(Less Than) Six Degrees of Separation

I have spent the last 21 years living in the Bay Area, 16 of them in Solano County. During my years in Fairfield and Vacaville, I've learned that upper Solano County is a close-knit community. I learned how close-knit it is during a soiree I attended last evening.

A friend from my old church, E, invited me to her home for a holiday party. We sang together in the church choir. I went with another friend from the same church. (We attend different churches now). When we arrived, we saw a couple arrive. The husband, T, was a coworker from a newspaper I worked for in the early 1990s. The wife, D, is a friend and former attendee of the same church.

An hour into the party, a woman arrives. When we meet, I learn that she, C, worked at the newspaper during the early 1990s, where T and yours truly worked. When her fiance R arrived, it was a classmate from my college days. We graduated in 1983. C and E work for the same employer.

OK, this sounds like one would need a scorecard to keep up. My somewhat convoluted example explains how our web of relationships works. The degrees of separation among Solano County residents is small. So, the next person I meet in Solano County may be a friend of a colleague of boss or whatever. Mind boggling, huh?

Writing Diva

Friends Don’t Let Furry Friends Fly in Cargo

Family and close friends know that I love animals. I am a “cat mom” of two felines. So, when I read that a cat who had been lost for 61 days and later found had to be euthanized, I wept.

For more than two months I had followed on Facebook the saga of Jack the cat, a 7-year-old café-au-lait-colored Norwegian Forest cat traveling with his “brother” Barry in the cargo hold of an American Airlines plane. On Sunday night, November 6, Jack’s extensive skin wounds were too difficult to treat, and the feline had to be put to sleep.

More than 25,000 fans read about the ordeal of Jack and his “mom” Karen Pascoe, who was moving from New York to California for a new job. After Pascoe checked Jack and Barry in to American Airlines as cargo on August 25, Jack escaped the carrier’s baggage center at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York. Hurricane Irene reached the northeastern states, causing travel chaos.

Pascoe’s sister Mary Beth Melchior created a Facebook page “Jack the Cat is Lost in AA Baggage at JFK,” which eventually earned more than 25,000 followers. “Friends of Jack” searched the American Airlines terminal searching for Jack but finding other homeless cats. The searchers then found “forever homes” for those felines.

On October 25, two months after he disappeared, Jack fell through a ceiling tile in the customs area at JFK’s Terminal 8, according to the Los Angeles Times. He was taken to a veterinarian in Queens to be treated for malnutrition.

After his condition improved a bit, Jack took a turn for the worse and had to be removed from his suffering.

Some of the Facebook page followers want a law where a global positioning system (GPS) device would be on every animal that travels in cargo. After I initially supported it, I changed my mind after a post from my sister Black Woman Blogging. Furry family members should not travel in cargo. They are treated like luggage and stored with them. As BWB said, “No one can hear your pet scream.”

If I had to travel with my cats Tuffy and Diva, I would rather drive and find pet-friendly lodging than subject them to the indignity and danger of flying in cargo. I have a somewhat “psychic” relationship with my cats, where I can “hear” them crying if they’re in trouble or pain.

The Fort Worth Star-Telegram quoted the Bureau of Transportation Statistics, which stated domestic airlines reported 39 pet deaths, 13 pet injuries, and 5 lost pets in 2010. The newspaper quoted American spokesman Tim Smith, who said the carrier hired a pet detective and searched many times at the airport over the two months.

There are options for animal lovers who need to transport their pets cross country. There is a company based in Delray Beach, Fla., called Pet Airways. Instead of flying in the cargo hold, pets travel in the main cabin with a pet attendant on board caring for them during their journey. Although the service hasn’t reached Northern California yet, Pet Airways serves eight airports, including Los Angeles. If it comes to San Francisco, it’s on like Donkey Kong!

There have to be a better ways for our furry friends to travel with us and not be treated like luggage. I pray that Jack’s journey across the Rainbow Bridge won’t be for naught.

Writing Diva

The Soundtrack of Our Lives

When I read yesterday that entertainment diva Jennifer Lopez broke down in tears during a recent performance that included reenactments of her love life, I could relate.

I consider myself musically oriented. I learned to play piano when I was 6. (I’ll have to pick it up again.) I love almost all kinds of music except most country and rap. I have 649 songs on my iPod Touch so far, spanning the 1960s to Coldplay’s “Fix You.”

Most important, songs play a major part of my life. I can tell you what song was playing during a certain event.

For example, I danced my first slow dance at a chaperoned high school party to “As” by Stevie Wonder. To the strains of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman,” I studied mass communications at UC Davis while working as a reporter for the campus radio station. While waiting in line to get my bachelor’s degree, some of my fellow graduates sang Queen’s “We Are the Champions.” Swing Out Sister’s “Breakout” came out when I was enrolled in a journalism boot camp that launched my 12-year career. On a road trip to Monterey, I blasted Gwen Stefani’s “What You Waiting For?”

Not all the memories were pleasant. In the mid-1970s, I had junior high school classmates sing that awful “Brother Louie” by Stories. I was once dumped while Gloria Estefan’s “Don’t Wanna Lose You” played in the background.

But all those songs are as much a part of me as the books I’ve read, the places I’ve traveled, and the experiences I’ve had. To some people, they’re just songs. To me, they’re the soundtrack of my life.

However, I don’t have a theme song, yet. My brother H2 the Lionhearted has one – “You’re Still a Young Man” by Tower of Power. (Don’t ask why.) I wouldn’t be surprised if it were played at his funeral.

Maybe I should adopt Natalie Bedingfield’s “Unwritten.” After all, I’m a writer. And much of my life has yet to be written.

Which songs are on your life soundtrack?

Writing Diva

R.I.P, AMC

After more than 41 years, the ABC daytime drama “All My Children” aired its last television episode today. Needless to say, I’m sad and pissed. (Sorry for the language.)

I haven’t seen the final episode yet. I’m waiting until I get home to watch it. I’ll have a box of facial tissues nearby. I used some tissues for the salute to the Hubbard family on Monday.

Although the venerable soap is supposed to be reborn on the Internet sometime next year, for me, it won’t be the same. “All My Children” wasn’t just a soap that aired five days a week. It fostered gathering places for people to watch, such as college dorms, corporate lunchrooms, sports bars (Yes!), and homes with big-screen TVs. People talked about the antics of Erica Kane and how it took 19 nominations for her portrayer Susan Lucci to win a Daytime Emmy Award as best actress. There would be a collective “AWWW!” at each cliffhanger. Viewers followed the love stories of supercouples Cliff Warner and Nina Cortlandt, Greg Nelson and Jenny Gardner, Tad Martin and Dixie Cooney, Jesse Hubbard and Angie Baxter, and even Adam Chandler and Brooke English. There were characters we loved to hate, such as the powerful Palmer Cortlandt and Adam Chandler, snob Phoebe Tyler Wallingford, pimp Billy Clyde Tuggle, and egomaniacal Dr. David Hayward.

I began watching “Chillin’,” as I call it, in 1972. (Yes, again I’m dating myself.) While in school, I would watch on holidays and during the summer. While attending UC Davis, I spent my unoccupied noon hour watching the show in the basement Games Room of the Memorial Union. I would ask someone what I missed, and I would help someone else catch up. Student viewers would work on their papers and study while watching Tad Martin messing with Liza and Marian Colby, daughter and mother, respectively. The Games Room viewers were a community.

When I entered the working world after college, I didn’t have much time to catch up on my soaps. I depended on Soap Opera Digest and weekly recaps in newspapers. When I worked as a reporter for a Fairfield newspaper, I would try to watch AMC with my coworkers in the conference room during my lunch break.

When I read in April that “Chillin’” was being canceled with my other favorite soap “One Life to Live” in favor of a cooking show called “The Chew” and a lifestyle talk show called “The Revolution” (Wasn’t that the name of one of Prince’s backup bands?), I was livid. I believed the soaps would last forever. But with CBS soaps “The Guiding Light” and “As the World Turns” canceled due to low ratings, I was kidding myself.

Prospect Park, a television, film and music production company, will air the two soaps online. But not all the actors are on board for the Internet version of AMC. Debbi Morgan, the Emmy-winning actress who played Dr. Angela Hubbard, will jump to “The Young and the Restless,” while J.R. Chandler’s portrayer, Emmy-winner Jacob Young, will return to “The Bold and the Beautiful” as Rick Forrester. Others, including Rebecca Budig (Greenlee Smythe) and Emmy winner Michael E. Knight (Tad Martin) opted not to return and will move to other projects. And Susan Lucci has turned down an offer from Prospect Park to resurrect Erica Kane. I don’t expect it will be the AMC that I’ve watched for four decades.

So, I wish the “All My Children” I’ve watched and loved farewell. And to Brian Frons, the president of ABC Daytime who ordered the cancellations: I have a bag of used cat litter with your name on it.

Writing Diva

Reclaiming September 11

If you are reading this on Sunday, you know this is the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks that claimed nearly 3,000 lives on United States soil and changed this nation forever.

It is also my nephew Dom's 29th birthday.

September 11, 2001, cast an ominous shadow on what was supposed to be a great day for my younger nephew. The young father was at work at Starbucks when he got word of the hijackings and the planes that hit the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania. What birthday wishes Dom received were an afterthought as our nation was caught in anger, fear, and bewilderment about our future.

So, to my nephew, who is celebrating his 29th birthday with his wife and four sons, long before there was the tragedy, there was the joy of your coming into the world. When I held you for the first time, you were quiet, absorbing your new surroundings. You have grown into a wise, responsible young man. You are the closest thing to a son I will ever have, and I am so proud of you, not just as a nephew, but as a person.

Yes, we all have to be vigilant these days. But we have to reclaim our lives. And I'm glad you reclaimed your special day -- your birthday. Your parents, uncle, aunts, grandfather, and the rest of your family have your back.

So, Dom, happy birthday. (Your gift is coming.)

Writing Diva

Humbled by a Squirrel Hole

I consider myself a pretty active person. I workout twice a week. I walk everyday, taking long strides. I once hiked Mount Diablo and Mount Tamalpais in my late 30s and early 40s.

I never broke a bone in my body. Until Friday.

I was done in by a squirrel hole in Sacramento's Miller Park.

I was going to my agency picnic there. After I parked, I was walking with my camp chair and bag lunch to the picnic site when my right foot caught on something. I fell on the heels of my hands and my knees.

Some of my coworkers came to help me to my feet and carry my stuff. I looked down to see a hole covered by dried grass and leaves.

When I arrived at the picnic site, my right foot swelled to the size of Sasquatch. My boss got me a bag of ice to put on my foot. I didn't stay long at the picnic. I went home after maybe two hours.

Yesterday I went to Kaiser Medical Center in Walnut Creek to make sure no bones were broken. After my right foot received X-rays, my attending physician announced that I had a broken bone in my right foot and had to have a splint.

Long story short, I have a splint covered in bandages and a pair of crutches. Walking with crutches is counterintuitive. I have to put my weight on my hands, so the first few go-rounds were difficult.

Luckily (?), I am on vacation this week. I hadn't planned on going anywhere, and my injury ensured that I am staying put. I will spend this week cleaning and reading.

I prize my independence and living in Solano County. But during times when I injure myself or am ill, living solo can be, well, trying. Would I give up living here? Nah!

Writing Diva

The Debt Ceiling Agreement: Honey Badger Doesn’t Give a $#!+

This is what I get for having great expectations for the President of the United States: My hopes for change in this country dashed like a glass vase blithely nudged off a 10-story building.

As Paul Krugman of The New York Times wrote today, President Barack Obama surrendered to the House Republicans on the debt ceiling. According to the Times, the tentative agreement, which should go to a vote anytime now, calls for an estimated $2.1 trillion in spending cuts over 10 years, as well as a new Congressional committee to recommend a deficit-reduction proposal by Thanksgiving and a two-step increase in the debt ceiling.

By not including any closing of tax loopholes for large corporations and the wealthy, Obama, in my humble opinion, capitulated to House Speaker John Boehner (if his name were mispronounced, it would sound like a porn star moniker) and the Tea Party. Even if this bipartisan committee met to hammer out a proposal, half of its members would be Republicans who, more likely than not, signed a no-tax pledge drafted by Grover Norquist of the Americans for Tax Reform.

So, this is a short open letter to President Obama:

Mr. President, you needed to channel some honey badger.

I imagine an eyebrow rising as you say, “Excuse me?”

You haven’t seen the honey badger video narrated by some guy named Randall? The message is that the honey badger doesn’t give a $#!+ about its opponents, whether they be black cobras, bees, jackals, even crocodiles. The honey badger is crazy enough to attack and eat them. It can get stung by bees or bitten by poisonous snakes, but like a Timex, it keeps on ticking.

Sometimes the only way to deal with crazy people is to act crazy. I realize that as a Harvard-educated former constitutional law professor, that might be a stretch for you. But these are crazy times, and you’re dealing with unyielding ideologues who refuse to see the big picture. You had your chance to unilaterally raise the debt ceiling, citing the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. But you insisted that was not on the table. That should have been your trump card, but noooo!

I know you had to save the country from defaulting on its debts. However, as you said, the process was messy, and the result unpalatable. I don’t see change happening in your first term, and, frankly, as much as I still support you, you will be lucky to get a second term. Just sayin’.

P.S.: Next time, try channeling some honey badger.

Writing Diva

Amy Winehouse and My Moment of Clarity

“Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.” – Carl Gustav Jung

The untimely death of 27-year-old British soul singer Amy Winehouse served as my wakeup call.

When Winehouse passed away in her north London apartment on Saturday, she joined an exclusive but unenvied club of “27 Forever,” whose members include Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain. Of these deaths, Winehouse’s affected me most. I have her album “Back to Black” on my iPod. I admired her world-weary voice and her lyrical moxie. For her slight frame, she was someone you didn’t want to pick a fight with.

But her death wasn’t unexpected. Her family and outside observers noted it was a matter of time before the five-time Grammy winner met her fate. Some speculated that her breakup with her latest boyfriend Reg Traviss prompted her final spiral.

I’m not a therapist, but someone who has struggled with emotional issues. In my view, an addiction is like gasoline that needs only a match to start a conflagration. That match can be depression, low self-esteem, or abuse, among others.

On Monday I came to a point where I admitted that I need help with dealing with some of my issues. I will admit to one of them – spending. I believed that as long as I was earning a decent wage, I had the right to buy whatever I wanted. When I went through a breakup with an emotionally abusive boyfriend, I bought a 1.7 fl. oz White Linen eau de parfum spray and a diamond and emerald 14 karat gold ring. I justified the purchases by saying that I was in pain and needed these things to feel better. They merely made my finances worse.

I realize that I can’t keep living this self-destructive lifestyle. I’m part of a family, a workplace, a community, a group of friends, a church. They need me, and I need them. So, I’m getting help to get my act together.

My prayers go out to the Winehouse family, friends, and other fans. But I thank Amy Winehouse for giving me the slap upside da hed that I needed – even if she didn’t mean to.

Writing Diva

The Mission Is Clear: Starting a Business

I’m a business owner.

It’s almost surreal seeing the reality in print. I launched my editing business Mission: Clarity two months ago. Actually, I began laying the foundation for the business last year by purchasing the Web domain www.missionclarity.com, buying some business cards, and fishing for clients. The business became official when I filed for a home business permit in May with the city of Vacaville.

I decided to start an editing business after enduring a year and a half of furloughs. When California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger imposed furloughs on 237,000 state employees in February 2009, the action amounted to a 14 percent pay cut. With a new contract for the 95,000 workers under the SEIU Local 1000 union ratified in November 2010, I have 5 percent of my pay taken out toward my government pension and one unpaid day a month, amounting to an 8 percent decrease. Also, with some legislators and activists calling for “pension reform,” that is, a cut in my future retirement pay, I realized that I needed another income source. I have a friend in Texas named “E” who not only teaches at a public school but runs a cake-making catering business. Noting her example, I’ve concluded that it’s silly in this sluggish economy to depend on just a 40-hour-a-week job to keep one’s head above water. After all, I’m not one of the hundreds of California state workers earning six figures.

My sister, Black Woman Blogging, thought of the name Mission: Clarity and discovered through an online search that the URL wasn’t taken yet. She has been my biggest supporter of this effort.

The business moniker Mission: Clarity fits because my goal is to make prose, whether in reports, brochures, manuscripts, or periodicals, concise and clear to the lay reader. I have been doing this for 5 years for a California state agency and 12 years as a newspaper staff writer. I believe there is a need in Solano County for someone who can look at copy and make it cleaner and, if necessary, grammatically correct.

Mission: Clarity will be my lifelong project. Because I’m the only one invested in this business, I’m not worried about failure. I would rather try and fail than do nothing. Doing nothing would be my biggest regret, and it’s not an option.

So, friends, please check out Mission: Clarity on Facebook and Twitter, where I will dispense grammar and usage advice. When my website is complete, I will let you know. And thank you in advance for your support.

Writing Diva

Justice Served

Nearly four years ago, Oakland Post editor Chauncey Bailey died walking on his way to work.

Yesterday, an Oakland jury convicted the former leader of Your Black Muslim Bakery of murder for ordering Bailey’s assassination, according to the Contra Costa Times.

Yusuf Bey IV, 25, was also convicted of ordering the murder of Bailey and two other men in summer 2007. The jury also convicted Bey’s codefendant, Antoine Mackey, of two counts of first degree murder for the killings of Bailey and Michael Wills, 36, according to the San Francisco Chronicle. The jury split on a third count against Mackey involving the slaying of Odell Roberson Jr., 31. Both face life terms in prison without the possibility of parole when they are sentenced July 8.

Before his death, Bailey was working on a series of critical articles on Your Black Muslim Bakery. Confessed triggerman Devaunghdre Broussard reached a plea bargain with prosecutors and testified against Bey.

I write this entry for two reasons. First, my younger sister and I knew Chauncey Bailey. He served with me on the board of the Bay Area Black Journalists’ Association, a chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. My sister knew him socially when she lived in Oakland. We were shocked and saddened upon hearing about his assassination.

Second, Bailey was a fellow journalist. I also knew him when he worked for The Oakland Tribune, a sister publication to The Daily Review of Hayward, where I worked. Bailey was the first journalist killed on U.S. soil since 1976 when Don Bolles of The Arizona Republic was murdered in a car bombing by criminal gambling interests.

But the reporting that Bailey started continued. A coalition of journalists knows as The Chauncey Bailey Project cast a spotlight on the close relationship between the bakery and top Oakland elected officials who for decades continued to give active support to the Beys despite evidence of their well-know criminal dealings, the Times reported. The journalists discovered problems with the police investigation and found new evidence that kept the heat on authorities.

Trial prosecutor Melissa Krum said the verdicts send the message that “the First Amendment is not going to be murdered by murdering journalists. You cannot kill the man and expect the message to be killed.”

Wendy Ashley-Johnson, a cousin of Bailey’s, echoed that sentiment. “Journalists have a job to do, and they should not be squashed in what they do.”

So true.

Writing Diva

Caught up in the Rapture

This entry may be my last. If at least some of us disappear suddenly from planet Earth this Saturday, it has been nice knowing my family and friends.

May 21 is supposed to be Judgment Day, when Jesus gathers his Christian followers into the heavens, leaving behind nonbelievers, according Harold Camping, president of Family Radio. According to the San Francisco Chronicle, Camping calculates May 21 as the big day because allegedly it’s exactly 7,000 years from the date of the Noah’s Ark flood. Camping estimates that 200 million people worldwide will disappear into the heavens. The other 7 billion humans are SOL. (I’ll use the clean translation: So outta luck.) The rest may die in a massive global earthquake. (What? The 9.0 magnitude temblor in Japan wasn’t the Big One?)

Rapture watchers have pointed to signs such as the mysterious mass deaths of birds; fish dying by the thousands in Southern California waters; huge earthquakes in China, Japan, and Haiti; floods in the Midwest; the Gulf of Mexico oil spill; and global climate change.

While I follow Jesus, I don’t believe the rapture is going to happen Saturday for two reasons. First, I’ve been through this before. In 1972 a Jehovah’s Witness friend warned me to prepare for the Second Coming that year. As a naïve eight-grader whose father is a Pentecostal Christian, I not only believed my friend, I spread the news to other schoolmates. When the Second Coming didn’t come, I lost credibility with my friends. One of them broke off our friendship.

Second, I tend to agree with Mark 13:32-33 in the Bible: “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come.” (New International Version) So, if neither the angels nor Jesus Christ knows when the rapture will occur, how would a mere mortal know? After all, the Bible is not The Da Vinci Code.

But, to be safe, I will make copies of my house keys and drop them off with my siblings before Saturday so my two cats can be fed and kept safe. Although I follow Jesus, I don’t presume to believe I will be gathered up by him. Nor do I presume that my siblings and friends will die in a massive earthquake. I just hope to be ready if it happens.

Writing Diva

A Mother's Gifts

This entry offers no suggestions for what to get your mom for Mother's Day. (If you haven't bought anything yet, why are you reading this entry? Get out there and find something!) Today I'm writing about gifts that a mother leaves her children after she leaves this world.

My mom passed away almost 13 years ago. I can safely say it was the saddest day of my siblings' and my life. For a while none of us wanted to celebrate Mother's Day after her death. After all, what was the point? Mom wasn't with us anymore.

Then my sisters launched a new tradition. My sisters and I go to the cemetery to put flowers on Mom's "eternal condo" and on the graves of our maternal aunts and maternal grandmother. Then we go out to brunch to catch up on each other's lives and remember Mom and our departed relatives.

In the years after Mom's passing, I realized that she hasn't really gone away. She left each of us sisters with a "gift" -- Mom's characteristics revealed in each child.

My older sister T1 loves children, just as Mom did. T1 also has a generous heart and is the one who most frequently contacts our relatives, especially Mom's side of the family. And, despite her earlier protestations, she inhered Mom's cooking gene. She loves to cook, and she prepares great dishes and a carrot cake that reminds me of Mom's. (Who knew?) But don't mess with T1. She packs a punch!

T2, my younger sister, inherited Mom's eyes and no-nonsense way of taking care of business. Friends and family have learned the hard way not to tell her about their problems. She refuses to be a sounding board; she wants to be the solution. I remember in Mom's final days she was hospitalized and not getting the attention we believed she deserved. T2 got on the phone to Kaiser's doctors and told them that she had no qualms about going to court to make sure Mom was taken care of. One messes with T2 at one's own risk.

However, T2 has a soft side, too. She is a loving wife to her husband J and is a nurturing mother figure to her nephews and nieces. She and her husband want to adopt a child or two. I think she would make a great mother, the way Mom was.

The sister I think channels Mom most, though, is D. She also inherited Mom's eyes and nose and is serious. But D has a silly side, too. She can pinch you surreptitiously and then say, "What?" Both D and Mom have a mischievous side.

D is also sensitive like Mom and doesn't take a lot of crap. Also like Mom, D rarely cries in public. D is good with money, fastidious with clothes and neat in housework, and is the most self-sufficient person I know.

As for yours truly, I've been told I look like Mom. I'm highly sensitive. But I don't see as much of a resemblance in characteristics. I'm not as neat as she is, I can barely cook, I'm not that good with children, and I'm shy. I could only hope to be like Mom.

To those of you whose mothers are still with you, wish them a Happy Mother's Day. And for those whose mothers are no longer with them, remember the gifts she gave you. Those memories will make you smile.

Writing Diva

Retirement? What’s That?

Earlier this month I argued with a fellow Sacramento Bee commenter about his contention that Baby Boomers (I’m one.) should retire early to allow younger people to assume their jobs. I responded that I can’t retire because my state pension is being threatened.

Then I read a Los Angeles Times article about a USC Dornsife/Times poll stating that California voters support a cap on pensions for current and future public employees and a later age for collecting them. I raised my hands in frustration. It’s bad enough that Republican state lawmakers want to cut my benefits in exchange for a balanced budget.

I have been an employee of the State of California for 10 years. I joined a state agency in March 2001 after working 12 years in newspaper journalism. I left journalism because increasingly I had to choose between eating and going to work. (I had a coworker ask me how I kept so slim. I replied, "Stress.") I left journalism before newspapers started losing money to the Internet (that is, search engines for articles and Craig’s List for ads). I saw many of my friends and former colleagues either take a buyout or get laid off.

I have been an information officer/editor for my present state agency for five years. I like my job and intend to retire when I turn 67. My retirement age would give me 25 years of state service at 2.5 percent of salary. God willing, I would also earn Social Security along with my individual retirement account and my 401K.

Even when I retire, if I’m still healthy, I plan to work. I hope to work for a media company as an editor, as a typist, or even as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will retire only when I am physically or mentally incapable of working.

My message to those “young’uns,” as my southern father would call post-Baby Boomers, is, God willing, I’m not going anywhere. Retirement isn’t as it was in my parents’ generation where they could travel around the United States and didn’t have to worry about their next paycheck. If I were a squirrel, I got my nut. Get your own!

Writing Diva

America! Stop Gawking!

In a two-week span I’ve seen what I call human train wrecks on the small screen making outbursts that would embarrass people if they were made by their family members. I’m not sure what bothers me most – that the media is taking advantage of these people or that we’re watching and won’t look away.

I must start with Ashley Sullivan, a 26-year-old “American Idol” contestant who drew viewers into her roller coaster life. She would go into an emotional high when she performed well and would dive into an abyss of insecurity when the pressure proved too much. She got the boot before the top 24 semifinalists were chosen.

An “Idol” cameraman followed Sullivan when she tied the knot with her boyfriend Paul Suraiva during the Las Vegas auditions. A writer for the Entertainment Weekly website made snide remarks about the singer possibly killing her groom. I believe she may be bipolar and not taking medication. I felt sheepish for watching her story and feeling pity for her.

Another train wreck who is more famous (or infamous, take your pick) than Ashley Sullivan is Charlie Sheen, the star of the highly rated CBS sitcom “Two and a Half Men.” Sheen, who had checked himself into a rehab facility after a violent hotel room incident with a porn star, left the facility, went to the Bahamas with two blond “goddesses,” and bit the hand that fed him, “Men” creator and producer Chuck Lorre. Then Sheen made the rounds of the news shows and spewed nonsense about “winning” and “tiger blood” and “Adonis DNA.” Luckily, his estranged wife Brooke Mueller had enough common sense to have her 2-year-old twin sons removed from Sheen’s home.

So far, Sheen has been on ABC, NBC, and CNN. (I’ve lost count.) He’s also been the butt of late-night talk show hosts. I worry about the two women living with him because Sheen is still a drug addict with a violent temper. I don’t see his situation ending well unless he gets help, which I don’t see him doing in the near future.

I’m going to do my part by turning off my TV whenever I see such nonsense. I don’t have the schadenfreude or the stomach for any of this.

Writing Diva