Ain't Nothin' Like the Real Thing: my specialty: smart-ass observations

Showing posts with label my specialty: smart-ass observations. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Fantasy....The New Reality

Buddhists tell us that we must stay in the moment, in the present, to understand "mindfulness" and the peace that comes with the practice. Meditation is based in learning "mindfulness"...joy in the simplicity of things, being aware of every minute, every breath, every sweep of the broom. Buddhists say that all our Western Angst comes from dreaming about things we cannot have, cannot do or cannot be. With mindfulness, we are present in all things and savoring each moment. The result is a peaceful and settled heart.

And I'll share with you the most incredible thing I've ever heard on the planet Earth: When the Dalai Lama was asked if he ever experienced "low self esteem", he had no clue what that was. NO CLUE. There is no term or expression or explanation for low self esteem in Tibet (which may be why there are no psychologists either). As all living things are equal, no one feels less than any other creature.

This is amazing. Truly.

And it's fine in theory. But coming from the West, giving up my angst would result in an enormous black hole in my psyche. My deepest, darkest pain and guilt give rise to my smart ass sense of humor. What would I do without that??? I mean, what would I be doing right now? And if I wasn't doing this right now, what would you be reading? And even more importantly, how could my psychologist afford her catnip?

Yes, I know...you'd probably be doing something more valuable than reading this, but....why? I think I've figured it out....fantasy is my reality. Now I'm not talking "The Three Faces of Eve" or "Sybil" or thinking I am the Queen of England in my one room studio apartment illuminated by a single 40 watt light bulb, but fantasy is what keeps me sane. Fantasy is fun. Fantasy is my savior when I'm matching up the damn socks from the laundry. Fantasy is my savior when I'm cleaning the litter pans....or mowing the lawn or waiting for the oil to be changed in my car or 1/4 the time I'm at work. These are the times my mind wanders and the result is usually something.....well, like this.

Fantasy gives rise to creativity, at least in my otherwise sane world. Frankly, due to my fairly healthy fantasy life, I am thusly still alive. Without fantasy carrying me to different worlds and different situations, I would have been dead in the water during an abusive marriage. And yes, I know I'm lucky that fantasy hasn't carried me to a long term inpatient psychiatric hospital. But I think fantasy is linked to hope in my brain circuitry and not to running away or escaping.

So when I'm trying to meditate and I start thinking about whether they are going to do a Pirates of the Caribbean IV with Johnny Depp and Keith Richards, or whether Barry Manilow needs my advice about possibly doing a Greatest Hits of the 80's CD, or if I should really start a novel with the Classic Star Trek characters so I can have a secret affair with Captain Kirk, I'm going to embrace it. I'm going to thank the Lord for my wild imagination, for my rich and full fantasy life.

And then I'll go back to counting my breaths.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

General Hospital

I actually haven't watched "General Hospital" since Dr. Noah Drake left and I'll explain why. It's really two reasons: #1 -- What for?; #2 -- I work there, figuratively speaking.

It seems the older I get, along with my friends and their loved ones, I'm seeing a wide variety of doctors, nurses, hospitals, hospital rooms, ER's and surgical waiting rooms both as a visitor and patient. Add this on top of being a hospital employee and I believe I have valuable insight that is my duty to relate.

Allow me to share Lara's Rules and Regulations of Doctor/Hospital Etiquette.

The number one rule: Doctors Lie. The word “Discomfort” in their language has a far different meaning than it does between normal human beings. You would assume that discomfort means, well, it’s gonna hurt a bit, but then it’ll be okay. Don’t assume. You know what it makes out of you and me. A doctor saying “discomfort” is like a volcanologist calling Mt. St. Helen’s “a little burp”. You’ve been warned.

The number two rule: Don’t be brave. You need pain medicine? Think you just MIGHT need pain medicine? Yell. Do not, under any circumstances, suck it up. Be a baby. This correlates proportionately to when you are in dire need of pain relief and near unconsciousness, they will tell YOU to suck it up, that you didn’t need it before and why don’t you just wait awhile? If you finally complain long and loud after suffering in silence, you will be considered a “difficult patient” and no nurse will answer your call button...ever.

The number three rule: At the very first glimpse of an opportunity to leave the confines of the hospital, do so ASAP. If the doc says in his singularly see-saw way (I’m thinking William Shatner here), “Well..., we could... keep you overnight...or send you home if you can...” just agree with him. Whatever bodily function he needs you to perform, do it and get out. Those places will kill you...physically and financially.

The number four rule: Pull out every piece of ammunition you’ve got to get them to be nice to you. From the Doctors on down to housekeeping. Tell them whatever they want to hear. Be nicer than the Dalai Lama. Be the life of the hospital party (your pain meds might help with this) and for heaven's sake, don't make waves. Because if you make waves and don't play ball, you will be labeled a “difficult patient” and we already went over where that will get you.

The number five rule: Just because people have initials after their names doesn’t necessarily mean they are smarter than you. MD, BSN, PhD, RT, APN. You know yourself better than anyone. You’ve lived with you for...well, years. So speak up and ask questions. Make sure if you are in for an appendectomy but it seems like they are prepping you for brain surgery, politely ask for a "time out". And if anyone comes at you with a large foreign object that hasn’t been preceded by an anesthesia consult, remember Rule #2.

Finally, throw your dignity out the window but keep your sense of humor intact. After all, anything you've got, they've already seen.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

The Chat on Fat

I opened my e-mail today and realized that every day I am reminding myself of things I have not done, will not do or simply don't have time for. Every day, I get cute little blurbs from such big hitters as: E-Diets.com, BallyTotalFitness.com, SouthBeachDiet.com, WeightWatchers.com, JennyCraig.com, Nutrisystem.com, JustDoIt.com, DeniseAustin.com, YourFatAss.com. I am starting my day a failure already. I did not work out. I did not meditate on my daily food choices, nor did I have time to make a heart healthy lunch. My emotions are running high and I do not want to think about exercise or dieting or food or anything. What would make me happy is a very large pizza and an even larger Coke. Regular.

Do you know I’ve tried every single diet known in the free world? Cabbage Diet, Jenny Craig, Weight-Watchers, Nutrisystem, Atkins Diet, SouthBeach Diet, Richard Simmons Diet, Grapefruit Diet, Starve Yourself To Death Diet, Pritikin Diet, Heart Healthy Diet, The God Diet (you pray a lot that you won’t gain weight while you shove the food into your mouth), and others I’ve forgotten the names of. I also have an assortment of exercise videos that rival the entire nationwide library of Blockbuster, Inc. Jane, of course, The Firm, The Not So Firm, Walk to Lose Weight, Yoga to Lose Weight, Stretching to Lose Weight, Breathing to Lose Weight and of course, every tape and book released by Richard Simmons. I also have a collection of CD's that you are supposed to use when you are walking and/or jogging to keep a nice, fast pace and I have any and all things even remotely endorsed by Oprah Winfrey. I am currently on high alert for updates on Valerie Bertinelli's weight loss challenge.

Are you getting the impression that the money I have invested in the quest to lose weight has equaled the gross national product of some small countries? No wonder I’m in the red and Jane Fonda has 4 houses.

For grins, let's review the home exercise equipment I have bought, the majority of which has found permanent residence in my garage, until being put out by the front of my house in recognition of amnesty day, when the garbage men will pick up absolutely anything except marked explosives. On second thought, let's not. I just can’t embarrass myself any further.

I’m assuming you are getting the point. I have issues. Food issues. Weight issues. I handle stress by shoving food in my mouth. Don’t care what kind of food particularly and I have found out that even too much of a good thing will add pounds. I once had this thing for oranges. I just fixated on them and ate above and beyond the normal orange per home capita. The entire state of Florida noted off the chart economic growth. I gained weight.

Perhaps there is some credence to the perimenopause idea. I’m experiencing desperate Food Swings. Pizza....celery. Chocolate cake....apple. BBQ Ribs.....spinach. An entire block of dark, dark, chocolate.....and an entire block of dark, dark, chocolate. (I just crave that ALL the time).

So the solution? Yes, I should remind myself of what my cardiologist told me which I shared with you in a previous post -- to make small, permanent changes and stop beating myself up. But WHY? Why...when we can food flog ourselves into self-loathing delirium?

Should life always be neat and easy? No! Of course not. As Captain James T. Kirk said in Star Trek V, "I NEED my pain!" It is our right as women to reject the logical and go for that which will undermine all the work we just did with our psychologist...and our personal trainer.

This, friends, is why I love America.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Open Letter to My Son’s High School English Teacher (and Stephen King)

There’s a rant in here so beware. The rant will be directed at My Son’s High School English Teacher. I have no plan to rant about or at Stephen King, but I gotta tell him something.

So first:

Dear Mr. King,

I read your book, “On Writing” and I loved it. I never realized the pain you went through even before you were blind-sided by a van on that country road. I do, however, have one comment, and seeing as you have sold 10 billion books and I haven’t completed a single manuscript, take it as you will.

You had some wonderful advice – written in that great style that is yours. I don’t think there is anyone more devoted or enthusiastic about the English language.

In your book, pointed out something very important: “To be a good writer, you need to do 2 things: read a lot and write a lot (and kill those adverbs).”

However, I’ve not gotten to blogging at 50 without one other piece of the puzzle, which I feel is equally as important: You need to listen and observe A LOT. For obvious reasons. Without getting out into the world, talking and observing, one’s output could possibly rival the Bronte Sisters. But if you want to be Hemingway, or Crichton or Grisham for that matter, you need to get out into the world, get busted up and back, from here to Sunday and READ A LOT and WRITE A LOT.

Sincerely,
Lara Angelina Harrison
(never published, but observant as hell)

Now, onto my rant, which I’m sure you will enjoy for its sheer poetry.

“Dear Sean’s High School English Teacher:

I’m just a mom. I work, do laundry, cook and clean. I have full time job. I run my kids around until I’m exhausted and my brain is ready to implode. However, even in my most pathetic, depressed, exhausted, horrid frame of mind, I could make English more exciting than you.

Sean was to read “A Raisin in the Sun” and “The Great Gatsby” this year. Both incredibly magnificent reads. Rich, full---positively amazing! I read “Gatsby” in high school 30 years ago and still remember being taken back in time with the story of Daisy and Jay, the eyeglasses, the gas station, Daisy’ relationship with her cousin; with the mystery of Gatsby himself. “A Raisin in the Sun”, so moving – the characters just draw you into their lives, into their problems, into their private pain. It takes some mighty fine writing to do that.

Now how could this be an absolute nightmare of a chore to read either one of these? Especially for a kid like Sean, who actually goes to the library on his own to find things to read?

Answer: crappy teaching. My friend Anne’s grandpa said once “it’s Anne’s job to show up at school and the teacher’s job to make her enjoy learning” Or something like that. More beautiful words were never spoken.

When I spoke to this teacher, I was stunned she was an English teacher. Dull, flat, hates her job, hates the kids. Not one ounce of enthusiasm in her entire molecular structure. So here’s some advice to spice things up in the classroom for next year:

Get rid of the monotone when discussing books. Books are like living creatures – they breathe, they give meaning, they have an energy all their own. Once you’ve read a GOOD book, you never forget it. Synapses in your brain store the words, the imagery, the feelings given off things we’ve read. That’s some pretty powerful stuff, Ms. Unhappy High School English Teacher.

Not only that, but how introducing authors’ backgrounds? Stories of Fitzgerald’s life interspersed with Gatsby…how about that? F. Scott’s wife Zelda was a story in her own right, his failure in Hollywood, his drinking, their daughter Scotty. Please. Authors’ life stories (see King, Stephen above) are so pivotal to what they write. You can’t separate the two.

Also, this is the 21st century. Offer the kids the opportunity to download the books onto their iPods. Make a deal with Amazon for a group download or something. Rent the damn movies – Sidney Poitier won an Oscar for “A Raisin in the Son”. Dear God, Woman, Wake Up.

And yes, Ms. Unhappy, you can tell me the kids don’t care, don’t pay attention, and blah, blah, blah. They are TEENAGERS. It’s their job to be aloof – it’s your job to keep them motivated and watch for that glimmer in their eyes when you’ve gotten them hooked.

Look, the great authors, and the not so great authors ALL had English teachers. I had great teachers. My eighth grade English teacher showed me the beauty of books, of words, of writing. Maybe I’m the only one…..but she got through to me and I hope to high heavens you can get through to someone. You never reached Sean, who is pretty damn accessible when it comes to reading.

I was going to wish you good luck, but I think it might be more appropriate to say good luck to the kids in your future classes.

Sean’s mom”

Friday, June 8, 2007

When You're Alone and Life is Making You Lonely

you can always go....ONLINE!

All due respect to Petula Clark, but a trip downtown for a show, bite to eat, parking and the gas needed to drive your lonely ass there and back costs about as much as a week in Hawaii at a 4-star hotel. So what's a needy, social creature like me supposed to do?

Telephone, you say.

True, I reply. But what about those nights when sleep eludes you at 2am, you are tired of listening to your new "Andre Previn Conducts the Russian Philharmonic" CD and you've finished off the latest Harry Potter? You can't just call up a buddy for a few laughs unless you are totally certain she or he is a chronic insomniac just like you. Kinda risky.

Cable television! you blurt. Yes, but television is a lonely sport, 550 channels aside.

DVD's, VHS!! you exclaim. Nope. Once again, all you need is Team One with that scenario.

We are not looking solely for entertainment or diversion. We are looking for the human element.

Think.

Voila, you say! The answer of course: the internet. It never frickin' sleeps and can serve up any dish you wish, any time of the night or day. An all night diner that's always crowded. The only thing you need to know is what you want to eat...and if you want to give out your real name with that.

You could certainly choose loftier pursuits, such as researching the origins of the universe, the real meaning of 6.02 x 10 to the 23rd power, why Thoreau went into the woods or if Abe Lincoln truly had bi-polar disorder....but why? Why, when there's a smorgasbord of chat rooms and on line fan clubs and other venues that feed our need for connection, even under an alias? There are few absolutes in this world, but one that holds true is the promise of the internet. You like baroque music, escargot and Mad Magazine? The internet has a site for you! Into Andy Williams, Night of the Living Dead movies and gene splicing? No problem. www.moonriver.dead.dna.com. Waiting for you...even at 2 am.

Good luck sleeping after that.

In my world, the discovery of the internet -- particularly e-mail -- was like eating lobster every night. I was able to keep in contact with friends and began savoring the use of the written word. E-mail has brought back the elegance of the letter, the note, the quick hello in our scattered lives. But while e-mail is instantaneous, it is also fleeting. I have an idea? I can burp that baby out over a telephone wire and someone in Liverpool, England can read it seconds later....and delete it seconds after that. Then it's gone. We'd never see the handwriting of our Founding Fathers if the Constitution had been e-mailed with an electronic signature.

But the internet is a glorious tool for keeping us connected in an ever-widening world. I've made wonderful new friends I never would have without the internet. I've learned things I never would have learned, saw things I probably never would have seen.

Downtown? Yup, downtown is great. The song says: "the lights are much brighter there and you can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares", but for my money nothing beats sitting in my own living room, reviewing the menu of the all night internet diner!

Friday, May 25, 2007

The Luckiest Woman in the World

Believe me, I've thought this through carefully during all my "down" time...like when I'm supposed to be getting my full 8 hours of desperately needed sleep. I wouldn't throw a title around like that aimlessly, without contemplating precisely where the arrow should land.

Now the precursor to this "Luckiest Woman" revelation is that there are several subcategories I've discovered. As women, we are unfortunately defined by our roles as daughters, sisters, mothers and wives in a larger capacity than men are. Men, it seems to me, are more defined by "what they do" or "what they like" rather than their connection to others. This personal observation supports that "men are from another planet" theory. You know, as in, "hey, why do I have to communicate? I'm a longshoreman."

Men are viewed as "accountants" or as "a big Bears' fan" (...ie, "yeah, Mark? I know Mark. He's a Cubs' fan") where women, even if they are a Bears' fan and an accountant, are labeled as a single mom, or a stay at home mom or a single woman who just broke up with a guy, but has a big family to help support her through this terrible time (...ie, "Susan? I know Susan. Her dad is really ill with cancer. Her husband is a moron and she has 3 kids").

Am I right?

Anyway, in naming "The Luckiest Woman in the World" I believe there must be clarification by stating the subcategory. And this is: wife/girlfriend/significant other. My choice would be different if the subcategory was, for instance, single woman or daughter.

Now that we have the rules down, let me tell you about that Lucky Woman.

She's had 2 famous, talented men completely and totally fall all over her, woo her and marry her. Even after divorcing the first one to marry the second, her first ex only had glowing and loving things to say about her (I don't know why Ripley's Believe It or Not didn't get a hold of that one). She eventually divorced the second one too, and he didn't utter a negative word about her either.

Keep in mind, both these men are famous. You will recognize their names. They've been on the cover of magazines. Starred in movies. Are internationally known. Generally, divorces are ugly and nasty, even when played out in private. Famous people divorcing usually gets a lot of press...especially when the woman is divorcing the first one to marry another. And the men are friends. Yes, I said FRIENDS.

I think we are all surprised the whole mess didn't end up on Court TV.

Uh huh. You know who I'm talking about. Patti Boyd Harrison Clapton (and maybe back to Boyd and then I think she married someone else, but that's beside the point).

Beatle George Harrison met Patti Boyd on the set of "A Hard Day's Night" and fell head over heels. At the time, Patti was engaged to someone else and had a promising modeling career. She really didn't give him much of a notice (which, in and of itself, was novel in 1964), but eventually George won her over. She gave up her fiancee, her career and they married in January, 1966. (Beatles' fans ---you may check my dates without hurting my feelings).

He wrote "something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover" for her. They were in love, hip and mod. However, by the late 60's as the Beatles' fell apart, so did George. He found solace in religion and wrote what I consider another great love song: "My Sweet Lord". However, as he was composing and praying in solitude, Patti got left out in the wind. She found shelter in the arms of George's friend, Eric Clapton, who immediately wrote "Layla" for her. The guitar work in "Layla" is about as beautifully woeful and longing as you'll ever hear.

Anyway, as George was happy in his quest to "know" God, he let Patti go, patted Eric on the back and went to their wedding. His comment? "At least she didn't marry some jerk."

Really. No bad press, no harsh words, no finger pointing, no taped conversations between the lovers released by the soon-to-be ex-husband. Nope. Not ever. And they all stayed friends happily ever after.

Patti Boyd Harrison Clapton (Boyd..whatever..etc, etc). Luckiest Woman in the World....as opposed to the other Patti --- Patti Hansen, to whom Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones wrote "tits and ass with soul, she's my little rock and roll."