Attack of the Killer Barbie Dolls Turns Mass Media Reporting to Mush

I was not terribly surprised yesterday this overwrought headline arrived on my desktop: Killer Storm Faye Barrels Toward Florida.

The Dominican Republic and Haiti reported “numerous deaths,” according to the Agence France-Press report.

That just shows the usual fuzzy thinking about cause-effect relations that characterizes the Ken and Barbie approach to news reporting. The Dominican Republic and Haiti are two of the poorest countries in the western hemisphere. Whenever it rains hard, people are washed away in mud slides. They live marginal lives in huts cobbled together from corrugated metal, clinging to the least desirable pieces of real estate on mountainsides.

A more accurate headline would read: Homicidally Indifferent Government Causes Yet More Deaths.

Or perhaps: Extreme Poverty Takes More Desperate Lives.

Perfectly groomed Barbie and Ken reporters are not able to think too deeply about social forces. They are able, however, to recognize a really big wind and a lot of rain.

Any sort of weather emergency quickly exhausts their tiny vocabularies. Cause and effect reasoning is largely beyond their mental processes.

The Barbie dolls have killed good reporting as it used to exist when I first started out in journalism, so long ago that I pounded out my copy on ancient, high carriage typewriters -- in triplicate. It's all mush now. Social forces are the same as rain. A tropical depression with high winds and rain is a killer storm. I'm not sure what they'll do with the next hurricane. It will be apocalypse now, I suppose, in their oh-so-limited views of life and the world. Can we please have some grown-up reporters once in a while? Please?

Wicked Wit Skewers Fugly Fashion at Snarky Blog

Go Fug Yourself is a snarky blog about celebrity fashion. It is so wrong to enjoy something so mean.

Fug means frightfully ugly, according to the blog's FAQs – but Wikipedia confirms my suspicion the “f” stands for an unsavory four-letter street word. The blog is so well-known and influential that it has its own entry. There’s something for my aspirations – an entry about ordinaryordinary in wiki.

Fug is a "self-inflicted” condition that characterizes “pretty people with money to spare and little sense how to spend it,” the blog explains. One must, of course, possess sufficient celebrity so that paparazzi are standing by to document one’s fashion faux pas.

Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan write Go Fug Yourself. I don’t know why I read it. Perhaps because silly togs are a fitting target in our celebrobsessed culture. Withering wit is an art in itself, as proved by Oscar Wilde.

Stone Cold Creamery Disappoints Ice Cream Epicure

I love ice cream. My emphasis is on CREAM. The three perfect food groups are butterfat, chocolate, and sugar. They must, however, be combined in exacting proportions.


I recently read about a small ice cream chain, Stone Cold Creamery, that mixes ice cream concoctions to order. Nuts, marshmallows, candy and cookie pieces, even peanut butter – whatever you order is mixed before your eyes on cold marble to prevent melting. This is the cold stone that gives the chain its name.


With a family with children dithering over choices, I selected a container of Rocky Road that I hoped would not melt too much during the 20-minute drive home. I could hardly wait to taste it.


Like so many ice creams, Cold Stone Creamery product is too sugary and sweet for my taste. I like a butterfat content in the 12-14% range, which is the highest I’ve been able to get it. The chocolate is so dark and fudgy, it obscures all taste of cream – even when I let it melt on my tongue to savor what little cream flavor I can find. Nuts are abundant. My favorite, however, is the marshmallow. Whether it’s a marshmallow ribbon or tiny candies tucked into the ice cream, I love the gooey squishy feel on my palate. Alas, marshmallows are few and far between in Stone Cold Creamery Rocky Road ice cream.


Stone Cold Creamery probably is a hit with kids who get to choose almost endlessly among thes urprising combinations that Stone Cold Creamery makes to order. It’s a clever and unique marketing idea. For my part, I prefer my cream ICED rather than sugared. I will be sticking to Hagan Dazs and Ice Cream Club.

Artful Blogging Magazine Is Eye Candy that Inspires and Deights

Somerset magazines are a guilty pleasure that inspire and delight. My favorite is Doll Art. It portrays what my dentist called “big girl dolls.” She noted that her ability to perform tight work in small places could make this a good hobby for her.

Somerset Studio: The Art of Paper and Mixed Media is a colorful phantasmagoria for a gal who worked in newspaper, loves books and fancy paper stocks. I remember when a trip to Office Depot was like a trip to a toy store. One never knew exactly what color paper stock and textures might be available. I still remember with delight a very pale green linen texture typing paper and envelopes that I purchased in the 1980s. This was before Home Depot became a standardized purchasing monolith with the same product in all stores all the time.

My most recent purchase is Artful Blogging. I am looking forward to exploring the picturesque blogs depicted in its full-color, art-book quality pages. I even have a vague fantasy of publishing my own artful blog with a specific theme.

Somerset publications have been a guilty pleasure but probably also should be an unaffordable one, now that I only have minimal part-time work. Somerset Studio: The Art and Paper and Mixed Media, January 2008, cost $7.99. The price of $14.99 for the August 2008 Artful Blogging puts this publication out of my reach (even though I indulged anyway). Art Doll is holding steady at $9.99 for the upcoming October 2008 issue.

The paper quality, photos, and quality of the reproduction is excellent in all the Somerset publications I’ve seen. In fact, the quality is as deliciously tempting as a perfectly made chocolate ice cream sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top. The page layouts facilitate lingering appreciation for the crafty art depicted: there’s none of the big-little type, tilted layouts, and crazy cuts that characterize the apparent cutting edge in layout and design. If you love visual delights, these magazines are well worth pooling resources with friends to purchase and share.

Racism is Color Blind on CNN's Crossfire

A black commentator tried to convince panelists of the subtle racism in John McCain’s ad that juxtaposes images of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears ad with that of Barack Obama at a large rally. The juxtapositions are intended to cast doubt on Obama’s experience to be president. They also create subtle impressions of the classic American fear of black men harming defenseless white women.

Mike Barnicle, filling in for Chris Matthews on Crossfire, and Michele Bernard, expressed shock that the black commentator could say such a thing. “I don’t see it,” one panelist said.

The black commentator was unable to express the notion as accurately as he might have. Nor did he bring up the cognitive tests we now have about people group and assign meaning to images that reveal subtle racism.

The racism in the ad exists at a subliminal level. Like the panelists on Crossfire, people find the idea unbelievable when it is explained as conscious processing. None of us like to admit to these hidden pockets of racism deep within our unconscious. We cannot see it, as the panelist said; it is an unpleasant look at oneself.

National Political Pundits Find No Racism in McCain's Overtly Racist Ad

Maybe I'm out in the woods on this one. I just heard a pretty young African-American commentator on CNN, Michelle Bernard, proclaim that there's no racism in McCain's new political ad.

The ad, in case you've been stranded at sea for the past 24 hours, flashes photos of very blond, beautiful and young airhead Paris Hilton, as well as an image of almost as blond and beautiful, equally young, and narcotically disturbed Britney Spears. These are followed by images of a smiling Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama greeting crowds of believers. The ad questions whether Obama is qualified to lead. John McCain's face appears at the end of the ad.

The imputation, in case you're brain dead from your ordeal at sea, is that Obama is as intellectually challenged as two women who are famous for being famous.

Obama has responded to this and other ads by suggesting he is under attack because he doesn't look like the other faces on our dollar bills.

Aside from the fact that it's silly to devote one's ad to images of a smiling opponent being worshipped by stadium crowds, this ad had a decidedly racial undertone. Let's pan past those images again: Two young dumb blond white girls, clearly needing protection, sometimes from themselves. A powerful black man surrounded by a large and potentially mob. All the ad needs is an over voice. I suggest the robot from the 1960s TV series, Lost in Space (an intergalactic version of the Swiss Family Robinson story), intoning,"Danger Will Robinson. Danger, danger."

Michelle Bernard's position suggests that there are no lingering fears of black men, no fears of unreasoning mobs, and no desire to circle the wagons to protect those beautiful women-children. Huh. I wonder why six times more black men are in prison than white guys, per 100,000, as reported by the U.S. Department of Justice.

If you have doubts about the power of subconscious imagery of this sort, check out today's story on National Public Radio. It's about psychological tests that help us identify our hidden, subconscious biases by the cognitive connections we make when shown photos. From there, you can sample some of these self-quizzes online.

To slide off-topic a wee bit, for a daily dose of intelligent visual deconstruction, check out No Caption Needed. This blog is written by John Hariman and John Louis Lucaites, two communication professors who prove the academy is not a bastion of hopeless eggheads who can't write a readable paragraph.

In summary, the McCain ad is racist. It uses subtle visual images to exploit deeply held racial prejudices. Political commentators who deny this reinforce the fantasy that voters are making a decision to vote for McCain for good reasons. Encouraging people to deny our biases while simultaneously making decisions on their basis is the essence of exploiting people's worst selves. Not only McCain, but our television commentators, should be ashamed.

John Burdett, Bangkok Haunts; Robert B. Parker , Now and Then; James Lee Burke, Tin Roof Blow Down; J. Lantingua, Lady from Buenos Aires

John Burdett’s Bangkok Haunts captures the seamy underbelly of Thailand – an underbelly apparently as big as Sidney Greenstreet playing the corrupt Signor Ferrari in Casablanca or the vaguely homosexual seducer and rapacious Kaspar Gutman, The Fat Man, in The Maltese Falcon.

I mention these classic tales of human depravity, because they weave complex stories of human vice and virtues, although the later are practiced equivocally. Burdett ploughs new ground with this well-crafted page-turner. It had appeared that the James Bond novels and subsequent thrillers have covered every possible means of cruel torture and unnatural death. John Burdett proves it’s not so.

This tightly crafted novel offers finely drawn character portraits, a taut and surprising plot, and insight into Thai culture and consciousness. Burdett, who now lives in Thailand, has two previous novels with Bangkok in the title.

In Robert B. Parker’s novel, Now and Then, the gang is gathered together – Spenser, Susan, Hawk and Chollo – and up to their usual pranks of setting the world right with bullets. That these shoot-outs never seem to bear any consequences such as murder charges and the like is one of the enduring peculiarities of the series. The type is large, the story is brief. Now and Then, it appears, the author phones one in.

James Lee Burke is a word stylist worth reading even when plots curl over themselves in labyrinthine twists that – upon reflection – make little sense. The Tin Roof Blow Down is better than some (In The Electric Mist with Confederate Dead comes to mind) for plot. It is a Burke’s eye view of Hurricane Katrina, the 2005 hurricane from which the beloved city, New Orleans, has not yet recovered. Having spent a short time living there and most of my life wishing that I could, I was glued to my TV during those awful days following the storm. Burke presents a version of the events as deeply and darkly human as those of Spike Lee’s documentary, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts.

Clete Purcel continues to self-destruct with dialectical carefree intensity, and Dave Robicheaux continues to tilt at windmills. Dave is on his fourth wife, by my count. Like Travis McGee in the John D. MacDonald color-coded mysteries, Robicheaux is one dangerous dude to fall in love with, if you’d like to live a long, happy life.

It’s probably not fair for me to comment on my brief tango with John Lantingua’s Lady from Buenos Aires. Willie Cuesta is a Miami detective. I picked up this one because the locale interested me. By chapter two, the pedestrian prose had me flipping to the end. My hat’s off to any author who gets a book published, but this one was not for me.

Bearded Lady Shops at Wal-Mart

I was on one of my endless quests for a product that doesn't exist (black-out curtains in white or ivory, 63-inch length, that will fit my unrealistically low budget) when I saw a bearded lady tooling through the aisles on a Wal-Mart motorized cart.

She had something resembling a gray goatee extending from either corner of her chin, about three inches long. I don’t have a photo to prove this. At the time, not having a camera seemed like a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, I wanted a photograph as soon as I saw her. On the other hand, what was I going to do? Walk up and ask her for one? Under the law, there is no reasonable expectation of privacy in public place; hence, the profusion of paparazzi at celebrity locations. Legally, I would not have had to ask for permission.

On my nonexistent third hand – insofar as I have been dealing in the nonexistent and legendary, a third hand is not an imaginative leap – an unauthorized photo poses many ethical quandaries. How would I take such a photo? Should I be brazen and snap it as she sat helplessly confined to her motorized cart? Or should I hide behind something and take the photo surreptitiously? Either way, I could not in good conscience publish a photo of a woman I do not know for the purpose of holding her up as a public oddity.

But why not bring a Shiva-like fourth hand into this discussion? If the woman did not want to be noticed, would she not have shaved the beard or used some other depilatory? Aren’t there hormone treatments for such things these days? Or is she a feminist a la Frieda Kahlo who was making a statement by allowing her facial hair to show? Perhaps she would have welcomed a photo and an opportunity to express herself on my blog.

Alas, like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster, the bearded lady who shops at Wal-Mart must remain a creature of fable. We know one thing sure: she knows where to find a bargain.

Richard Lester Was a Genius

Director Richard Lester was a genius.

Help! introduced a wry comedy of irony and understatement. The visual jokes used fast-cutting and weird juxtapositions that later influenced music videos. Video techniques used by Lester were proclaimed as new when they appeared in the visual feast of Michael Mann’s Miami Vice. As signified by the word vice in the title, by the 1980s, the innocent insouciance of the Beatles had morphed into the dangerous world of drug cartels and cynicism that remain hallmarks of our world.

Help! simultaneously is a send-up of the Eastern gurus seeking their fortunes in the West and the spy film genre. Looking back, the Cold War seems an age of innocence compared to the complicated world of suicide bombers and flu pandemics that threaten us today.

Watching a rerun of Help! on TV today, I was impressed by the joyful enthusiasm conveyed by the young lads from Liverpool. No wonder they took the world by storm. John, I know, would later battle depression and drug use. Two are dead, and one is now a peer of the kingdom. Those still alive are, like me, old.

Where has that irrepressible way of poking holes in all that is stuffy, hierarchical, and repressive gone? The world has become a serious place. The college students I meet are – depending on their particular make-up – angry and cynical or focused and motivated. But silly and foolish? No. The Joker and The Fool are gone from our midst in these harsh times.

The Beatlemania that engulfed the world in the first wave of worldwide media reach probably can never be again. The markets are now highly segmented, narrow, and divisive.

As I listened to the lyrics of the film’s title song, I also was impressed with the wisdom of words that now have quite different meanings to me.

When I was young – so much younger then than now – I never needed anybody’s help in anyway. Most of us come into the world helpless and leave it needing help. As a result:

But now I’m not so self-assured /My independence seems to fade

I’ve opened up the Door /Help me if You can, I’m feeling down

I do not often listen to the music from my past. A good time was had by all – at least, much of the time. I and the new mass mediated cultural world was a-borne-ing. But that sweet bird of youth has flown, to borrow Tennessee Williams’ phrase that perfectly captures my bittersweet feelings about that time and those places.

Wise Fools walked among us, and I am glad I was there.

What Would Jackie Do? Presents Hints for Living with Courage, Discipline, Balance -- and Great Style

Long before J-Lo became a pop culture icon of the snappy abbreviated moniker, Jackie O was pursued by the paparazzi, celebrated by mass media, and obsessed over by fans. What Would Jackie Do? distills the fabulous femme’s life into a guidebook for living life with courage, discipline, and balance.

Shelly Branch and Sue Callaway have given me renewed respect for this former First Lady whose brilliant husband, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was famously assassinated with her by his side in an auto parade in Dallas, Texas. The authors state that Jackie Kennedy made sure that her young children – then six and three – slept in their familiar White House bedrooms that night, not at the homes of relatives. Kennedy was convinced the children needed the stability of familiar bedrooms in their lives. Later, she recreated these bedrooms for the children in her Fifth Avenue apartment. Unbelievably in these days when a million dollars buys a 500-square-foot studio apartment in Manhattan, that purchase cost her $200,000.

Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis was a strict but loving mother, according to Branch and Callaway. It was refreshing to read about a wealthy society woman of JBKO’s stature who was so engaged with her children. Memorable anecdotes are Jackie sending John Jr. for counseling when he started sowing too many wild oats, JBKO seen on Manhattan streets with Caroline laughing and sharing secretively like gal pals, and Jackie indulging her grandchildren with a sledding trip to Central Park not long before her untimely death at age 63 from cancer.

JBKO practiced balance in her inner and outer lives. A lifelong practitioner of yoga, she investigated the Eastern and alternative healing therapies that were in vogue for much of her life. But, Branch and Callaway note, she never went overboard about anything that could endanger her life.

Her homes also illustrated her emphasis on balance. She loved beautiful things, but she created environments (with the help of many famous designers) in which her children and friends could feel at home. Priceless treasures were displayed so casually that a visitor might not notice at first glance that the art was by world-famous masters.

Yet, above all, Jackie is remembered for her fabulous sense of style. Her over-sized dark black sunglasses are iconic. They remain a wardrobe staple for which I will pay almost any price. Her little shifts were copied throughout the sixties and seventies; her pillbox hats were immortalized in a Bob Dylan song. She was always impeccably dressed.

She made culture a part of White House life when she hosted internationally famous musicians, dancers, and writers with the President during their all-too-brief White House years. Her restoration of that historic landmark has been nearly undone by subsequent administrations, report the authors. Jackie and an elite committee put time and research into to getting the details right.

What Would Jackie Do? is written in short information bytes that make this the perfect book for waiting room reading. The breezy style is seasoned with memorable short anecdotes. The authors, editors for national magazines, have done their research. They know what they are doing when it comes to capturing and sustaining reader attention. Tuck this one in your bag for those times when you unexpectedly get stuck with time on your hands. The seconds will speed past as quickly as those fatal moments in Dallas that changed the world.

CC's Oysters Rock -- CLOSED, noted 5/11/2009

I returned to CC's Fish Camp for a second round of fried oysters a mere four days after my first incredible basket.

I was pretty sure that my second meal would not measure up. I have a way of idealizing my first visit to a restaurant. I build it up so much in my imagination that it would be close to impossible for the next meal to live up to my expectations.

I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. The oysters were as perfectly fried in light batter as they had been the first time. When I asked for a tad more cole slaw, the waiter responded with a bowl so large that I could not finish it.

A drunk in a corner booth carried on loud cell phone conversations against the too-loud retro rock on the sound system. Other than that, I enjoyed my second fried oyster basket as much as the first. Bravo for consistency, when the consistency continues standards for excellence. I hope your trip to CC's Fish Camp is as good as mine.

CLOSED -- Superb Fried Oysters, Light and Crisp, at CC's Fish Camp

Driving past earlier this week on May 11, 2009, I found CC's closed. Too bad.

It’s easier to cook oysters wrong than it is to get it right. CC’s Original Fish House got it deliciously perfect yesterday. A basket of fried oysters featured huge shellfish encased in perfectly seasoned batter, simultaneously light and crispy. Inside, the oysters were fully cooked with no trace of rubberiness.

The order was accompanied by French fries and cole slaw. If I can fault CC’s for anything, it is for the stingy portion of slaw. Cabbage, after all, is not yet a high-priced delicacy. The ice tea was full-bodied and served up in a huge glass.

CC’s is a plain structure with wooden floor, tables, booths, and a bar. The nautical décor is a bit out of place on the commercial strip of West Oakland Park Boulevard. The area is dense with dilapidated strip malls housing small businesses and walk-in doctors. I was not sure what to expect – a fast food joint or exactly the kind of individually prepared meals that CC’s Fish Camp has.

Every tourist and many a Floridian probably has sampled mediocre and over-priced seafood in tourist restaurants along our waterways. CC’s Fish Camp is off the beaten trail but well worth the trip. My delicious and generous oyster basket was $8.99 for lunch, plus a couple of bucks for all the ice tea I could handle.

Bring the kids. If they don’t like fish, they can try the burgers, chicken sandwich, or ribs. There’s even a delicious-sounding walnut gorgonzola salad for the vegetarian in your herd. The menu includes a Louisiana specialty – po’ boy sandwiches. This meal lived up to the best fried oysters I’ve had in New Orleans and fried clams on the Massachusetts coast. To see the menu, go to www.ccsfishcamp.com.

The danger of falling in love with a restaurant is that the return trip often doesn’t live up to my ideal. There’s any number of reasons why fried oysters, clams, or calamari (all on the menu) can go wrong. I was there on a Thursday and during an off-peak time in mid-afternoon. I had the chef to myself. I am still looking forward enthusiastically to my next trip to CC’s Original Fish Camp. The restaurant is located at 301 W. Oakland Park Boulevard, slightly west of U.S. 1. There is a good-sized parking lot. If coming from the west, you have to do a U turn to get in.

Recommended Blog: Casting Jewels for Readers

I have been preparing to launch a website (details when ready) and neglecting this blog. It does not get much traffic anyway.

Today, I scuttled on over to Velvet Sacks from Ronni Bennett's Times Goes By, the best blog about aging anywhere.

Velvet Sacks refers to the little pouches in which women often keep small items of precious jewelry. As it turns out, Velvet Sacks is often about two topics most precious to me -- dogs and Louisiana.

During a time of emotional confusion, I bought a Florida condo apartment that does not allow dogs. Dogs were my most valued companions for more than 30 years. Honestly, what was I thinking to make such a lame decision?

I was not able to take care of my beloved companions and had placed two in good homes, thanks to my connections with dog rescue and dog training people. How could I have believed that I would live a dogless future forevermore. Now the value of property has decreased so much, I appear to be stuck here much longer than I dreamed.

As for Louisiana, like so many artists and oddballs, I've been attracted to New Orleans since I was young. I believe I read Dinner at Antoine's when I was a teenager. I lived the summer of 2004 in the Lower Garden District. The flood of 2005 tore my heart out -- as does the prospect of a dogless old age.

Enough of my whining. For some jewels, stop by Velvet Sacks.

FLORIDA PRIMARY DATE WAS ANOTHER REPUBLICAN DIRTY TRICK

One thing I do not hear Hillary Clinton or any commentator saying is that REPUBLICAN LEGISLATURE IN FLORIDA is responsible for disenfranchising us Democrats in our primary.

It was the REPUBLICAN LEGISLATURE that set the primary date so that it broke Democratic Party rules. This is just another dirty trick by Republicans. It is making my blood boil that no one -- NO ONE -- has noticed this.

New Orleans writer Dean Shapiro pens timely thriller about a polygamist cult

Dean Shapiro, a writer down New Orleans way, has published his fourth novel, The Eleventh Commandment. With the recent raid of the polygamist community in Texas (April 7, 2008), the setting couldn’t be more current – a polygamous cult.

Dean is that rare mix of a creative mind with a eye for the details of copy editing. He’s has an M.A. in history, and he’s a bit of buff on American history and politics. He doesn’t need me to speak for him, so here are some notes about the novel that I got a few days ago:

"My new novel, The Eleventh Commandment, was published by PublishAmerica of Baltimore, Maryland. Here’s the 101 on what the book is about, taken from the blurb on the back cover:

“'How far will a reporter go to get a story? Tom Foster is about to find out. As the Religion Editor for a large daily newspaper, Tom goes undercover to expose a fanatical, polygamous cult leader suspected in the deaths of more than a dozen followers. He gets more than he bargained for when his own life is on the line, especially after he has fallen in love with one of the cult leader's wives. Can Tom save her -- and himself -- when his deception is discovered? The answer comes after a tragic climax that shocks the world.'

"So what exactly IS the "Eleventh Commandment"??? Aaahh, you'll just have to buy the book to find out."

I’ve never asked Dean how old he is, but he has encountered employment ageism. That motivated Dean to do what so few freelancers manage – to earn his entire living as a wordsmith.

Besides being one of the hardest working writers I know, Dean also is what is known in Yiddish as a mensch. When hurricane Wilma devastated New Orleans, Dean’s apartment on the other side of the Mississippi River, in Gretna on high ground, became a refuge for friends. It was a kind of huge dorm party, the way he describes it. Electricity and phone service were out for a short time, and people piled one on another in friendly camaraderie.

That’s the kind of person Dean is. He threw me a huge assignment that he was too busy to tackle, when I most needed a boost. I will be forever grateful to him for that. I just wish my blog had more readers so I could give Dean’s book the traffic it deserves. He writes:

“As a nearly-starving artist, I have to depend on sales of this book and other writing jobs to keep food on my table and in my cat’s dish (not to mention two kids with college expenses). I hope you will support this nearly-starving artist you know by buying a copy of his book.

"Here’s how you can order the book. Go to the the Barnes & Noble website. . . It’s $24.95 + $3.99 shipping (a few dollars less if you’re a B&N book club member), out of which a whopping 8% goes into yours truly’s pocket (roughly $2.00 on each copy sold). . . . Or, you can go to the nearest Barnes & Noble store and place the order with them.

“Then, once the book is in your hands and if you want me to autograph it for you, contact me and I’ll make arrangements to do this.

“It costs less than a tank of gas at today’s prices, and it’s more permanent. Call or email me if you have any questions or if you just want to congratulate me. When I become rich and famous (well, famous, anyway) you can always say, “I knew him when . . . “ Anyway, I thank you in advance for your support of me over the years you’ve known me, and I hope you buy and enjoy my book. It’s pretty damn good, if I don’t mind saying so myself.”

Eat More Ice Cream, Forget Diet Programs

Special K cereal is advertising a swimsuit challenge. It’s guaranteed that if you use their product for two weeks, you will lose an inch off your waistline. I’m pretty sure that even if I lose an inch off my waistline, I am not going to look like the model wearing the red bikini in the television spot.

Oddly, I don’t care as much as I used to about these things. There is something maladjusted about a woman of a certain age who thinks she has to look like a 20-something fashion model. We’ve known for decades that fashion models have bodies that do not even look human, if what one means by human is the median female body.

Swimsuit challenges abound right now, connected with promotions for various diet and exercise plans. Try Googling the term and see what comes up. Then go enjoy a nice bowl of ice cream.

A Goddess for Our Times: A History of Goddess-Lore from Pre-Historic Times to the Contemporary Era

Gadon, Elinor W. (1989). The Once and Future Goddess. New York: Harper & Row.

Elinor Gadon write fluently about a wealth of goddess-lore research that encompasses archaeology, anthropology, ethnography, arts, and the emerging Gaia ecology. She distills these sources into a highly readable account of the virtues and qualities of feminine knowledge, from the pre-historic roots of humankind to contemporary times. The work is attractively laid-out with a readable font and wide margins that frequently feature photos and art that illustrates the ideas.

Among the well-known writers, artists, and researchers whose work is taken into account by Gadon are:

• Judy Chicago, feminist artist whose best-known work may be The Dinner Party art installation;


• Mary Daly, the scholar and interpret of feminist and feminine studies;


• Mercia Eliade, specifically The Encyclopedia of Religion;


• Robert Graves, The White Goddess;


• Maria Gimbutas, the pioneering archaeological-anthropologist whose work was among the most to foreground a theory of pre-historic matriarchal societies;


• Merlin Stone’s work along similar lines;


• Starkhawk’s updating of the old religions and many, many more.

The most arguable part of the account of matriarchal pre-historic societies is, to my mind, the broadly interpretive speculations of how such societies functioned and worshipped on the basis of a few icons, ruins, and other shards of the past. Late in the work, Gadon admits that such speculations are debatable.

Gadon is truly in her element as she makes sense of the feminine artists’ emergence in the 1970s and beyond. She weaves together the artists’ own accounts of their works, her own and art critics’ interpretations, and photo illustrations in a persuasive account.

The idea of the planet Earth as a living goddess whose body has been tortured by the ecological offenses of humankind is another idea that is appropriate in our times of ecological crisis. Perhaps the softer arts of feminine nurture and collaboration are the healing unguent for a planet that has been contaminated by the masculine emphasis on science and technology.

If you are interested in a comprehensive and fluently written summary of groundbreaking feminist research and a new interpretation of human history, Gadon’s account is an excellent starting place.

Sexism, Racism, Ageism: America's Dirty Secrets Are Projected Into the Presidential Contest

The competition between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton for the Democratic Party presidential nomination, and the candidacy of John McCain under the Republican Party banner, is a screen onto which the nation’s deepest and most secret biases are cast. Here are a few of these psychological telltales that are circulating this week.

SEXISM. Hillary Clinton plays the “woman card” too often when she says, “The boys are coming after me again” because she has refused to concede the close race. Even a token African-American feminist said last night on Chris Matthews’ Crossfire (MSNBC) that her organization encourages women not to make gender an issue.

But why not, dear girl? Women of Clinton’s generation – and mine – fought and have born the weight of many discriminatory indignities so that you can sit on Chris Matthews’ show and intone against the gender card. How would you like it, dear lady, if Senator Obama was asked to leave the race because he can’t win anyway? It would be called racial discrimination, as indeed almost every observation about his lack of experience or other defects is contextualized. And that brings us to the next projection.

RACISM. It’s always about race when Barack Obama is criticized. Like a teenager at his first strip club and fascinated by the display of pulchritude, TV’s political pundits can’t get their eyes off Obama’s brownness. He is as white as he is black. But the nation’s guilt from the history of slavery is projected onto his candidacy, a country’s dirty secret. The lingering white separatist and supremacist tensions that are predicted to sway male voters, especially in some sections of the country.

AGEISM. McCain is old, doddering, could die in office, and is generally unfit for office due his age, according to political commentors who shamelessly spout ageist comments. Extreme ageism is a comedy joke for David Letterman, John Stewart on The Daily Show, and Bill Mahar on Real Time. Mhar was called on his ageism last night by Robert Reich, former secretary of labor for President Bill Clinton. Ageism is the last ism that many people wholeheartedly believe is all right “because I’m just making fun of my older self,” as one of my students expressed it.

So there we have it: three great isms – sexism, racism, and ageism – playing out across our TV screens as we engage in the quadrennial blood sport of electing a president. Our deepest dirty secrets are now played out on our television sets, the ruminations of a nation’s hearts and minds moderated by stand-up comics and corporate point men posing as political commentators.

In future posts, I will use archetype analysis to discuss other psychological patterns evident in this contest.

No Bail Out for Prudent Home Buyers: Open Letter to Senator Chris Dodd

OPEN LETTER TO SEN. CHRIS DODD
Chair, U.S. Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs

Dear Sen. Dodd: As I listen to you and other national leaders about plans for action about the housing, mortgage, banking and foreclosure crisis, I hear plans (some already underway) to bail out two groups:

• 
  Big spenders, such as the fat cats at Bear Stearns, who took big risks to make big profits as housing prices rose.
• Buyers who overspent, bought homes they could not afford, and now are in or face foreclosure as their mortgage payments rise.

What I do not hear about is help for those of us who bought prudently, can afford our mortgages, do not need to sell our homes, but have seen our savings in the form of equity eroded, so that we are now in price inversions. If we were to sell, we would lose everything – and more, such as any investment we put into the home for renovation.

Senator Dodd, I did not choose the appraiser for the mortgage loan. Countrywide did. Yet, only I am responsible for paying in full the mortgage – whether or not my little apartment condominium is now worth that. In fact, I bought in 2005 near the top of the market. The apartment is worth 20% less than that value. In addition, this complex was hit hard by hurricane Wilma; our leadership did not ask for government aid in a timely fashion, so my special assessments total about $9,000 – additional debts, which, like the mortgage are mine and mine alone to pay. My total loss, should I sell at this time, would be about $25,000. That may seem small compared with the loss of the Bear Stearns bigwigs and the $200,000 homes to be lost by people who took out no-money-down mortgages – but it is everything to me. And it was real money that I worked for and saved.

I am 60 years old, and my opportunities for starting life over and rebuilding my small savings are limited. These are compounded by ageism in a labor market that is constricting.

If you are going to bail out big investors who live in mansions and imprudent buyers who purchased homes they could not afford, why is there no help for those of us stuck in the middle, stuck in price inversions who have watched our savings be whittled away? Why does the mortgage holder – who chose the appraiser – not have to share in this loss?

I ask the Senate Banking and Finance Committee to find some way to compensate those of us who are paying the real cost of the gambles taken by those at the top of the money pyramid and those who bought homes they could not afford. We are the ones who behaved prudently, and we are the ones who pay taxes who bail out the others, while we suffer and sacrifice.

Clinton Must Concede for Democratic Party Unity

I started writing about the competition for the Democratic Party campaign nomination when Ted and Caroline Kennedy endorsed Barack Obama. That sealed the fate of Hillary Clinton, I was sure.

Now, New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson – former appointee of President Bill Clinton who putatively owes them political fealty – has endorsed Obama. Pundits now wonder what effect this may have on the Hispanic vote, a stronghold of Clinton support.

Neither candidate can win enough delegates in primary contents to earn the Democratic Party nomination, according to news reporters. Clinton, trailing Obama in the popular vote, cannot catch up and can only get the nomination if the super-delegates – party office-holders and appointees who represent influential voting blocs – back Hillary. Overturning the popular vote would, however, create party dissent that would undermine chances of victory against Republican Party putative nominee, John McCain.

Even though I prefer Hillary Clinton because she is the more experienced candidate and, as usual, I see a highly competent female overlooked in favor of a male, I concede:

Hillary Dillary Dock

Time’s run out the clock.

It’s time to go,

To leave the show,

Concede Obama is a lock.

Democratic Presidential Candidates Sound like Kids Squabbling in the Backseat of the Car

“Mom, he hit me.”
“She called me a name first.”
“He’s lying. I didn’t say that.”
“I didn’t do nothing. Leave me alone.”

First, there was Hillary Clinton accusing the press of ganging up on her in the Ohio debate. Her reference to a Saturday Night Live skit fell flat.

Then, a member of Barack Obama’s campaign was fired for calling Clinton a “monster.”

Next, feminist party venerable Geraldine Ferrara, the first woman to run for vice president of the United States as a major party candidate on the Mondale ticket in 1984, claims that Obama has only received recognition because he’s black, not in spite of it.

In the wake of this media tempest, Ferrara resigns from Clinton’s fundraising committee, amidst charges that she was racist. Meanwhile, black males accuse Clinton’s “Is your family safe at 3 a.m.?” ad of playing on ancient racist fears of black men threatening the safety and security of sleeping white women and their children, shades of the Ku Klux Klan.

As the cherry on top, the media unearth videotapes of Obama’s pastor and, in the senator’s own words spiritual mentor, giving a black separatist sermon accusing the U.S. of having provoked the 911 attack by its foreign policies. This is interpreted as blaming the victims by the press. The minister’s words damning America are as unseemly for a potential future president, so a new cycle of renunciation-denunciation is in effect.

Meanwhile, John McCain is busy solidifying his image with the Republican Party and abroad.

The Democratic Party, famous for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, is well on its way. Chris Matthews, on last night’s Crossfire, said the back-and-forth over whose surrogate campaign spokesperson said what was starting to sound like the Inquisition. “Do you recant fully and completely?” sounds too much like a page out of old playbooks that required public denunciation for crimes real and imagined.

If Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama don’t stop that fighting, the country is liable to turn this car around and let your father – John McCain – give you a good licking. I’ve already got the inside word from a scion of a famous political family telling me that John McCain “will be hard to beat.”