how the hell did i end up here?

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There’s No Place Like Home

Do you know what I’ve discovered? Sometimes living in America makes my head hurt—especially when one is a humorist who draws stories from real life, and real life can sometimes be overrun with fools. No matter what TV channel I turned on last week, there was something stupidly disheartening about living in the good ol’ US of A:

An old-fart of a man thought his basketball team was a plantation and racism was his passkey.

Georgia passed a “guns everywhere law” (guns in churches, guns in bars—yeah, that should work out well).

And a proven duplicitous head of the LA NAACP resigned after admitting he was well on his way to giving the racist basketball team owner a lifetime achievement award in civil rights for previous monetary contributions (WTF?). No amount of awards could disprove the onerous racism of the team owner, but it does prove that the LA NAACP needs a major moral overhaul and new leadership. There are no winners here.

Cartoonist: David Horsey/LA Times

As a mother and a grandmother, I was frightened to say the least. As a humorous writer, I was drained. There is nothing funny about deep-seated racism, proliferating gun availability, and downright stupidity bolstered by alleged payola to a group that is supposed to be one of our guardians against racism. And don’t get me started about the incessant attacks against our President by people who resent his election and reelection. After returning from a promotion gig for my new book, Monsters’ Throwdown, I made my malaise known to my husband (WW), and he came up with a “get out of Dodge” plan.

WW: Go somewhere else. I’m off to Europe for a while—why don’t you meet me in Germany for the weekend? There is nothing like trying to navigate a country whose language one doesn’t speak to give one perspective. Given your ability to turn into a chocolate Lucille Ball at the slightest provocation, you should have entertaining blog fodder within the first 24 hours. Hell, just trying to get you through the TSA screening will provide me with tons of laughter and you with at least three posts.

ME: Excuse me, buster! I’ll have you know that I traveled all over Germany 46 years ago as a choir soloist (singing in German, thank you very much!), and I got by okay on two-years of ghetto high school German.

WW: Oh, really? How much German vocabulary do you remember forty-six years later?

ME: Um . . . besides “bitte” (please), “danke” (thank you), and “guten morgen” (good morning). I remember three very vital sentences: Wo ist die Toilette? Ich habe das Reizdarmsyndrom. Ich bin zwei minuten nur vor blitzkrieg. (Where is the bathroom? I have irritable bowel syndrome. I only have two minutes before she blows!)

WW: Yep, this is going to be worth the price of admission.

Used by permission: “Leg Room” John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune

So off I flew for my 3-day adventure in Germany. I flew economy class—although WW assured me that I had won the lottery when I got the new TSA preferred pre-clearance ticket: no removal of shoes, no pulling out the bag of 3oz liquids, no removal of my sweater, and no threatening to yank the wig off my head and run it through the x-ray machine because the bobby-pins tripped the scanner. In other words I’d be treated like a human being.

The pre-screen was a joke for me, of course. I kept tripping the scanner over and over again (was it the stays in my “over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder,” was it the fillings in my teeth, or could it be my rubber-soled shoes?), leading to me being patted down and ordered to remove everything except my back teeth. (Next time, don’t do me any favors TSA—just stuff me into the unpre-screened “orgasmitron” and continue to let my naked body be comedy fodder for the backroom TSA pervs.

The TSA and Our Liberties: Used by permission | Daryl Cagle CagleCartoons.com

Once I was on the plane, I surveyed the lay of the land and determined that there were two bathrooms for a couple hundred people in economy, so another passenger and I tried to sneak into first class to use the potties. My comrade got through unnoticed, but the German stewardess caught me just as I rounded the bend: “Wo gehst du hin?” (Where are you going?)

ME: Ich habe das Reizdarmsyndrom. Ich bin zwei minuten nur vor blitzkrieg!!!

FLUGBEGLEITERIN (flight attendant): Zurück zur Economy-Klasse! (Get your sorry-ass back into economy class!)

I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane, but I hit the ground running. I took a trip up the Rhine on a boat full of nice people from all over the world viewing medieval castles with colorful histories. . .

“But let me talk of its castle. . . . [Heidelberg Castle] What times it has been through! Five hundred years long it has been victim to everything that has shaken Europe, and now it has collapsed under its weight. That is because this Heidelberg Castle, the residence of the counts Palatine, who were answerable only to kings, emperors, and popes, and was of too much significance to bend to their whims, but couldn’t raise his head without coming into conflict with them, and that is because, in my opinion, that the Heidelberg Castle has always taken up some position of opposition towards the powerful.”—Victor Hugo (1838)/Wikipedia

I drank tons of wonderful German wine and consumed wonderful stews, bratwurst, Wiener schnitzel, and some kind of boiled egg in dill sour cream sauce that I could have definitely done without. But nothing could beat the view while I ate it sitting in the old town square of Heidelberg.

***

I am discovering that after observing every traveler I saw and chatting with some of them, that we all have many things that are lovely about our histories and ourselves. My greatest take-away was how similar we all are—from the Japanese tourist to the German waitress to the American traveler. But we also have our shameful places of hatred, spite, disdain, contempt, and genocide. I didn’t visit the darker side of Germany this time around. I didn’t want to. I did notice how 46 years ago there was a palpable sense of shame and heaviness upon the German people. This time I sensed none of that, and that is good. But they must never forget the evil their ancestors were capable of. It still boggles my mind that a predominantly Christian nation created the demonic infernos of the death camps—just as my countrymen must never forget the immoral stain of slavery and the brutality of the Apartheid Jim Crow era, while we continually strive towards better days as a nation and as a people.

I was glad to return home. I love my country and all its people (well, maybe not the haters). I didn’t sleep on the return flight either, but I didn’t think I was any worse for wear until I looked in the mirror once I got in the cab. I wondered why the custom agent stared at me so intently and questioned me so thoroughly. Oh well, at least I learned something while I was away.

“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.”—Maya Angelou

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” ― Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad/Roughing It

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

REFERENCES

http://thegrio.com/2014/05/01/naacp-la-chapter-head-leon-jenkins-resigns-over-sterling-award-controversy/

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

3 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on May 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

Tags: Donald Sterling, HUMOR, NAACP, satire, storytelling, travel

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

25 Mar

Do you know what I discovered about my life this week? I am one unlucky sorry-ass woman. I just barely got over a sinus infection, and the minute my husband stepped out the door to go on a business trip, I got an intestinal flu bug, and it kicked my behind from one end of my house to the other. I have chills, I ache all over, my stomach cramps at the slightest smell of food, I can’t stray more than two feet from a bathroom, and I’m spewing out of both ends. I am truly undone.

Cartoon by Tim Dolighan www.dolighan.com

I was writhing on the couch moaning in three octaves: “WHY ME, OH LORD; WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?” when the phone rang and it turned out to be my youngest daughter (29).

BABY-GIRL: Hi Mom. How’s my favorite mother? I noticed that you hadn’t published your blog this week so I am checking up on you.

MISERABLE ME: Your only mother is ready to send up a shout-out to Jesus and let him know I’m ready to exit stage left—that’s how miserable I feel. I had to send a neighbor to get me stopper-upper meds, and I’m so weak I can barely cook for myself—let alone think of a blog topic. Of all the adages I’ve given you over the years under the title, “A Mother’s Parting Wisdom to Her Children,” did I ever tell you that when you have the flu you should never, ever trust a fart? Maybe I could write a blog on that tomorrow.

BABY-GIRL: No, you have never told me that saying—and I don’t want to hear it now. And NO, you cannot write a blog on “never trust a fart.” You’ve written way too many posts on bodily functions or sex. Need I remind you that my colleagues read your blog, and it is mortifying when I get an email that says they’re reading about you farting in your doctor’s face after a colonoscopy while they’re drinking their morning coffee?

MISERABLE ME: Hey now—that was written in the spirit of public service. I’ve gotten a lot of requests to have that post sent to people who are undergoing a colonoscopy for the first time so that it doesn’t frighten them. Sheesh! Everybody’s a critic.

Used by Permission: “Flu Season” by Olle Johansson, Sweden

BABY-GIRL: I don’t care, Mother; think of something else north of your navel. I’ve been reading some poetry lately. How about a post centered on the CLEAN poetic line: Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost. It’s from J.R.R. Tolkien’s, The Fellowship of the Ring:

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

BABY-GIRL: Does that line conjure up anything inspiring that you can write about even with the flu?

MISERABLE ME: Yeah, now that you mention it. I facilitated a storytelling hour and book signing for my book Monsters’ Throwdown last week at the largest women’s homeless shelter in D.C. It was packed—standing room only. Now that I think about it, the women who attended were amazing. Life had dealt them all a tough blow, but I could see in most of their eyes that they were not down for the count. They were broken, but they had the great hope of being renewed because of the helping hand that had been extended to them—they were wanderers, but they weren’t completely lost. That’s why they keep showing up at the Village for the counseling, the educational classes, and the community support.

BABY-GIRL: I read somewhere recently that President Reagan once said that, “The homeless are homeless because they want to be homeless.” Did you sense that at your storytelling hour?

Photo courtesy of www.csindy.com

MISERABLE ME: Ronald Reagan was a insensitive pig! Much to my chagrin, I voted for him and I will never forgive myself for that because he did more to mushroom homelessness in the inner city than any other force in recent years with his goddamn trickle-down economics that made the rich richer and the poor only poorer. If there is a Hell, Reagan is wandering around it on cold, barren streets as a homeless person for at least a quarter of eternity without a blanket and with constant diarrhea.

BABY-GIRL: Now that’s an interesting topic. What did you learn from these “wandering women”?

Author Book Signing for Monsters’ Throwdown at N Street Village’s homeless outreach

MISERABLE ME: I learned that but by the grace of God go I. I was homeless several times in my life before the age of 21, but it never lasted long. I was rescued which is what my book is about. Someone discovered that I was broken and could be renewed. I learned that many of the homeless have jobs (more than one) that they go to, but they still can’t afford housing. I learned that you can come from the best of families, with the best education, and all it takes is a few missteps and before you know it, you’re out on the street—whether from a bad relationship, an abusive husband, a medical issue, or a layoff. I learned that in Washington, DC, 55% of the homeless women that N Street Village services (they are the largest women’s homeless services in DC), are over 50 years old. I met one woman who was an amputee due to diabetes, and yet she is homeless. The homeless women I met suffer from emotional, sexual, and physical trauma, while some are crippled by mental health issues and addictive behaviors. All I could do was cling to them after all was said and done. As I looked into their eyes, I could see the beauty of who they were created to be. I understood what Jesus meant when he said: “What you do for the least of these, you do for me.” If I do a thousand more book signings, I doubt that any of them will be as rewarding or as profound as the one at the women’s homeless shelter.

BABY-GIRL: I’m so proud of you, Mom. I’m sure the ladies loved your time together. Just imagine yourself in their place with what you’ve been going through the last few days—flu symptoms of vomiting, diarrhea, cramps, and chills BUT going through that while sleeping on the street in the snow with no proper meds or sanitation. Makes your situation pretty tolerable, huh, La Mama?

MISERABLE ME: Yes, Ms. Smart-ass, it does! Anyway, I’ll write that post tomorrow. In the meantime, let me snuggle up in front of the fireplace and sip my hot toddy while I read 50 Shades of Grey. Your father and I could use some tips to spice up our sex life, although I hear this book is about bondage with handcuffs and all. I’m afraid if Dad and I try this handcuff thingie, I’ll fall asleep before anything exciting can actually happen.

BABY-GIRL: TMI! HANGING UP! HANNNNNNGING UP! OH, MY GOD—MY EARS, MY PSYCHE . . .

I am discovering that it is so easy to get caught up in my pathetic little life and forget that homelessness is everywhere and ever-expanding due to issues that we can primarily control as a society. It is also so easy to become comfortable and forget from whence I came. All of us who claim to have a heart and especially those of us who claim to believe in a kind and generous God must do everything in our power to eradicate homelessness in our midst. Ronald Reagan was just plain wrong, and that Ayn Rand spirit he left behind permeates our politics and our national psyche. Being homeless could happen to any of us. But by the grace of God go us all!

Author Storytelling Hour at N Street Village/check out Author’s website for more details

“We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.”—Mother Teresa

“There is a lot that happens around the world we cannot control. We cannot stop earthquakes, we cannot prevent droughts, and we cannot prevent all conflict, but when we know where the hungry, the homeless and the sick exist, then we can help.”—Jan Schakowsky

“Seven out of 10 Americans are one paycheck away from being homeless.”—Pras Michel

“All of us who covered the Reagans agreed that President Reagan was personable and charming, but I’m not so certain he was nice. It’s hard for me to think of anyone as ‘nice’ when I hear him say ‘The homeless are homeless because they want to be homeless.”—Helen Thomas

REFERNCES

http://www.nstreetvillage.org/

http://thegrio.com/2014/03/24/americas-most-under-reported-story-homelessness/

http://www.cnn.com/interactive/2014/03/living/cnn10-visionary-women/?hpt=hp_bn11

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/25/housing-first-homeless-charlotte_n_5022628.html

18 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on March 25, 2014 in Uncategorized

Tags: Homeless, HUMOR, Monsters' Throwdown, Ronald Reagan, satire, storytelling

You Had ONE Job!

02 Mar

Do you know what I discovered about March this year? It had one job—albeit, a multilayered job description—and it has summarily blown it! March 1^st was supposed to massage us out of freezing temperatures, making way for daylight savings time in two weeks, and opening the doors to the meteorological beginning of spring in the Northern Hemisphere, if Wikipedia is to be trusted. But right now 106 million people from coast to coast are awash in another arctic air blast which is pushing eastward. In my hometown, I am currently bracing for a “tenth of an inch of ice, topped by 8 to 12 inches of snow,” if The Washington Post is to be believed. Auuuugh!

Used by permission: John Cole, The Scranton Times-Tribune

I’m so freakin’ tired of this weather. I finally got rid of the sinus infection from Hell, but then my “crap” (my house and the shit in it) started auditioning for the “You Had One Job” reality TV show that I didn’t even know existed until last week. I’m so pissed that I wrote a letter to Al Roker (a.k.a. Albert Lincoln “Al” Roker, Jr, weatherman extraordinaire for NBC Morning News).

Dear Mr. Roker:

Oh, meteorology legend among meteorologists.

Let’s not beat around the bush here because I’ve got no time to waste before I get slammed by the lion of March and my electricity goes off. I need you to grab your friend March by the balls and bring him into submission because he is not doing his job. March only has one job (as far as I’m concerned) and that is to usher in spring. Not only is March causing me a lot of sickness and chaos, but my house and its shit have been inspired by its mayhem and gone into total rebellion against me.

I woke up the other night to a floor flooded by a dishwasher that is barely a year old (this dishwasher is a replacement for the previous one that leaked and flooded my house in March 2013). I called the appliance hotline of which I have a five-year-extended-warranty and an operator answered the phone. She sounded like she couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Al, she had one job and only one job to do: send me a qualified repairman who could properly diagnose my problem and set me free from malfunction hell.

TWIT: Hello! This call may be monitored for quality control and/or training purposes. How can I help you today? But before you answer that, may I have your name, appliance serial and model number, your address, the cross streets where your house is located, the name of the owner of the appliance, the name of the store where you purchased the appliance; if you have a warranty, what type of appliance is it, and what needs fixin’ today? Also, please note that your warranty covers some things but not others. It does not cover improper use (such as for a business) or abusive use by owners.

ME: Lady, my dishwasher just flooded my kitchen because the top rack may have come off its track and bumped up against the door. Something is broken on the rack. I need a new top rack. Please send a qualified repairman ASAP!

TWIT: I see. Looks like I need to order you the rack-pack hooks and gadgets for you to adjust your top rack again and fix it yourself. Okeydokey? Hold on.

ME: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! I’m not a dishwasher repairman, but I am holding pieces of the top rack in my hand while standing in ankle deep water which says to me that this might need some teensy-weensy help from a repairman who knows something about dishwashers. I paid a warranty in the hundreds of dollars for you people to do your job when the time came. YOU’VE GOT ONE JOB—TO REPAIR SHIT! Don’t send me a kit to do-it-myself—send me a repairman.

TWIT: One moment Ma’am—I can see why not having a dishwasher could be upsetting. Please wait a minute while I put you on hold.

ME: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Goddamnit . . . You’ve only got one job—just do it!

Used by permission: The Minneapolis Star-Tribune

Anyway, Al Roker, I finally got the Twit to send me a repairman, but he arrived without a kit, and the following conversation ensued between said dishwasher repairman (DR) and me:

DR: Ladee, I check ju dishwasher—nothin’ wrong wit it. It maybe “user arrow.” Most customa problem is dat. Do ju know how to close door in right way?

ME: Do I look 16? I’m old . . . I know how to use a dishwasher. No, I did not accidentally leave the door open.

DR: How ‘bout ju cuttin’ board—ju make mistake of placin’ it too close to door? Company say dat if customa break machine wit cuttin’ board—no warranty coverage for yu. You pay everything from pocket!

ME: I have not now, nor have I ever broken an appliance. Do you see the 50 pieces of plastic at the bottom of the dishwasher that look like an atom bomb went off inside? Don’t you think that might have something to do with the flooding problem?

DR: Noooo, dat jes garbage. Do ju know to rinse plates befo’ loadin’? Jes? Okay, but I tell ju what. I’ll change rubba lina to help ju out. Maybe dat help—maybe dat won’t. What you gonna do dees days? Now sign computa pad wit ju finger dat rate my service (please choose “excellent” so I get company prize) and dat I answa all ju questions to satisfaction.

Mr. Roker, the dude had one job (like your friend March), and that was to fix my fucking dishwasher on the warranty that I’d already paid for. Turns out that when another repairman from another company analyzed the situation, there were a multitude of parts that had melted off the top drawer of the dishwasher due to no fault of “user arrow,” and the drawer was knocking against the door causing the water to seep out all over the floor. It took the repairman 45 minutes to repair the top rack with the “parts kit” that the customer service twit wanted to send me for a do-it-yourself project. He determined that the liner never needed to be replaced as the first repairman suggested.

And I haven’t even told you about the printer dying, the garage door not opening, and the battery going on the car since I’ve been stuck in the house from this horrendous weather and sickness.

On another subject entirely, Al, can I ask you a question? While I have your attention (hope you don’t mind the self-promotion), did you know that I wrote a newly released book: Monsters’ Throwdown (available on Amazon), and I just launched a website that might amuse and inspire you at www.eleanortomczyk.com? Think you could give me a shout-out when you do the weather tomorrow?

Anyway, I look forward to your reply about the handling of your friend March. I can’t take anymore incompetence. I’m way too old for this shit.

Sincerely Yours!

Fed Up with winter—ET

Non Sequitur, Cartoonist: Wiley Miller

I am discovering that even as I type this post it has started to rain and the rain is turning to ice in my area. My husband (WW) has stocked the house with food and alcohol and placed the candles and hurricane lamps all over the house. We’ve planned an Oscar party for two, but I hear that the Oscars may be inundated with rain. WW is sure his company will be closed tomorrow due to the snow and ice.

I got a text from Al Roker in response to my email. It said: “Grow a pair, Chica. Rain helping end drought in CA. Ukraine under attack by Putin. Jim Crow anti-Gay legislation barely vetoed in Arizona but still being pushed in 5 other states. Black Christians with a heart of love needed to stand with our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters against discrimination because we remember the signs not too long ago that said, ‘No Jews, No Niggers, No Dogs served here.’ More important things to worry about than a few feet of snow!”

“It makes no sense to worry about things you have no control over because there’s nothing you can do about them, and why worry about things you do control? The activity of worrying keeps you immobilized.”—Wayne Dyer

“Winter is nature’s way of saying, ‘Up yours.’”—Robert Byrne

“A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.”― Carl Reiner

REFERENCES

http://www.cnn.com/2014/03/02/us/us-severe-weather/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

16 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on March 2, 2014 in Uncategorized

Tags: Al Roker, Arizona State Bill1062, HUMOR, Putin, satire, Snow, storytelling, Ukraine, Winter

MLK, LOL, OR IDK?

19 Jan

Do you know what I discovered? I need to know if “anybody’s seen my old friend, Martin—can you tell me where he’s gone?”* I need to talk to him and let him know that I think his dream is slipping away. I’m almost afraid to text any child—of any race—under eighteen years old, and ask what MLK lived and died for. I’m afraid they’ll text back: IDK!

Used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

Recently, I had a dream that I went “knock, knock, knocking at Heaven’s door” (sorry Bob Dylan: I’m in a musical pun mood today)—trying to get an audience with both Martin and Jesus. I needed to speak with both of them because, if you think Martin’s message is waning after 45 years, poor Jesus’ primary message after 2,000 years (“Love one another as you love yourself”) is almost without resonance in a nation where 77% of people identify as Christians.

Martin wasn’t at home (probably went fishing with Mandela and Gandhi), so I slipped a message under the door.

Used by permission: Bill Day Cagle Cartoons

Dear Dr. King: I know that you are well—who wouldn’t be where you’re living these days and with the lofty company that you’re keeping. I’d love to be a fly on a cloud to hear some of the conversations between you, Mandela, Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Frederick Douglas, and Harriet Tubman—just to name a few. You must be having the time of your eternal life. Anyway, before I get started into the core of this letter, I want to tell you that I really miss you. The Earth misses you. I first heard about you when you came to Cleveland, Ohio to talk about the Montgomery, Alabama bus boycott. I was only eight years old. I didn’t actually hear you speak, but I heard enough about your speech to sassily reiterate a part of it (“a change is coming”) to my caretaker Aunt who promptly knocked me down a flight of stairs for being insubordinate when I used that phrase against her child abuse labor dictates. I wrote about it in my book Monsters’ Throwdown in case you care to check it out. Do they have Amazon.com in Heaven?

I got out of ignorance and want—significantly due to your efforts and others like you. I got a great education, had great jobs through the years, lived well because of your efforts, traveled the world, and I have been married to the love of my life for 34 years because you made it clear that equality granted me the right to marry anyone I pleased. I have lived your dream.

But, Dr. King, things are getting’ really crazy down here. Almost everything you fought for is slip-sliding away for one reason or another—either because we aren’t paying attention and we’re throwing your dream away, or others are stealing it from us.

Used by permission: Joe Heller, Cagle Cartoons

I’m sure you’ve heard that income inequality in America is spreading faster than I can say “I have a dream” five times back to back, and proven character for all races and ages is becoming more and more a lost commodity. Black-on-black crime is out of control in our major cities, the new slavery is the inordinate number of black males in prison before the age of 23, and the Supreme Court gutted the Voter Rights Act of 1964 that you died for. It’s almost overwhelming. In the meantime, I’ve stumbled on a couple of seemingly stupid things that point to deeper issues. On the mundane level, have you seen what your image is being used for this year, and what it must suggest is happening with our teens about the sanctity of what you stood for?

Your birthday and image is being used to advertise everything from a Miami strip club to a teenage weekend party. I’ve enclosed a copy of a poster to one such project (the strip club poster was too racy to send to Heaven—I thought I’d be struck by lightning). I think the teen party poster speaks for itself—you are no longer the Nobel Peace Prize Winner who fought for justice and freedom, but you are the gold-chain, Rolex-wearing, hoody-popping shill for a teen twerk party.

It gets worse, Dr. King.

Some of us who have gotten out of the ghetto, made lots of money, and basically “gotten over” don’t seem to have the brains we were born with. The proven character that you spoke so much about as being our most valuable asset has gone AWOL. Have you seen some of the Black reality shows: “The Real Housewives of Atlanta,” “Love & Hip-Hop,” “Basketball Wives,” and “The Sisterhood” (preachers’ wives acting the fool)? Yikes! Money seems to be their most valuable asset—not character.

Then there is Dennis Rodman—a major example of freedom without character. Why was he given all that game and money if he was just going to act a fool on the international stage? We finally got something you wouldn’t have dared to dream about: a two-term Black President. But along comes a tattooed, alcoholic ne’er-do-well who uses his money and clout to kiss the ass of a cruel dictator who is a mass murderer and wants to bomb the USA into smithereens. The President has enough assailing him without one of our peeps causing him so much embarrassment.

Yet, as I write this, I have a funny feeling that I need to pull the log out of my own eye before trying to pull the splinter out of the eye of the people I’ve cited. What am I doing to keep your memory alive? Who am I serving? What am I giving back to the community—to my country? I better think about that before I get a chance to chat with you because I’m sure you’re going to tell me “physician, heal thy self.” I’ll get back to you.

In the meantime: Happy Birthday, Dr. King!

Love, from someone who owes you a great debt of gratitude.

Used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle

I am discovering that I am guilty of taking Martin Luther King’s quest and dream for granted. The celebration of his birth comes and goes every year, and I have come to think of it basically as another day off for me to catch up on my sleep and run some errands. I confess that in the past, I focused more on assimilating my children onto the world stage so that they could have comfortable lives rather than making sure they knew and understood the cost that had been paid by Martin, Medgar, Meredith, John Lewis, and so many others who sacrificed everything for my children to live where they wanted to, attend the schools they wanted to, vote for whom they wanted, and marry whom they loved. I have not done enough to affect the poison of poverty, unfair imprisonment, inequality, and racism in our country, which are rapidly rising and merging together like demonic rain-soaked rivers overflowing their banks that could consume my grandson and so many of his generation. As one of the ones who has greatly benefited from Dr. King’s dream, I pray that in my sunset years, I may find the way(s) to make more of a difference—not only with my words, but through proven character.

Used by permission: Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

MARTIN LUTHER KING QUOTES

“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”

“Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.”

“I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.”

“Let no man pull you so low as to hate him.”

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

“Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”

REFERENCES

http://newsone.com/2533345/black-reality-shows/#

http://www.cnn.com/2014/01/18/us/dennis-rodman-rehab/

*”’Abraham, Martin and John’ is a 1968 song written by Dick Holler and first recorded by Dion. It is a tribute to the memory of four assassinated Americans, all icons of social change, namely Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy. It was written in response to the assassinations of King and the younger Kennedy in April and June 1968.”—Wikipedia

13 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on January 19, 2014 in Uncategorized

Tags: Dennis Rodman, HUMOR, Martin Luther King, satire

Keep Calm and Try Again

09 Jan

Do you know what I’ve discovered? Something called a Polar Vortex slammed into my region (actually all over the country except for Hawaii) the last couple of days, and it took a bite-sized stability chunk out of my New Year’s resolutions which had only been up and running for two days. I’m freezing, and no matter how many hot beverages I consume, I cannot stay warm—therefore, I am cranky and consuming carbs (to get warm) by the bucket load just to be able to think and function. *My 2014 New Year’s Resolutions are: Be Happy and Eat Less Carbs (notice I didn’t say the “D” word; I’m trying a more subtle approach—maybe my body won’t notice it is being tricked this year).

Used by permission: Bill Schorr, Cagle Cartoons

As I was bitching and complaining to myself about my already failed 2014 resolutions, my husband (WW) came into the kitchen and announced he had just heard on the radio that most people fail their New Year’s resolutions within 48 hours of making them because their resolutions are usually too expansive and complex.

ME: How can wanting to be happy and eating less carbs be too expansive?

WW: Because all it took was a slight change in your environment and back into the cheese puffs you fell.

ME: Don’t forget the mulled wine . . . But if one doesn’t make expansive goals, how will anyone’s dreams come true? Last year I made a resolution to write and publish my book Monsters’ Throwdown, and I accomplished it. http://www.amazon.com/Monsters-Throwdown-Odyssey-Discovery-Series/dp/1493616099/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1389234831&sr=8-1&keywords=eleanor+tomczyk

Used by permission: Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

WW: Actually, you made a goal to write your first book three years ago and just finished it last year. Anyway, I didn’t hear the entire program, but I assume it would help to make two kinds of resolutions: one simple and one complex, like your beloved carbohydrates. I talked to our grandson today and even as a five-year-old he has two New Year’s resolutions: His Simple Resolution—to get more play dates with anybody in kindergarten from here to California; his Complex Resolution—permanently and consistently “get over” on his mother whom he deems to be his arch nemesis.

ME: I heard he’d managed to accomplish his simple New Year’s resolution and had set up at least one play date by stopping a total stranger-mommy and her son on the way home from school. Without consulting his mother, he accosted the stranger-mommy and said: “You need to give my mommy your cell phone number so I can have a play date with your kid.” The woman was so flabbergasted that she immediately turned over her phone number to him. Now that is determination! Did you ask our grandson how his complex resolution was holding up?

WW: I tried, but he can’t come to the phone right now because he’s been grounded by his mother. Apparently, she told him that he couldn’t take his chipmunk dolls (Alvin and Theodore) to school, but he decided that now was the time to turn into Baby Stewie from Family Guy and run inroads against his nemesis, The Mommy. So he stuffed Theodore down the right sleeve of his coat and purposely left one of Theodore’s arms sticking out, while snugly hiding Alvin in the right sleeve—completely out-of-sight. (Simon had been discarded at the last minute—there are only so many places a five-year-old body can hide smuggled goods.)

ME: Oh yeah, his mommy told me about this. Little Dude sauntered to the front door—replete with backpack—on his way to the bus stop, when his mother noticed a Chipmunk hand peeking out of his coat sleeve as if it were waving at her. When she demanded that Little Dude cough up Theodore, our grandson dutifully protested (screams, flailing of arms, and gnashing of teeth) about the toy being taken away but finally acquiesced to proceeding without the contraband, knowing that Alvin was well hidden in his other sleeve. Then, just when our grandson thought he’d gotten away with it, he heard his nemesis scream: “LITTLE DUDE—WHAT DO YOU HAVE HIDDEN IN YOUR OTHER SLEEVE? TURN IT OVER BUSTER!”

WW: Did our daughter tell you what his punishment was for the attempted ruse?

ME: Yep, loss of a play date. I’m afraid it is back to square one for our pint-sized smuggler.

WW: This proves the point of the radio show: stick to small goals and stack them up, and if you slip up (or get caught), it won’t be such a hard thing to pick yourself up and start again. Want to lose weight? Go for 10 pounds at a time, rather than 50. Pound by pound, the overall goal will be achieved. Want to win friends and influence enemies by showing off more cool stuff at the kindergarten show-and-tell? Try schmoozing your nemesis with a subtler strategy so that she’ll let down her guard—perhaps by eating some dreaded vegetables every once in a while to make her think she’s really in control. Ideas like that.

ME: Okay, Mister Confucius, since you’re so smart, what are your simple and complex New Year’s resolutions?

WW: My Complex New Year’s Resolution is to cruise to Hawaii before the end of the year. My Simple Resolution is to save money by using smaller sections of paper towels, using less hot water, turning off lights when they are not needed, and turning down the heat to conserve energy. I’m starting a “Hawaii or Bust” fund with my savings.

ME: Do you plan on taking me with you to Hawaii? Because I just used two rolls of paper towels on the hot chocolate I spilled all over the floor in my attempts to warm my innards; I turned the furnace up to 80 two days ago to thwart the Polar Vortex freezing my ass off; while you were away on business, I turned on all the lights to ward off the Boogey Man and kept them on 24/7, and I’m about to jump into a hot shower and stay there until Jesus comes back because I’m just that frozen!

Used by permission: John Darkow, Columbia, Daily Tribune, Missouri

I am discovering that much as we Americans would love to have a perfectly shaped comet ride of our spiritual, emotional, and physical growth in life, that journey is more like an erratic dance: two steps forward, one step back; repeat; stop; and start again. We owe it to ourselves, our families, our communities, and our world to want to “do better.” The beginning of a new year is as good a time as any to implement admirable goals. The point is not to give up at the first Polar Vortex slam and try, try, try again!

*My “Real” New Year’s Resolution for 2014: Simple New Year’s Resolution—to treat others the way I want to be treated; Complex New Year’s Resolution—to be the change I want to see in the world!

******

“Another fresh new year is here . . .

Another year to live!

To banish worry, doubt, and fear,

To love and laugh and give!

― William Arthur Ward

“’That which does not kill me makes me stronger’ is not a law of the universe. What it can be, if we so choose, is a resolution.”—Julian Baggini

“New Year’s Resolution: To tolerate fools more gladly, provided this does not encourage them to take up more of my time.”—James Agate

“How few there are who have courage enough to own their faults, or resolution enough to mend them.”—Benjamin Franklin

“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day.”― Edith Lovejoy Pierce

REFERENCES

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/tom-toles/post/news-years-resolution/2013/12/20/56d6c300-69a2-11e3-ae56-22de072140a2_blog.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/shiver-or-shrug-on-a-bitter-cold-day-the-ultimate-rorschach-test/2014/01/07/22633f48-77be-11e3-b1c5-739e63e9c9a7_story.html

15 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on January 9, 2014 in Uncategorized

Tags: HUMOR, New year's Resolutions, Polar Vortex, satire, storytelling

2014: Never Give Up!

01 Jan

Do you know what I’ve discovered? Reality star Khloe Kardashian has announced that she is exiting 2013 wanting a fresh start after the divorce from the disappointing marriage with Lamar Odom. She can hardly wait to turn the page on 2013. I feel your pain, girl. Life can be a bitch, and rarely do we get to exit the previous year without getting a little banged up—sometimes completely banged up depending on our individual choices or the ramifications of the choices of other people beyond our control.

Use by Permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

I was meditating on this thought as I was watching “A Very Muppet Christmas” with my five-year-old grandson. Whoopi Goldberg was on the screen playing a “godlike character”—siting on a couch in a field of flowers. As I drifted off to sleep from the overeating of a standing rib roast, overstuffed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and lots and lots of exquisite wine, I remember thinking that once again another year was slipping by without me losing enough weight so I could be mistaken for Halle Berry in the make-up section of Target. Suddenly, somebody very Whoop-like was in my TV room and no longer sitting in a fragrant pasture giving advice to a Muppet rep.

Whoopi Goldberg Meme (apologies Whoopi for the name misspell of the meme generator)

WHOOP-LIKE: Hey, girl. I see another year has passed and you’re still moaning about your weight. Aren’t you a little old for that? Check out my style—I’m lettin’ it all hang out these days and I’m feelin’ fine.

ME: Whoop-like, what the hell are you doing sitting on my couch? How did you get out of the TV? I know it’s a Smart TV programed to do just about anything, but transporting you out of a Muppet movie is an entirely different subject. It looks like the alcohol has started to mess with me.

WHOOP-LIKE: I looked out from the scene into your living room and saw that no one was watching the movie. Your grandson took off upstairs twenty minutes ago. I think the reason he left was because you kept alternating between snoring (you snore like a freight train, girlfriend) and moaning the phrase: “I must get back on my diet—must look like Halle in New Year . . .” What the . . .?

ME: I’m positive that I did not say that! The last thing I remember before I fell asleep is my grandson patting my belly and asking me if I had a baby in my tummy (everybody’s a critic these days). I was so mortified that I mumbled something like, “let’s watch the Muppets, kid” as I pulled his teddy bear in front of my fluffer-nutter tummy and cuddled with him on the couch.

WHOOP-LIKE: Well, now that I’m here—let’s chat. 2013 is coming to a close—what disappointed you the most about 2013?

ME: Oh, that’s easy: Our damn Congress—specifically the heartless, cold-blooded bastards of the Tea Party wing. Ayn Rand is alive and well in the halls of Congress and Jesus is weeping.

Used by Permission: Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune

WHOOP-LIKE: Understandable. That’s it?

ME: Oh, no. I hate that we adopted the words “selfie, twerk, and hashtag” into our vocabulary. I can’t believe they have been added to our dictionary—Webster must be turning over in his grave, because I’m ready to commit hari kari if I read and hear these words ever again. Also, I wish I’d never joined Facebook, and I’m surprised I didn’t go screaming into the night during the Presidential election season—especially during President Obama’s reelection. Some of the people I know have lost their fuckin’ minds, and they never found them again. During 2013, some of them dug into their racist and homophobic holes and never came out. I’m about one click short of posting a note on their FB pages that says: “Did you notice that the one black friend you had is actually black?” And then one of the worst things about 2013 was the Affordable Care website glitches. The poor Prez. The Tea Party was doing cartwheels. Of course, there was the one-year anniversary of Sandy Hook, and the reminder of all the people—especially children—who have died from guns in our inner cities, and yet Congress continues to fiddle while Rome burns . . . there is still no decent national gun control law! My heart is broken for these families and in total fear for the safety of my own.

WHOOP-LIKE: I hear you, and I’m crying with you. But what are some of the things that surprised you about 2014?

ME: Pope Francis (love, love, love the dude) when he started kicking ass about income inequality and not judging our gay brothers and sisters; Bill De Blasio becoming mayor of NYC with his progressive outlook and his gorgeous interracial family, and the outpouring of affection from all over the world for Nelson Mandela. Newt Gingrich surprised me (can you believe it?) for his very elegant and courageous pushback against hateful remarks from conservatives when he wrote a tribute to Nelson Mandela. When Newt got attacked, he came out swinging with a tight, historical assessment of who Mandela was and why he admired the man—why we all should admire the man. My jaw fell onto my ample bosom. Go, Newtie—it’s your birthday! And then there was Antoinette Tuff—the black woman from Georgia who compassionately talked a white gunman off the “ledge” and not only saved all the students’ lives in her school, but saved the gunman’s life as well. I could hear the angels doing a “whoop, whoop, whoop” from the heavens in her behalf. I could hear them laughing at Wayne LaPierre’s stupid gun defense: “The only thing that can stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun.” Ms. Tuff made me realize that I must never give up hope of doing the right thing and striving to be someone that God can count on whenever I’m in a situation that calls for courage, grace, compassion, and wisdom.

Cartoonist: Chan Lowe/ Sun Sentinel

WHOOP-LIKE: Hum, that sounds like a good list for a starter. Keep working on your list while I get back into the movie before my next scene. It will take your mind off your fluffer-nutter tummy. One more thing: did you accomplish anything this year that you’re proud of?

ME: Yes, yes, yes . . . I published my first book, Monsters’ Throwdown (http://www.amazon.com/Monsters-Throwdown-Odyssey-Discovery-Series/dp/1493616099/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388556177&sr=8-1&keywords=eleanor+tomczyk). I became a writer in 2013! Can you believe it? The book is selling well and getting great reviews. This was a lifelong goal, and I did it! Oh, and now that I have you here, would you mind giving me a shout-out on The View?

WHOOP-LIKE: Don’t get greedy, kiddo. You accomplished your lifelong goal in 2013 and you did it all without being a size six or looking like Halle—go figure! Are you and WW still in love?

ME: More than ever!

WHOOP-LIKE: Than 2014 is starting off to be a very good year for you—a very good year, indeed.

***

I am discovering that each year of our lives has a mixture of good and bad. We must embrace the good with all our heart while we have it. As to the bad, we have no control over much of what happens to us, and part of growing up is to never lose hope and never give up as we press on to seize the day. Of course there are some things we need to let go of—things that are not worth our energy—and that is trying to look like Halle Berry when one is 65 years old and has the figure of a Whoopi Goldberg. Things like that quest have to be given up—not because they are unattainable—but because they are foolish, and foolishness is the tripwire that keeps us from crossing the finish line on any given day of the year.

Used by permission: Bob Englehart, The Hartford Courant

“Never, never, never give up.”—Winston Churchill

“My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry; to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return.”—Maya Angelou

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.”—Harriet Beecher Stowe

“For a writer, I’m not sure that feeling of knowing you’ve just written something good and strong can be trumped. Not because it means I did something right. But because it proves how many wrongs I pushed through to get there.” ― Cara Rosalie Olsen

“You may not always have a comfortable life and you will not always be able to solve all of the world’s problems at once but don’t ever underestimate the importance you can have because history has shown us that courage can be contagious and hope can take on a life of its own.”—Michelle Obama

“God grant me the courage not to give up what I think is right even though I think it is hopeless.”—Chester W. Nimitz

Used by Permission: Bill Day, Cagle Cartoons

REFERENCES

http://theweek.com/article/index/253863/why-newt-gingrich-is-getting-flak-for-defending-nelson-mandela

http://www.salon.com/2013/08/22/the_story_the_right_hates_antoinette_tuffs_courage/

http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_slatest/2013/08/22/antoinette_tuff_911_call_listen_to_the_full_tape_of_ga_school_clerks_call.html

16 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on January 1, 2014 in Uncategorized

Tags: 2014, HUMOR, Muppets, New Year's Day, Newt Gingrich, Sandy Hook, satire, storytelling, Whoopi Goldberg

Santa Baby: Do You Feel What I Feel?

10 Dec

Do you know what I’ve discovered? I have issues with Santa—have had them ever since I became cognizant of his existence. In fact, I hate him! As I was editing my first Christmas remembrance in my book, Monsters’ Throwdown (due to be released next week just in time for Christmas), it brought back painful memories of my attempts to get white Santa’s attention to stop by my poorer-than-dirt ghetto house and leave me a present or two as a poor-black-child. I wrote letters, I said prayers, and I set out cookies and milk, but still no Santa (now that I am an adult, I have a strong suspicion that the rats who were as big as cats ate Santa’s snacks). Once I started encountering Jews and discovered they got no visits from Santa either—whether they had been good as could be or not—I knew that fat white dude in the red suit made us all feel pretty much like pond scum by not showing up with presents for us.

Used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

As I got older, I realized Santa’s lack of shimmying down certain chimneys had more to do with economic inequality on my part and religious preference in the lives of my Jewish neighbors; although later I would discover that a few of my Jewish friends had Christmas trees along with their Menorahs, and Santa had made a deal with their parents to drop by on Christmas Eve just like he did at the homes of some of the Christians. Talk about having one’s mind blown.

I pretty much forgot about the likes of Santa until I had my own children. We moved to Israel when my older child was two months old and our younger child was born there. I was having enough trouble helping them understand the difference between Israel’s “Kippi Ben Kippod” from “Rechov Sumsum (an Israeli coproduction of Sesame Street)” and America’s Big Bird from Sesame Street. Teaching my children about a Santa who didn’t bring the other neighborhood children presents wasn’t worth it. Plus, it never occurred to me to teach them about the fantasy of Santa given my history with the dude, although our neighbors did help us find a fir tree from a kibbutz in Galilee so that we would feel more at home on Christmas Day since they knew it was a religious holiday for us. By American standards, it was probably one of the ugliest trees one could possibly imagine—decorated with strings of popcorn, cranberries, and ringlets of colored paper. But to us it was magnificent because it was provided by our Israeli neighbors who all came down to our apartment to “ooh and ah” at it. All of my neighbors went out of their way to wish us “Merry Christmas” and we wished them Happy Chanukah at the appropriate time during all the years I lived there. (Did I ever mention how my Israeli neighbors were the salt of the Earth and always made me feel very welcomed as an ex-pat?)

***

Then one year we came back to the States for Christmas vacation and my older child was sitting on my mother-in-law’s lap while her grandmother was reading my child a story about Santa Claus. “Who is this?” asked my mother-in-law as she pointed to a picture of Santa. The more my baby looked at the picture in total confusion, the angrier my mother-in-law became in demanding a definitive Santa recognition. Finally, my three-year-old broke out into a heartbroken sob out of fear and confusion because she felt she was making her grandmother, whom she was seeing for the first time, very angry about her failure to identify a fat man in a red suit with an enormous beard. As I ran to rescue my baby from this stupid emotional quagmire, my mother-in-law turned beet-red and went ballistic: “I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO FIND THE WORDS TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH THIS DISTURBS ME THAT YOU’VE NOT TAUGHT THIS CHILD ABOUT SANTA CLAUS!” As I ran from the room cradling my frightened baby, I shouted: “Ask her who Pippi Ben Kippod is—then maybe she’ll pass your stupid fantasy-man test.” When we returned to my beloved Israel, I got an envelope from my mother-in-law containing only an Ann Lander’s column titled: “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!” (Did I ever tell you that I suspect my mother-in-law always hated me, and her words had the ability to make people feel like crap—no matter what the age?)

My grandson (the child of the daughter that my now dead MIL terrorized about the recognition of Santa), went to see Santa the other day. Apparently, it did not go well. He refused to sit on the dude’s lap and pretty much lost it when he was coerced into coming within 20 feet of the fat man in the red suit. Later that evening during our phone call, I asked him why he didn’t want to get next to Santa and tell him what he wanted for Christmas. My five-year-old grandson astutely said: “I didn’t like him—I didn’t like the way he made me feel—he made me feel all waggy and crunchy inside. Anyway, Santa don’t bring me presents, Mommy, Daddy, Mama-Mama, Mema, and Grandpa brings me presents on Christmas!” (Did I ever tell you that children have the ability to make us feel very clear-headed by their assessment of life, if we carefully listen?) I’m sure my mother-in-law was turning over in her grave when she heard him say what he did about dear ol’ St. Nick.

As I was pondering whether the dislike of Santa could be passed down through a person’s DNA, I heard about three news stories concerning words:

Bill O’Reilly and Sarah Palin Uncovering War on Christmas—“Americans saying happy holiday tantamount to disowning Jesus—ram Merry Christmas down their throats in the name of Jesus!”

Pope Francis releases his “The Joy of the Gospel” and chastises the world “not to forsake the poor”—his words are challenging and riveting

Nelson Mandela dies at 95—his collective words and actions humble us and make us want to do better with our lives

Bill O’Reilly and Sarah Palin’s caustic words (they both have criticized our new Pope for being a socialist and a Marxist) made me feel all “waggy and crunchy” inside and made me want to cry, but the words by Pope Francis and the legacy of words left behind by Nelson Mandela made me feel so good, that all I could do was go out into the street and wish everyone I saw, “Happy Holidays, Season’s Greetings, and Merry Christmas with all my heart!” When I saw the joy in the eyes of the people I had greeted, I knew that I had touched them with the true spirit of Christmas, and I felt really good, because I could tell I had made them feel good with my generosity of heart as well.

Used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star Tribune

I am discovering that Maya Angelou was correct: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

***

“I never believed in Santa Claus because I knew no white dude would come into my neighborhood after dark.”—Dick Gregory

“Believe in love. Believe in magic. Hell, believe in Santa Claus. Believe in others. Believe in yourself. Believe in your dreams. If you don’t, who will?”—Jon Bon Jovi

“Our family was too strange and weird for even Santa Claus to come visit… Santa, who was jolly – but, let’s face it, he was also very judgmental.”—Julia Sweeney

“You know, in a way, ‘Dear Santa Claus’ is rather stuffy… Perhaps something a little more intimate would be better… Something just a shade more friendly….How about ‘Dear Fatty’?”― Charles M. Schulz, The Complete Peanuts, Vol. 5: 1959-1960

***

IN REMEMBRANCE OF MADIBA

Your heart of forgiveness, your words of grace, and your brotherly love will be greatly missed. You made us all feel that we could live better lives if we tried.

RIP NELSON MANDELA

1918-2013

6 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on December 10, 2013 in Uncategorized

Tags: Bill O'Reilly, Christmas, HUMOR, Nelson Mandela, Pope Francis, Santa Claus, sarah palin, satire, storytelling

Cold Love and Misplaced Periods

01 Dec

Do you know what I’ve discovered? Some of my readers had a much unenlightened T-Day celebration in spite of my exhortation to “go forth, be grateful, and keep your mouth shut.” Not all, but some, tell me that they couldn’t resist talking about politics, religion, and bringing up past familial hurts between “pass the gravy” and “are there anymore mashed potatoes?” Apparently, bedlam ensued in some of their homes. Sigh—oh well, there’s always next year for an attempt at a redo! Maybe duct taping one’s mouth might help, but it would mean that no one would be able to eat any turkey.

Used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle

WW and I had a delightful T-day, although it was laced with an underlying theme of stress as we tried to scrub the final proof of my personal life story of The Hunger Games of any errors—my book, Monsters’ Throwdown—which is due out within the next week or so. After hitting “approve final proof” on the publisher’s website (no turning back—last call people!), both our eyes caught a stray period (at the same time) that should have gone inside a parenthesis but slipped outside in response to an earlier edit. Auuugggh! Fortunately, it is not in the context of the story, but off in an obscure place about author data that few people care about except the author, but it will haunt me till the end of my days (this manuscript has been read 100 times in an attempt to scrub it clean of errors, and yet. . .). I’m exasperated and humbled, but I was slightly comforted today when I learned how often this happens: There exists “A Wicked King James Bible” on display in Washington, DC at the Folger Shakespeare Library because the compositors omitted one significant word from the seventh commandment in 1631 that got published across the land as: “Thou shalt commit adultery.” The way I see it—things could always be worse, and I could be headed for Hell like that publisher in 1631.

Speaking of The Hunger Games, WW and I slipped out to see the second installment while people were beating each other up during Black Friday—The Hunger Games: Catching Fire. It was good—really good—although I can’t get comfortable with the premise that this is a story for kids about kids killing kids. That bothers me—a lot. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know that this is a dystopian post-apocalyptic tale about the 1% ruling the 99% that live in a destroyed America named Panem which consists of 12 districts that are controlled by the Capitol (1%). According to the late, great Roger Ebert, Panem is from the Latin “panem et circenses,” which “summarized the Roman formula, for creating a docile population: Give them bread and circuses.” The twelve districts lack decent jobs, decent places to live, decent safety regulations in their hard-scrapple jobs, and they are starving due to the regulations of the government. The Capitol has all the money, all the food, and all the comfort. They even have a juice that will help you purge your food in order to make room for more food. The Capitol sponsors a Darwinian type of game by choosing two children from each district to fight to the death every year—there can only be one winner. The prize is food for their district for a year and an upgraded lifestyle for the winner for the rest of their lives. (Talk about “trickle-down economics.”) All of this is done in a “survivor” game-show atmosphere. The TV audience is entertained and the people forget about their troubles or their need to rage against the machine (The Man). Hum, where have I heard the concept of that theme before?

Cartoonist: Rob Rogers || http://blogs.post-gazette.com/opinion/rob-rogers-cartoons

As WW and I were debating the ultimate message of the movie (man’s love grown cold toward their fellowman?), I glanced at the headlines in the news:

People Beat Each Other Up over Towels at Walmart: 2.8 Million Towels Sold on Thanksgiving

Black Friday 2013—the Modern Hunger Games

Black Friday Marred by Violence in Several States: Stabbings, Robberies, Mace Attacks

Black Friday Shopper Robbed of Big Screen TV by Assailant in Parking Lot that Shopper Stood in Line for Six Hours to Purchase—It Only Took Thief 30 Seconds to Wrestle TV from Shopper’s Hands and Escape

Walmart Holds Food Drive for Underpaid Employees—Refuses to Raise Minimum Wage

Republican Congress Ready to Pass $500 Billion Farm Bill that Benefits Businesses in their District but Poised To Cut $40 Billion in Food Stamps on Top of the $5 Billion Already Cut for People They Declare To Be “Takers.”

Pope Francis Attacks “Idolatry of Money”—Calls it Unfettered Capitalism—Urges Global Leaders to Fight Poverty and Growing Inequality

40% of Tea Baggers Consider Themselves To Be “Born-Again Christians”—60% of Republicans Consider Themselves To Be Christians and Their Party a Champion of Christian Virtues, but They Consider Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged to be a Beacon of Truth for the Party and a Philosophy to be Touted

Republican Member of Congress Who Supported Drug Testing for Food Stamp Recipients Pleaded Guilty to the Purchase of Cocaine from an Undercover Agent in DuPont Circle—Doesn’t Get the Irony

Headline News from the Celestial Times: Jesus Wept!

Used by Permission: Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune

***

I am discovering that man’s love for his fellowman in America has grown so cold it is frozen tundra. For non-Bible readers, this is supposed to happen as a sign of the “end times” right before the destruction of the Earth by God. (Don’t ask!) What I find to be so ironic is that I don’t think Christians ever thought, nor do we ever think, that the “love grown cold” line has anything to do with us (just one of the deserved reasons for divine retribution against our dirty-little heathen countrymen). But from where I stand, I think it is a “pull the log out of your own eye before you attempt to remove the splinter from your brother’s eye” kind of proclamation. In the past, it was the Christian churches that stood by with cold-hearted resolve and let some of the worst ravages of history take place: Southern Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians justified slavery as God’s command and fought to legalize it forever in the US; Lutherans and Catholics supported the systematic annihilation of 6 million Jews in Europe and turned a blind eye when their neighbors were taken away to the camps; the Dutch Reformed Church invented, established, and enforced Apartheid as a divine right in South Africa in a land that they stole from the people they oppressed, just to name a few “love grown cold” scenarios that took place within the borders of Christian nations.

Maybe the Youth Literature group that The Hunger Games were originally written for will see past the sheer entertainment value of the books and movies and the child-on-child violence, and grab hold of a stronger message: Love wins and hope triumphs. We could use a generation coming up after the Baby Boomers and the Boomers’ children who will turn against the cold-heartedness in our nation and “go to war” (in a manner of speaking) for the poor, the immigrant, the disenfranchised, and the underdog.

Steve Colbert|| http://www.colbertnation.com/

“There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.”― Mahatma Gandhi

“When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.”― Hélder Câmara, Dom Helder Camara: Essential Writings

“We got so much food in America we’re allergic to food. Allergic to food! Hungry people ain’t allergic to shit. You think anyone in Rwanda’s got a fucking lactose intolerance?!”― Chris Rock

“What makes the books and the films [The Hunger Games, brackets mine] compelling is the way they define anxieties and pop-culture obsessions in our everyday lives: anger over politicians, fascination with celebrities, a growing disgruntled underclass, addiction to reality shows and video games, the regularity of large-scale violent acts that monopolize TV coverage, and hateful outbreaks of bullying.” Susan Wloszczyna from Reviews—Roger Ebert.com (The Hunger Games: Catching Fire)

Used by permission: Bob Englehart, The Hartford Courant

REFERENCES

http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-hunger-games-catching-fire-2013

http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-hunger-games-2012

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/08/us/cut-in-food-stamps-forces-hard-choices-on-poor.html?_r=0

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/11/29/walmart-s-black-thanksgiving-woes.html

16 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on December 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

Tags: Ayn Rand, Food Stamps, HUMOR, Republicans, satire, storytelling, tea party, The Hunger Games, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Jive Time Turkey: A Satire

21 Nov

Do you know what I’ve discovered? When I don’t get enough REM sleep, I tend to have crazy dreams. I’ve been working night and day to get my book, Monsters’ Throwdown, ready to launch during the second week of December (the cover is finished and it is soooooo fantastic), but when I finally got some shut-eye, I had dreams about a turkey. Not just any turkey, but the one that is being pardoned by the President next week. He kept screaming: “I DON’T WANT TO BE PARDONED. I WANT TO DIE! I HATE THIS PLACE—HUMANS ARE A DISGRACE.”

He was in a psychiatrist’s office—lying on a couch and chatting with my alter-ego who was his therapist. Even though what the turkey said sounded like gobbledygook to me, Dalai Mama understood him perfectly because he’s a “jive turkey” and she has spoken “jive” for years. (For the uninitiated, a Jive Turkey is, “One who speaks as though they know what they’re talking about…though they do not—a bullshitter,” Urban Dictionary, and Jive is, “a form of slang associated with black American jazz musicians.”)

Used by Permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle||Cagle Cartoons

In my dream, Mr. Turkey was dressed in the disguise of an owl and was thrashing back and forth in an agonized state. The Dalai Mama was trying to calm Jive Turkey down and get him to tell her what was so agitating.

DALAI MAMA: Yo’ Jive Time Turkey, how’s it hanging—what’s the word from the herd (the other turkeys)?

JIVE TURKEY: I’ve escaped, dag gobble—that’s the word! I’m on the lam from Farmer John’s place in Badger, Minnesota. I just found out that all the extra food and fluffing of the tail that I’ve been getting was so that he could bring me to Washington, DC next week to be pardoned by the President. Then I’m to be sent to Mt. Vernon to live out the rest of my days. But I don’t want to live, I tell you! I hate people—they are the scourge of the Earth. God should start all over again with a new batch.

DALAI MAMA: Seriously, Jive Turkey, it’s not that bad—we’re not that bad. Are you in the know about this pardon or are you a solid bringer-downer (a person who worries about nothing)? This just doesn’t jive” (doesn’t make sense). Usually they pick a turkey from much closer to home.

JIVE TURKEY: Of course it jives! I saw Farmer John flip the grip (shake hands) on the deal with some Lothario from Ontario (a fast worker or charmer) who flew out from DC a couple of weeks ago to check me out. Once I knew it was a done deal, I concocted this owl disguise and flew the coop. Pretty clever, if I do say so myself. Bet you’ve never heard of stuffed owl for Thanksgiving.

Meme from Joanhascheezburger.com

DALAI MAMA: You mean that Farmer John doesn’t know you’re gone? This isn’t hep (cool) Jive Turkey. I could get into a lot of trouble for not turnin’ you in to your farmer. Besides, Farmer John must have thought you had the chops (ability, skill set) to do this gig, or he wouldn’t have chosen you. It’s true that America has a few bad apples, but for the most part, we’re a decent people—I’m just layin’ it on you straight (telling it like it is). Have you ever been to a Thanksgiving dinner at the home of an American family?

JIVE TURKEY: Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. I got a sneak preview of an upcoming family Thanksgiving dinner from looking into a crystal ball. I was a voyeur to what I thought was going to be a swellelegant (wonderful, marvelous) event, but it turned out to be a blood bath. They were all buckets from Nantucket (heavy drinkers), and it didn’t take long for the family of ten to descend into chaos. All I could think was: is this the reason 46 million of my peeps gave up their lives—so that people could treat each other like Turkey ca-ca?

DALAI MAMA: What?? What happened?

JIVE TURKEY: My friend Bernice was the sacrificial poultry for the family I observed. The sister-in-law insisted on cooking the dinner—it being her first. I suspect she was awfully jealous of her husband’s wife’s monopoly of the holiday. She didn’t thaw Bernice in time, forgot to take out her guts, and overcompensated by turning the oven up to 500 degrees—charcoaling Bernie’s hide while undercooking her insides. Everyone got food poisoning, but before they all ended up in the hospital, I almost solid blew my top (went crazy) at their family ideology and communication skills.

The mother kept picking on her adult daughter about her weight and alluding that maybe the size of her tits and ass was the reason she didn’t have a husband yet. The daughter burst into tears and locked herself in the bathroom for the rest of the dinner. The brother’s new girlfriend was a good for nothin’ clueless mop (no good woman) who asked: “What do Jewish people eat on Thanksgiving?” The brother’s lesbian sister almost hit the girlfriend up side her stupid head with a gourd, but she got distracted when the grandmother’s teeth fell into the mashed potatoes. The mother’s sister announced that she only likes Thanksgiving for the Black Friday sales, and since stores like Target, Wal-Mart, and the like had opened early that morning and nothing seemed to be going on here, she was going to go shopping. “Nice visiting with you all—let’s do it again next year!”

Used by permission: David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

The nasty-ass uncle that everyone knows is a pervert (doesn’t every family have one?) started antagonizing his niece and her wife about the Kenyan in the White House and the Obamacare website disaster, because if we had simply asked him (in all his wisdom, having completed one year of a two-year community college), he would have told you that the Kenyan doesn’t know a goddamn thing about what he’s doing and should go back to Africa where he belongs and leave the running of the country to white people. He made sure we all knew that he respects the office of the president—just not this president. The aunt (the uncle’s wife) agreed and boasted about their new Facebook “like”: “Never Apologize for Being White” because agreeing with the contemptible ideology of this group didn’t make her a racist. The aunt went on to brag about how they were helping people like Ted Cruz and Sarah Palin take back their country for the real Americans. Which is why, when they took the family out to dinner after church last week and racked up a bill for $95.46 for nine people, they did not tip their lesbian waitress. They did, however, leave her a note on the receipt that said they were purposely not leaving her a tip because it would be a sin to use God’s money to support her abomination of a lifestyle. At that point, the aunt’s black adopted sister (also a lesbian) pulled out a pistol from her purse (after all, this was Texas) and shot her sister between the eyes, as the word, “bitch” entangled with the smell of burnt turkey. The mother started screaming like a banshee and fainted as the dentureless grandmother gummed the words: “Dis ith dey worth Danksgivin—eva!”

On that note, I had to exodus (flee, make tracks, beat a retreat). It was then that I made up my mind that I don’t want to live on this planet with you people. If you can’t get along with your own Jive family then how in the Hell can you get along with the rest of the world. I hit the in and outer (the door) and left those drips (horrible people) in the dust. Since then I’ve been reading every news article and watching every media outlet about the situation of man on this planet, and you people don’t get any better. And now I just want to die along with my comrades and be done with you all.

(A special shout out to 25-legit-words-hepcats-jive-talk-dictionary for the Jive words and definitions.)

Cartoonist: David Horsey/http://editorialcartoonists.com

I am discovering that there are no other holidays like Thanksgiving. It is one of the few holidays where we can celebrate without regard to religion, race, or status. We just need to grab a turkey (or some tofu) along with a deep pint of gratitude, and we’re good to go. I am also discovering that there are no Norman Rockwell perfect family portraits of Thanksgiving dinner in real life, either. The problem is, we all try and recreate those fantasies during the holidays, and therein lays the heartbreak: the more we try to make our families perfect, the more they come undone.

There should be a sign over all of our door frames this Thanksgiving that says: Relax. Today is detente! None of us is perfect. I know you probably resent your mother for all sorts of things, and she thinks you can be a little shit from time to time, but let’s declare this a day of extreme gratefulness and thanksgiving for all our family members—just as they are—(unless it’s Uncle Chester, the family molester, and he shouldn’t be invited, anyway; there is a limit to our hospitality). Leave your egos at the door and your age-old animosities at home. We will not think about what we don’t have, what we haven’t been to one another, or what we won’t become in the future. We will praise God for bringing us into the world, we will thank the Lord that we have friends, siblings, children, and grandchildren—imperfect though they may be—and that we are not alone on this Earth. If we are mourning the death of loved ones, we will still grieve but give a shout out to the Almighty that we woke up alive this morning and can breathe—ready to conquer a new day and to heal a little bit more from the ravages of this world. And for God’s sake—for your sake—for your family’s sake—remember to forgive with abundance and laugh . . . a lot!

Cartoonist: Jeff Parker|| Florida Today

“It wasn’t easy telling my family that I’m gay. I made my carefully worded announcement at Thanksgiving. It was very Norman Rockwell. I said, ‘Mom, would you please pass the gravy to a homosexual?’ She passed it to my father. A terrible scene followed.” –Bob Smith

“The funny thing about Thanksgiving, or any big meal, is that you spend 12 hours shopping for it then go home and cook, chop, braise and blanch. Then it’s gone in 20 minutes and everybody lies around sort of in a sugar coma and then it takes 4 hours to clean it up.”― Ted Allen, The Food You Want to Eat: 100 Smart, Simple Recipes

“Thanksgiving, when the Indians said, ‘Well, this has been fun, but we know you have a long voyage back to England’”. –Jay Leno

***

May your stuffing be tasty

May your turkey plump,

May your potatoes and gravy

have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious

and your pies take the prize,

and may your Thanksgiving dinner

stay off your thighs!

–Unknown

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, MY FELLOW AMERICANS: WE HAVE SO MUCH TO BE GRATEFUL FOR!

Used by permission: Rick McKee The Augusta Chronicle

REFERENCES

http://minnesota.publicradio.org/display/web/2013/11/21/news/turkey-presidential-pardon

http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/Dealing-with-a-Dysfunctional-Family-During-the-Holidays

http://mentalfloss.com/article/51801/25-legit-words-hepcats-jive-talk-dictionary

15 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on November 21, 2013 in Uncategorized

Tags: Gratitude, HUMOR, sarah palin, satire, storytelling, Ted Cruz, Thanksgiving, Turkeys

I Can See Key West: An Author’s Announcement

10 Nov

Do you know what I’ve discovered? Sometimes I think I live under a rock. Where was I when 64-year-old Diana Nyad swam from Cuba to Key West (103 miles)? I clearly missed it. Recently when I had writer’s block and couldn’t sleep, I was flipping through the TV channels and stumbled across a documentary on how Diana conquered a 35-year-old goal of swimming from Cuba to Key West without a shark tank. Her biggest fear: jelly fish—which almost defeated her until she figured out a special facial mask to wear that would thwart their stings. The first four attempts—at least once she almost died—had me screaming at the TV at 1:00 in the morning: “Girl, have you lost your freakin’ mind?” Her screams of agony each time she was stung by jelly fish were excruciating to listen to. Every time she failed, I was crushed. By the fifth time Diana Nyad actually accomplished her goal. I was so pissed at her for what she put her family, friends, and me, the viewer, through that I almost jumped into the TV and smacked her upside her head in my best black mama moment. (DISCLAIMER: I am not a swimmer, so another take-away from Nyad’s documentary is that I’m never getting in the bathtub ever again for fear of water, in general, and jelly fish specifically. I also went through this bathtub withdrawal the summer the movie Jaws came out.)

When asked why she attempted such an arduous feat that took 53 hours to complete and $500,000 to facilitate, she replied: “Because I’d like to prove to the other 60-year-olds that it is never too late to start your dreams.”

Used by Permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

Jelly fish. Tropical storms. Sharks. Dehydration. Hypothermia. Horrors! Who does this kind of stuff in water? There isn’t a black person in the world who would subject him or herself to this kind of torture. As I thought more about it, I pondered over the concept that maybe this was a white people thing. So I decided to check it out with the white person I’ve been sleeping with for the past 34 plus years who loves to swim (WW, “White and Wonderful”). I brought the subject up during one of our recent Sunday mimosa-fueled brunches.

ME: “Hey Babe. I just saw a documentary on Diana Nyad and her marathon swim from Cuba to Key West. Did you know about that herculean feat, because I didn’t until I saw the Showtime special?”

WW: (Head buried in Sunday newspaper) “Yeah—vaguely. It’s a motivational story about a woman who should be right up your alley since you’ve trying to successfully publish your first book as a woman in your 60s. Why do you ask? Did you learn anything new regarding Nyad’s accomplishment?”

ME: “White people be crazy, and I just wanted you to confirm it.”

WW: “Somehow, I don’t think that was supposed to be the take-away.”

ME: “Really? Who would quit their job, risk their health, their life, time with their family, and oodles of money to spend countless hours at a task in a solitary pursuit of a goal in their 60’s?”

WW: “Oh let me guess. Someone who wants to be a writer, who stays holed up in her office for hours and days at a time, who I have to check on periodically to make sure she hasn’t died, and every once in a while drag her to bed after she has done a face plant into her computer. Shall I poll the audience at the breakfast table to see who that might be sitting right next to me?”

ME: “Oh come on—I’m not that bad.”

WW: “You want to bet. Do you have any idea what season we’re in now? What? Did you just mumble that you think ‘it’s still spring’? But in spite of all the sacrifices, the good news is that you’ve almost reached ‘Key West’—your book is almost ready to launch—and I couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m also eager to get my ‘Wreck of the Hesperus’ wife back.”

ME: “Oh that is so cold!”

The night after I had the conversation with my husband, I had a dream about another white man—Mark Twain—my muse and one of the funniest writers I’ve ever read. I went in search of him between the heavenly stacks of the biggest library I’d ever seen in my life. I was carrying the galleys of my book in the hope he’d give me some encouraging words for the journey ahead. When I caught up with Mr. Twain, he was smoking a cigar and laughing his ass off with Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes over the bane of literary censorship. I could hardly speak when I entered their presence.

TWAIN: “Censorship is telling a man he can’t have a steak just because a baby can’t chew it.”*

ME: “Excuse me Ms. Hurston and Mr. Hughes. May I interrupt a moment to speak to Mr. Twain? Mr. Twain, ah Mr. Twain . . . I am such a huge fan of yours. I can’t believe that I have this opportunity to chat with you before my book launch. Did you get the word from the angels that I’m about to publish my first book on Earth within the next 4-6 weeks? I’m hoping it will make its debut by Christmas. It all depends on if the artists I’ve hired produce the cover I envision on time. They are working on it, even as we speak. My book is called Monsters’ Throwdown, and it is all about plowing through the bullies (a.k.a. “monsters”) in our lives to fulfill our calling—our dreams. I would love to hear your critique of it.”

TWAIN: “I haven’t any right to criticize books, and I don’t do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticize Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can’t conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Every time I read Pride and Prejudice I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone.”

ME: “Oh, Jesus! I can see that eternity has not dulled your acerbic tongue. Maybe for my sake, it’s better that you are dead since I’m no Jane Austin. If you hated her work, I can’t imagine what you’d say about my book. Writing has been so hard, but it gives me such a feeling of triumph when I am led to the end of a story or a book that I am creating, and it is my dream to exit this world as a successful writer. (Note that I said ‘successful,’ not starving writer.) Did you find writing to be difficult?”

TWAIN: “Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.”

ME: “Easy for you to say—you’re a master. You’re a genius.”

TWAIN: “My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine. (Fortunately) everybody drinks water.”

ME: “Well, may I be worthy to be compared to your water someday. I am a humorist with an edge and you are my muse, and I want to be the female Mark Twain of my day, but I waited until I retired and was in my 60s to start this journey. Isn’t that insane? Did you see the Diana Nyad special on Showtime? Is Diana correct that ‘it is never too late?’ I’m afraid that the marrying of the tragedies and the heartaches I’ve experienced in life will not merge well with my humor. What if people are completely horrified and think that causing them to laugh in the midst of devastation will in turn cause them to be glib about the human condition?”

TWAIN: “The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter. Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.”

ME: “But what if I don’t make any money off of this writing dream? I have to eat, you know, and I am partial to a constant influx of bling and a certain standard of living now that I am no longer a poor black child. How long should I keep on keeping on? It took Diana five times to reach her goal.”

TWAIN: “Write without pay until someone offers pay. If nobody offers within three years, the candidate may look upon this as a sign that sawing wood is what he was intended for.”

ME: “Okay! That’s your way of telling me when to let go and return to ‘Cuba.’ Got it! I just wish I wasn’t so afraid. What if the critics hate my book? Worse—what if my book never gets noticed enough to be criticized and it drowns in the sea of wannabes? Were you this afraid when you first started? Does the fear ever go away?”

TWAIN: “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.”

ME: “I see. Well, good-bye Mr. Twain. Hugs and kisses Ms. Hurston and Mr. Hughes. Maybe I’ll get a chance to chat with you when I publish my second book in my Discovery series about life’s disappointment titled: Seriously God, WTF? Wish me luck, all! I will be brave and reach my ‘Key West.’ I will be brave and outswim the jelly fish and the sharks. I will be brave. . .”

***

I am discovering that we all have a calling and dreams to accomplish in our lifetimes, and as long as we are alive we need to press on toward the goals that can so easily elude us to win the prize set before us. It really is nobody else’s business what are calling is and their jelly fish stings must not thwart us. The adventure is there to be had, but all our journeys are fraught with peril and rough waters. Whether we’re the white marathon swimmer battling the jelly fish or we’re the crazy-ass black writer battling critical voices, the only voice we’re responsible to is the one that calls us from within to head for Key West and step upon its shores having fulfilled our dream. Be on the lookout for the launch of Monsters’ Throwdown–December 2013!

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” ― Winston Churchill

“You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.” ― Stephen King, On Writing

“The biggest adventure you can ever take is to live the life of your dreams.” ― Oprah Winfrey

“It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.” ― Erma Bombeck

“I believe that the most important single thing, beyond discipline and creativity is daring to dare.” ― Maya Angelou

REFERENCES

http://www.cnn.com/2013/09/02/world/americas/diana-nyad-cuba-florida-swim/

http://www.azevedosreviews.com/2013/09/08/mark-twains-20-quotes-on-writing/

*In real life, I have no “unearthly” link to the great Mark Twain. All Mark Twain quotes used above were actually written by him at one time or another during his lifetime and culled from the Internet from various sources but with a special shout out to Luis Azevedo’s Reviews.

12 Comments

Posted by etomczyk on November 10, 2013 in Uncategorized

Tags: Diana Nyad, HUMOR, Mark Twain, Publishing, Reaching Your Dreams, satire, storytelling, Writers

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how the hell did i end up here?

There’s No Place Like Home

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

You Had ONE Job!

MLK, LOL, OR IDK?

Keep Calm and Try Again

2014: Never Give Up!

Santa Baby: Do You Feel What I Feel?

Cold Love and Misplaced Periods

Jive Time Turkey: A Satire

I Can See Key West: An Author’s Announcement

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