Charlotte (Snooki) Brontë Scandal Ends in Court

Charlotte (Snooki) Brontë

Wednesday, December 16, 1840. Here are the latest developments in the adventures of Snooki Bronte as she charts her willful course through the salons and ballrooms of polite society, head held high. The ladies put their heads together behind their fans, to whisper of rumors and sightings, while the gentlemen greet her with compliments, toasts and languishing glances.

This Reporter was in court to witness Miss Brontë’s appearance before the normally austere Judge Clarence Anthony Roberts, whose collar wilted as visibly as did his usually stern visage, as Snooki worked her feminine wiles upon him. Clad in a sober dark blue gown which nonetheless managed to cling to her form just a tad too faithfully, the Defendant appeared young, demure and fragile. Her abundant brown hair, caught up in a becoming style with wispy curls escaping, caught, too, the light and the avid eyes of the spectators gathered to watch the drama unfold. The crowd was warned by the Judge that excessive emotion would not be allowed!

Snooki, as she prefers to be addressed by friends, presented a picture of repentance as the numerous charges were read out. She expressed herself to be desirous of making reparation and of leading, in future, a life of sobriety and good works. She accepted Judge Roberts’s sentence to ‘acts of charity on behalf of the indigent’, with grace and a becoming humility, and thanked him prettily for the Court’s forbearance.

As part of the plea bargain arranged by her shrewd and obviously smitten attorney, Snooki will be accompanied on her outings for the next three months by a matron trained by the Bow Street Runners and currently in the employ of the Metropolitan Police. If this stipulation frets the suspiciously quiet Snooki, it does not show. One could almost be forgiven for thinking that some outrageous scheme lurks behind those limpid eyes, that enigmatic smile. I doubt she will leave us in suspense for long, and this Reporter will be the first to bring you word!

Following is a link to this Reporter’s earlier story: 

http://pacificmelody.wordpress.com/2011/02/02/charlotte-snooki-bronte-ditches-rehab-again/

My Romance With Romance

About halfway through “Savor the Moment”, by Nora Roberts, I put down the book and gave some thought to the reasons I so enjoy reading romance fiction. This is the third in a series of four “Bride Quartet” novels, with the release of the last, entitled “Happy Ever After”, scheduled for this November. These are the stories of four friends, who have married their skills with their lifelong love of weddings and in partnership have created “Vows”, one of the premier wedding planning companies in Connecticut.

So far the author has paired off Mac, the photographer, and Emma, the floral designer, and Laurel, the pastry chef, will soon find happiness in the arms of her lover. It’s safe to assume that Parker, the planner, sooner to be found naked than without her Blackberry, will succumb in her turn to true love. We even know the name of the lucky man, Mal Cavanaugh, with whom she has already struck sparks several times.

So, if we already know all of this, why would we go on and read the book anyway? It’s not as if there’s any suspense as to the outcome, but it’s the way the writer gets you from here to there that makes the difference. Nora Roberts is the #1 NYT bestselling author of over 190 novels, 124 of which made the bestseller list, with over 300 Million of her books sold worldwide. She has also written 36 futuristic novels under the pseudonym J. D. Robb, and was the first author inducted into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame. Time chose Roberts as one of their 100 Most Influential People in 2007, saying she “…has inspected, dissected, deconstructed, explored, explained and extolled the passions of the human heart.” Is there a writer, alive or dead, who wouldn’t kill to have that kind of endorsement? Feeling a bit more respect for the romance novel yet?

Nora Roberts brought new life to the genre when she began her career as a published author in 1981. Her accomplishments are legion in the writing world, and it is obvious that in addition to being a popular writer, she has achieved the respect of her peers by continuing to produce, with almost metronomic regularity, books both intelligently and humorously written, populated by characters who engage our interest and our emotions. If Nora has done her usual skillful job, at the end of the current book, Laurel and Del (her best friend, Parker’s, brother) will find happiness and fulfillment, and I’ll be so happy for them.

I like feisty heroines and heroes who have more to offer than six-pack abs and well-filled jeans (desirable as those attributes might be). Roberts’ dialogue is sharp, funny, intelligent and her characters seem real and very human. When I close the cover on a Nora Roberts novel, it is always with pleasure, satisfaction and a little regret that it’s over. I feel, as the author says in her own words, “When I read for pleasure, give me a story.” I would amend that to, “…give me a Nora Roberts.”

Review: Memphis Beat

The other evening I was talking with several friends and asked them if they had seen    “Memphis Beat”, a new show on TNT. They said they found it a bit too folksy and cutsey, but they’re originally from Connecticut/New York, and the Montana/California area. I spent my formative years in the South, grew up in Virginia, Florida, North Carolina and Tennessee, before our family moved north to New York, to join my dad, who was working there. So even though I could never see myself living in the South again, some of the rhythms in the blood will always be there. I can still speak the language, and my small stature does indeed sheathe the blade of a Steel Magnolia.

Speaking of those hardy flowers reminds me of a scene from this week’s episode of the show. It takes place in a bar, a loud, smoky, bluesy Memphis bar, where Dwight goes to sing at night. A racially-mixed, perfectly amicable crowd enjoy themselves in the background. Jason Lee’s Detective Dwight Hendricks is at the bar, when his new boss, Lt. Tanya Rice, played by the wonderful Alfre Woodard, approaches and orders another drink.

Dwight is working on a difficult investigation, he’s concerned about a friend’s financial straits, and he and Lt. Rice are still in getting-acquainted mode. Pitching his voice to be heard above the noise, Dwight poses a question to Lt. Rice concerning the victim’s finances, to which she replies. “Money! It warps family. Too much of it or not enough of it. You know, I do believe, Dwight, that more than personal chemistry, more than sexual chemistry, a couple needs financial chemistry, or else bad choices will be made. The way a person spends, that’s…that’s their most secret self and you can’t touch that.” Alfre Woodard is an enormously talented actor and a very beautiful, strong woman. Her character and Jason Lee’s play off of each other very well, after their initial clash in styles. But there was something so compelling about her delivery in this scene, such a mix of smoky, earthy, almost absent-minded sensuality, driven by the power of her intellect and fueled by her years of experience, that I rewound and rewatched it four or five times. It was worth it for her delivery and her expressions alone.

The show has the usual lovable mix of ensemble characters, including D. J. Qualls, Officer Davey Sutton, who I remembered from an episode of “Lost”. His rather offbeat appearance and endearing personality add a lot to the show for me. Celia Weston plays Paula Ann Hendricks, and I love the scenes between her and her son, Dwight. This show gets the Southern vibe right for a change, and I love Dwight’s reverence for his mother, his city, his people and the music that is woven into every frame of the show. If you enjoy actual people more than heavy weapons fire and car chases, this quirky, charming show just might strike the right note for you.

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A Hard Place

For those of you who are interested, I am perfectly satisfied with the size of my male member since, in my case, the male member could refer to either of my two cats. I can with all honesty say I wouldn’t want either of them to be any larger. Would that there were some way to share this information with the rest of the world, so that I would no longer be besieged with offers to increase my size and/or performance. I am no longer the size I once was, but nor do I want to be any bigger, and it is my nature always to turn in the best performance of which I’m capable, no matter what the situation.

You’d think that my very feminine name might suggest, even to these mental midgets, that offers of cheap Viagra, or introductory deals on ExtenZe, might fall on unresponsive ears. Norton has cut the porn emails to zero, but I’m not sure how to block this type of misdirected advertising. Cialis, of the bathtub-in-the-woods commercials, continues to remind me that their product can help me to be ready “whenever the moment is right”. As I recall, before prescription drugs became so readily available, there used to be a pretty hard-to-ignore signal that said it all. “I’m breathing, you’re breathing…the moment is right!” Forgive me for being skeptical about taking advice or medication from a company that depicts the people who use their product ending up naked in the woods in separate cold porcelain bathtubs. I’m not an engineer, but I can tell you when something’s not going to work. If anyone can help me resolve this perplexing issue, it would be appreciated.

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Now That’s Shameless Self Promotion

Image via Wikipedia

I have been asked, nay begged, by some of my adoring fans, to give you an example of how I have grown as a blogger, since September 5, 2009, a day which will inevitably find its way into the history books. Looking back at the phosphorescent trail of my ascent, I too am rather astounded by my meteoric rise to fame. By my first, tentative baby steps into the dangerous, treacherous arena that is the world of blogging. Lovely Lady Luck must have been with me, because my very naivte, instead of being my undoing, simply cast a golden glow all around me so that I became invisible to my enemies (those too fearful or evil to fall under my spell). Being born under a lucky star helps, too.

If you don’t believe it’s true, think back. Honestly now, how many of you date the true beginning of your life to the day you first read one of my posts? See how easy that was? Now, I would never ask anyone for money, even though I have a PenPal account, as who doesn’t these days? It’s the new banking. It’s just good to know these things about your friends. It gives you a warm, comforting feeling, just as reading my writing makes you feel comforted. So if gratitude should ever overflow your heart, you’ll be prepared to share with me as I have shared with you. (click on the link provided)

Now as you prepare to read my rather childlike first blog post, forgive my inexperience and consider how I have grown as a writer in less than a year. You, too, could make enormous strides in both your personal growth and your advancement as a writer, and I will be happy to guide you, even though it places huge demands on my personal time and skills. But read on, and I’m sure you will be impressed. And now with no further ado, I present:

“My Firt Reel Blofg

Hi, this is mye first blovg I am riting for myshelf.  My freind hepled mee do the other pots, but eye wanted two dew one frum skrach.   She sed, ru shure, and eye sed yes, Im going to rite it by mye ownself; ewe r not the bos of me, so heer it is.  Not mush going on twoday, butt remmember, ewe herd itt first rigth hear!”

(first published September 5, 2009)

Do I hear snickers from the audience? Yes, Dear Reader, it is amusing, but let your laughter be gentle; consider how this writer has grown. Will you follow in her footsteps? The choice is yours. The blog you save may be your own.

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My Story is Now Your Story

“I read your new story”, a friend says, and my stomach clenches, while I paste a smiling, interested look on my face. What will she say? The choices run the gamut, from “It was nice.” (the kiss of death), to “Well, I didn’t really understand all of it; you’re so clever.”,  all the way through “Have you checked out the ads on Craigslist lately?”

The phrases that sounded so clever when I  concocted them, may have landed on an understanding and receptive ear, or they may have sailed in one and right out the other. Worse she may say, “I read your new story”, and then segue to a different topic, leaving me hanging, wondering, pathetically insecure and totally unable to ask, “Did you like it?”

A much more likely occurrence is receiving a comment from a total stranger which makes me think, “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant!” When writer, story and reader connect, there’s that moment of pure bliss, where it’s like I’m doing what I’ve always been meant to do. I’ve received what I think of as “stranger compliments” of such delicacy and perception, that they fill me with pure exhilaration. Sometimes a reader’s words shine new light on my own.

More and more lately, my response to the casual “How are you?” would be: “I’ve got the (computer) keys to the kingdom; I’ve made a friend of and teamed with my dragon (I retain Creative Control; the dragon gets an Associate Producer credit); I’ve become quite comfortable out there on that limb; and I’m eager to carry on my quest!” The short answer of course would be, “I feel like I’m flying!”

Does any of this sound familiar? I think about writing as I’m going to sleep, and run story ideas in my head till I blink out for the night. I wake up and love my kitties and smile, as I think of the rendezvous that awaits me at the pressing of a few keys, specially if I have a draft I’ve been polishing that’s almost ready to go. Now and then, I power down the computer so I can get things done. Then I turn it on again, only to check one thing, and I’m gone, until the phone rings or my stomach growls or the cats get bored.

I’m so far past denial I don’t even try anymore. Resistance is Futile. Surrender seems the obvious choice. So I’m giving in to my Muse and I’ll see where it leads. Expect me when you see me.

So Now Murphy Wants His Own Email Account

For some time now I have noticed, but misinterpreted, my friend Murphy’s [pic below] behavior at the computer keyboard.  I thought, when he would collapse and roll over it, he was simply trying to get my attention; couldn’t wait another moment for affection.  How wrong could a poor human be?

Yesterday I sat down to write an email to a friend.  I had typed the first word of what was to be a humorous heading when, entering stage left, here came Murphy, with his drop-and-roll maneuver.  Only this time, somehow he actually hit the send button, delivering his one-word message, “Help!”, to my unwitting friend.  I immediately followed up with an email headed, “My cat hit the send button – Sorry!”

My friend, a serious animal lover, responded as might have been expected.  “What did you do to the poor cat?  Do you need a ride to the vet?”  I explained what happened, and I think she believed me.  Just a slip of the paw, everything’s fine.  Move along, nothing to see here.  I’ll bet she “drops in” to see me tonight.  Murphy would just lap up all the attention, probably manage to limp a little, maybe drag one paw and look wistfully at the shelf where the treats live.

All this talk of Murphy reminds me I haven’t seen Max and I wonder what he’s up to.  I glance around and there he sits, about two feet away, looking as fixed in place as the Sphinx, his gaze boring inscrutably into mine, and I know he wasn’t there a minute ago.

So I called a family meeting, and we reached an agreement.  As long as I behave myself, there won’t be any more electronic cries for help.  So much for the theory that the opposable thumb types have the advantage!

Just Keepin’ It Real!

Sometimes as the April 1st requalification date rolls around for the “Foot in Mouth“ Club, I become a little anxious, lest this be the year I don’t make the grade.  Fortunately, this year I know I’m safe, and I’ll tell you how that came about.

It happened, prosaically enough, at my local Safeway.  I was standing in line for the pharmacy, there to pick up a prescription.  There was a sign on a stand that asked us to keep the aisle clear and give privacy to people as they spoke to the pharmacist, so we were standing at the head of the aisle across from the counter.  As I usually do in these situations, I began looking around, reading labels, people watching, glancing at my watch, all those little things people who don’t text or tweet do to pass the time.

In one of my visual sweeps, I noticed two men – little people as they prefer to be known.  They had a list and they were consulting it.  Just then a woman at the pharmacy counter looked over and waved and called out, “Bob!”.  One of the two men turned around and waved back and called out her name.  He then excused himself to his friend, saying he worked with the woman and was just going to say a quick hello.  He turned and walked over to speak to her, and just then my eye caught the eye of the friend, and I smiled and said, “Small world.”  Thank goodness he took the remark at face value, and thank goodness they called me up to the counter just then.  I could feel my face getting red.  Of all the things I could have said.  Oh, well, as I said, my membership in “Foot in Mouth” is safe for another year.

Reno that Dark Place — in One Hour and Free!

Image via Wikipedia

That’s a pretty promise, but what kind of renovation could you do in only one hour? Well, let me tell you what inspires this rather lofty claim. About a year ago a dear friend of mine made a comment about going to his “dark place”. It made me think about my own dark place, and I decided that a makeover was long overdue.

I started (in my mind) with a space not unlike my own loft, and I emptied it to the walls, swept out and knocked down all the cobwebs, and tried not to look too closely at the dustpan once it was filled. I disposed of all the boxes that had been stacked in front of the windows, scrubbed those windows till they gleamed and flung them open to a perfect late afternoon. A lovely cool wind blew through and displaced all the stale air, perfuming the rest with the scents of flowers and spices, with just a hint of the sea and a strong note of old hardwood forest.

Next I applied a coat of soft white paint, and hung diaphanous draperies in shades of super white, cream, palest lemon chiffon and a sharp touch of bright lemon here and there. I added large puffy pillows and placed small love seats and divans, with more draperies and candles and wind chimes and with flowers everywhere. Scattered about, hanging from the ceiling, in tiny alcoves, I placed small lovely things in crystal and glass, with touches of brilliant, coruscating color wherever the eye should touch. I framed and supported and caressed it all with the kind of music that is my favorite form of “soul food”. Last but far from least, I filled the air with a certain purity to lift the spirits, like removing a heavy rock from the center of your chest so you can breathe again.

(Due to the fact that this place exists only in my head, I have no pictures to download, but if you’ve followed me closely through the reno, you should be able to create a similar place, tailored to your own specifications. It takes almost no time, costs nothing and has only one drawback that I’ve been able to find. And that is, now that my dark place is gone, I have absolutely no place to hold my pity parties.)

Thought for the Day: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When it gives you two tickets to the islands, call me.

And Don’t Get Me Started on Consumer Protection Laws!

For your delectation, from a department store “Right to Opt Out and Information Update” which I just received, to wit: “16. Default/Collection Costs: If we fail to receive any Minimum Payment Due, if you declare bankruptcy, or if you die, it will be a default, and…..we may declare the entire unpaid balance in the Account due and payable.”

So if it’s true that you can’t take it with you, are they still able to come after you and demand it back, even if you Still don’t have it?!?

And if that’s not sufficient, I checked my statements for another card for the last three months and found that, with the recent interest rate increase on my account (and I was also offered the right to pay off the account in full and opt out there), and projecting out the actual dollar amount for a year, Capital One is now officially taking six weeks’ worth of groceries off of my table. When I called in an attempt to negotiate a decrease, the nice gentleman in Sri Lanka, or Singapore or wherever, listened and then told me, pretty much, that they’re So sorry but they can’t help me. Maybe if I apply for TARP money…………

Thought for the Day: Illegitimi non carborundum (Latin for Don’t Let the Bastards Grind you Down)