(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