great then, too. I found him to be smart, well-spoken and really quite humble. He gave my kids good advice. Here are some of my notes:<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">The ability to write is the most important skill for a journalist</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">"You have to read books."</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">A journalist is an honest broker of information for the people at home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">"If I'd been a better speller I might have stayed in newspapers."</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">Be accurate. Be fair.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">News is what someone somehere doesn't want you to know. All the rest is advertising.</span></div>
<pclass=msoplaintext style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Consolas;"></span>
</pclass=msoplaintext><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Consolas;">"Look it up in the dictionary."</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Consolas;">Journalists don't need to know everything, they just need who to ask or where to look it up.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Consolas;">(He is speaking entirely without notes.)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Consolas;">In terms of ethics, listen to the inner voice that says "you are going too far."</span></div>
After the panel, I weasled my way into a reception and got to chat up Dan one-on-one. In the pictures, I alternately look like I am pushing him or about to hug him. Hee.<br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbyWoiH5w7rLhhIvGaQMPQLHfNuTIc_FFY6vndmIFBM_USKn3A9qrobpFJqW9o71J2B7bw-XHGz1WiLMGM4eoteM5B3SPp81DQV5gM7aDhWi0SEG59WgxVdM1FpXgKw3xckA8I0jkAfvR/s1600-r/pic%3Fid=46d0CdTREmZXPxlga7B7WRcOZjg6pvaZN9hw&size=m" /><br />WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-63009842493459792602008-03-20T15:19:00.000-04:002008-10-13T16:40:11.729-04:00My column about sex with: high-priced hookers, the McGreeveys and horsies<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Clearly, I lead a dull life. This may be because I am the single mother of a high-energy toddler who runs around all day and wakes up all night. Or it could be because I never had sex with: a high-priced prostitute, an aide to former N.J. Gov. Jim McGreevey, or a horse.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Let’s talk about the call girl first. “Kristen” from the Emperor’s Club VIP used her Jersey Girl smarts to charge $4,300 for sex with former Gov. Eliot Spitzer of New York. Now he is no longer governor. And millions of people are listening to her songs on her MySpace page. I admire “Kristen” for thinking she is worth that much. But Eliot, really, $4,300?? I balk at paying $19.99 for Match.com.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">What the heck did $4,300 buy exactly? It sure wasn’t discretion. Let me tell you what I would expect for $4,300: George Clooney, in the dark suit he wore in “Ocean’s 11,” feeding me chocolate-covered strawberries. He would laugh at my jokes, rub my feet and come around to my point of view that Hillary Clinton would make a better president than Barack Obama. Of course we would make sweet, sweet love but it actually would cost NOTHING because George would be so enamored of me. See? This is a good fantasy and it cost nothing.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Apparently it cost nothing (except for perhaps his pride and self-worth) for a former aide to Jim McGreevey to announce this week that he had threesomes with McGreevey and his ex-wife. Dina Matos McGreevey says “no way,” Jim McGreevey and the aide say “way” and I am left befuddled. I think I am going to go with Dina on this one, if only because Jim has already proved himself to be a liar, liar, pants on fire.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">I know people have threesomes – I watch cable TV, but it all seems like a lot of effort.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">Take the “swingers lifestyle” for example. One drawback of being a tired single parent is that I often just flip to whatever is on TV and am too dopey to change the channel. So there I was, watching Showtime or HBO or some other premium channel that I have since canceled because "The Wire" over (sob!) and there was a documentary all about swingers. Let me try to express my opinion of some of the people featured: They are not attractive.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">No. Nope. Not. At. All. </SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">See, if I had the time, energy and inclination to “swing,” I would want to do it with supermodels and hunky actors. These people in the documentary looked like the dude at the car wash and his woman.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">There were also all these rules. For instance, one couple only dated other couples. What? Dating once you are married? I thought that was the POINT of being married – to never, EVER have to date again. And not only does the couple need to get along, each couple has to get along with EACH OTHER – enough to have sex. Now really, when does that ever happen? The couple’s other rule was that they had to begin the evening having sex with each other, then they switched to the other couple and then they came back again to each other again at the end of the night. Whew!</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">At least they were not having sex with a horse. Another show that caught my tired attention recently was a movie on the Sundance channel called "Zoo." </SPAN></FONT><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">It about farm animals and the men who … love them. Except one of the men, who was from Seattle, died in 2005 after having sex with a horse. Yes.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">The movie "Zoo" is all arty and blue-toned and not at all graphic. The men talk about their love of horses and there are shots of men in silhouette walking to the barn as music plays. I was horrified anyway – but kept watching in that car-wreck way.</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">I am not alone. When the story was first published in the Seattle Times, it became the most clicked-on story on the Web site – for the whole year. According to Editor & Publisher, this was partly because the story was a link on the Drudge Report website. </SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial"></SPAN></FONT></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><FONT face=Arial size=3><SPAN style="FONT-SIZE: 12pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial">All of this proves that I live a very dull life, indeed. Thank God.</SPAN></FONT></P>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-20528998375988914472008-01-24T12:27:00.000-05:002008-10-13T16:40:11.730-04:00When an Airplane Doesn't Fly<P>Ten years ago, I wrote a memorable newspaper article about a prostituion sting along a highway in Central Florida. The highway hookers carried flashlights and lured men who were driving by, looking for some, um, companionship. An undercover sting nabbed ten men, one of whom was in his 70s and walked with a cane.</P>
<P>My kicker to the story was about how one "customer" asked the undercover hooker for a sex act called an "airplane." No one knew what that meant, but we all had a good laugh. Today in class, I had my students read the story as an example of a short, but amusing tale written on deadline. They figured out what an "airplane" was in about 5 seconds by Googling it. (No Google in 1998). <A href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=airplane">Here it is</A>. (See Definitions 3, 4 or 5)</P>
<P>Let me just say that this act seems quite complicated and involves at least three people. Oh my! Thank God my students are over 18. I had NO idea what it meant!</P>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-70531721576123082932008-01-24T12:18:00.000-05:002008-10-13T16:40:11.730-04:00Where In The World Has RandomReality Been?<P>Hi faithful readers,</P>
<P> As you can see, there was a lengthy gap in between posts. One reason: ear infections. Actually, four of them. In a row. My Little Dude has been quite miserable. Poor little guy. So he is not sleeping, I am not sleeping and therefore, not posting. He is on yet another antibiotic and we are going to see the ENT. I predict ear tubes in his future. Aiiie.</P>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-85069075824124553862007-10-24T16:01:00.000-04:002011-10-28T15:44:35.237-04:00Bono was AwesomeI know, I know. It has been weeks since I went to see my Secondary Boyfriend, Bono, accept the Liberty Medal at the National Constitution Center. It was awesome. You can believe me on that or you can watch for youself with a <a href="http://www.constitutioncenter.org/libertymedal/">rebroadcast of the event.</a><br />
Bono is a great fan of America and of early democracy and of Benjamin Franklin, "who wore John Lennon glasses before they were cool." Even though Bono is Irish, he thinks of America as "his country," too. <br />
He praised Thomas Jefferson for the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.<br />
"They're great lyrics, Mr. Jefferson," Bono joked. "Great opening riff."<br />
But in a country as great as America, Bono wondered why we allowed so much of the rest of the world to go hungry, to suffer from AIDS. We must do something, he said. And he is right. We must.<br />
<a href="http://www.one.org/">www.one.org</a><br />WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-49968570264035228322007-09-27T14:52:00.000-04:002011-10-28T15:45:13.221-04:00Bono!!!!!!I get to see Bono of U2 tonight!!!!!! He is being awarded the <a href="http://www.philly.com/dailynews/local/10031922.html">Liberty Medal</a> at the <a href="http://www.philly.com/philly/news/homepage/10063512.html">National Constitution Center</a> in Philadelphia and I got tickets!! Doing so involved my becoming a member of the Constitution Center, so now I have my own pocket-sized copy of the Constitution in my purse. Hey, one never knows when one might need such a copy.<br />
RandomReality fans may recall that I heard Bono speak to the World Affairs Council at a lecture at U of Penn in 2005. Later, I actually got to talk to him (okay, one sentence: "I love you, but not in a creepy way") at a reception afterwards. His talks about Africa, global AIDS relief and poverty are so inspiring. Everytime I hear him speak, I want to move to Africa and start a school. Oh wait. I have no money. And Oprah already did that. But still, Bono is putting his money (and stardom) where his mouth is and using it for a CAUSE.<br />
What is even better, <a href="http://www.philly.com/philly/hp/news_update/7681302.html">his efforts get results.</a>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-51484298197719603562007-08-01T16:06:00.000-04:002008-10-13T16:40:11.747-04:00My friend and a kangaroo<P>My friend Tiggy went to Australia for a conference. Here is a funny picture of her with her new friends, the kangaroos. Personally, kangaroos freak me out a little. I am afraid they will kick me with their feet. It is a good thing I don't live near any.</P>
<P><IMG src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmX-0OhzdIlBXl-4ed8JvR2SM3jYbSnBQk4r-UU-peg6PZXJrUeK1ZsZKkhKbiWr2D8wX3FAtcLKGiroSIR05TJ3svhICM6MNEGAD-xKk2G5NH4s38tL4CuuWvcVAWnizYS3rGUIb5zOF/s1600-r/pic%3Fid=46d0CdTREmZXPxlga7B7WRcOZghZD2v3uwAc&size=m"/></P>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-75717205476713853282007-07-09T22:16:00.000-04:002013-04-09T15:41:10.551-04:00Rick Springfield and me in a riot Call me Jessie's Girl. My love for <a href="http://www.rickspringfield.com/"><span class="correction">1980s</span> pop star Rick Springfield</a> goes back to my grade school days growing up in the <span class="correction">Tacony</span> section of Northeast Philadelphia. In the early <span class="correction">1980s</span>, Springfield appeared as Dr. Noah Drake on the wildly popular soap opera <a href="http://abc.go.com/daytime/generalhospital/index.html">"General Hospital."</a> I was hooked. To heck with Luke and Laura. My 14-year-old brain knew a hunk when I saw him.<br />
<br />
I also knew a riot when I saw one. Or as much of a riot as pre-teenage girls can cause. I got caught in one at the Roosevelt Mall on June 30, 1981 when Springfield was supposed to sign autographs and meet fans at the Sam Goody store as part of a promotion with <span class="correction">WIFI</span>-FM radio. Twenty-six years later, the memory is still vivid.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8YTx4izmWmA/UWRmLlrlBpI/AAAAAAAAAp0/idpAAAx1qLk/s1600/Rick+springfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8YTx4izmWmA/UWRmLlrlBpI/AAAAAAAAAp0/idpAAAx1qLk/s320/Rick+springfield.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Rick Springfield appearing at "our mall" was a huge deal for my friends Karen, Anne and Patty. We just graduated from St. Timothy's grade school and were spending our summer watching "General Hospital" and hanging out at the Roosevelt Mall. We browsed at John <span class="correction">Wanamaker's</span> department store, poked around <span class="correction">Marlo</span> Books and bought clothes at Famous Maid. The mall was our second home. <br />
<br />
The thought of Springfield - <span class="correction">hunky</span> Dr. Drake - in OUR MALL was almost too much for us to bear. Springfield was supposed to show up at the Sam Goody at 11 a.m. to promote his hit single, "Jessie's Girl." Anne and I met on Magee Avenue and walked to <span class="correction">Brous</span> Avenue to meet Patty and Karen. Onward to the mall. <br />
<br />
A massive crowd awaited us. Hundreds, no THOUSANDS of pre-teen girls like us, plus teenagers too. We wove our way over to the Sam Goody store and got in the line.<br />
<br />
Where was Rick Springfield? We started getting antsy, hot and tired. It was time for a Coke and a pretzel. But first, we would meet our beloved Rick. I believed I WOULD get to meet him. After all, I had met the guy who played Bo Duke from the "Dukes of <span class="correction">Hazzard</span>" at the car show a couple months before and had the photos to prove it.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the crowd starting swaying and moving towards the record store. CRASH!! The entire plate glass window in the front of the store shattered into a million pieces. We screamed.<br />
<br />
I don't remember if we ran from the store or just figured, "Heck, now we are closer to Rick Springfield!" But they didn't let us in the record store. Picture a crowd of teenage girls denied their idol. We were not happy. I don't remember anyone throwing anything or hitting each other, but there was pushing, whining and yelling.<br />
<br />
The next thing I remember is standing in the parking lot and watching a police car speed by. Inside was Springfield, his hands covering his head, which was down in his lap. They had to take him out in a police car because the cops were afraid we would maul him. And we might have, if I had known what "maul" meant when I was 12. We ran after the car for a bit, but no luck. It kept going.<br />
<br />
All these years later, my love for Springfield continues. In 2001, I saw him perform at the <span class="correction">MGM</span> Grand Hotel in Las Vegas. For one brief moment, our eyes locked as he walked by me, carrying his guitar. I wanted to yell, "Rick! I helped shove in a plate glass window for you!" But I thought his memories of that incident may not be as fond as mine.<br />
<br />
Not long ago, I got to see him perform at the <span class="correction">Keswick</span> Theater in <span class="correction">Glenside</span>. He is in his <span class="correction">50s</span> now but still has that penetrating stare and cute butt. He is still a hunk.<br />
<br />
Best of all, he is now back on "General <span class="correction">Hosptial</span>." I started watching the show again in 2005, when the character of Dr. Noah Drake returned as a way to introduce his equally-<span class="correction">hunky</span> son, Dr. Patrick Drake. This month, <span class="correction">Springield</span> is playing TWO characters on the show - Dr. Drake and rocker Eli Love. How is this possible? Who cares. It is a soap opera.<br />
<br />
And 26 years later, I am still a fan and would still chase Springfield through a mall parking lot. But I would probably have to stop and rest along the way. <br />
<br />WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-42859328054998772812007-04-05T16:39:00.000-04:002008-10-13T16:40:11.753-04:00George Clooney Nice to ChildrenSee? And you wonder why I love George Clooney so much. He is <A href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/05/people.clooney.ap/index.html">nice to children </A>who sell lemonade.WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-52593650388561312262007-03-28T16:34:00.000-04:002008-10-13T16:40:11.754-04:00Chad Vader<P>In which <A href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wGR4-SeuJ0">Chad Vader</A>, the loser brother of Darth Vader from "Star Wars," works as a manager at a grocery store and must deal with employees who do not appreciate his powers.</P>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-89168606170383091102006-12-30T18:21:00.000-05:002008-10-13T16:40:11.759-04:00I am a Pastafarian<P>Hello fans and friends. I am back. I am not sure how often I shall correspond with you all, since my new little room-mate can be quite demanding and occasionally, ill tempered. As well as leaky.</P>
<P>But the main change in my life is that I am now a<A href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flying_Spaghetti_Monster"> Pastafarian</A>. May the Great Flying Spaghetti touch you with his Noodly Appendage!!</P>
<P>As a Pastafarian, I now believe quite strongly in pirates and midgets. I also follow the 8 sacred laws, known as the <STRONG>"I'd Rather You Didn'ts</STRONG>." They were discovered by the prophet <A href="http://www.venganza.org/">Bobby Henderson</A>. Here they are:</P>
<P><SPAN class=mw-headline><STRONG>The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"</STRONG></SPAN></P>
<OL>
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Act Like a Sanctimonious Holier-Than-Thou Ass When Describing My Noodly Goodness. If Some People Don't Believe In Me, That's Okay. Really, I'm Not That Vain. Besides, This Isn't About Them So Don't Change The Subject.
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Use My Existence As A Means To Oppress, Subjugate, Punish, Eviscerate, And/Or, You Know, Be Mean To Others. I Don't Require Sacrifices, And Purity Is For Drinking Water, Not People.
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Judge People For The Way They Look, Or How They Dress, Or The Way They Talk, Or, Well, Just Play Nice, Okay? Oh, And Get This In Your Thick Heads: Woman = Person. Man = Person. Samey - Samey. One Is Not Better Than The Other, Unless We're Talking About Fashion And I'm Sorry, But I Gave That To Women And Some Guys Who Know The Difference Between <A title="Teal (color)" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teal_%28color%29">Teal</A> and <A title="Fuchsia (color)" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuchsia_%28color%29">Fuchsia</A>.
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Indulge In Conduct That Offends Yourself, Or Your Willing, Consenting Partner Of Legal Age AND Mental Maturity. As For Anyone Who Might Object, I Think The Expression Is Go F*** Yourself, Unless They Find That Offensive In Which Case They Can Turn Off the TV For Once And Go For A Walk For A Change.
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Challenge The <A title=Bigoted href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bigoted">Bigoted</A>, <A title=Misogynist href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misogynist">Misogynist</A>, Hateful Ideas Of Others On An Empty Stomach. Eat, Then Go After The B*******.
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Build Multimillion-Dollar Churches/Temples/Mosques/Shrines To My Noodly Goodness When The Money Could Be Better Spent (Take Your Pick): </LI></OL>
<DIV style="MARGIN-LEFT: 2em">
<OL style="LIST-STYLE-TYPE: upper-alpha">
<LI>Ending Poverty
<LI>Curing Diseases
<LI>Living In Peace, Loving With Passion, And Lowering The Cost Of Cable<BR/>I Might be a Complex-Carbohydrate Omniscient Being, But I Enjoy The Simple Things In Life. I Ought To Know. I AM the Creator. </LI></OL></DIV>
<OL start=7>
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Go Around Telling People I Talk To You. You're Not That Interesting. Get Over Yourself. And I Told You To Love Your Fellow Man, Can't You Take A Hint?
<LI>I'd Really Rather You Didn't Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You If You Are Into, Um, Stuff That Uses A Lot of Leather/Lubricant/Las Vegas. If the Other Person Is Into It, However (Pursuant To #4), Then Have At It, Take Pictures, And For The Love Of Mike, Wear a CONDOM! Honestly, It's A Piece of Rubber. If I Didn't Want It To Feel Good When You Did It I Would Have Added Spikes, Or Something. </LI></OL>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-75008444274552113342006-06-07T19:25:00.000-04:002011-10-28T15:45:50.660-04:00There is a guy in my lifeRandomReality will be on temporary hiatus. I met a guy. He is short and bald but I think he is perfect, although he can be a little whiny, especially when he wants to eat. Boy, does he have an appetite! He and I will be together at least through early July and then, who knows. Wish us luck in our relationship:)WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-66793042783935697252006-05-22T12:22:00.000-04:002008-10-13T16:40:11.761-04:00Bono on NBC Nightly News to Discuss Africa<P><SPAN class=tx>Bono will be on the NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams on Tuesday, May 23 to discuss his recent trip to Africa. Tune in. Or click on <A href="http://www.one.org/">this link to the One Campaign</A> to find out more about the organization's mission to end extreme poverty and global AIDS.</SPAN></P>
<P><SPAN class=tx>This is from <A href="http://www.one.org">the website</A>:</SPAN></P><SPAN class=tx>
<DIV class=declaration><IMG height=273 alt="Sign the Declaration" src="http://www.one.org/images/declaration.gif" width=460>
<A title="Add Your Signature to the ONE Declaration" href="http://www.one.org/ActionSignup.html"><IMG height=21 alt="Add Your Signature to the ONE Declaration" src="http://www.one.org/images/add_sig.gif" width=278></A> </DIV></SPAN>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7769202558438415543.post-45197886503150926342006-05-19T17:45:00.000-04:002008-10-13T16:40:11.761-04:00How come Britney Spears doesn't have to take Parenting Classes?<P>Cause she clearly needs some! Check out <A href="http://www.nypost.com/news/nationalnews/63949.htm">this story</A> of her almost dropping her baby son on his noggin because she was holding a drink in one hand and almost tripped on her too-high shoes. At least she did not spill her drink. Whew!</P>
<P>To get licensed as a foster mother, I had to get fingerprinted, answer questions about masturbation, buy a fire extinguisher that weighed over 5 pounds and sit through hours of parenting classes and videos. Britney just had to have sex. Granted, it was with KFed, so that is its own particular chore, but still.</P>
<P>That girl either needs to hire a nanny, stop carrying her child, or stop carrying her child while she also carries a drink and wears silly shoes.</P>
<P>Oh and the New York Times reports that one of the most popular girls' names is Nevaeh. It's Heaven spelled backwards. Yup yup.</P>WriterChickNjhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272689146917304404noreply@blogger.com0